A conversation with my husband:
Me: Berlyn and I went to Petco today, and it was like a free trip to the zoo for her. She got to see chinchillas, gerbils, fish, snakes, dogs, mice, and rats. She especially liked the rats.
Pat: Rats? Really?
Me: Yeah, they’re really friendly and cuddly. They make excellent pets, when they’re not gnawing through your dry-wall or rummaging around in your trash cans.
Pat: Rats? Really?
Me: My friend had one as a pet when I was in Jr. High. I used to let him hang out on my shoulder and we’d watch the always inappropriate, Days of Our Lives together. This rat was really sweet. I think we should get one for Berlyn, she’d love it.
Pat: Are you serious right now? Because I think you’re kidding. You’re kidding, right?
Me: No, I’m totally serious. They’re really cheap, and you can get one of those plastic balls for them to roam around in. We can name him Bernard.
Pat: Are you talking about the same rats that live in the sewer and hang out with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?
Me: Yeah, they’re cute, let’s get one.
Sunday night we saw Radiohead at the Hollywood Bowl. Their show was perfection, except for that one time Thom forgot the lyrics and he was all, “bullocks!” Oh, to be British.
But first we walked around Robertson Blvd in West Hollywood, in hopes of running into the cast of The Hills. After no signs of Heidi and Spence, we got a little hungry and ate at the Ivy, where my drink cost 95 dollars.
Then we headed to the show.
We watched Radiohead make amazing sounds with thousands of other people, all of whom where mildly sedated and gently swaying.
I’ll admit I was a little high from the billows of second hand smoke that were so lovingly blown in my direction from Mr. One Row Down, and Mr. Directly Behind Me, and Mr. To My Right. Thanks boys, the concert wouldn’t have been the same without you!
They neglected to play my favorite song, Fake Plastic Trees, and part of me thanks them for that, because if they played it, my brain might have exploded.
Things under 5 dollars that i couldn’t live without:
face washing head band
Best in Show
The Royal Tenenbaums
Baby Names (I’m not really a big fan of sharing my favorite baby names, because I have this fear that people will steal all of my fantastical ideas and charade around as if they were their own).
but here are some of my favorites:
All Time Favorite Songs:
Last Flowers Radiohead
First Day of My Life Bright Eyes
Be Be Your Love Rachel Yamagata
O Praise Him David Crowder Band
Brand New Colony Postal service
Anything from David Sedaris, but favorite would have to be Holidays on Ice
Sons and Lovers D.H. Lawrence
Autobiography of a Fat Bride Laurie Notaro
Where I’m Calling From Raymond Carver
Virginia Woolf’s essays and novels, and short stories…and dairy
People who influenced me:
My 9th grade English teacher, Mr Cyrus
The Barefoot Contessa
Things that are always in my purse:
I don’t carry a purse. This is a cold, sad reality, mainly because I have thousands of dollars invested in beautiful Italian handbags from Marc Jacobs, Chloe, and Botiker, to name a few. What? Is that bragging? Opps. Sorry, I’ll work on being more humble. But I do carry a diaper bag, and a school bag, and five things that I always have in there are:
Orbit gum (all flavors are favorites except for the new melon one, bleeech)
moments that changed my life forever:
When I decided to live on campus in college
Meeting my husband
the day I got my iPhone
My step dad’s death
obsessions I currently have:
V neck jersy t-shirts
Creamer with my coffee
listening to M.I.A.
coloring with my daughter
Places I would like to go:
Appliances of kitchen tools I couldn’t live without favorite t.v. shows:
So You Think You Can Dance
Tabitha’s Salon Take Over– I’ve only seen one episode, but I’m hooked.
Whew! That was fun. It was like going on a first date with me without buying me lobster tail and antagonizing over the goodnight kiss. Do you guys have any favorites you’d like to add? Do you think you’ll ask me out on a second date??
I colored my hair last night, and now I look like Harriet from small wonder circa 1985, bangs and all.
let’s just say, it was not the look I was going for.
About 6 years ago I had a crush on Jason Mraz, a boy who sang songs barefoot while gently strumming his acoustic guitar. He didn’t know me, but I knew him. And on some level I think I loved him, “hi, welcome to Crazyville, can I take your order?”
Let me explain: I loved him for the songs he wrote, for his lyrics, melodies, and the ebb and flow of his songs that seemed to push me past the minutia of my days. I loved his rhythm, the timbre in his voice, and the gentle obscurities that he sang about.
