Check out this interview I did with Eric Ladau of Houston's NPR station, KUHF. (Warning: It has either bad words or bleeped-out bad words in it.)
I'll be reading Growing Up with Tamales for story time at Blue Willow Bookshop, in Houston, on Thursday morning, May 15. Tell everyone you know with kids in the Houston area. How do you find and support local indie book stores like Blue Willow? By going to Booksense.
On Saturday, May 17, I'll be in Dallas, reading and signing at the J. Erik Jonsson Central Library, for the 13th Dallas Children’s Book Fair & Literary Festival.
On June 22, here in Houston, I'm going to do a poetry workshop. It's free and open to the public, y'all, and they're having one every Sunday in June, taught by local poets I love and respect. So come on down.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Boredom, Luddites, Photographic GoalsI'm going to try to remember to take my camera with me all weekend, and to remember that I have it, and to use it. Then, I will upload to Flickr. Why? Because I love it when my friends have new Flickr pics for me to look at, so I should do the same.
In that vein, could you people whose blogs I read please update your blogs? Come on, you guys. Seriously. I need stuff to read. I'm trying to update mine more. You should try, too.
Also, if you are my friend and you have a secret blog, please consider letting me read your freaking secret blog.
Also, if you are my friend and you are not yet on Flickr, please consider getting on Flickr.
Don't say, "Oh, I'm not into all that world wide web stuff." Stop saying that. It's not some fad. It's not like I'm asking you to join MySpace. I'm just asking you to join the 21st century.
Please, put your pictures and thoughts online so I can have stuff to look at when I'm bored. Thank you.
Lunch
Tomorrow is the kick-off of a three-day weekend here in America. Tuesday I will be the only "lady" (read: worker) in our dept at my job who is not taking the day off. So me and Jackie will go eat Vietnamese food on that day. Tomorrow I will have lunch with Brie.
I like to have lunch with friends. When I can't do that, I like to sit in a secluded corner of my day job's parking lot and read a book, or write in a notebook, or listen to Mr. Wash Allen on the AM radio. Unless someone is rude enough to drive up and park next to me.
Intruders
I think that's very rude, to park right next to someone having lunch in her car. Don't you? We have a huge parking lot with gajillions of spaces, and yet people sometimes feel the need to park right next to me. Just like, in a nearly empty theater, some people feel the need to sit right next to me. Just like, in an uncrowded Hobby Lobby, some people feel the need to look at the exact beads or soap chips I'm looking at, right at the same moment that I'm looking at them.
I hate that. Lonely people of the world, please - stay away from me. I am not lonely. Sometimes, therefore, I need to be alone. If you see me alone, chances are I've very carefully planned it that way, and I don't need some stranger parking next to me or breathing on me or backing up into my ass. Please, people. Please!
Okay, that's all. Bed time. Good night.
Labels: venting
9:36 PM # (6) commentsRecently
I had a small get-together at my house so my family and drinking buddies could finally see it. It was gratifying to have people compliment my decorating style. (As opposed to being married to someone who constantly ranked on it and called it tacky. As if we didn't live in a MOTHERFREAKING TRAILER.) (Okay, I'm going to quit saying stuff about my former marriage now. I swear, I don't even think about it very often, but then once in a while, something will bring it up.)
I got everyone hooked on DDR and Karaoke Revolution, which is good. Except that PlayStation doesn't give commissions. And the only Karaoke Revolution games they sell at Best Buy anymore are the country music ones. But that's what eBay's for, right?
We made the dining room into a spare living room for the sake of the party. Now, however, I like it that way. We have two living rooms, back to back. Or, I guess you could say, a living room and a den. I like to sit in the den when I'm not watching TV. We moved the dining set to the breakfast nook. If I described how the living room/den look, with two couches and a sectional all in close proximity, it would sound very bizarre. But when I walk into the house it looks nice. Like it has pretty good feng shui. Not that I practice that. But, hey, I feel vibes like everybody else.
Also, Tiffany said that the placement of my bedroom means I'll make more money soon. Awesome.
I mowed the lawn last night, but not until after Josh and I poured gasoline all over the grass, by accident. I was a little worried that, when I mowed over that spot, the lawnmower would explode. Sometimes I'm not too clear on the chemistry and physical science, I admit. I have a weed-eater, but I don't yet know how to use it, so it's waiting in the garage while runners grow around the swing set that the sellers left behind. (That Helen was supposed to pick up, but she didn't. Helen! Come get this swing set!) I'm scared that if I try to work the weed-eater by myself, I'll cut off my hand. Yes, I could always just read the instructions first. But, instead, I'm going to wait for my boyfriend to come over this weekend. Showing me how to work the mower and the weed-eater and the garage door makes him happy. It makes him feel helpful, and that is good.
Also, I am going to buy an electric hedge trimmer this weekend. It looks like a little chainsaw. Maybe I should also buy a hockey mask.
A Dream for Rose Only
Last night, among many other things, I dreamed I walked into a school or something, and a tiger with whom I was formally on good terms growled at me. I hoped it was because I had a bag of McDonald's in my hand, and not because he had lost trust in me and now wanted to kill me.
I set the bag down on the school nurse's counter and told her my theory. Saying it aloud made the tiger comply; he walked up and let me pet his grizzled head. Then I picked him up and held him to my chest, and he was a baby who tried to suckle through my shirt. I asked the nurse for a pacifier but she only had a milk bottle. I asked her for extra milk to top it off, but very soon the tiger/baby held the bottle at the proper milk-dispensing angle and fell asleep in my arms.
