Tamales and Tucson

• Manny happy returns
  You know, I think we all knew it was going to happen, but the angst and apprehension was almost too much - yet announced early yesterday morning, Manny Ramirez is a LA Dodger once again!
  
  Not living in LA anymore, I am sad I won't be a part of the electricity that connects between Manny and the Dodger fans when he takes his place in the batter's box. But I do have tickets to the March 26 Dodger/Rockies Spring Training game, and one can only hope (and PRAY) that Manny will play that day.
  
  I've seen him in person before, in the ALCS games with the Angels in 2004. But the Red Sox were the stars of the show, even though I was happy to be seated in left field close to Manny on the grass. But he's got a different hair-do, I've got a different boyfriend, and life is different. Now most of Los Angeles knows about Manny, not from being just one of many Red Sox "idiots" or "cowboys" today Manny is "our own" again and Dodger fans everywhere can celebrate. Hey, what's $45 million between fans? They say he averaged an additional 4 thousand fans in the stands per every LA appearance last year. That pays half his salary right there. So what was the holdup? Oh who cares. As long as he's gone from the McCourt's Malibu estate to the brand new confines of Camelback Ranch today, I'm an Angeleno in my heart once again.
  
  
  
  
• One Among Manny
  "Manny Ramirez is close to the 5,000 friend limit."
  That's what it says on my Facebook page. 4,999 people love Manny and are most likely doing the Snoopy happy dance along with me.  Manny had his first Spring Training hit yesterday, and tho it was a single - who cares...he's baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak!
  
  
  My prediction is that he's gonna fill the Stadium in Chavez Ravine most days the Dodgers are at home.  As I type this, my mind is planning a summer trip to my home town.  This will involve leaving my dogs and cats at the kennel, and openly I'll admit it...I'm willing to miss my pets if it means not missing Manny.
  
  
  Current plans promise VLB is taking me to Spring Training game, Dodgers vs. Rockies on March 26.
  
  
  
  If he wasn't already the Very Lovely Boyfriend he would be now! Since I'm a subscriber to Murphy's Law, especially this close to St. Patrick's Day, if Manny doesn't take the trip to Tucson I'll feel that hollow spot in the middle of my stomach. But that's Manny being Manny and we don't mind.
  
  
  Tickets are being scalped up to $100 for the Dodger's day at Hi-Corbett.  When Manny arrives, he'll be exactly 4.5 miles from me. Then I'll arrive at the game, where he'll be about 120 yards away. I was once even closer to Manny, at a Red Sox game with the HVLX (horrid very last ex) and our seats leaned right over left field.  I did take a picture, but Manny developed to look like a very tiny candle on an enormous green birthday cake.
  
  
  I will arrive early.  I will stand at the dugout door with the other 4,999. Spring Training is a gas, you can get up close and personal to the players (both sides,) and March 26 should be no exception.
  
  
  Obviously, I'm stoked.
  
  
  Oh and here's the cool thing:  The VLB is taking a day off work to accompany me.  The Very Lovely Boyfriend NEVER takes a day off, not even a sick day.  He could be declared legally dead (not my first choice for an adjective) and he'd still show up for work.  It's going to be a lovely day.  We're going to start with a nice brunch, head on over to the ballpark, and then drive up to Tucson's Starr Pass for a sunset Sprite and Pepsi. We'll look over the Old Pueblo from one of the most scenic spots in the city.
  
  
  Who could ask for anything more?  Me, of course!
  (I'm hitting up the VLB for a coupla' bags of peanuts.)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
• Home again, home again
  Went back to Whittier, to stay for a few days in the house where I grew up; my mother still lives there and my room has been turned into a guest bedroom/ironing room.
  
  Lucky for me, the house has been redone enough not to resemble the bustling center of activity I once knew; Mom is there alone, my father and the cat going a few years ago to their great reward. I'm not overcome with sadness, all meloncholy emotions stem from watching my 81 year old mother climbing stairs, cooking, gardening, driving all over town plus perusing obituaries, the weather, and crossword puzzle in the L.A. Times.
  
