I was at home, having just gotten out of the shower and begun preparing for my day. The phone rang. It was Sweet W, who was working the 6 AM to 2:30 shift at that time and thus already at work. “Turn on the TV!” he said. “A plane just crashed into the World Trade Center in New York.”
So I was watching the TV when the second plane crashed, and I could not do anything else all day. I tried to work – I was freelancing from home then – but I could not look away from the TV. It was so unspeakably horrifying. I felt sick, and weepy, and furious, and sad. And I remember: we did not know what else was coming. These were simultaneous attacks. So mixed in with the sorrow and anger for the victims in New York, DC, and Pennsylvania were fear and dread of which U.S. city would be attacked next. The world, as I knew it, was irrevocably changed.
At that point, Sweet W and I were only a few weeks away from our wedding. We had friends who had just gotten married on September 8 in the Midwest, and their honeymoon flight was supposed to take off on the 11th. Since all flights were grounded, they spent their honeymoon trying to get a rental car to drive back home to the Bay Area. We talked briefly about postponing our wedding, but then decided that whatever the hell happened, we wanted to be married. We did end up putting off our honeymoon to Hawaii, and we still haven’t gotten there. But that is neither here nor there.
What a day. I am still so sad.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Friday, September 08, 2006
Comedy, Viva-Style
Viva still does not quite have the hang of jokes. Examples:
Viva: Tell me a joke, Mom.
Mama: Uh, okay, let's see, um -- why did the man throw the clock out the window?
Viva: Why?
Mama: Because he wanted to see time fly.
Viva: [smiling politely because she doesn't get it] Now I'll tell you a joke -- why did the man throw the book out the window? [before I can answer] Because the closet wouldn’t open! Ah ha ha ha!
Mama: Ha ha, good one.
Viva: Mom! Mom! What do you call a bear with no shoes and socks on?
Mama: What, sweetie?
Viva: Barefoot.
Mama: Ah, yes [realizing that she has heard this joke on Little Bill].
Viva: Here's another one. What do you call a flower with no shoes and socks on?
Mama: I don't know, what --
Viva: Stinky plant! [cracks up, falling over herself laughing]
Well, she's no Richard Pryor, but me loves her anyhoo.
Viva: Tell me a joke, Mom.
Mama: Uh, okay, let's see, um -- why did the man throw the clock out the window?
Viva: Why?
Mama: Because he wanted to see time fly.
Viva: [smiling politely because she doesn't get it] Now I'll tell you a joke -- why did the man throw the book out the window? [before I can answer] Because the closet wouldn’t open! Ah ha ha ha!
Mama: Ha ha, good one.
Viva: Mom! Mom! What do you call a bear with no shoes and socks on?
Mama: What, sweetie?
Viva: Barefoot.
Mama: Ah, yes [realizing that she has heard this joke on Little Bill].
Viva: Here's another one. What do you call a flower with no shoes and socks on?
Mama: I don't know, what --
Viva: Stinky plant! [cracks up, falling over herself laughing]
Well, she's no Richard Pryor, but me loves her anyhoo.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
I am Sam, Sam I am
Madness!
The city of Los Angeles had been overrun by giant prehistoric marauding bears. I looked at my watch* and realized I was late leaving work to pick up Viva. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law had come to pick me up at work (due to the marauding bears?) and we drove through the city toward Viva’s school, but we kept getting diverted through various detours, because there were large mobs running through the streets with lengths of pipe, sticks, and baseball bats (presumably to beat down the marauding bears). Finally, my mother-in-law pulled into the parking lot of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in her dark-green convertible**, which we were driving in with the top down***, and parked the car.
“What are you doing?” I shrieked. “We are miles from where we need to be!”
“No, no, no,” my mother-in-law insisted. “Isn’t Viva’s school right around the corner?”
“NO,” I said. “We passed it already. Shit! Now I am more than an hour late to get her.”
“That’s it, I’m gone,” said Diva, my sister-in-law. “I’m going home.”**** She started walking away. We both yelled after her that she was being crazy.
I turned back to my mother-in-law to tell her we needed to get back in the car and try and head back toward Hollywood, and I woke up.
Right next to my bed, floating crazily into my face, was Viva’s huge happy face balloon, which she’s had for two weeks and has lost much of its air and now floats around the house ghoulishly looking too much like Jack Skellington for comfort. I almost had a heart attack.
* Oddment #1, since I never wear a watch. Who wears a watch? If you carry a cell phone, a watch is completely irrelevant.
** Oddment #2, since in reality she drives a cream-colored hard top Lincoln Continental.
*** Oddment #3, since hello? Marauding prehistoric bears! Why was the top down?
**** Oddment #4, since she lives 30-some miles away, had no means of getting there, and hello? Marauding prehistoric bears!
Sadness
I just overheard one of our clients coming out of a meeting with her case manager, saying “…even though my social worker says I’m going to get my baby back. I mean, I don’t think I’m a mean mother…”
That just breaks my heart.
Fadness
I’m seeing a lot of ankle boots paired with dresses these days among those whoshould know better have no more sense than a bag of dirt. This is not a good trend. The only person who ever pulled them off was Pat Benatar and Cheesus Christ, how long ago was that?
I am officially going on record as saying no to this fad and hoping it goes away. Thus have I said it, let it be so.
The city of Los Angeles had been overrun by giant prehistoric marauding bears. I looked at my watch* and realized I was late leaving work to pick up Viva. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law had come to pick me up at work (due to the marauding bears?) and we drove through the city toward Viva’s school, but we kept getting diverted through various detours, because there were large mobs running through the streets with lengths of pipe, sticks, and baseball bats (presumably to beat down the marauding bears). Finally, my mother-in-law pulled into the parking lot of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in her dark-green convertible**, which we were driving in with the top down***, and parked the car.
