Tell You Thursday: Little Blue Dot

I used to have it and I still kinda want one.  It was petite and sexy and tough.  It hurt me, but I dug it...

In high school I pierced my labret. AND I'D DO IT AGAIN!!!

It was sophomore year maybe, so around 1996, and as per usual during the light hours of Saturday, hanging out with my friends.  Doing girly things like re-applying makeup and trying on different thrift store clothes.  Talking about which musician currently rotating on Alternative Nation we wish we could date.  I may have mentioned to the girls I wanted a piercing or I just started poking at my lips, but this chick said "Let's pierce it - I can do it!  I did my brothers' friends' girlfriend and it looked awesome," or some such.  Up until that day, only 4 holes had been placed upon my body - 2 in each ear.  But it was something I really wanted so I half-enthusiastically agreed.  Plus, many of my friends had piercings even though we were no where close to 18.  Although, this one tattoo shop in Lancaster didn't care how old you were, they kept the shop nasty dirty.  At least I had the sense to keep it in-house and minimize the risk of infection... geez that sounds so naive now but I fucking believed it then.  My main concern was how to hide the piercing from my parents, for at least a couple months, because by then it would be healed and they too could see the beauty.  geez again...

Sitting on the floor, covered in clothes, make-up, magazines, tobacco leavings, etc. I prepared for the pain by feeling the thickness of my lip, in order to size up how quickly we could do it.  I squeezed and contemplated while staring blankly at artwork we had drawn to help us fry*.  My girlfriends gave a pep talk of how cool I was.  That was sweet.  So how did we perform such a delicate act?  Apparently all you need is ice and a safety pin.  And honestly, I think the ice cube was just something we saw on TV.  oy vey, gives me the chills just thinking about it.  We found a nice one just lying on the floor and prepped it by burning the ends with a lighter.  Let's get.this.party.started.

Very scientifically, we figured where the middle of my lip was.  And by scientific, I mean we eyeballed it.  She numbed me using the melting ice, firmly grabbed the pin and gave it a go.  I was surprised it broke through the skin quite easily.  But I did flinch, so we stopped.  Hmm - now I had a safety pin stuck halfway in my lip, which neither felt or looked great.  I mustered up the courage and told her to finish the job.  zoinks!  It was finally free - I was pierced!  I felt so connected to my generation, like I could do anything - go anywhere - be part of the scene!!  I was ready to hitch a ride up to Seattle until I realized, I didn't have a flat-end piercing stud.  Crap.

In all our, ehem, meticulous planning, I didn't realize you needed a special type of jewelry to keep yourself clean and safe.  So the only thing we could do was stick a thin, regular cheapy cheap earring into the new throughway and hope it didn't scuff my gums too bad.  In the moments following, it was the first time I felt the weighted reality of 'not having money.'  I needed something I couldn't ask my parents for, yet had no source of income and no credit cards.  I didn't know what to do...

I guess I hung out till Sunday, called my mom and begged her to let me spend the night at my girlfriends' house.  I told her we had some major test on Monday and must devote our attention but honestly, I needed more time to figure out my debacle.  My high school didn't care about the piercing - not sure what they'd say now - but I suffered all day with that darn pokey thing and still had no clue how to make this last.  At 2:20pm I headed to where my mom always parked, kept my head down low, and opened to door to disaster.

She immediately saw it (I didn't know my lower lip had been red all day) and started panicking about what i'd done to my body.  Note - why do parents always say that?  On one hand I get the parental rationale of going to the worst outcome.  "You're setting yourself up for regret," or "You've just squashed any chance of landing that high-paid executive job."  Pfft - these are old-school thoughts.  They said it to me then and when I got my tattoos.  Just like business is changing and all types of people work high-profile jobs, I kept telling them it doesn't change who I am as a person.

