Alive in Wonderland

The Curious Pair

 

This is my column in this month's OC Family out today.

I always wonder how other couples’ relationships work--what they talk about, if they brush their teeth side-by-side in the mirror every morning, how they decide on big-ticket items. It's the little things couples do in public that make me stare and stand too close, trying to eavesdrop on their conversations. 

Like at Trader Joe's the other day, a couple was standing in front of the boxed fruit. The man was holding a box of Asian Pears and the woman was diligently trying to pry the perfectly square plastic box open (despite the galvanized tape) in order to...touch them, I guess. Calmly, the man used his long (freakishly, btw) index finger to lift the side so she could...yes, yes, she wanted to touch them and when she did, she immediately shook her head and waved them away. 

He picked up another box and they began another hushed and passionate conversation about--Asian Pears. I tried to hear what they were saying, pretending I cared deeply about the Clementines sitting next to the pears. But they were enormously secretive and careful not to let the rest of us know what was so flippin' interesting about--Asian Pears. 

Naturally, this made me think about my husband Larry and me. I can't even imagine having a conversation that long about pears. I remember once having a pretty lengthy conversation about how much we loved cheese, but it was more because we were hungry. We started asking each other outrageous questions like, “If you could make a deal that you never could eat cheese again, but you would then be able to fly, would you?” Seriously, who would make that deal? Like, nobody, but that's the kind of thing Larry and I talk about. 

So you can understand my fascination with this couple at Trader Joe's. Larry and I had lots of conversations about them. Asian Pears just seems like a very particular and much more sophisticated thing to talk about than cheese. I mean, we would have flown by those pears at breakneck speed and thrown them in our cart (period). No discussion. 

It made me wonder if we’re missing out on something. Don't things like this make you speculate about how different other people’s lives are? Are they happier? Their kids more intelligent? I see couples on weekend mornings who’ve obviously been out with their baby joggers, sipping their lattes, the Times in hand, and I think, "Huh, are we the only ones who wave our children away on weekend mornings, muttering from under our pillows about cartoons and directing them to the special 'Saturday' cereal?" 

 I guess it comes down to perspective--appreciating who I am and what I value. Being able to say to myself, "We're a couple who sleeps in and gives our children sugary cereal on Saturdays." And, I suppose, accepting that Larry and I are the type of couple that talks about the couple who talks about the Asian Pears…and being okay with that. Which I most certainly am.

Le geek c'est chic

 

(Photo by moi)

I honestly don't know when this happened to me. I can't pinpoint the first time:

--My heart leapt when I heard about a new app for my iPhone. 

--I dreamt about a camera accessory (actually having sweet dreams about camera bags and lens filter).

--I started talking to the things I wanted at the Apple store, "Hello pretty. I promise next time I come I will take you home with me," I said to a Snowball mic. "No. Don't do that--don't cry." 

But it's happened. I'm a geek. 

Being a geek mommy is super chic now. Kind of like how being in shape was super chic 5 years ago. Now, if you look around at lunching gals at Red Robin, bet you in between spooning smashed carrots into their baby's mouth they're bumping iPhones or talking about the next Photoshop upgrade. 

My latest obsession is my new camera -- check her out here. I'm also still spazing out using my new photo apps on my iPhone. Here's a collage using four of my favorites: Histamatic, Shake it, Best Camera and PS Mobile.

 

I know! Freakin' awesome, right?  I mean, it's not like I'm writing code in my car during lineup or putting a "I break for  Klingon Warships" bumper sticker on my car,  but I am **enjoying** watching YouTube videos on how to install more RAM for my computer. 

****

My friend Noel has a new blog at OC Family called Mommy iMoments.  It's all about using your camera phone to take great family photos--catching those moments with the tools at hand.  (Here.) It's good to know I'm not alone.  

 

What's your Starbucks' name?

