Recipe for Success

I have come to the conclusion that in order for me to get anything creative done, I must do the following:

1. Ignore the housework.

2. Give myself time to noodle a little. Go for a walk, or as I did this morning, go get a facial (which I desperately needed, and which allowed me time to work on a story idea while a collagen mask dried on my face).

3. Write. Every day. It's that simple.

Handy Home Treatment Advice

By the by: my aesthetician, Helen, is 45 years old and looks, hell I don't know, at least 10 years younger than that. She told me that she doesn't have time to get regular facials because she's too busy giving them to other people. But she told me this simple trick: in the morning, boil some water and pour it into a cup or mug. Place 2 chamomile tea bags in the water and leave them there all day. In the evening, take the tea bags out and throw them away. Pour the chamomile tea into an ice cube tray and place it in the freezer. The next morning, after you rinse your face with water (only wash your face at night, she says), take out the ice cube and rub it over your face. She claims it firms up the skin and prevents wrinkles. What the hell, right?

She also said I have the skin of someone under 30. "You have beautiful elasticity to your skeen," she said. (She is Russian, and calls me "dahlink," and I can't help but think of Natasha from Rocky & Bullwinkle when she does so. With great and abiding affection, of course.) This is because my skin is pretty damn oily, but as Helen says, "Would you razzer have peemples or wreenkles? I'll take the peemples any day!"

Easy for her to say. But she is lovely, dahlink.

Tune in tomorrow and watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat (nuthin' up my sleeve...presto!).

Who you tryin' to get crazy with, ese?

Don't you know I'm loco?*

Last week, when we were driving down to Oceanside, Viva declared war on me, with (as far as I'm concerned) practically no provocation on my part. She was whiny and complaining for virtually the entire 95-mile ride. I won't get into all of it here, because I have conveniently blanked out certain nasty bits in my brain. However, at one point about 45 miles into the drive, Viva started screaming that she couldn't get her shoe off. To be helpful and to make the screeching stop, I reached into the back seat (while driving at about 3,000 mph), felt around for her foot, pulled her shoe off, and dropped it onto the floor. She then started screaming even more loudly: "I need my shoe! I want my shoe ON!"

Oh, people. The reason they make toddlers so damn cute is so you won't drive the car off the fucking road when they do things like this. I patiently explained that we were in the carpool lane and driving very fast, that she had said she wanted her shoe off, and that she was just going to have to live with it like that until the car stopped. After I calmed her down from that hissyfit, she started this a few minutes later:

Viva [screaming bloody murder]: I'm stuck! I'm STUCK! My shoulder! My neck!, etc.

Mama [looking back quickly once we get on a straight stretch of road, and realizing she is complaining about her car seat straps]: You're not stuck. That's your seatbelt.

Viva [suddenly calm]: Huh?

Mama: That's your SEATBELT. You need it to stay safe, remember? I wear a seatbelt, you have to wear a seatbelt, everybody has to wear a seatbelt to be safe in the car. [surprised not to hear any further protest from the peanut gallery] God, I'm losing my mind.

Viva: You want it back, Mama? You want it back?

Mama [laughing, but serious]: YES! By God, YES, I would like it back. Have you seen it?

Okay, so yesterday, this weird whininess returned. Again, we were in the car. Viva was complaining about everything: the fact that I had no juice box for her, the price of gas, how much her arthritis has been bothering her, you name it. This was punctuated by her asking me every couple of minutes, "Where are you going?" Since I had told her where we were going already about 18 times, I got just the tiniest bit fed up.

Mama: I don't know about you, but I am going lulu, crazy, totally bananas, 'round the bend!

Viva [suddenly really, really mad and on the verge of tears]: I don't want to go around the bend! I don't want to go around the bend!

Mama: Oh. My. GAWD.

* Apologies to Cypress Hill, but surely I'm not the only one who's misappropriated their lyrics.

Satan's Myths of Marriage

On Sunday, Sweet William was channel surfing and came across a Christian televangelist-type show. The preacher was talking about marital problems, and it became clear that he was addressing his entire sermon to the wives in the audience. Now, I don't know about you, but when I encounter something that blatantly misogynist, I can't tear myself away right off. It's like a car wreck or a street fight. I'm horrified, but I have to look.

Well, it's a good thing I did, or I would have missed this little gem: "Intimacy means 'Into ME see'." Sweet William and I gasped, and grinned huge, lunatic grins at each other. "Oh, honey," he said. He didn't have to say anything more.

