Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Selfie Stick


Im going to Tokyo the first week of August. I've never traveled alone, so I have some concerns, but mostly all of them will dissipate after I buy a selfie stick on Amazon for fifteen bucks. The remaining concern is that I will travel across the globe, and not utter a word besides arigatō to another human being for seven days. But I really don't actually believe this could happen. Besides, I always have Tinder if I'm overcome with loneliness.

I feel pretty ballsy going over there on my own. Its a bonafide Stella Got Her Groove back vacation. I am impressed by this newfound confidence. I attribute some of it to watching kids movies and reading a lot of kid books, all full of confidence building propaganda for young children that I'm reaping the rewards of. Today we watched Rock Dog. We've watched it already quite a few times, and each time I'm left bathing in an I-can-do-anything afterglow. Listen to Glorious, the uber inspirational song from the movie, it's as heart warming as thinking of your grandmother's cooking.

Maybe I was influenced by Rock Dog in other ways, since the cartoon is set in Tokyo. Rock and Roll park is based on Yoyogi Park, and while researching things to do in the city, I found out about the Rockabilly subculture of Tokyo.

I recently complained to my ex that the rockabilly culture Sacramento clings to is tired, and contributes to the city being voted the second ugliest in the US. He tried to convince me hipsters live in midtown. Well, whenever I go down there, all I see are Bettie Page lookalikes and dudes with cigs rolled up in the t-shirt sleeves. It's a Grease reenactment. Sac Town is proving some under the radar coolness here.

Two years ago we went to Vancouver for vacation. We had a great time. The last day we walked to Granville Market Island, but instead of using the ferry boats mentioned in the guides, we decided we'd walk over the bridge. This added at least an hour on the walk, and gave me chest grabbing anxiety thinking my daughter was about to jump out of the stroller and step onto a very busy freeway.
When we arrived, we needed to eat and found a delicious restaurant to relax in before walking through the market, then we smartly took the ferry back, making the walk to the hotel much shorter and more enjoyable.

At the hotel we realized we left Kiki's treasured blanket at the restaurant. We called the restaurant and they said they found it and put it at the hostess stand for us. We decided to get it in the morning. Very unwise because we never considered the restaurant wouldn't be open at 9am. To avoid listening to my daughter scream and cry the entire trip back to Sacramento, I planned to lie to her and say blankie was in the suitcase, and then let the cat out of the bag when we were safe within our house.
The strangest thing occurred. We got in the cab, and told the driver our predicament, and how we'd wanted to go to this restaurant to pick up the blanket but they are closed, and the driver said, "Oh, my son works there. I will call him."
So he called his son, who was at the restaurant doing prep work. We drove there and blankie was was returned to my daughter's arms. It was a magical turn of events, that everyone benefited from because we tipped the cabby in a euphoric state of gratitude.

I keep this story in mind as I plan my trip. There are some coincidences that are too perfect, orchestrated to amaze. The trip is going to be awesome, and I'm looking forward to whats in store for me in the city of the rising neon sun. If I get nervous, I have a library of confidence boosting books to read through, like Little Critter's, All By Myself. But I don't need it yet, I'm too excited! Arigatō very much!


Friday, May 19, 2017

Left, Right, Left


My brother was in town for work, and we hung out one night. We talked about "Transformative Hangovers." The most god awful hangovers, where you feel so terrible and close to death, that the hope for recovering and being normal again is so strong, all you can think is, When I'm right again, I will be a better person.
I have another weekend coming up, and the boredom that comes along with it is a bit unexciting. A friend from school asked if I had any one to hang out with, but then I explained they're all friends through kids. So we always hang out in playdate situations, and I'd be this bizarre fifth wheel on a family's Saturday activities.
My sister suggested online dating, and was really selling me on Match. I set up the profile, and then went through ten pages of people, and felt like I was browsing houses on RedFin. After watching Master of None, I felt intrigued to start a Tinder account. It had the reputation of just being for hook ups, but from what I read online, it's just as respectable as Match for dating. I never went back on Match because I went swiping crazy on the first night, and now I've got twenty text message chains going.
I learned to be more selective on my swiping because I won't be able to keep up all these chats. The texting gives me something to do though when I lay next to my daughter as she falls asleep. Usually, I read Dlisted, then I go through this cyber loop until she's snoring; Instagram, Facebook, Gmail, Yahoo mail, and repeat. I can repeat a lot, if she is restless, but I'll never run out of texts to send.

