Dave Eggers kidnapped me

According to the noted Swiss psychologist, C.G. Jung, said, dreams are real, as real as real life. If that is true it means it really happened. Dave Eggers really did kidnap me. Only, I won't be pressing charges and their was no ransom demands. I wish I had more to tell you about the dream. The dream was very light on content. It was pretty much a voice over that said, "Dave Eggers kidnapped you."I woke up feeling simultaneously excited and a little concerned.

I told Igor and shockingly he didn't know who Dave Eggers is.
"Are you kidding me?" I was dumbfounded that he didn't know one of the greatest writers of my generation.
"No", Igor weakly defended.
"Dave Eggers is one of my favorite writers and he wrote AHBWOSG. You have read it, haven't you?"
"No," Igor said with no tone of embarrassment.
I felt a strong impulse to after the session to go and buy him the book that is the Gen X equivalent to "The Catcher in the Rye" and ask him what the hell he is reading anyways. I planned to buy him the book and bring it in next week until I realized it would become a huge transference issue that we would have to talk about forever. "Why do you want me to read it? How did your parents not know what you valued? Would you feel more loved if I read this book?" Blah-blah-blah-blah.... I decided it wasn't worth it to endure that line of questioning. Why can't a gift just be a gift and not a loaded symbolic gesture?

"Tell me more about Eggers". Igor asked.
"He is a brilliant writer from Lake Forest." I then shared all that we have in common. I also shared a new bit of synchronicity, "Dave is also a Pisces and our birthdays are just two days apart." I said as a way proving unequivocally how much alike we are.
"Hmmmm..... So do you like him? Igor asked.
He said it in a way that was so loaded that it couldn't drive because it might get a D.U.I.
"No, it isn't him. I don't like him. I have no interest in him. It is his writing that I like. And, I like that we have so much in common. But, him as a person...I am not as interested. I guess that because of all that we have in common that maybe it gives me hope that I will write my own "Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius".

Igor did the Igor posture. Eyes shut and his hands stroking his brows as if they contained some magical insight powder that was released only upon repeated contact. If he was a cartoon there would have been steam coming out of his head so as to indicate how hard his brain was working.
"This hope that you will be like Dave Eggers, it impinges you. It takes you and you are not free. It grabs a hold of you and then you can't move."

His interpretation was not at all what I had been hoping for. As soon as he came up with that it I felt a depression coming on as undeniable as hiccups and it got worse when he immediately changed the subject and asked if I was still planning on going back to work in the fall.
I read his subject change to mean that I should quit writing and focus on my work. I was too upset by my reading to ask if that is what he was really saying.

A week later I went to see the film, Away We Go , written by Dave Eggers. I didn't know much about the movie before I went. I had read a few bad reviews that didn't talk a lot about the story but instead were baffled that Sam Mendes could make such a movie. I saw the movie and to be honest with you I have no idea if it was a good movie or a bad movie. I just don't know. It is not for me to assess it as a creative work but rather to share with you how it affected me.

What I know is that it was not a movie I should have seen alone and without an Ativan in my purse. It is a movie about a happy young couple with child who are trying to find a home for their soon to be baby. Perfect movie for me, huh?And, I went to see it in a pretty vulnerable state. For the last week I have had two cases of ruptured ovarian cysts and I can tell you they hurt like a mother. Any *female* issue always brings up my unresolved issues about our intractable childlessness.

"Away We Go" is a sort of "On the Road" on hormones, a light hearted Kerouac for those shopping for cradles. The happy couple travel the country and try to find home in Tuscon, Arizona; Madison, Wisconsin; Montreal; and Miami, Florida. It was when they got to Montreal and met up with college friends who had just gone through their fifth miscarriage that I went into a hormonal/PTSD/and mild histerical outburst. I sat alone in the Westwood Pavilion director's lounge theater and sobbed until I shook. The 50-something man in the seat in front of me did his best to ignore the crazy lady behind him. By the time they were in Florida and lying on a trampoline and making vows of what kind of parents they would be that I thought I might need an ambulance to get out of there as I thought my heart was going to break and if it did I was sure I wouldn't be able to walk to my car with a broken heart. Heart and feet must be connected somehow.

