Socal Mom

Brangelina's Babies and Me

This week, I am enjoying my 15 minutes of fame: If you turn to page 128 of this week's People magazine, you will find a picture of ME, standing in front of my Wii Fit.

At least, I think that's what you'll see, because I haven't been able to get my hands on the issue yet. The reporter who interviewed me let me know last week that the article was on the publication schedule, but it's been postponed a few times before, so I wasn't holding my breath. (The interview and photos were done back in May!) Besides, I thought the magazine might send me an advance copy when it was published. Silly me.

So when I saw this cover at the supermarket on Monday, I didn't bother picking it up. And yesterday, when I discovered the article was out (because I received an interview request from a British news agency), I went looking for a copy ... and came up empty-handed. My husband went to seven different stores last night - couldn't find it. And I tried again this morning. No go.

One of my friends at Nintendo told me she had to visit a couple of stores to find hers, because this issue is selling out. "This will probably be their biggest seller of the year," she said. "EVERYBODY is going to see it!"

Everybody but me, apparently.

C'est la vie. My mom and dad and sister in Sacramento tell me the photos came out great. My niece called from her job at the entertainment law firm to tell me she was reading it there. I've gotten congratulation emails and tweets from friends all over the country -- and even heard from a former co-worker I haven't seen in 30 years.

I am going to assume that there's nothing in the piece that I would find embarrassing, other than the photos I sent, showing how very bad I looked before I lost 56 pounds.

So how does one get one's picture in one of the country's most popular general interest magazines?

It helps to have lost a significant amount of weight. Thailan Pham, the very nice writer who interviewed me, seems to be on People's weight loss beat. She had just finished the story on folks who'd lost 100 pounds each. I think those cover stories sell nearly as much as the ones with celebrity babies.

It also helps to have friends at a company like Nintendo. My PR contacts there knew that I had been on a weight loss program, and asked me if, by any chance, I'd used the Wii as part of my fitness regimen. And I had -- the counselors at the weight loss clinic I used wanted me to spend 45 minutes a day doing light exercise... and I wanted to avoid it.

Well, that's not entirely true. I knew I needed to change my lifestyle, and that included becoming more active. But it was summer. And it was hot. And smoggy. And I was busy. Walking outdoors was NOT appealing, especially in my hillside neighborhood.

So early on in the program, I fired up my Wii and practiced my tennis, then turned to boxing, which actually had me working up a sweat.

I soon realized that boxing on the Wii was not going to cut it as a daily exercise regimen. I joined a health club and hired a personal trainer to force me to get fit. I did supplement that with occasional play on the Wii on days I couldn't make it to the gym.

I actually benefited a lot more from another Nintendo product: I was addicted to puzzle games on my little handheld DS, and I discovered that playing them at night while watching TV broke me of my night feeding habit -- which made it easier to stick to my 600-calorie a day diet.

It wasn't much, but Nintendo thought it was good enough to pitch me to People. Thailan contacted me, we exchanged information and then -- nothing happened. I forgot all about it.

Until a couple of months later, when Thailan emailed me again. This time, we set up a phone interview. We spent about an hour talking about my life, how I gained all that extra weight (having a child at the age of 40 is probably not the best way to keep slim and trim), what prompted me to finally take the steps to lose it, my dieting misfires, my dieting tips, my favorite low calorie recipes, etc., etc., etc.

Thailan could not guarantee that the story would get into the magazine, but it seemed more of a sure thing when I got a call from People's photo editor. Olga Camacho wanted to set up a shoot at my house, ASAP.

Uh-huh. Have any of you ever SEEN my house?

Of course not. But you've read my complaints about my deficient skills as a homemaker. There was no way I was going to allow a photographer from People magazine in there without an emergency weekend visit from Merry Maids. Olga seemed disappointed that I couldn't do the shoot until Monday, but that's the way it had to be.

Olga's call was followed by one from Kevin, the stylist. That's right -- I had my very own red carpet stylist, and professional makeup and hair. The photo agency also sent a catered breakfast, which I  couldn't eat, because that was one of the days when I have to eat nothing but awful weight clinic food -- but the breakfast wasn't really for me anyway... it was for the photographer, her assistant, the stylist, and the woman who did my makeup and hair.

Kevin wheeled in a rack with several changes of clothes. They wanted a couple of me in workout gear, in front of the TV (including a shot with these cute pink boxing gloves, which I wanted to keep). They also wanted one of me dressed up, and possibly a shot in nicely fitting jeans.