(I used to dream all the time about tigers escaping the zoo and walking the streets, keeping me terrified in my dad's house. I guess I'm over that now.) 8:55 AM # (3) comments
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
More Fantasies1. I fantasize that, after getting rich, I hold an awards ceremony for my favorite food service people in Houston. Larry from Jack in the Box, Ana from the cafeteria at my work, and the entire morning shift of my fave Einstein Brothers Bagels, among many others, would be honored for their awesomeness. With cash prizes, probably. I could make a non-profit organization to handle the awards every year. Hence, I could write it off on my taxes.
2. I wish I knew Kung Fu well enough to protect myself from someone holding a gun. That way, I wouldn't be as worried all the time. (Why don't I take classes, then? I don't know. I just never do.)
3. A big fantasy is that I could find a way to keep people from being such jerks all the time. I don't believe that most people are jerks, but I do believe that the real jerks spread negative energy starting each morning at rush hour, and it ripples outward exponentially until night. My dad thought this one up, and I stole it from him. He wished he had a ray gun that would, upon shooting someone, straighten out every cell in its victim's body. You know - just straighten them the hell out. Give them the manners and morals their parents forgot to teach them. Erase whatever trauma made them jerks in the first place. Make the world a better place for everyone to live.
4. This morning on my commute that has become over an hour long now that school's begun, I revisited an old fantasy in which I am a very good dancer. I think it would be nice to dance well. I've never really been very good at it. I'm okay - passable - but also sometimes awkward, and always self-conscious. I wish I could be the kind of person who unselfconsciously dances alone in the middle of the floor, without being drunk first, either.
5. I often fantasize that I become just famous and/or rich enough for customer service people to always be nice to me. But not, you know, famous/rich enough for people to stalk or bother me. I don't want to be the kind of jerk who snaps her fingers at people and gets her ass kissed for it. I'm just saying - it would be nice to be treated with respect, even if I weren't wearing designer clothes or driving a Jaguar. You know? I try to treat people with respect and I'm a good tipper. But sometimes, (read: at Capital Grille), that's apparently not enough.
Labels: fantasies
3:14 PM # (3) commentsHair Tips and Tricks
People keep asking me if I changed my hair color. "What'd you do," they say. "It looks nice!"
The answer is that I've been letting my roots grow out for the past month. It's time to get my roots done. After that, maybe I'll paint them with mascara so people will still like my hair.
Things I Could Be Doing with My Life If I Weren't Busy Doing Insurance by Day and Writing by Night
1. Go-go dancer by night, writer by day
I would have to lose weight, first, then buy a bunch of outfits from Frederick's of Hollywood. Then, I'd have to find a babysitter, or else get my boss to let my kids sit in the VIP lounge with their PSPs and some snacks. I probably wouldn't get paid much, but I'd get free drinks and free cover. And, presumably, all the free drinking would inspire me to write more, and I'd get paid more for that than I do now.
2. Craft store owner by day, writer by night
I would own a little store in a strip mall in the suburbs where I'd sell stuff I made and stuff I imported from Taiwan. In the back room, I'd sell slightly racier stuff, sort of like Spencer, but not as cheesy. I probably wouldn't make much money at all from the store itself - I'd probably spend most of my time there watching kids intent on shoplifting. But it would be a good tax write-off against the things I'd sell on eBay. Also, it would give me a place to write.
3. Rock star famous in Japan, six months per year
We would tour six months out of the year, then spend the other half of the year at home, goofing off. (Or maybe I'd do some writing.) I'd only want to be famous in Japan, and not here, so that I wouldn't be able to read rude things that people said about me online.
Maybe, when my kids got older, they could join the band and we'd be like the modern-day, non-sucky Partridge Family. I'd have to hire tutors for them in the meantime, though. How did the Partridge kids get their schoolwork done? I don't remember.
4. Writer by day, phone sex operator by night
I always thought I'd make a really good phone sex operator. I'm good at making up stories on the fly, and I have lots of experience with psychos so I'd be able to figure out their psychoses really quickly. Plus, it would give me tons of material. Plus, hello - working from home. However, I hear that really doesn't pay a lot unless you own your own 976 line. Plus, I'm not sure I could resist the impulse to stop every few minutes and yell at my kids. "You take my stiletto pump and lovingly fill it with cinnamon applesauce, then plunge your - Dammit, Josh, I told you not to put reds in with whites!"
5. Opera singer six months per year
I've always wanted to be an opera singer, kind of. When you're an opera singer, it's okay to be a little fat. In fact, people expect it. Seriously, if I had to go back and live my life over again, I'd probably start studying opera from about 6 years of age, instead of wasting all that time singing along to Deborah Harry and Olivia Newton John, which, as you see, got me nothing.
6. Writer by day, housewife by day and night
I would let my husband pay the bills and use my book advances to fund our vacations and expensive bath products and such. But, this time, I'd be smart enough not to marry a controlling bastard who hated on everything I ever tried to do.
Actually, strike that one. I just remembered forty-six reasons I don't want to get married, ever again.
I could go on, but I won't. There's no use. I'm already so incredibly happy doing insurance by day and writing by night that it would seem ungrateful to continue thinking up other things to be. And gosh knows I'm not ungrateful.
What could you be doing if you weren't doing what you're doing? Tell me in the comments. 9:47 AM # (16) comments
Monday, August 28, 2006
For Rose AloneLast night I dreamed I sat in a biology classroom filled with other adults. The teacher informed us that a computer program had deduced the identity of Superman down to three possible names. He handed out a hand-out. The three names were:
Gwen Zepeda
Gwendolyn Zepeda
Gwendolyn Dough
Was the third one supposed to be me, or was she Superman? I figured it meant me, but I knew I wasn't Superman. Not that I knew of. At first I kept quiet, didn't want to identify myself because Lex Luthor was sitting right next to me at our lab table.
Then I decided it would be safer to out myself. "Those are my names," I said after raising my hand, "But I'm not Superman. Unless it's Gwendolyn Dough. Unless that means me."