After a few hours debate between the drive home and in house, I conceded to remove the piercing.  I really didn't care my parents were frustrated, but what sealed it was no matter how what idea I came up with, the jewelry I needed wasn't in my future.  And the metal stick poking into my gums was really messing with me so out it came.  They didn't speak to me for a few days, which in hindsight was a shorter time than when I got my tattoos - that was a whole week of silence!!

There was never an infection and everything healed quickly.  The only physical evidence I still have, albeit fading, is a little blue dot.  I don't know why it was blue, but I'm sure it had something to do with the CHEAPY METAL and lighter fluid.  My body has migrated it slightly to the right.  That or we really did miss the mark... who knows.  I still check it out sometimes and reflect upon the whole story just outlaid before you.

What I miss most is what it represented.  I made a decision that had consequences, but I had done something just for me.  A first attempt to solidify my teenage self in the 90s.  I didn't realize it then but I never spent anytime understanding who I was.  I was this surface humanoid going through the motions of breathing and laughing and learning, but my guts were blank.  This has been something I still struggle with today, just not as often.  Thank you little blue dot.



* frying is what you do on Acid.  I felt it important to include, not to brag, but because much of my 90s (and probably the same to many other wonderful people) revolved around messy bedrooms and this very unique state.  It was my youth and my 90s and it's important.

Tell You Thursday: Sometimes, the po-lice are just wrong.

I was a bit of a rebel rouser in high school.  I ran with both an older crowd and a crowd who enjoyed activities questionable by local authorities.  But it was fun and these were my mates, whose friendships were intense, amazing, and heartbreaking all within a few short years.

One night in the late 90s, probably hanging out at one of the frequented sets of Lancaster houses, our friend Fonz asked if we wanted to check out a super haunted house in Tehachapi, CA.  This was at least a 45 minute venture north, but I was stoked since I've always been a believer in ghosts/goblins/demons.  I love watching scary movies for entertainment, but the second I imagine the act happening in real life, I tremble.  Despite still sleeping with a night light and hugging my assortment of plushies, I love it - truly love it.  And don't judge yo - the plushies are often designer and awesome, and I make my own, cuz i'm awesome.  :)

I digress... So Fonz peaks our interest and down the road we go.  It's Fonz, our friend Ezra, our friend Melissa, her then boyfriend Bryan, me and my then boyfriend Auggie.  We pile into two cars.  I was driving Auggie and myself in my dark green Honda Civic.  Fonz or Ezra was driving his car, with Mellisa and Bryan in back.  We eventually turned off the highway and followed Fonz down this janky dirt road for miles.  At that point, our night was common since the whole desert is filled with dirty and janky streets.  But the moon was gigantic and bright, casting a luminous, blue shadow over every inch of grey & black.  The kind of light where you can almost turn everything else off and still see.  Almost..

After driving for what I remember as 20 minutes, we finally pull over to the right, park, and get out of the car.  Picture the dirt road laying before and behind us.  Blue and grey lit tumbleweeds on either side, old cars, tires, junk, wood, trash, and probably ants.  Gah I hate ants.  We were silent for a spell and Melissa and I probably started squealing and grabbing any of the guys.

About 100-150 feet in front of us, behind a rusty chain link fence, stood a 2-story wooden, apocalyptic doll house.  Most rooms were exposed to the night air because they were missing the side wall.  The remaining were half open, covered by wooden slats, broken and jagged.  Fonz encouraged us to walk up to the house, but we were all really freaked out.  We remained frozen in our shoes.  Him telling us the history didn't help, either.  Apparently the person who owned it was a witch.  She and her coven would practice their witchcraft, trying to summon spirits and demons.  The witch was said to later be murdered by her coven after a ritual.  She was found hung by the second story banister, gutted above a pentagram.  Dude.  Again, facing that story in true life was fucking heart-stopping palpitations.  But since i'm outta 'danger', I WANNA GO BACK!  It's a vicious cycle I put my bod through..

