Jinky's

Oh. My. Goodness. This is a breakfast shout-out of the highest order. You know how important a good breakfast place is? Especially if you have gone out and pickled your liver the night before? Well here you go, people -- I’m about to go large with this one. Jinky’s in Sherman Oaks. Absolutely, unbelievably, ridiculously good. I showed up at this place for the first time on Saturday to meet Bunnie before a hike in Fryman, and I was nursing the most gawd-awful hangover. I would say it was in the Top 10 Worst Hangovers of My Life. I had taken Bec out to celebrate her birthday the night before, and well, yeaaaaaahhh. Kinda overdid it on the sake and the champagne, but damn it was fun! The only worse hangovers I have had than sake involved an unfortunate tequila episode over one fateful Memorial Day when I was 22 (my ass got SCHOOLED on the ways of tequila because of that), and the suffering that was wrought on my person the morning after a night out with my brother in Tahoe wherein we drank just about every cocktail known to mankind in a sort of casino-club-bar crawl that we did. That night was super-disastrous for my liver. Oh, my poor liver. Pity my liver. Tell your children that if they are bad, they will come back in the next life as my liver.

Anyway! Jinky’s. Bunnie and I shared …. oh my god, are you ready? ‘cause I have dreams about these now that I am in the know …. Banana Macadamia Nut Pancakes (ginormous, with heaps of syrup and, get this -- room temperature butter that is actually spreadable) and Huevos Con Pollo, which was sort of like Huevos Rancheros with a nice chunk of grilled chicken on top and avocado and cilantro and stuff. Absolutely delicious all the way around. You try not to get full because it is so damn tasty, you don’t want to stop eating. Add to this the fact that they know caffeinehounds when they see us, and are kind enough to leave a mini-pot of coffee on the table with you so you can refill at your own pace. Add to this the fact that they serve this very quality green tea, iced, and will provide you a nice refill in a to-go cup to take said tea with you so that you can cram all the antioxidants possible into your toxic waste dump person so that you might have the hope of vaguely resembling something human at some point in the day.

That was Jinky’s. You so want to go there now, right? I know. Me too.

Jinky’s Café
14120 Ventura Boulevard
Sherman Oaks, CA 91423
Phone: (818) 981-2250

It Rules To Be Me

If I sat and tried to conjure up the perfect day, I don’t know if I could do better than yesterday. It was like everything was aligned in sheer perfection. Derek, Jodi and I went up to Snow Summit to take advantage of the recent snow. We thought everybody else and their mother would be doing the same thing, but alas, there was hardly anybody there and we whizzed through every single lift line. The weather was warm and beautiful. We cracked jokes on the chair lifts and made each other laugh all day. Snow was fresh and fluffy and wonderful. We spied some weird little creature repeatedly that we couldn’t quite identify -- like a squirrel mixed with a rat, mixed with about 16 Red Bulls. One spazzy little rodent-like animal. What the heck was that thing? Anyway… I digress. Continuing on with the goodness: There were no major falls or injuries. Lunch was tasty. There were no rude punks on the slopes like at Scrub High. Traffic coming home didn’t even suck that bad. What did I do to deserve such a great day? I have no idea, but I am grateful.

Curvaceous Update

Since I’ve had a total of three friends tell me they have joined Curves since I joined a month ago, I felt it prudent to give a status update for those of you still on the fence. So let me state unequivocally that it does, in fact, still rule. And here is why:

I manage to fit in at least three workouts a week, even if I am swamped as all get-out. It’s just easy to fit it in and “git ‘er done,” as Jillie says. I still really like the vibe of the place and find it is comforting to set foot in there after a hard day of work because I know there will be peace, time for myself and doing something good for my bod, and above all else, nobody bugging me.

I also have to say, they are good about being on top of things. The other night when I was about five minutes into my workout, this lady came in wearing that horrid Stinky Old Lady perfume. Actually, “wearing” is a rather conservative term. It would be more accurate to say that she had lain in a covered glass dish in the fridge and marinated in it. And keep in mind, Curves are not big places -- the entire gym is a very modest sized storefront, the equipment is arranged in a tight circle and you are breathing heavily throughout to keep your cardio up. Thusly, if you are breathing in somebody’s stank perfume, you can taste it in the back of your throat. This is SO not good. This is a one-way ticket to Bitterville, USA. And it's not like you can just walk up to the offender with your coffee cup and be all like Bill Lumberg from Office Space: "Um hi, yeeaaaaah. Just wanted to let you know that um.... yeaaah, you're kinda like um, how should I put this, totally polluting everybody's lungs and making their hair smell like stank and stuff. So... yeah, if you could just sort of like go ahead and like, leave the premises, or the zip code entirely, that would be greeeeaaaat. M'kay?"

