Mission Impossible 2…

“Misty, this is Dad, don’t you dare, don’t you dare try to go up to that Hollywood sign!  You hear me?” That was the voice-mail Dad left me Sunday, August 16th, the day my accomplice and I climbed up to the Hollywood sign…  I didn’t actually get the voice-mail until the next day when I checked my voice-mail at lunch, but I do have to presume that Dad in fact did want me to climb up to the sign, as it was clear he had been reading my posts (hi Dad (-:  ) and I do remember expressing the fact that when someone tells me not to do something, well it just becomes that more attractive…

It was Sunday, my last full weekend in California, and the day my friends and I had originally chose to climb up to the Hollywood sign.  My recent research about the famous sign’s security system had put a damper on our original plan.  So I headed out to the bus stop, ready for my hour bus ride to downtown Hollywood.  Although it was well over 100 degrees, I was dressed in solid black, just in case my friends changed their minds about ‘the mission’… Little did I know, that by the end of the evening I would have spoke with 3 different police officers, scaled a 10 foot fence, hid from security helicopters, and I would own an orange shirt that displayed the words Los Angels County Jail…

OK, so it’s not exactly what you might think.  My friend and I purchased the orange t shirts at a gift shop, 4 for $12.00.  And the police officers… well, the first one, Officer Garcia the traffic cop gave us directions to the sign.  When we inquired about the legal ramifications of trekking to the sign, officer Garcia warned us of snake bites and injury, but assured us that we would not be arrested, or in my friend’s case, deported.  We decided that Officer Garcia’s assurance, along with the testimony of the liquor store cashier, and our friend the Harley rider, was enough to go on, so we were off.  We were on our way, and although I was dressed in black and fully accessorized with sequins and my zebra striped cuff bracelet, somehow our adventure just didn’t seem, well, quite as adventurous as our original plan.  For starters, there were only two of us instead of the original 3-5.  Worse yet, we almost had permission from the police officer…  how adventurous could this be anyway?  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t make a habit of committing crime, as a matter of fact the most unlawful thing I’ve ever done is 85mph in a 70mph.  I wasn’t looking to break the law, I just wanted to go on an adventure…  and boy, did I ever!

It was about 5 miles to the base of Mount Lee, where the coveted Hollywood sign stands with all her glory.  The first time you see the sign it’s very surreal.  I had been in California exactly a week, when I first saw the sign off the Highway during my 2 hour bus ride to Santa Monica Beach.  That was the moment I finally felt like I was actually here in California.  It took us more than an hour to get to the base of Mount Lee, and before the evening was over, we would have walked, climbed, and crawled at least 5 additional hours. 

After a couple of false starts, an older gentleman with a late model VW van/bus who resembled a hippie/serial killer, offered some advice on how to get to the sign.  Once again we got the usual, “you can’t actually get to the sign, but you can get close…” a phrase we had heard several times over the last few days.  As we walked up the path, we passed several people making their way up the mountain, posing for pictures with the sign in the background.  About a half hour up the path we heard a small voice coming from atop the mountain “Girls, girls, this way…”, it was the strange man from the entrance.  We quickly changed direction, and followed the voice.  We continued on the path, once again the man’s voice rang out…  I can’t recall how many times this actually happened, but we did follow the voice for a while.  I do remember, however when it occurred to us that following a strange man into the woods where he could easily remove our skin, and use it to make a decorative lampshade, was not in fact the smartest choice we could make.  We deliberated, and decided to shift gears and go in the opposite direction than the man on the mountain.  After assessing the perimeter, code name, Mambo Momma, decided we should approach the sign from underneath, and this sounded good in theory…

We approached a large fence, and found a small opening we were able to squeeze through.  We made our way over a few small obstacles, including a small cement retainer wall.  Mambo then pointed out the 5 security cameras pointing directly at our heads…  I turned, and staring inquisitively at the cameras, I slyly put on my dark sunglasses.  We shimmed just out of view of the cameras to continue deliberating our strategy, and the impending consequence of our actions.  I continued to advocate the credibility of the traffic cop, the Harley rider, and the liquor store cashier, while Mambo tried to process the possibility of deportation.  After some persuasion, we started up the mountain to the very far right of the sign, just out of view of the cameras.  We concluded the heavy metal conduit must be a security measure, and we were careful to stay clear of all of the wires… 

It was growing dark at an alarming rate, and we were no longer climbing, as much as crawling up the mountain.  My body shook with fear as I came to the realization that what we were doing was much more dangerous and painful than walking through my seven-year-old’s Lego filled bedroom barefoot, with the lights out.  Somehow heading all the way up the mountain behind the sign and climbing the 10 foot fence with double barbed wire sounded more appealing than trying to make our way down the way we came up.  We were now clinging to the conduit, making our way up the steep incline.  My 20 pound back pack full of souvenirs, water and my patent leather peep-toe heels was now a huge hindrance, as was the decorative purse I had purchased the day earlier in Venice Beach.  The second set of security helicopters flew by, and we hid under a couple of bushes.  Finally, we made our way to the fence behind the sign.  We were now just over 50 feet to the right of the sign, and 100 feet behind the sign.  It was now completely dark, and we had accepted the fact that we were not going to be down from the mountain in time to rendezvous with our driver.  We took in the amazing view as we clung to the fence and sorted our options. 

