Rachael

    Driving home in the dark in early morning traffic, in a torrential downpour in which even the fastest setting on my windshield wipers are ineffective, being passed by SUVs who appear to be driven by morons who don’t understand that the faster they go in rain like that the more stupid they are. Seriously. I was so perturbed and freaked out. I saw a guy hydroplane out and fly off the freeway into the ice plant (didn’t look like any injuries would be involved) and then passed another solo SUV spin-out where he’d hit the center divide and ended up blocking two lanes of traffic. Losing control when they have to hit the brakes because they can’t drop below 80mph in absolutely incredibly heavy rain. Morons.

    Cleaning up cat vomit off the rug with toilet paper since I’m out of paper towels. (Why can’t Digit EVER throw up on the damn floor? I have hardwood/tile floors. I have two rugs. Two. He always ends up on one of them.) I don’t know how parents do it, yo. Cats are gross.

I had more, but the little boy who just passed the coffee shop just cheered me up. He’s no more than five, wearing a Ramones shirt that’s obviously his father’s, proudly carrying drumsticks. All right.

Tomorrow is my weekend! Hooray!

*also, there’s now a guy in the coffee shop wearing a floor-length leather duster. That’s also awesome. The things that make me happy.

Christmas was a blast, although it was a little too short, and a little too fast. I didn’t have a chance to see any movies, and isn’t that Xmas is all about? Movies with family? I haven’t seen Narnia, or Walk the Line, or Brokeback Mountain, or a bunch of others on my list. I’m going to make that a priority this coming weekend, although that might be tough since the Whoreshoes are playing Smiley’s in Bolinas for New Year’s Eve! Dude. Come on up for it. You won’t be disappointed. I can’t believe I actually have a New Year’s Eve party that I want to go to. I usually hate being out and about that night, preferring to work, usually. But this year, we won’t have to drive, we’re staying in Bolinas, and I’m just too excited about it.

But back to Christmas: Lala and I packed up the dogs (leaving the poor kits to celebrate Christmas all by their little selves, warming their paws around mugs of strong eggnog that they had to prepare themselves…..), got in a rental car (my car’s getting too old to reliably fly down the coast), and headed down south.

We were the first “kids” there, so Mom and Dad took us out to the Quarterdeck, which is their favorite in town. It’s probably your parents’ favorite restaurant, too, or at least it’s just like it. Big room, big early-bird specials, chipper-looking waitresses, paper menus (which, combined with candlelight, is a bad idea. Ask me how I know). I had CRAB, lovely, juicy, meaty Alaskan King crab. I hear there were vegetables on my plate, but I never saw them. I don’t think I even picked up my fork, just went at the ripping with my hands. There is little I love as much as crab. I should prolly learn to cook it – cheaper, right? Oh the butter vehicle that crab is…..

I rhapsodize.

The next day, Christmas Eve, was GERJESS. It was a warm seventy-five degrees, and we took the dogs (all of them, including Bethany’s Boonie) for a romp on the beach. We were all barefoot. Just like a warm Christmas should be. (It is physically impossible for me to type Christmas without typing Christy first.)

Wonderful dinner, honeybaked ham, cheeses, trifle and lebkuchen and fudge. Twelve people in the living room, all having fun. It’s nice to grow up, I think. Few of us, if any, wanted to be off in their bedroom wearing headphones, sullenly writing in their journals.

Chirstmas morning: We were staying with the dawgs in a Motel 6 down the street, so we were spared the traditional Rachael-Bounce usually perpetuated by sisters onto my sleeping head. We drove over, opened prezzies (lovely, lovely haul this year – I have things to show you, but I’ll take pictures later), then got in the car at about 10:30 and drove back north in the rain so I could just make it work for Christmas night, where it was nice and quiet and where we ate more ham. Lots and lots of ham.

Holidays are good. So is getting back to normal life. Hope you are enjoying both.

    Yes, this is Rachael wrapped. I’m not fixing it.

I hate wrapping gifts. Always have. If it’s not a book or a CD, I can’t wrap it. I’ve been known to use duct tape and newspaper. It’s not pretty. Every year, I buy a couple of rolls of Christmas paper and then I throw the remainder out after the holidays (okay, I recycle it) because I hate wrapping paper that much. Gifts during the year are given in bags that I’ve been given gifts in. God bless the people who give me gifts in bags. Otherwise, I throw some ripped paper around the gift, stick tape on it, enough to hold (although I was running out tonight and only had strapping tape left in the kitchen, so I used little slivers of tape instead of my usual streamers, so it may be an ugly Christmas).