"Oh my GAWD," I said. "I love it." And it was immediately added to the canon of goofball stuff of which the Blah Blahs are most fond.

This term is useful in so many situations:

• Perhaps we are irritable with one another. All one of us has to do is say, "Into ME see," and it breaks the tension, avoiding further escalation of irritation and possibly sparking a pillow fight.
• Perhaps one of us is interested in getting a little action. All one of us has to do is say, "8 o'clock, after Viva's asleep. Into ME see," and the other will wink and nod.
• Perhaps one of us is sick and regaling the other with details of gastrointestinal distress, at which the other is protesting, "Too much information!" All one has to do is say sweetly, "Into ME see," and the other must grumblingly acquiesce.

At any rate, if you, too, are interested in learning more from this earnestly helpful man of God (cough, cough, sorry, something in my throat), you may click here. And yes, the title of this post was the title of the sermon. Cheezus!

Ruminating

This morning, after dropping Viva off at preschool, I had breakfast with a friend of mine. We are not old friends, and we are not best friends, but she is one of those people that you can speak your whole mind to. She is articulate; she is brilliant; she is well-read; she is principled; and she is really fucking funny. I admire her a great deal.

After we ate, we went for a walk, and as it turned out, I spent my entire "No Viva" time with her. The whole morning! We just would not shut up. We talked politics and capitalism and feminism and ethics. We talked about the mundanities of everyday life. We talked about one's life purpose and careers and family and what the next step for each of us might be.

Well, for her, it's business school. She has been accepted to one of the top programs in the country and she'll be moving east in July.

For me, it's not so clear-cut. I want to write, and yet I have not made that happen. Not yet. So here I sit, after having this thought-provoking discussion, and I have no answers, and here is a quote for you to ponder:

There is never enough time for writing. It is a parallel universe where the days, inconveniently, are also twenty-four hours long. Every moment spent in one's real life is a moment missed in one's writing life, and vice versa. - Gish Jen

This pretty much encapsulates how I have been feeling. I am going to work this, though, so help me God.

I'm sick. I'm sorry.

I've caught Viva's cold. Wait, you're saying, didn't she just have a cold?

How perceptive of you. Checking back though the archives, it appears she had a cold a mere month ago. I didn't get it that time.

Damn preschools. They're nothing but germ factories, you know...an opinion which, in a way, is confirmed by these recent findings. Do you see how following the news can drive you completely 'round the bend? Now it turns out I haven't given my child the best start in life by keeping her home with me!

I am completely crabby, in need of a facial, and would love nothing better than to curl up on the couch and watch all the DVDs we own that I haven't yet watched. Actually, I should start with The Office: The Complete Series and Specials, which I borrowed from Coolia. I've only watched six episodes. I have watched the American spinoff, which surprisingly, isn't horrible, maybe because it features one of my favorites, the guy who played Arthur on Six Feet Under.

My little mucus-factory has just awakened. More to come...

Recent Blah Blah Tidbits

Heard around Casa de Blah Blah over the past couple days:

Sunday Afternoon

Our balcony door is open. There is a prodigious amount of honking and yelling from the street. Our downstairs neighbor yells back from his balcony, "I forgot my cocktail!" There is a period of relative silence, and then the honking and yelling begins again. Some thoughtful young gentlemen down on the street are hanging out by their ginormous SUV -- a Navigator? Who knows? -- and yelling, "Where are those cocktails?!"

Viva [gesturing toward the balcony]: What's that?

Sweet Willie [all weary sarcasm]: Probably a genius.

Viva: Look, Mommy, look! A genius!


Monday Morning

I have just finished taking a shower. I am standing in the bathroom in my birthday suit, putting on moisturizer. Sweet Willie is watching me from the bedroom.

Sweet W: Your booty looks like a cat's smile.


Monday Morning, Viva Awake Now

We are in Viva's bathroom, having just finished brushing her teeth and washing her face. Viva picks up an incense holder, which mercifully is empty.

Viva: Where's the stick? What happen to the stick, man?

The Phone is Not a Toy!

Recent phone message from Sweet William's dad, Bill. (A little context: their relationship could fairly be described as rocky, and messages like this come from out of the blue.)

Bill: Hey William? We are having a block party at our church and we would like for you to come and bring Viva. Okay, it’ll be Saturday, April the 16th from 10 to 4 –

Female Voice: Hello?

Bill: Hello? [sounding pleased] How you doin’?

