Emphasis Mine

Wanderlust for the perfect bra

Recently, I went on a mission. Not a spiritual one. Not a do-gooder one. A mission to find the perfect fitting bra. I heard rumors that one was "out there" somewhere and when I say "out there" I mean at Nordstom. There, I was told, they have trained professionals with tape measures around their necks who knew their "AA", "B", "DD"'s.

That's right, "AA"s.

Some of you might be thinking, she means an "A." No! There is a size called "AA." It's smaller than an "A" and I think the most charming of all bra sizes. Not just a silly "A" and not all show-off-y like "DD"s.

AA!

I'm getting ahead of myself.

There I was, at Norstrom face to face with a bra "pro" with a real notebook and everything. She was all of 20-year-old and she had recently had eyelash extensions that she "just totally loved." So good. Let's call her "Jen." Jen was very skillful with her measuring tape and listened with compassion as I told my story of the hours spent scavenging through the random "A" bin at Victoria Secret's sales, the poor sales person sent to the "back room" to find a smaller size in a bra I loved (only to come back defeated and empty-handed or sometimes never to return) and the wanderlust I had to find the perfect fitting bra.

She scribbled down my numbers, tilted her head and then she said the words that changed it all, "You're a "AA", not an "A."

"Really?" I said in surprise (not to mistaken with disappointment). "I didn't know there was such a thing--'AA,' really?"

Jen nodded with forced sympathy, "Yes, it's (pause...she collects herself) smaller than an 'A', " she barely finishes.

"Great! Do you have these 'AA' bras of which you speak? Can I try one?" I said with renewed zeal and hope.

She trots off and brings me back five or six. The whole time I'm making jokes like, "So you must have an overstock of these in Orange County...Do you offer a discount on the smaller sizes," that kind of thing. Obviously not embarrassed or ashamed. I'm famously proud of the way I am. I have even been know to say outrageous things like, "I like the way I am."

I know! I could give talks to flat chested young girls about how it's great to be just the way you are. I could list all the actresses and models I love because of our..ummm, brevity and simplicity. (Not to mention the traders. Read: Lauren Hutton.)

After one last crack, something like, "Have you ever sold one of these at South Coast Plaza? Will there be any special ceremony?" Ms.-all-of-20-years-old, new-eyelash-extensions, never-stepped-foot-outside-orange-county's-city-limits said, (dramatized pause) "It's okay, you have a pretty face."

Whatever Jen.

Some of my compadres...

My About Page: Embarrassing crushes, deepest regrets and how Lloyd Cole saved me from Wham!

I was tagged to write three random things about myself...three? I have 50 over in my "About Page."

I think #50 explains why.

The blogging version of a "Meet Cute"

I got together with two of my blogging friends for lunch on Monday. Vicki, from I Think I'm An Artist, and Marcy, from The Glamorous Life. I waited patiently at 11:30 at Red Robin for them to arrive...I waited...and waited. Unfortunately, I was waiting at the wrong restaurnt--we were meant to meet at California Pizza Kitchen across the parking lot. Opps.

Vicki, who is an old friend of mine, called, "Where are you right now?" I told her I was sitting with my iced tea waiting at RR. "You dork! We are supposed to meet at CPK!" She isn't one to tame her words and, let's face it, I am a dork.

So they hauled themselves across the parking lot, winding through the Escalades and Tahoes, to RR where I was chatting with the waitress, "Finally, there are here, so rude!"

We had a nice lunch and since Vicki and I hadn't ever met this Marcy person before, we asked a lot of questions...turns out, she's just as funny, cute and interested in me (ha, ha) as she is online.

She really was great and I look forward to a long real and cyber-friendship.

Oh, look here they are trying to hide their annoyance at me...

As we were winding down our lunch when should walk in? My best friends, Jana and Jill. They were exhilarated and hunger from their trip to Target, ready to enjoy their Teriyaki Chicken Burger. Talk about world's colliding...

Which is funnier? The Muffin Buns debate roars on

Sorry for the bad mood the last couple of days (see post below for details). All better now.

Had this conversation on the phone today with Keith Sharon, the Editor for Alive in Wonderland: (if you haven't read Thursday's column then: a.) you'll have no idea what I am talking about, and b) shame on you!

