cindy's world

Ann had always intended to bake and decorate Christmas cookies one year, so she decided this year was the year. By the time I got there after work, she’d already had the sugar cookie dough done and in the oven, and was working on the gingerbread dough.

[Here’s a side story about how dependent I am on cell phones now. My cell died shortly after I arrived at work this morning, so I had to IM Ann to make plans this evening instead of doing our usual texting, then I had to leave messages on two friends’ social networking sites to let them know that my phone had died after they’d texted me, I wasn’t ignoring them. I’d planned to call the roofer to inquire as to what ceiling damage they’re willing to cover on some leaks that occurred at my rented-out home after they’d repaired the roof, but I couldn’t because their number is solely stored in my cell phone. And before I left work, I IMed Ann again to let her know I was on my way, and that I would have to arrive at her doorstep unannounced except for the doorbell (like in the old days!), whereas I’d normally text to say I was walking up to her building and she’d be at the door. At Ann’s, I had to borrow her cell phone to call Mr. W to let him know where I was and how to reach me if need be. As we were waiting for the cookies to cool, I volunteered to drive out to El Pollo Loco to pick up dinner. In the car, I attempted to put the address of the restaurant in the navigation system, but the nav wouldn’t pick it up. Instead of calling Ann, I had to walk back to her apartment, up the two flights of stairs, and ask her for directions. Then I walked back down to the car and was off. As soon as I walked into El Pollo Loco, I realized I’d forgotten to ask Ann what two sides she wanted with her meal, so I had to guess. When I returned, Ann said she’d realized it after I left, too, but of course she couldn’t call me to tell me that. Sheesh!]

During the cookie-decorating part of our evening, we struggled with getting the meringue icing to cooperate with what we wanted it to do. The sprinkles weren’t behaving in the way we thought they would, either. In a moment of silence as we worked in intense concentration, Ann noted that this is the quietest we’ve ever been while hanging out with each other. I don’t think it was quiet again after that, especially as I started sharing my creations’ backgrounds with her. She laughed at me for having a story around each of my cookies. It’s an only-child thing, I always had stories about everything, giving inanimate objects identities, when I was little and had no one else to play with. So here they are…

GINGERBREAD PEOPLE

Top left: This cookie came out of the cutter bigger than the other gingerbread people, so I explained the extra girth by giving him an open mouth (cuz he likes to eat) and a beer belly.
Top middle: This is angry evil gingerbread man. He’s carrying a long sword cuz he wants to kill somebody. And probably eat him. I have a picture of my friend Josh that looks like this mean gingerbread man.

Can you spot Josh? Hint: He looks like Evil Mr. Gingerbread Man.
Back to the Gingerbread Peeps. Top right: Miss Pageant Lady. She has a French manicure and French pedicure.
Bottom left: Art deco Gingerbread Person of Nondescript Gender.
Bottom leftish-middleish: Gingerbread Slut. She’s wearing too much makeup, had a collagen lip injection, is wearing a dress, high heels, AND a pearl necklace. *sideglance*
Bottom rightish-middleish: Wifebeater-clad Gingerbread Man. I could say he’s a caroler holding a songbook, but I’d be lying. The truth is he is one of my first cookies, before I knew what I was doing. Mr. W ate Wifebeater Gingerbread Man first.
Bottom right: Mr. Uncooperative Gingerbread Man. This is my 2nd attempt and he’s sympathizing with me about how difficult it is to work with this gooey frosting. He and I simultaneously went “Nyah.”

SUGAR COOKIE FOREST

Self-explanatory. They’re Christmas trees — or for those of you who resent Christian symbolism infused into our holidays, these are pine tree air fresheners that harken back to those stinky cardboard cutouts dangling from the rearview mirrors of various cigarette-sucking taxicab drivers.

Here’s the forest from a slightly different angle. All right, there are SOME stories.
Top left: It snowed on this tree, landed on the edges of the branches, and then a holiday fairy came by and made the snow all sparkly and pretty.
Top middle: This tree was decorated by paintball splatters.
Top right: Daisy-like flowers grew on this tree! It’s a miracle!
Bottom left: This is a Christmas tree trimmed with Christmas ornaments. Some gingerbread peeps did it.
Bottom middle: This is the “after” of the first cookie, after some more snow.
Bottom right: Hannukah meets Christmas in plaid!