Right as we were about to trespass the fence, we saw a single light through a broken window.  Almost like an electric flicker candle.  It was just far enough to make us question whether we were actually seeing it, but all of us had the same vision.  So it had to be true - right?  It seemed to float and move from room to room.  {heart racing then & now}  We couldn't do anything but stare and grab each others hands. I think we ended up hearing something strange and that was that.  We fled, speeding back down the dirt road toward civilization.

And here's where the po-lice come to play. 

On our way back, Fonz and Ezra needed gas.  We both pulled into a station with a convenience store, which made Auggie happy because he wanted candy or cigarettes or something.  While he shopped inside, I stood outside the car, watching my friends all laughing and recounting the holy fuck what did we just do.  I turned around to see if Auggie was still shopping or paying, and when I turned around a cop car had pulled up in front of me.  And not in the we're getting coffee and donuts way - they were intentionally blocking my car.  I froze and stopped breathing.  Even now, cops make me nervous, but back then, they made me super nervous.  I never had any good experience with them during this period of my life.  Arresting my friends for smoking cigarettes and pot, harassing people at parties, and overall didn't ever make me feel any safer.  I was always told cops are the ones you go to for help, but something about this agitated & confusing time for me proved otherwise.  As a grownup, I watch A LOT of COPS the TV show because c'mon, it's a 30 minute package of awesome.  It's also easier to sit back, enjoying the carnival ride since it would be rare I would ever find myself in those predicaments now.  I still find some police officers who take me right back to Lancaster and the roughness I saw, but I have met others who are decent & nice.

So at this moment, I now find myself staring at them alone.  Auggie is oblivious and the others aren't coming near me and I never blamed them, I wouldn't have either.  I nano-secondly itemized everything on "my person" and in my car.  Shit.  Did I forget to take out that dope, was there leftover beer from the other night... anything that would give them a reason to haul me off.  But no, I was clean.  They stare at me through their giant windshield. I stood still not knowing what our next moves were.  They get out of the car, come over and ask to search my vehicle.  My defenses shot up and as plainly as possible, asked what cause they had.  "We're the police" they said.  NOPE!  Not good enough, so I stated "Hey, i'm not doing anything so what are you looking for!"  Their replay was "A Burger King was just robbed and you and your car fit the description.  Two women in a black Honda Civic, wearing bandanas robbed the store about 10 minutes ago."

Ok, mental check.  My car is dark green, it was me and Auggie, and to the best of my recollection, 10 minutes ago I was staring face to face with a ghost... So um no - that wasn't me officer.  I relayed all this highly pertinent information.  When they calmed a bit, they said they understood but since it was dark, black and green look similar and since my boyfriend wasn't in the car, there could have been a second lady.   They asked nicer if they could search my car for bandanas and I guess, a sack of money.  Once I knew I was clean and they certainly wouldn't find either of those things, I said yes.  After a few minutes of an empty search, they thanked me and drove off.  Auggie was staring at me with his wares, the others came over and we all kinda said what the fuck.  I held it together much better than I expected, which was fantastic considering how unprepared I was.

These memories stir up every few years, sometimes when I see a police car or hear about an actual haunted house.  I don't know the roads that could take me there now, despite wanting to TOTALLY go back. I hope other kids heard the tales and were braver than us.  Despite much searching on the internets, I found no documents of the house or events that supposedly transpired. So kids, if you find out, please write a lil' something and help this old lady out.

I studied under a Henson...

Sort of.

I was 9 1/2 (cuz evey 1/2 month totally counts) when my parents packed my whole life into some moving vans.  It was my first Indiana Jones red line and music moment.  Heading from Simi Valley, CA to Palmdale, CA, it was April 1990.  Before the move, I had only ever known one home, one city, one private school, and one set of friends.  I was happy.

