Flights and the Roast
I think I have allergies. Ever since I came home from my mini-vaca I’ve been sneezing and snotty. While in Utah – not so much. In fact, it was on the drive home from the Burbank airport that it started up. Every mile we drove closer to home, the snottier and sneezier I got. I’ve been thinking for months that I just keep getting sick every other week. Dude. What if it’s just allergies? What if it’s not my body but instead the flora and the fauna?
The flight home was awesome, by the way. In the security line directly in front of me there was a woman that wanted to discuss with anyone that would listen, and mostly those that didn’t want to, how she was still loaded from her party last night. Visibly weaving and slurring, and this is at 2pm in the afternoon, she wanted to touch your arm and talk into your face. She made the metal detector go off. Repeatedly. And then she would remove one item of jewelry and then try again. This went on for, oh, twenty tries, before the guy asked her to step to the side so he could do it manually. She started crying and shaking and starting to panic. I’ve never seen the security people have to remove someone before. They were so On It. Finally, all that 9/11 training going to good use. It was odd and slightly disturbing. But good in that 3rd grade recess monitor kind of way when the mean kid gets taken to the office. It’s drama. But you’re glad it happened.
And Southwest? Your plan of not assigning seats and making people sit in line at the gate for 2 hours before a flight on the floor, claiming your 4 foot square plot of carpet and setting up the Dutch oven and putting on the coffee, since if you want to sit in the waiting room in an actual seat, like, with back support, then hey, you suck and have to sit in the very back in the middle seat and hate your life while the person on your left sleeps on your shoulder and the person on your right has to get up and climb over you to use the lavatory 4 times? Sucks. I know, I know – your flight price when I bought the non-refundable ticket 2 months ago of $120 dollars round trip can’t be beat. But next time? I’m going to drive for 12 hours since that is less painful and has more legroom and less drunken people in the security line. News flash – you aren’t a rock concert ticket line. You are an airplane flight. Get over yourself.
Since money is super tight, I’m glad I bought the ticket so long ago (and it was non-refundable) or I wouldn’t have been able to go. And since I’m not really much of a shopper, and we spent most of the time at the house, the entire trip was pretty cost-effective, as trip-taking goes. However, I did buy a pair of shoes. On Sale. And I love them.
The best part of being home? Conversations with Joe.
“They put a tampon under this roast.”
“A what?”
“A tampon.”
“A tampon?”
“Well, I don’t know what else you would call it.
I blink. More blinking.
“Are you sure? That might be a health code issue. I don’t think we want to eat that roast.”
“I’m not unfamiliar with female anatomy. I know what it is.”
“Uh, you aren’t talking about female anatomy. You’re talking about something that goes into it.”
“Except I just call it ‘gear’.”
I had to go in the kitchen to see.
“I think that is probably best since what you are looking at looks like a sanitary napkin, not a tampon. But it isn’t one.”
“Well, I’ve never made love to ‘gear’ so I know less about it.”
“Either way, that’s gross that you said that.”
“Leah. A roast bleeds. You -”
“Enough!”
Same as it Ever Was (but better)
I’m home! I had such a great time. I kind-of, sort-of, partially relaxed and for those few minutes, time stood still and it FELT like a really long vacation. And I saw lots of Cesar and dog miracles. It was awes. There was lots of this for two days so we stayed in and took naps and talked and drank. And watched more about dogs. I think that would be more relevant if I had a dog…….but I’m saving it for the future since I totally intend to have one at some point and by dang, that dog is going to need me to know how to make it yield to my alpha power. Heel!
But, thanks for your suggestions and well wishes on my vacation. I’m going to keep practicing and setting better limits on my working day and see if I can figure this sucker out.
I saw a flower. And a spider web. We did not look at the sewing machine which is probably just as well since the vodka might have made it hard to sew without going through a finger. I saw my niece and her husband and some of his family. We went to a movie and ate sushi and someone might have farted on someone’s lap. Maybe. And Leta was just as cute as could be. Chuck slept with me some of the time. I tell you – there are not many things better than good friends with a toddler, a dog, and a liquor cabinet.
