This little mitted tabby, Oscar, is going to be the new addition at casa Willow/Adam. I'm already in love with him, I have a special place in my heart for mitted tabbies, because as you know, Maliboo Kitty is a mitted tabby. He's a little feral, which makes me immediately twice as in love with him because, again, Maliboo Kitty is a lot feral. Feral kitties rule, especially when they're mitted tabbies.
Welcome, baby Oscar!
And I don't know who the lady is.
On Saturday, nothing happened.
The End.
No, I kid. But not so much. So, to make this quick and easy, this post is mostly pictures.
Saturday was a day for the birds.
[These are Mexican seagulls - so don't say I didn't bring ya nothin']
Saturday was the day for the onshore activities, though many of us declined and stayed on the ship. By many of us, I mean people from the firm. The ship was empty and quiet, and we really did wile away the hours. Here's as far out as mom and I got:
It was a bit chilly, hence the jackets and the scarves.
We sat in the lounge on couchy seats, tip tapping on the computer or listening to books on tape, we chatted with passing friends, took pictures (lots of them, and probably only interesting to us) and waited until dinner. Somewhere in between, there was napping. Some folks enjoyed massages or the jacuzzi. I did not bring my suit for the jacuzzi, though I doubt anyone could have prevailed upon me to get nearly nekked with temperatures in the low 60s.
Dinner was a slightly more formal affair on Saturday night,
[With Ivy, who looked gorgeous]
though things degenerated fairly quickly.
The dinner show involved the entire dining room singing "Wheeeeeeeen theeeee moooon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that's amoooreeee" and of course there was some waving of arms involved from some of us not all of us but many of us I won't name any names but pretty much all of Kim's table. No one can accuse our firm of being passive or not fully participating in whatever bird-brained scheme is being hatched.
There was dancing, again, and the Evil Gnome was out, again. Saturday night he met willing partners, one of whom was a tall blond woman whose dress barely covered her ass and crotchumous area. There was also a woman in a bright orange prom dress who kept making rather raunchy advances towards her date, who managed to look mildly bored even as she did a full forward bend and rubbed her butt against his front package area. I'm not sure who I felt more sorry for in that little domestic drama. I hereby make a sweeping generalization based on nothing but conjecture and say that when you have to resort to such measures to get your date's attention, and fail, it is time to move on.
Some pole dancing occurred
And some of this happened too, though I'm not totally sure what "this" is.
And in all fairness, some of this:
In other words, we had a good time. Some of us were drunk, some were not, and the undrunk kept the drunk from falling off the boat. It's good to have friends.
Sunday was our Day At Sea. By that I do not mean that we were all confused, but that the ship stopped in the middle of the water on the far side of Catalina Island, and on board activities and such were enjoyed by many. I'm not sure how, but the day frittered away. I took some scenic shots, and I even saw a whale cruise by. She was not really close enough for pictures, but I saw the water plume a couple of times.
I took a couple of scenic shots:
At 11 on Sunday morning I attended the debarkation debrief. The cruise director gave us all the info we could possibly ever want about how to debark, which amounted to pick up your shit and get out. I think I could have figured it out myself. Had the weekend benn even a tiny bit more productive, I might have demanded that hour of my life back. But since I had nothing to do, it would have been more like demanding a wasted hour back so I could go waste it on something equally unimportant.
Sunday afternoon we gathered for a little cocktail party
After the cocktail party, some of us made a beeline for the "sushi" bar - extremely popular, judging by the length of the line, which to me indicates that sushi needs to be a staple of cruise ships. I mean, they're on the water for pete's sake, it can't be too difficult to have fresh fish, right?
By Sunday evening we had all pretty much collapsed. We napped until dinner, and then soon after everyone scattered and went to bed. Except for Jamaar and Shani, who danced till 4 am. Crazy kids!
Monday morning we were up with the chickens (birds again!) for breakfast, and we took our shit and got the hell off the boat, into cold and rainy weather. Vacation was certainly over, but not without fun memories, stories that will be told for the next several years, and some choice photographs that will be used as blackmail, or for a firm calendar. I vote for firm calendar.
