Skin So Soft

People, listen to your Mama Valley Girl. Go get yourself a shower filter. I can't believe the difference it has made in how my skin feels after just two uses. I got mine at the Co-Op in Santa Monica for $40, but I'm sure they can be procured more inexpensively somewhere else with a little hunting around. No matter -- I would have paid double for the results: nice, soft, non-itchy skin (without lotion!) without that slick, unrinsed feeling you get from a water softener. It's like taking a shower in rain water. I couldn't have possibly known what a difference it makes until trying it myself. Toni says after using it for awhile, she no longer loses any hair whatsoever when washing and conditioning her hair. And this girl has a ton of beautiful, long hair. And it fits on any shower, even a handheld one, which is what mine is (no girl should EVER be without a handheld shower, m'kay?), and was super easy to install, even for a domestitard like me. You change the filter once a year. Big whoop.

To read more on the evils of chlorine and its effects, see below. And remember that the skin is the largest organ of the body and absorbs everything you put on it. You'll want to kiss me later.

RETHINKING CHLORINATED TAP WATER
Article by Dr. Zoltan P. Rona MD MSc

Most people never give it a thought. After all, our elected public officials keep assuring us that chlorinated city tap water is completely safe for human consumption. Numerous scientific studies, however, report that chlorinated tap water is a skin irritant and can be associated with rashes like eczema. Chlorinated water can destroy polyunsaturated fatty acids and vitamin E in the body while generating toxins capable of free radical damage (oxidation). This might explain why supplementation of the diet with essential fatty acids like flax seed oil, evening primrose oil, borage oil and antioxidants like vitamin E, selenium and others helps so many cases of eczema and dry skin.

Chlorinated water destroys much of the intestinal flora, the friendly bacteria that help in the digestion of food and which protect the body from harmful pathogens. These bacteria are also responsible for the manufacture of several important vitamins like vitamin B12 and vitamin K. It is not uncommon for chronic digestive disorders as well as chronic skin conditions like acne, psoriasis, seborrhea and eczema to clear up or be significantly improved by switching to unchlorinated drinking water and supplementing the diet with lactobacillus acidophilus and bifidus.

Chlorinated water contains chemical compounds called trihalomethanes which are carcinogens resulting from the combination of chlorine with organic compounds in water. These chemicals, also known as organochlorides, do not degrade very well and are generally stored in the fatty tissues of the body (breast, other fatty areas, mothers' milk, blood and semen). Organochlorides can cause mutations by altering DNA, suppress immune system function and interfere with the natural controls of cell growth.

Chlorine has been documented to aggravate asthma, especially in those children who make frequent use of chlorinated swimming pools. Several studies also link chlorine and chlorinated by-products to a greater incidence of bladder, breast and bowel cancer as well as malignant melanoma. One study even links the use of chlorinated tap water to congenital cardiac anomalies.

Anything you can do to filter tap and shower water that eliminates or even minimizes chlorine would certainly be helpful and possibly curative for some immune system problems. The use of at source water filtration devices is increasingly popular and affordable. Discuss their use with your health care practitioner.

REFERENCES
Fackelmann, K.A., Hints of a chlorine-cancer connection. Science News, July 11, 1992;142:23.
Flaten, Trond Peter. Chlorination of drinking water and cancer incidence in Norway. International Journal of Epidemiology, 1992;21(1):6-15.
Messina, Virginia. Chlorine and cancer. Good Medicine, Winter 1994;8-9.
Morris, Robert D. Chlorination, Chlorination by-products and cancer. American Journal of Public Health, July 1992;82(7):955-963.
Rothery, S.P., et al. Hazards of chlorine to asthmatic patients. British Journal of General Practice, Jan, 1991;39.
Shaw, Gary M., et al. Chlorinated water exposures and congenital cardiac anomalies. Epidemiology, November 1991;2(6):459-460.

You Know It’s Hard Out Here For A Pimp

So I’m not a critic or a predictor by any stretch of the imadge, but I am known to be a rather opinionated beotch, and since the Oscars is my equivalent of Superbowl, and there are some really good nominees this year, I have to spout out about some of the movies that are up for awards since I have been cramming this week like it’s finals to see as many as I can and sufficiently root for my teams, as it were.

Yes, that was a helluva run-on sentence. Shut it.

