We all have nightmares about the fanny packs of yore.  Worn usually with tube socks, long shorts and big bellies, fanny packs were the preferred accessory of the unfashionable tourist.  I’m sure that is a big reason as to why Europeans hate us.  It’s valid.   Hence, we were all thrilled and relieved when the fanny pack disappeared.  (Or rather, mostly disappeared; it can still be seen at theme parks and Walmarts across America.  Another reason to hate Walmart.)

Well, I’m here to tell you that  belt bags or hip bags (as they are called now) are back.  And they are HIP!   They have been spotted on fashion runways and celebrities like Brooke Shields, Tyra Banks and Rihanna.

And now, me.

During our time in L.A. this summer I found a hip bag at one of the hippest (and my all-time favorite) stores in L.A., Fred Segal.

I LOVE Fred Segal!  I always find something unique when I shop there.  I bought a few things over several visits–bracelet, shirt, leggings, jacket–but I kept coming back to this bag.  I didn’t want to impulse buy (it wasn’t cheap), so I let the idea marinate for a couple of weeks.  In the end I bought it as a birthday present.  Happy Birthday to me!

The leather is fantastic and will only look better with age.  The fringe sold me; I love fringe on everything (you know, it’s the hippie in me), but it also happens to be a fashion trend right now.  The bag is made by Rubyzaar and upon researching the company I am even more pleased with my purchase:

Rubyzaar is a fair trade business that works mainly with female artisans and crafts people from Southeast Asia. We have collaborated with these artists to bring together traditional and contemporary designs forming unique products, which are handmade from 100% natural fibers. It is in our interest to preserve the tradition and quality of these crafts. We personally travel throughout the region and handpick very specific items from select artisans, forming relationships so that we can share their culture and talent with you.

If that isn’t enough, the company contributes to Heifer International, an organization I donated to when we gave my son’s preschool teacher a goat one year.  (In case you are unfamiliar with the organization, we didn’t really give her a goat…Heifer International gave a goat to a family in the teacher’s name.  A goat would have been an odd addition to the classroom.  I’m pretty sure that there is a school regulation health code prohibiting that.)

I got a chance to wear my hip bag in NYC while at Blogher.  During my last day in NYC I had several hours to to explore before my flight.  I checked my luggage at the hotel, threw on my hip bag and walked around Central Park for 3 hours.  The bag was perfect for exploring.  It could comfortably hold my camera, lip gloss, iPhone and a small wallet with i.d., credit card and cash.  My hands were free and my back didn’t hurt from carrying a shoulder bag.

It was handy to wear at the airport too, although I don’t recommend wearing a jumpsuit and a hip bag at the same time.  Whenever I had to use the bathroom, I had to remove the bag and take down my jumpsuit…not very easy on an airplane!

Yeah, I’m loving my hip bag.  But it’s not for fashion scaredy-cats; you’ve got to be bold, you’ve got to own it.   If you’ve got the fashion chutzpa to wear a hip bag, I say go for it.  But remember these few rules:

• Do buy a luxurious bag.  A cheap bag will look like a fanny pack.  A luxurious bag will look like a  statement accessory.

• Do keep your clothing simple, straight lines and not much other adornment.

• Don’t wear it with gym shoes.  Converse or some other hip gym shoe may be okay.  But running shoes?  No.

• And the most important rule of all: Don’t wear it on your fanny.  It is to be worn on your hip.  Fanny = you’re a mark.  Hip = you’re hip.

]]> http://funkidivagirl.com/2010/09/not-for-your-fanny-hip-bags-are-hip/feed/ 1 http://funkidivagirl.com/2010/08/writers-workshop-my-childhood-neighborhood-of-stonebridge/ http://funkidivagirl.com/2010/08/writers-workshop-my-childhood-neighborhood-of-stonebridge/#comments Thu, 26 Aug 2010 11:00:25 +0000 Funkidivagirl http://funkidivagirl.com/?p=3725 *Today I am participating in Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop by answering the prompt: 1.) Your childhood neighborhood.

I moved a lot as a child, so in reality I don’t have one childhood neighborhood, but I do identify with one neighborhood in particular, Stonebridge, in Hazel Crest, Illinois.   We moved there from Chicago the summer that I turned 10.

It was a big move.  We lived in an older home in Chicago in a more established neighborhood, but Stonebridge was in the suburbs;  everything was new and shiny–including our house and all the furniture in it.   There was an attached garage, family room, den, separate dining and living rooms, a huge eat-in kitchen, swanky new appliances, an office for my dad and a big back yard, perfect for my new puppy.

It looked like a neighborhood on television.  The houses weren’t cookie cutter, but there were only about 6 variations.  They were laid out differently, painted different colors and tweaked a little here and there, but it looked like a cohesive neighborhood.   All the lawns were green and freshly mowed.  Our parents belonged to the Stonebridge Neighborhood Association, which I supposed made sure that residents took care of their property, but really I think that it was just an excuse to drink and play cards together.