 

 

Peet's Coffee is not only has my favorite coffee, it's the closest coffee place to my house.  Just a quick walk and I can be sipping my au lait within five minutes of leaving my front door.  But I'm back on Starbucks. The reason is as simple as it is pathetic: I can't get my coffee from a barista who doesn't laugh at my jokes. Sorry.

I have tried all my best stuff on the tall, David Byrne-vibed, middle-aged barista at Peet's:  

My: "I think I want something naughty" (in English Accent) as I tap my fingers together.  

My: "I'm going to tell you I don't want whipped cream and then you're going to know that means I want whipped cream, Okay? And then when you hand me my coffee with whipped cream I'm going to be all 'I said NO whipped cream!' and you're going to be all 'I'm sorry' and then I'm going to say 'You might as well keep it there now' and you're going to shrug in shame, okay?" Always gets a laugh out of  every barista.

But this guy? Nothing.  It's like I'm reading him the phone book. So I stopped going there.  

Anyways, here's my question: Do you use a fake name at Starbucks? What is it? IF you don't have one, please adopt one NOW! It will give you unimaginable (and patently immature) entertainment.

I always use Suzie....and if they spell it wrong, I ALWAYS point it out. Even though it's not really my name. 

*****

Over at OC Family I tell another Starbucks story.  The one where I act like I've never stepped foot in a Starbucks in my life:

Ways to amuse yourself at Starbucks.  

Still successfully dodging holiday responsibilities

 

(Me and my mom. Look at me with the Ambrosia Salad? What a poser.)

We look like normal, grown women.  We have jobs and pay property taxes.  We swoon at Anthropologie, are secretly in love with Jason Mraz and have kids and husbands; all the outside appearances of being totally functional.  

But we have a secret: We've never prepared a holiday feast.  We've never cooked the bird, stuffed it with dressing or prepared gravy from its drippings. That IS what gravy is made of, right?  We wouldn't know what to do with a yam or a chalet; in fact, we would be hard pressed to point one out in the produce section of Pavillions.  

I'm not going to pretend anymore. I know all you gals who slave the day before Thanksgiving and Christmas know I'm not pulling my weight: My mom and dad still makes it all! They make the big stuff--Turkey, potatoes, stuffing-- at their house, pack it in their car and bring it to mine. We host both holidays every year, so I scrub the bathroom sinks,  empty boxes of Wheat Thins onto a cheesed-up platter and put out the plates, but I have never prepared the heavy weights. 

The day before Thanksgiving you could have spotted me at the market stressing out, just like the other women.  But they were panicked, clutching their neatly organized list, because they were out of fresh cranberries for their traditional sauce, while I was standing in Aisle 5 annoyed and saying (out loud) "What? Frick! They're out of Bugles!" 

I know I'm not the only one either, I was confessing to my  friend Lynne at the Ducks game on Wednesday night and she said, "Oh, I've never prepared anything either."  She told me her mom asked her to make the potatoes this year but  it occurred to her that her mom actually wanted her to BRING the potatoes.  "I mean, I'm perfectly capable of buying a bag of potatoes," she explained, but after a frantic call to her mom, she was assured she already had potatoes and just wanted Lynne to mash them.  **whew** 

So I gained some courage to come right out and say it after realizing I would have the support of other women living with the same shame:  Hi, I'm Suzanne Broughton and I've successfully dodged preparing holiday meals my whole life...but I will drive around to four markets until I find Bugles.  

*****

If you are just dying to know what Thanksgiving is like at my house, take a look at my Whrrl Story below:

 

Click anywhere on the box to see the story. 

My so-called suburban life

We are back home after a week at my parents house. The drive from Nevada down Highway 395 took us through some places that...let's just say, I was glad when I saw we were approaching Orange County.

It's a little disturbing to me that I have become some comfy and accustom to OC,  driving as fast as I can in my Escalade through towns with one gas station and an auto graveyard, not wanting to have to stop. And if we are finally forced to stop, I lay out the law to everyone, "Don't touch anything!" before releasing the autolocks. 