I'm On Vacation, Right?
I’m totally on vacation. This is the first vacation I’ve had in a long, loooooong time where I don’t have to think about work at all. Except I do. I can’t help it. My brain is always leaving the present situation of vegging and relaxation and fun and dogs and darling little girls and good friends to ‘I wonder if we are going to meet that deadline?’ and ‘What if so-and-so doesn’t get that done in time?’ and ‘Did I remember to tell him that we need to check in on that?’ and ‘It’s totally NOT going to get done if I don’t remind them to do that part!’ And then my heart starts to race and I feel the beginning of an anxiety attack. I have to talk myself back down from the ledge and enforce The Vacation Rules. Which, I’m probably breaking by even writing about it right now, but baby steps, ok?
When did I turn into this work-a-holic? I don’t have to commute anymore because we work at home and so theoretically, my day should be shorter than the 13 hours it used to be, but I actually think it’s longer. No, I know it’s longer. I’ve forgotten how to just spend a day any way I want. The concept of ‘free time’ means nothing to me now because any free time I have isn’t free. It’s wasted unless I’m doing something for the business. And there is always more work. There is always more work than I have time for. So how could there be Free Time?
This self-imposed break on work is really difficult for me. I want to call people and check in on something about every 4 seconds. I’m listening to someone speaking, here in real life, right in front of me, and my mind starts to wander back over to work. Sometimes it’s REALLY hard to stay in the present. And the present right now is – I’m On Vacation. I have to learn to trust those around me to do what they say they will do and accomplish the tasks they agree to do whether I’m reminding them or not. Because if it keeps going on like it has been, I’m going to die from a heart attack. Or strangulation by people I work with. One or the other.
In the Car
“So, kids, don’t forget. I’m leaving tomorrow and I won’t be back until Sunday night.”
“Where are you going?”
“Salt Lake City.”
“Why?”
“To see some friends.”
“What their names?”
“Heather and Jon.”
“Heather and Jon what?”
“Armstrong.”
“Are they related to Louis Armstrong?”
“Absolutely.”
New Bio Page
In chronological order. It’s kind of a cliff notes version of the book.
My Teeth Done Falled Out
Do you ever have that dream* where your teeth fall out? It doesn’t hurt or anything and you don’t bleed but you suddenly spit a tooth out into your hand and go, ‘Hey! There’s my tooth.’
I’ve had that dream now and again over the years. The most recent time was a few months ago and it was in the middle of the day about an hour south of Las Vegas. Oh, and it wasn’t a dream. It was REAL LIFE. Oh yes. All it takes is a piece of red licorice and a loose crown for you to have your own fun time. I’ll set you up, if you want. Just give me a call. One second you’ll be playing travel-sized Battle Ship with your son (and kicking his butt, heh) and the next you are a brick-wall silent-type shell of your former self as suddenly, you feel a squarish, hard, tooth shaped object rolling around in the licorice. In your pause, your mind is saying, ‘Did I eat teeth? I don’t remember eating a tooth. Why does my licorice feel like a tooth?’ and things like ‘Am I bleeding? Nope. Huh. Is it a tooth?’ and then ‘Dude. I guess I’ll have to spit it out in my hand to see.’ So, I did. And it was a tooth. And I sat there, staring at this tooth in my hand for about a full two minutes before I realized that if it was in fact a tooth, which it was, and I wasn’t bleeding, which I wasn’t, and it didn’t hurt, which it didn’t, I had to be dreaming. Wow, that took a long time to figure out. And then Alexandra pushed me to the side of the seat to make more room for her and the DVD player and her elbow in my ribs spoke loud and clear. I WAS AWAKE.
