Gimme a hotdog, and 50 nifty stars on the flag.

Ah! (that was a regal, noble sigh) another 4th of July passed and gone. I remember last years 4th quite well....I was at the Disneyland 4th of July Spectaculaaaarrr!!!! However due to winds of higher elevation the ceremony was 'modified'. Well modified is in the eyes of the beholder, because I'm pretty sure it was one of the most super-rad things I have ever seen. I went with my big sister, Melissa, and her family. I can quite clearly re-call clutching my niece in one arm, a cotton candy in the other hand, bawling my eyes out, as colors exploded in the sky, and (colors that Disney probably invented and sold to Crayola) a montage of songs including 'Shenandoah', and 'God Bless America' blared throughout park. Any onlooker at the time might have assumed that I was a divorced middle aged woman, whose dog died, and just realized how much she hated her job as a secretary in a small town, for a lawyer who makes awkward passes at her (please don't let that be a premonition). I never knew that I loved America and fireworks, furthermore the combination of both. Though I must take into account that we had spent 48 hours total at the park...and my sister was pregnant at the time. Regardless of Melissa's state, the fact of the matter is that sisters fight. So you can only imagine the escalated honesty and brutality that had accumulated over the weekend. No worries, I stepped back and held my tongue, which what we usually do when we're dependent on someone. Anywho, this year was an amazing follow-up, I visited my dear friend Kimmy's family, The Dumonts. We went to her Aunt Kerry's house in the Laguna Hills. There were 10 people, and 7 dogs (A statistic that makes me feel a bit uneasy, even as I type this in the safety of my own house). Of course the amount of appetizers outnumbered the guests, and were fed to us hours before dinner, up until dinner, and were still out after dinner.

I would like to take a moment and thank the man/woman/machine/alien who invented stretch denim. For it was this brilliant fabric that allowed me to eat like an American, on my American holiday, without an overbearing muffin top.

Ah! (regal, noble sigh) Back to the celebration! Like I said, Aunt Kerry's house is in the Laguna Hills, which gave us a great view of 3-4 firework shows, including Disneyland's! Oh sweet Shenandoah....(flashback), she also took the liberty of putting together a 4th of July mix, which was basically John Williams greatest hits. I could never quite tell whether we were listening to Superman, Indian Jones or Star Wars. Nevertheless, the colors were flying, the dogs were barking, and the eyes were watering.

God bless America and stretch denim!

weekends speak louder than words.

Welcome to the roaring 20's, and by 20's I mean the ages between 20 and 29, and by roaring I mean yawning.

Ode

Ode to the life I'm living. Right now I am sitting on the couch with my two room mates; Billy and Brandon, watching The Matrix. I should probably mention that it (the couch) is a black leather wrap around couch, circa 1980's, one you might find the prop room of the movie American Psycho. The dog is here too, his name is Cody. He is a Belgium Shepherd, who in human form would probably be an 8th grade boy with acne who is 6 feet tall and just got pulled up to the varsity basketball team at the local high school. It is after midnight on a work night, and the only reason I don't want to go to bed is because I don't wanna have to deal with getting dressed in the morning. Its a process of smelling the same clothes over and over, realizing the outfit I visualized does not actualize as well as I had hoped, and then putting on the same pair of jeans that has a hole in the crotch. Nobody can see the hole, but the fear that they will follows me all day at work, therefore causing me to walk slower than usual and perspire sporadically throughout the day. I should probably get rid of the jeans. I am 24 year old budding professional....but I have the feeling that while my income is low I will keep the crotch-holed jeans, and wear them often. I have been trying to get into skirts lately, I really like that high-waisted skirt look, with a tucked in blouse and one of those big belts. The problem is that my torso is extraordinarily short, and I'm high waisted. The combination of those to physical elements creates a body structure that is easily comparable to one of the ant characters from the Pixar movie A Bug's Life. Where is this all going? I don't know, but I DO know I need to go to bed. I have to get up early and smell clothes.....

A mall in Tacoma, WA.

"Dad can we go to The GAP?"

"The what?"

"The GAP."

"What are you talking about? Go to a what?"

"The GAP, its a store. "

"Oh...a store for what?"

"For clothes. Can we go?"

"You need clothes?"

"Sort of. Yea."

"Why don't you want to go to Nordstrom's?"

"It's not like I don't wanna go to Nordstrom's...I'd just rather go to the GAP."

"Hm. Okay. We can go, where is it?"

"This way -past the food court."

"Oh here's one of those big mall maps, what was the name of the store?"

"Dad I know where it is."

"What was the name of the store?"

"Dad, stop. It's this way."

"Michaela."

"GAP. It's called The GAP"

"Okay, let's see....'G'...'G...ah the GAP! Should be just past the food court."

"Yes...it is."

5 minutes later (Dad is slow)

"Here it is dad."

"Where?"

"Right there, the blue sign."

"That says GAP Men"

"I know, the women's store is in there too."

"Excuse me?"

"The men's store, and women's store are the same store."

"Excuse me?"

"Dad, can we please go in."

"You're buying your clothes from a men's store?"

"Dad...no...they are just in the same store."

"Does that sign say baby? GAP Baby?"

"Oh no."

"We're going to Nordstrom's"

"Dad why? Please, come on."

"Nordstroms Michaela."

"Ok fine.....Dad, where are you going? Nordstroms is right there..."

