It has been several weeks since Dreamy McPreemie & I called it quits. There are a million things I could say about it, but I don’t think I’m going to pick it apart and dissect every single little thing. Frankly, at this point there are so many other things going on that are so much more important, it just doesn’t seem like it’s worth the time. What would that accomplish? It wasn’t my easiest break-up, but it definitely wasn’t my most difficult. It probably wasn’t the healthiest relationship I’ve had, but it most certainly was nowhere even remotely close to the worst. Things were great while they were great, and then they weren’t. After a few discussions we both realized that we were not able to make the other happy, at least not long term. And when two people come to that decision the only thing to do is end the romantic-part of the relationship before the friendship part gets ruined.
I hope you weren’t expecting all sorts of juicy details and emotionally charged tidbits. It’s really not my style to demonize ex-boyfriends. (X-husbands, on the other hand, is a completely different ball-game and should be demonized outed as the psycho he was is whenever the whim strikes.) Despite any faults, I still think McPreemie is a great person; and I don’t splatter my blog with hurtful and likely exaggerated statements -that I’d probably regret- about people that I think are ok, decent human beings. I learned a lot from him; the most important being that romance may not be a sham. (What? Says who?) In my other life I was convinced that any attempts at romantic acts, words or gestures was simply the beginning of some kind of black mail; a sick and commercially fueled ploy for a man to sweet talk his way into something. And I, for one, wouldn’t buy it. Please take into account that in previously mentioned “other life” any and all attempts at romance ended in just such twisted black-mail type situations, so it wasn’t like I was completely off base in my assumptions. And while there is no way ANY man could convert me into a sappy, mushy, gushy romantic – I must admit that I honestly enjoyed the romantic things McPreemie would say and do; the frequent daisies (my favorite flower), the totally sincere statements, the slow-dancing in the dining room, the surprise dates. (Ok, I get a little wrench in my stomach thinking about this…I really do miss those little things.)
What to do now? Well, this week, and next week, and last week, I am playing my part in the family soap-opera; and for the record, I have a great part. For example, today I blew bubbles until I nearly hyperventilated…apparently garden fairies live inside bubbles and when the fairies get scared -which happens alot- they make their bubble-houses disappear. If you don’t believe me, ask your favorite 4-year old and I’m sure she will explain it properly. On Friday I get to be the hospital escort for my brother, which will give me a nice excuse for a little payback for all those times when he was a teenager (and when he was a 30-something with two kids) and would pick on me without mercy. There will be backless gowns and funny tubes and wires and misapplied brain waves and endless jokes about mouse piss being injected in his arm. (Don’t freak out, it’s just a hormone injection that is grown in mice and then extracted… but I’m calling it “mouse piss” because, well, I can.) I have full intentions to milk this for all it’s worth; and yes, I approach stressful situations with humor, thanks for asking.
Wait, I was talking about McPreemie…It’s like I said before; I am so much more involved in what is going on right now I can hardly write two paragraphs without doctors and hospitals and treatments and brotherly love/payback taking over, it’s not difficult to imagine that I don’t really think about boys, or relationships, or dating, or anything revolving around the Boys Have Cooties vs. Boys Are Cute melodrama. I can’t even write about it when I sit down to do just that. So, before I get half-way along on yet another tangent, let me just give you a little tally so you can see where I’m leaning on the “To Date, or Not To Date” issue:
Boys Have Cooties: 87.5
Boys Are Cute: 4
Obviously, I haven’t dated enough cute boys to sway me into thinking that most boys are cute. Or even to think that a handful are cute. For the most part, and yes, I am generalizing here, but for the most part boys are dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Granted, there are perhaps a dozen that are not emotionally defunct, but I’ve only met four of them. Hmmm… that means that either a) I should get out more. Or b) I’m lucky I’ve met four of them and should remain where I’m at to avoid the rest of the psycho’s. I’ll think about that later, for now I’m back to playing Queen of the Garden Fairies (four year-olds are awesome!).
Alright, so the rest of the weekend (read: Saturday evening and Sunday) was spent hanging out with McPreemie-family & friends, teasing the gaggle of boys (McPreemie, Mini McPreemie and 3 other teenage charmers… it was like having a bunch of younger brothers! I never knew they could be so much fun! I just have older brothers, who still regularly pummel me. But younger brothers are awesome! They are still small enough to lose, but big enough to put up a good fight. I can now see where my own brothers got their kicks (um, still get their kicks) from pounding me.)
