Zaedah Coast to Coast

In 48 hours, I shall find myself on the opposite coast sipping... whatever people who don't drink sip. Yup, this Pennsylvania chick is heading to California, land of sun, sunburn and possibly sun poisoning. Oh, and did I mention NO WORK!!!!

I've secured a neighbor as house watcher and cat feeder. I'll be boarding the dog at her second favorite place on earth. I'm entrusting the newly bush-happy garden to... well, mother nature and leaving the resident bees to fend for themselves.

I'd like to think the furries will miss me but know too well that The Cats shall be drawing up chalkboard plans for my demise, which will go something like this...
I made myself a promise in 2006 that I would travel at every opportunity. Having a condition that may one day borrow my mobility and then play keep-away, it's silly to wait. Thus I've seen Arizona, the FL Everglades and Williamsburg/Jamestown/Yorktowne. This year shall be Fresno/Ataskadero. I don't care if my friend and I do little more than sit in a meadow everyday playing Uno, as long as I'm there.

Of course (with my luck) my arrival with herald the day of destruction, when The Big One separates the state of California from the rest of the country. But hey, that'll just make it my first island trip!

The curse is contagious...

There goes another dream, withering under the glaring sun of celebrity statistics. I shall never win an Oscar. Partially because I have not now nor shall I ever act in a public forum, save for sheer and utter innocence when I get pulled over. But mostly because it's become apparent that winning the naked gold dude is bad for one's relationships.

Exhibits 1 through umpteen: Halle Berry, Reese Witherspoon, Gwenyth Paltrow, Helen Hunt, Kate Winslet, Hilary Swank, Angelina Jolie and now... Sandra Bullock.

Maybe their men get jealous of how adoringly they're gripping that undressed hunk of precious metal? Maybe it's because Oscar, rather than using his arms to cover his nakedness like any sensible person, uses them to do a little chest-pounding? He's saying, 'now that she's got me, you can take a hike.'

I don't watch the Oscars as a general rule because they usually celebrate movies I have both never seen and frequently don't care about... (war dramas and romantic comedies take the fun out of living, folks). But next year, should I break my fast and observe ladies wearing my year's salary on their wrists, I shall pity the best actress winner as I would a kicked puppy.

Obviously, it's better for my love life (which I don't have) that I'll never receive such a coveted and manly object (for which I have no space). I am resigned to the notion that the closest to Oscar I'll ever get is this one:

Oh well... At least he's got his own place.

But with my luck...

It's a classic phrase in our family, as shared genes ensured we would all enjoy the delight of world-off-axis luck. It peppers the end of many sentences and if there's decent, unlaminated wood around, we're a group of hard-core knockers.

Example: For the last six years, I've wanted to rid the enclosed porch of the dinky mutant fridge we've been afraid to toss (because during the apocalypse, our household would be saved by having somewhere ancient to hide). Having come with the house, it's yellow (which is the first thing the manufacturers did wrong) and roughly the size of the common aardvark. Undersized lettuce feels cramped in this thing. We'd bought a shiny new energy star fridge, tall and gleaming white and the butternut munchkin was assigned eternal guard duty on the porch.

Yesterday, my seester and brother in law gave up a portion of their day to remove said unwanted monstrosity. YIPPEE!!! Bulk item trash day isn't for another week, so I figured (as delusional people do) that it could sit for a week out in the open for all to see what I've endured (avert your eyes!) and soon it would be gone.

But with my luck...

We got a wind storm today. YIPP-freaking-EE!!! A rip-snorter, as dad would say, that is sure to blow the yellow mutant over and into the street, thus (with my luck) landing on a passing motorcyclist who (with my luck) is an accident lawyer. Then I'll wind up (with my luck) living in the fridge prior to the coming apocalypse because (with my luck) it's too ugly to be kept in the evidence locker.