“What are you doing?” I shrieked. “We are miles from where we need to be!”
“No, no, no,” my mother-in-law insisted. “Isn’t Viva’s school right around the corner?”
“NO,” I said. “We passed it already. Shit! Now I am more than an hour late to get her.”
“That’s it, I’m gone,” said Diva, my sister-in-law. “I’m going home.”**** She started walking away. We both yelled after her that she was being crazy.
I turned back to my mother-in-law to tell her we needed to get back in the car and try and head back toward Hollywood, and I woke up.
Right next to my bed, floating crazily into my face, was Viva’s huge happy face balloon, which she’s had for two weeks and has lost much of its air and now floats around the house ghoulishly looking too much like Jack Skellington for comfort. I almost had a heart attack.
* Oddment #1, since I never wear a watch. Who wears a watch? If you carry a cell phone, a watch is completely irrelevant.
** Oddment #2, since in reality she drives a cream-colored hard top Lincoln Continental.
*** Oddment #3, since hello? Marauding prehistoric bears! Why was the top down?
**** Oddment #4, since she lives 30-some miles away, had no means of getting there, and hello? Marauding prehistoric bears!
Sadness
I just overheard one of our clients coming out of a meeting with her case manager, saying “…even though my social worker says I’m going to get my baby back. I mean, I don’t think I’m a mean mother…”
That just breaks my heart.
Fadness
I’m seeing a lot of ankle boots paired with dresses these days among those who
I am officially going on record as saying no to this fad and hoping it goes away. Thus have I said it, let it be so.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Bloglaise: Now With Half the Fat!
Okay, so a few days ago I was reading around the blogosphere, and somehow (I don’t remember how) I came across some blogs whose authors claimed to be in the throes of some kind of malaise related to blog posting. “Bloglaise,” they termed it. I admit, I often find myself thinking about blogging and then not having enough time to devote to what I want to write about, so rather than do it half-assed, I don’t do it at all. But then I get so backed up by wanting to express myself that I do it half-assed anyway, so what the hell. I don’t think I have blog malaise; I think I am strangled by own perfectionism.
By the way, I realize it is not very nice blog etiquette to mention this phenomenon and not actually cite the blogs I was reading, but right now I am on my work computer, and when I was reading the blogs, I was on my home computer, so I can’t go back and check the history. So what, you don’t have enough blogs to read as it is?
I do have bloglaise when it comes to actually updating my template, which I fully realize is screwed up right now, and for which I humbly apologize because it is no doubt making any Web designer who might come across it scream for mercy, backing away and muttering something about
But you know, here is the thing about blogging. When I first started blogging, I thought it would just be a cool way to keep a sort of online journal and get in some writing practice. I wasn’t all that concerned about people reading it. I didn’t care about how many hits I got or how people found me or whether they added me to their RSS feeds. And honestly, that is still not what drives me to write it. (Because clearly, if I were in it for the fortune and fame, I would have given up long ago.)
What I have noticed is that ever since I started keeping stats and occasionally getting comments, I have become more conscious about what I’m writing. I feel a pressure to be funny, despite the fact that this is not the stated purpose of the blog. I mean, I’m no comedienne. And I’m no comedian, either. (I just typed comedienne and it struck me as a bogus distinction between male and female comics since the words sound pretty much the same. What is that all about?) I also read some very funny people here and there on the Web, and rather than inspiring me to write more funniness, it makes me not. It’s less that I think, “I can’t be that funny,” than it is that I realize that on some level I start to emulate the writing I like. And who wants to be unoriginal?
I don’t want to feel pressure to be funny, although it is all self-imposed. There is a part of me that says, “Write whatever the hell you want. It is, after all, your blog.” And there’s another part of me that says, “Don’t you want to build an audience? Nobody will come back to read this if you aren’t occasionally entertaining.” And then there is another part of me that says, “Why do you need another thing to feel obligated about? Don’t be a fucking sell-out.” And then there is another part of me that says, “Shut the hell up, all of you! Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?”
And then there’s the working. If I blog at work, I find I am considerably less funny and/or well-thought-out than if I blog at home. However, if I blog at work, I’m generally coming at it fresh, with more energy. If I blog at home, you’re getting whatever I have left at the end of the day. Either way, my best is not coming through. And you know, I’m a giver. I’m all about the giving.
I have toyed with the idea of quitting the blog. I am sad to say that one of my old favorites (the blog, not the person. I am not implying that she is old. Or that we go way, way back. Oh, fuck it), Fluid Pudding, has decided to call it quits. This bums me out because Angela (the mischievous mastermind behind the Pudding) is consistently entertaining and I enjoy reading her blog. I rarely comment because I am a horrible person that way, but nonetheless, I am a fan. I am fairly certain that she doesn’t blog for the comments anyway, but because, like many of us, she needs a way to express herself and her blog is a creative outlet.
I don’t know what the answer is for me. But for now, I’m going to keep going with this and see what happens. Maybe I’ll come up with something truly amazing. And maybe monkeys will fly out of my ass. You just never know.
Pet Peeves, the Office Version
Ways to Irritate the Ever-Loving Shit Out of Me at Work
When I e-mail you a very specific question requiring that your answer be couched in very specific terms, do not e-mail me back with an estimate of “100-125.” Is that per month? Per year? Per event? Give me one solid number and some fucking context to put it in. Is that so difficult?
When I ask for access to a database that I need to do my job, and when I continually ask for nearly three months, and then when I finally get someone to install the database application on my computer, only to find that the one person who is the administrator of the database and can give me access has gone on vacation for two weeks, and then when that person comes back from vacation and mocks me for not remembering a password he made up on the spot two months ago for the database that wasn’t even on my computer until two weeks ago, and when I then finally log on with the new password five minutes later only to discover that I can get into the database but I can’t access any data fields (!!!!) – after all this, I say, do not expect me to be all sweetness and light. Expect me to spit in your coffee, my friend.
