Just Another Day

So the other day we were out at a restaurant. It was fairly early on a weekday evening, the atmosphere was relaxed. Our waitress comes over and announces the specials in a rather (I thought) brusque manner and takes our drink orders. I whispered to Hubba-hubba, "Well, she certainly is never going to win Miss Congeniality with that attitude." I whispered it because I am unfailingly polite to wait staff, and if I have something bad to say about them, which I do on occasion, I crane my neck around to see if any employees are near and deliver my criticism sotto voce . I have never understood people who are rude to waiters and other employees of an eating establishment. I mean, these people are dealing with what you are putting in your mouth! Don't piss them off! I have never worked in a restaurant, but I know people who have, and my stomach churns at their heartily related tales of spitting in people's food and "accidentally" dropping it on the floor, onl

So Heather (go and check on her fabulosity!) put up a post and wanted her readers to consider it a meme, and I thought it was pretty cool. Here goes: I live... in the land of abundant sunshine. Sometimes, too abundant. I live... in the best state in the US, despite its flaws. I live... in a place where "freeways" are clogged day and night. I live... thirty minutes to stepping on the sand at the beach. I live... forty five minutes from downtown Los Angeles. I live... in a prosperous city that takes care of its residents. I live... on a very steep hill. I live... with a view for miles and miles out all my back windows. I live... above a stream where frogs sing to me at night. I live... cooexisting with coyotes and rabbits. Unfortunately for the rabbits. I live... very close to my public library. I live... on a quiet, private street. I live... in a townhouse with no backyard for my son. I live... often wishing he had a backyard. Hopefully soon. I live... in a house painted

So welcome to the Constitution edition of Pointless Points Trivia, where the points don't matter! That's right, just like the legislative branch's attempt to restrict free speech, they just don't matter! And they would do well to remember the answer to this question! The United States Constitution refers to itself as "the supreme law of the land." In what article can this "supremacy clause" be found?

So the heat lately has been a bit much, especially for June, which is usually a cool month due to the marine layer that takes most of the morning to burn off. Except the past week has brought no marine layer and 90's and 100's. Not my idea of fun. In times like these, I always wonder why I am not living somewhere like Alaska, where it just isn't so damn warm and sunny ALL THE TIME. But the heat is just a not-so-clever segue into why we were at the beach yesterday. Beginning after Memorial Day, the beginning of what we SoCal natives like to call "The Stampede of the Wildebeasts" begins. Otherwise known as "tourist season." And as such, we avoid like the plague places where tourists like to gather. Yet somehow, we found ourselves at Huntington Beach yesterday. With it's pier, beaches, and its insistence on calling itself "Surf City, USA" Huntington Beach gets more than their fair share of out of state visitors. Hubba-hubba had the id

So since our eleven year old Honda Accord is reaching 184,000 miles, we have been thinking about the day it is going to finally die. Which will probably be sooner rather than later. But, I think that it has performed beyond the capacity expected of a car, with only a very few things giving out in its old age. I have never owned any car other than a Honda since I have held a driver's license, and I happen to think they are one of the best makes out there. Boring, but the best. And there lies the rub. I was reading this article about the Kia Sedona, a minivan. And in it, the author refers to one Amy Bowman, a 32 year old mom-to-be who has foolishly sworn that she will not buy a minivan because of "the image thing." Hello, are we still in high school? A car is a machine that takes you to and from. It should be reliable and relatively comfortable. Anything else, and you have entered the realm of keeping up with the Joneses, which is never a good idea. Some Jones, som

