gypsy living

I’ve been unplugged from technology this week, so I’m clueless about what’s going on in the world except for what people have told me over the phone or what I’ve seen outside the car window.

Surreallllllll …

I’ll tell you more about it later

back at it

Who I wrote about: Army Staff Sgt. Rachelle Renaud, whose family surprised her with a welcome-home party Wednesday night./ Photo courtesy of Doug Duran of the Tri-Valley Herald

I’ve had journalism withdrawals lately. But I got my fix this week through an assignment for the Bay Area News Group.

Though the woman who was the subject of my story was wonderful, the story itself wasn’t fantastic — it was sort of last-minute. But the highlight of Christmas for me was opening the paper to A-6 and seeing my beautiful inky byline above a 16-plus-inch story. Mmmmm. Gives me the warm-fuzzies.

I know, I’m selfish.

One of my resolutions for the New Year is to freelance more. I sort of got caught up catching up since I took the bank job, but it’s important to make time for what I care about.

Merry Christmas, lovelies!

‘killed over and over’

It’s been more than a couple months since I quit my newspaper job, but I still check back once in a while to read the latest on some of the cases I used to cover. It’s interesting to see what details my former colleagues uncover, details I could have written about had I not left my job for the big bad world of finance. Sometimes, however, I wish I never went back for the update.

Cynthia Ramos / Courtesy of www.inmemoryofcindyramos.com

In browsing the online archives at the Tracy Press, I found a letter from the daughter-in-law of a woman stabbed to death in her own home this past summer. She wrote the missive because my former employers forgot to send a reporter to the court hearing of the two accused killers. In it, the author kindly commends me for consistently showing up to court and writing about the case and thanked Press photographer Glenn Moore for his empathy.

That was the one bright spot. The rest was heartbreaking to read. Since I’ve left the paper, new details have come to light about the murder of Cynthia Ramos, a 58-year-old grandmother — and would-be great-grandmother — found dead on the floor of her Tracy mobile home in August.

I knew the day she was killed that this woman was beaten and stabbed. But I didn’t know the extent of the brutality. Since it was still an active investigation, police kept quiet about the details. Not too long ago, however, the gory specifics came spilling out in the courtroom. It was during the preliminary hearing for suspects Robert and Jorge Morgan — a married couple with a spotty criminal past — that the prosecution bared the graphic details of the alleged killing. The family said it was like re-living that horrible day.

An excerpt from daughter-in-law Rebecca Martinez’s Nov. 24 letter to the Tracy Press:

“No human being should have to hear the graphic details of how the woman that brought them into this world and gave them unconditional love left her world with 55 stab wounds, 13 blunt trauma wounds and was strangled on top of that.”

And from the Stockton Record, Nov. 19:

“She was killed over and over and over,” Bennett Omalu said, explaining that Ramos appeared to have fought back as she was stabbed 55 times, struck 13 times with something hard and strangled with twine or a small rope.”

Keep in mind that police said this was all for a foiled burglary. It’s incredibly tragic, obviously. It’s also, to me, a reminder that there are families out there who need support in the form of keeping alive the memory of the one they lost.

Go to www.inmemoryofcindyramos.com for the latest on the Cynthia Ramos case.

my parrot loves the cow juice

Yeah, Pica shares my cereal milk. Whenever someone walks in the room with a bowl or cup of milk, Pica says “gulp” and nods her head toward her favorite beverage. Here’s a picture of her sticking her whole head in my cereal bowl.

bird day bakingz

It’s Thanksgiving and I’m busy baking today with the sisters. I’m making challah, Cat’s baking a very spicy pumpkin pie and Lyds whipped up a pecan something-or-other. Yummylicious.

my hand in a glob of doughy stuffz

cat and lyds bein' domestic. hella gangsta.

