Well, that was awkward...

We've all had those awkward moments. Moments in life we find ourselves caught in the headlights; having the wind knocked out of you. It could be from something you hear, or something you see. Usually these moments are ones we can all do without.

I remember one awkward moment from my childhood in particular. I remember sitting in the parlor of my mother's home in the Azores. We had just arrived, and my mother's aunts, God bless their souls (they are no longer with us), were all gathered there visiting. My mother's aunt, was sitting there happily reading a letter out loud. It was a letter written by her daughter and she could not hide her excitement. We had brought this letter with us from the States, and my mother's cousin had come over to bring it with us, but I don't think it was her intention to have her mother read it out loud in my mother's home. Tia Ana was so happy to read this letter, and she apparently wanted everyone in attendance to hear it. Fortunately, my mother was busy in the kitchen and did not overhear the contents of this letter. Tia Ana happily read the following out loud: (translated in English):

"That silly Ana (my mother) did not have room in her luggage to send the gifts I had bought for you. Perhaps if she didn't pack so many shoes there would be room for the gifts I wanted to send to you. She is so stupid."

Tia Ana just continued reading away and didn't even bother to stop. The other aunts in the room all looked in my direction. I wish I could say there was some awkward silence involved, but there wasn't. Tia Ana must not have realized what she just said, or may be she pretended not to. I just know that I pretended I didn't understand. Okay, it was no secret that my mother liked to dress well. I didn't bother telling my mother, mainly because I knew it would only cause unneeded drama, but I remember my face turning a little red, and I remember giggling away from the room.

Pretending awkwardness never happens works, sometimes.

I think the worse awkward moment was the day I caught someone, an old family friend, go through my purse. What does one do in such a situation? I whisked away as fast as could hoping I would go unnoticed. I thought some situations are easier to deal with when you pretend not to notice. I found myself pacing in the bathroom pondering what to do. I thought of my options. Approaching the subject, and asking the subject what the heck she was doing in my purse would more than likely cause a very uncomfortable/defensive environment. Should I just let it slide? I asked the house. It was an old house, with what I thought had a lot of spirit, and a lot of wisdom. I wondered what my dad would do. After being in the bathroom for at least ten minutes, I decided that it would be easier to all involved to just let it slide. I let this person off the hook, but apparently, I can't honestly say I've let it go yet. The rest of her visit, which was only a few days longer was hard. I did my best to laugh it all off, and try and get past it. But it honestly bothered me. What was she looking for that she couldn't ask me personally? Did she need lip balm? A tampon? What? Was she looking to see if I worked for the FBI? Did she need my passport? Honestly! I didn't notice anything missing from my purse-at least anything I noticed was missing. I just think she knows that I know. Yes, I know what you did that summer, and that just wasn't cool.

Awkwardness. Is that even a word?


I could go on about a number of other awkward moments, but I'm afraid it might just get me in trouble.

But here are few personal, somewhat awkward ones:

Being in the drive-thru with my kids and the Burger King, in front of an unlocked bathroom: A unassuming man opens the door wide open, and there is this guy sitting on the john with his boxers down at his knees staring at our direction in shock...

Walking into a bedroom and catching sight of an older man in his boxers in the middle of getting dressed. This guy actually had knee high socks complete with garter belts.

Being at a family wedding, chatting away with cousins in the bathroom, when in comes a person in a full tux. I tried to alert my cousin, but I was too late. "Sorry sir, but this is the women's bathroom!" "I am a woman!"

Sitting in church pretending not to hear the stomach sounds coming out of the older man sitting next to you.

Talking to a someone, and end up staring at the piece of spinach stuck on their front teeth.

Talking to someone and pretending not to notice the booger hanging at the end of their nose.

Pretending not to notice that your boss has a huge red leakage stain on the back of her dress. (I was afraid of that woman. I didn't know how to tell her.)

Pretending not to notice your significant other just farted in public.

In a intoxicated moment having someone confess to you that they've had a crush on you for years, but never had the courage to tell you.

(What do you say after that??)

Having an undergarment slip off from under you, and finding yourself kick it to the side.

Discovering that the friends with kids who came to visit left stains on your couch pillows, and the parents hid them by turning them over, thinking you wouldn't notice.

Learning that your child really did need to use the bathroom, and pretending not to notice that big puddle in front of the Pinocchio ride at Disneyland.

Being asked by your ex-mother-inlaw who is ill, why you and her son are no longer together.