Long overdue: when they called it Casual Friday, they meant “business casual.” They did not mean dressing as if (a) you are going out to the club; (b) you’ll be sitting around drinking beer and watching the game; or (c) you’re on your way to the mall. Tank tops? NO. Dingy T-shirts? NO. Anything that bares your midriff? NO.
As a side note, let us discuss appropriate work undergarments. I do not need to see anyone’s n!pples at work. If you are wearing a tight shirt, for the love of all that is holy, wear a lined bra. They are no more expensive than any other bra and keep all your shit covered. And for those of you that might imagine that this remark is directed at slim, nubile young women, think again. Not that I think they should be given a pass, but where I work, they are not (so far) guilty of this. Think 50-ish large-boned woman resting her bosoms on her desk while you are having a meeting. It needs to stop.
Whew! Glad I got that off my chest (so to speak).
When I e-mail you a very specific question requiring that your answer be couched in very specific terms, do not e-mail me back with an estimate of “100-125.” Is that per month? Per year? Per event? Give me one solid number and some fucking context to put it in. Is that so difficult?
When I ask for access to a database that I need to do my job, and when I continually ask for nearly three months, and then when I finally get someone to install the database application on my computer, only to find that the one person who is the administrator of the database and can give me access has gone on vacation for two weeks, and then when that person comes back from vacation and mocks me for not remembering a password he made up on the spot two months ago for the database that wasn’t even on my computer until two weeks ago, and when I then finally log on with the new password five minutes later only to discover that I can get into the database but I can’t access any data fields (!!!!) – after all this, I say, do not expect me to be all sweetness and light. Expect me to spit in your coffee, my friend.
Long overdue: when they called it Casual Friday, they meant “business casual.” They did not mean dressing as if (a) you are going out to the club; (b) you’ll be sitting around drinking beer and watching the game; or (c) you’re on your way to the mall. Tank tops? NO. Dingy T-shirts? NO. Anything that bares your midriff? NO.
As a side note, let us discuss appropriate work undergarments. I do not need to see anyone’s n!pples at work. If you are wearing a tight shirt, for the love of all that is holy, wear a lined bra. They are no more expensive than any other bra and keep all your shit covered. And for those of you that might imagine that this remark is directed at slim, nubile young women, think again. Not that I think they should be given a pass, but where I work, they are not (so far) guilty of this. Think 50-ish large-boned woman resting her bosoms on her desk while you are having a meeting. It needs to stop.
Whew! Glad I got that off my chest (so to speak).
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
So Much to Say, and - Well, You Know the Drill
It’s a mishmash today, folks. I warn you now so you can click elsewhere if you so desire.
I watched the first two acts of When the Levees Broke last night, and I did not sleep well. It brought back all the fury, all the feelings of helplessness, all my agonized screaming at my TV: “Why isn’t anyone helping these people?”
On the family front: my grandmother is unwell and has had exploratory surgery and all kinds of tests. We haven’t been speaking to one another, but this is one of those situations where the family feud must be put on the back burner for a bit. I will probably go see her this weekend, but I’m leaving Viva and Sweet William at home.
In happier news, this morning I had a message from a small foundation who apparently has funded my agency before. The message basically amounted to this: “Hey! Why haven’t we heard from you guys? We want to give you some money!” I love funders like that.
In other happy news, a long-lost friend of mine wrote me a really long birthday letter recently, getting me up to speed on what she’s been up to. After focusing pretty much exclusively on her career for many years, and recently quitting her job, she is in love with what sounds like a fantastic guy and they are “talking seriously about the future,” by which I think she means their future together, and not “The Future! Where cars will fly, phones will be next-to-invisible and polar bears will live only in our imaginations!” At any rate, included in their future, she hopes, is a child of some sort, and she asked me how I balance the work/motherhood thing.
Balance? It really isn’t so much of a balance as it is integrating both parts together, I find. I think about work while I’m at home, and I think about home while I’m at work, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I am fortunate that, when I first started back to work, Sweet W stepped up to the plate and proposed a schedule whereby we alternate cooking/picking up Viva/working out. This month, he has been on a crazy work schedule – for example, getting to work at 5 am and leaving at 2 pm, but answering calls about work on his cell phone until 9 pm – so that schedule has fallen away like so many, I don’t know, falling leaves or whatever image-based simile strikes your fancy. We do still alternate who gives Viva her bath/puts her to bed, so that helps, except when Viva is overly tired and wants it to be my night when it’s not.
I think it was also helpful to be very clear when I was searching for a job that I am not going to be the one who can stay late regularly, but I am amenable to working at home if need be. I check my e-mail when I’m at home, I bought a memory stick to transfer files back and forth from PC to laptop, and if I am in the middle of an intense project, I work through lunch so I can leave fairly close to my regular time to pick up Viva. I don’t think I would have been able to do this when Viva was a baby, because I had no clue how to manage it all. But with time and trial and error, I have found what works for me.
Of course, I didn’t say all this in my response to her, but yeah, that’s how I do it.
I watched the first two acts of When the Levees Broke last night, and I did not sleep well. It brought back all the fury, all the feelings of helplessness, all my agonized screaming at my TV: “Why isn’t anyone helping these people?”
On the family front: my grandmother is unwell and has had exploratory surgery and all kinds of tests. We haven’t been speaking to one another, but this is one of those situations where the family feud must be put on the back burner for a bit. I will probably go see her this weekend, but I’m leaving Viva and Sweet William at home.
In happier news, this morning I had a message from a small foundation who apparently has funded my agency before. The message basically amounted to this: “Hey! Why haven’t we heard from you guys? We want to give you some money!” I love funders like that.