Female Voice: This is Sylvia [laughs].

[Note: Sylvia is Bill’s wife, Sweet Willie’s stepmother. Sweet W cannot abide her.]

Bill: Oh. [not so pleased]

Sylvia: I’ll hang up, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were on the phone.

Bill: Oh, okay. [Sylvia hangs up.]

Bill: Okay. I was saying it would be from 10 to 6, 10 to 4, Saturday, April the 16th if you would like to come and be the special guest…

Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop

Well, today was Viva's first day of preschool, and miracle of miracles: it was fine. It was more than fine, it was great. I felt sick and on the verge of tears all morning before we got in the car and went to school. Once we got in the car, I thought to myself, "I wish her preschool was 100 miles away," because that is how completely insane I am over this milestone that (hello) every kid has to go through on some level or another. I was not so much worried about her as I was about myself, and yet...she is still so small, and she doesn't stick up for herself, and what if the other kids don't share, and what if she doesn't like what they have for lunch, etc., etc., ad nauseam.

Yes, I am completely insane. But at least I know that I am. Why, hello, are you completely bananas too?

Anyway, I kept it together until I got outside, where I started blubbering like a fool before I even made it to my car. I went home, drank some iced coffee, and:

called Coolia, did two loads of laundry, folded and put away said laundry, vacuumed, cleaned Viva's room, washed dishes, pulled together dry cleaning and Goodwill bags, threw library books in a bag after realizing they were DUE TODAY,and then realized I had 15 minutes to go return the library books, pick up Sweet Willie, and pick up my Viva (Sweet W works two blocks away from where Viva goes to school, so I got him on his lunch hour). We arrived just as naptime was starting. Miss Elsa opened the door, Viva popped out of the darkness and said, in a voice that melted me from curly head to lacquered toe, "MOM-my!" Like someone had just given her the best present ever.

Now, apparently she didn't cry at all. And either we have the most well-adjusted child on the planet, or there will be some sort of nasty delayed reaction.

But now that Viva's in school, I expect to be blogging more, and writing more, and maybe paying a bit more attention to current events. Did you know, for example, that the Pope died? I can see why you might not have heard about it, because it has hardly been covered by the media at all.

Oh, and I might even perform a public service for you. Given that I have to put premium gas in my car, I am always looking for the best deal possible. Well, my friends, here is the link for the cheapest gas in the L.A. area (just type in your ZIP code). And for those of you from other areas, just go here.

I mean, you can pay more if you want to. But you could probably find something else you need to spend money on.

Reality Check

Moving on: I recently saw Hotel Rwanda. Um. Sweet Willie worked on this movie in post-production, so he saw it about 15 times. He said that it was like Schindler's List, in that it is an intense experience, very moving, but because it is so, you really are not going to want to see it more than once. I have not found this to be the case. I find myself thinking about it again and again and wanting to see certain scenes again, and I would, except we have a screener DVD, which is essentially a video -- there is no such thing as scene selection, no extra footage, no "The Making of" kind of material. Since there are certain scenes that I really do not want to see again -- I'm not so crazy about genocide by machete, I don't know about you -- I would just have to fast forward, squinting and flinching, through the whole movie.

Anyway, I just felt really drawn to the characters and horrified by what they went through and relieved that it was over. You know, how sometimes you read a book and you're sad that it ends, because you've come to care for the characters and you want to know what else is going to happen to them? If this has never happened to you, then I don't know what to tell you. Maybe you should try reading a book, I don't know.

But I guess the beauty of this movie in some sense is that it is a true story, so I can now go online and read interviews with Paul Rusesabagina and his family to get more info. Hey, technology is an amazing thing.

I might go do that right this second. But first I'm going to sneak back into my kitchen and have a cookie and a cup of tea while Viva is knocked out and snoring. Viva la midday snack!

Where have YOU been?

So I had a couple of weeks there where I was not blogging. What happened, do you say? Well, Sweet William was on vacation, for one thing. Although that's not much of an excuse because we didn't go away. We often don't, because we like home a lot. Also, we wanted to have time to do all the prep for Viva's birthday and party, which was a smashing success. Highlights from her birthday week:

Sunday: drove down to Oceanside for Easter. Since my grandfather's death, my mom has gone crazy with decorations and my grandma doesn't seem to have the energy or inclination to stop her. There were bunnies and chicks on every available surface. There were also two kinds of cake. Have I mentioned yet that my mom has diabetes?