Lex Luthor turned to me, suddenly interested. He made probing small talk, asking how long I'd lived here in the suburbs.
All the while I wondered if Superman might actually be a woman. What if he actually was me, and I just didn't know it yet?
I started to feel regret, then, for having identified myself aloud.
Labels: dreams
2:01 PM # (4) commentsFriday, August 25, 2006
Welcome, Bitter Asian MenA while back, my boyfriend and I met an Asian author and bought the book he was selling, which dealt with his issues with ethnicity. Afterwards, the author and I emailed a few times, and he asked me questions about how I came to be dating an Asian man, and if I found Asian men in general attractive, and other stuff along those lines. So I wrote him a pretty long response, via email. And then he posted it on his blog.
I wasn't sharing state secrets or anything. But, at the same time, if I had known my words were going to be public, I would have organized them more coherently, and written a little less informally, probably. But, oh well. No harm, no foul.
Now, however, I see that my words are being reproduced on other sites. Specifically, sites dedicated to Asian men seeking sex with Caucasian women.
So, because of that, and for all new visitors who may come to this site seeking hot, slutty Caucasian blondes to sleep with, I now present:
Gwen's Advice for Asian Men Who Want to Date Caucasian Women
Woo hoo! Interracial dating! Ow!!!
Disclaimer: I have no business speaking for anyone but myself. I can't tell you what people of other races, or even other people of my own race, are thinking. However, I have a tiny bit of experience, and keenly honed observational powers, not to mention opinions I have no problem expressing in a very loud voice. So take everything I say with a grain of salt. Take it, bitch! Just kidding. Okay.
If we're being honest with ourselves, we Americans know that there are certain inter-ethnic dating combinations that are less common than others here in our US of A. First, Asian men with Caucasian women. You don't see that often, do you? Yes, you do see Asian women with white men all the time, but not the other way around. Hmm. Another atypical combo, for example, is African-American women with white men, even though you often see the opposite. Hmm. And, if you really think about it, I'm sure you can come up with other combos that you hardly ever see.
I'm not going to attempt to discuss why these combinations are atypical. because I'm a lover, not a sociologist. However, from people I've talked to and things I've read, I've realized that there are many Caucasian women who would really like to date Asian men, and vice versa. And yet, somehow, they aren't hooking up as much as it seems like they could be. So my purpose in this blog entry is to facilitate romance between these groups. If you can apply my advice to other inter-ethnic dating dilemmas, even better.
1. Keep your blue-eyed, big-breasted blonde fetish to yourself.
If you came to me and said, "Gwen, I find Caucasian women attractive, and I've met some I'd like to date, but I'm afraid deeply ingrained American social biases are against me," then I would be willing to help you.
But if you came to me and said, "Gwen, I want to date a blonde, blue-eyed woman with big tits, because I drive a Mercedes and therefore I deserve it," then I would tell you to get the hell out of my face. I would tell you to keep your shallow, objectifying thoughts inside your own head, preferably while it's out of my sight. No one wants to hear anyone objectifying people and then whining about it.
"Why can't I date a blonde with big boobs?"
"Why can't I meet a handsome man who makes a hundred thousand dollars a year?"
"Why can't I attract thin, pasty vampires with green eyes?"
Because you're a shallow dumb ass who doesn't see other people as human beings. That's why.
2. Remember that you can't read other people's minds.
(Unless you can, in which case you don't need my advice.)
Do you try to read other people's minds? Do you tell yourself their side of the conversation before you even have a conversation? Example: There's a nice-looking person of another ethnicity standing at a bar. You think, "I want to talk to that person, but I already know that pop culture has convinced her that a person of my ethnicity isn't worth dating. So I'm not even going to try."
Even sadder example: You're standing at a bar and a nice-looking person of another ethnicity walks up and starts a conversation with you. You think, "If this person were of my ethnicity, I'd think she was hitting on me. But I know, through years of conditioning by pop culture, that people of her ethnicity never hit on people of my ethnicity. Therefore, I will stand here looking uncomfortable until Ashton Kutcher pops out and yells 'Punked!'"
How do you know what other people are thinking, before you even meet them? You don't. If you won't even try to hit on people, and you won't even give them a chance to try to hit on you, then you are missing opportunities and you have no one to blame for it but yourself.
3. Some people are traumatized by interracial experiences. (Or shy.)
Let's say you've been hanging out with a person of another ethnicity for a while, and you want to date him/her. Let's say he/she doesn't seem to be attracted to you, but is friendly. So you suspect (hope?) that he/she wants you but is reluctant to say so because of interracial trauma and trepidation.
That's when you have to be brave and say something. Not hint something, not allude to something - but say what you want.
"So... would you like to go out some time?"
"I like you. In that way. Do you like me, too? Circle one." [Hand him/her the paper that says YES and NO.]
"Can we have sex? Because I would really like to."
"Can we get involved in a long-term relationship that ends up in me emotionally blackmailing you into buying me an engagement ring you can't afford? Because I think that would be fun."
Be honest. Come right out with it. If they say yes, awesome! If they say no - ouch. Man, that's going to hurt your feelings. It's going to be humiliating. But you know what? That's how it is with your own ethnicity too, right? No one likes getting rejected, but don't let race stop you from even trying.
4. Some people are racist.
Some people, unfortunately, won't want to date you, even if you're smart, funny, sexy, and awesome, because of the color of your skin. And you know what? Fuck them.
Not literally, though. I mean, forget them. They're losers. Or, you know, they're just not into people with your skin color. Just like other people aren't into people who make as much money as you, or who wear the clothing size that you do, or whatever. And, hey, that's their loss, isn't it? Move on. Find someone better. Some day we'll all be mixed except for the racist people, and our genes will be stronger than theirs, and they will die off and be forgotten. Or not. But, either way, don't waste your time with people who aren't into you, and don't let those experiences make you feel bad about yourself.
