The Girl Who Went Back To The Ocean

"Who the heck is this Sir Francis Drake guy anyway?" I asked myself as I twisted and turned in my little Nissan Sentra through the windy roads of Marin County last Sunday afternoon.

Determined to head back to the coast and find the beach I originally set out to find a few weeks ago (see my previous blog: The Girl Who Couldn't Find The Ocean), I drove in a mad frenzy for over an hour and a half on Sir Francis Drake Boulevard in search of my final destination: Drake's Beach.

Okay, so this guy gets his own boulevard, his own hotel, his own cafe, his own bay and his own beach named after him.  Pardon my ignorance, but I didn't pay attention in history class back in the 80's and I have a lot of catching up to do.  All I knew at this point was that Sir Francis' one and only boulevard was taking forever to drive through.

Learning from all the mistakes I made on my last beach trip,  this time I confidently passed through small towns such as Fairfax, Olema and Inverness on my way to the ocean.  But after I passed Inverness and what seemed to be the last signs of civilization, I started to get nervous.

"Just stay on this man's road," I told myself as I continued driving for what felt like miles on end with no ocean in sight.  I could see why I had turned around and headed back to Olema last time.  The road at times, felt like I was not going anywhere with its open fields and cattle crossing signs.  Each time I would turn a corner, feeling optimistic that my destination was just a little further up, I would be greeted with a sign that looked like this:

(I can just hear my mother now- all worried that I drove by myself on this curvy road.  Don't worry mom, there were plenty of people on it and I was not alone.)

After about an hour and 15 minutes, I saw a sign that said "Drakes Beach" going in one direction and "The Lighthouse" going in another.  I made a left towards Drake's Beach, but I filed "The Lighthouse" away in my mind for future reference.

The day started late as I didn't leave Oakland until 1:30pm, (but I figured that was better than 2:45pm, which is how late I left a few weeks ago.) Arrival time (including one potty break in an outhouse behind a restaurant in the sleepy little town of Inverness): 3:15pm.

This was a personal best for me.  I triumphantly parked, gathered my things and got out of my car.  I did it!  I was finally here!  I was at the beach that had alluded me.

Hello! So nice to finally meet you!

But first things first!

Right outside the restrooms, mounted on the walls, was the education I was looking for:

Here's his mug:

Here's another mug:

That's right, Mr. Drake had his own gift shop.  Apparently he was a ship captain back in the 1500's and rumor has it that he landed on our West Coast shores.  But if you Wikepedia him, you will see that he was also slave trader. Hmmm.  Moving on....

Other gift shop findings

Alrighty then...

As I perused the gift shop while getting ready for my beach adventure, (and by adventure, I mean my search for more sea shells), I was given this heads up:

You can't see it, but the last paragraph reads:

"Please leave natural and historic objects on the beach for the next explorer, and help keep the beach clean by removing trash."

So let me get this straight:

By "natural and historic objects", do you mean these things that I collected that day and are sitting in my bathroom now?

Natural and historic objects

Whoopsie.

After ignoring the beachcombing sign, I grabbed a bite to eat at Drake's Beach Cafe, which, ironically, only serves drip coffee.  You see, they're old school, but they did make a mean clam chowder and it makes my mouth water every time I look at this picture:

Drake's Beach: Come for the ocean, stay for the chowder.

As I ate my soup, I started observing the local cafe staff.  I asked them how far their commute was, just to come to work everyday in this little town that had no wi-fi reception.   One young female employee told me that she lived in Novato and it took her about an hour to get to work.  It seemed like such a long drive for a job that probably didn't pay very well, but I suppose she was in it for the perks:

After my meal, I was ready to comb, walk the beach in search of buried treasure, cool sea junk, that I could maybe take home with me.  I stumbled upon the following "natural objects":

And the not so natural.....

  

 Go Giants

I decided to leave most of these objects behind for "the next explorer", and besides, all that jellyfish and seaweed wouldn't have fit inside my bathroom anyway.

I had worked up quite a sweat while walking and rummaging through the sand and decided to sit and take a break and stare at the waves while admiring other beach artists' work:

Scenes from a sand gallery:

 Does that come in a small?