Friday I left the country.
Actually, I’m not certain that this is an accurate statement. Friday was the first day of my firm’s Christmas cruise. A few years ago, the annual Christmas party turned out to have been a 3 day cruise to Ensenada Mexico. It might seem like a terribly splurgy thing, but I think that with special offers versus what restaurant and transportation costs are today, it really costs about the same to take us on a 3 day cruise as it does to, say, have a dinner at a historic hotel during peak season, with a rather good Cher impersonator who plops a wig and a mustache on Zebigboss and makes him bleat “I got you babe I got you,” while the entire office almost has a stroke from laughing so hard.
The first cruise was a smashing success. Although I have to tell you that Ensenada is not the most fascinating place to visit, at least not if you only have a few hours and want to make sure that you do not get left behind.
This year we are repeating the cruise experience, though it’s with a different cruise line, Carnival. It seems to me that Carnival is to the other ship (I can’t for the life of me remember what cruise line) a little bit like Las Vegas is to New York. Perhaps not the best analogy, but the point is that Carnival is named that for a reason.
Checking in and getting on the ship was pretty simple, though I have to say I’m surprised they are able to get so many bags on board so efficiently, in light of the apparent chaos that reigns at the baggage check.Once we parked our car (I carpooled with my mom, who is my guest, and Ivy) There were only two luggage porters that I could see, and about 100,000 people who had to give them bags. The bag drop “counter” is a table with two people sitting behind it handing out luggage tags. I put the tag on the suitcase I was checking in, and handed it over to one of the porters, along with a $5 bill. I imagine it was more tip than necessary, but I wanted my bag. The porters were very good humored, despite the obvious madness of this arrangement. I’m guessing their continued employment depends on their good humor.
The check in is similar to airlines’: hand luggage is scanned, you go trough the metal detector, your identification documents are checked, and then you line up at the end of an impossibly long line to get your Sail & Sign Card. The line is inside an enormous windowless dome that makes me think of how Space Mountain might look when it’s off and the lights are on for cleaning. The line moves surprisingly quickly, though by the end I was exhausted and convinced I’d gotten the pig flu. I didn’t, but that’s not the point.
Here’s the front of the ship:
The Sail & Sign Card, by the way, is your lifeline. It opens your cabin, it tells you where to be for dinner and when, it tells the ship whether you’re on board or not (though of course the falling out of the boat scenario is not covered by the card).
Once we more or less settled into our cabins, we had to run the safety drill. This time, fortunately, we did not have to don life vests. However, we had to gather in our assigned areas and then follow the appropriate personnel to the appropriate life raft stations on deck. I decided not to worry about the fact that there was only 1 visible life raft. I later spied other life rafts, including what look like inflatable rafts, but if those are not inflatable rafts after all, I don’t think those lifeboats are large enough to get everyone off the ship. Keep your fingers crossed for zero icebergs between Long Beach and Mexico.
I was hoping, yet again, that the safety briefing would including piling into the life rafts and casting off, I mean how else will you know that those things actually work?? But no such excitement was to be had.
As we lined up in an orderly fashion I expressed the hope that if the ship sinks it takes at least as long as it took to file into our assigned areas, then file out of the assigned areas and to our life raft areas, and then file into the life rafts, again assuming there would be enough. Dean added that what we needed was the string quartet (another Titanic reference) and that he didn’t care that they said you’re not allowed to bring your luggage so as to make room for other passengers, he’s not leaving his Louis Vuitton behind, and if it means a child has to eat it, so be it.
And then, with a defeatingly anti-climactic beep over the PA system, the safety briefing was over.¶After that, people scattered until dinner. Some went drinking, some napped. I did some homework. Yes, that class is still going, but it’s almost over. I almost didn’t make it, by the way.