That all changed the first time I set foot onto my new educational institution.  I had never gone to public school and I was nervous, but imagined it would be similar.  right?  I had no other frame of reference to think differently.  But sadly, that would not be the case.  It was the last two months of my 3rd grade and I was starting over.  None of the kids wanted to like me - one boy even made a gagging motion when I walked in.  rad.  There was one exception - my new teacher Mrs. Henson, whom I naturally gravitated towards because who else was gonna be my friend.  She was a woman in her 50s, quiet spoken and very sweet.  She administered tests to gauge my skills from the other school and pleasantly reported I was already further ahead than most kids.  swell.  I'd have no friends but hot damn, I can read & spell like a champ.

I don't remember if she offered the information or I asked, trying to learn about my new pal, but she said she was Jim Henson's sister in law.  I spent a lot of time tonight googling words to find some reference to her, but came up short.  Queue back the 90s.  say wha, wha, what...!  I loved the Muppets and the Fraggles and the things.  I remember asking if Jim was nice, lightly laughing she said yes.  And with that, the extent of all conversations pertaining to the family was over.  haha geez, I know.  That was IT you say!?  But like many of my stories, the buildup out shines the resolution, so i'm sorry this will likely happen again.

The full impact would hit me later, wishing I had been a little older and a little wiser.  She was the first kind person I met and it would have been super knowing her better and possibly learning some part of the family trade.  But, it wasn't meant to be.  I hadn't thought of her and that first school experience in a while.  But I read today one of Jim's children, John Henson passed away from a sudden heart attack February 14.  That really sucks.  I didn't know him so I can't classify him a cool cat or not, but I keep reading about heart attacks happening to younger people.  It makes me scared.  So hearing about the passing reminds me of the kind lady who helped make 3rd grade a little better and how important it is to keep ourselves healthy - physically and sometimes more importantly, mentally.

Tell You Thursday: $11 and hour was worth it. almost.

Way back whennie in the summer of 2003... I was laid off from a job I really enjoyed because the change in management didn't agree I was a good fit.  It was a weird transition but screw them, their loss.  I had work experience, a mixed bag of college classes, but no degree.  poops.  That grown up whisper had me figuring out whether I would go back to school, get any ol' job, or whether I wanted a career.  ... I was 22 for something sakes!  Of course it was time to figure that out!

When I was first released, looking for jobs in the newspaper was still a fully viable option since the internet was still finding it's way.  I had submitted to a few companies online that were ahead of the curve, but it was more about lucky Antelope Valley Press GO!  Unfortunately after a few weeks it became apparent the paper was home to mostly construction or IT postings.  Surprisingly, my experience in those areas is null.  There was, however, one item which always stuck out to me.  "Credit Card Operators needed for morning, evening and late shifts.  $10 per hour / $11 per hour midnight to 8am" or some such words.

I'd seen this ad every day for the last two weeks; I had no prospects and no where to be, so why not.  I can punch numbers at midnight (those extra dollars would totally get me a new thrift store sweater) and if paid, be a pleasant chit-chatter.  I called and spoke with a really nice woman who was happy to give me an interview.  Sweet!  I was scheduled to meet the manager at 10am, I believe on a Tuesday.  As it so happened, the morning I set the first appointment I received a call from a company I had applied to online.  They also scheduled an interview that same Tuesday, just in the afternoon.  I was gonna win Tuesday!

Tuesday morning arrived like clock work and I dressed in my best ill-fitting professional clothes and headed to interview one's location, feeling optimistic.  The building was located on a main street I traveled often.  I remember the too-large gold mirror greeting me when I first opened the glass doors.  There were stair cases on either side and this gaudy thing in the middle.  It was sunny and reflecting oddly on my skin, so I fled up the stairs to the large common business park double doors.  I walked in to an empty reception desk.  hmmm.  A few minutes later a women walked out from behind another set of double doors, smiling, and introducing herself as X (I don't remember, not the band.)  Before the second double doors closed, I saw several ladies on headsets in front of computers and machines, so far everything is checking out!  I can do this!

