My favorite new appliance

I swear we made some Breyer's with this little gem :D

Sooooo easy and sooooo delicious! Get one and create your own ice cream flavors. You won't regret it.

With Grace (thinking aloud this morning)

On the side of my face, directly above my right temple, is a lone wispy gray strand. It reminds me that I’m 35 years old and it prods me to smile, relax and age gracefully; I’ve led a pretty good life. Every morning when I look in the mirror I see it and it helps me get on with my day, with my life. My guy friend comments on it from time to time, asking when I’m going to pluck it. I told him that I am not, and that I’m happy with it, I earned it. He doesn’t seem to understand. I’m not twenty-five anymore and haven’t been for a while now, I’ve accepted that and I’m satisfied with who I’ve become. I’ve wrapped up twenty-five and raised it with another ten years of living. And this little gray hair, along with all of the other things I’ve acquired over the years, is what I have to show for it. With the poker hand that I have now, I’m going all in, no bluffing. I’ll still continue to construct To-do lists for my life, as I can’t seem to break that habit, but I’m okay with that, too. I sometimes need to be reminded of what I’m doing here and what my motivation is. I remember when my 28th birthday was approaching and I went into a panic, taking stock of my then life and feeling like I hadn’t lived up to my own expectations and that it would be too late by the time I turned 30. Ha! As if 30 was the age of retirement to porch swings and crocheting, waiting patiently for death to stop by for lemonade. Imagine my surprise when 30 came and went and the only thing that changed was my values. Sure, I lost a few things, gradually, during the transition but I gained a lot too. I’d like to think that I am much wiser than I was, gray hair notwithstanding. I have more wealth and independence than before, and I’m no longer antsy over the future so much that I can’t enjoy the now. In my twenties, I spent so much time planning and writing a myriad of to-do lists, and focusing on where I was going rather than enjoying where I was. I can’t get that time back so I’m not going to waste any more.

I booked my flight to San Francisco for my birthday in January and I am really looking forward to it. I’ve wanted to go to San Fran for my birthday for more than 10 years now, and every time I had made plans to go with someone, that someone, whoever it was at the time, somehow wouldn’t come through for me. First, it was my ex, then it was my friends (a few times), then it was my family. I told a new friend (I’ve known her about 3 or 4 years now) about this, her birthday is the day after mines, and shortly afterwards she sent out a mass email inviting everyone she knows to her birthday weekend, telling me that I could come along as long as I followed her rules. Now aint that a bitch?

It’s the most recent event that reminded me to stop waiting on other people to live my life, and on my terms. I’m planning my own long-overdue trip and inviting a handful of people that I know to come with me. Or rather, to meet me there since I’m not waiting on anyone, anymore. I’ve already booked my roundtrip flight and started planning my itinerary. Of course, I’ll be more than fine with doing things that whoever accompanies me wants to do while we’re there, it’s only fair, but we’ll cross that bridge if we get to it. As for right now, I’m going to San Francisco and will do and see all of the things I’ve had on my To-do list for over a decade now. I’m excited and have so much to look forward to.

Broken friendship

Looking for the exit row

The slightest infraction and I’m ready to jump out of the plane, mid flight. My guy friend has been staying over every weekend for months and this past Sunday I wanted to kick him out. Cohabitating is hard. Some mornings I’d rather not wake up to football on the television, or be asked, “what’s for breakfast?” because sometimes I’d rather just have a simple bowl of cereal and some HGTV. Some mornings I don’t want to get naked (some mornings). I’d like to wake up peacefully, get up, get dressed and go for a brisk walk, or a bike ride around my neighborhood, instead. And this past Sunday, at 5 o’clock, he asked me why I hadn’t started dinner and that’s when my eye started twitching. I wanted to relax and enjoy my Sunday, not get nagged about doing a chore. Who starts dinner at 5pm, anyway? I politely told him that I had planned to start dinner at 6:30 and that I’d like to enjoy my Sunday, just as he does, and he seemed to understand where I was coming from. But that put me off all day and, combined with something else that I won’t mention here, I’ve been slightly annoyed with him ever since. I cook dinner just about every night around the same time, on my time. I guess it sort of felt like he was trying to boss me around and if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s to be bossed around. Control freaks need not apply. He also asked me on Sunday why I didn’t want to sit with him and watch football and I explained to him that football just wasn’t interesting to me. He smirked and shook his head, saying that I’m the only person who doesn’t like football and that makes me an oddball.

