Second Blooming

Honest Scrap

Looky, looky! I have won an award! I am award-winning! I'm so excited! Look, here it is...

Isn't it just the cutest thing you ever did see?! Thank you, thank you to the beautiful Suzicate at The Water Witch's Daughter for bestowing this accolade upon me. Suzicate is an amazing, and powerful story-teller and poet. And I think she has one of the best blog titles around. The Water Witch's Daughter. Doesn't it sound mystical and enigmatic? Like the title of a novel. Please, please visit her and enjoy!

Now, the rules for receiving this award were thus...

1. Thank the person giving you this award.
2. Copy the award to your blog.
3. Place a link to their blog.
4. Name 7 tidbits people don’t know about you from reading your blog.
5. Nominate other Bloggers.
6. Place a link to those Bloggers.
7. Leave a comment letting those Bloggers know about the award.

So...I already did 1, 2, and 3.

7 tidbits. Hmmm...

1. My first vehicle was a '72 Chevy pickup truck. White with a turquoise vinyl interior. Standard, 3-on-the-tree transmission. His name was Pick. I loved him with an unnatural passion.
2. My toenails have not been seen au natural (that is, without paint) for at least 15 years.
3. I never wore braces. This was a great disappointment through my junior high years.
4. I can quote about half of the lines from Annie Hall.
5. My best friend, Kaysie, has been my best friend for my entire life. Our mother's were friends during their pregnancies, we were actually due on the same day, but I came two weeks early. So I guess, technically, we've been best friends all of HER life.
6. My favorite flower is a sterling rose, a beautiful lavender rose with the most intense rose fragrance there is. This is a huge frustration for Jimmy, because they're HARD to find and pricey!
7. I have never watched one single episode of Survivor.

Now I get to nominate others! This is so fun. So, I am passing this award on to...

1. Elizabeth at a moon, worn as if it had been a shell .
2. Amy at Fraught.
3. Amy at Matron Down Under.
4. Michelle Renee at It Must Be a Full Moon.
5. Heather at Tact is For People Who Aren't Witty Enough to be Sarcastic.
6. Sarah at The Mommylogues

Okay, I'm going to go do requirement #7. Y'all go check out the blogs of these amazing women above!

Spin Cycle: The Best Of...

Jen at Sprite's Keeper really saved my butt this week, because frankly, I'm too busy drilling studs in my closet and singing praises to the Lord in my choir to write anything thoughtful or hilarious. And this week's Spin Cycle topic is...The Best of... Which basically means...a rerun! Too bad this isn't syndication, that's where the real money is. I still make a nice little income from my Seinfeld syndication. But, I digress...a rerun...

I have chosen to drag out for your reading pleasure the very first post I ever wrote. Because I always liked it, and because nobody ever read it except for a handful of friends. And because it "splains" a few things, as Ricky Ricardo would say.

It's kind of interesting to read something I wrote so long ago. My blogging style has definitely evolved over the months. I am now much more informal and...um...potty-mouthed.  

Okay, I'm off to hang closet fixtures. And sing Handel. Enjoy! By the way, I appreciate the irony that that little "You may also like..." widget thingy at the end of the post may actually suggest that you read the original posting of this. And why not?

Jude

One thing I’ve always known for certain, is that I was going to be a mother. I didn’t have a “need” to be a mother, or a “desire” to be a mother. I had what I felt was an actual knowledge that this would be part of my life. So when I woke up one day and realized that I was 40 years old and had still produced no offspring, I decided that I couldn’t just wait around “knowing” it would happen, but that I had to actually get off my ass and make it happen. So my husband, Jimmy, and I started actively trying. And trying. And trying. Which is difficult when you have a husband who only wants to “try” when it’s wild and spontaneous (something which thrilled me in our earlier days together). I was forced to hide the basal thermometer and feign “spontaneous” enthusiasm for “trying”. My husband never caught on as to why I was oh so very frisky at the exact same time every month. He did, however, enjoy it tremendously.

But alas…no pregnancy.  At 41, I faced the fact that I should probably get some professional help, and went to a fertility doctor. And being the aging Catholic that I am, I started lighting a candle to St. Jude every Sunday. Jude is the patron saint of hopeless causes (and fittingly, actors, which my husband, Jimmy, and I both are), and I thought he would certainly be my go-to guy.

 
We got pregnant! And lost it. Hmmm. Okay, let’s try again. Only this time, I realized it was time for me to marshal the forces. Our health insurance would only pay for one more go with the fertility treatments. This was my Waterloo. My Alamo (we Texans LOVE Alamo analogies!). I needed to bring out the big guns. So…I sent out a plea to all my spiritual-minded friends, and they came through for me in a big way. Catholic friends had novenas going across the country, Christian friends added me to their prayer chains, Buddhist friends had their meditation groups chanting for me, a friend on a trip to Europe lit a candle in every cathedral in France, Japanese friends performed Jorai healing over my womb to get it prepared to welcome the child. And then I decided to play my trump card. I went back to St. Jude, and this time, I promised him that if he’d help us have a baby…I’d name the kid after him. Big, right?