Keith: What's wrong with the column now, what did I do?
Suz: What?
Keith: You usually only call when I've done something wrong.
Suz: No, that's not why I'm calling. Well, one thing, it's Muffin Buns, not Muffin? Buns?
Keith: What?
Suz: In the story, you changed it to Muffin? Buns? and it should be Muffin Buns? You know, my guess at the dog's name.
Keith: Does it matter. I thought you forgot a question mark. Muffin? Buns? is just as funny.
Suz: Ummm, not really Muffin Buns is much funnier. It's like five, the number five is much funnier than four or six.
Keith: How about one word? Muffinbuns?
Suz: Oh, I know, how about intercapped? MuffinBuns?
Keith: That's not funny. One word IS funny, Muffinbuns. (Which, by the way, Larry suggested too.)

Sadly, the conversation was much longer than this...I'm not even sure what he did...let me check...be right back...

He didn't change it at all...still Muffin? Buns?...still funny (but not as funny as Muffin Buns).

Thanks Keith for talking me down today. Also, a big thank you goes out to my friend Jill, who also joined in the "everything is going to be just fine" crescendo that finally turned my attitude around.

My growing man-food problem

Yum! I love my PCH Dog in Orange! Again, as always, the only girl there--even the kids there were boys.

Barefoot Gypsy Girl

Carrie at Barefoot Gypsy Girl asked to do an interview with me for her excellent, informative and stylish blog.

**Blush** Me?**Really?**What am I going to say?**Lots it turns out...***

Head on over to her blog, bookmark it too. She is seriously sweet, smart, chatty and fun: Barefoot Gypsy Girl.

You and I will talk later about the whole "writing a treatment for a sitcom" thing I mention.

Thanks Carrie! You are certifiably delusional to think I am interview worthy, but, thanks for the vote of confidence.

Call me, call me anytime...well, not ANYTIME

While on the cruise, I was in one of those tincy, weency ship bathrooms with Ben..ummm...for a long time. If you have kids you know, you spend an enormous amount of time in the WC, especially during dinner or right when you have a full basket at Target... Sadly, it's no different on a ship. So, there I was staring at the blue and white tile with little Mickey heads and a woman came in, sat down and dialed. She then proceeded to chatter aimlessly with the equally chatty chatterer on the other end.

I have a few questions for that woman: At what level of friendship and intimacy do you have to be with someone to chat with them, well, there? Why would you think any one of us, innocent bathroom goers, would want to hear, in detail, every last thing you have eaten since the ship sailed?

I could see if you had a bathroom emergency at exactly the same time you had a phone emergency--the two emergencies calling for the separate elements to be coupled together, briefly, then never letting them meet again. But this was no urgent call for the Southern Belle, just a little respite time to "catch up."

I thought surely she would hang up before the flush, but no, it was, "Oh Jules, hold on..." Whoooshhhhh "Blah...no shrimp...blah...butter in their scrambled eggs..blah." It became clear she does this all the time.

I said to myself "This is perposterious!" (Which I say to myself a lot and I always agree with myself that it is.) Well, then I just couldn't help myself (having full agreement), I just started flushing and flushing and flushing. Ben, still perched, said, "Mom, why you do that?" Because mommy likes the idea of vigilante etiquette justice.

"Call Me" Blondie.

My David Lynch Moment

I had what can only be described as a David Lynch moment at Trailwood Park today. Lynch was a master at creeping you out in the sweetest, most innocent places. Given the peaceful setting of the park and my post about "Alive in Wonderland" yesterday, this is just the type of eerie shenanigans he loves.
There I was, sitting on a park bench half-watching my kids play on the slide--bored, yes, bored, but relaxed. The sun was going down, the Irvine parrots were chattering nearby and the breeze was still warm from the day. It was very quiet.

Then I heard a small "Hi." It came from right next to me, though I didn't hear anyone sidle-up. Like I said, so quiet in the park, you think I would have heard someone approach.

When I turned to look, there she was, a blonde little girl about three-years-old, the spitting image of Alice. She was in full costume; blue dress with white apron, headband with black bow, even the black maryjanes.
She didn’t move. She just smiled sweetly at me, but the creep-factor was just too overwhelming for me to feel anything but totally freaked out. I just stared at the poor little (possibly evil) thing and didn't say a word.
Then she skipped over to Ben and introduced herself. "Hi, I'm Alice."

**shudder**

If you aren't familiar with the aforementioned David Lynch, watch this downright disturbing scene from Twin Peaks I found on YouTube **Don't say you weren't warned**shivers galore**

10 Random Things About Me

I've been tagged by Nannette to write 10 random things about myself.

1. I truly believe every doctor I meet secretly thinks I'm an idiot. It's just the way they always say, "Would you like me to write that down for you?"

