Showing posts from June, 2005

Mrs. Gina's Neighborhood

So I live in a townhome, and with that comes a certain proximity to my neighbors that I am still a bit unused to. My family always lived in a house with ample space between us and our neighbors (in California terms, anyway, which is completely different than most other parts of the country), so unless a big party was being thrown, everyone could go about their business and rarely see or hear their neighbors. With a townhome comes a more communal feel, as if you have all kind of thrown your lots in together, for better or worse. We are lucky to live in a development that was built in the 70's, for we are much more spread out than new developments. My street is a private street that is essentially a big "U" shape, with most of the houses ringing the outside of the U, and a couple houses and the pool in the middle. I can look out my front windows and see up to 10 other townhomes. Thus, I tend to know a lot about what my neighbors are doing. If you couple that with Mr. P


So now I wish I had not spoken with my sister earlier this evening. We didn't argue or anything like that. No, it was something worse. She has now passed her disease onto me. I am speaking of Dancing With the Stars . Let me tell you that my sister swore off all "reality" television after being badly scarred by Last Comic Standing . (Remember that show? I didn't think so.) That, unfortunately, was her first foray into this type of television. She had such high hopes, and was so disappointed that the least funny guy won, she vowed never to trust her heart to so fickle a medium again. Survivor had already passed her by, she only tuned into one episode of The Apprentice at my behest, and The Swan never even had a chance. But then, on a boredom filled night when even her one hundred cable channels turned up naught, she found it. She tried to tell herself how uninterested she was in ballroom dancing. She tried to fool herself into thinking that all the dancers su

Postcard From the Edge

So I checked my mail today, and happily, I recieved a postcard from some online friends I have made who reside in Canada. It was a picture of Ottowa's Parliament Buildings from the Rideou Canal. I am not proud to say that I have never really seen or heard of either of these Candadian jewels. American History in schools is pretty much exactly that, with little-to-no mention of our neighbors to the North, except to mention that we managed to steal Alaska from them. Even in World History texts, Canada is little more than a footnote in the British Empire. Now I'm not saying I agree with this rather dismissive view, I'm just trying to explain the view from here. The first thing that struck me is that we have absolutely nothing that looks like those buildings here in Southern California. The closest to royal we have are The Castle Green in Pasadena and the Magic Castle in Hollywood . The buildings in Ottowa looked so regal, so European, and well, just darn parliamentary

An Entry from Lady Whiner

Dearest Diary, Today hath been especially tough. The King and Prince for whom I toil day and night hath both fallen cursed by an evil faery. The dreaded Coughing/Runny Nose/Occasional Vomiting Curse hath struck Them, and struck Them most harshly. I cannot tell who is the most petulant, the 2 year old Prince or the 34 year old King. It is quite a close contest, worthy of the finest jousters in the Kingdom. The King has also refused to stop taking his medication, claiming that it "makes him itch." Ah, the delusions can sometimes be quite entertaining... Between bartering for cheese crackers and grapes to fill the larder, running over to Ye Olde Library to update the video collection for Their viewing pleasure, and changing vomited-upon royal bedding, I can hardly think. I had wished to get some time in on the spinning wheel for the Prince's special tag-free shirts that He insists upon, but having to hold the actual Kleenex for Him in order for Him to blow His nose wa

Now How Could I Possibly Market This?

So I have this really great, useless talent. I know the sex of your baby almost as soon as I am told you are pregnant. I found out yesterday that I have been correct for 12 straight pregnancies (including my own), and am waiting for confimation on the 13th. This dubious talent appeared only after I had my own pregnancy, I don't remember ever getting a "flash" of knowledge like I do at this point. Now I am in no way a mathematically inclined person, but I do know that my chances of being wrong are of course 50/50, not taking into account the possibility of twins or something. There have been no twins yet. What I want to know is, when does it become a statistical anomaly to guess correctly so many times in a row? Do I have to get to 30 or more before it becomes something not in the realm of lucky guesses? Statistics are so not my thing. One catch, however, seems to be that I must know you personally in some way. I haven't really tried it out on people I don't k


So, I got the itch to change a few colors on here, and lo and behold, things got a little out of control. Is it horrible? Is it nice to have a bit of a change? I figured if I didn't have enough money to redecorate the house, at least I could "paint" my blog! The good thing is I can always go back to the former template if it is just too much for everyone's eyes.