SUGAR COOKIE SNOWMEN

It’s not that I’m being politically incorrect or sexist by calling them snowmen instead of snowpeeps; it’s that I did not make any snowchicks. I mean, they’re all wearing top hats! I don’t think women should be in top hats unless they’re tapdancing or pulling bunnies out of them. I couldn’t think of much to do with these little guys so they’re uncreative, but look how happy they are to be that way! Mr. W wanted to know why the top right snowman (the one in galoshes) is pigeon-toed, and the answer is, because he’s shy.

MISCELLANEOUS, i.e. STOCKINGS, A MITTEN, AND A DREIDEL

These stockings need to be hung on the chimneys with care, or they’d crumple or melt and wouldn’t be able to double as Santa treats.
Top left: This stocking is where I learned that the round candy sprinkles ruin the most carefully-made designs. This sock holds both an asterisk AND a pound sign. But can you tell after I added the sprinkles? Sadly, no.
Top right: A tribute to the Boston Red Sox. It was easier to do the patches red instead of the entire cookie. That’s WAY too much frosting to eat.
Bottom left: A Christmas-colored sock!
Bottom right: This mitten doubles as a dog’s pawprint! For those mutts who like to wear mits.
Right: Dreidel dreidel dreidel, I made you out of dough…

Now you can appreciate what I attempted to do with Sock #1.

COOKIE VILLAGE CHAOS!!

Mr. W’s daughter just came home as I was typing this, and walked into the kitchen cooing, “How cuuuute!” Mr. W made me go over and tell her the stories for all these little cookies. The problem with having stories about your creations is that now your creations have life and character, and eating them feels like murdering my children. I guess I’ll have to leave it up to Mr. W and Daughter to let these cookies fulfill their purpose in their tummies.

Ann was nice enough to include me in her plans for deckin the halls last nite. She pulled her Christmas tree out of storage and set it up in the corner of her apartment.

It was a very Ann tree; the theme colors were coordinated with her living room in Tiffany blue bows, bronze cloth ribbon, and of course, bling.

Even Ann’s puppy Max was decorated.

We decorated her tree while sipping on Christmas spirit in a mug — hot chocolate made pepperminty by using a candy cane as a stirrer, laced with Bailey’s. Two mugs in, we were in a great mood, chatting it up hypothesizing on how Max’s chew was made…

…cuz nothing brings out the jollies of the holiday mood like the scent of a small dog chewing on bull penis. We figured out that the bull erection was cut into four or five vertical cross-sections and then braided together. It lasts significantly longer than rawhide, dries up fast, and Max is obsessed with it. It kept him busy for hours as he ran around with it, settled down and chewed at the end, poked me in the butt with it, rolled it over my leg while playing with it, and at one point I found myself with it grasped firmly in my hand holding it like a baby bottle to Max to assist him in his gnawing. Ann equated this last activity to my jerking a bull off. Interestingly, after I came home, Dodo sniffed intensely at my bull-penis-holding-hand and then licked his chops. This happened twice. I briefly considered getting Dodo a wedge of bull penis for Christmas, but I don’t see him gnawing on something that hard for long. (I’ll accept your applause for my reference to a pussy, “bull penis,” “hard,” and “long” in one sentence, and thank you for not telling my parents about this blog.)

Sorry about the poor quality of the photos — I was using my cameraphone and couldn’t get the white balance right.

(All photos and videos courtesy of Claudio’s camera; rest mouse pointer over photos for captions.)

Mr. W and I celebrated the coming of November by enjoying our nice SoCal kayaking weather with Dwaine and Claudio.

