Flippity Flop

So its supposed to be pretty hot today. And while I was getting ready this morning, I noticed a tiny glowing dot on the bottom of one of my flip flops. "What the...."

I picked it up for a closer look and chuckled, it was a butterfly sticky. I spent yesterday in Pasadena with a dear friend and her two glorious girls. We had a fabulous time : eating Trader Joe's Chocolate Kitty Cat Cookies, getting dressed, trying some new eyeshadow on mommy, napping in the car, touring the "South Side" of Pasadena and topping things off at Target. At one point the girls, very enamored with my flip flops, decided to take them for a walk around the house. And I'm left with a lovely reminder of a lovely day...

 a slide show of our adventure <3

Sing like no ones listening?

So this is our singing neighbor. He lives somewhere on our street and is constantly walking up and down the block...singing...LOUDLY. The first few times I noticed, I just stood in the window watching in amazement. "Doesn't he know that EVERYONE can hear him???" I'd say to the boy. "I'm sure. Maybe he doesn't care?" he said. So I've been trying to catch him on video but every time I do, he either walks to damn fast or stops singing. FINALLY! I got a little blip. He sings everything from Christina Aguilera, Beyonce, Sam Sparro to Rihanna and Brittany. Mostly pop queens apparently.

I can't decide if I'm perplexed or if I admire his courage to not care who's watching. Is this what they mean when they say, "dance like no one's watching," ???? Yes I have to much time on my hands.

Dog Days are Over

I couldn't sleep for the life of me last night. Finally around 4am I gave up and got online. And of course around 5:30am I started to get tired. "no way," I thought. "I ain't wasting this morning." So I got out of bed and made the boy pancakes and eggs. Red faced with crepe-y eyelids he emerged from slumber. "Is it my birthday? Pancakes on a TUESDAY!" he gleamed. "Yep! why the hell not right?" I said. And we sat there in food silence, eating and waking while it was still dark outside. Of course the boy went right back to sleep with another twenty minutes left before the first SNOOZE hit.

snazzy William Sonoma Pancake Pen ooooooo, ahhh!

As I washed the batter bowl I began to dote on my William Sonoma Pancake Pen. It was one of those purchases that I was completely against as it seemed unnecessary and silly. "Why do we need that?" eyes scanning sarcastically over to the boy. "Because why don't we??? We're getting it." he stammered. And damn it I'm glad we did! It makes regular pancakes a breeze and all the same size which I love! And it makes using pancake molds an absolute dream. Just don't forget the cooking spray.
   Placing the decomposed pen into the rack, I began to think, "I'm getting the hang of this being home thing....finally." I haven't been depressed or bummed out, no tears, no anxiety....just being. And what a gift its been. To be able to have time and energy to appreciate everything around me and not worry about it. >>>sigh<<<  If I know Murphy's Law, I'm sure this means I'll be getting a job soon and it will all end. So I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts. In the now.

nummy pancake molds from WS. The Star Wars ones really do rock.

I had the dishes done, boy's lunch made and dog fed by 7am. As I stood outside overseeing Fiona's business, one of our neighbors rushed past me, my jammy pants shuttering in her breeze. Her heels clacked the sidewalk hard, traveling coffee mug in hand, and she stopped short as she boarded her Saturn SE. Her eyes traveled the length of my leisurely gear in judgment and she furrowed her brow at me. As she shoved her bag into the back seat, I raised my arm--poop bag in hand. "HAVE A NICE DAY!" I smiled buoyantly, waving the poop bag back and forth. She paused, furrowed again and then quickly slammed her door. I knotted the bag and looked down to see Fiona, smiling at me, proud of her poop. "COME ON GIRL! COME ON!" I yelled as she chased me up the alley to the dumpster, the sunlight pouring past the palm trees and nearby apartments.