And it worked. It worked! We were blessed with a healthy, thriving pregnancy. My fertility doctor loved me because I was a 41 year old woman who got pregnant TWICE, thus skewing his success rate nicely. And my Italian-American in-laws were overjoyed to learn that it was a masculine child.

Now…how to tell Jimmy that I’d already named the kid by making a vow to a saint. Oh no. Jimmy does not like being told what to do. Oh no. He does not like having decisions made for him. Oh no. And even though Jimmy's spiritual beliefs have now taken a sharp turn to the East, he is still enough of an old Italian Catholic to know that you don’t screw around with a vow to a saint. Oh no, no, no. A vow to a saint is very serious stuff.

We bounced around a few names. Jimmy wanted Vito (I know. But Jimmy’s an Italian actor and has a Godfather thing, and anyway, Vito means “life”, so…). I suggested Levon, for Levon Helm of The Band, a mutual favorite of ours. All the while, I was getting up the guts to make my confession about the wacky vow-to-a-saint thing.

So one night, when I was about 6 months into my pregnancy, we decided to meet for dinner at a local Italian restaurant. When Jimmy got there, he was very wound up and excited (people who know him know that he is usually this way, but this time he was particularly so), and as soon as he sat down he announced “I know what we have to name our son!”

Oh NO!! It was now or never. I had to make my confession.

“I was driving in the car” Jimmy continued, “And ‘Hey Jude’ came on the radio. How many millions of times have I heard this song? But today, I felt like I was hearing it for the first time. And it hit me like a ton of bricks that that’s what we have to name the baby. Jude. What do you think?”

Now, according to Jimmy, I got a look on my face of joy and relief like nothing he’d ever witnessed before, and my eyes welled up with tears. “Yes!” I blubbered, “That’s his name!!”

St. Jude had fixed it.

And on May 6, 2003, my one perfect, silly little boy, Jude Antonio, was born, and since then I’ve been Jude’s Mama.

RTT: Drills, Studs, Screws and Bunny Ears

It's Random Tuesday Thoughts, and I'm in a "mood". What has brought on this "mood"? Home improvement. Argh. I'm finally doing something with our stupid closet. Our stupid, tiny, awkward, over-crowded closet. I decided that this morning I would finally get going on this MUCH needed project that has been hanging over my head for years. Why I've decided to do this during Holy Week, when I'm going to be down at that damned church for hours every day, I don't know. Isn't my attitude really...you know...Christian? Argh again.

So this morning, I pulled everything out of the closet, which is now all over our house. I then whacked out the old shelf and clothes bar and made room for the new "Closet Organization System" which I have purchased. Now comes the "mood" part. I went next door to borrow a drill from our neighbor Nick. Nick is one of those "tool dudes", and I asked him yesterday if I could borrow his drill and he said "Sure, just come by in the morning." So I go by this morning, and guess what? He forgot to charge the drill. "It should be charged by about 1:00" he says. 1:00! I have to pick Jude up at 2:40!! Nick then suggested that I use the time locating the studs and marking where I need to drill.  Which leads me to my first random thought...

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Does anybody know how to locate a stud? And before anyone makes an off-color joke about that, I'm talking about a stud inside a wall. I keep tap, tap, tapping and finding where I think the stupid thing is, but they say ("they" being the home improvement gods) that studs are supposed to be located every 16" or 24", but what I think are studs based on my tap, tap, tapping seem to be located kind of randomly. Could this be because my house was built in 1915 and the builders weren't listening to "they" back then? Or is my tap, tap, tapping finding things like, oh, electrical wires or something else I would really rather not drill into? Which leads me to...

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WHY THE HELL DID I THINK IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO MARRY A MAN WHO DOESN'T KNOW A MONKEY WRENCH FROM MONKEY BREAD?

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So now, it's 1:00 and...you guessed it. NO NICK. Day ruined. A whole day wasted. Argh! (third argh, if anyone's counting. No Nick, no drill. Which leads me to...

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Why are all construction/building terms sexual? Drill. Stud. Screw. Hammer. It's true, right?

Let's move on to things that don't make me say "Argh". I know, I'll put on my bunny ears which I just unearthed from my Easter Decorations Box. Nothing like bunny ears to raise your spirits.

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I saw this the other day on the Internet - Women Taking Birth Control Pill Live Longer. For those of you too lazy to click on the link: After one of the world's largest studies of the contraceptive pill, British researchers have found that "women who used oral contraception had a significantly lower rate of death from any cause, including heart disease and all cancers, compared with women who had never taken it." To which I say "WOOHOO!!" Because I was on that damned pill for AGES (please don't tell the Catholic Church!). Of course, little did I know that I was practically BARREN, and would eventually need intense fertility treatment to get pregnant (mmmm...don't tell the Catholic Church again).

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Talking about my fertility issues always makes me think of that line from Raising Arizona "Her womb was a rocky place, where my seed could find no purchase."

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I found these gorgeous, hand-painted eggs at church yesterday...

Can you see them? Here too...

