All life is a road from the past to the future. And what the future will be depends only on us.

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I am super shy, so it is not too easy for me to make friends. That being said, I have a small group (4 of us total) of friends that we try to go out once a month, celebrate b-days, Christmas, and once a year we get away for a weekend. But, my closest friends are my mom and sisters. I have a few new friends, since my oldest son is now in sports, I have gotten to know some of the other mom’s. I try to give everyone a chance. I mean, you can tell when you hit it off, or if you both are just talking because it is the right thing to do.

 About six months ago, our friends announced that they were having a destination wedding. “Awesome!” we said. It was going to take place in Turks and Caicos, they informed us. “Where in the world is that?” we asked. (It’s right here.) The date would be the end of April. “April?!?” we joked. “Why not during January when the weather is crappy?” (HAHAHHAHAA. It is snowing as I type this — on May 3 — because OF COURSE IT IS.) So we went, and it was lovely, and I already told Jason I am saving all of my money to go back because it was the best vacation I’ve ever had. After months and months and months of looking out the windows to see white and gray and brown (accompanied by seething rage whenever I viewed the “spring” weather forecast), I was blown away by our view once we got to the island: The first day, we toured the resort: Is this a pawn? A knight? A rook? Who knows?! This is why I play cribbage. Before the wind picked up in the afternoon, we spent our mornings at the beach: Please no

      Dear Christine, Hi. Really glad you came to the party and I kind of apologize for ... well. Remember when I walked you out to your car? And then I started talking and would not shut up and you had to stand out in the valley cold and listen to a crazy drunk woman talk ON AND ON for an hour? Whoops! But... if it is any consolation I only do that with people I really, really like. For example: you.     Love,     Your crazy and rather talkative friend Laurie And of course everyone knows by now that I am a little bit unbalanced, the good kind of crazy (for now) where I don't wear my bra on my head or put tin foil on all the windows and outlets, but I tell good stories and maybe have one or two or seventeen quirks and if you're just around for a few hours it is all highly entertaining. Maybe that is why he left? Do you think I will ever truly know why? Do you think it matters? As time passes everyone expects (hopes?) that I will get better and happier and fixed, and of course m

Class was insanity. Knitting is the new Pilates, everyone is doing it (including me). Except I would never do Pilates, because exercise can kill you. My co-worker did indeed drive out to the Valley from San Gabriel to attend the knitting class at Lani's. There were two other beginners in the class and both picked really tiny yarn, yikes!, plus me, Shannon, the instructor and a lady who brought her daughter and about 27 unfinished knitting works-in-progress. I meant to tell the works-in-progress lady that her daughter was exceptionally well-behaved and lovely but I forgot, so next week I hope she's there. Needless to say, with that many new people I did not mention ripping out my Tokyo scarf. It would have been an embarrassing diversion and the teacher was already swamped with needy knitters. Shannon and I chatted most of the time, she's working on her shawl and I decided to finish the fuzzy Crystal Palace scarf and maybe finally learn casting off, thereby picking up one ski

Our treadmill is still broken and awaiting a new control panel/sensor/capacitor (I assume this is the part that likes to mess with me mentally by randomly slowing down so that 2-3 seconds go by without the distance changing), so we decided to run outside. Here’s how that worked out: Shoes: Oh hey, our mesh exterior lets in ALL the cold air! Face: Um, why are we running into the wind? You know it’s only 30 degrees out, right? And you saw how that giant American flag at the fire station was completely horizontal, yes? Hands: We’re covered with gloves and yet we’re still freezing! Lungs: Uh…you remembered to take your inhaler first, right? Brain: CRAP. Lungs: It’s cool. We’ll just repay you later with a 5-minute coughing fit. Nothing we love better than cold air crackling in our asthma-infected tissues! Legs: No me gusta. Shoes: HA! We became untied already — 3 minutes in. New record! Eyes: How is Jason so far ahead of us so soon??? Jerkwad’s driveway/sidewalk: Hey, hope you enjoyed dodgi

