More Joy, Less Stuff

Earlier this week, I was working from home one day and my Internet service (which is very, shall we say, quirky, at best) suddenly decided it had had enough. Despite my best efforts, and a 40-minute phone conversation with my carrier (AT&T, whose customer service department truly must look like Outsourced), nothing would make it come back on. Well, what to do? I could get in my car and drive 25 minutes back to my office, waste time explaining why I was there, work for another hour and a half and then leave to go pick up Ceeya, or I could try and channel my rage constructively. I suppose there are a couple of other options—such as declaring the day a wash and either going shopping or lying on the couch watching DVDs and scarfing potato chips—but instead, I chose to tackle our home office.

I have to say, SOMEBODY in my house is completely disorganized when it comes to paperwork, and that SOMEBODY isn’t me.

Also: it seems we might need a shredder. There is a mountain (perhaps not a mountain, perhaps a small hillock) of paper in that room that we no longer need but cannot simply throw away recycle.

I’m not done, but I’m already feeling better about it.

Now as far as the Internet: still not working. I picture AT&T execs just sitting around on cushy lounges made of money, wearing T-shirts that say “Customer Service is for Suckas.” They probably smoke, too. And eat live kittens for fun.

In other earth-shattering news, the weekend has arrived. Enjoy it to the utmost!

I'm going to do something fun.

A Few Reasons Why I've Been Scarce

1. Errands! There are many things I can’t get done on the weekends because I am just trying to clean the house/enjoy my family/have a life. Thus, errands get done during my lunch hour, which is often when I would usually take the time to compose blog posts, as a break from my work day. (Yeah, I said it.)

[1a. Aside: I have not found a dry cleaner near our new house. The one I am using now is not in the flow of my life at all. Either I need to switch out my entire work wardrobe to some kind of perma-press fabric, or I need to locate a fabbo new dry cleaner. Hmm, which will it be?]

2. Speaking of work: WORK! There is very much much of it, as in a muchness of it, as in a too muchness of it. As much as it pleases me to have a regular paycheck and healthcare benefits, and as much as I am grateful for having a job at all in this economy, it does sometimes feel overwhelming. As in, too much.*

3. Nanna! Not well, and not really understanding what’s wrong with her, and thus not really understanding what medical options she has and what they all mean. I am trying to be diplomatic with my mom, who is her primary caregiver and appears to be in a spiral of depression and denial and not wanting to ask the doctors too many questions for fear of seeming pushy. (Yes, take a moment to re-read that. Doesn’t want to be pushy. Dear God, I hope when I am 84 years old and not able to advocate for myself that other people will be pushy on my behalf.) So I am now delicately trying to be pushy with her, in the nicest way possible, couching it in terms of how I know this has been hard for her and we all love Nanna so much and just want the best possible care for her. And of course we just want to help my mom as much as we can but we can only do that if we have all the information we’d need to help make decisions about her care. Specifically, I am concerned about a surgery that the oncologist is proposing, but the cardiologist is cautioning against because he doesn’t think Nanna’s heart could take the strain. At this point, we know she has cancer in her lungs and stomach but they have not yet determined if she has it in her liver, although they suspect from her last CAT scan that she does. I would like to have the whole picture before they cut her open, and indeed even before they recommend a course of treatment for the two cancers she has. On the other hand, I am not there on the day-to-day, so it’s easier for me to put the brakes on. Much of the time, Nanna is in pain, and that is very, very hard to witness. One more thing: the lung cancer surgery involves partial removal of one of her lungs, which my mother has not shared with her “because she gets so agitated.” Of course, I understand not wanting to add to her stress, but at the same time, I strongly feel that if she is going to have surgery she deserves to know what exactly is going to be done to her. It’s her body, after all. And it makes me wonder: what kind of doctor would recommend a surgery to someone without fully explaining what it involves, and in the case of an elderly woman who is not always lucid, without ensuring that she understands what is involved? I could go on, but see #s 1 and 2, and #4.

4. Children! One is turning one in ten days! Both need Halloween costumes! One needs new shoes (size 1.5)! One needs long-sleeved T-shirts (size 12-18 months)! Both need various and different foods at different times from different places! One never wants to be separated from me, ever – but dammit, will I put her down and let her explore the house and throw everything around the room and put stuff in her mouth but don’t go too far how could I leave her AAAAAAAAAAAAA! One is pleased that we had an impromptu water balloon fight Friday evening but enraged that I asked her to bring her sweat jacket in from the car! Children are fun but exhausting! They make me write everything in exclamation points because that’s how we roll!

5. Sickness! Sweet Dub had stomach flu last week; I have a persistent sore throat and now an earache. Cily’s nose is breaking all previously known records for runniness. Viva: healthy as a horse. Knock wood.

Aaaand, I'm out.

* I just had to see how many times I could use the word “much” in that last paragraph.