After pleas from the kids to eat at one of the zillion McDonald's we had passed, we pulled into the Golden Arches in Bishop.  I squeezed into a spot next to a thrashed white car with one window smashed out and a sheet duct taped in its place.  Two women stood outside the car--not moving an smidgen to accommodate us--both were smoking and when we opened our doors, I could hear crying from behind the sheet.  As they smoked the younger one complained to her shoeless friend, "She thinks she's a princess already." Motioning to the window she took a big puff and said, "...up all hours wanting something."

At that, she reached her pudgy hand through the window and pulled out a little baby (little, like six months tops) by her one arm and brought the infant to her chest with her other hand, lit cigarette now dangling right under the baby's left ear.  

Emily, my daughter, stood speechless.  She hates cigarettes and gets all Cindy Brady when she sees anyone smoking.  "Mom," she started, tapping me on the arm, standing right in front of the trio, staring, "She's smoking while she's holding..." I quickly nudged her along toward doors of the restaurant.  "But mom..." she kept on, now pointing to them and looking back and forth to me then them. 

When we got inside we ordered our usual fare and the women were now in the play area, with what we guessed were their other kids. All dirty and shirtless.  All ignoring the barked orders of their moms.  The baby still cried as she laid across her mom's big, round ketchup-streaked belly.  

Emily glared at them for a while, but eventually got down to the business of asking everyone for their pickles and negotiating when she could open her toy.  As I sat there, finishing off my Purelling blitz, I realized that living in Orange County my kids are pretty sheltered from that sort of scene.  

I guess I've become insulated, too.  Larry laughs at me when I wince at the dirty bathrooms, gum stained sidewalks, and overflowing trash cans of some towns and cities. We have a joke that when we see discarded fast food bags or beer cans in our town's streets we gasp and say in mocked horror, "Someone call the police! There's garbage on the streets of Irvine!"  

When did I become this person?  I lived in San Francisco for 10 years.  I hichhiked through Europe by myself.  I listen to The Clash for heaven's sake!  What has happened to me? Where's my heart?  Does suburban life softly lull even the most ardent urban adventurer and once compassionate youth into a snob, slowly and deceptively until we wake up and find we can't tolerate life unless it's polished and Febrezed?  Or is it just part of getting older?  Or being a mom? What? 

No matter what the cause, I felt like a good dose of something subversive and charitable, but had too much laundry to do and far too much on Facebook to catch up with and then I had to run to Trader Joe's because I HAD to have their Edamame Hummus, which was delicious and I wanted to go in the jacuzzi before the kids went to bed, so I forgot all about my dilemma.  Until now. Is it so bad that I like my suburban life? When did this happen to me? 

✭✭✭✭✭

Maybe to counter-balance this feeling, I've started a group on Flickr called "Things That are Unintentionally Creepy."  Things like clowns or dental equipment from the 1800's, puppets...that kind of thing.  Please join and add any photos of things that made shudder.  I know I have a hair-trigger creep button, but I surely can't be the only one. 

I ♥ HB

There is no season that makes me reminisce the way summer does--not winter with its Christmas or spring with its...well, nothing really . Maybe because I grew up in Huntington Beach, summer always brings back memories of being a kid.  Back then, Huntington Beach was still a small beach town and just a suburb of Los Angeles.  My house was surrounded by strawberry fields, a ditch, and a drive in movie.  

My friends and I would--as predicted in our yearbook inscriptions--spend the whole summer at the beach. One of our moms would drop us off in the morning with $5 for strips from Jack's and an Orange Crush and wouldn't pick us up until late in the afternoon when we were shivering, exhausted our feet still covered with sand--but utterly happy. 

I don't live in HB anymore, but I find myself there all the time.  I take my kids to the beach there.  I go to Surf City Nights.  I walk through downtown and point out to my husband the places where the landmarks of my childhood used to stand. "This is where The Golden Bear used to be," pointing to the big pink and teal condo complex, and "This used to be Safari Sam's," as we walk by the Surf Museum.  "Remember when Duke's used to be Maxwell's?" I ask my mom over dinner. I can still see them standing there even though they are long gone.