So the excellent read Waiter Rant has just posted a list of cell phone etiquette, and I'm going to let him do the work for me today. If you haven't ever checked out his blog, it is always thought provoking, and I have it on my blogroll. I happen to think all these ring (ha!) true, and the sad, sad thing is that there are so many of them! It has kind of gotten out of hand, at least here in LA, and apparently also in NY. I cannot tell you how annoying people with cell phones are. Rare is the person who has not acted like a jerk at one time or another with their phone. And Hubba-hubba says that well over half of the drivers at fault in car accidents that he takes reports for had been using a cell. I had a cell phone for a very short time, and I have only wished to have one perhaps three times a year on average. For the money I'm saving, I'll live with the occasional longing. Here is Waiter's List: HOW TO USE A CELLPHONE WITHOUT LOOKING LIKE AN ASSHOLE 1. Do not

So welcome to the Sunday morning edition of Pointless Points Trivia , where the points don't matter. That's right, just like me wishing President Bush would do something about global warming, they just don't matter! What country is Greenland a part of?

So I was up last night until 4:30am, how about you? Hubba-hubba has been in the field of law enforcement for a long time. I should clarify that he is not a police officer, although he does have powers of arrest. He is considered a civilian member of the police department, although he does almost everything they do, except without a gun. He has a unit, he has flashing lights, he has a police radio strapped on to his shoulder, and he's got a bulletproof vest and a badge. Although I think his strongest weapon for self-protection is pepper spray, which doesn't really comfort me all that much. This has not deterred him, however, from chasing carjackers on foot, apprehending graffiti "artists," taking down bar fighters, catching burglars in the act, and the list goes on. When he was on day shift, he taught an anti-drug class, similar to DARE, at the elementary schools in his city. He is often the first responder to accidents, getting there even before the police office

So when I began to recover from the birth of Mr. Personality and the subsequent six months of CONSTANT SCREAMING due to his colic, I began to realize I was a bit lonely. The organization to which I will assign the pseudonym "Disorganized, Backstabbing Club of Mothers" was something I read about online and decided to find a chapter in my area. I soon discovered that I had not much in common with any of the ladies who had children close in age to Mr. Personality, or maybe they just thought I was a stuck up or something. Many of them were very well off monetarily, but very unahppy, at least that is the impression I got from our conversations. I got to be friends with a few women, but the interest on both sides never extended to meeting outside of normal playgroups or scheduled events. I was fine with it until this incident . Interestingly enough, I saw said woman at the grocery store not too long ago (it was inevitable since this town is just not all that big) and I immedia

So Mr. Personality and I have an ironclad bedtime ritual. We take a bath, we read books, and then I turn to him and say, "Good night, I love you." I hug him and give him kisses, whereupon he hugs me and kisses me back, replying in his soft little voice, "I love you too, Mama." Tonight, that didn't happen. It was fine right up to the "Good night, I love you" from me, but the reply was, "I don't love you Mama." Ouch , you can bet that hurt. He has never told me anything like that before, and certainly no one has ever told that to him. When he is angry with me he will usually knit his eyebrows together and glare at me with a very direct, "I don't want to talk to you anymore!" In the semi-darkness, trying to hide my surprise, I told him that he had hurt my feelings a little bit. In retrospect, I realize that was probably a bad move. But this came out of nowhere and it was like a sucker punch to the gut. I had been firm w

So welcome to the bragging-rights-in-ping-pong edition of Pointless Points Trivia, where the points don't matter. That's right, just like my sister's efforts to win, they just don't matter! In what year did table tennis become an Olympic Sport?

So Father's Day was spent at my sister's house, with good BBQ and the requisite games that we always play when my family gets together . Overheard during a bocce game: Uncle: (protesting the measuring of the distance of the bocce balls with a pool net) C'mon, it's just a game! Hubba-hubba: Yeah, that's what the losers always say. See how nicely he fits into my family? Oh, and I beat my sister at ping-pong.