Thursday’s Random Five

(1) An old friend of mine that I’ve reconnected with on Facebook just emailed me to invite me to join Tubely. As you know, I can barely keep up with this blog and Facebook, never mind yet another networking site. I took a look to see what the hell Tubely was. It’s an online dating service. Bwuh? Since we are both married, albeit to different people, I find this a bit bizarre. I just sent her a message saying, well, basically, “What?” People should quit smoking crack. Or meth. Or whatever the hot and happening’ drug is these days. I can’t keep up.

(2) How funny is the whole right-wing hullabaloo over teabagging? You can’t make this stuff up! I love it. Now I hear that the hard-core right-wing National Organization for Marriage has adopted the slogan "2M4M", which is supposed to be indicate they’re hip to the young folks with all the newfangled texting and tweeting and whatever it is they do. It allegedly stands for "2 Million for Marriage." Of course, once again, they failed to do their homework and oh, I don’t know, see if this is already in common usage. Others more hip than I have indicated that this code is very familiar on social networking sites and stands for "2 Men for a Man," i.e. two men looking for a third for a ménage-a-trois. I almost feel sorry for NOM – they can’t win for losing. It is highly entertaining.

(3) Two days ago it was 95 degrees here in Los Angeles. Today, we are looking at a high of 68. It’s overcast and a little drizzly in places. I’m wearing a sweater. Happy global warming!

(4) I fell off the 100-Pushup Challenge wagon this week. Boo. I was up to 89 pushups!

(5) In related news, there’s also a 200-Sit-up Challenge and a 200-Squat Challenge. I did the 200-Sit-up Challenge initial test and was able to do 69 consecutive sit-ups. I plan to start doing both challenges next week. In preparation, my thighs have been blubbering in the corner. That’s right, you better be scared!

This, That and the Other

Well, hello! How’ve you been?

I’m on call for Jury Duty this week, so every day I’ve been at work I’ve been frantically trying to finish things just in case I get called. I have been working through my lunch hour, rather than blogging during lunch as I sometimes do. And then, at home I have actually been (a) working out (b) spending time with my family and (c) getting caught up on all the stuff that’s backed up on our DVR. Last night I watched multiple episodes of The Office and 30 Rock. Somehow I had missed three weeks in a row. What on earth?

All this to say, not blogging much although there’s lots to blog about. Highlights:

Sweet Dub is getting some kind of promotion at his job. We don’t yet know what exactly this means. Will he get more money? More time off? Or should he just be happy he has a job in this economy and not expect any compensation for these extra responsibilities (which are substantial)? He’s meeting with the mucky-mucks today. We’ll see. Maybe they will offer him a kajillion dollars and I can stay home and eat bonbons. I mean, do volunteer work. Oh, I mean, take my kid out of day care and go to Mommy and Me classes and roll my eyes at the moms in their yoga wear texting on their Blackberries. Because I would never do that!

Viva seems to have turned six, although I don’t even comprehend how it is possible that she is that old. She had two parties. Photos forthcoming (I brought the camera with me to work but have the wrong size USB cable, and my work computer has no memory card slot. I can not even tell you how irritated I am at technology at this point).

Viva has been sick for the past week with some sort of stomach thing. She is hardly eating anything. Monday I sent her to school with rice, crackers, a banana and some yogurt. Instead, she weaseled school lunch out of her teacher…and ended up paying for it with four separate rushed trips to the bathroom between lunch and 4 pm. Needless to say, she contritely went back on the boring diet.

Cily has developed separation anxiety, but not the normal kind, because why be normal? No, she doesn’t get upset if I leave her at daycare. She gets upset when we are getting ready in the morning and I have to put her down so I can get dressed. I can’t go to work in my underwear. I really don’t think that would go over too well, even on Casual Fridays.

I am still doing the 100-pushup challenge – 67 pushups on Monday. My arms feel like they were carved out of granite.

I am also doing Pilates, which is obviously (obviously!) the invention of some psychologically twisted person. I am convinced that I have no abdominal muscles at all. Maybe elves took them while I was asleep. Anyway, I was working out to an ab sculpting DVD last night and I swear to you the people on the DVD were doing things that are physiologically impossible. I also must tell you that I was more than a little grossed out by Mari Winsor telling me to tweeze my buttocks as we moved into various positions. (FYI, it’s not what you’d think. However, I am far too literal and visual a person for her to use that terminology.)

Speaking of technology – which I did, about 4 paragraphs ago – I am doing research on various forms of electronics for this foster teen program we are developing for work, and all I can conclude is this: I need a new laptop, a pocket video camera, and an MP3 player in order for my life to be complete. And I need them all now.

Beyond these petty concerns, I am enjoying the cooler, overcast weather today, and I am delighted that yet again the Blah Blah family seems to have been adopted by a cat. And, power to the people: this is another black cat. You may recall that at our old house, we were adopted by Jean-Jean*, who was inexplicably moody, at times extremely friendly and at times not. This mystery was cleared up when we discovered that there were actually two long-haired black cats with green eyes visiting our yard. One was tame, the other, not.

