It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas!

Ahh yess....It's Christmas! It's Christmas! I'm sure it probably shocks you, but I love Christmas! I do!! I'm that crazy, angry hot-headed atheist who loves Christmas.  

Buddha loves Xmas!

And Naked Barbies love Xmas!

Even the Virgin Mary, Jesus and their pals love Xmas too!

When you see one of those stores that sells Christmas crap year round and you think to yourself “what kind of fucking moron buys Christmas crap year round?” you can think of me. I’m that fucking moron who buys Christmas crap year round. I have boxes and boxes of Christmas crap: decorations, figurines, plates and platters, tablecloths and napkins.....I am in a word, an xmas junky.

Some of my crap...

Big Santa!

Medium Santas

Teeny Santas

A few of my Xmas serving thingys

My fave....ceramic light up trees!

 
I can't wait for the day after thanksgiving so I can work my xmas magic. I am not the Black Friday shopper, I am the Black Friday decorator. Bring out any xmas record and a mug of eggnog loaded with booze and it's time......time for xmas love.

This year's Xmas Village

This year's Santa's Village

Even the old man is a Christmas Junkie. Although we never celebrated in any cliche way, we did celebrate. I mean his idea of Christmas music was Gregorian chants. My dad was so anti-religion that my sis and I thought we were Jewish because just like us, the jews got gifts but didn’t go to church. My dad would take Happy Birthday wrapping paper and hand write ‘Jesus’ on it so it would say 'Happy Birthday Jesus.' "There you go," he'd say...."Christmas wrap."

My Jesus-on-the-cross light. I love it but I didn't know Jesus was crucified in the Andes.

For me, Christmas was a time to hang with my cousins, eat some super good food and watch my dad, my uncle and my grandfather scream at each other....in other words it was just like any other family gathering...only I got a few gifts.

The Pope comes out for Xmas too

Our Christmas traditions were pretty groovy. We’d drive to Olvera Street and get some taquitos for dinner. After that, we’d pick out a tin ornament for our tree and then go buy our tree. Back in the day, they used to have tree auctions at the train yards in Downtown L.A. Every year was the same: we’d try to find the tallest tree or the saddest looking tree, tie it to the roof of the Volvo and cross our fingers that my dad’s crazy driving wouldn’t shoot the tree off the top of the car. My dad loved Christmas so much that he used to leave the tree up long after Christmas was over - one year it was up until May.

Mmmmm....taquitos from Juanita's in Olvera Street

Every Christmas Eve we’d head to my grandparent’s house. Christmas Eve was like a big fucking deal for my family. It was THE celebration. THE thing. THE eve of the goddamn fucking birth! To us guidos, the birth is HUGE......and so is the eating!! Us eye-talians tend to celebrate with a meal called Vigilia di Magro, which sort of means "no eat'a da meat!" That's why most Italians celebrate by eating the traditional Feast of the 7 Fishes. But we're not like most Italians....we don't like fish! The thought of cooking and eating seven different kinds of fucking fish with the fish smell and the fish stuff and the fish "is'a no gooood!" So what to eat on Christmas Eve? Pasta! Linguni with broccoli, garlic and olive oil, Mafalda (a type of pasta) in red sauce, sliced finocchio (raw fennel), tangerines, pizzelle cookies (pronounced ‘peet-sell-eee’), chocolates, and of course, Annisette, to toast to the birth of the baby Jesus. We also dined on yelling, screaming, hand gestures and gas. Good times.

Mmmm....Pizzelle

Mr.P had his own xmas traditions. His family opened presents on Christmas day - Christmas Eve was just like any other day.... I’ll let that go. His uncle would pile the kids in the back of his Ranchero, blare Johnny Mathis and drive thru Pasadena looking at all the xmas lights. They had Santa gifts and had Christmas stockings and they had a nice big turkey dinner. When I spent my first Christmas with Mr.P's family, I was a touch uncomfortable. It was very calm. I mean there was talking but there wasn’t any arguing. There was also no smell of garlic sizzling on the stove and it was very planned - like you unwrap, you eat, you leave. My xmas was you eat, you wait, you eat some more, you wait, you unwrap, you eat, you wait, you eat, there’s a fight, you eat again, you go home. Now just visualize Mr.P when he spent his first Christmas with my family...he still hasn’t recovered.

Mr.P's family Xmas dinner

I enjoy Christmas differently as an adult. Mr.P and I combined our traditions to make one big one. In an homage to my 'yute' we make our annual trek to Olvera Street and eat taquitos, but the RedHead wants no part in buying the ornament....she just wants the toys and begs for that fucking mini accordion every time....fucking kids! No more auctions at the train yards so we make do with our tinsel tree and I have my grandfather’s color wheel to light it up.

Our tinsel tree along with my grandfather's color wheel

In an homage to Mr.P's 'yute' we drive thru Pasadena and look at the Christmas lights. We have Santa gifts and I made some stockings. We eat guido food with the guidos on Christmas Eve and we hang out with the white people and have white people food on Christmas Day. It works and it's fun to watch the RedHead have a good time. And because I’m over 40, I’m now old enough to participate in the “Who’s House” argument. You know, the one where everyone starts putting their two cents in as to where to have Christmas and what to eat and who’s bringing what and what time and yada-yada-yada, bim-bam-boom. And of course everyone has an opinion and thinks theirs is the best. That’s probably why booze was invented....to numb this kind of bullshit. 

