What You Can Learn From a Bullmastiff

I've lived almost five years with this amazing animal and she has become my all-time favorite dog. She's taught me a lot over the years so I asked her to write out some advice on living life to the fullest. Here's what she said:

1. Get a personal trainer

That's right, let someone else worry about how much you eat and how often you exercise. It's easier and they are more honest with you about your weight.

2. Take naps every day.

3. Two shorter workouts a day are better than one long one.

I prefer early morning and early evening. This works out best for my personal trainer and the temperature is most favorable at these times. Also, the squirrels are most lively at these hours and busy eating so they're not as likely to see you coming.

4. Know when to move on.

Lie in the sun until you get hot then move to the shade. When you're too cold move back into the sun. On the same note: Walk fast through the sun and slow in the shade. Why torture yourself? Get to the shade quicker and then enjoy it.

5. Don't judge men by their height or color.

Hey, some of my best boyfriends have been white.

6. Chew your food.

Swallowing things whole is never a good idea, unless someone's coming and may catch you counter surfing. Savor your food.

7. Children shorter than eye level are more work than the taller ones.

They often smell like poop, they have no respect for your eyes and nose, they drool more than I do, and they repeat commands even after you follow them.

8. Be cautious of people approaching the back of the house.

Really, what sort of human picks at garbage? And the other ones, the guys that get really tall on the poles, that's just not natural.

9. People approaching the front of the house should be greeted respectfully.

Even the ones putting white envelopes in the little house with the red flag on it. And yes, even the ones with the little pamphlets that always wear suits and dresses.

10. Drink a lot of water.

I hear it's good for your skin and has all kinds of healthy benefits. I like it because it makes a really fun noise when I lap it up. It's really refreshing.

Nice Guns!

During the school year I rise at 5 a.m. to workout at school. It's convenient, it's never crowded and it's free. There are a group of women who swim regularly on Monday and Wednesday mornings and a couple others that use the gym along with me on the other days. We need to vacate the locker room by 7 so as not to be in the way of the girls who have zero hour Lifesaving. High school girls, contrary to popular Hollywood movie portrayals, are so insecure about their bodies they shower in their swimsuits and change into clothes completely covered with beach towels if all bathroom stalls are occupied. I am always sure to be timely about getting out of their way since a girl gave me the ugliest gas face I've ever seen when I was walking from the shower to my towel seven years ago. I am an adult, I no longer shower in my swimsuit. Poor kid, I don't know if she'll ever get over that. I certainly haven't.
I warned the others of the girls' reaction to me. "Little did she know," said Kim, a fellow swimmer, "you've got the nicest figure out of all of us!"
A couple of the older women, incredibly talkative and nearing retirement, have been discussing where they'll workout when the school is no longer an option. They visited and then joined a new health club in Oak Park and were really happy with it. It's a pretty sleek joint and is brand new.
"I'm a Y girl, myself." I told them as they bragged about their new memberships. They went on to tell me about all the state of the art amenities and cool classes they are able to take at their new shiny club. "That's all fine and good," I added, "but I'd miss the old Polish guys taking laps in their shorts and black socks."
It's summer time and I'm back at the YMCA. I go to Berwyn, I like it there. It's shiny enough and yet I never feel intimidated. I do, however, on occasion run into former and current students. They often don't recognize me because I usually dress a lot nicer when I go to work. I also don't sweat that much in the classroom. Not anymore.
I ran into a kid that was in my Photo class about five years ago, Trino. He was a soccer player and apparently still is. We caught up a bit and then continued our workouts. Forgive me here, because I don't know the exact names of machines but after doing some leg lift thingies and some leg presses I sat on an arm machine. The one where your arms are raised just above your shoulders so your hands and head create a pitchfork shape. You pull your arms toward each other til they meet in the middle, like cheerleaders do when they clap. I completed my second set and Trino walked toward me in the direction of the drinking fountain. He flexed his bicep at me and winked so I flexed my left bicep back. I did this, partly to be funny but also because I really am impressed with my arms. The older guy on the ab machine across from me chuckled and Trino asked, "so you come here mainly to work on your lower body?"