So for this Father's Day, I will regale you with a story that has become family lore. One day when I was around 11 or 12, my leg around the area of my inner thigh/hip socket began to hurt immensely. It was also difficult to move my leg. As the day progressed, it got worse, and my father decided to take me to the hospital to get it checked out. I don't remember a whole lot of detail about the beginning of the office visit. It may have even been the emergency room, I'm not sure. All I remember is the doctor saying that he wanted to scrape some bone sampling off of my thigh bone or something of the such. It was probably some first year resident trying to be fancy. But the procedure involved a needle of the length normally seen in horror movies, no anesthesia, and a nurse swabbing my inner thigh with Lidocaine. Without warning, she suddenly plunged the needle into my thigh, then began assiduously scraping the bone. As one would expect, I began to scream what could literall

So today I experienced a major milestone in mothering. Oh to be sure, I've certainly felt like a mother this whole time, but I knew I was missing out on a key component. Now, now I can finally hold my head up high, secure in the knowledge that I have now joined thousands, if not millions of other mothers in this experience. Yes, today I groggily rolled out of bed to turn on the television for Mr. Personality, since our morning ritual is for him to watch a limited amount of television while his father sleeps. And I plopped down on the sofa, blithely ignorant of what was waiting for me. Or specifically, waiting for my butt. A green toy soldier, and of course he was holding a bayonet. I feel complete.

So the other day at the store, I noticed a group of adolescent boys. They were perhaps 15 or so, in that rather adorable stage between boyhood and manhood. One second they were acting too cool, the next whispering something gossipy into each other's ears. Lately, it has been hitting me that not too long from now, that will be my son. Growing up in a very estrogen-heavy family, boys have long been intimidating to me. I have never really been able to figure them out. They sat in class, making weird noises and doing what I deemed to be stupid things. I never got asked to "go around" in middle school. I like to tell myself it was because I was taller than all but one of them. And played sports better than most of them, too. I managed to bypass the teenage boy crap in high school because I attended an all girls high school, and my first boyfriend was 19 to my 16. Every guy before him was a very short-lived crush type of thing that basically went nowhere. But honestly, I

So welcome to the Disney edition of Pointless Points Trivia , where the points don't matter. That's right, just like my attempts to explain to Mr. Personality that we can't buy him things every time we go there, they just don't matter! Where is the only place inside Disneyland Park (CA) you can legally purchase and consume alcohol?

So all of these transgressions were witnessed by yours truly at Disneyland today. Take this advice from a person who has visited Disneyland multiple times a year practically every year of her life. When visiting Disneyland, you should not : -Wear high heels and a dress. I don't care how hot you want to look for your date, it is a bad, bad, idea. And if this was a last minute decision, it was an extremely poor one. -Bring one of those huge mega strollers, including the jogging strollers. You are just going to have a hard time getting around, not to mention making people mad when you plow them down with it in a crowd. You will have to stand in the longest lines for the tram, and be forced to ride the elevator in the parking garage since you don't have the capability to fold it. I know they have the roomiest storage bags, but you'll have to do without. Suck it up and buy a good umbrella stroller. -Smoke in an area that is not designated especially for smoking. I mean,

So one of Mr. Personality's big things at the moment is to ask me, "Where did you get that?" He will ask me this question about anything I happen to be using/cooking/cleaning etc... In the first few days of this phase, I tried to have a very faithful recollection of where that thing came from. The watermelon came from Vons. The towels came from Costco. The lotion came from Target. Although this questioning is perfectly harmless, being asked the origin of everything in the house began to get a bit boring, since it seemed like I was constantly repeating myself. I mean, I only shop at so many stores these days. The other day as he was taking a bath, he asked me, "Where did this come from?" referring to his toy pirate ship. I paused for a moment, trying to recollect exactly where I had gotten it. Then, something in me snapped a bit. I leaned forward and in my most patient voice said: "Honey, that particular pirate ship was shippped over on a big boat fro