Next thing I knew it was past 6:00pm and I really wanted to get on the road before it got dark.  Thinking I was being responsible, I patted myself on the back as I drove away from Drake's Beach at a reasonable hour, but then I hit a fork in the road:

I decided to make a left and head towards "The Lighthouse", whatever that was.  I mean, had I driven this far already, just to turn around and head back to Oakland?  It was still light out!

Thinking that The Lighthouse was just a few miles up ahead, I dared to dream once again that my destination would just be around the corner, but in a drive that felt like the movie Groundhog Day, I yet again was greeted with this:

Groundhog Day

I almost turned around  to head back to what was familiar, but my stubborness kept me going and in another 15 or so minutes I was rewarded for my patience.

I parked my car around 6:20pm in a small parking lot overlooking the ocean.  It might have seemed late for sight seeing, but other visitors were just pulling up in their cars as well.

Parking was down the hill from the actual lighthouse, so we had to walk up a small private road on the way to the top.  I followed a group of people speaking in a foreign language and stopped to take more pictures.

I can see for miles and miles...

I'm sure the residents don't get cell phone reception up here, but the view is breathtaking

And if you need to make a call....

The Lighthouse also had a gift shop, but it closed at 4:30.  So did the actual Lighhouse itself, and I was banned from walking down the steep set of stairs that led to my second final destination:

Stairway to Heaven

So I had to make do with views from the visitor deck

Aware that I was going to lose light soon as it was getting close to 7pm, I snapped a few more shots and walked back down the road to my car.  As I was leaving, tourists were still walking up the hill.  Don't you just love summer?

In front of the parking lot was one more trail, and had it been earlier in the day, I would have went for it, but now I knew I really really needed to get on the road.  But not before I veered onto one more small dirt path and saw a mama deer and her two babies.  Too bad I didn't take a picture. I must have been in a hurry.

I shook the sand out of my shoes one last time and got into my car.  This time, I was definitely heading home to Oakland and now that I knew the road better, I knew I would be back soon, and hopefully not alone.  And who knows,  perhaps the next time I seek out another obscure beach, I might learn to become and write about: "The Girl Who Found The Ocean with No Problem."

Until then.....

The Girl Who Couldn't Find The Ocean

My friend Nancy who I was cat-sitting for recently, had a decorative starfish lying on her coffee table.

Realizing I had not been to the ocean in months, and also knowing I had a free Sunday coming up, I decided that I would have my next beach day.

I always drive to either San Francisco’s Ocean Beach, or somewhere else South on Hwy 1, but this time I wanted to go to a beach I’d never been to before. I wanted to curl up in a coffee shop and stare at the ocean. Did that mean I would have to go back to the Chit Chat Café in Pacifica? Surely, there must be another beach, I thought.

Rachel, another friend of mine, suggested I head north to the Pt. Reyes area. She marveled about Pt. Reyes Station and the little town of Inverness. I had never been to that area and she told me that the town had bay beaches. Well, I can already see the bay from the freeway where I live and so I asked her how far the ocean beaches were from Pt. Reyes. She didn’t think they were that far, so I made a date for me and Pt. Reyes for that following Sunday, June 26th.

I started to get excited at the thought of collecting seashells on the beach and putting sand in a jar to bring back to my apartment. I officially had summer fever and was ready for my next beach adventure.

But that Sunday came quickly and I just couldn’t get out of the apartment soon enough and next thing I knew I was heading for the coast at 2:50pm. “That’s fine,” I thought, “after all, it is summer and there will be daylight until 8:30,” I assured myself.

Well, Rachel had warned me not rely on my GPS for directions and to have the location mapped out in advance because cell phone reception was spotty in the Pt. Reyes area. I totally remembered this important point. As I was getting on the freeway, that is.

“I’ll just pull over somewhere when I finally get to my desired freeway exit,” I told myself. It shouldn’t be a problem…

I exited on Lucas Valley Road off of hwy 101 and made a left. I drove West on a windy road for about 5 miles before I pulled over into a residential area and got out my trusty smart phone. I found some directions, read them quickly and headed back out. About another five miles later, I came to a fork in the road and made a right. After driving another few miles in that direction with no sight of the ocean anywhere I pulled over again.

I checked my directions and sure enough I discovered that I needed to make a left at that fork so I spun back around.  Another 5 miles or so later I finally arrived in the small town of Olema. It looked promising. “Perhaps I will come back here,” I thought. But I still didn’t see the ocean.

