So yesterday I was all I don’t talk politics on my blog and today, well let’s talk politics.

We have a new president-elect and he brought tears to my eyes with his speech last night. I feel like I can say proudly that I am an American citizen. The phrase is unfamiliar and doesn’t roll off my tongue easily, but I’m sure with time I’ll become much more comfortable with it.

And McCain’s concession speech? It was moving as well. To hear him congratulate Obama and sound like he sincerely meant it, was incredible. When he asked his supporters to offer the same respect and support to Obama that he will in the coming months and to remember that we are all fellow Americans, it made me believe that our country might just have a chance to heal and reconnect as one united front.

And while Obama’s win made the night unbelievably amazing, the fact that California voted yes on Prop 8 also made the night unbelievably disheartening.

On a night when we voted in our first minority president, we took a right away from another minority group. And no matter how you feel about same sex couples, we can not start taking rights away from citizens. The fact that we can take away the right with only 52% of the vote is unacceptable. And don’t even get me started on the fact that California residents care more about farm animals than their fellow humans. It is so mind numbingly ridiculous that I’m not certain I can apply words to it without them all being expletive.

To my friends in same sex relationships, I’m so sorry. I am embarrassed by California’s actions, especially by the fact that other minority groups played a big part in taking away your right to marry whomever you want. Other minority groups that have had to fight for equal rights of their own in the past. I know I’m only one person but in my eyes, you and your spouse are still a family. The state may not legally recognize your union, but I do. Let’s not allow this be the end of the fight for your equality.

…because I can’t afford gas

Man, we are all totally screwed. You best go put your name on a Prius waiting list right now.

Last night I nearly pooped my pants. No really, I’m not kidding. It was a tough call between pooping my pants, puking, and passing out. In the end, I settled on a fourth option, crying, because it seemed the easiest to deal with.

See, last night we had this little earthquake (5.6! Not so little to me!) and I was freaked out way more than I can explain. I was at the grocery which is very close to our house and our house is close to the epicenter. This all translates to a good bit of shaking.

Let me say now that we are fine. Our house is fine, our animals are fine, nothing broke, nothing really fell other than some books tipping over and a few things shifting a tiny bit. But I did not fair so well.

Since moving to the Bay Area I have been mentally preparing myself for earthquakes. After trying to deal with the thought of them in a few different ways I settled on denial. Why buy an earthquake kit when we’ll never feel one all the way down here in the South Bay? Bottled water, smottled water, we’ll never get one this far south. Are you starting to see how dumb I am?

The fact that last night’s earthquake was not only noticeable, but actually caused (minimal) damage to the grocery store that I was standing in, totally freaked me out. Hello!! Did no one get the memo that the South Bay ISN’T SUPPOSED TO GET EARTHQUAKES??? DO NOT WANT!

I managed to pull myself together enough to check out and get home. Of course, pulling myself together meant standing in shock for a bit while the produce guy asked if I was going to pass out or if I wanted some water. Once home, I immediately dissolved into tears which did not stop for quite a while. Lots of friends called or texted to check on us (thanks! It made me feel so cared for!) and some tried to lighten the mood by suggesting that jparks and I might get eaten by “the gaping, hungry maw of Mother Earth.” (cough cough dsandler cough cough). By 10 I had worn myself out enough that I was ready for bed, but I didn’t sleep that well as I kept waking up expecting aftershocks.

The lessons learned are: 1) even in the South Bay I’m not guaranteed an earthquake free life and 2) jparks won’t let me move. While I know that the built up pressure has been released and chances are we won’t get another quake for awhile, I’m still buying a Costco membership this week and stocking up on supplies. Obviously denial didn’t work out so well for me, so now I’m moving onto to preparedness.

As anyone who will stand still and listen to me whine knows, I’ve been feeling stuck in a fashion rut. The casual office atmosphere of California blind-sided me and I adapted to it much too quickly, with arms way too open. I went from wearing dresses and heels daily to living in jeans, tee shirts, and comfy shoes. And while I don’t think there’s anything wrong with any of those items, I was starting to feel boring. And old.

Desperately wanting help, I turned to a very nice person with a very helpful fashion focused blog. And boy, help is what she gave. She wrote a long post packed with tons of tips to cure me of my fashion ailments. It was such a helpful piece that jparks even read it, and today said “You’re wearing an accessory, just like the post said to do!” (nevermind that I was wearing a necklace that I wear all the time. I was just impressed he read a fashion article)

I’ve taken Susan’s advice to heart and am planning on stocking up on chinos, strappy sandals, and a jean jacket as soon as I can get to a mall. Or wrestle the credit card out of jparks’ wallet. Until then, I’m shopping my own closet and hoping for the best.

