Women Are Crazy III

Not an hour after I finished my last post, Nick interrupted my bath with terrified screams of caterpillars in his bed. I should have been annoyed, but I got out of the tub, threw on my tye dyed shorts and tank, and joined him in his little star bed nestled in the alcove. We sat there with our arms wrapped around each other and chit chatted about his friends at school, him in his little sing-songy voice. "Deeeecalin hit me, and I said NOOOOOOO... you don't hit Dominic!" and he goes on to add "I love Deeeeecalin, tooooooooo." Despite it being 11:15 pM, we sat up on the pillows, clapped our hands on our laps like in circle time, and sang "Good morning, good morning, good morning to you! Good morning, good morning, good morning, good morning to you! The day is beginning, there's so much to do!" (At 'so much to do' the palms go up - very important, apparently). I took the opportunity to adjust the lyrics a bit "The Day is now ending, it's time to go snooooze..." and improvised snores, which didn't exactly calm him down as he proceeded to have a five minute snort session. But eventually I did what I do to James when James starts in on his half hour motor talk... I ignored him. And five minutes later, he was asleep in my arms. I don't know the last time I had this little man breathing into my neck, the smell of him so close I could eat him.

As if the two of my kids had conspired together, Sophie woke up moments later. I went to her, too. Within seconds she was asleep, her little arms wrapped around like a noose. She now takes over my whole upper body, and the warmth of her rocked me to dreamland as quicker than the financial report on CNN. In those moments between waking and sleeping, I forgot about the dishes, and the laundry, and all my unfulfilled career ambitions. It was just me and this little lifeforce, clinging onto what she considered the most important person in the world. She could care less about my paycheck, or my figure, or my domestic skills: Mama, couch, tired... that's it.

I woke to a start at 2am with no Sophie on me. The little munchkin managed to roll off the couch and was sound asleep on the linoleum. I shook her gently to be sure she was okay from the two foot drop. Then I kissed her, set her in the crib, and slept until 7am.

Bad Timing

I haven't written much lately. And what I have written is less than noteworthy (Not that my posts about James screaming about my burning butt is so memorable... just saying...) Chalk it up to a timing thing: When Nick is napping, Sophie is clinging to my leg like a jelly fish screaming "More! More" and throwing Elmo books at my face. When Sophie is sleeping, Nick is watching Thomas the Train and I'm furiously Ebaying, only to exit my office to find him on top of the kitchen counter, microwaving Kosher salt. When the kids are together, Nick is poking Sophie in the eye with back yard sticks, or throwing leaves in her hair, or hugging her so hard she can't even scream (a first for Sophie). More often than not she is screaming so loud I can't even hear the phone ring. I'm so mentally drained from giving Nick Time Outs that today I just pretended not to see him swipe Sophie's bottle then proceed to suck it down under the wicker outdoor couch. When my angels are playing together nicely so I can cook dinner, I look out the kitchen window to find them throwing Legos in our three legged turtle's tank. (At least if they get salmonella I can blame the tortoise and not my chicken). I know that motherhood is about giving up time. And I know that unless I have the funds for a nanny or maid, this is just how it is. But the past few days, it's been rough. I want to finish my writing without explaining that dogs don't need to eat raisins. I want to have normal conversations with adults that doesn't end with "And do you need to go poo poo?" Just today I was talking to Nick about strangers. I said "What do you do if someone you don't know comes up to you and wants to take you away?" He responded, "I'd say 'Take Me!' ". I am keenly aware that these years are all too brief. I cry at least once a month about the kids growing up and leaving me. When Sophie runs full steam ahead with her toothy grin and shrieks "Mama! Mama!" I wouldn't trade it for a fancy sitcom or all the Elmos in K-Mart. But right now I feel a bit hazy. Beaten up. Like my life consists of these tiny little threads of conversation and activities. If you put all the threads together, sure, there's a blanket. But the squares are all a bit uneven. And it smells suspiciously of sour milk. How do we find balance in our lives? How do we not live a life of excuses, but give ourselves credit for doing the best we can, even when the writing isn't done? Even when we ate sugar past 7PM, and our arm strengthening routine consists of hoisting a wriggling Sophie up and down in reps of 12, Pipsqueak squealing delightedly“Gen! Gen!” Even when the house is less than Oprah's designer, Nate Berkus-perfect? Because does Nate Berkus have it so good? He might be gorgeous with a glorious dimple, but his flashing eyes watched his lover drown in the Tsunami, and he now has to explain to his posh gay friends from art school that he's the official spokes model for Linen 'N Things. I know I'm doing the best I can. I look fine. I have accomplished more than some moms with one kid. And if I lived in a crap pile, that would be fine, too. I'm just tired. And I need to sleep. But sleep won't clean my house and get the writing done. Nor will it buy the new quilt I bought from my Ebay earnings. An insightful person would tell me that my list is too long. "Just focus on what you can do and that's good enough." And yeah, the logical side is nodding her head. She's brushing her teeth and going to close her eyes next to the piling laundry But her irrational side wants to forego Zoloft pills for magic pills that transform those two blissful hours after the kids are asleep into 10 hours, giving her time with James, time with her computer (well, James is a computer, so it’s kind of the same thing), time to work out, time to read, time to watch tv... the list of what I'd do is actually longer than my to-do list. On my way to Kaiser yesterday, for Zoloft refills no less, I asked my mom why so many women these days go through what I'm going through... this trying to do it all, even though we know it's impossible. She admits that in her days of mothering, there was no complaining about not having a maid. She just did it. While I happen to think she was a saint, I wonder, too, if all this sacrifice denied her from being something greater. But what is greater than having the love of your kids and family? For all my friends, and my, education and choices, we’re less contented then she was/is. And when I do manage to have a successful day, is it because I’m a really well rounded person, or is it really the self-delusion of the Zoloft, putting a happy spin on the mundane crap of the world – crap that women of older generations not only did, but didn’t complain about. I don’t want to be this mother who spends so much time worrying about her place in the world that she forgets to treasure her childrens’ fleeting childhood. At the same time, I can’t help that inside I have this raging spirit that wants to sometimes paint walls, not clean crayons off them. I want to talk on the phone to San Diego A., not keep Nick from jamming Sophie on the head with an Elmo phone. I want to go out for wine and pasta dinners with James, not deal with whining and macaroni and cheese. Somehow it will all work out. But it’s not going to happen overnight. And if you’ll excuse me, I have ten minutes to list 10 Ebay items, finish Act 2, and begin a query letter. And final note: Because my last few posts put me at risk of sounding like a whiny bastard, I really do want to find a balance in my life, as I’m sure everyone else does. It’s not about being rich, or wildly successful. We have one life to live, and I hope to live mine surrounded by the family and friends I cherish most. If can make some money off my writing to buy cappuccinos and maid service as well, that would be great, too. That’s all I’m saying.

