Obama Cake

I see London, I see France

When I was a little kid, I wore days of the week underwear. I was very anal about it. I had to wear "Monday" for Monday, "Tuesday" for Tuesday, etc. I didn’t dare go off schedule. What if I got into a terrible accident? People would think I were stupid, crazy: "Foolish girl picked the wrong day to die. Today ain't Friday; it's Wednesday." Oy, mustn’t bring shame to the family. Come the end of the week, my undies were in a real bundle. The set came with only one pair, “Weekender.” I was torn. Do I reserve it just for Saturday or just Sunday? Do I alternate between every other Saturday and Sunday, say the 1^st and 3^rd Saturdays and then the 2^nd and 4^th Sundays? Do I simply wear the same pair for both days? This was years before When Harry Met Sally, which taught me the right choice was to wear “Weekender” for Saturday and to wear something holy for Sunday because of God. Lacy Sunday it is. Thank you Ms. Ephron for helping me see the light. Your wit and wisdom will be sorely missed.

The Rapture

Steve Jobs' last words were: "Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow." I guess dying is kind of like faking an orgasm: "Oh God. Oh God. Oh God." You moan and groan, begging for mercy and wishing the end will come soon.

Teacher's Pet

From kindergarten through the fifth grade, I always gave my teachers apples on the first day of school. It was my desperate attempt as a first generation American to fit in. But the waxy, hormone laden Frankenfruits I gifted condemned me as the perennial classroom "L"oser. I was forever cursed to be uncool. True to my social outcast legacy, I couldn't cut it as a high powered attorney rubbing elbows with the corporate elite, and I couldn't cut it as a genius pastry chef tantalizing high brow palates. I always fell short. People just didn't get me, and wrote me off as a non-entity. To them, I was this odd square peg that could not be squished into a round hole. Dogs, however, do get me and fully embrace my quirks and rough edges. I'm enjoying a career comeback of sorts as a Canine College volunteer at the local Humane Society. I work with a select group of shelter dogs, helping them acquire the basic life skills and rudimentary language proficiency they need to successfully acculturate with humans. "Canine Life Coach" or "ESL for Canines Instructor." Whatever you call it, I am simply a teacher. Instead of bringing me apples, my students leave me fresh kill as a small token of their appreciation. There is no higher compliment.

Devolution of Man

The smart phone made me realize that our evolution of fully opposable thumbs and bipedalism is somewhat overrated. I fail to appreciate the survival benefits of unlimited texting and walking at the same time for our species. We can probably teach gorillas to do the same. There is, or soon will be, an app for that. If we leave a room full of chimps alone with smart phones they would probably text at random the complete works of William Shakespeare. There is, or soon will be, an app for that as well. Fiddling with my phone, I'm discovering there is pretty much an app for most anything imaginable. Time to put my brain in sleep mode and devolve into a mindless being. I'm looking for the app that will turn me back into an amoeba.

Boy toy

There was something off about you. You tried to cover up the truth, but we dared to look beneath the spandex. ¡Ay, caramba! ¿Señor Ken, qué pasó? ¿Donde están sus cojones? Barbie, you got some 'splainin' to do!

I Heart Ralph

It was Spring 1985 when I first laid eyes on him. I was 10 years old, and he was 23 passing for 16. We had so much in common. I too had moved from New Jersey to California. I too had a tough time fitting in and was routinely beaten, albeit verbally, by the blond bully at school. We were perfectly matched square pegs. He was my first crush, permanently memorialized in blue Bic ink on the side of my desk. That's all it ever was, just a crush, innocent and pure. No confidences were betrayed. No tears were shed. I harbored no delusions of someday marrying my poster boy. He was not real, merely the embodiment of an ideal. He became the standard bearer of earnestness against which I would measure all my future crushes. Inevitably, I moved on to real boys my own age. But, he was the first and will always have a special place in my heart.