Ridiculously Cute

Everyone say awwwww: Peaches and Mocha are doing some kitty bonding.






Of course, 10 minutes after these beautiful, serene photos were taken, these two were having an all-out swat fight, complete with Mocha doing a body-slam move on Peaches from the couch to the floor.

Oh well. Just like siblings I guess.

Public Service Announcement

Solarcaine Burn Relief gel with 0.5% Lidocaine is an absolute godsend for the sunburn from hell.

Oh, and three coats of SPF50 is not enough protection from 10+ hours of boating, swimming, jetskiing, and a nap in the shade.

I really wish I'd inherited my father's resilient Mediterranean skin.

Celebrity Look-A-Like Part II

Couldn't resist plugging in this one of Danny and I.




I love the late Princess Diana, and ironically, have always thought that Dean Cain was hot.

I'd say this website is quite accurate. :)

Celebrity Look-A-Like

My friend AJ found a really cool face recognition program on MyHeritage.com. You upload a picture of yourself, and it returns what celebrities you most look like. Here is our result, from a picture taken at Molly Magee's last year.




I can see the resemblance between AJ and Carson Daly, and perhaps a little of the attitude, too.

But me ? And Jamie Lynn Spears ?? Britney Spears' kid sister ?!?!?!

Shoot me now, please !

Perspective

Yesterday, a coworker of mine listened patiently as I told him of my craptastic morning, and then proceeded to commisserate. He was having a bad day, too. But not because of car problems, traffic, bad coffee or whiny cohorts at work.

His country, Israel, had launched an attack against the Hezbollah rebels of Lebanon.

Hezbollah had struck back, sending rockets to Nahariya and other nearby towns.

Mere miles from where his parents, and his brother, live.

His parents assure him they will be safe. Nobody will attack their town. There are plenty of Arabs around them. But are they really safe ? The Arab population in their town is mostly Christian. The rebels may only ignore predominantly-Muslim towns, if they ignore at all. And the rockets of war certainly cannot discriminate one person's lineage or religion from another's.

His brother will fight. He always has, and even at the age of 41, will likely relish the opportunity to return to the depths of war. He enjoys it. He lives for it. It's his passion.

This conflict may cost him his life. That's alright with him, but not with his family.

Sitting in my coworker's car, in the heat and bad traffic, listening to this story, put it all into perspective.

My day yesterday was just fine. Only he, my coworker, had the right to call it craptastic.

My thoughts are with him and his family. I pray that they will be safe.

My Craptastic Morning

Today started out like any other typical day. I woke up to the sound of pumping dance music from my little clock radio, petted and fed the cats, ate my breakfast, and headed off to work. I filled the car with gas, and then stopped at the Starbucks for a well-deserved black coffee with two Splenda.

Returning out to my car, I placed my coffee in the cup holder and turned the key.

Rrr-rrr-rrr-rrr-rrr-rrr-rrr.

Rrr-rrr-rrr-rrr-rrr-rrr-rrr.

The damned thing wouldn't start.

My 2003 Cavalier, affectionately named Roo, has been with me through thick and thin. She took me through a gruelling 4 1/2 years of a 120-mile-a-day commute, happily supplying a smooth ride, punchy power, and a booming sound system complete with Sirius satellite radio. And today, for the first time, she died.

Roo has over 104,000 miles on her, all but 13,000 that I have put on her since acquiring her two years ago. She's seen me through my previous hellacious commute, plus multiple trips to Tahoe, Reno, L.A. and Redding, and never once complained or broke down. Of course I must give credit to my ex-husband for instilling in me the value of regular maintenance and synthetic oil. I'm sure that this was a great contribution to the car's reliability.

But this morning, the long streak of problem-free days came to an end. Helpless, I called a tow truck, one of the companies that was approved my my insurance company. A surpringly jovial driver arrived, hooked Roo up, and took her to my dealership a few miles away.

The fuel pump, which is located inside the fuel tank, needed replacement, along with the fuel filter. I'm very glad they saved the full tank of fuel that I'd just put in 10 minutes before this debacle started.

Total cost for the work ?

$1,000.

Ouch.

Well, at least I got to finish my Starbucks.

The Party Bus

This past weekend, I was introduced to a phenomenon I'd never experienced before, but which seems to be a rite of passage for all those of legal age here in California: the Party Bus. Apparently, a bus is rented to shuttle partygoers from the selected meeting place to up to three clubs in San Francisco in the span of an evening. When the clubs close down, participants are driven back to the house of origin, without ever having to sit behind the wheel of a car. A very good idea when considering the consumption of alcohol.

I didn't quite know what to expect when the call came on Saturday night for a friend's sister's co-ed bachelorette party. Danny and I showed up, dressed to the nines, ready for a fun night of revile. And a fun night it was.

The Party Bus is not just a limo or one of those stretch Excursions you see driving around on Saturday nights. It is a real, long-haul passenger bus, complete with sound system, TVs, and requisite disgusting toilet in the back. Those of legal age are allowed to drink on the bus, and I watched in amazement as cooler after cooler was loaded on, knowing full well that most of the bottles inside would be empty by the end of the night.