We chose option 3, which was to shimmy our way down the way we had come up.  I finally accepted the gravity of our predicament when I was forced to surrender my zebra striped cuff bracelet and decorative ring to Mambo’s purse so I would have more traction, things are always more serious without accessories.  Sliding, falling, and crawling down the mountain, we composed ourselves by practicing our usual form, Mambo texting, while I talked and told stories.  A responsible student, I declared a concern for my homework assignment while clinging to a rock.  In an equally random manner, Mambo expressed a concern for her hair’s curl pattern during her dangerous decent, now carrying my 20 pound back pack.  Soon we had made our way to our original point of entry.

Ecstatic that we were still alive and without any serious injury, we ‘high fived’ and exclaimed “we did it” as we made our way out of the small opening of the fence.  We had achieved our goal to make it out alive without injury or arrest, and the sign was a distant memory…  Until, we got back on the path, and took another route witch lead us to another paved path…  that led all the way up to the sign.  We looked at each other and decided, maybe on another day…

We walked our original path for a long, long time, thoughtfully dodging good sized reminders of the digestive cycle of a horse.  As we neared a darkened pathway underneath a canopy of trees, we briefly reevaluated our navigational skills, but continued on to find the park entrance… with a 10 foot locked fence.  Mambo with her tall model like figure could have easily slid her way through the small opening, myself, however with my childbearing hips and 20 pound overstuffed backpack did not have clearance.  Taking it in stride, Mambo graciously hopped up the fence, grabbed the back pack, and slid to the other side.  Although not as eloquently, I made my way over the fence and hopped to the ground with the grace of a one-legged penguin.

 We composed ourselves briefly to gain directions to a cab from officers 2 and 3.  Sharing the sacred bond of misdemeanor criminal activity and horse manure, we walked off into the moonlit Hollywood night, Mambo with her blister the size of an eleventh toe and her tosseled hair,  myself with a skinned knee and no accessories…

Mission Impossible…

OK, so by now, you may be familiar with one of my perfect flaws… Once I’ve made up my mind about something I want to do, I do it…  Plenty of times I have measured my desire to do something because I really want to, against the desire to do something in spite of the person, place or thing that says I can’t, shouldn’t, or won’t.  In such cases, I’m not quite sure where my desire is born, however I have to admit that something is always more alluring if I feel it is alluding.  Maybe it’s just the law of nature, my survival instinct, or my own way of arguing with reality. 

 I will be the first to admit that although arguing with reality may be exciting, it may not always be beneficial…  For example, the whole “Are these jeans too tight?” conversation that you have with yourself in front of the mirror, when you are painfully aware that even having the conversation with yourself means in fact they are…  This is one argument that you do want to lose to reality, if only to breath, avoid impaling an innocent bystander with an explosive button, or to forego altering your midsection to resemble the top of  a freshly made banana muffin from Starbucks.  However, I enjoy ‘people watching’, and it appears that I am not the only one that has “won” an argument with reality that should have been lost…  With that being said, I have a difficult time accepting no for an answer.

I have just passed the half way point of my stay here in Burbank, just steps away from Hollywood, and I have yet to make the pilgrimage to the coveted Hollywood sign on Mount Lee.  Yesterday during class, I declared triumphantly that I was going to hike up to the Hollywood sign…  A couple of my classmates decided this would be a great adventure, so we began to plan our trek through the mountainside to the infamous landmark.  Quickly our plans became much more exciting, when we were told by a classmate (who lives locally) that the sign is fenced off, and there is no trespassing.  As a group, we quickly pummeled reality to the ground, and without hesitation planned a detailed, exciting, and somewhat illegal nighttime ‘mission’ to the foot of the Hollywood sign.  The plan, complete with code names, included scaling a fence, night vision goggles, a lookout with text messaging capabilities, really cute black outfits and avante guard makeup. 

