Let is snow...somewhere else.

Thursday night was a little busy for me and Katie.  Our friend Andrea and her husband were in town and we had been invited over for dinner at her parent's house.  And we were hosting book club afterwards.  And sometime during those activities we decided that Gina needed some quality Sister Time.  Now throw in packing and weekend-plans-and-responsibilities-adjusting and that made the night a late one.  By 5:30 the next morning we were on the road to Utah.  Adventure!

(Side note:  Growing up with my dad meant we always left on trips for Utah before the sun came up.  I think this hearkens back to the days when he was a kid and it used to take 20 hours to drive to Utah and you had to do it in an un-air conditioned car and you wanted to beat the heat of the desert.  Or he just likes getting up early and getting miles behind him.  Either way, it has been ingrained in us.  If you ever drive to Utah with me, I'm sorry, but we're leaving early.  I promise to bring good snacks and mixed CDs.) 

So I spent the weekend in Utah, doing things like: going to the BYU Singers concert which was good but long, more good than long, but still, long; making homemade Butterfingers, (it will freak you out how close these get to the real thing); taking naps while watching White Christmas; going to Five Guys for dinner (1st timer here.  I'm convinced.); visiting the other sibs and nephews and niece, who is, and I'm not even kidding here, the Cutest Sweetest Most Kissable Baby on the Planet; and going up to the Olympic Park in Park City where we were supposed to catch some bobsled races but missed it by like 10 minutes because the weather got too bad but we still got to see the athletes in their spandex man-pri uniforms.  The Swiss looked a little snooty.

Speaking of weather, maybe you don't know this but I think cold weather is for chumps.  And snow if for chumps with bad hair cuts.  When we got out of the car at Park City I very nearly rushed back in.  The wind.  Oh, the wind.  It was making the snow go all sideways.  And it wasn't pretty fluffy snow.  It was mini cannon balls of snow.  Ice pellets of mass destruction.

Guess what I'm saying in this picture as I'm standing in the snow and the cold and the wind:

Here, I'll help you.  I believe I was quoting Georgia, "WHAT IN THE NAME OF PANTS AM I DOING HERE?!?!?!"

This was me about 5 minutes later as we started marching into the wind towards the bobsled track:

10 seconds later I finally got smart and closed that top snap, making me all but invisible to the snow.

I will say this, snow is beautiful and this particular brand was perfect for snow balls, of which I made several.  But I am a delicate flower and could only handle about 20 minutes out in the elements.  The rest of our time was spent in the Olympic museum, where we watched highlights of the Salt Lake Games and I got totally pumped for the London Olympics (I want to start planning my Opening Ceremonies Party right this minute.)  We stopped off for some lunch when we got down the mountain, where it wasn't snowy but still cold and I noticed several people wandering around in shorts and flip flops, like they were in Maui or something.  I was aghast.  Particularly when a gust of wind came by that was so chilling it almost made me burst into tears.  When I asked Gina why people were dressed for the beach she said, "It's only 50 degrees."  I didn't want to hurt her feelings by insinuating she had lost her California roots but around these parts 50 degrees means you had better find your can opener and head down to the bunker because the end is nigh.

Confetti Gun!

Highlights from the Chino High School Band Review and Field Show Competition (which my sisters and I go to every year even though none of us were ever in band - we're just really big dorks and live for opportunities to cheer for people and eat snack bar food.)

1.)  During the parade one of the bands shot off confetti guns, instantly making them The Greatest Band There.  Those guns went off and every single person, young and old, shrieked in delight.  I wonder if they have little personal use sized confetti guns.  I think that would be fun to take into the bank.

2.)  We ate multiple things covered in nacho cheese.  WIN!

3.)  We always sit right in front of where the flag girls line up just before marching for the Rose Parade judges.  It is a joy to hear some of the things their coaches say to them, the best so far being, "Hands on hips, smiles on lips, ladies."  Which, of course, is my personal motto.  Also, we like to chat with the girls.  Well, not so much chat as say things like, "You look super sparkly,"  or "I love your hair extensions," or "We want to see some big smiles out there," as they're waiting to step off.  I like to believe it gives them that extra boost of confidence.