Let me commence with my spouting:

Brokeback Mountain

Lord, where do I begin? The other day I had a conversation with a woman at work that I barely know about this movie. She was complaining about how she really wants to see it, but everyone in her conservative religious family was giving her shit about wanting to go see a gay cowboy movie, and hence, she had no one to go see it with. This is what I told her: It’s a shame that people in your life would dismiss this movie out of hand as merely a “gay cowboy movie”. The movie is about two souls who truly love each other, and the uplifting and destructive power of that love. The fact that they share the same gender is incidental to their relationship, but is also the conflict of the story. Wasn’t Jesus about love? Wasn’t Jesus about tolerance and understanding? Hello McFly? Anybody home? It kills me when so-called “righteous” people cast stones and judge before they let themselves feel and understand something in their hearts. I told her I would gladly go see the movie with her a second time, and here is why: I can’t get this movie out of my head or my heart. I saw it a week ago, and it haunts me daily and nightly. The two main characters are astounding on their own, but when in the same proximity in a scene, the resulting chemistry was such that I was anxious and breathless and tearful and turned on all at once. And the director of the picture was kind enough to take many steps back and just let the viewer experience this without getting into any stylized bullshit. This made it all the more beautiful and stark, and something you would want to see again and again. That, to me, is a great, great movie. It is timeless.

I don’t hold any idealistic hope that the Academy won’t wuss out and get homophobalicious over this movie and not give it the credit it deserves, but I am hoping. This one is my favorite. Can you tell? It can’t possibly come out on DVD soon enough.

Crash

This one affected me very deeply and made me think. I love movies that take place in L.A. mainly to see the locations and go “Oh! I just had lunch there the other day!” But this was the first I’ve seen in a long time where the tone actually captured what life is really like here; how diverse people really are; how contrasting lifestyles can be. As an ensemble piece, it flowed very well, and I really loved the message. It didn’t fall into any stereotypes of good guy/bad guy. The beauty of this movie was in its grey areas: sometimes the bad guy does something really good, and it makes you cry.

Capote

As a character study, absolutely flawless. I read on IMDB that they shot this movie in 32 days. Incredible, given the scope of its subtle greatness. I am so happy Philip Seymour Hoffman finally has a starring role truly worthy of his immense talent. I also personally love stories about writers and how quirky, weird and misfitting they can sometimes be. I find it comforting somehow. There is a scene where he is pouring scotch into a jar of baby food, and then eating it. This is something I would do in secret and never tell anybody. I loved that about the movie. It also really made me want to read In Cold Blood. I am really surprised that Clifton Collins Jr. is not up for Best Supporting. I thought he was completely spellbinding.

Hustle and Flow


Poor Derek is going to wish I never saw this movie since I can’t stop walking around the house singing “You know it’s hard out here for a pimp.” I just think it’s hilarious that a goofy cracka like me would walk around saying that. Anyway, Jillie raved about this movie months ago, and now I see what all the hub-bub is about. What I loved about the movie the most was that in the depressing world of pimps and ho’s and drugs and gangstas, there was a message of “follow your dream” that never once came across as cheesy or contrived. This guy was NOT a good guy. But you root for him anyway and want him to win. I also really loved getting to watch how the whole musical creative process takes place. I am in total awe of people who can create music, and it was riveting getting to see that happen. And hello! Isaac “It’s All About The Love, Chil’ren” Hayes and Ludacris are in the movie! And while Terrence Howard is getting all the spotlight for his nomination, I really thought Taryn Manning and Taraji Henson were awesome and made the movie work. There was also one of the hottest kissing scenes I have seen in eons.

Of course, there are nominees I haven’t mentioned here that I liked, but I felt these most deserved my personal shout-out. And I thank you for your time.

Zest

That would be my word for the day. I was told last night by a good friend that I have it. Probably sometime after I got off the stage dancing with the band that was playing. And I take it as a very serious compliment. Zest. Mainly because it has been on my mind a lot lately. A sense of adventure. Lust for life. Don’t you just want to scream and bounce up and down whenever that Iggy Pop song comes on? That crazy drumbeat intro? It reminds me that we are never fully in control. When you leave yourself open to wherever the day takes you, it will take you to some very interesting places, and mostly to some very interesting people. And that is such a good thing in getting the most out of life. I love my zest. Zest is where it’s at.

By the way, The Port in Studio City is a very fun and groovy place. Our bartendress had a heavy hand and a very sweet and attentive way about her, and the bouncer, this huge Native American dude named Black Bear, had the coolest tattoos all over his head. And the band, Dirty Pictures -- awesome. You can’t help but get up and shake your ass.

