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I’ve Arrived in NYC

I got into NYC around 8 p.m. last night.

I woke up at 4 a.m. yesterday morning to begin the travel process.

I'm tired.

I had a layover in Dallas where I heard a lot of cool Texas accents and saw people in cowboy boots and cowboy hats.  I don't see a lot of that in The OC.

I love New York City.  I haven't been here in four years and there's no other place in the world like it.  It's hot, humid, dirty, bustling and vibrant.

The process of getting here was long, but also painful.  I had one large (!) bag on rollers which I checked.  I put some camera gear and my laptop in a backpack to carry on, thinking it would be easier on my arm than trying to carry a tote.  The backpack was very heavy because I have a big ass camera plus my laptop was in there. 

Well, the thing about backpacks is they pull BACK on your shoulders.  Pulling BACK on my bum shoulder HURTS.

A.lot.

Some very nice men helped me get the backpack in and out of the carry-on bins, but I still had to walk around 3 airports with it.

My pain was through the roof by the time I arrived.

The good news?

I saw Dr. Painless the day before I left to come to NYC.  He gave me some pain patches that go directly on my arm/shoulder and work for twelve hours.

They're like a miracle drug … instant relief!

Where have they been the last four years?

I'm so thankful Dr. Painless is in my life.  Honestly, I don't know how I'd be able to handle this trip without his help.

Here's the view from the window in my hotel room:

Nyc 

I'll have more for you soon, but I have to warn you the Internet at the hotel is painfully slow.  (Probably because there are nearly 2,500 Internet writers here creating an unbelievable demand for it!) 

If you don't see a post up for awhile you'll know I've given up in frustration!

© Twenty Four At Heart

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The Booty Mom

I'm making the long trek (!!) from Orange County to New York City today for the BlogHer conference.  I will be trying to get few posts up while I'm gone, but they may be appearing on a less regular schedule.  It will be very chaotic and busy (and fun) in NYC.  

Today, I am thrilled to provide you with a guest post by Shawn Burns – better known as Backpacking Dad.  Shawn isn't going to BlogHer this year, but he attended last year in Chicago.

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Ok, so that's not a very flattering photo of either of us, but ladies – Shawn is just plain hot.  And more importantly, he's a Nice Guy in real life.  How often does that combination happen?  Shawn has a beautiful wife and two adorable kids.

(How much do ya want to bet he's blushing now and regretting he ever offerred to guest post?)

I hope you'll give Shawn a very, warm welcome!

Thank you, so much, Shawn for offerring to fill in for me today!  

The Booty Mom

My son is in daycare three days each week. His daycare is a parent co-op, which means that every Friday I spend two hours at the end of the day chasing babies around and cleaning up the kitchen and disinfecting the toys. The parents are very involved in the daycare, serving on the board and in various positions for the center, like newsletter writer, classroom organizer, laundry service, or furniture-putter-together-of. On one particular Friday my son's class held a pot luck dinner for the families to celebrate a new group of babies and the "graduation" of older kids to different classrooms. I was still engaged in my co-oping duties when the other parents started to arrive with their dishes of food. I don't recall who arrived first because there's only one encounter that I remember at all: The Booty Mom.

She, well, uh…she invited me to check out her ass and I obliged and now I don't know what I'm supposed to do with the information I have about what her booty looks like. I mean, it was nice, I suppose. I don't know. I don't make a habit of looking at women's asses. I don't. I know, I know, every guy is always looking at posterior perfections, but I just don't. I keep my eyes where they ought to be. Usually. Unless I'm clearly invited to look, and then, come on, who DOESN'T look if that's the case? So what am I supposed to do? Forget I've looked at her ass?

How did this all happen? I know you're curious. Lurid hijinks at the daycare potluck don't come along every day. Well, not at my co-op. Maybe yours is different. Maybe yours is awesome.

So, there I was, minding my own business in the kitchen, when she came in, loaded down with trays. She was bringing food in from the curb while also wrangling one of her kids, and she was doing well. "So, ready for the potluck?" I asked her, giving her dishes a once over much more cursory than the one I would later give her, uh, dish.

"Yeah, this is crazy," she replied. "I can't believe how much food there is to bring in."

"It's a lot alright," I offered.

"It's especially hard," she began, turning away to make another run out the door, "when you're all bootied up." And with that she looked at me over her shoulder, then directed her gaze down her back while she flexed her foot up, raising her rear a little as she glanced toward it.

