Los Angelista's Guide To The Pursuit Of Happiness

Stomach Ache

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 06:03:00 +0000

My stomach aches and it's all my fault.

I went to the county fair with my sister today and I ate SO much unhealthy food. I mean, I actually ate fried vegetables!

I seriously wouldn't be surprised if I turn into a piece of fried zucchini. Or maybe a piece of fried mushroom. But fried pickle??? Uh, nooo. Just like I said no to fried Oreos, fried Snickers bars and fried twinkies, fried pickle is not the business!

Maybe I can sleep it off?

My Beautiful Sister!

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 23:02:00 +0000

Guys, I'm sorry, but the hot young lady on my left is already taken!

Yeah, can I brag for a moment about how ridiculously adorable and awesome my sister is? It's been a year since I've seen her, we just snapped this picture and I couldn't resist sharing my excitement with you all. She was out of town when I arrived yesterday so this is the first time I've seen her. No kidding, I jumped up and down with excitement!

And, check out how beautiful her hair is! She decided to go natural too and wowzer, I love her hair! We're going to a county fair tomorrow and we'll be like the afro twins up there! LOVE IT!!!

Au Revoir, Los Angeles

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 04:39:00 +0000

In the morning I'll be gazing at this skyline:

I'm very, very excited about heading back to the Greater Chicago and Northwest Indiana part of the world. And my kids have been BOUNCING nonstop all day long. They are ready to go!

Me? I'm all packed and ready to sleep on my redeye flight. I'm exhausted. I don't talk about it in this space (or most spaces), but this has been an extremely difficult month for me and my family. Sometimes it feels like everybody I know is going through a tough time right now, in one way or another. I've even wondered, is it this city? Is it LA? But then I talk to folks in other cities, and they are also feeling the weight of this world.

I went to see Michael Jackson's star on the Walk of Fame tonight. It was a crazy scene... people of all colors and ages crying and placing handwritten letters alongside his star. But in the background, folks were yelling, "Get your Michael Jackson shirts right here! $100!"

I chatted with another woman who was selling her t-shirts for $5 a pop. She told me she'd made $1300 in 7 hours. I was floored! Entreprenuership is a good thing but good grief, these folks were capitalizing off of death!

The whole scene seemed like it was a representation of everything that's wrong with this world. Greed juxtaposed against genuine emotion... and I couldn't help but think that it was SUCH an LA story.

But as I drove home along Hollywood Blvd, I let the windows all the way down so I could feel the cool sunset air blow against my face. As gritty as Hollywood Blvd is, with it's "lingerie" shops, tattoo parlors and homeless folks slumped across the golden stars that line it, there is something undeniably special about this city. I've lived here for 11 years this August, and this is perhaps the first time I've gone back to Chicago feeling like LA is more my home.

Maybe it's the dreamer in me that loves this place, the way people can come here and be themselves or reinvent themselves. Whatever it is, I do love this city and I will miss it while I'm away.

In the meantime, I am happy to head back east to see my family and all the friends I grew up with. And I can't wait to see how big the humidity makes my hair! Whoo hoo! I'm ready to scare all those Midwesterners with my ginormous afro!

Oh, and in case something happens, which I hope DOES NOT, but you never know, it's been good knowing you, blog fam. Whatever comes to pass, keep being that light in the darkness.

Love,

Liz
a/k/a Your Girl, Los Angelista

Zing Zang Zoom With Ringling Bros.

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 10:42:00 +0000

As excited as my sons are to head to Chicagoland later on today (and they're REALLY excited), they're disappointed that Chicago doesn't have something that LA is going to have this summer: Ringling Bros. Circus!

Yes, the circus is coming to town and my boys have been marching around the house over the past few days chanting the name of the latest show, "Zing Zang Zoom", non-stop. That phrase is the Ringling Bros. equivalent of, "Abracadabra!".

This year's circus incorporates something every kid and adult loves: Magic. So, instead of a ringmaster, the Zing Zang Zoom show has a "Magical Zingmaster", magician Alex Ramon.

I met Alex a couple of weeks ago, along with his production assistant Leah Christiana (who is also his sister), the creative director Shanda Sawyer and the special effects master, Jim Steinmeyer. They were holding an event for a local elementary school at one of my absolute favorite places, Los Angeles' Magic Castle. I got to take my eldest son to it and we had the BEST time ever.

We heard how Ringling Bros. is incorporating the traditions of magical showmanship into the circus, meaning there'll be fabulous tricks like elephants disappearing into thin air. I have no idea how that gets pulled off in front of everybody, which explains why I am not a magician, I mean, "Zingmaster"!

The thing I liked most was that Alex Ramon is really personable, humble, spot-on with his interactions with kids, and he's a Mama's Boy!

Need proof? Even though this footage of him doing some "close magic" for the kids isn't the absolute best, I love it because at around the 30 second mark, he gives his mom such a sweet tribute.

Aww!!! Wasn't that sweet of him to thank his mom for his success? I also thought it was great for the students to hear how hard work and practice has paid off for him. They definitely were in awe of his talents, and after seeing him, my own son is more convinced than ever that he too wants to learn how to do magic tricks.

If you want to see Zingmaster Alex Ramon and the rest of the Ringling Bros. performers, the circus is playing here in LA at Staples Center from July 8-12, in Anaheim from July 15-26, and in Ontario from July 29-August 2nd.

I'll miss out on the LA and Anaheim shows, but you Los Angeles area peeps should definitely go have some fun at the show.

To help you do that, Ringling Bros. created a special discount code for Los Angelista readers! A four-pack of tickets is specially priced at $44 when you enter in the code “mom” in the "MC Promotion Box" on Ticketmaster.