It’s 2:27 p.m., which means that in about five hours, I’ll be getting my glut on at grandma’s house. While I wait for my bread to bake, how about mentioning a few things I’m thankful for …

1. My nutty mother. She had way to many kids for her own good, but it’s all gravy on my end because I’m one of ‘em. I’m the one the doctors had to cut out, which means I’m the reason for that scar on her tummy. Sorry mama.

2. My dad. He’s a super hard worker and always made sure his six kids had enough to eat, stuff to do and places to explore. Thanks for it all, daddy.

3. My brand-spanking-new Scion xa, my best friend James who helped me get it at a decent price and the several car salesmen who put up with us for, literally, an entire day.

4. The color red, for existing. How cool is it that red things are out there? What an awesome color. Dayummmm.

more t-day snapshots …

my finished product

cat's pumpkin pie

oldest virgin ever?

gasp! fuckin' gaspitty gasp gasp!

I know, I know. This is the second New Moon-themed post this week.

But bear with me. It took me a day to realize the depth of the absurdity of the Twlight saga. I mean, it’s about a 100-and-something-year-old undead guy who falls in love with a 17-year-old. The guy has some issues, and so does Bella for that matter.

Edward’s in his 100th year of high school and this doesn’t seem to phase any of the teachers. And Bella … oh, Bella. Isn’t it the least bit creepy to you that this guy is still a virgin after a century of high school senior-dom? And that when he kisses you he starts hyperventilating? You’d think the guy’d have some practice refining his courting skills, but no … unless he’s putting on an act, lothario has quite a way to go.

Although, to the guys out there, take note: According to audience reaction, the mythical men-monsters of Twilight have a few tips for winning over the lay-days.

Firstly, the girlies love it when the guys promise to protect them. Reassure your lady friends by throwing in an “I’ll protect you” here and there. Each time the Twi-men tried this, every estrogen-fueled audience member gasped in delight.

oh drama, drama, drama ...

Next, keep your compliments extreme, even dramatically poetic. Edward keeps a straight face when he tells his lady love, “You give me everything by breathing.” That’s right, gents: “You’re lovely today” or “that shirt looks super cute on you” just won’t cut it for the girlies these days. Throw in some absolutes, some reference to life, death and eternity, and you’ll have ‘em swooning.

But honestly, all this is nothing unless you pump iron like a madman. Get in shape, boys. Like, today. You can proffer compliments, wax poetic and promise to protect everyone with a vagina, but none of this comes close to the cardinal attraction, and that’s a ripped upper body. When it came down to it, Bella and theatergoers loved the chitchat, but all eyes turned chest-ward when the camera pans to laconic Jacob.

oh, sweet mobility

I set out this morning to get a car. Seven hours, three sales guys, several arguments and at least four cups of coffee later, I’m mobile again, albeit strapped with new debt and broke for the next couple months. Whatever. Beats wallowing in deep, dark depression at home. Now I can wallow at 75 mph on the highway.

abstinent werewolves

But seriously, I’m happy to have a car again and relieved I can end my ride-bumming for the time being.

I was so thrilled, I had to drive somewhere, so I took myself and a friend out to the movies only to suffer through that half-naked-wolfboy-and-moody-bloodsucker-vie-for-pouty-teenage-girl’s-affection flick, Nude Moon, or whatever — a two-hour teenage lust-fest sprinkled with religious don’t-have-sex-outside-wedlock subtext. 

I’m no Twi-hard, but I had to see the movie because all the other kids are seeing it.

Basically, it’ all heavy breathing, pouty lips, heaving bosoms and almost-kissing for days. The whole cast is too Mormon to put out. Sucks for Bella, who’s obviously frustrated. Someone should give her some dick. Maybe then she’d sleep through the night instead of waking up breathless and screaming every other scene. OK, maybe she’d still do that, but you see what I’m saying.

Too bad vampires are apparently so damn ceremonious.

the happy list

So, life’s been tough without a car. I live in a town remote enough that I can’t really get much done without driving some stretch of freeway to get somewhere that isn’t a cornfield. To distract me from the depression that immobility brings, I’ve decided to compile a list of what’s brightened up my week thus far.

pinkalicious!!