I was completely stunned. This really came out of the blue. We had had some chit chat conversations here and there about the kids and how they were doing and we couldn't believe they were going to be leaving the nice, sanitized, germ-free baby room and heading out to the toddler germ-zone any day now. But there was never even a hint that she would flirt like that. I was really thrown off-balance for a moment. And of course, I looked.

Who wouldn't look?

It's like being told to not think of a pink elephant. Go ahead. Don't think of pink elephants. Don't think of pink elephants showing you their asses.

It was only after a beat and a half of reflection that I realized I had gone to a place I shouldn't have. Because while I thought she flexing her foot to pop her ass out a bit, she was really just showing off her booty.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

As in "footwear".


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Because it's a classroom full of infants we all have to don little shoe covers when we come in. But we can't wear them out on the sidewalk and then walk on the carpet again. And we certainly can't wear them out to the curb to pick up food, so Booty Mom had to bring food to the door, put it down, then slip her booties on then come into the kitchen, put the food down, then go out the door, take the booties off and run out to the curb and do it all again. She was not, as I suspected, flashing her cheeks at me.

Ah.

Well. Free ass look, then, I suppose. Score. 

DSC06097
© Twenty Four At Heart 

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Getting Ready

I can't even fake it – I'm busy, busy, busy getting my act together to go out of town.  

I ended up caving in and using the BlogHer conference as an excuse to shop just like a zillion other women do every year.  I wasn't planning to, but I've lost some weight over the last few months and as I pulled stuff out of my closet, nothing fit.

I picked up some skinny jeans (even though I'm NOT skinny), a few cute tops, a pair of flats, and a few much needed dresses for all the parties and events I'll be going to.

I haven't even departed for the conference yet, and this year is already a much different experience than last year.  The PR/marketing folks are out in droves with all sorts of invitations and offers.  It's flattering and overwhelming at the same time.

Ming Wang was even kind enough to gift me with an outfit for BlogHer.  I haven't had a chance to take a photo in it yet, but here's a pic with their model wearing MY outfit.

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They were kind enough to send me both the jacket and pants.  I will be supplying my own top – and I have yet to pick which one I'll wear.

I guess I'll have to pick a color that will look good with my purple hair.

Any suggestions?

© Twenty Four At Heart

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Purple, Purple, And More … Purple!

I hope everyone had a nice weekend.

I spent the last couple days taking care of a very sick kid.  Apparently there's some type of summer stomach flu going around.  I thought we were going to end up in the ER at one point, but he's doing much better now.  Poor kid – it was a tough few days.  He was really, really, sick.  Please keep your fingers crossed I don't catch it this week as I get ready for, and depart to, New York.

The BlogHer conference is a Big Deal in the Internet world.  A lot of women dress to impress.  They're attending the conference looking for the biggest and best opportunities they can find.

Don't get me wrong, I like opportunities too.  The car accident just changed my perspective a lot.  Life is short and can change on a dime.  I'm at a place in my life where it's also about having fun and, most importantly, being myself.

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With 2,400+ people hanging out together, I figured purple streaks in my hair would help me stand out in the crowd.   Last year I put in pink/fuschia streaks, but this year I'm feeling purple.

What do you think?

PH2 

The purple will wash out in a few weeks and then I'll return to my normal blonde locks.

I have to say, I don't think there are any other women with purple hair around here.  It isn't a popular look in the Money Town area.  Most of the women where I live look a lot like The Real Housewives of Orange County.  Oh wait, they ARE The Real Housewives of Orange County.  How could I forget?

Is it any wonder I don't fit in?

On Sunday I ran a few errands and then stopped into a Money Town salon to get a pedicure.  (The talons growing out of my feet were getting a little dangerous, and besides, I HAD to get purple toenail polish to match my purple hair, right?)

In any case, my purple hair caused quite a stir everywhere I went.

The thing about having purple hair, is – I keep forgetting I have it.

People stare at me and I think, "What are they staring at me for?"

Later, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a window and think, "Ohhhh, THAT!"

It's become an interesting study in human nature.  Some people stare, some comment, some send me scornful looks.

Sheesh!

Hey you, Money Towners ….

Have a sense of humor!  

Lighten up!

Laugh!

Life is short … why not have some fun?!

© Twenty Four At Heart

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Birds of a Feather

A lot of the piers at our beaches have drinking fountains on them.

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If fishing is allowed, they also have sinks and faucets for the fishermen/women to clean their fish. 