High Infidelity

Dora suggested that I write about our night together a couple of months ago:

I went to the suburbs to hang out with my parents and met up with Dora. We looked through the paper for something to do after filling our tummies with Mom’s minestrone and decided on an 80’s cover band playing at a bar we used to show our fake id’s to get into (back when those were necessary) called Durty Nellie’s. The original had burned down and the new joint was supposed to be pretty nice. It was pretty nice.

The band began with a Journey tune and the crowd went wild, Dora and I looked at each other and Dora asked, “They know this isn’t reeeeeally Journey, right?” I shrugged my shoulders. The band finished the first song and the lead singer addressed the eager crowd, “How’s everyone doing tonight?” Cheers and raised cups followed.
“How many of you out there are on our mailing list?” More cheers and raised cups.
“Friends on our MySpace?” Lots more cheers and raised cups.
“Well then, you probably are one of the people who voted on our latest poll asking what your favorite songs of ours are and tonight we have a treat for you. We’re going to count down your favorites all the way to number one!! That was number fifty-two, here’s fifty-one.”
I turned to Dora and asked, “They can’t possibly do that many songs, can they?” She suggested I lift her up on my shoulders so we could blend more. Instead we raised our fists in the air and yelled and whistled. “Woooohooooo!”
Somewhere between forty-five and forty we decided to take a break and move into the adjoining restaurant/bar for a drink served in a glass instead of plastic. We found a pub table between the bar and the door leading to the band and settled into conversation. Occasionally the door would swing open and we’d hear the lead singer cry “that was number thirty- two, here’s thirty one!” Journey, a little Styxx…”now for number twenty seven!” Soon the band took a break and much of the crowd filtered into our area for drinks, bathroom breaks and discussion of how awesome the band was. Our conveniently located table became hot real estate. A young man, counting his money moved close to us and asked if we minded sharing our table so he could set his drinks down. “Sure,” I said, “we sub lease that end of the table for $5.00 every fifteen minutes.” He threw down a fiver and continued to count his money.
“I was kidding.” Why would I have to explain that? Dora slid the bill back to him and he slid it back to me. Some people just don’t get me. Money -Counter’s friend did and tried to help out but Money-Counter was not hearing any humor that night. He bought us drinks and left his rent behind. He didn’t even use the entire lease.
Not thirty seconds later a woman asked the same favor of us. I decided that since the joke didn’t go so well the first time to just reply a simple “sure!” She bought four drinks and set them on our table and thanked us, “that was so nice of you ladies, I’m buying for all my friends, how are you enjoying the band?” She kept taking one step toward the table and one step back as she spoke to us. Stepping forward to talk and then back to listen. “We’re having fun!” we replied.
“Oh, my friends and I are having a blast! We’re celebrating one of my good friend’s 40th birthday, my name is Kathy-with a ‘K’ nice to meet you ladies.” Kathy-with a ‘K’ had on pleated stone washed jeans and a jean jacket, her hair was cut in a mullet. Not really a good cut for anyone but I think even less so for people with really curly hair like Kathy-with a ‘K’ had.
“So, is that short for Kathleen, then?” I asked her.
“No!” she seemed very pleased that I fell for that assumption. “It’s short for Katherine, but with a ‘K.’ Most Katherines spell their name with a ‘C’ but mine’s with a ‘K’!”
She told us of her plans for her 40th birthday party but as soon as the band came back on she excused herself, “they’re back on! I’ll see you ladies in there, right?” Dora and I shrugged, “Of Course! We have to hear what made it to number one!”
Dora asked me, “why is it that whenever anyone comes up to the table to talk to us they always talk to you and not me?”
“I don’t know, maybe they think you don’t speak English.” She punched me and laughed at the same time. “You bitch!”
We went back in at about number twelve and fed off the excitement of the crowd. We couldn't help but to dance and enjoy the music for what it was. At about number eight Dora asked me if I wanted to leave, “are you kidding?” I asked her, “we've made it this far, we have to see what number one is.” We laughed and I joined Dora dancing. Dora attracts a lot of attention when she dances because…the girl is really hot. And when she dances it’s hard not to imagine a pole close by.
Finally, number one came along and we held each other in anticipation, “what do you think it’ll be?” I asked her laughing.
“I got my first real six-string, at a five and dime…”
We looked at each other with complete surprise but the crowd was really excited. “What? Summer of ’69? That’s number one?”
If you can’t beat ‘em…we danced. We tried a connected robotic snake and were critiqued by a guy standing close by, “that was the worst robot I’ve ever seen.”
“I know,” I agreed and realizing that once again I was the one being spoken to and not Dora, “it’s her fault, she doesn’t speak English.”
He looked at Dora and smiled and then addressed me, “oh you’re going to let her take all the blame and she won’t even be able to defend herself?”
“It’s who I am.”
Dora asked me if I wanted to leave and the guy, looking surprised said, “Oh! You speak English!”
“LISA!!”
“What? Oh my God! You speak…when did you learn English? Has this whole exchange student from Cambodia been a lie all along? Are you even from Cambodia? First thing in the morning I want you out of my apartment! I can’t believe you speak English!”

