My shot at the Murphy-Goode www.areallygoodejob.com
title! This is my application video. How ya like me now?!

Wine flubs!

Enjoy!

Firefighter Auction

I went to the Firefighter auction at Rain nightclub in Las Vegas over the weekend.
This is what they were selling.















And this is the audience response. Which one of my gal pals here do you think was shopping?

Canine Lessons

Walking my dog is relaxing and just so good. He teaches me to enjoy the simple things in life even if it is 100 degrees outside and we are both panting.

He teaches me to committ to whatever I'm doing even if that means keeping your eyes locked on the jogger down the road behind us. Locking that gaze so long that you miss the light pole in front of you and hit your big head. He teaches me to laugh out loud and not to take anything too seriously.

Easter Sunday

On Easter Sunday, I was five minutes late to the seven am sunrise service where my parents were ushering at the Lutheran Church that Could. I slid into the back row with them and I arrived during the first reading. There was light attendance. The preacher lives across the street from me in the condo association. He and his Mac preached the Top Ten Reasons Why We Should Believe in Easter sermon. We sat. We stood. We sang. We prayed. And then we offered.

They hustled up the aisle to receive the offering blessing and scuffled with a hand-hold for a few beats. From the cheap seats, in that moment I witnessed a relationship that spans 25 years, a mix of kids from different marriages and a few moves up and down California to settle in the desert with a big house and a wonderful backyard grandkids enjoy escaping my energetic sprinting white Boxer. I saw in that walk what I want to emulate in my own relationships – compromise and commitment. My mom has always taken her religious duties seriously, and my step-dad joined the church and finally caught up to her because he takes his love for her sincerely.

I moved from the lush life in Seattle to the dry, sometimes stagnant, desert life. I did it to be able to see where my parents usher and own a home on the same street as their pastor! I did it to play Yahtzee on a Thursday night and eat Turkey tacos on the weekend in their kitchen. I gave up Northwest liberalism and piercings and traded those in for a gun and a humidifier. It's a compromise and I am committed.

A Marathon North and South

Go 23777.

I experienced the LA marathon earlier this year. There I was, hot, trudging along, searching for my sprinting housemate among the contestants simultaneously guiding my other round brown Indian roommate along for the cultural ride. We never got to see her because, as she told us later, she left her pace group at about mile 23 and finished earlier than she planned.

Luckily, a few short months later I got to witness her finish the Big Sur marathon. When I spotted her a few meters away from the finish line, I was thrilled and wanted her to see me run, I guess, because I broke into a sprint leaving her bewildered brother behind wondering what I was running from and where his sister was. We found her in the "family" area.

This is where the participants go right after they finish, get their box lunch, are handed their noisy foil warming blanket, and then collapse into the arms of, or more precisely, collapse directly onto any family member they can make out from behind the sweat, and the bleeding nipples. There they were: in shape, out of shape, tangy bodies eating bagels, apple slices and M&M bars, fashioned in various modes of aluminum. We found her and gave her an uncommitted hug.

After that trip to No Cal I was reminded of two things: I don’t want to run marathons, and I’m not interested in being a Lesbian living in Carmel. For the record, this wasn’t the last time I'd encountered the blond braided runner, run. In fact, just the other day she bolted out the front door when our lovelorn, chore-sharing, chicken-obsessed,high-tech employed roomie expressed his undying love to her for a second time.

My LA Story

I cannot get away from eager high school football recruits practicing in the field adjacent to my new open-plan rental. I hear the short coach scream and the players scream back but their fear renders their collective voice small, smaller than the roar of one leader. I hear the sound of souls stirring in my new house. I hear finance and computer networking at my new job. I hear the sounds of the future and of minds working. In downtown LA, I see a valet manning a convertible as comfortable in the driver’s seat as if his own, soaking in the early morning Southern California warmth, perhaps perpetually royal with or without the light hitting him just so. I hear the petite cries of my new niece. I witness my brother develop into a man because of her and her brother. I see my mother develop into a friend to my brother because she is a grandmother now. I hear my mother on the phone telling me that everything will be all right. She says it is hotter than hell where she is. I see my mother in the workingwomen in the street downtown with their swollen purses and slight, proud grins. I know the future they are building for their sons and daughters. I see yoga students I teach douse themselves in the spirit our classes manifest. I see beautiful bodies move through space. I see peaceful bodies at rest, individually and as a student body. I see people on the train with work outfits fit for summer. I see grown men with overgrown headphones. I see a Hispanic man stand in the street and watch the commuter train I am in swivel past him. I imagine him imagining the train as a snake he once held in his small, rough hands in a dusty field. I hear Spanish, French, English and Urdu all around me and all at once. I see LA from just a story up – and it looks the same as if feels: divided. I hear loved ones answer the calls of theirs beckoning them. I see the sky through the windows. I feel the sky in my heart.

Now, I ride the bus on the way home. I stare at the sun and it sun stares back. I watch the sunset explode into the evening and ignite the night. The night brings love. The night brings a happy meal. The night brings relaxation. I lean back in my seat. I unwind. I relapse into relaxation on my ride in the traffic-dodging commuter bus. There was a span of warm silence recently on the 105 as we headed west. No one coughed. No one talked. No one was reached on his or her cell, mp3 players were silent and there were no hiccups of sleep. One breeze touched us all. One afternoon wound us together succinct. One stretch of freeway was summer camp. We guided in white, unmixed soft silence. The new quiet aligned us.

The sky in LA is dimensional this year, it is complex with storms and I am grateful, I am rattled. I stare at the sun and it stares back. I am disappointed that many of my fellow riders never look out the window. It is a time to look at the sky and yearn for the beach, whatever that means for each of us. As the bus rolls on, my goal is to sit, rolling with it.