My family can’t remember the house number, but at least I found the street on Google Maps.

But then I “walked” down the street and found my old house!  I love Google Maps! Wow, the house and neighborhood still look great.

It was a neighborhood full of kids and I had many friends.  I lived there for only 3 years before moving to Minnesota, but I made some great memories.  Here are a few:

• The park.  It was really a huge retention basin.  If someone pushed you,  you would roll all the way down to the bottom–which made it perfect for both your enemies and for sledding.

• Chasing my dog (who frequently escaped from the backyard) around the neighborhood with my friends.   He always ended up in the creek, a muddy mess.

• Bathing said muddy dog.

• The library.  It was small–I swear that I read every book in the kids’ section at least twice–but I loved it.

• Riding my bike through a construction site and down the sides of giant dirt holes.  The mother that I am now is chastising my kid self, “Don’t you know that you have been buried alive in one of those dirt holes, girl!”

• Walking to Pottawatomie Hills Elementary School.  In the cold.  Uphill.  Both ways.  I lived 5 houses away from the bus stop, but within the school district’s parameters of “too close to ride the bus.”   I don’t know how many miles it was, but it was hella far (that’s a true measurement of distance, anyone will tell you).  On very cold days, my friend’s mom drove us to school in her fire-engine red station wagon.

• My favorite teacher at Pottawatomie Hills Elementary School, Mrs. Bloom.

• Recess at Pottawatomie.  For my friends and I,  Four Square was our game and it was serious business; we played for blood and took no prisoners.   When we weren’t knocking out fools in Four Square,  we took over the Merry Go-Round and wouldn’t let other kids on unless they paid us in candy.  We called it “The Church of Savior”, shouting it as we spun round and round.  We were small, yet charming; that is the only explanation to why kids gave us candy and didn’t just knock us off the Merry Go-Round.

• Riding my bike to Baskin-Robbins.  I always got 1 scoop of Chocolate Chip and 1 scoop of Daiquiri Ice.  It sounds strange, but trust me, they taste good together.  Then my friends and I would crash our bikes on the way home because “we had too many daiquiris.”

• Halloween.   The neighborhood association made sure that we were safe while having fun.  Every few houses there was an open, decorated garage with doughnuts and hot cider.  Presumably the stop was for these goodies, but in reality it was to check our candy for tampering.

• Sleepovers with my best friends.  Making our famous popcorn (Jiffy Pop mixed with whatever candy and other snacks we had lying around), practicing the latest dance moves and falling asleep to Saturday Night Live.

• Group outings to Pizza Hut.  In retrospect I feel so bad for whoever waited on us: a gang of 12 year olds, sharing a small pizza and leaving $1 tip, if any, most likely covered in parmesan cheese.

• Practicing for pom-pom tryouts at my friend/neighbor’s house and the disappointment that followed.

I am still good friends with some of my Stonebridge friends, and on Facebook I am finding old friends all the time.  We all still love Stonebridge and feel such a strong connection to it and each other that we are organizing a family reunion of sorts, getting the old neighborhood back together again.  I’m excited to see everyone and and excited to show my kids a part of my past–a seemingly small part measured by conventional time, just a mere 3 years–but a very large part of me.

Visit Mama Kat’s Losin It to write a prompt of your own.

Did you notice that the brands I mentioned are trendy, boutique brands?  Luxetips and I, both fashionistas, wouldn’t be caught dead in “mom jeans”.  You know the ones: non-descript, ill-fitting, off-color with oddly placed pockets.  So honestly we approached the jean table at Getting Gorgeous NYC 2010 with some trepidation.  Miraclebody Jeans?  Hmm…we hadn’t heard of them, but we were willing to give them a try.

We retreated to a corner, tried on the jeans (stretch leggings for both of us) and instantly fell in love! The dark wash leggings were heavy without being stiff and just tight enough.  We felt hip, but still comfortable (these things don’t normally go together) due to the ample amount of spandex in the leggings.  We both agreed that we will live in these jeans come fall!   The dark wash and quality denim will allow us to wear these jeans dressed up or dressed down.   These were not “mom jeans!”

But, here’s the best part: the jeans are made to make you look 10 pounds lighter.  The tag on my jeans reads:

Miraclebody by Miraclesuit is handcrafted to shape and firm the body without using bulky linings or girdles.  Miracle Body supersoft fabric has twice as much spandex as the averave jean, our exclusive Miratex fabric as triple the holding power as assuring as a beautiful fit as well as a trendy style.  Look 10 lbs lighter in 10 seconds.

Now, as awesome as this sounds, I wouldn’t wear them if they didn’t look good.  And neither would Luxetips.  We’ve got reps to protect LOL!

