Halloween

We had several Halloween activities this week. The first was The Boy's Halloween carnival at his preschool. It was hilarious. There were games and prizes and costumes. Oh the costumes! Is there anything as cute as a tiny costume? On the way to the party he kept saying we were going to his birfday party.

Here's The Boy, a shark. Someone asked if it was a KKK costume. Costume fail. 

Here's the back for clarification. I've never seen a KKK suit with fins and a tail. Well, I've never seen a KKK suit. 

Here he is with his girlfriend Minnie Mouse. 

And here he is giving someone the stink eye. 

This is what happens when you tell a group of preschoolers at the cake walk to walk around in a circle when the music comes on.

I'm pretty sure they were thinking this was a crazy idea us adults came up with. 

My mom took him to the fall festival at her church. 

The Husband challenged him to go down the inflatable head first, and this happened. 

He should know by now not to challenge him to any daring feats, because he will do them. Don't worry, he's okay. And don't show my mother-in-law that one, she'll have a heart attack.

On Halloween night we went to his cousin, Darth Maul's, for trick or treating in their neighborhood.

  

The Boy decided at the last minute to nix the shark suit and go trick or treating in his skeleton pjs. Plus he had to add his superman cape and a spiderman mask of his cousin's that he found. The result was a little like a Mexican wrestler in the back of a pickup truck. 

Happy Halloween! 

Palm Springs

Two weeks ago I had to go to an annual conference for work in Palm Springs, California. I've been to this conference several times, and the content is always good, and it's usually in a cool place.  Since I was already there for work and already had a hotel room, The Husband came out for a few days. We left The Boy at home with grandparents. It was amazing.

Here are the highlights.

AirTram:
The Palm Springs Air Tram starts at 2,500 feet above sea level, and ten minutes later ends at 8,500 feet. You board a tram car and head straight up the side of a mountain, the whole while the floor rotating to give you a 360 degree view. There was snow at the top, and if the views weren't enough to make you dizzy, there is a full bar too.

 

One night we were eating dinner outside at a Mexican restaurant (Aqua Rio), views of mountains and palm trees in the distance. Gay couple after gay couple passed by on the street. When we left I stopped a couple and asked them what in the world we were missing. Where was everyone going? "Oh, Wang's!" they told me, "It's the place to be." Naturally, I assumed it was a gay bar. Turns out it was the best Chinese restaurant in the valley. We went to Wang's In The Desert the next night and it lived up to all the hype. It was de-lish.

A rare photo appearance by The Husband

We had Sunday brunch at Las Casuelas Nuevas. Champagne. Mexican food buffet. Patio. Mariachi band. Waffles shaped like boats to hold all your toppings. My mind exploded from the amount of awesome.

New friends I met at the waffle station. "Honey, what's the name of those crunchy things we get at Costco?" "Churros." "Oh yeah, they have those here."

                              

Thursday night we went to VilliageFest, a weekly festival with a half mile of vendors and hipster musicians with ironically cool socks. It was like here's some beautiful mountains, and some palm trees, and want to buy some artesianal lotions or some California dates? Side note: dates are not actually delicious.

I thought it was going to be a total tourist trap, but there was a lot of really cool stuff and a lot people watching. We were waiting on a table at the trendy Lulu when I heard a familiar tune coming from the street. "Annie!" I said to the Husband, in explanation as I was drawn out of the restaurant to catch a local children's production of Annie on the street. The Husband, who has known me for 20 years, was unfazed by my Pavlovian response to hearing kids whose parents paid for them to learn how to act like orphans.  He's a keeper.

This lady was making lanterns out of tin cans and a torch.

We rented a douchey car and drove all over the desert.  We drove to the neighboring town of Joshua Tree and checked it out. We tried to go to the Joshua Tree National Park but you know the government was shut down and all the trails and trees were unemployed and we couldn't get in.

That's a genuine Joshua tree in Joshua Tree, California.

We drove more than an hour way out into the desert to visit the Integratron, a dome that was built on a geomagnetic vortex in the Mojave Desert for the purpose of time travel and communication with extraterrestrials. Duh. Unfortunately the Integratron will not even let you in the gate without an appointment. Not so much as a gift shop! On the plus side, we did see a pony-tailed Native American sitting outside his trailer in a lawn chair and a tuxedo t-shirt, so it was worth the drive.