And thats all I have to say about people like that. I'm tired of letting them make me feel bad for what happened, for where I am right now. I'm sorry some of them are jealous. I'm tired of people asking me [what the status is?] and worrying for me. I'm thirty-fucking-one years old. I got here didn't I? I have faith that I'll figure it out and thats all anyone needs to know.

listening to : Florence + the Machine

Honest Elly

Honesty....I love it.  <3

THIS END UP ----->

So the boy and I got to talking tonight about "what if's?" in terms of major disasters. In light of whats currently happening in Japan, its a little hard not to imagine what one would do in such a situation. We tried to formulate a plan : where would we head first? what if there was no way to reach anyone? should we have a meeting point? what about our families? what if we're not together when it happens? what about the dog? And that was pretty much the last straw for me. My mind started to drift off and sale away to anxiety island. And I'm actually surprised at this! Usually I'd be able to handle a discussion like this without launching a full attack of tears. But all i could do was picture the most dire scenario: the city in ruins, me wandering the streets ALONE, writing messages on buildings, trying desperately to get to the boy. 

The thought of the possibility of loosing everything you have in matter of minutes....I can't even fathom. I'm not sure if its the right thing to do but at some point you really do have to turn the television off and stop watching the news. Or you'll go crazy. And honestly, the reality is that we're always in danger of loosing everything, every minute of the day. Life wouldn't be so beautiful and mysterious and amazing if it weren't for that fact. "FRAAAG-EE-LE," as they say in A Christmas Story. 

From the open door of the bathroom (because we're THAT couple) I yelled to the boy who was in the computer room,"What about a zombie attack??" "NOT gonna happen. NOT possible," he said while reading. "But how do you know?" I bugged. "Because you can't reanimate dead tissue." says he. "But what if the government has some secret terrorist tissue weapon and they CAN reanimate dead tissue???" I continued. "Then I'll just have to try and remember that you're my favorite zombie, and not to axe your head."  <3  

Thank god for the boy's sense of humor and the half of Xanax thats getting me to sleep tonight. :o)

You've got the love...

Recently I finished this painting. Some of my heros posed as The Holy Trinity : Samantha Stevens, Martha Stewart and Julia Child. And now every time I brown meat, pull a frozen pizza from the oven, or boil water in my beloved kettle, they are there for me. Watching, guiding and inspiring the lady of this house. 

listening to : Florence and the Machine - You've got the love

click to enlarge

I heart La Roux

OK. so. I'm kinda crushing on this right now...

love love love....

Latinas in the mirror are closer than they appear...

The police drove up our alley late this evening, questioning our whereabouts and leaving me with a false sense of security. My mother's convertible had been parked out front in the pouring rain all day and we had just decided to move it under the carport. As she toweled off the front seat, I turned to see the patrol car clearing the corner. While the sound of cracking gravel drew closer and closer, I prepared a mental equation to balance the situation: (two Latina women) + one crouched half way into a BMW convertible -  the other--appearing to stand guard + dressed in a heavy overcoat and baseball cap = light questioning recommended.

An officer leaned out the passenger window, "Hello ladies, everything ok here this evening?" Peering under my now suspicious ball cap, "oh yes, we're just drying off the inside of the car," I replied. "Alllrightly then..." he said through the car's continuous roll. I could see the cop continue to stare at me through the side mirror until he turned his head, his blond hair catching fluorescent light. And they drove off, slowly up the alley, disappearing into the night rain. "Is it ok that they're patrolling?" my mom asked, her nose scrunched under her glasses. "Yeah.....they do it all the time." I said. "I mean.....its better to see them than to not....see them....right?"

Joanie loves Tchotchke

The boy and I have this running joke about our kitchen window, which is actually starting to include the entire kitchen. When we first moved in I decided to make the space extra cozy--by my standards. I figured since I would be spending a decent amount of time in there cooking, cleaning and doing dishes that welllll it should be filled with things I like to see. What started with a few small nick nacs, religious candles and incense, quickly became a SHRINE. And being the latin girl shacked up with a white boy that I am, naturally I started to worry about the guero's response. 

