Sniff.

Goodbye super secret celebrity crush. Or, I guess, not so super secret anymore. As a sign of my continuing devotion, I will cheer for Texas to win this weekend in your honor (*shudder*).

On the bright side though, that's 35 seconds less per week of GH that I need to watch.

The Neon Lights are Bright

I am a musical theater geek. And proud of it.

According to family legend, I used to sing the entire sountrack to The Music Man when I was three years old, and it only grew from there. I saw my first live musical when I was six-- my grandmother took me to see The King and I with Yul Brynner at the Pantages theater in Hollywood. I remember it like it was yesterday...wearing my favorite white taffetta dress and black patent leather shoes, clutching the show program tightly, imagining myself as Anna, and being completely transfixed as the story came to life in front of me. From that moment, the theater owned my soul.

As you know by now, up until I went to college, my dream was to sing on Broadway. For a variety of reasons, I gave up before ever really trying (unless singing On My Own while walking on West 44th street counts), but I've never stopped going to shows. From falling in love with Michael Crawford as he sang Music of the Night (leaving a theater of people holding their collective breath for a beat) to crying my eyes out as Lea Salonga's Kim sang her last note, the theater has given me some of the fondest memories of my life.

Last year, I experienced a "full circle" moment. My daughter, who has worn out our CD of the Wicked soundtrack, begged me if I could take her to see the show. I did the mom thing of worrying about if it would be too scary for her, and then wondering if a then-6-year-old could sit still for 3 hours without bothering the people around her. And then I remembered my 6-year-old self at The King and I, and decided to go for it. And as luck would have it, it was playing at the Pantages, the very same theater I went to with my grandmother all those years ago.

Just like I was back then, the daughter (sitting in her taffetta dress and black patent leather shoes) was transfixed. And after the final curtain call, she begged me to take her around to the stage door so she could meet the cast. And when she later asked if she could go see it again, at the final LA performance (on a school night), I didn't hesitate.

And just like that, another musical theater geek was born.

I am the coolest mom ever.

The daughter, hanging with Selena Gomez. And on a school night.

fear and loathing in los angeles

It's been one busy and tough week.

And no, I'm not just talking about college football. (apologizes again to husband and football friends for not watching game live when apparently they always lose afternoon road games following a big win when I don't watch. Who knew?)

It's been one of those weeks that totally kicks you in the ass...the ones that always seem to come along just when you think you've got things figured out and are on a fairly even keel.

Work drama, friend drama, school drama. It all converged in a perfect storm of sucktitude.

And not just for me. The daughter and her bff of 3 years "broke up" (to use their term) for an entire 12 hours last week. While I initially thought her terminology was cute, I realized that it's actually quite accurate. Female friendships are filled with just as much as angst, drama, conflict, love, trust and laughter as any romantic relationship.

We support each other, love each other, laugh at each other. And, as an added bonus, understand the zen achieved through a finding the perfect shoes for an outfit, or a particularly successful expedition to Target.

My cousin told me the other night that she broke up with her boyfriend because he didn't "get" her. I reminded her that my husband and I have been together for going on 2 decades now and we don't get each other most of the time. That's what I have my girlfriends for.

Happily, the week from hell all worked out in the end. For both me and the daughter. And now, I'm going to sit back, enjoy my Sunday, and study the lengthy list of things I did to "cause" yesterday's loss so that my husband will speak to me again.

Play Ball!

I am a sports fanatic, and have been for as long as I can remember. I grew up playing competitive soccer and tennis, but my real passion is watching sports.

Last night's nail-biting, come-from-behind victory over Ohio State by my beloved USC Trojans started me thinking about the crazy nature of being a sports fan. Our happiness and well-being literally depends on how our team is doing. And our shared passion and loyalty (and irrational dislike) binds us to complete strangers. There is nothing like 100,000 people in a stadium holding their collective breath.

Some of the most perfectly-recalled moments in my life are related to sports. There's the good (like the SF 49ers game-winning drive in Superbowl XXIII, Robert Horry's game winning shot against the Kings in the 2002 Western Conference Finals, or even Matt Leinert's amazing 4th and 9 pass against Notre Dame in 2005 to keep the National Championiship hopes alive). And then there's the bad (so painful I still can't watch the entire clips) like Kirk Gibson's walk off home run, or Ralph Sampson fluke shot beating the Lakers in 1986.