Here I am, modeling my jeans for the family.  Yeah, I could get all sexy with some heels, but I rock Converse on a daily basis, so this is how I’ll be wearing the jeans most of the time.

I am wearing leggings, but there are several different kinds of jeans available.  At $88, these jeans are very affordable, but right now Miraclebody is offering my readers 10% off all jeans as well as free shipping and returns from 8/15-9/15.  Just enter the code “Take Ten” at checkout.

Look good and feel good, that’s what a good pair jeans ought to do, and Miraclebody does just that.

*Full Disclosure: I received a pair of Miraclebody Jeans as part of Getting Gorgeous NYC 2010, an invite-only event during Blogher 2010 weekend.  I was not asked to write this review and all opinions expressed are entirely my own.

During my recent trip to Manhattan for Blogher 2010, I didn’t have much time to explore my favorite city, so I had to prioritize.   Out of all the things that I love to see and do in Manhattan, these 3 things are at the top of the list: visit a museum (the Matisse exhibit at the MoMA was fantastic), hang out in Central Park, and browse (okay, shop) at Henri Bendel.

Bendel and I are old friends; we go way back.  While living in New Jersey for several years, I often visited Bendel’s after having afternoon tea at the St. Regis or Plaza hotels.  It’s been a few years since I’ve been there and I practically wept tears of joy as I opened the door.  Pausing outside and snapping this photo, I tweeted: “Somebody save me from myself!”

The first floor is always buzzing with the latest and most fashionable make-up and accessories.  More than 10 years ago I bought a supercool necklace at Bendel’s that spells “Superstar”; I still wear it practically everyday.  I always expect to find something fun and new and this time was no exception.

I am a watch person; I have six watches and I am not ashamed to buy more.  I think of them as bracelets that tell time.   So when I walked into Bendel’s, the TKO Watch display–bright, funki watches–really caught my eye.   So cute!

The watches I loved, the Slappers, were more than cute, they were also fun to wear–you slap them on your wrist like the slap bracelets back in the day.  But you haven’t even heard the best part yet:  the watch, strap and capsule around the watch are interchangeable.  How cool is THAT?  I was sold.  Kevin, the art director for TKO Watches who was manning the display that day, and I had fun putting together a watch especially for my Funkidivagirl style.  You know that I had to get some pink in there somewhere!

Turns out that TKO Watches were on Oprah’s O List in O Magazine. I’ve always liked her; she’s got good taste.  I bet she likes Bendel’s too!

I love my watch.  Everyone at the Blogher conference loved my watch.  Everyone back here in Atlanta loves my watch.  My daughter can’t stop slapping it on my wrist and we are already planning to buy an accessory pack so that we can mix and mingle the parts into a few more watches.

So, that’s two things I like: TKO Watches and Henri Bendel.  I would say that was time well spent.

*Today I am participating in Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop by answering the prompt: 3.) The most unbelievable blue eyes you’ve ever seen…

This is an adaptation of a blog first posted on September 29, 2008.

This is a photo of my daughter; I think she is about 5 months old in this photo.  She had some cheeks, huh?  You know I just ate on them all day long.

As you can see, her eyes were blue–really, really blue (forgive my clumsy red-eye reduction attempt).  Two days after she was born–when she decided to open her eyes–the first thing we said was “Her eyes are blue!”  It was a shock to us as it was to everyone else.  And boy have we heard it through the years!  Her eyes turned green at about a year old and there they have stayed, but we still get the same reaction, even today.  People look at her and comment on her eyes; then they look at me, with my brown eyes.  If I am without my husband, sometimes they don’t say anything because it is possible that her father is the green-eyed parent.  But if we are all together, they look at her, look at me, look at my husband (with his brown eyes), look back at her, and always ask the same question: “So where did she get her eyes?”   Like we bought them at the store on sale somewhere.   The answer that I give, that her grandmother has green eyes, is met with skepticism.  People: I have videotape to prove that I am the one who brought her into the world in my living room on a sunny fall day.  I don’t think anyone wants me to pull that out!

Genes are funny things.  My husband’s mother was born with blue eyes that turned green, just like my daughter’s.  Both of her two boys have brown eyes and all of her siblings have brown eyes.  The green-eyed gene was waiting to make an appearance once again with the birth of her second grandchild.

Folks mean well, I know, with their comments.  But it makes my daughter feel self-conscious that people question her place in our family because she stands out among our trio of brown eyes.  It doesn’t help that my son looks just like me.

Here she is now, at age 8.

My hope is that as she grows, she will not listen to what people say about her eyes or hair or skin, or that she doesn’t resemble anyone in particular in the family.  Instead, she’s got a little bit of everyone in her beautiful face.  She long as she realizes that she is deeply loved in this fabric of a rich, complex heritage, that is all that matters.