I'm sorry my photography skills are so poor. But let me tell you, they are incredibly special. They're real eggs, blown-out and hand-painted by some nuns somewhere (the woman selling them wasn't really clear about where) and they only cost $2 each! I went crazy and bought 10 of them. I'll probably end up giving one of them to Jimmy's teacher. I always put up an egg tree for Easter, and these are a perfect addition! Most of my ornaments were made by Mama, and many of them are cracked and falling apart. I know that Mama would have LOVED these - she was a great supporter of all things nun.

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Right now, I have something going in the Crock that is driving me out of my mind with its good-smelliness. It's so good I'm compelled to share the recipe. And the best thing? It's...you may have to sit down for this...a Weight Watchers recipe!! 6 Points a serving, yeah, Baby!

Country-Style Beef Short Ribs

1 1/4 lbs. boneless beef short ribs, trimmed of all visible fat

salt and pepper

2 onions, sliced into wedges

1 lb. small whole white potatoes

1 1/2 cups whole baby carrots

2 garlic cloves, chopped

1 bay leaf

1 cup low-sodium beef broth

2 tbsp. Worcestershire sauce

3 tbsp. flour

3 tbsp. cold water

1 tbsp. chopped flat-leaf parsley

Sprinkle the ribs with salt and pepper. Spray a skillet with nonstick spray and set over medium heat. Add the ribs and cook, turning once, until browned, about 8 minutes.

Transfer the ribs to a slow cooker. Add the onions, potatoes, carrots, garlic and bay leaf. Pour the broth and Worcestershire sauce over the meat and vegetables. Cover and cook until the meat and vegetables are fork-tender, 4 -5 hours on high or 8-10 hours on low.

About 20 minutes before the cooking time is up, combine the flour and water in a small bowl until smooth; stir in about 1/4 cup of the hot liquid from the slow cooker until blended. Stir the flour mixture into the slow cooker. Cover and cook on high, until the mixture simmers and thickens, about 15 minutes. Discard the bay leaf. Stir in the parsley just before serving.

I can't wait!

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To kick off Holy Week, here's a little fabulous something from my choir. Recorded in the church on Palm Sunday.

Kyrie by Hans Leo Hassler.

Kyrie - Hassler

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Check out my new widget thingymahoochy on the right. You can now not only do the "Join This Site" thing (which I highly encourage), but you can now be my Facebook friend! Just like if we went to high school together, but you kind of ignored me all the time, or we were in a play together, 15 years ago, and I don't remember anything about you except your name and that you weren't very nice. Only better than that. So do it!

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So finally, Nick has shown up, charged drill in hand. It is 2:00! Day wasted. Ar...no, I was going to say argh again, but actually something so wonderful happened with Nick's arrival that it almost makes up for the wasted day. When I answered the door to Nick, and was standing there talking to him, and trying not to let on how really pissed off I was that the day was wasted, I realized that he kept staring at me rather strangely. Finally he said "I like the...uh..." and pointed to my head. Yes, I had forgotten to remove my bunny ears before opening the door! Now, how do you explain that? A 40-something woman hanging out at home in the middle of the day wearing bunny ears? I didn't even try, just smiled and said "thank you".

You know he's going to be thinking about this for weeks.

 Please visit the beautiful Keely at The Unmom for more random Tuesdays!!

Hats in the Belfry

First of all, I realize that the title of this post is the most absolutely terrible pun I've ever written. I apologize. That said...

It's almost Easter. Which means it's time for my friend Gwen and I to have out annual Hat Shopping/Soul Food Eating outing. Every year, the women in my church choir have a tradition (spearheaded by Gwen, with me as her first lieutenant) of wearing fabulous Easter hats on Easter morning. Easter bonnets, if you will. We really are very fancy.

 
So every year, Gwen and I make our way down to South Central LA to an incredible store called One of a Kind Hats, and find ourselves a new chapeau. DO check out their website, it's an outrageous store, a real, old-fashioned millinery shop.

 
The woman who owns it, Sonya, is one of those excellent salespeople who manages to talk you into buying something without making you feel like you've been "sold". She has an amazing ability to make you believe that the hat you have on your head was MADE for you, that it is for you and only you. "Oh, that hat is YOU, Gretchen." Or she'll gasp and say "Oh my, YES. YOU can WEAR this hat." As though this hat is so special that very few women would have the flair and panache to wear it, but that you are one of the few. And then you find yourself spending WAY too much on a hat that you will get very little use out of. But when you do wear it, it makes you feel happy, and VERY special. Which is, I guess, the point.

 
After dropping a wad of cash with Sonya, we venture next door to Mama's House, and gorge ourselves on fried catfish, greens, yams and cornbread. Yum. I have always found it funny that here in Los Angeles, I have to go to South Central to a "soul food" restaurant to find the food that where I grew up in Texas we just called...you know...food.

So this year, we decided to spread the love and invite ALL the women in our choir. We had a BLAST, we spent hours trying on every hat in the store. Big girls...

and the little girls too...

left knowing for a fact that in our Easter bonnets with all the frills upon it, we'll be the finest lady in the Easter Parade (thank you, Irving Berlin).