Just thinking about those moments brings me immediately back to where I was when they first happened.

There is nothing sweeter than opening day of your favorite sport. Disappointment is still a stranger and anything is possible. This is the nature of sport. And why I cheer for my teams, year after year.

So on this opening NFL weekend, I wish all of you a great season.

Unless, of course, your favorite teams are different than mine. In that case I wish you nothing but misery and heartache.

P.S. AND THE WINNER IS...I loved the great response to my little game from last time! I received many more guesses from friends and family via email. Good tries, all of you, but only one person guessed the correct answer, and gets the victor's glory. Such as it is.

The correct answer is (drumroll please)...

#6. I am NOT afraid of heights.

Well played mmw, well played. Our next lunch is on me.

10 Truths. And a Lie.

Ok, I felt like having a little fun with this entry, so here's a variation on an oldie but a goodie. Out of the following 11 statements, 10 are the truth, and only one is a lie. Any guesses?

1. At one point in our lives, Angelina Jolie and I were BFFs, and a photo of me even appeared in a national magazine profile of her family.

2. My husband went to high school with Steve Burton.

3. My favorite 3 television couples ever-- Buffy and Angel, Pacey and Joey, Sam and Diane.

4. I once worked at NBC News in Washington DC.

5. Once Oprah, Gayle, Michelle Obama and I chatted while getting our eyebrows waxed.

6. I am deathly afraid of heights.

7. I've been with my husband since I was 19 years old.

8. I'm a trained singer. In high school, I had aspirations of being on Broadway one day.

9. My son is named after a character in a John Hughes movie.

10. My grandmother was a Judge- the first woman to be the presiding justice in LA Superior Court.

11. I could live on hummus and pita bread. Seriously.

Okay, that's it. Like I said, only one is a lie. I'll reveal the answer in my next blog. :)

One more.

Because blogspot didn't like me trying to post 4 pics in one blog entry:

Me, age 10. Barrette courtesy of grade school BFF, Jenny Noah. We made a solemn blood oath to be friends forever, which we would never, ever break. No matter what.

Wonder what ever happened to her?

By request.

8 months old. The purple book in my hand is The Exorcist. Amazing I turned out as well as I did, isn't it?

23 months. A wise girl never leaves home without her trusty medical bag and favorite green purse. We're not going to discuss the coat. Especially because this was California. In April. Was it really necessary?

23 months old, again. Did I mention my parents were hippies? Apparently just a few days later The Ugly Coat of Toddlerhood (see above) was no longer needed.

Firsts

The first day of a new school year is always an interesting time. This year was particularly monumental because, as most of you who read my blog already know, my youngest started Kindergarten. He is officially in Big Kid school. With a backpack. And a desk. And a Big Kid Haircut that is much shorter than anything I would have ever allowed, and falls under the vast category of "Things My Husband Thinks Are Good Ideas and I Disagree."

He's been excited about the transition all summer. But yesterday the nerves set in. He suddenly realized his big sister would be in her own class, with her own friends, down the hall, and not within his easy reach. He started to worry about urban legends his preschool buddies were telling him about Kindergarten all summer, like how "they put you in time out for picking your nose." He asked me if his hero, a classmate of my daughter's and the son of a close friend, would be there to protect him from any mean kids. He made me promise to walk him into his class and not "just drop [him] off at the curb" (uh, has he met me?) As I kissed him good night, I could see his mind hard at work, analyzing all he potential outcomes of his first day.

As we walked toward the gate this morning, his hand clutched mine tightly, and he was silent as all the older kids chattered in excitement around him. When his sister ran off to meet up with her 2nd grade friends (one of whom was wearing a really killer pair of boots that I now totally want in my size), he didn't even make his usual attempts to make them include him too. He wasn't going anywhere one minute before he had to.

But then we walked into the classroom and he was transformed. He assumed the Big Kid mantle with aplomb, and squirmed away as we tried to kiss him goodbye. Before we had left the room, he had already been enveloped into the rhythm of the room and the fabric of his new life.

And I was the one with the tears.