I absolutely LOATHE complaining to the management about anything (i.e., stankness in the office, neighbors with barking dogs, whatevs) but sometimes you just have to or you will spontaneously implode from frustration. The management was on the phone as I was leaving, so I held my tongue about it, but to my pleasant surprise, the very next day when I came in, there were signs right there in the front where you check in, and in the restrooms, saying “NO PERFUME, NO PERFUMED LOTIONS”. Well alright! I didn’t even have to open up my can of bitch-ass!

Oh, and as for results, here is what I have noticed with my hyper-critical eye: I now have muscle definition in my arms, my butt is noticeably cheekier, my thighs are a lot stronger, and --check it out!-- I have oblique muscles! Holy crap! Oh, and a marked decrease in the dreaded C-word. Cellulite is no match for Curves.

So yes, as I was saying, Curves does still rule.

Some People's Dogs

I was just at the dumb car wash on my lunch (yeah, THAT’S how you want to spend your lunch break) where I spied the most adorable pair of standard poodles. They were twins in every way except their color -- one was greyish and one was tannish. But all of their motions and expressions were fluid and identical and so cute that I just had to get up and say hello. I asked their mistress if I might pet them and she said sure! to which the dogs enthusiastically gave me lots of lovies and brightened my day. They were so funny -- they kind of swirled around one another in vying for best petting position and were just like yin and yang -- they kind of took turns with me in a respectful synchronicity that was totally fueled by their silent doggie language. They both smiled at me. It made my day.

I Am Goddess, Watch Me Shimmy

So I started a six-week course of Middle Eastern Dance three weeks ago. Here are my observations at my halfway point in the course, which was last night:

1) There are certain ways to move your body (as in yoga) that literally feel ancient. You can almost feel the ghost of a woman doing the same motions alongside you from a thousand years ago. It’s kinda hot in a psychic kind of way. Like walking into a cathedral in Europe that has been there for 800 years. The oldness of it is a feeling in your stomach that you can’t quite describe to someone else.

2) You can make the smallest motion with a single part of your body that is more flat-out sexy and enticing than a world of gyrating and pole-humping.

3) The belly of a woman is perhaps the sexiest part of the body, regardless of its size or shape. It is where life is created and where the sex organs are located. The implications of that are inescapable in terms of its appeal.

4) The sound of finger cymbals is lovely and musical. Until you are in a room with 40 other women who are learning to use them and who can’t seem to stop clapping them together at every given second, even when not dancing.

5) Women in their 60s without any sort of surgical or cosmetic enhancements (as my instructor is), can still look and act younger and more lively than a lot of women in their 20s, and hold an aura of sex appeal that is at once smoldering and dignified. Proving to me once again that a woman’s attractiveness and power come from within. It is an intense power that must be harnessed and pointed in the right direction. It is a gift, not to be trifled with.

6) What a woman does with her hands conveys volumes about what is going on inside of her.

7) Belly dancing requires a great deal of rhythm, though it may not at first seem so. But to keep a constant ¾ tempo going with finger cymbals, while your feet and arms are doing completely unrelated motions, is quite taxing as far as coordination goes. I imagine it must be what it’s like playing the drums.

Color Me Right

Yanno, I hate when I'm right when it's something like this.

I have this theory, see, and many of you as my friends are well aware of this theory due to my past pontifications on this subject. You know how it seems bad drivers on the road are becoming worse and more plentiful? My theory is that the rate of bad drivers out there is directly proportional to the common use of prescription drugs these days. EVERYBODY is taking some shit or other for some ailment or other (even sweaty palms! Hello!!!) Every drug produces a bevvy of unwanted side effects, but I believe the majority of them should come with a warning label that says, in bold neon spazziness: WARNING: TAKING THIS MEDICATION WILL MAKE YOU A CRAP-ASS DRIVER, AND LIKELY TO ANNOY, INFURIATE, POSSIBLY INJURE OR EVEN KILL INNOCENT DRIVERS AROUND YOU. PLEASE HIDE YOUR CAR KEYS FROM YOURSELF BEFORE OPENING THE LID TO THIS MEDICATION.

Turns out I am right, right, right, according to this article from msnbc. You've heard of sleepwalking? That's old news. Nowadays, it's all about sleepDRIVING for Ambien users. What the hell is wrong with people?

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