Stockings I made for La Famiglia

But thru it all I still love Christmas! I just do. So a toast (with Annisette of course)... I hope all of you have a great holiday and that you can get thru it with no traumas or dramas, that it’s fun for you and your family, that you don’t end up broke trying to buy just the right thing for so-and-so, that you feel fulfilled even tho they’re not serving what you want and you really wanted to make a desert instead of a side dish and it’s way too early in the day and you were hoping it would have been later in the day and even tho it’s at so-and-so’s house this year who lives 3 area codes away instead of at so-and-so’s house who’s only 20 minutes away and even tho what’s-his-name is going to be there who you hate and even tho you got a re-gift from so-and-so that you gave what’s-his-name two years ago and you got another weird gift from what’s-her-name that makes you wonder “Does this person really know me?”.........Yeah....Merry Christmas, or as we say in our family, Buon Natale!

Hey look...it's Me and Mr.P!

And please enjoy a few xmas gifts for you, my friends. These make me smile:

http://www.lesliehall.com/

 Her entire site is priceless but my favorite link is the one to the Gem Sweaters.

http://youtu.be/QsZGhJih5qI 

Please enjoy Foster Brooks' rendition of the 12 Days of Christmas. It's fan-fucking-tastic!!!

Snake Eyes!

Mr.P and I just got back from Las Vegas. I love Vegas! Mr.P and I don't gamble - we go for the the craziness and the energy and the history. We love that there's no time limit here - that it’s busy and bustling all night long. I love that even at Denny’s there’s a rogue slot machine by the front door because it can. You know how much I love crap and Vegas is the crap capitol of the world! My sis graciously offered to babysit the RedHead (and the OldMan), so we hopped in the Maxi-Mini and drove to Sin Sity!

Not many people know it, but Mr.P and I had two weddings. Our second wedding was in Las Vegas at the Graceland Wedding Chapel (Lorenzo Llamas was married here and Jon Bon Jovi too).
  

Hey look, me in a wig and Mr.P dressed as a pimp!

It was officiated by none other than Fat Elvis himself and our reception was at Liberace’s Tivoli Gardens restaurant. Tivoli, by the way, is ‘I lov it’ backwards.

The most amazing room ever!

Since Mr.P and I love a road trip, we decided to drive to Lost Wages and stop along the way. Back in the day, there were some groovy points of interest see. Victorville was where the old Roy Rogers/Dale Evans museum once stood.

It's Trigger!

And in Barstow there was a Harvey House. Harvey House Restaurants were the first restaurants to run along the railroad and employ female waitresses. 

The old Harvey House

The worlds tallest thermometer stands in Baker and the Bun Boy Restaurant and Motel are right next door. We actually stayed there on the way to wedding number 2.

Nothing better than a Bun Boy Burger!

Unfortunately all of these places have shut their doors. The thermometer stands dark and even Liberace has served his last cocktail.

We got a deal on a room at The Wynn and it was amazing - although the locals don’t like it very much since Steve Wynn blew up the beloved Desert Inn to build his homage to himself (Blasphemy!) Our room was beyond spectacular with a view of the strip and a big beautiful bed with down everything and lots and lots of marble. I felt like an extra in Caligula.

But as we wandered around the hotel we realized our Vegas had changed. Grandma wears more sparkle than the Follies Bergere! And we saw ASS - lots of it! Young girls in come-fuck-me-pumps, wearing these teeny tiny skirts with their ass cheeks peeking out. Holy crap it was like an ass fest! An Ass-travaganza! It was Ass-stounding the amount of Ass we saw! We saw more ass than a proctologist. What happened to the days when all you saw were boobs? And to watch these pretty young things, drunk off their tiny-little-hanging-out-of-their-skirt asses, hanging onto their older, middle eastern boyfriends, in their prerequisite loafers with no socks, cigarettes glued to their lips, $200 jeans and cell phones stuck to their ears was just plain icky!

First stop - cocktails at the Fireside Lounge in the Peppermill. Step back in time to the late ’70’s - early ’80’s. A mirrored room flanked with purple and pink neon, pink sofas and a sunken pool with a fire pit in the center of it. It’s the coolest place ever - cross your fingers it doesn’t have a date with the wrecking ball! 

This photo says it all

The next day we checked out the Neon Museum - this is where all the old casino signs go to die. The lobby of the museum is the lobby from the old La Concha Motel. It’s fantastic.

The La Concha in its heyday

The old Sahara sign

The sign from Sassy Sally's

The beautiful Stardust sign from the '50's

Stars from the Stardust

We walked around Freemont Street during the day - I like Freemont Street during the day because it’s less crowded and you can see what the darkness hides. I like the Mermaids Casino. They always have some ladies standing out front wearing Caribbean garb, handing out mardi gras beads. This time they had some women WAAAAAAAAAY over 40, missing some teeth ridden hard and put away sweaty. Fucking awesome! Of course we stopped in for our $1 hot dog and $3 Hamms Beer. We would have gotten the deep fried twinkie but the line was too long. Mr.P got his boobs and ass shot glasses and I got my Las Vegas coasters....I could go home happy now.