I drove a few more miles, passed the town of Inverness and finally made it to Pt. Reyes. It was a cute town, but I could not smell the ocean air. I pulled over into a Mexican restaurant and asked for the nearest ocean beach.

A man with a heavy accent paused for a minute. He suggested that I back track to the town of Inverness and head that way. I got back in my car and drove back about a half mile and made a right at the sign that read "Inverness". I drove through the town and I saw bay beaches, but again, no ocean. I kept driving thinking I would run into it. When that didn’t happen a few miles later, I spun back around again and headed back to the town of Olema.

I was hungry and entered “The Farmhouse” for a bite to eat and some inspiration. It was getting to be 5pm by now. I talked to one of the waiters about my hunger for food and ocean waves. At this point, he pulled out a map. Duh, why didn’t I think of that?

“Ocean? Well, Drakes Beach is about 45 minutes from here…”

WHAT??

“But Limantour Beach is about 20 minutes..”

He explained to me that there were no “ocean beach towns” because the beaches are protected from pesky developers and that’s why all the towns are inland.

NOW you tell me!

At this point I couldn’t think about driving another 20 minutes, so I sat down, took his map, ate a bowl of clam chowder and physically refueled. Once recharged, I got back on the road and it was now nearly 6pm, but the sun was still out and I was NOT LEAVING until my face saw some waves.

At Limantour Beach there were still a few cars in the parking lot when I finally pulled in at 6:20pm. I grabbed my coat, phone and water bottle and walked the beaten path to my final destination.

I passed people heading back from the beach and as far as I knew I was the only one walking towards the water. I started to feel a little isolated as dramatic dark thoughts passed through my mind…..

“Her car was found in the Limantour Beach parking lot after midnight…”

“She was last spotted in the sleepy little town of Olema around 5:30pm…”

"The only information detectives could find on her were these pictures recovered from her camera phone…."

Okay, so I watch too many crime shows on television.

I finally hit the sand and saw a few beach stragglers still hanging on to the last bit of sunshine. I decided to attempt to look for sea shells, but my findings were a lot less glamorous than what you can buy at say, Pottery Barn.

Pottery Barn Sea Shells:

Actual Random Sea Junk that I found:

Abandoned Sandcastle from those who came to the beach on time:

Look ma, I made a hole!

Those who walked it before me:

When there were was no one left on the beach besides me and a woman with a guide dog, I decided to head back inland before it got dark.  But not before I took a few more shots:

As I got back into my car, I was kicking myself for not getting an earlier start.  This past Fourth of July weekend I played it safe.

Linda Mar Beach in Pacifica

The Girl Who Finally Found The Ocean

Scenes From a U2 Concert... aka "The Girl In The White Hoodie"

“The girl in the white hoodie has your cell phone!” Jamie proclaimed while pointing at a female standing a few yards ahead of us as we were being herded like cattle on the connector bridge from the Oakland Coliseum back to the BART station.

The U2 “360” tour had just let out and like a pack of sardines concert goers converged together on the trek back to the train station in hopes of getting a seat before the clock struck midnight so we wouldn’t be stranded like a bunch of pumpkins hitching a ride back home. BART signs had been posted everywhere threatening that they closed at 12am. It was now 12:02am, we were all stuck together on a bridge in a human traffic jam, and I had lost my cell phone.

How could I have let this happen? How did I let my baby Droid X smart phone, who I had just recently named, “Rosita”, all dressed in her jelly pink protector, fall into the hands of the perfect stranger wearing a white hoodie? And now I could finally see Rosita within my reach, but I couldn’t get to her.

However, it was becoming the perfect ending to a rather serendipitous evening…

On June 7, 2011 and Jamie and I arrived at the Coliseum around 5:45pm. I had texted others I knew were going to be there as well, like my friend Christine who was coming from Fremont and my semi-long distance boo, Doug, who had come up from San Jose and had showed up to the venue ticketless, with his friend, Sam, in hopes of scoring some good same-day-of show-ticket-karma from the scalpers. Everybody and their grandma were apparently going to this show, but most of them had general admission tickets while Jamie and I had assigned seating that we had bought two years ago. Would we be able to at least meet up with our friends before they claimed their spot out on the floor so they could stand for five hours while waiting for U2 to come on?