He started first with just a few raised eyebrows as he carried his MICROWAVED quesadilla into the living room. Then there was the one raised eyebrow with one very low eyebrow as he stood at the sink, finishing a bottle of water. And then finally over preparing some homemade pizzas, he asked, "why does our kitchen look like a taxi cab?" And we both immediately started cracking up. " I KNEWWW you didn't like it!!! " I gurgled between laughs. "I'm just kidding!" he replied. "No but seriously why does it?" and again profuse laughter ensued. That's one of his "things." He loves to joke about the little curly haired latin girl and her white boy bf, while being as politically incorrect as possible. So I went on to explain my developing love for Tchotchkies or CHACH-kee's.

For those who don't know, the definition of a Tchotchke is as follows : (taken from Wikipedia)

Tchotchke (Typically pronounced "CHACH-kee") are small toys, gewgaws, knickknacks, baubles, lagniappes, trinkets, or kitsch. The term has a connotation of worthlessness or disposability, as well as tackiness^[1][2], and has long been used by Jewish-Americans and in the regional speech of New York City.


"WHATEVER! my crazy little angry Chiquita banana."  he said lightly, while kissing my forehead in condescension. And from this point on I made it a point to actively seek and acquire as many Tchotchkies as humanly possible. 


And one of my all time most favorite places in all the WORLD to get Tchotchkies is the .99 cent store. Which also happens to be the third level of hell, according to the boy. He absolutely HATES HATES HATES the .99 cent store. With unfettered passion! It's safe to assume that he would rather chew broken glass than spend any length of time in the .99 cent store. But of course, loving me, where did we end up a couple days ago? The .99 cent store!! We rushed through the long lines of screaming babies, Spanish somethings being YELLED out over the crowd, a crackling intercom speaker and bad elevator 80's music. And just as he thought we were out, right before we hit the door, low and behold....

the most gloriously pensive looking, ceramic-frog Tchotchke I have ever laid eyes on! "oooooh?" I groaned in pure sad face at the boy. He looked over the now avalanche of lines pouring into the aisles. >>>>longest sigh imaginable<<<<< " FINE! HURRY! get back in line! HURRY!" he yelped.  And as the swaddled child in front of me tipped over an ocean of animal crackers onto the conveyor belt in slow mo, I looked over at the boy. Helpless, waiting like a gentleman, he stood tall. I thought to myself, "THAT is true love."

Sky rockets in flight, aftertnoon delight...

There are lots of things that remind me of my old job. Particularly, strawberries in a white bowl---in the afternoon. Most days I used to prepare platters for clients or potential meetings. An afternoon snack if you will. Strawberries and almonds, crackers with a peppered goat cheese or maybe some brie. I'd always sneak a few back to my desk so I didn't have to be seen by clients---nibbling. That's the last thing anyone wants to see, the fat receptionist canoodling with a strawberry and expensive cheese. Actually that's a fear of most over weight people---to be seen eating while others are not---especially on the west side of Los Angeles. 

So while washing these beauties I began to feel a twinge of sadness as I looked out the kitchen window. Remembering how I used to look into the window of Angela's office when I did it at work. It always made me laugh how concentrated she was, rarely looking up at me. Sometimes I'd make faces at her to see if she'd break or if I could do it fast enough without her noticing.This happens sometimes. I'll be somewhere or doing something and it will instantly take me back. Back to when-I-had-a-job land. And its not even that it was the best place or time on earth, but it was important, vastly different from now...for obvious reasons and some untold but close to my heart.

This feels like getting over a bad breakup, losing a job. Mourning over the loss of the everyday, the drifting of friendships, memories floating in and out of the current tide. Like a raft I can't seem to get my damn leg over. For those who know me this is a hard notion to understand. Because like a bad relationship, I was at odds with the entire operation when they let me go. Most say, "but you hated it so much there, wasn't it time for a change anyway??" Sure it was but that doesn't erase the position that that job held in my life. It doesn't answer the question of what am I supposed to do now? How long can you really be on unemployment? Am I really like the millions of other Americans out there without a job and an outlook decidedly pretty fucking bleak?

