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May 7. Day 311.

Guess what.

I think I need to sleep.

I could keep writing, and it would probably be somewhat coherent, but it won't be fun for either of us.

I realized this when I reread the first sentence of this post: Today, we went to Ocean Beach.

Yes, I'm down to one sentence paragraphs.

Eww. Not enticing.

That one had two sentences, but it won't happen again.

I promise.

For enticement, must sleep first.

Anyway, I'm almost caught up.

With any luck, I'll dream up an asking for tomorrow.

xo,

La Roxy

PS: anyone have anything to say? A little May message? How's this blog working for ya? Anything thoughts, ideas, suggests, questions, concerns, as I conceptualize this project for Year Two? Would love to hear from you!! Leave a comment below, or email me.

PPS: the one sentence thing doesn't apply to PS's.

PPPS: zzzz.

UPDATE:

You know what?? Screw sleep.

I can do this.

Onward.

You can't visit San Diego without going to the beach. So we headed today to Ocean Beach, which has three great things going for it:

1) that beach surfer/hippie atmosphere you can't find most other places on the planet
2) a row of cool local shops
3) great Mexican food

After a taco lunch and a stroll by the water, we stopped in a few stores. In the last one, we each noticed some pretty jewelry. I rather liked an antique cross with seed pearls (not that I'm overly, or overtly, religious -- see this post for details -- but I am happy to wear a cross on occasion.) No way was I buying it, but that didn't stop me from trying it on.

Meanwhile, Eau had zoomed in on an Edwardian pendant with amethyst. Absolutely stunning.

She asked the salesman if he could do a better price, and he offered 10 percent off. Nothing amazing, but still, around $25 for her pendant.

Following suit, I asked the same, and he extended the same discount -- about $16 off.

These were American pieces, he explained, from around the turn of the century. Necklines plunged for the first time in decades and women could finally wear something dainty around their necks, rather than brooches. Cool back story.

Ample desire, but no actual intention to purchase. Still, I had to ask for something.

Gained: The offer of $16 off a $160 pendant.

Salary injustice, close to home

May 6. Day 310.

La Sorella called me this morning, flustered.

She took on a babysitting job in Seattle. A baby and a toddler. $10 per hour. It takes her an hour to drive there and back, not paid. Plus the family comes home late and doesn't pay for the extra 10 or 15 minutes. Should she ask for a raise or not? Should she ask them to come on time, or pay her for her time? She was nervous about bringing up these issues, but upset with the status quo.

I told her yes on both counts. Encouraged her. Gave her a few talking points. Told her to find a better paying gig, since even if she got a raise, the base is so low it would probably not jump high enough to be worth it.

Then I hung up.

But I felt like we didn't end the talk well. I wasn't sure I'd given her the best advice. It was snippets of ideas, but nothing coherent. Nothing rousing. Nothing more meaningful than "hope" and "try."

"Can you talk to her?" I asked Eau.

This woman has taught negotiation classes. She bargains down jewelry in Hong Kong to less than 10 percent of the asking price. And she knows about employment law.

It was a moot question. Of course she would. I dialed and handed her the phone.

"Darling," she said, and yes she really does talk that way. "Darling, I heard about your situation, and I have to say, it's really wrong what they are doing. It's unconscionable, really. I mean, given my line of work I'm really tuned into what's fair and equitable and what's not, and anyone would rule that this is exploitation. If you factor in your travel time and gas, you are earning less than minimum wage. Just to put things in perspective, when I was in New York I charged more than five times that. Prices are very inflated there, and you're in a different city, but you're still a college graduate with special training in education. You should be charging much more than $10, especially for two kids.

"I think that what's more important than keeping these clients -- since they are taking advantage of you -- is learning to value your time and talents. People are happy to pay more for a quality product or service, and that's exactly what you're offering. You're intelligent, energetic, wonderful with children, and you've been trained as a teacher. You're a professional. You're not some teenager who wants to make a few extra bucks on top of her allowance. So I'm sure there are other people out there looking for a babysitter or a tutor. I'd find some other clients, and start with a much higher fee. You can always let them bargain it down, but $10 is far too little. And if those people still want to pay $10, they should hire a preteen from the neighborhood.

