"We're always in the
midst of a chase.

Going after a dream...

Chasing a fantasy...

And making it a
reality.

This is what I write
about.

Life is about the chase."

~ Rachelle

December 2007 – Archive

Photo of Rachelle Mine and SaeedaI felt very Sex-And-the-City like on Christmas afternoon, as I sat sipping and laughing and eating with fellow girlfriends Mine (pronounced Mee-nay) and Saeeda (who you may remember from my Derek video escapades). Over the last few months, we’ve become like The Three Musketeers, racking up hilarious adventures in San Francisco – some of which will be revealed in 2008, and many of which, won’t.

But, that’s another story.

So back to this story.

After stuffing ourselves on Mine’s delicious lamb medallions, rice, and potato-eggplant medley, followed by applesauce spice cupcakes topped with a cream cheese frosting, we joined the entire population of San Francisco at the movie theatre. Saeeda opted for a bit of thought-provoking enlightenment and joined another friend for the opening of The Great Debaters while Mine and I chose pure escapism.

So, off we waddled to see I Am Legend.

And there, I got a huge surprise.

No, not because I rode the wave of road-rage feelings with other movie goers, shushing and cursing (though I did not curse) the rude, rowdy teenagers giggling with their ringing cell phones.

Instead, I was surprised to discover I loved this movie. Because it was scary.

And, by scary, I don’t mean that disturbing, slash-and-dismember-with-as-much-blood-as-possible gore that Hollywood likes to pass off as scary. Instead, it was that sitting-on-the-edge-of-your-seat scary feeling that I got as a kid when I saw Psycho – and, for you young ‘uns out there, I’m talking about the 1960s version, not the one from 1998.

The fact that the dark dwellers came out at night – which means the hero, Robert Neville, played by Will Smith, and his faithful dog had to be barricaded inside by then – was a perfect opportunity for the movie to devolve into the 1990s remake of Night of the Living Dead – the movie I walked out of – with scene after scene of zombie-like creatures chasing him.

But, it didn’t.

In addition to its scariness, I loved the way the movie caught Neville’s…aloneness. In fact, a large portion of the film captures this. While Neville’s alone, there are humorous moments, touching moments, and nightmarish moments. Though there were predictable moments in the second half of the film, I was willing to overlook them due to Will Smith’s acting and the fact that I was already hooked.

So, if you want to be scared, I heartily recommend this movie.

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Did anyone else see this movie? Am I alone – or is there anyone else out here that liked it?

Until yesterday, I thought I knew what men like to see on a woman: Pretty much anything that makes us miserable. Like a wedgie-inducing thong. Or a micro-miniskirt that reveals an ass cheek with each micro-step, despite repeated attempts to pull it down. Or 3-inch stilettos with neck-breaking potential.

True, these accessories are sexy to men. But want to know what the #1 accessory is?

A book.

Yeah, I hear your skepticism. And, until yesterday, I would have been skeptical, too.

But, in yet another procrastination maneuver designed to avoid writing, I decided I needed to take a l-o-n-g walk. In the rain. So, bundled up in a shapeless sweater my grandmother probably wouldn’t wear and a scarf looped around my neck so many times that I could barely turn my head, I grabbed my eye glasses, a book, and my umbrella.

And off I went, umbrella up, FOREVER ODD in my hands, reading as I walked the streets of San Francisco.

“That must be a good book,” came a deep voice in front of me.

I looked up into the smiling face of a man walking his Pomeranian or some such faux dog. I smiled. “Yes, Dean Koontz is always a good read.”

He smiled, we made arcane small talk, and I went back to reading as I entered the crosswalk.

“Hi,” came another male voice.

I looked up. “Hi,” I said to the good-looking Latino man in front of me.

He smiled. I smiled. And, after spotting the wedding ring on his left hand, I went back to reading and walking.

“Hey,” said another guy.

I looked up and my heart did that stutter thing that I write about in books as I looked at the bad boy with the dazzling smile, wearing the hard hat. Dammnnn.

“Hi. Looks good,” I said motioning to the wall he was building, proud of the confidence in my voice, as if I knew a good wall from a bad wall.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. And you look good, too.” I said, smiling.

Surprise flitted across his face and his smile widened.

Surprise flitted through my body – I was surprised because I can rarely flirt without the help of a Long Island Ice Tea. Or two. Sometimes, it takes three.

Despite the lack of a wedding ring on his finger and the tingly thing his smile was doing to my insides, I walked away. Twenty-three years old was too young, even in this Decade of the Cougar.

But, this time, as I walked along, that tingly feeling was preventing total concentration on Koontz’s tale of a man who saw the dead.

“Wow. How do you do that?”

I looked up at the guy leaning against a wall, taking a cigarette break. “Do what?” Lust after twenty-something year olds?

He motioned to the book. “Walk and read. Don’t you stumble?”

Oh. That. “Well, occasionally I stumble. Once I walked into a street sign.”

I described the lump on my head from the metal pole, then the conversation went deep, as my stumbling became metaphoric for stumbles in life.

I won’t bore you with the remaining encounters. The point to all this is: When I’ve walked the streets in this same attire, book-less, rarely has anyone said a word to me or spared me much of a second glance. But, book in hand, suddenly half the guys I pass want to chat.

So. I’m convinced that men find books on a woman sexy. And I’m convinced that books are the new guy magnet. Imagine the possibilities of combining a book with that little black dress I wrote about months ago. Mind boggling, isn’t it?

Anyone want to borrow FOREVER ODD ?


 

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