So, do you think somewhere there is an advertiser positively giddy at the thought that the above title could actually be true? I suppose there are indeed products that would profoundly change your life, things such as a wheelchair or glasses. But I am couching this post in terms of things you can just stroll through the aisles and buy, strictly consumerism at its finest and most appealing. While they haven't necessarily changed my life, they have managed to make it a bit better. These are things I had to find the hard way. Things nobody told me about and I had to spend months, if not years, discovering their existence. And so my friends, I wish to spare you that small bit of pain. I have decided declassify my favorite things. Amlactin - You would think lotion is just lotion, right? That's what I thought until Costco (thank you, dearest Costco!) had a bottle of it on sale with a coupon no less, that for some odd reason decided to purchase. Put this stuff on your gnarly

So I decided to do this meme because I love J so much, and I loves me my music. Even bad music that I am now embarassed to admit that I liked. But at the time, man, I thought I was so cool. Billie Jean- Michael Jackson. Now people, remember that this man used to be normal. He used to be the King of Pop! I know you remember. The man didn't sell millions of albums because everyone thought he sucked. I also liked the video on this for some strange reason, even though it was probably one of his most low-key. Blue Bayou- Linda Ronstadt. Let us hearken back to the days of my early childhood when my Dad really liked Linda Ronstadt. Linda was pretty hot back then, not sure if she was married to Jerry Brown at the point of this song's release. All I know is that I would put it on the tape player and warble right along with her, and to my ears, I was pretty sure I hit those high notes. Looking back, I think not. Hot Child in the City- Nick Gilder. Who the hell is Nick Gi

So let me begin by saying that tonight, I am a bit traumatized. Not by workmen trudging through my kitchen leaving muddy footprints on my white tile floor. Not by having a flashback to 1993 by sleeping in my old bedroom for two nights. And not by the fact that not that long ago, lethal gases were swirling about my abode, killing every living thing in their wispy paths. No, I am traumatized because my son is still with his grandparents. And I'm here by myself. For the first time since he was born, he is not with me. I can't tell you how strange it is to know that there is no little boy snuggled in his bed in the next room. That I will not be awakened to the little voice in my ear saying, "Hi Mama" and the subsequent good morning hugs and kisses. He has been so clingy lately, and I was fearing that I would forever be clasping that small, slightly sweaty hand. When he pronounced his willingness to stay at my parent's house, I wanted to capitalize on his percepti

So, welcome to the my-house-is-being-tented-for-termites-tomorrow edition of Pointless Points Trivia , where the points don't really matter. That's right, just like our efforts to keep the little buggers out of our lives, they just don't matter! You will be heartbroken to know that I won't be back until Friday, but I knew from the antics of Liz and Hope that I had better put up some trvia, pronto! Yes, yes, I love you guys too... When those soon to be eradicated little termites are participating in the all-you-can-eat buffet otherwise known as my ceiling beams, what is the name of the primary energy source they are ingesting?

So you know how in life, you encounter people that due to their actions, they ensure that whenever you hear their name, it causes a negative reaction? Where you swear that you will never name your child that name due to the bad association? I have a couple of people in my life that fit that description, and R was one of them. At my former job, this woman saw me as a threat for whatever reason, and did whatever she could to backstab and undermine me, all with a smile on her face, of course. If I hadn't trusted implicitly the sources who informed me of her doings, you would have thought she was one of my best friends if you had seen us together at work. In fact, she committed one of the most egregious acts that ever happened to me in my working career, one that still makes me angry when I happen to think about it. I had a wonderful working relationship with our manager, and when she resigned, she assigned me some duties she wished me to carry out in the few days after her depart

So I have to leave for a while, due to no fault of my own, and I come back to find my comment section hijacked. And no picture of me. It took a while because I was getting my computer fixed for free, and beggars cannot be choosers. Or at least so I tried to tell myself. Trying to set everything up again, so I don't think I'll be posting until tonight, but thanks for the well wishes for the computer. The Windows configuration decided to get all corrupted on me, requiring all sorts of "slaving" an other weird things I decided I didn't really want details about from my brother-in-law. Ignorance is bliss, says I.