This new black cat is extremely tame, to the point where when I sit down on the back steps, he jumps into my lap. Tame to the point where he stands and scratches at the back door to let us know he’s there. Tame to the point where he jumps up onto the (covered) barbecue grill and peers into the kitchen window, as if to will us to come out and play. Tame to the point where, when Viva leaves the laundry room door ajar, he just saunters on in like he owns the place.

It has been fun to watch Viva getting used to him. She has never been around a cat that is this used to people. When I casually pick him up and remove him from somewhere he is not supposed to be, she gazes at me in rapture like I am a lion tamer. It is quite funny. I am considering investing in a top hat. Maybe I’ll sell tickets in the front yard.

Next time: two “you know you’re old when…” moments. Oh, dear.

* I went back through my old blog posts to find the one where I posted a picture of him, and alas! I can't seem to find it. Sorry. But know that he was a most beautiful cat.

Connect 4 - or in this case, more

Do you belong to any networking sites? I have a Facebook account, a LinkedIn account, a Shelfari account, a college network account, a family MySpace account, and a friend just emailed to invite me to join HoverSpot.com. I don’t even know what that is, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have time for it.

I barely have time for the friends I have, even my nearest and dearest! I know this is going to sound antiquated, but wouldn’t it be cool to get off the computer and just call the people you want to talk to? Or even just email a quick note to say, “Hi, I’m thinking about you”?

What is it with this crazy life? I admit I am just as bad as everyone else about keeping in touch. I have aunts back east with three and four kids and not only do they manage to shop and wrap and get packages out to us every Christmas, but they promptly write thank you notes (like within a week!) for the gifts I send their way. It is mind-boggling.

I blame the TV and its siren call. Now, really, after I’ve been staring at a screen all day at work, do I really need to stare at a screen for a couple of hours once I get home?

I think not. What I need to do is attend to other personal business. Spend some time with my husband, maybe do some yoga, maybe catch up with some friends. What did I do with my time before I had children? I really feel a need to reclaim that part of my life in little bits and pieces. Don’t get me wrong – I realize it would be unproductive to long for hours of free time to just noodle around. But can I grab 15 minutes here and there and make little moments for myself?

Financial advisers always say you need to pay yourself first. You hear me? That's what I'm talking about. Facebook and all its minions can wait. I've got other stuff on my mind.

A floating accumulation of miscellaneous stuff

I don’t have anything deep to say today, just a bunch of random observations. Let’s dive in, shall we?

Seriously? One of the Best. Headlines. Ever:

Early Humans Had Nutcracker Jaws

As an Anthropology major, I salute you, Yahoo! News!

The Golden Age

For years, Sweet Dub has complained about car commercials never showing a black man in the driver’s seat. I admit I had never noticed this because I am not insane, but once it was pointed out to me, I realized he was right. Finally, over time, we actually began to see black men driving the car in some of the car commercials. This weekend, Sweet Dub was watching the post-Super Bowl TV offerings and said, “Hey, look – a black man driving the car. Now you see it all the time…[thinks for a moment] Black President, black coach wins the Super Bowl, and black men driving the cars – after all these years of being the boogeyman, this might be our time. It’s the Golden Age of the African American male, honey.”

And with that, Cily spit up all over her daddy’s hand.

“There’s your Golden Age,” I said to him. “How’s that workin’ out for ya?”

A Musical Interlude

Yesterday, on the way to school/work, I eased up to a red light and happened to look in my rearview mirror. The guy in the Honda CRV behind me was pulling a guitar into his lap. Because you know, what better way to pass the time waiting for the light to turn green than to strum a few bars to yourself. I was about to make some snarky comment like “lost on the way to the Lilith Fair,” but even I don’t know where I was going with that.

The World is a Rainbow

Last night, a very dear friend of ours, Lady E, was in town for business and we had her over for dinner. (I know! On a Monday night! We frickin’ rock.) (P.S. We ordered Indian food. What, you thought I was going to cook?) Lady E is black and her husband is white. She was telling us that her oldest child B. is very race-conscious and is always describing people by their color. “You know that book, Shades of Black? It describes all the different colors of blackness, like you’re yellow like popcorn, you’re brown like a pretzel – you know what I’m talking about?” Evidently they talk a lot about race at their house, and it doesn’t hurt that they live in Oakland, right near Berkeley. She jokes about her daughter being a little militant for a 5-year-old. But anyway, yes, I had heard of this book and I felt a tinge of guilt for not having a copy of it because I do try to show Viva books that validate her experience, yada yada yada. And about two seconds later I got over it, because God knows Viva has a very strong self-concept and is very proud of being brown – and that didn’t come out of a book.