Ok we saw a show, Le Reve....Mr.P loved it but truth be told I fell asleep during it. I guess I’m just not used to class. Now if it was Don Rickles or Cher, I’d be awake for days! After the show we took a cab to Ellis Island for dinner. What? You’ve never heard of it? It’s right behind the Bally’s inside the Super 8 Motel. Ask any valet, cab driver, bartender in Vegas and they’ll tell you this place has the best steaks and BBQ in town....and they’re right! Yes, our hostess was missing an eye and our waiter was a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic, but our steak dinner was delicious and it set us back $17.00...for two!

Nothing says class quite like a pat of butter and a tube of cream cheese thrown on top of the food

Bloated from dinner we did some walking on the strip, a la tourista! We meandered thru some of the casinos and had some cocktails. I won $82 on a slot machine at Caesars. I just love that if you’re broke and you want a drink, all you have to do is sit at a slot machine and they'll give you one for free! I love Vegas! We walked to the Mirage and got our Sigfreid and Roy White Tigers t-shirts, we had cocktails at the waterfall at the Wynn....and we forgot all about our traumas and dramas at home. 

Yesssss, a statue of the Masters!

It was finally time to go home and Mr.P actually let me drive the Maxi-Mini home. We got back just in time to argue with the RedHead about her messy room and why there was sticky stuff all over the kitchen cabinets......I can’t wait to go back to Vegas!

Anne Frank was wrong...people are shit

I was walking out of my apartment building the other day, heading out to pick up the RedHead and I was feeling pretty groovy - my hair was behaving, my car was finally driving like it should, I had lost a few “lb’s” so my ass wasn’t looking so b’donkydonk... life was good. I got to the last few steps and I saw this woman coming up the steps. Being neighborly I thought I’d smile and say hello. But instead of her smiling back or even acknowledging me, she gave me a dirty look, turned her head away from me and briskly walked passed me. I stood there wondering.....thinking..... what’d I do? Do I smell? Because why.....why....why doesn’t she like me?

Oh C’mon....you’ve felt this way before. You’ve been nice to strangers or a bank teller or cashier or even another mom at your kid’s school and they’ve shunned you, ignored you, not said hello back, treated you ‘less than’ when you treated them ‘equal to’.... and it sucks. It’s crap. It’s shit. Right? I mean, it’s just not nice when you put yourself out there and people shit on you.

Everybody (including you - admit it) wants to be liked. It doesn’t matter who you are or who they are, you want them to like you. Even if you don’t like them, you want them to at least like you. And why shouldn’t they? You’re fabulous, right? And there are those days when other people’s bad manners or bad moods strike you in the gullet like a sword the size of a Buick and you can’t shake that feeling of complete shitness.

The owner of the music school where my kid takes music lessons has never acknowledged me. She’s never looked at me, said hello or goodbye, she’ll talk to the guy next to me, the guy behind me, the kid in the chair behind the guy behind me, but she’s never said two fucking words to me. Mr.P says I should shit in my hand and throw it in her face. But my question to you is what the hell did I do? Why doesn’t she like me so much? If someone obviously doesn’t like you, and you haven’t been an asshole to them, don’t you wonder what’s going on? When that happens to me, I always wonder what’s wrong with me. My friends say it’s them and maybe that’s true......maybe.

I’m not mature. I’m not smart in the ways of dealing with people. I don’t know how to handle inter-personal relationships. If someone is an asshole to me, we either get into a super big screaming match (remember: Italian/Irish) or I just write them off and brood about it for months (remember: Italian/Irish). My friend says I’m too sensitive and that’s totally true. I cry at red lights. I still can’t watch Lassie because I am so worried about that damn dog - “He’s gonna die! He’ll get lost!”. I was at my friends house the other night and I cried about my car. And I take everything personally, I admit it. If someone cuts me off I say “He did that because he hates me!” when we all know the ugly truth is that he’d cut his own mother off. I’m sort of narcissistic in an ass backwards kind of way.

I guess my whole thing is people just aren’t nice anymore. It takes so much more energy to be an asshole so why are we such assholes? Why don’t people use manners or teach their kids manners? Why don’t people say hi? Why is it ok to be on the phone all the time - like at the cashier at the market or while trying to park in a crowded parking lot? Why can’t people hold the door open?  Why can’t people say “thanks” when you hold the door open?.....the list is endless.....and how sad is that.

And the kookoo part is that it’s so rare when someone actually does show a bit of kindness, like saying “Thank you” or “Hello”, it’s like Moses parting the Red Sea or hell freezing over because it makes your day.....at least it makes mine....because then I regain a little faith in humanity and then I know.....they like me! They really like me!

dumb fone

I’m a fucking moron. An idiot, a maroon, a goof, a douche, a dumbell, a dumbshit, a dumbass.....that’s what my phone says to me every time I pick it up. The phone may be smart but I am not because for the life of me I can’t figure out how to use it. And being married to my own personal genius bar doesn’t help much either because when I have a question or a problem he rolls his eyes and says things like “I don’t know what to tell you” or “it works for me” which, in a word, makes me feel even dumber than the hipster jerks at the Genius Bar.