Girl X started me on the application and gave a brief explanation of the job before the manager would see me.  She said it's pretty simple; I would take credit card numbers from customers, process the information, and send them to the queue.  Cool, simple.  Oh and every once in a while I would need to talk to the customers if the other girls were busy.  I said talk to them about what - thinking it must have something to do with what ever product they were trying to buy.  She paused a beat, smiled and said the business was an adult chat line, so when the queue is full, sometimes the operators have to talk.  But there are scripts, so it's easy!  hahaha, what!?  I became so nervous! Not because it was phone sex but because acting frightens me and there was no way I'd be any good!

Girl X wanted to make sure I was ok with that, which I truly had no issues with, so I just laughed and said it wasn't a problem.  But the acting piece was crawling up the nervous part of my brain.  I mean I would turn red and shut down speaking in front of a few people, let alone a whole office.  And then having to be sexy to boot - sorry, no AVN award for my public performance.  I put my scaredy comfy pants illustratively on.  In the moments leading up to the manager introduction, there was something else drawing me away from the job.  For no particular reason, I felt they would hire me so I had to quickly figure out my answer since this would just be a job.  The interview scheduled later in the afternoon was for a great company, more money, and was likely a good career move.  But it was a gamble.  Something locked in now vs playing the do they like me game.  I had only met with the recruiter but from our phone discussions, I was a strong candidate.  Gah!

I decided to speak with the fella and at least hear what he had to say, which was not much.  Hahah, my meeting with him was shorter than girl X.  He was really friendly but offered nothing new.  Was I ok with the job, was I interested, yatta yatta yatta.  Decision time.  I wanted to be as professional as I knew how, so I started off by thanking them and smiling.  Yes I was interested, but I had another opportunity later that day which would help me decide.  I promised I would call them by tomorrow morning with my answer.  They both felt that was ok, and so it goes.

I went to Travis' place and relayed the whole story and his advice aligned with mine - if job two doesn't work out, headset ally here I am!  or here I come (rimshot x 2)  That afternoon I met with and was subsequently hired by my current, legally cannot be discussed company.  Although I didn't find out I had the job till the next morning, I did call girl X back right after.  Much to my surprise, she was bummed I wouldn't be joining the "really great team."  Pretty amazing to feel sad after meeting a person for 10 minutes.  I guess I rule harder than I thought.

I still drive by that ugly building on a pretty street, gold mirror still blazing and wonder if they still reside there.  If they do, I wonder if they need part-time help cuz I haven't been thrift store shopping in a while.

Tell You Thursday: My very first job, what I learned, and why lunch doesn't always mean food.

I have been to many “going away” parties, although they are usually bittersweet for someone who has been laid off.   However, I’ve never been to a retirement party.  Up until my current job, I was never at one place long enough, nor was I high enough up the chain for that to even be a consideration.  But last night, I attended my first.  Working at the same company for just over 37 years, a guy named Rick will have his last official day tomorrow.  Rick hired me 10 years ago, with the company I still work for, but under a job title I haven’t been assigned in 9 years.  I moved on in different ways, although our paths cross every so often.  I didn’t hesitate to accept the invitation, but initially was at a loss for words for sending my congratulations.  I mean what do you say to someone you only see during work hours, knowing they are starting a totally different, hopefully prosperous next phase of life.  It’s kinda monumental to feel you have to say something poignant.  When I saw him last night, in a suit (which he never wears,) my first thought was lordy, that will not be me.

This Timely Thursday isn’t about the retirement party or my new career goals  – that will come another time.  But seeing him recount a 37 year legacy got me thinking all the way back to my first job in (I think) 1997.   I have a 17 year mixed bag in how I've supported myself.  In that time I've only held one crappy job, which was more due to management not the position.  Although I did try getting hired where my friends were working their lame jobs, because SOMEONE WOULD PAY ME FOR THAT?!  But things didn't happen that way.