In other happy news, a long-lost friend of mine wrote me a really long birthday letter recently, getting me up to speed on what she’s been up to. After focusing pretty much exclusively on her career for many years, and recently quitting her job, she is in love with what sounds like a fantastic guy and they are “talking seriously about the future,” by which I think she means their future together, and not “The Future! Where cars will fly, phones will be next-to-invisible and polar bears will live only in our imaginations!” At any rate, included in their future, she hopes, is a child of some sort, and she asked me how I balance the work/motherhood thing.
Balance? It really isn’t so much of a balance as it is integrating both parts together, I find. I think about work while I’m at home, and I think about home while I’m at work, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I am fortunate that, when I first started back to work, Sweet W stepped up to the plate and proposed a schedule whereby we alternate cooking/picking up Viva/working out. This month, he has been on a crazy work schedule – for example, getting to work at 5 am and leaving at 2 pm, but answering calls about work on his cell phone until 9 pm – so that schedule has fallen away like so many, I don’t know, falling leaves or whatever image-based simile strikes your fancy. We do still alternate who gives Viva her bath/puts her to bed, so that helps, except when Viva is overly tired and wants it to be my night when it’s not.
I think it was also helpful to be very clear when I was searching for a job that I am not going to be the one who can stay late regularly, but I am amenable to working at home if need be. I check my e-mail when I’m at home, I bought a memory stick to transfer files back and forth from PC to laptop, and if I am in the middle of an intense project, I work through lunch so I can leave fairly close to my regular time to pick up Viva. I don’t think I would have been able to do this when Viva was a baby, because I had no clue how to manage it all. But with time and trial and error, I have found what works for me.
Of course, I didn’t say all this in my response to her, but yeah, that’s how I do it.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Gratuitous Blogging!
Since I don't have a lot of time to post today, but I'm trying to post more often than I have been, here you go. Welcome to my world.
A Crazy Kind of Love
Viva: I had a dream. I was putting stickers all over you because I love you so much.
Mama: Aw, that’s sweet. What kind of stickers?
Viva: Pillow cloud stickers!
How You Can Tell That Your Daddy Works in the Film Biz
Viva [getting out of the tub]: I want the BLUE towel.
Sweet W: That is not blue. It is CYAN.
Not an Exact Transcription
Viva [mournfully]: I wish I could be married too.
Mama: Married? To who?
Viva: To my mommy and daddy.
Mama: Well, honey, you are kind of married to us. You’re part of this family forever.
Viva: What a completely crazy thing to say. I will never understand you people, not in a million years.
A Crazy Kind of Love
Viva: I had a dream. I was putting stickers all over you because I love you so much.
Mama: Aw, that’s sweet. What kind of stickers?
Viva: Pillow cloud stickers!
How You Can Tell That Your Daddy Works in the Film Biz
Viva [getting out of the tub]: I want the BLUE towel.
Sweet W: That is not blue. It is CYAN.
Not an Exact Transcription
Viva [mournfully]: I wish I could be married too.
Mama: Married? To who?
Viva: To my mommy and daddy.
Mama: Well, honey, you are kind of married to us. You’re part of this family forever.
Viva: What a completely crazy thing to say. I will never understand you people, not in a million years.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Overheard
Co-Worker #1 [approaching my next-door cubicle neighbor’s cube, eating out of a bag of microwave popcorn]: I need some chocolate. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Do you have any chocolate?
Co-Worker #2: Mm-hmm. [presumably offers chocolate]
Two seconds pass while CW#1 eats popcorn and chocolate.
Co-Worker #1: Whew, I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m going to go downstairs and get me an ice cream cone. You want one?
I feel sick, and it’s not even me eating it.
Co-Worker #2: Mm-hmm. [presumably offers chocolate]
Two seconds pass while CW#1 eats popcorn and chocolate.
Co-Worker #1: Whew, I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m going to go downstairs and get me an ice cream cone. You want one?
I feel sick, and it’s not even me eating it.
I Shall Not Be Moved
I haven’t talked much about the particulars of my job, because, well, hell, there is that whole getting dooced issue. Nonetheless, I think I can say that my workplace is an agency that helps low-income families, and today one of our clients is sitting two cubicles away with an adorable baby that keeps screeching and squealing in delight. I haven’t gone over to say hello because his/her mama is sitting with one of our domestic violence case managers, so I’m thinking perhaps she doesn’t want everyone in her business. But that baby needs to stop sounding so fricking cute because every time it squeals, my womb rockets around in my insides, banging its figurative tiny little fists about and simultaneously reaching up to squeeze my heartstrings in its sticky little paws. Damn biological drive to reproduce. Quit trying to hijack me!
Monday, August 21, 2006
The Prodigal Blogger Returns
All kinds of shit has been going down since I last blogged, and it’s not bad shit, but just a lot of shit that has kept me busy. Rather than blogging about it, because that would be boring, I’m just going to pretend this 10-day hiatus from my blog never happened.
Thus, and verily: Viva has been sick and not her best self, so we are all unhappy. Let me, nonetheless, share some nuggets with you:
Viva [looking into the mirror]: Do I have eyebrows?
Mama Blah: Of course you do. [points to Viva’s admittedly fine and only somewhat discernible eyebrows] See? You have very cute eyebrows.
Viva: Oh. I see them. Does Daddy have eyebrows?
Mama: Yes, baby, Daddy has eyebrows.
Viva: But I can’t see them! Because he is – he is – he is darker brown, so I can’t see them.
Mama: But his eyebrows are darker than his skin.
Viva: But I don’t see them!
Mama: Yes, but they’re there. Take it from me, sister.
Viva: WHAT? I’m not your sister!