I used to enjoy date night with Mr.P. We’d go out, order a few cocktails, have some nosh, chit chat about all kinds of crap and it was great. But now there are four of us on date night: Me, Mr.P and our phones. I thought I was smart and funny and full of witty repartee until he got that damn phone. Now when he needs an answer or affirmation he whips out his phone......I feel dumber and dumber with each swipe of his finger. It’s gotten to the point to where he asks me a question, and I don’t even answer it....I just tell him to Google it. I'm not an innocent here either....while he's looking something up on his phone, I'm usually texting someone else to complain that he's on his phone. Yeah, I'm a douche.

“Honey, it’s in the cloud!” Fuck you and fuck the cloud. I hate hearing that phrase, 'it's in the cloud'. I don't want it in the cloud, I want it right here right now! 

I miss my Technics receiver, 

I miss my Sony dual tape deck 




 


and I miss those Pioneer speakers that were the size of my car. 



Remember those days when all you had to do was pop a cassette into the player or the record on the turntable and there was music? Do I sound really, really old right now? I used to make my own mixed tapes, then I'd pop that tape into my Blaupunkt car stereo, adjust my EQ, and I cruise the Westwood Village in style. So simple. So easy. To try to listen to one song from my phone takes about as long to accomplish as law school. First I have to press the little button with the music note on it then I have to click ‘artist’ or ‘album’ or ‘playlist’ or ‘genre’ or if I want, I can press the ‘genius’ button and have the phone pick a song for me (like I can’t find my own goddamn song!!) - and then I have to download the fucking song from the fucking cloud. Downloading from the cloud takes about as long as it takes for the RedHead to clean her room. And I’d better have good reception or it’ll take forever to hear the damn thing. I get that it saves space and all your stuff is in in one place....I get it, I get it.....I GET IT!!! I miss my tape deck.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I am not technologically savvy. I mean I’ve figured out how to check my email and how to take a pretty good photo and of course, how to text (I'm real good at that!) but that's about the extent of my computer knowledge. Even trying to put the photos on this blog took me 3 weeks! My car has no idea about technology either. It still has a carburetor. People stare at me because I use a key to open it. I still can’t figure out how to use the stereo in Mr.P’s car - I feel like I’m on the Space Shuttle. And let’s not discuss how I can never figure out how to answer the phone when it rings in his car....you know, thru the speakers and the radio and the thing with the thing and the thing.....OY! 

My car keys

Mr.P thinks I don't like technology and that's simply not true. I mean I love my Tivo and I love central air. It's just that it seems like there is nothing else in the world that's more important than the release of the newest, most best smart phone and I just can’t keep up with it. I mean I’ve tried and tried to understand my computer and my phone but just when I start to figure it out, they change it. It’s like learning English all over again. 

I'm one of those folks who likes looking thru the dictionary, I like reading the paper and turning the pages, I like opening a physical book or thumbing thru a magazine, I like to write my own ‘to do’ lists with this crazy contraption called a pencil. And I think I’m the only person under 80 that still manually dials phone numbers....I know, It’s nuts. Mr.P can't understand why I'm so adamant about not figuring out the phone or the computer. It's not that I don't want to, it's that I can't. I just don't have that brain. And now I'm starting to  resent our reliance on them, you know? I mean you can't go anywhere without people being on them. It's getting creepy. As the French say, “Everything in moderation, including moderation.”

A diagram of my engine....no computer

So I’ve gotta go. I’ve gotta take my 40 year old car to my 81 year old mechanic. They changed the maps on my phone so now I get lost just looking at them. Mr.P says he's going to get me my very own Thomas Guide so I don't have to mess with the maps on my phone anymore. I love him!

My handset

And They Said It Wouldn’t Last!

“He’s weird!” I said. “Look at his watch?” He was wearing a troll watch, complete with bright pink hair and yellow shiny eyes. I was in the middle of my ‘ewwie’ face when my friend SeniorPP says to me “Hey.....dummy.....you’re wearing the same damn watch!” And there it was, proof positive that there was a guy out there just as weird as me.
 

For years (and I mean years) my friends kept begging me to go out with him. They said we were meant for each other. He liked everything tiki and the Ray Conniff Singers. He liked Disneyland and 70's tv shows and any kind of road trip. They said he was the was the ying to my yang, but I just didn't see it. My friends were persistent, one time giving him my number and having him call me only to be rebuffed when I told him I couldn't go out...my cat had kittens. I don’t know why I was being so picky - it’s not like I was any prize myself. I was an out of work actor who had just been fired from my day job at a bakery. You can better believe that if I was a guy and had just met ‘me’ I’d run real fast in the opposite direction.

But things change when you’re 33 and still single - even the guy wearing the fucking troll watch starts to look good. So I called him and asked him out - expecting him to say no...but he said yes.

