We ate San Francisco

I knew that the food would be brilliant in San Francisco. Especially when I learned that there was a restaurant that specializes in Creole Soul Food – Brenda’s. But nobody told me about the Mexican delights of the Mission District or the burger heaven that is The Burger Bar, located above Macy’s in Union Square, so they were great surprises. It’s a good thing the hills are aplenty in that gorgeous city because we needed to walk off a gazillion calories. I know we brought most of them home with us though. No matter, the experience was spectacular and I plan to do it all over again as soon as I’m able. The best part about traveling to me is the different cuisine you get to try and eat with reckless abandon because you are on vacation, which everyone knows is just another way of saying you’re living footloose and fancy free for a spell.

At Brenda’s I got the Hangtown Fry, which is eggs scrambled with oysters, bacon, and andouille sausage, a homemade biscuit, and hash potatoes, and my friend, Jamorra got a fried seafood basket. We both washed it all down with watermelon iced tea. And the jam for our biscuits tasted exactly like peach cobbler. I couldn’t stop smiling, I was in Hog Heaven. Oh, and we ordered a plate of the most delicious crawfish beignets! Oh, they were to die for! They are the reason why I want to make my next trip to New Orleans so that I can eat and try every beignet known to man, as well as learn (or try to learn) how to make them myself for those special occasions and emergency cravings. I want to be one of those people who are coveted for a specific culinary dish, like my mother is for her potato salad and deviled eggs, and my grandmother for her…well, everything. For every family gathering or holiday, I want my relatives and friends to ask me to make my special dish, whatever that turns out to be. Hopefully, it's crawfish beignets. Anyway, not only was all the food we ate absolutely delicious, we got hearty portions that neither of us could finish nor even really put a dent in. Oh, but I gave it a good try at Brenda’s and the only thing they took back to the kitchen was a few potatoes and a half eaten biscuit. In the Mission District, though, it was Woman vs Food and Food came out victorious L I don’t regret the challenge one bit, either – two cheesy chicken enchiladas, a side of chicken and 3 tortillas, and, on the other side of the plate, prawns, green onions and mushrooms, guacamole, with rice underneath.

The trip was perfect in every way. Our two friends who backed out on us at the last minute, decided it wouldn't be fair to stick Jamorra and me with the entire hotel bill, so they’re both pitching in (one has paid and the other has promised to do so tomorrow). But, as luck would have it, two other friends, along with one of their sons, met us on Saturday to hang out. After disembarking the BART, which we took from SFO to Union Square, we proceeded to walk a block down Powell Street in search of our hotel, dragging our luggage to the best of our ability on the graveling roads and sidewalks. I stopped dead in my tracks right in the intersection of Mason and Turk St.because the appearances of the people ahead of me had drastically changed from sane to insane.I feared we were venturing into the Tenderloin district, well-known for its unstable and violent inhabitants. “What are you stopping for!?” Jamorra yelled at me, not knowing about the Tenderloin. “You gotta cross the street, girl!” It’s funny to me now but then I was in fight or flight mode. We crossed the street and I spotted a couple of women who resembled hookers and asked them where the Hotel Nikko was. “Oh, yall balling!?” they asked us. “The Nikko is the shit! That’s where Lil Wayne and The Dodgers stay when they come to town. Aww shit! Yall some ballers, yall doing it big.” Jamorra is way more cordial and friendly than I am because as soon as they pointed out our hotel on the sane side of the block we’d almost passed, I smiled, thanked them and picked up the pace, while she tried to carry on a bit of a conversation trying to keep up with me. In another instance we were told by a DWP worker that the address of the bar/speakeasy we had made reservations at was in a crack alley in the Tenderloin. Jamorra still wanted to go. At night…in a damn cab! I vetoed that idea and we decided to spend the evening inUnion Square instead. I find nothing appealing about potential danger, especially the kind that involves darkness and crack fiends. And since three random people – two cab drivers and a man on the bus – told us to steer clear of the Tenderloin at all costs, especially after dark, I was okay with missing that reservation. The place doesn't allow picture taking inside, anyway. And speaking of picture taking, the pictures below are just a sampling of our trip but worth a thousand words, nonetheless.

My trip approacheth

And I plan to enjoy myself as though my life depends on it. There is nothing I need more right now than to get away and enjoy myself, actually. My last trip was a year and a month ago (Hawaii), so I'm well overdue for a new perspective and some head clearing optimism. Two full days of adventure, dining, and exploration in The City by the Bay. I'm practically packed already. Lots of comfy shoes for all the walking we're planning to do, scarves, gloves, and fashionable coats for that wind chill. Oh, and a hat for our cruise under the bridge and through the bay. I'm in a good place right now and I'd really, really like to stay here. At least through the weekend.

As usual, I'll let you know how it goes ;)

Oh yeah! And tomorrow's my birthday! How great is THAT!?? :)

Adventures in Parenthood

I went off and forgot my child today. Let me back up a bit. So yesterday I came home from work and the house was dark. I called out my boys name and he didn’t call back, so I immediately whipped out my cell phone and started dialing his number. It went to voicemail so panic began to rain down on me. I called him again and this time he picked up. “Hi Mom,” he said all chipper and nonchalant “I’m just getting out of track practice.”