I wrote more about my Green-Eyed Brown Girl on One Brown Girl.com.

Visit Mama Kat’s Losin It to write a prompt of your own.

I call myself a pseudo-hippie and even though it was a latent tendency that was sure to erupt at any time despite my Midwestern upbringing, the hippiness emerged when I became pregnant with my first child. I started eating organic food and while reading everything that I could about childbirth and raising a child, I was drawn to “Attachment Parenting”. Childbirth with minimum intervention, co-sleeping, baby-wearing and breastfeeding all made sense to me.

I had a drama-free birth (if you can call being in the worst pain of my life drama-free) and my son took to breastfeeding right away. So while breastfeeding was not difficult for me, it was still awkward and new. I was certainly not adept at breastfeeding in public yet. That would come with time…I would become a breastfeeding pro who could be deep in conversation, discreetly whip out a boob, feed my kid and not miss a beat–while talking to my pastor, no less. But not yet.

Nevertheless, a few weeks after giving birth I found myself accompanying my husband to Will Smith’s house. My husband’s friend DJ Jazzy Jeff was there and invited him to a Playstation gaming tournament. My husband was a big gamer and wanted to go, but didn’t want to leave his wife and new son at home. So he brought us along.

I can hear you gasping now: “She went to Will Smith’s house a few weeks after giving birth? Sleep-deprived, still carrying baby weight and boobs so milk-sensitive that she could leak all over his (presumably) expensive sofa?” Yeah, those were my thoughts too.

But there I was, nestled on a big sofa with Will’s friends–all guys–holding my newborn son. After the initial hellos, pounds and whatssups, everyone forgot about me and the baby as they got deep into the Playstation tournament. And that was fine with me because now my baby was hungry and I had to figure out how to breastfeed him without calling attention to myself. Asking Will–who I really didn’t know–for a private room would be calling attention to myself. Moving off the sofa would be calling attention to myself. Trying to send brainwaves to my husband wasn’t working; he was in gamer-guy heaven and oblivious to my dilemma.

I had no choice; my son was starting to fuss. I put a blanket over my shoulder (I had never done that before; at home I nursed with my shirt open), unbuttoned my shirt and thankfully my son latched on immediately and silently.

Duane Martin, sitting next to me, noticed the silence and the blanket. “Wow, he stopped crying because you put a blanket over his head?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “He’s stopped crying because he was hungry and I now I am feeding him.”

He looked confused for a minute and then I could see the lightbulb go off. “Oh!”

And that was that. The baby was fed, it wasn’t a big deal and none was the wiser except for Duane Martin (who went right back to gaming).

I learned that if I could do it there, with a newborn baby, the only woman in Will Smith’s house during a Playstation gaming tournament, I could breastfeed anywhere. And for the next several years, that’s just what I did.

My kids travel well in the car.  My husband will drive several hours without a complaint.  Me?–I hate long drives and start to lose it quickly if anything goes wrong.  And something always goes wrong.  Here are two videos from long family drives.  I like to record the craziness, to legitimize my fall-outs.

April, 2009: We’re on another road trip to Florida; this time to Orlando to see our favorite mouse.  The problem is, everyone has the same idea and traffic is ridiculous.  If you follow me on Twitter, you would see that I’m not handling it too well either.  The kids, they’re fine; it’s me who’s going crazy.  So in an effort to get my mind off the fact that we have traveled five miles in one hour, I made a video.

But that wasn’t the first or only time that we acted a fool on a long ride.  This happened right after Christmas 2008: This was supposed to be a simple road trip to Savannah; a mere 4 hours away from Atlanta.  Our goal was to leave about 8:00 a.m, but since I was wiped out from Christmas, I didn’t even finish packing until about 10:00 a.m.  We started loading the car about 11:00 a.m. and that was when our road trip comedy of errors began–our rental car was too small for our luggage.  What do we do?  Watch and see:

Yeah, I would think twice about taking any long drives with us!

Visit Mama Kat’s Losin It to write a prompt of your own.

I like to challenge myself.  Sometimes it ends well, as in story number 2 and sometimes not so well, as in story number 1.  Either way, I learn and grow (or look ridiculous).  I posted these stories last year when the Facebook note “25 Random Facts About Me” was circulating.   I only posted 12 facts because that was more than enough; these are #10 & #11.  If you are at all intrigued at my obvious lack of shame, check out the rest.

I stepped outside my comfort zone when I tried to windsurf because: #10  I love the beach, but I’m afraid of the ocean.  Mostly the sharks in the ocean.

I love, love, LOVE the beach and plan living near the ocean (again) someday.  Looking at the water both soothes my soul and gives me energy at the same time.  At least once a year I try to make it to some beach, somewhere.  My kids love the beach as much as I do and we can stay there all day long collecting shells, flying kites and looking for marine life.  But except for an occasional wade out into the water just to cool off, I like the ocean from the vantage point of the sand. I’m afraid of the ocean and of course there’s a story behind my fear.   There’s always a story.