I hadn’t seen Claudio in YEARS (10+, I’d say), and only recently reconnected with him through an online networking site. I’d always liked Claudio, but didn’t know him very well. He was just “Dwaine’s buddy Claudio.” The last time we saw each other was over a few games of paintball, so obviously nobody was sitting around having in-depth conversations. Over the years of hearing Dwaine’s me-and-Claudio stories, I felt like I’d somehow kept in vicarious contact with Claudio, so it was really fun to “hang out” with him online, cracking jokes and instigating gym challenges, until we could finally meet up in person. That brings us to Sunday, November 1.

The guys came over to our house, changed into swim gear, and we were off to the Lake. Claudio and I had planned to jog the mile there, and since Dwaine was excluded from the planning process, he didn’t have veto power. I heard he was a good sport and simply packed the proper gear for jogging and swimming. This was Dwaine’s second time kayaking, and he’d improved immensely from his first time.

So confident was he in his new kayaking abilities, that he had to balls to do this:

If you had watched the video carefully, though, you’d have seen that when I started rowing toward him or splashing at him, Dwaine’s panic kept him from being able to paddle away effectively. He knew it, too, cuz you can hear his helpless laughing and cussing as he paddled, and eventually pleaded with me with sweet words that fell on deaf ears. Claudio took advantage of this later on to attack Dwaine after Dwaine doused Claudio with so much water on a back row that Claudio’s black shirt took on a whole new sheen.

I quickly rowed away from them to avoid becoming collateral damage, until I realized that something else was possibly collateral damage. “Wait, who has the camera?” I called. Dwaine and Claudio froze, and Claudio produced a dripping black package. Soon Claudio realized his camera wouldn’t shut down or retract its lens properly. That camera casualty has become a joke between us on that networking site, but luckily Claudio was able to extract these photos and videos from it when he got home.

We had a lot of fun, and I was ready for the mile walk back. But I noticed in my peripheral vision that the three men with me were bouncing up and down slightly. I looked up, and they looked like they were making very small jogging-type motions with their legs. Tiny little steps. “We’re RUNNING back?!” I sputtered.
“You set the pace,” Claudio offered. Damn it. So we jogged back, and since I hadn’t gone to the gym consistently in the past month, I tapped all my energy reserves to make it to the front door without stopping. Dwaine and Claudio had enough wind to end the last bit of the uphill in a sprint race. Argh. At least I had Mr. W to keep me company as I sucked Dwaine and Claudio’s dust. Or maybe it wasn’t that Mr. W was being nice, he was using me as an excuse to not compete with these youngsters whose shoes apparently had springs installed in the soles.

After arriving home, we sat in the backyard, had a couple of drinks (water for Dwaine and me; Coronas for Mr. W and Claudio), then set off for dinner at Chipotle.

“Did you guys shower before going in there?” Jordan had asked.
“Of course not, then we wouldn’t smell as athletic,” I’d answered. The day was a lot of fun regardless of how we smelled to everyone else.

Yesterday, I took the day off to support some young family members in another courthouse. The case resolved itself to the family’s satisfaction, so after a shabu shabu lunch together with the family, Mr. W and I went to Disneyland. (How cliche, huh?)

Earlier this week, I got thrown into a mood of urgency when I found out that the Halloween theme ends this weekend, as with the brand new Jack Skellington-MCed fireworks show “Halloween Screams,” which according to friends who’d seen it, is absolutely spooktacular.

Mr. W and I bought annual passes again. I’d been against renewing my annual pass since I found out after buying one a few years ago that Mr. W doesn’t ride the rides, but this time the hubby was a trooper as he popped two Dramamine and didn’t complain once. We waited for the fireworks show to start, shivering on the ground in the center circle facing Sleeping Beauty’s castle.

Soon, an announcement came over the loudspeaker that due to the wind condition, the fireworks show may be canceled. Since we’re now in the midst of Santa Ana Winds season, and we know that these winds peak at night, Mr. W and I got up and left. We don’t know if they actually did cancel the fireworks show, but given how much stronger the gusts had become as we walked to the car, it most likely canceled. We’re going to try again tonight after work. I’m dragging Ann along, since she also recently got an annual pass and was instrumental in convincing me that I needed one, too. Fun, fun!

Sorry for the poor quality photos; these are from my cameraphone. Rest mouse pointers over photos for captions.