File this under, “It Won’t Be So Funny When She’s Thirteen”
[It’s 10:30 pm. Viva goes to bed around 8:00, but keeps getting up to go pee, or because she’s thirsty, or because she had a “bad dream” 5 minutes after I left the room, or because her 45-minute-long CD has stopped. I’m tired, and I’m tired of all her reindeer games. When I hear her open her bedroom door again, I run around the corner in a fury.]
Mama: Viva, why are you still up? Stop playing around in here and go to sleep!
Viva: But I’m not tired!
Mama: I. DON’T. CARE.
Viva: Whatever!
Mama: Whatever, yourself! Go to sleep!
Viva: FINE!
Mama: FINE!
[At the door, I turn and look back at Viva before I turn out the light. She is grinning.]
Viva: Good night, Mama.
Mama: Good night, baby. I love you.
Viva: I love you, too. Even when you’re grumpy.
Thus, and verily: Viva has been sick and not her best self, so we are all unhappy. Let me, nonetheless, share some nuggets with you:
Viva [looking into the mirror]: Do I have eyebrows?
Mama Blah: Of course you do. [points to Viva’s admittedly fine and only somewhat discernible eyebrows] See? You have very cute eyebrows.
Viva: Oh. I see them. Does Daddy have eyebrows?
Mama: Yes, baby, Daddy has eyebrows.
Viva: But I can’t see them! Because he is – he is – he is darker brown, so I can’t see them.
Mama: But his eyebrows are darker than his skin.
Viva: But I don’t see them!
Mama: Yes, but they’re there. Take it from me, sister.
Viva: WHAT? I’m not your sister!
File this under, “It Won’t Be So Funny When She’s Thirteen”
[It’s 10:30 pm. Viva goes to bed around 8:00, but keeps getting up to go pee, or because she’s thirsty, or because she had a “bad dream” 5 minutes after I left the room, or because her 45-minute-long CD has stopped. I’m tired, and I’m tired of all her reindeer games. When I hear her open her bedroom door again, I run around the corner in a fury.]
Mama: Viva, why are you still up? Stop playing around in here and go to sleep!
Viva: But I’m not tired!
Mama: I. DON’T. CARE.
Viva: Whatever!
Mama: Whatever, yourself! Go to sleep!
Viva: FINE!
Mama: FINE!
[At the door, I turn and look back at Viva before I turn out the light. She is grinning.]
Viva: Good night, Mama.
Mama: Good night, baby. I love you.
Viva: I love you, too. Even when you’re grumpy.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Happy Birthday to Me!
Well, it’s been a lovely day so far. Sweet William was awakened at 4 AM by the LA Fire Department apparently doing a drill in front of our building (his theory is that they punish us because someone in our building has pulled the fire alarms several times as a prank), so he got up and baked me brownies. He took them out, waited for them to cool, and then tried one. Gooey inside. He put them back in the oven and rebaked. Still no good:
Because he loves me beyond all reason, he then threw on some clothes and went out to the store and bought me a cake. When I got up at about 6:30 and went out into the dining area, this is what greeted me:
(The picture is a little dark. If you can't see, there's a small cake, two mugs, a carafe of coffee, roses, and a card. The roses are from a couple of days ago. Since he is flying out to day and won’t return until Sunday, he has been doing birthday things for me all week.) He is the sweetest.
And just because, here is a gratuitous shot of Princess Viva:
Because he loves me beyond all reason, he then threw on some clothes and went out to the store and bought me a cake. When I got up at about 6:30 and went out into the dining area, this is what greeted me:
(The picture is a little dark. If you can't see, there's a small cake, two mugs, a carafe of coffee, roses, and a card. The roses are from a couple of days ago. Since he is flying out to day and won’t return until Sunday, he has been doing birthday things for me all week.) He is the sweetest.
And just because, here is a gratuitous shot of Princess Viva:
Many happy returns of the day.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Hello? I do like you. Really.
Hey, so something funky is happening with my comment-notifier function. Usually if someone leaves a comment, I get an e-mail, and I generally try to reply soon after. I have noticed that I'm not getting any notifications, and I checked some recent posts, and like what the hell, people are commenting but I'm not being notified. What the bleep?
I feel like I should bitch a bit, but then, you know, Blogger is free.
So instead, I deeply apologize to anyone I may seem to have spurned. It was not my intention to ignore you. It is merely a result of the evils of technology. Love and kisses all around, you know the drill.
I feel like I should bitch a bit, but then, you know, Blogger is free.
So instead, I deeply apologize to anyone I may seem to have spurned. It was not my intention to ignore you. It is merely a result of the evils of technology. Love and kisses all around, you know the drill.
Show Me the Money
I think I have to stop reading blogs before I write my own, because as soon as I do, all my semi-coherent ideas for blogging skip merrily out of my pretty little head.
Ah! Now I remember. I have been doing quite a bit of reading lately about socioeconomics – not hardcore theory, but layperson articles about the stuff that impacts all of us, and I have to say, it’s freaking my shit out.
I’ve already mentioned think tank Brookings Institution’s recent report on the shrinking middle class in America, and the scary news that Los Angeles ranks last among 100 metro areas in its percentage of middle-class neighborhoods. Truly here, the rich get richer and the poor get fucked. Conventional wisdom has long held that communities need a solid middle class to be stable and sound, an opinion which certainly resonates with me as smacking of good old common sense.
Recent articles on the war against the homeless have made me bug out a little too: the LA Weekly’s “Dying to Get Off Skid Row” and Salon’s “Skid Row Makeover”, coincidentally posted within a few days of each other, detail exactly how nasty it’s gotten to live in a city of, well, Haves and Have Mores (to borrow a phrase from, yecccch, George Dubya).