“That is absurd,” I said. “I know plenty of people who don’t care much for football, and there is nothing wrong with any of us.” To each his/her own. I could say that since he doesn’t care much for literature that makes him an oddball but wasn’t in the mood for ridiculous arguments. I don’t understand why it is so difficult for him to accept that I’m not going to agree with everything he says or does or likes, that I’m not and won’t ever be a carbon copy of him…with a vagina. It seems to me that he is trying to make me into his perfect “Stepford Wife”. Everything to suit him and no appreciation for my differences, wants or needs. I’m ready to call it quits but I’m not sure if I’m overreacting or not. He has many other good qualities that I appreciate, but I don’t appreciate him trying to sneak his agenda in on me. A friend says that I should simply disagree with any and everything that I disagree with, don’t be accommodating if it’s at great expense to me and, if he doesn't like it, let him quit US. Its passive aggressive in a way but I like it J

Jolly-oh! Lovely day, isn't it?

This is a great weekend to tackle a few pending projects and I think that’s just what I’ll do. It’s gray and dreary outside, just the way I like it. Feels like a Billie Holiday song – April in Paris J On my way in to work this morning, I passed the Pasadena bridge, which looks like it was imported straight from Paris, and I got an idea to go over there and take some pictures while it’s still bleak outside; give the impression of being in Pair-EE. I hope I get around to it. Speaking of pictures, my mother’s old modeling pics could use more of my attention and patience in getting them framed, matted, and up on the wall. I’ve decided to frame them all in black – 8x10 frames and larger ones with matting. She wants me to hang out with her more so one of these weekends we’ll go dancing at one of the lounges she’s wanted to visit.

I’m in a dashing good mood today, chaps! The people who usually annoy me aren't today. I came home last night, put on some music and cleaned my house spic and span, while singing along. Then I quizzed my son on his Spanish so he would be ready for his exam today, whipped up a hot meal, and settled down in front of the tube while listening to the rain tapping my window outside. I'm dressed up today, too; wearing my 5 inch heeled sexy boots so the men all pause, planning my birthday Girls’ getaway for January, hoping I'm not broke by then, getting on the good foot, about to do a shitload of work before my weekend begins. I’m no longer feeling in limbo, I feel more in control these days *knock on wood. It’s a combination of a devil-may-care attitude and confidence that everything is going to be alright © Bob Marley. I hope this mood carries me through this weekend. Coasting on this wave, rather than drowning in it feels rather magnificent.

Motherhood made me fierce

Before giving birth to my son I had very little confidence. I clung to my ex for reassurance and support and was extremely fragile. I didn't feel like I could totally trust myself or like I could stand on my own. Then I got pregnant and everyone around me seemed to want to reinforce that feeling in me. I was looked at as unfortunate, pitied as if I had made the biggest mistake of my life by choosing to get pregnant and not aborting my son. Postponing my family would have been the better choice, was the clear message I got. I had gone and ruined my life, let them tell it. No one could fathom that I had actually planned my pregnancy and no one deserved an explanation for why.

The day I went into labor, two of my estranged childhood friends came to the hospital to gawk at me. They stood in my room curiously watching me with this sideways look on their faces as if I were an episode of the Discovery Channel and they were glad they weren’t me. I got so sick of people fishing their lips up and acting as if I were the first woman on earth to have a baby. “Better you, than me,” was the typical retort to my pregnancy. This was the message that I received from my peers and from the women I was raised to believe were strong and determined, who wanted equal rights, equal pay, and pro choice. Women raised in the 60s who had agreed that they didn't need a man to make them whole. Yet the minute they discovered that I was pregnant they all flew into a panic and slapped me with a bankrupt label. Go figure. I could help but wonder if I’d missed a memo or something. Did they love or regret their own decisions in life? Where was all the “girl power”? Did they admire my bravery but were just too afraid to admit it aloud and go against popular opinion? It seemed the world no longer applied to me. I did what was not expected of me – 'A' student, reserved good girl – and, afterwards, I didn't let my "condition" be the end of me.