4.)  As usual we became best friends with everyone around us.  It's because we spread good cheer and crack jokes about flag girl costumes.  And we're loud.  We will not be ignored!  Anyway, we made friends with everyone around us including Charlene the 53 year old flight attendant who came by herself even though she didn't know anyone in the competition (or have a deep rooted family tradition of going) and started off the conversation by saying, "You girls are so funny.  I just came from a stand up class in Burbank and I've been listening to you and you're hilarious.  I came here to meet men but you can never have too many girlfriends."  She then spent the rest of the evening telling me about her glory days as a majorette and trying to convince us to come to another band competition in two weeks.  I told her that if she brought her baton and stormed the field I'd consider it.

"Don't put too much mustard on the hotdog, Captain"

The Fam spent the weekend up at Big Bear Lake.  It was, as anyone who knows my family can imagine, a 48 hour laugh riot.  Activities included playing games like Reverse Charades (no joke, folks, this is the Funniest Game I've Ever Played Period.), figuring out how to get the water on (we were at a friend's cabin and the city had turned the water off, unbeknownst to all of us), smoking out the game room by trying to light one measly fire, eating lots of ice cream cones, several trips down the Alpine Slide (weeeeeeee!!!!!), and watching Dad demonstrate yoga poses (could possibly rival Reverse Charades for funniest moment.)

In addition to all of that some of us took a boat tour around the lake.  This was notable for two reasons. 

1.) As we boarded the boat we noticed that a few people were a little over dressed.  There was an old woman in a fur coat.  Another with an enormous flower in her hair.  And a man dressed in a slick suit with one of those collarless dress shirts that I find so distasteful.  He was sitting near us and we kept calling him the Reverend.  Turns out we were right because halfway through the tour Captain Jack (really) announced that we were in for a surprise.  A couple was going to be married at the bow.  So we all headed out to watch the ceremony.  Super sweet.  It was just the two of them and their moms (Fur Coat and Flower Head), one of whom was totally surprised by it.  They exchanged rings that were still attached to those floating key chain contraptions.  And near the end a fisherman on a nearby boat must have caught something because he gave out quite a whoop.  It was joyous.

2.)  After the wedding we cruised back up the lake and passed by the town of Fawnskin (which years ago I visited and wrote about while lamenting about not having any friends with boats.)  Captain Jack asked if any of us remembered from earlier in the tour what the people who live there are called.  I was the only one to respond, "Fawnskinians." The captain was so excited that someone was actually paying attention that I decided to take advantage of the situation and ask if I could drive the boat.  Some of you may not even consider asking a captain if you can take the helm.  That just shows that some of you lack imagination.  One of the rules for a Life of Elegant Leisure and Grand Adventure is:  when given the opportunity to drive the boat, take it.  Who knows how many people you will impress when you open up a conversation with "So I was captaining a large vessel across Big Bear Lake..."  I am thrilled to report that he let me.  I made my way up to the wheelhouse and he handed me the captains hat and showed me how to keep her on course and continued on with the tour while I guided us to port.  After deftly avoiding running over a local fisherman I waved to the crowd to let them know everything was under control and Captain Jack (or, you know, my first mate) said possibly the best line all day, "Don't put too much mustard on the hotdog, Captain."  Which would become my life motto, except that I'm a firm believer in lots of mustard.  You don't get to wear the captains hat by skimping on the mustard.



Me, at the helm.





My boat.  A grander vessel there never was.



There will be camel rides for everyone at my wedding.

So I may or may not be engaged to a Berber date farmer. 
Tunisian Boyfriend:  check.

I took the train downtown by myself today and spent a few hours roaming around the Medina (more on that later) and after I grabbed some lunch (ordering food here seems to be an enormous ordeal so more on that later too) I decided to relax on a bench for a few minutes.  This was after I was relaxing on a bench not eating my lunch- that took half my life to order - because it was gross and a guy sat down next to me and would not stop speaking French to me.  Even after I told him I spoke zero French.  Through a series of pantomimes I figured out that his name was Mamadu, he was from Mali and played soccer here.  And once he found out that I was American he said, "Oh!  America!  Party!  You party?  Let's party sometime."  That was the only English he knew.  So I eventually left because it was exhausting trying to hold a conversation entirely in charades.