So my dad and I have always been close. He is a wonderful father, the best a girl could ask for. Here are a few tidbits about my dad... He was born in a tiny hamlet in Western Pennsylvania to an Italian immigrant coal miner and his wife. He attended Catholic schools his entire life. He is very into astronomy. He is one of the few people qualified to run a 60 inch telescope such as the one up on Mt. Wilson . He used to be very into cycling as well, at one time buying himself a five thousand dollar bike from Italy at the peak of his obsession. He has done at least five century rides. (100 miles) My dad always took the time to coach me in whatever sport was in season. He also made sure to attend every game or performance I had. At times, our team adopted him as "team dad." Everybody loves my dad. When I talk to people I haven't seen in a while, they ALWAYS ask about my dad. Due to his obsession with cycling, he used to have a license plate frame that read, "Cycli

If My Son Can No Longer Watch Bob the Builder...

we are going to have some major trouble over here! I am going to unashamedly steal an excellent topic from Suzanne over at Mimilou . I have been hearing for quite a while that Congress has been considering cutting the budgets of NPR and PBS. I think this is a terrible mistake. If you feel the same way, please click on this link and sign the petition. Mr. Personality will thank you for saving his beloved Sesame Street, Caillou, Clifford, Bob the Builder, and Thomas the Tank Engine.

Take My Rock, Please

Who is it that decided that a house should be kept clean all the time? I want to know who it was that determined a huge portion of my time should be devoted to cleaning various forms of gunk off of various surfaces in my home. What committee meeting was held without my knowledge that implies I am a bad mother if I my house is not in a constant state of purity? My problem with housecleaning is the Sisyphisian proportions of it. If that wasn't already a word, I just made it up. As soon as I wipe crumbs off the toaster, they are back within 24 hours. I clean toys up off the floor each night only to be confronted with the same toys in different places the next night. And for that extra thrill, sometimes I even discover toys that he managed to find and drag out from underneath the sofa. Toilets, bathtubs, showers, sinks, carpets, it's the same old routine. How does one keep from going crazy cleaning the house all the time? I find myself rebelling in different ways. For example,

So I'm Starting to Take This Personally

We just had another earthquake. I was with Mr. Personality in bed while he was taking a nap, you know, just making sure he was sleeping ok. Right, so anyway, I hear a slight rumble and the first thing my mind jumps to is helicopter or airplane. But then the bed begins to shake. It is hard enough to set off one of his toys, an annoying baseball tee with obnoxious music. I put my arm around him in case I have to get us both off the bed in a hurry. He mumbled in protest and went right back to sleep. I, on the other hand, was now wide awake. We just had one of these on Sunday, and it was a bit bigger than this one, although not by much. I just found out that we were closer to the epicenter on this last one, so even though it was technically smaller, it felt bigger due to our proximity. Right now they have it measured as a 5.3 magnitude , although they may demote it after a while. It was based in Riverside county, which is the next county over. That explains why I thought the pict

Forgive Me, for I Have Sinned

So honestly my friends, I never set out to steal seven dollars today. But I did. Let me tell you what happened. I needed gas, so I went to one of the gas stations around here that has the cheapest prices. There were quite a few people there, and I had to wait in line for a bit. Finally, I get a spot. I immediately grab pump #15, hook it into my car, and go to the self-pay kiosk. A guy who has just pulled up and jumped out of his car cut in front of me, so I had to go to a different terminal. I enter the pump number like the screen tells me to, and it informs me that pump #15 is already in use. I don't believe it, as I know that it is currently hooked up to my car, and I haven't paid yet. And I know that I didn't take it from anyone. I try again, and it gives me the same information. Then it hits me, the idiot who cut me off must have entered pump #15 without checking to see if it was available. I look over and he has a confused look on his face. I, who am by no mean