James and Ann’s big idea, born right here on this blog, of taking me on my virgin voyage to The Boiling Crab came to fruition last night. There were five of us, and despite all the reviews I’d read online about 2+ hour waits (they don’t take reservations), we got lucky and got in within about half an hour. We ordered 1lb of mildly spicy shrimp, 1lb of medium spicy shrimp, 1lb of medium spicy crawfish, 1lb of king crab legs. Also, a basket of sweet potato fries and fried catfish with spicy fries (crunchy fries, perfectly seasoned; catfish was generously sized, fresh and tender). We shared pretty much everything. The level of fire wasn’t as insane as the crawfish Mr. W and I had in New Orleans the other week (which trip I have yet to blog about), so that’s great, my gastro-intestinal lining didn’t have to dissolve this time. The table was a covered with a sheet of wax paper, which we ate off of because the food is simply served in clear bags without the benefit of plates or utensils. As soon as we sat down, Ann took the roll of paper towels on the table and started tearing off sheets, stacking them neatly on the table. I eyed her growing stack and she said, “Believe me. We’re gonna use all this. And you won’t be able to do this when you start eating.” She was right, and we used exactly every sheet she tore off, and no more. Talk about accuracy! I managed to only dirty my thumb, index and middle fingertips in my dinner endeavor, and I noticed Ann did the same. Red fingertips, that’s about it. Our plastic bibs remained relatively unscathed. The boys were less neat, the worst being James, who had red sauce coating both his hands, his entire palms, dripping down his wrists. Needless to say, he really enjoyed his food. Mr. W loved the seasoning and generous garlic chunks in the sauces. New Orleans was just suicidally spicy, salty and tart; this place had FLAVOR. If you can stand the hands-on messiness, Boiling Crab is definitely an experience for no-nonsense Cajun seafood-boils at a good price; including 6 or 7 beers AND tax and tip, the tab came out to $20 a person.
* (+)Bonus: you get to find out exactly where all your papercuts are when you eat here. Owie.
* (-)Bonus: food photography is impossible here unless you want your camera to be sticky and stinky forevermore. Or if you can resist eating.

I’m impossibly behind in blogging. I blame it on a combination of the difficulty of getting my photos online, and of my not being physically around to do it. I’ve just returned from a 2-week road trip, and with any luck, I’ll be able to cover that trip on here even if it’s by way of a series of picture-book photos with one-liner descriptions.

At some point in the past, on some day, Mr. W and I went to the Los Angeles County Fair. It’s been so long, the event has taken on almost a dream-like quality. *checking calendar* Okay, that was on our last furlough day, September 16. I remember it was furlough day because I’d texted Jordan a photo of us at the Fair and she’d texted back, “Don’t you ever work?!” And I had to explain to her it was an involuntary day off without pay to stave off lay-offs. She didn’t seem to feel sorry for me at all.

These are all Mr. W’s photos. He was testing out his new camera, an upscale Canon that boasts all the features of a digital SLR without the extra lenses to carry around, which he bought cuz he was jealous of my new Nikon SLR. As usual, rest mouse pointers over photos for captions.

The Fair had carnival rides!

The Fair had deep-fried foods! I sent this particular photo to blogger buddy Flat Coke & Flies, my Tennessee girlie who’s a fan of the oil-dunked edibles. I also sent her another sign that pictured deep-fried avocados, smores, zucchinis, and entire White Castle burgers. She thought it looked irresistable and wanted to know which item I’d tried. Deep-fried Oreos? Deep-fried Twinkies? I couldn’t bring myself to try any of them!

Just looking at those fried foods and smelling the grease made me feel so guilty, I got a kosher hot dog and giant turkey leg instead. I know, it’s not exactly a salad, but at least these items were grilled. Plus, Mr. W and I split both.

The day got so unbearably hot and sunny that we both bought hats. I’d been looking for a good hat for years, trying to decide on a fitting style, and it takes desperation to just grab the nearest one that’ll go around my head.

I also petted all sorts of barnyard animals. They don’t look exactly like the cartoon ones in the storybooks, so I had to ask a few times what I was petting. The baby goats were particularly cute…there were 2 that were only a week or so old.