Coking it Up

This just in from Texas Lizzy. I am disturbed. Now do I not only have to feel guilty for indulging in a terrible habit, but I can add 'you're going to die you lame coke addict' to the list.

Enjoy the light read.
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WATER OR COKE? This is really an eye opener... Water or Coke? We all know that water is important but I've never seen it written down like this before.

WATER 1. 75% of Americans are chronically dehydrated. 2. In 37% of Americans, the thirst mechanism is so weak that it is often mistaken for hunger. 3. Even MILD dehydration will slow down one's metabolism as much as 3%. 4. One glass of water will shut down midnight hunger pangs for almost 100% of the dieters studied in a University of Washington study. 5. Lack of water, the #1 trigger of daytime fatigue. 6. Preliminary research indicates that 8-10 glasses of water a day could significantly ease back and joint pain for up to 80% of sufferers. 7. A mere 2% drop in body water can trigger fuzzy short-term memory, trouble with basic math, and difficulty focusing on the computer screen or on a printed page. 8. Drinking 5 glasses of water daily decreases the risk of colon cancer by 45%, plus it can slash the risk of breast cancer by 79%, and one is 50% less likely to develop bladder cancer. And now for the properties of COKE: 1. In many states (in the USA) the highway patrol carries two gallons of coke in the truck to remove blood from the highway after a car accident. 2. You can put a T-bone steak in a bowl of coke and it will be gone in two days. 3. To clean a toilet: Pour a can of Coca-Cola in! to the toilet bowl and let the "real thing" sit for one hour, then flush clean. The citric acid in Coke removes stains from vitreous China. 4. To remove rust spots from chrome car bumpers: Rub the bumper with a rumpled-up piece of Reynolds Wrap aluminum foil dipped in Coca-Cola. 5. To clean corrosion from car battery terminals: Pour a can of Coca-Cola over the terminals to bubble away the corrosion. 6. To loosen a rusted bolt: Applying a cloth soaked in Coca-Cola to the rusted bolt for several minutes. 7. To bake a moist ham: Empty a can of Coca-Cola into the baking pan, wrap the ham in aluminum foil, and bake. Thirty minutes before the ham is finished, remove the foil, allowing the drippings to mix with the Coke for a sumptuous brown gravy. 8. To remove grease from clothes: Empty a can of coke into a load of greasy clothes, add detergent, and run through a regular cycle. The Coca-Cola will help loosen grease stains. 9. It will also clean road haze from your windshield. For Your Info: 1. The active ingredient in Coke is phosphoric acid. Its pH is 2.8. It will dissolve a nail in about 4days. Phosphoric acid also leaches calcium from bones and is a major contributor to the rising increase in osteoporosis. 2. To carry Coca-Cola syrup (the concentrate) the commercial truck must use the Hazardous material place cards reserved for Highly corrosive materials. 3. The distributors of coke have been using it to clean the engines of their trucks for about 20 years! Now the question is, would you like a coke or a glass of water?