I love HB.  It will always be "home" to me no matter where I live.  

✣

I told you summer makes me reminisce.  Here are some other things I've done this week:

My photo for Orange County Daily Photo is from the Huntington Beach Pier. I suspect it might be only a picture an OC native would appreciate.  

✣

I posted on my blog at The Orange County Register this story about my first job in at KFC in Huntington Beach.  (Which included 'the biscuit story.')

I got it bad.

✣✣✣✣✣✣

To me, Cheap Trick is quintessential summer music.  I remember cruising down Beach Boulevard in my brother's green Pontiac Duster listening to this 8-Track.  

"Surrender, but don't give yourself away"

Me, me, me, me, me

I have been taking some time to learn a little more about photography and spending some time with my kids.  I took a few private photo lessons from David Moyle , which have given me some new skills to capture images I never could have gotten without a little instruction--like the clown shot below.   If you are interested in what David has to offer, email him at [email protected].  

I also needed a little time to adjust to my new summer hours as a mom.  It's been kind of like jet lag--call it kidlag.  I love summer and I love those kids of mine, but 24/7 takes some getting used to again.   I think I've found the balance which includes a little me-time. 

✻✻✻✻✻✻✻

O.A.R. "Shattered"

"Give me a break let me make my own pattern."

Fancy free

We went to a graduation party for my friend LeAnn's daughter on Saturday night.  I felt like dressing up, but a new dress was not in our budget.  So, standing in my closet,  I went through my older clothes.  

I mean, I bought everything in there.  I should be able to find something I loved, or at least liked.  Then I saw this sequenced, corduroy, girlie skirt I bought at Anthropologie years ago.  

This skirt I do love.  So I went to the party--fancy free. 

✽✽✽✽✽

At the party, one of my favorite bands played, 

"Mike Brady's Permanent Wave." Heard of them?   

They sang this song, which I also love, it's so sad, but so hopeful at the same time...Train's "Calling all angels."

"I won't give up if you dont give up"

When all the things that creep you out come together at once

This van was parked in Artist's Village in Santa Ana.  

If you've been reading my blog for a while you know, I have a thing against vans--they completely creep me out. Then there is my fear of clowns, which this van has an image of possibly the scariest clown ever. I've never mentioned it before, but those drama masks kind of give me the chills, too.  The only redeeming thing about this van is the little rabbits on top, which I love a nice, cute bunny, but even these look a little too Stephen King for me. 

**Shudder** If you've never seen it, here is my video about my, not totally unfounded, fear of vans:

What creeps you out?

How old am I? Seriously.

These are my Converse. One of them. Really close up.  You can't really tell from the photo, but this is after I tried to

dirty them up.

Jaime of Gingham Skies posted this video on her blog and dedicated it to me, because she wanted me to know I'm not the only dork around--Thanks Jaime.

                                                                               

I love everything about it, except I didn't think to make it first.

My growing man food problem

I am not sure why I feel the unrelenting need to reveal embarrassing things about myself on my blog. I suspect it has something to do with my desire to have people still like me, even though they know I'm a veritable dork.

---

I love man food; sauerkraut dogs, sliders, hoagies, philly cheese steaks, chili fries, the tasty, yet diabolical list goes on. It is a sheer mix of lucky genes and my apathy toward chocolate that I am not 400 pounds.

Sometimes I get a hankering that's so strong, I will resort to all sorts of crazy measures to get my fix. Like locking my kids in to my scheme by making a trip to PCH Dog seem like a prize for some previously unrewarded milestone or achievement.

"Em, how'd you do on your spelling test?" I'll fish. "I missed two words," she'll say, dejected. "Two is a "B". Let's go to PCH Dog to celebrate!" YAY!