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Believe it or not, I've seen people drink from the fish-cleaning faucets oftentimes too.

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Personally, I think I'll continue to take my Sigg bottle with me for drinking my margaritas vodka water at the beach.

© Twenty Four At Heart

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The Insecure Woman’s Guide to BlogHer

**  To my non-blogger readers, todays "regular" post is right below this one.  Scroll down and enjoy!  **

So you've decided to attend the BlogHer10 Conference in NYC.

Congratulations!

Going to a conference with 2,400+ other women/people can cause insecurities in anyone, but especially for us writer/blogger types.  (We do like to hide behind our laptops, don't we?)

I thought I'd provide you with some helpful tips to assist you in overcoming your insecurity.

What the Insecure Woman Does in Preparation For BlogHer10: 

•  Go on a crash diet – immediately!

•  Become a Shred-Head or commit to some other exercise plan to lift your ass ASAP.

•  Get botox and/or fillers or whatever you have to do to look better.

•  Buy new clothes, nothing in your closet is remotely adequate.

•  Buy new jewelry, nothing you have sparkles quite enough.  Sparkles are a must!

•  Feel bad about the parties and brand events you haven't been invited to, it's probably because no one likes you.

•  Get a fake tan so your legs look good better in a dress.  (Turn orange like everyone else, you will be in room after room filled with many other orange women!)

•  Whiten your teeth until they nearly fall out.

•  Get a pedicure.

•  Get a manicure.

•  It is definitely time for some new makeup and perfume.

•  Change your mind about the nail polish color you picked and re-polish your nails again.

•  Fill your prescription for Xanax, Zoloft, and/or any other mind altering drugs you can get your hands on.

•  Buy a couple push-up, cleavage enhancing, bras.

•  Start packing days ahead of time and bring more clothes than you can possibly wear "just in case."

•  Pack a flask.

•  Wax your vagina.  (Just ask Avitable!)

•  Buy a net-book because your laptop isn't good enough.

•  Buy a camera so people think you know how to take great photos.

•  It is all about what people think of you, isn't it?

•  Buy Spanx at least one size smaller than you should with the hope it will shrink you down to the size you dream of.

•  Plan what sessions you'll attend, then change your mind at least twenty times before you even arrive at the conference.

•  RSVP to every party you can, even though you can't possibly attend all of them, in an attempt to be "seen" in the company of Very Important Bloggers.

•  Bring a separate suitcase just for your shoes.

•  Tweet repeatedly about everything you think makes you look like a Very Important Blogger yourself.  (This just might make other people admire you more and mask your insecurity.)

What Everyone Should do at BlogHer10: 

•  Be flexible.  No matter how organized you are, or how well you plan, things happen and plans need to be changed.

•  Take lots of showers – NYC is hot and humid!

•  Keep a schedule that works best for YOU.  You have a lot of options. 

•  Pace yourself.  You don't have to go to every.single.thing.

•  Force yourself to step out beyond your comfort zone.  You won't regret it.

•  Get some sleep.  If you run yourself into the ground during the first 24 hours, you won't be able to get the most out of the entire experience.

What NOT to do at BlogHer10:

•  Do not sit down at a table of bloggers and confide to them about that ONE blogger you think is a bitch.  They, most likely, consider her a friend and will immediately tell her what you said.  You will only make yourself look bad.  

•  Do not act like you're still in high school.  You're an adult now.  If you want to be treated with respect, act like one.

•  Do not assume everything is all about you, because guess what?  It's not.  Be flexible, make do with whatever is happening around you at the time, and you will be on your way to a much more enjoyable experience.

•  Do not let yourself get sucked into drama of any kind.  Just say no!

•  Do not kid yourself into believing this conference will make your blog world famous in a weekend.  Instead, take from it what you want/find helpful and most importantly, have fun.

•  I realize you're insecure (that's why I'm writing this post for you), but you must suck it up and actually leave your hotel room if you want to interact with other bloggers.  Interacting with other bloggers is actually quite fun.  Most of us are very nice people, but just like any huge group of people – not everyone in it will be a perfect friend-fit for you.

•  Do not push, shove, run, or act like a greedy whore in your attempt to snag-the-swag at events.

•  Do not convince yourself the goal of BlogHer is to rub elbows with Very Important Bloggers in hope their fame rubs off on you.  

Networking and talent are two separate entities.  