Oh So Worth It

So I was on another blog a while ago, and I can't remember the name of it, but the author mentioned there was a birth meme that was going around. There was no sort of formal invitation to it, and it can include any kind of birth story. From your "real" children, to your adopted children, to your adopted parakeet, they are all good. As I am feeling sentimental about my ever-so-big little boy, I will write his birth story for history today. It will be long, but oh so worth it. Let me first say that I became unexpectedly pregnant. We knew that we wanted children, we just wanted to wait about a year and then try. Despite the best efforts of birth control, our son was conceived less than two months after we married. We just knew that he was meant to be, as God had so very firmly placed him in our lives at that juncture. I was working, but was exhuasted from having to get up at 4:30 am to get ready for work, as I got there early to avoid traffic. My body rebelled against

Anybody Need a Kidney?

I'll sell mine, fairly cheap... I need some quick moolah. I just read that Pink Floyd was going to be playing for the first time live since 1981 with all original band members. I have always vowed that I would see them if they ever got back together. Ok, well, that was before I was married and had a toddler, but that still doesn't change the fact that I would LOVE to see them. Oh, they and another little band called U2 will be playing at the Live 8 concert in London, which was organized by (Sir) Bob Geldof for African relief. I think Elton John, Paul McCartney and Coldplay will be there as well. I was on a blog named Angry Pregnant Lawyer a while back, and she had a list of all the concerts that she had ever been to. Since I am bored and the theme today is concerts, she has inspired me: U2 2x Duran Duran 2x The Go-Go's Morrissey Paula Abdul (a friend dragged me to it, I really didn't want to go!) Peter Gabriel The Cure St. Etienne Oingo Boingo 8x Andrea Bocelli P


I am beginning to think that I could never bear to even visit Texas. Even a stopover at the airport would be too much. Why will my son only eat raisins (the golden kind only, mind you) unless I call them "kitty treats?" Just finished reading Me Talk Pretty One Day by David Sedaris. Absolutely. Hysterical. I haven't laughed that hard at a book in a very long time. For the first time in my life, today I cleaned another human being's poop off the floor. At least it landed on tile. It's the little things you are thankful for sometimes. I wish I had the time to wash my car like I used to when I was younger. My car was spotless inside and out, I would go in between the air conditioning vents with a Q-tip, for goodness sakes. Needless to say, that is no longer the case. I did, however, recently utilize a Q-tip to clean the toys I won on Ebay. Is it too much to ask that they be cleaned? Something about someone else's dirt freaks me out. When I was doing resea

I've Been on my Laurels for Long Enough

So I have been thinking about body image lately. I stopped going to the gym for almost two months because Hubba-hubba needed to increase his workouts in order to qualify for a fitness bonus at work. You'd better believe I would suspend my gym outings in order to ensure an extra $300 a month! I am planning on beginning again next week, as things are a little hectic here. I had noticed a weight gain, or perhaps I just felt ungainly. It is kind of funny though, how even though I have gained lots of weight over the last few years, I do not have a bad body image. When I look at myself in the mirror, I do not recoil in horror, or wince at the various bulges. I can't really say if that is a good or bad thing! I do need to lose weight, and I think for some reason, my mind plays tricks on me and I see my former thinner self in the mirror. Kind of the opposite of what a person with anorexia would do. But it is also a good thing because I know how many women beat themselves up ove

A Couple Questions

So does it make me a bad mommy if... ...I silently call my son a "punk" while closing the door to his bedroom after he has taken an hour to fall asleep? ...I constantly make disparaging comments within hearing range about the annoying Brenda Blue and the rest of the rather scary and off-tune cast of Jay Jay the Jet Plane? ...I still bathe him and hardly ever let him do it himself because he is getting so big and I know one day soon he will just grab the washcloth from me and bellow, "No!" ...I tell him that frozen yogurt is ice cream? ...I never bought a wipe warmer, and instead have been wiping him from his birth with freezing cold wipes? ...instead of changing the sheets one night when he peed through his diaper, I just put a towel down? son has a running commentary in the car that ranges from, "Whoa, that was a big cut off!" to "This is our parking spot." ...I spoil him and give him massages before he falls asleep at night? ...I don

Hormonal Imbalance?