The teenage goats were friendly, too. They liked to be lightly scratched on their heads, where their antlers (are they called antlers on goats?) were coming in. I imagine it’s like teething.

And then there were these fuzzy things. They look like muppet characters to me. Turned out they’re chickens. Are chickens normally this fuzzy? Where the hell have I been? I don’t expect them to look like KFC, but still.

Not shown, I also petted a very nice cow. She was so serene and friendly, leaning against my hand as I caressed her through the pen at the McDonald’s section. How sick and wrong is that, right?! McDonald’s exhibit with two grown cows, and signs on the rails that talk about how beef is processed. I comforted myself thinking that this must be the exhibit cow, and not the hamburger cow. I also decided I really, really want to be Vegan.

This isn’t food (that I know of), but I thought the pair was adorable. A kangaroo mommy and her little joey! I’ll end this food post on that non-food non-dreary note.

I feel a little sheepish for not having posted about my cousin Jennifer’s bridal shower and bachelorette outing a couple of weekends ago, when her wedding is already this coming Saturday. Posting has become more inflexible with my new camera. When the photos were taken from my cameraphone, I’d just email them to myself and I’d have them online to post from wherever I am. Now that the photos are taken from a “real” camera and need to be downloaded to a computer first, they’re downloaded to the PC at home and I can’t access them from any other computer. So I move on, for now, to my travels last weekend.

I had a lot of airport and plane hopping, taking two flights to get to Florida and two flights to come back. The shuttle picking me up from home to take me to Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) 50 miles away was half an hour early. I was still getting ready in the house when phone calls started coming in to my cell phone. I didn’t get to the phone in time, and that’s when the driver started honking. It was still dark out at 5:15 a.m. and Mr. W ran out in his shorts to tell the driver I was on my way, so that the jerk would quit waking up my neighbors. There was only one other passenger and we got to the airport before 6:30 a.m. for my 9 a.m. flight. The security line was INSANE. People coiled through the ropes indoors, spilled outdoors, lined up down the block into the next building. Good thing I had no baggage to check and was able to get straight into this line. It wasn’t until I was inside when I realized the Los Angeles Kings (hockey team) and their cheerleaders were ahead of me. I didn’t even know hockey HAD cheerleaders. Do they skidaddle onto the ice, slipping and sliding, to cheer? Cuz otherwise, who could see them? Anyway, FOX Sports was there with them and they set up a DJ booth at their gate, monopolizing the flight, I’d imagine.

I killed time by doing makeup in the bathroom and texting friends, sitting behind large Southerners in cowboy boots and gallon hats speaking to each other in cool-sounding drawls.

Southwest Airlines doesn’t assign seating, so after receiving a boarding sequence order after check-in (which I’d done online), the seats are first-come, first-served. As I walked into the cabin, I noted all the large people seated in the window and aisle seats of the same 3-seat row, leaving only a half-seat-sized slot in between them. Who’s gonna sit between them?! I kept moving farther and farther back in the plane. People looked up at me as I passed, some pensively, some hopefully (cuz I’m comparatively small), and I got lucky and found an open aisle seat next to two middle-aged women. They were friendly through the entire flight, telling me they were going home to Tennessee, and the woman next to me told me she’d moved there from Minnesota, where it snowed all the time so she was more than happy to give away her nearly-new snowblower to be in better weather. I fell asleep at some point, and when I awoke, I discovered the two of them had been needing to use the restroom but didn’t want to wake me. When we all returned from our bio breaks, we chatted again, and I told them that my final destination was not Nashville, but that I would enjoy the Nashville layover by redeeming a drink bet from a friend. The woman at the window wanted to see the book I was reading, ironman triathlete Brendan Brazier’s “Thrive: The Vegan Nutritional Guide to Optimal Performance in Sports and Life.” The woman next to me wanted to see my wedding rings. A flight attendant came by and copied down the title of my book, which she’d been peering at as I’d slept on it, to buy for her triathlete boyfriend. I in turn took a gander at a friendly man’s textbooks from across the aisle, as he was learning Mandarin Chinese, a language I speak mostly-fluently. We arrived Nashville airport smoothly and early.