5. Hang out with cool people who hang out with cool people.
You say you want to date outside your own ethnicity, but do you socialize with people outside your own ethnicity? If I'm purple and you're green, and you only hang out with green people, why would I think you'd want to date me? (I'd think it's because you have a weird purple sex fetish, actually.)
People who are already of mixed ethnicity are more likely to date outside their own ethnicity, I'd imagine. Ethnically mixed groups of friends are more likely to introduce you to lots of different kinds of people. And then, best of all, when you do hook up with someone outside your own ethnicity, your multicultural friends will be less likely to bat an eye at it.
6. Actually...
Now that I'm looking back over this advice, I'm seeing that a lot of it could also apply to non-interracial dating. So, there you go. Just treat everyone like a human being, and you should be okay.
Go find love. Or sex. Good luck. You're welcome.
Labels: culture, my sex life
9:29 PM # (20) commentsMonday, August 21, 2006
WistfulI'll tell you what I just told Rose, which is that I wish I could be a housewife, now that I have a house. I'm home sick today (recuperating from yesterday's periodic 8-hour drive to babydaddy's house) and I'm actually cooking, for once, which is something I never have the energy to do after work. I'm cooking a big pot of big shrimp. On my gas stove, which rocks. You know how people say, "Now you're cooking with gas"? Well, they say that because cooking with gas is more fun than cooking with electricity. Also, we have the good kind of rangehood, which makes my boyfriend ever so happy.
I want to put the shrimp on ice when it's done, then run to the store and get chicken to make Wendy's curried chicken salad for tomorrow. I got an Oriental Trading Company catalog in the mail. That brought back old memories. I loved that thing so much back in the day. Back when I was a housewife, I mean.
I want to be a housewife, but not with a spouse. So it's not possible unless we get rich somehow. I passed our front flowerbed and wished I had time to rip out all the old, leggy pentas and replace them with blue sage and violas and something yellow for fall. Because fall is just around the corner, isn't it? I told the kids and the boyfriend to start thinking up their Halloween costumes now, as if I might have time to sew them for everyone, as long as I plan ahead and wish real hard.
I love fall. I swear, it's my favorite season in the universe, no matter how much I love spring.
Guilt Trips and Vacation Trips
Yesterday, on the long drive home from babydaddy first-and-third-weekend visitation, my 14-year-old son told me, "Yeah, I had to tell some kid at school that I've never been out of Texas."
"What?" I said. "Are you sure?"
He was sure. Never. How could that be possible? What kind of bad mother must I be?
The thing about traveling with kids is that you have to plan it. You have to plan the hell out of that crap. So I'm scouting and researching now. We don't even know where we want to go. Somewhere. Maybe several short trips to start. Like weekends in various cities of the US. Then once across the border. Then, later, a cheap cruise. I'm trying to decide if Disneyworld is worth it. 2:07 PM # (21) comments
Friday, August 18, 2006
This post is for Dot.Hello, Dot! I hope you're enjoying the Internets today!
All About the Tile
Tomorrow is Tile Setting Day. Sunday is Grout Day. Woo! Today is Mario Rocks at Glass-Cutting-Tool Bargain Shopping Day, because he just saved me $70.
So I was hanging with my young boyfriend's young friends, who are more multicultural than me and my friends, and they're asking me about my renovations. Lyra, who is half Paki and half Greek, says, "So what are you putting on your kitchen counters, then?"
I say, "Tile."
Michard, who is half Portuguese and half Spanish, says, "Just like a damned Mexican."
Me (plain old half Mexican and half white) says, "That's right."
Lyra says, "What? Tile counters are pretty!"
Michard says, "You're just saying that 'cause you're Middle Eastern."
This is why it's good to have multicultural friends, you guys. Twice the stereotypes, twice the fun!
Pictures of the tile tomorrow on Flickr...
Fantasies
1. I used to fantasize that I secretly knew every language in the world. That way, I could help people communicate, but only for worthy causes. Eventually, though, I realized that power would be mentally exhausting.
2. Then, I fantasized that I had the power to heal people. I would heal them for money, but on a sliding fee scale, of course. That power would also have to be semi-secret. I'd set up my healing business, but call it "Therapeutic Massage" or something, and have disclaimers all around saying it was for entertainment purposes only. That would keep the government off my trail. Eventually, though, I realized that this power was cliched.
3. I recently fantasized that I had the power to instantaneously know the perfect nutrition plan for anyone I met. I'd give them the custom-designed diet that would help them maintain healthy weights and avoid surgery. Then I realized that I could give people the diets, but they probably wouldn't follow them, and that would depress me, no matter how much money I made.
4. My very latest fantasy is that I have the secret power to improve people's looks. I wouldn't even tell anyone or ask them for money. I'd just go about my business as usual, except I'd be removing people's warts and potbellies and varicose veins along the way, remotely. And they wouldn't know it until they looked in the mirror. And they'd think that it was magic.
I don't know why all my main fantasies are about helping people, when I'm sort of bitchy and hate to be around people most of the time. Maybe I'm crazy. Or maybe, as I'm starting to suspect, I should have been a dental hygenist.
Next life, I'm becoming a dental hygenist. That way I have all the fun of helping people, but none of the long-term commitment or professional liability.
Tell me your non-sexual, non-violent fantasies in the comments, if you want. (Or just talk about why Mexicans love tile.) 9:08 PM # (13) comments
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Yay! (Plus Bugs)I found my tile today! I decided to flake on work and go to a new tile place, and I found the tile I wanted, for cheap, deliverable this week. Woo hoo!
There was a weird, pregnant-looking, translucent spider walking on the tiles near our hands as I talked to the tile-store owner. He didn't brush it away, and neither did I.