If you're a dad, no worries, you can still enter "mom". And no, please don't say I'm discriminating against dads who want to take their kids to the circus! It's just that Alex's story about his mom was so touching so why not have the code be "mom"?

Anyway, you do have to purchase at least four tickets for the code to be valid, but every additional ticket after four is still only $11. No, you're not going to be able to buy the Circus Celebrity/Front Row/VIP seats but that's still a pretty inexpensive night out with your friends and family, especially when a movie ticket at The Grove is $13.

Hopefully we'll be able to catch one of the Ontario shows when we get back, even though the drive out there will probably make me want to ingest copious amounts of some toxic, mind-numbing substance. -- oh wait, I have that covered. It's called breathing in the air on the 10 Fwy.

In the meantime, my mini magicians in the making will undoubtedly be bouncing all over Chicagoland, practicing magic tricks. Gee, I wish my kids would get good enough that they could learn how to make money for college appear out of thin air, or at the very least, figure out a spell for making my eyebrows look perfectly waxed at all times. Wouldn't that be awesome?

If you hear some kids shouting, "Zing Zang Zoom!" on the El, you"ll know it's us!

A Mural For Michael

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 08:56:00 +0000

I love that I live in a city where there are so many extremely creative people. Even though I lack the skill to create a wall mural like this one located on the side of a building in Hollywood, I love that other people can do this, overnight.

Because It's Saturday Night...And I'm Packing

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 06:55:00 +0000

One of you "Type A & Loving It" folks needs to come over and help me pack my stuff.

I leave for Chicagoland in three days. Whoo hoo, except for the packing.

I would not be stressing over packing if it wasn't for the dang baggage fees. $15 for the 1st bag -- so that's $45 each way for me and my boys.

I would really rather spend that $45 on something else. Anything else.

These fees should come with a guarantee of some sort. If they lose your bag, they have to pay you 1000 times the baggage fee. Or, if they lose your bag, somebody gets castrated...because we all know that paying the fee doesn't mean the airline won't possibly lose my stuff.

Just kidding about the castration. (Sorta.)

I'm trying to try to have one suitcase for me and one for my boys, but you know how each checked bag must be under 50 lbs, right? That's room for a bra, my hair products and like three pairs of shoes. Epic fail.

*Note to friends & fam: If I don't look cute when you see me, blame it on airline luggage fees.

How come I can't be like my kids? All my eldest wants to bring is a black Star Wars t-shirt and some black jeans. I tried to explain to him that he's gonna die in that get-up because Grandma and Grandpa do not have air conditioning. He says he'll sit in front of a fan. Oh, okay player.

Hmm... is this a pre-teen goth/emo/alternative stage? He's 8 years old and I would not be surprised if he starts listening to the Cure and saying, "You just don't understand me!" After all, this is on his playlist lately.

My other son just wants to bring his PlayStation and a skateboard. He claims he doesn't need to pack clothes. He'll just wear the same thing everyday, or, "You can buy me some new clothes when we get there."

And with that, 17 more gray hairs sprouted from my head.

Three days to get everything packed into, hopefully, two checked bags. Pray for me.

Multitask Your Attention Span

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 06:15:00 +0000

I'm ready for this week to be over. My brain and heart both feel a bit numb from, among other things:
1) viewing footage and images of what's going on in Iran,
2) hearing trifling politicians compare trips to Argentina to get their groove on with the actions of Biblical figures, and,
3) experiencing the deaths of so many great people.

It's a lot for one week, isn't it?

There have been those who have said they don't care about some "celebrity" because lots of people are gonna die or be homeless and they never get any press at all. The basic premise is, world hunger still exists so why should we care about Michael Jackson? Indeed, this story talks about how all the focus on Michael Jackson could hurt the efforts to bring attention to what's going on in Iran.

Do we really have such a short attention span that we can't show our support for the people of Iran and think about serious issues, while also remembering Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett or Michael Jackson?

I hope not. But just in case, let me show you how to multitask: I'll share a celebrity memory and then I'll share something "real" and serious.

Memory: In middle school I spent many years believing that Ed McMahon was going to show up at my parents house with a Publisher's Clearing House check. That led to fantasies of me going to boarding school in Switzerland. Once there, I was going to learn to ski, my French would become flawless and then on holiday in Villefranche-sur-Mer, I'd meet some nice guy with a chateau and a maid. He'd marry me... and, thanks to the maid, I'd never have to wash dishes again.

Sigh, now it'll never come true. It's a pity because I still don't like washing dishes and I'd happily hand the task off to someone else.

Now, on to the serious: CNN is reporting that seven unjustly persecuted Baha'is in Iran finally have a trial date. Do I feel lots of confidence that they'll get a fair trial in a country where Baha'is are accused of being minions of the BBC and they haven't gotten to see their attorney in a year? Uh, that would be a no. But who knows, maybe a miracle will happen.

See, that wasn't hard, was it? I was your guinea pig and I proved our brains can think about a lot of things all at once.

I just wish more of the things to multitask/think about were good news.

Michael Jackson Memories

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 05:29:00 +0000

I never had a Michael Jackson button on my jean jacket. Never had a lunchbox with his face on it. Never had a Thriller poster up in my bedroom, and I never wished I could marry him or be his girlfriend.

But our hearts know musical genius when they see it. And our hearts know when we've lost it. It truly feels like the end of an era... an end I knew would always come, but I never thought it would come so soon.

I remember being maybe two years old and turning a 45 record of The Jackson 5's "ABC" over in my hands. My sister told me that Michael Jackson had actually touched it and I got sooo excited.

