Surprise! You're 60!

My mom was dreading her 60th birthday. Despite the fact that many of her friends had already reached this milestone (including my dad), she just couldn’t get used to the idea...and very much wanted the event to pass by unannounced. Every time I told her she was being ridiculous, she reminded me how I flew to Ecuador for my 30th birthday so that I could escape all forms of acknowledgement. “At least I’m not fleeing the country,” she responded. Note: My mom always makes me sound dramatic. I kind of like it.

As her birthday approached, her only request was that we didn’t make a big deal about it. What she said she wanted most was for my sister and me to come home for the weekend, and for the family to have a low-key dinner together. She reminded us of her hope for a quiet, private birthday when we were all together for Christmas, making us promise not to “pull any tricks.” We agreed.

A few weeks into January, my dad called me at work with a “great idea” for my mom’s birthday—a big surprise party! “Dad! You KNOW what mom wants,” my sister and I protested. “She would hate that.” Unwilling to take no for an answer, he proceeded to draw up a guest list and shop around for party locations. We had no choice but to help him.

Little by little, the party came together and it was turning out to be quite an affair. Aware of the background story, the girls at my office would burst out laughing every time my dad called me at work to inform me of another celebratory element that he had added into the mix. They would overhear one-sided conversations such as, “You ordered a strawberry-filled sheet cake with WHAT on it? (Silence.) Dad, seriously. Mom will freak out when she sees her face superimposed into butter cream icing.” That one just about sent them over the edge.

The scenario felt like it had all the makings for a documentary that’s intended to expose how dysfunctional its subjects are—Michael Moore style. I could just see the interview with my Mom, who would be wrapped in a blanket on the couch. She’d tell the camera about how aging is depressing and she wants nothing more than to slip into this new decade on her own terms--with zero fuss. The next scene would cut to my sister and me at the Staples Print Center requesting poster-size photos of her to hang all over the walls of the party location. “Could you blow this one up in full color? Thanks.”

Finally, the day had come…and my mom was furious with my dad for working past midnight all week. Little did she know, he had been making a video for the party featuring clips from her childhood, etc. Meanwhile, my sister, her boyfriend and I raced around town picking up happy birthday balloons and sparkly confetti. We laid the groundwork with some believable lies about the night ahead of us...and everything was in place.

In a matter of hours, our room at this restaurant was transformed into a shrine for the reluctant birthday girl. As much fun as we were having, I couldn’t help but get a pit in my stomach every time I thought about my poor, unsuspecting mom walking into the big “surprise!”….and having to pretend she felt like celebrating…with the people we had decided were her 50 closest friends.

Later that night, all the guests arrived on time and gathered together under my direction at exactly 7:30pm. Sure enough, the text came from my sister a few minutes later communicating that they had pulled into the parking lot. They walked into our room and 3, 2, 1…“Surprise!!”

My mom was confused...and then…. (Waiting for her reaction felt a little bit like that scene in A Christmas Story when Ralphie shoots his Red Ryder BB gun in the backyard. For a few seconds it's unclear if he shot his eye out. You know his glasses were knocked off his face, but you're not sure if he would be blind or not.) Sure enough, everything turned out OK. In fact, she was thrilled!

I guess the lesson learned, for my sister and me, is to refrain from doubting a man who has been married to a woman for more than 35 years--even if that man is your dad and he seems to be making a very bad judgement call about your mom. Then again, the lesson learned may actually be to refrain from trying keep up with our parents' friends who we now know can out-party us hands down. Apparently, 60 is NOT the new 40--it's the new 21. Either that, or it's the new Mardis Gras.

When Classy is a Stretch

As you know, my friends Rick and Zetta are no amateurs when it comes to party throwing. After Zetta organized a wildly successful Pig Roast for Rick’s birthday this year, he wasn’t about to let his wife outdo him—no siree. And what better makings for a fun day than to involve a stretch limo and a trip out of town? So off to Napa we went—all 28 of us—in celebration of Zetta’s birthday.

The day started off bright and early with a sophisticated mimosa brunch at their apartment. Everyone was dressed for success and we were all looking forward to a pleasant day in the countryside. The limo pulled up and those attendees who chose to be more responsible with their money boarded a van they had rented--they even had a sober driver.