I found another bench a little ways down and another guy sat next to me.  Is it just me or in America isn't there the rule that you don't sit on a bench if someone else is sitting there and if there are other seating options, even if there is room?  I'm talking about the standard three-man bench.  I suppose it you're bleeding from the head or swooning from the heat and need a place to sit and call 911 you could ask to share a bench and even then you sit on the other end but I just don't see it happening very often at home.  It happens ALL THE TIME here.  (Just yesterday I was enjoying the solitude on a bench overlooking the sea and a man sat down and offered me half his sandwich.)  And they don't sit on the other end, they squeeze in right next to you - which this man did.  It was a three-man bench and another guy had already sat down on the other end and the new guy got comfy in between us.  He was wearing a suit and smoking a cigarette and he spoke a little English.  He started chatting with me - about where I was from, how long I had been in town, how did I like it so far.  He told me his name was Aziz, he was a Berber date farmer from down south in the Sahara and that he was on a week long vacation in Tunis.  And then he said, "I would be very happy if you would let me buy you a coffee."  I explained to him that (thankfully) I had to catch a train.  So I said good bye and got up and then he got up and started walking with me.  "It would make me very happy to walk you to your train."  Um...okay. 

So we start walking and we came to a street to cross (Sidenote:  cars don't stop for pedestrians here.  Ever.  Even when they have a red light.  It is a battle of wills to see who will stop first.  I've always won so far.) and he grabbed my hand, presumably to help me safely across the street because he recognized that I was 80.  I instinctively pulled my hand away and he asked what the problem was.  I explained to him that in America we don't hold hands to cross the street.  And yet he kept on trying, and we had to cross like 10 intersections.  I really do think it was him being the gentleman - he would wave at cars to stop for us and let me walk ahead of him.  So I wasn't too put off by it.  And I've noticed that everyone here does in fact hold hands.  Everyone walks arm in arm or with their arms draped across shoulders.  Men, women, boys, girls - everyone.  It's sweet.  Except when a stranger is trying to practice the local custom on you.

I evaded the hand holding for all 10 intersections, including a dangerously busy roundabout (I'll tell you sometime about how the Party Honda and I were accosted by a blue VW in a roundabout yesterday.) and I was seriously worried that he was going to insist on accompanying me home on the train and I was all set to karate chop him in the neck to get him to leave me alone.  The entire time we were walking he kept saying things like, "I would like to take you to the Sahara."  "You are very beautiful."  "Please come back to Tunis tomorrow so we can go for coffee."  To my great relief he stopped about 100 feet from the station and said how lucky he felt to have met me on his very first day in town and I thought I was home free...

And then he moved in for the kiss!

It is customary here to give a kiss on each cheek for hello and goodbye and I've had people do it to me whom I've just barely met.  So I was afraid this would happen but was hoping I would get out of it.  But he grabbed my hand and with lightening speed moved in and I seriously could not have turned my head any father to ensure that he got the cheek and not something else.  Because it certainly looked like he was aiming.

I broke free and booked it to the station, all the while wondering what constitutes an engagement amongst the Berbers.  If it's a casual conversation followed by a walk to a train station then I am in big trouble.

I realize that this is the type of story that TERRIFIES my parents.  Right now my mom is on her knees saying a prayer of gratitude that I was not carried off to live the rest of my life on a date farm.  So I would like to report to them that I never felt threatened or afraid and there were thousands of people around and he was nice enough, if not extremely forward, and I was serious about karate chopping him if he got too fresh. 

Although, Dad, just think of all the free dates you would get if it did work out.

So I mentioned that I would write about all the other things that happened today (and there were a lot, including another guy very passively hitting on me and I didn't even realize it.  I can't even get a date back home but here I'm Miss America.  Two men gave me their phone numbers today, for crying out loud.) but this is clearly too long already and you're probably bored to tears and I'm tired.  I'll tell you tomorrow.  Maybe.  Bronwyn and Chris are leaving for the weekend and I'll be left with the boys.  It could be pandemonium for a few days.  Especially when Henry figures out that they're gone.  He's a sweet, funny kid and I love him to bits but when something happens that he doesn't fully support he has a look that says, "You better run before I laser beam you with my eyes."