Later, after Sweet Dub had dropped her off at her hotel, he said to me, “That book she was talking about? That is the last thing we need.” As it turns out, B. pointing out what color people are is not always welcome. I know! With all the complications surrounding race in this country, who’da thunk?

We’re All Friends Here

Viva will be turning six in just a couple of months and she is already demanding to know what we are doing for a party. I won’t go into our labored and lengthy discussions, but want to put this out there: do you feel it is acceptable to not invite all the kids from school to a party that is not held on school grounds? Is it ever okay to invite just the kids she’s friendly with? And where does one draw the line?

Sweet Dub and I are divided on this issue based on previous experience. I won’t bias your response by telling you my opinion. What do you think?



**This post has been edited to correct the misspelling of Super Bowl. What, I thought it was all one word. I don't know from football.

Ever So Slightly Busy

I'm on maternity leave and to most people that seems to mean that I must be lying around with my feet up, watching home shows. Perhaps that is what I should be doing, but alas, I am also one of those people who can't sit still when I have a big block of time in front of me and major life changes on the way, to wit: having the baby and moving to a new house one week later.

One week from today, at about this time, I should be in the operating room having a human being removed from my uterus. While it looked like Miss Thing might come early, now I am of the opinion that she was just teasing us, as her sister did five years ago, and she will come exactly on the day she is supposed to. If she does come slightly early, I am hoping for Thursday - which is two days from now, and is my stepfather's birthday. Since he has been having numerous health problems, I think that would be kind of nice.

In the meantime, I've been trying to tie up every loose end possible:

* Viva's Halloween costume is almost done. She will be Barry B. Benson or my name ain't Mama Blah. (Well, technically, it's not. Whatever, you get the gist.)

* I have researched all of our state propositions and figured out how I am going to vote on each one (I vote by mail, so all I have to do now is fill out my ballot).

* I am halfway through online traffic school for that damn "did not come to a complete stop" traffic ticket.

* I've paid all my bills.

* I have completed all maternity leave paperwork.

* I have done an insane amount of laundry (in fact, I have a load in right now).

* I've drafted the birth announcement, created labels and bought stamps for the mailing, and bought the announcement cards to be printed when the baby arrives.

* I've packed almost all the books in our living room.

* I've packed all unnecessary bathroom items. Today I'm moving on to the kitchen (upper cabinets - all the dishes I use for entertaining, mixing bowls, wineglasses, etc).

* I created a "baby countdown" for Viva whereby I bought 7 small gifts for her (squirtgun, Play-Doh, SpongeBob cap, etc.) and placed each in a brightly colored bag, numbered 1 through 7. She gets to open one each night starting tonight and then cross the day off on the calendar. She does not know this yet.

* I finalized my hospital bag items. Bag is packed and waiting. All I have to do is throw my toiletries in and I'm good to go.

* I went back though my emails and finally found pictures of the house for you to enjoy:

Here's the exterior...

...the living room...

...and the patio.

* And now, I think I deserve a pedicure. Quick, to the Blahmobile!

Wrapping Up Before the Weekend

Hey, guess what?

My bank just got bought out.

John McCain has changed his mind and decided he will debate Barack Obama tonight. Flip-flopper!

The economy is in ruins.

We still have not found a house to move to.

I forgot my lunch.

The baby will be here in just 33 days. While I have a variety of adorable outfits for her, I’m a bit concerned about where she might sleep. Thankfully, we do have a car seat, so if worse comes to worse, we can all sleep in the car! (The rear seats do fold down.)

In more encouraging news:

I have another baby shower this weekend where I will be warmly embraced into the collective bosom of some of my dearest friends.

I am slowly but surely crossing things off my work pre-maternity leave “to do” list.

We found another grant writer and he’s filling out paperwork in the Human Resources office as we speak. He starts in one week – my last week of work.

Viva has decided she wants to be a bee for Halloween. Not just any bee! Barry B. Benson from Bee Movie! Interesting take on the movie here, by the way. [In a related aside, does it bother anyone else when they give animated animal characters blue eyes? Like animals that never in reality have blue eyes, like penguins or horses or bees? What is THAT about?? End tangent.] I have already begun working on creating a costume for her, which thankfully should not be all that difficult this time around.

I found out that one of my work acquaintances, who I really like but don’t see all that often because she works at one of our other sites, lives in the same neighborhood that the Blah Blahs are trying to move to. She is cool – very grounded and sane, and we are already so on the same wavelength – we are both pregnant and due within two days of each other! So we will be on leave at the same time and may even be able to get together and dish during that time. She has a 4-year-old daughter and hopefully Viva would bond with her and pretty much instantly have a friend in the area. (Although actually we already have a few friends in the area – but this one would be within walking distance. Miraculous in Los Angeles!)

My former yoga/dance teacher was recently on the Ellen show. Take a look at the clip and you can see why her class was so much fun!

