Hello...I'm a Cali-oholic.

There's a 'oholic' for everything these days isn't there? What started with alcohol has morphed into tons of other issue from sports, golfoholic, to chocolate, choco-holic, to shopping. Have grown up in a family that should have the word 'addiction' emblazoned somewhere on the family crest, it's surprising that I myself did not suffer from an addiction to alcohol, food, drugs recreation or prescription. I thought I was in the clear for many years until about 5 years ago when I was struck with the notion that I did in fact have an addiction. It's one that I take very seriously but has become 'cute'. You see "shopaholic in training' on baby onesies and "follow me to the mall" on the license plate covers of many an SUV. Somewhere shopping has become an acceptable past time in the country. It's...well weird.

Today the movie "Confessions of a shopoholic" opened nationwide. You may have seen a commercial or two...(note sarcasm). My mom and I decided to check out what the fuss was all about and I'm embarrassed to say I loved it. Being a writer and have studied film for a very long time I wish that I could say I associated myself with more complex 'art' style films but sadly movies like "Wedding Singer", "Christmas Vacation", "Talledega Nights" and now "Confessions" are where I see myself.

At one point in the film the leading character describes the feeling of shopping and I was salivating. I got it in a big way. Here let me show you: I loved to shop. The energy mixed with muzak of a mall, the hope on every hanger and every shelf. *sigh* The clothes were so neatly arranged by color, all fresh and new. Shoes displayed like art on lit shelves with mirrors reflecting their perfectness. This made sense when my own life was chaotic. I could enter any store from Target to Neimens and the rush was the same. I could chose who I wanted to be at that moment. I poured over magazines so I knew what was new for the season, who was wearing what and how to spot a knock off at 100 yards. I had worth and knowledge no matter how worthless it seems now. I could define myself with a bottle of Chanel perfume or a pair of Betsy Johnson shoes. I could make myself believe I was anyone I wanted to be and that certainly wasn't...well...myself.

I remember this particularly low point when I was in Neiman Marcus at Scottsdale Fashion Square. I was seeking makeup to make me look like Sandra Bullock. (yeah, I have no idea what that was about either) I had no job and no cash but I did have an open credit card for Neimans. After I impulsively decided on $200 worth of makeup the salesgirl, with sympathy, came back to me requesting I go to the 'guest' services desk. This was Neimans, they don't cut your card up at the counter, they send you to a dark corner of the store away from their 'guests' so your humiliation isn't public...thanks...I think.

I remember crying all the way home and not because I was faced with the reality of my own behavior but because I was no longer loved by Neimans. I wish I could say that this event was a turning point in my life but it wasn't. I didn't change my behavior until almost 10 years later. Wow that's ugly to see in print!

You see, I get how addictions form and they can take any action whether it be in drink or spending or any other way. There's a feeling of euphoria that takes over and then you chase that same feeling when it begins to fade. The irony is of course your behavior usually causes the depressed state that causes more of the same action.

When I quit shopping I see now I how simply changed how I defined myself and decided that I was "the girl from SoCal". In my family Southern California is the 'holy grail'. Many have tried to live there and most have come back with their tail between their legs. By some grace of God I managed to be there 10 years with a modicum of success. Moving back to AZ was humiliating no matter how it happened. What's really be irritating lately is how much I've liked being back. I love the less traffic, on the freeway and in Trader Joes! I love being close to my friends and family and reconnecting with past friends. My mom commented on how much calmer I seemed and I swear it got under my skin. "No way man. I don't belong here so there's no way I'm calm here!" LOL...even I can see how much I sound like an insolent child!

I was struck by a line in the movie today about defining ourselves. I won't spoil it for you and quote it but here's what I took; what defines you as a person? Is it your job? Your family? Your possessions? I suddenly found myself with no definition, muscle or otherwise. I wasn't' teaching Jazzercise, wasn't writing, and more importantly I wasn't in California anymore. All the way home from the movie, which incidentally we watched at Scottsdale Fashion Mall, I asked myself this question. A few things came to mind which you know I'm going to share!

I define myself by the joy I see in the Hubb's eyes when he laughs at my corny jokes. I define myself at the ability to make my best friends laugh even while their crying. I define myself as the girl who can dance in the store with her God Daughter and not care who's watching. I define myself as the girl who can forgive no matter how hard it may seem. But more important than all of that I learned this week, thanks to my women's group, that I'm a daughter of the King. I...we are royalty. We are Princesses and not just by bedazzling that across a t-shirt (though I do love a good bedazzle). We are the example of the Prince of Peace. I LOVE that!!

So now let me ask you, what defines you?

Holey crap do we have alot of stuff!!

One of the many side effects of moving is the discovery of exactly how much crap you've accumulated. The longer you've lived in the previous location is usually in direct correlation of the amount of said crap. I, for example, lived in my last place for 7 years and 4 months so using my formula, I should have 7 x the amount of crap I had when I lived for a year in the place before that. Sadly I don't have 7 x the crap...I have about 14x the crap! I think the discrepancy is due to the Hubbs joining me a year into the 7 years and a wedding which included the usual wondrous collection of wedding gifts.