There was a muscle car show at the Peterson Automotive Museum and I was dying to see it. Yes I’m a car freak (especially VW's and muscle cars) and I knew that this guy would be a keeper if he was willing to indulge my auto obsession. And he was. Honestly I don't remember the walk thru the museum, I just remember him. After we checked out the cars we talked in their snack bar until it closed. We ended up at Miceli's for dinner and ordered a pizza and a bottle of chianti in a wicker bottle. The waiter handed us a pen and had us sign the wicker chianti bottle before hanging it above our heads. And at the end of the date, he surprised me with a model of this new Volkswagen Beetle that was going into production soon. 

I was hooked.

13 years ago today we were married at the Peterson Automotive Museum, the site of our first date. Our reception was at Miceli's, where he proposed, and we ordered a lot of chianti in wicker bottles and had everyone sign them. Every year we celebrate our anniversary by going to Miceli's and drawing on a wicker bottle. The only difference now is that we take the RedHead along with us. It's not all wine and roses - he hates that I drop the f-bomb in front of the RedHead and I hate that before he wished me Happy Birthday this year, he said Happy iPhone 5 day, but I gotta say I still dig this guy. I really do. My life would be shit without him - it really would!

So Happy Anniversary Mr.P! I love you like crazy! Thank you for liking me for me. By the way honey I want to test drive the new Alfa Romeo.

Are We There Yet?

The fam and I just got back from our yearly road trip to visit my sister in Arizona. Those who are in the know, know that my sis and I have had our rocky road.....technically I’ve wanted to kill her since 1972. But we’ve come to a mutual understanding about each other so no attempted murders have occurred within the past few years.

My sis has a very nice position at a swanky hotel in Phoenix so we are lucky enough to enjoy the perks of her position - in other words, we get a sweet deal on one of those crazy mega-rooms at a huge 4-star hotel with crazy air conditioning, a lazy river and many poolside bars! Can you say “Pina Colada?” oh yessss!

Mr.P and I love a road trip and usually rent an abnormally large American car for the 5-6 hour drive out. We own much smaller, air-conditioned-challenged vehicles which are no bueno for the Arizona heat. This also gives us a chance to drive a car with an engine the size of our house so we can go 90 miles an hour without the car sounding like it’s gonna explode.

Now that's a poor bastard!

I love the drive on the 10 east. I love kitch and crap and this drive is full of it! I am in love with Americana probably because I was raised to abhor it. We stop at places like Cabazon and check out the dinosaurs and eat at the Wheel Inn (the best home fries anywhere.) We also like Quartzite and hope to one day to dine at the “world famous” Quartzite Yacht Club (yes, a yacht club in the desert). I love the names of the towns along the route like Blythe and Needles - they actually look like their names. And I know we’re close when we hit the Tonopah Travel Center. I love shopping at any drug store or mini-mart and when they're along the interstate, it’s fucking cake.

This place has the best bathrooms.....and homemade fudge!

Most people can’t understand why we would go to Arizona, and in the crazy heat of summer no less, but frankly who the fuck cares. The heat sucks - it’s god-awful, but I like that no one seems to be phased by it. As my sister once said “I just go from my air conditioned house to my air conditioned car to my air conditioned job. What heat?” (picture Mayim Bialik’s character on the Big Bang Theory saying this)

How much is that in US dollars?

I like the sights of Arizona. Like the guy walking down the street in 113 degree heat, wearing a long sleeved shirt, smoking a cigarette and wearing a hat made out of an old box. Or the guy on the Harley with no helmet (that’s legal in AZ) with a knife on one side of his belt (yeah, that’s legal too) and a gun on the other (yup even that). Or the sign at the restaurant that reads “Please leave all guns at the counter.” I like the people in Arizona. I like that the hipster factor hasn’t really hit here yet. There are no guys wearing skinny jeans or fake glasses and fedora’s. Haven’t seen one Prius in Arizona yet :) The tattoos in Arizona are images of people loved and lost, not homages to the onion or other favorite foods or cooking utensil. I love that everyone by the pool at our hotel is as pale and pasty as me and that they don’t give a shit if their ass is the size of a Buick, they’re getting in that pool Goddammit!

'Shaque" with a "Q" - nice!

People....Welcome to Donna Jean's Libations!

 And this might sound horrible and callus but god bless the old people moving out west and dying so that I might find some of the most amazing treasures that have been graciously left at my favorite Phoenix area thrift shops. Seriously you haven’t thrift shopped until you’ve done it in Arizona.

My muse (aka: my sis) found this Gucci scarf for $1.00 at a Phoenix thrift shop

From the Goodwill in Scottsdale. They look so sad!

I love Arizona and I can’t wait to go back! More Indian fry bread with green chili sauce, more of D’s delicious grilling and horrible puns, more thrifting with my muse - aka: my sis, and more pina colada’s by the lazy river with my big fat pasty pale ass! You can keep your Cabo and your Hawaii! I’m goin’ to Phoenix baby......in that crazy hot motherfucking summer sun!

Looks tasty! I like any place that has an RV in the parking lot!

