My So-Called Obama

One day this week (and the specificity of that should tell you where I’m going here) Obama broadcast the State of the Union.  I missed it.  In truth, I not only missed it, I didn’t even know it was happening.  And so I watched it right away on the internet…

Except I didn’t.

When I went away to college, I lived in a little bubble in the middle of spit and nowhere.  The bubble was strong and well, bubbly, and I didn’t pay much attention to life outside my classes and the latest on-dit.  Sure, if we talked about politics in a class, I read and did my homework, but other than that – life outside the bubble stayed way outside the bubble.

And then I came back to the real world and life resumed itself.  But now I find myself back in a bubble.  The baby bubble.  Where my biggest concerns involve napping and eating and who’s pooping what.  I have no interest in Obama’s wish list even though I know I should.  And I feel bad about that.  Guilty that my tunnel vision is making me not only a bad American, but a stupid one.  I don’t know a lick of what’s going on and instead of buckling down and finding out, I spend my free time trying to lie in bed.  My mind is probably atrophying as we speak.

Obama, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry.  Please don’t be mad at me.  I promise to pay attention soon…maybe.  Probably.  The bubble can’t last forever, right?

Finding a Quiet Los Angeles

My family has begun to explore the city in a new way –  house hunting.  There are so many neighborhoods in Los Angeles, and while it’s tempting to stay somewhere I know and love…what about all the places I could get to know and love?  

Upon beginning our exploration, we drew on the advice of friends.  Where is the best place to love?  The answer was Malibu.  No, the Venice Canals.  No, Mt. Washington, Bronson Canyon, Beverly Glen, Mullholland, Cheviot Hills, Topanga, Santa Monica, Los Feliz, Silverlake…

It seems that everyone we know has a different opinion on LA’s best.  But that’s good.  Instead of choosing between 10 terrible places to live, we get to choose amongst a slew of great ones.

And so now the tough part comes – Sam and I agreeing.  I’m open, but think it sure would be nice to have a chicken coop to call my own.  Sam thinks my chicken coop phase is about as likely to happen as snow on Wilshire.  Either way, bright new changes await us.

 

Chew, Slup, Glurp – Magic In My Mouth

Oh my dear goodness holy heaven of sweet little mercy.

My husband went downtown for drinks tonight and came home with a Mint Chocolate Cupcake from Big Man Bakes.

Here are a few things you need to know about me to really understand the magnitude of this blog…

1. I hate cake. Ergo I hate cupcakes.  The last time I remember eating cake was…my first birthday?  I didn’t even have cake at my own wedding.

2. I’m watching what I eat and just made my husband take every bit of chocolate in our house to work.  EVERY bit.  His briefcase smells like Ghiradelli’s in Fisherman’s Wharf.

3. The bag said -BIG MAN BAKES-  I don’t know about you, but to me that says some kind of bachelorette party pastry, not pure deliciousness bliss.  

It was me and Big Man Bakes.  Big Man Bakes and me.  What was a girl to do?

I took a little nibble.  And then I put it down because I hate cup…Huh?  What?  Hate cupcakes?  This thing was the most.  The best.  The greatest thing.  Oh no.  It was all gone.  What happened?  Where did it go?

Big Man Bakes – and oh, does he.

Ponytails and Nail Polish

Our littlest one has taken to emulating his big sister in all things beauty. In addition to his delightful pedicure (blue with sparkles), his hair just got long enough to put into a ponytail.  Needless to say, we tried it out today.  He was beyond adorable if I do say so myself.

  (Look at those chubby, little sparkle toes!)

Having spent my formative years dressing up my bro-cousins in glamorous lady’s fashions with matching accessories, I know the joy of pretend.  Even my big, strong husband recalls being painted and primped by his two sisters.  He rolls his eyes, but I can see the smile.

Point being, there’s no harm in a little beauty for everyone.  All those naysayers who say girls needs dolls and boys need trucks are just wrong.  Seeing how happy my little boy is playing beauty shop with me and my daughter is truly priceless.  Oh, and my daughter likes bugs.

So get your beauty on.  You’ll thank me for it one day.

 

Weather Report

Every morning I wake up and check the weather.  And every day I see pretty much the same thing: 70-something degrees and sunny.  It’s been like this all January except for last week, which was 80-something degrees and sunny.  And as far as precipitation goes – well that’s a constant 0%

Do I feel like an old lady, checking the weather?  Yes.  Do I still keep doing it in the hopes of seeing something exciting and new?  Yes.

I love Southern California, but a little a rain, a little thunder, a little shish-boom-bah would be great every now and again.  12 months of sunny gets exhausting.  How I can always be happy and energetic?  I need some rain so I can get out of exercising, eat crappy food, and stay in bed reading until the storms abate.  I need a snow day.  I need a hurricane to wash away the dirt of the city and make it all shiny and new.  I need some lightening and thunder to remember what god sounds like.  I need air that smells like cold, wet Christmas trees.

Tuesday, January 21st: 81 degrees, sunny, 0% precipitation

MLK

Martin Luther King day tomorrow and school in cancelled – dear god!  Another day home with the kids?!  So in an attempt to make my life easier <insert heavy guffawing here> I invited half a dozen preschoolers to come over and play.  And eat.  And play.  Twenty dollars says a fight breaks out.  What was I thinking?