However, on Sunday afternoon McPreemie and I headed down to the beach in Malibu. It was foggy and windy and rather cold, but after I curled up I was almost not freezing and I loved sitting and watching the birds and the waves. We drove back through the Santa Monica mountains and I made McPreemie stop so I could take this photo – it was just too gorgeous to pass up, and it more-or-less sums up my entire weekend. Fantastic with a little fog & rain.
On Saturday morning McPreemie and I went down to Southern California to see Wicked at the Pantages Theater in Hollywood. This trip has been planned for months and months; I was so excited to go that I woke up at 4:30 on Saturday morning, jumped out of bed and into the shower… only to realize that I still had several hours until my flight left. Sigh. Back to bed I went and had a bizarre dream about flying monkeys and the yellow-brick road.
Several hours later we arrived in Burbank and met up with McPreemie’s family, including my favorite Mini McPreemie. We grabbed some lunch and headed over to the theater. We were still pretty early, and I spent a solid half-hour gawking at the inside of the Pantages. It’s all art-deco and 1930′s glamour. Granted, half of it is hidden by lime-green laced posters for Wicked, but I gawked anyway. I can’t help it, I’m a total sucker for fantastic architecture!
Me and the boys in the lobby.
We had amazing seats (hello Row J, Dead Center) and I absolutely loved being so close to the action. When people spit while they sang or talked, we could see it. When they raised their eybrows, we could see it. When anything happened, we were right there. It was all so exciting! I love the music of Wicked, and while I’m not the type of person who will sing along to the songs outloud -in the theater, in my apartment, in my car, in the shower- it was such a fantastic expeience to be so close to such amazing talent! Wow, they are fantastic! (If you don’t know the story of Wicked; first, get out from under your rock and then get thee hence to the bookstore and purchase the book, or at least go to my beloved Wikipedia and read up on the story)
I saw Wicked in Chicago about a year-and-a-half ago… and I think I actually liked it better the second time around. The story wasn’t new, but the performances were incredible and the effects were stunning. There were a few bits that I personally would have tweaked a little, but overall I was absolutely floored with the entire show. Happy Birthday Momma McPreemie! Thank you for letting us all share in your celebration! xox
Dam that Herbert Hoover! He filled the Colorado River with concrete and, in turn, powered the entire city of Los Angeles, and much of Southern California… Ok, so maybe he’s alright (Californians, you can applaud now). The Hoover Dam was built in the 1930′s and, becuase it’s a big architectural structure, I am more-or-less fascinated with it. Yes, it’s mostly just a big hunk of cement (enough to build a two-lane highway from San Francisco to New York, by the way) but it’s really quite amazing. The Hoover Dam stradles Arizona and Nevada and is really only famous because it’s big… and because once-upon-a-time, when he was famous, Tom Cruise jumped off of it for a stunt.
I learned that if you throw a handful of water off the river-side of the dam (as opposed to the lake-side) that the water will actually float upwards. I’m assuming this has something to do with the air current that comes sweeping up the concrete wall, but it was awesome! Seriously, I stood there and threw handfuls of water for almost 10 minutes. Yes, I am easily entertained. If you look closely here you can see the beads of water, and you’ll just have to believe me when I say they floated up. 
And here we are, halfway in Nevada and halfway in Arizona. Two different time zones, 726 feet above the Colorado River, about 25 above Lake Mead. All very wierd, but still cool… if you define “cool” in the nerdy, academia-based world that I do. 
)
Filed under: All the World's a Stage..., Dreamy McPreemie, There and Back Again
Las Vegas (or rather, the Vegas that is “The Strip”) is known for being over the top, ostentateious, and rather cheesy. Everything has sequins and flashy lighting, and there are very few things that fall into the “classy and glamorous” category and a myriad of things (people, places, cultural “differences”) that fall into the “trashy and glitzy” category. They have built a fantasy city in the middle of the freaking desert and people flock by the thousands to escape their own lives and go somewhere else. The entire city is an adult-themed amusement park! The rest of Nevada is, well, hot & dry & lovely – but not as trashy, nor does it have as effective an advertising campaign.
At any rate, McPreemie and I willingly participated in the charade and on Monday night we went to Venice… or as close to it as the Nevada State Gaming Board will allow. The Venetian is built around an internal canal system (much cleaner than the actual canals of Venice) and has some of the swankiest stores on the Strip lining it’s cobble-stone streets. There are plaza’s with cafe’s and shops and the sky is painted to look like 2:30 in the afternoon, all the time. It’s a little creepy. However, we had tickets see Phantom of the Opera at the theater in the Venetian, so I donned my red velvet 5″ heels, McPreemie put on a suit and we were off to the Music of the Night…. or something.