 A few of you inquired about our “Family Fear Factor,” and well, I’m happy to oblige! Every year, Jason’s parents hold a family campout on their property. They have an outdoor fire pit; a pool, bounce house and mini waterslide for the kids; and even a homemade mini golf course. They wear bright yellow t-shirts that say “STAFF,” and pound stakes into the backyard with campsite numbers on them. They send out a brochure ahead of time saving the date, and list the rules and regulations. (“No fireworks!” “Quiet time is from 12am-5am!”) Everyone pitches a tent in the backyard, and plays badminton, bocce ball, cribbage, dice and cards. It’s always a great time. (Weather permitting.) A few years ago, after finally hearing enough about how rowdy Jason and his cousins used to be (making their own Batman movies, crashing cars and setting fire to random objects) and how Jason, He Who Does Not Eat Vegetables or Fruits, cockily boasted that he could eat any of the slimy insects featured on “Fear Fac

Shannon has been knitting for months now. Sometime last fall she brought her knitting bag and a scarf project over to my place, it was back in the early days of my sudden, new-found singleness. She told me she'd taken a class at Lani's in Studio City and now she's a knitter with a bag full of string that will one day be a sweater. I was interested in her new obsession — yarn and sticks turn into into fabric? That's crazytalk! — but my schedule was full, I was simply too busy being miserable to take up a new hobby. Trying to find a new place to live, trying to figure out how to handle the holidays, trying to wake up each morning and make it through eight hours at work without crying at my desk or talking into my bra while directing traffic on 6th Street, muttering something about marriage being for suckers, film footage at eleven. It kept me busy. But now that's all behind me, thank God. Except the part about talking into my bra. Now that the move is done and I am s

 There’s been a lot of naming conversations going on lately, about whether people liked their name or their kids’ names, but I have a different question: Who were you named after? A grandmother, a favorite aunt, a sandwich, a dog? According to story #1 (there are two, as nothing is ever simple in our family), I was named after Robert Redford’s daughter. My pregnant mom was at the doctor waiting for an appointment. At the time, the plan was to name me Tiffany. (No offense to any Tiffanys out there, but this is so NOT my personality.) But, my mom read a magazine article about Redford, who mentioned his daughter Shauna…and the rest is history. But! That’s not the whole story. A few years ago, I was talking with my mom about this and she contradicted her very own story with story #2: “I was going through checks at work (she worked in accounting at Target), and I saw a check with the name Shauna and thought it was pretty. So that’s how you were named.” Right. I completely made up my own sto

It’s been nearly 2 1/2 weeks since we’ve gotten our treadmill and endured an epic battle getting the 200-lb. thing out of the truck, avoiding the front of the ice-covered steps in favor of going up the side of them (Me: “I can’t do this because I can’t lift my leg high enough because the box is in the way and too heavy to lift higher.” Jason: “Just do it!” Me: “It. Is. Impossible, Dammit!”) and down 13 steps while Jason had the weight of the box to lean against his chest while I was hunched forward trying to keep the box from slipping down the stairs and crushing him (Me: “We should switch places. I can’t hold onto it like this. There’s no handles.” Jason: “No. Just lift it.” Me: “What if we just opened the box upstairs and brought the parts downstairs?” [Ed. note: I still do not understand why this fantastic idea was not greeted with enthusiasm] Jason: “No. Just do it!” Me: “There. Is. NOTHING. To. Hold. Onto!!!” Repeat for 30 minutes). But we finally got it downstairs and assembled,

 My hatred for baseball announcer Joe Buck knows no bounds. I had to physically leave the room last night during the All-Star game because my brain could not stand his incessant prattling. The man would not shut up for even a few seconds, especially when he was mouth-frothingly spewing his inane diatribe about Kenny Rogers’ off-field behavior (that would be Kenny Rogers the pitcher, not the fried chicken entrepreneur). Hey Joe, I’ve got an idea: why don’t you announce some of the play-by-play action once in awhile? With some spaces of dead air known as “silence” in between? Hmmm? How would that be? P.S. Hey Monday Night Football: if you want to kill me, assign Joe Buck to do the broadcasts with John Madden. Seriously, that would be great. Then I would no longer fear death, but instead, would WILLINGLY SEEK IT OUT.