When The Wiz came out, I remember my mom and her sisters talking about it non-stop. It was something for us, for all the people of African descent who didn't see ourselves in many positive, creative, uplifting movies.

My mom also had a Jane Fonda workout cassette tape with the Jackson 5's "Can You Feel It" on it. I think it was the first song on the tape. She played it so much, I can't listen to that song now without thinking of her exercising.

When I was seven years old, my mom bought a cassette of "Off The Wall". To this day it remains my absolute favorite Michael Jackson record. We cleaned the house to it, had family dance parties to it and played Clue and pokeno to it.

Thriller got released and Michael Jackson became MICHAEL JACKSON, the man people all over the world screamed, cried and fainted over. And not just black folks. White people, Asian people, Latino people... pretty much everybody all around the world loved them some Michael Jackson. It was beyond insanity.

With the Thriller era, Michael became the biggest pop star this world will probably ever see, and in some ways the last vestiges of any kind of normal life he had probably ended back in the early '80s.

But I didn't think of such things back then. Like everyone else, I was so proud to finally see videos by a black man on MTV. And I remember how we'd wait in agony to see the Thriller video. When it came on, it was a mad scramble to press "record" so we could get the footage onto a VHS tape and memorize the choreography.

By the time I was a 17 year-old freshman in college, the Michael Jackson I'd grown up loving looked a LOT different. The September 1990 issue of Vogue had one of the first big stories about his metamorphosis. The article had two pictures of him right next to each other: one from the Off The Wall era and one from 1990. I cut the pictures out and taped them to my dorm room door. It was the Michael of my childhood and adolescence right next to the very altered Michael of my adulthood.

As the years passed, there was so much sadness and conflict in my heart when I thought about Michael Jackson. Unlike some in our culture who seemed to enjoy mocking and tearing him apart, I felt genuinely sorry for him. I never enjoyed watching what his personal life had become.

However, I did enjoy introducing the music of "Off The Wall" and "Thriller" to my sons, even if I did my best to hide his physical metamorphosis from them. I didn't want my boys, who have at times felt self-conscious about their blackness, to see Michael's transformation. Of course, I failed and they wondered who the "white lady" on the cover of Ebony was.

And so, last summer we drove through Gary, Indiana so they could see where Michael Jackson was born. I always tell people that if they want to understand the Jacksons, they have to go to Gary. In the face of rancid air, vacant lots, boarded up houses, abandoned factories, abject poverty... when you've been to Gary, it's not hard to understand that family and Michael Jackson.

This afternoon I was on the phone with the wonderful lady who used to watch my sons when I worked full time. While chatting with her, I was surfing the web, and I popped by TMZ to see what was going on in the celebrity world.

I saw the posting about Michael Jackson going into cardiac arrest, and I seriously thought I must've been reading something wrong, so I refreshed the page. Up popped another story. And once I saw the headline, I burst into tears.

I have cried off and on since reading of Michael's death. It's weird, but it feels like a member of my extended family has passed. I feel such sadness that even in death, Michael Jackson will have no peace. The media circus will continue and people will endeavor to exploit his story for their own personal profit and gain.

In the end, all I have is gratitude for his wonderful music, for all the memories I associate it with, and I have prayers for the progress of his soul. I hope Michael rests in peace.

I'm A Bad Mommy

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 06:57:00 +0000

Whew, I feel like I've been home for like five minutes total all day long. I'm tired. VERY tired! And it's almost midnight and my kids are STILL up.

Yes, I said my kids are still up. I figure, it's summer vacation AND I've already won the bad mommy crown for the day, so I might as well go whole hog and embrace it.

Don't believe me?

1) Breakfast was veggie sausage and canned pineapple. Hey, that's what was in the house because I haven't managed to really go grocery shopping in about a week.
2) They didn't eat lunch till around 3:30, and that was fast food. In-N-Out to be exact.
3) Both went out in public without brushing their hair.
4) The youngest didn't even have socks on.
5) They ate dinner at a neighbor's house with a friend.
6) When I left my house at 7 pm, they were watching TV. When I came home at 10, they were watching TV. That is not necessarily my fault, but dang, that's a LOT of TV!

And now we just finished dancing. I gave my hard core partying neighbors across the street a run for their money by blasting this:

Oh well, there's always tomorrow to be a "good" mommy. Right?

Summertime

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 01:19:00 +0000

It's officially summer and my kids are wearing me out! We leave for Chicagoland in one week and I can not WAIT to let them loose on all my people out that way.

In the meantime, I'm endeavoring to get a little fun in before I leave Los Angeles and head to the land of my birth. Our local NPR station, KCRW, helped me out with this because I won a giveaway they had for tickets to Sunday night's show at the Hollywood Bowl. On the bill? The phenomenal Raphael Saadiq, talented as I don't know what Santigold and the Afro-Beat king himself, Femi Kuti. Is that a phenomenal and eclectic line up or what?

I loved all three performances but my absolute fave was Santigold. She positively KILLED it! Here's a little clip of her performing "Find A Way". I would post the clip I filmed, but I screamed through most of it so, um... I'll spare y'all the sound of me hollering, "WHOOO YEAAHH! GO GURL!!!"

Yup, I think I want to be Santigold now... or at least test drive her life for a little while.

In pursuit of more fun, and since yesterday was the first day of summer vacation, I picked up some snacks from Trader Joe's and took la famille up to Pasadena for a little hike in the Arroyo Seco. Here we are underneath the Colorado Street Bridge. It was gorgeous and we even saw gold dust in the stream. Apparently there's an old gold mine further north in the mountains -- and wow, now I know how the 49ers got gold fever. If I'd been able to pick those glittering flecks out of the stream sediment, you know I would've!