I don’t know about you, but first I get pissed, and then I try to find out: is anyone doing anything about it? Well, some L.A. City Council members are trying to pass a moratorium on condo conversions to buy some time to address the thorny issue of affordable housing. And our esteemed mayor, along with the L.A. County Board of Supervisors, in April of this year unveiled a comprehensive “$100-million plan to reduce the concentration of homeless services in skid row by establishing five centers across the county that would provide temporary shelter and social services for transients.” (Clicking here brings you to LA’s homeless blog, with detailed coverage of the plan.) And the Economic Roundtable has some ideas, among them “Hey! How about a living wage? And maybe some unions? And hey, let’s try and regulate the informal economy – how about them apples?”
You know, I’ve been poor, and I’ve been not so poor, and not so poor is definitely easier on the stomach lining. Now, to avoid being poor once more, let me get back to work (working from home today, does it show?).
Ah! Now I remember. I have been doing quite a bit of reading lately about socioeconomics – not hardcore theory, but layperson articles about the stuff that impacts all of us, and I have to say, it’s freaking my shit out.
I’ve already mentioned think tank Brookings Institution’s recent report on the shrinking middle class in America, and the scary news that Los Angeles ranks last among 100 metro areas in its percentage of middle-class neighborhoods. Truly here, the rich get richer and the poor get fucked. Conventional wisdom has long held that communities need a solid middle class to be stable and sound, an opinion which certainly resonates with me as smacking of good old common sense.
Recent articles on the war against the homeless have made me bug out a little too: the LA Weekly’s “Dying to Get Off Skid Row” and Salon’s “Skid Row Makeover”, coincidentally posted within a few days of each other, detail exactly how nasty it’s gotten to live in a city of, well, Haves and Have Mores (to borrow a phrase from, yecccch, George Dubya).
I don’t know about you, but first I get pissed, and then I try to find out: is anyone doing anything about it? Well, some L.A. City Council members are trying to pass a moratorium on condo conversions to buy some time to address the thorny issue of affordable housing. And our esteemed mayor, along with the L.A. County Board of Supervisors, in April of this year unveiled a comprehensive “$100-million plan to reduce the concentration of homeless services in skid row by establishing five centers across the county that would provide temporary shelter and social services for transients.” (Clicking here brings you to LA’s homeless blog, with detailed coverage of the plan.) And the Economic Roundtable has some ideas, among them “Hey! How about a living wage? And maybe some unions? And hey, let’s try and regulate the informal economy – how about them apples?”
You know, I’ve been poor, and I’ve been not so poor, and not so poor is definitely easier on the stomach lining. Now, to avoid being poor once more, let me get back to work (working from home today, does it show?).
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
If You Have Any Poo, Fling It Now
Viva’s mood of choice these days is hateful. From the second I woke her up this morning (“Go away!” she said, scowling and kicking at me), she has been so fucking mean that I want to ship her off on the next boat to Anywhere But Here. When I dropped her off at school, I drove away as fast as possible. Get! Away! From the Mean, Mean, Kid! Since I am already exhausted due to sleep deprivation caused both by her and by living in a noisy neighborhood, my tolerance for her hatefulness is extremely low. I tried talking to her about why she is in a grumpy mood, and I tried to introduce to her the concept of “You can choose your mood,” but she was determined to be, well, bitchy. I feel beat down by the force of her meanness.
Moving on to other not so interesting news: three days ‘til my birthday. Absolutely nothing is happening. Sweet W had to cancel his vacation this week and is going to Texas on business to meet with two big-name directors (his first big client) on Saturday, which is when I would be having my real birthday celebrations. I have been too busy and too exhausted – why, yes, too beat down – to pull anything together anyway, so it’s no loss.
Okay, I know it’s not that bad. I have been reading all kinds of sociological stuff these days, for work and otherwise, about poverty and abuse and domestic violence, and I realize my concerns are petty.* But damn! I need a day off like you wouldn’t believe.
* And seriously, I’m going to pull all my findings into at least one coherent post someday. If you really start looking closely at this shit, you’ll drop down on your knees. It’s frightening and sad.
Updated to add: Sweet William just called. His flight leaves Friday at 6 pm. He returns Sunday afternoon. Happy birthday weekend to me! Don't forget, I'll be stuck with the hateful, hateful mean babyhead while Sweet W is having drinks with the beautiful people. And last night he told me some pretty hardcore gossip about the director he's meeting with (which involves an actress better known for her work in TV than in film), and I can't even tell anybody. Well, of course I'm going to throw poo at him.
Moving on to other not so interesting news: three days ‘til my birthday. Absolutely nothing is happening. Sweet W had to cancel his vacation this week and is going to Texas on business to meet with two big-name directors (his first big client) on Saturday, which is when I would be having my real birthday celebrations. I have been too busy and too exhausted – why, yes, too beat down – to pull anything together anyway, so it’s no loss.
Okay, I know it’s not that bad. I have been reading all kinds of sociological stuff these days, for work and otherwise, about poverty and abuse and domestic violence, and I realize my concerns are petty.* But damn! I need a day off like you wouldn’t believe.
* And seriously, I’m going to pull all my findings into at least one coherent post someday. If you really start looking closely at this shit, you’ll drop down on your knees. It’s frightening and sad.
Updated to add: Sweet William just called. His flight leaves Friday at 6 pm. He returns Sunday afternoon. Happy birthday weekend to me! Don't forget, I'll be stuck with the hateful, hateful mean babyhead while Sweet W is having drinks with the beautiful people. And last night he told me some pretty hardcore gossip about the director he's meeting with (which involves an actress better known for her work in TV than in film), and I can't even tell anybody. Well, of course I'm going to throw poo at him.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Deep Breaths
Jesus fucking Christ. We are in the middle of cubicle radio wars over here. On one side, we have my next-door cube mate, playing churchy, “The Lord is my Savior” music (“Praise Him! Praise Him!”), which he just turned up the volume on and is singing along with. Across the aisle, in the cube directly across from him, the cute little twenty-something started the morning playing bagpipe music and has moved on to some morning radio show, and behind her, the admin assistant for our department has her radio playing Stevie Wonder (who I fully admit I am partial to, but I can’t fucking hear it over the cacophony of cacophonous fucking noise in between).