Funny story about my doctor’s office here.

And, that's a wrap. Have a lovely weekend, all!

Updated two seconds after posting because I forgot to add a link. My bad!

Weird And/Or Random

Okay, Janie tagged me and I'm meme-ing, if somewhat belatedly. My mission is to reveal 7 weird/random things about myself and tag 7 other bloggers.

(1) In high school, I was in an advanced art class through which I was selected to help create a float for a Disney-themed parade (why on earth?!?) through downtown Boston. My team was chosen to design the Fantasia float. I spent a ridiculous amount of time helping recreate the Dance of the Hours sequence with an oversized dancing hippo in a tutu and an alligator in a cape. Chicken wire, papier mache, tissue paper, and paint, for weeks after school, with all the usual high school bitchery. When we finally got to ride on the float, waving at the crowds, I laughed hysterically through the whole thing. The absurdity of it was just overwhelming.

(2) I have seven moles on my body (three on my neck alone). When Viva was younger, she thought they were extra nipples. This was, thankfully, once she was past the age of breastfeeding.

(3) If I could eat ice cream every day, I would.

(4) When I was in elementary school in Boston back in the day (1970s!), one year near the end of the year they had each kid self-identify racially on one of the standardized forms we were filling out. This was back in the day when you could only check one box. I think there were maybe four options, which even at the time was baffling. Because we are "mixed," I checked black, and my sister checked white. The next year, my sister was assigned to 6th grade at a middle school a mile or so from our predominantly white working-class neighborhood. I was bussed (!!) to 5th grade in a more diverse school (great mix of black, white, Asian and Hispanic, to my great relief), about 5 miles away. So few of us came from that neighborhood that we were bussed in on the short bus! To this day, with all the fuss over bussing in Boston, I do not understand why, as the "black" kid, I was bussed OUT of my white neighborhood. Wasn't the idea that the schools were suppoed to be more integrated?

(5) The following year, I was bussed even further away, to a predominantly black middle school. I got in more fights that year than I can count - none provoked by me, and all involving a group of mean girls, in my grade but not in my class, who insisted that I "thought I was cute." Since at 11 I was already wearing glasses and never knew what to do with the unruly mass of frizz on my head, nothing could have been further from the truth. It was completely bewildering.

(6) The first movie I ever saw was Benji, when I was 6. I was a complete freak about dogs and yet to this day, except for a two-week stint with a puppy that my parents later gave away (!! child abuse!!), I have never owned one.

(7) Speaking of dogs, when I was 25, I was mauled by my dad's Akita. Today, if I shaved my head, you would see the scars from four bite marks on my skull. I did not have a great relationship with my dad before this happened, and strangely, this did not improve things. Perhaps this is because he kept the dog despite its penchant for biting people smaller than it (the dog outweighed me by at least 20 pounds). Whenever I would call him, even years later, I would ask, "Is your dog dead yet?"

I think he resented that.

So those are my seven things. I rarely comment on other people's blogs - I know, this is really bad blog etiquette. So I feel a bit awkward and shy about tagging anyone to do this meme! Instead, if you would like to post seven random/weird things either here, in the comments, or on your own blog, please do. No, really, please, because I do find you fascinating. I have really enjoyed other people's lists. These are the things that make you, you.

Won't you share?

Tangents

I fully and finally admit to having succumbed to a bit of a funk over the past week or so. Tired of not being able to do much of anything, blah blah blah, so full of malaise that I couldn’t bring myself to write about it. It makes me tired even to type that, so moving on…

I just got caught up on my blog reading, and hey! Have you noticed that people out there are participating in NaBloPoMo? They’re blogging every day for the month of November! Hey, maybe I could do that! …Oops.

Anyway, after getting caught up on my reading and other things, I picked up the remote to watch a little TV during lunch. The remote wouldn’t work. I contemplated calling Sweet Dub at work and shrieking, “The TV’s broken!” because you know what, I don’t think he has enough to worry about. But the very idea of calling him and screaming that led me into a reverie…

When I was 6 years old and my mother was newly remarried, we moved from our low-income housing project to the home of S and R, two of my mom’s childhood friends. In hindsight, I think this was probably because once my mom and stepdad made it legal, we no longer qualified as low-income-enough to remain in the projects, although we were still pretty broke. At any rate, we moved into their large old house in the neighborhood where my mom had grown up. S and R had two little boys who were younger than my sister and I – the older one was maybe 3 or 4 and the younger one was a toddler, still in a crib. Early one Saturday morning, we were all awakened by the sound of the 4-year-old screaming, “Daddy! The TV’s broken!”

As I said, it was early. It was so early, in fact, that there was no TV on. The television was showing what we called, back in the day, “snow.” Yes, youngsters, in olden times, if you turned on the TV at, say, 4:30 AM, NOTHING WOULD BE ON. The airwaves were actually silent. And, as yet, there were no VCRs. There were no DVD players. There was no TiVo. Your TV was basically useless for a couple hours each day.