Instead we listened to the water gurgle across the rocks, ate grapes and brownies, and jumped at every rustle in the bushes. I'm all for sticking to the trail and not meeting up with any coyotes or, ahem, mountain lions or bears. I know it's "only" Pasadena, but I fully believe these animals can and will come out of hiding to eat me, or, er, eat the brownies!

Today was all about spending hours at the park, trying to wear these kids out. But I think they wore me out instead. I told them to take a nap, just so I'd have an excuse to take a nap! But no one ended up going to sleep.

I'm not complaining too much though. Every moment I get to spend with my boys is a treasure. It certainly won't always be like this.

And Justice For Baha'is In Iran, Too

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Sun, 21 Jun 2009 09:03:00 +0000

On the drive to Venice Beach yesterday afternoon, I couldn't stop checking my Blackberry for Twitter updates about the situation in Iran.

Once there, I set up my beach blanket, shooed my children off to chase waves, and proceeded to talk my friend's head off about what's going on. I'm sure she just wanted to relax in the sun, but I couldn't help it.

I was horrified by the stories and the video of the murder of a young female protester named Neda. Her innocence made me think of other young women murdered in Iran for doing nothing other than staying true to their beliefs. This past Thursday was the 26th anniversary of the murder of 10 Baha'i women from Shiraz. The youngest, Mona Mahmudnizhad was only 17, and her only crime was that she was a Baha'i.

A friend I've known for almost 25 years recently wrote this:

"In 1979 my parents left everything they had and fled Iran to avoid what my father knew was inevitable once the clerics took power. It wasn't easy for my parents to make this decision. My father left a executive position at Tehran Pepsi Cola and traded his suit and tie for a fast food chain uniform. No less than a month had passed and the injustice towards the Baha'is began. Thousands of Baha'is share similar stories. My family's exit was easy compared to the families that escaped through the border by the help of smugglers. Still the ones that were left behind were the worse to fare. At the early age of eight, I had a great sense of appreciation for my freedom. Many 4th of Julys I would glance at kids, youth and adults in awe of the fireworks wondering if they were aware of what they had."

For months now, Baha'is around the world, including my old neighbor, Rainn Wilson from the TV show "The Office", have been speaking up about both past persecutions as well as the latest efforts to carry out the genocide of the Baha'is in Iran. Yes, genocide, as in murder and extermination.

Another friend, photographer and filmmaker, Bobby Aazami, recently put together this short video called "Murder With Impunity":

I pray that the outcry of the Iranian people for justice and freedom will soon include all of the their Persian brothers and sisters, regardless of their religious background. There needs to be justice for the Baha'is of Iran, too.

For Great Grandmother Butler On Juneteenth

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 20:31:00 +0000

Today's Juneteenth, the day in 1865 that slaves in Texas found out about the Emancipation Proclamation --and their freedom-- a whole two years after the proclamation had been signed.

This is one of the most significant days in African American history, and on such days as this, I find myself thinking about my own connections to slavery.

My great-grandmother, Mrs. Butler, was born in 1879. Both of her parents, my great-great grandparents, were slaves. When I look at this picture of me with her, I often imagine I can feel her reaching out and touching my five month-old hands, I often think about how those same hands were held by slaves who had toiled in plantation fields without compensation, and while being treated as only 3/5 human.

I didn't see Grandmother Butler very often, but I remember she had such kind eyes and her smile appeared so easily. I was seven when she passed on at the age of 100, and I still remember how hard I cried at her funeral.

Sometimes I try to imagine what her life was like when she was the age I am right now, and the things I imagine are never joyous things. I imagine the hardship and blatant racism she and her family must've faced on a daily basis.

Yet Grandmother Butler was not a bitter woman, even though she was born in the South two years after the end of Reconstruction, and 16 years after the Emancipation Proclamation. I know that her faith was her rock, the thing that enabled her to retain her humanity despite the racist oppression which surrounded her.

I can't begin to guess what she would've thought about yesterday's Senate resolution to apologize for slavery. In her day, such an apology was unthinkable. I imagine that she would have, on some level, appreciated the gesture, and would have, if she could've, celebrated Juneteenth even more today.

So with the daughter of slaves, my Great Grandmother Butler in mind, this evening I'll be celebrating Juneteenth with my family. I want to tell my boys the story of Juneteenth and share some slave narratives with them. The memory of our ancestors, those individuals whose blood runs deep into soil we now take for granted, and whose dreams and hopes could never be realized, should not be forgotten.

Black, Biracial, Mixed, White, Other, Neither?

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 10:40:00 +0000

A dozen or so years ago, back in the days when we were just friends, my now husband introduced me to a guy he'd grown up with named Scotty. They'd gone to elementary, middle and high school together, and, as sometimes happens with people you grow up with, you lose touch till you run into each other.

Scotty had close-cropped, blondish-colored curly hair and greenish-blue eyes. His complexion was very much on the, as the saying goes, "light, bright and damn near white" side of things... and he was wearing a kelly green pair of polyester blend slacks, a matching green vest and a green hat.

Even though all I could think of was, "OMG, it's the ghetto Leprechaun!", Scotty wasn't dressing up for St. Patrick's Day. Nope, he was clearly all about big pimpin'.

Did I mention the man was also wearing a gun holster. An empty gun holster, but a gun holster nonetheless.

He proceeded to show us the scar on his belly where his last "bitch" had cut him, and, speaking in the most stereotypical Ebonics you can imagine, he told us how the fight with the girl had gone down. He had, "Youknowhaimsayin," and the n-word dropping every other second.