Shameless desert selfie

Integratron

We called home a few times to check on The Boy. Every time he was too busy to talk, and we were cramping his style on his grandparent binge. They sent us pictures of him swimming, posing with characters at the store, eating junk, riding statues, playing with new toys, and wearing a new spider hat:

Best weekend of his life. Back to us. There are tons of windmills in Southern California. I was fascinated and took about 400 pictures of them. I deleted about 390. They are HUGE. I had no idea, and you really don't realize until you're right up on them how massive they are.  When you're driving along, it's just desert, desert, mountain, desert, WINDMILL, desert.

We window shopped at El Paseo, the Rodeo Drive of Palm Springs. We went to all the upscale stores and acted like we weren't afraid to touch things. 

Then we went to the outlets, where things were still expensive. 

Hey, I found a Prada dress! Oops it's still $570.

Our hotel was on a golf course in the middle of the desert. (Sand trap, anyone?) 

We are not golfers but it was beautiful. 

 On my first flight home I sat beside an aging (aren't we all?) posh Palm Springs Macy's personal shopper who was flying to Chicago for a Macy's personal shopper convention. We talked Candy Crush strategies. The worst part of the entire trip was the shuttle from the airport. I sat beside a European couple who spoke in thick Slovic accents. Of course that in itself wasn't bad, but five minutes into the shuttle hour long ride, they each covered their faces with their jackets. Only the man's eyes were revealed. I snuck my phone out to take a picture. What was this guy doing?? I positioned the phone to take a selfie.....

He then covered his entire head in his jacket, his wife covered her head, and then covered her eyes with her hands. Immediately after I took the picture the man unwrapped himself and said to me "I'm not a terrorist. I'm just dressed like one. I'm recovering from a cold." and promptly wrapped back up. BUSTED. I was mortified. I kept my phone out and acted like I was busy on it, but he knew. Oh, he knew. 

Fancy Palm Springs vacation and I started thinking I was the paparazzi. 

Breaking Bad Baby

Do you like The Boy as Jesse Pinkman from Breaking Bad?? You can't tell but he's showing off his Land of the Free tattoo. Winning.

Flying

Last night I arrived for a conference in California. I’m super stoked. Every time I fly I’m reminded of how much I love to people watch. Man, people are fascinating. I’ve only been me, so I don’t know if people talk as much to everyone, or if people talk a lot to me. 

I rode in a shuttle with a lady who lives in Bogart. She has three kids: 8 months, 3, and 5. I know their names and where they go to school, and how many houses are for sale in their neighborhood. I even know where her kids go on field trips and what method of transportation they use to get there. I know where she works, where her husband works, and where she used to work and live. I know where she’s traveling and why. I know her mother’s profession. I know that she likes to go to the zoo and the aquarium, and that she finds it hard to balance working full time with what her kids need.

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My favorite guy on my first flight was a tattooed guy with one (presumably new) tattoo wrapped in saran wrap and athletic tape. He was carrying a large wooden, empty, eye glass display. He was on the phone saying this plane was so old that it had ashtrays (it did not), and that he was going to have to ride with his luggage in between his effin legs (he did not).

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On my connecting flight I was seated beside a super nice M.D. who was attending a conference, and would be speaking to internists about skin cancer. He'd left a thriving private practice in Santa Barbara to go back in to research, something that is unheard of in the medical community. But he is passionate about what he's doing now: research on genomes "that's garnering a lot of interest". Dr. Genome was on his 22nd consecutive day of conference speaking. He and his wife, Anita, moved to Phoenix so he could work at the Mayo clinic there. They have 2 kids, ages 1 and 3. I saw pictures. Dad was Asian. One of the kids looked like him, the other was a red-head. 

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The last time I went to this conference was two years ago, and on the way there I sat beside a man and a woman. The man was a bounty hunter in LA and was fighting with a man he was taking into custody when the LAPD opened fire on him. He was shot multiple times and had to undergo surgery and a lengthy hospital stay. After he recovered he sued the LAPD for shooting him without reason. A jury awarded him over a million dollars. He had a foster child and a bobcat at home, and was flying to Costa Rica to look at some property he might purchase.