Our high school had a program that allowed Juniors and Seniors the opportunity to only attend four morning classes, leaving at lunch, as long as we were enrolled in a college class or had a job.  Gah those last two years would have dragged on...  I initially took classes at the jr. collge such as business English and basic accounting, but decided those don't put green in the bank.  I was ready to get a job!  I started my search for either an intern position (which also worked) or my first paid gig.  I didn't know what kind of job I wanted or really how to go about it.  But I put on my best ill-fitting clothes anyway and awkwardly went to local shops.  I do not miss for one second that feeling of being a goofy teenager, going place to place asking for job applications.  I hated trying to convince the manager I was a hard worker, who is nice and very willing to learn.  Not that I was lying, but I was shy in those situations so it was very hard getting over that fear.  One afternoon I ended up in a bookstore, inside an outlet mall, far from everything.  The books weren't used but it was where all the unsellables went after Barnes & Noble was done with them.  I figured I like reading, so what the hell.

I walked in and found the assistant manager behind the counter, all smiles.  That put me at ease.  I stated my business, he handed me an application and I got the pen working.  We chatted and seemed to hit it off.  I can't remember if he gave the good news then or called me the next day after speaking with the manager, but the internship was mine!!  The job was basic and the store wasn't very busy, so the manager & assistant guys taught me proper customer service skills, gave me a couple of responsibilities and organizational tasks.  I learned how to refill my first fax machine, which only used purple thermal paper; it luckily it never received any but prior faxes still got your hands messy.  The guys were fun and it felt swell knowing I was doing a good job.  When it was Christmas time they offered me a seasonal help position!  I think I was paid $3.25 an hour, or something marginal... but it was mine!  Immediately I imagined how grand that first paycheck would be.  I went one day after school, on my day off, and the assistant manager handed it to me.  The working class equivalent of a golden ticket.  It was gonna be so much money, I couldn't miss the opportunity to go shopping!  I headed to Target, stood outside, and opened the check.  For all this time I dopely forgot oh it's a check, I must deposit first before I can spend it.  But oh well, I was here!  I'll use my credit card and repay "with my check!"  I felt so grown-up at that moment.  Cymbols crashed clumsily when that $23.xx amount reflected back to me.  wonk.

Because of the holidays, I was working most Saturdays.  The manager's girlfriend would stop by who I'd never seen during the week.  She usually had a small picnic basket with her, head straight to the back, while he always said "Oh honey, you brought me lunch."  His delivery had a twinge of sarcasm, but I never thought much of it.  I found out a year later she had been lovingly delivering him boat loads of weed.  What the?!? Apparently he had been keeping hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of plants that were seized by the feds.

So as Rick reflected his transition from working dude to retired dude, I reflected on my initiation into the work force.  The education, the experience, feeling like I was making a difference... the free books... and the disappointment of taxes.  I don't think the position afforded my anything that I wouldn't later re-learn, but it was a positive experience overall.

p.s. I don't remember what I bought at Target, but during those days I could have probably purchased the whole store.  It wasn't hip then.

Tell You Thursday, that's what the kids are saying. right?

I've technically taken part in 33 New Years Eve passages and surprisingly, can recall most.  Early years were spent with my parents or parents' friends, taking turns watching my smallness while they partied in their shoulder pads (it was the 80s people.)  Young childhood was spent sleeping in bed.  Tween awkwardness enjoyed the challenge of a midnight deadline, while giggling with girlfriends about which New Kids' member we were totally going to marry (it was the early 90s people.)  Teenage years were spent with friends, engaging in questionable activities with questionable people wearing my favorite clothes from the thrift store.  Post-high school opened my world to regret and bad choices.  New Years with Travis, however, was going to be different!  He loved watching the clock move past 12am, either alone or with close friends, doing something that required thought.  I was ok with this.

One such future night, let's call it 2005, we found ourselves heading to Joshua Tree, CA, to spend the wee hours celebrating at the famed Rancho de la Luna.  If you're not famialir with the Rancho, it's the deserts answer to Sound City.  A mecca for that scene.  The tremendous albums recorded there is kinda boggling - just ask Trav, cuz he has most of them.  The cozy house furniture has seen some of the most talented bums eat, sleep and record there. The Desert Sessions, Kyuss, QOTSA, Dave Grohl, PJ Harvey, Chris Goss, earthlings?, Mark Lanegan (double swoon), and many others have traipsed those floors.  It rules and I felt honored to be summoned.