Poppies! Poppies!

There were a lot of festivals to choose from in these parts this weekend.

1.) The Upland Lemon Festival which, ironically, is severely lacking in lemon desserts. Last year we looked high and low for any kind of lemony treat and came up empty handed. I then came home and wrote a letter complaining about it to which I am still awaiting a reply. Look for me next year Uplanders, I plan on doing something about that.

2.) The LA Times Festival of Books. Lindsay and I went to this years ago and had the most horrifying bus trip. No, seriously. There was groping. We were stuffed shoulder to shoulder into a bus that transported us from the parking lot to the UCLA campus and it took us up this winding hill and we were surrounded on all sides by nothing but sweaty hair men and women in clothes covered in cat hair and on more than one occasion on that trip up the hill as we swayed and tilted dangerously close to the edge did I think, "So this is how I'm going to die."

3.) The Grilled Cheese Invitational. I learned about this one too late, otherwise I would have been there. I applaud excellence in grilled cheese sandwich making.

We skipped them all and opted for the California Poppy Festival in Lancaster (Far Far Away Land), primarily for the frolicking potential. Hundreds of acres of rolling hills covered in orange poppies demand an excess of frolicking. Camille, Liz and I went to the festival first and did the usual festival type stuff and then we headed out towards the poppy preserve.

We didn't actually make it there though. We got stuck behind a person driving 35 miles per hour in a 55 zone for about 10 miles and we just couldn't take it anymore so we pulled off the road. There were more than enough poppy covered hills for us to frolic in.

I don't know what the fine is for picking the state flower but I went ahead and risked it.

Drama in the Hood!

Last night from about 9:30 to 10:00 there was a police helicopter circling around my complex. And then about 5 minutes after it left I heard three guys down in the parking lot right below my window saying the following:

Hood #1: Dude! I saw you dodge all those cars! That was awesome!
Hood #2: Yeah, I totally thought you were going to get caught!
Hood #3: It was right before I hopped the fence.

Suspicious!!!!

So I call the cops and told them a few ne'er-do-wells were bragging about getting away with something and in a couple of minutes I heard:

"Stop! Police!" followed by lots of running and banging into the gates and some scuffling.

Yikes!

I, of course, was too chicken to go out, (and plus, I had already taken off my bra, and my rule is to never put it back on until morning unless we're being evacuated due to a plague of locust or something equally catastrophic.) But, there are a lot of members of my ward that live here. There are two families upstairs, one on the other side of our wall and several in the next building and we all heard it go down. So, naturally today in church there was a great meeting in the hallway to corroborate stories. I missed it because I was in Primary but Katie was part of it and learned that our neighbor to the west was roaming around the parking lot with a bat and our neighbor a few doors to the east and home alone with her wee small children was ready with a gun (!) (both of these neighbors are women by the way. Amazons!) and do you know where the punks were? RIGHT UPSTAIRS ON THE LANDING BETWEEN MY TWO NEIGHBORS!!!! That's where they were hiding out while the helicopter circled before they came down and boasted at full volume in the parking lot. Mindy saw them through the peep hole!

I think they were wanted for vandalism (although a police helicopter seems a little extravagant for tagging.) and they only caught one of them. I'm thrilled that we're all safe but I do have one regret. I didn't get to use my nun chuck skills on them. Next time.

Women of Adventure and Spare Time

Heather and I are Women of Adventure and Spare Time so she called me up to see if I wanted to do something fun. She didn't have anything in mind so I gave her a couple of suggestions. One was to go down to San Diego to pick up sailors. It was the obvious choice.

We stopped off in Carlsbad to see the Flower Fields. It's 50 acres of ranunculus. Don't believe me? Behold:



and



and also



How about two more? Because they're pretty.

They're all planted on a hill overlooking the ocean. It's a bit dreamy.