I also told my brother, "Maybe I'm a lesbian?" He was like, "OK."
Then I let out my twenty questions; But what if this is common when women get out of long relationships? Don't you think it would be less of an unknown? Is this just because I have a bad taste in my mouth? Or because Dad is so awesome, that really, unless they are a widow, it will be impossible to find someone who doesn't fall terribly short in comparison, and this makes me detest men even more?
He had no answers.
I told him I might ask the guy out at the gym. Perhaps this is all just from my isolated weekends.  I said, "Theres this guy who wears a Batman belt. I'll ask him out, but I'm going to expect him to say no, so that way it won't be weird."

This morning I didn't get to go to yoga because when I brought George into the kids club a little girl was freaking the fuck out, and chasing after her mother screaming because mommy dearest was planning on leaving her there for thirty minutes to get a quick work out in. One screaming kid in a daycare can really set off a tsunami wave of anxiety because suddenly all the kids start thinking, My mom's left and what if she isn't coming back for me?
So George saw this little girl chasing her mother in terror, and then he wrapped himself around my leg like a boa constrictor. I had to sit with him for twenty minutes before I was able to leave, and I missed too much of the class. So I went into the gym and did the treadmill. I never saw Batman belt, which I'm taking as a sign, but I did see the mom whose kid acted like she was abandoning her in a cage full of lions, and I gave her a thumbs up for making it out of there.

One of my favorite quotes is from Lucille Ball, it goes, "I'm not funny. What I am is brave." So I'm not afraid to tell people I'm only looking for someone to hold my popcorn when I go to the bathroom, and in return I will carry a burrito in my purse for them to eat after we find an aisle seat somewhere toward the back of the theater. Throughout my online dating pursuits, and its only been two days so far, I learned this term Swamp Donkey. It means, a very ugly girl who hangs around in bars waiting to sexually assault males who are too drunk to defend themselves. Now she sounds like fun, right!?

What I learned about myself on Tinder, is I have a thing for chubby IT professionals. Maybe I enjoy competing with bizarre sexual fetishes. But my ambition is to meet someone who I can live a double life with, weekends only. I need someone to go to the movies with and who would like to play tennis with me. I'm a professional movie goer, and only dress like a professional tennis player. So they have to be cool with chasing balls that I lob off toward the horizon.
In my twenties, I'd commonly spend an entire Saturday at the movies. Perhaps it was a bit of fearlessness, but I'd walk out of the early morning matinee I purchased the ticket for, and go right into another screening, after that one, I'd walk into another showing. I didn't once worry someone would approach me and ask to see my ticket, then tell me it was for a show that played six hours earlier, and that because I didn't buy any concessions, yet my purse is full of candy wrappers and I smell like I recently ate a Togos sandwich, I need to quickly make my way to the exit.

Reading dating profiles, it seems like everyone loves to go to the movies, that and trying new places to eat. Maybe this new promo inserted before the film starts, where the celebrity thanks the audience for coming to the theater, isn't really necessary. Although the handful of us in the theater on a Friday night do appreciate the gesture.

This weekend I want to watch Chuck, and then take NyQuil and read in bed. Its hard to write in your dating profile that you don't want to do anything beyond platonic. I guess the best way to do that is be very honest,  looking for a movie friend, and too be extra sure that I won't feel compelled to give Mandy Moore's don't fall in love with me speech from "A Walk To Remember," I could add, employed only part time with two moderately behaved young children.

I have another favorite little quote, or ditty, I sing to my kids, "I love myself. I think I'm grand. I go to the movies and I hold my hand." It's nice to not need transformative hangovers anymore to ignite me on a trajectory of success. I feel pretty good with where I'm at. I guess if I had a Transformative Hangover I'd set my sights on eating less bread, for health purposes, you know. I need some adult companionship that extends beyond my parents, who are not cinephiles. And I just realized, our profiles wouldn't be compatible; my parents only sort of like going to the movies and they actually have no interest, ever, in trying new restaurants. Thats a swipe left.