The Port
12430 Riverside Drive (at Whitsett)
Studio City, CA 91607

Let's Talk About The Weather

Let’s just say I’m not one for small talk. I absolutely LOATHE small talk. If someone starts in with the small talk with me, my eyes totally glaze over and I start running a mental grocery list in my head of things I need to get on my next trip to Trader Joe’s. I friggin’ hate it. Tell me about your DAY. Tell me about your drama. Give me your dirt, your fears, your latest conquest, whatever. And I will happily divulge you mine. Small talk, ew.

But I must begin today’s post with the cliché, worst stereotype of small talk EVAR, which is: “So how about this weather we’ve been having?”

I’m not going to lie. I like it warm and springy and sunshiney. After living in L.A. my whole life, I realize I am quite spoiled. When people come here from other states and they complain that it’s oh-so-predictably boring and nice and sunny here all the time, I want to punch them in the throat. Say what? Exqueeze me??? Are your frigid freezing temperatures you’re accustomed to really something you would like to go back to? No? Then shut the hell up! Boring and sunny, my ass. Sunny rules. I'm so sure.

And we all know that lately it has been unseasonably warm and nice. Just this past weekend, I was delighting not only in being able to eat breakfast on the back patio, but mostly in the return of my little chubby bird friends that I feed, and watch them merrily kick dirt and dead leaves out of our patio awning and set up house. I love waking in the morning (well, I hate waking in the morning, but since I have to WAKE, this is what I love) -- to the sound of my little bird friends in the trees and bushes all around our backyard, singing my praises (they call me She Who Fills Our Bird Feeder With Heavy Hand) and just getting that sweet happy feeling like old friends have returned. Sitting on the patio, I could watch a whole tree-full of birds, twittering at one another about all things bird-centric, and I felt… happy. Every morning, there is a regular occurrence in this one tree that I like to call “Chirp O’Clock”. Sometime around 7:00, completely out of freakin’ NOWHERE, every bird in that tree chirps its head off like it’s going for a world record, like they are trying to totally out-chirp each other, like they’re going for the gold in the Chirp Olympics. I love it! Chirp O’Clock is becoming my favorite time of day!

And then. The e-mails start coming from Mountain High. We’re going to get new snow! Yay! Then the rumblings are heard around the office and at home: Our warm weather front is coming to an end and it’s going to get wintry-ugly. Oh. Ew. Even the birds know something is up. They are pensive, restless, agitated. I woke up this morning and it was fah-reeeeezing. And strangely quiet. I looked outside. The dialogue went something like this:

EXT. VALLEY GIRL’S BACKYARD -- MORNING

A harsh, wintry landscape. Grey skies, clouds gathering, a chilling wind blows through the air. Chubby little birds sit in a mushroom-shaped tree.

BIRD
(bitterly)
Cheep.

BIRD
Cheep?

BIRD
(turns up his beak)
Eh, cheep.

BIRD
(sighs)
Cheeeeeeep. Eh. Yeah. I got nothin'.

CUT TO:

Valley Girl looks out the window. Turns to Derek.

VALLEY GIRL
I speak Bird quite fluently. I think they’re saying they came back from Down South for this shit? Hell naw!

THE END

Curves Effin' Rules!

I had my second real Curves workout last night. I was supposed to have my second workout this past Friday, but came in there after a stressful, psychotic work day with such a violent rotten headache, thinking that working out would help make it go away. No. The throbbing just became more intent on splitting my head in two, and after only my first circuit, the poor trainer there, viewing my pathetic watery-eyed head rubbing was like “Bitch, please. Please, you’re killing me. Please. Go home. Lie down.” She gave me some plain wrap pain reliever, and halfway home, the pain finally went away and I was able to enjoy a nice girl's night out.

But anyway! Since I was snowboarding all day Sunday which is its own gnarly workout, I gave Curves a rest until last night. And it was so awesome. How do I explain why it’s awesome? Now that I know what I’m doing, I jammed through the workout, kept my heart rate up, asked questions of the trainers only when I needed a little clarification on my form, and was otherwise just not bothered. I kinda got into this zone of realizing that I’m only going to be here a half-hour, so keep the form good, don’t get lazy, and let’s do this kind of mentality. I love me some Curves!

