The Grinch and Stuff

So tonight I watched "The Grinch That Stole Christmas" with Sadie.

When I was a kid I had the book long before I saw the animated version on television. There are about twenty seven things I REALLY love, "The Grinch That Stole Christmas" is definitely on the list. Granted its not something you can watch over and over, but the only thing I want to watch over and over is that commercial with Charlize Theron- the one in which she is walking and taking off her clothes-but who doesn't want to watch that over and over.

I know it is cliche and sentimental, but after finding everything gone on Christmas morning the Whos down in Whosville gather and sing - and it always - ALWAYS makes me cry.

"Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store at all," I said to Gioconda.

"Then where does it come from?," she replied.

We have the same argument every year. I find the consumerism of the season disgusting, but admittedly I really detest spending or giving away money, so there's that.

Gioconda loves to buy gifts.

" I think I'm going to buy a one cup coffee maker for my brother," she told me a few weeks back.

" I bought him a really good coffee maker two years ago," I replied.

"But this is a one cup maker. What if he only wants to make one cup?"

Really?

Is this an issue in people's lives?

This spring we put a wood floor down in the attic of the guest house for storage. We need storage because we have too much stuff...and the worse part about all the stuff is- most of it- like 63% is mine.

The remaining 37% breaks down as follows:

Sadie and Camille: 20% (six double strollers)
Gioconda :13% ( all the purses)
Joe's stuff: 3%

The remaining 1% is stuff Gioconda has kept for the boys from their childhood. Keeping in mind there are FOUR boys.

Thus it would appear as though I am a stingy hoarder, which would be true to an extent. I have tried to eliminate stuff from my life, yet every single time I visit my mother I come home with a trunk full of more stuff- that is stuff my mother buys and then can't find a place for- stuff she may have tried to give to my sister but she refused.

Last week while visiting my mom I noticed the kitchen pantry was filled with dishes.

"What did you do with the food?," I asked.

" I decided not to keep a lot of food around, besides I needed the storage," she replied. It seemed perfectly natural to me until my sister brought it up in conversation.

"Did you know that mom made the food pantry into dish storage?", she asked.

"Well she has a lot of stuff," I replied.

"You don't think its odd she is willing to virtually eliminate food from her life in order to obtain more storage?"

"She still has a refrigerator, she can still have cold drinks. She can still make ice," I said.

My sister has a point, but at least my mom won't hoard food.

My mom told me she is thinking about putting a floor in her garage, just like the one we put in the guest house attic.

"I've been thinking about buying a storage unit to put in the back yard, but it wouldn't be leave room for grass for the dog," she said.

"Whatever, she is really fat and won't notice," I replied.

"That's what I think," she said. We don't really help each other with this particular issue.

But I'm the one who hates the consumerism of the season.

A prayer of thanks

Raul and Joe were best friends for years before Joe and Gioconda met.

Once she married Joe she became close to Raul's wife Janet. Although I don't think there was a final custody order after the divorce in regard "Raul and Janet" my impression was if there was an custody it would be joint.

Raul and Janet were neutral, which given I was the next "spouse" in Gioconda's life I figured, at the very least, if I met them they wouldn't call me a name or try to injure me in some way.

So this summer while we were in Iowa we met Janet and Raul in Iowa City, which is about 2 hours from where they live in Illinois.

This March they adopted a little girl. Sophia is almost exactly a month younger than our daughters.

Of course I loved them both- there were no threats of violence, they are kind and warm people, and it was as if I had known them forever.

Which means now I'm friends with my same sex spouse's deceased ex-husband's best friend.

We were looking at the pictures this weekend of that afternoon in Iowa City, and I couldn't help but wonder what Joe would think about it all.

Joe was born on 12/22/1953, which means he would have been 56 this year. It's close to his birthday and so I think about Joe and it makes me sad sometimes , sometimes I feels nothing- but most of the time I am just pissed...yet lately that has gotten better.

I was so angry for so long, angry about how he changed my life- all our lives - through his act. Angry because I didn't have a chance to vote on any of it -angry about what it did to everyone- that terrible wake, which I thought would drown us all.

But lately I have considered it a bit differently-although one can never be CERTAIN of events along the way, I can say with a high degree of confidence if Joe hadn't died I am not certain we would have done all we did to have babies...I am not certain we would have married- I'm not certain we would still even be together..but because of all we have gone through- that terrible wake- we have babies - we are married - and we are together-

It's cliche - but that what does not kill you- or tear you apart- will make you (collective you as well) stronger...and it has.

So this 12/22 I will say a little prayer of thanks...

Thanks for babies...thanks for a marriage and the family that has brought-

and thanks for Raul and Janet

My 10 year old self

There is a great Disney movie called "The Kid".

Bruce Willis plays this guy who due to some sort of cosmic event ends up meeting himself as a 10 year old.

There is a scene in which the "kid' finds out Bruce Willis doesn't have a dog and isn't married.

"You mean to tell me I'm 40 and I am not married and I don't have a dog?" he says.

Disappointed.

Today I was thinking -what if I could look at my life as a 10 year old.

I'm married- to a woman
I have lots of dogs...
and a big house
and two adorable babies...
And overall on my best day- I really don't work that hard

If given a just a glance at 10, I think I would be really happy- what I want to know is- so what about 36 years makes this not translate.

It like the stakes keep getting higher, and what used to be more than I could have ever hoped has become just life.

Every once in a while something will slap me into gratitude- like when I saw that unfortunate lady who was mauled by the chimp-I have my eye balls and thumbs- and I will - for a while- be grateful - grateful I don't have anyone in my orbit who keeps wild animals who might disfigure me.

Yet, it seems as though when your life has exceeded what you had hoped being thankful your face has not been eaten off seems somewhat ungrateful- which is something I personally want to be very careful about.

But still...there is a that gnawing feeling that I could have been, that I should have been, so much more.

I am relatively certain I could never be an astronaut, or a commodities broker. I would never want to have anything to do with the high fashion industry as I could never take clothes THAT seriously- along this same line- I couldn't be a chef - I could never take food THAT seriously- but I wouldn't rule out rock star - in spite the fact I have no musical ability- two words- Bob Dylan*

I'm 46 and so if I am going to be something amazing, it might be a good idea to get that rolling.

My Grandfather worked as a mechanic every day of his life until the day he retired, and I don't think he ever thought twice about it. It was just what he did- he didn't hate it or love it - he just did it. I don't think he thought about meeting his 10 year old self- or if he "should have been more"

What I don't know is- does that make him "unambitious" or me a malcontent?

There is still time for me to invent something, or discover something - or become a rock star-


*Bob Dylan is a terrible singer and awful musician.

I Hate Lucy

I detest the "I LOVE LUCY" show.

It has been around since I remember and it has caused me anxiety since I can remember.

The show is about lies, manipulation, and deceit. Think about it, Lucy was always trying to get Ricky to do something he didn't want to do through some elaborate scheme which unravels in the end causing a some sort of disaster and after everything is said and done all is forgiven yet still...it really is just a lot of bull shit.

Granted I have never been a fan of zany or slap stick- I hate the Three Stooges, I find Robin Williams (the comic not my brother in law) intolerable. Yet, there really isn't any form of visual entertainment I abhor as much as "I LOVE LUCY". When Gioconda and I went to Spain a few years back we went to a Modern Art Museum and one of the exhibits was this whacked out film in which an old lady fills a room with boxes, one after another and it made me want to tear off my head and throw it against a wall; however, given the choice to experience the whacked out film exhibit or "I LOVE LUCY"- I'm taking the box lady.

There was not one functional relationship in that entire show. The Mertz's relationship with each other, and the Mertz's relationship with the Richardo's , pure dysfunction on every level.

I mean, how did those two hook up anyway? Was it ever explained how this Cuban guy ended up with a crazy ginger. What did Lucy do before she got involved with Ricky, did anyone even to bother to investigate that?

I know, people- especially fags- adore Lucille Ball, which is hard for me to understand as from what I have read she was a bitter and ugly woman.

"You're funny like Lucille Ball," my Grandmother used to tell me.

Wow. Thanks. I guess she was the only funny woman my Grandmother knew of, yet the thought that I was at all like Lucille Ball really grossed me out.

The other day Aidan and Gioconda were watching an episode and actually laughing out loud and I had the urge to knife them both.

I resisted the urge.

Tiger

What is amazing to me about the whole Tiger Woods situation is that a guy with so many golf clubs around would cheat on his wife.

The only way you get away with cheating on your spouse is;

a. Your spouse is cheating as well as doesn't care- which really never works because in my experience - women ALWAYS care - even if they really hate your ass.

b. You don't live with, speak to, or have any other associations with your spouse.

Other than these two scenarios you can't get away with it. The only reason I haven't been caught cheating on my spouse is I haven't cheated, but in past relationships I had a few close calls with Big Bertha myself, which is why I kept my clubs locked in the garage. I also never kept a loaded firearm, and I made it a personal policy to only use plastic utensils in my home for years, avoiding cutlery altogether- you can be shanked with a the sharp end of a spoon.

