Plucking Petals

I met someone, and he is fucking great. Maybe I manifested him by listening to Division four hundred times in the last couple weeks. I'm working on keeping my cool because I'm entering a losers game, and second, what if I'm being swayed by the wrong thing. Like the old saying goes, "Don't fall in love with the first good dick you sit on."
Although, I'm not sure why. It seems like the perfect person to fall in love with.

Division is a great album, and I think it's titled on the splitting of our lives. The most common occurs after people have kids, they have their life before kids, and their life after. But it happens in other ways, like in death. You have your life with a person, and then there is the divided life without that person. Or after falling in love with someone or falling out of love with someone. Significant experiences that create a spectrum, time with divided by time without.

The last month I've been packing up my house, and finding us a new place to live. Were moving downtown, and so I happily get to donate half our stuff. I was feeling stressed from the transition. So much is changing, but were not there yet. I know though, that my life a couple months from now will be majorly different from my life one year ago. Call it a new chapter, fresh start, or a shift in the continuity because once I'm there, I'll fall into the new rhythm.

I'm happy to be moving, but it's sad to leave my gym because of Friday yoga. The instructor is my life coach, and I cherish the hour I get to spend with her once a week. Last week, she led us in breathing, letting go of aggression, then she ended class by clarifying, over ambitiousness causes aggression in our lives, and that we must live in the present, and trust in our path.

The other night, I was talking with my new man, and things got serious with the mention of nervousness and anxiety from growing feelings for someone after a couple of weeks, and then my yoga teacher's words came to me. You can't worry about that kind of shit. If you live for tomorrow, you'll miss out on today. Live in the moment, there is no guarantee there will be a tomorrow or next month, so don't let then affect your happiness now. People come into our lives for a reason, and it's not clear why for a long time, so let it play out.

Since I have to keep my house impeccable and I have two messy kids, we are spending as little time as possible in our house. Every weekend we head up to Tahoe to stay with my parents. It's amazing to be here, and not only because the temperatures are much more inviting than Sacramento, but because the energy is infectious. People here are cheerful and friendly. Going on a walk or run, most people who pass are happy to wave hello.

I think it's from living close to nature. Listening to the aspen leaves shake in the wind, watching the sun set behind mountains, the smell of campfire, and walking barefoot in the forest has a positive impact on people. Being in a place where you see a bear every once in a while, and being astounded, we are amongst bears! Its amazing.

Lately, I've been running into people from high school. Before this made me anxious, but now I really enjoy it. It's nice to see were so similar to who we were fifteen years ago. I've met up with a lot of old friends this summer. Last week I hung out with my cousin. I showed him a picture of the guy Im seeing with his 12 year old son. My cousin asked, "Is he the one with the brown hair?" Shocked, I replied, "Yes, Tom! For fucks sake. I'm not Mary Kay Letourneau!" It's nice to see my friends, from then and now. Old friends, I won't say from a different life, these are friends for my entire life, they fall outside the division.

So for the next month, as we move into our new place, settle into a new school and job, there is no where else but the present I want to be, swimming in the lake, seeing my family and friends, hiking the mountains, and picking a flower to pluck its petals.

Thoughtful Gifts

Saturday morning I drove to San Francisco for a class. I put on Ed Sheeren, to see what it was about. Well, I fell into a swoon, and decided I'd listen to him the entire drive back as well. Sheerens got to be dating a new Victoria Secret model a night.

Last Friday night I went on a Tinder date with a widower. I was surprised when he said "widower" because I'm always expecting divorced. So I tried to make him laugh a lot, and most of the time he reacted by saying, "What?" I don't know if he didn't get my sense of humor or had a hearing problem. Sometimes I'm so charmed by myself though, it's ok to be out with someone who popped three valium.

At the end of the night we stood in front of an 80's corvette, and he pointed to it, and asked, "Is this your car?" Then I had a great laugh, and pointed to my extremely sensible car park in the least sensible spot, the dark empty corner of the parking lot.

This week I had the sads and in retrospect it was probably from the music and being out late. I did listen to the Supermarket Flowers song quite a bit. If only there wasn't the "bleach asshole" reference in "New Man" or I'd buy the album for my dad for father's day. He'll be so flabbergasted, the entire album with be minimized to those two words, and he'll put it in a stack of never-to-be-heard-agains.

My dad has been known to binge on romance songs. Like when he drove my sister and her friends to Chico, and seeing their closed eyes, assumed they were asleep, and listened to Aerosmith's "I Don't Want to Miss A Thing," on repeat for an hour.

My mom and dad are lucky in love. We went out to dinner last weekend, and I ordered bacon wrapped scallops. After I tried one, I insisted they try them. My mom refused to, saying she couldn't possibly eat any scallops besides the one my dad makes for her because his are THE best.

My mom has similar mannerisms to Titus Andromidon so the flap of the hand and flip of the hair is worth pressing the request. She then told us about her favorite movie, Splendor in the Grass, and turned up the dramatics; her eyes welled up, she looked toward the sky shaking her head, with her hands pressed to her chest. Now I know what to buy her for Christmas.

