Why Romania? Cathy, my bff, and I tossed around several vacation ideas last fall.  We had settled on Ireland and Sicily and plans were proceeding apace, until she  said, “What about Romania?”  I shrugged and said, “Why not? We’ll call our trip ‘Italmania.’” 

Here’s what we have learned so far in Romania:

• how to piss off the Romanian waiter at the Lebanese restaurant.
• don’t piss off the postal clerk. She will yell at you.
• bag our produce, then give it to workers in the produce aisle who weigh and tag it, then  pay at the check-out stand.
• the lime green travel shirt that looked so smart and fun at Target actually yells TOURIST. Well, of course it does
• Romanians’ English is quite good, but they are collectively modest about their facility with it. Consequently, questions are frequently met with non-committal shrugs and eyes that immediately look past your shoulder. You can practically hear their brains whisper ‘Look away. look away! LOOK AWAY!’

So, the Romanian-waiter-incident at the Lebanese restaurant. The hostess who greeted us in the restaurant courtyard said, “You know this is Bolivian restaurant, yes?” We said that was fine. She seated us on the second floor balcony.  The waiter stopped by a moment later and said, “You know this is Lebanese food.” We said that was fine.  One of the two clearly hadn’t paid attention during training, but food from either region was fine with us.

Our RLW – Romanian-Lebanese-Waiter – presented our menus and I asked what he recommended.

“I like it all,” he shrugged and stared at the table between us.

“How about tonight? What do you feel like tonight?” I coaxed.

Another shrug. “It’s all good,” he said flatly.

“So, no recommendation.” I said. “Well, we’ll just read it then,” and held up the menu. 

He engaged with Romanian diners at nearby tables.  He inquired about their meals, cleared dishes and brought more food.

I adopted a business attitude toward him. I wasn’t rude, but I no longer smiled at him or turned toward him when he approached our table. In turn he became more engaged, even courteous. Perhaps he had tired of tourists’ incessant questions about the menu, perhaps he wanted to make the first business advance. Whatever it was that happened between us left us on neutral territory. 

If a waiter is out and out rude to me I will leave a very small tip. This happens seldom. Romanian tourist sites recommend leaving a 10% tip for waiters. We left RLW a 20% tip. He opened the payment folder as we walked away.  He snapped the cover closed on our Romanian Lei and snapped his head back with exasperation.

Sometimes waiters just have bad nights.

Is it a sign?  Am I supposed to get another Labrador? Would Perris’s feelings be hurt?  Or am I supposed to get a lamb?  Or a horse with a docked tail? I couldn’t decide, so . . .

I may be stretching for content.  And that’s why you love me — I’m cute and unpredictable.

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Part of the discipline of losing fat and gaining muscle means more focused exercise.  And more cardio and more pushing myself physically.  Which means my Achilles is a bit tweaked tonight and I’m back to icing it.

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In the last month I’ve had TWO people tell me I look like two different actresses — one from the original “Melrose Place” TV show and the other a character on “Stargate”.  The woman who mentioned Melrose Place said, “You look like . . . “  And I said, “I am that actress.”  I grabbed her hand and shook it while she looked a bit stunned.

She meant this actress, who I think is quite lovely, and I’m pretty sure I look nothing like her.  Except I do have hair, eyebrows, lips, and a tooth.

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I am doing two new things:  I’m doing p.r. for a local organization that provides services to homeless people and the working poor.  I’m also volunteering for a congressional race.  We’re hoping to put a democrat in the district currently held by a do-nothing Republican.  I checked the Republican’s website and his voting record is terrible (read: I don’t agree with most of his votes) and he introduces mostly crappy legislation.  I’m irritated that you and I will be paying his massive pension and providing him with gold-plated health insurance.  If you’re going to run for political office, please be responsible and vote and don’t run off to car shows in Florida when a piece of legislation like the jobs bill comes up.  Doofus.

