Lazy Saturday

Hey friends. I am in charge of my parents' house this weekend and it's no small feat. This morning John and I walked six dogs...at once. Three on one side: my family dog Scrap, and two of the seven pups my Piddle had, Winky and Whitey, who are the apple of my mom's eye. John was in charge of my brood: Chivo, Piddle and Boxer.

Everything was fine until the last five minutes of our trip. Some Grandpa and his Maltese came around the corner and he treated us like we were walking a pack of wolves. Whitey pulled out of his leash (of course) and I thought Gramps was going to stab him with his cane.

Then, my ever randy Chivo decides to chase after some loose-looking terrier mix and start howling for her number. I returned home with several rope burns from leashes, a headache and a bitter determination to walk these guys in shifts tomorrow. Wish me luck.

Whitey said it might help if he has a more "punk rock" look for tomorrow's park adventure, I guess to intimidate the other dogs?! So...I obliged him.

Fridays Will Feature

Today my parents are leaving for an East Coast trip, so I took the day off to deal with the chaos that will be wrangling my three dogs, securing my cat here in the casa on a solo mission, and of course dropping the happy couple off at the airport.  My father has already called to ask me if I can do him a big favor.  "What is it, Dad?"  His deadpan response: "Go on this trip so I don't have to."  Let's all wish Koko luck.

In preparing for today, I was pondering what to write about on this fine blog.  First of all, I'd like to thank everyone who is already been so supportive of my efforts-it means a lot!  I love going to work and hearing that reading the blog has already become a part of many folks' daily rituals.  Rad!  I have so many inspiring friends and family, I can't wait to introduce each one in their own special way.  Subsequently, I've decided to devote Fridays to posts about those who inspire me to create my strange world of the Lady Cabinet.

One person that I find exceptionally inspirational is Rebecca Caridad.  I stumbled upon her awesome Etsy store on a whim, and have been addicted ever since.  However, she's much more than a storefront.  She is the lady behind manzanita, one of my favorite blogs on the whole wide web, and if you've ever laid eyes on me...I'm probably wearing one of her magical creations from her shop.  I encourage those of you who enjoy my blog to explore hers, she is much more savvy than I am at all of this, and she is not afraid to get in front of the camera (like me).  Whenever I make a purchase, she sends me these adorable cards (see above and don't laugh...there's a tiger in my bathroom), and I hang them up next to my classy Nagel prints, to keep it creative/fun/pretty in the loo.  I recently gifted her a box of dresses that I had outgrown, and she was kind enough to crochet John and I a fabulous matching set. See:

 

 What's awesome is this is the same color I have chosen for the blog...weird how things work out like that.  When Rebecca re-opens her Etsy shop I want to do a full profile and interview with her, in order to highlight what a talented awesome lady she is.  For now, visit her blog.  She's way big time...she's got contests!

418 South Sheridan

So...this is my house.  John and I have been living here since September and we are absolutely smitten with our neighborhood.  Besides being a bustling hub of illegal drug sales and stray dogs who may or may not be packing heat, we are in the heart of beautiful downtown Corona. 

When we moved in, there was a lovely screen door dangling from the front entrance.  John and I decided that it was a decor statement we were not willing to commit to.  I gingerly removed it and promptly tagged our front door with a mustache. 

"What's that lovely object you are using as a barricade for the dogs, Alli?" Well folks it's a vintage "Plinko" machine that John and I found in a dumpster.  We are the epitome of class.  Eventually we plan on restoring it, after it has sat outside for almost two years...should be really easy.

 

And if you love shopping...we have at least two garage sales going on at all times! Do you need a pink fan?  How about some old women's' sandals? 

All kidding aside, this place is awesome.  We have some crazy neighbors (to be profiled soon) as well as some awesome older homes (I will photograph as well), and the best Mexican food in town.  We all feel extreme pride for our house on Sheridan.  Even  Katniss loves to stand guard over my yard with no grass.  We both agree, this place is home.

Mothers and Daughters

In my "professional life" I see a lot of mother/daughter interaction.  Yesterday, one of my favorite tables appeared from out of nowhere and enjoyed a lovely dinner together; Grandma, Mom and sweet little Lindsey are three of my favorite people in the world.  They share my extreme love of dogs, and in fact we often make up elaborate and ridiculous fantasy lives for our pups; theirs is called Bubba.  I believe he enjoys cognac, cigars and...according to several sources, has been seen gallivanting around town with my Chivo.  I always laugh a lot when they are around; they easily make my day.  Their visits are always bittersweet however, because I am always reminded of the contrast in my relationship with my own mother.

I love my mother more than life itself, but our relationship is what you'd call...strained.  If you ask her, we're best friends.  I don't know many people whose "best friends" cannot remember any of the names of your other friends, who have no idea what your interests are, or who constantly interrupt your most important stories to ask you to hand them something.