“Huh?” I said, because I didn’t even know that school had resumed from winter break L On Monday’s, school starts after 9am (bank time or whatever, for the teachers) so he gets himself there in the morning without my help. Thankfully, he remembered that school had resumed and got himself up yesterday, like normal, and off to school like a responsible kid. Well, today, Tuesday, I got up, dragged myself around the house until I was dressed and ready to leave, and then I hopped in my car and left for work, not giving it a second thought. Somewhere around 8am, in the midst of me placing a pancake order with the cafeteria lady at my job, my cell phone started to ring. I noticed that it was coming from my home number. “Mom, where are you!?!?!” my son said, sounding like he’d just woken up. “You forgot to take me to school!”

I truly must be getting old because I had forgotten just that quick that school was back in session. No, wait, I can’t even blame this on old age because back when he was in third grade I mixed up the week of spring break and he ended up missing a whole week of school, in addition to the week of break, behind my absentmindedness. I remember getting a clue when we were in Best Buy one day during the supposed break and ran into one of his classmates who asked him where he’d been all week. I thought the little girl was either crazy or really asking him what he’d done during his break. Then, the following week, we got up, got dressed and drove to the school only to discover that it was completely locked up and (after driving to one of his friends’ houses and knocking on their door at 7am) that nobody would be there for a week because it was, in fact, spring break. My son was so happy when he got back into the car that he couldn't contain his smile. I, on the other hand, was mortified.

I hate you, Monday.

This morning my alarm clock decided to play games with me and didn’t go off. I rolled over thinking it was 5am-ish and time to make my bathroom run then climb back into bed for a quick cat nap, only to discover that it was actually 6:50am, instead! I leapt out of bed and hauled ass, brushed my teeth while making my bed, couldn’t find my gray shell to go with my gray cardigan so I had to figure out something else to wear, and everything else needed ironing. Ugh. My intention was to arrive to work on time this morning, looking well put together and smiling, but that didn’t happen. I barely made it in, 10 minutes behind schedule, and looking like I threw something on. It’s going to take me a while to thaw out and clear this fog out of my head. Meanwhile, I have two tons of stuff to do and people staring in my face looking for me to be chipper. I don’t drink coffee so they’re going to have to wait for nature to take its course. I just want to go home and snuggle up with my pillow until noon. Monday’s should be eased into. I believe it’s unhealthy to shock the cardiovascular system this way. Someone needs to change the law so that we begin our Monday work days at 1pm and end them at 4. Bah.

A different animal

I always say that I don’t get out enough and it’s true. Last night proved it to me. I’ve never been anywhere where my race didn’t matter. Well, among those of my own race, it’s not a major issue. I feel as though I’m part of the group. But everywhere else I’ve been where the majority of people are of another race, I’ve stood out and felt the divide, regardless of any politically correct intentions. Monrovia is a different town. If you blink while driving down the 210 freeway you will literally miss it, but its there, a little strip of a city spanning up a portion of the San Gabriel Mountain’s in one direction, and well before you reach the 10 freeway in the other. It’s nestled tightly in between Pasadena and Duarte, and the culture there is like no place I’ve ever been.

A friend of mines is from Monrovia, and last night after dinner she took me to a bar she used to frequent as a teenager. Although a bit on the shabby side (think Santa Fe deco with armadillos), it wasn’t any sort of hole in the wall due to its sheer size. From the outside it simply looked like a four square building. But I guess the trees kept it secret. Once we were inside, there was not only a large bar like the one on the show Cheers, there was an amply sized dance floor on the left where an incredibly short Asian man was disco dancing his ass off, and another room on the right that took us to a hallway where we climbed a small staircase that led us to the hotel portion of this “bar” that clearly had a large upstairs will rooms for rent. Adjacent to the hotel portion was another room with an entirely separate bar and a karaoke crowd singing badly off-key. It truly was painful to listen to so we went outside to the smoking patio that had a few concrete picnic tables, two gazebos in each corner, and about 5 really old, really big avocado trees. Yes, the place was humongous. My friend told me that back in the day it was the hangout for a mostly black crowd, but after a few too many fights it ceased being the black hangout and became the mostly white hangout. As soon as we walked in she saw a girl she knew; a homely black girl singing karaoke while her white husband cheered obnoxiously from a table situated directly in front of the stage. Only, wait, on second glance my friend realized that the man cheering wasn’t “Alicia’s” older white husband, at all. He was her older white boyfriend. Her husband must be at home. After her song she stepped off the wooden stage and planted her butt right in her older white boyfriends’ lap and took a swig of his beer. Then a 20 something white girl with glasses and a husky voice stepped on stage to sing a Maroon 5 number. That’s when we headed outside to the smoking patio to escape the pain and ran into a few of her high school classmates, all guys, all but one of them was white. The one that wasn’t white, Jessie, I guessed was El Salvadorian based on his phenotypic features (hair, mouth, skin tone), he looked just like the five unrelated El Salvadorian’s that I know personally J and at the end of the night I got confirmation that my assessment was right. Every single one of them hugged us tightly and looked at me like I was potential prey, like they were all wondering “who’s the new piece of meat?!” It’s the look I get when I’m around men of my own race who find me attractive. I have never seen that look in the eyes of men of another race en mass and directed at me like I did last night, and it was quite unfamiliar. Then, to add to this new and unusual experience, none of them behaved or sounded like any white or Latin I’d ever encountered in real life or on T.V., lol. Listening to Jessie speak, I was absolutely mesmerized and I think it made me look very much like a weirdo. Hahaha. He reminded me so much of two black guys that I know. Even down to his mannerisms. Everything about him was interesting. My friend told me that he used to be the finest guy in town and every girl wanted to either friend him or bed him. And he’d bedded plenty without discrimination. He said he was passing out dick like candy, and waved his groin from side to side to illustrate it for us. All three of us laughed. But those days of being the most popular guy in town were far behind him. These days he sits on his grandmothers’ porch with his son and makes note of all the faces passing by that he doesn’t know. He’d just returned to Monrovia recently from a world wind tour of the “Big Pond”, selling drugs, being drunk by 10am, marrying a model, and ultimately realizing that he didn’t fit in, that he felt more comfortable in the tight-knit community where he grew up as a big fish. He’s changed his lifestyle and is happy to be home now, a better and more ambitious father to his 12 year old son. I can see traces of his former attractiveness, what’s left that the alcohol didn’t erase, so these stories are believable.