Spoiler alert: In the movie the couple finds a perfect home for their soon to arrive baby and it is in watching that scene that I realized I may never find home---as home for me has always included a baby. When I had that realization is when my heart did break( it turns out you can walk with a broken heart, good to know). I sat alone in the theater after everyone left and I sat there and cried and grieved something I have grieved before. I said the mantra that goes with this grief, "it's not fair." When the usher came in to clean out the empty theater I took a quick look at myself in my compact and saw that I resembled a swollen raccoon and that dark glasses were in order. I walked out of the theater and to the car in darkness, feeling everyone could tell I had been crying and that I was an unfertile and bitter woman and if there was a god he must hate me and I must have done awful things to be denied this basic biological function that my body was designed for.

For 48 hours last week we thought He-weasel might be transferred to North New Jersey. I had made connections with Realtors and friends from NJ to seek their advice. Thanks to Realtor.com I had already found a 100 year old house in Bernardsville that I really liked and could imagine us living in. I started to imagine the kind of life we would live there. But, at the end of "Away We Go", when I saw the happy couple in their happy ending, I realized that we would likely be the only couple in Bernardsville without kids. People move to places like Bernardsville and Lake Bluff because they have kids---and we don't.

Friday night I found out the job in New Jersey had been filled and so we would not be moving anyways. I was sad, sure. But, I wasn't as sad as I would have been if I hadn't seen "Away We Go". Dave Eggers movie had kidnapped my hope that I will ever find a home. I hope he sends a ransom note soon. I'd settle for an offer to publish a piece in McSweeney's.

Mi nombre no es Roofy

I have happy/sad/happy/sad news. Roofy, nay, Pepe, is back with his family. His family went to the pound yesterday and saw the picture of Roofy. They called my mother in law and wisely my mother in law grilled the people who claimed to be his family. She asked if he was fixed or not and for any distinguishing markings. She asked for his name and then went and called him by the name they call him, Pepe. Roofy came running. It seemed that they were indeed his family and that his name really was Pepe.

An hour later the family came and claimed their pooch. My mother in law gave them orders to get micro-chipped and fixed. They promised to do both. Then they took Roofy away.

I am of course happy for the five year old boy who had been grieving the loss of Pepe for days. That said, I am so sad for Lily, my mother in law and me. My M.I.L fell hard for Roofy, as one would do with such an adorable dog. I know she misses him. When we go back to visit my in laws,Lily, He-weasel and I will miss him too. I miss him already.

Bye, Roofy. Adios, Pepe.

Picture of Roofy(Pepe)Lily, and my hand was taken at my in-laws house by my F.I.L.

Today's post is only for the Lily lovers

Monday we go back to regular scheduled non-doggy posting( I have posted three dog posts in the last week---that is a whole lot of doggy). I assure you that I will go back to regular programming next week with more "Thursday's with Igor", Things that don't suck about L.A., Writing in Valencia and some news on the house front.
But, today I am feeling a little bit crap and so I am taking the day off. Lily is filling in for me. She, unlike her mother, does not enjoy writing and so she instead is posting some of her favorite pictures of herself for your viewing pleasure.

She also wanted me to tell you that Roofy is still at the in-laws. No one has called about him. We are still crossing paws that the in-laws will keep Roofy. They have bought Roofy a bed, a collar, a leash and toys. This bodes well for the Roofster.

Lily hopes you all have a lovely weekend filled with treats, scratches behind the ear, belly rubs and long walks.





Lily enjoying a bagel













Lily watching "Bolt"
















Lily at the beach

#6-10 of 365 things that don't suck about L.A.

6. The Smoke House
I met a friend for lunch last week at this historic Burbank eatery. The Smoke House opened up in 1946, which is ancient according to L.A. standards. It is right across the street from the Warner Brothers Studio and blocks away from the Universal Studios lot. This place is the definition of old school. Really and truly I felt like I was in Madmen when I walked in. I expected Don Draper, Roger Sterling and Pete Campbell to walk in and order martinis and bloody rare steaks.


We sat in a vinyl red boot, a booth that big butts of fame have likely warmed. I bet Frank Sinatra, Cary Grant, Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, Errol Flynn, Judy Garland, and Katherine Hepburn have at one time or another sat where I was sitting. The service was so good that made us wonder if the waiter thought we were celebrities. A photo girl came to our table and took our photo; I was for that moment imagining what it must be like to be Miley Cyrus. It was a nice change from restaurants where waitresses tell you their names and call groups of two or more, "guys".

