Thursday, June 26, 2008

Yeah, that's some nice ... hair

Sitting around with my husband's dad always results in the telling of some interesting tales on his part. Most recently, as a widower of two years, he's been baffled by the attention from females who likely find his story sad and irresistible. He does have a mustachioed, aging Tom Selleck thing going on. Anyway, a woman he works with has been asking him to take her on a motorcycle ride. He's been putting it off. The other day, she flipped open her cell phone and said, "Let me show you what I used to look like with long hair." Brendan's dad obliged and peered at the phone's screen, where he beheld his coworker in a negligee, one breast completely exposed.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Pleasure reading

Life is a bit strange right now -- school is taxing my brain, B's grandma is ill, and he's being expected to work nonstop for some abhorrent slave drivers -- so I thought I'd just steal a link I saw on the Beehive today for a New York socialite's blog. So far it's highly engrossing and I am SO going to order calling cards.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Back to School

So I ended up picking a Statistics class rather than a math class, which... hell. I've taken both the math and the statistics so it's not as if the material is new, it's just that it's been several years since I took either class and this time I really, really shouldn't flunk.
For the past several weeks I've been receiving messages from the universe that have been telling me now is the magical time to take this class. The registration process was absurdly simple, I've had no trouble with parking or purchasing of necessary materials, the professor is my age and is something of an Asian nerd-hippie. Everyone I tell about the class is very encouraging. Yesterday, on my first day of class, it was even spelled out for me. Signs posted around the campus read: "We're proud of you."
Thank you, campus. Thank you very much.

Monday, June 16, 2008

Father's Day

"Church is not a house for saints, it's a hospital for sinners." - my dad.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

The Age Old Battle

I was pretending not to listen to a conversation between a mother and her daughter who were mere feet away in another hospital bed. The daughter was spoon feeding her mother liquids.
"I'm 10 years older than her," the mother said, talking about Brendan's grandmother, who was directly across from her in a hospital bed of her own.
"How old is she?" the daughter asked her mother.
"But you're 78."
The conversation lagged. More liquids were slurped.
The mother caught my eye. "Is that your grandmother?"
"She's my husband's grandma," I replied.
"How old is she?" the mother asked.
Looks like Emilie wins another round of "Who's the oldest person in the room?"

Thursday, June 12, 2008

I have 4 words for you

This is one of my favorite things EVER. This is Steve Ballmer, CEO of Microsoft. You may have seen it, but it's hard to get tired of it.

Monday, June 09, 2008


A while ago, I blogged about being a passenger in my husband's car during an autocross. Now, thanks to the video camera we recently purchased, you, too can experience it.

Norcal UFO Autox 2007 Mini Cooper S from Hubs on Vimeo.

Sunday, June 08, 2008

The looming 30s

Last night was an old friend's 30th birthday party. Someone made her a cupcake tower and plopped two candles in two cupcakes. One said "3." The other said "0." As, in "30."

I met my friend in Ms. Alden's fourth grade class, so we remember when each other's birthday cakes said, "9." It's hard to fathom that we are celebrating 30th birthday parties now, 21 years later.

The whole stigma of turning 30 is a strange one. It's apparently when your life begins to end and you begin aging rapidly. People buy you demeaning birthday cards (I am no exception. The one I gave my friend said: "I believe everything in life happens for a reason. For example, people turn 30 because the fun part of their life has ended.") and joke gifts like denture adhesive and adult diapers. People have lengthy discussions about the difficulty of turning 30, compared to turning 29 or 35 or 40. People start talking about 30 being "the new (insert age here)."

My self-described MILF friend, whom I have also known for 22 years, states that 30 is the new 20. Some say 50 is the new 30. I'd better hit the treadmill and the leafy greens if 50 is going to feel anything like 30.

I have the possibly good fortune of being the youngest of my original crew of friends. I won't turn 30 until October, whereas the eldest have been 30 since December 2007. I've spent much time in my 29th year pondering 30 and repeatedly feeling that I can't be three decades old, when it's just barely yesterday that I graduated from high school.

Thursday, June 05, 2008

Glory days

Today an old friend from high school requested to be my "friend" on MySpace. She describes herself as a MILF and her profile picture is a view of her tush.