While we were in college, my dear friend Melinda and I would drive to San Diego and Hollywood to hear his shows. The sets were very small and intimate. Before his show you could find him at the bar, nonchalantly drinking a pint, and I had a few conversations with him, that pretty much went like this:
Me: um, hi…can you play the cat song?
Jason: sure thing.
Me: thanks, it’s like my favorite song
Me: yep. cool.
But soon enough some big record producer came by and snatched him up. His songs went from beautiful to obnoxious, and I couldn’t stand to hear him on the radio. His music totally changed and it sucked.
It’s been a few years, and after a lot of thought I think I’m willing to rekindle my romance with Jason. We have both changed a lot in the years and I’m ready to give him a second chance. Just don’t f___ it up, Jason.
Friday night we went over to the Johnson’s house and played games and ate snacks; lots and lots of snacks.
Natalie is convinced that her husband is cheating…
Saturday we went to the park and I practiced my balance beam skills. I’m getting really, really good. Notice my poise and complete concentration? That didn’t happen over night, that took astute discipline.
Then Saturday night we went over to the Mattson’s and met Jax the Wonder Dog, a 12 week old English Bulldog.
Let’s just say, there was much squealing.
Sunday we went to Disneyland with the Lucai (that’s plural for Lucas)
After mommy had a margarita she changed Berlyn’s diaper and put her shoes back on the wrong feet…oops, my bad. Time for another margarita!
After staying up all night counting the billions of votes I received, I can reveal that A Sordid Love is the probably the coolest post I’ve written.
Thank you all for reading my blog, for loving me through my quirks, and coming back each day to see what kind of craziness I have written for you. Here’s to another year of blogging, sharing, and creativity.
I’m breaking up with you.
I realized that our relationship has to end, when I ate my third bowl of pudding today, on top of the 5 chocolate covered strawberries I already had for breakfast. Shhh…please don’t try to change my mind with your shimmery glazes and your sparkley sprinkles–the decision’s been made, we are over.
I’ll remember you fondly; you’ve been there when times were tough. Like when I found out my high school boyfriend cheated on me with that ugly girl in my math class. I ate a whole bag of Fun-Sized Snickers, and you just let me cry while comforting me gently with a warmth in my belly and a small case of diarrhea, and I thank you for that.
I can’t forget all the good times too–like my wedding night, when our hotel brought us a complementary chocolate sculpture of a fish, and I ate the entire thing, mainly because I had been starving myself in the weeks leading up to my wedding day, and in my mind, it was a fish, and fish is good for you.
But no more! I am quitting you! Today I will embark on a journey without the sweet taste of sugar. It might be weird for a while, because I know where you hang out, and we’ll defiantly see each other. Oh, and then there’s the parties, the countless parties I attend– I know you’ll be at each and every one of them. It’s going to be awkward, I’m not going to lie. You’ll be with someone else and I’ll try to act all cool and nonchalant, and flip my hair around like I don’t need you, like I’m totally over you, like I don’t want to lick your face, and swim naked in a vat of you, but inside I do.
ACK, who am I kidding? I can’t break up with you! I love you too much. You bring me joy in the form of chocolate fondue, creme brulee and peanut butter M&Ms. But we do need to make some changes in our relationship. I have noticed some, ahem, cellulite accumulating around my thighs and ass, so we may need to cut back on how much we see each other. We can work through this, every relationship has its problems.
Please don’t ever leave me.
I love you,
I wrote this post back in March about my 99 cent shopping experience:
I thought the 99 Cent Store would be like getting a warm hug from a giant piece of cotton candy. I thought the isles would be a treasure chest open wide with all the valuable loot glinting inside. I thought maybe, just maybe all my wildest dreams would magically come true once I stepped foot onto their shiny, lime green, linoleum floor—I thought wrong, so very, very wrong.
We drove by the overly-lit, and brilliantly colored store on our way home from dinner last night, and a strong force within me called out, “TURN NOW! We must buy things for 99 cents!”
As we trotted along we saw brand names we never heard of, marshmallow hot dogs, and My Little Pony stationary sets.
I was instantly fascinated with all that the shelves held, and so was Berlyn:
Berlyn es siempre hacia abajo para comprar las cosas que cuestan 99 centavos
(Berlyn is always down to buy stuff that cost 99 cents)
Macaroni & Beef and Dee Dee bamboo shoots, sliced. What more could you want for dinner?
Pieces of smoked mussels? Yes please.