•  Do not bitch/whine/complain because, honestly, no one wants to hear it.  An incredible amount of work and effort goes into a conference like BlogHer.  If everything isn't 100% to your liking, keep it to yourself.  If you want to see changes, volunteer to help next year so you have more input.

© Twenty Four At Heart

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Call Me Miss Glamour

In a futile attempt to keep my blonde hair from turning pure white in the summer I wear it on top of my head when I swim.  I don't even attempt to make it look nice; I just throw it into a ponytail holder.  I know it looks ridiculous.  (In case I don't know, my kids remind me of that very fact every time they see me like this.)

Hair

The sun and the salt water from our pool (and the ocean), are really tough on my hair so I try to keep it out of the water as much as possible.  Don't worry, when I'm not actually in the pool, I don't walk around like this … I promise.

OK, I know you want to go back to admiring my beautiful hair style now ….

Wait ….

Did I just publish a photo of myself in a bathing suit?

© Twenty Four At Heart

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Four Years

Tomorrow is the four year anniversary of my car accident.

Four years.

Oh, how life has changed.

It has become a tradition for me to write an anniversary post each year.  It's a time when I think back and reflect on where I am and where I've been.

One event should not define a person's life.

Nevertheless, my life will always be divided into before and after the car accident.

Four years ago, a man ran a stop sign, t-boned my car on the driver's side, and sent my life reeling.  I was a busy mom of three, but suddenly life stopped.  Time was frozen in a tangled mess of crumpled metal, blown-out tires, and skid marks on the street.

Initially, I thought I'd be fine after a few months time.

Now, I'm so grateful I didn't know then what I know now.  I don't think I would have been able to handle it if someone had told me what was yet to come.

There are no words to describe the first three years.

No words can describe that time period in my life, but the depths of hell comes close.

Pain is a word that doesn't begin to describe the breathtaking, teeth clenching, agony I experienced.

Among other things, I lost most of the use of my right arm.  I would guess that I have about 20 – 25% use of my arm now.  I'm right handed.  Try tying your dominant arm to your side for 24 hours to get a feel for what type of life adjustment I went through.

The loss of function was, and continues to be, difficult.  The fact the pain has never let up since the accident, however, has proven to be the biggest challenge.

I went through six surgeries in the first three years.  The surgeries were an attempt to make my arm work as well as possible, and to decrease my pain to a more manageable level.

So where am I now?

Well, I have improved, somewhat, over where I was a year ago on the three year anniversary of the accident.  The improvements at this point are excruciatingly slow and gradual.  Often, I feel like I'm making no improvements at all.  (That's one of the reasons it's a beneficial process for me to sit down and reflect on where I was a full year ago.  It makes me realize the progress I've made over the long term.)  

I met one of my readers for the first time recently.  She commented, "You look so normal.  I expected your arm to look … I don't know, different."

She's right.  

If you met me on the street, you probably wouldn't know anything is wrong with me.  Let that be a reminder to all of us, we really don't know what anyone else is dealing with in their life, do we?  We don't know if they're walking around with a "hidden" disability, or in breathtaking pain.  We don't know about anyone else's challenges or victories.  An orthopedic doctor or a physical therapist would probably instantly pick up on signs something is amiss with me, but the average person on the street would not.  

My right hand works fine.  I can type with a laptop on my lap, but I can't lift my arm to type at a desk.  I can open doors with my left arm, but not my right.  I've learned to apply mascara and blow dry my hair using my left arm.  I drive left handed, and I use my left arm for steering grocery carts, although my right arm rests on the handle for balance.  

I've also become very adept at masking my disability when I'm out in public.  

I can't, however, carry anything with my right hand or arm.  I can't hold a purse on my right shoulder.  I can't lift my arm or reach with it.  I notice the little things the most – the inability to put dishes on a shelf or to reach for a coffee cup.  The daily things most people take for granted are often the most frustrating for me.

I love to swim (which I do daily, with a modified breast stroke).  When I'm in the water I feel normal.  The water lifts my arm for me, something I can't do on my own.  Water gives me freedom; water makes me feel whole.  Swimming has become my sanity.  It doesn't hurt much when I swim.  The pain is manageable.  A few hours after I swim, however, the pain arrives with an astonishing and predictable force.

The benefits of swimming are worth the hurt it causes.

Moving my arm, moving my shoulder, is critical.   If I don't force movement I will get worse.  I've been worse, much worse, and I don't want to go back to that place ever again.  

The fact that movement hurts me isn't as significant as the need for movement is.  

