Can you buy some if you've lost it?

I’ve been running a lot lately. This is not a new activity for me, though it has been considerably slowed over the years due to several knee injuries, a hip problem and some raging sciatica. Of course, this might be my bodies way of telling me that perhaps I should take up something lighter - say, dominos - but my usual m.o. is to turn a deaf ear to common sense, complain and use up all of the ice in the freezer to calm the swelling of my aching joints. So! Onward!

I weave a nice little path around town that has grown from four miles to six – progress! Kylie is usually with me, her tongue hanging down to her knees, wondering why her mom is punishing her by making her dash by all vertical objects that she would normally be sniffing and/or peeing on. But we must GO! RUN! IMPROVE OUR TIME! It’s also one of the rare hours during the day when no one can get a hold of me and I get some thinking done. Like, why am I watching Millionaire Matchmaker? Do I like Ben Harper? What do I think about the theory of Intelligent Design? Was I showing too much cleavage at dinner with my mother the other day? Is Obama getting any sleep at night? Heady stuff, I’m telling you.

But yesterday, I was just floating along without much going on between my ears. It had been a nice Monday. My hip wasn’t hurting. Kylie was keeping apace and not pulling me towards every promising shrub. The sun was out and it’s supposed to be almost 70 all week. Life was good. I was nearing home with about one more mile to go; the first part meanders through a park.

Now, I understand that spring is springing. People are coming out of their winter doldrums and waking up to the fact that – wooo! summer is nearly here! we’re coming out of the inky jaw of rain and early evenings! And isn’t this traditionally the time when people’s thoughts turn to love? Didn’t some douchebag at Hallmark coin that phrase? Well, SOMEONE had been trolling the card aisle at their local Longs, because SWEET LORD, there was a couple GOING AT IT on the lawn in the park around which I was running. And I couldn’t really avoid looking at them since they were the only other people there.

Now, it had rained the day prior, and there was no discernible blanket beneath them, but there was a lot of rolling around and moaning going on, so I got a pretty clear shot of what appeared to be well embedded grass stains on both the asses and backs of the love birds. And you know what’s sad? That my first thought wasn’t “That’s HOT! Good work you two!” It was “Those stains are going to be a BITCH to get out later! Didn’t they at least think this through enough to put down a towel or something?” Because God forbid someone should give into the urges of passion on a spring day and enjoy a good make-out session without worrying about whether they have enough stain stick at home to warrant such an amorous activity.

I was still thinking about it when I got home later. And how it shows that I've reached a certain time in my life when I think about the consequences of an endeavor...or rather how much work any given action might cause me...before I partake in it. This either shows a growing wisdom, or just that I'm aged and preparing to be a crotchety old woman who pokes her grandkids with her walking stick and says things like, "SHUT YOUR WORD HOLE! MY TALKIES ARE ON!"

Either way, have I lost my spontaneity? I'm worried.

The silver lining

I'm just back from getting my hair cut...which is exciting only because I went in with the intent of chopping it all off. I go through this every year, which makes me think it's some sort of seasonal disorder, but it's still on my head, people, in all of its long glory, so no need to panic.

I love my stylist. She is a super sarcastic, funny, spitfire of a woman. She was telling me about her recent vacation to Alaska with her mother and all of her siblings...it was the kind of vacation in which many of her descriptions started with "We were SO HUNG OVER but we went bear watching and managed not to get eaten or maimed. But I threw up in the bear viewing hut on the tour guides galosh." Sweet.

Her mother came in near the end with photos of the vacation, and my stylist handed them to me as she looked through them...which is awkward, isn't it? When you don't know anyone in the photos but are expected to "ooo" and "aaah" over them and ask leading questions that you don't care to know the answer to?

But then she passed me a photo and goes "These are my three brothers." And there he was...the boy who asked me to senior prom who I said yes to but then had to cancel on because my parents decided that prom was the devils party and a boy might GRAZE MY BOOB with his hand ON PURPOSE. Or KISS ME. Ergo, I had to go through the humiliation of saying, a week before the prom "You know, I can't go. My parents are trying to turn me into a social pariah and are succeeding. Can I borrow your math notes?"

It was ugly. He ended up going with some other girl, and I stayed home, crying, for about a month, plotting my parents ugly and painful demise. My mom, meanwhile, told me that I should pray for contentment and perhaps listen to some soothing hymns. I got over it (and started listening to punk music, go figure), but seeing that photo brought back such a rush of memory; I felt my face turn bright red.