Throughout the evening, a white guy named Billy kept stopping by us. He was making his rounds as if he was the host of the bar and wanted to make sure everyone was having a good time. He bought us drinks and cracked jokes; he’s a very warm spirited person and he holds his beer with his amputated arm. It’s amazing the dexterity he has with it. 25% of a full arm and he’s waving it around with confidence, using what looks like two fingers on the end of it to grip his beer to his chest, and speaking with it. You know how some people speak with their hands and make grand gestures with their arms? That’s Billy. He sounds like Ty Pennington, the host of the show Extreme Home Makeover, but stands roughly 5 feet 8 inches high and has a beer gut that makes him look 3 months pregnant. His story is that he got his heart broken by his longtime sweetheart, ShaKeisha, moved to Havasu and developed an ugly drug habit. Then one day he kicked the habit, came home to Monrovia, got his HVAC license, bought a house and started a heating and air conditioning business. Every guy in there last night, ranging in age from roughly 22 to 38, either owned a home, a business, or both. But just by looking at them, you could never tell. All night, people were coming up to us and hugging us both, briefly catching up with my girlfriend, sharing pictures of kids on their cellphones.

Then there was the very attractive Latino bartender who is legendarily (is that a word?) faithful to his girlfriend. At first he seems a bit shy, only briefly making eye contact and moving very fast to mix drinks and serve them up. My friend says that she used to think he was gay because no matter how pretty the girl's were that hit on him, he ignored them all and always went on about his business of bar tending. Then Billy told us how his rumored aloofness had attracted some very attractive ladies to the bar one night, who's intent was strictly to bed him and nothing else. They propositioned him with this request, assuring him that no strings need be attached, and he very famously smiled and turned them down. No numbers were exchanged in secret, nothing, which made him even more attractive and a challenge to others. What also intrigued me about him was that he could hear everything! No matter that the karaoke singers were screaming into the mic, the music itself was loud, and the patrons standing around the bar were all yelling at one another, he still heard me mention to my friend that I wanted a cherry in my drink. He wasn't even near me or looking at me when I said it to her. And it's not typical to put a cherry in a cup of water.

Back outside on the patio, I was fishing around in my drink for the Maraschino cherry that had sunk to the bottom of the cup, because I wanted to eat it and toss the drink. When asked what I was doing I said “I’m trying to get my cherry out,” and immediately knew how that sounded. Immediately, a big burly, 6 foot-forever white guy with a full, dark beard chimed in “Oh, I can get that cherry out for you, baby…easily.” I “haha’d” nervously and turned my attention back to my friend and Jessie and Billy. Just 20 minutes later he came back to our circle to hit on my friend, saying he’d heard she was a church girl. “I’m a church boy!” he told her, proving that they had something in common. But once she started questioning him on hymn's and such, he began to ease away, plan foiled, mission abort. It was really a sight to see.

Monrovia is a town where race doesn’t particularly matter. Well I’m sure it matters to some extent, as it does just about everywhere else in the world, but it’s seemingly not as important an issue there. Regular, everyday blacks date, marry, and have affairs with regular everyday whites, and it’s the norm. And it happens a LOT. The community is completely meshed. There is no obvious separation as there is just a half hour drive away to Hollywood, where living is the polar opposite, old traditions are slow to die, and communities are clearly separate. And it’s not even a 10 minute drive away from where I live in Pasadena and have never experienced or witnessed anything remotely close to this racial harmony, further illustrating my point that I need to get out more. I just have to get better at observing people without looking like a weird deer caught in headlights, lol. But don't get me wrong, I've seen interracial couples but they usually fit a stereotype, are few and far between, and the surrounding community doesn't fully embrace them. In Monrovia, nobody stares at mixed couples if they notice them at all, and dark skin is universally attractive. I felt like an Anthropologist last night and I liked it.

This is not a new years resolution

Okay, okay, this year I'm getting serious, Jack. No more excuses, I'm making my health a priority beginning tomorrow. I will find the time to run, walk, jog, aerobicize, weight lift, and get physically fit. I've got the Eye of the Tiger - GRRrrrowr! And this is not a new year's resolution, I assure you. It's just a coincidence that I'm deciding to do this so early in the year :). For real! If you've been paying any attention, you'll recall that I've been worried about my heart health for well over a year now. I tried being vegan, I tried the gym, I tried cutting back on trans fats in order to lower my cholesterol and I tried discussing my cholesterol-lowering alternatives with a short little quack pot of an Asian man who calls himself a doctor. Four flaming failures were the results. This time, I'm moving my health from the back burner to the forefront and giving it adequate attention.