I've Been Maid Crazy

So that last obnoxious post re: a maid? I take it back. Not that I didn't feel that at the time, but it's pretty rude to tell people what to get you... especially since I don't really do gifts anyway. Please see it as the altered state of too many nights without James, too many days with kids. James took over a bit more this weekend, the office is almost cleaned out, I'm about to drink a beer and finish off the bedroom paint... life is better.

And James is getting me two days of maid service for Xmas, so everyone can tell me to shut up now about cleaning. Bring on the cheese logs. Bring on the Bed Bath and Beyond soap. You're all going to get something special from one of my favorite class act thrift stores: Super Thrift, Out of the Closet or Salvation Army on Fifty Percent Off Thursdays.

Or a fabulous pair of green velvet fag overalls.

(No offense to any gay readership out there who might enjoy parading around in elf inspired holiday duds... you're fabulous, too. Unless you have no kids, a clean house and a maid. Then I hate you.)

$1.99 and Counting

...That is the price of the going, going...not quite gone green velvet kick my ass Xmas suspender set shown a few blogs below.

Did I mention I love Ebay?

All I Want For Xmas is a Maid

I know it's only November 2, but with all the holiday hype going on, I thought I'd put my two cents in now. Listen up: People, friends, family, neighbors... bums on the corners with two teeth that use their pan handling money for Starbucks and Kinkos internet access to check into this whiny blog... I don't want gift certificates for bookstores, coffee or Macy's. I don't want fancy Bed Bath and Beyond gift packages, because how can I relax in a tub covered in rings, plastic boats, and those bad curly hairs. James, I don't want any more ass warmers for my car, stereo speakers, or anything that needs a wire, plug or batteries.

I need help.

In the form of someone to clean my house so I can take a breather and do what I want to do: be it Ebay, play with the kids, or drink a cup of coffee and soak up my beautiful stained linoleum... I mean, nice house.

As a mom, time is more needed than any gadget. Personal sanity takes presidence over lip liner and gift baskets. I love you all, but if someone gives me one more sweater for my already too small midget closets, it's going back on Ebay.

It's probably tacky to tell the world what you want for Xmas, but I'm having a desperate day. And I'm sending out an S.O.S... as in my house has Sxxx on Sxxx... and I need a maid to clean it up.

Now that I've complained for the day, I'm off to do what women for centuries have been doing and not had the luxury of complaining about: clean my kitchen. Then, I will put at least 10 more things up for Ebay. And write tonite (almost done with Act 1... thank you very much, Susan!)

And on a good note, I know how lucky I am. I have the best friends and family in the world. I don't need presents from you this holiday season - just your presence is enough. But if you came over and cleaned my house for me, I'd love you even more.

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Ebay

Inspired by an ebay post sent to me by K, I have taken to spicing up my own holiday listings. My favorite so far is this one, which I will share with you.

With this auction, you will win 3 fabulous things:

1) The opportunity to have some great Xmas photos taken with your son looking more dashing than Rudolf
2) The "oooohs" and "awws" of all your family members as they compliment your darling elf on his classic and old school Christmas duds
3) The perfect black mail photo potential to show his friends when he won't listen to you. Because nothing will embarrass your son more than a photo of his cute little chubby knees sticking out of this designer velour shorts outfit.
And it really is cute. Just check out the photo!

Happy bidding. May all your holiday memories be happy ones.

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James went on to add: "The outfit alone screams 'I'm a nerd'. The bowtie adds an additional 'And don't forget to kick my ass.' "

Funny, James. You very very funny.

My Kid's Costume Was Cuter Than Yours

Do ya think he had any fun on Halloween?

Happy Birthday Texas Dottie

Since I am feeling a bit sorry for my abrupt job termination, I would like to turn happy thoughts to Texas Lizzy's mother-in-law, who I will refer to as Dottie T. Dottie, while I'm thrilled you had a surprise birthday party this weekend, I'm not tickled that my name was used as the decoy. Especially because I was not on some tractor with my munchkins, downing Corona. Instead, I was wallowing in the self-pity of not having a job I thought I had. But all is well. I will get to Texas one of these days anyway, and I hope your day was fabulous. I feel as if I know you through Lizzy, and I can't thank you enough for taking such good care of my good buddy.