So, what did I choose this year? The hat that called to me the moment I walked into the store. In the past, I've been known to go large and outrageous, but this year, I'm simple and sophisticated...

Isn't it gorgeous!

Now all I have to do it find an Easter outfit to go with the hat! Gwen was joking that her hat cost so much, she was going to have to wear pasties and a fig leaf to church so she wouldn't go over her Easter budget.

Go out and buy yourself an Easter bonnet! I highly recommend it. 
 

Vlogging: Look Younger Without Surgery!

Quality Health Care

These billboards have popped up all around Hollywood...

 ...and they just fascinate me. Not only because the "doctor" looks like a Bollywood hooker, but also because she is trusted and experienced for over THREE years! Wow, that's impressive.

I did a little poking around on the internet and found her website. Here's a peek at her medical offices...

and...

I swear to God.

You know, this whole "Medical Marijuana" thing pisses me off. I'm a pretty liberal person. I feel like if somebody wants to smoke a little pot, that's their business. And I have no doubt that there truly is a medical use for marijuana to help with pain and appetite for people with cancer and other illnesses. But the "Medical Marijuana" business in L. A. has become such a crock. It's just a big joke. And I really do mean business. Dr. Patel must be making a pretty penny with her business, because billboards here go for between $8000 and $1,500,000 a month, and she has at least 20 of them around town.

Within about a 6 block radius of our neighborhood there at least 10 of these marijuana "clinics". They all seem to have their own "Farmacy". And they really truly do attract a "bad element". Trust me, I'm not seeing their parking lots filled with patients seeking help to ease the pain of their AIDS or glaucoma. I'm seeing carloads of "youths" (L.A. euphemism for gang members) headed in to buy their weekly stock of weed. LEGALLY.

According to this quack Patel's website, all you need to bring with you to your "medical appointment" is a valid California Identification Card or Drivers License. That's it. No need to trouble yourself with anything like medical records. You just go in and tell Dr. Patel what ails you and she will give you your Medical Marijuana Card. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Frankly, I think California should just legalized marijuana. Apparently, marijuana is California's most profitable cash crop, and if we were to legalize it and TAX it, California would make approximately $1 billion annually. Which we NEED. California is in deep doo-doo financially. People are buying it legally anyway, our state (and schools and roads and intrastructure) might as well be benefitting from the tax dollars. And while I assume that these medical marijuana places are taking a lot of business away from your average on-the-street dealer selling to school kids, if it was legalized it would put them out of business altogether, and distribution would be overseen by the law. And hopefully, Dr. Sona Patel would be out of business.

As of today, an initiative to legalize marijuana in California has made it onto the ballot in the fall. We'll see what the people believe.

What do y'all think?

Spin Cycle: Searching For My Signature Scent

This weeks Spin Cycle is all about ME. Or....YOU. If you happen to be writing it. It's meant to be a time to put aside stories about our kids, our husbands, our jobs and be a little self-indulgent. Take some "me time". Unfortunately, as some of you may remember, just last week I forced you all to endure a rather lengthy quiz all about me, me, ME! And frankly, I'm pretty much sick to death of me, and the thought of even more self-indulgence kind of makes me queasy.

So I've decided that instead of writing about "me", I will write about the "me I wish I was". You know her, that woman we all wish we were like. That woman with style. That woman who knows who she is, and isn't afraid to make a statement. That woman with...a signature scent.

Now, I have friends who tell me that I do, in fact, have a style of dressing, but when I look at myself in the mirror, the only style I see is the "on sale/covers up my belly fat/inappropriate amount of cleavage" look. My closet is completely random and eclectic. I've got goodies from Anthropologie mixed in with thrift store finds mixed in with crap from Target mixed in with sensible "casual mom" stuff I wear to auditions. And my hair style is in constant flux - it's long, it's short, it's curly, it's straight. So I don't think I'm ever gonna manage to stick with any one "look" long enough for it to become my style.

But a Signature Scent? Maybe I could get this one together. And scent is such a powerful sense for me. My most powerful sense memories (that there's an actor term) are brought about by scent. One whiff and I'm carried back to a person, a place, an event.

All of the most stylish women in my life have had Signature Scents. Mama actually had two, depending on how much discretionary income we had at the time. When we were in the money, she wore Joy.

Other times, she wore Arpege, by Lanvin. Aunt Margaret existed in a cloud of Estee Lauder Youth Dew. My friend Sharon (Jude's godmother) spent much of her youth covered in White Shoulders. Which I realize now must have made her smell like a cheap 16 year old hooker, but at the time seemed terribly sophisticated. My friend Loretta always exudes the heady fragrance of cucumber oil.

My best friend Kaysie's sister, Helen, was, for me, the embodiment of sophistication and style. She was 10 years older than us, and lived in MANHATTAN. So cool. Helen was a role model for me in many ways. She was in "the arts" and brought home to us all things cosmopolitan. Helen always always wore Shalimar.

Which has always epitomized class and femininity for me.