I know what you’re saying. You’re saying, “That sounds like hell on earth!”

Having been pretty much housebound now for nearly four weeks, I can tell you this: at some point, you do get fairly sick of television. Every person has a different tipping point. Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time on the phone talking to actual human beings rather than staring at the screen. Today, I got caught up with a very dear friend who I’ve known since we were 12. I spent a lot of time during my most awkward years hanging out amidst her very loud, very large, very loving extended family. There have been times when years have gone by and we haven’t talked person-to-person, but when we do, there is no weird small talk, no bullshit. We dive right into whatever is going on with each of us.

Too often, we make excuses for not having enough time to keep in touch with all the people who are important to us. I am grateful to have this recuperation time to reconnect with people. I want to make sure that I continue to do so after I get back on the hamster wheel of work-family balance post-recuperation. More to come…

That Thing, That Thing, That -- Huh?

Aaaaand, we’re back. Yes, I realize that I am now posting about once a week. This is because my life has gotten even more hectic than previously, and let me tell you why. I informed my boss and her boss that I will need six to eight weeks off for this medical leave, starting in early October. All of a sudden, it appears, I must try to do everything that is crucial that would need to be done through mid-November within the next four weeks.

This evening, my boss’ boss tried to reassure me that I needn’t worry about all that. He may as well write his name on the wind. He doesn’t seem to get the significance of my having been raised in New England, which means that (a) I have that annoying Puritan work ethic and (b) I internalize all anxiety related to that. My stomach lining is like the ozone layer right now. Added to my existing medical issues and I don’t have a whole lot of energy left over for much more than rolling around on the rug with Viva, practicing somersaults. Wait, I only did that three times. I was sure I was going to dislocate my neck or something, and that, on top of everything else, would quite definitely make my husband leave me*. And I just can’t have that.

So anyway, I am making myself a little nuts with work, despite having potentially met half of my fundraising goal for this fiscal year in the first quarter (hey, and we’re not even finished with the first quarter yet. This freakin’ rocks!). Blah blah blah, work stuff is completely boring since I can’t tell you any of the details that make it interesting.

Example: I went to a work thing today where roughly one-third of our entire staff attended. (Maybe 100 people). I don’t understand why some people do not get what proper work attire is. I will not give the play-by-play, but flip flops? NO. NO. NO. I can’t say it enough. NO. For God’s sake, NO. If you wear them with suit pants and a blouse, it looks ridiculous. If you wear them with some cavernous burlap sack dress, it looks like you have truly given up caring and are just waiting to throw yourself in front of a train. Either way, I don’t want to see it and neither does anyone else.

Speaking of which, what the…???



















(Link to story) I am speechless. And kind of sad. It seems like Lauryn Hill has been having some kind of breakdown over the past few years and no one is doing anything about it. What’s happened to her? I say this as a fan of her music – I think she is hugely talented. I mean, look at that picture again.** And then look at this. What on God’s green earth??

Sigh.

Someday I will write a post which will be poignant and evocative and leave my readers gazing wistfully out the window and marveling at the wonders of the world. Today is not that day, my friends.

See you next week.


* Yes, he’s been threatening to do that lately because Viva and I are both so accident-prone that he can’t stand to be around us. Last week, I mangled my toe such that I couldn’t wear a regular shoe. But in what has to be a record, within a 20-minute span, Viva fell and scraped her knee, dropped her eraser into the toilet, and then pinched the side of her hand in the bathroom door, breaking the skin. Sweet Dub went screaming off into the other room that we were driving him nuts and he just couldn’t take it anymore and if one more thing went wrong with one of us he was going to lose hi s mind. Yes, I was the calm one at that moment. We have a flair for the dramatic, we Blah Blahs. It is our way.

** I suppose I should thank my friend, Mr. X, for sending me that link. Well, thanks for nothing! Aw, whatever, I love you, you big baby. Stop crying. No, seriously, stop it.

Disco Inferno

This post is brought to you today by the letter H (for HOT) and the number 90 (for super freakin' hot).

1. Hey, guess what? It's September in Southern California, which means it's the hottest time of year. My brain, she is melting. Hence and therefore, I can't promise that this post will be about much of anything besides the heat, for which I apologize in advance because I am quite sure that many of the 7 people that read here regularly are probably also quite hot. And I mean that in both senses of the word. Smooch, smooch.

2. The chorus to "Disco Inferno" is in my head. Burn, baby, burn. Hey, now it's in yours. See how sneaky I am?

3. Medical update: I am having surgery in early October to rid myself of these dratted fibroids. Did you know that compared to other races, African-American women are 3 to 9 times more likely to have fibroids, develop fibroids at a younger age, and have more numerous fibroids? Whee! I got ripped off on the melanin, but I got the fibroids. It is like some frickin' cosmic joke.