Although those days are behind me, those distant memories came flooding back when I heard about Tiger running his car into a tree at 3:00 am, because that is the time you are sleeping and the perfect opportunity for your significant other to go through your phone- e-mail- credit card bills...and inevitably if a person is looking there will be something to find. And when it is found- you are going to be woken up.

Maybe she found something and told him to "just be honest, I won't be mad I promise, I just can't take the lying," which is a LIE because she will not only be mad she will chase you out of the house and you will actually make the conscious decision it is better to run your car into a fire hydrant and be taken to the hospital than to go back to you own residence.

I actually understand this thought process.

I know that cheating is wrong, but really- I read about a study done at the University of Michigan in which a survey of straight men was taken and 90% of the STRAIGHT men said they would have anonymous sex. Thus, the only reason there isn't more straight park fucking is that women are not so willing to participate.

My point- sex is different to men than women. This is the richest athlete in the world- thousands of women want to have sex with this dude. Of course he is going to cheat- how can he not cheat?

I know many will disagree- but it is the same reason it is a bad idea to keep a hyenas as a pet, because at some point it is going to sever your aorta with a quick bite to the neck---

Marry a Tiger and at some point you will be certain to get a claw up your ass.

Broken Toes

The other day I went down to the basement to wash some clothes.

I had a shirt in my hand which I threw in the basket and happened to catch a fire extinguisher that was sitting on the last stair. The extinguisher was lifted into the air by the shirt sleeve and came crashing down directly onto my second toe on my right foot.

This is the first time I have broken that toe on that foot, but I have broken most of my toes on my left foot through the years.

This toe break was exceptionally painful. Don't get me wrong, it hurts really bad every single time, yet this time, it seemed as though it was more painful than I have recalled.

Once I broke the last three toes on my left foot when I accidentally kicked the metal leg of a dinning room table. This was actually a few years ago, so the pain of that event may have been mitigated over the years.

I hate any type of physical or emotional pain, and I will avoid it at any cost. This is the reason I want to predecease everyone in my family, as I really don't want to have to emotionally negotiate the death of any one close to me.

In any event, toe breaking was intricate part of my existence in my twenties and even into my early thirties.

Yet somehow I was able to overcome what had become dangerously close to a habit. I started to wear shoes all the time and this actually seemed to help. What remains unclear to me is why it was that I tended to slam my feet into furniture at such a velocity that I was breaking bones.

This is the first toe I have broken in my 40's, and the circumstances around this particular injury were flukish in nature, the way the fire extinguisher was catapulted into the air and then right down onto my toe. My foot against the cement and the end of that heavy extinguisher, I was fortunate it was not more serious. I struggle with balance with 5 toes, it would be quite challenging for me to loose one, or even loose 1/2 of a toe.

When i was in the sixth grade I stepped on a piece of glass while visiting my Aunt Rose in Des Moines. This unfortunately resulted in a loss of feeling in some of my toes on the my left foot, so I have had issues with toes and feet for many years now.

As a result of these tragic events I rarely wear open toed shoes, however Gioconda has this terrible habit of wearing very unsafe foot covering.

Once while we were cleaning out the garage with tools, and saws and heavy stuff that would actually sever your foot from your body, she insisted in wearing flip flops. I was a nervous wreck all day. I think she does it now just to spite me.

"You are always so concerned about my foot safety and here you are the one with the broken toe," she said after I told her how the accident happened and she calmed down from laughing long enough to begin speaking again.

Today I accidently hit my injured toe against the girls little wagon. The pain was overwhelming to the point I couldn't talk for a few minutes. Thats the tough part about broken toes, I tend to break them over and over

So it looks as though I am back to wearing shoes all the time.

Still where is the disconnect? Why don't I have more control over my own feet. I have taken a informal poll and have found most people don't have this problem, those without a seizure disorder don't seem to have a problem with slamming their feet into stationary objects.

So here I am again with another broken toe- and its my birthday- and although I would like to find a significance in that fact, I can't...

Here is hoping I got this years toe break out of the way...

I got twenty bucks that says....

I hate board games.

The other night Gioconda and Aidan were playing Scrabble, which I particularly detest, and they are arguing because Aidan kept wanting to use names like Roater , which he insisted was a name of some celebrity's kid and Gioconda wanted to use Spanish words, which in the end is just cheating. Don't get me wrong, I think cheating is fine, but to what end?

After all the bickering one person gets to say they won, it just didn't seem worth the effort. Gioconda spends hours playing a game called Bejeweled. Everyone here at 2107 is into one game or another.

Really? Unless there are little round chips with dollar signs out in front of me before the cards are dealt, I'm not playing.

I see no point in playing any type of game unless it is for the purposes of gambling.

Yet, when it comes to gambling there is basically nothing I wouldn't place a wager.

"I got twenty bucks that says Floyd Mayweather will not fight Manny Pacquiao," I offered last night at dinner. No takers.

In reality, I have no idea if this fight will ever take place, and I really don't care, but sometimes I'll just throw out a wager to add some credibility to my particular position.

I will say most of the folks living here at 2107 are competitive, yet generally they don't like to make bets they are not certain they can win.

"No takers?, " I said knowing there was no way anyone was going to take that action, although everyone (Aidan, Christian, and Aidan's friend Andy) insisted Mayweather would fight and beat Pacquiao.

"No guts, no glory, I'll go fifty" I said. Still nothing.

Unfortunately, this is a pretty good bet which means here at 2107 no one will take it, except for Gioconda who just takes the bet to shut me up.

"Ok, I'll bet with you, whatever you said," she finally relented, which really isn't much fun, as its not very interesting to bet with someone who doesn't even know what they are betting on.

I particularly like to wager with Aidan, as he is more competitive than the other boys and he really seems to hate loosing, which makes any victory that much sweeter.

I loose bets all the time, so I'm just not that invested, but with him any loss is a real kick to the balls. I never take his money, as it doesn't seem quite right to take money from a 14 year old, the fact that I won the money without actual collection is enough. Sometimes we will double up, and if I win a couple of bets I'll make a sucker bet to get him off the hook.

I know, not taking the money doesn't exactly mitigate the fact I derive so much pleasure from winning a bet on the basis that the person I am betting with REALLY CARES about winning- because three years ago he was eleven...

Still, I can't help myself because 35 years ago I was eleven.

Mt. Everest

Tonight I was considering my various obsessions.

Unfortunately, I dug up an old one I had forgotten about for the last year or so, my obsession with Mt. Everest. It began with the Jon Krakauer's book "Into Thin Air" which is his first hand account of the 1996 Everest Disaster. A few months after reading the book I somehow became acquainted with a woman who had traveled to the base camp at Everest on the Tibetan side.

She told me about how she trained to hike just to the base camp, and about the altitude sickness she suffered, how it was a difficult trip that she was glad she had made, but would never do it again.

The impossibility of even her journey seemed intriguing. So, I start reading books about Everest and Sir Edger Hillary, I went to see the IMAX movie made DURING the 1996 disaster. Krakaurer's book was made into a terrible TV movie that I watched of course.

So, I really didn't want to go to see Mt. Everest, I didn't really even have that much interest in Mt. Everest, yet I was compelled to think about it and read about what I could find. I thought about traveling to Mt. Everest, and trying to make it to base camp. I thought a lot about the sense of accomplishment one must feel at the summit of the highest point on earth.

A sense accomplishment I have no desire to try to obtain, but I am compelled to consider the possibility -- the possibility of doing something I would utterly detest. This is what makes it an obsession.

And it was really bad until around 1999, and then it just went away for a while until I met Natalie Winnas.

Natalie Winnas is this terrific facialist in Long Beach that I began to go to around 2000. It turns about Natalie Winnas has a sister who works as an assistant to Sandy Hill Pittman. Sandy Hill Pittman is a millionairess who was one of the survivors of the 1996 disaster and was highly criticized in Krakauer's book.

So what is the fucking chance of that....Every time I see Natalie I innocently slip Sandy Hill Pittman into the conversation so I can see if she can give me any information on her. I'm certain she knew what I was doing and she was a good sport about it.

"So does Sandy Hill Pittman have all her toes?" I asked.

"I think she does, but I have never seen her in sandals, but she does have all her fingers and both thumbs," Natalie replied.

Once after I told her I was a bit depressed she told me about a party at Sandy Hill Pittman's in which a little rodeo was presented as entertainment with a fireworks show for the finale. It did lift my mood a bit.

These little glimpse into the life of Sandy Hill Pittman kept the obsession going until a year after I moved from Long Beach, and i didn't see Natalie as often.

I had basically forgotten about it, until tonight when I began counting my obsessions, and this one came up.

Since Gioconda is not as forthright about her neurosis I asked her if she had anything she was obsessed with.

"No," she replied without hesitation.

" How many strollers do we have?" I asked.

"I may have an issue with strollers," she conceeded.