Pretending you don't know someone anymore, because doing so would only make for an awkward situation.

Feel free to share your own.

Cocktails and Dreams

The other day, while driving around town, doing my errands, I noticed a sign on the side of a bar. It read, "Cocktails and Dreams" and it made me laugh out loud. From where this bar was, in the middle of a strip mall nudged between a Taco Bell and a Dry Cleaners, it was hardly the place a person would be looking to capture some "dreams" perhaps a drink, but dreams?

As I laughed and drove away, I began to wonder about my own dreams. Most of the dreams I had in high school have faded into reality, and only thought of occasionally if ever at all. My priorities in life changed. As I grew up I realized that most of the dreams I had were more impossible than approachable. Or are they? Why must I wonder? May be I should take the sign's suggestion and drink more. I mean, really? Are things more "possible" when your thoughts are altered? Is being too logical and sensible the main cause of defeat?

Remember when you were younger, and nothing seemed impossible? Sure, you "thought" you knew "everything" about life, and you were so convinced that your parents and most grown ups where so clueless and so boring that there was no way in hell you would end up like them. Then you found yourself suddenly thrown in the adult world of reality. You suddenly have rent or a mortgage to pay, and you had to be responsible. Then, you have kids. Okay, game over! It's no longer about you--it's about them.

I remember getting married at a very young age, and for most people I knew, they thought we were both crazy. Sure, I was still going to community college, and my husband had no college education whatsoever, and sure, his command of the English language was a little limited, but that didn't stop us. We worked, we bought a house and we had jobs, and did pretty well considering. While my friends from school, who just got out of college were struggling, we were making mortgage payments, having kids and traveling. We didn't have a perfect life by no means, but we loved each other, and we weren't afraid.


I was always the designated driver. I didn't drink, and now, when I look back sometimes, I think I should have been doing most of the drinking. I did let him leave to pursue his dreams though. Did I really have a choice? You can't make people change their dreams--especially if you don't belong in them. It doesn't matter how warped or wrong you may think of another's "dream" - they are still going to pursue them, no matter how many people it hurts along the way. Sometimes it feels "safer" to not dream at all. It was a mutual parting of ways. And I think that was the best decision we both made, but I can only speak for myself. My dreams are still in drive. I'm still working on them, and I don't think I'll be done anytime soon, but it's work in progress. My dream box has no reverse gear.

Cocktails and dreams? It's a lie. It's just an illusion. It's the "afraid" part that will always get you. Afraid of failure; afraid to be alone...afraid of old age, sickness...death. Time to live is now. Live your dream. You don't have to be famous, nor do you have to do something the world will love you for, and don't do something that is expected of you. Do something that means something to yourself because that is all that matters. I'm not writing this to counsel anyone; just myself, but if it inspires you, I'll take it as a compliment. I raise my glass you! Cocktails and dreams..

A New Dress Deserves A New Bow!

Easter is upon us, and I'm sitting here thinking of Easters of my childhood. Most Easters involved my mother making new Easter dresses for me and my sister. Of course the dresses had to be matching, and made of the same material. Sometimes, mother would change things a bit and coordinate with different colors. Sometimes one dress was light blue, and the other one was pink. I would usually get the pink one because I was younger, and I had "big rosy cheeks". Sometimes the style of the dress would be a little different, but it would definitely be of the same material. If there was any left over lace or ribbon, she would make a big huge matching ribbon for our hair.

"A new dress deserves a new bow!" my mother would exclaim.

I would be lying to you if I told you that I enjoyed wearing these creations of polyester and cotton. I hated it. Not only were the dresses uncomfortable and scratchy, it made the whole Easter and church ritual something I didn't look forward to. I was jealous of the other girls my age who went to church in jeans and casual clothing. I felt like my dresses only brought on unwanted attention, especially on Sundays when we arrived late (which was quite often). It's not everyday you see two chubby sisters enter a church in matching dresses and matching enormous bows on the top their heads. I felt ridiculous and juvenile. The ruffles on my dress made me feel like "George Washington". Or the checkers on my polyester pants made me feel like, "Chubby Checker". I could feel the stares behind the big pink bow piercing into the scalp of my big rosy cheeked, chubby head. I would complain to my mother and tell her that I didn't like the way everyone would look at me at church. My mother's reply would always be:

"Oh Julie, they are only looking at you because you look so pretty."


I didn't believe her.


