Adios, Puerto Vallarta

And this little piggy stayed home...

(At least that's the plan. I mean, when you discover that the governor of Jalisco has closed all the bars and nightclubs of your vacation destination, well...time to find somewhere else to go.) Any suggestions?

It's Always Something

So, I don't know about you, but when I'm getting ready for a vacation, a couple worries come to mind. Namely, stuff like airplane crashes (*knocks on wood*), missed flights, and lost luggage.

Rarely do I think of
Oink? More like Oy.

Suddenly, the afternoon headlines are filled with stories of possible border closings, the nationwide shutdown of public facilities, and the very real potential that, along with bathing suits, I oughta be packing surgical masks.

Yep.

Picture me in Mexico next week:

(And no, that's not supposed to be a beard.)

The Boss Comes Through

Bruce Springsteen, via the Dream Foundation, made my friend Karen's wish come true last Wednesday night. Read more about his amazing generosity and Karen's indomitable spirit by clicking here.

George Will Reads Harlequin

What could be better, huh? If you watch all six minutes of this video, I promise you won't be disappointed. George Will, reading from a Harlequin novel. Be still my beating heart.

(As an added bonus, you also get the likes of Wolfgang Puck, Paul Rudd, and Seth Rogan. Wow. Harlequin goes mainstream pop culture, baby.)

Anyway, guess this appeared on Nightline, although it's more like shameless advertising. I have to admit, I haven't read anything from Harlequin in years, maybe decades, despite the title of my blog.

Obviously, I need to get with it.

And Now, For Something A Little Different...

So I'm listening to my voicemail on Saturday afternoon, and I hear, "Let's get together later."

But by the time I return the call, the potential participants have lost interest. "Phone us if you come up with something," they suggest half-heartedly.

A couple hours later, I conjure up the perfect plan. I mean, we're talking so perfect, I go ahead and do the shower and shampoo thing before I even bother to call and put it on the table.

Sure enough.

Chi Chi's Pizza followed by bowling meets with resounding approval. Yep! That means I BOWLED last Saturday night.

Actually, what you REALLY need to know is that I KICKED ASS on Saturday night.

One-twenty-five...One-fifty-three...One-thirty-seven.

I ROCKED IT.

Okay, so what if two hours of bowling is like two hours of lunging...which means I also ache like a sonofabitch?

Doesn't matter. I'm basking in my reign as Bowling Queen.

Woulda Shoulda Coulda

On Mark and Brian this morning, the boys brought up a fun discussion topic--namely: was there a musical event you should have been at but, for whatever reason, you missed?

Gah.

Two instantly come to mind. Here's the first (and as I write about it, trust me, I'm almost hyperventilating).

Check out the lineup:In case you can't read it, we're talking The Doors...The Jefferson Airplane...The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band...

Now, picture this: the concert took place on the athletic field of a friggin local high school. I mean, crap--look at the cost of the tickets! THREE BUCKS! In fact, every time I've told this story in the past gazillion years, I always thought I made up the part about The Doors being there. Wasn't sure until I googled it (and stole this picture). According to the person who posted the photo, only about 100 people were in attendance, but sh/e has to be wrong about that. (Sidenote: I swear, anyone I've ever met in the last decade who's roughly my age CLAIMS to have been at the infamous Birmingham concert.)

Anyway, so my story isn't a hundred percent tragic. I DID make it to the concert. In fact, my girlfriends and I arrived early enough to get space on the grass about ten feet from the stage. Nirvana, huh? I remember the anticipation in the air...the sun going down behind the warm-up bands.

We all just wanted to see Jefferson Airplane and The Doors.

Only one problem.

The concert began to run more and more behind schedule, and as the clock crept closer and closer to...um...ELEVEN, I grew increasingly nervous.

Ya see, my DAD was picking us up at eleven and, God knows, this was eons before cell phones, so I couldn't exactly just call and tell him to delay (not that he would have anyway because, as you can see, we were...what, about twelve? Thirteen?)

So, sadly, I dragged my reluctant girlfriends from our primo spots, whining all the way, to where we met up with my dad...

just as The Doors took the stage.

And that's why I missed seeing one of the iconic rock stars of my generation.