I was amazed at the caricature Scotty had so fully embraced. The word "overcompensating" came to me. Somewhere along the way, this guy had begun to believe he needed to prove that he was black. And being black to him seemed to mean being extra, extra ghetto, hard, thuggish, inarticulate and getting into fights with women who'd then cut his abdomen open with a knife.

Around the 500th n-word that came out of his mouth, I decided to bring up Scotty's very obvious biracialness, just to see what would happen.

His response was something like, "Nah, I'm not mixed! I'm black. Don't you recognize a real n**** when you see one?"

I recall that he put his hands on his empty gun holster, as if that was supposed to scare me. But I wasn't intimidated so I replied back, "You mean you don't have a white parent?"

I knew he did, and that his mom was white, but you would've thought I'd just made the most outrageous, insulting statement ever. Scotty's face turned a furious shade of red and he began swearing and rubbing his hands on that gun holster, but I didn't back down from my questions -- questions that were solely designed to poke holes in his, "I'm a real n****a!" persona.

Needless to say, our visit was cut short. I never saw Scotty again and haven't though about him for a few years. But this past Saturday afternoon at the Mixed Roots Festival, Scotty came back to mind.

You see, I started wondering what would happen if I stuck Scotty in a room with actress and filmmaker, Tiffany Jones. Her film is called the Mulatto Diaries, and sadly, like Scotty, Tiffany rubbed me the wrong way. She, and a few of the other biracial folks she interviewed in her film, came across like she believes on some level that being black means being ghetto, stupid, uneducated, lazy,uncultured, not being able to speak correct English and not having class or manners.

As I sat there and watched the film, I found myself getting annoyed. I half expected someone to say, "Being white is Celine Dion singing "My Heart Will Go On" and blackness equals Three 6 Mafia singing "It's Hard Out Here For A Pimp".

But unlike Scotty, who felt on his empty gun holster at the mere insinuation that he was anything other than black, Tiffany Jones seems to be bending over backwards in her desire to say "I'm not black."

This may not have been her intent but while watching Tiffany's film, underneath her assertions that she's "not black" or "just black", I heard someone saying, "I don't want to be black because blackness is inferior."

In my own experience as someone with one white parent and one black parent, I've met a few other biracial folks who act like they've been shortchanged by life because they were given a black mom or dad instead of two white parents. You get the sense that they want to say they're biracial, not necessarily because they want to acknowledge all aspects of who they are ethnically or racially, but, because they are, deep down, ashamed of their blackness and wish there was some way they could make it go away.

Tiffany's vibe took me back to the days when I'd hear other biracial girls telling girls with two black parents that they were better than them: better hair, better looking, smarter, less black. It took me back to why folks would meet me and say, "I thought you'd think you're all that just because you're mixed."

Yes, Tiffany can be as proud of her whiteness as she wants to be, but just as Scotty had to say over and over that he was "black", Tiffany announcing over and over that she's white lacks authenticity to me. To me, it's all about intent. Why do you want to be white? And if Tiffany can finally get the world to say, "Yes, honey, you're white!" will she be happier and more comfortable with herself?

I also think there's a difference between a healthy pride and an inherent sense of superiority. I am very very proud of being half Irish. If someone asked me to say I'm not part Irish, I'd probably draw a big shamrock on my face right in front of them. However, that pride does not and never will supersede the affection and downright admiration I have for my black ancestry.

I asked my husband what he thought of all this since he's known me since I was 17, and because he saw Tiffany Jones' film. He says, "You never tried to take your white parent and throw him under a rug and hide him, but you didn't go around wearing a t-shirt saying "my daddy's white" either. You were comfortable with it and it showed. And your comfort with it set the expectation that people around you better be comfortable with it, too."

He went on to say, "What was impressive about you when I met you was that you didn't didn't deny your whiteness, with the Depeche Mode and all that, but there was no question that you were black. You were the first mixed person I'd met where you seemed to get that being black doesn't mean you're not white, and being white doesn't mean you're not black."

We give lip service to it, but yes, there's only one human race. All of us are mixed. So am I black? Yes. Am I white? Yes. Am I biracial? Yes. Mixed? Yes.

And you are too.

Maybe you didn't grow up with one white parent and one black parent like I did, and that is DEFINITELY a different experience culturally -- stuff like seeing your interracially married parents get constantly asked, "Are you together?" But LOTS of white people reading this post have black heritage even if they don't know it. And pretty much every African American person reading this post has white heritage. My black husband is a descendant of John C. Calhoun... and so what??? On a day to day basis, he's STILL a black man in America who will have folks clutching their purses if he's walking down the street towards them.

At the end of the day, I'm more concerned with the progress of my soul than the label I put on my skin color. I'm not in the business of proving my whiteness, blackness or biracialness to anybody. I wish I didn't see so many other people attempting to do so, whether by behaving in ways they think make them "white" or by wearing a Leprechaun-inspired get-up and a gun holster.

Mixed Roots Festival: Race Is A Parenting Issue

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 08:01:00 +0000

This past Friday and Saturday I attended a fantastic festival called the Roots Film & Literary Festival. The purpose was to celebrate the experiences of multiracial/multicultural people through film, readings, workshops and live performances.

My kids and my husband tagged along, and my hubby commented that he didn't think he'd been in a room with as many half black, half white people in a LONG time, if ever. I joked with him that we'd be nice and not jump him, but if he saw us throwing up secret hand signs to each other, he better run!

Really, there are no secret people hand signs, and there were also people there who were part Asian and Latino. I have a LOT of thoughts as a result of the festival, so I think I'll tell you a little about them every day this week.

