Tag Archives: Santa Barbara Daily Sound

My Destination Vacation

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© Dushenina | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

© Dushenina | Dreamstime Stock Photos & Stock Free Images

While most of Santa Barbara was schussing down the slopes at Mammoth or slathering on the sunscreen in Hawaii, I spent my spring break on a guilt trip, once again. I’m a creature of habit and guilt trips are definitely my vacation destination of choice.

Well, not exactly “choice.”

I’d rather be drinking upside down margaritas in Mexico, or yachting in Europe without a care in the world, but given my current bank account, that wasn’t going to be happening this year–again. Like most other creative types who feel incredibly lucky just to be able to eke out a living without selling their souls, when there’s work to be had, I have to work.

Last week just happened to be one of those weeks. It also just happened to be the first week of Koss’s spring break. Yes, that wasn’t a typo. The FIRST week of his spring break. Apparently the families in our school district worked so hard for the three months after our three-week winter break that they need a two-week spring break to oh, say, ski in Mammoth or sun in Hawaii.

Not that I’m bitter or anything. If I could afford to take FIVE weeks off in the middle of the school year and go somewhere glamorous, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’m sure if I left out enough bowls of cereal, the kid would be fine.

Instead, I sent my son to camp, where he golfed, bowled, fished, hiked, learned a few swear words, and had a marvelous time. I, of course, felt incredibly guilty.

Despite the fact that I take my son to school every day, spend a ridiculous amount of time volunteering at his school when I should be working, then pick my son up from that same school every single day, have a semi-nutritious snack waiting for him in the car, and am always there after school to help him with his homework, schedule play dates, play handball, and take him to soccer/basketball/baseball/whatever else is in season practice–if I spend even a small part of his school breaks working, I feel guilty. If I spend a large part of those breaks working, I feel really guilty.

And if, as was the case last week, I spend a part of those school breaks actually taking a break for myself, say by putting him in camp all day while I do some writing and then go to the movies, I feel really, really guilty. Especially when my husband surprises me and says he wants to go to the movies one night during the week. Do I admit that I’ve actually already seen everything worth seeing? Then I’ll feel really guilty since he’s the one who’s been working full time while I’m doing full time chauffer/ part time career thing from home, which is actually harder, I know, because I’ve worked full time before when he stayed at home, but I feel guilty saying that because I know he’d switch positions with me in a heartbeat if I’d let him.

It’s a vicious cycle. But I’m comforted to know that I’m not the only woman who was raised on a diet of guilt (though mine was well seasoned with plenty of humor, I should add, so that I won’t feel too guilty when my mother reads this). A recent article in the Washington Post told the story of a woman in Virginia who felt so guilty about leaving her family in the evening that she almost missed out on an interesting lecture–titled “Mommy Guilt.”

Honey, I feel your pain, but I’ve decided to play through it anyway.

Rather than guilt tripping about my need to have a little bit of time to myself–and taking it anyway–I’m going to make friends with my guilt and take it on a few more outings this week. You won’t see us on the slopes, unfortunately, but maybe you’ll see us at the movies.

Originally appeared in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound April 6, 2007

Cantor Baby

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Image by digitalart, courtesy of freeimages.net

Image by digitalart, courtesy of freeimages.net

December is one of the cruelest months for Jews.

Sure we have Hanukkah to celebrate our urge to shop, and latkes to indulge our genetic urge for carbs, and we can decorate in blue and silver to our hearts’ content, but the one thing we’re lacking in is carols. Let’s face it, other than “Oh Hanukkah,” and Adam Sandler’s “Hanukkah Song,” there aren’t a whole lot of Hanukkah hymns on the airwaves.

Rather than kvetch and whine about the lack of Chanukah chants this holiday season, I decided to do something about it. As with all things Jewish and musical, first I turned to my Cantor for inspiration.

Cantor Baby (to the tune of “Santa Baby)

Buh-bum.. buh-bum…

Cantor baby, slip a table under my knee, for me.

I’ve got an ache in my neck, Cantor baby, so hurry the masseuses tonight.

Cantor baby, a Jaguar convertible too, teal blue.

I’ll wait for you with the bells, and Sven and Nels.

Cantor baby, so hurry the masseuses tonight.

Think of all I’ve sacrificed, think of all the stuff I bought sale-priced. Next year I could be just as thrifty, if you’ll check off my Hanukkah listy,

Cantor baby, I wanna sunny vacation spot, oh yeah.

And really that’s not a lot, been an angel all year.

Cantor baby, so hurry the masseuses tonight.

Cantor honey, there’s one thing that I really do need, a maid, who can cook matzo ball soup, doo doop.