When Kevin told me that over the phone, I realized that the size 2 Luckys I'd been wearing were now a bit loose, so I went out and bought a 0. Yes, I know how obnoxious that sounds -- the jeans I wear on my "fat days" are a 2. It's also an illustration of how clothing manufacturers have played with sizes to sell their products to us. Who doesn't love wearing something labeled with a small size? In my opinion, a size 0 shouldn't even exist - it's stupid. And even though I lost 56 pounds, I am NOT skinny. I have short, fat little "duck legs" (my husband's description of them), which I warned Kevin about.

I suppose that's why he brought me a pair of Spanx to wear under my workout clothes in the People shots. I never tried them before -- they wouldn't have done me much good when I was 184 pounds. But now -- I like 'em. I bought a pair of my own to wear at BlogHer.

The crew from People arrived at my house promptly at 9:00 a.m. and stayed until noon. I thought the photographer was going to have a heart attack when she discovered that my small, 1961 house still has several walls of mirrors left over from a previous owner. I hated them when we first moved in, but realized that they truly did make my tiny home seem bigger than it is and I barely notice them any more. However, it did limit her setup. A lot of furniture was rearranged so they could get a shot of me in front of my television without getting a reflection.

At one point during one of my changes, I glanced at myself in the mirror and was shocked at how pretty I looked after having my makeup and hair done by someone who customarily works on TV and movie stars. I have never looked that good in my life. I desperately wished I had somewhere nice to go that night so I could take advantage of it. (But it was a Monday -- I would spend the rest of the day chauffeuring my daughter between school and gym and then back home again.)

She set up again outside my home for the shot of me in street clothes. She didn't like any of the dresses Kevin had brought for me to wear (the colors didn't work with my skin tone). Neither one of them cared for any of my own shoes (I tend to buy for comfort instead of style). Kevin finally paired my jeans with a beautiful blouse and some red pumps. We took the final shots, everyone left -- and that was it.

I heard from Thailan from time to time to tell me the article was scheduled to be published - and then to tell me it was out of the magazine. So finding out about it yesterday was more of a surprise than you would think. And now that everyone has seen it but me -- I have to go find a copy of my own!

(Since I wrote this post, a friend kindly emailed me a PDF of the article -- and I found plenty of magazines at a market near my daughter's new gym in Ventura County. I picked up five, which is a good thing, as my friend who lives in Malibu told me she can't find one in her neighborhood either.)

Guest Post: SoCal Dad Does Wimbledon

Greetings my fellow peeps and peepettes. This is Gareth, husband to SocalMom. But you can call me Sir.

After many years idling in the background, I have finally been honored with the opportunity to post on here.

I can’t mess this up. So, no bad language or inappropriate innuendo allowed, just intellectual witicisms. Dunno if I can do that. Oh well.

The End.

…….. Gareth.

Uh, for my inaugural post, I am in Wimbledon, on Court Number 1.

But first some background. The only reason I am in Britain at all is because of Wimbledon.

But this post wouldn’t be as entertaining if I didn’t tell you all (I have lots of fans) of the lead-up to my Wimbledon trip. And you know what ? Everything in this post you are about to read is travel-related, which is what Donna’s blog is all about. How thoughtful of that is me !! Um …. how thoughtful of me is that ?

Invasion of the Riff-Raff: An Anniversary to Remember at the Montage Laguna Beach

It was weird to be spending our anniversary this year at a renowned five-star hotel; pampered in the proverbial lap of luxury while our conversations centered on layoffs, recession and hard times ahead.

It’s strange that riff-raff like us had even HEARD of the Montage resort in Laguna Beach, let alone be returning to the place – especially with our tenuous connection to the bizarre police shooting that occurred there last year.

The first time we visited, we were guests of some extravagant and generous friends who invited us there to help them celebrate a milestone birthday. We hadn't seriously considered coming back until that charity silent auction we attended in October.

One of the prizes was a one-night stay at Montage with bidding begun at a bargain rate of $200. So we placed a bid.

By the end of the evening, it was too late; especially once my husband’s boss entered the fray. Gareth was determined to win, and he did. But our final cost was $50 more than it would have been if we had just made the reservation directly with the hotel. (At least, the money goes to charity, and we can write that $50 off.)

Riff-Raff that I am, I was determined to use all of the resort’s facilities to the max this time – and milk as much as I could out of our one-night stay.