So the club of stay-at-home mothers to which I belong has basically self-imploded. When I first joined, it seemed that they were a fairly tight knit bunch of gals that basically got along. But then the leadership changed, and it seems based on the results, that it was not very good leadership. It turned clique-ish, with a "we're better than you," mentality. Attendance to events and meetings dropped to almost nothing, and then the outgoing club treasurer sent a long, excoriating email to everyone chastising them for their lack of interest in the club. At first I thought, where does she get off sending this to us, but then another side of me applauded her for speaking her mind. What happens to us women sometimes? For my entire work history, I worked almost exclusively with women. As they say, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Don't get me wrong, when the right group of ladies clicks, they can be practically a force of nature. I have had great

The Cutthroat World of Bob the Builder

So I thought nothing of it when PBS began airing "Bob the Builder" episodes on Saturdays. Mr. Personality is not really into television, although he has learned the entire alphabet and numbers 1-20 from Sesame Street. But it was in a very passive, osmosis sort of way. He had no obsession with any one character or show, and this made toy buying easy, as I could just about get him anything and he would like it. Along came Bob. From the first exciting claymation episode he saw, Mr. Personality was hooked. He had already been "into" pounding hammers, drills, and the like. So seeing the living embodiment of these skills on television was just too much for his two year old brain to resist. He incessantly sings the theme song, and at random times throughout the day will scream, "CAN WE FIX IT?" Whereas I am supposed to drop everything I am doing and yell back, "YES WE CAN!" He has little Tonka construction trucks that are a backhoe, a bulldozer

Naming Names

So the other day while on vacation, I was thinking about my friends online that I have made. When there is a relevant topic, I find myself mentioning things about them in conversation. Then I got to thinking, what should I call them when bringing them up? Now, please don't anyone be offended, but it seems to me a little different to befriend someone online than in person. I thought of myself and how I always write to pretty much reflect the "better" parts of myself, or if I write something not so complimentary, I don't completely trash myself. I began wondering if my blogging friends, who are indeed dear to me, would think I was so funny when they heard me snap at Hubba-hubba when he didn't get the right pillowcase (don't ask). Or if I would seem all that great of a person when fuming behind some idiotic lady at Target who failed to bring her driver's license into the store and had to have one of her young sons go out to the car by himself to get it.

The Power of Three

Thanks for tagging me, Amy ! 3 names I go by: Mama, Gina, Bee-yotch 3 screen-names I've had: uhohmama, ddspet, ginam 3 physical things I like about myself: my eyes, my hair, my complexion 3 physical things I dislike about myself: My entire middle area, my toes, and I'm not too crazy about my armpits. 3 parts of my heritage: Italian, German, Czech (I've got all the ingredients to make a great dictator! Benevolent, of course.) 3 things I am wearing right now: Pajama bottoms, pink shirt I got at Target, ponytail holder. 3 favorite bands / musical artists: U2, Dead Can Dance, Oingo Boingo 3 favorite songs: American Dreaming/DCD, Something About You/Level 42, Where the Streets Have No Name/U2. It is impossible for me to pick just three, there are lots more, but I'll play by the rules this time. 3 things I want in a relationship: Love, the ability to make me laugh, respect. 3 physical things about the preferred sex that appeal to me: A nice booty is a plus, a great smile, no

I'm Baaa-aack!

So it was ok the first day or so. I kept telling myself that I could get along just fine without it. I mean, I had lived over half my life never using it, so what was a few days? Then my fingers started twitching. I began to plot how I could go over to other people's houses and use theirs. I predictably had a million perfect blog topics, none of which ever lasted longer in my memory than a day or two. I tried to convince myself that my life was better without it. I had a sneaking suspicion that everyone was having fun without me. I am talking about Gina with no computer. My friends, it was beyond pathetic. I now have a tiny inkling of what it must be like to be a crack addict. I pined, I moped, I tried to keep myself busy doing all the things that I normally should be doing when I am instead typing on the computer. It was a dull and listless existence. One of the only downfalls of free computer help is that you cannot exactly demand that the person helping you drop every