I read somewhere that when you've been in a place along time its usual to stay comfortable and not change much in the way of your lifestyle. Moving however throws you whole life into turmoil so its much easier to make changes. I've discovered that to be true in 3-D and technicolor! We currently have 7 large boxes crowding our dining room overflowing with treasures we no longer wish to own and certainly don't want to move again. They are the soon to be garage sale items. Now this is after last year's purge of 4 truck bed loads of 'treasures' to our church thrift store. I suppose I could be embarrassed at the shear amount of stuff...but I'm not. I don't think I'm alone in this affliction of 'too muchitis'. Just a stroll around Bed Bath & Beyond and seeing what sort of do-dads are in peoples carts begs the question "where are you gonna put all that crap?" *Side note, don't actually ask people that out loud. They don't find it helpful and you'll be asked to leave the store.

Anyway, I did find a rather surprising effect of going through all my things and that was a impromptu skip down memory lane. Saturday evening I found a box that contained photos and memorabilia I had collected during my formative days, ie: kindergarten thru high school. (Spoiler alert, many of these items will be available on Facebook soon!) Photos taken with my first camera, a gray and pink Click disk, do they still make the film for those? Birthday, 1st communion and get well cards, large 8x10 photos of posed military ball and prom dates...which funny enough I had the same 2 dates for most of them! I was constantly caught between laughing at our hair and clothes and tears of the sweet memories. The Hubb's was a good sport during this 2 hour period. I'm sure he was bored at the "oh look at this one" or "here's another pic of an ex boyfriend".

So your asking yourself what's my point or better why did I read her ramblings? I think its this, go find your memories or better yet discover what your memories are. This journey is painful, fun, surprising and enlightening. My mom always tells me that I haven't changed much and am still the 3 year old who needs a nap at 3 o'clock. Usually that irritates me but now I see how right she is. Through friends I've kept in contact with for 20+ years as well as the reconnects thanks to Facebook, I see how my friends are still the same. Maybe a few hairs less and a few lbs more but the humor, the passions, the personalities are still the same and for that I say Thank you God for the people in my life!

What the heck just happened?

I love Southern California aka, SoCal. I've wanted to live there since I was 8 years old and we visited my uncles who 'worked in the biz' and lived in the Valley. I dreamt of going to UCLA, taking up surfing and becoming a 6 foot blond with blue eyes and rack that was the envy of plastic surgeons everywhere.

Well, I didn't attend UCLA, I'm terrified of the creators at the bottom of the ocean and I'm still a 5'5" brunette. However I did get to live in LA for 10 years and I do have a pretty great rack! So how the heck did I end up back in Arizona?! *loud exhale of exasperation"

It all started Dec 3, just a few days after the Thanksgiving weekend. The Hubbs came home with the grand announcement "how about when we go to Phoenix for Christmas we don't come home?" At my gaping mouth he proceeds to tell me that his boss offered him a promotion that included a move to Chandler AZ. After his emotional bomb he dances off to our home office, in ignorant bliss, to finish working on a project. I stagger around my perfect 2 block from the ocean, just finished painting and furnishing to my delight, Long Beach apartment in complete shock.

Arizona?? No no no no. I was NEVER moving back to Arizona. If you're a Zonie and getting all unraveled, settle down. I love AZ. I love the desert and the smell of pinon wood after a rain. The heat never bothered me and the winters are what midwesterns have dreams about. I already DID Arizona. I lived there for 14 years from age 10 -24. It was my holding tank for my life in SoCal. I'm a Cali girl. So what the heck just happened?

Fast forward two months to the day and I'm sitting at my beloved computer in a second floor apartment in Chandler AZ, nary an ocean in sight. God has a pretty funny sense of humor.

So while I don't know why I'm here, the Hubb's purpose is pretty clear. So I think I'll stick around and see what the big Guy upstairs has in mind for his stubborn child...(that's me).

Mambo #08

As I was pondering this year’s events I recalled Eliot Spitzer’s nickname, Client #9. This brought forth to mind the 90s song Mambo #5 by Lou Bega. It was trapped in my head for the rest of the day and this is what came of it. As you read, hum along:

Ladies and Gentlemen, this is Mambo Number 5
One, two, three, four, five
Obama’s in the House and c’mon
Let's hide the check book in the drawer because
The boys say they want ‘a bail out’
But we really don't wannapay for their private planes
I must stay deep
Because their talk is cheap
We resent Fannie and Freddie and Ford and GM
And as I continue you know
They are getting in deeper
So what can they do they really beg and you complain
To them money it's like sport, while we get to pay
It's all good let them dump it
Please set in the trumpet
Chorus:
A little bit of Spitzer in her bed
A little bit of metals Phelps led
A little bit of Clay says he gay
A little bit of Prop 8 Cali say no way
A little bit of weather in the south
A little bit of Hilary back in the House
A little bit of Edwards has an affair
A little bit of Brittany grows back her hair

Thanks for indulging me. I hope no one was offended. ☺ Merry Christmas!