But, the truly distressing thing I do to hide my unnatural love of man food comes--like most unseemly things--when I am all alone. I feel too humiliated to let the people in line or a cashier know that I'm flying solo and going to scarf down a sauerkraut dog ,chili fries, a Diet Coke AND a shake all by myself. So, to hide that my order is all for me, I'll say it like this: Hmmm, let's see...what did he want again? Oh yeah, one sauerkraut dog, one chili fries (insert eye roll here) and I'll just have a Diet Coke...Oh, and a I almost forgot the shake.

Cunning, no?

Like you've never ghost ordered a disgraceful meal before...

The effect of this ordering technique is lost if I go directly to my car and eat every last morsel right in front of the very people I was trying to fool. It also doesn't really work if I only order one drink, but those hurdles aside, I can eat my man food with no one being the wiser. Well, except me...and maybe the guy at the In-N-Out Burger take out window.

✢✢✢✢✢✢

Changed my name to "The Suz" when I was eight because I loved The Fonz: My top five '70s TV show crushes.

Tried to make the new Converse I bought for the Ducks game look like they were old: My new, old Converse.

Admitted I broke up with my 11th grade boyfriend once I saw him in his Ferrell's uniform: Twenty Five Completely Random Things About me.

Hope is a road

This is why I love my family. 

I saw this sign for the little town of Hope on our way back from Arizona and begged Larry to turn back to get this shot. Emily looked up from her DS and asked why we were stopping. Ben, without looking up said, "Mommy's getting a picture." Emily just went right on playing. Larry backed the car up, then forward, then back again to park it safely along the highway. Not one word of complaint from anyone. 

LOVE THEM! 

I got a little emotional when I started shooting this. I could see it finished, up on my blog. You all looking at it. Someone being touched by it.  Hope is a road. A choice.  

Hope is also a small town in Arizona.

✰✰✰✰✰✰

Cat Stevens "The Wind" 

                                                                              

"I sat upon the setting sun, but never, never I never wanted water once."

An OC Girl's guide to dude ranching

I just returned last night from a trip to Kay el Bar Ranch in Arizona. It's one of those Dude Ranches where you can go for a few days and live like a real cowboy girl. That is if cowgirls can soak in the jacuzzi every night, get a fresh lemonade on the trail and have room service make their beds. It was spectacular. It has been pretty well covered here in this blog that I'm not a "roughing-it" type of person. But, I can do this kind of "great outdoors." If you're a girl from Orange County--like me--who doesn't have a lot of experience with horses or nature I've put together these tips to help you conquer this new frontier: An Orange County girl's guide to Dude Ranching --- Freshly applied lip gloss + dusty trail ride = mistake. --- Your horse is NOT giving you "the stink eye" or "evil eye," and does not think you are an idiot. They look at everyone that way. --- You can't possibly say "look at that cactus!" too many times to your trail guide. He truly appreciates you pointing them out to him. That's why he says, "Yeah, would you look at that!" with heartfelt enthusiasm. ---That's the dinner bell, not the fire bell. No need to panic or call ranch manager. --- A can of Diet Coke does not travel well in a saddle bag. If you simple MUST take it with you, I suggest you take many, many giant steps away from your horse before opening it. Horses don't like surprises. --- The "cowboy" at Boot Barn in Orange who sold you your boots was 95% right, it really doesn't matter how cute your boots are, they just need to be comfortable and keep you on the horse. --- If you get the Dixie Chicks song "Wide Open Spaces" stuck in your head during your stay, immediately start listening to Jason Mraz repeatedly on your iPod until it is gone. --- Make sure to appreciate the quiet, slow pace of your horse, the easy, casual way of the ranch, and the awesomeness of the blooming desert. You are a lucky girl to be able to experience such beauty and spend this time with your family.

★ ★ ★

Other outdoor adventures I've had...

"Say it isn't snow"

"The Broughton family experiences nature in the Anza Borrego Desert."

To see more of my photography from our trip you can go to my Flickr page: here.

Mom, can I borrow some money so I can change the world?