There's something incredibly powerful about walking through a room and leaving behind your scent, something that's specific to you. And as a child, you remember the scent as much as you remember the woman. I'd love for Jude to have that memory of me. To remember that when I leaned over him in bed at night, I enveloped him in my scent.

The truth is, I've been searching for a Signature Scent all my life. And for periods of time, I've had them. When I was in Junior High I was a Charlie girl.

In high school I went more upscale, and wore Estee Lauder's Private Collection. Which, when I look back on it, I realize was pretty pricey. But Mama believed that this was one area where a lady simply could not skimp. She believed every lady must have good perfume, a Coach bag, and a set of Spode Christmas china. But I digress...

Over the years, I have gone through my own Shalimar periods. It's a scent that always makes me happy. Unfortunately, Jimmy hates it. Ugh. So...not my Signature Scent.

For most of the '90's, I wore Fracas.

Which men love. I've never worn a scent that attracted more compliments from the opposite sex. But when Jude was born, I pretty much stopped wearing perfume. I held him almost constantly for two years, and I hated it when he ended up smelling like my perfume. It just seemed wrong. I mean, he sort of came with his own nature-made Signature Scent, he didn't need mine. And then when he got bigger, Fracas just didn't seem to fit me anymore.

So last week on my birthday, I was toodling around in my favorite store, Anthropologie, squirting myself with all of their fragrances. I'm afraid I had oversquirted a bit - I had a different perfume on every joint in my body. And who should walk in but Elizabeth of "a moon, worn as if it had been a shell". Elizabeth smelled me all over and agreed with me about the one that was the hands down winner. "That could be your Signature Scent!" she said. "YES!" I thought "This could be the one!" and purchased it excitedly.

What is this fabulous, classy, sophisticated, feminine fragrance that I (with the help of Elizabeth) have chosen to embody my very essence? Arabelle by Moulinette Soeur. According to the rather gorgeous box the bottle is packaged in, Arabelle can be described as follows - Top Notes - Mimosa champagne, ivy vine, blooming magnolia. Mid Notes - Black calla lily, night-blooming jasmine, gardenia. Base notes - Vanilla orchid, amber crystals.

Doesn't that just scream ME? Well, at least it screams the "me I wish I was".

So, what is your Signature Scent?

Please visit more Spinners at Sprite's Keeper!
 
 

RTT: Fish Smells, Vulvas, Farts and Spunk

 
Tuesday, Tuesday, TUESDAY!!!

Did they have that commercial where y'all grew up? For some kind of Demolition Derby or Motocross thing on Sundays? And the announcer guy on the radio would shout "Sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY!!!"? No? Maybe it was a Texas thing. Anyway, that's what I was thinking of when I said that first sentence. And you should have read it in the voice of that announcer guy. Was that clear? Have I lost you all?

I have been having the most peculiar problem lately. The inside of my purse smells like rotten fish. I don't have a clue why. I haven't been carrying fish around in my purse. I haven't spilled any kind of disgusting fishy liquid in it. It's driving me crazy. I've tried Febreze. Doesn't work. Any ideas?

And speaking of fish smells...the other day, I opened up my beloved laptop and smelled a peculiar odor emanating from the keyboard. It was then that I remembered that the night before, Jimmy had picked up sushi for dinner, and I had eaten it while typing. And I was too lazy to use the chopsticks, so I was using my fingers. Ewww.

Have y'all seen these? No really. You're gonna want to see them. So here they are again. HEHEHEHEHE!!! I mean, I am far from a prude, but these just make me giggle! Could you imagine wearing a big vulva around your neck? Admittedly, they are kind of pretty. But...HEHEHEHEHEHE!! And who modeled for them? HEHEHEHEH!!

The other day, I was walking by a group of young boys, and as I passed, one of them shouted "Somebody farted on me!!" I turned around to see who was making this accusation, and the little boy who'd said it looked right at me. He then pointed directly at me and shouted even louder "That lady farted right at me!" WHAT? I swear to God I did not fart on this little boy. I was just innocently walking along. But how does one defend oneself from such an accusation? What could I have possibly have said that didn't just make me look even more guilty? I fixed this kid with my most indignant grownup lady look and said "I most certainly did NOT." This 8 year old guy just kind of rolled his eyes at me and made a face. I fled.

I saw this on tv the other day, and I laughed so hard I cried, then I hunted it down on YouTube. Here's Ricky Gervais guesting on Gordon Ramsay's "F-Word" show...

 

Did you get to it? Because for some reason YouTube is making you press extra buttons, but if you're diligent, you can get to it. I LOVE both of these men so much. Gordon Ramsay is so sexy. Uh. And he's, like, just enough of an asshole to be interesting. You know? If he wasn't so talented, the assholeness would be unattractive, but on someone really talented? Mmm. And I love the way he is reduced to being a silly schoolboy in the presence of the divine Mr. Gervais. The quickest wit alive today. Even if he did make a crack about menopausal women enjoying watching Gordon Ramsay take off his shirts. TRUE.

Okay, I'm randomed out. I'm sorry for the highly provocative title of this post. But...it pretty much sums it up. 