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can RUN and transform my body into a well-oiled, healthy, highly functioning machine. At least I'm amped right now to do so. Let's hope I can keep up the momentum. Black Girls Run will help motivate me (see blog roll on the right).

Last week, a friend and I went for a brisk walk around the Rosebowl and when we were almost finished, I glanced to my left (the golf course was on my immediate right, the street was on my left and above that was a dirt hill with vegetation) I saw a coyote! Yes, not a dog, a coyote. I knew precisely what he was because my son used to be a huge fan of coyotes and I'd seen them hanging around Griffith Park in the early morning. Clearly, this wild dog was searching for food. He'd come all the way down the San Gabriel mountains, past more than a dozen neighborhood's, around Brookside Golf Course, and finally to that little hill across the street from where we were walking. I was only a little bit unnerved. The plan was to divert attention away from me and onto the folks ahead of us, if necessary. Next time I go, I'll be armed with pepper spray and a big stick.

Merry New Year!

I'm so antsy today. Carpe diem, and all that good stuff. My son returned home this morning and I'm toying with the idea of taking us out to eat to commemorate the new year (Jamaican or Japanese? Or home cooked??) . However, I am still broke. It's going to take me a while to get used to not spending. In fact, I didn't leave the house at all yesterday and only went out for a quick spell on Thursday (I had to buy my bottle of New Years cider and run a few errands) just so that I wouldn't be tempted to spend any more money. I found myself in Crate and Barrel about to make an impulse buy, but thankfully, the meter had run out on my parking space and I didn't want to get a parking ticket. So I put my overpriced, unnecessary items back and power walked to my car to go home. Actually, I did leave the house once yesterday - I put on my rain boots and yellow rubber gloves to go do some backyard work. But after about 15 minutes I decided to stop and wait for my son's return, because I was afraid of what animals could be hiding underneath all those leaves. Yes, I am still a pansy. I worked on the front yard a little, instead... in a pair of plaid rubber rainboots, black stretch pants, yellow rubber gloves, and an over-sized black t-shirt :). Yes, a few of the parade attendees walking down my street looked at me like I was crazy, but who are they to judge? They camped out overnight on my street in 30 degree weather waiting for a freaking parade to pass by.

Anyway, the kitchen cabinets are now painted red and they look fantastic. I cleaned my house from top to bottom, shredded a bunch of old papers, watched a couple of movies and a lot of the DIY network, and realized that I didn't feel lonely at all. I was sure that I'd miss my son terribly and be afraid to sleep at night, but I wasn't. I slept like a baby all 4 nights. I brought in the new year to the raucous sounds of campers on my block and the movie "Ramona and Beezus" (I was a fan as a kid so I had to check it out). Then, about 20 minutes into the start of the new year, I went to sleep...feeling safe and sound in my warm, cozy, clean home.

Now I'm antsy and want to seize the day. I might splurge a little on some jerk chicken or some sushi rolls.

Today's ramble

Last week I vowed that I am not going broke, however, today I fear that I already am! Lol :( I got a letter from Uncle Sam yesterday stating that he's coming to collect his First Time Homebuyers' funds from me. That asshole. How is it a "credit" when you want it paid back? I mean, I realized it was a loan when I agreed to accept it two tax seasons ago, but I had no idea I'd have to pay some of it back so soon. And now that I've spent it, and not particularly wisely, and Pres. Obama decided to let the other new home buyer's keep their dough, I'm a wee bit salty about forking over these clams given my circumstances. Last night, I decided to go over my income/output for the year in order to see if I could afford the two trips to NOLA and Costa Rica. That's when it occurred to me that I'm po'. It's not a good feeling, let me tell you. Something will have to give in order for us to make it through this year as comfortably as we did last year and the year before that. We're finally beginning to feel this recession and it's scary. My son is none the wiser, of course, which is the way I want it. As a parent, I don't want him needlessly stressing over how I'm going to do my job of supporting us. I will be sure to return the favor once I'm old and gray and in need of his support, believe me.

So I haven't slept all that great for the past two days and money wasn't even the entire cause of it, but it definitely played a leading role. We'll manage in that regard. Money's co-stars last night were loneliness (my son just left for Victorville for four and a half days, I have no dog and no boo), frustration (I'm not fond of my job at all and I'm antsy about the future), and worry (for some reason, everyone's trying to scare me up over home expenses. I haven't had anything major to worry about to date *knock on wood, thankfully, though). All of this adds up to me staying in on New Years Eve and New Years Day to map out an action plan for the new year. I will do this to the sounds of some jazz greats, old and new-ish, while painting the kitchen and drinking rounds of cider.

Mon petit château

It's cottage revival time. I bought a sign this afternoon for my humble little abode that reads "Mon petit château," which is absolutely perfect since my château is indeed petit. While I was out, I also picked up a can of red paint for my kitchen cabinets. They are currently plain 1920s wood and in desperate need of freshening up. This is how I am planning to ring in the new year - by reviving my cottage home. Things will be moved around, repurposed, reorganized, and refurbished. And once I'm done, I will put on "The Long Kiss Goodnight" with Gena Davis and Samuel L. Jackson, grab a couple of bottles of cider, wrap up in my favorite throw and kick back on the couch until midnight strikes.