Jamie and I were not that committed to standing that long for a rock concert, so we decided to check out our seats first in section 207, row 5, seats 1 and 2.

It was a slightly disheartening experience.

The 60+ female usher nodded to us that we were in the right section as Jamie and I took our seats. We looked down at the stage. It was so far away and the night was so young. What were we going to do? I hadn’t sat this far back at a concert in years, but I was older now and didn’t know if I had the same mad skillz as I did back in the day to try and sweet talk a security guard into letting us get onto the floor.

As I attempted to muster up a plan B for the night, thinking maybe we could get some cheap GA tickets, Jamie and I left our seats and started walking around the common area where the food and drink were. I decided to scope out the place. Then my cell phone rang.

It was Doug. He was outside the venue still and now the GA seats were sold out and scalpers were selling them for $75. He and his friend were not going to about to spend that much money, so plan B was out. My heart sank. Would they be able to get into the show at all or would they be left outside, denied, and head back to the south bay?

Then Jamie and I bumped into Christine, Bennett, Kim and Larry. I wanted to monopolize their time for as long as possible while sipping a Dr. Pepper with them, before they had to dig their heels in and commit to their spot on the lower level, where all the cool people hung out.

Cool People

They finally took off and Jamie and I put our drinks down by our seats. “Well, at least we have a reserved spot and can come and go as we please,” we thought, trying to console ourselves that we were still sitting soooo far back. “We can go to the bathroom whenever we want, we can get food whenever we want..” yeah yeah yeah.

Then Doug called me again. He and Sam got in, but with tickets for seats in a different section. At least he wasn’t on the floor and maybe, just maybe, we could all sneak into each other’s sections and sit together? Maybe? I mean, what’s a 60 year old usher gonna do to us anyway?

The first band came on (I have no idea who they were), and Jamie and I took our seats. Our section was pretty empty so I started to get my hopes up that as the night went on, they wouldn’t get filled. I borrowed Jamie’s binoculars and could see Doug and Sam in another section to our right. So, close, but so far away. I was sad.

Jamie and I decided to take pictures of ourselves and our friendly usher volunteered to take photos of us. We were becoming chummy. Maybe our seats weren’t so bad after all.

The opening band finished and I had texted Doug and suggested that we meet at the one Irish Pub in the food and drink area. I thought it was a lot closer to our seats than it actually was. When I ran into him on the way to the pub he told me he was heading to the field. I was confused. I thought we were meeting at the pub? Maybe he was just going to try and bully his way to the floor? “I’m following you!” I declared. “No,” he corrected me, “the name of the pub is “The Field.”

Oh.

The line at “The Field” was almost out the door just to get a beer and I started to think this was a bad idea. I just wanted hang out, even if it was for just a few minutes before being separated again. His friend Sam made friends with complete strangers in line almost immediately and started taking pictures of everyone.

The line in the pub was so long that Lenny Kravitz hit the stage and we were still in line. A few songs later, we finally got our drinks and went back to our seats. Separated, once again.

Our seating area started filling up and I started to get nervous. I had hoped there would be some spare seats left, the usher would turn a blind eye and Doug and Sam would be able to sneak into our section. But the people just kept coming and filling in the seats. Nooooo…

Lenny Kravitz ended and I texted Doug again. He didn’t seem to be responding so Jamie and I got up and headed over to his section. We made our way in and no usher seemed to stop us.

For 30 bucks Doug and Sam had gotten “obstructed view” seats that were behind the stage, but clearly closer to it than we were. I started to wonder if we should be trying to sit in their section. After flagging Doug and Sam down, Doug came over as Sam was engrossed in another conversation with a perfect stranger. Doug decided to see where Jamie and I were sitting.

We escorted him back to our seats hoping to just smile at the same usher lady, but instead she looked at Jamie and said, “tickets please”.

Jamie handed her the ticket and the usher discovered, “You ladies have been sitting in the wrong section.” She pointed at our real seats and they were these two seats, the only two seats that had not been filled, in the next section over.

Noooooo…

We looked at our old original seats where we had left our drinks. They still had two extra seats to their left not taken. Perfect for Doug and Sam. But U2 had not come on yet. Would the real owners of section 206, row 5, seats 1-4 show up at the last minute and kick us out if we all decided to sit there?