We were invited by our friend and hence forth he will be known as the dude).  The dude was good friends* with the owner, Dave Catching.  * because this no longer friend turned out to be suspicious in most things, so it's quite possible he barely knew Dave and we were about to crash this rad party!  ha!  This guy luckily brought his girlfriend Jeannine, who is no longer with him, but remains awesome to this day - so at least we had someone to hang with if no one else spoke to us.  She could have cared less about what the Rancho meant, I thought it was awesome going to a scene I had little exposure to, Travis was all grins.

The four of us drove together and landed in Joshua Tree around 9pm.  Checked into the hotel that was walking distance down the road, unpacked nothing BECAUSE TRAVIS WAS SO EXCITED, and made our way to the house.  I remember looking down while the others talked about something.  I didn't care what.  The chilled, clean desert air hit me against the darkness - just like I was back in the Antelope Valley (the desert I grew up in.) I spent way too many nights in that desert, roaming around, doing and thinking about 'stuff'.  I always vowed once I moved away, I'd never go back.  So walking the dirt again melded my former and current self, and kinda freaked me out for a spell.  But something raised my attention and I looked up to see the Rancho's firepit glow, striking against the black sky & white stars.  This was me now, not that other Brandi.

A few steps brought us to the front door, more quickly than a savored second.  I think Christmas lights were strung all around, in strange ways that made sense.  The door opened without hesitation and there we were.  Travis had been talking this place up so I had time to visualize my idea of what it would be.  I can't describe what I imagined, but reality was smaller and more 60s than my mind expected.  It was sweet.  And it was a home.  It was literally Dave's home and it was perfect.  The people milling inside paid no attention upon our arrival, giving us time to take in the atmosphere, watch the dude say hi to Dave, and wait patiently for a tour.

The dude showed us around, highlighting the guitars used for this album, the mixing console where that album was conceived, the photos, the stuff, and the history.  It was fascinating.  I couldn't imagine this being my house, having so many people around my very breakable and valuable things.  Especially people I didn't know.  But people respect that place - it's like mandatory when you walk through the door.  After the dude bid us adieu, I guess that meant it was time to be social.

The Rancho had a small patio that looked like most houses with a continued source of guests.  Everything was sun-worn, chairs were off-kilter, cigarettes butts were either mid-draw or extinguished, and kitschy items scattered.  Oh, and it was dusty; dust I was used to.  There was a tiki type bar, some mismatched stools facing it, bricks facing the firepit, and a turkey fryer.  Just as many people were inside, as they were outside.  The patrons waiting for drinks were sitting and standing, up down, up down, in that order.  I liked that visual and thought I wish I had a camera.  Wanting to help ease any nerves, I surprisingly found a spot for both Jeannine and I at the bar.  Travis stayed in the corner so people wouldn't hit his back.  That corner hangout afforded him the opportunity to throw away a cute ladies chicken bone, in turn bringing two great people into our lives - Melissa & Tony are a trip story all their own.  After a pleasant tattooed girl served us both drinks, we mustered up some conversation with the guests.  I'm usually pretty good at that, even if I'm nervous.  Any remaining instinct to cling to one another, drowned after each drink.  These people were superbly fun and easy to get along with.  Soon after, Jeannine buggered off to find the dude.  Travis was in the corner, talking with our new friends.  I was alone, losing momentum in the conversation pie chart.