Back when I worked at Club Med, one of the perks was being able to experience all of the Club activities along with the guests.  I took tennis lessons, went horse-back riding and played pool games.  One day I decided that I wanted to learn how to wind-surf.  The wind-surf instructor wasn’t busy that day, so he gave me a beginning lesson on the sand and in the shallow water.   When he thought that I had the hang of it, he urged me to go into the water even further, but still close to the shore.

Now would be a good time to mention that I didn’t know how to swim.   No problem, the instructor said, don’t go out too far and since he wasn’t busy, he’ll keep an eye on me.    I’m pretty fearless and it didn’t look too dangerous at all.    Besides, I had noticed that although beginner wind-surfers fall quite a bit, they fall very slowly and are able to hold on the sail while in the water.  I would be fine.

And I was fine for awhile.  While I did fall a lot, since I was so small, when I did get back on the board and lift the sail even slightly the wind took me pretty far.  This went of for awhile: falling, getting back on the board, lifting the sail, surfing for a short while and falling again.  Finally tired, the next time I fell I just sat on my board.  And looked up to see that I was far away from the wind-surf instructor (who was now busy with guests and forgot all about me) and far away from the shore.  I wasn’t even on Club Med’s property anymore.  I looked at the water and it was a very deep blue AND I TOTALLY FREAKED OUT.  Sharks!–That’s all I could think about.  I didn’t actually see them, but I knew they were there.   I tucked my feet up under me and made sure no part of my body was in the water.

Well, now I was in a real dilemma.  I couldn’t wind-surf back to shore because I couldn’t control the sail very well and the odds were that I would take myself further out to sea.   I couldn’t swim to shore because I didn’t know how to swim.  I couldn’t yell for help from the Club Med personnel because they were too far away to hear me.  So, I just sat on my board for what seemed like forever, but was really probably 15 minutes.

In the distance I saw a small figure on the beach waving at me and yelling something in Spanish; it was a local Mexican gentleman walking on the public beach.   I didn’t know who he was or what he was saying, but I just yelled back “Help Me!”   Much to my surprise, he jumped in the water fully clothed, swam out to me and pushed me on the board all the way back to shore.  He didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak Spanish but I was so grateful and he knew it.  After making sure that I was okay, he went on his way and I dragged the wind-surf board across the sand all the way back down to the Club Med beach.

I was 18 years old when that happened and it while it turned out okay, it was a stupid thing to go into the ocean without a life jacket on, not knowing how to swim.  I didn’t like that I had a fear of deep water (even in a pool) because I don’t like being afraid of anything.  After the birth of my first child, I knew that I had to learn how to swim, if just to be a good role model.

I stepped outside my comfort zone when: #11  I learned to swim as an adult and I’m very proud of myself.

Yes, I took swimming lessons as a child at the YMCA like everyone else and I was doing just fine until they made up jump off the diving board into the deep end of the pool before I was ready to.   There was no compassion from my instructors and it was pretty cut and dry, either jump or leave the class.  I left the class and never went back.   For the rest of my childhood I “got by” at the pool by swimming under water and mostly staying in the shallow end, but I had few incidents of almost-drowning.   One time I was at the local public pool and I wanted to jump off the diving board like all the other kids.   So I did.  But when I hit the water, I didn’t know how to come back up and swim to the edge, so I started fighting the water and going back under.  The lifeguards didn’t even see me, but luckily a teenaged girl did and helped me to the side.  That brush with nearly drowning only worsened my fear of deep water.

So when I finally decided to learn how to swim, I first had to get over my fear of deep water.  My friend had a pool in her backyard and let me use it to hire a private instructor for a few lessons.  When I felt comfortable enough, I continued lessons at my local YMCA.  Before long I could tread water in the deep end and swim the length of the pool.  I was so determined to learn and not be afraid that I was the star pupil of the class.  I kept my progress report as a reminder of how far I had come.

I do like knowing that I have a good chance of saving my life if the situation should ever arise, but I’m not sure if I will ever be comfortable swimming in the ocean; the thought of all the ocean creatures beneath me kind of unnerves me.  The ocean absolutely fascinates me, but I like learning about it from visiting the aquarium or watching Imax films at the museum. However, I do try to push myself every now and then, just to keep my fear under control, and ultimately, conquer it.   This past summer I went jet-skiing in the ocean and boogie-boarding as well.   And someday soon I plan to take surfing lessons.  I gotta get ready for my future life as a beach-bum.

Visit Mama Kat’s Losin It to write a prompt of your own.

