I'm pretty ticked at you cause you didn't tell me about this.

But also, I'm pretty thrilled.

THE TIME TRAVELER'S WIFE IS A MOVIE! AND IT WILL BE OUT ON AUGUST 14TH!

Will it live up to the book? 

(Warning: book has serious potty mouth. I don't recommend it to people, normally, but I still LOVED it.)

Uh.

DUH.

Course not. 

I'm okay with that.

So, are you guys all going together? Without me? Is that why you haven't said anything?

Well, now you are stuck. I'm coming along. And you are going to buy me some Whoppers. 

Oh. 

And I forgive you.

If you also get me popcorn with lots of oily butter, and some of that fake cheese powder that grosses out everybody but me.

I prefer the white cheddar flavor, in case I am saving your seat while you are seasoning my popcorn.

And buying my cherry Icee.

Don't let this happen again.

Love, 

Beeswax

Jesus hit me.

Another tale from the Odyssey.

Not Homer's.

Mine.

(It has black leather seats and lots of cup holders and I used to judge women like me, but now I know that whoever invented the minivan should get a Nobel Prize for being smarty and awesome.)

Tom: Momma, my toe is ouch! Look at my BLOOOOOOD!

Me: I can't see it. I'm driving.

Lengthy pause while he examines his toe more closely.

Tom: Momma, do you think Jesus hit me?

Me: I doubt it.

WARNING: photos of my kids and good-lookin' husband, and a note to SCOTT WRIGLEY. It isn't my fault if you click here and get super bored.

You know I don't normally post lotsa photos and go on about how my kids are cuter than everyone else's (probly even yours), but that's not because I'm super humble and don't want to make you feel bad. It is just cause I'm pretty lazy about getting photos off my camera.

Sunday afternoon at Aviara. At the meadows, next to the golf course. (Carlsbad, California.)

Ross, Jane, Sam. Checking out a frog. They named it Freddy and visited him nearly daily.

Tom and Jake. Finally, Dad's found a kindred spirit. (I was going to say something about how they both really love their balls, but it didn't sound nice).

Kids with sticks.

Kid with ball.

Thinking about poking Freddy with a stick.

The hair is remarkable, no? And it smells good, too. Like sunshine, unicorns and rainbows. I like to kiss his forehead and rub my face in that yummy hair.

Outta focus, but still outta sight. Legs of a thoroughbred.

Returning from our foiled attempt to hike down to the Bataquitos Lagoon. The hotel is up on the hill.

P.S. Note to SCOTT WRIGLEY:

SCOTT WRIGLEY! I will totally give you credit for all the great spots you told us about in North County, but Jake said your blog is private, so I don't know to what I can hyperlink your name: SCOTT WRIGLEY.

will totally give you, SCOTT WRIGLEY, of MESA, ARIZONA, credit for sending us to Moonlight Beach and to Pipes (very delish, thanks SCOTT WRIGLEY, the famous accountant), but Emily in Japan told me to go to VG Donuts. If you told Jake about it, he did not pass on the info. It was a grave oversight on someone's part, btw.

And, dear SCOTT WRIGLEY, you can have credit for sending Jake to Macrumors, but if that is true, I might hold a grudge against you for a year or two.

As you can see, I'm still not quite myself...

Not yet well, but now I'm caught up on SYTYCD. 

I'm thinking about changing out of the dirty yoga pants.

Maybe.

Do you think I ought? Please cast your vote over in the sidebar.

Sordid doughnut transactions, and Easy Virtue. (Plus, I'm home and sick.)

I'm home. 

And I'm sick.

I would blame my sour stomach and aching heed (meant to spell it that-a-way) on doughnut withdrawal, (which seems very likely, considering the volume of those pasteles del diablo I've consumed in the last two weeks, but don't have any more of, cause I'm back in Arizona, where people don't sell delicious doughnuts of that sort), but I think my ailment has more to do with the time like 4 days ago when son Sam tossed HIS doughnuts on the flight deck of the USS Midway (Aircraft carrier parked in San Diego Harbor). Have caught some bad germ, I'm sure.

Doughnuts are good, though. 

I think I will write about them.

First of all: A special thanks to Acte Gratuit for her recommendation of VG Donuts in Cardiff.  

Last Friday night, my sister and I stopped by VGs on our way home from seeing Easy Virtue, to which we were lured with the promise of Colin Firth. 

I didn't want to drive all the way to La Jolla, but she taunted me: What kind of Bridget Jones fan do you call yourself, if you will not get off you rear to see Mr. Darcy on the big screen? But although Colin's acting was quite decent, I believe he took the job because they told him he would not have to brush his hair, teeth, could chain smoke and snarl at people the whole day long, then be off with Jessica Biel at the end. I hope I am not ruining it for anyone, but herlo!,  Noel Coward wrote the play in 1928.