First off, yours truly helped present a workshop at the conference on Friday along with my fellow fabulous bloggers, Susan Ito, and our ringleader, Jason Sperber.

Our workshop was called Parent-Blogging at the Crossroads of Race and Family and it was essentially about how parenting isn't just about picking out a stroller or deciding how much TV time your child is going to have. Parenting is also about being able to talk to your children about racism and support them when they do come across racism in their lives.

I never gave a damn what kind of stroller I pushed my sons in. My requirements? Safe, inexpensive, not too big, rated well by Consumer Reports. But I'll tell you, from the time I found out I was pregnant, I thought about what I'd do if someone else's child called my child the "n-word"... especially since beating the other child's behind wasn't an option I could pursue without jail time.

In the workshop we talked about how in the parent blogging community there often isn't the acknowledgement that talking about race is also a parenting issue. Parents of color know this via experience, and they see their children face both direct and indirect racism. And if you're a parent of a biracial child, you have a whole other layer of race-related things to talk to your child about.

I didn't bring this up during the workshop, but I over the weekend I thought about some of the identity-based questions I grappled with before I'd even hit kindergarten:

1) What am I?
2) How come I have to say I'm black if my skin is so yellow? Why can't I just say I'm tan or peach when someone asks me what I am?
3) Why do the those kids keep calling me Oreo and zebra?
4) If Daddy's family is still alive, how come they never come around? Do they not like me because I'm black?

Anyway, my point is that parents of biracial kids also have to figure out how they're going to address these kinds of questions in a thoughtful manner that builds their child's self-esteem without making ALL the self-esteem come from racial identity.

I find myself wondering how often do most white American parents talk with their kids about race issues, whether that's coming up with ways to build race unity, or how to respond when another child tells a racist joke or calls another kid a racial slur? Do white parents tell their middle school boys what to do if they're with a black friend and the cops pull them over?

In my heart there's a whisper that says that people don't want to talk about race with their kids because of fear. They're afraid they'll say the wrong thing, or maybe they're afraid they'll have to take a closer look at their own heart.

I know I've had to. I have a white dad, a black mom and I still see color and have racist and/or prejudiced attitudes. I really believe that if you grow up in America, you're racist whether you want to admit it or not. Maybe you're not jumping up to join some sort of separatist group, but the racism is seeped into our very foundations so none of us is fully immune. I suppose the first step is to admit it and then you can move forward from there to heal yourself.

In any case, no one booed our workshop, thankfully, but wasn't till it was over that I really stepped back and thought about where I was: I was at a conference where everywhere I looked, there were people who smiling and laughing, and they almost all happened to be either "" or half of an interracial couple.

I'm curious about your experience: How do you talk to your kids about race, or, if you don't have kids yet, how do you plan to talk to them about racism? What would you say parents of color need to say to their children about race nowadays? And what do white parents need to say?

Going Back To Straight Hair?

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 06:27:00 +0000

I know it's a surprise, but, it's almost summer so I figured it was time to change things up.

I haven't had straight hair in two years so at first I was like, wow, who is THAT? And of course the color is totally different, but I'm sure I'll get used to it.

Yeah, I just needed a change. It's not that I wasn't loving my natural hair and all that, because it was great, but, I figured, why not? It's just hair, right?

So, what do you think, dear reader? Should I keep this look or not?

Yes? No? Maybe?

I hope you said no because SIKE, if you think that I would actually do this to myself permanently, clearly, you're a 1st time reader here.

This is actually Beyonce's hair, courtesy of the Hollywood Virtual Makeover feature over at the InStyle Magazine web site. All I had to do is upload a picture of myself, and with a few clicks, I got new hair and makeup.

As far as picking the hair, I quickly skipped over the option of Kate Gosselin (oh heck no!) to see what styles they had featuring curly hair and/or black women. The look above is considered curly.

Note to InStyle: I don't care if you're black, white, yellow, Puerto Rican or Hatian, that is NOT curly. That hair is wavy.

As far as black women, I had the choice of several Beyonce hairdos, Alicia Keys, Jada Pinkett Smith, Kerry Washington, Rihanna (her short hair looked TERRIBLE on me) and Taraji Henson, so, not too many.

It was disappointing that they didn't have any natural hairstyles to try on, but I can't say I was surprised. Hollywood is totally about piling ten million pounds of weave on your head to the point that you look like you're trying to get a starring role as Mufasa's mane in the Lion King.

After I finished doctoring myself up, I decided to do a little experiment on my sons. They were one of my main inspirations for going natural because I was sick of them gushing over the Beyonce billboards that at the time were all over Hollywood.

Back then my boys would point at the billboards, "Ooh, Mommy, you should get your hair like that. It's pretty!"

Since I didn't want them thinking that the only hair that was beautiful was blondish, straight hair and I couldn't teach them that if I was still buying into straight hair myself, chemical hair relaxers had to go.

Now it's been almost two years since I've straightened my hair and I really wanted to see if their attitudes have changed. Would they still think a blond weave is the way to go?

I called my boys over, showed them the picture of my newly Beyoncified self, and said, "Hey guys, check out Mommy!"

They were both really quiet for a second and then my eldest very politely said, "You look pretty, Mommy." This was no surprise because he always tells me I'm pretty. I could vomit all over myself and Mommy's Sweetheart would say, "You look pretty, but maybe you should lie down till you feel better."

However, my youngest was holding his nose and wrinkling up his face. "That hair STINKS!" he shouted.

Ah, sweet honesty!

