Undecided

I am all in love these days with the mother-daughter team of Barbara and Shannon Kelly, who have a blog and forthcoming book called "Undecided." It's about "analysis paralysis, grass is greener syndrome, longing for the road not traveled: How the success of the women’s movement has left us stumped in the face of limitless options — and how to get over it."

When I met Shannon at a writer party, I felt like she'd put into words all the things I'd been feeling but couldn't quite grasp in language. If I could have it all -- marriage, children, career -- why wasn't I doing any of it very well? It has taken me this long, well into my 40licious, to get around to the marriage part, and hopefully soon, the child. I will spare you the long psychological navel gazing at this point. Let me just say that they are right on and always tackle something of interest to women of a certain generation.

Anyway. Go over there and read yourself some Kelly women.

Three Weeks Later

The wedding was above all expectations. Most of the Very Important People we love showed, and I was blown away by the generosity and sweetness of our families and friends. There was food and music and tears and remembrances from all my parents (I was a little surprised to count up how many moms and dads I have, but really, there's an astonishing amount. I think this is necessary for a child raised by Me Generation parents, but that is another topic altogether).

It has been a jammed three weeks. We came back from Oregon down the coast. So much driving, so much checking out at 11 wondering about bedbugs, so much fish & chips, so much looking at world and nature framed by the passenger window. Home, and then laundry. And then cycling out old stuff with "our" stuff from very generous family and friends. And dog training and a magazine article due way too soon and why aren't I working on it RIGHT NOW?

Because this is a long-winded way of telling you that I am back. That I LOVED being a bride and wouldn't have changed it for anything in the world. But I need my blogs. I need my life beyond staring down a Very Good Job. I need Wednesday night dinners at my beloved in-laws. I need my Sundays for sewing and yoga and napping. I need to remember who I was and justify keeping my name for professional reasons.

I missed you. I need you.

You Have to Be Married in Order to Get Married

My girlfriend Alison has been obsessed with weddings since she was a little girl. For me, it was notsomuch marriages, I think, but the ceremony and all that surrounds the jumping-off point of a union. Alison recently opened her business as a wedding photographer, and it's clear that she still holds tremendous passion for her work. She's made the fairy tale into something else more real and meaningful to her.

On New Year's Eve, after a raucous party at my house that involved fun neighbors, riverdancing and rum balls, Stevie and I decided aloud as we drifted off to sleep, that we want to be together. For a very very long time. No proposal, mind you. Just lots of conversations about logistics, proposals, rings, money, adoption, families -- none of which are simple in our situation. With each of those difficult reality checks the fairy tale in my head disappears a little bit more. See, here's what I was thinking:

1. Somehow, telepathically, Steve receives the picture of the $30,000 pink diamond ring I would want on my finger and goes out to find one like it, or have one made, with some money that magically appears.
2. I have completely put the idea of marriage or a proposal out of my mind, and instead concentrate on my new blog, and sewing, and learning to use my new camera.
3. I am so completely absorbed in my creative work and so happy with the way things are, that I am BLOWN AWAY by his surprise proposal which is in a sublimely beautiful spot, probably Seal Beach, where we had our first date. Some strangers happen to witness the proposal. They also happen to be Greek and run a restaurant. They are so overcome with joy for us that they usher us in and we dance and break plates together until it is late and we are all tired and a little drunk off all the Ouzo and Retsina (which, miraculously, does not make me throw up), and we are in such a perfect state of happiness that I think that if I were to die in 10 minutes, it would be OK because I have reached the apex of happy.
4. Steve, my big sparkly pink diamond ring, Lubelle the Dog and I find a GREAT house on the beach for $800. It's tight but cozy, and we have room for the child we're adopting.
5. As soon as we're settled and the colors have been chosen, we get a call from the Agency. A birth mother wants to meet us! We go and it's great, and look, there's a baby who, miraculously, looks EXACTLY like us.
6. Me, Steve, the baby who looks EXACTLY like us, Lubelle the Dog and my big sparkly pink diamond ring live happily ever after. And his other kids come around and we all hang out and do crafts and cook dinner together. And I am so peaceful and happy that I create a succession of projects that make us rich, rich, rich. And Apple licenses a song from Steve's band from 20 years ago that's featured in a commercial, and it goes viral, and they go on a reunion tour and become huge hit, and he's doing music instead of putting time in where we work.