*Further evidence of my decrepit memory: I'm pretty sure we DID see the Jefferson Airplane...for some reason, although they WERE the headliner, I think they went on before The Doors....but then again, maybe not.

Sometimes I Write

...bet you were wondering, huh?

Well, as proof, I have a sale to report. Yep. Another story to True Romance Magazine, this one for their July issue with a tentative title of "Summer Soul Mates." So far, I've only missed May this year. Darn. And for anyone keeping track, we're up to 24 sales total over the past 16 months. May not seem momentous to some, but guess what? Word by word, sale by sale, the bottom line on my spreadsheet is starting to add up to a nice chunk of change (as in $$).

By the way, check out the new "Trues" website by clicking here. It's updated daily and contains all kinds of fun features and tidbits.

Vegas, Baby

Blink.

That's how quick the weekend jaunt to Las Vegas took. The proverbial blink of an eye.

First, I boarded a Southwest flight in Burbank Friday afternoon. Sources of amusement everywhere! From behind me, two women (grown women! speaking in polysyllabic words, mind you!) puzzling over the lack of First Class. It's usually in the front, one woman claimed, and it's partitioned off. Their conclusion? That only LAX does it that way. (I'm like, hello! Ever heard of an airline called Southwest??) Then, a guy in a business suit (a business suit, mind you!), gets on and asks the flight attendant where he's supposed to sit. I mean, seriously. Rookies abundant!

Uh, I might add here that Southwest has gone cashless. (Me=rookie) Luckily, I had a stash of drink coupons in my purse. (As Blogreader Joe always says: plan well for no surprises.)

Touched down in Las Vegas around 3p.m. and cabbed it over to the Rio to check in. How FUN was it to plop my initials next to the $0 rate? Exceedingly fun, that's how much.

Caught up with Ann and the rest of the wedding party to do some gambling...blah, blah, blah...somehow it got to be around 1 a.m....or was it two...?

Spent a lot of Saturday chilling in the room, which ain't too hard when there's so much to watch outside your window. Don't ask me who bathed the Strip in the eerie blue wash. Not sure what happened, except to say something bad may have occurred to my camera when I tried to snap night photos while under the influence.

Luckily, my camera recovered the following evening to take this fabu shot of the bride and groom, Richard and Stephenie.And this one during the ceremony...
But with the battery icon blinking (hm, could've SWORN I charged it), I had to get picky with the shots--hence, um...not so many to post here. (In fact, I just shot my wad, except for the piece de resistance--AKA Marty dancing with his daughter.)

Have We Been This Way Before?

Long story short, last night I stumbled across something on the Internet that gave me pause-- namely, old versions of my website. I mean, REALLY OLD versions. Complete with antiquated navigation bar, former color palette...and (gasp) OLD content.

Who knew??

And how do I get rid of it?

Case in point, click here to see the collage I put together while writing Lights! Camera! Love! Kinda cool, huh? Although Tanika ended up as Alisha and Taylor morphed into Josh. Can't say I ever referred to this stunning piece of art again, but I like to think the process helped stir the creative pot.

Which, hm. Maybe I should trot out the idea again for Jen's book. (We're talking MY version of collaging...no glue sticks, no poster board. Just point, click, and copy.)

But, meanwhile...guess I'd better see about expunging (am I using that word properly??) out-of-date stuff running around loose on the Web.

Has It Been Another Year Already??

Eeek. Yep. It's that time again. Time to wish the Senora happy birthday. Where does the time go? In honor of the occasion, I'm dying to post the immortal video I took of her flying backwards off the boat. (Who can forget that blood-curdling scream?) But I've sworn (kinda) to keep it to myself. So it's not on Youtube or anything. Don't think for a moment it is.

Cough.

The best I can do (in the interest of maintaining my current state of robust health) is this photo, culled from the video. Yes, in case you can't tell, those are the Senora's flailing feet as she plummets below the surface. (No living beings were harmed during the filming of this episode.)

And, trust me. This is only ONE of the many memorable moments of our history together (see this post for another.)

Here's to zillions more..............

More Proof Of An Addled Brain (Another Duh Moment)

I got a request the other day (yay, me!) for a partial of my manuscript, Lights! Camera! Love! Sent it off promptly on...oh, Wednesday, I guess.