“Did you tell them it was our anniversary?” I asked my husband last week. I’d expected them to ask us when we’d made our reservation. Husband shot off a quick email asking if they had any suggestions for us. For a hotel of this caliber, that’s code for “We expect you to make a fuss.”

I was not disappointed.

We made it to Laguna around 11:00, hoping to obtain an early check-in. A room was available, so we had the desk clerk send our luggage over while we moseyed over to the property’s “casual” dining room, The Loft. After being seated, my husband handed me a letter from the general manager, welcoming us to the property and wishing us a happy anniversary there.

Boo-ya!

104 Degrees

That's not the temperature predicted for the Valley Monday (although it was close). No, that's the fever my daughter was running when we got home from our weekend in Laguna.

Needless to say, she missed the start of her one-week cheerleading camp -- and I was afraid I was going to have to kiss goodbye the $250 I spent on it. Fortunately, her fever broke yesterday afternoon and today she was raring to go.

"I think she willed that bug out of her little body," my friend Sue Ann surmised. I tend to agree -- I had no idea how much she had been looking forward to camp until it was threatened away. So today, all is good -- and I can reflect upon the fantasy world we lived in over the weekend, at the luxurious Montage resort in Laguna Beach.

The occasion was my friend Debbie's 50th birthday. Those of you who visit regularly may remember that Debbie and I are celebrating our half-century mark -- this entire year. That was the excuse for our recent visit to New York City. But yesterday was Debbie's actual birthday, and when she told her husband she wasn't interested in having a humongous party, he came up with the idea of hosting just a couple of their closest friends for a weekend in one of the most beautiful settings in Southern California.

It gave us a two-day taste of how the other 2% lives.

The hotel is situated on a bluff overlooking a cozy little Laguna cove, with pristine sandy beaches and rocky tidepools. This is where we found our friends after our check-in. Although the beach is public (as are most in California), solicitious resort employees are stationed there to serve hotel guests' every whim: by setting up lounge chairs, umbrellas, towels, and little tables. They also offer food and drink service. It reminded me a lot of the scene in the movie "10," where Dudley Moore's character is carried across a Mexican beach when he complained that the sand was too hot.

Should that happen to a guest at Montage, he or she can retreat to one of four salt-water pools on the property: the super-sized "Mosaic" pool (so named for the tiled sunburst artwork embedded on its floor), a fairly large "kiddy" pool, a spa and another large swimming pool on the grounds of the full-service resort day spa. The Mosaic pool is open 24/7 to guests and is kept at a balmy 82 degrees, and is staffed during the day with an army of attendants to prepare your lounge chairs, hand you ginormous Egyptian cotton towels (as many as you require), and bring you your food and beverage orders. One of their specialties was a champagne and peach schnapps cocktail called "Peach Blanket Bingo," which became our drink for the entirety of the festive weekend. (We'll be experimenting with making our own when we get to Sacramento for 4th of July.)

The service level reminded us of the cruise we took last year, except for the fact that we were stationary... and our cabin on the ship would have easily fit into the bath of this hotel room. Don't believe me? None of the photos I took of the bathroom did it justice -- to see what I'm talking about, click here and select the virtual tour of the bathroom. With separate large marble tub and shower, double sink, etc. -- it was the kind of setup you usually see in Presidential suites... NOT in regular guest rooms.

Of course, there was nothing "regular" about this place - it was "premium" all the way, with feather beds and soft 400-thread count sheets that made you feel like you were sleeping on a cloud.

Our room was situated outside the main building, in a stand-alone structure referred to as the "bungalows." As such, our sliding glass door opened onto a small patio set upon the lushly landscaped grounds, which are home to countless wild bunnies. We spent a lot of time sitting there, watching the little critters scamper around while they munched on the tasty grass.

We sampled the fare in three of the resort's four outlets, and it was as good as one would expect in a five-star hotel. The prices were also what you would expect: astronomical. An appetizer and entree in The Studio restaurant for the adults came to about $75 each (this is without the cost of drinks), kids' meals were about $25. It was a very "foodie" type of menu, heavy on fish and meat (including sweatbreads - yuck!) - but surprisingly, there was no chicken or vegetarian option. However, they were happy to whip up something vegetarian for Tim and he pronounced it good. Had we not been celebrating such a special occasion, I would have opted for the most casual Loft restaurant in the hotel's main building. We dined there for breakfast Sunday morning and it was excellent (and more appropriate when travelling with children -- we were warned that a seating at Studio would take two and one half hours from start to finish... and the kids were all falling asleep by the time dessert was served).