"An issue? We have six double strollers. That is a total of six stroller purchases, we have more money sunk into strollers than one of our cars," I replied.

"Yes, but at least I don't have to think about climbing Mt. Everst, and getting a sherpa and maybe even dying while trying to do something sort of stupid," she said.

She's right. I would be so much better served by having a more simplistic obsession.

At some point we will run out of double strollers to buy.

Lost and Stolen Items

I lost my keys today.

This is really nothing new, I loose stuff all the time, and most of the time I find what I thought was gone.

But this time, I am pretty certain these keys are really- really gone.

I'm actually very upset about loosing my keys and Gioconda won't talk to me about it.

"How much more can you say about it? Your not helping anything," she said.

I just hadn't said enough about it. I find when bad things happen I allow myself a 5-9 hour window in which I have to process the event, and this process does include talking. So, I am trying to move past it, having just been given 1/2 hour to process this misfortune.

This is a guilty confession, most of the time, meaning almost all the time, when I can't find something I am convinced the item has been stolen from me.

Don't get me wrong, there has been plenty is misappropriation here at 2107, but admittedly less than my suspicions.

A few months ago I picked up some clothes at the dry cleaners which I thought should have included a pair of jeans I left for altering. When I discovered the jeans were not in my order I made my conclusion in an instant, my jeans had been stolen.

So, I end up telling the owner that his worker must have stolen my jeans because I was certain I brought them in, although I didn't have a receipt...which to my thinking was all a part of the caper- the worker who took my jeans didn't give me a receipt- and of course I didn't pay attention...and then I went home and found the jeans.

And one would think I would change as a result of this little lesson in making accusations , but it didn't. When I can't find something my first thought is "what fucker took the charger to the electric screw driver..." And there is no lead up, when something is missing I am immediately pissed- mostly pissed at whoever took the remote to the dvd player.

But today I lost my keys...and I'm almost certain I only have myself to blame.

NOT ABOUT GIOCONDA

My brother-in- law knows a guy who plays poker for a living.

This particular guy goes to local card clubs, that's his job- a professional poker player.

There is this guy at the Santa Anita Track named Jimmy the Hat, his job- bets on horse races- that's his job. One day a few years back he made over a million dollars in one day...

My question- how do you get good at this shit?

I have never understand how a person is able to actually make a living off games of chance.

Whatever it takes, I don't seem to have it. I have studied the racing forms, used tip sheets, I even read "Horse Racing for Dummies"- and it has been overwhelmingly in effective in regard to my ability to pick a winner.

I have read books about craps, poker, black jack- even slots- yes, I read a book about slots- and my abilities have not improved nor has my fundamental understanding of any of those games grown.

How do you change the cards you are dealt? The cards we are dealt. I think about that a lot actually, how one person is born into poverty, or more interesting one of the faction of the population born in wealth. That actually what I think about, what it would be like to have been born into great wealth.

Maybe I would have been a drug addict, or a neuro surgeon, who knows. I would like to think I would embrace any opportunity being the daughter of JFK would bring, yet the reality is I could certainly end up being the one who skied into a tree.

"You spend more time and energy thinking about winning money than any other person I have ever known,"said a person who lives at this house*.

I know, spend the time and energy actually making money. The problem is, I want more money than I can possibly earn in my lifetime. I want millions, and I want to do little or nothing to earn it.

If only...if only I knew interesting people and if I could write about their zany antics I could sell this blog and earn those millions.

* Tonight Gioconda informed me she does not want her name used in the blog any longer. Further she requested any prior mention of her be blacked out with a sharpie- the way they do in communist countries-I told her I would be blogging about the fact she doesn't want me to blog about her.

Nightmare Before Walking

For some reason Sadie has been waking up at between 12-1 am. I'm not sure if she has bad dreams, or a stomach ache, or if she just wakes up and freaks out, but for whatever reason she has a complete melt down.

Typically, Sadie is Gioconda's baby, but I have been trying to split these little disruptions with her.

They have started crawling, which I will admit has been difficult. Yesterday I freaked out when I found a tooth pick sliver on the floor.

" This is a sword in a little baby throat," I said to no one in particular. My message, of course, be more careful, but since I couldn't exactly pin it on one person, I just sent it out for general consumption.

Its just that there so many more tooth pick slivers in my life than I could have possibly ever imagined.

Even when the girls aren't with me I find myself searching the ground now every where I go looking for little choking hazards. I suppose it keeps me on my toes, all that practicing.

Inevitably, I'll find something on the ground in the living room, something the girls could have gotten into their mouths and I'll spend the next 3-7 hours thinking about how fortunate I am I found the wrapper from the a "fun size" skittles. The business of life has become very basic.

I had no idea everything in my existence was a potential hazard.

"This is nothing," Gioconda says, "wait until they start walking, its a nightmare."

The most troubling part of her statement is the use of the word "nightmare." Over the course of our seven year relationship I would estimate we have been in 25 nightmare situations, when I asked Gioconda she answered "one" and then amended it " three at the most."

When I gave her my number she demanded an example.

The time we went to see the play "Wicked" and came out to a flat tire. The plasma television we had to return to Best Buy twice! The time they delivered our hot tub and forgot to deliver the cover.

I certainly wasn't going to ask her what "three at the most" things she thought were nightmare situations. Our thresholds for "nightmare" are very - very different.

Typically, "nightmare" to Gioconda is "there is no way I could possibly live through this" for me. I suppose I have been preparing for it, the whole walking thing. I have no idea how to begin to brace myself for any of the myriad of "events" which have yet to occur.

"A nightmare?" I asked her again tonight just to test her commitment to it.

"A nightmare," she said, committed.

What is in a name

When you have as many kids and animals as we do you start to run out of names.

I will say to our credit everyone does have a name, although admittedly there are a few birds who are a bit ambiguous, every mammal has a name.

The other day I asked Gioconda to name all the cats, she couldn't. She forgot some of the most obvious, Patches who has lived with her over the last 22 (YES 22) years- she forgot Patches- who lives in where I have no idea but gets fed every morning on the roof of the pool room.

Patches is the only animal who has a - what I would call - a non-human name. We don't have Fluffy or Stinky or Sparkie- we have Henri Pierre, Peter Thomas, Pinnter Anthony and Zoe Agentina- all our animals have middle names. That is all our animals EXCEPT for Patches and a couple of finches.

Sometimes I look at my daughters and wonder if I named them the right name. I mean, I would HATE to be a Suzy- or even a Monica-I can't imagine being anything but Jody- for a really long time in my life it was the only thing I was absolutely certain- my name was and more importantly should be Jody. I feel as though their names are right - and although hope they feel the same- my greater hope there will be more - much more-my daughters will be certain.

Gioconda has hard a tough time with her name. People don't say it right, as a kid she could never get one of those little license plates with your name - as amazing as it might sound there was no GIOCONDA between GAIL and GLORIA.

There is a book called "The Yearling" in which the main character - a boy- is named Jody- spelled with a Y. My mother tells me she loved the book- and this was a factor in her naming me Jody-but what is somewhat unclear is why she named her daughter after a male character in a book...

I consider myself fortunate she wasn't as fond of The Archie comics- because I could have been Veronica- or Betty.

I think my daughters know their names when I call them- but really who can tell. I think Henri Pierre knows his name too- but its hard for me to know as he speaks french and my daughters speak spanish...and I just speak english.

Run of Bad Luck

Today I asked Gioconda what it was about me that she was first attracted.

"I've never been attracted to you," she replied. Which I know was a joke, because there was a period from 2003-2005 that she did find me at the very least interesting.

Admittedly things changed for me in December 2005, this is when my run of bad luck began. I think the last four years, have taken its toll on me.

December 23, 2005: I received notice from the Federal Government was I am being audited.

January 2, 2006 : My little dog is killed by a coyote in the backyard

January 13, 2006: I am informed the house I have been in escrow for 2 years has completely fallen out and I need to find a new place to live

January 15, 2006; Gioconda and I decide to buy a house together...and then we spend the next six months selling two houses and buying and fixing the the house we live in now...which had had no improvements for the last forty years...

And just when things seemed as though they were getting back to "normal", just at the point we didn't have someone working on our house or yard or pool-

August 10, 2006: Joe takes his own life.... (then anything bad that happened prior to this date seemed ridiculous).

And then EVERYTHING implodes- but it was a long term implode- people imploding at different times to different degrees over the next three years...and we are fighting for Joe's share of the house, and his tools and his ashes...and it seems endless.

The culmination of our worse luck...and it seemed to me as though my luck didn't turn until...

February 12, 2009: Camille gets out of the NICU and both baby girls are home with us...Gioconda and the girls are both home and healthy- and that was the most I could have ever hoped.

This weekend I read an article about a lady who lost her five year old daughter to a deadly virus. Her daughter got sick rapidly and before anyone really knew what was happening the little girl was dead. It wasn't anyone's fault- it was just a terrible thing that happened- but I can't help but wonder how anyone ever over comes this kind of loss.