We decided to take our chances.

Worried that the usher would recognize Jamie and tell her to go back to her correct seat, she put on her coat, raised her collar and put on my sunglasses.

U2 started and the three of us started watching the show. So far, so good. Every time a couple of people would look at their tickets as they headed up our aisle I would get nervous, but they always walked past us. Eventually Doug grabbed Sam and brought him over to the one last unfilled seat in our section and we watched the rest of the show in those seats. I was happy. But as the evening almost ended, I was already on to our next task.

The ride home.

BART had threatened concert goers that the station closed at midnight, yet, there was Bono, still going strong at 11:30, and the crowd, thinking the same thing I was, slowly started to disperse.

The battery on my baby Droid X was now down to 15% as I was checking the last trains scheduled to the BART station. There was one at 12:25am. If we leave now, we could make it.

Which is what everyone else must have been thinking.

As the final chords of the last song played, all four of us started heading back to the train station when all of a sudden, we were now part of a human traffic jam as all of our bodies were smashed together and we could only walk as fast as the person in front of us. Uh oh.

The minutes started to tick away but I was still optimistic that we would make our train. Then I felt around my pocket in my coat for my cell phone. It wasn’t there.

“That’s weird,” I thought. “I was always put my phone in my pocket.” So I started rummaging around in my purse for it as I was being pushed forward in the crowd some more.

It wasn’t in my purse either.

“I can’t find my phone!” I declared.

“It’s probably just in your purse,” Jamie assured me, but no, it wasn’t. My purse was not that big.

“Do you want me to call you?” Doug asked.

“Yes!”

Doug’s phone was on low battery too, but he had enough juice in it to squeeze out a few more calls. He called and I knew my phone was on vibrate but I didn’t buzz anywhere. And then a female voice picked up.

“Where are you?” Doug asked the woman on the other line. He looked behind us in the sea of people and started walking away from the train station. He seemed to have made a connection with the person who had my phone. In the meantime, I had to make sure I got on the train.

“I’ll get my phone from him later,” I decided and kept pushing forward with Jamie.

About 7 minutes later Doug came back and realized, “I think she’s in front of us!”

We looked ahead, and sure enough, was a girl in a white hoodie sweatshirt holding Rosita, my girl phone.

It was so weird to see a stranger holding my phone. We started yelling at her.

“GIRL IN THE WHITE HOODIE! TURN AROUND!”

As Doug attempted to push forward to get to her, he leaned on the wrong person as an irate woman turned around and started cussing at him. Mob mentality, adrenaline running high, lady calm down, I just want my cell phone.

I caught up to the white hoodie girl as she gave me my baby back. “Where was she?” I asked.

“On the ground.” She told me.

The girl in the white hoodie’s name was Sara and she was slightly inebriated, but very friendly and wanted to do the right thing so much that she started calling people on my "recent calls" list to find out whose phone it was.

“I called your hip hop teacher!” she told me, “I talked to Tati!”

I hugged her twice. Of all people, she called Tati, and I knew Tati would be understanding.

With my baby droid back in my clutches, we all hustled to the BART station and got there at 12:29am, 4 minutes past the time they listed that the last train would run. But they were liars and another train pulled up immediately, Doug and I said our goodbyes and Jamie and I hopped on it right away. As the train pulled away, I got a email from Tati on my phone.

“T- Your phone has been found. Her name is Sara and she lives in San Francisco. Her number is…..”

I smiled. I got to watch U2, I got to sit with Doug during the show in the only unclaimed seats in that section and I lost, but found, my smart phone…all within a few hours.

Life was good.

I once was lost but now I’m found

The next day we found out on the news that the traffic on the freeway to the show was so bad that people were stuck in their cars for over 5 hours and some never made it there.

I’m thinking that’s what those four seats in section 206 were from.

:)

We're From Martinez

“We’re from Martinez, couldn’t be prouder, if you can’t hear us, we’ll yell a little louder!”


For 7 consecutive years of my life from ages 10 to 17 years old, I marched down Main Street in Martinez, CA, yelling this chant in my cheerleading uniform during our annual homecoming parade.

Trying to explain this cultural phenomenon to people who are not from a small town can be hard to do.