 Oh! And Jessica Biel should never ever be allowed in a period film ever ever again. She was horrid. I cannot overstate her horridity. I even made up a new word to describe it, for the terrible occasion of her acting. I think Bridget would agree with me.

Anyhow, it was still okay, just cause we did see Colin in a period film,  which is something, and it ended just in time for us to pick up some donuts before the place closed at 10 pm. Only the surfer kid running the place was closing early, and didn't want us to come in on his freshly mopped floors, so he just brought us a bag out to the van, and said "pay me whatever." I had to wear my sunglasses throughout the transaction, because it was already our second trip there in 3 days, and I didn't want surfer boy recognizing/judging me. Anyhow, the whole transaction (late hour, deserted parking lot, glasses, under the table cash), made the whole thing feel a bit... sordid. Dangerous. Which, of course, just made the doughnuts taste that much better. 

So anyhow, thanks Emily. It is because of you that I will need to go on a month-long diet of raw veggies. 

When I am able to eat again. 

I think I will go lie down.

Trekkie vs. techie. Still reporting remotely from San Diego's North County, where there have been no celeb sightings

Jake is a techie. I am not. I'm not even sure if that's how you spell techie.

I like Star Trek. So I'm a Trekkie. Is different.

He loves his nearly 2-year-old iphone. He loves aps. He loves synching his iphone with things, and saying 'synch' and 'aps'.

Lately, he's been hanging about websites called things like macrumors, reading about the new iphone that would be coming out very soon.

I asked him to get off the internet, and take me to the new Star Trek movie, cause I heard they got a hot Spock.

He said no.

Yesterday morning, he went to the Apple store here in Carlsbad. I'm not sure what he did there. I was in Target, buying deodorant. You know you've been on vacation too long when you run out of deodorant. And shampoo, conditioner, hair spray, curly stuff for kids hair, and contact lense solution.

Yesterday afternoon, his iphone was drowned, under mysterious circumstances, in Dr. Pepper, while on the golf course here at Aviara.

He quickly pronounced it dead. Before it even stopped beeping.

He set the alarm on my cell phone for 6:30 a.m. (We haven't risen before 9 in two weeks).

He got to the Apple Store by 7 this morning, and waited in line for two hours with lots of other, California-style, techies.

He bought the new iphone, which just happened to come out TODAY. THIS MORNING. At 7 a.m.

He swears he didn't kill his old phone on purpose. Even sub-consciously.

He pleads not guilty.

But I think there is enough evidence to convict.

Do you agree?

(He's gonna be ticked when he reads this. I better quick eat the oreo banana milkshake he's getting me from Mr. Frostie in Pacific Beach before he reads this. Or he might take it back.)


p.s. Remember last year when I was here, and saw Tori Spelling? No such luck this time. Sister Jen says celeb watching season here in San Diego is July (best weather, no June gloom). Is like whale watching. You need to know their migratory patterns. Hunting out of season is utterly futile.

The post about the photo of me in my swimsuit. Only, without the photo.

Ok.

So I was going to post a photo of me lying on the beach here in Carlsbad (although it was really Moonlight Beach in Encinitas, cause why go anywhere else, when they can sell you Dove ice cream bars 30 feet from your beach chair?) whilst reading my book, and say something witty and trite about being much too busy to blog.

In the photo I am wearing my huge black straw hat that I like to think screams 'Old Hollywood', but Jake insists only bellers 'irretrievably ridiculous.' (He didn't say irretrievably.) Is a mystery, but when I wear it, people think I am someone named Great Aunt Ina from Hoboken. Anyhow, with it's radius like that of a patio table umbrella, it is very sun-safe. I like accessorize it with my sunblock no. 70, and when I am 70 but have the lovely, luminous skin of a 65-year-old, who's gonna be laughin' at this hat?

Jake.

That's right.

He'll still be laughing.

And maybe you? If you could see the photo?

But I am much too busy lying here on my back, recovering from the lovely but filling brunch we had up at the Four Seasons, to figure out how to get photos from my camera to Jake's laptop. Plus, my hands are pretty sticky from eating this delightful apple fritter from Donuts #2 in Encinitas. You know how it is.

Also, it occurs to me that if you saw the photo, you might be able to see the title of the book I am reading, and I can't tell you that. It is a secret.

Okay, I'll give you some hints:
1. it is not Absolom, Absalom,
and
2. I have already read it.

Although, I didn't know I'd already read it, because this isn't the sort of book I'll cop to on Shelfari, so I forgot about it, and spent 20 cents on it at the Friends-of-the-Cardiff-by-the-Sea-Library Book Nook. Jake says I need a secret Shelfari for just this sort of embarrassing chick lit problem.

P.S. Look at these little Cole Haan/Nike Air beauties. I picked them up for 60% off this morning at the outlet mall. I really like the outlet mall.

Do you have any books you like but do not wish to claim? Please leave their titles in the comments section, anonymously, if you please.

Sedona: skip the psychic crystal massage, eat some cactus fries and fudge.

