AT&T: Why Do I Keep Coming Back for More?!

Oh, AT&T. You are simultaneously the bane of my existence and the source of my sweet nectar of life. That nectar of life is, of course, my iPhone (which I affectionately call "Jessica." Don't ask why because frankly, I don't know). I live in San Francisco, a technology capital, no doubt, and never seem to have cell phone service. Apparently Sutro Tower, the large tower I can see from my window that looks like the Eye of Sauron, is not strong enough to carry my 3G.

Jessica and I have been together since Christmas. My dear husband brought her to me on that momentous holiday (yet another reason why Christmas is awesome). I have doted on her while she has consistently surprised me with her endless supply of games (Scramble rules!) while at the same time supporting my banking needs. It has been nearly perfect. Nearly.

The glow of our mutual affection (yes, an iPhone can love you back-- especially when you record Voice Memos that say "I love you" and play them on repeat) has been tainted. Tainted by the involvement of AT&T. It's like a sadistic love triangle that won't seem to fizzle out (even though rumors of Verizon carrying the iPhone persist). AT&T is the awkward member of said triangle, in that no one really likes him but he manages to sneak his way in because both Jessica and I are disgustingly codependent entities. It's sad, really.

In other metaphors, AT&T is like the abusive boyfriend I keep going back to. Even though he promises to fix things over and over again (even issuing me account credits over and over again) I JUST CAN'T STOP GOING BACK TO HIM! I keep waiting for a knight in shining armor to come and rescue me. Ahem, Verizon? When are you going to man-up?

Now, I want to share some of my coping mechanisms with you. These help me get through each day.
1. Call AT&T often. Complain. The squeaky wheel gets the grease. I have not paid a full bill since March.
2. Butter up the service reps because they will tell you HILARIOUS things. For instance, Veronica at AT&T, uses Verizon. She told me this in a moment of weakness.
3. Make them laugh at your dilemma-- it shows you aren't taking it all too seriously even if you are dying inside. For example, I told Edward that "I feel like it's 1991 and I have a car phone and I keep going through tunnels." If he seems really into it, throw in a movie reference like Howard Weinstein (Franc's assistant) in Father of the Bride.
4. Never give up hope. I never stop believing that Jessica (or some newer, cooler model of her) and I will live happily ever after.

Good luck, people.

News Flash: Christmas Coming Early This Year!

I know what you're thinking: This dumb blonde just wrote about Halloween and now she thinks it's Christmastime already? 

My answer for you: First of all, stop being so harsh and secondly, get your ass in the Christmas spirit!

Look at it glistening in the sun . . . it's so beautiful.

Everyone knows there are two authorities on the arrival of the holiday season: Coca Cola and Starbucks. Think polar bears and red cups, people! The Diet Coke can has spoken: it's that time of year again! (side note for all of you worrying about my health for drinking diet soda. If it kills me in the end, it'd be a good way to go!)

I purchased this glorious D. Coke this afternoon on my way to Walgreens. The festive can was my first clue and the overall decor of Walgreens was my second that it is indeed the most wonderful time of the year (I encourage you to sing that as you read it. Come on, try it. No one likes a Scrooge).

Some people do not like Christmas to come so early. There are even people out there who won't let their wives to listen to Christmas music in the house until Thanksgiving. These same kinds of people think that changing the entire Netflix queue to all Christmas movies is going overboard. I know, I know, who are these Grinches?

Sure, there are some who might be overwhelmed at the amount of Christmas paraphernalia already present in their local Walgreens. Maybe their wives didn't use up all the glue on purpose so, in terms of a leg lamp, they're all set.

But me, I like to see all of the decorations for sale, both tacky and classy. There's something about stretching Christmastime out that makes me happy. Not because I like to shop or because I buy into the frenzied pace of some people's holiday seasons. I like the feeling in the air; the contagious joy. People are more patient, more generous-- dare I say, jollier? What's wrong with stretching that out for as long as possible?

