The Things You Find on the Street

As most of you may have already guessed, I'm all about entertainment. Whether that means being entertained or entertaining people myself, it doesn't matter. It's all about having a good time, being silly, enjoying yourself. You usually don't have to look too hard to find amusement. It's all around you. Just like a good photo opportunity. I can never pass up a good photo op. Nope, those are all around me too. I'd rather have a disc filled with random photos than blank nothingness. Nothingness does not entertain. Every day on our adventures we look for new and interesting things that we can use for our viewing pleasure. Like signs. Love 'em. Highly entertaining. Some signs are just old clippings recycled for fun. I'm in. Pose, smile, click. Others, well, the ones that aren't supposed to be funny, those are even better.

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.

A Grand Day in L.A.

This was it - the day we had worked towards for the past 5 months. I was so excited that I didn't sleep much. I tried, really I did. I planned on getting up at 6:30am. Keep that in mind, I said planned. We were staying at my cousin's house. They live a few blocks away from an Arboretum. This means birds. Specifically peacocks. Lots of 'em. Which means natures alarm clock. I'm talking an early alarm clock.

I was already excited on my own, I didn't need any help from nature. Really, I didn't. At the sound of the first peacock I jumped out of bed. If they were up, that must mean it's at least 6am. I could do that. I could get up a little earlier and start getting ready. I was raring to go, go, go. Mike was still out cold. Weird since it wasn't that early but ok. I reached over to look at the clock and what?? It was not even 4am. How could that be? The birds were chirping away. Ugh. I lay back down. There was nothing I could do. Mike was down for the count. I knew he wasn't getting up early. He's not on my hyper train. He needs his sleep. I had to wait it out....

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.

Now, here's the thing - I raise money for charitable causes because I love to do it. Even if there was no Grand Club I would still strive to raise as much as I could. Now that I've made that clear......woohoo being under that tent was fantastic. It felt so good knowing that we worked hard and now we could sit down and enjoy our goodies. Continental breakfast, swag bags filled with lots of items to enjoy and the best part - talking with so many other people who work with Autism Speaks and hearing what they do to raise money or why they are involved in the cause. It always leaves us feeling more inspired so that we start planning our goals and what we can do to hopefully raise more money.

Oh wait, I'm sorry, did I leave out a part? Silly me. The massages. How could I leave out the massages? Ahhhh. After a walk well done we headed back behind the velvet ropes. Yes, it was time. I was in a pretty good mood. I let Mike go first. I know, I know. I'm too kind. Well, that and I think I was so hyper that if I actually got on that massage table I might squirm too much. I needed time to mellow out. This was definitely a nice way to cap off a great day. I hopped off the table and we met up with our team.

We had a great few months with so many amazing and supportive people. It's an incredible feeling to know that there are so many businesses and people that have wanted to help support us in our fundraising efforts. It's nice to know that there are still good people out there who follow through on their word. We are so grateful to everyone that supported us and as a result of their generosity our team was able to raise $13,105.00.

The final total on the day of walk is shown on the right. Volunteers from the GAP were on hand to hold up the numbers. Why the Gap you ask? Because the GAP was also a huge supporter. They matched funds. But wait! There's more! Even though the walk is over, fundraising is still ongoing and the numbers continue to rise. If you'd like to make a donation go to http://www.autismspeaks.org/ to find out how. Thank you!

An Acquired Taste?

The other night Mike decided to have a Scotch tasting. He was super excited. Wait, let me re-iterate with feeling. He was super excited. Me? Not so much. It's not that I minded having people over. That part I liked. But scotch? Have I mentioned that I'm not a fan of scotch? No? Well, let me start by saying that drinking scotch is kind of like sucking on a band-aid. I know, you're probably asking yourself if I've ever actually sucked on a band-aid.

Well, no. But I know you'll know what I'm talking about. The smell. Take a whiff. Taste and smell are intertwined. We all know it. It's like wine. When you go wine tasting you'll smell that glass and say hhmmm, hints of pepper and then you taste and BAM. You can taste the pepper. It's the same theory. You stick your nose in the scotch glass, take a whiff and ah, band-aid. Take a sip and it's like you stuck a band-aid in your mouth and started sucking away. Let me give you a brief history on me and scotch. We go way back.

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.

A Cautionary Tale

I don't have a problem with getting older. Really, I don't. I just don't want to look like it. This means everything - body, face and hair. Now, the body, well that's a little harder to fix when age grabs a hold of it. Gravity is not too kind. If anyone knows of a good plastic surgeon willing to do a little pro bono work please send them my way. I know, I'll be waiting a while for that one. But in the meantime there are matters that I can take into my own hands. Or so I thought.