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Keep Ya Head Up


I saw the movie poster for the new Tupac Shakur biopic, All Eyez on Me, set for release in June. I figured I'd start pre gaming, and listened to an essentials playlist created by Apple Music today on my run. Before I started, I envisioned myself playing it to my kids, introducing them to Tupac, but as I listened to Hit 'Em Up, I realized they'd get way too much trash talk to put in the bank for the next time they decide to go to battle with each other.
Once I heard my daughter yell, "I'm going to get a gun and shoot you!" with bared teeth and a red face. I came in, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Can we pass around the peace pipe, and hug this out?!"
I can't imagine if she elevated it to, "You better back the fuck up, before you get smacked the fuck up!"

I thought, with the lack of God in modern content, his music would be a good influence on my kids, with the added benefit of showing a strong appreciation for his mother. However, these two bonuses don't offset the bad language for the kids. And, things could go terribly wrong. For example, they could end up disillusioned from the music and say the n-word. Listen, no ones going to assume after they hear a little white kid say the n-word, "Oh, their family must listen to a lot of Tupac."
No, the initial reaction would be for people to say, "Their parents are trash, filthy trash."

Saturday night I watched the entire second season of Master of None. It was two am when it wrapped up. I like the show. This season though, seemed to be missing something.  Mainly his culinary ambitions. Maybe it was because I binged it, and so it makes me numb to the culmination of each episodes impact. In the end, and not to be a spoiler-sport, it really falls on that damsel in distress scenario, and my lord, do they make it explicit how she is the closest thing you can get to a virgin at 30. "So you've only been with one guy since you were 18?" Don't ask it again, we get it. What happened to the pasta making? Perhaps that will be season 3, him and his close-as-you-can-get-to-a-virgin-at-30 gal pal fulfill his culinary dreams.

I guess I'll watch it again, as intended. I felt sort of depressed the day after watching it. It was likely from the half day of straight TV. Falling asleep, and then needing to get up four hours later. Routines are so good for people, however, lately I routinely find myself out of a routine. With my kids gone on some weekends, it's a bit like I'm rediscovering personal time, and I haven't had stretches like this in over five years. I'm not going to lie, it is fun to have this freedom, but I still miss them, and I'm probably not making the best choices, like ten hours of solid television. But I'm readjusting, and eventually, I will learn to use this time wisely.

And, I'm continuing to write, but like Tupac says, "It's hard to be legit, and still pay your rent," so I'm keeping myself fresh in the big data world, and started a Python and Tableau certification program. I  signed up Sunday, after thinking, "OK, if you can watch TV until early morning, then you can do some shit to make yourself more marketable on the Data Science job market." Besides, I gave my final last week, and completed all their grades and my summer school class doesn't start for a couple weeks, so if I didn't sign up for these certifications, I just might have done something really responsible, and deep cleaned and organized my house.

I got my Master's in Statistics back in 2007, and quite a bit has changed in big data since then because people started carrying around PDAs. Then, when I quit working my job to be a stay-at-home parent in 2012, well, a lot more changed. As I job search, I'm realizing the skills I have won't get me as far as they used to. So, I'm studying up, and rolling with the changes.

Changes, now that's a song I can play for my kids. I'm not sure if Shakur would think theres been much progress since the song was made in 1998, but now we have a black president.

I remember when I was in 3rd grade my sister and I got in a huge fight because she proclaimed there has never been a Black president, and I told her she is wrong because I saw one on my Tapper Keeper folder with portraits of all the US presidents. After my dad agreed with her, I got cocky, thinking, Now I'm about to prove both these dummies wrong! 
When we got to the folder, I was dumbstruck. Proven wrong by my mortal enemy at the time, doubting the reliability of my own mind, and how could this actually be a truth! I'm sure I reacted poorly.

My most common defense against my brothers and sisters was to wolverine slash them with my long fingernails, and then run like hell, usually right behind my mom's leg. My sister's greatest defense is to yell the roof off the building. Now that I think about it, I guess my kids aren't so bad when they get in their arguments, but still, they're too young for Tupac.

Thursday, May 11, 2017

Other Resources


Mothers Day weekend is upon us, and I am sans children until Sunday. I'm going to make good use of this weekend, and not go shopping, like I did last weekend and then found the purchases did not fill my emptiness, although I am very pleased with the return of high waisted pants and cropped shirts.