And clean up after my kid, which is a pain in my neck.

Oh heck.

So hurry the masseuses-I’m not talkin’ mezuzahs-hurry the masseuses tonight.

My own family did not inspire this next little ditty, I swear.

Let It Go, Let It Go, Let It Go (to the tune of “Let It Snow”)

Oh the fight we had last month was frightful.

But hashing it over is so delightful.

It’s finally time to end the row.

Let It Go! Let It Go! Let It Go!

It doesn’t show signs of stopping.

And I’ve bought some corn for popping.

So much for family drama.

Can you just let it go, mama.

My last nerve is about to blow.

Let It Go! Let It Go! Let It Go!

When we finally kiss goodnight.

How I’ll hate going home if you’re mad.

But what’s a holiday if there’s not a fight.

It’s what we call communication.

And venting our seasonal frustration.

But as long as you love me so.

Let It Go! Let It Go! Let It Go!

My family didn’t inspire that last one, but this one sure brings back memories. Of course all of the snow at my Grandmother’s house in Beverly Hills was fake and came from Niemans.

Noshing Through the Snow (to the tune of “Jingle Bells”)

Noshing through the snow, in a big safe Grand Marquis.

O’er the roads we go.

Driving so slowly.

Bells on cell phones ring.

Dad thinks of the gelt.

What fun it is to laugh and sing and watch the chocolate coins melt. Oh, Grandma Kvells, Grandma Kvells.

Futzing all the way.

Oh, what fun it is to ride in a family car all day, hey.

Grandma Kvells, Grandma Kvells.

Futzing all the way.

Oh, what fun it is to ride in the family car all day.

And finally, my personal favorite. I’m sure you’ll be hearing this on NPR soon, right after “Oy, Come All Ye Faithful” and “Little Drummer Goy.”

We Wish You a Merry Mazeltov (to the tune of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”)

We wish you a Merry Mazeltov.

We wish you a Merry Mazeltov.

We wish you a Merry Mazeltov and a Happy New Year.

Good tidings we bring and a hot brisket too.

Good tidings for Hanukkah and some pastrami too.

Oh, bring us some lox and bagels.

Oh, bring us a smidge more kugel.

Oh, bring us some Matzo Ball Soup and a cup of Manischewitz.

We won’t go until we get full.

We won’t go until we get full.

We won’t go until we get full, so bring some more food!

We wish you a Merry Mazeltov.

We wish you a Merry Mazeltov.

We wish you a Merry Mazeltov and a Happy New Year.

==

Merry Mazeltov to all of you. Send your Hanukkah hymn suggestions to Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com .

Originally appeared in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on December 8, 2012.

The science of happiness

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Stuart Miles, freedigitalphotos.net

Stuart Miles, freedigitalphotos.net

If you can get a grant to pay for the research, then just about any topic is ripe for scientific analysis. Once the province of poets and playwrights, happiness is now emerging as a significant field of academic inquiry.

Psychologists, ethicists, scientists and researchers all over the world have been working diligently to dig up hard data on a question philosophers have been pondering for years: What exactly is it that makes us happy?

There are lots of books on the subject–with sexy titles like, Happiness: Unlocking the Mysteries of Psychological Wealth, The How of Happiness: A Scientific Approach to Getting the Life You Want, Happier: Learn the Secrets to Daily Joy and Lasting Fulfillment, and Thanks! How the New Science of Gratitude Can Make You Happier–but I decided that buying and reading all those books wouldn’t actually make me happier.

Instead I read an article in “Yes” Magazine by someone named Jen Angel (Is that a perfect name or what?) who read the books, thereby demonstrating the first of my scientific rules for happiness (hereafter known as Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #1)–You’ll be happier if you let someone else do the heavy lifting.

Here are some other scientifically proven strategies for finding happiness, according to “Yes.”

Savor Everyday Moments

This is pretty good advice and I do try to follow it. For example, tonight after we lit the Hanukah candles and my son swung his new Rugby Shirt around the room as though it were the Howler Monkey he was secretly hoping to unwrap, and he barely missed knocking over my wine glass onto a pile of clean white laundry I had yet to fold and he didn’t set anything on fire when he knocked over the menorah, I paused, took a sip of wine and a deep breath and simply savored the moment.

Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #2–Hold onto your wine glass, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Avoid Comparisons

It’s tough to avoid comparing yourself to other people, and trying to keep up with the Joneses in a wealthy town like Santa Barbara is downright impossible. The scientist’s advice: “instead of comparing ourselves to others, focusing on our own personal achievement leads to greater satisfaction.” This makes sense, but I’ve found that being married to someone with a huge ego is another way to do this. My husband’s delusions of grandeur almost never fail to make me smile, or at least feel better about myself by comparison.

Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #3–Marry someone who makes you laugh.

Put Money Low on the List

People who put money high on their priority list are more at risk for depression, anxiety, and low self-esteem, according to research. Obviously I would never have gone into journalism if money were high on my list. Although I can’t say that NOT having much money has ever made me particularly happy, NOT selling my soul for a paycheck certainly has made me happy in my professional life

Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #4–Get a job you like.

Have Meaningful Goals

“As humans, we require a sense of meaning to thrive. People who strive for something significant, whether it’s learning a new craft or raising moral children, are far happier than those who don’t have strong dreams or aspirations,” say researchers Ed Diener and Robert Biswas-Diener. This is why I put “keep Koss alive,” “sleep,” “eat chocolate,” and “breathe” at the top of my to do list every day–not only does checking them off make me happy, it also gives me a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment of my goals each and every day of my life.

Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #5–Sleep, eat chocolate, breathe, and try to keep your kid alive.

Make Friends, Treasure Family

Happier people tend to have good families, friends, and supportive relationships, say Diener and Biswas-Deiner. But we don’t just need relationships; we need close ones that involve understanding and caring. It’s science, baby.

Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #6–Besides wine, chocolate and a husband that makes you laugh, the secrets to happiness are having family in town to baby sit for nights out with your friends.

Smile Even When You Don’t Feel Like It

A wise friend of mine once told me to “smile like you mean it until you actually do mean it.” Oddly enough, she was right. I’ve found that smiling works wonders. It’s really hard to be mad when you smile and it’s really hard for someone else to be mad at you when you smile at them.

Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #7–Keep smiling and don’t forget to floss and check for lipstick on your teeth. (And by the way, if I have lipstick on my teeth, would you please tell me.)

Say Thank You Like You Mean It

People who keep gratitude journals on a weekly basis are healthier, more optimistic, and more likely to make progress toward achieving personal goals, according to Robert Emmons. And people who write “gratitude letters” to someone who made a difference in their lives score higher on happiness, and lower on depression–and the effect lasts for weeks, according to Martin Seligman.

Leslie’s Science of Happiness Rule #8–I couldn’t have said this one better myself. Thank you for reading my columns week in and week out. Have a wonderful New Year.

Share your own science of happiness with Leslie at email.
Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on December 27, 2008.

29 Gifts Bring Bountiful Blessings

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29gifts-bgThe story is right out of a Lifetime movie, only this time it’s true.

Lovely 30-something Cami Walker was on top of the world. She had conquered addictions to alcohol and drugs–now her career was thriving and she just married the man of her dreams. Then, two weeks after her honeymoon, her whole world came crashing down around her. Her hands didn’t quite work, then one of her eyes stopped functioning, and she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.

Multiple sclerosis is an autoimmune disease that affects the brain and spinal cord. It isn’t fatal, but it can result in serious physical and cognitive disabilities, depending upon the form it takes. Soon after being diagnosed, Cami didn’t have the strength to keep working. Feeling desperate, hopeless and depressed, she decided to perform a simple ritual suggested by one of her spiritual teachers, a South African medicine woman named Mbali Creazzo. The idea was to take her mind off her disease–and herself–by focusing on helping others and giving something away each day for 29 days in a row.

“I thought the suggestion was crazy at first, but decided it couldn’t hurt to try it. Things couldn’t get much worse,” said Cami. “I was shocked by how quickly things turned around for me. For me personally it’s totally helped turn my health around in pretty miraculous ways. When I started this I was extremely sick and I was very lonely, I really had gotten to the point where I isolated myself from people. I was feeling totally alone, I was broke, I was so ill I hadn’t been able to work in months and I was very much in a downward spiral in my life.”

By day 14, Cami was able to walk without her cane, and was able to start working part-time again by day 29. “And my bank account was actually greatly improved because I was able to start working part time again and work just started showing up for me … it was crazy, like my phone just started ringing and clients just started showing up and it blew my mind. And, I think most importantly, I had reconnected with friends and family by the end and made some new friends as well,” she said.

Now in her ninth giving cycle, Cami was so inspired by the improvements in her life that she decided to turn the 29-Day Giving Challenge into a worldwide giving movement. Today www.29gifts.org has more than 3,200 givers in 38 countries, including–drum roll please-—yours truly.

“I have definitely been surprised by how quickly it’s grown,” said Cami.