The next day I got a text from Dora, in English: “If I find a Styxx cover band playing you wanna go?”
I replied: “Sure…but only if we go on their MySpace and vote a hundred times for ‘Come Sail Away.’”

Girl Bar

I don’t know how I got to be forty without ever experiencing a gay bar, I consider myself really open minded but have managed to get through the past twenty years attending only straight bars. I have a friend who is bi-sexual and has invited me several times to join her in attending “Girl-Bar.” This is a monthly gathering of mostly lesbians in a popular gay nightclub. Saturday night I took her up on the offer. I tried to get a straight friend to join me but it didn’t work out, so I drove out to Circuit alone and met Claudia there.

Claudia is pretty popular in this place; the go-go dancers really like her and so do a lot of women. She left me to get some drinks and was provided shots of tequila by some new friends at the bar. At one point a really cute little Latina wearing only jeans and a push up bra walked near us and Claudia said to her, "wow, that bra looks really good on you. You are so hot." The girl replied, "You’re really hot too." And they started making out.

I'm cracking up and ask Claudia's friend, Monica, if this happens a lot and she said, "to Claudia, yep." A 6 foot tall late 40's lesbian started flirting really heavy with me and I broke her heart when I told her I wasn't gay. "Why? Why do I always fall for the straight ones?" She asked. Claudia and Monica rescued me by dragging me on the dance floor. I've never been touched by so many people in my life. Literally touched, my waist, my hips, my stomach, my ass... and I was not even offended. If it were men I’d be all pissed off but I didn't care. I was completely comfortable.

I worked really hard at getting Claudia sober enough to drive home for an hour or so, we left at about 2...something? Outside a really gay man ogled at me on the sidewalk and I was really confused by that. I'm pretty curvy, what was up? Claudia explained how gender doesn't matter when people are only interested in sex. She told me that when she attends gay night (men) she has to sometimes hide in the bathroom to get away from all the men. “They tell me I look like a cute little boy.” Go figure.

Karma pays me back

When I first saw my house I knew I had to have it. I was leaving on a five-week trip to Europe and I told my husband to try and get it for us, which he did. I was so in love with that house, from first sight to dramatic move in. It soon became a symbol of my marriage in my dreams. Whenever my husband and I were fighting I’d dream of trees falling into the roof and damaging it. If we calmed down and talked over the possibility of divorce I’d dream of watching strange people come through it looking to buy it. I’m still in love with my house; I still very much love my husband. But the divorce is in progress and the “For Sale” sign went up last week

When we first moved in I was so pleased with how many neighbors would stop by and say “hello, welcome to the neighborhood,” while I was outside gardening. There were a lot of hustlers; I’ll call them, trying to sell me things like tropical plants, smoke detectors, and bags of socks. I’d wonder, “Where did they get those giant plants?” Soon, three large tropical houseplants were stolen off our front porch. My next-door neighbor asked, “Why you don’t lock your front gate at night?” So we started locking the gate at night. But during the day the mail person needed to get in, the neighborhood beat officer stopped by on occasion and the alderman’s clerks would come through as well. So we’d unlock the gate each morning.