One day, years later, a stranger came up to my cash register at work. I was newly divorced, working two jobs, and feeling pretty exhausted at the end of a 12 hour work day, when a woman came up to my register. As I was ringing up her purchase, she told me that she still remembered me from church. I looked up at her suddenly to see if I knew her, but I didn't recognize her as someone I remembered. She was at least 10 or 15 years older than me, but I grew up in a fairly small town where everyone looked somewhat familiar.


"Really?" I asked.


"Yes, I sure do remember you. You and your sister always looked so pretty at church. I remember seeing the both of you and your family sitting together every Sunday."


I guess mom was right.


Still, I promised myself I would never have any of my offspring go through such an ordeal. My daughter has no need to worry for unlike my mother I have no talent when it comes to being a seamstress. I did try. I bought a sewing machine and made a futile attempt on a dress for myself. I purposively went into the fabric store and bought the most simplest pattern and style dress I could find. As I entered the store, I was flooded by childhood memories. The aisles of Harts Fabrics, where I would run through the aisles as a child, through what seemed to be hundreds upon hundreds of different colored fabrics. It was a playground of bright colors, patterns, and textures. Books and upon books of different patterns, and the buttons! My favorite part of picking the material of a dress were the buttons. Hundreds of different buttons to select from! I left the fabric store fully inspired and confident that I would create a beautiful dress! Apparently the dress pattern however was not simple enough.


My dress came out crooked. The sewing machine was then put away, and dreams of becoming a seamstress faded into the darkness.

Travelling Meme...

I've neglected my blog for too long. I decided to put in an entry in, but couldn't think of anything in particular to write about so I found myself doing a Meme. Feel free to play along!

How old were you when you first travelled?

I was 5 years old when I took my first big trip.

What is your favourite form of travelling: car, bus, train, or plane?

I like traveling by car the best. I love the concept of hitting the open road, and having the freedom to stop wherever and whenever.. You can’t do that on a plane, or a bus, or a train.

Where did you go on your first road trip?

It was a family trip, across the U.S., from California to Massachusetts. I still remember sitting in the backseat of my dad’s Chevy Nova, singing John Jake Jingleheimersmidt over and over again.


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It was a green Chevy Nova similar to this one above, but it was a 4 door. My brother had just turned 15 and had a driver's permit. My dad let him drive, and we were always on Highway Patrol lookout because of it.

Where did you go on your first bus ride?

Reno, Nevada. It was not a planned trip whatsoever. We were on our way on a trek to the east coast when my dad’s Honda Civic broke down in Lovelock, Nevada. We had to take a bus trip to Reno to get a rental car, and tow the Honda back home. It was horrible. I remember my sister and I had to sit next to an intoxicated man who kept on fantasizing out loud how he was going to “hit the big one” on the slots that night. Oh, and I will never forget that vision of waiting for our Greyhound outside while they were “evacuating” the plumbing of another bus.. Eww..



Lovelock, Nevada----try and avoid this town as much as possible. I will never forget that night when "Bubba" tried to flirt with me in that tow truck, and later finding that dead fly in my hair.

Where did you go on your first train ride?

I took the BART to San Francisco with my best friend from high school. It was Halloween weekend, and we were off to find some costumes in the big city. We didn’t find any.


Bart...it was exciting knowing that we were in a train, under the bay, remember Denise?

Where did you go on your first plane ride?

Azores, Portugal. It was very exciting. I was only 5 and didn’t know exactly where I was going, but I had a new TAP shoulder carry on bag with my favorite doll in it. I was ready.


TAP-Transportes Aeros Portuguesas, or roughly translated: Take Another Plane! Seriously, it's the best airline I've ever flown in. Unfortunately, you have to fly first class to score some bottled wine. I was given 3 bottles when I flew when I was 13. No I didn't drink them--I still have them.

Motion sickness? Treatment of choice?

Don’t have a treatment for that, I just try and avoid it. Never sit in the back seat on a winding road trip, and never look back from the front seat to speak to the kids sitting in the back seat on a winding road. Keep the window open. Never read in the car! Bring wipes, plastic bags and 7-Up and water. I speak from experience.


Bear Creek Rd., Boulder Creek - We have another name for this road. We call it Barf Creek Rd. It was here that my two boys barfed simultaneously with each other. A very windy road, with lots of deer darting in all directions, although very picturesque.

Where would you like to go that you haven't been?

Rome, Paris, Madrid, Lisbon… Anywhere in Europe.


Awww, yes Europe...