  I feel sorry for my mother - tho she's led a busy and productive life, it must be murder to be getting on in years and wondering how long you're going to be here. She doesn't talk about it, but I know she thinks about it. I think about it too, living a state away I worry for her, and all her climbing, driving and leaving the front door open when she wobbles down the driveway for the paper. She wakes early each day - I imagine I would too at 81, checks the paper like I mentioned, and gets to work on her "projects;" either cleaning for the cleaning lady or shopping on senior discount day a Kohls. She won't talk politics, that's too upsetting and depressing; she won't talk about my dad or the cat, her emotions are too wrapped up in that; she'll only talk about the young couple across the street wondering why they leave the house without putting sweaters on the little ones. She's obsessed with this family, perhaps because they make her remember the things she did "right" when my sister and I were young...she worked as a teacher, cooked meals, helped with homework, corrected the papers from her own classroom, and on and on and on. All this with a two hour plus commute every day from the L.A. suburbs into the inner city.
  
  Mom has a garage full of former students' arts and crafts; letters she was written, props from plays she directed, and too many photos to count. She remembers each student and on which president they did their book report. When it comes to memories of me, I seem to have been long on antics that have shortened her life. Glad she's lived to 81 just so I could prove her wrong
  
  The real boom falls when I do the math and remember she's a mere 27 years older than me.
  
  Life is short. I just hope I can measure up.
  
  
  
  
• At the end of my Twit Wits
  Now you know, a gal my age should have an alternate activity when Twitter acts up. But the siren's call of those short character count messages...I can hardly go to sleep at night afraid I'll miss the latest earthquake (including magnitude...as long as it's over a 2.0) some news of Manny Ramirez and who he's signed with (hopefully my Dodgers) or somebody famous signs up and you could be one of their first "followers."
  
  If you don't know what I'm talking about (Translation: if you aren't Twittering,) I almost envy you. I've been addicted to a lot of things, but never with this much verve and curiosity. There are so many ins and outs of Tweeting, secret codes with hash marks #tcot or #hhrs, and then of course, a cast of characters that give the Very Lovely Boyfriend and I something to talk about every night if conversation threatens to elude us. We now speak in sentences that are no longer than 140 characters. We call ourselves by our Twitter handles. We argue over who gets to Twitter at the computer and for how long, and I imagine the real reason the VLB bought his new Ipod at Costco is because it has a Twitter application.
  
  And then there's Facebook.
  
  When am I supposed to get my housework done?
  
  I can't write right now, I have to get back to Twittering. In lieu of writing a substantial blog on a contemporary topic, (such as how happy I am Michael Steele became RNC Chairman today, or that volcano that's ready to rock and roll in Alaska) I'll share my responses to one of those chain letter "All About Me" 's that Kiki Martini tagged me with today on Facebook.
  
  The question is asked: "What are any facts, habits, or accomplishments of yours that you can think of from 1 to 25?" or some such thing. I'm afraid to go back to Facebook and find my original list because I'll forget to look for it and surely get lost in the maze of seventeen degees of separation and get all wrapped up in posting a witty comment to a nephew of someone with whom I went to college withs' wife...
  
  Where was I? Oh yeah, the "Me" thing:
  