When I got home, there was a half-dead stink bug trembling on its back in our walkway. I screamed very quickly and quietly, then carried my bags inside. I sent my son out to retrieve the trash can from the curb, warning him about the stinkbug. When he came back, he said the bug hadn't been there. But the air stank. It stank like dead stinkbug.
I am so, so glad I decided to take the day off today. I had only planned to take the afternoon, but after waking up at 5:45 AM with a huge task list already on my mind, and after getting caught in an unexplained, un-broadcast-by-radio traffic jam, I decided to just U-turn and go back home. I called Florence to tell her I wouldn't be in. She didn't answer. Gloria answered and said Florence had taken two days off to get her one child ready for school tomorrow. I thought of my three children going to school tomorrow and decided to quit feeling so damned guilty about taking one day off.
New couch shows up some time this afternoon. Woo hoo! Although I'm afraid to get too excited about that, since my kids will almost certainly stain the couch as quickly as they can. They've already put two scratches on laminate floor. :
Speaking Of
There are some bad kids - no, bad parenting in this subdivision. Twice this morning I witnessed children saying things to their mothers that would certainly earn them a slap across the mouth in my family.
1. A woman led her brat to their car. "Open the door and get in," she said. "Shut up!" he said. "Don't talk to me like that," she replied. What the hell??? I thought maybe he was disabled, though. Maybe he had Turrets or something.
2. In a craft store, a little 8- or 9-year-old brat ran around and almost knocked over some glass things. His mother said, "What in the world is wrong with you?"
He replied, "What in the world is wrong with you?"
See, right at that point, I felt a slap across my cheek as if I said the words myself. At the same time, I felt a slap within my own hand at the mere thought of a kid saying that to me. So what did his mother say?
First, she sort of raised her voice and said, "You are acting like a nut! You are acting like a nut!" Then she said it a few more times for good measure. I kind of thought she might be about to have a nervous breakdown, from the way she kept repeating it in a weird, high-pitched, sing-song tone.
The boy said something in a rude tone and kept running around. Then, I don't know if she grabbed him by the arm or what, but he sort of squealed. Not as if he'd been hit, but as if he'd been inconvenienced in some way.
Then, the mom said, "Honey, I just want you to be safe. There's a lot of glass around here. I just care about you and want you to be safe, okay?"
The boy grimaced at her and walked with his arms crossed. I went away at that point, before the compulsion to discipline her kid became more than I could bear.
I'm not saying people need to hit their kids, necessarily. I'm actually kind of hyperbolizing when I say that. But, seriously as hell, what is wrong with telling your kids, "You'd better quit running around or I'm gonna take your ass home." I swear to you - the first time you actually drag a kid home for acting bratty in public, that'll be the last time you have to do it. After that, the mere threat will suffice.
Okay - for some kids, you have to drag them home twice. I admit that. But still. It's worth it. You drag them home once or twice when they're young, and you never have to put up with insane public behavior again.
It's not hard, people. They're kids, not teacup chihuahuas wearing little pink jumpsuits. If you present the consequences of their actions in a clear, stern voice, they will usually come around to your point of view.
Maybe I should write a child-rearing manual. I could self-publish it, carry it around with me, and sell it to people whose kids are being brats in public. Hmm. 12:50 PM # (17) comments
Monday, August 14, 2006
BizarreToday I was sitting at my desk at work, trying not to fall into an allergy-medicine-induced coma, when something loudly hit the window to my left. I looked over and saw a huge flying thing. When it landed and got still on one of the stone columns on our 20th floor, I still had no idea what it was.
Obviously, it was some kind of insect, but not one I had ever seen. It looked like the head of an alligator gar, shrunk down to an inch and a half and tapered at the end. Then, attach translucent fairy wings to the fish head, and that would be the bug I saw. It was scary.
I made my coworkers come look. Gloria got the bright idea of looking at it with the binoculars Eric gave me. "Ew!" she cried. I tried to look but couldn't. It was just too scary.
Eventually the thing flew away. I guess. Maybe it evaporated. I didn't actually see what happened to it. Maybe it fell down a stairway into the hell from whence it came.
Tile Time
If I had known then what I know now about buying tile, I wouldn't be as stressed out as I am about my kitchen counter tile right at this moment. Because we have none. And I wanted it installed by the weekend's end. But I didn't preorder tile, and no one stocks the tile, so I'm still looking for tile so the tile will be done in time for the big party.
If it isn't, it's okay. My friends and family will understand, I'm sure. But still. I wanted my tile to be in place, in time. I wish now that I had known to order it weeks and weeks ago.
Flexible. Flexible Mode. Let's all stay in Flexible Mode shh...
(Go to my Flickr page to see the absence of the tile. If you're into that sort of thing.)
Tired Enough to Cry
I'm very tired, tired enough to cry, but it's good because I'm getting stuff done.
I really, really, really, REALLY want to open my bead boxes and make some things with beads, but I won't allow myself until more of the unpacking (and tile!) is done. So... Delayed Bead Gratification is the name of my game for now.
I'm glad my kids are back because I missed those brats. School starts very soon. I'm hoping for the best for their school years. Right, when school starts, it makes you think Christmas is right around the corner, even though it's still a third of a year away? 9:07 PM # (5) comments
Friday, August 11, 2006
Two Uncomfortable Dreams of SeductionI.
I was in a room at a house party with a man I used to date. He was trying to seduce me. It made me uncomfortable. He knew I had a boyfriend to whom I was faithful, but didn't care. I had the impression that he would easily become angry if I didn't have sex with him. I was a little afraid. I don't know how I got out of it, but I did.