If this happens again, I’m sure it won’t take me 7 years to figure out that it is my crown. Big whoop-de-do. My crown. Just keep your mouth shut and don’t drink or eat anything or allow any AIR to get on your stubby toothlet until you can grab some Fixodent or you will be SORRY. Because, remember when I said it didn’t hurt? That was before I blinked or sniffed or….sat still and thought thoughts and breathed. Because that all hurt. And then putting the crown back on with some cementy** stuff? Really painful for a really long time. And if you get the thought to gargle with some spicy mouthwash to cut down on the chance of any little germies, can I just say to you, with all that I am, don’t do it. Really. Bad. Idea.
*Dreams of having teeth fall out are said to sometimes represent we are afraid of losing parts of ourselves. I had dreams about teeth falling out off and on my entire life until I was integrated.
**And then Joe found me a less glorious version of this kit that contains a lot of things I didn’t need, which I carry around in my purse with me as if I was a virile young married guy on his honeymoon that wants to always be prepared in case he sees his wife.
Bathroom Banter
“You know, when I was younger, I ALWAYS pushed the paste from the bottom of the tube.”
“Like a compulsive toothpaste squeezer?”
“But now, look at this mangled and twisted tube. I just squeeze it from anywhere.”
“To what do you attribute this great change?”
“The Fear if God! Ask me again! Ask me again!”
“To what do you attribute this great change?”
“Cleeeeaaaan Livin’! Ask me -”
“To what do you attribute this great change?”
“Sloth! Oh, I’ve got more!”
Further Proof I'm not Crazy
Remember the spider leg in the shower? This morning I woke up in a start because I felt a stirring on my arm. And lo and behold there was a spider near my shoulder. A mere breath away from my ear where it could have burrowed and laid babies in a white wispy sack nestled near my eardrum. I would have been able to hear all 500 of those babies stirring and waking and looking forward to pillaging my brain. And spelling words like WITH NEW RADIANT ACTION and PIG. After I bolted upright, I swept him off my arm and onto the carpet in one deft motion which, frankly, I can’t believe I pulled off a mere .12 seconds after I was dreaming about chucking logs from one pile to the next with Carrot Top in the Adirondack mountains and singing ‘Dinah woncha blow? Dinah woncha blow? Dinah woncha blow your horororn?’. (?)
When he hit the carpet, the spider and I stared at each other. It was a Matrix moment, as I reached over his head to the nightstand to deftly grab the magazine. My plan? Smash the crap out of him using the rolled up pages of The New Yorker. It was touch-n-go for an agonizing few moments as he attempted to wrangle the magazine away from me but in the end, articles about fashion and upcoming events in New York won out. He was dead. I was panting. And the mangled New Yorker was never to be read again.
And then I peed on him. Isn’t that what everyone does? You scoop their bodies up with a tissue, throw them in the toilet and then realize you have to go pee? You don’t want to waste a flush. I think it might be a left over ritual from when we were cavemen and had to pummel our enemies with clubs. I’m sure we peed on them when we were done.
Broke the Cute-o-Meter
Heather, the only person on the planet that could inspire a kazzillion people to comment on how they pronounce Crayon, (cray-on, btw) posted pictures of Chuck eating the sprinklers.
MacGathering and SoHo Tech Show (again)
Anyone in the LA area and want to go? Joe and I are speaking.
New Tote
I have looked for months for a heavy-duty bag that will fit both my laptop and my camera. All the laptop bags I could find were just big enough to fit the laptop, horizontally, and never the camera. And the camera bags? Forget it. Backpacks won’t work because I don’t want my camera to be in a large, open area and get knocked around and I also don’t want the shoulder straps of a backpack.
So, I made my own. Dimensions 14.5″ W by 17″ L. I put a couple of waist bands together to get create a shoulder strap that measures 50″ so it hits me at about the waist. I like it. The laptop will fit vertically with enough room inside to hold the cables/battery. And the pouch on one side fits my camera perfectly. I use diapers from Roadwired on both, which I love, love, love, so they will have some padding.