  1. I was a Girl Scout from 2nd grade thru College.
  2. I am terminally boy crazy.
  3. Taylor calls me "Lupe" but I won't tell you why.
  4. Dave calls me "fan" and you're not getting that out of me either.
  5. I've backpacked to the top of Mt. San Gorgonio (11, 502) feet.
  6. I will never learn to play poker; many have tried but no one's succeeded in teaching me.
  7. My favorite dinner was at Scandia with Chris Thompson and Carrie Snow.
  8. My father was a narcotics officer.
  9. When I was 9, I campaigned for Barry Goldwater
  10. He wrote me a thank you note.
  11. I have been to the Hollywood Bowl to see Captain Kangaroo. (I was five.)
  12. I'm trying to get married July 18 if I can get my tax problems resolved.
  13. I had whooping cough as a baby.
  14. My parents met in a bar...in Chinatown...on Thanksgiving
  15. My first car was a 64 Ford Falcon "3 on the tree."
  16. I am addicted to any flavor of anything at Baskin Robbins.
  17. I have really bad teeth, and the porcelain crowns to prove it.
  18. I love the smells inside a Catholic Church.
  19. Used to play guitar and sing in front of 100's of people.
  20. Turned on The "Tonight" show once and saw two old boyfriends on the couch.
  21. (I'm a tramp.)
  22. I graduated cum laude from Loyola Marymount.
  23. I would like to get locked inside a stationary store overnight.
  24. I was once devoted to a bisexual intravenous drug user (and lived to tell about it.)
  25. And finally, three years ago I moved to Tucson and met Bruce Woodward,
  the real love of my life.
  
  So much for being the elusive authoress...
  (But what ever turns out the way you thought it would?)
  
  
  
  
• New President
  I'd be so remiss if I just kept blogging today about my romance with domesticity and the VLB, but this week - a historical week - trumps any triumphs I may have had in the wonderful world of heartbalm and housekeeping.
  
  I didn't vote for Barack, but I admire him. And I'm blown away by his wife, Michelle, and of course I wish the best for their two new-to-the-White House rugrats. I'm glad to see young children in the White House again...the Nixon and Ford children were too old to slide down the banisters; Amy Carter kept a limited profile. The Reagan kids laid-low (at least I think Ron and Nancy would have wished so,) and as for President Clinton, Chelsea was pretty much off limits. Bush 41 had grown up kids and we rarely saw the grandchildren, Bush 43 had the twins and they made the tabloids far too often than dinner at the White House.
  
  As confessed before, I'm a Republican, and our choice for last year's election was, well, not too hot. But my party chose McCain, and I felt loyalty to the party was important, even though we all know how far McCain has crossed the line into liberal land. There would have been several kids in the White House had he been elected, a gracefully recovered first lady, and lots of fancy dinners for co-inhabitants of the Hanoi Hilton. Teddy Kennedy may have shared a toddie or two with a President McCain. It was not to be. It had no chance. America was ready for hope and change, even if they had to have a Chicago Pol tell them so.
  
  There were so many cliches attached to the Obama campaign, that I won't take your time to list them here. But they worked. The disenfranchised across the world identified with now-President Obama, and it was a force we had yet to see in the past four decades. No matter that John F. Kennedy would look like a Republican compared to President Obama...times have changed, and platforms have too. I am happy that so many of my friends and fellow Americans are full of hope that there will be change.
  
  I can't admit to agreeing with anything our President has done in the past few days, but he has brought the American spirit to the American people once again. He most likely won't pay mortgages and end global warming, but the hope that those two things would change for the better was enough to get him elected. It was an avalanche which no Conservative Republican could have avoided. We don't have a leader right now, the party can't even decide whom to chose as head of the RNC...and I don't blame anyone but the old coots who thought the internet and rock and roll would roll along without our need of them. What I do on my own grass roots level is learn as much as possible about the whats and the whys of my party. Some toll the death knell for the followers of Reagan and they have failed to admit they're frozen in another time.
  
  As long as the Republicans stop playing victim to the media and mass-consciousness (I've been hearing this since the '60's) we won't move forward. As for me, Obama isn't the change President or the Hope President, he's my housework President, because for once in my life, domesticity interests me just as much as politics. As soon as my stagnant party stops whining I'll be here, ready to Republicanate again. In the meantime, I'm remaining neutral and letting it be in God's hands who takes the helm of the party, and how our President will protect us.
  
  May a new generation of Republicans take us through our 21st century. In the meantime, I'll focus on taking Swiffering to new heights. (And keep a very close eye on the next four years.)
  
  
  
  

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