Please run over to Keely's place at The Unmom for more Random Thoughts. 

Later.

Awash In a Sea of Testosterone

Cub Scout Rocket Camp Day One -

Friday afternoon, I packed up my trusty Prius with a tent, sleeping bags, air mattress, sunscreen and a flask of vodka, and Jude and I headed off for a two night camping trip with Jude's Cub Scout Pack to Rocket Camp, a "roughing it" campout sans showers or flush toilets. Of the roughly 200 people attending this camp, approximately 20 of them were to be of the female persuasion, so I prepared myself for a weekend of butt, fart, belch and sweat. The weekend didn't disappoint.

The original plan had been to leave Los Angeles at about 3:00 in the afternoon, thus avoiding most of the Friday afternoon exodus from LA traffic. But as per my usual luck with such things, I ended up with 4 auditions on Friday afternoon, all after 2:00. So Jude and I booked it around to these auditions as fast as we could and managed to finally get on the road by...4:30. Bad. And on top of that, we had to leave from Santa Monica. Worse. Without traffic, the trip would have taken about 45 minutes. Driving from SM in full-on Friday afternoon rush hour? TWO AND A HALF HOURS. Despite his DS and two books on CD, Jude pretty much failed in the patience department. But I couldn't really blame him, it was his first ever camping trip, and this boy was chomping at the bit.

Cub Scout Rocket Camp Day One - 7:00 pm

We finally reached our destination, Firestone Boy Scout Reservation, made our way through the crowd of excited campers and located our Pack's camp area. It was now that I realized the benefit of being one of the few women in this mass of maleness, and I allowed the dudes to unpack my car, set up my tent and blow up my air mattress. So nice. I also allowed them to put a cup of "special water" in my hand. Little did I know, that I would not need my flask of vodka, as the dads had taken care of providing a seemingly endless supply of "special water". The "special water" was kept in it's very own cooler, which the boys weren't allowed to get into. The "special water" came in several varieties - red, white, brewed, and distilled.

After tucking all the excited little campers into their sleeping bags, we adults spend a few hours bonding and passing around the "special water". I must say, it was a great group of people. And the presence of the other mom in our group and I didn't seem to curb the "guy talk". In fact, it may have encouraged it. In other words, fun was had by all.

Cub Scout Rocket Camp Day Two - 2:00 am

Lesson learned #1: If one is sleeping in a tent on the other side of a small valley from the row of port-o-pots in 40 degree weather, DO NOT drink a large amount of "special water" immediately before going to sleep, or you will awaken a few hours later desperately having to pee. Damn. There was no way in hell I was going to walk all the way to the port-o-pots in the dark. I could have snuck out and squatted behind the tent, praying that no Cub Scouts were lurking to be permanently damaged by the sight of my bare ass, but that would have involved putting on my shoes and my parka, opening the tend and creeping out...ugh. So, I located a plastic cup, managed to squat over it and pee without getting anything on myself, the tent or my sleeping bag. So far so good. Now. What to do with a big Solo cup full of pee? I unzipped the tent a tiny bit, stuck my pee cup out and...dumped it. Eww. Must not tell anyone tomorrow.

I got back into the bed and tried to get back to sleep. And tried. Did I mention that I was in a nylon tent in a valley of tents all filled with sleeping men? Think about that for a minute. A valley of sleeping men, no walls. Yes, I was surrounded by the lulling melody of about 150 men snoring at the same time. Filling the valley like a huge bowl of sound, echoing, vibrating, rattling my tent flaps. A rather amazing sound. I lay there in the cold, dark night and listened. Lesson learned #2: Bring earplugs.

Cub Scout Rocket Camp Day Two - 6:00 am

Reveille was at 7:30, but what 6 year old boy on his first camping trip can wait for that? Jude popped out of his sleeping bag, looked around for a second, then shouted "Mama! I slepted so well, I forgot I was in this tent!" And we're off...

Plan for the day - Breakfast, boy stuff, boy stuff, boy stuff, boy stuff, lunch, boy stuff, boy stuff, boy stuff, dinner, boy stuff and boy stuff.

Thus I found myself standing over a camp-stove at 7:00 am flipping pancakes, while the other mom fried up the bacon. I don't want to make it sound like we women had to do all the work, because I must say those dads did the majority of the cooking. And they were so generous with the "special water". You know, really, something about camp out breakfasts is truly amazing. The smells of coffee and bacon and propane mingling in the fresh morning air. Ah!

The boy stuff began with a flag ceremony, followed by: building a rocket, shooting a bow and arrow, shooting a bb gun, shooting off your previously built rocket, followed by lanyard making. Jude was absolutely aquiver with testosterone. It really was good stuff.

By lunch, the temperature had risen to 84 degrees, causing us to gradually strip off the layers and apply the sunscreen. It also caused me to become concerned about the odor which could possibly have been emanating from the area immediately outside our tent, where I had previously poured a large cup of pee. Afternoon included a nature hike and a science experiment which involved dropping Mentos into a liter of Diet Coke and watching it explode. Cool. Then free time, which was football for the boys, and the breaking out of the brewed variety of "special water" for the grownups.