Be careful what you wish for

You just might get it :) I wished for travel and I got invited to Costa Rica, Miami, and New Orleans this year. Wow. Of course, I want to go to all 3, plus my birthday trip to San Francisco in January but I've no idea how I'm going to pay for it all. I want to take my son with me to Costa Rica so he can get his first passport stamp at the age of 16. But that'll be double the expenses for me. And with San Fran in January, Miami potentially in March, and N.O. in July... Costa Rica times 2 in August would certainly be pushing it. I have a feeling the Miami trip or the N.O. trip might fall through, though. We'll see. Whatever happens, I'm absolutely delighted that this is my life.

In other good news, I was told that my nephew spent all day Sunday working on his drawing skills for when he receives the tattoo kit that I ordered him. He's even started marketing himself on Facebook. Ha! And his daughter loves the school bus I bought her for Christmas. Her mom says that as soon as she wakes up in the morning it's the first thing she reaches for.

It started off promising...

then my adopted "cousin" called my step father and asked him to come and pick him up so that he could come spend Christmas Eve with us at my house. The evening started with me, my mother, my step father, my nephew and my son. It was Hallmark-ish and I was loving it. Me and my mom worked side-by-side in my kitchen preparing gumbo while Nat King Cole and Donny Hathaway and Otis Redding, played in the living room. Then we got the call. Let me back up a bit:

Years ago, my cousin Nicky made friends with a very dysfunctional woman named Janice. Janice had two kids, a girl and a boy. The boy was always in need of someone, the girl had her god-mother to run to. So the boy spent an enormous amount of time with my family. Even a few Christmases with us because his mother didn't particularly care for him. We bought him his first and only dirt bike that first year and he was thrilled. Well, long story short, somehow we lost touch with the little boy, until one day I ran into him as a teenage man in the mall. Judging from his attire and the guys he was with, he was clearly in a gang - his new family. I hugged him tight and told him that my mother and the rest of the family had been looking for him and that he should come by my mom's house. He did. As time went on, I came to see that he had grown up to be quite bitter and unethical. Stealing came easy. He beat a neighbor kid with a baseball bat to near death with no remorse. My mother still saw potential in him. I was hopeful, yet doubtful. Fast forward and he is now an alcoholic at 27, has a 2 year old son with a girlfriend who is just as full of drama as he is (match made in Hell), and his fingers are still sticky. He came over to my house and told us how he'd lifted over $600 worth of toys from his employer with his managers' help. Great. He went on to say that his girlfriend was angry at him for leaving on Christmas Eve. Naturally. Then he started to talk about the Christmas when he was 12 and my son had gotten more presents than he could open. He always brings this up. He'll never forget it, apparently. Anyway, yes, my son is spoiled and it was not my idea for him to have so many gifts to open that year when he was about 4, I think - it was his daddy's and my mother's. So then he starts to gossip about his girlfriend and how scandalous she is. He runs into the hallway and snatches down two of my photos. I am annoyed but trying not to spaz. The night is long.

I could barely sleep because I was worrying about his sticky fingers. Then, with a little help from my spoiled son, he managed to alienate my nephew who is already feeling unwanted and unloved because his mother is a nutjob :( *le sigh

I love my nephew more than he probably knows and it is truly breaking my heart that he is having a tough time right now. I'd need a separate post to even begin to explain it all but I can see him slipping away slowly. And I really wish he didn't have that other one, the one my mother adopted into the family, influencing him and putting ideas in his head.

So I made it through the night, albeit sleeping on eggshells for fear of something in my home being "lifted." Then on Christmas morning my ex texted to say that his father would be coming to pick us up around 12pm. I wanted to take my nephew with us but my son, who I am still angry with, pitched a fit. He didn't want my nephew mingling with his cousins on his fathers' side for some reason, saying that it would be awkward and weird...all in front of my nephew. I blew a gasket and later on when my nephew was out of sight, I told my son he'd better apologize OR ELSE. His behavior is another post, as well, but suffice it to say that I will get to the bottom of his snobbish behavior. Anyway, I told my ex that I would be driving my car up to Fontana because I wanted to make sure there was room for my nephew. But after my son's hissy fit, and the adopted cousin talking my nephew into not going, we ended up having one-less riding with us. He went to the casino with my mom and stepdad and their adopted son of Lucifer. But since you have to be over 21 years of age to even step foot into San Manuel Indian Bingo and Casino, my nephew spent Christmas sitting in the car for hours, talking to and being influenced by that adopted jack ass. smh.

My spirits already dampened, I show up to my ex's sisters' house and am greeted repeatedly with love and affection throughout the afternoon and evening. Sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, cousins...everyone was perfect. It was enough to make me sad because I knew I no longer belonged and my own family was such a mess. My ex said that everyone has come to expect me to spend Christmas with them and his sisters and father had made mention of me spending Christmas with them, weeks prior. He said that even though he and I are no longer a couple, they still consider me family and I don't require an invitation to attend. But how can I continue to? As much as I wish I could, I know that as long as my ex is the way that he is (and he isn't changing, that's for damn sure), there is no way that I should. I have to let them go, too, and it hurts almost just as much. So, this Christmas was bitter sweet.

His sister just called to tell me that Teena Marie died and to talk about last night. I am such a wuss! I cried :( and I know she knew it wasn't over Teena Marie dying. She probably thinks it's over her brother, but it's really over her and the others. Haha. I stopped crying over him a long time ago.