Cops: Mountain High

So let’s say you decide to schlep up to Mountain High with your buddy Craig to go snowboarding whilst the rest of the natural world judges Super Bowl commercials and eats chips and beer all day. You’re up on the mountain in the AM, it’s sunny, and the conditions, for having been no new local snow lately, are pretty darn good. You’re warming up, getting your groove back. It’s your first day out this season, so you don’t want to kill yourself, but you hit a bunch of tasty runs. You and Craig decide to take a break for lunch, and sit on the picnic benches by the outdoor BBQ pit and take large chunkfuls of your cheeseburgers between mumblings about this or that knucklehead on the hill, listen to Craig discuss proper jump form, chastise Craig for not putting sunscreen on his neck and tell him that his neck will end up looking like a cancer-ridden wrinkly argyle sock if he doesn’t take care of things. All is peaceful and right with the world. M’kay? When suddenly there is a loud and vicious scream, and not 5 feet from you and Craig, a woman, deranged and irate beyond all human logic, is screaming her head off like a victim of Tourette’s Syndrome. Two unfortunate security guards (yeah, who knew Mountain High had security guards? -- when we first arrived and saw someone outfitted with “security” boldly emblazoned on his shirt as we were parking the truck, Craig turned and remarked that he felt much more secure now. He had been feeling rather insecure, but now all was secure and so he felt better and I laughed and thought this was funny and this was kind of our little joke for awhile was all like “oooooh. Mountain High Security: now we are secure.” Little did we know what was to be….)

So where was I before the Parenthetical From Hell? Oh yeah -- two unfortunate security guards were attempting to wrestle this spaz-attack under control whilst she quite vehemently attempted to snap their shins in half with her vicious kicks, eye-poking-out flailing arms, and her trucker-esque language. All while some other poor (let’s call him unfortunate too) some poor unfortunate dude who I can only assume was her love interest is standing in front of her, pleading with her “Heather, PLEASE CALM DOWN. Heather, PLEASE. Heather, THEY WILL ARREST YOU” all of which pissed off Psycho Heather even more and sent her fury into a total tailspin. A third unfortunate security guard arrived and helped the other two security guards finally wrestle her freaky ass to the ground and somehow, by some defiance of the laws of physics, manage to get handcuffs on her. How they did this, I have no clue -- it was like watching someone try to diaper a lubed, epileptic pig. It was scary. Very scary.

It harshed our mellow for a minute, I have to be honest. But then we got back up on the mountain, and everything was okay. But I can’t help but wonder what has become of poor Heather. Where are you, Heather? And why were you so steamed, Heather? Geez. Inquiring minds wanna know.

Minibar

It’s not often a stay-at-home mom can book time for girls night out. But there was Debbie, super cute with a little flower in her hair, saying goodbye to the kids and the sitter on Friday. She took my smokey-eye-made-up, big-hair-havin’ butt out to this awesome place she knows called Minibar. I came in with an open mind, and was so pleasantly surprised and impressed with this place.

It’s like tapas, only not really Spanish tapas. Just several little tasty dishes and holy crap, the best mojitos EVAR. We had pomegranate flavored ones and ordered a few dishes. But the best part of the experience was our adorable server, Lola. This woman could not have been any more warm, hospitable and charming. I wanted to fold her up, put her in my purse and take her home with us. She was pretty like Sonia Braga, and told us that when she put in our drink order with the bartender, she barked at him "AND THROW SOME ALCOHOL IN THERE, BE-OTCH!" How can you not love that?

It’s considered to be on the border of Studio City and Hollywood. I will def be making the trip back there just to see Lola.

After dinner, we danced our asses off at Coda until it was time to go relieve the babysitter at 1:30. Aaaahhhh, I love Fridays. And I love me some girl's night. And I love Lola at the Minibar.

Minibar
3413 Cahuenga W. (at Barham)
Los Angeles, CA 90068
(323) 882-6965

Goin' Curvin'

So I had my first Curves workout last night. I can tell already that this is going to be something I can stick with.

I was measured and weighed, and since they are kind souls, they offer you the option of not knowing what your stats are. I am a firm believer in the "Ignorance is Bliss" mentality, and so my numbers are still a mystery to me, but they will be able to re-weigh and measure and give me an idea of my progress down the line.

I was taken around and shown the proper way to use every piece of equipment in the circuit by Jody, my adorable trainer. [It should be noted that she is a state-certified trainer, and also certified in the Curves system of circuit training.] Jody, while very nice and lovely and pleasant, with a VERY enviable figure, is a total stickler for proper form, and I was constantly, endlessly reminded to breathe, relax my shoulders, pull in my gut. Mildly annoying, but you realize how quickly bad habits can creep up on a workout since you’re doing the bad habits every 2 seconds, and this will cause you to take two steps forward, one step back. The constant reminders are necessary. The chicks at Curves want you to take THREE steps forward, zero steps back. This is their hallmark, and they are bent on helping you achieve success. You periodically monitor your heart rate to be sure you are working hard, but not too hard. They want to keep you in the fat-burning, gut-busting zone.