Later, I was in the room with a very pretty girl I used to know. She was trying to seduce me. We kissed. I felt uncomfortable. I knew her to be a person who needed constant male attention to bolster her horribly low self esteem. I wondered what her real motive was in trying to seduce me. Was she treating me like a man? Was she trying to impress a man? I didn't think that she actually liked me for myself. Still, at the same time, it occurred to me that I had never seen her breasts before, even though many other people had, and I'd seen many other people's. I decided to see her breasts before I ended the seduction.
II.
I was at a restaurant with my friends, having a semi-good time. There was chaos that somehow ended up with me being at a house with an older man from my work. It seemed, afterwards, that he had manipulated the situation to make that happen. We were in a darkened room in my dad's house, actually. My boss was in the adjoing, doorless room, working at a desk. The older man from my work had rented some "hip" indie film that he'd thought I'd like to see. He put it on the VCR and he and I lay on a mattress on the floor, as that was the only seating in the room. The older man made friendly conversation, then eventually told me something like, "I think you're a really nice young lady. Let's go to my place and have sex tonight."
I didn't know what to say. I wanted to refuse but, for some reason, I felt was too embarrassed to do so while my boss could overhear us. As if the older man's behavior was excusable, but I couldn't say or do anything sexual in my boss's presence, even if it was refusing sex. I was still trying to think of a response when a twenty-something man with red hair (no one I know, but supposedly an acquaintance in the dream) showed up and plopped down beside me on the other side of the mattress. He made no advances, but I smiled at him in relief and the older man got up and left in a huff.
Mere seconds later, I had a typewritten note from the older man in my hand. It said something like, "My apartment is clean and spotless and full of expensive things. Let me know if you change your mind and want to come to my apartment tonight instead of staying with that young guy with no money." The paper was stained like recipe books get stained, with spots of grease and flour.
I was amused by the note and relieved that I'd gotten out of the uncomfortable situation. But still wary, knowing that wouldn't be the end of it.
Labels: dreams
9:41 AM # (7) commentsThursday, August 10, 2006
List of Recently Discovered Broken Things1. The dishwasher in our new house.
2. The dryer in our new house.
3. The cell phone I just bought to replace the one my oldest son broke when he fell off a canoe last month.
4. The process that connects my laptop to the Internet at my house.
5. The coat of paint covering the living room column against which my kids have recently been scraping the legs of a chair.
6. The new speakers I recently had installed in my back dash.
7. Whatever it is that's making my Service Engine light stay lit.
8. The unassembled IKEA dresser I just bought for my son's room.
9. The shower curtain rod in my kids' bathroom in our new house.
10. The kitchen light in our new house.
Luckily, I'm still in Flexible Mode, so none of this is bothering me as much as it totally would if I were in Planning and Controlling Mode. Look, Ma - shit keeps breaking. Woo hoo! I'm calm. It's all good.
Planning and Controlling Mode
I have got to do something about my commute. It's freaking crazy. The morning isn't so bad - so far it's been taking me about 35 minutes to drive to work. The afternoon, however, is a whole other story. Last night was the longest so far. It took me an hour and a half to get home. This evening was the shortest. One hour and five minutes.
People who let their cars stall in the middle of the freeway during rush hour are going to burn in a very special kind of hell. It will be called Rush Hour Hell. I'll leave the details to your imagination.
I have many plans spinning in my head, but haven't yet settled on the best solution. More on that when it develops.
I'm going to go to Half Price Books this weekend and see if I can find some cheap audiobooks. That might help while I'm figuring stuff out.
Besides That
Everything's good. I love the house. I like our neighborhood. We're happy. I'm tired as living hell from getting settled and working out jillions of details (and from the commute), but we're happy. 10:32 PM # (4) comments
Discoveries
I found a real good way to motivate yourself to diet. Buy a bathroom with mirrors on every wall. That way, you can see yourself from every single angle. I promise, if you're fat, then doing that will inspire you to stop eating forever. Or, at least, you'll come home after a night of frolicking, see yourself in all the mirrors, then ask your boyfriend one of the questions that boyfriends around the world love most. "Why didn't you tell me I looked this fat?" (The answer? "Because then you would have broken up with me." No, here's the real answer. "Because, to me, you looked beautiful." No - the real, real answer is "Jesus Christ, quit hating on yourself." Right?)
I also discovered a good way to make your morning commute stress-free. It's called: Allergy medicine! Take 24-hour, non-drowsy allergy medicine, turn on a good CD, and you won't give a damn how long it takes you to get to work, how much gasoline you're using, or how badly your new, newly installed speakers are buzzing in the rear dash of your car. Hooray for allergy medicine - the guilt-free mind-altering substance!
Back to the Weight Thing
My gynecologist made me mad the other day when I went to visit her and she said, paraphrased, in summary:
"I don't know why you're having two periods a month or why your birth control pills are no longer fixing that, but have you tried losing weight? I know you're busy, but I'm busy, too, and I manage never to eat out. I eat grilled chicken breast with parmesan every day. You could also try skipping lunch. Have you tried skipping lunch yet?"
All fat people in America with any kind of health insurance already know everything I'm going to say, but I'll say it anyway.
1. Yes, I know I'm overweight. Hello - I live in America. I shop at the mall. I have a bathroom with mirrors all over the walls. You think I need you to tell me I'm overweight?
2. I'll try to lose weight if you try to find out why the hell I'm having two periods a month, okay? I'm pretty sure the solution to that isn't "eat grilled chicken breast with parmesan every night of your life."