But I know that won't happen. Because that's why they are called fairy tales. I think we aim as close as we can get, and then must set ourselves up to be surprised and delighted by what we get. Which, more often than not, is your own unique version of truth that far surpasses anything anyone else could have written for you.

NEW NEW NEW

I want everything new. I want a new life and new breath in my home and new body and new hair.

But tonight I will settle for an appointment with Sue Ann on Tuesday for highlights, and playing with my site. What do you think of the new logo? GREAT help from All Adither.

My New Guilty Pleasure

The family that blows together ...

If you're 40licious, you might be able to contribute more hilarity such as the above to AwkwardFamilyPhotos.com.

DO NOT CLICK

I like to think of myself as a savvy shopper. Up on my consumer issues and always getting the best deal on this or that. So as I'm taking advantage of our fine President's directive to renegotiate mortgages for my properties, I'm naturally curious about my credit score. I'd heard you can get a yearly free credit report.

So I went to freecreditreport - dot - com (I don't want any of you darling people to click on the link accidentally) and ordered my report, all fine and good.

And two days later, I see a charge on my bank account. That I never authorized.

It took me two calls and a conference with a supervisor to get my "membership" removed. They made it difficult and like it was MY problem.

I since learned that the legit place to go for this is www.annualcreditreport.com. it is TRULY free.

But my story doesn't end here. I deal with consumer reporters on a regular basis as part of my job, and I've become quite friendly with some of them. So I took my rage, typed it up in some emails, and sent it along and asked that each one of them, who works for either a major metropolitan newspaper or TV station, warn their audiences about this dirty scam.

There are two things that I realized:

1. It's so easy to give up on something like this, and let that $15 slide. For every one person who fights the charge, there are probably 100 who don't. Those predatory businesses are cockroaches that must be squashed.
2. Never, ever, mess with someone who has consumer reporters' numbers plugged into her phone.

In other news, today I received a press release from someone named Michael Wangbickler. I just thought that was funny.

As much as I want to jump off Facebook every time somebody does something I don't understand, like send me a sea garden creature or pelt me with a virtual snowball, cool people from the woodwork of my past tap me on the shoulder and I'm so happy to hear from them and then I relent and dig out pictures from my prom or whatever. Not like I'm a difficult person to find.

For those of you who don't face the Face, here's a video that explains it in real terms. For those of you who do, you will again realize the absurdity of it all. (Thanks, my friend and co-conspirator, Don at Open Trench!)

My New Blogging Challenge - One Year Ago Today

OK, here's a new blogging challenge -- post an email you sent or received one year ago today (or to whenever the date is that you posted). Here is mine from last Nov. 10, in response to someone who had her first Craigslist experience and wondered about the veracity of the seller.

Yes, he sucks bigtime and is trying to scam you. Also, send to Craig and let them know about it. Be careful!!!!

I’ve bought and sold thousands of dollars of stuff on Craigslist and the usual transaction is:

1. Post the item, say it’s a bike.
2. Someone responds and comes over to see said bike.
3. They decide to buy and PAY CASH. Do not ever accept anything other than cash. If they don’t have it all on them, take a CASH deposit.
BONUS STEP: The customer will try to bargain down. If this is your first showing and you’ve already gotten some other emails or calls of interest, tell them: “You know, I’d be open to bargaining if it doesn’t sell in a few days. I’ve got some other people looking and I know it will sell at full price. Would you like me to take your number?” The customer usually has enough cash on them to pay full price if they’ve already come to see you. 99.9% of the time you will get your price if the person’s already in the house.
4. They pay you. You write out the receipt and keep a copy for both of you. Even better, type and print out two copies before they get there.
they leave
5. You pocket cash
6. You blow half of it on margaritas with your girlfriends
7. You all decide to get tattoos with a secret symbol, something like Hello Kitty
8. You spend the rest of the cash at the tattoo place
9. You drink more margaritas on your credit card
10. You go back to the tattoo place. The guy had bad skin, but really nice eyes.
11. You wake up at 5 a.m. at Tattoo Guy’s place, when his roommates come home from their gig.
12. You look in mirror and think “why the fuck do I have Hello Kitty on my neck?”
You go into the bathroom and find the Tom’s of Maine toothpaste, spread some on your finger and simulate brushing.
13. You make out some more with Tattoo Guy, steal his vintage Motley Crue tee, and head home.
14. You decide to go for a bike ride. Holy crap! Someone stole your bike!
15. You call police.
16. Officer arrives. He has only gray, jumbled-up teeth, but really nice skin.