Where would you like to go back to?

Hawaii. Went once with some girl friends who just wanted to eat, drink, get their nails done and get henna tattoos. I just wanted to go to the beach. I couldn’t get over how beautiful and romantic it was there. Good place to take my husband—(I didn’t know him back then).



Travelling alone or with someone?

Never alone! With someone! How can you truly enjoy yourself if you aren't sharing the experience with someone you care about?

Your ultimate travelling dream?

Traveling by train through Europe with no deadlines, just a camera with a very high memory card, good walking shoes and lots and lots of Euros… Feel free to send your donations to my email. (Never mind that most of Europe is broke right now. I'm willing to help jump start the economy.)

Hello Eloise...

The other night, as I and my husband lay quietly in bed, drifting slowly to sleep the phone rang. Startled, I jumped off my pillow! I blindly reached for the phone sitting on the nightstand next to my weary head, and let out a groan. I hate getting late night phone calls. They always scare me--especially the unexpected calls. All the kids were home and counted for. Who on earth could be calling at this time of night if something wasn't wrong? Usually it never is a good reason for calls like these. Like my husband always says, "Nothing good ever happens after midnight."

I answered the phone cautiously.

"Hello..?"

"Hello!" a very unfamiliar women's voice answered. In a deep southern accent she asked, "Did I wake you up?"

Wow, I thought to myself. Whatever gave this woman that idea? Was it my half awake voice, or did she conviennatly forget that it was 12:30 am?! Is this normal for people to do at this time? Who did she think she was calling? Some celebrity like Paris Hilton or Lindsay Lohan? I may have been having a real nice dream lady! How dare you! You scared me! A rush of annoying thoughts towards this woman swirled in my head, but I apparently was too tired to voice them. I did not know this woman on the other line, so I tried to sound as annoyed as possible.

"Um, yes, you did wake me up. Who is this?"

"It's Eloise!" the cheerful southern voice answered.

This woman's cheerfullness made the call even more irritating.

"I don't know an Eloise. Who are you calling for?"

"Karen."

"You have the wrong number."

Eloise apologized and we both hung up. Finally I could fall back to sleep. However, not a minute had passed when the phone rang once again. I knew it must have been Eloise.

"You have the wrong number!" I exclaimed.

"I'm so sorry, but can you give me some information on this number?"

What?! Are you kidding me?! Really lady! No matter how many times you call this number you are not going to speak to Karen! At this point I was tempted to slam the phone down on Eloise, but instead I have her the "information" she asked for. The nerve, really..

"My number is 225-3317, and there is no Karen living here."

I hung up on her second apology.

Afterwards, did I go to sleep right away? No. All I could think about was this woman named Eloise. I tried to picture in my mind what she looked like. I wondered who Karen was. I have a sister-in law named Karen, but she couldn't possibly be looking for her, or could she? Did this Karen have a similar phone number to mine? Did Eloise dial the wrong area code, or did she write down the number wrong? Why on earth would she be calling Karen this late? Was Eloise calling from a different state? Perhaps that could explain her southern accent. May be Eloise was calling from Georgia, or Alabama; and then suddenly I visualized one of the actresses from The Help. My wondering went on for hours. I think I finally fell asleep at 3 am.

I woke up craving biscuits and grits.

Why I Don't Like Monkeys

Earlier this year, I took the kids to San Francisco Zoo. Upon arriving, I noticed that my youngest son, Nicholas was very concerned for some reason about where the monkey habitat was located. At first I didn't understand why, until he reminded me of the story I had told him of when I was a little girl and the "monkey incident" that happened at a pet shop.

Since that fateful day, I've not been a fan of monkeys. I do not like monkeys. This is why:

I must have been may be 6 or 7 when it happened. Back then, I had very long, and thick hair that fell below my waist. It was a chore to keep my hair combed and out of the way, so my mom kept my hair in braids and pony tails and ribbons.

I remember the day like it was yesterday. My sister and I had urged my dad to take us to a local pet store. Okay, we begged him to take us. I'm not quite sure if we actually had to buy something, or if it was just to look at the cute kittens and puppies. Back in those days, pet stores actually had animals in them besides just fish, birds, and mice. This pet store in particular had a monkey. It's cage was right at the front entrance. It was a very large cage with a real monkey who sat on a swing. I was very observant of this monkey, because it always yelped each time someone walked into the shop, and frankly, it scared me, so I would make a point of walking very quickly past the cage or hide behind my dad.