So this afternoon, I peek in the mailbox and see an envelope with my handwriting, and instantly I cross my fingers that it's one I've been waiting for from Women's World. I check the return address and instead I see the literary agency's name--the one I just sent the partial to.

Wow, I think. Quick turnaround. Must be a rejection.

I look inside and find nothing. Nada. Zippo.

Hm, I think. Now what do I do? Email her and ask what the answer was?

Then I notice something else on the face of the envelope. In the lower right-hand corner, it says: Received unsealed without content at Oxnard blah, blah, blah...

Huh?

That's when I realize that instead of enclosing the self-addressed stamped envelope with my submission, I friggin' must've MAILED it. To myself. Because I'm pretty sure the literary agent didn't send me a blank.

The only consolation is that the aforementioned message is STAMPED on the envelope--indicating this is a common occurrence. Which kinda makes me wonder...what're all you folks doing sending unsealed empty envelopes for??

A Sure Sign That I'm Older Than I Think

Setting: My driveway

Time: About 11:30p.m. on a Friday night

I see my neighbors standing by their car, and I greet them.

Guy Neighbor: You just getting home?

Me: Yep. What are y'all up to?

Guy Neighbor: We're just going out. Funny, huh? You're already home, and we're just going out.

Yeah, funny. I slink off to change into robe and bunny slippers, then slather on the anti-aging cream.

No More Change, Mr. President

Please.

I've had it up to here with change.

I mean, come on. First of all, The Guiding Light? Seriously? After shining brightly since 1952 (and even earlier on radio)? Oh, I see the writing on the wall. The rest of them aren't long for this world either. The Young and The Restless...All My Children. Soon, our afternoon soaps will go the way of...

Newspapers.

I mean it, Mr. President. Please don't let them take away my newspaper. It's already a pathetic version of it former robust self, but geez....so much tradition there. From the stereotypical reporter who spends his off-hours knocking back shots at the bar down the street to the Sunday edition spread out over the breakfast table. Have you ever tried to spread your computer on the breakfast table? Trust me. Doesn't work.

Last month, I lost a whole slate of radio shows when KLSX went Top 40, but I'm tellin' ya, Barak (can I call you Barak?), if KLOS ditches Mark and Brian in favor of some pre-recorded c-rap (get it?--it's a play on crap and rap--sometimes, I crack myself up), anyway, I'll have to throw away my transistor radio.

I want you to know, Mr. Obama, I don't blame you or the economy. I mean, okay. Sure. Unlimited financial support would help, but all the money in the world's not gonna make up for the people I really blame.

Yep, I'm talking about the youth of today.

If I can paraphrase the immortal words of that well-known philosopher, Linda Ronstadt, who said: "When I got older, I realized that my generation committed a horrible crime against our parents. We literally filled the airwaves with rock 'n' roll, and STOLE their music from them."

You hooligans with your iPods, your Myspace, and your texting. Quit hi-jacking the culture and leave my entertainment alone.

Brad Pitt Eat Your Heart Out

God, I heart the Internet. Look what the HELL I found last night....!In what universe can you locate a photo of your dad's 1940 high school basketball team with just a few clicks (and...okay...EXPERT searching skills) ????? (Yes, I'm still fanning myself over the discovery.) And while we're at it...CHECK OUT the come hither stare...and the swoopy hair. By the way folks, we're talking a tiny town (I mean, TINY) in North Dakota. Not exactly headline making stuff, here.

Unbelievable.

Forgot To Post A Pic

Did I mention a road trip? Last weekend, high school buddy Randi and I darted up to Santa Ynez for an overnight stay at--where else--the Chumash Casino and Resort Hotel. As we headed for the VIP/Guest happy hour, these cows (not to mention the green, green, grass) caught our attention, so I snapped a photo with my cell phone.

Guess they were on their way to happy hour, too.

Ah, To Be Born With Talent

Find out more about Naturally 7 here.

Children and Art

According to Stephen Sondheim (Sunday in the Park With George, sung by the character of Dot), we can only leave two things behind--children and art. I've already screwed up the first part of that equation, and I'm not doing so well on the second.