Not long after I could stare at my drink no more, a very tall, very friendly, sweet man came over and said hi.  He was older than me, with an infectious voice, and LIKE 7 FEET TALL!  no exaggeration.  He announced his name as Brian, and put forth his hand to shake - his hands are like 3 of mine on a bad day.  I liked him right away.  We talked about drinks, and the people, and photography.  I love taking photos - always, always have.  He moved his coat and enveloped his hand around a teensy camera, pulled it from his neck, handing it to me.  Now I was holding the normal size black plastic time preserver.  He said, "Here!  I found this camera and I don't know who it belongs to, but there's film in it. Have fun!"  How awesome.  I insisted he join me in this experience, so we each took a couple before closing the conversation.  We promised to talk later, but I can't remember if that happened.  I was talking with Brian "Big Hands" O'Connor (yes that is a regular size bottle), who was in a band I loved, but had no idea.  I prefer that actually, not knowing.  wish we had remained buds.

I no longer cared about talking and just started taking pictures. The people, neon, drinks, bar, stuff, the fire, the fryer... it relaxes me.  Shortly after Brian left, Travis must have wrapped up his conversation with Tony & Melissa, he excitedly ran over and asked if I knew who I had been talking to.  I was like yeah, it was Brian.  Did you see that guys hands?  duh!  who was I talking too... of course Trav knew him.  And with that, motion set in for a great night, with pretty great people.  An adventure I am extremely happy to have shared, even if those people never mutter about me and my role in their own experience.

I ended up leaving the camera somewhere.  Or giving it to someone - I don't remember.  But I do remember I never found out who it belonged to.  So it leaves me with a story, but no end.  I don't know if the film was ever developed and if it was, where those photos live today.  They might be at the Rancho or in another country.  I am always a sucker for detective stories, so maybe I'll start asking around some day.

I'm not great at social media.  I can read, type and respond, but I'm not hip to the fleeting trends.  I just say stuff and hope people get a laugh or find new thought.  And I learned a long time ago if I'm going to complain, at least make it interesting.  The whole reason I wrote this was because of the kids on the Twitter.  Thursdays say "Hey look at young me - what was I thinking!" and Fridays suggest online friendships that will never happen.  I don't participate, but I often think about what I'm seeing.  Thursday, which was yesterday per the calendar, an unusual amount of TBT photos were unleashed.  I've been listening to a lot of desert rock bands lately, many of which are close friends of the Rancho.  So my brain started filtering through all the photos I've taken over the years.  A light went on in a far-off doorway regarding the story I just told and I wanted to share.

At this moment, I'm not sure if I have photos from that night.  If I don't, this is my version of a timely throwback/thinkback Thursday.

Grocery etiquette.

Oh Whole Foods, you never cease to help me say “You can all fuck off.”

Tonight, while I unloaded my hand-grocery basket onto the conveyer, two chicks decided I wasn’t really in line yet and went ahead of me without asking.  Now listen, I’m a classy lady so I let it go.  I even let it go when they both looked at me, my eyes instantly judging them while they instantly turned guilty.  The Whole Foods I frequent has floor to ceiling columns next to each register, where last minute impulse buys are ready for the taking.  So it was possible they didn’t see me, but nope, see prior sentence.

But it kept poking at me.  On my turn, I asked the checker if that was new etiquette policy, describing what happened. He said no way & how sorry he was he didn’t see it happen.  If they do, they always send those people to the end of the line.  I thanked him for understanding.  As I walked back to my car, lo and behold, there were the two chicks starting to back out of their parking space.  And in my mind, they must have been parked liked jerks at a funky angle, because, c’mon, of course they were.  In seeing a one-time opportunity, I decided to get back at them in my own, sweet way.

I scooted past the car so I was able to walk in the middle of the drive path, holding my groceries.  Of course, normally these people frustrate me – like you know there’s a car behind you, just walk to the side!!  But tonight, it’s in my favor.  I walked slow and confusedly looked for my car.  And oh no, dropped some cereal and yogurt from my bag.  I could feel the anger permeate the metal and head in my direction.  Which was awesome.  I slowly put all the goodies back into my bag and casually made my way to the car, and they eventually sped off.

Don’t fuck with me ladies.