I would also consider myself a fan of baby Jesus. Sue me for getting religious on you but I enjoy being reminded of God's love during this time. How does a leg lamp remind you of God's love? you ask. Well, I'll tell you. It all has to do with tradition. Every Thanksgiving, when I was a kid, we would get out the boxes of decorations and begin to decorate the house. I would be playing with the Lladro creche (unbeknownst to Claudymom, obvi), my brother would have on our scratchy Santa hat, my sister would be singing carols at the top of her lungs all while my mom yelled out the window at my dad hanging the Christmas lights to make sure he did a good job decorating the trees. It was too cold for Claudymom to be outside so she settled for yelling her orders from the window. It was like this for years. These quirky traditions and decorations remind me of the love in my life and, since I believe God is in all people, the love God has for me. Even my demonic cat in her elf costume (gift from Claudymom) fills me with joy. Only Christmas can do that.

The real challenge for me is, Why does it take Christmastime for me to be so connected to deep joy? I must try harder to remember the poetic words of Dickens' classic, coming from the mouth of the converted Scrooge:

I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year!

Thoughts about Halloween

It's been a week since I posted last. My only explanation for not posting, for those of you who have been just miserable without me, is that I am very busy and important (READ: Bravo has been REALLY good lately. Another Real Housewives . . . what am I to do?).

But, I'm back. And I have opinions. Lots of them. Today, they're opinions about Halloween.

I've never been very good at Halloween. When I was little, my costumes were always sort of typical: I was a rock star, a clown, a baseball player and one year, a princess. I was never into the scary side of Halloween, with the obvious exception of my clown costume at age 9. The movie Scream still terrifies me so much that it is still painful to think of that night in ninth grade that I watched it with friends after the Homecoming dance. And NOT just because that is how Courteney Cox and David Arquette met and now they are no longer . . . sigh. Does nothing last in Hollywood?

Besides failing Hollywood relationships, there is another thing I just can't wrap my mind around: creepy Halloween decorations. Not Sister Wives creepy, but "undead" creepy. Take a look at what I'm talking about.

And I thought flamingo lawn ornaments were bad. This photo was taken in suburbia -- small children live here! Can't you just imagine putting up the decorations with the kids? Honey, can you grab the severed head from the garage? I stored it in the coffin next to you tricycle. If I had found this severed head at my house at age four, I would have piddled on the floor a la my old dog when she gets really excited. Ew.

But maybe you were tougher than I was? Maybe you could actually watch E.T. when you were little. And maybe these kids in Burlingame, CA actually like this sort of thing. Perhaps they're exchanging their Disney princess costumes for something more terrifying, like Bratz girls costumes. Either way, I don't want to be a part of it.

I basically climbed over a white picket fence into somebody's front yard to take this picture. It was awkward as the family who owns the house arrived just as I was snapping it. I put on my biggest fake smile to hide my judgment and said, I'm just taking pictures of your COOL Halloween decorations! They were onto me as my high-octave, high-decibel voice didn't successful hide my judgment. The skills I picked up while being a cheerleader in 1995 totally failed me here.

I think the worst for me is the fake spiderwebs. As if I don't have enough fear that spiders are going to jump out at any time to take me to their leader, spin me up in their web and eat me with their freaky little mouths (I didn't know if spiders actually had mouths or little pincher things, so I had to look it up and was further traumatized by the images I found. Thanks a lot, Google.).

If it weren't for the abundance of chocolate during this season and my new Harry Potter costume (Complete with yellow and red scarf with the Gryffindor crest. Thank you, dear sister!), I think I would throw out Halloween altogether. But, maybe you're into it. If so, I'll let you have it. I never judge, I'm just not like that.

You want some candy, little girl?

What Are Your Intentions?