Monday: drove back to Los Angeles. It took nearly three hours because the grandmas were hanging on to us for dear life, so we didn't leave until the afternoon [read: rush hour traffic]. There is nothing quite like crawling into Los Angeles County on the 5 Freeway at 4 in the afternoon. Sweet Willie and I were quite ticked off about it. Viva could not have cared less because she basically slept the entire way home.

Tuesday: Sweet Willie spent most of the day with Viva, at his request. I cleaned house, got a mani/pedi, had my car detailed, and took notes on ideas for the TV show my friend Coolia wants us to write. Viva could not have cared less because she had her DADDY! All to HERSELF!

Wednesday: I seem to be blanking on what we did that day. It must have been fabulous. Oh, one thing I can tell you is that Viva took her first ballet class that day. And she looked cuter than cute in her tutu. Seriously, I could barely stand it.

Thursday: Viva woke up with a fever. Her temp could not be confirmed because she was fiercely resistant to use of the thermometer. Since she was pretty feisty, we decided to stick with the game plan and take her to the aquarium, which she seemed to enjoy. Later, when we got her home, she threw up all over the couch. We then put her down for a nap and debated calling off the birthday party. Decision held pending her condition the next day.

Friday (Viva's actual birthday): Fever gone, Viva got up and within thirty seconds of waking up wanted to open her presents. Once she opened everything, she said, "More presents?" What hath God wrought?! Later, we took her to the pet store to get her big surprise birthday present: an aquarium. We were talking to the fish guy, had decided on a tank and were debating the merits of various fish, when he said: "Oh, hey ya know, you can't take the fish home for five days, ya know that, right?" Since we had not done any homework of any kind on this issue (because why be prepared?), NO, we did not know this. Apparently you have to set the tank up and get the water to the right temp and right pH before you add the fish. Oops. And even then, they recommend you get "tester" fish (i.e., fish that cost 20 cents each) since they might die. "Oh, man," said Sweet Willie. "Dude, we have to get some fish today. We can't go home with no fish. I mean, look at her." Viva was the very picture of cute expectancy. So we bought two twenty-nine cent goldfish, who Viva promptly dubbed "My two Dorothys," and went home. I think you know what happened. The two Dorothys didn't even make it to the end of the day. Flush!

Anyway, Viva was interested in those fish for about 10 minutes, and then could not have cared less. So Sweet William made the executive decision to cut our losses and return the tank. I think Viva was much happier with the rest of her presents. She also liked her birthday cupcake.



Saturday: The morning of the party. Party supposed to start at 11. At 9:30, Viva had a meltdown:



Just had to share. The party went off without a hitch at 11, was over by about 1:30, and then Viva had her second meltdown, which we didn't document, and went off for a nap. I think she was really ticked off that all the hoopla was over. We should have a party every weekend!

Whew! That's all the recapping I can stand. If you have read this far, you must be a freakin' masochist.

Anyway, we had a good time. She is now two, for better or worse. And she is starting preschool tomorrow. Oh, dear God, my heart.

Un. Bee. Leave. A. Bull!

The scene: post-lunch. Nap time. Have just consumed lunch and in combination with our new "in order to get Viva used to going to preschool next week, have to get her and myself up and out the door by 8 AM every day this week" schedule, am practically comatose.

Viva is snuggled in her Dora sleeping bag next to her crib, talking my head off. I am lying with my head on the Boppy and nearly passing out. I tell her "Okay, baby, quiet down, let's both take a nap -- Mama's taking a nap too," and roll over with my back to her.

A few seconds of silence. Then Viva starts talking to herself. Then she starts talking to me. I pretend I am already sleeping (i.e., I do not respond).

Viva: Mommy, are you sleeping? [no response] Mommy? MOM!! [no response] Oh my GOD, this unbe-LEEV-able. [softer, more to herself] Oh my God, it's unbelievable.

I nearly bust something internally trying not to laugh, and then I roll over and say, "Okay, sister, back into the crib, let's go!"

And of course, I haven't had a nap and it's past time for her to get up, which means I have to go wake her. Mean, mean, Mommy.

Have a fabulosh weekend, all...

Just wrote post. Gone!

After nearly two weeks without posting, browser closed while in midst of writing entry. Can barely contain rage. Will try now to write abridged version. But can barely see through red mist. Must. Carry. On.