Our birthday outing started off innocent enough. You know, passing around a few champagne bottles along with a proverbial jar of Grey Poupon (we couldn't get enough of that joke) while traversing the Golden Gate. And with the van driving along side our limo, it sort of felt like a Secret Service vehicle was watching out for the birthday girl…at first.

Once we were up in Napa, it only made sense to buy some bottles of wine to drink between winery visits. After all, we were supposed to be wine tasting. Little by little, I began to see signs of our party unraveling. At one point I noticed the rental van drive by our limo…full of ½ naked people slamming Mad Dog while head banging to whatever was on their radio. Had things really gotten to this point already? Apparently they had.

Rather than provide details from the rest of the day, I will leave you with this video of our class act while touring the world-renown Napa Valley. How this couple will exceed such festivities next year is a question I very much like to ponder.

Magic

One morning in mid-February, I called Heb in the O.C. on my way to work...as I often do. A few minutes into the conversation, she let me know that she had something to tell me. My stomach flipped, thinking something was wrong. But it turned out that everything is more than OK. The news was that….she and James are going to have their first baby! In August! Hooray!

We immediately arranged a trip for me to visit her a few weeks later so that I could meet their new puppy, Bacon, and help brainstorm baby names. Learning of our weekend plans, a dazzling comrade of mine in SF arranged for Heb and me to accompany his adorable French friend who lives in Hollywood on a surprise evening outing in LA. All we were told was to pack wedding attire. Hmmmmm.

Heb and I spent Saturday afternoon shopping for accessories and laughing hysterically at baby names the other had suggested. “Why not J.J.?,” she questioned me. “Heb! People will associate your baby with J.J. from the show Good Times,” I blurted out through tears of laughter. “Yeah, so what?” she replied.

Finally, it was time to meet up with the adorable Frenchman, and we were ready—I in my short, black cocktail dress with fishnets and plastic jewelry that we picked up from the Limited and Heb in her elegant navy gown and cute new heels. I hoped it didn’t look like she was my Big Sister from the Boys and Girls Club trying to expose me to positive, cultural experiences.

It turned out that the surprise was…the one, the only….MAGIC CASTLE! In case you don’t know what this is (I, too, lived in ignorant darkness until a few months ago), it’s literally a castle in the middle of Hollywood where top-notch magicians perform spectacular tricks. The only way to get inside to watch them is to be a member or a guest of a member….like the adorable Frenchman. How lucky we were!

A summary of our visit:

We entered into the castle foyer where they took your coat and provided the magic words to move the bookcase that leads to inside. Ours was—you guessed it—“Open Sesame!” (See above photo of bookcase).

Wide-eyed, our party of 5 made its way to an old-fashioned bar where we enjoyed some cocktails (and Perrier with lime for Ms. Heb) before spotting an older man seated at a card table. Curious what he was up to, we joined the group of onlookers, clad in formal attire, who had started to gather round.

When it comes to card trickery, this guy was the real deal. He had made his living performing for all sorts of people—from fabulous celebrity private parties to the seedy Vegas scene. Knowing there was more to check out, we eventually dragged ourselves away from his stop-and-really-make-you-think card tricks and bounded down the castle halls in search of our next adventure. To help you understand how it feels to explore this place, think about Wesley as he made his way through the forest in The Princess Bride…but drunk...and with a little less violence.

Next we went down into the dungeon basement where there was another bar. Once the bartender had served everyone cocktails, he kindly asked us to be seated in the wooden bleachers behind us (I wondered if they had risen from the floor or if I had just missed them somehow). He then launched into all sorts of exciting tricks involving dice, cups, and intermittent shots for audience members (I was awarded the first one!).

From the basement, we reemerged into the room with the old fashioned bar where the older man was still performing. We sauntered past him and into a fancy theatre where the 5 of us sat together in a row. The lights dimmed and a man appeared on stage, a man with E.S.P.! For the next 45 minutes, he called on members of the audience and guessed all sorts of things about them, from what word they were thinking of to what they were like as a child to where they planned to go on their next vacation! And he was right!