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.

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.

Everyone says when you need help just ask. So I did. I asked Mike. He turned me down. That's right. He told me I didn't need his help. He said I could do it by myself. Well now, if I thought I could do it by myself I probably wouldn't have asked. Since he turned me down, I knew I was in it alone. I looked at the box. How hard could this be?

Cautionary Tale #2 - When someone asks you for help, it means they need it. Help them.

Apparently when I was doing my coverage, I missed a spot. It didn't look like I missed a spot at the time because I had my whole head covered in slime. Yes, I made sure my whole head was covered. As I did not have a second set of eyes to review my work I must have misjudged. I am now that rare breed of redhead known as two-tone. You can't find us in many places. We're a dying species. I'm a striped two-toned redhead with golden red highlights. Most are natural. Some are from Fekkai. Most importantly there is no grey.

Was is worth it? At the moment, I'm not too sure. This is what Mike had to say for himself, "Even though I said I wouldn't help you, I didn't think you'd do it when I wasn't home". Hhhmm. So, take heed of my tales. Remember to ask yourself the golden rules - Can I live with grey? (um, not so much) and Do I need help or does someone need help? (yes, Mike, if I'm asking, the answer is yes, yes and yes). Now please, move along and don't comment on the two-toned striped redhead. We can be a nasty breed when provoked.

My Little Piglet

A few years ago I told Mike that I wanted a mini pig for Christmas. I was serious. I don't think he believed me. Which is why I didn't get my little pig. Well, technically one might say it wasn't on my list. This is partially my fault. I've never been a fan of the Christmas list. I have a hard time deciding what to put on there. It's not really my style to make one. Until I met Mike, I don't think I'd ever made a Christmas list. I didn't see a point. You put things on there that you hope to get and then you rush to look under the tree only to find that your list remained intact. Yup, better to just not have a list. Now you see why. It's a set up. I believe in the spoken word. I say what I want. Quite often. People should take notes. I do. I listen, which is why when it comes time to giving gifts I generally know what a person wants. Back to my pig. I mentioned the little tyke a few times. But alas, little Hamlet wasn't meant to be....

But wait! What's that noise? That snorting? Did Mike get me my little piggy after all? Did he sneak in a little buddy for Charlie? I followed the sounds of piggy all the way to the bedroom. It was coming from under the covers. Snort, snort, snort. A small, little mound was wiggling between the pillows. I peeled back the comforter and found.....what the.....Charlie? There's something not quite right here. How did my little brown ball of fur morph into my little piglet? And what a little piglet he is. It's amazing what this little guy has turned into. Apparently, when he heard my Christmas wish, he decided he would give it to me. Day by day, our little Charlie has been turning into a little pig. We used to be so concerned about our little munchkin, he barely touched his food. Now he thinks everything is being prepared for him.

Ironically, the little ham has even taught himself some tricks. I'm not a believer in making my kid perform for his food. I think it's mean but Porky is so excited when food is coming out that he can't contain himself. He jumps, he twirls, he does double Axels. Ok maybe that last part was a slight exaggeration but he's pretty excited to eat. I just don't understand where it all came from. While he's snorting his food in, he's watching to see what we're making next. This is really one content little guy. He has no clue that I'm still getting that mini pig someday. He may be my little piglet for now, but he'll have to share the limelight one day. You hear that Mike? Maybe I didn't mean it about the baby elephant or the little wombat but this time I'm serious.

The Ballpark Life

Like many college graduates, I find myself looking back to those years spent at my Alma mater with almost a sadness. Not because it was a awful time but actually quite the opposite - because it was such an amazing time and I miss it. At no other point in your life do you have such a sense of freedom, a time when you can enjoy yourself so much and you have the whole world ahead of you.

Life is generally enjoyable. It's the calm before the storm. It's that last bit of serenity before you are thrust into the harshness of the real world with no turning back. Ever. Oh, and it's pretty much paid for by someone else. That's my favorite part. You have to take advantage of that when you can because you won't get that too often. It's generally a once in a lifetime opportunity. You take it and run.

*Sigh* Alas, the college experience is over. We must now live with our memories and be content with what that experience has given us. A great education. Check. Fabulous memories and friendships. Check and check. An amazing career. Well, no. Ok, so not everything works out the way you think it will. But I'm not bitter. Much.