First we rented bikes for the day at Venice Bike and Skate on Washington.  The staff there are really nice and the rentals are cheaper than on the pier or boardwalk.   With a bike lock and a basket, we were equipped to stay out all day. Then we biked to the Santa Monica Farmers Market on Main Street.  Gourmet food, a live band, pony rides and local farmers make this market a Sunday must-do with Venice and Santa Monica residents.  We parked our bikes at the bike valet and spread a blanket on the grass to listen to the music while we ate crepes, pancakes, gourmet chicken sausage, bagels and organic strawberries from Oxnard.  And because it’s California and not Georgia, there were compost and recycling bins everywhere.

The California Heritage Museum is right next to the farmer’s market and we saw a very cool exhibit, Skateboard: Evolution and Art in California.  The docent led exhibit traces the history of skateboarding from the very first skateboard up until present day, including the artwork that is such a big part of skateboard culture.

Leaving the museum, we hopped back on the bikes and continued riding along the coast for several miles.  In total we rode about 18 miles that day.  That’s a long way on a beach cruiser!

After resting up a bit, we rode along the Venice Boardwalk to a Hoop Jam.  A while ago I started hooping, but had only hooped by myself in my living room.  I took a class at the Hoopnotica studio while we were staying in LA and learned about the Hoop Jam happening right down the beach from us.  Unlike Atlanta, LA has a hooping community and once a month hoopers congregate at a beach or park to hoop together.  Extra hoops are available for anyone passing by to give hooping a try.  I had my own hoop, a Hoopnotica Travel Hoop, and I bought Girly a kid’s hoop at the farmer’s market.   My boys opted to watch instead of hoop, but there were male hoopers present.  Someone was DJing, someone else was playing the drums and it was all very hippie and groovy.  I loved it!

Hungry after all that hooping (it’s really quite a workout), we returned our bikes and ate dinner next door at C & O Trattoria.  A Venice neighborhood favorite, C & O has delicious Northern Italian food and huge portions; my lobster linguine was just as good for lunch the next day as it was for dinner that night.

A perfect Sunday by the beach.  And the next week, we did it again.  Yeah, we could definitely get used to this!

As far as frozen treats go, I am not a fan of sorbet; I prefer ice cream, gelato or frozen yogurt.  I like creamy rather than icy.

But a few years ago I had a scoop of Cabernet Sauvignon sorbet at Bennett’s Ice Cream, a family run business that’s been at the LA Farmer’s Market since 1946, that made me change my mind about sorbet. It was refreshing, it was light and it taste just like wine.  Hello!

It was the best sorbet I ever ate.

Bennett’s Ice Cream at LA’s Farmer’s Market: old school for real.

The ice cream is made right there on the premises and it’s expensive–almost $4 for a tiny scoop.  But oh so worth it.   Now whenever I come to LA I make sure to go to the Farmer’s Market for my scoop o’ wine. And just like a good glass of wine, I “sip” it slowly…savoring every. Last. Drop.

Or down it quickly and ask for another.  And why not?  Normally I can only drink one glass of wine, but the sorbet has all the goodness without the ill effects.  Too much Cabernet sorbet?–No problem!  The scale may be a bit heavier, but at least I can still drive home.

Then I noticed the Shorty Mack hats (so named in our family because that’s what my daughter looks like in hers, a Shorty Mack).  I have one of those.  It took me forever to find one in Atlanta that I like, but here in LA they are in every store and on every head.

And finally the TOMS shoes.  Everyone in our beach neighborhood wears TOMS.  At first I couldn’t decide if I liked them…they looked sort of Ked-ish and Keds are not my stylo.  But then I saw these at Fred Segal and fell in love.  It’s the bling, of course.

Alas, Fred Segal didn’t have my size.  Turns out that those are the hottest TOMS around and impossibly hard to find.  But now I was on a mission; I went online and wrote down every store in LA that carried TOMS.   I scoured the boutiques on Main Street, Abbot Kinney and Montana Ave–nothing.  Finally a kind shopkeeper pointed me to Lorin on 3rd Street Promenade:  ”If anyone has those TOMS, Lorin does.”

They did and in my size too.  Not only are TOMS cute, comfortable and affordable, they are also philanthropic.  For every pair of shoes purchased, TOMS gives a pair to a child in need.  I am a convert and a fan.

My LA look is complete.  When are we moving?

Our first week back in Los Angeles and it was cold.  There was no sun shining on our beachside rental. No dips in the the nearby ocean.  But there was an earthquake.

Welcome to LA, children.

Earthquakes are a way of life in California.  Not that they aren’t something to be concerned about, but most Angelenos don’t bug out over every single tremor.  Most of the time you would be hard-pressed to tell the difference between a few shakes and a truck rumbling by.

Unless, of course, it’s one of THE BIG ONES.

Like the Northridge Earthquake on January 17, 1994.  It happened at 4:31 a.m. and I remember every detail: the shaking bed, the falling dishes.  There’s our bedroom window on right.