Once the show ended, I found myself waiting in line…for what I wasn’t entirely sure. Next thing I knew, we were whisked into a different theatre where trippy, electronic music was playing and smoke was blowing around on stage. After a few minutes, a man in a blue cape emerged and performed a choreographed show involving disappearing water, reappearing bunnies and a ballerina on toe. Did you ever see the movie The Labyrinth? If so, this guy reminded me of David Bowie’s character set in a Gargamel’s castle environment. Hooray!

After Heb and I bade farewell to the adorable Frenchman and his fun friends, we walked home to our hotel…attempting to devise theories as to how all the tricks could have been pulled off. Clueless, we gave up and returned to an equally challenging task: coming up with a baby name we both really liked.

Easy Breezy

Since last I wrote, I have finally returned to good health…just in time for my sister’s boyfriend to come stay with me while at some nerdy gaming conference in SF. One interesting thing about Jon, other than his Southern accent, occupation as a 3D artist and uniquely relaxed nature, is that he’s made it his mission to “kindly prepare” my sister for a wide array of unforeseen natural disasters.

For example, if she’s ever stuck in a small space with no air, she’ll now know what to expect since such conditions have been successfully simulated by Jon lying on top of her while smothering her face with a pillow. He calls this helpful lesson “The Utah Cole Mine.” Aware of my unrelenting fear of sharks, he is currently devising a module to help me get ready for the inevitable scenario where I’m confronted by a great white. I will keep you posted on his creative approach and its corresponding title.

Anyway, Jon was a very easy houseguest who was happy to subsist on the contents of my kitchen left over from a week with the flu: orange Vitamin Water and transfat-free crackers. He even voiced his whole-hearted appreciation of the fact that SF’s public access station was running a show hosted by a fabulous tranny about the latest trends in drags shows . Something about “an admirable use of taxpayer dollars.”

But the BEST thing about Jon’s visit was his comment about my living room/"the guest room.” One morning when I asked him how he slept, he stretched his arms high above his head, cleared his throat, smiled and replied that he had had one of the best night's sleeps of his life. He then proceeded to thank me for ensuring that there would be a gentle breeze in the room, resulting in ideal slumber conditions.

Knowing that I had closed the windows the night before to help drown out the sirens on Valencia St right outside, his comment gave me pause. “Huh? Oooooh. That breeze is actually a draft that comes through the CLOSED windows (and then the curtains) in this room…but thanks anyway.”

Never before had I considered that the very same draft that necessitates me hanging out year-round in wool sweaters and fake Uggs could be repositioned as a luxurious, fresh and serene feature for sleepover guests. Suddenly, my apartment seemed a little less ghetto.

Ouch

Rather than blame my 6-week absence on my previously broken computer (I even had to call the Best Buy Geek Squad to come over!) or on my aching arms resulting from learning how to snowboard (I swear it hurt to type!), I shall simply accept responsibility and attempt to catch you up.

The following entries took place between February 15th and March 22nd.

Little House on Valencia Street

As you know, I already HAD the flu a few weeks ago. So when I woke up on Sunday morning with a 104 degree fever plus lots of other symptoms including a fierce cough, it meant only one thing as far as I was concerned: pneumonia!

My first reaction to the self-diagnosis was fear, since pneumonia is, after all, quite serious. But my second reaction was one of delight as this meant I would finally have the opportunity to play out childhood fantasies of Little House on the Prairie lifestyle...as everyone seemed to get pneumonia back on the frontier. Hey, either way I HAD pneumonia--why not make it sort of fun?

I discussed the situation with Heb, my faithful emergency contact, and she was on board, both with the diagnosis and the response. We decided that once my doctor provided the official diagnoses, I would sleep in a bonnet and a nightdress (pictured above) for the duration of the illness. And before bed, I would say prayers and possibly read the Bible by lantern...if I was feeling up to it. When I relayed this idea to my friend Marisa, she agreed that it was the obvious course of action and offered to contribute one of her hand-made quilts. Everything seemed to be falling into place.

So today I went to my doctor and let him know that I was most likely suffering pneumonia. With a concerned look on his face, he examined me thoroughly. Expecting a complicated treatment regimen involving some sort of steam inhalation, I was shocked when he suggested that I "pop some Advil, get some rest and consider cough syrup."