Writing, and writing and writing, and -- well, you get the idea

So for quite some time now, I've had two books percolating, which I work on haphazardly, and then this children's story. Now I am actually doing some freelance grant consulting work (I can't say grant writing because my client hasn't actually asked me to do that), which is okay. More on this in a moment. And now my dear friend Coolia has approached me with ideas for not one but two television shows and wants me to be part of her writing team.

Whew!

The "grant writing" meeting last Saturday went well, despite my arriving a bit late due to rain/last-minute car issues/Saturday afternoon traffic. I am being asked to edit a grant template and query letter, and to vet their list of prospective donors and provide recommendations on how to approach each one and how much money they should request from each. Since I have been in the fundraising business off and on for nearly ten years now (Holy shit!), this is no big deal to me, but the reaction of the committee was "Wow! This is great! You have no idea how much better this meeting was than our last meeting, we feel like we are finally getting somewhere, thank God you know what you're doing, we wish we could pay you for more than six hours of work, but clearly you are going to be able to work miracles in that paltry amount of time -- all hail Lisa the Magnificent!"

I think I mentioned already how I feel very odd when people look to me as the expert, but there you have it. Somehow I managed to gain their confidence, and for better or worse, access to some documents which indicated that they were willing to pay a consultant $15/hour more than they are paying me. I don't intend to use this against them, but I will be raising my rates to what is evidently market-value with any new clients I pick up after I'm through with this group. Especially since I just realized I have ten years experience in this bloody ridiculous field! They say time flies when you're having fun. My experience has been that time flies no matter what the hell you do, so you might as well enjoy yourself, right?

Hmmm...anyway, Coolia and I had dinner Monday night (sadly, she didn't drink this time, and also sadly, we didn't run into Ratboy) and she asked me what I thought about helping her write a sitcom. I know it is hellishly hard to write for TV, that if we write a pilot and it is picked up, the odds are against us that it will be successful, and that even if it is successful, the hours and the amount of work involved would break me like a twig. But nonetheless, I am on board, and so is our friend Xtal, and we are going to meet regularly and try and make this happen. Sweet William has a friend who writes for TV, so I am going to try and pick her brain about how we should get started.

Sleep. Sleep!

In other news, Viva and Sweet William both have colds and you know how much fun that is. I am so completely sleep-deprived that last night when Viva woke up at 11:30 (after we put her to bed at 7 and spiked her rice milk with Baby Tylenol-Cold to make her sleep), I melted down. Folks, it was not pretty. I put Viva in the bed with us and she started shrieking like I had laid her down on an anthill. I had just gotten back to sleep after passing out on the couch, being roused by Sweet Willie, and peeling my contact lenses out of my eyes. I had had enough.

I am not proud of this, but I'll be honest with you. I used the f-word, and I addressed it to my child. I said something to the effect of, "I can't take this, why won't you sleep, Viva, I am so fucking tired, I can't take this!" and stumbled out of the room, leaving Sweet William to deal with our little banshee. Unfortunately, he wasn't doing too much better, although at least he didn't cuss. I took a deep breath and went back in and calmed her down and of course we ended up back on the couch until 3-something-AM, when Willie woke me up by saying, "My poor wife!" He then put Viva back in the crib and I stumbled back to bed, where I lay awake for at least 30 minutes before going back to sleep.

But here's the best part, where you can see once again that I have The Best Husband Ever. Viva woke up at 6:30. Willie dressed her, put her in the car and went to the supermarket. When I got up at about 7:45, he was feeding her a smoothie and a scone. After a little huggy time on the couch, he then took her to the park and gave me the whole morning to myself! They didn't come home until nearly noon. We had lunch, put Viva down for her nap, and I gave myself a facial and a pedicure. Viva will be up shortly and you can be sure that she will see a completely rejuvenated Mama Bird. Squawk!

We are off tomorrow to Oceanside for Easter and all the accompanying madness. There will be ham, there will be roast beef, and evidently, there will be cheesecake. And three small children tearing about looking for eggs. Peace out.

Three posts in one day! I'm on fire!

Now I can't remember what was so damn important that I had to write about it.

I hate myself sometimes!

I wanted to update...oh, yeah. I have a meeting tomorrow (yes, on a Saturday) with a prospective client. Looks like I am actually getting my ass in gear to get back to work. Boo, hiss. I was so hoping they would cancel, too. It's with a committee of five people. I guess it will be all right, except that every time I have to do one of these, I always end up feeling like I am some kind of impostor, and that inevitably I am going to be de-cloaked. I get this queasy feeling whenever somebody says, "Well, you're the expert." I don't feel I am an expert on anything. What the hell do I know?