I'd thank you even more if you'd say a prayer to the writing god that I finish my g-dxxxx pilot.

Susan, if you're reading this... I have committed myself to my rough draft being done by next week. You will have a polish end of November...

It's not like I have a fancy career as a garage editor ahead of me.

Boo hoo hooo.

See how self-centered I am? Going from Dottie's big day to my own pain? (It's quite shocking I'm not a Hollywood diva yet.)

In The (Disaster) Zone

In a act that can only be described as PMS induced insanity, I spent Saturday night disassembling a daybed with the assistance of two toddlers while James was off internet gaming in Thousand Oaks. Sophie was gratefully locked into her highchair, gnawing off a Whole Foods Fruit Bar like a rat on a rope. Dominic took it upon himself to unearth vintage treasures under Papa’s desk, one of them being a dusty Atari gameset from 1981. After convincing him that the quicker he turned the nobs the faster I would finish unscrewing the daybed, I managed to get the entire set disassembled in under an hour. Like my dream of publishing for a living, these screws held tight, regardless of logic, pushing and unrequited effort. I finally held one side of the screw with a clench type doo-hicky and turned the other side of it with a "flat head" driver (so proud of myself for knowing the name of it). As I finally fell into the groove, the little screws falling like American Idol contestants, I felt very technical and clever. If it were a television show, my yoga-like manuevers, coupled with a few choice expletives, would best be described as This Old House meets I Love Lucy... better titled This Old House Frau.

A normally boring task was rendered entertaining as Nick gave the commentary. "Oh, Mommy, I feel sad that the bed is broken. Nick feel better when it's put back together by Papa." I asked him, "Don’t you think Mommy can put it back together?" And he’d reply, "Mommy, that's silly! Here you go!" At which point he handed me the "Age of Mythology Collectors" disk, found next to the collectors edition of "Star Trek: Judgment Rites."

When I finally had all the screws safely stored in my desk (for Sophie to later find and swallow, stay tuned), Nick took to jumping up and down on the mattress in the hallway. When he tired of that, he actually lassoed an end of it and helped me move it behind the living room couch, accompanying his heaving and pushing with a feigned, exhausted "Oy!"... "Ooooooooooy!". As soon as another item was moved, he added to his repertoire, "Gracias Mommy for helping me move this. Graaaaaacias!"

As is always the case with any home improvement project, one little fix-it caused my entire house to look like the "Hey, Let's Make a Bunch of Crap" bomb exploded. To move the bed, I had to move James' old server near the door. Which got James thinking the next day, "Hey, I really need a new computer". Which got him thinking, "I'll just use the office closet to store the servers". Which led to me taking every box of To Be Sold Ebay items, birthday and holiday gifts, wrapping paper, craft items out of the closet. This included displacing a very content cochroach named Cochran who had been living fat an happy on my upper closet shelf since last November. I finally relocated him to a friendly pile of wood in the backyard.

All closet crapoloa, sans Cochran, is now beautifully displayed in various piles where the bed used to be. My new little mountains de ca ca led me to pondering,"I might as well get rid of the remnants of my ill-fated baby product in the garage and stick them in the Ebay bonfire pile to make room for more failed ventures. Then James cleaned out his desk, and put his"To Be Ebayed Stuff" on my desk.

What we have now, my friends, is an office that looks like a U-Haul storage unit.

And a living room that's housing a daybed.

Which is going to go upstairs where Sophie's crib is for use when she's older.

But before we put the daybed upstairs, we need to break down her crib and store it in the garage. But where in the garage?

Ah, I know... on my work bench, where my ill-fated business used to be!

Of course, during all this chaos, my good friend Topanga T stopped by my house with her brother, Turbo Jo, for an unannounced tour. And based on my post earlier, I swallowed my pride about having things in disarray and showed them around anyway, welcoming them the best I could admist the chaos.

As I outwardly pointed out the dining room, explaining that the Pack N Play is only there because Sophie has no crib, or daybed, I inwardly promised myself that with my new writing gig I would put aside 100/month toward Ikea shelves with nice doors that hid ebay stuff. And smoothe surfaces to display books and pretty coffee cups. There would be lovely nooks for scripts I've written... cute baskets for crisp white paper... inviting cubbies for fabulous family photos... cork boards for WGA invitations and social events. White boards to remind me about my meeting with Oprah. And Elmo. I made a small agreement with myself that my new job wasn't the L.A. Times, but it was something that would get me somewhere.

It was mine.

Whoops, no it's not.

As it turns out, I showed up for work today only to be given the third excuse this week. “Everyone has the flu… maybe you can come back another day?”