4. I am relieved to be having the surgery, which shows you that things have gotten pretty damn bad around here.

5. Speaking of melanin, the Blah Blah family went to the beach this weekend. After a couple hours sitting by the water in the sun, I was completely incapacitated for the rest of the day. We arrived at the beach at 8:40 AM and left by 11:00 AM. Once again, it is hard to believe that I am descended from people who toiled for hours in the sun.

6. Viva was reunited with her best friend on Saturday. (Her best friend, who she's known since the age of 2, recently moved to a different school. Her older brother was having issues with one of the teachers and Best Friend's parents decided to move both kids.) There was much rejoicing. I brought my camera but damned if it didn't come out of my purse the entire four hours of the playdate. Again, I blame it on the heat. Because I can.

7. When I arrived at work this morning, there were fire engines outside my building. As you might imagine, not wanting to sizzle like a blister in the sun, I asked the parking attendant about it as I was driving in. "Fire drill," he said, waving me in. Hey, you know what? WRONG. Rolling blackout, and people were trapped in the elevators, and the firefighters were trying to get them out. Since I always take the stairs, I was spared that. However, I did end up stuck at work for a couple of hours with no phone, no power, no air conditioning. By about 9:30, I was sweating and yet still taking calls on my cell phone from someone I work with, detailing all the work I needed to do once I got home. Damn. So unlike some people who can only work if they're on the network, no extra day off for me. I can always write from home.

8. Nonetheless, this doesn't mean I might not run a few errands. I just realized that I've managed to go all summer with one pair of decent shorts. I pretty much wear either them or one of two pairs of capri pants when I'm hanging around the house like this, so maybe I'll actually buy another pair. Bonus: they may actually be on sale because it is so late in the season. I'm also trying not to run the air conditioning here at home because it makes Sweet Dub have the conniptions. So the mall, the library, and the movie theater are all looking like great options.

9. And, I'm out. It's heating up in here. Time to hit the dry cleaners and grab something iced to drink. Peace!

Brevity is the Soul of Wit

About this whole Working Full-Time Dealio: I don't remember if you asked me how I feel about it, but quite frankly, it's not all that it's cracked up to be.

I just wrote a whole long post about it and I was boring even myself, so bleep that.

I just wish I had more time.

Farmer in the Dell

Have I mentioned that we at Casa de Blah have become gardeners? The cold winter (cold by Los Angeles standards, that is) killed a whole strip of pretty purple rushes we had going on in our backyard, so we pulled them out and planted food. Okay, maybe that's not quite right. I think what I meant to say was that my next-door neighbor, who is retired and has some time on her hands, volunteered to come over one day while we were at work/school and she not only singlehandedly ripped out all the reeds or rushes or whatever the hell they were, but also planted three tomato plants, a zucchini plant, and some string beans. Inspired, I also planted some strawberries. Through this process, I've learned that I really like gardening. (I know, hardly earth-shattering, but for someone who grew up around a lot of concrete, a pleasant realization.)

Here's the patch:















And now we are inundated with zucchinis. The strawberries are coming in slowly (we eat one at a time), the tomatoes are taking over the yard (though not ripe yet), and the beans? Well, the beans have not been looking so good. We keep debating what to do about them, but not doing anything, because that is our way.

This afternoon, while I was working from home, Sweet Dub came home for lunch. "We might have to pull out these beans," he said, walking around them. And then: "Oh my God, a bean! Hey, another one!"

Hey howdy hey, we have beanage. It's all very timely because I have been reading that Barbara Kingsolver book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle about how she and her family spent a year trying to eat only food that was produced locally. Now, it does help that they were able to move to a farm that they conveniently already owned, so they were able to grow a lot of food themselves. We don't own a farm. We merely rent a little house with a yard. But it's an interesting concept nonetheless, and if I ever finish the book and have the time or inclination to do so, maybe I'll review it fully here! in this very space!

The Cheese Stands Alone

Ever since we got back from Hawaii, Viva has had trouble sleeping by herself. We made the mistake of letting her sleep with us in the king-sized bed in our hotel room. This was perfectly okay because (a) there was plenty of room; and (2) we were in a suite, so if we wanted to get up to any shenanigans while she was asleep, we had a separate room (with a door!) we could go to. Now, at home, Sweet Dub and I sleep in a queen-sized bed. We sleep in a queen-sized bed because we like each other and like to be close to each other. It works for us unless there is a skinny four-year-old draped in between us, kicking her father in the back and poking me in the face with her elbow while sleeping.

The first week we were back, Viva made it known repeatedly and loudly, with much whinage, that everyone else had a brother or sister to sleep in their room with them and why didn’t she and we were horrible parents who were scarring her for life with our insistence that she sleep on what amounts to a splintery plank raised up off the floor with only the rats for company in her drafty attic room where the snow drifts in and her filthy handkerchief-sized blanket doesn’t quite cover her enough, ALONE, ALONE, ah the agony. And so on and so forth.