And because she asked so nicely, here’s a picture of today’s outfit. I dug out some jeans from the Gap (I noticed after leaving the house that they are just a bit too long, even with heels), a silk shirt from Banana Republic, and some heels I had forgotten about. It was a simple outfit, but somehow felt better than my normal work uniform.

Now if I could only find the time to flat iron my hair and throw on some makeup I’d be unstoppable.

People in the know probably think this is going to be a post about my sudden desire to take ballet class. (which I am going to start doing next week) Well people in the know, you are wrong. This post is about my sudden fascination with earthquakes. Actually, I’m not sure fascination is the correct word. “Obsessive about dying” in one might be more accurate.

Recently we had a mild earthquake out here. While jparks and I were actually pretty close to it, we felt nothing, yet our friends further away did. And even though it was very mild and caused no damage, it still got me thinking. And by thinking I mean, pissing my pants.

Before I get started let me say that, yes I know I should be excited about little earthquakes and not just because it was a great Tori Amos album, but because they release the built up tension and help ward off bigger earthquakes. I know all of this and yet I’m still terrified of earthquakes no matter what size they are.

So the other night we had that small earthquake and it got me thinking “Hey self, did you know you’ll probably be killed in an earthquake. And self, if you don’t die then you’ll probably be trapped under a bookshelf and Lily will have to gnaw through your leg to free you. And she’s got really tiny teeth, so that’s going to take awhile.” I thought maybe if I spoke to resident Californians about earthquakes they would help ease my mind, but that has not proven true at all.

One set of locals told me about how in the 1989 earthquake places were without power for awhile and how part of the Bay Bridge collapsed onto itself. (I refuse to drive across it) At no point in time did they ease my mind, but thankfully nothing they said was new information.

Then I tried another set of locals and that’s when things turned ugly. The words that have done me in are “In an earthquake you are either the squish-er or the squish-ee.” Guess what folks, I’M A SQUISH-EE! Holy crap, I live on the bottom floor of a three story building. I. Will. Be. Squished.

Now at night, rather than sleep, I stare at the ceiling willing it not to fall on me in an earthquake. And when I’m not doing that, I picture the couple that lives above us crashing through it and flattening me with their bed, which I imagine to be a four post one that will impale me on one of the posts. Then I immediately go back to willing the ceiling not to fall. In short, I’m having trouble sleeping at night.

And I’m not just obsessing at night. At work I’m on the second floor. This means I’m a squish-er and a squish-ee. I’m going to die while squishing another person. It’s almost enough to make me quit, but then I would just be hanging out in my apartment all day where I’ll die a squish-ee. At least dying at work I’m earning money so I’ll die dressed nicely and in good shoes.

I need to find a new hobby quick.

Last year I went to the Blogher conference because it was conveniently located in my backyard. This year I would love to attend again, but they uprooted the conference and moved it across the country to Chicago. Thanks to them moving the conference, the cost will be more than just admission; I’ll have airfare, food, and lodgings to consider. Today I spent a chunk of time scheming ways to pay for the trip: pole dancing? haven’t lost enough weight yet. Not buying new spring clothes? hehe, sure. Selling a kidney on craigslist? They’ve banned human organ sales. It seemed that for every good idea I had there was a reason why it could never work.

That was until my light bulb finally went off and I saw the solution to my financial woes. Recycling! What?!? That’s right folks, recycling is how I’m going to attend Blogher in Chicago.

Here in California we pay a fee, in addition to the selling price, when purchasing beverages in cans and bottles. This was a foreign, confusing concept for me when we first arrived, but now I’ve grown used to it and am no longer confused as to why my receipt has a CRV line (At first I thought I was slowly making payments towards a Honda). Right now jparks and I throw our recyclables into the bins in our apartment building’s garage and let them deal with towing them to the recycling center. By doing this we are losing money, money that we’ve all ready shelled out simply to enjoy that can of diet coke, but I just wrote it off as the cost of being lazy. I’m no longer going to, literally, throw money away, especially since they’ve just raised the amounts you can get for bottles and cans.