I do remember that I want to give props to my dentist, who is a freakin' comedian. We went to see him en famille on Tuesday, so Sweet William could get a cleaning and Viva could sit in the chair and get used to the idea of the dentist. I asked Dr. M how his kids were doing.

Dr. M: Oh, God -- trying to get out of the house -- I'm telling you -- this morning, it was the Leprechaun Trap.

Me/Sweet Willie: Huh? Whuh?

Dr. M: These kids, with their school projects, oh my God, I'm warning you. This is what's coming. And this morning they had to have a Leprechaun Trap for school, and the walls wouldn't stay on, and it was [mimics crying], wah-hah-hanh! And trying to get them into the car. Oh my God.

Freakin' hilarious! It took me a minute to figure out what on earth he was talking about (if you haven't already guessed, English is not his first language), but I am telling you, these school projects do scare me. I don't look forward to having to help Viva create a scale model of Mount Kilimanjaro or whatever the hell.

Oh God, that was a good laugh.

Molested by Seemingly Innocuous Animated Character

By the way, the other night, I gave Viva a bath. She has gotten back into taking baths, which I am kind of relieved about.

Anyhoo, I was cleaning out the bath tub after I had scooped her out of it and handed her over to Sweet William. I picked up all the tub toys and noticed that one sounded particularly splooshy, so I squeezed it to get the water out. And let me just tell you, this toy had developed a hole in a certain area. And, well, there's no nice way to put this: Boots the Monkey shot his wad on me. Like, right in my face!

I didn't think we had that type of relationship.

Woman Bites Dog

Why I Take Viva to a Park that's 2 Miles Away When We Live 2 Blocks from a Park

1. There are always at least three (presumably) homeless people sleeping in various places in my neighborhood park. It is just one block south of a main urban thoroughfare -- Sunset Blvd.

2. There are prostitutes of various genders and inclinations in the area. Which is fine and dandy, world's oldest profession and all that, but I would prefer that Viva not actually have to see any actual...um, I don't know, transaction, should we say?

3. I have witnessed what I believe is drug activity at the park. I think they call it possession and distribution. I have seen too many Law & Order episodes, clearly. But seriously, I have seen cars pull up, cash handed over, and a second person further down the block hand over the goods. By the way, this is about three blocks from the police station.

4. Sweet William has told me matter-of-factly numerous times not to go to "the Bum Park."

And yet, it is a lovely park. Nice big trees, park benches with little paths, and a playground area with sand and swings and climbing structures for little ones. It always looks pretty peaceful. I mean, the transients seem pretty pleased with it; it must be a pretty peaceful place to flop.

The other day, I piled Viva into the car and drove first to the post office, where I mailed my credit card payment, and then drove past the Bum Park on the way to the Nice Friendly Bum-Free park, where unicorns frolic and ice cream grows on trees. From the back seat:

Viva: I wanna go dere!
Me [hoping against hope]: Where, baby?
Viva: I wanna go dere! Dat park!
Me: Oh, baby, really? You wanna go to that park?
Viva: Yes!
Me: Oh, sweetie, but if we do that, we won't see your friends. Don't you want to see--
Viva [on edge of tears]: I wanna go dat park! [breaking down] I wanna go dat park...[sob sob sob]
Me [sigh, turning right]: Okay, honey. We'll give it a shot. It sure would make things easier...

So after I made a complete circle around the block, we parked, got out and walked into the park -- just behind a guy with two pitbulls. Red flag #1.

We went to the playground, at the far end of the park, furthest away from the gate. In fact, there is a gate at that end, but it is locked. I guess because if you are on the playground and need to make a quick getaway, you can't. Maybe this is helpful to the cops in some way, but it sure wasn't helpful to me. We said hello to the family that was already at the playground. They said nothing in return. We shared the climbing structure in relative silence, since although Viva kept smiling and saying "hi" every now and then, the kids did not return her greeting. Red flag #1 1/2.

We went on the swings, with me keeping an eye on the dogs, who were off the leash and chasing a huge stick, at times grappling with each other and snarling. Their owner was sort of keeping an eye on them, I guess, but then he got a cell phone call, which must have been very important. Too important to pay attention to his dogs and/or maybe put them on a leash, as many signs posted throughout the park demanded that he do. Viva and I had sat down on a park bench and she was eating a blueberry cereal bar, and all of a sudden these two dogs went thundering through the playground, chasing each other and snarling, right where we had been crossing the sand mere minutes before. Now, I don't know about you, but I have been bitten by a dog before. A dog that was not rabid, that was a family pet, that I did not provoke in any way. And, you know what? Fuck that. I picked Viva up and beat it the hell out of there.