Also, I’ve lost the sharpie I was using to write: MOM! From RACHAEL! on the wrapping paper (tags and bows, phooiee). I think I may have wrapped it into something at one point.

Anyway. Now I’m watching Lala wrap gifts. She’s actually good at it, and I’m NOT DOING IT, so I’m fine. Kinda fun this way. (She’s says I’m not bad at it, just differently abled.)

I’ll be out of town for a while, so I’ll be absent from blogland, but happiest of holidays, whichever you celebrate. MWAH!

But I typoed Hope. Interesting.
They got fourteen offers (!) and took the highest bidder, and although we went over by quite a bit, we weren’t that. Somehow, although it was the perfect house (minus those pesky complications like floors), I’m not broken up. I thought I would be. Maybe telling myself that big dreams wouldn’t hurt actually worked. Dunno.
Just means the better home is out there, right? Yep. But we might take a week off for holidays and recovery before we start looking again. Tiring, this big hopeful nervous feeling. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling better today, just knowing one way or t’other.
But darlings, all those crossed needles out there? I felt ’em, and love ’em and appreciate ’em, and I’m just going to apply them to the next house-gamble account, shall I? Big kisses to all y’all.

Still haven’t heard yet, and it’s 5:25pm. They accepted offers this morning at 10am. I’m terrified, both that we get it and that we don’t. If we get it, and we get the money, and it funds, then dude, we have some work to do. If we don’t, sigh…. It’s the cutest place. It’s a Lala and Rachael place. But house or no house, Lala’s my girl, so that’s the most important thing.

Also, she’s very nice when a tow truck driver decides that driving on the right is just SILLY. It’s an argument for camera phones, people. He looked down at me from his window, and Lala said from over my shoulder, "You just hit us!"
He said, "You hit ME!"
Then he tried to put his truck in drive, and he did move it just a few inches. I jumped into action, flinging dogs all over the interior of my car, scrambling for my phone, throwing open the car door. He froze, in what looked like confusion, and I ran all over the street, all angles, taking photos, yelling in my loudest voice, "That’s good! Great! I got it! Yeah! That’s it!" (What was I, on a modeling photo shoot? Lookin’ good, baby.)
The next words I heard from him were while he was talking on his cell phone to his boss, "We’re going to have pay for this one, boss."

All are fine, dogs and girls, and the company (when they heard that I really did have photos) is paying for the repairs, no questions asked.

Lala’s account is better than mine.

Now, here’s hoping the realtor calls soon with good news!

Think really good thoughts for us, okay? We’re putting a bid
in on a house this afternoon before I go to work. We have no
pre-approved financing because god bless me if we ever do anything in
the right order. This smacks of shades of the Little Red Wagon Wheel
House: Bidding! Suddenly! Want a house! Yes, crazy!

But this house, oh. It has cosmetic blemishes (for the love of
alpaca, the earnest young realtor had placed a red BOW on the side of
the house), like needing flooring in pretty much every room in the
place (linoleum in the bedroom), and it smells like smoke (and
again, the young male realtor who probably called his mother for advice
on this was burning candles, as many as possibly ALL the scented
candles in Oakland, ALL the scents, so evergreen was mixed with vanilla
mixed with lemon mixed with old smoke, and he was just grinning away on
the couch — he seemed very sweet, though). But it has three small
bedrooms, one for us, and one for an office for each of us, which will
add to sanity, and it has a yard, and it’s in the BEST neighborhood,
one that we know and love, and we met some neighbors who were the
cutest things, and the best was when La told me later just what I was
thinking, "It’s the kind of place I always thought I’d live when I grew
up." Me, too.

And hey, if it’s not to be, it won’t be. I worry about disappointing
Lala, and I worry about disappointing myself. I worry that my big
sudden dreams will be smashed on the ground, but I  know that the
actual truth is that if that happens, I’ll just be disappointed. I’ll
have a good cry, and Lala will be sad, but she’ll tell me it’s okay,
and then we’ll rent out my place and rent a bigger place for us to be
together, and that’s what this is all about anyway, right?

It sure could be cute, though. We’d paint it orange. Dreams don’t hurt.