At the table behind us where a bunch of old school Hollywood types guzzling martinis like Gatorade and slurping down oysters as if they had after lunch plans to meet their mistresses. I overheard one of the old school men ask the waiter for oyster crackers. Something about the oyster cracker request cracked me up. And, then there was a 60-something guy at a table across from us who ordered a steak sandwich and a scotch who gave me the eye.

We didn't have the Smoke House's famous Garlic cheese bread as I was there with a vegan friend who had a plate of steamed vegetables. FYI: This is not a place for vegans. As I am not a vegan I had the steak, blue cheese and arugula salad. If I had been there with my He-weasel I would have ordered the cheese bread and a martini or two. My salad was good, not great but good. But, quite frankly, I think that the ambiance makes up for any of the food's mediocrity.

I read that is a favorite place of George Clooney. And, I can so see him here. Sadly, I did not see him when I was there. But, I will be back and hopefully then I will see George and if not the cheese bread will make the trip worthwhile.

For visitors to L.A. let me tell you that if you want to see celebrities I would come to the Smoke House for lunch or dinner and skip the Hard Rock Cafe. Celebrities do not ever go to the Hard Rock Cafe.

7. Cheap nail salons
I am not sure why but I do think Southern California is the nail salon capitol of the world and because of that you can get a mani and pedi for $30. In any five block radius in L.A. I bet you would find at least six nail salons. In Chicago I paid $50 for a pedicure alone and it was not like the pedicure was so much better than the one in L.A., actually there were no fancy spa chairs in Chicago. It is true that I never use the massage chair because to me it feels like being hit by a sack of lemons, but I could use it if I wanted to.

Living in L.A. for so long has made me permanently cheap about manis and pedis. Every time I went for a mani/pedi in Chicago I griped internally that I had to tip almost as much as I had to pay for a manicure in L.A. I never took into consideration that housing was cheaper or that because my feet were in boots seven months out of the year I needed less frequent pedicures so amortized the Chicago pedicure was cheaper. No, my mind doesn't work like that and I am bad at math.

I go to Nina. I like Nina because I can 80% of the time understand her English and she is funny and is really fast. What I don't like about her is hearing how much she is making in real estate and in the stock market. Don't get me wrong, I am very happy Nina is doing so well. I only wish I was doing as well as my nail gal. Maybe I could get her to give some tips. Get it? Tips! Mwah-ha-ha!!!

8. Incredible orange skied sunsets that can only exist in places with lots of smog













9. L.A. International Airport
While my two favorite airports in the world are O'Hare in Chicago and Charles de Gaulle in Paris, for location alone. I do like LA airport, especially the departure level, as it reminds me that I can get out of here. I am not stuck. This is not the Hotel California. And, I do sort of like the 60's space age architecture that is the landmark Encounters Theme Restaurant. The interior is very Austin Power's meets the Jetsons.


10. L.A. area public bathrooms almost always have toilet seat protectors
I do usually squat but there are times when a gal wants to sit. In L.A. I can, if I chose, cover the public toilet seat with five seat covers. In Chicago I never-ever-ever saw a seat cover. I am not sure if it is illegal there or what. But, in Chicago squatting is the only option.

Photo of LA sunset comes from here.
Photo of LAX Encounters Theme restaurant comes from here.

The dog ate my blog post

Well, not literally. What happened is yesterday He-weasel and I went to visit his family and when we got there we saw that a tiny-dog( I think a Fox terrier mix weighing all of eight pounds) was on top of the tea house they are building on their property. The poor dog was stuck up on the roof and scared. We have no idea how he got there. It was our guess that he had run away last night in response to the fireworks.

We tried to tempt the dog off the roof with Cheetos and water ( there was a ramp from the top of the roof to the ground) but he wouldn't come. Finally He-weasel climbed up and rescued him. I can tell you that I fell even more in love with him as I saw him rescuing the scared puppy. The dog fell in love with He-weasel too, demonstrated by the many puppy dog kisses of appreciation given to He-weasel for his act of kindness, much to Lily's initial horror. Moments later Lily and the Fox terrier were playing like old friends. I have never seen Lily have so much fun--- not even when playing with her favorite toy, Mr. Bear. The whole time we were there Lily was playing with her new friend. No time was wasted on sitting, napping or standing still.