"That's the perfume and cosmetic entrance, it agitates my sinuses."

"Oh geez, we're walking all the way around the mall?"

"It's not my fault I have an affliction Michaela."

"I didn't say it was...whatever works. Let's just go."

5 minutes later (Dad is distracted)

"Food court again Mouse, you want anything?"

"No thanks Dad."

"You sure?"

"Yea. No thanks Dad"

"Look! Ice cream, you want some ice cream?"

"Dad, I'm lactose intolerant"

"Come on, just one scoop?"

"Dad, I'll get sick."

"But you love ice cream."

"No thanks."

"They've got cookies 'n' cream, you're favorite?"

"Ok. Sure. Fine dad...thanks"

Freedom!!!!!

Tonight I did Power Yoga. I thought it would be nice to get my muscles warmed up beforehand, so I went for a long power walk/jog along the beach. Unfortunately.....I did not know my body was going to be subject to Medieval torture. While I sit here with aching muscles that I didn't know I had, my mind begins to drift and I lucidly recall the last scene from the movie 'Braveheart'. I have more in common with William Wallace right now than my own mother. I have used what's left of my mental and physical power to fall face first on my bed and debate the choice of taking some pain killers, or having a glass of wine. According to the generic bottle of aspirin it is not good to mix both, so I think I'll go with the wine. That way I'll at least be able to laugh about the whole situation.

Maybe Wallace was laughing in that last scene. Laughter is often confused with crying. Hm.

I said 'forts' not 'sports'.

When I was little I loved boxes. Every time my parents got a large home appliance, I would be thrilled to find an oversized cardboard box just waiting to be cut, pasted, and propped into a car/house/world/hideout. Now I was recently on the phone with my good friend Kimmy, and it was one of those pointless conversations, you know? I was laying on my bed bopping my feet, twirling the cord of my computer charge between my fingers, just wasting my time. Kimmy, being the susie-homemaker, multi-tasker that she is was probably gardening, while petting a cat, and stirring cake batter...oh and probably burning a mix of indie gypsy music to listen to on the way to work. Anyways...there I lay, twirling a cord in one hand, drumming my pillow with the other....and I casually asked "Kimmy, did you like forts when you were little?" To which she replied;

"When I was in...some grade I started noticing that my brother's were getting trophies and I wasn't, and I wanted a trophy, so I decided to take up soccer...and I had asthma mind you, so anyways I played soccer for 1 season, and we ran alot.....we had to run laps, it was probably the worst time in my life, oh gosh, but I was like 'all for the trophies, all for the trophies'. So anyways it finally came time for the season to be over...and we did not get trophies, we got pennants; Little puffy painted pennants with our name on them. It was all in vein...no trophies and our team name was something like Dynamite, and I hated that, because I did NOT want that to be our name. Oh and our coach was this Indian guy and I could not understand a word he said, and his daughter was on the team and she always got special treatment, gosh I hated it. I hated it so much, and-"

"Kimmy...Kimmy," I had to interrupt her, "I said forts....did you like forts when you were little?

"Oh....why didn't you stop me?"

"I did."

"Why didn't you stop me earlier?"

"I dunno.....so did you like forts?"

"Yea, of course."

"Cool....me too."

Beards and War Stories.

Men want to be manly.

Women like to be told who they are, and men like to tell people who they are. Women enjoy a sincere letter, a public declaration, while a man beams and struts knowing that everyone can see his black-eye, big truck, or beard. These are not negative attributes, if anything they wonderful complexities that make men and women who they are.

Like I said earlier; Men want to be manly. Now, if anyone knows this for a fact, its me. I live with two boys, and recently one of my roommates, Billy, decided it was time for the potential of his facial hair to be fully realized. Unfortunately this decision involved the experimental use of a men's hair growing product. Even more unfortunate Billy did not read the box of the miracle grow product very well. After working the facial gel into a lather there was a quick series of events that followed; burning, yelling, scrubbing, and last but not least....staining. (please see below)

Yep...men want to be manly, though I've never seen anything like this before; except maybe in Chuck Norris' fan mail.

I am pretty sure that this is not a phase men grow out of.....my dad is 60 something....and our telephone conversations often reflect the menly need for manliness.
"I know its great! I mean if he can do it, I can do it too, ya know kick everybody's ass in the world!" My dad, Michael, much like my name Michaela....but that's a whole other issue in itself. Anyways my dad was referring to the Bourne Supremacy trilogy, which he had just purchased at Costco, and watched....in one day (he's retired). He proceeded to tell me some old stories from his days as a Marine, and somehow managed to shift the conversation to how many times he had been to the gym that week, and what his workout routine entailed. He described a routine that would reflect that of a Navy Seal, which is hard for me to believe due to the fact that my dad looks like...this;

My dad kept talking, and I eventually spaced out. When I noticed a silence longer than 3 seconds, I figured he was done and said, "wow, you are quite the guy dad". To which he replied "Haha nah, just old stories." Just old stories? then how come you remember them so well, with enough detail to talk for 15 minutes straight.

Anyways, its true. Beards, bulgy muscles, big cars and battle cries. Men are manly; just ask them.

p.s. this is irrelevant, but I have to stop crossing my eyes, i mean it looks hilarious, but boy am i getting dizzy. my co-worker tiffany said 'its like smoking....it makes you look cool, but its killing you'....i couldnt agree more. this is almost as painful as a Flinstone push-pop brain freeze.