Hope this helps!

Love,

Vanessa

Let me know if this works for you!

40licious and a half

Lesson #7, above. Lucy didn't get a say in this executive decision.

I've been 40licious for six months. It's been amazing, really, the journey to here, so far. The best way to mark it, I think, is to outline 20 things I've learned since I got to this point.

1. Sometimes you just have to let things go. Take the high road, especially when ego is involved. Mine or otherwise.
2. Sometimes you can't figure out the route to the high road until after you've passed it, and by then it's just a faraway squiggly blue line on a map.
3. Dogs and egg yolks: No.
4. PMS is kind of like some weird sneaky parasite demon that makes you do all kinds of whacked-out stuff. It's just best to schedule around it.
5. It pays to buy good face cream. I am particularly fond of Kiehl's Abyssine Cream SPF 23 for day, and Dr. Andrew Weil for Origins Plantidote serum and cream before bed.
6. It's OK to tell your shrink you're not coming back. Very liberating, actually.
7. In terms of furniture, less is more. I got rid of my rugs and love how my floor looks now.
8. Try something new that makes you uncomfortable. I took an art class last weekend from the lovely Tinkerbellian Annie Wharton and I feel like my life has changed. She unlatched a new door for beauty and truth. Now if I can just nail F on the guitar ...
9. Good work follows you and pays you back when you least expect it.
10. Family is everything. There is nobody I'd rather be with, now that I understand the proper dosage. They have the basic dossier on you and love you all the more for it.
11. Better to spend $3,000 on an amazing trip that you'll remember for the rest of your life than do some stupid stock gamble with the money.
12. Never, ever trust your instincts on the stock market.
13. There is an intrinsic irony in making jam: Fruit ripens at the hottest time of the year, and you have to be standing over a hot stove for hours to make it. There's really no way out of that one.
14. I would put my hard-earned principles aside if it meant that someone else would be deeply, deeply hurt. Kind of like the Dalai Lama would do.
15. You will really only eat half as much popcorn as you think you will. Just get the small.
16. There is great liberation in not having to be right all the time.
17. There is power in stillness and silence.
18. When you love a book or find it particularly useful, buy at least five copies of it and give it away.
19. It costs about $50,000 to adopt a child, $20,000 to go through the state system and get one that's hard to place, and $100 (or more if you serve good tequila) to throw a last-man-standing dinner party.
20. Republicans can be cute and funny and charming and even big-hearted. In fact, this whole political labeling thing makes absolutely no sense. One of my dearest friends, who considers herself an "R," is socially liberal but fiscally conservative. I consider myself a "D," and I am socially liberal and fiscally conservative. So, um ... I guess we're voting for the same person.

Today Now!: How To Pretend You Give A Shit About The Election

Surrender to the Freckle

I write so much about other people, that it's sort of a shock to see when someone writes about me. It's happened a few times, like when my play was up in Seattle, and I had all kinds of adoring journalists calling me for the lowdown on the body-image thing. I think I was professionally happiest then.