Viva's friends were happy to see her.

Sharing and Caring

Today, we were at the park and Viva was playing with this little girl, Cate, who is almost 3. Cate was very nicely building sand castles and then telling Viva she could wreck them. Viva was thrilled in a shy kind of way; every time Cate would say even one word to her, she would glance at me with this look of such surprised pleasure that it made me fall to pieces.

Cate and I were also talking quite a bit, mainly because her mom was preoccupied with her brother, who might be about 6 months old. At one point, Cate said: "You can come swim in our pool."

"Really?" I said. "That's very nice of you to offer." Cate beamed.

"Don't get too excited," her mom said. "It's just a little blow-up pool in the backyard."

To me, that's the best kind.

It made me feel a little better about our park experience today, because Viva also likes to play with a little girl named Zoe, and when she approached her today and said "Wanna play?" Zoe frowned and said no. And then she ran across the playground chasing some other kid (who later knocked her down and punched her. Not that that was karma or anything). Viva looked at me like, "Huh?"

I admit to feeling a little bad, because Viva is shy and I have been encouraging her to be more pro-active about playing with other kids. But that's life, I guess. You win some, you lose some.

Oh my God, now I'm depressed!

Friends! How many of us have them?

Remember that song? I believe it was Nate Dogg, yes? With help from Snoop and Warren G? Ahh...

Anyhoo, I seem to be inundated these days with invitations to social activities. My friend Coolia and I are meeting for dinner next week, and I have to say that the last time we went out, it was quite hilarious. Not that we didn't get deep and share our problems, because we are very close friends and that's what we do. But we had just sat down for dinner in this lowkey West Hollywood eaterie when we accosted by our friend who shall henceforth be called Ratboy. If you know my circle of friends, you will know who Ratboy is. And if you don't, well, he doesn't resemble a rat at all, but he is quite mischievous and full of manic energy, so maybe that's where the name comes from. I would put his real name except that he is gay and closeted to his family and his real name is rather unusual. (And no, it's not Anwar, like that guy on American Idol. Not that I watch that show.)

At any rate, Ratboy was there for a blind date with some guy he met on Match.com. He hung out with us for a while, then went to the bar and found his date. Now Coolia and I had already ordered wine, which is unusual for us (not so much for me, but she rarely drinks, so I rarely drink when I'm with her. We are usually just so psyched to be together that drinking would be superfluous), but as we were tucking into our repast, pomegranate margaritas arrived, courtesy of (who?) Ratboy. We both got pretty snookered. As a result, when Ratboy's date ended and he came back to sit with us and tell us how horrible it was ("He sent me a picture that was 20 fucking years old!" "He was drunk when I got here!"), it was hilarious in that way that only experiences seen through a boozy haze can be. And since I run into Ratboy one out of every three times that I step into West Hollywood, I'm hoping he will arrive in another such chance outing (pardon the phrase) the next time we get together.

I am also quite pleased to report that my sister and I are friends again. We got together on Monday and took our two-year-olds to the park (okay, Viva is not quite two, but almost. Almost!) and out to lunch. My nephew is the cutest thing on the planet! He kept hugging and kissing us all day. I missed him. Oh yeah, and I missed my sister, too. No, seriously.

I have also spent a lot of time on the phone with my friend Brianna lately, since we are both in the same boat -- i.e., trying to organize children's birthday parties without even the smallest clue of how to do so. Her daughter's birthday was this past Monday (Happy 1st, Maddie!), so her agony is over, for this year, at least. Sweet William and I have decided, by the way, that this year we are doing a family-only party at home. Viva is too small and too high-strung to deal with all the people we would have to invite if we had the party off-site. But we are getting together with Brianna and friends this weekend. Yay!

I am in an "I love everyone" kind of mood today, and I don't know why. I hope you all love everyone, too. No, seriously.

Writing? Not. Slacking off? Yes.