Eau de Salvation

I belong to a women's bible study group that meets on Tuesday mornings. Because of my particular brand of humor the back of the room is usually the safest place for me. Yesterday morning was no expection. The pastor's wife was leading that mornings lesson over the last chaper of Hosea. Some backgroud information will be necessary for you to understand my vision. In the 12th chapter it states in v. 6 "His splendor will be like an olive tree, his fragrance like a cedar of Lebanon." Our wise leader (and that is said without any sarcasm. She is wise!) made the analogy that cedar keeps away moths and smells better than moth balls and could be like keeping evil off of God's children. In a burst of joy and enthusiam she exclaims "how wonderful we can cover ourselves in the fragrance of Jesus Christ!" To the rousing applause my mind suddenly transported to another place instantly. Why don't you come with me now:

SCENE: BEACH AT SUNRISE
THE SAND IS SOFT AND PERFECT AS THE WAVES ROLL GENTLY ASHORE. IT'S TOO EARLY FOR THE HARD SURF. THE MORNING IS PEACEFUL. IN THE SKY A LONE CLOUD APPEARS AND THE SUN SCATTERS ITS RAYS AROUND IT. FROM THE CLOUD A FORM BEGINS A DESCEND AS IT GROWS CLOSER TO EARTH THE OUTLINE OF A MAN IN A ROBE BECOMES CLEARER. THE MAN LANDS GRACEFULLY ON THE SAND AND TURNS TO THE CAMERA. HE HOLDS UP A BOTTLE IN HIS HAND AND SAYS:
"Salvation the newest fragrance by JCAM" (Jesus Christ Almighty)

END SCENE

Meanwhile back at the bible study, I'm doubled over with my hand in my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. It wasn't good enough if the evil eyes I was getting was any indicator. I suppose to some this sort of humor is offensive but I have to go with the fact that I love the Lord and he made me this way! To quote my mother "somethin' happened to your brains along time ago!" I'm not sure what exactly but that's ok! If God didn't have a sense of humor Himself would he have made the platypus?

Nipple Rings Anyone?!

Did that title get your attention? Nipple rings were the topic on my mind most of the weekend. Not to worry, I'm about to tell you why.

Saturday the Hubs' had to be at a Blues Festival and I was invited to tag along. Being a sideline blues fan I said sure. Sounded like fun. As some of you who know me personally can attest, I find myself in some odd situations. This festival was no exception.

I got there a little later than the Hubs' and when I took my seat in the lawn he informed me that the guy on the blanket next to me had nipple rings. C'mon, we live in Southern Cali, nipple rings are no biggie. The Hubs' goes back to his obligation at the festival and I take a gander around the crowd. Cool group. There was a hugely diverse cross section of people. Black, white, Asian, young, old, you name it. There was a larger number of what my dad likes to call 'old burners' rocking out. You know the type, aging hippies with tie dyed t's, long beards streaked with grays and a pony tail that starts with a hairline in the midsection of his scalp. Of course these guys have tattoos and nipple rings! I love these guys!

My gaze fell on one of these said hippies to my left and I assumed that this was the ring-offender. I gazed on. The gentleman directly next to me caught my attention by his lack of hippie-ness. He was probably in his late 50s/early 60s. Short curly gray hair, glasses, clean jeans, you know, the basic bank VP. He was removing his shirt when my eyes fell on him. Much to my humor and shock two bright shiny nipple rings appeared. I couldn't stop staring not even when the Hubs' came back and tried to get my attention.

In the grand scheme of things 2 nipple rings on a middle aged man probably not that big of a deal especially in Southern Cali. What totally delighted me was the shock factor of this guy. Picture your dad or favorite Uncle Phil removing his shirt at the Labor Day BBQ and wham mo, 2 shiny metal rings dangling from his pecs. Never mind what mom or Aunt Ruth is doing with these rings in private. The shock is fun if not a little disturbing.

In my decade of living in Cali, I've come to appreciate and crave the unexpected in people. Now I'm not talking about the discovery of addictions or crimes. I'm talking about the clean cut housewife with a full suit of tattoos or the grandparents that dress alike and tear up the dance floor at Disneyland. These things make us...well us. I had an interesting childhood and the biggest thing I took from it was we are NOT what we appear to be. So what's your shock factor? Is there a pole in your bedroom? Dream about being on stage with a smokey blues band? If you had no chance at failure or judgment what would you do?

Sincerely,
The Punkin
Pssst...I'm the one dreaming of singing with a blues band.

Welcome to the Punkin Blog

Happy September and welcome to my first attempt at blogging. After a year of prompting from my more technically savy co-horts, I'm venturing out into the cyber-unknown. Patience is appreciated!

While I don't have a specific theme in mind, I can promise there will be humor and musings you may or may not agree with but will hopefully make you think about things in a different way.

Until we meet again,
The Punkin