I’m not that surprised because it’s fun and it’s mostly easy. Gifts can be as big or as little you like. The important thing is to make a mindful effort to do something nice for somebody else. One day I played 12 games of checkers in a row with my son, without a single grumble or complaint from me. Another day I bought lunch for a stranger without a single grumble or complaint from me. I’m pretty sure the not complaining part is important. It doesn’t matter what you do, but the website is full of great ideas for gifts of time, money, things, or kind words. In fact, so many great stories have been posted online that Cami got a book deal out of it. Her book will be coming out in the fall.

“I think one of the coolest stories that’s come out of the site is Operation Teddy Bear Care,” she said. “It started with a woman named Maureen Forbes who lives in the bush in South Africa with no electricity. She powers her computer with a solar panel that charges up a generator so that she can have two-three hours of light and use her computer. She posted on her blog that she had been visiting children in some of the remote AIDS clinics and she was just appalled by the conditions that they were living in and the level of poverty and that none of them had anything to call their own. She posted that she sews and she wanted to sew 100 teddy bears to give away but she only had enough fabric for 20.”

Flashes of the Hanukah story go through my mind, as Cami continues. “Someone on the U.S. side, his name is BJ in Georgia, he read her blog and said, ‘I’m going to help you out. We’re going to help you get enough materials to do 1,000 teddy bears.’ … One of my gifts was to help them create a website and an identity for themselves and get their organization functioning on its own. … Our goal is to help them give 1,000 gifts to South African children living in poverty by the 31st of December. And so far I think we’ve given almost 400 already, so we need about 600 more donation packages to be purchased. Go to teddybearcare.ning.com if you want to check them out.”

I went to the website, and guess what Day 25 was for me?

I asked Cami why she thinks the 29 gifts challenge has caught on. “It’s a time where I think a lot of people are tired of the negative messages they see in the media over and over, and feeling kind of scared and frustrated with the state of the economy and some of the other things. The reality is that there are a lot of problems that we’ve got to deal with, especially in America but pretty much everywhere. And I do think that part of the reason this has caught on is that people are looking for something positive that they can feel like they are part of.”

Sounds like a happy ending to me.

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on December 5, 2008.
If you’d like to be part of the 29 Gifts Challenge visit www.29gifts.org for more information, and tell Leslie you’re doing it at email. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com.

Drive Through Ditch

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Photo by David Castillo Dominici, freeimages.net

Photo by David Castillo Dominici, freeimages.net

The golden rule has always seemed a little selfish to me.

I love to do things for other people in part because there’s a buzz I get when I do volunteer work, for example, that makes me feel good about myself. It’s not selfless at all. It’s intentional kindness and I always feel like I get just as much out of it when I volunteer or do something nice as the people I’m trying to help–maybe even more.

But this time I wanted to try to be randomly kind and anonymous.

I sometimes tell my son, it’s easy to do a nice thing when adults are watching, but you show your true character when you do a nice thing and no one’s watching. It was time for me to walk the walk and not just talk the talk, and do some nice things for other people without getting anything in return.

But what could I do? There are almost no parking meters for me to feed in my town and besides; I read somewhere that it’s illegal to put money in someone else’s parking meter. Go figure. When I helpfully tried to gather up the stray grocery carts in the Ralph’s Supermarket parking lot, the box boy on duty accused me of “trying to put him out of work.” So much for that idea.

This anonymous do-gooderness was getting to be frustrating. I couldn’t catch a break trying to give someone a break.

Then I saw this thing on the news, where the drive though Starbucks in Loveland, Colorado reported that a customer wanted to pay for her own drink and also buy one for the person in the car behind her. That person then passed on the gift to the next car and on and on, cycling through 109 cars in a row, each willing to pass on the freebie to the next person. Like ding dong ditch, only the opposite. Drive through ditch, where you leave something good for the next person instead of leaving a bag of dog poop on their doorstep. I loved that idea!

Unfortunately there’s no drive-through Starbuck’s where I live, and there’s always a line, so no chance for me to buy someone’s morning coffee anonymously. But we do have a drive through McDonald’s, so I decided to buy my coffee there the next day and drive through ditch the person behind me.

I looked nervously through my rear view mirror at the elderly man in the big white car. He looked sort of grumpy, but hopefully my gesture would put a smile on his face. The brown-capped McDonald’s girl who took my money looked confused–after all, it was 8 a.m. and she probably hadn’t had her coffee yet either–but she eventually understood me after I repeated myself three times and included some hand signals.

I drove away quickly, as I imagined the man in the white car with a smile on his face.

Later that day I drove through the Carl’s Junior line, this time for a Diet Coke, and I only had to tell the guy working twice that “I’m doing a drive through ditch” meant I wanted to buy the person behind me lunch. There was no one behind me yet, which confused him a bit, but I was less nervous that time, so I think I explained myself a little better.