It took longer than it usually would since I was learning everything, but once you get going, the workout takes a half hour and you’re outta there. This is what I like. I have never understood these gym rats that come to the gym, wait in line to get on equipment, dangle around and chit-chat with people, spend a monotonous hour on a treadmill staring at the TV while their muscles get used to the same motions over time and so it loses its effectiveness. Heyall naw! I have better things to be doing, and that is just not for me. Get me in, get me out. The only workout in which I will lolly-gag about is if I am hiking (I’m in nature and me and God are having our little talks) or rollerblading. And even then, I usually have to pee, so I have to cut it short anyway. But dangling around in the gym? Forget it.

I'll keep you abreast (chick pun intended) of my progress...

I Love This

In the spirit of the approaching Valentine's Day:

"Love yourself first and everything else falls into line. You really have to love yourself to get anything done in this world." -Lucille Ball

Curveaceousness

In my ongoing quest to lose the No-Baby-Weight caused by the STUPID MO-FO pill, I have done the ultimate chick thing. I joined Curves Gym last night. It’s the rage that’s sweeping the nation in women’s fitness. Yes, that’s right. Can you feel the estrogen? That's right! It’s like The View meets Hans and Franz. They want to pump (clap!) you up, while being sensitive to your needs as a woman. There are locations all over the world that members may utilize, but I was particularly pleased to discover a location exactly 1.7 miles from my house. There are no mens allowed. No sweaty lunkheads hogging the equipment. Personal training is included. The vibe in there was totally unpretentious and nice. So what’s not to love? There was no hard sell, and none was required since I couldn’t see anything wrong with this arrangement. I go in Wednesday night for my first session. I’ll keep you posted on the status of my curves. And my efforts to keep them pumped (clap) the hell down.

Curves For Women
17627 Ventura Blvd. (just east of White Oak)
Encino, CA 91316
(818) 986-7212

Other Crappy Movies I Simply Have To Watch Whenever They Come On (The Patrick Swayze Edition)

1) Roadhouse. I adore this movie, 95% because of the blonde ho-bag in it. She is repulsive, yet you cannot look away from her and her slutty antics. At least I can’t. She was Anna Nicole before there was Anna Nicole. And 5% because Patrick Swayze totally busts some sweet Chuck Norris-style roundhouse kicks to the bad guys' faces. And I just love that.

2) Dirty Dancing. “Nobody puts Baby in a corner.” ‘Nuff said.

3) Ghost. In fond memory of the days when starlets vehemently denied they had boob jobs, despite the very plain and obvious proof (on film!) that they somehow very recently had fried eggs for boobies and flaunted them braless whilst tearing up over a penny climbing up a door and floating toward you in a ghostly, yet touching, fashion. [Future "duh" post: Other Crappy Movies I Simply Have To Watch Whenever They Come On (The Demi Moore Edition). On second thought, that may take up too much of my time.]

Yeah. I’m bored today.

Los Crapos

So I wish I could say we had a great trip to Rosarito, but honestly, I have to say it was just pretty good. The desired effect of spending three days chillaxin’ was definitely achieved, but at the cost of discovering the hard way that my fave place to stay down there has gone downhill. It has become dumpy. Schlumpy. Frumpy. I started visiting this particular hotel about 13 years ago, so obviously it was a place that was nice to visit and kept me coming back for more. Not so anymore. Sure, the fabulous ocean view from the room and the pool is still fabulous. Sure, it is still a place of which not a lot of energy needs to be expended and one is free to loll about and read, drink, chit-chat with others, drink, and eat. And drink. And I’m not a neat freak or germophobe by any stretch of the imadge, but a jacuzzi so murky you couldn’t see to the bottom? Lounge chairs by the pool completely covered with layers of dirt? “Authentic” food in the hotel restaurant that I wouldn’t spend $1.50 on at El Pollo Loco? Being provided with only half a roll of TP in our suite and no spare so we were forced to call down for it and then wait five minutes in MST (Mexican Standard Time) which roughly translates to FIVE HOURS to receive the TP? WTF?

Thank God for the little hidden places where I knew there would be great food. The eyes-rolling-back-in-your-head-foodgasm at these places made up for a lot of our lodgings’ shortcomings. And thank God for Oscar at the El Nido bar, who made the best margaritas I have ever tasted. And thank God for the recently-erected Big Giant Jesus atop the hill behind the hotel (a la Rio de Janeiro) that greeted us every time we left the hotel and would send Derek into yet another fit of giggles over the fact that hey, there was a Big Giant Jesus hovering above our hotel and that's just funny.