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Have you bought toothpicks lately?  Good luck finding ‘em at your local grocer.  You’d think they’d be in the baking aisle, but no.  Next you’d look in the kitchen utensils aisle.  No go.  In my store they’re in the diaper aisle.  Why is that?!?  For the life of me, I don’t see/get the association.  Except that wet  or dirty diapers irritate me (no, not mine, shut up) and now toothpicks do too because now when I see a toothpick I remember my toothpick search and how I’m still confounded with their placement.  Forget confounded — let’s just say peeved that I spent 20 minutes looking for the damn things.

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An unknown co-worker put these on my desk, I’m guessing because I wasn’t at work Wednesday.  First time I’ve received flowers in FOREVER.  It’s nice.

This is how I feel inside — peaceful, still, at ease.  It’s a pretty great feeling.

When we got home the temperature dropped:

My evening Pilates class moved to a shaded grassy spot and still we poured sweat.  Instead of Bikram Yoga we had Bikram Pilates.  It actually was pretty great.

Doing some stuff online last night for my son and found this.  Whoa.

I have a new office mate!  Today will be cooler but I didn’t want to leave my sweet labby girl outdoors so she’s at work with me:

The cone prevents her from chewing her paws while the vet and I get to the bottom of her allergy issues.

Here’s to a cooler Tuesday.

Shucking on my day pack full of head lamp, water bottles, snacks, camera, tripod, purse, keys, and some pullovers, I grabbed my trekking poles and hit the fire road to the top of Mount Hollywood about 5:30 pm.  The hike took about 40 minutes.

A lot of people night-hike Mount Hollywood and especially on full moon nights.  The moon begins its appearance a bit at a time, emerging from behind the San Gabriel mountain range.  It rises quickly and it’s gorgeous — huge, tantalizingly near, glowing pale yellow.  I had visions of getting a shot like Ansel Adams’s pic of the moonrise over Hernandez, New Mexico.  It was not to be.  Lord, it was so not to be.  But I’m ahead of myself.

At the top of the mountain I talked with a quartet of friends who had gotten together to celebrate a birthday.  Their day started with breakfast, and included seeing Catfish, hanging out, and climbing Mt. Hollywood to see the full moon.

The L.A. city councilman is in orange on the left. The rest are my new friends. Hi, you guys!

Thank you, serendipity, for introducing us.  We fell easily into conversation, listened to the L.A. City Councilman who drove up the mountain with his entourage in two vans. I was puzzled by his waxing eloquent over the hiking trails in the Santa Monica mountains and his efforts to make them possible, only to see him arrive and depart by vehicle.

Dinner at The Alcove.

My new friends invited me to join them for dinner and we ended up at The Alcove on Hillhurst. Go, just go there, if ever you find yourself in L.A.  Charming atmosphere, great patio, extensive menu, and good food.  I stepped away from the table for a few minutes and returned to find my friends attacking a piece of marzipan-frosted yellow cake with marshmallow filling.  It was AMAZING.  Vowing to meet again for a potluck we exchanged contact info and parted ways.  My BFF has already agreed to join me for the potluck.  When’s it going to be, guys?

Aaarrgh.

I eagerly downloaded my pics at home.   All the moon shots were terrible.  I’m not being modest. T.E.R.R.I.B.L.E!  It’s probably time to read the manual or upgrade to the Canon I have my eye on.

I got some pics tonight on the local pier.  Check out this guy — he’s 92, name of Charles, and he’s from Trinidad.  Super sharp guy — had the details on the Iranian president declaring Americans responsible for 9/11.  Charles was a delight.

Meet Charles from Trinidad.

I’m off to the harbor tomorrow night to get my waning full moon shot.  I vow to post it whether it’s good or bad — promise.

Other pics from this week . . .

Chatting with BFF and Frankie.

The night fisherman.

Sunset on Mt. Hollywood, September 23, 2010.

The building super called animal control.  I went outside to check on the feline family and the receptionist said the kittens were picked up. Mama ran when AC arrived.  AC said the kittens will be adopted quickly and that it’s good Mama wasn’t caught because AC would euthanize her.

I’m so sad for Mama kitty — her babies have vanished.