 In the interest of anonymity, I will refer to my friends by their code names, Dark Night, Mambo Momma, and Jack.  Mambo Momma came up with the idea of painting really cool black makeup masks on ourselves…  we quickly got to work sketching or mask designs.  Jack decided she would video us, using the infrared nighttime setting on her video camera. Dark Night frantically searched through fashion magazines to get ideas for our outfits, while inquiring with our instructors about flashlight headbands and infrared goggles.  We all stayed after school for the optional 2 hour study hall, during which the talk of fines and possible arrest deterred some classmates from joining our expedition.

Later that evening, I spent hours researching the best hiking  routes and security measures surrounding the sign.  Much to my dismay, I discovered an airtight security system including 9 infrared cameras on and around the sign, as well as several on the trail head that are heavily monitored by park rangers and live Internet feed.  Keeping within the scope of Epic Hollywood proportions, there are also patrol helicopters triggered by motion detectors.  All of a sudden perfecting the symmetry of my blush application looked more promising than a photo op at the giant letter H.  Not wanting to lose to reality, I studied the position of the cameras for at least 30 more minutes…

Thirty minutes later, reality had me in a choke hold, and I reluctantly declared defeat.  Today at school I broke the news to my squad. Reality did not win without a fight…  We threw around several complicated, and in some cases, dangerous alternatives.  The ideas included,  but were not limited to a friend of a friend who owns a helicopter service, a diversion technique involving Midnight Mambo and a park ranger, 12 dozen helium balloons, and a larger diversion technique requiring a minimum of 12 people,  just to name a few…

So it looks like this weekend the mission impossible squad will be taking photos of the Hollywood sign via the near by observatory and practicing our blush strokes… 

Copy that.  This is Dark Night to tower signing out.

Hunter Green…

OK, so when you are attending an academy of cosmetic arts, there is plenty of talk about color.  There is color theory, color value, complimentary colors, cool colors, warm colors, monochromatic color schemes… it goes on and on and on.  As part of our last few assignments, we were asked to think about our favorite colors.  Colors we wear, colors we buy, colors we paint our house…  I am surrounded by color every day.  I possess almost every color of clothing (and the matching shoes) ever made, I obviously did not have a fear of color when I painted my salon, and I alter my clients’ hair color all the time, I even dream in color.  You could say I have a colorful life (both metaphorically, and literally).  As colorful as a life I lead, I have grown concerned that maybe I take color for granted.  When it came time to pick a favorite color, I had a somewhat difficult time.  For the most part, I enjoy almost every color.  But when I took some time to think about one color I enjoy above others, I picked green, lime green to be specific.

Green can represent many things to many different people, for many different reasons.  Grass is green, and in the Midwest when people think of grass, they are reminded of Spring and renewal.  Some people are reminded of money when they think of green, and money isn’t necessarily a bad thing (especially when you have it).  Envy is also something that comes to mind when the word green is mentioned… 

For the most part, I would not consider myself to be an envious person.  However, during my recent trip to the Santa Monica Beach, I did feel a little ‘green’ as they say, when countless numbers of bikini-clad twenty-year-olds paraded around the beach, while I franticly adjusted and readjusted my sarong and my swimsuit with an attached skirt in an effort to camouflage the brutal reality of chocolate, childbirth, and gravity.  Swimsuit body aside, I am truly very happy with my life.  I am blessed with my faith, my health, the privilege of being Hunter’s Mom, I have a fabulous home, my own business doing something I love so much I would do it for free, amazing friends and family, a dependable car, and I’m here in California studying something I love…  I could go on and on.  With that being said, the last few days have been really pretty tough.  I really miss my son, I mean I really, really miss him.  I have been feeling green, Hunter Green.  I have personally redefined Hunter Green into the color of envy I have been feeling for everyone and everything that gets to be near him these days.  I am envious of his daycare providers, his little 7-year-old friends, his Dad, his Step-mom, his Stepbrothers, his dogs, his cats, and yes, even his pillow.  His dad sent me pictures of him jumping on his trampoline the other day, and I even wished for a moment that I could be his trampoline!  I know today is already my official half way point, and I will be with him soon, 11 days to be exact. 

Eleven days will surely fly by in spite of my envy for playground equipment, but I predict that 11 days from now I will have a new favorite color, red.  Red will most likely be the color of the Popsicle mustache Hunter will get when I take him out for ice-cream a week from this Sunday.

Metaphoria…

OK, so on the first day of class, our instructor asked us who our favorite cartoon character is.  Those of you who know me well may know my answer… Wile E. Coyote (from The Coyote and Roadrunner).  Apparently, your favorite cartoon character tells a lot about yourself, either important aspects of your personality, or who you wish you were.  Well, it’s pretty safe to say that not many people wish they were Wile E. Coyote, however many people may find that they are. 