I Don't Want One
I keep thinking I see spiders. Large spiders. With many legs. Tall legs. They turn out to be fuzz balls or pieces of tape left over from a birthday banner 6 months ago or I realize that I’m not a redhead and wake up. Although the one 4 inch long leg that was in the shower, all alone and obviously missing his 23 other sibling legs, that was totally real (verified by a real person not in my dream) freaks me out and somewhere in the house there is a large, hairy arachnid walking slightly off center and pulling to the left.
It may be time to look into medication.
In the grocery store checkout, I become aware that my club card is in my other purse or at home in the drawer. I’m the type of person that never gives them my real phone number because I’m paranoid that way, so there is no way to just type in my number. I decide to try Joe’s number. When that doesn’t work, I try random other people’s numbers that are in my phone. Obviously, they are all too smart to use their real phone numbers as well since none of them work. Meanwhile, the four people in line behind me begin to get restless.
(more…)
Ask Leahpeah
Hello Leah Peah,
I don’t get your new headline picture. I liked the other ones that I have seen. I liked the one with the trees. And the one with the hands. But this one? It looks like a calculator. What happened to telling everyone you are Leah the Peah?
A faithful Readher,
Shane
Dear Shane,
Well, I can see why you would be confused. It does look like a calculator. But, can I tell you what it really is? It’s a calculator. I KNOW! Can you believe it?
If you are a geek, and I’m guessing by the way you said ‘calculator’ that you aren’t one (because all of us geeks LOOOOOOOOVE to say calculator and pronounce it Cal-Cue-Lay-T-Her) you would have recognized that Leahpeah was spelled on the display, but upside down. My friends and I in 7th grade Lov-Huv-Huvved to spell words to each other during math on our calculators. Words like 7734 and 5318008 and 0.8537. (not that there’s anything wrong with that). You’re right, there’s not really a number to represent the letter P but I improvised with the number 5, since back in the day, we didn’t have the possibility of just adding in a P on a whim. Not like they do today with their leetspeak. We did it Old School, baby! And the dirtier the words, the better. But, although I appreciate the vote of confidence that goes along with a new title, I can’t say I’m comfortable with a ‘the’ in the middle of my name. And really, what is a the Peah, anyway?
Thanks for reading. Thanks for caring.
xo
Chuck and Pongo
Chuck of Howling Point has some really great shots of a UCSD and Air Force swim meet. Spectacular. He’s got some other pretty good shots, too, that show a wonderful slice of living in San Diego. His dog, Pongo, just had a birthday. It’s kind of eerie how similar their life lines are.
Tony's Charity Work
Tony is supporting a charity. What parent doesn’t love that? None.
Speaking of Boys in Cars
Alex and I were driving to pick Ty and Tony up from the gym where they go twice a week because their dad set them up with a personal trainer. Someday, they are both going to play for the NFL and in their speeches where they thank the little people in their lives, they’ll thank their dad for the large guns they sport on each arm thanks to their personal trainer when they were in 6th and 7th grade and then they’ll thank me for trying to remember to have Gatorade in the house.
Anyway, Alex and I had been talking about boys and makeup and how I’m #1 on her MySpace, just like we always do, when the van slid up to the curb. We stopped our conversation and waited for them to climb in. At first, I thought they were arguing about something that had happened during their training session. But as they climbed over the seat and hit me in the head with water bottles and shoes, I realized that they were just talking. Loudly. Very animated and over each other.