2. I haven't ever skied.

3. Every morning when I wake up the first thing I do is stand on my tippy-toes to make sure I can still stand on my tippy-toes.

4. I love doing sit-ups.

5. I wanted my name to be Suzette when I was in high school and subscribed to a forest's worth of magazines in the name of Suzette Dorton.

6. Past embarassing crushes I am now over: Donahue, Boy George and The Fonz.

7. I prefer lemony to chocolaty.

8. Only recently did I get the pun in "The Beatles." It's Beatles. I do get it now.

9. I was once fired from a job as a waitress at a VERY fancy restaurant in San Francisco because I couldn't open a bottle of wine at the table--I'd totally choke. They called and left a message. My roommate got the message, copied it on to a post-it and put it on my door. It read something along the lines of "(Blank) called. You're fired. You must be an awful waitress. (Blank) didn't even say sorry and he was kind of laughing." The WORST part was that I was dating (Blank) at the time. That's how bad I was at opening that stupid bottle of wine. I still have a mini-anxiety attack everytime I see a corkscrew.

10. I can't pronounce the word "amicable." Many have tried to help, but I just can't do it.

Vicki, Chris, and Robin consider yourself tagged. (Sorry if you are swamped.)

Are you truly a dog person?

I am a dog person. I am also a cat person, rabbit person, lizard person, bird person and snake person.  I would happily get more animals if my husband, Larry, would let me (and if Irvine were zoned for pigs).  But, since I can barely keep up with the ones we have, I guess I will have to make do with our small clan. I have to fess-up, slurpy, waggy, silly dogs are my favorite animal.

This picture might seem strange for those non-dog people; Larry in a picturesque setting with his arm around Madison, our boxer.  But, my scrapbooks are overflowing with others just like them--Madison and me in front of our new house, Larry and Madison on a hill above the Golden Gate Bridge, Madison and me having a latte on Clement Street.  Not only was it because we loved that crazy dog like a child, but it was a logistical matter as well, since dogs can't take pictures, it was always one of us with her, posing in front of the point of interest.

I still get teary talking about our Madison, who passed away years ago--just like missing an old friend.

I have my dog now, Hazel.  She isn't the brightest K-9 in the world, but she sure is pretty.  Yes, she is wearing a dress, sorry. This is one reason why Larry doesn't like to be seen in public with her.

So, you are totally following all this and think YOU are truly a dog person too?  I put together this quiz to see if you are a hard-core dog lover, or just a pooch poser.

   

      

Orny Adams, a very funny Los Angeles-based comedian, made this video about his cynophobia, or fear of dogs: Here.  Poor guy, we truly dog people can be a bit annoying at times.  It is just too hard for us to conceive of someone not adoring them the way we do.

I Found My Heart In San Francisco

Larry and I are headed off to San Francisco this weekend for a belated 10th Wedding Anniversary trip. We met while living there. We thought it would be romantic to go to the restaurant where we had our first date, --though according to Google Street View it isn't there anymore, but I don't trust that little orange bugger-- go by our old house in the Castro, and then see if we can still walk from North Beach through Chinatown to Union Square, I say we can, he thinks we would never make it.

This is our Wedding Announcement photo taken by our friend (who we shamefullly abondoned when we moved out of the city) j. Michael Tucker.

( One of the many things I like about this picuture is that you can see just how high on my tip-toes I have to stand in order to kiss my giant.)

"I Might Be Old But I'm Someone New"

Here it is-- my 40th birthday. I knew it was coming. I braced myself for its swift arrival, and now, it isn't so bad. I don't feel any different then I did yesterday morning.

Here is a list of good things about being 40 years old:

1.) Everything you liked about your teenage years is now considered "retro" and you can relive it again at a Las Vegas show or at any "Justice" store.

2.) The lead singer of that band you loved in High School would probably date you now.

3.) You can officially start to lie about your age.

4.) The next big age marker is ten years away (50 years old). So, you don't have to go through the trauma of everyone asking you, "So when is the big 5- 0?" for another nine years.

5.) At forty, you can admit that you are cold. From the age 17 through 35 you would wear things that were less then climate appropriate to show off your (umm) best features. Now, breakout the turtlenecks, you've been freezing since 10th grade.

6.) You can now justify spending $100 on night cream.

7.) Your immaturity is now thought of as “youthful” and “refreshing’ instead of “irresponsible” and “annoying.” Yeah!

8.) Most of your friends have now known you long enough to tell if you are having a bad day by just one “hello” on the telephone.