And so . . . in spite of the pain, I continue to swim.

In the last year, the most painful event was not physical, but emotional.  The loss of one of my best friends was unexpected and hurt me deeply.  This particular friend was a huge source of emotional support through the worst of the worst, and I'm not over the loss of his friendship.  I don't think I ever will be.  Losing someone you think will be your friend for life is never easy, but - it is what it is.  

I've been through enough at this point, to know there are some things in life I can't change and this, sadly, is one of them.

On the flip side, my biggest victory since the accident also occurred this year with my return to photography.  For over three years, I was forced to set aside my favorite hobby due to my inability to hold a camera.  Last fall, I decided I would take back this part of my life, regardless of how difficult the challenge might be.

It has been very, very, difficult but I feel I've accomplished something which once seemed utterly impossible.

I won't lie, every time I take even a few photos, my pain level sky rockets.  I hold the weight of the camera with my left arm and use my right arm just for balance and to click the shutter … and yet – the pain is breathtaking.  Nothing hurts as intensely as the pain of taking just a small number of photos.  When I indulge my love of photography even for a few minutes, I know I will need pain meds for days afterward as a result.

Yet, being able to return to photography is an enormous, spirit-lifting, victory.  Photography feeds my soul in a way nothing else does.  Photography is a creative outlet I crave and need.  I've fought long and hard to get this part of my life back, even in a limited way, and I have no intention of giving it up.

Pain be damned!

The fact so many of you have chosen to purchase my photos sends me over the moon with happiness.  There are no words to describe how much it has meant to me to know my photography is bringing joy into other people's lives.

So what does my future look like?

I've given up on physical therapy.  

It's so difficult to even write those words … given up.

After three and a half years of living at the physical therapist's office, I'm done.  

I think physical therapy is something most doctors would say I need for the remainder of my life.  Be that as it may, something died inside me amidst the rubble of my lost friendship.  I can't bring myself to go back to physical therapy.  I don't know if I'll ever be ready to go back but I know, right now, I'm not.  I just don't have it in me to fight that fight again … not right now.

Instead, once a month I spend an hour with a masseuse.  I have him/her work on the parts of my body which no longer function properly.  I don't know if it helps.  It's supposed to increase circulation to the damaged parts of my body.  It's su
pposed to stimulate healing in the areas which have been injured.  I do know, after having even the most gentle of massages, I end up in mind-numbing pain for days.

I've discontinued visits to my orthopedic surgeon.  I refuse to undergo any additional surgeries, so there seems to be no point in returning.  (Although, I am SO grateful for how much he helped me.)  Instead, I'm now under the care of an excellent pain management specialist.  

When a person "graduates" to a pain management specialist, it's often because they will be living with chronic pain for life.  Logically, I know this is where I'm at now, but emotionally I still refuse to accept it.  To be honest, I don't know if "pain management" is really going to help.  The first few attempts to decrease my pain to more manageable levels have not been successful.  I'm not giving up (yet), but I'm starting to wonder if my current physical condition might be as good as I'm going to get.

I now take time-released morphine pills to allow me to sleep at night.  I try not to take them often, but I've gone through four years of waking up repeatedly at night from pain.  Sometimes I just really need to sleep for a few hours.  I have other, strong, pain relievers to take as needed the rest of the time.  I hate having to take drugs.  I hate feeling fuzzy-brained.  Discontinuing pain meds isn't a possibility at this point, and I doubt if it ever will be.  There is only so much pain a person can take before they need relief, even if it's only for a short time.

I want to live my life as fully as possible.  If that means I need to take drugs in order to cope with the pain, I will do so.  The alternative is not acceptable.  I've already lost too much of my life to the accident, I don't want to lose more.  I want control of my life.  I've spent enough time curled up in a ball, sobbing, in pain.  

I'm very, very, focused now on taking back my life and I'm willing to work hard for it.  I'm willing to accept the "trade-off" of intense pain for the things that are important to me.  

Swimming equals pain.  I know that, but I won't give it up.  Swimming has become my sanity.

Photography equals astronomical pain.  I know that, but I won't give it up.  (And I hope, in time, to be able to take more than just a few photos at a time.)

I will never give up hope for improvement.  

I will never stop striving to be able to do more with less pain …

And yet -

Maybe I'm finally, on some level, accepting the reality of my damaged body.

It seems ironic that as I write this anniversary post, I'm in the midst of one of the worst pain flare-ups I've had in months.

