Who's your Daddy?

Mosquitoes love me. I don't know exactly why. I always assumed that I had a "sweet smell" from possibly my light perfume, body oils/lotions or just an au naturel plain and simple sweetness that I would exude. But after being victim again this past weekend to another mosquito feeding frenzy, I had to do a bit of research on the subject. Enter Google. While there has been much study done on the subject, one common theory is that mosquitoes are attracted to certain blood type markers that we humans release. Studies have found that people with Type O blood suffer more bites than those with AB blood types because of these odorant markers they emit. And since I have the O blood type, this makes me an especially hot commodity. Even though type O is the most common, it still seems I get bit much more than my fellow O-ers. And here all along I thought it was that I just smelled so good, so sweet, so irresistible, only to find out it is just about the blood, always has been just about the blood, nothing more.

Besides finding out about the O blood type, it was interesting to discover that only the female mosquito feeds on humans (great, like the other side needs any more ammunition about how brutal we females can be), but in momma mosquitoes defense, she needs the blood in order to produce her eggs. We are nothing more than mosquito sperm banks, apparently we have been fathering many mosquitoes without our consent. So can't fault her on this one, we all know how strong the maternal instinct can be.

But for some reason within the last few years my markers must be distinctively higher. I always seem to be the one at the garden party who wakes up with a mosquito injected hangover. I sit at the candlelight outdoor table, trying to be inconspicuous as I swat at my arms, then my ankles (which seems to be their entree of choice) gently pulling down the sleeves of my shirt, and as I suffer in a silence (except for the swatting sound), I patiently wait for the hostess to say, "it's getting kind of cold out here, want to go inside?"

This seems to happen wherever I go. In St. Helena, Sacramento and most recently, Marin County. I came back to Santa Barbara last night with my newly mosquito bitten tattooed legs relieved to know that I haven't seen a mosquito in Santa Barbara since, I can't remember when. The itching was so intense I ran to CVS to buy some Cortizone-10 to help me ignore this mosquito saliva infested annoyance of mine. Ready to call it a night, I applied the gel, put on my pajamas and got in bed to read (okay, I'm lying, to do a little Facebooking), when lo and behold what do I see, a mosquito flying, hovering over me. This can't be! I started to panic, wondering if he came with me in my suitcase, my computer bag, where on earth did he come from? I tried swatting at him a few times, then he was no where to be found. I couldn't go on this hunting expedition all night. I was tired.

Not having access to any mosquito netting, I pulled my covers up to my chin, trying to expose as little of my sought after flesh as possible and hoped that my assumption was correct, that this little fellow, was in fact a fellow. Only then would I would be able to fall asleep peacefully.

Driving me mad

My idea of enjoying nature is driving down the Pacific Coast Highway on a glorious spring day.  Or visiting the local garden nursery with all the new tomato seedlings sprouting.  Driving up the Silverado Trail where the strawberry stands have opened is always a treat.  Seeing the hydrangeas in bloom and ready to purchase out in front of Whole Foods gets me excited.  While driving along Rutherford Road where one of the wineries competes with Holland by displaying a rainbow of tulips as their ground cover is nothing short of spectacular.  Some might say sad, but true, most of my escapades into nature are with me safely behind the wheel of my beloved BMW.

I would have to rank driving on the top of my "things to do for fun" list.  I absolutely love being in the car.  I have noted before that there are exceptions to this.  Driving with a car full of people, driving a U-Haul truck, driving without music or if in the dead of summer, without air conditioning, and getting stuck in bay area traffic can be a real buzz kill.  But other than that, to me the car represents freedom-  as obviously it does for so many other Americans.  No wonder the car pool line has a meager few cars zipping by the standstill lines of solo drivers.

For me it is the one place I can be completely alone.  Free of all obligations and time away from what someone else feels I probably really "should" be doing. I don't have to answer the phone, my door, to anyone, unless I get pulled over by the CHP which happens every now and then.  But that usually only lasts for a few cordial minutes, and then I'm back out merging into traffic.

I do have other activities that I enjoy, such as reading a book, baking the occasional cake, working on an art piece, writing a blog - but I get restless being inside. I get claustrophobic - even in my own house.  Sometimes I get all worked up if I start thinking about the fact that I am contained inside 4 major walls.  I can even drive my own self crazy if I start thinking about how I am contained inside my own body, behind my own face!  I can't stand seeing anything in a cage, an enclosure.  I feel sorry for little hamsters, kills me to see a chicken or a rabbit, and moving on up to the larger creatures on earth, it gets even harder to take.  I believe it stems from a past life experience. I have been told by not one, but two, psychics that I was a prisoner at one time in a past life.  Seems like I am still trying to stage the perfect escape.

So because of this past life karma, I am now destined to feel anxious, restless, and sometimes almost frantic to get out and get away .  The exact opposite of the agoraphobic - I have to leave the house.  And drive.  So with the current price of gas it has become an expensive joy ride.  While others have their expensive addictions or hobbies, like heroin, skiing, alcohol, golfing, gambling, shopping, mine is an addiction to fuel - for my car, for my sanity. 

One of the benefits of living in the Napa Valley is that we can drive through some gorgeous country - through the vineyards, over to Marin and Mt. Tamalpais, through Sausalito and over the magnificent and always impressive Golden Gate Bridge.  There is nothing like driving on Hwy 101, past Sausalito, going through the Waldo Tunnel and seeing the Golden Gate emerge. Breathtaking.  My equivalent of skydiving. 

Mt. Tamalpais in Marin County

Silverado Trail

The Golden Gate Bridge through the Waldo Tunnel

I am not ready to give it up.  They say before you can give up an addiction you must admit you have a problem.  I don't see a problem yet - maybe when gas reaches 6 or 7 dollars a gallon I'll have to rethink my spending.  And I don't want a lecture on what I am doing to the environment, I know, I know.  I give where I can give, recycling, using cloth grocery bags, but don't ask me to give up the car - I can't give up the car.

Let's see, I could give up the daily latte, that will buy me 1/2 gallon, give up some items at Target (did I really need to buy that root touch up? Going gray could be a good thing. That will give me another gallon).  Somethings gotta give.  As important as the air I breathe, is the ability to drive, to see things I might never see, to get my daily fix of freedom and that wondrous feeling of being alive.  With my music blasting, my cell phone off, and a full tank, I am one happy camper.