My eldest promptly jabbed him in the arm and angrily whispered, "Don't hurt her feelings!" Then he turned back to me and said, "But your normal, real hair is really pretty too. You could go back to that if you want to. I like that."

That is my boy's way of saying, "Ditch that ugly blond weave and rock the natural."

Mr. Honest Little Brother chimed in, "Cuz that hair is ugly. It stinks!"

I wanted to cry because my sons have changed what they consider to be beautiful. It was funny, and a little disturbing, to alter my appearance so drastically, but it was well worth it. Now I know that instead of admiring artificiality and thinking a European standard of beauty is the way to go, my sons now prefer natural hair on a black woman.

Or at least they prefer natural hair on their mommy, and, for now, that is good enough for me.

Lil Wayne Will Never Be My Baby Daddy

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 01:46:00 +0000

Hi, I'm Los Angelista and I am NOT pregnant by Lil Wayne.

If he ever did try to step to me, and assuming I could even understand what he was saying, I'd say, "Oh no, Wayne. I'm too fat and ugly for you. Plus, I'm opinionated, weave-less, and half a devil!"

All that should drive Weezy away, right?

But if somehow the apocalypse happened and I lost my mind and ended up in flagrante delicto with Mr. Sippin' On Some Sizzurp, I would probably still have the presence of mind to demand that he wear like ten zillion condoms.

Or we could just make a REALLY big one to cover his whole entire body, and then, well, what would be the point?

But the apocalypse has not happened, and Lil Wayne probably has the money to pay for not just one condom, but an entire condom factory... which is why I don't understand how not one but TWO starlets can allegedly be pregnant by this man at the same time.

First we had the mind-boggling info that actress Lau ren London was knocked up by Wayne... What? Did you get hypnotized by one of Wayne's tattoo teardrops, Lauren? Did you hit your head and start hallucinating that he was Idris Elba?

And then there's singer Nivea, whose momma clearly was not a fan of ashy elbows or knees...

That poor child's wig probably just slid down her forehead and she couldn't see what was going on.

But seriously, do these adults not understand that getting unexpectedly pregnant isn't the worst consequence of sleeping around? Do they not "get" that if you're gonna go there, at least try to protect yourself from STDs by using a condom?

I guess not. So, instead of the fashionable duds, they should just throw on t-shirts that say, "I want HIV! Infect me!"

And if you (yeah, you reading this blog) need one of those t-shirts too, let me know and I'll go to Target, pick up some white tees and a Sharpie. I'll express mail your new "going out" gear to you so you have it ready for this weekend. I'm sure you'll look supa-dupa grown-n-sexy in it.

Yeah, Lil Wayne will never be my baby daddy, and he sure shouldn't be for these two ladies either. Sorry Weezy, Lauren and Nivea, y'all have GOT to do better!

Will "Peace" Come To Me? Depeche Mode Says So

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 04:51:00 +0000

It's strange to think that my whole life has been spent with the threat of nuclear annihilation simmering just beneath our surface frivolity.

Or, if I want to take it down from the macro level, I wonder how many wars have gone on in my lifetime.

Our world is filled with so many horrible, horrible things. But there's always the hope for peace, right?

Depeche Mode - "Peace"

Party Crashers

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Sun, 07 Jun 2009 06:54:00 +0000

Wowzer, I just crashed a party going on across the street!

If you think I've lost my mind and need to be put in time out, you are probably on the right track, but heck, I just crashed a party! Hahahahaha!

It all began because my husband decided to take my kids and go drive around Hollywood. I was trying to figure out what to do with my child-free time. I came up with three options:

1) Do a Jillian Michaels workout DVD
2) Watch Casino Royale on TV
3) Go crash the party!

And the party won!

I figured, why not? Jillian wants to make my body hurt, Daniel Craig as Bond will be on TV again, I'm sure, and I figured, since the party had been going on since this afternoon, everybody there would be too trashed to know I wasn't where I was supposed to be.

And I was right! I mean, you know it's an insane party when there's a stretch limo parked out front and people are dancing on the sidewalk in front of the house where the party's at, and in the street... and on the limo driver who was trying to sit on the hood and smoke a cancer stick.

So I slunk my way through the gate and there were easily 100 people in the gated front yard, folks in the pool, a DJ on the front lawn, folks wandering around singing, totally trashed as I thought... and no one said a word to me!

Yes, people started jumping in the pool and stripping... and a few minutes later, somebody offered me coke and was trying to dance all up on me, so it was time to go. X-nay on the drugs, player. So I slid out the gate, ran across the street and came home. I took a shower, put on my PJs and now I'm sitting here listening to their records spinning, almost two hours later. There are no signs of the revelers letting up, but guess what?

This party crashing old lady is going to bed!

Model, Actor?

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 06:54:00 +0000

My eight year-old (who really needs to go to bed but it's Friday night so what the heck) just came and harassed me about the same thing he's been harassing me about for the past month.

"Do you think I'd be a good model?"

Other variations of this painful line of questioning also include:

"Do you think I could be an actor?"

"Can I take acting classes?"

"I think I'd make a good model, don't you?"

"I want to be a model when I grow up. Or an actor. Or I could do both, right?"

"Do you think I should do action or comedy movies?"

"Could I be one of those actors on the Disney channel?"

"I could be a pretty good model, like the ones in those magazines you get, Mommy."

AAAAAGGGGGHHHHH! Red Alert! Red Alert! Patient is infected by Hollywood air! Call 911!!!

So, my non-commital response has been, "I thought you wanted to be an astronaut or some sort of scientist."

He replies, "Well, yeah, I could do that, too, but I first I wanna be a model or an actor."