Right then and there, I bit my tongue from telling them to “Fxxx off you flaky P.O.S. third rate garage publication” and calmly told them that, for what they’re paying me (or not paying me, as I had of yet not worked a moment), it clearly wasn't worth the time it takes to organize a babysitter and pay her half my salary. I stoicly announced that I would not be their assistant anymore. It was at this moment that the managers fat, pony tailed salesman husband defended that they had just had a string of bad luck - they weren't being flaky! As I looked around at their many piles of mail unopened (no doubt bills and unpaid writers' checks) I reminded them that the day of my interview, they forgot about it and then showed me around in their socks. The first day of work last week they had to cancel, after I arrived, due to a sick computer. And now today they are under the weather. I joked that maybe they caught their cold from the computer, but they didn’t smile.

And neither did I. Why?

Because now I’m home with nothing to show for my time. I’m typing in a U-Haul unit. My phones are busted. My article for Marrit isn’t done. My pilot isn’t done. I have no place to put things to get my life looking more organized and no money at this moment to buy something to do it.

Listen up, people. I am going to ebay every goddamn baby shoe, lamp shade, baby box and Age of Geek Mythology box in my house. If Nick and Sophie get in my way, I will Ebay them, too. With this money, I am buying some new shelves for my office. I am going to repaint. I am starting over.

Like my former bosses fat husband, I swear I am not a flake.

I swear that this writing is going to happen.

But right now, the bad luck fairy is having a fun ride on the “Hey, Let’s Make a Lot of Crap” bomb.

If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.

And there’s no room for tears in this office. Later, when I have my new organizational units, I’ll get a lovely Pottery Barn Memory Frame for my sorrows. For now, I’ve got to go. I have pictures to take of my Ebay windfall.

If only I could find my camera.

Maybe it's with my sanity.

If you find it, please email.

I'm An Antique

I spent part of today walking up and down the Sherman Way Antique District with the kids, as well as three cousins visiting from the East coast. I hadn't seen my two female cousins since I was in my teens, so it was an interesting dichomoty - sorting through old nicknacks as we pieced together bits of our own varied histories. While most of our visit was spent in small talk, I felt a certain pride that our lives may be varied, but our blood shares similar makeups. We both knew a Nana (my mom's mom, their dad's mom) who cooked for us in her tiny Boston suburb home and hid candy in the top drawer of her "don't touch" dresser near the living room window. They shared stories of driving their van across the country with our 80 year old Aunt J (their dad's, and my mom's, sister) My favorite story was the one about Aunt J. at 3am, peeing on the side of a deserted highway. Women after my own heart, they took a photo her in case a wild boar came along along and swept her away. They also took a picture of the ground she christened for posterity sake. I can see the scrapbook title now: "The Day My Aunt Whizzed Like a Race Horse".

Tonite we had a little farewell dessert at my mom's house for my cousins and Aunt J. My dad's sister came to meet my cousins, as well as one of my sisters and her boyfriend. As James raced around after the kids and I took photos, I was struck with a bit of sadness that they were leaving so soon. I see my mom's eyes in my aunts eyes. I see a bond that comes from a lifetime of sharing stories and just hanging out. And I know that in a few hours, my aunt is making the long journey back home. Who knows when these two will just hang out and drink coffee again.

The subject led to family being there for each other... And how much society has changed these days: in particular the idea of making appointments to see people. My dad's sister and I have a different view on that topic, and both of us defended our points strongly. While I was mad at first that her view was of the "don't come without calling", I have to say that she's more in line with how society feels than I am. Even my best friend, Cecelia, has told me to not come without notice. I suppose that I forget most people don't publish their innermost thoughts on the internet, and that's okay.

But it's not me to be so private. And isolated. And I want all my friends reading to hear this: If you're having a bad day, come over. I might have laundry, or the dog might be sick, but my coffee is your coffee. My demons are your demons. I am a real person living a real life, and sometimes kids throw up. And sometimes James and I fight. And I might say "Now's not the best time, what's up?" And if you say "I just wanted to hang out" I'll be honest and say that another day is better. But if you're sad over something catastrophic, like Starbuck's ran out of coffee, then by all means, sit down and use my tissues. Just move the bills out of the way. And the vacuum. And the red sock I was looking for since last Wednesday.

To give my aunt and Cecelia their due (because I always see both sides of the situation, making me both a very understanding person and also a major wimp) I probably wouldn't be talking to my friends and family if we didn't have these unwrittten rules of behavior. Good fences make good neighbors. But sometimes I'm sad when I see my aunt and mom getting older and I think about where I'll be in ten years and wish everyone's fences didn't need a code to get in.

Maybe I can sell myself on Sherman Way. I'm kind of wacky, in fairly decent condition, and my thinking about social visits is definitely antique.