This question always makes me think of an awkward guy meeting his girlfriend's father for the first time. The father, ever so protective, wants to know the long-term hopes and dreams this poor kid has regarding his daughter. My Dad used to joke about having a gun and a shovel upstairs when he met a new guy of mine. My brother would help him out as well, but normally in a more "teenage boy" way like telling a very unfortunate boy who once called me, How can your name be Rob? Rob is a boy's name and you sound like a girl. Ah, adolescence. Fun times.

I was thinking about intentions the other day in yoga because, before every class, my teachers always encourage us to set one. An intention, in the yogic sense, does not mean a goal. Philip Moffitt explains their differences this way: "Setting intention, at least according to Buddhist teachings, is quite different than goal making. It is not oriented toward a future outcome. Instead, it is a path or practice that is focused on how you are 'being' in the present moment." For example, I wouldn't set an intention for my practice of mastering a difficult pose. Instead, I might set an intention to connect with my breath more deeply during the next hour or two that I am practicing. Or to feel each pose in my body instead of just tuning out the physical sensations. The differences are slight, I realize, but clearly one is more about success while the other about presence. One is more about achievement while the other, mindfulness.

The struggle between working for success and presence happens both on and off the mat for me. I am an extremely competitive person who prides herself on her achievements. It's easier for me to feel good about myself if I have something to point to that is tangible that shows my self-improvement. T-shirts from finishing races, certificates of completions-- that's the stuff I want! The whole idea of striving for presence is so challenging because the art of being present in the moment is not measurable. Where are my results? How can I get a PR or some kind of certificate for that? Even a pat on the back would be nice. . .

The idea of setting intentions for presence easily translates to daily life. I have many dear friends who say grace before a meal together, reminding themselves to fully engage in the company present as well as their food. They don't set a concrete goal to have a really great conversation about politics (or whatever) or to finish their green beans (something I will never do because green beans are disgusting). These grace-ers grace because they want to be more mindful of the present moment. Saying grace is setting intentions.

Now, when I ask you What are your intentions? I hope your palms don't go sweaty and your voice starts to crack. Don't worry, my dad was just kidding about the gun and the shovel and my brother is not so tough. I'm simply asking you how you plan to live in the present moment.

Do You Need a Yoga Mat to Practice Yoga?

This question has been on many a yogi's mind lately because of an article in the New York Times from this last weekend. Mary Billard, its author, interviewed a number of yoga practitioners who are forgoing their mats in favor of a simpler practice. They are eliminating the barrier between them and their yoga studio floor, their living room carpet and wherever else they choose to practice. These yogis cite a number of reasons for this including the commercialization of yoga mats, their potential damage to the environment as well as a desire to get back to the traditional practice of yoga without all the accessories.

I, for one, love accessories. They always make an outfit and I believe the same can be true for a yoga practice (or any other kind of spiritual practice, for that matter). For me, having something tangible that symbolizes and signifies my yoga practice is extremely helpful. When I take my mat out, unroll it and get on it, I know it's yoga time. It's sacred time, ME time and quiet time. Even our tiny apartment transforms into a sacred space when my red mat comes out. If I didn't have the mat out, it'd just be the floor. And what would separate me from the cat hair my cat places strategically around the apartment to make anything dark I have on look disgusting?

I think what I am saying is, as humans, it is extremely helpful to have something tangible to help us get into a "sacred state of mind" (I think that's a Billy Joel Song?). Catholics call this the need for mediation. We need something to mediate our experience with the sacred because the sacred (or God) is invisible. Think of any kind of prayer beads: the prayer certainly could pray without them but it is so helpful to hold them while he prays because they are physical, touchable, just as we are. The feeling of the beads helps him know that he is engaging in a sacred act and it therefore encourages that sacred act.

I can certainly see that Yoga is a risk for becoming extremely commercialized but I'm not sure that is reason enough to ditch the mat. Take a look at what Jade Yoga is doing. Their mats are made sustainably in the U.S. and every time you buy one of their mats, they plant a tree.