9.) The stupid things you did in your youth are now at a safe enough distance away to tell your parents about without any fear of disciplinary action. You'll just get the standard, "I'm glad I didn't know about that," or the thinly veiled threat, "Just wait until your kids are teenagers."

10.) You can afford to "Fall into the Gap" and buy anything you want. (Unfortunately, you hate the way the Gap’s clothes fit your "new" body shape.)

I am sure there are more, but I can’t think of any right now. I have decided to be positive about this nonsense.

One of my favorite lyrics of a Neil Finn songs says, “I might be old but, I'm someone new.” I like that. I am going with that.

...and he said yes!

Like every little girl, I always wanted a Dad who adored me. Like Steve Martin in "Father of the Bride" or Mr. Bennet to Lizzy in "Pride And Prejudice." Oh, how I wanted a Dad who would sit on the edge of my bed and have long talks with me about boys, who would teach me how to drive and shoot a basketball.

Sadly, I didn't get a Dad like that.

Enter... my Step-Dad Glenn. My Mom married him when I was twenty and I was overjoyed. Even though I was just beginning my adult life, I still had much growing and learning to do. Glenn talked to me with respect, treated me with affection, and corrected me with wisdom and kindness.

Yes, yes I was happy for my mom to have the wonderful husband she deserved but, secretly, I think I was much more excited to have a dad. Too late for the staying-up-to-all hours-helping-me-with-my book-report-kind of dad, but just in time for the here-is-what-a-man-should-be-like kind of Dad.

What IS my point in telling you all of this? Get to it Suz...sorry, here it is--Today I asked Glenn to adopt me as my gift for my 40th birthday and he said yes!

(Me and Glenn my Dad last summer in Nevada. Isn't he just adorable? Doesn't he look like someone you would want to be your Dad? Why is my hat so enormous?)

It Was A Blustery Day At Disneyland

I am a Disneyland person. There are three types of people in Orange County, those who love it, those who don't and those who only like it on a perfect day. I am firmly in the first mouse-eared camp. I know you are thinking, hoping, crossing your fingers, that I am not one of "those" people who wear their annual pass around their neck, filled with pins from past visits and an upgrade the price of a small designer dog.
Well, sorry to spring this on you...

(Notice Winnie the Pooh Themed Pins.)

Larry, my husband, and I even have matching Disneyland jackets, but he swears we got them under duress, in a weather emergency (but you and I know we don't have weather emergencies in California.) Needlessly ashamed, he won't wear it anywhere but inside the park.

Once, we had to stop for gas on the way home from a gleeful visit and he wouldn't get out of the car until he took it off. (Now picture humongous Larry, struggling with a bright yellow pullover jacket in the front seat of my Volvo. He really hates that jacket!)

I went to Disneyland last Wednesday with friends. It was one of those perfect Disney Days: blustery, but not cold; uncrowded, we walked on every ride; and tantrum free, both kids and adults. (I'm sure I just brutalized the punctuation on this.)

It was decked-out in all of its Christmas Holiday glory and looked, well, magical, darn it!

I am far too tired to get in to my long, involved relationship with Winnie-the-Pooh, but let's just say, I still love him, even though he is a total sell-out.

(Back when Pooh was still street: Original illustration by the amazing, under-rated, grumpy, E.H. Shepard)

I'm Gonna Make It After All

Mary Tyler Moore was is my idol. Her theme song was like a mantra for my life. "Who can turn the world on with her smile? (me) Who can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worth while?" (me again)

Even the montage, that was the fabulous beginning of "The Mary Taylor Moore Show," was what my young, feathered-haired head always dreamed my life would be. Watch it here I watched this seriously ten times today. It must be similar to what guys feel when they watch Billy Jack and "One Tin Soldier" starts to play.

My brother Rob and I recently had a conversation about what TV character most influenced us as kids. (We watched a seriously unhealthy amount of 70's TV. See Proof Here.) He, obviously, is the separated-at-birth twin of Captain Kirk and I am Mary Tyler Moore. I don't just mean in theory. As a young adult I; moved to a big city, worked in TV and had a VERY grumpy boss. Poor Rob doesn't even have the chance to command a space ship. He should have picked "Little Joe" instead that way he could have at least gotten a horse.

Even though I don't have (all) the same dreams I did when I was 12 or even 21, I still hold a piece of Mary in my suburban-mom heart. She was the perfect woman in my young eyes. She was kind, smart, pretty, funny, modest, and brave. In that way, she is still my idol.