Trying to explain to them that “the same girls I was in first grade Blue Birds with, are the same girls I was a cheerleader with in junior and high school, and was bridesmaids with in my twenties,” can leave them scratching their heads.

What can I say? Small town roots run deep, so when I found out about Krista Stedman’s death last week, (cheerleader, class of 1986) , I was in shock. And then the tears came.

I was a little surprised that I cried because Krista and I weren’t that close, she was two years ahead of me. It must be those all those darn small town roots that are so deeply grafted in my inner being, that no matter how far I run away from them, come bubbling up to the surface. Just like when I hear a John “Cougar” Mellencamp song on the radio or watch an episode of the television show, "Friday Night Lights". (You MTZ people know what I am talking about.)

Educated in a small town
Taught to fear Jesus in a small town
Used to daydream in that small town
Another born romantic that's me - John Mellencamp

It seems like when one of us dies, we all feel it.

I don’t live in Martinez now, I live in Oakland, and when people ask me where I am from, I cannot tell a lie. It is very important to me that I am not a poser. “I was born in Oakland, lived in Alameda until I was five years old, but I grew up in Martinez.”

After that response, they usually ask, “where’s Martinez?”

Where we grow up shapes who we are for the rest of our lives, for better or worse. It shapes our perspective and how we see the world. Once in a while, I would read about the occasional celebrity or musician who lied about his upbringing because he was embarrassed of his roots. Perhaps they wanted a more exciting story about their lives, but nothing is more interesting and exciting than the truth. Everyone has a story to tell and as a writer, I passionately feel that no one person’s true story is boring.

I pulled out my high school yearbook from my sophomore year and stared at the photo of Krista in the "homecoming court" page. You know you are from a small town when your high school yearbooks are within reach and not in a box somewhere. (Seriously people, I can pack away other memories, but yet all four yearbooks were on my bookshelf and easily accessible?) Apparently, the saying is true. You can take the girl out of the small town, but you can’t take the small town out of the girl. Think the Movie: Sweet Home Alabama.

Well I was born in a small town
And I can breathe in a small town
Gonna die in this small town
And that's prob'ly where they'll bury me

Krista, I can’t believe that you are gone, you were taken way too early from us. May you rest in peace.

Krista Stedman
1968-2011

High School

Pop Warner- I totally remember these uniforms!

What's Your Favorite Scary Movie?

I had the pleasure of seeing the movie Scream 4 this past weekend.

I jumped in my seat when I should have jumped. I closed my eyes during the gory parts, and I laughed at all the jokes.

Yes, that's right. I laughed.

How could I laugh during a scary movie you might ask?

Growing up in a house where my parents laughed at the ridiculousness of scary movies, I was prepped for my cynical side to this genre. I also remember being young and watching a television show where the host was reviewing a scary movie and stated bluntly, "and we all know that the blood is really just corn syrup and red dye."

I know this first hand. You see the reason I laughed during Scream 4, was that I had the pleasure of being a stand-in for Neve Campbell in the first Scream that filmed in Santa Rosa, California in 1996.

The set wreaked of "corn syrup and red dye". Actually, I take that back, it wreaked of Baby Wipes, because that seemed to be the only thing strong enough to clean up the fake blood.

I remember Scream vividly because it was the first movie I ever worked on from beginning to end and I was a young and impressionable 25 year old. I have worked on many movies since then, but they are a blur. Apparently you never forget your first time.

I remember reading the script to Scream and thinking, "Wait, is this supposed to be scary? Because it's funny."

I remember the first time I saw the "Father Death" ghost mask. I laughed and said, "that's not going to scare anyone."

I remember reading the magazine The Hollywood Reporter on the set, when it used to list movies that were in production and pre-production (this was before internet and IMDB.com). Scream was categorized as "Comedy/Horror".

Comedy/Horror?

I loved Scream 4 because it stayed true to the original. I don't remember Scream 2 or 3 that well, but 4 brings us back to the original town of Woodsboro, (this time Woodsboro was filmed in Michigan and not Santa Rosa), where it all took place.

With an ending so clever, it left me having a "Sixth Sense" experience. I have to see this movie again.

Ironically, Scream 4 opened on April 15, 2011, exactly 15 years to the day from the first day of filming of the original Scream- (principal photography began 4/15/1996).