After a fine dinner of meat, meat and meat, we all made our way in the dark to the big all-camp campfire. The entire camp gathered around two huge fire pits in a sort of natural amphitheater. A Boy Scout, who was no doubt an aspiring stand-up (you know that in the future his act will include a bit about his first gig at a Boy Scout Campboree) led the entertainment, which included skits performed by each of the packs and Native American tribal dancing. The skits were fun in a really horrible kind of way - each seemed to center around a fart, spit, poop, pee or burp joke. Hysteria! One pack's submission to the entertainment was a Webelo who had, oddly, brought an electronic keyboard camping with him, and proceeded to grace us with a little Bach. When he completed his first piece, everyone applauded and clamored for more, at which point some deep, subversive part of me made me shout "Freebird!" rather enthusiastically, which was perhaps cruel, but the grownups seemed to appreciate quite a bit. The Native American dancing was led by a middle-aged scout in full Indian regalia, who most certainly had been partaking rather heavily of the fire water and probably also passing the peace pipe, and who took the whole thing very, very seriously. Not sure if I want him near my son.

After all the entertainment, they performed a really very touching ceremony wherein they "retired" two American flags, which had become too faded and tattered to fly any more. They respectfully carried the two Old (literally) Glories forward, and lay them across the two campfires. When they crumbled in flames, we were all asked to walk quietly and respectfully back to our tents. This flag retirement business very much impressed Jude. Which, I guess was the point of it all. Ah! Cub Scouts!

Cub Scout Rocket Camp Day Two - 9:00 pm

Good Lord I was tired. I swear to God, every muscle in my body was crying out. Plus I was sunburned. And sleep deprived. "Well okay, I'll just join you for a wee bit of 'special water'."

Cub Scout Rocket Camp Day Two - 9:30 pm

"Okay, guys, I've really gotta hit the hay. No more 'special water' for me, I'm exhausted...oh, is that a Fume Blanc? HA! That joke about the drunken midgets and the hookers is so hysterical!!"

Cub Scout Rocket Camp Day Two - 10:30 pm

I got myself to the port-o-pot to pee before bedtime. Lesson learned.

Cub Scout Rocket Camp Day Three - approximately 12:30 am, 2:00 am, 3:00 am, 4:00 am...

Really must remember the ear plugs.

Cub Scout Rocket Camp Day Three - 7:30 am

Reveille. Packed. Packed. Packed. Said good bye. Stowed satisfied and filthy boy in the car and drove home. Drive on Sunday morning without traffic? 40 minutes.

Cub Scout Rocket Camp Day Three - 5:00 pm

Wrote a blog piece about Rocket Camp. Then signed us up for the next Cub Scout campout in May. Because guess what? In addition to redeeming myself considerably in the Akela department (the boy earned 5 belt loops and two patches in the one weekend), this weekend of farting, pooping, peeing, belching, sweating, shooting, blasting, eating, drinking and all things masculine...was FUN!

Can't wait for May.

All the Answers and the Winner!

Thank you to everyone who participated in my Birthday Quiz all about ME! You have all submitted your answers. Here now, are the compelling answers you've all been waiting for...

Question #1 - When I first met Jimmy, I thought he was...

a. Steve Buscemi

b. Bruno Kirby

c. Sonny from General Hospital

d. Al Pacino

Answer #1 - b. Bruno Kirby. Interestingly, since then, we have become close friends with Bruno Kirby's father and stepmother, both lovely people. At Bruno's funeral, everybody thought Jimmy was a relative.

Question #2 - My first paid acting job was...

a. as a bra model on a cable access tv show.

b. as a saucy waitress on "Dallas".

c. as the sexy lady who farts on a commercial for a local Dallas drive-time radio deejay's commercial.

d. as Babette LaTouche in a production of "Pajama Tops".

Answer #2 - a. as a bra model on a cable access tv show. Sad, but true. While I did, in fact, appear in all four roles, the bra model gig was my very first. My daddy was so proud.

Question # 3 - Regarding the cast of Damages...which of the following things is true?

a. I've bummed a smoke off of Ted Danson.

b. I've watched Marcia Gay Harden pee.

c. I've taken a slug out of Glenn Close's beer bottle.

d. All of the above.

Answer #3 - d. All of the above. Marcia and I went to college together at the University of Texas, and at one point we were dating roommates. So we often shared a bathroom in the morning. Mmmm can you say, sluts?

Question #4 - Where have I NEVER been?

a. Israel.

b. Bulgaria.

c. Disneyland.

d. England.

Answer #4 - d. England. Which makes me terribly sad, as I've always considered myself a bit of an Anglophile.

Question #5 - Regarding the cast of Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice...Which of the following is NOT true?

a. I made out with Tim Daly.

b. Amy Brenneman gave me the phone number of her fertility doctor.

c. I played Katherine Heigl's sister in a play.

d. Sandra Oh and I were in the same acting class together.

