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!

chickies

sisters nina and lydia, and chicken george

About 10 years ago, my dad ordered a couple-dozen chickens for something like $25. A UPS guy delivered the chirping chickies to our doorstep in a hole-y box. Some died within that first year, others lasted about a decade, laying eggs for us when they felt like it.

Today, the Wadsworths have just two left. We call them “the survivors.”

One of those survivors is Chuck, a Buff Orpington. The other, a gift from a Bulgarian friend, is “Tree Chicken George” (pictured above … the scraggly one with feathers). I think he’s an Easter Egger, but I’m not sure. I’m also not clear on why the ladybirds have man names. Whatever.

George mostly just struts around the patio, nibbling on dove feed, stealing from the cat food dish and laying eggs in secret nooks so my mom can’t find ‘em. If Lady George tires out, she loves to roost on my sister Lydia’s lap — like a lapdog — and getting her head rubbed.

I don’t know why I brought that up. But, yeah. Chickens are the bomb.

pepperdog!

Pepper Firpo/Photo by Glenn Moore

Pepper, the Tracy Press newshound, just started a Twitter account at www.twitter.com/TP_Pepper.

You should follow him. He’ll tweet scanner traffic or whatever crosses his little doggy mind.

I think it’s good for him. He needs something better to do all day than chew on carrots, root through trash cans and eat my lunch scraps.

Good boy, Pep.

pepper.with.carrot

still wanted

Richard Rodriguez, or what he may have looked like in the mid 1990s.

The FBI’s Sacramento field office submitted a press release today to remind people that they’re still looking for a convicted murderer who escaped from a Tracy prison almost 30 years ago.

Richard Rodriguez, who’s nearing 60 years old if he’s still alive, escaped from Deuel Vocational Institution on Dec. 30, 1979, by cutting through the prison bars with hacksaw blades. He was seven years into a life sentence for the execution-style murder of a man called as a witness in another trial.

Rodriguez circa 1976.

Rodriguez managed to grab the blades used during his escape from the prison’s machine shop, according to the FBI. He then used a rope made from bedsheets to lower himself out the window before finally slipping through a double-fence between guard towers late one foggy winter night.

More on Rodriguez

Aliases — Frederico Sanchez, Jesus Vallanon, Richie Rodriguez, Richard Rodriquez, “Bug” Rodriguez, Jesue Vallamon, Jesus Vallamon, Indio Rodriguez, “Bug” or “Indio.”

Appearance — Black hair, brown eyes, Hispanic, 140 pounds, 5-feet-8-inches tall. He has a scar on his left ankle and a wandering right eye.

Etc. — Rodriguez used to be a member of the Black Panther Party, and may have acted as a liaison between the part and militant groups in Los Angeles, according to the FBI. He’s known to enjoy horseback riding, camping and archery.

condolences

Cindy Ramos

I noticed that the comment section is working on the Web site set up in memory of Cindy Ramos, the 58-year-old Tracy woman killed in her own home on Aug. 6.

Go to www.inmemoryofcindyramos.com to leave your condolences.

Services will be held today in her honor at 10 a.m. at the Chapel of the Chimes, 32992 Mission Blvd., in Hayward. A reception will take place right after at Neighborhood Church, 20600 John Drive, in Castro Valley. Her burial service will be at 1 p.m. on Friday, again at Chapel of the Chimes.

Though Cindy lived in Tracy, most of her family hails from the East Bay.

The two men suspected of stabbing to death Cindy in her own home are due in court on Thursday for further arraignment.