(I know she wasn't a real person okay. I know.)

A Unique "Us"

Larry and I will be celebrating our 10 year wedding anniversary on Thursday. We were married on the terrace of the hotel, The Inn Above The Tide, in Sausalito, at sunset, overlooking the San Francisco Bay.

Neither of us wanted a large wedding, choosing instead to have just my Best Friend, Jana, her husband Joey, Larry's Best Friend, Steve and his wife Mimi. It was intimate, romantic and just perfect for us.

(Notice my ginormous ring, I'll do just about anything to tease my Mom)

I have never once regretted not being walked down the aisle or throwing a garter into a fray of unmarried men. I loved that we did exactly what we wanted to do, never steering away from our original plan.

When I was pulling pictures for this post I found myself more drawn in by the casual ones, the photos that were "us" and reminded me of all the little moments of that day. These are the things I remember the most...

Packing the car to make the trip across the bridge.

Our dogs, Madison and Abraham, longingly looking at us from our house.

This is one of my favorite "wedding photos." Ironically, it is a total sham; we were just acting like two models from a Sears catalog. But I think we look great in it.

This one too, this is at dinner later that night, we are pretending to be chased by the paparazzi.

We have these silly pictures, instead of the "silly" pictures wedding photographers stage, like all of the grooms men wearing their sunglasses and giving a big thumbs up to the camera. (You know you totally have one of those from your wedding)

We did take some proper pictures.

I really loved my dress. My brother, Randall, and I went wedding dress shopping together. When I put this one on and came out to show him, he said, "Mom is going to cry when she sees you in that dress," tears filling his eyes, "Geez, I'm crying." I'll never forget him sitting on that stool outside the dressing room rubbing his eyes.

Ten years together and just like on our wedding day, it is all the little things that mean the most to me. The small private moments that all couples share together that are the most meaningful. They build and grow and we end up as a unique "us."

My High School Husbands

The more I dive into the paraphernalia of my high school years, the more I realize, surprisingly, how much fun my friends and I had. It makes me feel a little guilty when I hear most people talk of the utter agony those years were for them. It's as if there were only so many spots open for people to have fun in high school and I took one.

In high school we were obsessed with MTV. It launched the summer I was going to start seventh grade, 1981, and we spent that summer, emotionally tethered to the TV, memorizing words, copping dance moves and choosing our favorite bands.

I often wonder how my life would have turned out if MTV didn't enter when it did-- if I would have spent my time more productively. Maybe studying or practicing a sport, like tennis, instead of trying in vain to reproduce Bananarama's look.

By high school, we were well versed in all things MTV and had sworn our unwavering devotion to our favorite bands. These became our signature bands; the lead singer, our future husband, their names appearing only on OUR Pee-Chee folders. You wouldn't ever choose the same signature band as your friend, that would be a complete betrayal.

So, for instance, my signature bands in high school were, U2, The Split Enz and Aztec Camera. Carol's, The Psychedelic Furs, The Jam and The Talking Heads. Andrea's, Simple Minds and The Alarm. (She showed her faithfulness by hand-making a "Sixty Eight Guns" jean jacket that was coveted by every 11th grader at Marina High School.)

This borderline fanatical behavior was best demonstrated in our note writing. We were prolific writers, mostly in class when we should have been paying attention. Again, what would have become of me if...

All notes were addressed to us in our appropriate "married" names. Here is an example for you, a note I triumphantly found last weekend in a box in my garage. Hint: Keli's signature band was Elvis Costello and the Attractions.

Oh, Keli was clever, she took it a step further tailoring our addresses. Another letter was devoted to the discussion of whether a certain boy in our class looked more like John Taylor (Duran Duran) or Michael Hutchence (INXS). I mean pages and pages comparing eye color, hair texture and eyeliner application. The conclusion, he looked like neither-- just a "poser."
(note to self...love that word, poser, should use it more often.)

I wrote many, many a note to: Carol Butler, Andrea Peters, Louise George (Boy George). I received countless addressed to Suzie Finn, or Mrs. Frame.

Here is a very uncomfortable situation for the adolescent me, my two pretend husbands singing together...

(Neil Finn, Roddy Frame and for some reason the guy from 10cc.)

Now Look Who Is "Accomplished Suzanne Broughton"?

It worked! My "Vain Confession from Me, Suzanne Broughton" rant worked!
Check this out:

Vain Confession From Me, Suzanne Broughton

I have a very vain confession to make--recently I have become kind of obsessed with becoming the most famous Suzanne Broughton.