I ran off to meet Bat, who was there early to send off another friend and was now sitting at an airport bar having a beer. (Turned out the other friend didn’t make it before me, as originally planned.) It’s kind of funny meeting someone for only the second time ever when the friendship itself had progressed in the interim. You kind of see them differently. The first time (a few years ago when we happened to be in Vegas at the same time), it was a careful and polite appraisal and some small talk. This time, we were sincerely looking forward to spending some time chatting with a friend. He suggested I spend 15 minutes of my 70-minute layover having a drink with him, I waved it off and said I had more time than that. When I finally got up and went to the gate, 40 minutes had passed, and with a delay going back through security screening by the time I rushed to the gate they were already calling my name over the intercom. How embarrassing.

This time I found a man sitting in the middle of an otherwise empty row, and asked if I could sit with him. He moved over to the window and I took the aisle. He watched me text Jordan and Bat to say that I was safely on the flight to Orlando, it was leaving on time. He watched as I received prompt texts in response. (He also stayed politely mute as a flight attendant admonished me to turn my phone off so that we could take off early.) Then he asked me about how text messaging works, and the leaps and bounds (and to an extent, the unnecessities) of technological advancements. I learned that he’s a retired man who is now a writer and poet as his retirement pursuit. His writings center around metaphysical theories and experiences, and he’s had what sounded to me like an existential breakthrough from a rather sheltered childhood into the realities of a hard life. His journey sounded very interesting, and I’m not just referring to his visit to Nashville to visit his son. At the end of the flight, we exchanged web addresses — the “keeping-in-touch” method of the 21st century — and I learned his name is Jack Shinholser, of www.iseepoetry.com. Since he lives in Florida, he likely wouldn’t be doing one of his usual meet-the-author booksignings at a Borders or Barnes & Noble near me, so I’ll have to make sure I look for his works on my own. When we disembarked he was nice enough to walk me through the large airport to street level, and gave me a friendly hug as we separated and I waited for Jordan.

I’ll address my actual stay in Florida in a future post with photos.

Flat Coke & Flies, along with her new s.o., drove me to the Tampa Bay airport on my return home Sunday. We hugged goodbye curbside, snapped some photos, and I breezed through security to arrive at my gate just as they were about to board. Shortly before walking into the boarding chute, I handed the flight attendant my boarding pass, which she held under the computerized scanner. Instead of the “ding” of passengers entering before me, my boarding pass caused the computer to emit a buzz. “Uh-oh,” the flight attendant said, calling me back. What? Have I been chosen by random to be strip-searched? “You’re not on this flight, your flight is boarding here at this gate after this one,” she explained, returning my boarding pass. They were running late and this flight was going elsewhere, and my flight was lined up behind it for the gate. Thank goodness for computers! I settled back to wait and behind me, I heard someone else’s boarding pass buzz and the same explanation given to that passenger. Soon, someone decided it was easier to simply change gates and let my flight board immediately from another gate instead of wait for this gate to be freed up, so we all walked two gates down and boarded, departing 15 minutes later than scheduled to Denver, Colorado.

Feeling again like I was being appraised by already-seated passengers, I made my way through the cabin. Once more, I sat in an aisle seat, a man having taken the window seat in that row before me. Soon a rather corpulent woman made her way in and asked to sit between us, so I got out to let her in. She initially made efforts to contain her arms within the invisible borders of her seating area, but soon she discovered that she gained two inches on either side of her if she lifted the arm rests up and out of the way, so she made our three seats into a long bench seat. I was surprised she did that without checking with either of us, but the extra room was nice, I suppose. Not that I needed it. She was rather in-your-face friendly and overly helpful, and talkative. At one point she asked to see my wedding rings, also, admiring them. “It seems to get a lot of women’s attention,” I told her half-laughing. I had been asked to see the rings all weekend. “Probably because there’s so much bling,” she said. Funny how no one in California, unless they were my friends, seem to notice or think the rings were anything unusual. I live in a superficial spoiled region of designer accessory owners. She asked about my trip and destination, another flight attendant noticed and asked me about my “Thrive” book, offered to let me run up and down the aisle for exercise, I took a nap, was nudged on two occasions by the woman into awakening to let the guy on the inside use the restroom, and soon we were in Denver. An infant had screamed in my ear earlier at takeoff but had gone instantly silent after her mother did something. I now turned around and smiled at the new mother, asking her what she did to calm her baby down so quickly. She said, “I just held her against my chest, really tightly.”
“That’s all it took?” I asked in surprise.
“Well, it worked,” she smiled. Wow, gotta remember that one. It seemed like there was a baby screaming behind me on all the other flights and this was the first parent that was able to anything about it.