I'll never forget the nurse assigned to me after I gave birth. She came into the room to bring me my son so that I could feed him, and my good friend at the time was visiting. My friend was in nursing school so she asked the nurse for some advice. Among a few other tidbits, she made sure to advise my friend, while glancing at me as if I wasn't smart enough to know any better, not to end up in my position. That'd be "the absolute worst thing" she could ever do, she said, as if I weren't in the room. I got that sentiment a lot back then and I regrettably never challenged it aloud. I didn't quite accept it either, though. Before my son could crawl I wrote down my goals and began devising a plan to reach them. I worked part time for doing treatment plans and scheduling appointments for an orthodontist until he was weaned from nursing, which was about a year after he was born. Then I worked full time and went back to school part time. And I worked. my. ass. off, determined to be okay. Leaving the apartment that I shared with his father at 6:30 every morning and returning at 7:30 every evening, sometimes 10:30 at night. I put up with a lot, I sacrificed a ton, but I never lost focus of who I was and where I was headed. I quietly kept moving, striving and gaining ground, building my strength and confidence every day, but not without the requisite scrapes and struggles along the way; though each one has served to improve my resolve and my faith in my ability to reach my goals. My twenties were spent building rather than hanging out and having fun like my then friends who spent just about every weekend drinking and clubbing and doing things that typical 20-somethings do. I was alone, except for my boyfriend, my mother and my son. My best friend at the time lived two hours away and would call me every so often to share stories of her active social life, despite her also being a mother. She just wasn’t very responsible.

I now have the freedom and can afford to do much more than just hang out and party, but I have a hard time finding friends who have the time or money to join me. Today I can say that my life is now my own, and I'm happily still defining who I am. I like me. As for the women in my life, other than my mother, those relationships are hard to mend. Despite getting the last hurrah, I haven't quite forgiven my generation of women or my mother's for the way they judged me and the way some of them continue to. My childhood friends who came to watch me in labor are now both single mothers. One is a security guard, has a nine year old son, and they both live in a trailer with her divorced mother. The other has 4 children by three different men and sells odd's and ends at the outdoor swapmeet on weekends. My former best friend is now a single mother of six children with 3 different fathers. Last I'd heard she had moved back in with her parents until she could get back on her feet. I don't mean to sound bitter because I'm not. I'm satisfied with the path that I took and the woman that I've become, and I won’t stoop so low as to judge those who judge me. I know better than to count someone out. You never know how the tide will turn.

*exhales :)

I'm a heavy sleeper.

I realized the other night while my son was away at a friends' house that I sleep like a fat man, a grizzly bear hibernating, a little kid after a drive-in movie wedged like a sack of lead in a bucket seat. If someone were to break in while I was asleep, I'd be a goner before I knew what was happening. Even while cautiously trying to sleep with one eye open and a weapon by my side (because I'm always nervous when I'm home alone at night) , I couldn't wake myself to perceived "danger". I heard bumps and creaks in the night, probably a squirrel in the tree outside my window or someone fooling around outside (I hope not :( ), and I vaguely remember lifting my head up off the pillow to slur out "I see you!", and then promptly falling back to sleep, lol. :( Hell. I distinctly remember being afraid that night, too, but the only thing I could do about it was sleep. I was out cold until my alarm clock went off the following morning and I tried to remember if I had dreamed about danger or if I'd actually been in some and tried to do something about it. Damn.

I can now add 'model' to my resume

The UNbound book release party was this past Friday at the Atlantic Bar & Grill in Hollywood.Nothing too exciting, just a bunch of very happy and positive women from various walks of life laughing and talking while sharing autographs over mojito’s, chicken drumettes and good music. Oh, there was a sprinkling of men too, mostly husbands and a few supporting friends. Tomiko Fraser-Hines, our host and the model/business woman who birthed UNbound alongside kick-ass photographer and new mom, Natiya Guin, was a veritable host of smiles and cheer, as usual. Her little brother DJ’d the event and was good enough to inspire a Soul Train line.