"Even if the kids take a nap, you shouldn't feel you have it easy or it's not a job. You're still the responsible adult in the house. If something goes wrong, if there's a fire or one of them needs to go to the emergency room, that's actually what you're there for. Just in case. On top of the care you provide when they are awake. Plus, any time you are there, you can't be doing something else. Working a better paying job, or looking for full time work, or doing whatever you want with your time.

"I've found that when people do ask for respect, when they take themselves seriously enough to complain about something or make sure they're treated fairly, people will actually respect them much more. Never, ever be afraid to stand up for yourself."

I just listened in awe. Right on every count. My sister, meanwhile, was silent, but taking it all in on the other end.

A few hours later, she sent me this text message:

"They said no to higher pay. So I won't be babysitting after these sessions. Ridiculous. Maybe they'll reconsider. Thank you and Eau. It felt great to stand up for myself!"

I was so happy -- so so happy -- she acted. Immediately. No fear. I'm proud of you, little sis!!!

Gained: respect -- and just around the corner, I am positive, a much better paying job -- for my Sorella.

(Another bit of good news:

For months I've been working on this chapter. Last Friday I drove to UCLA to hand it to my prof, but the pages had printed out funny. For her, that was a nuisance. For me, it was salvation.

Because it bought me a few more days.

So since Friday until today, I worked madly the finish the damn thing. Really finish it. I edited it three more times. Print outs. Paper jams. Between hanging out, cooking a chicken, playing a board game and occasional sleep...

Finally...

tonight... at 11:50 p.m...

I hit send.

Done. Bye bye, chapter two!! Four down, one to go!!)

Better price if we buy two?

May 5. Day 309.

Unt zee blogothon continues!

Eau and I ended up in Old Town. It's Cinco de Mayo, you see, and Old Town is San Diego's pseudo Mexican touristic mecca. Brimming with cute boutiques, women in old fashioned clothes and quite delicious margaritas.

We visited an old schoolhouse (from the outside, since it was closed), spotted a mariachi band on break, and swooped into a tucked away shop with geodes -- which has gorgeous pieces for rock bottom prices (heehee). One of my San Diego secrets. Eau found a present for a friend, and I found a pair of book ends.

Her geode was $65, my stones were $33.

I pulled her aside before the saleswoman rang us up.

"I could try to get us a discount. Ok?"

"Sure!"

At the counter, I asked if we could get a better price, since we were purchasing two.

"I can do that, sure," she replied. She tapped a few numbers into her calculator and gave us $9 off -- more than 10 percent of the $98 total. Nice! 2 seconds of lip motion for the equivalent of two happy hour margaritas. I'll take that.

Gained I: $9.

Earlier, we started the day at a thrift shop in a different part of town. I parked and as we walked past the store's window, to the front door, I noticed a gorgeous Tiffany style lamp there.

I swooped in and inspected it. It was in perfect shape.

But these things usually go for $300 new, especially when they have long stems, like this one. My secret wager was $80, since this particular shop has great deals.

Still above my budget but... I figured I'd check.

"Excuse me, how much is this lamp?"

"$25."

"Really?" I answered, not sure if I heard right!! "$25."

"Yes."

I bought it. No discount, but never ever would I own such a lamp if I hadn't stumbled upon one in a dusty second store -- and asked.

Gained II: spiffy accent lamp.

Sunny side of the... patio

May 4. Day 308.

All right, people. Here we go. It's Saturday night, May 9, almost midnight as I write this. And after weeks of updating days after the fact, enough.

So with this laptop as my witness, I promise to finish the night up to date. (Or fall asleep trying.)

Blog or bust.

Yarrrr!

***

Monday, my college friend Eau arrived for a visit. She'll be here till Friday. For days we tried to come up with a name for her, since people who get featured in this blog knowingly get a pseudonym, if they so choose. (The rest get stuck with exciting titles like "the rug saleslady" or "the police officer riding a segway." Such are the perils and joys of semi-anonymous blogging.) We had so many ideas for her, I've actually forgotten them all. So I hereby dub her Eau, for she is, like water itself, life giving. No, she hasn't had many babies or worked as a hamster breeder. But she tends to spread joy and energy all around her. I think that counts.