Next time, we’ll be staying somewhere else. I don’t think even Big Giant Jesus could save this place from its downward spiral.

Tic. Toc. Tic....... Toc.......

Today in Rosarito, sunny with a high of 71 degrees. Whilst I freeze my ass off here.

Why does time have to go by so slow when you're about to have a groovy long weekend? In the sun? Visions of shrimp tacos and Puerto Nuevo lobsters dancing in my head? Yeah. It's a long day.

I'm having my niece and neph over tonight. I can't wait. They're spending the night. We're going to build a fort. And make cookies. And torture Babe and Rufus by making them wear stupid outfits. Should be a good time.

Consequences Teach Better Than Concepts

Moral concepts are personal; consequences are universal.

What one culture, religion, or nation prohibits, another accepts as moral behavior.

What may be wrong in one situation or circumstance may be right in another.

Unchanging, unquestioned rules of right and wrong relieve us of thinking.

But life is not so simple.

Prisons are full of people who understood the concepts, but didn’t grasp the consequences.

~Unknown

Day Five

You guys, I know, I am in shock myself. I have made it to Day Five of The Cleanse. No food, no alcohol, no coffee, no nothing. Just large amounts of water, water, water, organic lemon juice, pure organic maple syrup and cayenne pepper. Oh, and more water. Here are my observations thus far:

1. It's not as hard as I thought it would be. I have had no major hunger pangs or moments of caving in. This has been the biggest surprise of all.

2. In the absence of food, alcohol, or even a nice cup of joe, one becomes bored easily. This boredom is remedied by looking around the house and noticing all the crap you were too lazy to do because you were cooking/chowing down/hungover/too tired. You start doing it.

3. When all that stuff is done, you start noticing the things that were an ugly beige color and really should be jazzed up with some paint. I painted the kitchen step-stool. Yes, I actually painted a step-stool, but it has sentimental value. It belonged to my grandparents, whom I dearly miss, but it was this ugly-ass barf-beige color. It is now a jazzy green color with metallic blue sponge shapes. I got really into it. I also took this stark white little table that we put our keys and junk on, and transformed it into a nice, distressed denim blue. Now it’s purty. I like that.

4. You really do have energy to do stuff once the initial detox mild headaches and blah feelings go away (for me it was two days, and again, not that bad). I hiked Runyon on Sunday and Caballero on Monday, and felt awesome the whole time.

5. There was a point in one of my hikes where I caught a whiff of something sweet in the vegetation that reminded me of Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookies for some reason. At that moment, I would have cut off a limb in exchange for 50 of those particular cookies, an item that I don’t seek out or consume with any sort of regularity. Of course I was prepared for this from the material I had read about The Cleanse -- while you’re doing it, certain toxins will be running around and causing intense cravings of sweets or salty things or whatever you normally crave. INTENSE?! I now understand the severity of the word. This INTENSE craving lasted about 15 minutes, and I was able to talk myself through it, and it was over. Of course, I was out in the middle of freakin’ nature. There was no Mrs. Fields to be had. So I was kinda screwed anyway.

6. You really notice how many food commercials are on TV. Almost every other commercial has savory some such thing, or luscious decadent item that you absolutely must eat, IN YOUR FACE in all its glistening, buttery-looking, perfectly cooked glory. Every other commercial, I swear! Thank God for TiVo and the ability to fast-fo through that crap. It was my saving grace.

7. Your sense of smell becomes very acute. On my way to one of my hikes, I caught a whiff of someone cooking. They were making carne asada with a side of refried beans and what I thought to be a tomatillo sauce in there somewhere. I knew all this by driving past. Is this what it’s like to be a dog? They have total bionic smellers of food they never get to eat? No wonder they beg all the time. I considered banging on these people’s door and begging, but resisted the urge.

8. You can breathe better. Seriously. You can take in more oxygen because nothing is sitting around in your insides getting in the way. And that feels very satisfying.

9. Sometimes, when I just needed to be a little bit “bad”, while measuring out the maple syrup, I would lick the spoon afterward. This made me feel very dirty and sly, but I kinda liked it. Tee hee!

10. Whenever I felt the slightest bit icky or headachey in the first couple of days, I could just go to bed and it would go away. This was a fabulous excuse to get oodles of sleep that I wouldn’t ordinarily get to indulge in. And I like that, too.