My stylist looked at me and said "Are you OK? I know it's hot out, but you're totally flushed!" I just laughed it off and handed her back the photo, deciding not to reveal that I had caused her brother some serious irritation 15 years ago. Especially since I'd like my haircuts NOT to resemble something that was backed over by a lawn mower. Let's keep that hair even, shall we?

It's just as well. The dress I had planned on wearing that night was pretty hideous, so besides avoiding having my boobs groped, I'm spared the historical documentation of my poor fashion tastes. See? There's an upside to everything.

Be prepared

I'm one of those women who normally doesn't leave the house without applying at least a LITTLE bit of makeup. Mostly because I look like this without it. Also, because you never know when you'll be ambushed by the crew of What Not to Wear or run into Christian Bale.

But a few weeks ago, we were in the midst of a heat wave and looking hot was secondary to remaining cool...makeup wasn't a priority. But walking Kylie was. I figured I wouldn't run into anyone I knew in the middle of the day in Mountain View, seeing as most normal folk are at work. So I donned a pair of huge sunglasses, checked myself once in the mirror, noticed that my hair resembled something closer to a straw bale on top of my head but decided to just fuck it and go.

And so we walked. Or rather huffed and panted, as it was REALLY warm out. The amount of sweat I was creating was rather astonishing, so I tried to hurry Kylie along so that we could get back home and I could shower.

She finally, after sniffing what seemed like each and every leaf, found a place to do her business...she finished pooping and I, of course, bent down to pick it up. Which is when I heard a male voice say "Jen? Is that YOU?"

And I turned to see my VERY HOT old high school boyfriend with his VERY HOT current girlfriend standing next to him. Sweet god. The humiliation was something I just don't have the words for. I think a lot of women have this hope that if/when they run into the first boy that broke their heart that they will look beyond wonderful. That the guy will end up thinking "Hot DAMN, I screwed THAT one up for SURE!"

What they don't want is to be hot, sweaty, and carrying a bag of smelly dog crap. And also looking as though some sort of blond bird has come to roost on the top of their heads. Did I mention I had a brand new pimple on the tip of my nose? I did. And it was screaming "LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME!!!"

Needless to say, the conversation was short. I made a hasty escape, wafting dog poop as I walked off towards home. I'm sure his girlfriend was all "Who was THAT?" to which he replied "Oh, just someone I knew in high school" to which she then said "Well, does she ever SHOWER?"

I almost wished I had said something like "Let's get a drink some time!" because then I would have had the opportunity to redeem myself. Instead, he now has ample relief in having broken up with me years ago...which he did because I wouldn't put out. Now he's just happy he didn't end up with someone who bears a passing resemblance to the swamp thing.

I blame my mother who didn't let me join the Brownies/Girl Scouts, thinking any club would turn me into a Socialist. Isn't one of their mandates "be freaking prepared"? The things I would have learned...

Rad

Marc: So is it HELLS-yeah or hells-YEAH?

Holly: It's hell-yeah...no 's'.

Me: I think if you have to ask, you're too old to use it.

Marc: No way...I'm totally bitchin'...I can throw down that shit.

Holly: Bitchin'? Are you SERIOUS? What is this...summer of 1989?

Marc: Were you even alive then?

Holly: Hell-YEAH! See, that's how you use it.

Me: Our parents would be so proud...college degrees all around and this is what we discuss.

Marc: FO'shizzle.

Holly: Please. Stop.

When you know you're getting older...

I’m deeply suspicious of anyone who doubts the excellence of the show “Gossip Girl.” I awaited its return with a feverish anticipation that I’m sure rivaled most of the teeny boppers who share my enthusiasm for the high school drama. But who doesn’t love the deviousness of Blair’s soul? There isn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t covet Serena’s hair! And Dan Humphrey! Sweet God! I just want to fold him up, put him in my pocket and take him out when I need to look at something pretty. And then there is Nate Archibald – I’m not sure he’s real, folks, because anyone THAT good looking should be put into some sort of glass case so we can just stare at him…and perhaps clone him…

But my true, TRUE love on that show is Matthew Settle who plays Rufus Humphrey, Dan’s father.