I had been apprehensive about the flight times, since we’d left late and I only had a 40-minute layover this time, so given 30 minutes for preboarding, I was glad there was no Bat here to miss out on playing with. The flight made up its late start in the air and we arrived early. I walked off the plane, went to the restroom, walked by a gate that happened to be for my next flight, and saw that they were preparing to board. Holy cow. That’s cutting it close. We boarded my final flight to good ol’ Orange County in Southern California, and this time I walked farther back into the plane, toward some empty rows, determined get away from the noise at the engines and wings which is where I seemed to always end up. I scooted all the way in to make it easier for still-coming passengers and noted that there are people seated in the midde seat of their row to take up as much room as possible, hopeful that people wouldn’t sit with them. How rude. It was a full flight and soon I had two people next to me. “If these two flights are like the first two, then that was the friendly people flight, and this one should be the bonding with someone flight.” I was wrong, this was just a normal flight with minimal conversation. Gotta love Southern Californians. None of that Southern comfort.

When we were getting ready to leave for the airport, Flat Coke had asked me whether I was regretful of having to leave beautiful Clearwater Beach, Florida to go back home. I didn’t have to even think about it as I told her that no, I am ready to be home. She looked surprised. Three days is about tops for me on vacation before I got homesick, and in this case, I felt my first twinge of missing home on the second flight to Florida before vacation had even started. I just missed Mr. W. He texts now and the iPhone can finally send/receive photos and videos, so we kept in touch over the weekend, but it’s not the same as having him physically there, within touching distance. Despite the fact that he was irritated picking me up upon arrival, as I’d exited the airport onto the “wrong” street level, it was still nice coming home to him and we went to sushi immediately. When we got home, I hugged his half-asleep form tightly and thought about how nice it is to be in a relationship in which I could ask, “So what’d you do all weekend?” and not have an immediate nausea reflex, dreading activities that would devastate me, or dreading the lies I would hear so much that I simply wouldn’t ask at all. I enjoyed my weekend with my girlies and new friends very much, but one of my favorite parts was still coming home.

I thought I’d drop a post before I disappeared again, but I doubt at the rate I’ve been (not) blogging, that anyone would notice.

Anywho, I just checked in online for my flight tomorrow morning. I’ve got a 9am flight to Nashville, Tennessee! I’ve never been there before, so I’m very looking forward to exploring the, uh, Nashville airport for 70 minutes before my next flight takes off again from there. I hope that’s enough time to collect my free drink from Bat, who had so much faith in his beloved Tennessee Vols that when UCLA went over there to play a few weeks ago, he bet against my alma mater. He’s man enough to make good on his loss at this rare and earliest of opportunities, even if it means driving to the airport and throwing a drink at me across an airport bar before I have to take off running to catch my flight to…

…sunny Orlando, Florida! Helloooo, Jordan! She’ll pick me up when I land at 7pm (or as soon thereafter as likely for lovely Jordanabanana) and we’re going to meet up with “everybody” for dinner and drinks at 8p. “Everybody” is defined as Flat Coke & Flies, Jordan’s friends Darryl and Darren, and a few new significant others I have yet to meet. Everyone except Darren would be coming from a fun day of Universal Studios, and Darren is coming because he ALSO lost the same bet to me, calling a win for the Vols over the Bruins, and he now owes me my second free drink thanks to that game.