Yeah, feelin' pretty guilty on both counts.

Especially when I'm reminded that during my childbearing years, I shoulda ponied up 2.1 kids to keep average. Oops!

But what of this other stat recently released by the Feds: Last year, 40% of all births were out-of-wedlock.

Yikes.

Seriously?

Is it me, or is that just plain sad?

We gotta combo of situations influencing this trend. One, after a steady decline, teen mom birth rates were up. And two, more women in their 30's and 40's chose to become single parents. Finally, lots of happy couples just didn't bother to tie the knot.

Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore, that's for sure.

Hard to believe that in the 50's women not only married their "baby daddies,"--they also had, on average, FOUR children a piece. ('Course the 50's were also famous for the rise in popularity of stuff like Miltowns--forerunner to Valium--which is probably the only way to survive four kids with your mental faculties intact, but I digress.)

Anyway, I guess the good news is that we're having enough babies to replace ourselves...but hell, OctoMom covered that with one pregnancy, didn't she??

Contract's In The Mail...

That's the heads-up email I got this morning in response to my 24th submission to True Romance Magazine. This one's a wedding-themed story for the June issue. Meanwhile, the 23rd submission hangs in limbo--hopefully, only for a short while before it too garners a contract since, after all (as my editor duly noted last month) they've bought everything I've shoved their way thus far! (Wow--just could NOT figure out how to punctuate that last sentence. Go for it, Blogreader Joe.)

Even better (okay, just a TAD better), than receiving the contract notification, was the arrival of a check in the old mailbox yesterday. Somehow, the payment for one of my October stories had gone astray but now it's back where it should be--namely, in my bank account. So the cool thing is, I still have another one to go for this month--January's payment.

Which means...come on, people...you KNOW what it means when the writing $$ actually appear to add up to something....don't you?

Right! Time for a getaway!

Ahhhh..................sunny Puerto Vallarta......and I. Can't. Wait.

From The Life's So Short Department...

What age do you have to get before you start scanning the obituaries with more than casual interest?

Whatever it is, I'm there.

Not that I peruse the entire alphabetized list...you know, the freebie section. But I DO check out the ones set apart by pictures and column-length copy framed by heavy borders.

So on this particular Sunday, it was a photo that initially caught my eye. I gave the face only momentary attention, not registering a connection with the dark curly hair, the horn-rimmed glasses, nor the smiling moustached man staring back at me.

Next, I read the name--not a particularly unusual one--and the age: 70. In other words, obviously not in the realm of someone I'd have known.

But, wait.

I studied the photo again...combined it with the name...let the subconscious do its thing...and CRAP.

Sure enough.

An old boyfriend. Someone I'd dated back when I was about 28 to his 43. Yikes. How'd he get to be 70? Worse, how'd he get to dead?

I was curious about how his life had unfolded over the years. Had he married? Had children? Been happy?

In order to gather pieces of the puzzle, I put Google on the case. Bottom line: yes, no, and yes. Most fascinating of all? He'd become a thoroughbred horse owner--to the point where he went back to school in his mid-sixties to obtain formal training. I even came across a post of his on a site devoted to Seabiscuit--the passion in his words were both inspiring and sweet.

Anyway, a life well-lived, I think. Good for him.

New Blog!

Came back from my 6-week check-up with Dr. Schwartz and had this thought: why not consolidate all my cosmetic surgery posts onto one blog for...I dunno...posterity, I guess. So, ta-da. Here it is: www.re-inventingrandy.blogspot.com

(They just make it so easy to create a blog, plus it's free, so why the hell not? I could create blogs all day!)

Anyway, Dr. Schwartz says I'm healing well (good news!), and that I should feel free to exercise (BAD news!). It's amazing to me that he maintains I'm still not where I'll be six months from now--that the funny stuff I feel behind my ears is NOT bunched up hidden skin but merely SWELLING. And that the area under my chin will continue to firm. I'm tellin' ya, the human body is...well...like I said, AMAZING. Especially when you consider this PARTICULAR human body is in its sixth decade. (Okay, HOLD ON...think about it. Age 1-10, FIRST decade. Age 11-20, SECOND decade...that's how you can be in your fifties but your sixth decade.)

Geesh.