According to Google, I am not. I am the first Suzanne Broughton to come up in a search, from a photo of me and Larry when he won Ernst & Young Entrepreneur of the Year Award, but by FAR the most famous Suzanne Broughton is this one:

(Suzanne Broughton, President of the League of Women Voters of Greater Pittsburgh)

This is the write up on this photo:

Suzanne Broughton, President of the League of Women Voters of Greater Pittsburgh, speaks to the Allegheny County Council about Chief Executive Dan Onorato's plan to cap property tax assessments at 4 percent. She questioned why no one believed county Chief Assessor Deborah Bunn's recent statement that the valuations calculated for the proposed assessment meet accuracy standards.

I couldn't even begin to tell you what that means. From the look of the photo it is very serious and important.

This Suzanne Broughton, let's call her "Accomplished" Suzanne Broughton, has loads of hits on Google, pages and pages. I stopped searching for my blog on page twelve. I come up on comments I made in other blogs, a donation I made to the Scleraderma Foundation, and again for an article I contributed to for Broughton Quarterly.

There is also another Suzanne Broughton in New Zealand. She teaches this class:

It’s all about You! 5x7” Ruler Book Album
Its time to do a little something for yourself. In this class we will create an entire album using one of the Junkitz Tim Holtz Ruler Books and its all about you. Learn some fun techniques using lots of Junkitz products including Epoxy stickers, Ribbons, making pockets and using Gumdrops and Paper Clipz. Intermediate Level but Accomplished

Again, no idea what this is about, but sounds very crafty and over my head.

Alas, "Accomplished" Suzanne Broughton drowns all of us other Suzanne Broughtons out with her press releases and official looking papers. (with crests!)

Maybe, if I just write Suzanne Broughton a hundred times I would be the most famous.......Suzanne Broughton...

Well, it's all vanity I guess. So, this is your friend, Suzanne Broughton, saying good-bye to you.

Love,
Suzanne Broughton

P.S. My maiden name is Suzanne Dorton, just in case that helps.

P.P.S. I am sure there is someone I can hire to do this for me.

Drats, It's Just Me

Armed with our Mapquest map, Larry and I drove across Orange County to a small restaurant on top of a hill to attend a benefit dinner. We were late, way late, and I hate being late. I pride myself on being on time, so much so, that if I am on time, in my mind, I'm late.

I usually like to go to these charity events. I like getting dressed up, eating a nice dinner, meeting new people, all in the name of helping, in this case, "the kids." This night was different. As soon as we arrived and were seated I knew it was going to be challenging evening for me. The room seemed serious and sober. The lighting, far too dim to critique what the other women were wearing. The mood, far too solemn to have a good laugh.

As Larry goes off to get me a glass of wine, I eye the fellow do-gooders at my table to find the one that has "I don't take myself too seriously," written on her face. Hummm, not seeing anyone here.... starting to panic a little... "Where is Larry with my drink?"

At these functions I sometimes feel only half grown up. Part of me says, "Yes, it is totally appropriate that I am here." The other half has the urge to help clear the table and follow the wait staff through the kitchen door, out to the back alley where we would sit on empty vegetable crates and have a cigarette.

When he returns, I lean over and ask him if he feels that way sometimes. "No," he assures me, "I pretty much feel like at grown up." Drats, it’s just me.

As I take a drink of wine, I peer over the rim and look, once more, at the woman seated next to me. I usually can find something to talk to anyone about, but she was a tough nut to crack. Our brief discussion of her medical condition and then her drive to the event left me searching for the kitchen door.

Then I asked her the question that changed the course of the night, "Do you have any animals?" Without looking up from her goat cheese salad, very matter-of-factly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, she said, "I have twelve cats." Twelve Cats!!! An obligatory conversation gold mine!

This could fill up hours....."What are their names?" 15 minutes-- gone by. "Do they all get along?" 20 minutes-- pass in a flash. "Don't you think most people don't understand cats?" impassioned 10 minutes-- spent. Before I know it, they are serving the main course. And luckily for me, her kind and caring nature was topped only by her ability to know when to stop talking, turn away, and eat her prime rib. We chatted now and then and I really ended up liking her very much.

Turned out, Larry and I had a nice evening together. As we waited for our car, we took in the brisk winter evening. Driving down the freeway we passed Disneyland and watched as the grand finale of the fireworks show was just ending. Entering our community, we smiled and waved to the guard as he open the gate. You know, sometimes, Orange County seems like it would be a really nice place to live...