Happy four year anniversary to me?

© Twenty Four At Heart

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The Getty Center

Up in the Santa Monica mountains are around 750 acres of land which The Getty Center was built on.  I've wanted to visit the museum for years, and I finally had the opportunity yesterday.

I didn't have my helicopter handy, so I borrowed this aerial shot off the Internet.  (Sorry it's so pixelated, but it will give you a feel for the sheer size of the place.)

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The Getty is about an hour drive north of where I live.  The views from The Getty Center are incredible.

Here's a shot I took looking towards Los Angeles:

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The air actually did get pretty clear as the day went on.  There was a lot of fog hanging around in the morning.  (And yes, morning fog often turns into afternoon smog in L.A.)

This next photo was taken out by the gardens.  I was having a, very, bad hair day, and I hate the unflattering shirt I was wearing, but I wanted proof I really was, finally, at The Getty.

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I like art and I enjoyed touring the different Pavilions, but I loved the architecture of the center most of all.  Because I love photography so much, I would have to say the Center for Photographs was my favorite exhibition. 

I could have spent hours and hours just wandering around The Getty photographing the buildings, the views, the gardens, the fountains, etc.

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There's something important I want all of you to know.  I took this next photo just so I could make something very clear.

Statue

OK, you're probably tired of looking at photos ….

Here's the last one:

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There are fountains all over the place at The Getty Center and there are also, at least, three different spots to grab a bite to eat if you happen to get hungry while you're there.

I had fun.  It was a beautiful day in so many ways. 

I think I might make a trip back for another visit sometime in the fall.

© Twenty Four At Heart

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My Best Shot?

It's been awhile since I've shared a "24" moment with you.

You do know what a 24 moment is, don't you?

I seem to have a knack for humiliating myself in public as only few people can do.  When I started seeing people on Twitter writing, "I just pulled a 24!" I knew I better stop writing about all my public embarrassments.

Except …

Oh my, I have really outdone myself this time.

In fact, I can honestly say I have never, never, ever (!!), been so embarrassed in my entire life.

Why am I sharing this, worst-ever, humiliation?

I think it is SO bad, the only way I can purge myself of the experience is by writing about it.  If you're a writer, you will understand.

OK, then ….

On Sunday, I was at the races.  You might recall from yesterday's post, I wore a long black dress.

Dress
 

On the drive down to San Diego County, Nike and I stopped at Starbucks so I could get a green iced tea.  I was very thirsty.  Green tea makes me need to pee a lot.  I'm sorry to share this information with you, but it's critical to my embarrassment the story.

When we arrived at the race track, I made an immediate stop at the ladies room.  It was there, I realized why my thong panties were so uncomfortable.  The lace on them had unraveled and they were, literally, falling apart.

So, um, I ditched them.

Yes, I did.  

There was no way I could keep them on, unraveling, all day long.  I tossed them in the little trash can in the bathroom stall.  

The exact thought that went through my head was, "No one will ever be able to tell, this dress is black as night and comes down to my ankles."

** WRONG **

About midday, Nike and I decided to roam around the track.  I wanted to get some photos and Nike was checking out what seats she'd like to purchase tickets for next time she returns to the races.  And so it was, we were wandering.

Suddenly Nike pointed out to me an outdoor deck, facing away from the track, where a lot of people were gathered. 

"Look," she said, "You can get a great shot of the ocean view from there.  You should go out and get some photos."

I walked out on the deck and began composing my shot.  Nike wandered inside to check out the seats on that particular level of the grandstands.

With both hands on my camera, just as I was clicking the shutter, a huge gust of wind came and lifted my dress up over my head!

Omigod!

I wish I were joking, but I'm not!

I stood there, hands on my camera, bare assed and freshly brazilian waxed, for the whole world to see.

"Click" went the shutter.

My heart stopped as I realized what was happening and my hands immediately went to force my dress to its rightful spot.

"Now THAT was a nice shot!" exclaimed a man next to me.

(I swear to God, that is EXACTLY what he said!)

Nike later told me I came running around the corner, back into the building, at record speed.  My face was forty shades of red and she stood there, incredulous, as I told her what happened.

"Oh my God, only you!" she laughed.

Is that true?

Only me?

Can somebody out there please tell me this has happened to them before too?

Looking on the bright side, I guess it's a good thing I was just waxed.

I think it would have been worse if I was fuzzy.

© Twenty Four At Heart