Again, I drove away quickly, fantasizing about the harried mom or cash-strapped teenage boy who would drive through next and receive my drive through ditch gift.

I got my caffeine fixes–and my drive through kindness attempts–a few more times that week at various drive through windows, always anonymously.

It was a slow news week, and every morning I half expected to see a headline about the random acts of kindness that were popping up at drive through windows around town. Nope, nada, nothing. Not even a passed on story from a friend about how some nice person had treated her to coffee in the drive through.

By my tenth attempt at a random act of kindness in the drive through line I started to wonder–how could this not be catching on? Were the people in snowy Loveland, Colorado more gracious than those in my sunny hometown of Santa Barbara, California? It was hard for me to believe. Still I continued with my drive through ditches in the lines at In and Out Burger, Jack and the Box and even Burger King. Still, it didn’t seem to be catching on.

I swore off fast food for a while and had almost forgotten about my drive through ditches until this week, when I found myself in a drive through line once again. I pulled out a twenty and told the guy to buy the person behind me lunch with the change. This time I didn’t even glance in the rear view mirror to check out who would be the recipient this time. I drove away smiling and teary-eyed and feeling better than I had in a long time. Who cares if drive through ditches aren’t catching on the way I thought they would? It’s a nice thing to do anyway, and wasn’t that the point?

Later that day when I picked up my son from school, one of the moms had a big grin on her face. She told me a story about how someone had treated her to coffee that morning in the drive through line. “What a great idea,” I said, with a great big, anonymous, not-so-selfless smile on my face. “I’ll have to do that for someone sometime.”

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on November 28, 2008.

Don’t Lock the Libraries

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Photo by Stoonn, freedigitalphotos.net

Photo by Stoonn, freedigitalphotos.net

“Libraries are not safe places, and the reason for that is there are ideas to be found.” –John Bookman

“You know the republic will survive when there is new money for libraries.” –Denis Hamill

A lot of the people I grew up with were surf rats or skate rats or gym rats. I was a library rat. From the first time I signed my name on a card at the public library downtown, I was addicted to being around all those books.

But my obsession with libraries really began when I was nine years old. I had just transferred to Harding School. Sherry Thompson was the librarian.

“Where are the books about the CIA?” I asked her. “I want to learn about them because I think I might make a good spy when I get older.”

And her magic answer: “Let me show you how to find them yourself.”

She led me to the card catalog–for you youngsters who have never heard of such a thing, the cards were like Pokemon cards, only with less information on attack points, and more information on how to find a book–and she showed me how it worked.

Not only did I learn about the CIA, the FBI and James Bond that day, I finally solved the mystery of who that Sarah Bernhardt lady was that my grandma was always comparing me to when I’d get a bit dramatic.

All of those cliches about libraries opening doors came true for me that day. I was hooked. It wasn’t about falling in love with reading; I had caught that bug years before. My mom was a teacher, so I certainly didn’t need a librarian to encourage me to read. But Mrs. Thompson introduced me to research, and I dove right in with vigor, the beginning of a new life-long love.

Learning how to find information, to answer questions all by myself, gave me such a sense of sovereignty over my world. Learning to explore the world of information was just as important to me as learning how to flirt with boys or learning how to swim. I felt like I had harnessed the powers of Wonder Woman, Nancy Drew and Batgirl (a librarian in disguise). I could solve just about any mystery in the world by wielding my magical powers over the Dewey decimal system. What could be better than that?

Mrs. Thompson became my concierge into the world of information. She was always encouraging me to try to find out the answers by myself, but keeping an eye on my progress–and always right there when I needed help. For me she was the perfect kind of teacher.

I keep thinking about Mrs. Thompson when I read about all the budget cuts in the elementary schools. Our libraries have already been hit hard and they’re threatened with being hit even harder. I can’t imagine what my elementary school years would have been like without the library–and the librarian–to rely on.

Mrs. Thompson noticed my preference for fiction and promised me a lunch at the Yacht Club if I could read every biography in the school library. To this day, that was still the best burger I’ve ever had.

Mrs. Thompson was the first person I ever knew that died. I was 13 and knew enough to do some research about cancer, thanks to her.

I know the public schools are in a budget crisis, but asking a school, “an institution of learning,” to cut their library programs seems absurd to me, like asking someone whether they’d rather have an arm cut off or a leg. Cutting off our kids from such an important resource seems just as awful. There has got to be a better way.

“A library that is not accessible out of business hours is of as little value as gold horded in a vault and withdrawn from circulation,” said Alexander Graham Bell. I looked it up–at the library.

When Leslie’s not researching obscure quotes at the library, she’s online writing them at Leslie@LeslieDinaberg.com. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com or read Leslie’s columns every Friday in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound.