I console myself by thinking we have had "ours"- that run of bad luck between December 2005- February 2009, yet in spite of how awful those years seemed, loosing a child trumps anything I have endured.

Although it is better now, I still live with the regret of the person I became during that time, the resentments I developed, the anger I felt- and ultimately how it changed me- changed who I was to myself- changed who I was to Gioconda.

My daughters have shattered the fossilization of my heart- and fortunately for me they didn't know me during my "run of bad luck"- but the other people I live with did- and we will forever live with the burden of their collective grief and loss.

I suppose after all is said and done actual attraction at this point may be too much to ask for...

Twins

Last weekend in Berkeley within six hours I met four people who told me they were a twin and two sets of twins together.

I mentioned it to Julien and Gioconda at dinner.

"I mean, I bet in the last three years of my life I've met that many twins," I said.

" Maybe thats true, but really how many people you casually interact with on a daily basis give you that type of information about themselves? I could have a ton of friends who are twins they just haven't told me because it didn't seem relevant," Julien replied.

Funny how I didn't meet as many twins before I HAD TWINS...duh.

So now I am connected to those who are twins.

But what is strange is how fascinated people are with the twins. Fortunately for me, Gioconda doesn't mind interacting with strangers who all say the same thing.

"Are they twins?" Which objectively is a really stupid thing to ask, but I chalk it up to people just thinking out loud.

And then they say," A boy and a girl?" Gioconda says its because Camille is bigger, but I think she sort of looks like a boy, but she doesn't care because she likes her hair short. I prepare myself for the "who is the mother?" question, which we have gotten a hand full of times.

The whole thing is awkward for me. Gioconda is so much more out there with everything, she enjoys it.

Before the girls were born I asked her what she thought she would say if someone asked who the father was.

"They don't have a father they have two mothers," she replied.

She's right, but still there is a part inside of me that winces a little bit every time someone stops us to ask us..are they twins? and then...a boy and a girl? and then I wait for the next question...

It feels so strange to love my daughters as much as I do, and feel so utterly connected to them, yet still feel somewhat displaced in my relationship to them for no other reason but for the way I think others perceive us.

Today we took the girls to Heritage Day in Placentia. Placentia is the city I grew up located in Northern Orange County.

During the election in November I couldn't stand to visit my parents, who still live in the city, as by the time I reached their house I would have driven by hundreds of YES on 8 signs. Northern Orange County is crazy conservative. When I was in high school and college there were numerous Gay bashings in the area.

Growing up I always looked forward to Heritage Days, I was in the parade countless times. I mean, who doesn't love a carnival, fried food, dangerous rides, those feeder fish in the little jars. Its been something I looked forward to taking the girls, and I looked forward to taking the girls because for some reason after living in with the constant oppression I felt every minute of every hour I lived there for twenty five years it didn't occur to me that perhaps Gioconda and I along with our little girls would not be necessarily welcome.

Within 5 minutes I knew I had made a mistake. Although not openly hostile, people were less than friendly.

So we are sitting eating pulled pork with my sister and my nephew Parker and I am on edge because of this weird overall vibe, and all women have those square on the end acrylic nails, painted with a french manicure, and my sister sees this lady and her kid approaching she says to me," This kid is in Parker's scout group and they are very VERY conservative."

Great. I'm not enough on edge. I size her up and decide she can't kick my ass, so what's the worse that could happen. She could give me one of those little pamphlets about accepting Christ as my Savior, or I guess she could yell at us and run away causing a disruption at Heritage Days, yet after making the determination I could take her in hand to hand combat, I wasn't as concerned.

My sister introduces us to the lady and within a second she asks," So whose babies are these?"

"Ours", Gioconda and I reply at the same time. And then, just in case she didn't hear it I repeated, "Ours."

And then there was a pause and then," Oh."

This pretty much ended the conversation. The lady sat with her boy scout son for a few more minutes. The whole time I'm thinking she is damming us to hell or trying to slip a Bible into the diaper bag.

As she was leaving she said to me, " Your babies are very cute, I'm a twin."

So now I am connected to those who are twins...

The NEXT Level (as opposed to the PRIOR level)

Here is the question I have. When a person says " I want to take this to the next level" what exactly does that mean?

First of all what level do we begin with. I mean, one person's next level may be a 4, and another persons next level may be a 15. Where do we start? Where do we end- what is "the next level?".

I am unable to make sense of this phrase, yet people are saying it all the time. It seems to be a common phrase in the world of reality dating shows. In this context I am guessing the next level is some form of sexual interaction. It's hard to tell as the participants in these shows are frequently profoundly limited - I'm relatively confident they don't even know what they are saying. Words with no meaning assigned.

It occurs to me there are these phrases that get adopted by the masses -"the next level" is my current most hated phrase.

I also detest the following:

"Its all good"- no its fucking not.
"My bad"- your bad what? - behavior- decision-breath?
"Tru DAT"- the white boys I live with say this ALL THE TIME- what is DAT?- think about it- even it you say it correctly it is a really stupid thing to say- True THAT-is everyone a moron?

I know, its the "hip hop" culture. Really? Culture?

Being an interpreter, Gioconda is very precise in what she says- and I will be honest many times it drives me ape shit - yet she says these phrases don't bother her if it is said by a kid. Yet I think everyone at every age sounds absurd uttering this crap.

I know- I know - peeps are just keeping it real....

A Day Worker

I am completely stressed out as I don't have any significant work for the month of October.

Now that I am a day worker its unsettling to know there are 31 days in which I don't actually have anything lined up.

It is probable work will trickle in, yet my gut is in a knot as I can't help myself from staring at the October calendar without any appointments other than a teeth cleaning on the 8th. I suppose it frees me up to decorate for Halloween, yet I remain unsure what I will do with the remaining 30 3/4 days of the month after this is accomplished.

This week is full, and as a result I am also concerned I don't have enough time to get everything done by the end of the month.

"You are never happy," Gioconda said tonight after I expressed how I was completely exhausted from working so much this week, coupled with the potential despair of not having any work for the entire month of October, and that the combination of these two things had given me a sore throat.

She has a valid point. Objectively, it would appear as though I am relatively unhappy being busy, yet equally- or arguably more dissatisfied when my calendar is barren.

"Living with you can be so difficult," she said.

"You have no idea," I replied.

The Truth About Naked

Last night I had a dream I wore a sports bra and shorts to a deposition. Certainly improper attire for such an event.

When I was a kid I used to have dreams of showing up at school naked. Last nights dream must have been the adult equivalent to my childhood nude school dreams. Clearly it has something to do with feelings of vulnerability as I really don't like to be without clothes so I am relatively confident it has nothing to do with an unexplored perversion.

Unfortunately at this juncture in my life all my perversions have already been explored.

I prefer to be fully clothed, in fact I make an concerted effort to spend as little time possible without clothes. I have it down to about 13 minutes a day, which is the approximate time it takes me to shower each morning. I used to take a shower at night, but found it was too much time for me to be naked, so unless I am exceptionally dirty I will forgo the bedtime shower.

I think I was more tolerant of my own nudity as a teen and young adult, but around 35 I began to consider showering with my underwear on in order to cut down on the hours per week I spent fully naked.

Its not about body issues, I have the opposite of anorexia. A few years back I went to a friend's wedding in Kaui. It wasn't until I saw the photographs- me with my white belly hanging ever so slightly over my shorts and cut off shirt- me with back fat under my sports bras hoisting up yet another Miller Genuine Draft beer- me with three chins- that I realized I was fat.

"Why didn't you tell me I was obese," I asked my friend Ann.

She shrugged, " We were all having such a good time I didn't want to bring it up."

Although I did loose a few pound after that trip I remain a little tubby, but I don't really care. I have a friend who works out every single day, watches everything she eats and rarely drinks beer. Although she looks good, she doesn't look good enough to me to go to such lengths- cost benefit analysis- I'll stick with my red burritos and regular cokes thank you.

Sometimes I worry I will end up with a some sort of skin disease which renders me unable to wear clothes, something requiring me to be naked more than 90 minutes a week.

"You could always wear a toga," Gioconda suggested. She's right, and toga's are slimming.

Just The Facts Please

I don't really have any childhood memories, and the memories I do have are not that great.

This isn't any sort of indictment against my parents, I wasn't abused or neglected. There were no alcoholic rages, I was never left in a hot vehicle with the windows slit, on the first day of school I always had new shoes and a fresh Peechee.

Sure I have recollection of my Grandpa taking walks with me to the beach, and there was that time my Grandma threw that snapping turtle in the ditch, but really other than a few isolated situations its pretty much a blank slate.

Gioconda has vivid recollections of almost every significant and non significant event in her life for the last 43 years.

She remembers the color and the style of the dress she wore when she "graduated" from pre school. Due to her ability to recall events of 38 years ago in living color she simply can't accept I don't share this ability.

Today we went to the Huntington Gardens.