My ex invited me to his family's holiday gathering

He did it via text message to our son last night. I haven't spoken to him since early November and when I did, it wasn't good. So I can only guess that his family is asking about me and they're the ones who really want to see me on Christmas day. I love his family, dearly. Especially his father, brothers, and his oldest and middle sisters. His nieces and nephews still call me "Aunt Val" and treat me as such. I was around them when they were all little elementary school kids and now they're grown, in college, with families of their own, etc.

Of course, my son wants me to go. After the Christmas Eve sleepover at my house with my family, I had planned to spend Christmas day relaxing alone at home eating gumbo and watching movies, maybe even starting my painting project in the kitchen. My mom invited me to go with her and my step father to the casino but I hardly want to spend Christmas in a casino surrounded by cigarette smoke and gambling. It's funny to me that my mother was raised in such a huge house with a large family (13 biological and 3 adopted kids, grandma and grandpa, and German Shepard named "Bullet") steeped in tradition and Catholic religion, living life straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting...and today she'd prefer to spend her Christmas driving around town playing Santa and ending up in a casino. Meanwhile, I wasn't raised that way at all and I crave it deeply. When I was a kid we kept to tradition, somewhat, but it was just me and my cousin, who my mom raised with me, so there wasn't as much excitement. And we didn't do all of the things that my grandparents did (caroling, cleaning the house from top to bottom making everything smell like cinnamon and vanilla, fixing big feasts for dinner, decorating the biggest tree they could find, etc.) But as I got older, less and less did she try to recreate the holidays of her past. Now she tells me that it's actually Thanksgiving that's designated for family time, not Christmas. Bah-humbug. It took some complaining on my part to get her to agree to meet me half way this year and that's how the Christmas Eve sleepover came about.

Anyway, my ex's family gets together every year at his middle sisters house - all 6 kids, both divorced and remarried parents, all 14 grandkids, and two great grandkids, with in-laws. When we were a couple I wasn't too keen on spending Christmas with them because I hated his sisters house back then (think Amityville except full of rodents :/) and I hated that no one wanted to be the first to go home so they stayed there until after 1 and 2am sometimes. Well, she and her husband have finally left the Amityville horror house and moved into a very nice home out in Fontana that isn't drafty, moldy, junky, or rodent infested. Last year I spent Christmas day with them after my son and I returned from Hawaii and it was surprisingly fantastic. I'd missed them so much and they all welcomed me back in as family, nevertheless. It was as if I'd never left. The food was phenomenal, as usual (omgawd! was it!) and the oldest and middle sisters and I did a whole lot of catching up and "girl talk," which was nice. Oh, and his father is the best :) He is so funny and country and full of enthusiasm. He calls me "Valley" instead of Valerie, lol. He was very happy to see me last year, too.

Anyway, I would love to join them but I'm hesitant to ride up there with my ex. He and I aren't on the best of terms right now so I'm not sure what to do. I know he won't act a fool in front of his family but the ride up and back might be a bit awkward. And LONG. I'm leaning towards going but we'll see how I feel on Christmas morning.

Tuesday's Musings - money, money, money

I’m all about wise money management and trying to learn as much as I can about making my money work for me. When I’m shopping, I calculate how many hours of work I’ll have to put in, in order to buy an item. If you read this blog every blue moon, you might recall the time I posted about my friend buying a pair of Jimmy Choo shoes and how I equated that to roughly the amount someone would spend on rent or a mortgage payment. I do this with many of the things I buy and try to stay within my budget, which is stored to memory and typed out in a simple excel spreadsheet on my computer at home. You don’t have to be a math wiz to be fiscally fit – I damn sure am not. All you need are basic math skills and a decent memory to stay on your game and keep your head above water and your overhead low. Part of my day-to-day budgeting consists of packing a lunch and a few afternoon snacks taken from my own kitchen. I’ve dwindled my debt considerably over the past 5 years (25g’s down to 6 in 5 years, then I fell off the wagon a few times. Otherwise I’d probably be debt free by now).

I’m highly focused on debt reduction because early retirement and working for myself are so very exciting to me. I’ve wanted to work for myself since grade school (as previously blogged). It’s just been a bit of a struggle letting go of my money woes and fears. I find myself worrying so much about potential “rainy days” and being able to make ends meet, that I sometimes can’t focus on developing a business plan. I tell myself that if I had financial security, I could focus on other things. It’s a never ending cycle. But it’s not completely lost on me that I’ll never make money if I’m constantly worried about it. I think I’m a little afraid of being completely responsible for my own well-being. Sounds nuts, I know. And I do recognize that working for someone else is an extremely false sense of security, and that I am more vulnerable as an employee than I would be if I was the boss. However, being a cog in the wheel doesn’t seem to be as much work as being in charge of the whole wheel. Or so I’d like to think since I’m sort of a yellow-belly J. Okay, I’m making excuses, but at least I recognize it! And I’m trying to convince myself to change with this blog entry, lol. Soon, I will be brave enough to face these irrational fears, get off my bum and do something extraordinary, or, at the very least, make myself proud. I’ve begun to draft my business plan. But until I am brave enough to take it from paper to reality, from dream to fruition… I will continue to build a safety net full of money in case I fail. I mean fall J

Being creative and in charge is definitely something that excites me.

It’s quite time for me to move on, though; find another love, find another way to earn a living, address what I believe is my calling, while improving my life and spirit and income. Success is part luck, part hard work. Wish me luck, por favor.