Saturday will be spent at Clearwater Beach with Jordan, Flat Coke, and their respective significant others (I’m stagette). I’d been there before with Jordan and James, it’s Jordan’s favorite beach. The last time I was there, I’d texted Flat Coke & Flies and asked for a restaurant recommendation. She insisted on Cooters, a casual seafood restaurant a short walk from the shore, and James and I fell in love. With the FOOD, I mean. Grouper cheeks…amazing! Raw oysters…a dozen for less than $10! I’m used to half a dozen for $15 or so.

Then Sunday, I’m flying out of Tampa Bay airport (which Flat Coke generously offered to drive me to, so I will compensate her with alcohol when I see her) to…Denver, Colorado! Woohooo! The last time I was there was for a scuba diving tradeshow. I was in college, working for Ocean Master, did the show all weekend before midterms, and had scheduled the flight to make it back in time for an evening and overnight cram for my two midterm exams the next day. I also had an essay due the next afternoon. Construction on Denver International Airport had only recently been completed, and the airport now bragged that its technological advancements would allow planes to take off even in a snowstorm. Turned out that planes still couldn’t LAND there in a snowstorm, and since that Sunday delivered the first snowstorm of the year, I was stranded at the airport overnight. If planes couldn’t land there, there weren’t enough planes to take off from there. My study material were in my checked in luggage and gone. Needless to say I didn’t perform well in a couple of exams and the essay situation was a nightmare that I still cringe over when I think back to it. But I’m sure THIS Denver stay would be different. THIS Denver stay is during hot weather AND only 40 minutes long, which gives me 10 minutes between arriving and subsequent boarding to get off the arriving plane and run to the departing plane’s gate. And then it’s HELLO, John Wayne Airport and Hello, Hubby at 8:45p. Bedtime before having to get up for work the next morning.

I’d like to thank my flight sponsor, Christi, for making this weekend possible!

Last Saturday, my cousin Diana had her baby shower. She’s due in November, and…

…it’s a GIRL!
There was food…

…and presents.

Lots and lots of presents.

Useful practical presents, too. When her husband Doug came at the end to help clean up, he looked with satisfaction at the pile of loot, hands on his hips, and then turned to Diana and gave her a “Nice job!” with accompanying high-five. Haha!

Diana looked like she enjoyed herself.

My nieces were there, too.

Congrats to the soon-to-be mommy!

My mother has been bugging me for the web address of my image hosting site, saying when her laptop had to be restored that she’d lost the internet history. Considering I never gave her the address of this blog’s image hosting site (I can only guess I was careless and left the address on her browser history when I used her laptop while visiting sometime), and considering the photos my loyal readers know I have posted, I’m relieved she lost access. I told her dismissively that it’s not a public share site as she kept saying it was, and that I don’t use it anymore. Now I can post photos again. I have a bit to catch up on.

On Labor Day weekend, Mr. W and I invited my parents to San Diego with us for Sunday champagne brunch at Tom Ham’s Lighthouse followed by a stroll at the beach and a visit to the Hotel del Coronado, where I’d always wanted to explore. I also got to play with my new digital SLR camera. I got the Nikon D5000. (Rest mouse pointer over photos for captions.)

Mom looks optimistic, Dad looks like he’s trying not to get overexcited. He loves seafood and my mom rarely lets him eat it because she’s protecting his compromised blood pressure and cholesterol levels.

Despite the tilted orientation, I like this shot for what’s refracted in the stem of the glass.

I did say this was a seafood buffet, right?

Wanna see boys play with their food?

“Happy 1-Year!” Mr. W told me.

The problem with continuously talking about how great and fresh the crustaceans taste, is that you get yoinked, as Dad learned.

Unabashed, Dad continues to play with his claws.

It’s cool to finally have significant zoom.

In the lobby of the Hotel del Coronado…

Let me show you the difference between 34 years of marriage and 1 year of marriage.

vs.

Isn’t it cuuute how everyone in the photo happens to be squatting? It’s like I caught a shot of the rice paddies.

Wet-n-wild animals:

Poor hermit crab’s wondering, “How’d I end up in the jungle? Where’s the water?”