PS: Part of my cantakerous mood is due to major PMS, so if you are thinking of stopping by, while you're welcome, it's not advised. In fact, I'd not only put up a fence around me, I'd get some cement blocks. And barbed wire. It's just not pretty.

Girlfriends Part Deux

In a quick addendum to my post below, a big plus to having girlfriends of many years is seeing them have babies. Who will be my babies' friends. Girlfriends in this case of Baby B and Toddler J above, Texas L's kids. I have not yet met Baby B, so I can't really comment on personality. But Toddler J? Opinionated, spirited, more pep than the Energizer Bunny on crack and never stops talking. Takes after her godmama, clearly (that would be me!) Thank you Texas Liz for breeding such a firecracker - we need more of them.

Girlfriends

It's such an obvious statement, but I don't know what I'd do without my girlfriends. I say that about my addiction to Diet Coke, too, but girlfriends never make me want to crap in the toilet. Of course, some of them have made me laugh so hard I have peed my pants, but that's soiling yourself in the positive way.

Besides the obvious statements about how girlfriends keep you up when you're feeling down and "that's what friends are for" bla bla bla, I find that my truest gal pals are those that have never forced me to be anyone who I wasn't. They have allowed me to grow and change, and not held stupid decisions against me. Prime example: Cecelia drove with me from Texas to California. I did not check my tires and they blew up on me outside Arizona. While waiting for a tow truck on a deserted highway, I took in a stray dog, much to the dismay of my current dog in the back seat. That night, while Cecelia, Boo and I stayed at Holiday Inn outside a truck stop, I allowed the stray to sleep in my car. Which he proceeded to deficate all over. I then had to delay the final leg of our journey while my water cooler overheated and I took Boo to the vet for a tranquilizer, given his need to vomit and hump the crap stained Saturn seats. Granted, we didn't talk for a few weeks after we arrived home, but we have taken several vacations since. Sans dogs. And we always check our tires. That's friendship!

I find friends are my reality check against insecurities that sometimes crop up. Example 2: Recently I met a mom who cold turkey stopped talking to me and moved to Orange County. That's fine, and I wasn't devasted, but when you have someone to your home and they suddenly don't return your phone calls, you wonder if perhaps you really did need that extra swipe of Ban. My friends (many of whom I've known for over 20 years, like Texas Liz and Mountain Meg above) console my hurt ego, assuring me that they wouldn't like me if I stunk. And even if I did emit odious fumes, they'd tell me. They'd promise me that my instincts are usually on about people, and if someone doesn't like me, it's that person's fault, and move on - not without a new bottle of antiperspirant for good measure.

The truth is that while I may have no solid financial success in my life (yet) I have the ability to get everyone in the universe talking to me. This ranges from high society Republican judges to Democratic lesbian Chinese street urchins. Everyone has a story, and I'm not afraid to segway the conversation from "Excuse me sir, what's the time?" to "Wow, nice watch." If they respond, "Thanks, I got it in Poland," I can then offer, "Oh, my dad's family was Polish" and whalllllaaa, what we have, my friends, is a conversation. Before long, I learn that they are actually Dutch who have relatives living in Westchester and they're here for final testing to be a kidney donor for their step uncle's fourth wife. And that they love tofu. But not Garden Burgers. It's pure magic. They're invited over for Christmas dinner, end of story.

James recently told me that my ability to chat up every hostess, busboy and patron dining next to us on date night used to bug the crap out of him. It's also what made him fall in love with me. That's one of those half compliments, like my aunt saying my daughter looks exactly like me, only she's much prettier. But I'll take it anyway.

In closing, I would like to thank all my girlfriends, new and old, who are in my life. If I've known you more than 20 years, I can't thank you enough for sticking by my many name, job and address changes. If I've known you less than 20 years and you want to move to Orange county and not return my phone calls, there's always some one-eyed bum on Topanga looking for somene to send a Xmas card to. (But hopefully you'll stick around for some kicks and giggles.)

Pictured: Mtn Meg on left, Mama P me and Texas Liz on right at my 2000 wedding. I love them for convincing me that my choice of a pastel bridesmaid dress really didn't look like the Easter bunny vomited pink Peeps all over me. They lie! They lie! And I adore them for it.)

A Cup of Earl... I Mean, Jen... Gray

Randomly searching blogs and found this... the best blog I have seen yet. The photos are incredible, and the poetry, and the writing. I won't be posting for a month and a half since I have so much catching up to do on hers.

http://www.jengray.com/archives.html

Ode to Pipsqueak

Ode to Pipsqueak

Even when my job is caving in
And I'm saddened by my double chin
When it's cold and dreary in the Valley
And my fat butt's screaming "Go join Bally's!"
When I'm feeling less than on my game
And suddenly it starts to rain
It's nice to know with all the drama
Pipsqueak clearly loves her mama

Baby girl, I adore you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My First Day - a Vacation Day!