An example would be a recently received wedding invitation that arrived at my parents' house.  A girl that I used to be forced to hang out with, due to the fact that my brother Brad was close with her brothers, was getting married in Santa Barbara.  This is a girl who used to be obsessed with those "magic eye" posters...you know the ones that you have to go cross-eyed to see?  That...and Star Trek.  So needless to say she was a ball of fun.  She would stick her boobs out like a crane doing a walk through a murky swamp in every freaking picture that was ever taken of her.  I could not stand her.  I was tolerant of her for Brad's sake, and she had a super cool mom.  Well, apparently old Boobs McGee is getting hitched.  My mom brings the invite in the car with her to pick me up for an outing.  I don't look at it.  Then she shoves it in my face when we're gathered at her house for a meal.  I tell her I'm not interested in looking at it.  She reacts like I have burned her with a hot plate.  "What?!?! I thought you two were friends!!!"  My dad promptly came to my defense: "Fran, she never liked that girl.  She hated her."  Thanks Pop.  My mom acts like it's the end of the world, my dad rolls his eyes.

It's no secret that my "life choices" have not always pleased her, but I have made some fantastic strides since my wild days (count 'em...two years clean from heroin), as well as being a Pepperdine graduate (not really anything to be proud of and definitely a blog for later), and having met the love of my life who has made me better both inside and out.  I happen to believe that someone should not have to pay for their mistakes forever, especially when efforts are made.  I'm pretty sure my mom still remembers and is still vehemently mad about the time I snuck out to stay at my boyfriend's house when I was 15.  Now I'm 31.

Which leads me to the question I've been pondering all day: are mothers and daughters supposed to be "besties?"  In the nail salon today I overheard my mom telling her tech that I have a "very public" job and that (while making gestures like a squirrel trying to open a nut) I like to be all..."cutesy."  Apparently it's "cutesy" to get your eyebrows waxed.  I guess it's pretty "cutesy" when your mother never taught you how to put on makeup, tweeze your eyebrows or bought you huge "Jockey" brand underwear in junior high, causing you to be the laughing stock of your entire P.E. class.

Regardless of whether or not we braid each others' hair, I love my mom.  I love her even though she openly mocks Morrissey, thinks my job is a paralyzing embarrassment to our entire family and finds all my tattoos low-class and repulsive.  I cannot imagine, nor do I even want to try, thinking about a day when she will not be here, although I know that is inevitable.  I suppose I should just be grateful to have her...blowing her nose at the dinner table and all.

The Joy of Late Tables

Good Morning.  I wanted to express my deepest thanks (again) to the table who came in last night five minutes prior to close.  I know what you are thinking...oh God.  No, this is not a spit-fueled rant about the rudeness of people, nor a "slam-fest" on those who have no restaurant etiquette.  This is a sincere and honest appreciation. 

Last night was going too smoothly, and my close was almost complete when I hear a server telling a greasy haired man with minimal English skills that we are still open, and happily serving in the bar.  Thank you, Mr. Douchebag Server, for this fantastic gift.  I have not had really great luck with late tables recently, I am curbing my extreme enthusiasm about telling the story of the four stoned twenty-somethings who nearly made me lose my job last week.  But perhaps as the flames of corporate controversy die down, I will spin this yarn for you all, as it is a fascinating story of karma and law enforcement. 

I digress! This gentleman then brought in what I am assuming are his parents, and then proceeded to sit in a booth in the bar.  As soon as I approached, I expected some serious issues.  There was no English going on at the table, which isn't necessarily a bad sign, but when having to explain the complications of an intricate seafood meal, it can make things difficult.  The younger gentlemen greeted me with this: "I am so sorry.  My parents and I are very hungry.  We know exactly what we want and as soon as we get the food bring the check."  Huh?!?!? What? Then I was showered with pet names such as "angel" and "sweetheart" as I took the order, which, as the gentlemen promised, was complete in full.  They ordered lobster, I didn't mind.  Two hot sakes? I'm on it.  As long as you are kind to me, I'll stay here all night.  They left me more than adequate gratuity, but in a way I didn't even want to take their money.  They even left it in cash, while paying with a credit card, "you get taxed don't you?" the mother said in her broken English.  I almost cried.

I made sure to tell them how much their kindness meant to me.  They told me it goes both ways.  Aw, shucks.  I told them I had been less than enamored with my job lately, and this had renewed my faith in the human race.  So thank you table 311.  Thank you.  

   

Welcome to my blog!

Welcome to the blog!!! It has been a long time coming and now this baby is alive.  My name is Alli Kennedy, and I am a resident of beautiful Southern California.  I live here in the barrio with my three dogs, one cat and my soon-to-be husband, John.  This is just a small window into my twisted world.  I'll advise: if you do not like opinions, fun or trash-talk you might want to stop reading now.