We were slightly bummed that we missed the Red Hat Lady's Day/Style Show by one day but relieved that we missed the craft fair because while we are Women of Adventure and Spare Time we are also Women on Budgets with Very Few Discretionary Funds Who, Alas, Are Highly Susceptible to Hand-crafted Jewelry.

By the time we left the sun was finally breaking through the clouds and we spent the rest of the day down on Coronado, wandering around the restricted-to-guests areas of the Hotel Del Coronado (I love that Heather is willing the ignore signs with me) and eating ice cream cones on the beach. It was a perfect day, despite our lack of sailors at the end of it

I need a Catholic friend

The last time Lindsay went to Olvera Street she was a vegetarian which means that she missed out on the taquitos. Which is a shame. She wanted to go back and since I'm a Woman of Elegant Leisure she invited me to come along with her. We decided to make a downtown LA adventure of the whole thing.

So we drove to Union Station and hopped on the red line to Pershing Square then walked over to the Bradbury Building. I've always wanted to see inside.




Only tenants are allowed to use the really cool elevator so my plan is to convince my Wealthy Benefactor to lease an office there for me just so I can go up and down all day long.

Then we headed over to Angels Flight and spent 25 cents on a ride to the top.




It's been closed since 2001 after someone died on it (!) but it opened up again last month. It's a fun little ride and if you're in the neighborhood you should try it out.

Then we walked over to the Disney Concert Hall and got our real workout for the day by walking up A LOT of stairs. But so worth it because it's like you're walking inside a steel flower.

The Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels is just down the street so we decided to have a look inside. And, lucky day, a mass was going on! I've always wanted to go to a mass. We sat in for a while and watched them kneel and stand and kneel and stand. Have I told you my fascination with Catholics? The mass only made them more alluring to me. How do they know when to stand and when to kneel? How do they know what to say and when? Who was that random woman who got up to recite something while holding onto her purse? How come there are so many statues you can kneel and pray in front of? What is the purpose of lighting a candle? Can someone explain the different levels of the priesthood to me like what is a monsignor and how does he differ from a bishop or a priest? Are they all priests? Clearly I need to get myself a Catholic friend. Any takers? I promise to answer all your Mormon questions in return.

After mass we headed down stairs to the mausoleum. And look who we found:




Atticus Finch!

We eventually did make it down to Olvera Street for taquitos and horchata and churros - which, if you're wondering, is the Perfect Lunch.

Thanks for the adventure, Linds. You're kind of fun.

We Danced with Ellen

I went to a taping of the Ellen show yesterday (which is airing today. Look for me waving over the heads of the tall people standing in front of me in the very very very back) with Camille, Allison and Lydia*, and here is what happened:

1.) We danced A LOT. After waiting in the holding area across the street in the parking garage for 2 hours they finally moved us into the studio and started us dancing. For like 30 minutes. Which, I have to say, is loads of fun. But also sweaty because you're dancing under hot studio lights. So all the preparation for possible camera sightings went out the window.

2.) LL Cool J blinded me with his super muscly arms. Knights of Columbus. If the camera adds 10 pounds his arms will look like tree trunks on TV. And I'm not talking about oaks or elms. No. Sequoias.

3.) Serena Williams came out and proved that the camera does indeed add 10 pounds because she is much smaller than she looks on TV. This could also be because she's normal sized and every one she competes against is a Russian stick figure.

4.) Ellen tried to convince us to go off of sugar. Fat chance.

Here's what didn't happen:

1.) We didn't go home with anything. I haven't watched a lot of her show but in the ones that I have seen she gives things away. And not just boxes of Rice-a-Roni, but good things like Wiis and iPods. While we were waiting down in the parking garage they showed us previous episodes wherein she gave tons of stuff away. So let's just say our expectations were high that we would get something. Anything. And yet, we left with nothing. And let me tell you, the people were bitter. We all walked out with sad, disappointed looks on our faces and I think that had we not spent the last hour and a half dancing like maniacs we would have had the strength to storm the offices and revolt.

*Lydia is Swiss and Allie, Camille and I are of Swiss decent which means that chocolate and cuckoo clocks magically appeared on the dashboard on our drive out to Burbank.