Not that being a receptionist was making any waves in life. But it felt good when people asked me what I did, to say, " I work at a post house in Santa Monica." And leave it at that. Most people didn't push any further. And I got to walk away with them probably thinking somewhat highly of me and no one was the wiser. Which is just a charade I guess right? a lie. But it was a good one. Good enough for the time. And now I feel like I've got nothin.

And then I sit at the table and look across the room and see the boy, relaxing and playing video games. With the dog snuggled up to the side of his thigh. I think about how he's sitting there, loving me even when he's not loving me. How there's family and food in the fridge and time to breathe. Even if its spent thinking to much over a bowl of strawberries. Thank god they're sweet.


***listening to : The Police, So Lonely

what ever Lola wants, Lola gets...

WHAT is that pink netted thing? lol

Do you remember playing dress up? or wearing outfits that were clearly misdirected, didn't match and were alllll you? I do because its happened twice in my life so far. Once as a young child and again during my senior year in high school. During both periods I dressed with such reckless abandon that cobalt blue tights, yellow shoes and a rainbow scarf lived without question---as one ensemble. I woke up everyday and never gave a second thought to how I looked, and I was happy. 

Recently at a party, I listened to an acquaintance/sort of friend? shake her head while telling us that her daughter had just started demanding to dress herself. That she wanted to wear a pink tutu over tights and a jacket to a friends party. She said that some days she had to re-evaluate the little tike's choices as they were " Oy vey! " to say the least. And all of this after I complimented the little girls bedazzled boots and rhinestone flower headband. "I would wear that headband," I said as everyone comfortably laughed at my witty humor. "No really I would. I might have to steal that later." Annnd we moved past the laughter to mildly raised eyebrows and [she's so funny and strange sometimes] looks. Being yourself is hard...even for a six year old. 

"gammy, Im not sure these are my style? gammy? hellooo?"

I felt sort of sad for the little girl. There are SO MANY times or instances in your life where other people are forging your way or trying too. How totally poop! to have that happen as a kid. I'm glad you're not my mommy, was all I could think. We have the whole rest of our lives to be told what to do, let her wear the damn tutu! 

So to that effect I've decided that I need to wear more jewelry---with reckless abandon. I have like TWO boxes full of baubles that I never wear because I have all these stupid personal rules about wearing certain things at only certain times. fuck that, its on. Like these fine ladies here....

lotsOjewelry who cares!

I Love You, A Bushel and a Peck

Most of the time I feel like its hard to fit anywhere. And it doesn't matter what it is really, a teeny tiny cafe chair, most clothes, West L.A., an aisle at Trader Joe's, a job description on Craigslist...just about anywhere.  Then there are those few places where I actually can be myself and shine without scratch or worry, like my succulent garden. Which is the perfect place to start this blog-of-thyself thing. This afternoon while waiting for laundry, I began to sweep debris out of my zen rock garden. Gliding through the various surrounding succulents I noticed some mint that I'd thrown loosely into a jar of water. My crazy landlord lady/really just a manager had told me that it should start growing roots and eventually you can plant it! Low and behold...beautiful, glistening white ROOTS!!

Sometimes I can't believe how easy it is to grow something. Well..I'm sure not everything is this easy but I'm immensely grateful that my path has been laced with "easy" things to grow. Perhaps its silly? I mean I didn't really do anything. The mint did it, and the sun did it. But me not so much. Yet still I felt incredibly powerful and accomplished. I could march back into the house like a stalky, stout, ten year old boy who just hit a bulls eye of soup cans with a homemade slingshot. But not before I checked my other mint project of course! When I first got the mint, I had decided to throw some left over vines into an unused pot for fun. Just to see if they'd actually grow. But of course they did....

And so my garden will continue to rest amongst the neighborhood noise and guarded by a grumpy $12 dollar gnome. Needless to say I am very pleased, hopeful and can't wait until tomorrow. And I guess that's the whole point to anything...hope. And that's where I'm gonna start this first post, these first words, and another tomorrow...at the point of hope. I just hope it keeps getting better.