Band Camp

I dropped the RedHead off at band camp today. No, it’s not marching band band camp. It’s Rock Band Camp. This is where parents send their kids to A) see if they would like to learn a particular instrument B) form a band with other kids and learn how to play a rock song and C) six hours away from the house under the guise of “learning” so us parents can have a little “me” time - guilt free. My kid actually loves this place. It’s her second year there and she loves all of it - from forming a band to coming up with a band name to learning a song and then performing it. There are a lot of stage moms and dads at this place, hoping their child will be the next Eddie Van Halen or Taylor Swift, most of them look ridden hard and put away sweaty, with the bleached hair or the “Brazilian Blow-Out”, facial reconstruction, so skinny they look like refugees from a foreign country and way too much bling on their pants! And yes, this includes the men. When a man has more bling on his ass than I do, it’s no bueno!

So we get there this morning and we see a mom talking to a counselor. This mom obviously did not get the stage mom uniform memo. She was dressed as frumpy as could be, in a shiny olive green, way too long, pleated skirt and some old-lady slip on mules with a too-short-of-a-heel and a decorative knot on the top and a pretty horrible home perm. Remember Mrs. Kintner from Jaws? The one who says “My boy is dead!” to Chief Brody and slaps him? This woman is a dead ringer for her. Anyhoo, she was telling the camp counselor that her son, her precious angel, was upset that he wasn’t getting enough play time, kids weren’t nice to him, they were too loud and he wasn’t able to play the bass like he wanted. She kept going on and on about how someone needed to do something to help him and how he was sensitive and special and how he needed to feel welcomed. Her arm was on the sign in sheet and I didn’t dare interrupt her - this was priceless! I was as quiet as a church mouse so I could soak up all the delicious nonsense!

But after listening to her for less than a minute I realized that 1) he obviously didn’t go to public school and 2) she was turning her kid into a pussy. This wasn’t a 4 year old, this was an 11 year old boy. I’ve seen second graders who would eat this kid alive. What the hell was this woman doing? And she’s not the first one I’ve seen that has gone out of their way to make sure the powers that be know how special and smart and sensitive their kids are. If everyone is so special and so smart and so sensitive then doesn’t that mean that we’re all so special and so smart and so sensitive? And if we’re all so special and so smart and so sensitive then doesn’t that mean that we’re all the same? Holy motherfucker! At the end of the day there is always going to be the asshole, you just have to teach your kid how to deal with the asshole! I totally get this mom because I was her! Maybe not to that extent, but I wanted to make sure that nothing bad ever happened to the RedHead. I think we all do, right? So for the first years of the RedHead’s life I hovered over her like a tarp. I did everything for her and when she went to school I worked at the school to keep an eye on her, threatened kids who were mean to her (yes, I did), I was at that school morning, noon and night until my kid told me to back off and let her fight her own fight. Great. What was I gonna to do now? 

So after 5 minutes of listening to how people should treat her young man, I’d had enough. As per my usual way of doing things, I stuck my foot in it. The counselor looked like a lost ball in tall grass, the mom looked ridiculous in her Alfred Dunner for Penney’s concoction and before I could stop myself, it just came out....“You get a bunch of kids in a room and they’re gonna get loud and there is always gonna be the jerk. And if there are drums and guitars involved, it’s gonna get even louder. It’s the nature of the beast.” The woman turns around and just stares at me. She was giving me the old “Mind your own fucking business" eye but I must admit, all I could see was Mrs. Kintner, dressed in black with that veil and her premature wrinkles and her most famous line “My boy is dead!” kept replaying in my brain. So I smiled and of course, I opened my big yap again (because I have no self control!) and say “He’ll be fine. Sometimes you gotta let the kids figure it out. Let him do his thing” and I walk out. “Let him do his thing”.....what was that? “Let him do his thing” What I really wanted to say was “Listen sister, let’s you and me hit the mall because that outfit is just not cutting it!” 

Has Anyone Seen My Child?

Has anyone seen my child? She’s silly, has a great sense of humor, is empathetic and super easy going? Does anyone know where she is? Someone seems to have taken her and replaced her with a dour, brooding, argumentative beast and I’m not thrilled with this unfair trade.

Welcome to hormones! I like to think of this as the party before the party....and wow, what fun! In the 2 weeks since she’s been out of school, she’s only come out of her room 4 times and that was under duress. I’ve counted 5 smiles (which were at my expense) 2,592 eye rolls and 1,347 ‘whatevers’. Good times!

When she was a baby I couldn’t wait for her to get older....now I wish she was a baby again. I’d give my eye teeth to have her hug me because she wanted to and not because I beg her to. She used to make me tell her stories about my childhood and now she says “Yeah, I know, you told me already!” It’s like living with Donald Trump - all the broo-ha-ha of that smart ass mouth and much ado about the hair!

Today I quietly knocked on the door (I vacillate between the hippy “I don’t want to intrude on your space, man” to the Dr. Laura “I pay the rent on this place so you had better open this goddamn door!”) and I reminded her to practice her music and tidy her room. After the usual “I don’t want to!” she practiced...for about 5 minutes and then it stopped and she sat in her chair with her book. When I asked why she stopped practicing after only 5 minutes, she began to scream at me a litany of reasons: I don’t need to, most of it was optional, I’m frustrated, I hate it, I want to quit, I’m not in the mood and my personal favorite.....I’m tired.