As fantastic as the Montage lifestyle is, there were times over the weekend when the real world slipped in. Just as we got set up on the beach the first day, an incident unfolded before us between a drunken man and some lifeguards who were unsuccessfully trying to subdue him. The men quickly whisked the kids away, so they didn't see much and I was too chicken to watch. But Debbie and her friend Liz witnessed the man beaten with billy clubs when the mace didn't work. (I'm not certain if that was done by the lifeguards or the police who showed up promptly to arrest the man, who by now was shouting obscenities at all who passed). At the time, we weren't sure if what we were watching was real or if it was some kind of weird performance art.

The beach attendants told us the man was sporting a court-ordered ankle bracelet, indicating he was under house arrest and so was not supposed to be on the beach in the first place. We later learned that the man was a repeat alcohol offender and that the bracelet was some kind of alcohol monitoring device.

That night, Megan asked me why the fire department was there. I thought it might have something to do with the gas heaters the hotel had set up on the lawn for a reception outside the pool area. It turned out that they were paramedics, there to whisk away a woman staying in the room next to ours. I'm not sure why.

We had our own little surreal dramas with hotel security, when Megan decided she was unbearably cold during dinner (probably the onset of that fever) and we were unable to retrieve her jacket because our cardkey didn't work. My husband went up to the lobby to get a new one and it didn't work, either -- so he ended up flagging down someone from housekeeping and showing her lots of identification proving we were indeed the guests registered to the room before she would let him in.

All in all, we had a wonderful time and felt honored that our friends invited us to share it with them. On the way home Sunday night, He Who Shall Not Be Named joked that we would have to return the favor someday at the only place our budget would allow: Motel 6. But we'll pick a good one -- something along Highway 1 instead of Interstate 5. And we'll even spring for a festive dinner at In and Out Burger. I'm sure they can whip up some kind of lettuce thing for Tim.

Socal Life: All the World's a Stage Mom

The day before last week's PTA meeting, I received a frantic email from our unit President -- wondering if I could take notes (again) because our new secretary was unable to attend. The reason? Her third-grader had an audition.

There were professional kids around when I was growing up -- a girl in my class was famous at our elementary school because she appeared in "Harum Scarum" with Elvis. But in the entertainment industry was not so all-pervasive in those days. Sure, I knew a kid whose dad worked at Disney. And my dad had been an actor when he was younger and was always running into old friends who were familiar to me from seeing them in character roles on TV. But the most families in my neck of the San Fernando Valley had normal jobs, at places like the Van Nuys GM plant (closed), Lockheed (moved), Rockwell (merged), etc.

It's different today. With the end of the cold war, L.A. really did become more of a "company town." And so even though we live all the way up here in the boonies, we know a lot of people who work on sets. And a lot of families who are pinning their hopes on a big payday for their kids. And who can blame them? The residuals from one national commercial could be a big help in paying for college. A hit sitcom could set up your child for life (look at the Olsen twins. On second thought, don't look at them).

There are at least two little actresses in Megan's class. The teacher I share an office with has a preteen who does movies and voiceover work. (My office mate is fond of dropping famous names like Jamie and Denzel, who once called her to tell her not to bring her daughter to the premiere of the R-rated movie in which she's played his daughter, as it was not appropriate for youngsters.) Conversations with mothers in the park are peppered with phrases like, "I have to get Jake new headshots." It's just the way of life here.

I don't know how it is in other cities, but in Los Angeles, you cannot go to the mall without some stranger claiming to be a talent agent approaching you to tell you how beautiful your child is. They then thrust a card in your face and invite you to bring your child to "casting call" in Beverly Hills, where representatives from networks and studios are looking for new talent. Of course, these are huge scams, where parents are tricked into paying exorbitant amounts of money for headshots -- because they think their kids are going to be stars. These scammers even advertise on Radio Disney, which prompts some children (mine included) into buying into that fantasy - and nagging their parents to "make the call."

For most families - even with legitimate representation - the Hollywood dream doesn't get them anywhere. For every Haley Joel Osment or Lindsay Lohan there are hundreds of kids whose lives in show business are just one steady stream of rejection. I used to think there would be no way I'd subject my daughter to that. Now that my kid is ensconced in an athletic program that requires her to train something like 15 hours a week, I'm not feeling so judgmental towards all the stage moms I know. Megan is driven by her love of gymnastics and she's talented -- I've come to the conclusion that in cases like that, you just have to go for it. I'm just glad it's not acting!

But if it had been, there would be no better role model for me as a stage mom than Roberta.