On this day in particular, I apparently did not walk fast enough. The little monkey reached out his hand and grabbed one of my pig tails. Perhaps it was the red ribbon my mother had tied at the end of my braid that caught the little creature's attention, or was it merely the fact it noticed or sensed my fear. "Finally that little girl is alone..." it may have thought to itself. "Time to grab those annoying ribbons of hair.."

The monkey tugged on my braid with such force, that I didn't have air enough in my lungs to scream. It was terrifying to say the least. I was afraid to cry. I hated that monkey. I never went into that pet store ever again, and since then, I've never cared very much for monkeys in general. Planet of the Apes? Forget it! Never enjoyed watching that series, and each time I saw my brother watching the series on TV it would make me squirm. The worse movie I had to watch EVER was Return of The Planet Of The Apes. Of course I had to sit in the first row at the theatre. I don't remember WHY I went to see that movie in the first place. I think my son dragged me to that one. It was either that or Pokemon. Eeeek... NO thank you!!

"Don't worry mom, the monkey's are too high up there to reach your hair." Nicholas pointed out at the monkey exhibit. "I'll let you know if they get closer.."

I'm afraid my son doesn't care too much for them either. Once they started throwing poop, we quickly made our way to see the giraffes. Giraffes...now those are lovely creatures! Giraffes are cool.


Yes, this is a gorilla--not a real one of course.

The Cracker Story

"Ah, Julie, I need crackas sem salt!" My mother exclaimed.

In other words, my mother's half translated plea was that she needed unsalted white saltine crackers, you know the ones that come in the green box? She is diabetic, and she isn't suppossed to eat the normal saltine crackers. Having just moved to San Jose, I wasn't very familiar of the area, but I was pretty sure there was a Walmart or a Target where we could find these "very important" crackers my mother was craving. My mother was visiting and she had unfortunately forgotten her own personal stash bag of crackers in her kitchen. Her evening tea, was not the same without her "crackas", so she really wanted to get herself a box that night.

I, on the otherhand was 9 months pregnant, 3 days from my due date. I was feeling a little tired that evening, but there were a few things I still needed for the baby, so a trip to Walmart or Target sounded like a good idea. I could buy some last minute items, and my mom could get the crackers---everyone would be happy. So my daughter, Lizzy, my mom and I headed out on our quest for the "crackas"...

It was a cold November evening, and the directions to the nearest Walmart, that my husband tried to explain to me, were not working. After going down way too many wrong streets, and way too many wrong turns, by trip to Walmart went futile. "Ah Julie---I'm never going to get my crackas! I like taking my crackas with my medication." My mother explained. So, out of desperation, I headed to Target. I knew where that was.

It wasn't until we were finally walking around in the Target store, looking for those most wanted "crackas" in the cracker aisle did I feel a little "different". I didn't know it at the time, but my body was sending me messages that baby may be making preparations for an earlier appearance. Surprisingly, my two older children were both born on their due dates. I know that may sound strange, and it hardly ever happens, but it's true with me. This baby's due date was on the 7th, and it was the 4th. Hmmm, I wondered to myself, I would be so cool to have a baby born on the 4th. I was born on the 4th...

Surprisingly still, with all the rows upon rows of crackers that were on sale at the Target store, NONE OF THEM were the ones my mother was looking for. Of course. It was a disappointing trip to say the least. We left the store with 3 packages of newborn diapers and undershirt onezies, some lip gloss (for Liz--Dr. Pepper flavor) and a box of generic unsalted saltine crackers that my mother half heartidly settled for. They didn't taste the same of course, but it was better than nothing. I on the other hand was experiencing some pain in my hips.

To change the subject about how disappointing that a store that big did not carry the "right" saltine cracker, I disclosed to my mom that I was feeling some pain. She immediately stopped talking about the crackers, and glowed with excitement. Good thing my mother just happened to be in town that night. After a trip to the bathroom at home, it was definitely time for Rich and I to head to the hospital. My mom stayed home with the kids, and had tea with her generic crackas, while Rich and I headed to Dominican Hospital.

Nicholas Joseph Costa Langley was born hours later, on November 5th, two days early, and delivered by his Godmother, Karen. Karen had just started her night shift 30 minutes after we arrived to the hospital. It would be her last day until she was off on vacation. She took time off for her own birthday, which happened to fall on November 7th--Nicholas' due date. Better early than late.. :)

How about those "crackas"?!