If you remember right, our good friend Wile E. always seemed to get himself into quite a predicament every time he pursued his dream of catching the infamous Roadrunner.  Not only did Coyote fail, he would fail miserably in a tragic and very painful way.  Coyote would chase Roadrunner with such momentum, he would run off a cliff, and almost make it to the other side, when suddenly he would look down and realize there was no cliff, plummet to his doom, where a very large boulder would fall on his head, and an ACME bomb he had constructed with great precision and care would fall on top of the boulder, and explode.  My mom has claimed that I had quite an affection for Coyote as a small child, and I would always cry when he got hurt…  I hope Mom kept me well hydrated, because I must have shed many tears.  Although I vaguely remember watching Coyote as a child, I do remember my brief obsession with the Cartoon Network, specifically Coyote and Roadrunner, during a particularly stressful time in my mid twenties.  I remember how closely my life paralleled the Coyote’s, especially the part where he is off the cliff for quite some time, everyone sees it but him… then he looks down… splat, boom, bang!  There I was and the proverbial bomb had just exploded atop the boulder that had just flattened me to the ground!  I laughed at the metaphor, then I quickly purchased a Roadrunner sticker set.  I then strategically placed a Roadrunner and Coyote sticker in the middle of my steering wheel in my car (one of the only places I had to sit still long enough to see them).  However, there was a twist.  I positioned them so the Roadrunner was chasing the Coyote. 

Fast forward 7 years…  Now, I’m not denying Wile E.’s tragedy can be somewhat endearing.  But lately, I have been viewing my life, and Coyote’s in a different light.  Coyote really does have a lot going for him.  Let’s say it together… PERSEVERANCE!  Can you think of anyone with more perseverance than Wiley?  I mean the dude has died at least 500 times, usually about 5 times in one episode!  Wile E.’s dedication can not be denied.  He could go over to the local supermarket and grab a rotisserie chicken, but no, he wants Roadrunner for dinner.  And look out Bill Gates, our friend is a genius! Some of his complex and impressive plots to capture his prey are truly impressive, and may I add at times more reliable than Windows XP.  If patience is a virtue as they say, than our fury friend is very virtuous…  Do you know how many times he had to stand by the mailbox, waiting for his ACME equipment to come in?  And last but not least, who is more resourceful than Wile E. Coyote?  Coyote always knew where to look for what he needed, if it wasn’t from the ACME company, he would turn to things found in nature in an effort to achieve the desired result, such as giant boulder catapults, and tree sling shots. 

Now, what does all of this have to do with California, and my studies?  Well, as I sit here typing, my legs are really sore, I mean they are really, really, really sore.  As is the entire rest of my body (some parts I don’t even know the names for, I might add…)  Why you ask?  Well… Saturday, I decided to climb a mountain.  Why did I want to climb a mountain you ask?  The answer is easy.  Because I wanted to, and because my housemate Yvonne told me not to because it was too hot…  So I left my airconditioned room at 2:00pm to climb a mountain in 100 + degree heat.  I returned 6 hours later…  at 8:00pm.  

 It took me about 4 hours to get up the mountain, and only about 2 hours to get down.  There is a lot of story here that I could tell, (and eventually I probably will) but the moral is I made it up to the top of the mountain because I wanted to.  The next day, I decided to go to the beach, even though it was over a 2 hour bus ride to go 30 miles.  Why spend over 4 hours of my Saturday on public transportation?  You ask.  The answer is quite simple.  Because I wanted to go to the beach, and several people told me I would be crazy for spending 4 hours on a bus with a night time layover in downtown L.A. .  I left the house at 10:30 am, and returned at 9:30 pm.  While I was at the beach, and although my legs were killing me from the mountain climb, and I could barely walk, I wished I could be one of the people rollerblading on the boardwalk.  So I rented some Rollerblades and roller-bladed 4 miles.  Why you ask?  I think you know the answer to this one… 

My teacher must have been delighted to hear me mention Wile E.’s name last week.  She must have thought to herself, “I am so lucky to have a dedicated and resouceful, genious of a student with such perseverance and patience.”