While cruising around downtown Huntington Beach I came across this window display in a skate/surf shop. 

Wow! Now this was either written by an over zeolous copywriter, jacked-up on Red Bull, or this company really wants to support (encourage) young emerging dreamers, entrepreneurs, and artist.  

I just HAD to go in and see what kind of clothes the "Underground Inventive, Overgroud Effective" types are wearing these days and how this "Support Group," LRG Clothing, was helping them out.

 The answer of course was they are wearing "hoodies."  I figured that. But more importantly, what does one charge for attire which is suitable for 

"overthrow(ing) the masses?"

The answer: a $90 hoodie sweatshirt.  So, they might be paying their rent with their passion, but my guess is their parents are paying off their credit cards.

Why does this bug me? Why so snarky?  

Because it's all marketing.  And when I see a company marketing one of the most important things to a young mind--their dreams/creativity/gumption---it gets me all mean and listening to The Clash real loud.  

>LRG Clothing might have the best of intentions.  They might mean every single word they pontificate, but they certainly don't support it by their price point, therefore, their message just becomes a sad irony sold to the younger generation.   

LRG is right about one thing, it's about much more than "clothing and concept."  I hope younger minds than mine believe that. 

  ♢♢♢♢♢

Today I'm listening to The Clash "Clampdown."

"They put up a poster saying we earn more than you."

Oh, the places I will go...

 

I have a dream of being a professional writer. 

There I said it. Have you ever done that? It's really hard. Now that I think of it, it's downright frightening--to tell others your dream. To hope you don't fall flat on your face in front of everyone. Putting yourself out there***shudder*** is scary.

Not too long ago I was at the "I know I want to do something, but I don't know what" stage. I miss that stage sometimes. I got more sleep in that stage. I saw my friends more in that stage. That stage was frustrating, but nice and cozy. 

I'm giving my blog at the Orange County Register,  MomCrush, my all. A dream like mine kinda floats around and takes different forms. It's a dream of expression , I guess. Right now, it's in the shape of that blog.  

I even started a fan page on Facebook for MomCrush. If you've never started your OWN fan page, here's what it feels like--you know that feeling when you're leaning back in your chair and then you start to fall all the way back? It's like that...but the chair is on top of a plane, 30,000 miles up... and you just noticed there's a large bee on your shoulder...It's scary.  

But you know what's scarier? Not trying.  

When I made the decision to go all out on MomCrush, I started to wonder what the purpose of "Alive in Wonderland" would be. I would never give it up. This blog is where I come to be with all of my blog friends, share my love of Orange County, photography, music, and bare my soul a little. 

I'd like to thank these people for their inspiration. They are following their own dreams; Chris, Elaina, Larry, Sara, Kelly, Marcy, Andrea, Heidi, Jenny, and Jessica...

 "You're off to Great Places! Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting. So...get on your way! " 

from Dr. Seuss' poem "Oh the places you will go."

The "phone booth"

On our recent trip out to the desert we came along this new contraption that I think is ingenious.  It's called a "phone booth" and they made it so you can talk on your cell phone in privacy. You go inside and it's quiet as a library in there. 

They even give you a place to rest your arm if it gets tired from holding your iPhone.  

✸✸✸✸✸✸

Today I am listening to ElO's Telephone Line in honor of the industrious men and women who came up with the "phone booth."

MomCrush: Looking on the bright side of the economic crisis

I have changed the name of my blog at the Orange County Register to MomCrush. See my new avatar:

I am posting more often there and writing some things exclusively for 

MomCrush.   

 

Please head over there to read:

Looking on the bright side of the economic crisis

If you live in OC, the Register picked up my AIG post--it's in the Life Section.

The direct feed is here.  Just in case you want to throw me in your reader. 

The Broughton family experiences some nature at Anza-Borrego State Park

 

The Broughtons don't get out and experience the great outdoors very often.  There was that trip we took to see the snow this last Christmas -- see me not liking the snow too much here -- when I stopped in the middle of our hike and asked Larry, "What's that weird sound?"  He gave me the 'poor Orange County Suz' look and said, "You mean the wind in the trees?"  Now, I had no idea there was actually a sound of "the wind in the trees."  I thought it was more just poetic imagery or something. 