Another reason I need a mat is because I am a sweater. I don't get this from Claudymom because she doesn't sweat, she glows. My sweaty hands and feet would cause me to slip all over the place on hardwood floors and I just don't feel like mopping every time I do yoga. Or slamming my face into the floor because my hands slip in Downward Dog.

I also really need the support of a good mat for my knees. The pose below, Anjaneyasana (low lunge), would hurt like a mother if I did it on hardwood floor. My cute red mat protects me. Hurray!

So, I am taking a different side here. As much as I love that yoga is being written about in the NY Times, I sure hope they're wrong when it comes to the trend of ditching one's mat.

Best Places for a Meltdown

I am a huge people watcher. Sometimes I stare so much that my husband has to snap in front of my face and remind me that staring is rude, Allison. I get this trait from my mom, Claudymom, who is even worse about it than I am. She's going to grow up to be one of those old people that just spaces out and stares at you. I love those kind of old people.

My most favorite thing to watch EVER is kids having meltdowns. I was a nanny when I was in grad school and have tons of experience caring for kids. I love kids-- they are the funniest people I know and, when they meltdown or throw a tantrum, I want to be there.

This sounds sort of ridiculous, I know, but it's almost better than Bravo TV. When a kid throws back her head in pure despair, collapses to the ground and commences with an Oscar-worthy performance of emotion, there is nothing better. I love the commitment, the sheer devotion to their strong (soon to be forgotten) feelings. Their single-mindedness. I envy it! I wish I could have a public meltdown sometimes.

The icing on the cake for me is where the meltdown happens. I have picked my two absolute favorite  places for a meltdown and they're taken from my own experience as a nanny and avid people watcher.

The Grocery Store. This is obvious. I am convinced the candy section of the checkout aisle was created solely for the meltdown. Why else would supermarkets everywhere put candy where they know kids will see it just as they are about to finish running errands with their parents which, let's face it, no kids like to do. When I see a kid's unbridled passion for the forbidden fruit (aka a Twix bar), I am living vicariously through him. I totally want the Twix bar I just don't have the balls to show my true feelings. I feel like throwing my head back, screaming at my hips and thighs, WHY WHY? Why can't I have a Twix bar?!

The Beach. This one is by far my favorite. First of all, the trip to the beach is classic in that the parent might as well being taking their kid to Everest, leading the way as a sherpa. You have your sand toys, your towels, your sunscreen, your cooler, not to mention the sherpa's personal items. You lug all this to the beach, slather obscene amounts of sunscreen on your child while they proceed to get sand in every crevice possible. Later in the day, when it's time to leave, begins the meltdown. Amazingness. There is nothing better than a sunscreen-slathered, sandblasted child screaming that they don't want to leave the beach. One of my most memorable moments from being a nanny is a fateful trip to the beach that ended with two adorable girls screaming as they followed me, their sherpa, to the car after a day at the beach. I loved it. Good for them for rejecting our leaving time. It's not fair that we had to leave and good for them for speaking up. Just don't tell their mother I said so.

Really, the point is that a good meltdown can happen anywhere. In San Francisco, we live on a very steep hill (of course- it's San Francisco) and I saw a 4 year-old just the other day stop halfway down the hill and pronounce: I'm not going ANY further. This hill is TOO steep! She proceeded to sit down right then and there, in the middle of the sidewalk and was true to her word. It was amazing. I tried to fist pump the dad for having such a hilarious daughter but he was a little awkward about it. He might have been more of a "high fiver" or a "thumbs upper."  I just appreciate this stuff. Kids are hilarious. They're stubborn. They're filled with fire. We could learn a lot from them.

Parents, you are my heroes.
 

The Stepford Dogs of Cole Valley

I live in a neighborhood of San Francisco called Cole Valley. It is a great neighborhood complete with coffee shops, a local hardware store, a few good restaurants and even some great bars. My husband and I moved into our apartment here over three years ago. At that time renting in San Francisco was like a competitive sport and we just completely lucked out with this place.