3. If you're naturally skinny, please don't give me your diet advice. I mean, yes, I'm a realist and I know that if I ate a single chicken breast for dinner, a cup of plain yogurt with walnuts for breakfast, and nothing for lunch, every single day - then, yes, sure, I would lose weight. I know that. I mean, I'd probably also have a low-blood-sugar-induced panic attack by 11 AM, and end up either jumping out the window or slipping into a diabetic coma, but that would be okay, I guess, as long as I lost weight. But, my point is that, in general, I don't want to hear what naturally skinny people suggest. Because they're usually telling me stuff like, "Be like me - I only put a little butter on my toast instead of gobs and gobs of it. And I only eat one donut instead of a whole dozen. And I only eat cake twice a week." And I'm like, "Bitch, I wish I could eat a piece of toast without gaining weight, much less toast with butter, and I haven't eaten a donut or a piece of cake in two years. Shut the fuck up." Because it's the assumption that gets me, you know. Like, if a naturally skinny person can eat cake twice a week, it naturally follows that fat people must be eating cake 24/7, right? No. Not right. That's not the case. I fucking wish it was. You know why I've gained twenty pounds net over the past year? Because I was tired of not eating bread.
In all candor, I know that I wouldn't have this problem if I hadn't eaten so much cake and donuts years ago. Back when I was 19 or 20, and first gained 150 pounds over my high-school weight. Then, six years ago, I lost 95 of that. Ever since then, I've been struggling like a bastard to keep that down. Right at this moment, I'm losing the struggle. Time for the yoyo to go back the other way. But my point is, naturally skinny people are in a whole other world from people like me. I'm at the point where I have to diet in order to maintain my weight. There's no mountain of cake here. Just a mountain of fat that doesn't want to go away.
And, anyway, I already know what's going to happen, because it happened six months ago. I'm going to diet because being this fat makes me sad. I'm going to lose twenty pounds. I'm going to wear nice clothes. I'm going to go to work, where creepy men will tell me I look nice. I'll go to clubs and strangers will accidentally-on-purpose touch my breasts and ass. I'll be creeped out. I'll wonder why I'm starving myself in order for creepy men to find me attractive. I'll say "Fuck this" and eat a piece of bread. I'll gain twenty pounds. Repeat until dead.
Not that I'm saying that creepy perverted men are a good excuse not to starve oneself. I'm just saying.
Whenever we watch Project Runway, I see previews for that show about the personal trainer. The main chick, Jackie (?) interests me because she seems very ambitious and committed to what she does. And I admire that. Sometimes I wish I had a day job that involved copious exercise, so that it would be my job to stay thin. But then again, thank God I don't. Sometimes I just want to be happy, instead.
The starvation diet commenced three days ago. I will starve until I can look at all the bathroom mirrors without feeling sad. In the meantime, if any pervert says, "Hi, Gwen. You look nice today," I'm just going to tell him, "Fuck you." 8:38 AM # (14) comments
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Last NightA kitten ran to our feet as we pulled into the driveway and emerged from the car at 2:30 AM. He (kitten) seemed starving and scared, and yet affectionate and desirous of human company. We took him inside and fed him a can of tuna, then made him an impromptu litter box and bed, all before settling down to our own Whataburger taquitos.
Unfortunately, the kitten felt the need to bite my children's Playstation controller cords, claw my laundry, and bite my hands.
We put him outside after he'd eaten and gotten a little nervous (biting) energy out of his system. Whenever we'd catch him being bad, we'd pick him up to take him outside and he'd purr. Momentarily, the purring would throw us off and we'd let him stay inside a bit longer. Eventually, however, the Dark Side won him over and he went outside, and I only let his long, loud mewling tear my heart a little before I fell into a pre-hung-over slumber.
In the morning, he was gone.
Hey: Maybe he was just a dream.
Earlier Today
We ("We," in today's entries, means me and my boyfriend Tad) went to Best Buy and on the way, passed Pet Smart, and Pet Smart was holding Pet Adoptions Today. I suggested we check it out, because I love seeing the apathetic cats and reading the descriptions of them on the papers attached to their cages.
Today there was a beautiful white cat named Kaya or Maia or something like that, but she was more nerve-wracked than apathetic because the adopt-a-dogs were totally freaking out. Every time some person came in with their own dog, as if their dogs need to be shopping at Pet Smart, one particular adoptable dog would start barking his ass off, as loud as canine-ly possible. Then the dog next to him would freak out and start tearing up stuff in his cage. Like, we watched him literally tear up a towel. Into strips.
The pet adoption volunteers would yell, "Stop that! Cody! Stop that!" which, as you can imagine, was the best way to make the dogs stop making noise. (Actually, you're wrong. It didn't work at all.)
We looked at the birds and the rodents and the reptiles. And the fish. And then we tried to look at the cats again, but the dogs were barking in a special way that was specifically designed to pierce the auditory brain center of anyone who'd had a few mojitos the night before. (Tad used fresh mint from Whole Foods, making them taste extra good.) So I got a headache, and we had to leave.
Stupid People Who Can't Drive
There are a lot of stupid people in my new neighborhood who endanger my life with their horrible driving. I wish they would stop driving, or only drive when no one else is on the road. Or, at the very least, turn their fat freaking heads and look behind them once before putting their cars into reverse and abrubtly backing out of their driveways. And I drive slow in our neighborhood, too. I heart my kids, just like everyone else here. So - watch where the fuck you're going, stupid people who don't deserve cars.
Same goes to everyone driving to and from Austin every weekend. Jesus Christ, people. Get off your phones and use your mirrors. I am so freaking wired right now from the multiple adrenalin rushes it takes to save my life three or four times per Austin trip. I DON'T WANT TO DIE YET, PEOPLE. PLEASE LEARN HOW TO DRIVE.
The funny thing about the suburbs is that people will almost kill you, then make snotty faces and hand gestures at you... and yet it will freak them out when you throw the finger at them in return. "Oh, no," they seem to think. "This person is dangerous."
I can't help it, though. Try to kill me and, if you fail, I will live to throw the finger at you, to defy you trying again. It's one of the survival instincts I learned while driving in the 'hood, I guess. Sorry, suburban neighbors. I'm going to practice making the "What the hell" gesture, instead.