So, starting immediately, in the Parks’ household all cans and bottles will be rinsed and then brought to our local recycling facility. There I will happily collect my handful of change and set it aside for Blogher. The conference is not until the end of July, so I hope to have enough recycling money set aside by then. And I’m not above accepting bottles and cans from folks that are like the old me, way too lazy to bring them in themselves.

Wish me luck!

Jparks and I are finally heading back to Cali tomorrow morning, and as much as I love being in New Orleans with friends and family, I’m very ready to get back to my shit-hole apartment. We’ve been on ‘vacation’ since the 23rd and I miss my animals, I miss my bed (stupid air mattresses that deflate in the middle of the night), and I even miss my job. The reason why we’ve extended our stay hasn’t made it any easier either.

We’ve decided that the additional time we’ve spent here this trip has made it impossible to come back for Mardi Gras. Well, impossible unless we win a lottery between now and the end of February. Which is totally possible. I’m kinda planning on it happening. There’s no way this plan can go wrong, right?

Since the hurricane I’ve had a hard time adjusting to the fact that I no longer live in New Orleans. I pause when people ask me where I’m from; do they mean where do I currently live, or do they know I’m not local and want to know where I came from? The past few times I’ve been asked this question I just stood there with my mouth open, puddle of drool gathering around my feet. People assumed I was from Mississippi, based on that puddle of drool and my inability to answer a simple question.

I’ve slowly started to accept that in certain ways California is home. I voted here, I’ve got a CA driver’s license, and I drive a yuppie car. I’m very Californian in those aspects.

But in other ways I’m having trouble becoming Californian. Whenever jparks mentions buying a house here, I clam up and won’t even discuss it with him. I think that some part of me isn’t ready to own property in this ridiculously over-priced area. Or maybe it’s just that as long as we don’t own property here we can leave at any time; head back to a land below sea level where I feel more comfortable.

Right now we think nothing of heading back to NOLA for the holidays. But once we have kids, flying halfway across the country will no longer be an easy feat and holidays will have to be spent here. But without Celebration in the Oaks, Cajun Night Before Christmas, and Benny Grunch and the Bunch I’m not sure how the holidays will ever feel right.

And at what point in time do I need to stop feeling like it’s my right to have time off of work for Mardi Gras? When will I stop feeling like something is not right if once a year I don’t stand in the middle of a street with a beer in one hand, cold Popeye’s chicken in the other, and yell at men on floats to throw me some long beads?

I guess what I’m wondering is how long do you have to be gone from a place before you stop thinking of it as home? I need to know so that just a day before I hit that amount of time I can move back to NOLA.

You can all hold jparks accountable for the lack of blog posts. I sat down tonight to make a lovely post about our day at the Renaissance Faire and that jerk pulled me away from the computer to have me make flight arrangements for our trip back to New Orleans during Christmas and New Year’s. Yeah you read that right, we’re coming home for the holidays.

Everyone better open their calendars up and make time for me, dammit!

And until I get the post about the Faire up, here’s a picture of jparks trying to throw a knife. He took this very seriously and tried his best. Thank godness we don’t have to rely on him to hunt down our food. But we would be sooooo skinny. hmmm, I’ll have to check into that.

Can I just tell you that the Bay Area deosn’t fuck around when it comes to the changing of seasons. A few days ago it was warm. Not full out hot like New Orleans, but warm. Then it cooled down to what I would call fall, for maybe three days. Fall was nice, I was enjoying it, but then this morning I woke up and it’s winter.

Now I know some locals might call me crazy, but temperatures in the upper 50’s say winter to me. If I can wear a sweater, it’s winter. If I get the itch to knit, it’s winter. If I automatically order a latte instead of an iced latte, it’s winter.

Thanks to this onslaught of winter weather Lily has to wear some of her wide array of sweaters and t-shirts. And she is thriller. T-H-R-I-L-L-E-D. She hates nothing more than wearing clothes, but she actually isn’t being as stubborn about it as usual. I think even Lily agrees that it’s cold and is ready to properly dress for the season.

Here she is representing the 504:

And even when Lily’s got clothing on, she still feels the need to burrow herself into a blanket to nap.

It also rained today. It hasn’t rained since the first two days we got out here in April. That’s almost six months without seeing water falling from the sky. I forgot how much I love rain and cloudy days. I forgot how nice it is to have a grey sky filled with clouds above you. How nice rain feels on your face when it’s been dry for so long. How rain makes me feel like I’m in New Orleans. How rain washes your car for you. Oh, rain stay for a while please.