"Have you been here before?" she asked.

Although I vaguely recall seeing the Pinkie and Blue Boy paintings, I may have dreamt it, or I may have seen recreations, I have no idea.

If I don't remember something, which is about 99% of the time, I will answer the same way in order to avoid further questioning on the subject.

"I'm unsure, I have a vague recollection of being here (doing that- seeing that). I don't know how old I was, who I was with, what I was wearing and/or if I had anything to eat and/or drink while I may or may have not been there."

I know it is a compound answer to a relatively simple question, yet I've found this to be a real time saver.

I'm actually used to it.

When I tell my mother something I frequently preface it with " I am now going to tell you everything I know about this situation." However, it doesn't dissuade from making a further inquiry.

Example:

JODY: I was late to court today because someone parked their car in front of our driveway. I had to have it towed.

MY MOTHER: Who did that?

JODY: I don't know.

MY MOTHER: Was it a neighbor? Or maybe a friend of a visiting a neighbor.

JODY: Couldn't tell you.

MY MOTHER: Maybe they didn't know it was a driveway, or they got confused somehow.

JODY: Not sure.

MY MOTHER: Why would they park in your driveway?

JODY: I'm sure it was a conspiracy to keep me from getting to court on time to throw me off my game and give my opponent the advantage.

MY MOTHER: Really? You think someone would go to that trouble? Who do you think would do that?

You can see where this is going. Its endless.

I'm a strictly concise facts person.

Q: "Have you been to Berlin?"
A: "Yes"

All I need to know. I don't need dates or the name of the hotel you stayed at, I don't need to know what you ate or if your flight was delayed.

I know it might sound abrupt, but all the information is just going into the sieve in my head and get lost along with who I sat next to in second grade.

See But Don't Say

There has been a lot going on here at 2107 Santa Rosa, but I can't write about any of the more interesting things...

The dogs have been enjoying a new dog food called "Chef Michael", we were able to fix the air conditioner from leaking water on the basement floor, the refridge will now beep randomly and repeatedly , which typically occurs in the early morning hours....these are the safe topics I am allowed to blog about.

"You need to blog about your own life," Gioconda says.

This leads me to ponder - what exactly is my life? Apparently, my life isn't inclusive of the happens here at the home I am living, paying 1/2 of the mortgage and the water bill...my life consists of the more mundane...baby poop, speculation as to what happened the black and white cat to cause on puncture wound on her left leg- which I successfully have treated with antibiotic ointment, trying to figure out what is causing the mold smell in the towels....so this is my "life".

The fundamental problem is that the "life" I "own" is it is felony boring. I get to experience a lot of crazy shit- I just can't talk (or write) about it.

"Is that a dead raccoon on his head or did he cut his hair that way," I said on Monday. There is more to this story...unfortunately here in the world of see but don't say I am forbidden from continuing.

Last week I made a list of all the terrible things that have happened to Gioconda over the last three years.

" Why would you even do that," she said when I asked her if she wanted to see it.

"I was thinking I could use it for my memoir," I replied.

"For YOUR memoir?," she asked.

Granted the list of events did not happen to me directly; however, how am I ever going to be Oprah's book selection with stories about how I tricked the cat into taking a pill.

Things go down here at 2107 which would make a killer reality show- sure I am in the periphery, yet I should still be able to write about SOMETHING.

I have suggested a formula in which I have authorization to write about one out of every five situations in which I am technically not a participant. Last week I blogged about an interaction I had with one of her friends.

"I guess this is fine if you don't mind that she will end up hating you and this will completely end your relationship with her," she said after she read it and right before I deleted it.

In truth, I am tethered to about 10 people in my orbit- so to have her hate me and keep my blog entry was a fair trade.

"I thought it was funny," I replied. She just shook her head.

"You will need up damaging your relationships for your blog," she said.

I'm a person who is not that connected to sound, she is just going to have to give me something more compelling.

Zombie Babies

There is only about 6 weeks before Halloween luckily the girls already have two costumes lined up...so far.

Although I never intended to be that person apparently I am. Whatever. I'm an old mother.

Halloween does something to Gioconda. She starts talking about going to horror movies, she mentioned in passing dressing the girls as Leather Face from the Texas Chain Saw Massacre movies, and she bought a set of Zombie Babies.

To say the Zombie Babies are unsettling is an understatement. Even the most hardened of our friends has described the Zombie Babies as disturbing. Eyeless, with little baby pointed teeth, the Zombie Babies sit cross legged, and appear to be almost the exact size of our two non zombie babies.

The Zombie Babies currently reside in the living room. I don't go there alone anymore.

"I decided I'll be doing a photo series with the Zombie Babies," she said on Tuesday.

And then she showed me the list of the how she was going to pose the Zombie Babies.

"I'm just afraid you may end up burning in hell as a result of this," I said in an attempt to dissuade her.

She doesn't care. It's not like it is anything she can control. Something takes ahold of her during this time of year, something dark and menacing.

"I would really like to go see that 3-d movie Valentine, Bloody Valentine," she said last week.

I just smiled and nodded. This will be over soon enough, November 3rd - 4th at the latest.

That time of year...again

Once again it is soccer season. Yeah.

Although I remain unclear how we were able to endure the last 5 months without watching one team kick the ball and then the other team try to take the ball, and then kick the ball for an hour and a half we now have the sweet relief of once again being spectators to this event- over and over and over....

We went to Dylan's game last night. He plays in the oldest age league in AYSO 16-19. I will say after watching almost every level of soccer, it really doesn't change a great deal. In fact it has occurred to me that all levels could play together in a hybrid of ages. Sure the taller players may have an advantage, but if they spread the taller players around the teams we could watch Dylan kick the ball with Aidan and then it two or three years watch Aidan play with the girls.

Admittedly I am no soccer fan, I have said before I find the whole sport mind boggling boring.

In spite of this I found myself at Muir central field.

"I hope it isn't my turn to bring snack (please note for whatever reason these AYSO people call it snack- since a person brings more than one it is SNACKS -plural)," Giconda said.

Really? The 16-19 year old get a snack after the game?

Everyone gets one fruit roll a box drink and a condom.

Afterward I said the same things I always say, "I have no memory prior to this game. I can't believe people endure this."

"Just wait until the girls start to play. You have no idea what it is like to watch 5 year olds play," Gioconda replied.

My girls will definately play soccer. Not for the sport, but for what playing sports, any sport, does for the self esteem of girls.

Although I didn't say it, I really can't wait.

In the last week Camille has learned to take Sadie's pacifier out of her mouth and put it in her own mouth. I could watch it for hours...

365 million

Two weeks ago the lotto mega millions was up to 365 million.

I bought 20 tickets and began spending plans. My biggest dilemma, how much would I have to give to family members. After thinking it through I concluded I would give my parents each a million, and my sister half a million, which still leaves me with about 200 million after taxes, give or take.

And then there is Gioconda's family, in all honesty I have no real close friends I would feel compelled to gift anything, but a ton of first cousins, aunts, nephews...and the list keep growing. It was then I decided I would always pick up the check when I ate out with these people, and this seemed adequate. Its a slippery slope, giving away money, so in the end I pretty much decided, I wouldn't.

With this resolved, I allowed myself to focus on what I really wanted to think about, all the stuff I would buy.

I asked my mother what she would do with all that money.

"Well, I would give you and your sister 10 million, and then a million to my sisters and brothers, and Tony ( the guys who does her nails) I would give him a million, of course my Grand children, I would give them all 5 million and then 100 thousand to my nieces and nephews, and I would like to give all the employees of the school district $2,000.00 as a bonus....," and she kept going.

The lady who cleans her house, the sorority sisters she still sees, the college she graduated from, a lady who lives in her truck at the park she walks...

According to my calculations my mother's plan for the 365 million (after everything was given away) was about 65 million.

"That's fine, really its more than I could possibly need," she said.

My mother had planed to give away 300 million of the 365, I had planned on giving away about 2.5 million of the 365. My mother planned on giving Tony the nail guy the same amount of money I planned on giving her and my father. She was going to give the dude that polishes her finger nails the same amount I was going to give to the person who gave me birth.

Really?

In the end, neither one of us had to make those difficult decisions. For her how much to give to the lady that cuts her hair, for me whether to buy my own Cessna jet, or just rent out on an as needed basis.

One thing for sure, we would have both always bought dinner.

Ted, Ed and Tim

I watched the memorial service for Teddy Kennedy this weekend, which was really difficult for me.

I tend to cry relatively easily in normal circumstances, thus funerals for me, even those of people I have never met, are particularly hard to endure.

When I worked for Liberty Mutual the receptionist father died. He was elderly, in poor health and his death was not unexpected. I would not have known him in a crowd of one, yet at the service I found myself sobbing. It was somewhat embarrassing, as I seemed more upset than the immediate family.

"How did you know him?" a woman asked.

"A friend," I lied. I really couldn't tell the truth. It was one of my top ten psycho moments.