Let’s think about that one for a moment, “I’m Tired”. Of course she is. I mean it’s tiring going to bed late and waking up later, going to summer camp 3 hours a day, reading graphic novels and playing games on the iPad that your father bought you much to my dismay and playing with your friend who lives a few apartment’s down.....Yes, it’s pretty darn tiring....it’s just such a hard, tiring life.

She’s tired?.....I’m tired! I love how my husband gets a vacation and my daughter gets a vacation....but I never get a fucking vacation! So when the RedHead said she was tired I just looked at her....and all I could think of was the day I had.....a day of driving her ass to science camp at USC then driving to my dad’s to pick him up and take him to the store then drop him off at his mechanic then to the pet store then to the health food store to buy Mr.P’s “heart healthy” foods and his glucosamine and then back to USC to pick her up, all within 2-1/2 hours, driving in rush hour traffic on the 110, in the heat, in a 40 year old car with no air conditioning and manual transmission....and she’s tired? I looked at her, wide eyed.....how was I going to get thru these next 7-8 years? It was fine with me if she wanted to go thru teenaged angst but she wasn’t gonna drag me down with her. I knew I was going to have to do something that was going to prove a point without having an out and out brawl!

And so it came to me......Doris Day and Brian Keith starred in one of my most favorite movies, “With Six You Get Eggroll” about a widow and widower who get married despite the fact that their kids hate them. In one scene, Brian Keith’s daughter (played by a very young Barbara Hershey, pre-lip injections) gives some big time grief to Doris Day (seriously, how can anyone give grief to Doris Day!). So Doris Day, at her wits end by this point, says “You want to be the woman of the house, you got it!” and proceeds to give Barbara Hershey a list of chores and things that need to be done by the end of the day. I love, love, that scene. I love it because it teaches a huge lesson in humility while not being humiliating. 

And so right out of “With Six You Get Eggroll” I looked the RedHead straight in the eye and as calm as I could I said “You wanna know tired? I’ll show you tired......” I told her that she needed to do the chores she hadn’t done since she got out of school and then she had to do mine: clean the bathrooms, fold the laundry, vacuum the house, make the dinner and do the dishes. She could read or watch tv when she was finished with everything and bed time was at 9pm, tired or not. I think the fact that I was so calm moved her to do what I asked without an argument.

After 2 hours everything was done. And not half bad either. I sat around and made sure she saw me relaxing, reading and sewing and asking her to get me things that I could have gotten myself. And when she was done she came up to me and hugged me, hard, and said “I’m sorry mommy. I’m sorry I spoke to you that way.” Just like in “With Six You Get Eggroll” when Barbara Hershey apologized to Doris Day. We sat and ate dinner (that she made). My RedHead was back.....for the moment anyway. 

Yes, I know...this won’t last....but it sure felt good. This morning I had her fold another load of laundry and she did.....so maybe it will last.....nope...nope....I just got an eye roll when I told her to practice her music. This is so not gonna be fun!

Rewards Smrewards!

I was at Ikea the other day buying some napkins - yes, I make the trek to the Ikea for napkins because they are super groovy and super cheap and life is too short not to use super groovy cheap napkins! I also picked up a Produkt (milk frother) and some Sparsam (fluorescent lightbulbs). I was at the register when the cashier says to me “Are you part of our Ikea Family?” Huh? “Do you have your Ikea Family card?” Huh? My what? Oh no.....It seems that Ikea is the latest in a long line of retailers who have jumped onto the “rewards” bandwagon and I think that is a fucking drag!

I went to PepBoys to pick up some heater hoses for my 40 year old car (let’s not discuss the fact that they no longer carry parts for older cars anymore and the guy behind the parts counter didn’t even know what they were) but since they didn’t have them, I bought some wax and a can of resin glaze. The cashier says “Are you a part of our loyalty rewards program?” I was kind of in a daze....still po’d that they didn’t have those hoses for my car. “Ma’am....” by the way, I’m a ma’am now.... “Ma’am, your loyalty rewards. Do you have your PepBoys Loyalty Rewards card?” My what?!! I am stunned. “No!..” I say. “Do you have heater hoses for my car?” The guy just stares at me. “Well then, I guess we’re even!”

Sears, OSH, Target Pharmacy, Ikea, PepBoys, Vons, CVS, Ralph’s, Walgreens, World Market, PetSmart, PetCo, RiteAid, you name it, it seems like every store, market, gas station, any place where you can buy anything has some sort of special club that promises sweet deals in exchange for your personal information and personally, I’m really sick of it. Can’t I just go into a store and get a decent price because it’s the right thing to do? I hate looking for my rewards card or fumbling to find the widget on my keychain or trying to remember which phone number I have to enter just to get a normal price.......for anything! Just give it to me - ok!