That said...we headed out on Saturday to the Anza-Borrego Desert to see the wildflowers.  I read about them here--in this blog--and immediately had visions of my family running through open fields of wildflowers, like some soft-filtered '70s laundry detergent commercial.  

Well, the desert doesn't really have 'fields,' more like wide open space with lots of sand and flowers popping through it.  But, there is something about the blooming desert that, without sounding overly sentimental, makes you feel happy to be alive. 

The ride there was just as much fun as the actual 'there' part of the trip. We stopped at truck stops and old diners/gas stations. It felt good. It felt very, very good. We rolled down the windows and cranked the "Roll Down Your Window" mixed tape that I made for the trip.  It's put your hand out the window and pretend it's an airplane-type of music. 

A road trip can be hopelessly botched by the wrong choice in music, so I made you your own "Roll Down You Window" mixed tape. 

(Just click the arrow in the middle to play 

& the little one on the right to FF.)

I also made this short video of our trip.  It's 3:30 minutes long.  I know that is a minute over the ideal time for a video, but I just find us far too amusing to cut it down.  I hope you like it..

.
Taking a trip to see the wildflowers in Anza-Borrego from Suzanne Broughton on Vimeo. 

The music in the beginning is the Indigo Girls "Get out the Map" and Jack Johnson sings "Better Together" in the middle and end. I think "Better Together " is meant as a romantic song, but I think it's a good song about family, as well.

I AM like the blogging version of Julie on The Love Boat

Friday we had the second of the Orange County blogger meet-ups that I've arranged. As Marcy put it, "You're like Julie of the Love Boat for OC bloggers."  I am.  

Marcy, Julie, Rochelle, Kristin, Stacey, Dana and I met at California Pizza Kitchen at The Irvine Spectrum for lunch. We talked about the addictive nature of Twitter, our first cars, and all tried to guess the age of our cute-as-a-little-squirrel waiter, Braden (who was 22, of all things).  

I know what you're thinking, CPK? They only service Pepsi there, right? Yes, but their iced tea, proximity to Anthropologie, and ability to seat large parties made-up for their obvious misguided choice in soft drinks. Which I like to call a PepsiBlunder. 

After everyone had arrived--and Kristin gave out her spectacular cupcakes (actual cupcake pictured above)--I called the lunch to order with fake notes and an enormously annoying and bossy manner. I just wanted to clear-up a few things before everyone enjoyed their beverage--except for Marcy and Julie who had Pepsi, which they can't have enjoyed. I wouldn't exactly call it a "lecture," more of just a few suggestions..

. 

Just trying to be helpful.

As you can see, Julie was riveted by my every word.  She couldn't stop taking pictures of the cupcake with her phone long enough to listen?  Probably uploading them to Twitter. Total addict. 

I think the next meet-up needs to be at a place a little more swanky than CPK...and a place that serve Diet Coke...or cocktails. We also need to come up with some sort of name for this assembly of Web 2.0holics. Hmmmm...

The Suburban Sombrero

 

My mom gave me this hat "for when you take the kids to the pool this summer."  This is classic behavior for my mom. She also renews my subscription to "Gourmet" magazine every year and bought me a creme brulee torch--she has a very optimistic view of who I am. As a mom should.  

(Read The "Earthquake Cake" if you want to understand why these are enormously hopeful gifts.)

I'm calling this hat The Suburban Sombrero, like the Urban Sombrero that sunk Elaine's career at J. Peterman on Seinfeld.  

  I don't know about you, but I can hardly make it though the day without a Seinfeld reference siddling its way in somewhere.  

Suz found this montage on YouTube of The Top 100 Seinfeld Quotes.   Suz will get upset if you don't watch it.  Suz is happy you read her blog.