Fucking hell. I so need my own fucking office. I feel like my head is going to explode.
Fucking hell. I so need my own fucking office. I feel like my head is going to explode.
I have no meetings scheduled for tomorrow and see no reason why I can’t work from home. I’m just saying, is all.Al Swearengen: Sometimes I wish we could just hit 'em over the head, rob 'em, and throw their bodies in the creek.
Cy Tolliver: But that would be wrong.- courtesy of Deadwood, quite possibly the foulest fucking foulmouths on television. Fuck yeah!
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
If You Want Something Meaty, Eat Some Mutton
If you don’t care about reading anything of substance this morning, welcome home! Take a load off.
This morning, just after we pulled up outside Viva’s school: “I’m hungry.” I know that you know that Viva had already had breakfast – a yogurt smoothie, part of a bagel, and her vitamins – so this may strike you, as it did me, as surprising.
I grabbed my lunch from the front seat and gave her half of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
An aside: Viva lately has declared a pox on all things sandwich-related, objecting strenuously to any kind of food item placed between two pieces of bread. This has led to me making tortilla wraps, open-faced bagel sandwiches, and when all else fails, sending her to school with meatless chicken nuggets and a container of ketchup. (She also gets a container of fresh fruit, some kind of veggie or salad, crackers or tortilla chips, and usually a treat like a granola bar or banana bread or cookies.) I was skeptical that half of my PB&J would soothe the savage beastie.
Well, shut my mouth, because she grabbed it and chowed down. I left her happily munching away in her classroom. She barely deigned to say goodbye.
So much for my lunch. I just ate the other half and all that’s left of my lunch is fruit salad. It’s 9:15. Woe.
Even less meaty:
My birthday party plans have somewhat petered out. The place where I want to have the party doesn’t take reservations for groups larger than 12 (I was hoping to invite 20 people), and they don’t have a private room. Bastardos! I’m trying to regroup and figure out where to go from here. You know, in between working and parenting and spousing and all that.
And as I am working on my latest writing project – fleshing out someone else’s ideas for a program – I await some flashes of brilliance. Alas, uninspired prose rules the day.
I need to update my blogroll (hello, new friends) and links and what the hell, the blog template too. Are you as bored with it as I am?
Totally meatless:
My favorite headline thus far in the Mel Gibson flap: “Gibson's Newest 'Lethal Weapon' — His Mouth.” Hee hee. What an ass.
This morning, just after we pulled up outside Viva’s school: “I’m hungry.” I know that you know that Viva had already had breakfast – a yogurt smoothie, part of a bagel, and her vitamins – so this may strike you, as it did me, as surprising.
I grabbed my lunch from the front seat and gave her half of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
An aside: Viva lately has declared a pox on all things sandwich-related, objecting strenuously to any kind of food item placed between two pieces of bread. This has led to me making tortilla wraps, open-faced bagel sandwiches, and when all else fails, sending her to school with meatless chicken nuggets and a container of ketchup. (She also gets a container of fresh fruit, some kind of veggie or salad, crackers or tortilla chips, and usually a treat like a granola bar or banana bread or cookies.) I was skeptical that half of my PB&J would soothe the savage beastie.
Well, shut my mouth, because she grabbed it and chowed down. I left her happily munching away in her classroom. She barely deigned to say goodbye.
So much for my lunch. I just ate the other half and all that’s left of my lunch is fruit salad. It’s 9:15. Woe.
Even less meaty:
My birthday party plans have somewhat petered out. The place where I want to have the party doesn’t take reservations for groups larger than 12 (I was hoping to invite 20 people), and they don’t have a private room. Bastardos! I’m trying to regroup and figure out where to go from here. You know, in between working and parenting and spousing and all that.
And as I am working on my latest writing project – fleshing out someone else’s ideas for a program – I await some flashes of brilliance. Alas, uninspired prose rules the day.
I need to update my blogroll (hello, new friends) and links and what the hell, the blog template too. Are you as bored with it as I am?
Totally meatless:
My favorite headline thus far in the Mel Gibson flap: “Gibson's Newest 'Lethal Weapon' — His Mouth.” Hee hee. What an ass.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Things to Make Your Brain Hurt
I have many things I want to write about but not a lot of time this week. I have work, as usual, and I also took on a quick freelance assignment which will take up some time after work this week. I do, at some point, want to discuss the recent Brookings Institution study which shows that the middle-class is shrinking dramatically in metropolitan areas across the U.S., with Greater Los Angeles ranked dead last in a survey of 100 American cities in terms of the percentage of middle-class/mixed-income neighborhoods. This is not shocking to me, since LA is both the capital of the entertainment industry, which is the source of an obscene amount of wealth, and also the capital of the working poor – see reports like the United Way of Greater Los Angeles’ Tale of Two Cities: Promise & Peril in Los Angeles. But as I read more about it, I am hit with the very dreadful feeling that Los Angeles, and indeed, many of our urban areas with this kind of extreme divergence, are not going to be very fun places to be in the coming decades if this trend continues. And I am a city gal, for better or worse. I’ll try and post more thoughts about this if/when I have time.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
I Went to the Party Y'Know and I Did the Smurf
My friend Cee’s latest post reminds me: hey, I’m having a birthday soon. I had the brilliant idea to throw myself a birthday party this year and yet, strangely, I haven’t gotten around to planning it. Well, I’ve done some preliminary Internet research on venues, but I haven’t actually called anyone about booking a room. My invitee list is at 20, and the party would be in two weeks! Eeps. Um. So. The problem is that when I actually have a moment to think about the party planning, I am inevitably at work. In a cube. And still, fairly new to the job – indeed, within my probationary period – so I don’t want people to overhear me making party planning calls from work and think I am a slacker, even though we all know that in my heart of hearts, I am.