I absolutely love the stories that each woman shared in the book. I am fearless woman number 10 out of 40, page 23, which, in my opinion, is a perfect position. I was surprised when a few people at the party asked about my modeling career, since modeling for me is limited to this one book and my bedroom mirror. When I told one girl this she asked if I was planning to pursue one. I thought it was a ridiculous notion so I laughed, saying I’d have to drop a few “el-bee’s” first. She didn’t think I was funny. Later that night on our way back to my house, Keisha asked me why I hadn’t considered it and, for a few minutes, it didn’t seem like such a crazy idea. I won’t actively pursue modeling but I would consider doing more if I ever stumble on another opportunity to do so. I had a PHENOMENAL time laughing and posing on the beach for my pictures. Laughing at the absurdity of me, posing for a professional photographer on the beach for a book. It was so surreal. Now I see it was absurd of me to laugh. Why not me? :) After all, I am UNbound.

I’m in a book, yall!!!! Here are a handful of snapshots from the party.

Wanted for hire: a kid between the ages of 3 and 8

I used to want to check into a hotel and get away from my family when my son was young. I was so overwhelmed at the time that my strongest desire was to be left alone for at least a weekend, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. Remembering this feeling helps me get over the slight case of empty nest syndrome that I’ve been afflicted with. I usually come down with a case right around the holidays when children and families are at the forefront and my own child is too old and too big to have fun with. There are only two small children in my family now – my nephews’ daughter, and my cousins’ son, 8 months and 2 years, respectively, both of whom I adore immensely. And very often I have to resist the urge to go broke spoiling someone else’s children who will never appreciate me for it. I learned that lesson the hard way with my nieces and nephews who have grown into idiotic, unappreciative young adults. Anyway, Halloween is approaching and I don’t have a kid to go to Disneyland’s Annual Halloween Haunt with me, which sucks. I could go with my guy friend but I don’t think it would be as much fun. Besides, he likes blood, guts, and gore on Halloween and I’m totally not into that at all so he’d get on my nerves at Disneyland or anyplace hokey. What I need is a kid to buy big rainbow suckers for, to dress-up in costume with, to stuff with candy, to wow and amaze. I’d save my money and stay home to pass out candy if I thought any kids would show up to trick or treat, but they only patronize one street in my neighborhood – Orange Grove Dr. – because their parents are lazy. This generation’s parents have taken to driving them to one corner of an affluent block, park and walk the length up one side and down the other, trick or treating only at those same houses year after year. Then they hop back into their cars and drive to the mall. The year that I bought my house I went all out decorating and bought a ton of candy, excited over the prospect of receiving trick or treater’s. But by 9pm, after waiting 4 long hungry hours in my Storm from X-men get-up, I drove to Yoshinoya to pick up dinner, feeling deflated. When I returned, I saw three little ones coming down the street in costume. I quickly pulled into my driveway, hopped out of the car and yelled out that I had candy at my house, while running in to grab my bowl of goodies. I dumped almost half of the bowl into their bags. Turns out, they live in the house at the end of my block and, according to their parents, trick or treater’s never come down our street, ever. Ever since then, Halloween has sucked. I still like to dress up but I don’t have an interest in dressing like a whore and getting ogled and hit on by strange men, as many women use Halloween as an excuse to do. I like the tamer version of Halloween – put on some Monster Mash, toss some eyeballs in the punch bowl, and picture me happy in a corny, but clever costume. I’m square and proud of it. I just need a part-time kid who’ll play the role for me during holidays and give me an excuse to be a kid again. I don’t think 9 months of pregnancy, morning sickness, child birth, and full time parenting is worth it, though.

Book Release Party Cometh

The Unbound book release party is this weekend and I’ll get to see and take home my final, touched-up pictures from the shoot and pick up my copy of the book. I’m going to wear black, white and red to the event and take as many pictures as possible. I’m trying to decide if I want to wear a red flower in my hair or on my lapel. My friend and I will ride there together from my house.