Answer # 5 - c. I never played Katherine Heigl's sister in a play. Although people often tell me I could play her sister. Her MUCH older, less attractive sister. Okay, maybe her mother. And I must admit that "made out" is a bit of an exaggeration. In truth I kissed Tim Daly a few times. It was ACTING, people. I played his girlfriend for a while on Wings. And he is rather cute. I credit Amy Brenneman with the existence of my precious child. And Sandy Oh is the nicest, friendliest person you'd ever want to know.

Question #6 - Which of the following people did I NOT work with back when they were child actors?

a. Tobey McGuire

b. Seth Green

c. Regina King

d. Giovanni Ribisi

Answer #6 - Seth Green. Never met him. The other three I worked with on my first three jobs in L.A. Tobey McGuire was a little boy in a stupid Rodney Dangerfield special, Regina King was on 227 (I did a guest spot), and Giovanni Ribisi was on My Two Dads. But then he was just a little guy named Vanni. I befriended him and he followed me around like a puppy.

Question #7 - What character did I play on Will & Grace?

a. A transvestite stripper.

b. A power-hungry advertising executive.

c. A kindly obstetrician.

d. None of the above.

Answer #7 - A transvestite stripper. For days, I rehearsed a nasty lapdance with my butt in Sean Hayes face, but luckily, the powers that be decided it was too raunchy for network television. And I have no doubt that some day this will come back to bite me in the ass, when Jude and his friends discover it in syndication. Yikes, I hope that the nun who is Jude's principal isn't a Will & Grace fan. She thinks I'm such a nice, respectable lady.

Question #8 - Match the nefarious crime which my character committed with the tv show on which it happened...

1. Murder She Wrote

2. NYPD Blue

3. Chicago Hope

4. Alien Nation 

a. As a woman with Munchausen By Proxy syndrome, I injected bleach into my young daughters kidneys.

b. I fed my future brother-in-law to the sharks because he threatened my fiance's political future.

c. I was a 70 year old woman, who killed aliens and harvested a gland from them, which, when ingested, helped me regain my youthful good looks.

d. I shot my scumbag, womanizing boyfriend because he gave me AIDS.

Answer #8 -

1. Murder She Wrote - b. brother-in-law to sharks - I got to do that great scene at the end of every MSW episode where Angela confronts the killer and manages to get them to confess.

2. NYPD Blue - d. scumbag boyfriend/AIDS

3. Chicago Hope - a. Munchausen By Proxy/bleach in kidneys

4. Alien Nation - c. old woman alien gland harvesting. - maybe my stupidest job ever.

Question #9 - I used to play poker with which of the following superstar hunks?

a. Matt Damon

b. Matthew McConaughey

c. George Clooney

d. Brad Pitt

Answer #9 - Brad Pitt. This is true. I was part of a group who played every week. Brad only came a few times. I mostly remember him as "Bill's cute friend Brad". I'm sure he would not remember me. And who else was part of that group that played poker every week? Fiddledeedee's own DeeDee!

Question #10 - If Jude had been a girl, he would have been named...

a. Margaret Caroline

b. Mary Grace

c. Elizabeth Carolina

d. Marigrace Carolina

Answer #10 - Elizabeth Carolina - Elizabeth was the "girl name" I picked out when I was little. Carolina was Mama's middle name.

Question #11 - When I played the last of the Maquis Freedom Fighters on Star Trek Deep Space Nine, which article of clothing was issued by the wardrobe department to every woman on the show?

a. a Galactic G-string.

b. a Deep Space D-cup.

c. Paramount Panties.

d. a Roddenberry Thong.

Answer #11 - b. a Deep Space D-cup - Yes, every woman in outer space has the same size boobs. The wardrobe woman told me that at some point during production of Star Trek: The Next Generation, they decided that the Star Fleet uniforms looked more...well...uniform...if everyone's breasts extended the same amount. And while it certainly seems just a wee bit sexist that they gave everyone rather large breasts, it does sort of make sense  - you can pad a smaller breast, but you can't shrink a larger breast. Hysterical.

Question #12 - Which of the following have I NOT done?

a. Peed in the next stall over from Meryl Streep.

b. Had dinner with Al Pacino.

c. Spoken on the phone to Robert DeNiro.

d. Compared handbags with Bette Midler.

Answer #12 - a. Peed in the next stall over from Meryl Streep. Which is probably a good thing. Because I would have no doubt stuck my head under the stall and tried to talk to her because I so very much want to be her BFF. When I say I had dinner with Al Pacino, I should probably say that I was at the same table as Al Pacino, and we did, in fact, eat dinner. But I don't think I said more to him than "Hello. Nice to meet you." The DeNiro thing was equally minimal. I answered the phone at a friends house, and a rather gruff voice asked to speak to my friend. It turned out to be "Bobby". Bette even wrote out the name of the handbag designer for me - like I could afford it!

And the big WINNER, with a whopping 10 correct answers is...

Brenda!

Congratulations Brenda! I will email you soon to find out where to send your fabulous new earrings.

Thank you to all the contestants. You now know far more about me than you ever wished to know!