I picked her up from the airport, and true friend of mine that she was, she instantly had food on the mind. Before dropping off her bags at my house, we went to Parkhouse Eatery, a former antique shop that now serves "grub." So says its menu.

We nabbed a table in the shade, since after days of May gray, the sun has finally come out in San Diego.

She ordered a salad. I, the club sandwich.

We chatted. We giggled. We laughed. We probably annoyed the man sitting next to us (and the only other person on the patio), since when Eau and I get together, there's nary a second of silence.

Eventually, I started feeling a little chilly, and I noticed her hugging her arms.

Could it be? Were we both cold? And were we both keeping quiet, lest the other one prefer the shade?

"Are you cold?" I finally asked. "Want to switch tables?"

"Yes!!!"

Gained: a spot in the sun.

Of piety, and professors past and present

May 3. Day 307.

"Let me guess. You're the church going type. You came right from church."

This is was instead of hello, from the old man manning the CD table at an estate sale I visited this morning.

"Oh, really. What makes you think I'm the pious type?" I replied, mock snarky. "The CDs I chose, or just a general hunch?"

"The skirt. Obviously you came from church, in that skirt."

"Actually, nope."

(I'd say the picture above aptly summarizes my attitude towards good ol' church worshippin' piety. Not faith or spirituality per se, just the fixings and trimmings. Maybe I should carry around that image, as my own personal prayer card. Wave it at the next person who asks about my church habits.)

He smiled and shrugged, then rang me up: 8 CDs for $12. Some were brand new. I didn't even try to bargain. It was a great price.

The ad had stated: "SOUTH PARK. Estate sale. A mini museum of a renowned professor's life in Russia, Central/ South America, and the Mideast. Over 30 Persian rugs, Kilims, etc. Paintings, furniture, pottery, folk art, thousands of books- Russian, English. Thousands of classical CD's, LP's, computers, ethnic weavings, textiles, antiques, and more. 9am-3pm. Friday, Saturday, Sunday. XXXX XXX Street, west of 30th." (Word for word, minus the privacy edit.)

Come to mama. I have been looking for a rug to put in the bedroom since I moved to the new house, in January. The CDs were an extra perk.

As I wandered around the rest of the house, I wondered: who was the man who lived here? Did he move away or die? How does he feel about selling his clothes and books to strangers? Was the CD seller the owner of the house, or just a middleman?

I asked one of the other employees if they organize sales for dead people, or people who moved away.

"Both."

I wandered into the office and saw the large desk, also for sale. What had he written there? It faced a window. I looked out: eucalyptus trees and a canyon. Peaceful.

I wandered into what seemed like a bedroom. Clothes still hanging in the closets. For sale. Had someone burrowed her nose into his clothes just days before, crying? Was he missed? It seemed like he must be. A professor? Traveling the world, studying people and cultures? Had to be a character.

Seeing the traces of this life, I asked myself if I could spend my own as a professor, traveling, collecting books and art. Sounds nice, but am I cut out for that? Is that cut out for me?

Upstairs, there were dozens of kilims in all sorts of colors. I had spotted one I liked, with burgundy and cream colors, in a very tight weave. Just gorgeous. The price tag said $150.

It was a reasonable price, given its size and apparent age.

Just, more expensive than I wanted it to be.

I called in one of the women upstairs managing the sale.

"I was curious about this rug. Given that it's the last day of the sale, can you give me a better price?"

"How's half off!?" Her eyes glimmered with joy. I could tell she was happy to make someone happy. And the discount certainly was generous.

One problem: $75 was a fine price, but it was not something I could walk away with, without feeling guilty I had spent too much. And with the fellowship expiring in two months, I really need to watch my bottom line these days...

"Wow, thank you! That's a great price!" I paused... "The thing is, and I know I'm crazy to suggest this, but I am looking to buy a rug for... $50. Is there any way you can do that?"