11. My dogs know something is up. A couple of times, Rufus has come up and sniffed my breath like he often does (he is snoopy, he likes to know what I’ve eaten). Then he will give me this quizzical look as if to say “Bitch, what? You have total access to all this food, of which we are denied. WTF?”

12. I consider The Cleanse the lesser of two evils. It was either this, or do the Hollywood Starlet Diet of Throw-Up With a Side of Cocaine. So far this one is working for me, so I’ll keep it, thanks.

Ms. Clean

You know how you get that feeling after the New Year of wanting to clean? I don’t necessarily mean houseclean, but really feng shui hong kong fuey your house -- cleaning old clothes out of your closet, reorganizing your filing, dumping out all your old pornos that you never watch anymore. You know -- clean. Well, I have that feeling. But I want to clean my insides.

See, I’ve been on the pill for the last six months or so. And though it evened out my female problems quite nicely as was its intended purpose, it has wreaked havoc on my body in other ways -- namely, by dumping an extra 10 lbs. or so on my person. Of course I am guessing at the number because I am scared poo-less to step on the scale for fear that it will send me downward spiraling into a Krispy Kreme bender just to numb my chub-pain. It feels like I am carrying an innertube full of Jello around my waist at all times. Try cramming that into your jeans sometime! As it is, I consumed enough nog and rum over the holidays to feed and inebriate a small country for a year. I kind of had the pounds coming to me anyway. But the pill -- blast that stupid pill! -- has effed with my hormones in such a way that I don’t feel like myself anymore. I have been off the pill for over three weeks now. I want my regular girly cycle back, problems and all. I will work them out, but those fake hormones ain’t for me.

So! I have decided to do a cleanse (hereafter referred to as "The Cleanse"). A Master Cleanse, if you will. This comes at the recommendation of a couple of friends and actually myself. I did one some years ago and had great results. You dump all the synthetic hormones from the pill that would otherwise stay hanging around rent-free in your person, and detox your bod. This gives a nice, fresh start to starting a new eating plan or whatevs. And that’s what I need right now.

Of course, in a couple of days, I may be willing to sell my soul to Paris Hilton in exchange for a nice, fat burger. I’m ready for that. But I am told that after the first couple of days, it gets really easy and you start to feel really good. I plan on doing it for nine days before we go to Rosarito. Then I will re-tox when I get there. Just kidding. But I will, in all seriousness, have to have a few margs. It’s illegal in Mexico not to, right? That is the image I will keep in my head to keep me going: mmmmmmmmmmargs and tacos......

Tonight for my big send-off before the start of The Cleanse, I’ll be making some meatloaf, homemade mac and cheese, and asparagus. After that, it’s lemon/maple/cayenne country for a long-ass time. I’ll let you know how it goes. Lord, help me.

Non-Morning Person Getting Up In The Morning and Other Awful Things

So I was supposed to get up early (horrors!!!!) and go running with Bec this morning, but she flaked as she is on deadline and pulling a lot of late nights. Whatevs. So in a fit of complete insanity, I decided to go by myself. The Thai food we had last night was most certainly loaded with MSG I am now convinced, since I woke up with one of those obnoxious MSG headaches that dry out your throat and make you feel like someone shoveled fiberglass insulation-wrapped sawdust into your cranium. It always feels better to get up and walk around rather than lie in bed and wallow in it, so this prompted my lazy non-morning-person ass out of bed to do the run on my own. It was also the guilt over consuming so damn much pineapple fried rice last night.

I got my clothes on and proceeded with the big giant dog out the door. Dudes, I am being honest when I say it was pure, unadulterated HELL. Torture. Sheer shitdom. For starters, it was like, ten zillion below zero outside (yeah, New Year’s Resolution to not exaggerate going really well, but I mean! The grass in Balboa Park was completely frosty! Where the hell are we, the Arctic???) And not only that, but my legs kept up a steady protest of the following: "Bitch, WHAT???? Are you completely and totally INSANE? What in the mother-EFF are we doing out of bed, for the love of all that is holy? Excuse me, Brain? Is that your name? Brain? Get our Leg Agent on the phone, this is total bullshit! Go ahead, we’ll wait. God! This sucks!"

But I persisted in spite of the protests and was very happy I did, because not only did it warm me up and get the blood going, and I got to witness the sheer joy of watching Rufus haul-ass completely balls-out (if he had balls) after a squirrel, but I feel super chipper-perky-bubbly-happy today. And that is a good feeling.

But we’ll just have to see about doing it again tomorrow.

Less is More

Continuing in the vein of crappy-ass movies that one has to watch, I have a confession to make. I'm turning into a Bush Bitch. Here is my story.