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Back to the Future

I was sitting in one of those stereotypical college counselor-type offices, amidst outdated technology, a telephone that was probably the newest thing after they figured out how to make button phones instead of rotary phones, books from floor to ceiling and photographs of -- presumably -- a man's wife, who, in one photo, wore an actual bonnet. Like Little Bo Beep.

"You put it off until the last minute, hoping it would go away," the counselor remarked about the math class I will be signing up for. "My brother used to eat his peas last, hoping an earthquake or something would come along and he wouldn't have to eat them."

I just laughed. I have put this math class off for about 5 years. The amount of time it has actually been escapes me. I don't remember what year it was when I was supposed to have graduated. I just remember graduating and then thinking I was finished. I moved away to start my new job and new life and then got a nasty-gram from San Jose State in the mail letting me know I wasn't finished, after all. For a while, I was content to be one of those people who has one class left to complete before they receive their degree. One of those people who other people shake their heads in disbelief at. There are people I know who never had the opportunity to go to college because something happened. Life intervened. Children arrived, who knows what. They don't understand me, either.

But here is what I was thinking.

I went to that bloody college for so long and they won't give me my lousy degree? That esteemed institution doesn't think a C-minus in Statistics is good enough for a Journalism major with a minor in Poli Sci? Well they can sit and spin. I'll be damned if I give that godforsaken place another dime so that I can wither in some 1960s era classroom under fluorescent lights while some math prick drones on about quadratic equations and my soul eats itself alive. Yeah, I was a little pissed.

And then something happened. Several school-free years flashed by. My crappy memories of college faded into the background and the better ones rose to the surface. One day, a friend of mine was turned down for a job because she doesn't have a degree. So, I begrudgingly emailed my old counselor at State. She still works there but has been promoted. I was told I still need to take a math class. I found one at San Jose City that qualifies, although it's a bit much, with its lengthy title, something about trigonometry, calculus and algebra. The process of registering for the class ended up being absurdly more easy than I remember it ever being at State, probably fate's way of telling me The Time Has Come To Finish This Shit.

So for about a month this summer, starting Monday, I will be in class four nights a week, for three hours at a time, learning math. I hereby promise to try to not let the jungle drums get to me when the math prick who's droning on in front of the classroom starts talking about stuff I don't get. I promise to try not to be a bitch to my husband when I'm angry that instead of watching "The Bachelorette," I'm learning about isosceles triangles for the 40th time. I promise to try to finally, actually graduate. And if that happens, I promise that there will be a party. Oh yes. There will be. A. Party.

Monday, June 02, 2008

An Open Letter To Clay Aiken

Dear Clay,

We know you are gay. This is an indisputable fact. Our gaydar is flapping off the charts every time you appear on the TV screen. You are gay and there has practically never been anyone gayer. Here's the deal, though, dude. We don't effing care that you are gay. The only reason we feel compelled to bring it up is because you so adamantly deny it, and it's so obvious that you ARE! Well, I for one have had enough. You wear makeup. You claim to be celibate. You are spawning a child through artificial insemination. You look more and more like Liza Minnelli every day.

So, Clay, please. Embrace your gay-itude. Be as gay as you can be -- which, could you be more gay? It's arguable. But seriously. If you don't just let all your gayness hang out, I fear you're in for real trouble. You're heading the way of the Boy Georges and the Michael Jacksons of the world (which -- Michael Jackson did the artificial insemination thing, too! Need I say more?). Soon you'll be wearing strange hats and dangling your quasi-children from hotel balconies and keeping your "friend" chained to the radiator for a weekend and it will all seem completely normal to you.

Please come out. Save some face while you still can.



Revelation for the Day

I've decided, as of about 10 minutes ago, that almost everyone is a little bit of a genius. There's something everyone can do that is so perfect and special that it is pure genius, whether it's just batting their eyelashes or driving their car or putting together a budget at work or singing a song or making a meal. We've all got something about us -- and perhaps multiple tiny things! -- that are pure genius. When you see someone react in a perfect way to someone else, just remember -- that's genius in action you are witnessing!