Because I want to fit in and be accepted. I want to be a good member of my community. 10:34 PM # (9) comments
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Domestic AwesomenessEveryone knows the good things about owning your own home: you don't "throw away" money on rent, you can make improvements to your living space and it's actually worth it, and you "build equity," whatever that is.
But here are other benefits that I've recently realized and continue to realize during my first month of home ownership.
1. Holiday Decorations
When you live in an apartment, you're lucky if you can drag a Christmas tree up the stairs and through the door with less than 25% needle loss. Or, maybe, if you're very lucky, you can fit an artificial tree box in your closet, assuming you have nothing else to store. Now that I have a house, I can have a fifteen-foot Christmas tree, if I want. And an artificial tree in my garage. Shoot, I can have three Christmas trees up, all year long!
For Halloween, we're going to have pumpkins all over the front yard. And those little Indian corns, too. I could even make a haunted house in my garage and have a freaking party! I could buy one of those giant spiders and put it on my roof. At the apartment, we kept this plastic skull in the closet year-round because thumbtacks wouldn't hold it and I was too scared to piss off the property managers by nailing it to the door. Screw that - now I can nail skeletons, Easter bunnies, American flags, turkeys, or whatever the hell else I want all over the door, then when it gets too hole-y, throw the door away and buy another one!
I don't know if I'm going to be as hardcore as my cousin Helen, who has tons of decorations for every single holiday including Arbor and Columbus (just kidding but almost). The beauty of owning a house is that I get to make that choice for myself.
2. My Own Personal Storage Unit
I'm talking, of course, about my garage. Do I feel like putting my car in my garage? I don't know. Maybe. Or do I want to fill it, instead, maybe, with my boyfriend's dad's cast-off furniture? Maybe. Where am I putting my dead bodies and three artificial xmas trees from now on? Hello - in my garage!
3. My Own Dirt and Grass
I can totally start a mink ranch in my backyard. I can totally get some chickens and a goat. Then eat them!
4. Noise
We can play Dance Dance Revolution again! We can play Playstation Karaoke again! We can take up riverdancing in the privacy of our own home!
5. All New Threats and Guilt Trips
Now, instead of saying, "Wipe the seat! Do you want the apartment people to keep our deposit because you couldn't be bothered to aim it in the bowl??" I can say, "Wipe the seat! Do you want to build equity with pee stains on it???"
6. Everything Is Green
From now on, if I want to buy green couches and green curtains and paint the walls green, and then buy wooden chairs from garage sales and paint them green, and then buy a Ronco food drier and dry a bunch of grapefruit and apple slices and festoon my green walls with them, then my ex-husband can't say SHIT about it!
Oh, wait... I'm getting confused. That's not a benefit of owning a house. That's a benefit of getting divorced and then owning a house.
See? It's even awesomer than I first realized. Thank you, God, Baby Jesus, Virgin Mary, Santa Claus, and everyone else who helped. 2:17 PM # (16) comments
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Very Quick Timeline of This Portion of My LifeFriday: Went to MUD to request in person that they set up my water account, as per the Rules of the MUD. Bought a couch which is back-ordered til mid August. Bought paint, and a lawnmower, and other housely things. Began what would soon be realized to be the longest cleaning job of my life.
Saturday: Prepped. Painted. Packed. All. Day. Long. Discovered that the painting will take four times longer than I'd first envisioned. Went to bed early.
Sunday: Up at 7:30. Tad and I packed while Mario and Letty continued the painting. Moved in between 3:30 and 6 PM. Took Letty and Mario to a Post Painting Dinner. Remembered at 10:30 PM that we needed to pick up a suit for Tad's next-morning job interview. Got home late, slept like corpses. Everyone was sore from packing and painting.
Monday: Up at 7:30 to let tree-trimmers hired by the electric company into my back yard. Unpacked. Cleaned the nastiest refrigerator I've ever seen. Removed shelf paper that covered the nastiest drawers ever seen. I'm talking about removing crusty shelf paper that covers shelf paper covered with suspiciously curly hairs and fingernail clippings. Went to Home Depot and discovered that some men are attracted to the sight of single women shopping at Home Depot. Coveted drills and chandeliers. Made it a double by going to Lowe's next door. Coveted faucets and ceiling fans. Bought a lawnmower's worth of gas. Arranged for gas and trash service. Looked for things in vain. Slept like a mummy.
Tuesday: Found out where to get my mail. Was visited by utility-gas man, who gave good advice but smelled unfortunate. Drove to Austin to get my kids. Drove back again. Proudly showed kids the house. Cleaned up dog shit kids accidentally tracked onto house's brand-new carpet. Located sheets for kids' beds. Felt guilty for not mowing lawn. Slept like doornails.
Today: Up at 6:30 to take kids to register for new schools. At the high school from 8 AM to 10:45. At the middle school from 10:50 to 12:45. At the elementary school from 12:45 to 2 PM. Took the kids school shopping, even though it isn't Tax Free Weekend, in order to have them try on pants, since they'll be at their dad's on Tax Free Weekend. Spent an hour or two at T-Mobile, replacing broken phones. Bought the new-middle-schooler his first phone. Weathered the elementary-schooler's tears after telling him he wasn't getting a phone. Considered buying groceries but was too tired. Took kids home and ordered pizza, caught up on Project Runway. Did a few piles of laundry. Will probably sleep like a baby.
Tomorrow: Back to work. Oh... right after I wake up early to buy groceries, I mean.
Was it all worth it? Yes. Very. Having this house is awesome, and I don't regret any of the crazy-ass effort that went into getting it. So, it's all good. I'm happy. More later, when I have something not-moving-related to say... 10:18 PM # (4) comments