Scream 4 isn't just scary, it's smart, especially if you have been following the Scream trilogy all along.

I know this genre is not for everyone. But for those of you that dig it, I ask you....

What's your favorite scary movie?

Morning People, Part Two

I woke up early last Friday morning at 3:30am to the sound of laughter coming from the girl (and her guest) staying in the apartment below me. We’ll call my downstairs neighbor - Sasha.

Did Sasha have a late night? Did she just get in? Does she realize it’s 3:30am and the walls of our building are thin?

Thinking she had partied late, (as that being the only reasonable explanation that this night owl can think of for that type of ruckus at this hour), I started to drift back to sleep. Only to be awoken again by the sound of a car pulling up and her apartment front door slamming shut.

I peaked outside my front window and saw a van filled with people with backpacks getting out of the car and loading up Sasha’s luggage. Oh my God, it’s a group of morning people. They are getting a head start on the weekend and by the looks of those backpacks, they must be planning on doing something outdoorsy. About this time now it was 4am. 4am.

Dear girl living below me,

Could we be any more different?


Now you may be thinking, “Come on Theresa, get a grip. Don’t you remember what it was like to get up early for a ski trip or a weekend getaway? How fun it was to get up early because we were excited to start our latest adventure?”

No I do not.

You see, no matter what the adventure is, when I get up that early, well, my whole day is ruined. You know that cardinal rule, “never wake up a sleeping baby?” You know what happens when you wake up a sleeping baby, right?




I’m the kind of girl that watches sunsets, not sunrises. If I am going to get up early for anything other than attending to, say, a newborn, well, I just don’t know if it’s worth it. If I am going to be sleep-deprived, it will only be because I am giving and nurturing the gift of life.

But as long as I am single, childless, and selfish….

Now if you are reading this blog at 3:30 in the morning, you either A) just got in from your local bar night or B) you are getting up with the roosters to excitedly start your new day, or C) you have no choice because you are taking care of a crying and screaming baby.

If you are B) you are a FREAK SHOW. I mean that in the most lovingly way possible.

My older sister, Lynn, is B), a freak show.

Growing up, sharing a bedroom, I would wake up to the sound of her blow dryer as she got ready for junior high. Pretty soon the humming of the dryer would lull me back into a deep sleep. I wouldn’t get up and get ready for school until the last possible minute which explains why I didn’t look so pretty in the morning.

But not Lynn. She still, to this day, not only gets up to be at work at 5:00am, she still styles her hair at that ungodly hour.

When we took a trip to Vegas once, that’s right, Vegas- the city that doesn’t do mornings, and a place where I could exist and roam freely in my natural habitat, Lynn still got up early. She took a shower, blew dry her hair and was ready to go while I laid in bed sleeping. Once she noticed I moved a little in my bed (this means we are secretly up- Donahoe girls don’t move in our sleep unless we are awake) – she kicked me.

“It’s 9am!!” she announced.

“IT’S VEGAS!” I told her.

Why couldn’t she just go down to the hotel’s coffee shop, grab a muffin and read the newspaper until her vampirish sibling woke up from her slumber?

And finally, last, but not least, the grandmother of all morning people in my life is…..

My mother.

My up-early-in-the-am-turn-on-the-heater-start-grinding-the-coffee-beans-so-she-can-get-her-alone-time-in mother.

If my sister and I didn’t get up on our own in the morning, my mother would tap her fingernails on our door and exclaim: “open up your peepers!”

After she has her first cup of coffee, she is ready to chat and it’s only 7am. She says after having four children, she can’t sleep in.

To all you non-sleeper-inners, I say get over it. I say when you wake up automatically at 6am, just lay there in bed until the moment passes. Then lay there some more. You don’t “have to” get up and start doing stuff. Who made up those rules?

Just relaaaax….you are getting verrrry sleeeeeepy….

Pretty soon you will be fast asleep again. Trust me it works.

And if it doesn’t.

You’re a freak show.

But I hope we can still be friends.

AND speaking of FRIENDS…

In this scene, Rachel is not a morning person either. Enjoy.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L6IE8EpfnwU&feature=related

It’s such a funny scene, it has its own Facebook Fan Page:

https://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=222519478237&v=wall&viewas=0#!/group.php?gid=222519478237&v=wall