It seemed well groomed and well cared for, save that the dog had no tag and no collar. As he was found on the roof I started calling the dog Roofy and the name caught on. I also came up with a joke I am very proud of, when Roofy pees you can say that the roofy is leaking. Yes, I had a few cocktails when I came up with this joke and I assure you it was funnier at the time.

Instead of writing the blog post I intended for today I spent yesterday trying to find Roofy's home. We took photos of Roofy and took them to the pound so in case his owners are trying to find him they would know where he was. We did not leave him at the pound as we feared that they might put him down before his owners got there. We also took him in to see if he had been micro chipped and sadly he had not. Why do people not do this? It is so cheap. I think I paid $45 for it and it is a great comfort to know that if Lily was in the same situation that she could have quickly been reunited with us. We also walked my in-laws neighborhood asking if anyone recognized Roofy. No one did.

Roofy is now with my in laws and he is ridiculously happy. He is a very friendly, loving and affectionate dog. When we left him he was curled up in my mother-in-laws arms like a baby. So cute!! When we got Lily home from her day with Roofy she passed out with fatigue. Never have I seen her happier or more tired. I learned one thing today, Lily needs a doggy brother. It would be so wrong for her to be an only child.

Today my in-laws are calling no kill shelters and putting up pictures of Roofy in their neighborhood. I, of course, hope that Roofy is reunited with his family. However, I have heard that many people are dumping dogs off in my in laws' neighborhood as they can no longer afford their pets and if that is the case I am hoping with all my heart that my in laws fall more in love with Roofy than they already are. I am very hopeful as my mother in law was already calling Roofy her son and saying that would make him Lily's uncle. I am pretty sure Roofy is sleeping with them tonight. Who cannot fall in love with a dog who has slept in their bed? Nah, I think Lily may have an Uncle. Now I can't wait until the day we can find Lily a brother.

Note about the picture of Roofy: After this picture was taken we found a rope that was lighter and more appropriate to use as a makeshift leash. He looks so sad in that picture but I assure you he had as wonderful a day as you can have when separated from your people.

Lily goes red, white and blue

Fooled you! No, that is not Lily. I would never do that to her. It is, however, a West Highland White Terrier showing her true red, white and blue colours. Poor dog! I so hope that is not permanent hair colour.

Have a happy Fourth of July if you are in the U.S. If you aren't, have a happy fourth of July too.

400 blogs

No, that is not a typo, I did not mean to write about François Truffaut's famous New Wave French film. Rather, this is my 400th blog post. I can't believe I have managed it and yet there is another part of me that feels like this should be my 4000th post. I feel like I have been blogging for years and that is because I have. I started La Belette Rouge in October 2007 and here I am, still blogging, in July 2009.

This piece of internet real estate has been a home to me both when I felt at home and when I have felt homeless. It has been a constant for me in the midst of so much change. Whether I was in Lake Bluff, Austin, or here in Valencia I have had this blog and my adorable, smart, funny, insightful and gorgeous readers who always make me feel at home. I assure you if I didn't feel at home here I wouldn't be blogging in my pajamas.

I have so many times, in these last couple of difficult years, thought about quitting the blog and I did take a long break last summer----but I cannot imagine what my life would be like if I had. So many things would be so different. There'd be no Lily, no book in the works and I wouldn't have made so many wonderful new bloggy friends. I am so glad that I came back and that I made it to my 400th post. I feel sure I will make it to 500. When I think about doing another 400 I am not so sure I have it is me. But, blogging is done one post at a time.

In case you didn't know the traditional gift for the 400th post is to subscribe to the blog of the celebrant, to follow me here (see upper left hand side of my blog)and on Twitter. Consider yourself lucky, I told He-weasel that traditional gift for the 400th blog post are shoes, the 500th post is WendyB jewelry and the 1000th post is a trip to Paris. Please, whatever you do, don't disabuse him of my blogging anniversary gift giving schedule.

Also, I did want to use this post to thank Jennifer at Writing to Survive for making my blog her blog of the month. Please go over and visit her fantastic blog. I am a big fan of her gorgeous writing and I am very proud to receive this honour from her. Really, it is better than shoes.

I thank you all for being here, whether this is your first, fourth, fortieth, or four hundredth post. Your presence here means more to me than I can say, even if I had 4000 words to say it in.