I hate my book right now. It needs something and I don't know what. Let me stop and clarify: the novel I was working on last year (the political satire, hereafter known as P.S.) is on hold because it requires a lot more time and effort than I can give it. Because it is a political satire, I created a completely different world and political system to set it in. And just as I'd get down to the story and start writing a scene between characters, there'd always be these logistics to be worked out or research to be done to be sure things were making sense. In the meantime, the deadline to be finished (set by me, and coinciding with me having to go back to work/Viva going to preschool) loomed ever closer. I realized I was very far off from finishing and I don't want to do a half-assed job. It is a really cool story and I feel privileged to have even had the idea occur to me. Speak to me of the evils of perfectionism some other time.

So a few months ago, I decided to put P.S. on the back burner and resurrect this contemporary love story that I had written about twenty pages of a few years ago. I figured it would take less time to write and that it would ultimately be more sellable. Sweet William says I should just churn out a "Waiting to Exhale/Disappearing Acts" type of book and then I won't have to go back to work (yes, he fully expects my first book to be a bestseller. He has more confidence in me than I do in myself). So I have been working on it when Viva sleeps (which is not enough, by the by: she has recently violently rejected the concept of Nap and must be coaxed into it through a long and elaborate process that leaves me exhausted), and while I love the characters, I'm not loving the turns the story has taken. I'm trying to re-design the basic story arc -- I know my two lead characters have to break up at some point, just as I know they will get back together ultimately. But it's what breaks them up that I'm getting stuck on, and what happens in between, and how long the separation is. I get bogged down and then I'm not liking it. What the hell, writing is work, right? I wanted to use my brain, yes? (Does it mean anything that when I was just typing the word "brain" it came out at first "barin"? Am I reading too much into this? Is my brain barren?)

Then I was at a kids' birthday party yesterday (Happy 6th, Gavin!), and one of my friends asked how the book was going. I told her it wasn't going very well at all, partly because of Viva's sleep issues and partly because I had to fire my babysitter.* So then I got to talking to my friend's mom, who was telling me I should switch to children's books because there's always a market for them and they're even quicker to write. Here is where we get ironic (apologies, Alanis Morrisette): I have already written a children's book. I have even illustrated parts of it. I wrote it for Viva while I was pregnant with her. It took me about half an hour to write it. Have I done anything with it? I think you know.

* I promise I will explain at some point why I fired Maria. There is just too much else going on.

So I can beat myself up for not working on this stuff, and then I can look at why. We have a ridiculous amount of family drama going on (from both sides), I am trying to plan Viva's birthday party, I am trying to toilet train Viva, I am trying to work out*, I am trying to keep our apartment clean, our larder well-stocked, and our child clean, clothed, shod and fed.

* Sweet William purchased a scale this weekend. It is clearly the work of the devil. My weight fluctuated a full four pounds yesterday (I think I weighed myself at least four separate times; hopefuly the novelty will wear off soon). Surely this means the scale is defective?

The bottom line is that I can't do everything. No, it's true. But don't tell anyone.

Report from the Toddler Trenches, Part One

On behalf of toddlers everywhere, I have taken it upon myself to conduct a variety of experiments in my home laboratory (also known as our apartment) to help us all make sense of the bizarre world that adults meander about in.

Experiment Number One

While she is elbow-deep in soap suds, yell repeatedly at Subject A (more formally known as Mommy) that I need a smoothie. Once smoothie has been produced, yell that I need a straw. Once straw has been produced, drink approximately half of said smoothie. While Subject A is preoccupied with domestic chores that appear completely meaningless to me, open kitchen drawer and pour the remainder of said smoothie into the drawer.

Preliminary Results: high-decibel shrieking from Subject A, followed by removal of near-empty smoothie bottle from my possession, followed by removal of all contents of drawer, followed by thorough sponging-out of drawer and assessment and cleaning or disposal of contents thereof. Much frowning and groaning and "you do NOT do that" issued by Subject A toward my person throughout this process.

Further Results: in the evening of that same day, Subject B (more formally known as Daddy) is removing food from the device known as HOT! STOVE! HOT! and preparing it for storage in the device known as DON'T PLAY IN THE FRIDGE/CLOSE THE DOOR, YOU'RE LETTING ALL THE COLD OUT. He holds up a long shiny stick and asks Subject A, "What's up with the aluminum foil?" Unbeknownst to Subject A, peach smoothie has dried onto several layers of foil. Subject A rolls her eyes (note to self: keep facial gesture in tickler file, for use during pre-teen years and beyond) and explains earlier experiment. Subject B is clearly amused. Success!

Next Post: I will describe in excruciating detail the torturous device of confinement known as the HIGH CHAIR. Reader discretion is advised.

First Post by Viva

Testing to see if this works. Let's see...