One of the most amazing things about our neighborhood, in my opinion, is the dogs! There are so many dogs in a one mile radius you would think the streets would be lined with poo (I sang that to the tune of "There are no Cats in America" from An American Tale). 

Of course they aren't lined with poo. This is the land of well-behaved canines. Man's best friend? More like Man's best behaved friend. Seriously, it's ridiculous. Unleashed dogs roam the streets . . . five feet in front of their owners and stop at crosswalks. There is hardly any barking, unless it's the "Jimmy's stuck in a well" kind and we don't get much of that here. There aren't any wells around.

Here are a few photos of some well-behaved pooches from Cole Valley.

 Anonymous, waiting patiently for owner outside Cole Hardware.

 Pixie, on her way to the park to play Frisbee.

Chloe, minutes before pooping in an appropriate place.

There is one dog in Cole Valley that just kills me. His name is Theo, he is 10 1/2 and is perfect. He is never leashed and will just wait patiently outside of stores for his owner to come out. He is the Holy Grail of dogs.

Theo. The dog, the myth, the legend.

I should be happy for these owners. I should sing their praises about how Cesar Milan could learn so much from them. I should, but I can't. I can't get over my jealousy.

See, I have never had a well behaved pet. Our family dogs were always ornery and the one my parents still have is a champion barker (not to mention her serious need for jaw reconstruction surgery . . . can anyone say "underbite?"). And don't even get my started on my cat. I think she is possessed. I'm not kidding. She's staring at me right now and it's freaking me out.

Don't be lured in . . . she uses her powers for evil.

I love dogs and can't wait to get one of our own. But I have so many hopes and dreams about them being somewhat well-behaved. Will our dog have intimacy issues like our cat? Will our dog channel the devil like her, too? These are the things that keep me up at night.

Sure you're an Adult, but are you a "Grown-Up?"

Once we reach 18, we are called adults. We can vote, buy porn and cigarettes, get tattoos and see R-rated movies. But when do we become "Grown-Ups?" I'm inclined to think being an adult and a "Grown-Up" are two different things entirely and, judging from the people with whom I hang out, I don't know too many . . .

Except for myself, obviously. I'm incredibly mature and together-- a total "Grown-Up." It's OK to be jealous. I'm jealous of myself right now.

Want to know if you are a "Grown-Up?" Check out this list (love lists!) that I made entirely from my imagination (not from personal experience . . .). If you agree to three or more of the following, you, my friend are no "Grown-Up."


. . . you hum the soundtrack to Indiana Jones when doing something particularly effort-full, like parallel parking. Dum duh dum duh, dum duh dum, dum duh dum duh, dum duh dum dum dum!

. . . your snack of choice is one of the following: string cheese, goldfish crackers, graham crackers or a snack pack.

 you know you want some . . .

. . . any time someone says the word "karma," you bust out in a rendition of Justin Timberlake's "What Goes Around . . ." complete with tenor falsetto.

. . . you think about flux capacitors sometimes.

. . . when listening to a newscaster on NPR compare predicting the future of North Korean succession to reading tea leaves, you think "oooh, like Professor Trelawney! I hope they don't get 'the Grim!'"

"the Grim" turned out OK for Harry, will it for North Korea?

. . . you defend Taylor Swift (aka T Swizzle).

. . . you abbrev. your words when speaking.

. . . sometimes you "hold it" for no reason, even if the bathroom is right nearby.

. . . your mom still does your laundry whenever you're in town. She folds it, too and uses fabric softener. You love it.

. . . you get this twinge of guilt whenever you are carded even though you are well above 21.

. . . you think the world would be a happier place if Justin and Britney or LC and Heidi got back together.

the good old days . . .

. . . even though it would be ridiculous, you still lust after Zack Morris' cell phone because his coolness is timeless.




Well, how did you do?!