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on November 21, 2008.

Family first

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8ball2Sometimes I feel like a Magic 8-Ball, making mundane yet still crucial decisions for my family all day long.

“Should we have pasta for dinner?” “Signs point to yes.”

“Can I wait till after dinner to start my homework?” “Outlook not so good.”

“It looks sunny, should I wear shorts today?” “As I see it, yes.”

“Can we bring snack to soccer on Saturday?” “Reply hazy, try again.”

“Can the classroom rats come home with us for Thanksgiving break?” “My sources say no.”

“Pretty please.” “Don’t count on it.”

Quite frankly, other than the rats, I could go either way on most of these day-to-day decisions, which is why I try to not to waste a whole lot of thought on the more mundane matters of motherhood. Sometimes I actually do use a Magic 8-Ball to make decisions and nobody cares.

This past week, I couldn’t help thinking about how different things must be now for Future First Lady Michelle Obama when she makes family decisions. She has described her upcoming role as “Mommy-in-Chief” to emphasize that the girls will be her top priority while living in the White House. It’s not that I don’t think Barack will be involved too, but let’s face it, he’s got a new job and he’ll be traveling a lot and most of the day to day decisions will fall into Michelle’s more-than-capable hands.

Decisions decisions.

She can’t just pick an outfit out of her closet–or dress her kids–without being scrutinized to death. Just days after the election, “The Wall Street Journal” reported that stores across the country were selling out of the Biscotti Inc. dress Malia wore on Election Night, and that Gerson & Gerson Inc., maker of Sasha’s dress, has been calling retailers to let them know it’ll soon be coming out with a new version of the dress (“The Sasha”). What are the girls going to wear? She has to decide–and other people really care.

Everyone and their brother are weighing in on what kind of puppy she should get the girls. Should it be a pure bred or a shelter dog? Should it be hypoallergenic or is there really such a thing? Should it be black or white or black and white, or are we beyond caring about such matters? She has to decide–and other people really care.

She also has to pick a new school for the girls, which she is reported to be researching now. Public or private? It’s a big decision. Amy Carter went to a public school in part to bolster her dad’s everyman image, but she wasn’t allowed to play outside during recess because the playground was too close to the street.

Chelsea Clinton went to Sidwell Friends, a private Quaker-run school, but her parents also took flack for that. Then again Tricia Nixon is also an alum, so it could be considering “reaching across the aisle.” This whole school decision is awfully complicated. She has to decide–and other people really care.

The world already knows that Malia and Sasha set their own alarm clocks and adhere to a strict 8 p.m. bedtime. But what if their schedule changes in Washington? What if they have too much homework at their new school and need to stay up a little later to finish it? Not to mention staying up a little later to get some face-time with daddy. Mom has to decide about that–and other people really care.

And what if the girls need a raise in their $1-a-week allowance. Mom has to decide about that too–and other people really care.

The latest thing I heard–courtesy of “The Rachel Maddow Show“–is that the producers of “Hannah Montana” have asked the Obama’s daughters to come on as visitors or in a guest role “any time they would like.” So all of the sudden it’s not, “Mom can we watch ‘Hannah Montana?'” It’s, “Mom, can we be on ‘Hannah Montana?'”

And not only does Mom have to decide whether to let her daughters appear on their very favorite TV show, she can’t even stonewall them with my favorite Magic 8-Ball phrases like, “Ask again later” or “Cannot predict now,” because the show has agreed to work around their schedule. Oh boy. She has to decide–and other people really care.

I wish I didn’t care so much about this particular Mom’s decisions about her two little girls. I’m conflicted about my desire to watch Sasha and Malia grow up and I’m uncomfortable with the fact that I have such access to the lives of little girls who aren’t related to me.

Should we really care so much about the lives of the First Family? I’m not sure. So I pull out the Magic 8-Ball. My answer: “Concentrate and ask again later.”

Some girls dream of fancy cars, furs and jewels. Others fantasize about being the first president of the United States or running the United Nations. Leslie, however, has always fantasized about one thing: writing a book. She wrote this one with local writers Cheryl Crabtree, Zak Klobucher (“Mr. Leslie”), Nancy Ransohoff and Starshine Roshell. Come meet the authors and check out their new book, “Hometown Santa Barbara,” on Thursday, November 20 at 7 p.m. at Chaucer’s Books, 3321 State Street.

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on November 14, 2008.