Sarturday night I decided to stay in and watch Netflix. It's hard to fall asleep when the house is empty, and I was tempted to call someone to come over so I wouldn't be alone. Tinder is great to go out and meet people, but at the same time it is a way to avoid having to just get used to being alone. For someone who is so enamored by herself, I don't understand why I need a person next to me while I laugh at my own jokes.

I stayed strong, and fell asleep easily because I was really tired from a week of excessive dating. I woke up often from weird dreams. In one dream, I walked past the front door, and then someone started banging on it. I opened it to find a hysterical woman. In another, there were strangers walking around my house. After more anxiety dreams about being home alone, I dreamed about a tiger.

I read a tiger could symbolize a powerful problem or fear that I avoid confronting. I decided to sell the house for two reasons; It was never my idea of a long term location, and we have an empty lot behind us that has turned into a place for the wondering drug addicts and boozers to live. My neighbor recently told me I can knock on his door if I ever hear a bump in the night, and he'll take care of it. Then I told him, "Thanks, but I have my alarm system." and he said, "Ashley! An alarm system isn't going to shoot em'. I have my gun!"

He is a really nice guy, and doesn't seem phased when my kids ask him horrifyingly rude questions, like why he has no teeth, or why his belly is so big. But when I hear him yelling over the fence at the people in the empty lot, I think, "Oh Chuck, why are you riling them up?!"

This weekend, I'm turning 35. We are visiting my parents to have a little soiree, and get out of the heat. I feel much better today. Probably because I caught up on sleep, limiting myself to one date this week. We brought in the happy tunes on the car ride today, and listened to Florence Shake it Out a bunch of times. Then Kiki requested Kelly Clarkson's Christmas album, we stuck on Underneath The Tree for like twenty minutes. I think she knew I needed it. I'll consider it my birthday gift from her. Kids have a way of knowing what their parents want.

Looking Up

A Tinder Story - Hungry For Love

Listen to my first story as a Tindress, about finding meaning in profiles and chats.

I always enjoy reading a ridiculous profile on tinder. “Oh, you’re soooooo sexual.” and I know that because in your profile you wrote that you love coffee, Boston Terriers and licking assholes.

That’s an actual thing now, licking buttholes for sexual pleasure. Or rather getting your butthole licked. I can’t imagine being the eater is anything less than torture followed up by a bout of typhoid fever.

What the fuck is going on in the world. I suppose, it’s one of those things, you don’t know how good it actually is until you try it. Like going Gluten Free.

I’ll pass. In fact I should write that in my profile, “I don’t eat shit holes. and I don’t want anyone to eat mine.”

Profiles are riddled in secret code, and I’m starting to translate some of the terms.

Like “seeking a partner in wanderlust” really means unemployed.

And, polyamorous, translates directly to butt-fucking ugly.

I guess beautiful people don’t need to say, “I enjoy sex,” its redundant. Like saying, “I drink water and sleep to survive.”

Instead of saying, “I’m a player,” the pretties make it known straight away with their texts. They send this message, “hoping to watch a movie with you tonight.” at 11pm on a Wednesday.

There is also a certain type of meat head who likes to write in their profile, “I superlike on accident.”

Superliking is when you swirl rather than swipe right, and it can happen on accident easily. But when I accidently superlike someone I feel like I am giving them a confidence boosting pat on the back.

So for someone to explicitly state, “Don’t flatter yourself with my superlike,” it irritates me! I superlike them, just in case they ever start a chat with me I can let them know, “Don’t flatter yourself that anyone is flattering themselves with your stupid ass superlike.”

I have a strict swipe left policy for anyone in their twenties for two reasons, one they could fall in love with me, and two, which is far worse, I could fall in love with them as they are just getting going on life, and won’t be set in a career for ten years. I love Top Ramen, but also love how it’s a choice.

However, there are two good reasons for swiping right on twenty somethings. They will fulfill the prescription for sexual healing ,with unlimited refills. The other reason, is they’re flexible schedule. Most of the time, I don’t know when Im getting a night off, so its nice to get a reply when I message, “I have a two hour window, starting in 15 minutes. Want to watch movie?”

Text chats can get boring, and witty comments loose their cunning charms when they aren’t read quickly! It’s like giggling to a joke twelve hours after someone said it.

I’m texting with a strong and silent type, and he seems cool. I usually talk about food, and after sending him what seemed like a dissertation on almond croissants, he wrote back, “Now I’m hungry.”

Well, I know what that means. It’s similar to “watch a movie” but involves less foreplay and possibly a little booty hole snack.

Im getting good at translating, and I’m thinking of refining my profile. It will read something like this “Looking for someone to watch movies with twice a week. And afterward wants to eat Top Ramen and watch a movie (for real)s. Butt munchers need not apply.”

Then I’ll add, “And, I super like on purpose.”

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!

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.

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.

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!