And this is how I know that I’m getting old, because I’m no longer lusting after the main characters, the beautiful little 20 year olds masquerading as high schoolers. No, my main focus is on the PARENTS. Or, at least, the one parent. Those little brats can run all over Manhattan, drinking their fancy drinks and wearing horribly misplaced couture…I just want to see Dan’s brooding, sensitive, musician father (and we know how I feel about musicians) lament over his lost love, worry about his daughter and stare at the camera in a way that makes me want to dive in, ruffle his hair and say “Do not worry, Matthew Settle! Jenny will come to her senses and you KNOW you’ll end up with Lily…in the meantime, lets make out on the sofa!”

I'm really, very truly, not in my 20's anymore...

A few of us ventured out to see Jimmy Eat World in concert last night. It was held at the San Jose Event Center on the SJSU campus – ergo, there were a lot of college-aged kids there. I had one of those evenings in which I was reminded, somewhat painfully, of how long ago I was actually IN college (it's been TEN YEARS people) and how I’ve become so far removed from that part of my life. For instance:

1) I’ve been suffering from a knee injury for about three weeks…I was thinking of bringing my crutches last night (less for support and more so I would get the sympathy vote, an aisle seat and a free pass to the front of the line in the ladies room). My point is in days past, I would have definitely worn heels to a concert...wouldn't have dreamed of leaving the house in less than three inch footwear. Last night, I had flats on and had actually considered wearing tennies.

2) As we were making our way towards the venue, two cute little college girls came out of the dorm ahead of us and started walking hand in hand towards the concert. Besides bringing up hopeful lesbian fantasies amongst the boys in our group, I was struck by how they were wearing the flimsiest, tiniest of tops, while our group was swathed in sweaters, jackets and scarves. It was, after all, below 60 degrees - downright chilly to those of us CA natives. Again, in my younger years I would have done the same, because how are you going to pull a man in a parka? He needs to see your treats, despite the dangers of hypothermia or indecent exposure. Slut it up! Not me...I'll be over here in my flats.

3) After arriving at the concert, we made a beeline to the bar only to find that their finest brew was Budweiser…I mean, really? We were all scratching our heads at the lack of acceptable hard alcohol and wine (grown up drinks) while being pushed aside by the co-eds who were excited and nervous to see if their fake id’s were going to work. I had a moment where I recalled pouring a wine cooler (age 18) into a plastic water bottle on my way to a party in college…and then I thought, do they even MAKE wine coolers anymore?

4) Hopes of a decent beverage dashed, we went into the auditorium and found seats. SEATS. I realized about two years ago that I was old enough to sit down to enjoy shows. Gone are my days of pushing my way through a crowd to get to the front of the pack so that I can make eye contact with the lead singer (I love musicians…sue me). Gone are my days of crowd surfing (great way to get groped, ladies), accidentally pushed into a mosh pit or head banging. I work all day, am tired and want to sit my sorry ass down to listen to the concert that I just paid good money for. If you’re sitting in front of me, don’t stand because I will seriously cut you for blocking my view of the stage. Thank you.

5) Which brings me to the problem of having forgotten my glasses. Jimmy Eat World, I hear you are all very cute and the girl in front of me (who thankfully sat the entire time) professed to whomever would listen that she was planning on marrying the bass player…so great. Being somewhat blind, you were three (or four?) fuzzy objects bouncing around the stage all night. (p.s. – just looked them up…if the above girl gets her man, well done. They are, in fact, emo cute.)

6) I spent most of the night thinking “I wish to GOD I had brought some ear plugs.” I’ve been spending a lot of time today going “What?” to my clients. I'm slightly deaf in the right ear.

7) I’ve become a lot crankier about bands with little discernable talent. I mean honestly, I am not at ALL vocally gifted (except in the shower where I’m competition for Celine Dion) but I can tell when people ARE. The opener FOR the opener was Dear and the Headlights. Bad use of a pun aside, if you’d like to listen to some of their awesomeness you can look them up in iTunes, but I don’t suggest doing so unless you really hate yourself or have just consumed a strong tranquilizer. Seeing as we were neither medicated nor in self-deprecating moods, it was just a ½ hour of auditory misery and all of us coming up with different ways of saying “These guys SUCK.” My favorite came from Cory “I would be pissed to listen to these guys play for free in a bar!” Indeed.

8) From our lofty seats we had a full view of the crowd below…probably about 1,000 people who were all rocking out on the floor. Between the two visible mosh pits and the general crush of people, I turned to Mindi and said “How cranky would we be if we had to be down there?” to which she just said “Very!”

We are old, geriatric, the kind of people who should really only see shows in a civilized place like the Mountain Winery or our local rest home. But we're still cool for going to rock shows, right? What?