Age Before Beauty…

OK, so I have to get this off my chest…  (actually, I better just leave what’s already on my chest, on my chest as to not interrupt nature’s delicate balance, and in my case my balance is very delicate… with regards to my chest, I digress…)  It’s no wonder after sitting in front of a mirror for a week in a room full of 18-23-year-olds, that I may be dealing with some self esteem issues, particularly regarding age.  Currently in my class, I am the only mom, one of 2 that has been married, the only one who has been divorced, and of course the only one who has done it twice…  But there have been a few other factors contributing to my insecurity regarding my age.  Currently I am one of 2 who is not enamored of Justin Timberlake (yes this was a lengthy and somewhat heated discussion today), one of 2 who does not have a boyfriend whom I call on lunch break, as a matter of fact I am sure I am the only one who is waiting for a fax from my divorce attorney on my lunch break.  I am also in the minority when it comes to face piercings, tattoos, and no prior knowledge of the slang term ‘hella’ (which I think means very, but I’m not quite sure).   I am not complaining, I am just recently very aware of how young I am not, which is not necessarily a bad thing, it just brings me to the comment that was made yesterday, that brought me dangerously close to throwing in the towel and purchasing several denim jumpers and orthopedic shoes. 

Here is some background;

After our instructor demonstrates the proper techniques to create a new ‘look’, we are assigned a partner, and we practice on each other (in front of a very large, very well lit mirror).  Yesterday during the ‘daytime look’ my partner, all of 19 or 20 commented to me, and I quote, “I am so glad we have older people in our class so I can practice on their skin.  I’m sure when I start working, there will be older people, so I will [already] know how to do their makeup.”  Now, I have to say that one of my most prized possessions as an older person, is my diplomacy, and my verbal ‘filtration’ system that I have acquired over the years.  Although I’m not ready for jean jumpers and orthopedics (OK, if they were really cute orthopedics, maybe…), I will still chose the art of diplomacy over Justin any day.  Sorry girls. 

With that being said… I need to go take some Tylenol and lay down… my diplomacy is killing me!

Let’s makeup…

Here I am in day 2 of my studies at Westmore Academy of Cosmetic Arts, in beautiful Burbank, CA (just a couple of miles away from Hollywood).  Westmore has been referred to as “the Harvard” of makeup schools, and is internationaly recognized.  Students come from around the world to study here, and our class is no exception.  We have a student from Brazil, Canada, New Orleans, New Jersey, and interestingly enough… South Bend Indiana! (1 hour from my house).  Yesterday was orientation, and today was our first real day of class.  This is a very concentrated course, and as I am only here for the first 3 weeks of the 12 week course, I will be working really hard to learn everything I can from this program, including the optional 2 hour study halls on Thursday evenings.  Today we learned our first ‘look’ the ‘sporty’ look.  The ‘I don’t look like I have makeup on, but really I do’ look.  This is a difficult look to achieve, and given all of the new tools, makeup, and techniques we learned today, it took me much longer than I thought it would, however I did receive a thumbs up from the teacher for my final result.

I am so grateful to be here and have this opportunity!  I have many, many people and orginizations to thank for this privilage, including my fabulous clients who have so graciously accomadated my schedule with my recent travels. 

I am renting a room here in Burbank, and Yvonne the homeowner has been very gracious and accommodating.  Yvonne has a housemate, Kamiko who is here studying from Japan, and a dog named Bruno.  We are all having a great time. 

Just a quick unhumorous breakdown of my current Californian studies and status to date.  I promise to get back to my quirky self in my future posts (when I get some sleep).

Flights of fancy…

Well, here I am in California… The last couple of weeks have been a whirl-wind of travel…  Last week this time I was either on an airplane, in an airport, or in transport from an airport.  I am not complaining, it just seems I have spent a lot of time in the air lately.  Many-a-time have I been accused of ‘having my head in the clouds’… well lately, it’s been all the other parts of my body as well, given all my recent travels (and the many airport stop overs involved with discount airfare).  Which brings me to the whole point of this post…  Recently, on my flight to Salt Lake City, my seat mates and I got into a deep discussion about the various salutations of airline attendents.  There is the “Bye now”, “Have a great day”, “Have a good day”, “Thank you”, and the classic “Ba-bye.”  Sometimes nothing at all.  Which lead to an inquirey about airline attendent training, and the question, “Is there a list of standard departure greetings?”  My seat mates and I decided to ‘collect’ our salutations until we got the standard (and now coveted) ba-bye.  The first person to get a ba-bye wins…  The salutation is only valid while you are actually deplaning, so the “cute purse,” and the “do you have a license to drive that thing (my suitcase),” are not valid as they were comments made before I reached the exit door.  However, since July 26, I have received a “Bye now,” a “Good bye,” a “Have a great day,” “Have a nice day,” an “Enjoy your day,” and a plain ole “bye.”  The once standard “ba-bye” now eludes me…  Is this a national trend?  Have my former seatmates already collected their “ba-bye?”   Am I no longer “ba-bye” worthy?  These pressing questions have occupied my waking thoughts just long enough to write this pointless post, and I am interested in hearing your airplane farewells.