"What do you mean?" I asked him. "Well, young lady, you have the flu...like everyone else." I promptly reminded him that I already HAD the flu this season. He then educated me that there are many strains of the flu and unlucky people can catch more than one. To mitigate the situation, he offered me an "official doctor's note" to bring into work. It was at that moment that I was forced to trade in my dreams of a charming night bonnet for a formulaic "please excuse my patient" note written both in English and in Spanish.

The last thing I'm going to say about this is that Doc Baker would have never been so light about the situation.

2008

Wow--it's been more than 1 month since I last wrote. Rather than take a "detail rich" approach to rehashing all that's gone down (insert half smile-half smirk directed at a certian individual), I'll provide some highlights from the past several weeks:

How Many Points Is a Candy Cane?
My mom, dad and I spent Christmas in Atlanta at my sister's house...and I feel as though we should collectively receive some sort of prestigious accolade for managing the experience sans any major freak outs. You see, all 4 of us, plus my sister's cat, resided in her 1-bedroom apartment...at the same time...for several days. As if this wasn't difficult enough for 4 adults who have grown accustomed to living in 3 separate regions of the country, 2 of these people were on diets, one of whom is allergic to cats.

For those of you unfamiliar with the practices of the WeightWatchers cult, this translates to limited alcohol consumption and pretty much no fun holiday food. To "support" the two participating family members, the other two members decided (read: were forced) to go along with the point system. Luckily, a family spa day followed by an oddly drivable Burning Man-esque lights show proved to be successful distractions from self-imposed starvation.

Exchanging One Office for Another
About a week or so after returning from Atlanta, I caught whatever it was that was keeping down the good people of SF in the first few weeks of '08. By the second day of the TWELVE that I was sick, I had watched both Netflix selections lying around on my coffee table. So, I dragged myself to the video store in my fake uggs where I stumbled upon The Office (sorry, any British version elitists out there--it was the American version). I had NEVER seen an episode before (I know, I know) and was ready to find out what all the hype was about. An hour later, I not only had a new favorite TV show, but also an unrelenting obsession--would Pam dump Roy and marry Jim instead (see above pic)?

As I whipped through all four seasons in a matter of days, I made carefully selected friends promise not to tell me how it ended while begging them to discuss the details of each and every episode--many of which they had watched years before. "Hi, it's me again. Ok, so, do you think the writers intended to show that Jim was in a new life phase by having him give up his ham sandwiches in favor of tuna or am I reading into this?" (Note: everyone thought the sandwich change was meaningless. Please send thoughts..if you have any.)

In the Game
Luckily, I started feeling better just in time to fly to NJ for the long MLK weekend. Two of my friends from home have birthdays in January, so our crew got together to celebrate. The mantra of the evening went a little something like this: Hooray! No one's pregnant this time so we can go out for real!

Other trip highlights include sipping overpriced champagne drinks with my pals Justyn and Kyle (love those boys), a surprisingly satisfying WeighWatchers luncheon with my parents and aunt's family (everyone's about point counting these days), and half-watching the game where the Giants beat the Packers with my enraptured dad...which made him (and the rest my NJ/NY brethren) really, really happy.

Rain and Ice
So now I'm back in SF and pretending that I care about football so that I can have a legitimate reason to look down on people who are not from NJ/NY, especially people from Boston such as my wicked serious Sox-fan friend, Ms. Heather Kaplan. (A belated shout out to Heather on her engagement to Pete!)

Since I've been back, it's pretty much rained every day, both literally and metaphorically. Rain, ice and more ice...which sadly got in the way of a trip to Dayle and Larry's vineyard where they were not only snowboarding through the rows of vines but also paying homage to he who protects their grapes on the Feast Day of St. Tryphon (a long, blood-drenched story dating back to our friends, the Macedonians and some sacrificial calfs.)

Despondent...and teary after watching a sweat-drenched Juno give up her baby to Jennifer Garner, I was left with no choice but to buy a pair of trashy "party pants" to make myself feel better. In the face of gray skies and other discouraging conditions (such as new episodes of The Office being put on hold until the writers come back), said pants will be worn for cheering up purposes.

Encouraging closing note: I was able to get a replacement animals of the artic calendar for '08 and February pictures a "field of bell heather" along with a ridiculously cute "young walrus." :)