One sunny morning a lady came to my door selling candy bars. For her kids, she said, “They go to St. Martin de Porres right up the street and they sellin’ these candy bars to help pay a tuition.” She was well dressed but the clothes were unkempt and she wore a lot of makeup and a wig. “You new to the neighborhood?” I explained that we had just moved in and really loved it so far. “For real? I stay wit my kids right up on Waller.” She gave me an exact address on the street next to ours. “Here my kids, right here.” She said as she pulled out her wallet and a photo folio filled with pictures of children. I asked her why the kids weren’t out here with her selling the candy. She laughed and said, “You know what? They should be here. I bring ‘em wit me when I bring you da candy.” I looked at a laminated page of fundraising candy that had to be at least five years old. I knew something was up but I completely played along with her. I told her what I wanted and she recorded my order in a spiral notepad. Wow, no phony order sheet, just a notepad, I wondered what was next. It didn’t take long to find out, she asked for payment on my 16.oo order. I told her I only had a twenty and she looked around. “Well, there a bank right over there. I’ll go and get yer change.”

I don’t know why I did what I did next. I just did it, without pause. I handed her my money and watched her walk away with it. I shut the door behind me and had another cup of coffee and wondered if even the kids were real. I had my husband put a new lock on the front gate, install a mailbox accessible from the sidewalk, and we started locking the gate all time after that.

The other day I was returning from a walk with my dog. On the sidewalk in front of my house just below the “For Sale” sign was a twenty-dollar bill. I thanked Karma and went inside.

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Carrie Bradshaw goes to Chicago streetfest

That's how I felt, like Carrie Bradshaw. I am not glamorous and when thinking of the most fashion conscious person they know, I do not appear first in the minds of my friends. Tonight, though, I felt like my resale store shoes were Jimmy Choos amid the freaky wierd get ups I saw on the oddest group of people I'd been surrounded by since that Renaissance festival I went to in the 80's.

I'm house sitting for a friend, who lives in one of the hippest neighborhoods of our city, two more friends are keeping me company. We're treating it like a vacation in our own city. We began with a bottle of wine at the house last night and then out for a couple martinis on a sidewalk patio. We ended the night eating cheddar cheese fries and char broiled hotdogs at the legendary Weiner Circle. Today started with brunch at a hip corner restauarant, my shoulders carry the color of the time it takes to eat lemon ricotta pancakes with a mimosa. We shopped in a bargain driven frenzie for two hours at a shoe outlet store where 7 pairs of shoes and a few more accessories were purchased between the three of us. Margaritas on another sidewalk (Nicole tried to order a white zinfandel and a martini but was scolded by the server for not recognizing the personality of the taco bar as one that would never serve such poor excuses for beverages).