Shopaholic Hunts for Deals

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confessions_of_a_shopaholic_ver4It’s hard to believe when you look at my closet today, but I am actually a recovering Shopaholic. Hanging out at the mall was once my favorite way to spend an afternoon. Forget the fact that my retail therapy addiction resulted in a ridiculous amount of credit card debit–those banana clips, big belts, and acid washed jeans at Limited Express were just too cute to resist–I am probably personally responsible for the recent stock market dive since I gave up shopping as a hobby just about the same time that subprime mortgages came into vogue.

However, even in my daze of Shopaholic frenzy, I had certain boundaries that I wouldn’t cross. It was more than okay to spend $200 in an afternoon, but I would never spend $200 on a single item. As much as I loved to shop, there was a certain price point barrier that I just couldn’t overcome.

When it comes to shopping, my philosophy has always been that more is more. I’m sure I got that from my mother, who heads straight to the sale rack in every store she enters. I can’t tell you how many perfect pairs of boots or jeans I’ve passed up over the years (and still dream of sometimes) because I just couldn’t stomach the price tags.

I bit my tongue the other day when my sister-in-law told me she was buying my niece a $400 dress for a dance. The only dress I’ve ever owned that cost that much was my wedding dress.

Given my ambivalence about shopping, you can imagine my mixed feelings when I read about Sarah Palin’s $150,000 spree. Okay, technically the Republican National Committee’s $150,000 shopping spree FOR Sarah Palin.

My first reaction was, admittedly, incredible jealousy. What woman hasn’t dreamed of having a fairy godmother/personal shopper come and drop a stylish new wardrobe in her lap? It was the same kind of seething envy I felt years ago when lunching with an actress friend who let it slip out that now that she finally had a part on a TV show and could afford to shop to her heart’s content, designers were sending her free Wayfarer sunglasses and Reeboks in the hopes that “People Magazine” would take her picture while she was wearing them.

Ah, the irony of it all.

“Ah, the irony of it all” was my second reaction to the Palin fashion scandal too. While the $150,000 shopping spree price tag is eyebrow raising, if not jaw dropping, in and of itself, juxtaposing it with her winky winky Wasilla mom at Wal-mart shtick is the part that gets me hot under the collar of my Ross-Dress-For-Less sweatshirt.

While personally I consider Target (pronounced “Tarjay”) to be the Mecca of mom-approved fashion, the last time I checked they weren’t carrying Jimmy Choos or Valentino.

I actually considered that same style of Masunaga glasses that Palin wears when I was shopping for new frames last year, but my insurance wouldn’t cover enough of the $400 price tag. You’d think a woman who hunts for moose and wolves would be a little better at hunting for bargains.

But what do I know, really, about shopping. I’m just a soccer/flag football/basketball/chess club/baseball mom, who mostly works at home in her pajamas. I’m also a recovering Shopaholic who could apparently–talk about ironic–teach the Republican National Committee a few things about money management.

As Cindi Leive, the editor in chief of Glamour Magazine, told the “New York Times,” “My first reaction when I heard about this was, ‘Honey, I could have dressed you for a lot less than that.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Share your shopping budget woes with email. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com.
Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on October 31, 2008.

No rest in restroom

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Among the many mysteries of womanhood, men often wonder why we take so long in the bathroom. My husband once told me that he assumed women’s bathroom were full of shoe catalogs, chocolate samples, rose gardens, and string quartets, since that was the only possible explanation he could come up with to explain why women would go into the restroom in pairs and stay in there for so long.

My son–who thankfully did not inherit an amazing mini bladderini from my side of the family–claims that all women’s bathrooms must have plasma screen TVs and an endless supply of video games in them, since the only times he’s ever seen his mom, aunt or grandmother run is to get out of the car and run to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, like most of their ideas about my life, their fantasies have no relationship to the restroom reality.

So I am going to clear up the mystery of women’s restrooms, once and for all, by sharing my recent adventure into the public bathroom at a concert. But consider yourselves warned and another myth shattered: not only was there no chocolate, plasma or toilet paper in sight, I actually burned more calories in this “rest” room venture than I typically do at the gym.

Not wanting to waste a drop of my $8 beer, or miss a minute of my $200 concert, I waited until the band took a break to visit the restroom.

Unfortunately, so did every other woman at the show.

It doesn’t matter what time of day or night, or what the event is, even in an otherwise completely empty venue, there is always a line of women assembled to use a public bathroom. Usually I just smile politely and take my place, using the opportunity to check my email, fix my lipstick or just stare into space.

This time I had to pee so badly I got some aerobic exercise in (257 extra steps according to my pedometer) while waiting, including some power crunches as I checked for feet under the stall doors every three minutes, figuring that no one could actually be taking this long while I was waiting so anxiously.