And the older I get and the more shopping I do, the angrier I have become! The poor pharmacy clerk at Target hides when she sees me because she's afraid I'll go into my usual rant as to why I don’t want to sign up for 5% off on the 5th prescription filled. I have begun to shun the card. Give me the higher price, I don’t give a shit anymore! My privacy is my own little "fuck you" to the man! I try not to shop at places where I have to use “the card” anymore....but today was different. 

I was so busy I had to bite the bullet and hit the Vons. I was by the tomatoes when I noticed there was a young man walking towards me. He was wearing a sassy orange "CalTrans" inspired vest and had an iPad velcro’d to the palm of his hand. In a assertive voice he says “Are you finding everything ok?” I say “Yes, thank you” and continue to look at the veggies. “Ma’am...” remember I’m a ma’am now.... “Ma’am, have you heard about our new ‘Just For You’ rewards program?” Oh good god no! You've gotta be kidding me! Not only do I have to use my fucking value-rewards-loyalty-shit-ass card every time I come in here just so I can get a decent price on the fucking tomatoes that are in my cart but now there is another fucking thing I’ve gotta sign up for and swipe on top of it? They’ve gotta be kidding me! So as politely as I can and without strangling the the poor bastard I say “No thank you” and I walk towards the salad dressings. He follows me. “Are you sure? This program is loaded with savings!” “No thank you” I say more emphatically as I briskly walk towards the deli. He continues to follow me. “You get a free dozen eggs!” Now I’m jogging! “I don’t want any eggs!” I scream over my shoulder as I run away but he’s on my ass. And right as he slams into me he yells “You also get a free pound of coffee!” I turn around and as loud as I can I let him have it “I DON’T WANT EGGS! I DON’T WANT COFFEE! I WANT YOU TO GIVE ME A DECENT PRICE ON GROCERIES WITHOUT ANY CARD OR ANY CODE BECAUSE IT’S THE DECENT THING TO DO! CAN YOU DO THAT?!!” 

This poor guy. He is seriously hating life right about now. He was just doing his job and had the bad luck to run into me. But I gotta give it to him.....without missing a beat he says “I was just trying to save you a little money” and he walked away. I felt pretty terrible about it. I didn’t like yelling at him. I know I'm not supposed to shoot the messenger but sometimes it feels really good to shoot the messenger!!!

I guess he was ok because I saw him walk up to the deli counter and try to sign up an elderly man.......who had a stutter.....I couldn’t watch. 

So I left the Vons.....less cash, more aggravation, feeling a little bad for the guy.....got in the car.....picked up the RedHead, got home, poured some vino (yes it was before 5!), turned on my Tivo’d People’s Court, got ready for the Caprese Salad I made with my overpriced tomatoes....and they tasted like shit! Fucking Vons!

Mother's Day

Well this Sunday is Mother’s Day so I thought I’d give a big shout out to all the moms I know and love - and I’ve known a lot of them. It takes all kinds to be a mom - aunts, cousins, grandmothers, friends.....and no one knows this more than my sis and I. You see my sister and I were not raised by our mom, we were raised by our dad. That doesn’t mean we never celebrated Mother’s Day.....we did....we just celebrated it with our dad. 

My sister and I learned a lot from our dad, aka: TheOldMan. We learned that you’re supposed to stick your head out of a moving vehicle and meow when you see a beautiful woman or a woman with big boobs. We learned how to distinguish a “rug” from real hair. We learned which crayons work best to draw on the tv, to put your postage stamps upside down to protest the war and how to turn ordinary swear words into MegaSwearWords...to this day I know people who still say “Assholio”. 

My dad was in way over his head. He had no idea how to raise two little girls from the ages of 4 and 2. But goddamn if he didn’t try. Our upbringing wasn’t normal, especially in 1969, but then again what's normal? He was a painter (especially nudes) so there were a lot of boobs and crotches all over the house. We looked at Playboy a lot growing up since my dad used them as ‘reference’ to paint his nudes..... ...right. After taking a bunch of us kids to the movies, he took us “hooker hunting” on Sunset Blvd and we actually saw a few! He put us in private school because he didn’t want us to salute the flag. Yeah, it was nuts but we did the ordinary thing too. We had birthday parties at Disneyland and cakes covered with sugar frosting and Cinderella carriages, we had play dates and sleepovers, we had music lessons until I told my piano teacher to fuck off. He showed up to our school plays, took us to Dr. Linker, did carpool and on his turn he’d take us to get popsicles, he taught us to cook, taught us about cars, etc....I never thought our upbringing was bad or wrong and I for one never missed not having a mom since I had a mom....she was my dad.

But the bummer for me now is that TheOldMan is really old. He doesn’t remember teaching me about cars, he doesn’t remember how to make red sauce, he doesn’t even remember telling us to meow at beautiful women. Now I’m his mother and he is my child and that is crushing. These past few years have been especially hard dealing with this new person that is my dad. I try to be patient but inside I'm screaming "Hey! You taught me this!" It's beyond frustrating and deeply painful. And just when I think he's totally gone and I've lost him for good, he pulls an old school dad - like flipping the guy off next to us on the freeway and screaming "Assholio!" And that gives me hope! 

I think this Mother's Day gift will be a Playboy and maybe I'll even take him hooker hunting.

Happy Mother’s Day Dad!