I've recently come upon my ex-boyfriend's blog. I hold my breath with a voyeuristic caution, reading about his life now, since there's barely been a word between us since we split last fall. I'm surprised he frequently mentions whiskey, because I could hardly get him to drink a glass of cabernet with me. I wonder who the fresh-faced young things are in the pictures under the "friends" section of his MySpace page. (22? Honestly???!!!) I am reminded of his talent and beauty with words sung and written, and regret that I didn't get to see more of that when he lived here. His 20-second interpretation of our 12 or so years, weaving in and out of each other's lives:

I was working as a dinner host and a night auditor at the time, at a Hotel across town called The Red Bull Inn. It was owned by Paul Gimbel who was described to me years later, by the mother of one of my life's great loves, as the black sheep of the Gimbel family. Gimbel of Macy's and Gimbel's that is. The very same. Colleen had dated him back in the late Fifties when she was a globe hopping, jet setting, prima ballerina of the Milan stage and a fledgling film star who had managed to land a couple of small dancing roles in American films by Italian directors. This was before she met the strikingly handsome Patrick McGrady and married him and gave birth to a beautiful daughter, Vanessa, with whom I was to fall impossibly in love at first glance many years later when I witnessed her reading Dorothy Parker poems at an open mic in Port Townsend Washington. Life is just a little peculiar sometimes, no? I was to spend most of my thirties and half of my forties in love and incompatible with this vision in red hair and black leather, with porcelain skin, legs up to her hips and bodacious curves impossible to fathom without the sound of your own blood rushing through your ears. Truth be told, I love her still…as long as we're not in the same room. Every Italian boy surrenders to the freckle at some point in his life.

Sigh. And I think every freckle has surrendered to the horn of Fortuna ... at least a couple times.

40licious Hall o' Fame: Fun With Pop Rocks

The link isn't quite working directly; search for "Liquid Muse" on the site and pick "alcohol-free cocktails." You'll be glad you spent that extra four seconds.

I hereby initiate another rockin' person into the 40licious Hall o' Fame: My good friend Natalie Bovis-Nelsen, aka The Liquid Muse. There are several reasons I could have previously put her right in there. She's clasped on so tight to her mission to make a living as a cocktail writer/blogger and it's actually happening for her. She held her own with those icky pigs on the Tom Leykis show yesterday. But what really tipped the balance, for me, was that she invented a drink featuring Pop Rocks.

I remember hearing that Mikey died from ingesting, simultaneously, Pop Rocks and Coke. If I ever decide to off myself, that's how I'm going down. And don't try to stop me.

The Funniest Four Minutes of My Week

Oh. My. God.

The worst (and possibly best) voice mail message ever.

I don't know who this Olga is, but I love, love, love her for making this public. Break.com, the site that hosts this message, implies that Dimitri is a "douchebag," but dear 40licious readers, I think we can do better. I mean, who uses those, anyway? They're not very good for you because they disturb the body's natural Ph balance.

I can't stop howling. Even though it is not in the kindest and most compassionate way.

God. Oh my God. Please bless Dimitri and Olga.

Blogistics

We do a lot of things wrong in this country. We imprison people without a fair trial. We promote senseless consumerism and encourage hard-working folks to sink deeper into debt. We have a million different kinds of ways to veil all our -isms. But one of the things that makes me proudest as an American is our First Amendment. It is my favorite. I have defended it on TV, radio and in print. I held a job at a controversial publishing house not because I thought that more people should learn how to make methamphetamines, but because I will defend to my death anyone's right to read about whatever they want. My father was president of the ASJA in the '70s, and as little kids we'd wear red pins that said "I read banned books" on them. Like "Tom Sawyer."

I am hard-wired on the Freedom of Speech, and Freedoms of the Press. I will not budge on that. I won't curtail my own writing just because someone does not agree with me, or is offended by my subject matter.

It has come to my attention that people are upset about the things I've written in this blog. Honestly, I am sorry that whatever I've said causes discomfort to anyone. But people who don't like it simply shouldn't read it. There. That's easy.

And here's a hint: The best thing you can do for a blogger is read her stuff and send it around to friends and family. That ups the hit count. So to everybody who's got their panties in a twist, thank you. Keep on checking in!

A Life, Unraveled

Blogging: How much do we say? Whose privacy do we sacrifice? What's best left as veiled metaphor?

Read this excellent piece by Emily Gould in the NYT Magazine.