We finally got her off of this tack by numerous explanations that even if she had a brother or sister, they might not share a room, or even want to, and that if she had a brother or sister, she would definitely have to share us with him or her, and that would mean less time and attention for her, which, as the ultimate drama queen, you know she is not going for. And so we were saved.

And then there was Pee-Wee.

While channel-surfing recently, Sweet Dub came across Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure, and knowing of Viva’s love of the dance, he recorded the portion of the movie where Pee-Wee dances in the biker bar in the high-heeled patent white loafers. If you haven’t watched the movie 500 times, you might not remember that after that scene, Pee-Wee takes off on a motorcycle (or should I say hog?) loaned to him by one of the bikers. He immediately crashes through a billboard and gets rushed to the hospital, whereupon he sleeps fitfully, and you see that he is having nightmares of what has happened to his own bike. These are nightmares featuring scary clowns doing unspeakable things to the bike and leering horribly at the camera. I didn’t remember this part of the movie, unfortunately.

Thanks, Pee-Wee! This scene is now seared into Viva’s hefty braincase, where it has marinated in the splendiferous goop of her imagination and now takes over almost every brain function after the sun goes down. What I am saying to you is that Viva is now terrified not just to sleep in her own bed, but to pass by an open closet or even take a bath for fear that scary clowns will come up out of the drain.

Once again, my “Good Parent” badge is hanging a bit askew. And she doesn't want to go to bed.

(I honestly didn’t remember that scene. Why would I deliberately torture my sweet bobblehead so?)

Low-Rent and High (In Three Parts)

Part the First

Seen today in the building where I work:

Please respect the building tenants and do not urinate in the stairwells.

(And yes, there has evidently been a veritable epidemic of stairwell peeing in my office building. Nice.)

Part the Second

Sweet Dub gave me a picture of himself posing with the director of the movie he's been working on. I took it to work with me because I thought it was hilarious. First of all, Sweet Dub does not have a small head (no, that's not a euphemism, you dirty, dirty, naughty thing), but the director? His head looks about the size of a battleship in this picture, dwarfing my husband's head to the size of a coconut. Some might say this is symbolic of how he thinks of himself, but certainly I would never take it there. No, indeedy. I know which side my bread is buttered on. But the director is also sneering mockingly at the camera, clearly cheesing it up a bit. It makes me laugh just to look at it. So when Sweet Dub called a few minutes ago, I mentioned that I was looking at the picture.

"You hung it up at work?" he said.

"Yeah, it's up on my bulletin board," I said.

"That's kind of goofy," he said.

Hello? Have you just met me? Goofy is my middle name.

Part the Third

Speaking of brushes with celebrity, on Monday afternoon, I worked half a day in the office and half a day at home after lunching with the lovely Cee, her sister, and an anonymous friend who shall remain nameless in the interest of anonymity. At about 4:30, I realized Sweet Dub and Viva would be home soon, and there was nothing to eat for dinner. I hopped into my BlahBlahMobile and motored on over to the local Gelson's on the Los Feliz/Silverlake border. You know the one, across the street from Trader Joe's? I grabbed a cart and swung over toward the meat product section, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a smartly-yet-funkily-dressed fellow with locs, pushing a cart. I am usually not one to celeb-gawk, but I did a double take, because for a split second I thought it was Wyclef Jean, but then I realized it was will.i.am. At the same time, he realized he had been recognized, and broke out in a big smile, and said hello. I am quite sure he was admiring my snazzy red boots. I said hello, and then, feeling all "first day of high school" geeky, I ducked my head and ran off to get some boneless skinless chicken. Because that's how I roll, baby.

Yo ho ho and a bottle of Tums.

Where Do I Start?

I have a moment to blog, and I barely know what to do. Rather than going over all my health issues (I promised last time I wouldn't, remember, and I'm keeping my promise), I'm just going to jump all over the place with random bits.

Viva
Turning 4 in less than a month. She has talked at me about her party pretty much daily for the last six months, without even a break for Christmas. Do you understand what I'm saying? The child would not even let Christmas distract her. Needless to say, the party planning is in full swing.

Sweet Dub
Working 11-hour days these days. Exhausted. Said to me at 6:30 this morning: "Sometimes at work I answer the phone, 'Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam.*' Is that weird?"

Jean-Jean
Seems to have a girlfriend. Little calico number. Seems to like Sweet Dub better than he likes me, which is patently unfair, considering Sweet Dub doesn't even like cats.

World Peace
Still elusive as ever.

* Warning: before you click on this link, turn down the volume on your computer. The music is pretty loud --but maybe that's because I'm online during that funky woozy time when my child is kind of drifting off but at the point where pretty much anything is an excuse for getting up.