In the last three years I have buried two Grandmothers and my beloved Grandfather. I can say, without hesitation, I cried more at Ed Bradley's televised service than at all three services in aggregate.

I was able to hold it together for Kennedy's service because there were other people around, but when I watched Tim Russert's service I was home alone so my grief was unmitigated by the humiliation of crying, at times uncontrollably, for a person I had never met.

"You may have a detachment disorder," Gioconda has suggested more than a few times.

Since she frequently diagnoses me with a variety of psychological "challenges" most of the time she lacks credibility, yet I have to admit she may be on to something.

Its true I feel more connected to animals than I do most people, and at times the thought of being in solitary confinement is oddly attractive, yet I am now two people's mother so it seems as though I need to be more tethered to human beings, that is human beings I have actually met.


But then again, sometimes I find I like the people I have never met so much more than those I actually know....

A dog's life

For the past week I have been trying to catch one of our outdoor cats.   Filled with mattes I want to either shave him myself, or get him into a carrier and take him to the groomer.

The problem is that he is on to me.  Last week I actually had him in my arms and while placing him in the carrier he escaped, I haven't been able to get close to him since.

He doesn't seem to mind that his fur is basically a dread lock, but it really bothers me. 

He is simply more savvy than I am, so I'm not very confident I will ever nab him.

The white dog has been especially harsh with the bull dog this week, they got in a fight over a chew and the bull dog ended up with a sore on her head.  

These things are important to me.  Some may think these things are too important- but I don't care.  I like it that the cats come when I call them to eat, and that the dogs chew the chicken jerky strips each time as though it is the first time- I know its because of the food and not necessarily my company, still its nice to start your day with living beings who are absolutely thrilled to see you- EVERY SINGLE TIME.

Most animals possess a loyalty which simply is not present in my species.

None of my animals  (other than Pinnter) have ever gone through my wallet, none of my animals have ever cancelled dinner,  none of them have ever broken up with me ( its me not you- REALLY?- its always you).

I know, its hard for the animals to steal as the ones who live here do not have posable thumbs- but still I like to think even given the opportunity they wouldn't take advantage of the situation.

Sure, the Pug will try to run out the gate if given the chance, and for a while the foster dog (Ruby Tuesday- who Gioconda calls the "homeless dog" because she simply can not accept the fact the dog has a home- at 2107) was slipping through the fence, which I will add was particularly hurtful given the circumstance of her arrival as a foster dog in need of a home...but she seems to have over come this desire - in sum other than these limited occasions- all seem content.

Since I spend a great deal of my time  (more than 78%) worrying about something- from swine flu to global warming to my daughter's bowel movements (this is a recent worry), I do worry all my animals are happy- and healthy and getting enough of everything.

In fact, I would rank my concern of the well being of my animals in my top five of worries- that is I worry about my daughters -#1- and if I am honest the animals are #2- tied with Gioconda and the boys of course, ....my parents, sister and nephews are a strong #3- and then the rest of the top ten is filled with worry about money- the fact I am upside down on the property I own- and upside down on my car...and money-and my "investments" and then there is money... 

So lately my worries about my animals have manifested in my dreams.  Two nights ago I dreamed I lost my smallest dog in a casino, and I found her among the slot machines which is crazy because everyone knows the smallest dog (Chloe) only plays keno.

Which leads me to yet another worry- that is my preoccupation with gambling-I'll put this at a #13- behind skin cancer but in front of having a spider crawl in my ear and lay eggs on my brain.

 

Summer Break

This week all six kids were here- which means we add two, but those two are really messy- so its really like we added seven- so this week all 15 were here.

When the big boys come home they stay in the guest house which is why I just don't go back there.  When Gioconda lived at 144 East Pine she once told me she only went upstairs one time a day.

"I just can't handle more than that," she said.  At the time it seems insane to completely avoid an entire floor of your house, but now I so get it.

Tonight I had to go the guest house as all the lights were left on.  Apparently, there was a plan to hang meat as the temperature was a frosty 68.

Dishes, food, blankets, games scattered on the floor.

"After they use something do they just throw it directly in the air?" I asked Gioconda.

She shrugged.  She thinks I am too critical.

"You have no idea how most people live," she says.  Gioconda is the arbritor of nothing.

To Gioconda everyone earns $200k a year,   she enjoys crowds, and could live in a refrigerator box.  Things rarely bug her.

Clearly, she doesn't have a very firm grasp on reality.  

I admit I am neurotic about a clean house, yet there has to be something between my need for order and the collection of fast food bags and Girls Gone Wild videos on the floor.

The bigger question for me is who can eat a Big Mac combo meal while watching porno.  I get pizza, but a burger, that just seems unnatural. 

Christian left on Wednesday and Julien will leave Monday. Christian is actually not a messy as Julien so we lost 2.5 people with his departure, which puts the count at 8.5 here with us.

"Summer is almost over and it will be Christmas before you know it," she said yesterday, as if this was a good thing.

Great.  December.  Property tax and 7 additional people.

Both fat and old

We were at REI the other night.  I was trying on a pair of shoes, and when I bent down I fell.

To Gioconda's credit, she didn't immediately laugh hysterically as she normally would- as I had Camille strapped to the  front of me and I think she had a degree of concern for the baby, but once she discovered Camille was unharmed she laughed her ass off...to the point she was crying- literally.

It's really a bad combination, me who falls frequently- and she who would laugh even if I fell under a circular saw and sliced off a limb.  The degree of damage has no bearing on her, if you fall, even if you have a disfiguring scar as result, she will laugh.

Gioconda's been taking a lot of pictures lately, and I have noticed I look really old, so although I hail from a family of people who fall- most specifically, my mother- my tumble at REI was the perfect storm of my genetic predisposition, my age,  my weight- and add a 16 lbs baby riding on the front of my body, wrecking further havoc on my instability -  before I knew it I had fallen- and I couldn't get up.

My first thought was Fred Murphy's* mother.  When I was in the second grade Fred Murphy's father took a hammer and hit Fred's mother in the head- killing her.    Fred Murphy's mother was over weight and matronly.  Once when we were in kindergarten class I saw her trip and catch herself just as she was going down.

In my second grade mind, her death somehow was mitigated by her appearance, and her inability to remain up right during a simple walk across the playground.

Doing the math, it would appear as though I now have quite a bit in common with Fred Murphy's mother- old, fat and clumsy.   I am hopeful to not have the same demise, I tend to keep sharp  and heavy objects out of the locations in which I might be sleeping or at rest to avoid a sneak attack-I'm on my toes, which I am guessing she wasn't.   

My question- when did I become this person?  This may somehow be connected to my recently becoming a parent- yet I am simply unable to pin point a date and time.  

"The worse part is it was at REI.  Everyone who shops there is into the outdoors, or at the very least athletic," Gioconda said on the ride home.

"I mean, those people are climbing boulders, backpacking on trails, cross country skiing...," she continued.

"I got it," I replied.  

It was not enough I was internally comparing myself to Fred Murphy's dead (fat,clumsy) mother,  I also had to negotiate the fact I essentially tipped over, rolling to the left and then to the right before I was able to right myself with the help of Gioconda, in front of a bunch of skinny coordinated assholes.  

*although the story of Fred Murphy's mother is completely true the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Dog the Bounty Hunter

On tonight's episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter, Dog and his entourage were questioning the father of a woman they were trying to find.  Apparently, his daughter was wanted on a $50,000.00 bond, and Dog was going to bring her in.

While explaining to Dog he had no idea of the whereabouts of his daughter his top false teeth flew out of his mouth onto the orange shag carpet.

This led me to ponder, on reflection, which point was lower for this guy.  The point he realized Dog the Bounty Hunter was at his door trying to find his daughter, or the point he felt his teeth project across the room, only to be later broadcast on cable.

Clearly, he signed a release which resulted in tonight's show,  which leads me to further ponder, could there be a worse moment in this dude's life which he wouldn't allow to be shown on national TV? 

Spitting your teeth like a projectile in front of a room full of strangers...and its filmed and the film is shown...really?  Is there something worse?

One time when I was in high school I got a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe and I drug it around for at least five minutes before I saw it and the embarrassment  haunted me for the second half of my sophomore year...and no one even took a still photo of it.

It leads me to be believe the lure of even a limited amount of fame is enough to compel a person allow themselves to be seen in a very - very - very - compromised situation.  

As I have said before, I would have no issue with exploiting every resident of 2107,  my extended family, close and marginal friends  in order to have a reality show if I meant I could make money without "traditional" work.    

I have my teeth, there is no danger of that happening to me....

The Zoo Life

Since we have children now we do cool things on the weekends.

Last week we went to the LA Zoo.  Although the girls didn't seem to really respond to the animals, Camille fell asleep and Sadie was preoccupied with a hat I bought for her, I enjoyed myself,  although I am not quite sure why.