‘Finally!’ I thought. ‘They have bonded to the point that they can have deep conversations about things that really matter to them! They can be there for each other and back each other up. Give advice! They’ll always have each other!’ And I smiled and looked meaningfully at Alex so she would know that we should sit reverently and observe this wonderful moment. And here is what we heard:
“And – and then the one kids all ‘You don’t even know sucka!’ ”
“And then the guys all put up their sweatshirt hoods -”
“And you hear the voice say, ‘Then they slipped into Da Hood.’ ”
“And then the one cool guy -”
“He kinda twists his hat all side-to-side really fast and is all ‘Don’t make me go crazy, now!‘ ”
“And the other kids all (in a total gangsta voice) ‘Whazzup Run Nee One? Whazzup Die Ah Ree Ah?‘ ”
(laughing hysterically with each other)
(Alexandra and I exchange a look)
‘And so- and so then the close-up goes into the hands and it shows that symbol.’
(they slowly bring their hands towards each other and in unison chant)
‘Poop………………………….poop………………….poop…………….poop………….poop………poop
…….poop…..poop…poop..pooppooppooppooppoop.’
Yes. My sons were planning a movie short about poo. And it’s the only time I can think of that they were in total agreement with each other and had no conflict for an extended period of time. And so happy with themselves. Someday, it is conceivable that I will be invited to watch a film they have created together. And the subject of that film might be excrement. I will be so proud.
Things Related to Cars
1. Driving the other day, I saw a car, driver with a backwards baseball cap as the youth of today are wont to do, with an air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. The shape of the freshener was a fist with an extended finger. My thought and subsequent question to Joe: ‘What scent is F You?’
2. Saturday mornings mean GET UP AT THE BUTTCRACK OF DAWN AND TAKE THE BOYS TO THE TRACKMEET and I have to write it in all caps because that is what is feels like. I would prefer a whisper, but that is not to be had. While the boys are awake and actively talking about who’s little spirits they are going to stomp by slamming their record into the dirt, I endeavor to drive. Just drive. That is it. Please. I’ll just concentrate on the driving and occasionally sip from the cup that holds the Nectar of the Gods otherwise known as coffee. So, this past Saturday morning, it took me awhile to tune in and hear what Ty and Tony were saying. Nay singing. The song on the radio: Take a Picture by Filter. And here is what they were singing to me:
Please won’t you take our picture
So the flash will wake up mommmmm
Please won’t you take our pihihihicture
So the flash will wake up our mom
We don’t believe in coffee
We don’t believe in coffee
She’s going to crash our car
Good. Night!
Via Kottke: Bed Books. Oh, how many sad nights have I spent kinking up my neck because I just wanted to read ONE. MORE. CHAPTER. ‘Too Many!’ my out-of-alignment back screams. Now look what they have:
“The patent pending sideways text layout of Bed Books affords total comfort and eliminates the back and neck strain associated with the contorted body positions normally required for reading conventional books while lying down, and usually propped up, in bed.”
Sadly, the current selection for sale which includes Dracula, Pride and Prejudice and Tarzan is really not enough to keep me happy for long. But, I have every hope that more are on the way…..please?
Ask Leahpeah
Dear Leahpeah,
Do you have a favorite song? I love Amazing Grace. I humm it to myself when I’m feeling low and it helps lift my spirits. I’d love to know if you have one.
Sincerely,
Me (really, just me)
Dear Me (really, just you)
I would be hard-pressed to pick only one favorite song since music is my life (along with Dr. Pepper, reality TV, photos of my kids and painting), but one of my favorite songs is by Alanis Morissette called That I Would Be Good. Here are the lyrics:
That I would be good even if I did nothing
That I would be good even if I got the thumbs down
That I would be good if I got and stayed sick
That I would be good even if I gained ten poundsThat I would be fine even even if I went bankrupt
That I would be good if I lost my hair and my youth
That I would be great if I was no longer queen
That I would be grand if I was not all knowingThat I would be loved even when I numb myself
That I would be good even when I am overwhelmed
That I would be loved even when I was fuming
That I would be good even if I was clingyThat I would be good even if I lost sanity
That I would be good
Whether with or without you
xo
Good Morning
Get your coffee and go see zefrank’s show. So very, very good.
via Joe via Waxy.