Since my boss told me to come at 12, not 10, I took advantage of the time and rewrote my opening pilot scenes at the Corner Bakery. It's amazing what can get done in one hour without the kids. Of course, a mom's group came and sat next to me, forcing me to move over a table, but no big deal. They apologized for the noise and I was like "Noise? What noise. Not my kids, so go ahead and wipe their ass on the table... I'm tuning you out."

I stopped at a pay phone at 11:45 to check my messages (no cell phone these days in an attempt to save money. I also figure when I'm in the car, I can actually talk to my kids rather than about them, strange as that concept is.) Anyway, no message from the boss. So I headed over. She opens the door and lo and behold... the computer is not fixed, so no work for me.

That's fine. I went thrift shopping and bougth Stella a quilt for her birthday. Fifty dollars in the hole and no money from working, I arrived home at 2.

Am I dissapointed? Yes. Terribly so? No. Surprised? No. Like I said a few posts earlier, you don't get handed a job that pays you under the table with flexible hours, working out of someone's garage, without a price. I mean, it's a legit paper with 70,000 copies printed bi-monthly, but it's a mom and pop shop. Part of me wants to say forget it and not go back. Part of me feels like "what the hell... I'll do it a few times and make some Christmas money. Plus if this woman can make a living being this disorganized, can you imagine how I could run a paper from my house with what I learn from her?" But it's discouraging.

Which leads me to drinking too much coffee.

Which gets me hyper.

Which gets my mind a whirling, leading me to this thought:

Every area of my life, from my relationships to finances, have improved when I've set boundaries. I refuse to live anything less than a full, non bullsxxx life. In my heart, I know this gig is pure crap. But there's this side of me that so desperately wants something of her own outside the family. And I can't give of myself 40 hours a week to an agency. Or art house. Or Starbucks (hee hee). So I will hang on a bit longer.

And this thought leads me to the next thought:

When I look at the big picture, I can't help but notice that I'm not shopping at Nordstroms. I'm thrifting. I'm not hiring babysitters regularly. I'm trading time. I'm not getting haircuts for myself. I'm spending money on the kids. How much of this is me being practical, and how much of it is me not setting the bar high enough?

Which leads me to my final thought of the blog:

I will stick to my plan of staying debt free, meanwhile filling up my soul with the things I love. I am determined not to finance my persona. As much as I hate to quote Dr. Phil, I like his attitude about "getting real" - stop whining about being a victim (because I'm really the luckiest person alive) and make the best of everything I have (which is a ton) At some point, the big job will come. The great pay, real deal where you actually bust your ass but bosses show up and you have a working computer and your job's address is in a business park, not a cul de sac. Then I'll get the monthly hair highlite, my Pottery Barn office. My daily lunches out at establishments that don't boast plastic toddler Habit Trails (these structures made by their recycled nuggets). By 40, I will be in the best mental/physical shape of my life and have that "it girl" house, job and social life.

Then I'm making James get a reversal so I can have another baby.

Again I will say it: Women are Crazy.

Starting my Job at 10... no 12

After dressing 2 kids, dressing myself, preparing breakfast, lunch, sippy cups, bottles and beds (to make Great Grandma Stella's babysitting gig a smoothe adventure) I got a call from my boss. "Computers are down and yours isn't fixed yet. Can you start at 12 instead?" Sure, what the hell. The old Andrea would have been upset. Like my ex boyfriend, Big B, I did all this prep work only to have a switch pulled on me. Of course, this was only an hour of prep and the time was swapped, not 4 years of prep to have his sexual preference swapped... but still! The old me would have been irked. The newer Mama P me? "Ah, hell... I have a sitter. This is just two hours of extra time for me to write that damn pilot at Starbucks. Besides, I'm not working this newspaper gig to pay my bills. Let's just see where it takes me."

People, I can't guarantee Valley Scene is going to land me a column for Daily News, or some tv show. But I do promise lots of fun stories. And James, if you're reading this, YES IT IS WORTH THE EFFORT FOR NOW... I'M GETTING OUT OF THE HOUSE.

Good bye. I'm off to spend 5.00 of money I haven't made yet on a Starbucks cappucino. Hmm... maybe I should work there? But not the one on Nordhoff. The one in Studio City on the corner of Coldwater and Ventura. Then I can charm my way into being "friends" with some writer from Radford Studios and then get a job. Of course, before this fantasy happens, I will spend more on gas than my paycheck. Which will piss James off. Which would cause lots of fun blogs.

See how fxxxed up my thinking is?