This is why when Boston University began offering alumni events, I was all on board. I had a great time when I was an undergrad so why not re-live that experience and see where it leads me. New friends? Perhaps. Definitely new memories. New career? Hhmm.

Honorary Alumni Mike and I have been to a few events to date and we've had a great time at them all but the front runner now has to be PETCO in the Park. Sure, it wasn't Yankee Stadium, but it was still an amazing experience and even if it were Fenway Park it would still have been a great tour. Well, almost. Thanks to a recent BU graduate, who organized the event, we were given a tour of the Padres ball park - top to bottom. After a brief hike, we stopped at the most important area - the Press Box.

Yes, the press is well taken care of - dining area, flat screen tv- I could get used to this. Sports Journalism was one of my better classes.....thank you Professor Jack Falla. We moved downward. To the belly of the beast. We moved through the Sony Home Plate Club and made our way towards the dugout. I would've ran around the bases but apparently they knew I was coming and placed signs all around. Keep off the Grass. Bummer. Guess my days of being a ball player were limited to posing in the dugout.

It was a pretty cool experience. I grew up a few miles away from Shea Stadium in Queens and have been going to games at Yankee Stadium since I was 8 years old. I've never taken a tour of either stadium. Thanks to Boston University Alumni we were able to see baseball from the inside.

Sign me up for all future events. Me and my honorary alumni are in. Afterwards we headed over to Wine Steals/Proper Pub for lunch. We had never heard of this place but it's definitely worthy of a return trip - I need a set of those wine glasses.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Well, I did it. I didn't mean to, it just happened. Sort of like an accident. Yes, an accident. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. I knew it was time. I was ready. Kind of. Maybe not as prepared for exactly what went down. I thought I was. I decided I had had enough of the long. The chop. I think I can go for the chop. I told Mike it was time. I grabbed some magazines and began searching for a style that looked good.

There were so many nice ones but there wasn't one that just reached out to me. Until I turned the page. This one spoke to me. Sure, I think I can go for this one. I showed it to Mike. He loved. I was kind of joking. Kind of. I actually DID like the cut. A lot. But it was short. Very short. I'd never actually gone that short before. I didn't know if I could do it. I marked my page and kept looking. It was a contender for sure. But I continued my search......


Everyone knows that once you decide to cut your hair, this is when the hair Gods shine down on you. Once I made that call, that fateful appointment, my hair had never looked better. Really? I'd been living on ponytails for weeks. Now all of a sudden those golden auburn tresses were flowing down my shoulders. Damn. Now what do I do? Cut it off? Trim it? I was torn. The day was getting closer. I didn't tell anyone was going on. Since I didn't know what I was doing I figured there was no sense in creating a panic. Besides, someone might try to talk me out of what I was about to do. What was I about to do? I didn't know myself so I kept quiet.

The day arrived and I walked into the salon. My Hair Guru was waiting. He asked me what I wanted. I still didn't have a clue. I launched into my explanation. I was ready to cut - not all, but some. I could go above the shoulders but nothing above the chin. I was feeling good, not DARINGLY BRAVE. Hair Guru said I could stay long or go short, either would be great. Damn. This is not helping the situation. What to do, what to do.

Mike's instructions were this - short or just a trim. I relayed this information. Go figure, Hair Guru agreed with Mike. Hhhhmm, if I didn't know better I would've thought Mike had called H.G. ahead of time to discuss this strategy. I felt like they were in on this together. How could this be? I had to make a decision. Okay, I'll go with the short. But remember, above the shoulder, below the chin. Have I mentioned that I was not daringly brave? I just wanted to point that out again.

"I like you better with short hair", says Hair Guru. Whoa. That's short. Here's the weird thing. How did he get in my head? My hair cut is that picture in the magazine. I never said a word. Never showed one photo. To anyone except Mike. It's almost the same concept. How did he do that? I walked out a bit in shock. Don't get me wrong - Hair Guru did a great job, he always does but I'm still adjusting to my new look.

Mike is all aboard the short train. He loves the new 'do. He can't stop looking. I know some people are finding it hard to adjust - like my parents. My mom would like to know what I did with "her" red hair. Understandable. It's a big change. But I personally would like compliments like this to keep coming in: "hot redheaded chick". Also, to the woman who stopped me outside of my car to say "I love your hair" - your timing was perfect, thank you. Long is boring. Short is exciting. Change is good. I'm all for change. Although my mom still needs time. She asked if I saved my hair, you know, just in case I wanted to get extensions put back in. She was kidding. I think.