The show was fantastic, the usher (the one that wasn’t a camera-nazi) upgraded our seats from nose-bleed-clear-in-the-back to 11-rows from the front, dead center. The costumes were amazing, the set pieces more elaborate than the theater, the effects were incredible and the actors knew their stuff. After the show, McPreemie & I were wandering around “Venice” window shopping -I was drooling over fancy shoes, he was drooling over fancy watches- and we decided that hey, since we’re here, why not take a Gondola ride? $30 dollars later, Marcello was crooning Italian love songs as we floated down the canal and strangers were taking our picture from the cobble-stone streets… which was even more creepy than it sounds. 
Overlooking the obvious schmaltz that is Venice-in-Vegas, I had a fantastic time. Actaully, even with the schmaltz I had a fantastic time. It was a little bit surreal, but just enough to make it memorable, and not enough to make it ridiculous. Happy Birthday McPreemie –I hope it was one to remember. ;o)
Viva! Las Vegas! Last time I went to Vegas I was more-or-less bored with the city. I liked the fountains at the Bellagio, but that was about it. Well, I have a new-found regard for Sin City, this trip there was hardly any porn on the sidewalks, I had great company and had a bit of a good luck streak. No, I didn’t win a million dollars, but had a more enjoyable time than I thought I would. Sunday evening and Monday morning we (Dreamy McPreemie and I) wandered around the Strip, stopping at all my favorite spots.
Dear Bloggophites – I give you Dreamy McPreemie:
On my last night in Sac, Dreamy McPreemie & I took the Porsche out for one last spin and went down to see Old Sacramento and the Tower Bridge. I wished I would have had more time to wander around the waterfront, it was so incredible! There are these enormous old-fashioned paddle-boats along the dock; some are restaurants, some are museums and one is even a floating hotel. By the time we got into town most things were closed up for the night, and it was too dark to many pictures, but just walking around the old-time buildings and boardwalk was amazingly romantic (and I’m not a romantic, at all). There are these old-fashioned lights and raised wood-plank sidewalks (not so fun for walking in heels, but my red strappy wedges still managed to kick ass), and the storefronts looked like they came straight out of a turn-of-the-century Hollywood set. I would love to come back here one day when I had a few hours to spend exploring the little stores and cafe’s, and I really would like to see what I could do about taking a ride on one of those paddle-boats, you know the type with the big wheel at the back. Very Mark Twain and Life on the Mississippi River-esque, only in California… and regrettably without the satire and wit.
Ok, so here I am in front of The Tower Bridge, another one of those unexplained fascinations of mine. I can’t help it! It’s architectural, and it’s by water, and has pretty lights. All in all, this was a fantastic weekend. At the moment I am still overly frustrated with Southwest Airlines (bastards!) for their incredibly delayed service – but with several sessions of therapy and a suppressant this too shall pass. .jpg)
Saturday morning I woke up early -well, if 9:30 counts as “early”- and we hopped in the car to head over to San Francisco. The plan: arrive in The City before noon, visit Baker Beach to get some pictures of Golden Gate, have lunch at Fisherman’s Wharf, take the trolley/cable-car downtown for a little shopping, hop back on the trolley and head home. Good plan, no? It was all going splendidly, until our hour-and-a-half drive turned into this monstrous nearly 4-hour ordeal. Ugh, traffic. There was no explanation for it; no construction, no car accident, no dead bodies in the middle of the road, not even a duck-crossing sign! Ridiculous.
At any rate, we finally reached The City and headed over to Baker Beach, with me as Official Navigator. The bridge was covered in fog, and it was a little windy, but we took pictures anyway and headed across town to Fisherman’s Wharf. I am unnaturally fascinated with the seals and sea lions at Pier 39 down on the Wharf. There’s no explanation for it, I just love them. So we went to pay them a little visit. And lo, and behold, it was sunny! Crazy San Francisco weather! 
While we were at the Wharf we wandered around for a little while, watched several different groups of street performers and had dinner at Boudin, home of amazing Clam Chowder and authentic San Francisco sourdough. Ah, a little bit of heaven (although I won’t even pretend to know how to pronounce the name… so much for a year of French!) And then, my favorite part of the day: the trolley ride. Again, I’m not quite sure why I am so fascinated with this – but taking an old-fashioned cable-car up and down the hills of San Francisco is by far, hands down, my favorite thing to do in The City. I love the idea of hanging onto the side of a trolley as you climb up Hyde Street, past Chinatown and the skyscrapers of downtown…. it gives me this unexplicable rush. Although by the time we actually got through the line and onto the car and downtown it was almost time to go home. So, a quick spin around the block, a cup of hot chocolate to warm me up and we were back on the trolley heading home. 