When the door finally opened my bladder was ready to burst. I nearly knocked down the woman leaving the stall, then earned a few more crunches while helping her pick up her belongings from the floor. Who knew you could fit so many cosmetics into a teeny little clutch purse. Sorry!

Then I had to wrestle two drunk teenagers for the privilege of getting into my stall, burning approximately 239 calories in the process. A few deep breaths, then the door wouldn’t latch but I was about to wet my pants, so that was the least of my problems. The seat cover dispenser was empty and the door hook was missing, so I carefully hung my 400-pound purse around my neck, yanked down my jeans and assumed the “universal restroom position,” otherwise known as the URP.

In the URP my thigh muscles began to shake, rattle and roll. Of course I’d love to actually sit down and rest them, but there were no seat covers and I had to pee too badly to wipe the seat and lay toilet paper on it, hence, the URP.

As my thighs were shaking, and my head was aching, I reached for what turned out to be an empty toilet paper dispenser. Thank goodness I carry Kleenex pocket packs in my purse, the 400-pound purse that was precariously hanging around my neck.

As I tried to search the enormous black caverns of my bag for the five packs of Kleenex I know were in there somewhere, the sensor on the toilet flushed, scaring me to death, while propelling a fine mist of water onto the edges of my still URP-ing thighs. I shook them double time, burning at least 745 calories trying to dry off the mist while still searching for Kleenex and hand sanitizer that I now needed to wash off my legs.

The band was on its third encore by the time I returned to my seat, exhausted from my intermission workout. “What took you so long?” asked my husband, between bites of a truffle sampler he said he got in the men’s restroom.

Unbelievable, I thought, grabbing the candy from him. For once I gulped it down guilt-free. After all, I had already gotten my workout in the restroom.

Share your ladies room tales of woe with email. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com.
Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on October 17, 2008.

Battle of the blab is a draw

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51tKTrr+gaLConventional wisdom says that women talk more than men, and up until recently there was relatively conclusive research to back that up. Women use 55 percent more words per day than men do, according to a book called The Female Brain.

I don’t know about their findings, but in my own extremely scientific, highly controlled experiment, I found that women use 100 percent more words per day than men do.

I told my husband about this very exciting scientific breakthrough.

Me: ” I think women talk about talk twice as much as men. What do you think?”

Husband: “Huh?”

Me: “See. I have to repeat everything I say.”

Husband: “What?”

Nothing like a true-life example to prove my theory.

But that was last week. It’s even quieter at my house this week. My husband is away on business, and my son’s at school, then soccer, then homework, and then he’s too exhausted to be much of a conversationalist. So Chatty Cathy (a.k.a. Loony Leslie) has mainly been chatting with herself.

With no one to talk to at home, I was trolling around the Internet for entertainment (not that kind of entertainment, get your minds out of the gutter) when I came across a University of Arizona study that found–unbelievably–that women don’t talk more than men, after all.

Oops.

In tracking the number of words used by male and female college students by equipping them with digital voice recorders, researchers found that statistically, men and women were just about even.

So the battle of the blab is a draw. I can hardly believe it. I’m practically speechless. You would think we’d hear more about the death of another enduring male-female stereotype. I’m guessing it’s because these were college students. The guys hadn’t gotten married yet, so they were in courtship mode and had to at least pretend that they would continue speaking after the wedding– kind of like women and sex.

But even if you buy into the research that men and women speak about the same number of words–which certainly wasn’t done at my house–they definitely don’t speak the same words.

Based on my own carefully documented research, men rarely utter the words “accessorize,” “size zero,” “cellulite” or “Botox,” unless they happen to be actors. Nor do you hear them describe someone as “unconventionally attractive,” or having “emotional intelligence.” “Grocery store,” “laundry” and “birthday card” also seem to be off limits.

On the other hand, men are 77 times more likely to use the word “fine” than women are. As in, “Okay, fine” to end an argument, when he really means, “You’re wrong but I’m tired and don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Or “You look fine,” when you’ve finally accessorized the 17th outfit you’ve tried on and he’s showing his emotional IQ by urging you to get out of the house.

Men will also say, “I’m fine,” rather than reveal weakness, say, when being tortured or held up at gunpoint.

Just the other day I came home and asked my husband how his day was. He said, “Fine.” But I know darn well what he really meant was “I know you want to talk about my day and all my relationships with my colleagues and boss (if I actually had relationships with any of them) but I just want to drink a beer, eat a bag of chips and zone out on CNN.”

At least we understand each other.

Originally published in the Santa Barbara Daily Sound on October 3, 2008.

When Leslie’s not repeating herself, talking to herself, or changing her clothes, she’s usually on her computer, answering emails at email. For more columns visit www.LeslieDinaberg.com.