Overall, that zoo is pretty bleak.  I mean, at some point it was new, right?  It seemed dingy, the animals were unenthusiastic, I think one of the apes may have flipped me off.  If I was a zoo animal, and I would like to add if I was an animal I would WANT to be a zoo animal, I think I would rather be in San Diego.

I certainly wouldn't want to be at one of those zoos who sell the animals to hunting farms, and I would want to have the basics, but I don't need to be in a pen that I could run around, because I wouldn't be running.  I'm in a cage, nothing is chasing me,  that is the real beauty of being a zoo animal.

I know there those who argue wild animals should be in their habitat(s).

Really?  I'm a elephant living in Africa.  Oh no, here comes Mr. Poacher to get my tusks to make someone a bracelet...or I am a jaguar on the Serengeti...oh no, here comes global warming and I can't find any life sustaining  food or water .  I'm a water buffalo in Montana grazing along minding my own business...oh no here come the hungry lions to maul me and begin to eat my flesh while I am still alive.

Once you are an adult in the animal kingdom, you are on your own.  No one does your hunting or grazing for you. Sure you might live in a pride or herd, or gaggle,  yet with groups politics are always a factor, and you think everything is fine until the buck who you never really felt comfortable around begins texting your mate.

By far the best option is the zoo life.   Your food is brought to you, and its stuff you like the most, your bedding or cave is just how you like it-because the zoo wants you to be happy so you don't die...so that people can bring their twin daughters to look at you, but one will be sleeping and one will be playing with her hat.

What Happens in Vegas stays in Altadena

Next week my sister is on vacation and she invited me to go with her to Las Vegas.

 There is no place I love more than Vegas.

It is everything - drinking, gambling, shopping, eating- drinking- GAMBLING so many great things all in one place. And everyone in Vegas in on the same page. The last time I was there I left on the first flight of the day, at 6:30 am while getting a cab I noticed three guys stumbling into the entrance of Cesars. All wearing sun glasses one had what appeared to be purple vomit on the front of his shirt, one had a bloody nose, and one had somehow lost his pants, wearing a pair of boxers with green army men. I have been all three of these people at various points in my life.

I love all bad things.  Luckily for me, my parents are both upstanding citizens and hard working people, because If I had been raised by anyone other than my exceptional mother and father I would be a grifter.

I have been fortunate in my life to surround myself with people who are much more controlled, and as a result I'm not doing time in Chino.

So, it just so happens I had a couple of things go my way last month so I have a few extra bucks so I could go.

BUT... need to get some things fixed at the house, and although I have the money, do I really want to leave it on the craps table?

Actually, yes I do. I would also like to drink a lot and smoke and stay up all night.  Yet things have changed and now I have others to consider.  

It seems as though every other day someone mentions to me the high cost of private school- and for me this is x2.  If my daughters go to private school by the time they reach the 6th grade their education(s) will have cost me as much as I spent on college and law school-sobering.  

"Two words, Progressive Jackpot," Pinnter said when I broke the news to him we wouldn't be making the trip.  He then showed me all his teeth, as he does this when he is disappointed.

Typically,  Pinnter does go with me to Vegas..he counts cards and is oddly lucky at Pai Gow, yet I can't allow him to intimidate me into going.  

"I have to think about the girls, " I replied.

"What girls?," he said, as he is still pretending they don't exist.

So next week when my sister is laying by that really cool pool at the Golden Nugget I will be reorganizing the garage.

Charles Lindbergh

Today I saw a show about Charles Lindbergh.

Apparently he had four family's, three which were secret.  The three lived in Germany and just over the boarder in Switzerland, so about four times a year he would fly to Germany and make his rounds to see the secret family's.  His American wife never told anyone she suspected his infidelity.  Is that something you wouldn't know?  

He gave them all different po boxes and changed the boxes every few years, I guess that is how he kept it a secret, for such a high degree of complication that didn't seem to be sophisticated enough to me.  I suppose his American wife simply thought he was out of the country on business, apparently, the other women knew about his American wife, but didn't know about each other - and two were sisters.  

Its been a while since I have heard about someone having multiple "secret" family's.  Sure there are the polygamist, but what Lindbergh did simply could not be done today.  

When I was a kid I remember a really bad tv movie with John Ritter playing a doctor who had three wives, and none of the wives knew about each other.  Based on a true story, the guy is so knotted up trying to keep all these women happy, he dies of a heart attack.  They didn't make him a bad guy, in fact I sort of felt sorry for him in the end.  It seemed like a complicated endeavor for John Ritter, yet  Lindbergh seemed to have an easier time with it.  I attribute this to the fact his secret family's were living in another country, there was really no chance of anyone running into each other in the hospital cafeteria-which is what happened to John Ritter- and what I am sure contributed to his heart attack.

Still, I find the whole idea of a secret anything intriguing.

You just don't hear about this anymore.  Maybe its the economy, supporting more than one household is cost prohibitive, yet, I think its something else.

We are just too far up each others asses, with e-mail, cell phones, texting, skype a person can no longer just leave the country for a few weeks to visit one secret family, and he had three.  

We are all low jacked.

2107 Santa Rosa

Today Gioconda told me there are things I should not blog about.

More specifically, she doesn't want me to blog about the boys.  

Gioconda thinks I only blog about the bad stuff, and its true, I do want to blog about the bad stuff, because it's more interesting.

It may be I am so focused on the "bad (more interesting) stuff", that I don't see the myriad of good things....yet the last time I checked no one who lives here, or uses this address as their permanent mailing address, has rescued a kitten from a burning car, or volunteered to take one of our multiple dogs to a hospital to see cancer kids...no one associated with this address is in the Peace Corp.   She needs to face it, those at 2107 are not "do gooders", we are all just trying to stay on the right side of the law.

I will say I think most of the boys bathe on a regular basis, so there is a good thing.  No one has totaled a car in 2009, there's that.

I think there should be a statute of limitations.  Six months and three days after the event I should be able to blog about it- and most of the time I won't remember.

Still, when you catch a kid with a girl in the back of your red truck at 2:34 am and he tells you (as he is pulling on his pants) that he was talking to her because she had problems with her parents and you scream at him from the middle of the street the following:

"Who are you? Dr. Fucking Phil?  Are you counseling her with your dick?"

I think a person should be able to relate this story to others who may benefit from learning if you wake a person up at 2:34 am on a work night there is going to be a cock block.

I'm not saying this happened at my house, I'm just saying what I don't know, will not hurt any of us.  

Here at 2107 we are all just trying to stay on the right side of the law...

Curse of Facebook

I am now friending my mothers friends on Facebook.

I have moved on from the people I found from high school, and second cousins, the natural progression is to your parents associations.

My mother refuses to be part of it, and there is a part of me that wished I was not sucked in.

I mean, if we haven't spoken for twenty years maybe its for a good reason.   Just when I had decided my life was better without a variety of loose associations, but instead a few trusted solid friends, I "reconnect" with "Lisa" who shared a locker with me for two weeks in the fall of our sophomore year.

"We haven't seen each other since 1980, but it is terrific to 'reconnect' with you on facebook..."

Really, did I leave a void in your life-?-because in all honesty- I have no clue who the fuck you are.

There are those I have made contact with who I was sincerely and honestly thankful for the opportunity- and if you are reading this blog and are one of my facebook friends I am certain you fall within this category.

But then there are those like- and this is not her real name- 'Donna', who hated and made fun of you in high school...fast foward 25 years and you get an e-mail alerting you 'Donna' now wants to be your facebook friend...but she really still hates you- she just wants to see if your fat, or have to wear a uniform to work.  'Donna' has no interest in your well being, its all about the hope your shopping at the plus sized section at Walmart and getting your Cheerios from WIC.

And after 5-6 trys she gets you to bite, and you accept her because you think enough time has really gone by to hold a high school grudge, but your wrong...don't let go of the hate  you had for people in high school or risk of absolute and complete exploitation.

Then one day 'Donna' comments on a picture of you in a cheerleading skirt in high school-

"Healthy thighs..."

And you want to slit her throat, but at the same time your mad at your self because you allowed yourself to let the hate go...

Facebook is ultimately the reason I am making a conscious effort to maintain my ancient hatred(s) and resentment(s) .

Thats why I have decided for me its better to let it fester and manifest disease inside my gut than to allow someone I have hated for 25 years see a picture of me on vacation is Des Moines.

Soccer Dogs

On Tuesday Gioconda, Aidan an I joined 80,000 other people at the Rose Bowl to see a professional soccer match.  

People are insane about this sport.  

I don't get it.

Because I like events only in theory, apparently, the idea of attending this event, in the middle of July, seemed like a good idea to me in the spring...and I may have been drunk.

We had fantastic seats, about ten rows up from the field and directly in the center...but we were watching soccer, so did it really fucking matter?  We are watching men in polyester outfits kick a ball on a field, isn't that the same at any level?

I'm not a big fan of any sport, but I really enjoy a good draft beer and hot dog in a stadium setting.  I will attend a Sparks game, but I am required to go to at least 2 games a season, or it effects my lesbian standing- I'm a diamond member.