First, the gay …  My new hero? Ten-year-old Arkansas boy Will Phillips, the super-smart fifth-grader who refuses to pledge allegiance until same-sex couples can legally marry.  He’s fended off insults from classmates, teachers and TV viewers – some of whom have called him gay for defending gays – with impressive grace.  I look forward to seeing what this kid’s up to in a decade. Hopefully, voters will have given him a reason to resume pledging again.

The pink … I painted my nails obnoxiously neon. Whatever. It’s a happy hue.

nephew

The adorable … My favorite (read: only) nephew, Joshua, traveled from D.C. with his parents to visit the rest of my crazy kin. He’s seriously the cutest thing since cats eating with chopsticks.

The furry-tastic … And speaking of adorable, you will watch 5 minutes and 5 seconds of baby otter playtime. Yes, yes you will.

The macabre … How cool is it that Tim Burton’s art is now featured at the SF MOMA, not 45 minutes away from me? Very.

who this be? hmmm.

The feather-y … Is this too much cuteness? Because I’m adding a photo of the one known as bird boy. OK, no one’s called him that. I just made that up. And speaking of gay, how gay-tastic is this photo?

sick and stranded

Oh, joy. What's left of my poor car.

Today, I sound like I’ve smoked for 23 1/2 years. My voice is almost totally gone, gone, gone … yuck. This cold came as another luckless reality in a series of not just unfortunate, but tragic and ridiculous events since Halloween, when I lost my car to a completely preventable wreck. I wasn’t behind the wheel, for those of you who asked.

Believe it or not, this week’s craziness involves information too sensitive to post here (it sounds ridiculous, but …). Said craziness started with a car crash and ended this weekend with me losing my voice to this goddamn stress-induced cold. In between were sleepless nights, thousands of dollars of debt, mysterious voicemails and a few super-pricey collect calls. Despite the insanity, I think things will settle into place, mostly thanks to help from friends, former co-workers, new co-workers and a little rest.

Now, stranded at home with a smashed-up car, I’m craving a little musical therapy. I’ve decided to save up  for an little upright piano. I’ve settled for playing the guitar today, but there’s something so much more satisfying about leaning your body’s weight into the keys of a nicely tuned piano. You feel the vibrations thrum through your fingertips, your arms and every muscle along the way before they settle into the left side of your chest as a rhythm.

It’s beautiful. And I think working for a bank has made me feel like I’m totally depriving my creative side. After I finish off paying the debt incurred this week, I think I’ll get that piano. And a drum set. In the meantime, I’ll just scroll through the classifieds to see if something catches my eye.

Fuck. Does she look totaled to you?

time flew, lots new

Two weeks into my new bank job and I’m really starting to miss the freedom and excitement of journalism.

I know I’ll go back one day. But in the meantime, I have to get up at an ungodly hour, commute with everyone and their mom out to Oakland, eat and drink only on strictly scheduled breaks, watch my language, learn a staggering new lexicon of acronyms and sales jargon,  smile through the insomnia-induced fatigue, try my damndest to stay awake in class and suffer in heels and a suit all day.

Just.Like.The.Rest.Of.Them.

It’s potentially a soul-sapping business, but definitely an interesting new endeavor for me.  Most interesting are the personalities in my banker’s class (which lasts through November, btw, after which I’ll start working at an East CoCo County branch as a personal banker): The loudmouth, the self-important-but-secretly-insecure finance major, the should-be-comedian, the cowboy-veteran, the single mother, the aspiring pediatrician, the still-figuring-out-what-to-do-in-life bio major, the quirky cute girl, the dime-a-dozen career retailer and, of course, the eagle-eyed “facilitator” (that’s bank-speak for teacher).

It’s fun-ish, but Jeweezus, I never realized what a goddamn timesuck work could be. I’ll still try to keep ya posted, via this blog, though (more photos, more posts, more often).

Later, lovelies!