Jumping out of bed, my husband and I stood in the doorway until the initial shaking was over.   But the aftershocks were almost as bad as initial quake.

The Northridge earthquake occurred on January 17, 1994 at 4:31 AM Pacific Standard Time in Northridge, a neighborhood in the city of Los Angeles, California, lasting for about 45 seconds.^[1] This was a holiday Monday – Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. The earthquake had a “strong” moment magnitude of 6.7, but the ground acceleration was one of the highest ever instrumentally recorded in an urban area in North America.^[2] Seventy-two deaths were attributed to the earthquake, with over 9,000 injured. In addition, the earthquake caused an estimated $20 billion in damage, making it one of the costliest natural disasters in U.S. history.  -Wikipedia

We ran outside and down the stairs until all shaking had stopped.  It was quite awhile, but even longer for me; I didn’t stop shaking for months afterward.  I definitely suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder.

And that was my recollection of the Northridge Earthquake.  Nothing funny about that at all.

Until an old friend and neighbor recently jogged my memory about our neighbor running outside naked. Except for a tee shirt…he was only naked from the waist down.  Okay, it was 4:30 in the morning and maybe he sleeps naked, but still, isn’t that odd?

Well, it sure is funny!  And it makes my earthquake memory less traumatic.  Of course now I have another memory that needs to be forgotten….

Visit Mama Kat’s Losin It to write a prompt of your own.

My husband has a thing for socks.  Really.  He buys them in bulk and often.  I don’t know what he does with all these socks, but I’ve given up trying to understand.  When we go to Target and he throws yet another bag of socks in the cart, I say nothing.  If I’ve learned anything in almost 17 years of marriage, I’ve learned to pick my battles.  And socks aren’t worth arguing about.

Except if they are holey–according to my husband, that is something to argue about.

Holey socks are the bane of his existence.  Normally oblivious to domestic affairs, the man goes ballistic if anyone in our house wears holey socks.  At first I thought that he was kidding, but he is not.  Not at all.  Unfortunately my son does not share his father’s disdain for holey socks, so you can imagine the arguments that happen in our house.  Or maybe you can’t, but let me tell you, it’s serious.   My husband will rant about how no child of his is going to wear holey socks when he works hard for this family to provide shelter, food, a private school education–and blemish-free socks.

I try to maintain a peaceful household by keeping my son in new socks, but he does his own laundry and I don’t always see when the socks are wearing thin.   And honestly my son just doesn’t care; he will just as soon wear holey socks as in-tact ones.

As I was packing for our trip to LA, I made sure all the socks were worthy.  It was the least that I could do for the man who was going to be working so hard in LA.

But I didn’t check the traveling socks.

As we removed our shoes at airport security, and my son walked through the metal detector, I saw that he had on the holiest socks ever.  With big gaping holes.   So big that there was actually more naked foot visible than sock.  My husband saw it too and his face said what he couldn’t in the presence of security guards: surprise, horror, disgust.   His worst fear about holey socks had been realized–they were seen in public.  His kid was wearing holey socks for the whole world to see!

“What?” asked my son, with a characteristic teenage shrug.

He followed his father’s glare down to his feet.

“Oops, my bad.”

Visit Mama Kat’s Losin It to write a prompt of your own.

Still, the house needed some things to make it feel like a home.  First we went to Whole Foods and stocked the refrigerator and pantry.   Forging around for a late-night snack definitely feels like home!

Next I bought a fragrant candle and a bunch of sunflowers.  They made our pretty space even prettier.

And finally my daughter drew pictures and taped them to the pantry.  Nothing says home to me like my daughter’s artwork.  And the paper and crayons scattered about in the aftermath.

Right now I’ve got a load of laundry in dryer and a batch of cookies in the oven.  Isn’t that the trick that real estate agents use to make potential buyers feel like they are at home?  It’s working.  We’re home.

Whenever I think about my life in LA, I think about all the parties that we used to have; first as a single girl with my roommate Dawn and then after I got married with my husband James.  For any occasion or for absolutely no reason at all, we threw a party.  Those are great memories and I would love to display on a wall at home.

I love this photo because it shows how much fun my husband and I have together (we still do).  My kids love this photo because it shows that their dad dances the same way today as he did 17 years ago.

I love this photo because I had the best neighbors, Dawn and Chris. We often had impromptu fun in our apartment complex.   This was taken about 3:00 a.m.; we are singing “There’ll Never Be” by Switch.

And tomorrow night as part of our summer LA Stories, we are–what else–throwing a party!  I can’t wait to see our old friends and catch up.  I miss living here so much!

Visit Mama Kat’s Losin It to write a prompt of your own.

Stuart will be staying at our house watching Chili Dawg while we’re gone.  Y’all know Stu, right?  If you don’t follow him on Twitter, please do and tweet him every so often: “How’s Chili Dawg?  Are you taking good care of him?”  I’m going to miss my Chili baby!