Here's an LA Times story about him.

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The lady beside him was the wife of a Pentecostal pastor. She had a long skirt and her long hair pulled into a bun. She was traveling to her godson’s wedding. He was marrying her daughter. They’d grown up together, and he’d proposed on a boat on the fourth of July in front of the entire family.

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On my return flight I was seated beside a nationally acclaimed food blogger, who was flying into Atlanta to speak at a panel at a huge produce convention.  

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I do not have a tattoo, or an eyeglass display, or a bobcat, or a foster child, or a godson, or a food blog…. Yet. (I will not rule any of those out. Especially the tattoo and the foster child. And the bobcat.) I am struck by how much of a regular person I am, and intrigued at how much they each seem to think the same. Ain’t that the way of the world?  

Scraggly

Blast from the past.

Every time we drive by a Dollar General store, I give a little salute. To the general, you know. Out of respect. Here's an old story for you. It has nothing to do with The Boy or The Husband, so you can stop reading now if you came here for them.

When I was in college I went to the Dollar General for shampoo and paper towels, and whatever else college kids buy at discount stores. I was walking around, wasting time, not realizing how the world was my oyster and such, when I heard a commotion by the register. Naturally, I got closer so I could see what was going on.

There was a customer talking loudly at the cashier. Apparently she walked down the strip mall to another store and had left her bag in the Dollar Gen and it was now missing. I assume I missed the friendly exchange in the beginning. Now she was mad and she was getting madder. And she was what we call Couwntry. That's like country, but with an extra emphasis on the "ka" sound, and plus add a W in the middle.

Customer: I left my bag in here and now it's gone!
Cashier: I'm sorry, I don't know where it is.
Customer: You remember when I came in here, you made me leave my purchase (from another store) at the counta,
Cashier: --I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't know where it is.
Customer (getting louder): Y'all makin' people leavin' their stuff at the counta, acting like we gon' steal something, can't even carry a bag around, and now somebody stole my stuff!
Cashier: Ma'am-
Customer: Don't ma'am me! Y'all acting like I was gone steal something when I came in here. Y'all acting like anybody want to steal this Dollar General crap. Nobody want the crap in here! Y'all ain't got nothing. All y'all got is a bunch of scraggly ass shit that nobody wants! 
Cashier: Ma'am, I need you to lower your voice or I will have to call the police.

Oh law! People were starting to stare. A crowd was starting to form to watch the spectacle that was going down.

The cashier picked up the phone.
Customer: Yeah, call your manager and tell them you stole my bag!
Cashier (on the phone): Hello, this is Dottie from the Dollar General on Barnett Shoals. I need a police officer, please......Yes.......We have an irate customer........No, but she is cursing.....(she continued on the phone).
Customer's friend: Who's cursin'?? I didn't hear no cursin'!
Customer: I did. Yes I did, I said scraggly ass. Ain't gon' lock nobody up for saying scraggly ass! (Sing songs:) Scraggly ass! Scraggly ass! Scraggly ass! 
Customer's friend: Nope, they ain't gon' lock nobody up for that.
Cashier: They are sending an officer now to help you.
Customer: Scraggly ass......

The customer seemed to calm down, seemingly appreciative that the police had been called on her. As the show was ending, I paid for my shampoo and began to leave. A police officer showed up and was asking questions of the customer, and telling her that she could not, indeed curse inside the Dollar General. His face seemed to say "I graduated from the police academy to catch criminals, not cursers. I wanted to track down kidnapped kids, not scraggly assed purchases."

I do not know if the lady got her bag back. I felt for her and her plight, but she had no idea that her phrase that day made it into my lexicon, and the lexicon of all that listened to my adventure story that week. I loved it.

Okay, maybe this does have a little to do with The Boy. Longtime readers know that my kid is tiny. He's now up to the fifth percentile in weight. When we tell each other at home that he is fine, healthy, and just a runt, you better believe we refer to him as just an ole S.A. Now you know why. Karma, my friends. Karma.