I can’t wait to see myself and my words published. It’s already the highlight of my week and it hasn’t officially taken place yet. Such a spectacular thing to be a part of, just looking at some of the other ladies’ photos is so inspiring. Beauty running the gamete, from older to younger, every shade of human being, siblings and mothers and friends…true, natural beauty. Who couldn’t love that? Here are some of the pictures from the book. We each have a story to tell as well, but you’ll have to open the book if you want to read those. (the two additional photos of me are raw and haven't been touched up yet, hence the copyright over them ;) )

Bah

I’m bummed, busted and disgusted. This week has failed me and I had such high hopes for it. I did everything by the book yet to no avail. Oh well, back to square one. And to ad injury to insult, I’ve been walking with a limp for three days now because of a mysterious pain in my right hip joint. I’ve stretched and gone for walks but nothing is making this uncomfortable tightness go away. I had to actually convince myself to get out of bed this morning and go to work. Lately, I’ve been having way too many days like that, despite the hip pain. It’s surely a sign that something has to give. I need change in my life. The change in weather is fine and it’s definitely helping a little bit. Living in Cali makes you crave a respite from the sun every once in a while and the rain we had was just the break I needed. Rain and gloom makes me pensive and relaxed, which has helped me focus more on changing things up a bit. For the most part, I’m happy with where I am and the progress I’m making. It’s just one big aspect of my life that I’d like to do something about, which I can’t really talk about here, just yet. Well, not in detail, at least. And this week was supposed to be my big break. I’d prepare so hard for it, had dreams about it, fantasized constantly about it.. I’m thinking Mercury must be in retrograde or something, which is what my woo-woo friend would say to explain this unforeseen disaster that should not have been. If nothing else, it’s certainly forcing me be more patient. Although there’s still that feeling inside me that makes me want to scream and just lose my composure. What’s funny is, I’m sick of hearing Mr. EC talk about her love life and she’s sick of hearing me talk about the frustration of waiting for my plan A to come together. But at least I feign interest in her situation and offer input. She tries to brush me off. Hmph. I would be salty if I gave a damn, but since she insists on telling me about her bullshit, she is going to hear about my… struggles.

Billy Ray

Today, while checking out at my neighborhood grocery store, the bagger called me Billy. I was busy fumbling with my debit card and the little key pad, trying to type in my club card number so that I could get all of my rightful discounts when he said "Need some help out, Billy?"

It took me a minute to realize that he was talking to me because my name isn't Billy. It's Valerie. But everybody around us - the people behind me, the cashier, and some nosy little blonde girl inching closer to the candy stand (who was probably just staring at me because I was peeping her out) all stared, waiting for me to answer him. I looked around at everybody's eyes on me and said "Oh, you mean me?" He nodded. That's when I realized that he had bagged my groceries a week or so prior, when my guy friend (gf, for short) and I had decided to shop for ingredients to make homemade ice cream and a sock-it-to-me cake (that's another post that I'll have to remember to make). He must've heard my gf call me Billy and thought that was my government name. I laughed and, despite my name not being Billy, I told him "No, thanks. Maybe next time," because it'd be too much to explain the inside joke and I really wanted to get home and out of my work clothes.

You see, my gf calls me Billy, which is short for Billy-Ray, which is short for Billy-Ray Valentine, because we love Billy Ray Valentine. And if you are an Eddy Murphy fan then you know just who that character is. He's from the movie "Trading Places" starring Eddie Murphy and Dan Ackroyd (or however you spell his last name). Well, we watch that movie all the time, it's one of our favorites, and at the end (spoiler alert!!) Eddie is chilling on the beach with some bikini wearing babe, and Dan is standing on a yacht with Jamie Lee Curtis under his wing and he yells out "Looking good, Billy Ray!" to which Eddie responds "FEELING good, Louis!" and they both smile like two filthy rich assholes who just put two other filthy rich assholes in the poor house. It's great. So, those two lines have become our way of complimenting one another. Yeah, it's corny, I know. At first it was just to compliment one another. I'd get dolled up or cook something nice, for instance, and he'd say "looking good, Billy Ray," and so on. Then it morphed into us actually calling each other Billy Ray for any and every little thing. "Ttyl, Billy Ray" or "See you tomorrow, Billy," or "Vanilla or strawberry yogurt, Billy?" which is what he'd asked me that night at the grocery store (it was plain yogurt for sorbet, but I digress) and the clever little bag boy overheard him and stored it away in his memory bank. How sweet.

How I lunch

my collection of lunch pails