Recently I was paging through the cable channels on a weekend evening, drinking cocktails, being thankful for the fact that in America, it is a perfectly acceptable pastime to watch crap-TV whilst imbibing for the sole purpose of poking fun at said crap-TV. It's very relaxing. I couldn’t find Showgirls anywhere, so I was looking for other crap to watch, and saw something very intriguing called "Busty Cops". I know, it sounds awesome, right? It was, however, on the Cinemax channel, which we didn't get. I was super bummed. I imagined all sorts of taglines of badness in my head: They’re busty. They’re cops. They will bust you if you’re bad, because they are the Busty Cops. Whatever Busty Cops was, I wanted in on it. So Derek heard my cries of despair over being denied what was most certainly a gloriously crappy chunk of time wastage, and on the sly the next day, he ordered Cinemax. Though I believe he secretly wanted to know the joy that was Busty Cops as well. So we're watching Cinemax the other night over the weekend. No Busty Cops to be found, but one of those cheesy soft-core pornos was on, called "Emmanuelle In Space". This fine piece of cinematic gold was crafted circa '89 or '90, and is so bad, I can’t even find it on IMDB in order to confirm its ancient date of creation. So of course, Derek and I were ripping on the hairdos and clothes and lame plotline and stuff. After one of the 27 or so sex scenes, the guy rolls off the girl after their simultaneous fake orgasms to reveal her super-bushy crotchal area. Derek and I erupted into peals of laughter -- "Hi, Tufty!" "Oh my god, hi Brillo Crotch!" “What’s up with the Chia Pet, Pseudo-Ho?” Still giggling, I went to the bathroom and happened to examine my own special area and jumped back from myself in horror. I hadn't realized how out of control it had become. The holidays haven’t exactly afforded a lot of time to do maintenance. I felt bad for poking fun at the Skinemax actress. It's not her fault. She's not alone. But she had the jabs coming, if only for the distracting gap in her teeth.

I called up my friendly neighborhood waxer (aka my sis-in-law, who always does an outstanding job of nether-region maintenance) and told her she may need a machete for this one. Thank the Pube Gods she had a spot available this weekend. But in the meantime, I’m thinking of buzzing it into the shape of some busty cops. What do we think? Hot, right? Awwwwwyeaaaaah.

Mom! Quit it, you're embarrassing meeeeeee!

Yeah. Some of us are super stoked the holidays are over. Rufus won't even acknowledge my presence in this shot. He is Super-Aloof-Teenage-Bad-Ass-Dog.

And behold the following, in which it appears that Babe wants to suck the very blood of the person taking the photo. Oh yeah. That would be me.

It Was The Best of Times, It Was The Worst of Times

After doing all the fun Christmas stuff at our new home for Christmas this year, we schlepped over to southern Utah to do Christmas and New Years with Derek’s family for four days. I love me some Derek’s family, so I was ready to rock. We did Christmas on New Year’s Eve morning, and I got to ring in the New Year drinking champagne and playing cards with Derek’s 101-year-old Grammy. She stayed up with us until at least 1:00 a.m.! Have I ever mentioned how much she rules? Well…. she rules. There was nowhere on earth I would rather have been. The only bummer to the whole affair was that I am violently (and I mean mafia-revenge-violently) allergic to their cat. Which is weird, because I have never been allergic to any cats, but there I was, wheezing and barely able to breathe, with nowhere to go since it was butt-cold outside. Then the real fun started when my whole head clogged up and I started sneezing every 2 seconds. I took some Benadryl and that was really special. I was still sneezy and stuffy, but now I was dopey and drowsy on top of it! Neat!

When not doing the celebratory stuff, we took in some of the sights of southern Utah, and more specifically, Zion National Park. This was also a nice break for me from the Snotfest that had become my existence throughout our stay. Anyway, I had no idea this place even existed, but I sure do now. It was absolutely stunningly beautiful, everywhere you look. Really cool plateaus and rock formations, gorgeous desert landscape, interesting wildlife. I can’t wait to go back in the spring to spend more quality time with D’s parents and check out the hiking around there.



Driving home, we had to pass through Las Vegas along with every single other person on the entire planet (New Year’s Resolution: Ease up on the exaggerating) AND deal with the rain. But all in all it was a really fun trip, and the valley welcomed us back home with open arms and rain-soaked dreams.

The next day I took down all the Christmas crap, put away presents, and swept up the pine needles. I am SO ready for 2006. Bring it on, bitches!!