Today George and I went to Kohl's because they occasionally send me a ten dollar gift certificate in the mail, and I always tell the kids they can use it to buy a toy. George picked out a plastic race car track. Then we walked by the clothes and I suggested we buy him some shorts because he refuses to wear the nice outfit I bought him at Costco that actually fits him. He made it very clear he does not want to buy clothes.
He is the pickiest person to buy clothes for. I bought him Vans, that weren't cheap, after he picked the fucking things out, and every morning he yells to me that he's wearing his old stinky shoes that are too small.
"Do your thing! But I am docking those shoes from any tooth fairy money you get!"
Like he works at a Paul Mitchell salon, he only wears black or his Mickey Mouse snorkeling shirt, thats not allowed at his school. His black fleece disappeared, and after I tried to buy him a sweatshirt, where he actually shed tears over it's ugliness, I decided it's a waste anyways because we are approaching the hellish temperatures of summer. His love of black clothes, and using pomade to style his hair, does lead me to think he might end up running a salon.

Except he talks a lot about going to space, and living other places, without me. Today he asked, "Can I move to Antarctica?"
I said, "Of course, I bet when you're older it will be the next Brooklyn."
He then questioned what I meant by "older."
"I want to move there when I'm ten."
"That's too young, you need to wait a bit longer, unless we go together."
"No, I'm going by myself."

Unlike previous generations, I am going to squash him to my teat until he punches himself away, leaving me bruised and tearful. Not really. I actually think, if I get rich enough, I will be sending my kids off to boarding school, and not for any reason to get my ya-yas out, but because I wish I would have been sent to boarding school. I'm just pushing my own dreams on them.
By thirteen, you really can be out there, living life.
My dad was sent away when he was ten! To work over summers doing really intense manual labor. He tells us stories of his adult roommate in the trailer he lived in, and I love hearing it. But my dad is an extrovert, and so it suits him.

My horoscope said May 10 was supposed to be especially romantic, and I had very high expectations that fell, not even short, but flatlined. I anticipated the hot guy at the gym, who triggered my reptilian brain, to say hi, but he wasn't there. The day before, he approached me and introduced himself saying we should know each others names since were always saying hi. And, to my surprise, he had an accent!
Maybe he's Australian or South African. It was just a sentence, and I was running and pulled my ear bud out to shake his hand. But it now makes sense how he sunbathes on the lounge chairs outside after he works out, like someone who is closely attached to Middle Europe and their refusal of sunscreen.

I don't know why I'd want to resume a relationship though, I actually couldn't cope with introducing another person into my very specific organization skills, and I don't mean specific in an anal way, but rather a very confusing way. Like, how could I have ever expected someone to figure out what sippy cups work and which ones don't? I pile them all up in the colander (that needs to be dumped every couple days when were making pasta.) And George has very specific conditions, like he can only use a cup that doesn't leak. At the moment, and for the past year, we only have three that fulfill this need. If you give him a cup otherwise, he'll figure out it doesn't have a stopper, and then happily make a Jackson Pollock on the floor.

Today, I opened the spice cabinet and noticed a pile of safety pins on the side. I forgot I put them there after we did a race a month ago. I gave a knowing look, "Oh, yes, that's good to know. This is where I keep the safety pins!" I didn't think to move them because where the hell else should they go?

Kiki's book woke me up last night. At four A.M. it started singing, "Everybody likes to sparkle in their own special way..."  It was on the kitchen table. I thought it would stop after a bit, but then realized it was on a never ending loop. I crept from my bed, into the dark kitchen and turned the master power off, and quickly retraced my steps to get back in bed. Then I was spooked because the fridge made a loud thump. I remembered the dream I was having and then got even more weirded out.

I am reading Russell Brand's My Booky Wook, and it's funny, but falling asleep after reading about how his dad took him on a two week prostitution escapade was sort of sad. He seemed ok with it though, maybe he sees things differently a few chapters down.

I remember in fifth grade I came home from school, and after hearing some jokes I wasn't sure what I was laughing at, I asked my mom, "What's a blow job?"
And my mom said to me, "Never say that word again!"
My mom taught sex Ed to middle school kids, so when I look back, I do find this a startling response. But I had other resources. I asked my older brother and sister, who quickly let me know exactly what a blow job is, but they reiterated what my mom said earlier, "Alicia, don't ever say that word around mom, again!"

And I never did. Happy mother's day, mommy!