In our new shoes and still rosy cheeks from the taco bar margaritas we headed out to see a favorite band of Dora's play at a local streetfest. I was bored by the description of the band before I ever even heard them. "Fun" and "happy" were used a lot. They were the kind of happy you see in couples that makes you wonder how miserable they are behind the smiles. What is wrong with this band...NO ONE is that happy. This guy has got to be a manic depressive. He frockiled on stage in his baggy blouse and floppy cowboy hat like Peter Pan. The people surrounding us were really odd, most wore flip flops, t shirts and other street fest t shirts. When I asked Nicole if she agreed that the crowd wa odd she said, "oh yea, streetfests always attract freaks. I don't know where they all are before they get here. I don't see people like this on a regular basis."
A young man in front of us danced his awkward ass off and the people with him held their hands above him as if giving him thier version of a dancer's high five. I imagined somewhere at a suburban home were his friends playing Dungeons and Dragons when one asks, "hey, where's Ben tonight?" Another answers, he's at a street fest in the city for a Why Store concert, the lucky son of a bitch. He's probably dancing his ass off right now getting all kinds of hot women."
"Yea," adds another friend, "he's a really good dancer." They all nod in jealous agreement.
A drunken girl is carried off by her boyfriend through the crowd.
A young man removes his shirt in front of us then squats to the street and pukes. He looses the friend he just made ten minutes ago and we move to a new area.
Dora does not want to leave yet. She dances and an odd young man sidles up to her and entertains a fantasy that she is with him while he imitates dance next to her. Why Store keeps singing happy music, one song blending into the next. The best thirty seconds occur when the lead singer inserts a few lines of Jim Morrison into his own lame repetitive music. I text a friend who is obviously doing something so much more interesting because I never receive a return text. Ohhhhh the humanity.
Why did I wear sandals? Beer splashes from tipping cups onto my toes, discarded aluminum and plastic jump around at our feet and scents of pechuli and stale breath waft around us.
The band finally ends its charade of bliss, the crowd ignorantly begs and encore and we make our way out of the crowd. I tell myself what a great blog post this will make.
On our way back to the house the cab drives us through a movie setting of Johnny Depp's latest film and finally I am entertained.

Foundation Friends

A couple nights ago I met with three friends that I have known since grade school. We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same high school, swam on the same swim teams and worked at the same swim and tennis club together. We've managed to maintain our friendship as adults and I treasure these women like no other friends. I'm writing this blog because one of them mentioned that she hadn't seen any recent posts from me. So Donna, this one's for you!

I love these women like sisters, having no sisters I can only imagine that this is true but I feel it must be. When we get together the four of us giggle like the girls we were when we first met. We remember every embarrassing moment of growth that we shared and forgive all adolescent mistakes. I love them for remembering things I have forgotten and for forgetting things I can't seem to forget myself.

When I see them I can't believe it was thirty years ago that we first flirted with boys. We played dunk in the pool with boys we had crushes on hoping that the cutest boy of all would pick us to lift and dunk mercilessly until chlorinated snot ran uncontrollably out of our noses. In high school we fought over which member of The Police would be our boyfriend, we all wanted Sting and no one wanted Andy Summers. "Ewwww! He looks so old!" In college we each attended a different school but, even without the Internet, managed to keep in touch through mail, phone and spring break visits. We talked each other through good and bad break ups, diets and final exams.

As young adults Heather was the only person brave enough to tell me I was making a mistake by marrying my first boyfriend. Donna was the only person I felt comfortable enough admitting that I didn't actually want to marry him. Jen may have been the first to high - five me when the engagement was over. (Donna was definitely the first to high - five me when she met the basketball player that helped distract me from the engagement!)

Heather was there to help me shop for the wedding dress that I wore when I eloped. All were there for me even when, most especially when, my parents would not approve of my marrying outside my race. I cried to them when I couldn't conceive and they were most sensitive to it when they became pregnant. Heather shares her little boy with me like I am another aunt and last year when I held him as he slapped the water in her parents' back yard pool I laughed with delight and said, "Oh Heather! Thank you so much for having this baby for me!" She laughed right back. She knew just what I meant.

All have been there for me through every step of my divorce, never judging, never preaching, always listening and offering laughter and a glass of wine when I need it most.

Donna and I argued at breakfast the other day. In high school the bad feelings may have lasted for days, in present day they lasted only moments.

I once was trying to describe to Heather's boyfriend how I felt about these three women and he put it so appropriately, "of course, they are your foundation friends!"

Donna, Heather and Jen: you are my dearest friends. I love you so much, I hope you know it and feel it the same way I do. I cannot wait until the next time we polish off 3...4? bottles of wine together!