I don’t think we’ll be going back to the 99 Cent Store any time soon. Not that I don’t love a bargain, but we had a conversation with a little girl who was standing all together too close to me. And I’m pretty sure that these type of exchanges don’t happen when you’re shopping at Bloomingdale’s:
Little girl: She’s cute (pointing to Berlyn’s eyeball).
Pat: Thanks (pushing through stacks of Nilli Vanilli cassette tapes)
Little girl: He’s not my brother (gesturing to the husky little boy sitting in the cart next to her) his parents had to go to an adult-only meeting.
Pat: Oh. Okay.
Little girl: We’re watching him until his parents come home. (she does pirouettes and stumbles into a hair-remover display) I don’t really like him much.
I like to let Pat handle these types of conversations, mainly because I don’t really like to talk to children, (does that make me a bad mom?) especially ones who affiliate with ones that have parents that go to adult-only meetings.
(Anniversary Week Re-cap)
In celebratory celebration of my blog and me being together for a whole year now, I have decided to highlight my favorite posts (one daily for a week) for all you to read and enjoy all over again. It’s going to be so much fun! Can’t you just feel the fun radiating already?
Then I got to thinking, with the help of this person, that perhaps I should let you guys choose your favorite! So peruse my archives and tell me what your favorite post was by leaving a comment or emailing me!
The following is two posts that I have rolled into one, because I’m crazy like that. I rolled them because they both pertain to airports, skymall, and my complete distaste for flying. Enjoy:
I hate to travel. I like new places, but hate getting there. Flying is the worst. I have a mini panic attack when the plane takes off, and any time the plane makes a noise, or when we’re flying over anything scary, like lots and lots of snow. Snow is scary. I don’t like to talk on the flight either. This is because I don’t like the way my voice sounds at 5,000 feet in the air. I’d prefer not to communicate in any form, I’d rather color in my Disney Princess coloring book, watch the in-flight movie, and take a handful of dramamine and try to fall asleep in a tiny ball-preferably where I loose circulation in my feet, buttocks, hamstrings, please .
But there are some things about air travel that I like. For one, SkyMall. I love flipping through the catalog and seeing if they sell something would benefit my life. They answer is usually no, and I get disappointed and go back to coloring. But every once in a while the folks over at SkyMall surprise me with their products, like the T-Rex Dinosaur Trophy Wall Sculpture. Because I want my friends and family to think, when they come over to my house, that I not only came across a Tyrannosaurus Rex, but I also killed it, shrunk its head, mounted it, all to hang it on my wall for you to enjoy.
Have I mentioned that I hate to travel? I think I already covered that, but for some reason, I feel as though it is important that you know that bit of information. I’m sooo not one of those people who say shit like, ‘it’s the journey, not the destination.’ The hell with that, it IS the destination, I did not spend $3,500 on a vacation to Barbados, to sit in a crowded airplane and listen to babies cry and my ear drums pop, nope, I didn’t.
But the strange thing is, I like airports. Weird right? Who the hell likes airports? Me, that’s who. I like to stroll through the lame shops and contemplate buying corn on the cob magnets and weimaraner-dressed-as-people calendars. I love the magazine stand, and my very favorite airport pastime is looking at people. It’s kinda like going to the mall and people watching, only airport people carry luggage and have their comfy pants on. Oh, and a gentle observation about airport people: a great majority of them are ugly–I mean, supremely ugly. Not just kind of ugly because they have been traveling all day–but pock marks, bad hair, big ass ugly. Is that mean? Well, the truth hurts people!
Last time Pat and I traveled, I hoisted my carry-on luggage up on the conveyor belt to have it x-rayed. There were two younger gentlemen working the machine and they stopped on my bag and stared extra long at the screen. Then they looked up at me, then back at the screen, then back at me, then back at the screen. They gave me this smirk, and one of them said quietly to the other (but not too quietly, because I heard him), “I know what THAT looks like.”
What? I thought to myself, what the frick do I have in my bag that looks questionable? My mind reeled through all my stuff in my bag: books, cosmetic bag, flip flops, head band, magazine…CURLING IRON! OMG they think it looks like a adult toy! HA! You guys are 12, get your heads out of the gutter. But, they kept smirking and giving me the eyebrow look as I walked away. And because the scrutiny was getting to me and making me extremely uncomfortable, I called out as I left– loudly, so everyone could hear, “IT”S A CURLING IRON!!”
And then security came over and asked me if there was a problem–turns out, the TSA doesn’t like it when you yell in the airport. My reply was simple, if you mistake my curling iron for a dildo, I might raise my voice.