Which just goes to prove, I’m mentally unstable and going downhill fast.

Ar, Go **** Yourself

There I was in bed finishing my book (Chosen, by Benedict Jacka*) when Sam decided to re-watch Argo.  He asked me if I wanted in, I replied No.  How many times can one person watch a movie about the Iran Hostage Crisis?

More than once as it turns out.

Finishing my last page I asked Sam how long he was going to stay up.  (he was watching Argo beside me on the computer with earbuds)  Fifteen minutes he promised me.  So I took one of his earbuds out and put it in mine.  Mistake Number One.  Fifteen minutes passed and Sam minimized the screen, “You ready?” he asked me.  I told him I just needed to finish the scene.  Mistake Number Two.  The scene finished and the next one began and fifteen more minutes passed quickly.  Sam minimized the screen and looked at the clock. “10 O’clock,” he said. “Bedtime.”  It was mid-crisis (again) and I couldn’t do it.  “Just a little bit longer.”  I told him.  He shook his head, “See you at 2am.”  He handed me both earbubs and went to brush his teeth.  Mistake Number Three – I had struck out.

Needless to say, I watched the whole darn movie all over again and eventually turned off the computer sometime after 11pm.  I don’t know if it’s Ben Affleck, who looks a lot like my Sam (Sam’s Beard), or the fast-paced action – well, yes I do.  It’s probably mostly Benny Baby.  But I watched the whole thing again even knowing for the 2nd time, exactly how it was going to end.

Ar, Go **** Yourself.

*Benedict Jacka writes the Alex Versus series

Full Moons and Hot Days

It’s been hot here in Los Angeles.  Like end of days hot.  I can’t remember a winter where January meant 80+ degrees and sunny.  Where is the rain, the gray skies, the chilly wind?  Stuck in summer’s pocket I guess because that’s what this winter feels like…a hot, long summer.

I’m not the only one who feels a little crazy in this way-too-tropical January.  My kids are also starting to go a little loopy.  A little off-kilter.  A little ow-ow-awooooo at the moon, if you know what I mean.

And speaking of moons, tonight you’ll see one.  The smallest little moon of our new 2014.  Scientists call it a Minimoon (remember that Supermoon everyone went bananas about a few years ago?), but obviously it just means that the moon is farthest from our planet.  Like a skyscraper in the distance, we can pinch it in our little fingers.  Come on, I can’t be the only one who remembers this stuff from school?

In the meantime, I’m holding down the fort, barely.  These werewolf children are enough to make even one of those Kumbaya moms stop their Kumbaya nonsense.  

 

The Great Big Yard-sale Adventure

I never had a yard sale growing up.  When we were done with something, we gave it to Goodwill.  And that’s what I’ve been doing my entire adult life…until yesterday!

Yesterday, we hauled out toys and clothes and shoes and bags and DVD players.  We flaunted cribs and bibs and remote controls.  We sold curtain rods and bath rods and old lamps with Edison’s bulbs.  The only things we didn’t put in our driveway (we couldn’t actually use the yard due to fence issues) were…well, everything we currently use and enjoy.  But you get the drift.

The sale was intended to be from 8-12.  At 7:30, men pulled up like something out of Fight Club and began shadowing my every move.  They peppered me with questions, did I have watches?  Cell phones?  Old computers that didn’t work?  Lady’s Jewelry?  Exotic plants?  Exotic ladies?  (I said yes to that one)  Men’s jeans?  Copper pots?  Silverware?  I held my own.  Channeling Vin Diesel, I responded monosyllabically.  And I might have had a bit of a Russian accent.  “No, yes, you’re early – you need to wait.”

Shortly after noon we started to pack everything up and by 1pm, I was on the sofa resting.  Sam drove our boxed remains to Goodwill.

Lessons learned:

$.10 is a great price for clothes

the word for FREE in Spanish is GRATIS

Kids love yard sales

I love yard sales

We are having another yard sale someday!

Ash Sneakers – a Footwear Trend

Due to my never-ending desire to embarrass myself, I dance.  Hip hop mostly, but I’ve been known to throw in some ballet or lyrical.  And so for quite some time now I’ve been searching for sneakers.  High tops to be specific.  My old Nike’s are literally coming apart at the seams.  My left foot has a hole (yes, hole – not rip) 2 inches wide.  Not that that impairs my dancing.  When you dance like I do, nothing can make it any worse.

What I’ve found is that in addition to your old school high top, and the new high-heel high top (say that 10 times fast), and the no muss no fuss Converse-esq high top…there’s also the fashion high top.  Big name designers have come out of the woodwork to style-up high tops with the prices to match.  A more <ahem> reasonably priced brand is Ash, which retails in the $200-$300 range.  Mostly patent leather or distressed leather with buckles and zippers, Ash has cornered an interesting market – the not-so-bad ass high top.  Women like me can toughen up dresses and jeans.  We can pair a flowered shirt with leggings and some Ash high tops and boom – we’ve got our hard and soft.  I’m into it.

Spreading the word, one sneaker at a time…