Dinner was uneventful, other than the fact that they have a special diet adjunct who consulted with me about dinner, as well as Saturday’s breakfast and dinner. She says she likes to shock her gluten-free clients by telling that, yes, they can have – wait for it – PANCAKES!! I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I regularly have them, and make them fluffy and delicious. I did in fact have said gluten-free pancakes this morning, and they tasted more like espadrilles than they did like pancakes. But of course this evening when I see her I will ooh and aah and be extra grateful to her for making this delicious treat available to me. And tomorrow I’ll have an omelet.
There was a dinner … “show.” Music struck up, the dining room lights flashed, and for a few minutes we honestly thought that was the show. I was ready to dub myself a performance artist – after all, I turn the lights on and off several times a day. I’ve been known to turn on and off various appliances and electronics, too, and think I should be considered for the Nobel prize for artsiness.
My delusions of grandeur were dashed, however, when it turned out that the show was (1) a Philipino waiter singing Sweet Caroline and (2) the waiters doing a mildly obscene dance to a popular hip hop song. Sweet Caroline was spectacularly popular with our tables – one of our own is a mad fan of Neil Diamond’s, so she not only got up out of her seat and swayed her arms high in the air, but several of us did similarly fawning things in support. We were the loudest group to sing and clap and holla, so of course the singer came over to us for a few seconds. Now, if Jacob had shown up and taken off his shirt –THAT would have been a show. I guess I’ll just have to buy the movie!
I think you know what this photo is.
After that, us young ‘uns went dancing. My mom turned in, though she mostly qualifies as a young ‘un.
That’s right, people, I went dancing and stayed up past 10pm. You betcha. I even danced to hip hop songs, though I’m just not lovin’ the hip hop yet. It was a pretty decent mix of music, something for everyone. The highlight was Jeremy getting juiced enough to dance. We were all cutting it up, including Dean doing some serious pole dancing. The pole, however, was rather thick and as it turns out it’s harder to look sexy with a 9” diameter pole. Mostly, you just look awkward.
This one I have called "All Dean All The Time." Note the animal print patterns in the background.
Anyway, as Jeremy got progressively more juiced, he started moving a little bit here and there, and finally took the plunge.
The lowlight, but very blogworthylight, was the Evil Gnome and His Evil Twin, which I know you’ve been waiting patiently for. I mean, all this other stuff is all well and good, but you came here for the Evil Gnome.
Evil Gnome was a little guy, perhaps 4’10” (and you know how much I love tiny guys), skinny, who took turns dancing with all the women on the dance floor, and who got rather raunchy. Naturally, he zeroed in on me right away. I apparently do not intimidate Evil Gnomes. Evil Gnome was not a bad dancer, though a little manic, and he would have been fun to dance with every now and again, but for his tendency to glom on, get physically very close, and then pretty much hump the woman’s leg. This involved some hip grinding on his part, and for the women who were willing to play, the moves were something I’d rather not have seen. This is not so much because of the suggestiveness, as much as watching imperfect bodies do sexy moves badly is just not appetizing. Sorry, but it’s true. I know you think I’m a horrible, shallow human being, but there it is.
As I mentioned, Evil Gnome found me an irresistible target. I danced with him a little to humor him, and then finally gently but firmly pushed him aside. I had to do this a bunch of times before he finally stopped grabbing me and randomly twirling me while shoving his crotchular area against more or less my knee. Did I mention he was a tiny little man? If he had been any bigger, his behavior would have been threatening, but as it was he was just a mild irritation. I know, I know, sexual assault is sexual assault, but in the rarest of cases it’s kinda hilarious. One such rarest of cases is when I can physically lift the guy and throw him across the room if it becomes necessary, such as in this case.
Evil Gnome had an Evil Twin. They were not actually twins, or even related, but they behaved in much the same way, except Evil Twin could take a hint. After being sent over to me by one of my helpful coworkers, and attempting to shove his crotch up against my butt, I turned around and said “No touchy. I don’t know you. Go away.” That and a gentle shove did the trick.