Salvaged Goods and Christmas Eve Sleepover

I found a fantastic little thrift store near my house but its proprietor talks to much (did I post this before? no matter...). It’s a funky little house (not in odor but in style) with “junk”, or as I like to call it “abandoned treasure” in the front yard and neat old and/or unusual stuff in doors. I was so excited when I walked inside, ready to patiently sift through all the goodies, when out walks this pretty, older, Afro-Brazilian lady and her mouth. I don’t know how she thought I was supposed to hold a lengthy conversation with her and shop while not being rude. I wanted to be left alone to peruse and spend my money on something I may later regret and can’t return. But no, she talked to me about every thing under the blazing sun and then some. And then she blatantly talked herself out of a sale when she mentioned how another customer had thought the price she was selling a picnic basket for was way too high. Before hearing that, I was about to buy said picnic basket. After hearing that, I questioned whether or not the price was too high and put the basket back down. Eventually, I got tired of her following me around with her gibberish. I needed to think, weigh the pros and cons before handing over my hard earned cash. Things like “do I need this?” “Do I want this?” “Where will I put this?” “Is this worth the asking price?” “Would someone want this as a gift?” “Can I find this elsewhere?” “Will I regret this purchase in a day or so?” all needed to be thought out and answered in my head. But I was distracted by her jibber-jabber, so I left. I wonder how she ever makes a sale with that mouth of hers. Too bad, she has some great finds in there.

I plan to go thrifting in San Francisco when I get there next month. Haight Street is full of second-hand stores and I wont have nearly enough time to peruse them all but I hope to find some good stuff. My style is a cross between vintage shabby modern chic. I don’t like stuff just because it’s old, like some people. But I will buy new stuff that looks old, lol. For instance, my chandelier that I love so much which cost me 80 some odd bucks but I can’t even hang it in my bedroom like I want to because my house is vintage and the light is on the wall, rather than on the ceiling, is actually new but it was made to look old. It’s sort of a rusted gold color and has plenty of jewels on it (some of which have broken off since it’s been sitting in the box waiting to be hung L ). I think I’m going to go ahead and bite the bullet and have someone come out to reroute my wires so that I can hang that sucker from the ceiling before it gets too broken up and I’m crying over my 80 some odd dollars even more. I have a lot of little unique stuff in my house, and that’s what I prefer – nothing cookie-cutter, nothing “in style”, everything “my style”, old and new but with lots of character.

Christmas Eve Sleepover

So it looks like I will be having a small Christmas gathering at my house on the 24th. Here’s how it came about: My mother has this uncanny ability to stress me the hell out over nonsense and before I realize its nonsense, I’ve done something I regret and my day/night/mood is ruined. Last night she called me in a panic, quivery voice and all, saying that my 18 year old nephew had walked to her house in the pouring rain after his wretched witch of a mother who hates him, walked into his bedroom and socked him as hard as she could in the chest. Mom claims his ribs are broken and he has no way to get to the hospital. Of course, I am flooded with panic. She’s putting all this responsibility on me to help him because she can’t. And I’m thinking, how the hell am I going to make it all the way down to L.A. in this torrential rain with the tires on my car on a Sunday at 8pm?? The stress creeps up on me and before I know it, I’m calling up my nephews’ loony-bin mom, asking her if she’s going to take him to the hospital and she says she has to go to work. Incredulous, I ask her if she’s okay with him dying while she’s at work and has she lost her mind, socking him over a cellphone charger, and she calls me out of my name and hangs up the phone. I call back, livid, and she doesn’t answer so I leave a very nasty message that would make your ears bleed. And that’s when it occurs to me that I may have been duped, yet again, by mother dearest. I call my mom back and that’s when she discloses that he feels fine BUT they were about to hop on the bus and go to the hospital, except my nephew said it wasn’t that big of a deal. I no longer want to talk to my mother but I’m not sure how to explain this given how angry I am at her. Don’t want to say the wrong thing ANYMORE, you know? I just boiled over, instead. So now, in addition to my mom and step father, my nephew is also coming over to my house for a sleep over on Christmas Eve. Should be festive.

This Christmas I am not going broke

That would be incredibly foolish. I am buying a handful of gifts, only for those who I actually see on Christmas day. Christmas isn't about the gifts, anyway. It’s about time spent, love, appreciation, and joy. Not money or material things. It took me all these years to realize thatand it wasn't without some struggle, unfortunately. I used to get so frustrated around this time of year, trying to get folks to act right, trying to please everyone and satisfy their impossible expectations of me. Ugh. I used to half-way joke around, saying “I’m not John D. Rockefeller!” but really I’m not. And I’m certainly showing it this year (as I did last year when I split and went to Hawaii). I’m finally almost out of debt and I didn't come this far just to muck it all up over a bunch of meaningless gifts that won’t be appreciated anyway. I don’t expect to see but two family members aside from my son on Christmas day, anyway, and they’re who I’m buying for. Oh, and the baby, of course, but I’m taking her gift to her. She’s still innocent.