NEXT POST FROM SACRAMENTO: Old Sacramento
Remember that one time when I paddled a canoe upstream to Folsom Prison? You don’t? Ah. Well, let me tell you the story…
Once upon a time -right around last Friday- Dreamy McPreemie and Mini McPreemie (his younger brother, age 16 and just as adorable) took me canoing on the American River outside Sacramento. It was sunny and the water was more-or-less glassy, we meandered upstream stopping to take pictures and stay hydrated. After an hour or so the sun was climbing and our shoulders were aching. The current was picking up a little and with a LOT of effort we inched up the river. Someone decided that we would paddle up past the next bend and then float all the way back to the dock. Who the hell cares what is around the next bend? No one but Pocahontas in that irritatingly catchy “Just around the River Bend…” song. But, Mini McP. and I decided to comply, and with considerable difficulty and a few not-so-quiet curses we made it. And came face-to-face with Folsom Prison, made famous by Johnny Cash and his on-location recording session. You don’t believe me? Lookit, I have pictures to prove it.
That’s right, I Walk Paddle the Line. We may or may not have paddled past this sign…. and if anyone asks about it I will plead the 5th Ammendment and Natural Blondeness.
Looks kind of scary, yes? On I-15, just north of Las Vegas there is a sign alerting motorists to not pick up any hitch-hikers due to the very close proximity of a federal prison. I wish we could have got closer to Folsom to see if they had a similar sign: Warning! Do Not Pick Up Swimmers, Even If They Look Or Act Like They Are Drowning. Harmless-Looking River-Goers May Be Dangerous Convicted Felons Who Have Escaped Our Faire Prison.
The rest of the trip was fantastic, and I am happy to announce that there was no tipping over of the canoe. That is correct, We. Did. Not. Capsize. This is the first time Dreamy McPreemie or Mini McP. have ever gone canoing without being lurched into the water. It just goes to show that it takes a woman’s touch -and good common sense- to keep the world right-side up. (Ha! Sorry boys, couldn’t resist.)
A few weeks ago the Dreamy McPreemie and I watched DeLovely, a movie on the life of legenday American music composer Cole Porter, starring Kevin Kline and Ashley Judd. Porter wrote dozens of familiar favorites for Broadway as well as Hollywood, including the music and lyrics to Kiss Me, Kate, a musical version of Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew. On Thursday night McPreemie and I took a little ride in the Porsche (so teeny, soooo fast!) and went out on the town; a delectable dinner at The Melting Pot and fantastic tickets to see Kiss Me, Kate. 
First things first: dinner. Have you been to The Melting Pot? Well, if you have not I suggest you get thee hence and try it out (too much Shakespeare? Perhaps.). After several courses of delectable cheese, vegetables, steak and shrimp we got to my favorite part; the chocolate. I came to a few conclusions after trying out chocolate dipped strawberries, marshmallows, pineapple and cheesecake… my favorite thing dipped in chocolate is bananas. Hands down, no question. Mmmmm, I’m getting all giddy just thinking about it. Absolutely fantastic!
Second things second: the play. Although after reliving the chocolate gastronomania I’m not sure anything else matters… at any rate, the play. We had great seats and the actors were fantastic. I hadn’t been to a professional-caliber play for several months, and I had forgot how much I enjoy it. I love the idea of these actors and dancers spending weeks and weeks working to get things exactly right. I am well aware of the behind-the-scenes stress (and mess) that inevitably happens the week before opening. And I am constantly amazed at the level of talent and skill that we as the audience are able to enjoy. It was wonderful. The music was catchy, the singing and dancing right-on, the characters were appropriately funny or deranged or downright hysterical (case in point: the mafia members who join the cast in the middle of the first act -complete with patterned tights and stuffed doublets a la The Bard. Classic!).
And Best for Last: the boy. Dreamy McPreemie -obviously not his real name, his parents are not that ostentatious. He’s adorable and charming and sweet and he sings -has an amazing voice, actually; and is a wee bit younger than I, hence the “McPreemie” portion of the nickname. “Dreamy” comes partially from his amazing blue-green eyes, and partly from the fact that for no reason whatsoever he will start slow-dancing with me in the dining room, or bring me a single daisy (my favorite flower), or call me just because he was thinking about me… sigh… cute cute cute.
NEXT POST FROM SACRAMENTO: Paddle the Line