Evil Gnome, however, was Napoleonic in his obsession with me. He would buzz around the dance floor like a horny little fly for a while, then return to our group and gaze hopefully in my direction. Even accidental eye contact would be misinterpreted as a come hither stare, so I avoided him very carefully. Earlier in the evening he had asked me “Why are you so conservative?”, an impossible question to answer. Who the hell wants to stand there on a dance floor and explain that it’s not me, it’s that he’s a pig? Oh ok, I guess not so hard to answer after all! A bunch of times I’d be dancing away, and Jamaar (my hero!) would unexpectedly grab me and do a few cool moves, always timed nicely to make it impossible for the Evil Gnome to grab me again. Bless his savior’s heart!
I have to wonder if Evil Gnome has friends. He did not appear to be in the club with anyone else, and every now and again I would notice him sadly twirling on the dance floor all by himself. I felt a little bad for him, but not enough.
Yep. That's pretty much how it went! We gathered at the annual Willow feast. We grazed all afternoon on chips and clam dip (slurp!), moved on to the main course, which as you can see included turkey, and finally topped it all off with dessert. I had two slices of chocolate cake. All the food gave me a ton of extra energy and I only got 3 hours of sleep on Thursday evening, but whatever. Here are some pics.
The beautiful table.
Let the ladling of food begin!
Food and more food and some drinks, too.
Cheers and thanks to the hosts (Willow and Adam, below) and to the cooks.
And Herbie, hoping that some bits of turkey fall off the table.
I call them the law girls. The six of us became friends during law school, and often studied together during our 1L year, as we were in the same section. Law school friends are a lot like what I imagine military buddies are: you understand each other in a way that no one else does, not even other people who went through law school. As lawyers we have law school as a general common experience, which binds us to some extent. But in that large group there is such disparity of skill and integrity that that law school alone does not always create a bond. But the people who are in your class are your friends for life.
We span a range of ages, I think the youngest among us is about 10 years younger than I am. One of us is Italian (guess which one?), one of us is Jewish, one of us is a former child star, one of us is Philipino, we are all different shapes and sizes and colors, we like dogs, we like cats, we don't talk about law much but sometimes I tell them about crazy cases I have.
Since law school, Izabelle, Anne, Katie and Anne got married, I got divorced, Christina had two children, Piper and Luke, Izabelle had a baby girl, Joey, and now Anne is pregnant, sex TBA. We have changed jobs, not changed jobs, become stay-at-home moms (temporarily or permanently? who knows!), we've moved, traveled around the world, been to Hawaii, told each other gross stories involving poo, remodeled, attended large extended-family gatherings, and given each other lots of gifts.
Today the law girls celebrated Anne's impending motherhood. Anne is the tall, slender one, who as predicted looks pregnant only when you look at her sideways and you see the little bump. At 8 months she looks like I would look at 2 weeks, or as I look if I have a beer. But I don't hate her for that, not at all. Not one bit, uh-uh.
We met at Cafe Bizou in Sherman Oaks, and had a lovely lunch, including a flourless chocolate cake that was quite fluffy, and that I happily polished off including Izabelle's, and gave her our gift, a car seat. And Katie knitted two little wool hats, a blue one and a red one.
Left to right: Anne + baby, Izabelle, Christina + Luke, Susan, me, Katie.
One of my recently reacquired high school friends, Marichu, uploaded some photos from high school. I myself really need to do a massive scanning project with the thousands of pictures I have, but it is rather daunting, I admit. Meanwhile, here are the pictures from Marichu.
These pictures were likely taken junior or senior year in high school, probably senior year. At the time, I lived in Tokyo, Japan, and attended the International School of the Sacred Heart.
In this picture you can hardly tell who I am, but I'm on the far left, looking to the right, with abnormally long bangs covering part of my face. At some point in high school I decided that I should grow my hair is what was essentially a reverse mullet: short hair, long bangs. Believe me, it was not a fashionable look even then. Marichu is 3 girls to the right, has what appears to be a headband (yup, mid-80s!) and she seems to be yelling something into a makeshift megaphone. I have no idea what we're doing or where we are, it looks like a school, but I don't think it was our school. It looks like we're rooting for something.