My Christmas will be peaceful. My mom and step dad will come over on Christmas Eve to spend the night. We’ll stay up watching movies with blankets while eating sweets and drinking cocoa. I will cook a big breakfast on Christmas morning, get dressed, open presents, and then relax until my folks leave for the casino (yes, my mother goes gambling every year after she drives around to people’s houses playing Santa Claus). Later that night, I’ll fix dinner and plan/prepare for the New Year while my son is away with his dad. I usually write my ‘Power of Intention’ list around my birthday in January but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to start it a little earlier this year, here’s a loose list of what I’m planning for 2011:

· Travel to San Francisco, Vegas (annual trips), Miami (maybe, for a friends’ birthday), and Costa Rica (for La Romeria – pilgrimage for Mary)

· Get my groove back

· Write a business plan

· Continue my labor of love so that I can finally birth this elephant by 2013 (can’t go into details, don’t want to jinx it)

· Paint my kitchen cabinets and/or remodel it, if I can afford to

· Mark at least 3 items off my bucket list

· Volunteer, donate, recycle, pay it forward

· Shoot for the stars

Paramore

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-J7J_IWUhls

I think I've played this about 10 times today, so far.

I hate bikini underwear.

They are never, ever practical. Every time the phrase “panty line” is uttered, you should already know that the culprit is wearing a pair of bikini undies, or granny panties. No matter what you’re wearing, be it a skirt, dress or pants. But the alternative, decent boy short’s, are a bitch to find. If they’re made out of lycra/spandex, which tends to stay put well and that’s all you really want - coverage, but if they don’t have a cotton crotch, forget it. You’ll hate your gynecologist even more than you already do. You’ll want to press charges and see him/her in jail. It’s not worth the aggravation, trust me. Plus, if you have even the slightest bit of junk in your derriere, bikini’s will creep up into the crack. They don’t stay put like good ole boy shorts do. So you’ll be digging them out throughout your day. And don’t even get me started on thong underwear. Ugh. Suffice it to say, thongs are the devil, Satan himself wedged in betwixt your ass cheeks, wreaking havoc on your vajayjay.

They really ought to quit making thong and bikini undies, in my opinion. But too many women are creatures of habit, even with things (like sanitary napkins and nylon stockings) that don’t work. We just prance around in our high heel shoes enduring the pain and discomfort without demanding change. They burned bras in the 60s for all the wrong reasons, really. We ought to burn bikini drawls and granny panties, this decade. And what kind of drawls do I have on today? Mm hm, that’s what prompted this post. I need to do laundry.

Holy Mother of God

Okay, I know I said that my next trip after San Fran in January would be to Positano but something has come up. My friend has invited me to go with her to Costa Rica this summer as she walks for the Virgin Mary! http://costaricatravelersblog.com/?p=410

Excerpt:

More than 2 million people make the voyage…During August 2nd, the streets and roads of Costa Rica transform into a meandering river of human souls who profess their Catholic faith. The majority of the Costa Rican population participates in this religious tradition. Friends and family walk together in groups with tennis shoes a backpack full of water and snacks.

The idea consists of making a sacrifice (walking the long pilgramige) and making a promise to the Virgen of Los Ángeles.

She has family there and speaks fluent Spanish, so I’m not concerned about my measly two years of high school Spanish making me a potential victim of any sort of crime. AND we’ll have native tour guides to show us around for free. What’s topping that? This also means that I could remove an item from my Bucket List – zip lining through the Costa Rican jungle! And the religious event itself, I imagine, will be magnificent. I plan to participate, if I can, and crawl into the church after the long walk with everyone else. I’m pretty excited about this.

I need romance. I want to feel love and receive affection. Much more than sex, I want the butterflies, the longing, and the special treatment a man gives a woman he likes and is actively pursuing. I miss that terribly. On my way to work this morning I reminisced about the guys I dated who gave me all of that cutesy stuff – the damsel in distress treatment when my bike had a flat (lol), or a tire needed changing (sigh), the kisses in the middle of traffic (he was the best), the poems, the songs/raps to serenade me with, the hand-made, rubber stamped get-well cards, the tulips and roses and kissing fish and joint video game playing, etc. Anyway, it’s been a while since I had butterflies L I think the last time was 3 or 4 years ago. I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever feel them again. Maybe I’m too old for all that chivalry stuff now. I’m hoping it’s just that I don’t get out enough. It’s about to get cold outside (for California) and I’d like to spoon with someone cute under a goose down.

I've procrastinated all week

Actually, make that two weeks. I'm so behind on things that I need to do and normally I'd be highly frustrated about this but for some reason I am not. I sort of still feel like procrastinating a bit, as if I have the time. When really, all I have is two measly days to get an enormous amount of "stuff" done! <---yeah...still not panicked, lol.

At two o'clock I am going to Mimi's Cafe to meet two of my dearest pals for lunch and catching up. We're so busy in our day-to-days, and I haven't been much of a phone person since high school, that we haven't had much time or wherewithal to keep in touch regularly. But we're still each others favorite trio ;) One of us recently moved from San Diego to Lake Balboa, where ever the hell that is, exactly (somewhere near Encino, she says). The other two of us live in Montebello and Pasadena. We're planning to meet up half way, somewhere in the middle.

Anyway, other than that, my mother is hounding me to go to JCPenney today to buy her Christmas gift while it's on sale for 70% off. She wants jewelry and, according to her, "Penney's" is having a phenomenal sale so I need to get while the getting is good. However, I'm feeling lazy and can't shake it off. I'll probably just end up paying full price later on just so I can schlep around a little longer doing nothing much.

I'm in a vintage, thrift-shopping, unique-holiday-ornament-shopping mood, honestly. I think I may poke my head into a couple of thrift stores on my way back from lunch today before I head to the grocery store. Everything else that I have to do will get done at some point between now and midnight tomorrow. I'm sure of it :) Since Monday is my deadline.