She said she'd check. Disappeared for a few seconds. And came back smiling.

"It's yours!"

"WOW! Thanks!!"

When I got home, I did an obituary search and found out whose house I'd visited. His name was Timothy McDaniel, and he died of cancer in March at age 61. Younger than my dad. The article begins:

A citizen of the world, Timothy “Tim” McDaniel lived in Chile during the 1973 coup overthrowing President Salvador Allende, headed a university study-abroad program in Russia and spent time in the slums of Brazil.

A sociology professor who believed in seeing firsthand how other cultures live, he shared his knowledge and passion with students and faculty at the University of California San Diego, where he played a major role in the foundation of Eleanor Roosevelt College. (More here.)

I printed out his obituary and filed it. I will care for his rug as if it were my own family heirloom.

Gained: The small piece of a stranger's life. And $100.

Then, this afternoon, I went shopping for a present for one of Mr. A's former professors. He was having a milestone party, and I'm the default present shopper. A title I am happy to claim.

I figured a pen would be a cliche, and I had too short notice to do something personalized (which would require snooping a bit, talking to his wife, to find out a little more about his interests). I wandered into Nativa, a store with blah furniture but very cute accent pieces, and noticed a silver picture frame. It was for an 8 by 10 photo, manly, distinguished, with a vaguely Native American thing going on.

It was $85, but actually, on sale for half off -- bringing it to around $45 including taxes.

The salesman came up, made lots of small talk, explained that it's from Argentina, a special kind of silver from there. Sounded good, but I wasn't totally sure I should get it. I liked the shape and sheen of the metal, but I also figured I could take a look first at the other stores in the neighborhood. It's full of bookstores and nifty, gifty places.

"Ok, I'll keep it in mind," I said. "I like it, but I'm not convinced it's exactly what I'm looking for."

I turned around and was about to step out the door when he stopped me.

"How much would you like it for?"

Hmm? Interesting!

"I really don't know." This was completely noncomittal. Completely bored.

"I'll give it to you for $30 even. No taxes, nothing. I'll gift wrap it right now."

"You know what? Deal." I figured I could show it to Mr. A. If he thought it was a good match for his prof, we'd give it to him. If it wasn't, then we'd keep it or give it to someone else later. Either way, a silver frame for $30 is a find.

Gained II: $15.

Getting someone else to do my dirty work

May 2. Day 306.

Ok, you're going to think I'm obsessed with salon services, but here goes: since coming back from France, I've been thinking of finding an equivalent jewel in San Diego. There has to be something, right? Good service, clean set-up, fair price? Pretty please?

I was driving to get lunch, Mr. A was in the passenger's seat, and I spotted a new salon in our neighborhood. In an old craftsman home, looking cute and kempt.

I jammed the number into my memory by saying it out loud a few times. Then, I asked Mr. A to ask for me:

"Quick! Can you call them? Before I forget the number? Ask about their prices and any specials?"

He dialed. Someone appeared to answer.

"Hello," he crooned in his tenor timbre. "I'd like to learn more about your services."

"{Blah blah}"

"Sure. I'm curious about the--" he looked at me as if to ask what prices or info I wanted.

"Waxing! Full leg waxing!" I blurted.

"--Full leg waxing."

"{Blah blah}"

"Not for me, my girlfriend," he added.

If Mr. A were the blushing type, he would have lit the car on fire. But he's not. So he didn't.

"$70? Ok, thank you."

No thanks, salon. But thanks, Mr. A!

Gained: Info, and a laugh.

My new crush, and thanks to the mechanics on Cotner Avenue

May 1. Day 305.

Somewhere on the I-405 between Culver City and Sepulveda Blvd, something amazing happened to me.

I became a Ryan Seacrest Fan!!!

Ry-an! Ry-an!

Before today, I'd see his air-brushed face on billboards advertising his talk show and think "Belch." I mean, Ryan Seacrest? He represents everything I loathe: mass produced, lowest common denominator, manufactured to please products with no meaning but the meaning they lack.

Then I heard him talk.