Here, I'm bottom right, crouched and trying to squeeze my butt into the picture. My butt was considerably larger back then, and I'm thankful that I don't fit into the clothes I wore when I was 18, because I was the size of my age. Marichu is in the back row, second from the right, and my best friend Niky is the really tall girl in the back.
Here we're on some trip, probably our senior class trip. Niky and I are in the second to last row. I'm the third girl from the right, sunglasses and hands behind my back, and Niky is on my right (left as you look at the picture), sunglasses and uneven hair. I think Marichu is two girls to the left of Niky, also wearing sunglasses.
It's hard to imagine ourselves as so young, so little. I think what's weirdest is that none of us now really feel very different from the girls we were then. I keep waiting to feel older, different, and it doesn't really happen. I notice that I need more sleep, and that I take longer to heal, and that I need to be more mindful of how I treat my body, but I still have that sense of possibility and open space and of my whole life yet to unfold in front of me. On the one hand, I think that is good, to still have that youthful anything is possible outlook, on the other hand, time goes by really fast while I sit around day-dreaming.
Anyway, it's fun to see these pictures. I can remember names, I can remember faces, but not all together. With the photos, they are coming together.
The other cool thing about this is that having lived all over the world, I have left many people behind. Finding them again, one by one, is giving me an unexpected experience of completion, of a circle being drawn to a close.
Friendship.
The last couple of weeks, I have been fundraising for the MDA, the Muscular Dystrophy Association. The deal was that a group of us from the office would get "arrested" by firefighters and get taken to "jail." Jail being The Old Spaghetti Factory, and "arrested" meaning a cute young firefighter
who politely asked the receptionist to let us know he was there to pick us up. In a convertible Cadillac, no less - some paddy wagon! Look at me, I'm so jazzed to be next to that strapping young man, it's almost obscene. This young man is from one of our city fire departments, so how weird would it be if I had to sue myself for sexual harassment? Weird.
We rode in the comfortable luxury car to the restaurant, which serves gluten free pasta, by the way, otherwise there would have been bitching. The ladies hosting the event were very sweet, and they took this picture of us.
How you know that this is not a real jail is because of the big red hearts. Otherwise, it's TOTALLY realistic. Totally.
We sat at our table, and tried to look serious. This is the result.
We are terrible actresses. I need to remember than letting my boobs sag does not make me look serious, it just makes me look old.
One of the nice ladies came over to tell Ivy that her contribution paid for a day of camp for a kid with MDA (or something) and one minute of research. The she turned to me and said "Oh and you did great, too!" Eh-hem. Yeeeaaah. Ivy got a plaque because she raised lots of money. Way to go, Ivy!
After lunch, we go to meet Holly, MDA's goodwill ambassador, who told us all about summer camp. They ride horses (one person on each side and one person leads the horse), they swim, they throw goo at the camp counselors, and do all sorts of other fun stuff. But they need lots of assistance and helpers, and all that costs money.
Holly is in 6th grade, and what a pretty girl she is. Her eyes sparkle, and her little face is so full of life I felt so privileged to talk to her and hear what this organization funds. We were very glad we did this. I think next year I'll do it again, and will certainly continue to contribute to this wonderful organization.
Thanks to all of you who contributed to this event, it was fun and really sweet, and a great, great cause.
My friend L from 30 years ago (see here for that post) sent me this picture. The three little girls in white were my classmates/friends. L is the one with the short dark hair. I'm in the front, and since the camera apparently adds 10 pounds, 6 inches and gigantism, I look much bigger than I actually was. I hope. God, I hope.
They are wearing white because this was their confirmation, I think. It's some mysterious Catholic thing that I don't know anything about, but that's what this was. Me, being the godless heathen that I am (yay!), I didn't do any of this stuff.
Adam's new Toyota Prius. Shiro is the Japanese word for white. Classy, yes?
To his friends, however, he's Pepe.