Driving up to the City of San Francisco, the party launched into full swing. Drinks were passed around, music was blasting, dancing was commenced in the aisle and in the seats. Not being a heavy drinker myself, I limited myself to one beer and one cocktail, enjoyed at my typical slow pace. Vodka and cran. Yummy, yummy.

As we arrived at the club, the tour guide warned us that we must be very quiet in line. A rowdy group will be denied entry into the club. We must keep the noise down and wait in the VIP line like good little partygoers. We filed off the bus in an orderly fashion and queued up as we were instructed. Shhh. Pass it on. Shhh.

A few minutes later, we were granted entry.

Studio 181. In the same location as the old Polly Esther's, this swanky, updated club had airs of a real class act. Hip-hop music blasted from the main and the downstairs room. An interesting assortment of people milled about, and danced, drank and fraternized. Fresh from the Party Bus, with liquor on board, we all did the same.

As the night wore on, the club became even more crowded. A fight nearly broke out in the downstairs room between a group of gangster-looking men, but was diffused quickly by their friends. All present were having a grand old time, especially the bride- and groom-to-be. This was their night, and they enjoyed it to the fullest.

We headed outside at the specified time to wait for the bus, and after refueling at the small but surprisingly good pizza place next door, we headed southbound. What was left of the huge bottle of vodka was poured into the equally huge bottle of Sunny D, creating a deadly cocktail of pure drunkeness. It was passed around, but we passed it up. None was wasted, however, especially by the groom-to-be.

The party continued all the way home, with much dancing, singing and chants of "Go drunk girl !" when one particular attendee struggled to keep her balance while grooving in the aisle. We returned home well after 3am, completely exhausted.

It was a night that nobody, especially not the guests of honor, will ever forget. Unless, of course, the alcohol forced them to do so.

Such was my first experience with the famous Party Bus. I somehow have the feeling it won't be my last.

More on the Head-Butt

Apparently, yesterday's antics weren't the first time Zinedine Zidane has expressed such craziness in the heat of competition. Still, no excuse for that kind of behavior, especially not someone considered a national hero.

"This was a blatant, stupid foul in the 110th minute, and not the first time he had done something so loony. As a young boy in U-12 competition, he head-butted an opponent assigned to get under his skin. A half-dozen years ago, he committed the same foul against Hamburg while playing for Juventus. He had stomped on a Saudi player at the 1998 World Cup, getting suspended then for two matches."

Link: [Article]

Forza Azzurri !!

This is one day where I am most proud of my half-Italian heritage. The World Cup championship was decided today; ending in a shootout where Italy emerged victorious. In 1998, Italy was upset by France in a similar fashion. And today, the score was evened.

At the game-watching party, I was one of only three fans of the Azzurri. When the final penalty kick sailed past the French goalie and into the net, we three celebrated with high-fives and heartfelt cheers for our team across the globe, while our friends, the supporters of France, looked on in dismay.

Victory is sweet.

I must say, however, that I am very surprised at the lack of indignance at Zinedine Zidane's blatant, malicious attack on Italy's Marco Materazzi. With one enraged head-butt, Zidane levelled Materazzi to the ground. And for what ? A simple two-second arm-grab when neither of them were near the ball ? I don't get it.

This article puzzles me the most. Soccer is a tough sport, granted, and many of its players do their fair share of diving and whining. But there is simply no excuse for this unsportsmanlike behavior, especially not by a prominent player such as Zidane. He should be ashamed of himself.

That head-butt, and the resulting red card, ended his otherwise-successful international competition career with Les Bleus. But what a terrible legacy to leave to his fans; that of a superstar who could not control his temper, and ruthlessly attacked a member of the opposing team for no reason.

Was it the difference in the game ? We will never know. But that one moment of complete lunacy will forever be etched in the minds of all who follow this sport.

Shame on you, Zidane. I hope you are man enough to apologize, and sincerely so - not just to the unfortunate target of your unbridled anger, but to your fans and to your team. You completely let them down. Hope you have the guts to admit it.

Campfire

Just wanted to share a really cool picture of the campfire we built Saturday night.



This is especially neat because we actually went camping. Meaning, no toilets, no showers, no electricity, no air conditioning, and the only firewood to be had was in the form of dead trees and branches.

The trip was awesome, but I was wonderfully relieved to step in the shower after three days.

Gender Differences

During our group camping trip this past weekend, a friend of ours told the story of how the front hood of his almost-new car became dented. He had been driving on Mission Blvd., of all places, when a deer ran directly in front of him. Having no time to react, he hit it. The animal survived the impact, but was supposedly put out of its misery later by a cop.

The reaction to this event was evenly split across the gender barriers. Invariably, when told this story, the women (including myself) responded:

"Oh my God ! I can't believe you killed Bambi !"

And the men's reaction ?

"Cool. Did you have venison for dinner ?"