It was a segment on his show called "the rose." (Or something like that. Come on, admit it -- you know exactly what I'm talking about. And you love it, too.) Basically, a listener who thinks his or her significant other is being unfaithful calls the show. Ryan's co-host pretends to be a flower shop employee, calls the suspected cheater and offers a bouquet of roses. Who will the suspected cheater send them to?

So a woman called, saying her boyfriend had cheated on her seven times. They have a toddler, and now he promises fidelity and financial support. She wanted to take him back -- still loves him -- but she wanted to give him one last test, "to see if he's changed."

I wanted a call-in number so bad. "Who cares if he's changed! YOU haven't changed! Dating the same dipshit when you're a mama now. Get with the program, girl! You owe it to your baby!" I would have said. But I had no such number. And I was driving a manual car in LA traffic. Better stay off the phone.

The show called her baby-daddy.

"Hello? This is Fabulous Flowers, and we'd like to give you a free dozen roses, which you can send to whoever you want. Just give us the name and a message, and we'll take care of the rest. No payment, no billing info necessary. Congratulations!"

"Come on guys," I thought. "Unrealistic. You didn't even ask for the recipient's address. No one would fall for that--"

"Really?" He already sounded like a punk. "Free?"

"Yes! You won our drawing!"

"Ok. Then, make it out to Lisa."

"And the note?"

"Say, 'Love you, Chula.' "

"Is that C-h-u-l-a?"

"Yeah."

The other woman, the caller, erupted onto the line.

"Lisa!??? CHULA!!??? I can't believe you!!!!"

"What? Who is this?"

"You're calling her Chula!" (Chula means hotstuff in Spanish.)

"Baby. What are you doing on the phone? She's just a friend. You're my love."

Ryan stepped in.

"A friend, huh? I don't tell my friends that."

"Whatever, man."

"This is Ryan Seacrest, and you're on the radio, man."

"I'm on the-- what? You don't get it. We're getting married."

Then Ryan started reaming him.

"Married my BLEEP. You're irresponsible. You're not fit to be a father. Cheating seven times--"

"That didn't mean anything," the guy replied. "I love her."

"My BLEEP!" Ryan started yelling. "How dare you! You're just not cool, man. From bro to bro, you need to change your ways."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"You're a disgusting cheater. I get it. You're a womanizer. You want to have fun. But don't go saying you want to be a father to this child. Don't pretend you want to be a husband. Stay away from this woman. You're a failure as a father and a partner. I wouldn't let you anywhere near my kid."

"BLEEP BLEEP."

"You BLEEPing man whore!! MAN WHORE!"

"BLEEEEEEEP!"

Ryan!!! And here I had thought you were the man whore! I was so wrong!

Which has nothing to do with asking.

But this does:

While I was parked in LA, where I'd driven to turn in my dissertation chapter to my advisor and meet with her (she flew in from the East Cost for a conference), someone left a message on the car: "ADD COOLANT. Your radiator is leaking a lot of water."

Great. (This wasn't my car, but Mr. A's -- which I took up for the long drive. Two radiators kaput in a week? Just great.)

I drove around looking for an auto supply store, to pick up some coolant. On the way, I spotted an open mechanic garage. Maybe they would sell me coolant, and even check out the car before the long drive?

I pulled into the driveway.

"Hi, someone left this note on my car, and I'm wondering if it's safe to drive back to San Diego."

Two guys came up.

"San Diego? Well, you need to be safe for the drive back. Let's take a look."

They both checked it out, and one came back with some coolant. Filled it up.

"You're good to go."

"The radiator is fine?"

"Yeah, I can't see anything. I'm not sure why they left that note. No leaks or anything."

"Oh, that's great news, thank you! How much do I owe you?" I had a $5 ready and a $10 ready, and my credit card, depending on how much he'd ask. I wasn't about to bargain, since they were already doing me a favor by checking it out on the spot.

"Please."

"No, come on. Your time is valuable."

"Please. I am happy to know you'll drive back safely." He looked like he meant it.

"Well, thank you very much then. You're very kind."

Gained: Technically, $25 or so (skipped the gallon of coolant I was about to buy), even though I didn't ask for it. Thank you, gentlemen.