whoa! or woo!, which one are you?

liz's butt in jeansOkay, so you’re walking down the street, or along some path in the park, or maybe you’re at the mall, or the grocery story, or it could even be that you are working out at the gym, entering the movie theater, maybe you’re at work, or at your child’s day care and it’s in the afternoon and your walking back to your car, kid slung on your hip, or you’ve just walked outside your place of residence to grab the mail, or maybe you’ve knelt down to pick up the cell phone you just dropped, or….. well, let’s just say you are anywhere and a guy looks at you, a girl, a woman more like it, and he says WHOA!… as you walk by. Or, rather, instead, he says WOO! 

For some odd reason these expressions sparked some interest during a sit down dinner, or maybe it was just a casual conversation, with the ratio of men higher to the total women in attendance, when a light-hearted debate ensued trying to decipher the meaning of both seemingly quick assessments. No one really was able to define each compliment (it is? isn’t it?) but rather gave their – lot’s of laughter issued here – opinion. Most assumed whoa! was when a guy was likely responding to the girl, or woman, wearing something tight, like a skirt, any length above the knee, but that is snug on her round rear-end, and cinched in, making the waist small, the butt rounder. The hot girl. Whereas if a guy says woo! – the cute, or pretty girl – she’s still looking good but in a more comfortable way. Someone who’d be wearing jeans, perfectly fitted, not too tight, not too loose, with a basic t-shirt, or a pretty blouse and sandals or some other carefree type of shoe, with hair flowing loose, free from the binds of bands or pins.

Well, now, not that these expressions are even relevant, or as some might say, maybe they are just stupid sexist hoot-and-hollers that men make, but our conversation about them did produce a fun and lively conversation, and tons of laughter. So worth it!

empty-nesting

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Our nest was empty today.

And it felt sort of like when Rudy lived in Arkansas.

And I lived here, in California.

So many days came and went.

Both of us experiencing life without the other.

Mostly, only words said how we felt, or what we were thinking.

Gestures and body language played an intermitent role in our relationship.

Those are days that will forever be distant.

Days that cannot be redone.

Days that are, thank goodness, over.

But.

Today.

I am reminded of those distant days.

Because.

Here I am. Here we are.

In the house. Together.

Without kids.

No one is mumbling on the phone with friends.

No one is singing along to the lyrics booming from a computer.

No one is chatting. Talking about a day in the life of.….

And it hits me.

Both softly and a bit aggressively.

That life will be sort-of-like-yet-not-exactly-like-but-in-a-way-it-will-be-sliced-up-similar-to when Rudy lived there and I lived here.

West Hollywood – Boys Town

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There we were, Roberto and I, cruising down the road, having just left the vicinity of Beverly Hills, just around the corner from Rodeo Drive.

He was nom-noming on a Sprinkles Triple Cinnamon Cupcake which was hugging a scoop of Captain Crunch Ice Cream while I was navigating through the congested thoroughfare.

Previous to that, we had gathered information at The Groundlings, an acting school and theater group in Hollywood where Roberto plans to engage himself.

So, as I said, there we were, heading home, driving down Santa Monica Blvd., just chatting, enjoying our conversation and the view, when I over-enthusiastically exclaimed,

“Wow! This area is very impressive! So pretty! I could see myself, living here, walking down these streets, enjoying an LA kind of life.”

“Me too,” Roberto chimed in. “We’re in WeHo,” he stated.

“WeHo?” I questioned.

“West Hollywood,” he answered.

I felt I should have known this, being a native of California, but, alas, that shortcut word bypassed my vocabulary list.

“Yeah,” Roberto continued, “this is a great area. Did you notice it’s a gay community?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you didn’t notice all the rainbow flags?”

Well, what do you know. The rainbow flags are pretty much everywhere. And then I noticed all the men walking around, going about their daily business, doing whatever it is they needed to do, just like what Roberto and I were doing. Getting done what needed to be done.

I later learned we were in what is referred to as Boys Town, a gay community in West Hollywood.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” I say to him. “This place would be perfect for you.”

“Oh, that’d be great!” Roberto sounded cheery. “I would love this. Living here and working here, while honing my acting skills. Oh look,” he pointed. “See the billboards?”

And I did.

Billboards. Advertisements with model-perfect men advertising products that anyone would want, yet, obviously meant for the boys in this town.

We passed trendy restaurants, healthy health food stores, quaint coffee shops, books-nooks, upscale gay bars, and very appealing residential areas.

“I love this place,” Roberto confirmed.

“Make it a goal,” I told him. “Make it a possibility.

Secretly, I was aligning my thoughts, helping to make this happen for Roberto. A future in the making. Because, well, if it happens for him, then it happens for me.

oh!

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Oh, my effing God! Liz shouted from behind the shower curtain.

Chris, who was in the kitchen doing dishes, lowered the amount of hot water he was using, assuming his girlfriend was bitching about the lack of warmth spraying down from the nozzle. He yelled something back in the line of Sorry!

Liz, who really just wanted to wash her hair was staring at three bottles of conditioner. There was not a drop of shampoo anywhere.

A few days before, she had gone to Target™ to purchase a much needed bottle of soapy suds only to discover, later, back at home, that she had unwisely grabbed another bottle of fucking – her word, not mine – conditioner! So, a couple days later, feeling heavy-footed and desperate, she again! and Chris made the trek back the beauty aisle to buy some sweet smelling shampoo. Inside the store, Liz thoroughly examined her preferred bottle of hair product, making sure she did indeed select shampoo and not conditioner. Satisfied, she placed the cylinder-shaped container on the seat rack. As they began to walk away, Chris, on a thrift bend, noticed a buy this and get this free pack for a lesser price than the carefully selected solo shampoo that Liz had chosen.

And, it’s the same brand, but cheaper, he said with authority.

Liz looked at the package, saw that it was the same brand, and threw it into the store’s standard red shopping cart.

Back home, as Chris began cleansing a few dishes, Liz climbed over the tub’s rim, and stood under the shower’s head.

Ohhhh myyyyyyyy godddddddddd!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We bought more fucking conditioner!, she cried.