But we’re going to have fun in LA.  I’m ready.  I hope LA is ready for me!

*I’ll be tweeting and blogging more LA Stories during our trip; follow me on Twitter, subscribe to my blog by RSS or email and keep reading.

*Today I am participating in Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop by answering the prompt: 5.) A snappy comeback! I actually wrote this post awhile back as a nostalgic memory for Kickin’ It Old School, but hey, it never gets old.  It’s a classic; Yo mama is a snappy comeback appropriate for just about any situation.  Wouldn’t you agree?

This actually happened almost a year ago, but it still cracks me up whenever I think about it.

We were at the W Hotel in Buckhead having a fancy dinner with our kids to celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary.  In the course of normal dinner conversation my husband picked up his wine glass, smelled it, and decided that it smelled too dusty for him and asked for another glass.   Now, I had been married to this man for 15 years at that point and had never seen him smell a glass before, but apparently he says that he does it all the time because dusty glasses are a pet peeve of his.  I started making fun of him because I really think my husband is going to be a crazy old man; I mean some of his current behaviors point in that direction.  I had the kids cracking up by painting a verbal picture of their dad sitting in a corner rocking chair smelling glasses, rocking madly and mumbling to himself.

My husband was not amused and just said, “Yo momma.”

Actually he frequently using this comeback to me when he can’t think of anything else to say and even says it to my son.  My son responds with, “You know, you’re talking about your wife and she’s standing right there.”

Well, that night I had a comeback of my own.   Out of the depths of my memory bank I pulled out a little ditty that I hadn’t said since I was about 9 years old living on the South Side of Chicago and recited it to my husband with requisite finger wagging and facial attitude.

Yo Momma,

Yo Daddy,

Yo greasy Granny,

Got a hole in her panties,

Got a big behind like Frankenstein,

Going beep-beep-beep down Sesame Street!

And then I started laughing uncontrollably.

My kids stared at me in shock and my husband tried to quiet me down, concerned about the other diners, but it took a long time for me to settle back into a Buckhead-like decorum.   It was fun to throw my playground swagger around….I still got it!

Visit Mama Kat’s Losin It to write a prompt of your own.

During our last visit, we caught owner Andra Hall on a rare break from crafting cupcakes.  She was happy to sit down and give us an update about her first year in Atlanta.

That’s it; I need a cupcake!

But this not eating meat thing, it’s not a hard rule.  Sometimes—rarely, but it happens—I want a burger.  Not a turkey burger or black bean burger, but a BEEF burger.   When that happens I make my own at home, with grass-fed, hormone-free beef.   It lessens the skeevy factor, knowing that the cows were treated humanely and fed properly.

Until recently ordering a burger in a restaurant wasn’t even an option, but a new trend in Atlanta restaurants is serving what I call “clean meat.”  Organic, grass-fed and sustainability are the new buzz words and I’m digging it.

In this vein, a new burger restaurant in Atlanta just opened, Farm Burger.  I tried it and if I am going to indulge in beef, it’s going to be there.  The meat was juicy, flavorful and tasted “clean.”  No skeeviness.

I got one of the chalkboard specials, with goat cheese and peach chutney.  Fancy.  And delicious too.

Beef this good doesn’t come cheap.  Burgers, fries and drinks for my family of 4 cost about $50.  This is no fast food.  But it’s good food and I’ll take healthiness over cheapness any day.

I’ll let my son tell you all about it.   He’s featured monthly in the Atlanta INtown News What’s Good section; this month he wrote about Farm Burger.  He’s the burger guy (remember this cover?), so he’s the one to give you the goods.

This is my last post about my latest Disney Media Trip.   I’ve written about Summer Nightastic, posted a video of Disney’s Main Street Electrical Parade, interviewed the Green Army Men from Toy Story 3 and showed you how I dressed for both work and play at Disney World.   As you can see from my blog posts, my weekend was pretty amazing; Disney always makes sure that the media trips are full of magical touches.  And we eat good on media trips with catered dinners and dessert buffets.  It’s delicious, beautifully presented and there’s an open bar.  We always love these dinners.

But still my family cannot leave Disney World without having the best Disney treat we ever ate: Dole Whip.   There’s a debate among Dole Whip fans (there are legions of them out there!) if the treat is best in it’s purest form–just the ice cream–or as a float with pineapple juice.  My family votes for the float.  I’m telling you, there is nothing more refreshing on a hot day than a Dole Whip!  Somehow we always seem to get ours right before the Move It! Shake It! Celebrate It! Street Party; we sit on the benches leading out of Adventureland and watch the people move it and shake it.  Or watch the ducks(sometimes a better option).

Doesn’t that make your mouth water?

*Dole Whip fans, what’s your vote: ice cream only or float?