I will say, without hesitation, I was -by far- the most unenthusiastic person in the crowd...even the guy selling (three stacked trays) of lemonaide---going up and down the stairs-- had a better time at the game than I did.

My problem with soccer is I just don't understand what all the fuss is about.  For the past 6 years I have gone to more soccer games (Dylan and Aidan play) than I have flossed my teeth, and I have to say flossing my teeth would at the very least eliminate plaque...watching soccer just pisses me off.  It the way the spectators react to soccer that really frosts my balls.

Soccer fans are ape shit about soccer, and it is all very personal.  

Aidan tells me on You Tube he has watched clips of riots at soccer games

"It happens more than you would think," he said.  

"Do you understand rioting over a game that you have no direct involvement, or any real stake in the outcome?"  I asked. 

"Well..," he replied.

Of the 80,000 in the crowd 79,999 were in rapture.

After the game I got a hot dog from a guy in the parking lot cooking it on a camping stove in a grocery cart.  Wrapped in bacon and charred just the right amount, it may have been one of the five best hot dogs of my life.

Three days later I was still talking about it.

"I just can't pin point what about it made it so good.  It was as if he liberated the soul of the hot dog, cooking it the way it was meant to be cooked," I said.

"We were ten rows up in the middle of the field, in a capacity crowd and the only thing you talk about is the shopping cart dog," Gioconda replied.

I'm not ashamed.

The next game I am not going to get  a ticket, I'll just be waiting outside in the parking lot, were the magic really happens.

3 days and 2 nights

On Thursday morning about 6:30 am Gioconda and the boys left for Berkeley, leaving me behind with the two girls. Fortunately, my mom came to help, and I will admit had she not helped it would have been very- very (very,very) difficult.

The girls are doing this thing tag team now where one is always awake.

With the help of someone who will remain nameless (Pinnter), they have worked out a schedule. I found it in their cribs taped to the wall. It has one baby up at every two hour intervals. Although they have done relatively well at maintaining the schedule, there are times when one or the other will fall off.

I know it's all part of a master plan to make us vulnerable to a hostile take over. That's the part of it I find upsetting, the maliciousness, yet babies tend to be undependable so the plot may ultimately be thwarted.

In spite of this attempt to keep me off balance, it is Sunday, Gioconda is back, and everyone is still alive.

Personally, I find working in the home much easier than working outside the home.

Its the little things about work I hate, like finding a place to park and then paying $45.00 every ten minutes (or fraction there of) for the pleasure of stacking my car up with 50 others in a dingy lot and then giving my keys to a guy name Jose with a lazy eye.

I hate the 10 freeway in both directions.

On my best days, I'm ambivalent about my work, as I find it both uninteresting and utterly insignificant.

I grew up thinking women who didn't work outside the home had no sense of identity, but what I have come to know is that is all backwards. There is nothing that strips away more at the fiber of my being than listening to a work comp judge tell me there are no "special appearances" in work comp, and although no one in the room said the words "special appearance" , go on for the next ten minutes talking about the case in which it became an issue. Really? Who gives a fuck?

All I can think is- what am I doing here?

I spent tons of time and money to become an attorney and every once in a while I'll think I just need to find another area- but what I have come to accept is I just don't enjoy work- any type of work. If I have to get in my car to go do it, I don't want to.

I'll take doing loads of laundry any day over ...well pretty much anything I do in my vocation...

In the end its all a trade off, a lecture by an angry white guy about something only he cares about, or an attempt to control my mind by a couple of 5 month babies and a sinister pet.

Love and Money

Tonight I asked Gioconda if we had a reality show that became wildly successful, and we were making $75,000.00 per episode, and we had just signed a contract for 60 shows, and we were in negotiation for our action figures... if we would end up like Jon and Kate (Plus Eight- actually six in our case).

Jon and Kate are getting a DIVORCE, and their little eight will be latch key sextuplets and twins.

Sad but true.

Apparently, Jon has a much younger girlfriend who, and this is just a guess, has not inserted herself up his ass the way Kate did.

I am 45 and I do understand wanting to have the attention of people who have less mileage, like by 20 years, but I want to think I'm the type of person who honors a commitment.

"You wouldn't leave me for someone younger. Money is so much more important to you than romance," Gioconda said, and yes, that is a direct quote.

Harsh but true. 

In the end, money can buy romance.  Wouldn't you rather have lunch on the top of the Eiffel Tower with someone you are luke warm about than eat a stale twinkie sitting in your double wide trailer in Kingman Arizona with someone you are crazy about?  Really.  

Donald Trump is a troll and he is married to an international beauty queen. 

Ric Ocasek, the lead singer from  The Cars, has to be one of the most unfortunate looking people on the planet and he is married to a model.

I could keep going...but I think my point is well made.  It isn't rocket science.  If you have enough dough you can pretty much have anyone you want as long as that person is your financial inferior.

I could not help but consider what would happen if Gioconda and I suddenly became rich and famous.

"So, you might leave me for someone younger, because money is not so important to you," I said.

"Totally", she replied. 

Maglight

The babies are just starting to sleep most of the night through, and I'm beginning to not feel completely sleep deprived.  I have changing diapers, preparing bottles down pat.  Most of the time I'm able to comfort the babies and help them get to sleep.

Overall, I was actually feeling as though I have a handle on the situation, and it has taken me 5 months and 10 days to get to this point.

On the way to Long Beach to have lunch with friends I had a few moments in which I was not in a state of anxiety about my parenting skills. 

Basking in the glow of not feeling as though I wanted to throw up blood for the first time in six months, I honestly wasn't listening to what Gioconda was saying until I heard

"...and then we will have to find a place to store the furniture..."

What?  

Apparently it is time to start baby proofing the house.  My moment of peace shattered with the image of one of my babies pulling a crystal candle stick holder onto their heads.

At lunch I tried to drown my preoccupation with lamps being pulled off tables leaving disfiguring scars on the faces of my daughters with a nice cold sangria, yet I couldn't shake the visual of a shelf full of glass being pulled down with a toddler under it.

Our friend Denise has a three year old.

"Its been a rough week," she said during lunch.

"Rough in what way," I asked.

"Roxy threw a flash light at me when I told her to take a nap," she said.

"What kind of flash light, a Maglight or a plastic Coleman?" I asked.

"Maglight," she replied.

Not a Maglight, I thought.  

Of Gioconda's four sons two are Maglight throwers.  

Last summer I watched a metal chair fly by my office window through the yard as a result of Julien's frustration of putting together a basketball hoop. A few months back Dylan threw the remote to his television against the wall of his room denting the wall and destroying the unit, I remain unclear about the provocation.  Granted it doesn't happen all that often but when those boys loose their shit- they really loose it.

Two out of four are Maglight throwers.  Yet to date I have never had a Maglight thrown at me.

Gioconda tells me that you can tell how your child will be as a teenager at the age of three.

"Three year olds are not fit to be in public," she says.  

I was just getting my head around removing anything that the girls could pull over, fall under and get wedged in between, and then I am hit with the possibility of  one of the girls heaving something heavy at me with a simple request of a refreshing nap.

"Maybe it wasn't personal," I told Denise.  "Maybe it was she just got upset and threw the Maglight, but not really AT you."

"Maybe," Denise replied, but then added "But she also told me my hair was ugly."

Ok, I am so not ready for this...

A Low forehead

One of the things that happens when people die is that secrets are revealed.

This June when I attended my Grandmother's memorial service I discovered something rather unsettling.   Going through my Grandmother's cards and letters I found a card my mother had sent to my Grandmother days after my birth.

The following is a direct quote;

"We think she is fine.  She does have tiny far set eyes and kinda low forehead, but I guess they all look alike at this age..."

The first thought my mother had in her mind when she looked at me after my birth was that I was Down Syndrome.  

"You thought I was Down Syndrome," I said.

"No...No... that wasn't it," she lied in response.

My sister laughed and I knew, my mother thought, even days after my birth I had a significant chromosomal defect.  Granted it was 1963, but really, days after I arrived wouldn't someone have already discussed it with my parents had I, in fact, been Down Syndrome.

I know my mother, and she by sending the note to my Grandmother she was giving the heads up.

Hey, we're thinking its ok, but we may have a retard on our hands.

My Great Grandfather used to list the numbers of Grandchildren and Great Grandchildren he had then say,  " And not a retarded person in the bunch."

Like this is some sort of accomplishment.

After the twins were born the doctor asked me if we had genetic testing done prior to the birth because Sadie's head looked oddly shaped.  It completely flipped me out, but I didn't go putting it down in writing so that one day after my death she finds out that within minutes of her birth I was thinking- great, "special needs". 

It got me thinking, maybe I did have a little touch of Down Syndrome, but I googled it and discovered it is a pretty much all or nothing situation.  But what if I am a very high functioning retarded person who just happened to try really hard and the combination of those two factors took me to where I am today.  

If it gets me into the Special Olympics I'm not objecting.