Really, all I want to do is get some friends I haven’t seen in a while together and drink and shriek with laughter and all that. Although two of my friends are pregnant, so they can only drink lovely frozen fruit drinks, if they even bother to come out at all (one of them is due in September, so she may not want to fool with such foolishness). Nonetheless, I have largely chosen this group because convened together, they will no doubt spawn splendidly wondiferous hijinks of madness and mayhem. I am envisioning, for example, my friend Ratboy singing karaoke with nary a karaoke machine in sight, as half of us shrivel up from embarrassment and the other half egg him on at high volume. I love my friends.
Maybe I will even post pictures. Blurry, off-center pictures. Blargh! Drunken madness!
Really, all I want to do is get some friends I haven’t seen in a while together and drink and shriek with laughter and all that. Although two of my friends are pregnant, so they can only drink lovely frozen fruit drinks, if they even bother to come out at all (one of them is due in September, so she may not want to fool with such foolishness). Nonetheless, I have largely chosen this group because convened together, they will no doubt spawn splendidly wondiferous hijinks of madness and mayhem. I am envisioning, for example, my friend Ratboy singing karaoke with nary a karaoke machine in sight, as half of us shrivel up from embarrassment and the other half egg him on at high volume. I love my friends.
Maybe I will even post pictures. Blurry, off-center pictures. Blargh! Drunken madness!
Oh, Sweet Mystery of Life
BEFORE 9 AM
Things I have seen this morning, before having my coffee:
1. License plate holder that boldly proclaims “I’d rather be praise dancing”
2. Tiny Asian twenty-something wearing tiny denim mini-skirt and tiny purple T-shirt with huge Timberland knock-offs, untied, no socks. No socks! It was already 80 degrees here in Koreatown at 8:30 this morning. Sweet Jesus!
3. A continuation in the mystery of the missing three-hole punch series of e-mails that have been sent to ALL staff in this building. While it initially appeared that one of our IT staff may have taken it home, you will be most interested to learn that one of our Vice Presidents actually nicked it to work on stuff for our kids’ programs over the weekend. Still have not heard jack from the IT staffer whose co-worker informed the world that he took it.
TO HUMIDITY AND BEYOND
Work has been crazy this week, and by the way, it’s crazy hot here. Viva’s school lost power at 11 in the morning on Tuesday, and thank God they have a pool, because I think the kids stayed in it for most of the day. Unlike many places around the city, county, state, and country, power was restored by the next day, so we did not have to call upon the babysitting powers of Viva’s grandpa, who honestly is never happier than when he has some kids around him to fuss at, but I was still apprehensive about what the hell they would do all day.
Okay, the quiet part of my morning is ending and I must ramp up to do some work. Perhaps later in the afternoon I’ll get into some praise dancing in my cubicle. I think my next-door cube-mate is Pentecostal, so perhaps he won’t complain.
If you can believe it, you can achieve it. Can I get a witness up in here?
Things I have seen this morning, before having my coffee:
1. License plate holder that boldly proclaims “I’d rather be praise dancing”
2. Tiny Asian twenty-something wearing tiny denim mini-skirt and tiny purple T-shirt with huge Timberland knock-offs, untied, no socks. No socks! It was already 80 degrees here in Koreatown at 8:30 this morning. Sweet Jesus!
3. A continuation in the mystery of the missing three-hole punch series of e-mails that have been sent to ALL staff in this building. While it initially appeared that one of our IT staff may have taken it home, you will be most interested to learn that one of our Vice Presidents actually nicked it to work on stuff for our kids’ programs over the weekend. Still have not heard jack from the IT staffer whose co-worker informed the world that he took it.
TO HUMIDITY AND BEYOND
Work has been crazy this week, and by the way, it’s crazy hot here. Viva’s school lost power at 11 in the morning on Tuesday, and thank God they have a pool, because I think the kids stayed in it for most of the day. Unlike many places around the city, county, state, and country, power was restored by the next day, so we did not have to call upon the babysitting powers of Viva’s grandpa, who honestly is never happier than when he has some kids around him to fuss at, but I was still apprehensive about what the hell they would do all day.
Okay, the quiet part of my morning is ending and I must ramp up to do some work. Perhaps later in the afternoon I’ll get into some praise dancing in my cubicle. I think my next-door cube-mate is Pentecostal, so perhaps he won’t complain.
If you can believe it, you can achieve it. Can I get a witness up in here?
Monday, July 24, 2006
Into the Frying Pan
Hey guess what? It’s hot. I don’t know if anyone’s mentioned it to you yet. Maybe you haven’t noticed, because no one else is talking about it. It’s pretty incredible, when you think about it, how no one is stating the obvious. It's summer, and we live in Southern California. We're all running our air conditioners and dishwashers and turning all the lights on for no reason, and I'm sure there are power outages and people dying from the heat, my GOD, the heat. I just wish someone would talk about it so we could get it all out in the open. It's not like every single person I have talked to today has mentioned it. They're all in denial. I mean, seriously.
Holy crap! Sweet W and I are so psychically connected, so as one in our oneness, that he just called me to find out how my day was going, and he said, “It’s SO hot outside.” I burst out laughing.
“Why is that funny?” he said.
Honey, it just is.
Holy crap! Sweet W and I are so psychically connected, so as one in our oneness, that he just called me to find out how my day was going, and he said, “It’s SO hot outside.” I burst out laughing.
“Why is that funny?” he said.
Honey, it just is.
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