Thomas the Pain

After an entire month of pushing the commercialization of Halloween on my young son, Nick wanted nothing to do with his Thomas the Train costume today. It made little difference that Toddler B was gesticulating and kick boxing his Buzz Light Year costume like a kung foo cartoon on sugar. Sophie's baby kitty costume, resplete with painted whiskers and nose (thanks to Mommy's Mac black eye liner) made as much of an impact as Anita Shrive's "Light on Snow" made on me. He was not having any Trick or Treat, gawk at pumpkins, isn't Fall wonderful kind of action. I finally said "When all your friends are in costume, what are you going to be on October 31st?" He replied, "I go as Dominic."

Fair enough.

Goodbye James, Part 4

Our fourth goodbye in one month. Godspeed, God bless, and get your butt home soon. I miss your help putting the kids to bed at night... I mean, I miss your smile.

Other updates:

* Mrs. V had her baby on Friday - Vincent Edward - 7 pounds, 7 oz. Congratulations Mrs. V! I can't wait to find out the details. All I know is she went into the hospital in the morning and he was born at 1:30 Pm, so that was one fast delivery.

* My first day of work is Monday. The kids' great grandma, Stella, is coming over to watch the kids for a few hours while I do my thing. More later on this 84 year old dynamo. All I can say is she lives in a trailer park, drinks martinis that can start a car each day at four, and is going to her park Halloween party as a pregnant ballerina. She's a pistol, and sometimes a pain in the ass, but so am I, hence our friendship.

* Got my SUV back from the shop. I am starting to regain strength in my lower spine after hunching in the oompa loompa mobile.

* Almost done with my article on Marrit. Any of you out there in cyberspace who have article ideas or businesses you're trying to get off the ground (and you live in the Valley) please email me with suggestions. I'll plug you as much as I can.

* Looking forward to seeing Cecelia and Slim tonite. Slim is working 7 days a week finishing up a movie (he's a special effects/graphic guy). Cecelia and I laugh that I wanted Hollywood and married Computer Guy, and she wanted low key and married Hollywood. Life.

* My 83 year old aunt from Conneticut is arriving via car on Monday with her two nieces. She's coming equipped with vegetarian recipes and oxygen. Should be awesome.

* Nick just ran in very upset. James is about to leave and Nick's screaming "I want to go on the airplane toooooooooooooooo".

* Texas Liz is doing well with Baby B and toddler J. No problems with B at all despite a down syndrome scare.

* My sister in law is going to be husbandless for 4 - 6 weeks while he's on business. Without two kids, her alone time can actually be alone time, and I applaud her. You go, K!

* Sophie says about 15 words now: "Up!" "Da (down)" "Boo!" (our dog) "Pa Pa" "Ma Ma" "Dace!" (for dance) " Ba ba" (bottle) "Ma!" (more) "Gain" (Again) "Bye" "Hi". If I ask where her nose, ears, toes or belly is, she points. She gives head bonks on command and kisses. I adore her.

* Nick is now taking apart my 8.00 sewing basket that's supposed to be for my ebay stuff. So much for "me space".

* James and I spent 100 last night on a babysitter, food out, martinis and icecream. We're bloated more than Britney Spears.

* I finished Anita Shrieve's "Light on Snow" and was not impressed. I'm now reading "Good in Bed" about a heavy girl in her thirties living in the east coast missing her boyfriend. It's writing is good, but kind of like every other novel about a girl on the east coast looking for love. Very oh so clever and witty. A bit overwritten. Then again, so are my blogs, so maybe I have hope. I finished last month "Hypocrite in a White Pouffy Dress" - now that was FUNNY. (I'm reading this and thinking 'how do I have time to read all this but have no time?' Again, women are crazy. )

* Speaking of, must finish pilot for Susan. Almost done Susan.

This post is not very insightful today. I leave you with a quote from the Oprah Magazine, who quotes Eleanor Rooosevelt, "We have to face the fact that either all of us are going to die together or we are going to learn to live together, and if we are to live together, we have to talk." Eleanor, talking is not an issue for me.

Side note: My father had a friend named Leonard who was our plumber (my dad was always befriending the plumber, the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker) Leonard heard Eleanor Roosevelt was coming to the Valley and wrote her, inviting her for coffee. She responded in the positive. So, one fine day in 1970 something, the plumber and the First Lady had a hot beverage in his newly retiled kitchen in Canoga Park. I love that.

Working Girl

I am now the assistant editor our local paper, Valley Scene. I can come in jeans, work 12 hours a week (whatever hours I want) and even brought Sophia to the interview. They are looking for my creative vision for story ideas. I get my own desk. They are very kick back. This is either a very good thing I deserve, or like many good things, in about two weeks I am about to get my butt kicked into next Tuesday.