I'm back.

What?

You didn't know I had gone?

Is okay.

I  won't take offense.  (If you leave me comment.)

I went to Sedona. With Jen and Hillary.

To get a psychic crystal massage, have a vortex experience, see what's new at Ye Olde UFO Store, and hit the Angel Wing Sale (that's what the banner said. But seems a cruel treatment of God's messengers. I think PETA should intervene.).

Fine. I didn't do any of that stuff. I was too busy in the fudge shop.

Is a different sort of vortex experience, am pretty sure.

To be clear: Am not talking about the Rocky Mountain Fudge. Is okay in an emergency, but is not a destination. Go to Sedona Fudge Company. Try the chocolate cream cheese fudge, the penuche, and the English toffee. Is better than rubbing power-infused rocks on oneself, but will also grant, is more caloric.

Also ate at the the Cowboy Club, at which I ordered an edible but not delicious pulled pork sandwich. I mostly ignored the sandwich, and focused on the basket of cactus fries. (Napolitas cactus, breaded and fried, with prickly pear dipping sauce.) Really, really good. I'm not lying to you.

The Desert Flour Bakery in Oak Creek isn't kidding around. Everything made on site. Cherry almond bear claws, rugalach in 4 flavors, chocolate cake with layers of chocolate and vanilla mousse. Get whatever you like. It's all good. (Don't ask me how I know this. I won't tell you.)

El Rincon mexican in the Tlaquepaque shopping center (gorgy mediterranean villa style filled with touristy crapola, pricey art and rugs, and more candy (store run by Helga, nice Euro-lady with the hairy pits to prove it). Think Seaport Village in San Diego, only way better. Still, you won't actually buy anything. You can leave your wallet at home. Unless you want Mexican food. Got myself a chicken chimi with green sauce, and was pleasantly surprised at its tastiness, because I had already been turned off by the cardboard chips and pace picante sauce salsa, the old dirty carpet and the smell that reminded me of Chuck E. Cheese. (Jen said I was nutsy). But sometimes the best Mexican is to be had in such establishments.  The sweet corn tamale was also a hit with our crowd.

In our food reconnaissance, we spied the Secret Garden Cafe, a girly breakfast/lunch place of the sort we like, and stopped there on the way out of town. We were not disappointed. A lovely patio table in the dappled 75 degree sun, a chicken salad sandwich, and a "Reubini": Pastrami, kraut, swiss, and Thousand Island on marbled rye, squished flat in the panini style. Man, do I love a good sandwich. I need to get my own panini maker. Maybe for my birthday next month. But I also want a ghd flat iron like Jen's. Is perfect, cause Jake likes to buy me technology gifts, and appliances are like technology. Sometimes Jake will sing to me:

Yes I love technology,

But not as much as you, you see 
But I still love technology 
Always and forever 

I know. Is so romantic. Don't be jealous. 

When we weren't busy chewing things in Sedona, we were getting cat calls from some man trying to drum up business for his little shop on Main Street. First he yelled "Hey, is there a beauty pageant in town?" To which I responded, "Yes, but we left our sashes back at the resort." And then later he threw out: "I seen some pretty girls in pictures, but none up close like this." This seemed pervy, so we didn't respond. But after that we wanted to saunter past, just to see what he would say next. We also got a "Where are you goddesses going?" from a hobo outside the convenience store. 

As if the food and sexual harassment weren't enough for a wonderful holiday, we went to Slide Rock, where Hillary pulled in next to some scary looking boys who were making peanut butter sandwiches with huge murder-weapon-style knives and listening to the Gin Blossoms (nice, but just Hey Jealousy, so is hard to know if they were serious fans). I was too busy to notice the potential danger cause I was busy in the back seat, trying to fix the bottom of my swimsuit, which I had somehow applied backwards. Is not comfortable, people. Here, we all slid 80 feet through Oak Creek on our bellies, whilst trying to keep our Bud Lites above water. Wait, no, that wasn't us. We stuck our toes in the frigid water while posing alluringly on the red boulders, siren-style (only without the singing), giggling evilly as Odysseus/Jason types (our fellow swimmers) crashed on the rocks before us. 

Then, we were off to Jerome, a mountain-perching mining town (1870's), now falling into a lovely, antiquated ruin of the type that makes for delightful bed and breakfasts (the picturesque style is generally considered very romantic), gift shops full of $40 t-shirts tie-dyed in red soil, and pricey art and crafts that I don't, you know, get. We would have stopped for a little bite on the patio at the Haunted Hamburger, but we were still in our damp swimsuits and it had begun to rain. Plus the Hell's Angels-looking bikers everywhere made us jumpy.

Anyhow, now I'm home in Mesa, and back at it.

You know.

Bribing kids to clean out their closets. 

Heading to Wal-Mart to get Ross new glasses (keeps losing them.)

Sharing the last piece of hoarded English Toffee with Jake for breakfast.

Happy Summer.