Monday, April 25, 2011
I've also learned not to waste an opportunity. There have been too many times in the past where I've wanted to do something and I've worried how it might look. Now, I'm all about what I want to do and I don't care how it looks. That's right people, I've said it. It's all about me. Just in case you didn't hear that I'll say it again. It's all about me. And the fun. Don't forget that part. It's always all about the fun. Quite often people forget to enjoy themselves. They worry too much. So relax people and take in the sights. They're all around you.
We met some friends at a bistro in L.A. over the weekend. Had a great time. We always do. After we left, we were walking down the street and saw this little gem of a sign. Really? Best meat on a stick? Award winning food and yet the sign had to brag about the meat sticks? I couldn't pass this up. I've been known to get in trouble for taken pictures. Yes, I've gotten yelled at before. I wasn't sure if this restaurant would be too keen on me snapping pictures of their excellent promo but I didn't care. I was throwing caution to the wind. I took my chances and got down on that sidewalk. Mike captured me and the meat sticks in our glory. It was a double win. For me, because I got my picture. For the meat sticks well, you can read how they favored.
Always be on the lookout. You never know what you'll find. And when you least expect it, those little beauties will fall right into your lap. And I'll be there with my camera.
The time had come. Finally we were ready to go. I could barely contain my excitement. I was hopping around, bouncing in the car, moving to the music. Go, go, go. When we got there Mike had to hold my hand so I wouldn't run off, just bouncing down the street. I wanted to get to the Grand Club. We were so excited. Last year we took our oath - a few members of our team vowed that we would raise enough money to make sure that we got into the Grand Club. Ah, The Grand Club. Wait, I don't think that sounded good enough so let me try again. I mean, THE GRAND CLUB. This is for walkers who raise more than $1000. It was pretty cool. No, actually, it was freakin' fan-tab-ulous.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Like many people, I am a mutt. I have many different backgrounds. Spanish, Cuban, French, German, Polish and Scottish. I'm not ashamed to admit that I favor some of these heritages over the other. For those of you that know me, you know that I'm way more biased in the French section. I don't know why. I've always been obsessed with France. Nothing personal, it's just the way it happened.
However, my goal has always been to visit all of the countries that are part of me. Yes, even Poland. I'm halfway there. France, Scotland & Germany. Check, check & check. It's not my fault that I keep returning to my favorite. Spain was next on the list but life got in the way & I haven't been able to make it. Cuba is high up there but, well, you know how that goes. Someday. Even though I kept returning to France, I will admit I loved Scotland. Everything about it. Well, almost everything.
When I got to Edinburgh I was fascinated by everything I saw. The churches, the bed and breakfasts, the buildings, the castles - it was all so picturesque. I took my time strolling everywhere. I didn't care if it was misting or sunny, I strolled along the streets and took pictures of everything. The best part were the bagpipes. They had bagpipers playing in the squares just like we had musicians playing in the subway in NYC only this sounded so much nicer. I would sit on a bench and listen for what seemed like hours. It was so peaceful and relaxing. There was even a scotch factory.
Now I thought this was pretty cool. Take a tour, get a free drink. Nice. I thought I would take the tour but I'm beginning to remember that perhaps I didn't. I had yet to sample scotch. At this point I was beginning to think it was a good thing. There must have been a reason I didn't take that tour. I continued on. I went to a restaurant where my waiter, who looked like Luis Sojo of the NY Yankees, insisted that I try scotch on the house. He said I couldn't come to Scotland and not try scotch. Um, yes I could. But I couldn't insult him. And hey, how weird was it to hear faux-Luis Sojo speak with a cool Scottish accent? I kept seeing him with his Yankees pinstripes. Out came my scotch. I took a sniff. I almost died. Really I did. I was alone, no one to go to bat for me. I had to drink it. Ugh. I was polite. I smiled and thanked him. I pretended it was good. It was then that I realized not all was great in Scotland.
And now we were back to that night. All the bottles were lined up for tasting. No, I did not partake in the band-aid fest. I was the "pourer". All of the guys were pretty excited to be trying so many different scotches. There were 11 different labels lined up on the counter. I made sure after each pour to wipe my hands on the towel. I couldn't chance an accidental lick of the finger.
By the end of the night the guys were in a scotch induced haze of happiness. They had their favorites. I was still in awe. Mike is jealous of my Scotland story. He wants to go to Scotland and tour the factory and see all the different scotches up close in the homeland. I'm all in for a return trip. I'd love to hear those bagpipes, see the castles, tour the haunted underground vaults again and of course go shopping. But as for the scotch? I say buy a box of Johnson & Johnson and save yourself a couple hundred bucks and suck away. Same taste, cost less.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Where shall I start. Ah yes, the hair. For years I've had to deal with that fact that I would be going grey. When I say for years I mean that. I'm talking since I was 9. My Nana, who I got my red hair from, used to tell me that I would be completely grey by the time I was 25. I don't think she was trying to scare me. Well, maybe she was but she was only speaking from experience. She went grey by this age and figured I would too.
Thankfully she was wrong. Not to say I haven't found grey hair. Actually those little buggers are white and while I am far from completely covered I definitely have more than I would like. Especially when the sun hits them. Ok, and when you lift my hair. But they are there. I swear. I have mentioned before that I have found my exact shade of hair color in that genius of a hair master, Frederic Fekkai. Which leads me to my first cautionary tale:
Cautionary Tale #1: When you find your exact shade, make sure you always stick with your exact shade.
Ah, yes, sometimes, in desperation, we do stupid things. I did a stupid thing. Look, the grey was creeping in. Creeping in fast. I was desperate. They ran out of my exact shade. I panicked. I bought the next shade up. First of all, who the hell lets non-natural redheads buy these home kits anyway? Shouldn't there be a stipulation on the website that these are strictly for natural redheads only? Don't they know that we are the ones that need these the most? We are the ones that need to keep our natural color the way it is? We are the ones that are only trying to cover grey, not change our color for fun? But no, apparently not. So I was left no choice.
Honestly, I had no choice. It was grey or next shade up. I held off for a long time. I still couldn't bring myself to do it. Plus, I needed help and I didn't know who to ask. The box arrived in the mail. It sure was off from my exact shade. A little more copper than my auburn. I waited. And waited. The sun was shining on my grey. I mean my white. Damn. Then one day I chopped my hair off. It was an accident. It just.....happened. But hey, now that my hair was short maybe I didn't need help. Nope, still did. I couldn't take it anymore.
I was torn. Torn between my hate of grey and my hate of having to actually use color on my hair. I used to be anti-color until those damn grey hairs planted a garden on my head. It made me panic to think that I might be lying when someone would ask if this was my color but here's how I look at it - when the color washes or grows out, I'm still a redhead. True story.