"Well, why do you want to do that?" I ask, because I figure it's better to, you know, ask why instead of rattling off all the reasons he might not want to get involved in the "industry". I mean, he did some modeling for American Apparel back when he was almost three and he was great at it, but the people scared me more than a little.

My boy says wants to do this because he likes that actors and models get to travel, dress up in cool clothes and pretend to be a bunch of different characters.

"Johnny Depp gets to get to be Captain Jack Sparrow... and that's so cool, and I could do that too!"

A part of me thinks, well, why not let him have a go at it? And then the sane part of me says that 1) I don't even know where I'd start to get him down that road and 2) that road would be a sure recipe for disaster.

I have a feeling he's gonna harass me all summer about this. What to do, what to do?

In the meantime, I'm going to make my boy go to bed. And me too.

Partying With Nintendo & Natasha Bedingfield

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 22:32:00 +0000

What happens when you throw the E3 Convention, Nintendo and Grammy-nominated singer Natasha Bedingfield all together? A fabulous concert and party, that's what.

If you're wondering what the heck E3 is, it's the fab Electronic Entertainment Expo that's been going on in LA this week. It's a huge video game convention and I have to say, if I was a single lady, this would've been THE PLACE to meet somebody because wow, there were maybe 1000 men for every woman there!

Seriously, every single lady I know in LA complains that there's nowhere to meet a nice guy in this town, that they're all too "industry". Take note, these were not slick, industry types at this convention. And no, all gamer nerds are not ugly, so next year, take yourself to E3!

But I digress...

In the midst of all the video game heaven, Nintendo threw a fabulous party at the newly opened and super hip Club Nokia, complete with a concert by Natasha Bedingfield. How lucky was I to get invited because wowzer, it was FUN!

Pre-concert there was lots of food and huge screens showing shots of upcoming Nintendo games. We ate and made merry, and then I and some of my fab blogging pals, like Yvonne from Joy Unexpected, managed to wiggle our way to where we'd be standing right in front of the stage!

Never mind that I neglected to notice that I was standing right in front of a speaker... I was too busy having a good time and was amped to hear Natasha sing. Of course, I had zero ear plugs to protect my hearing, so I'll probably go deaf in my swiftly approaching dotage.

The President of Nintendo North America finally came out and introduced Natasha and then she got to singing. And wow, can she SING!!! I'd heard her on an award show last year and thought she sounded pretty good, but the woman can really rock it and has total confidence when she's on stage. Here's a bit of footage of her singing "These Words". Sorry for the audio quality. That's what I get for standing right in front of the speaker:

And here's Natasha singing "Pocketful of Sunshine":

She had a really good energy while performing and I absolutely loved her backup singers, especially since one of them is kinda my hair twin!

A really cute moment was when she sang a cover of "Chasing Cars" using the Nintendo DSi -- she didn't know all the lyrics and there's a program for the DSi (can't remember which) that has song lyrics on it. I guess it's like hand-held karaoke. She also did a cover of Madonna's "Ray of Light" and I found myself thinking that Madonna only WISHES she could sing that well.

After her performance, the DJ began spinning tracks, and that's when I knew that I was in a room with a lot of guys who were NOT from America. I mean, American men do not dance with each other in a group when Bob Sinclair's "World Hold On" comes on.

When I got home at a little after 11, my eight year-old was STILL up and he practically pounced on me. "Did you get to play any video games? Did they have any cool games there?"

Once he found out there was singing, dancing, and I didn't actually play any games, he retreated to bed, mumbling to himself, "Sounds like a boring party..."

If only he knew how much fun mommy had on the dance floor!

Don't You Want To Try For A Girl?

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 19:57:00 +0000

Today I found out one of my dearest friends back home in Chicagoland is preggers and I'm super happy for her. But, the cute pictures on her facebook page with all her sistagirlfriends back home placing their hands on her belly got me thinking about how at least twice a week I get asked if I want another baby.

I don't want to complain too much because a) folks aren't looking at my midsection and asking, "When's your baby due?" and, b) they usually ask after interacting with my two very sweet sons. I guess the thought is that if the two I have are so sweet and cute, so why not have more?

I used to think that I wanted four kids. The eldest would get his or her shine by being the eldest. The youngest would be happy getting attention as the baby and the two middle kids could console each other over how they're never appreciated and are, essentially, treated like servants for the baby and the eldest child.

However, now that I have two sons, I'm pretty sure I'm done, even though I'll bet big money that before the end of this week, somebody's gonna say, "You need a girl. Don't you want to try for a girl?"

The first time I was pregnant, yes, I wanted a healthy baby, but I REALLY wanted a baby girl. I had a girl name all picked out by month two, and only made a just-in-case final decision on a boy name while engaging in a last dessert before parenthood at House of Pies the night before my labor was induced (because the baby was two weeks past due).

She was going to be Almitra Naomi -- and, well, the baby finally came out after like 35 hours and the use of a vacuum extractor (sooo painful that I had nightmares for months afterward about it) and the doctor said, "It's a boy!"

I thought I was hallucinating because I was so exhausted. But, indeed, there was a penis, so Almitra Naomi was not to be.

Second time around, I thought I was going to get my Almitra Naomi Vivienne (decided to add the 3rd name in there because I love it) and, lo and behold, the ultrasound technician RUINED everything when she said, "It's a boy!"

Given that the male decides the sex of the baby, I quickly realized that genetically, I could be like Henry VIII waiting for a girl to turn up. I have two happy and healthy boys so I figure, why fix what ain't broken? Sometimes more isn't merrier.

I also think about it this way: College and grad school costs for two kids already have me stressed out. Two boys eat a TON, so if I get a third boy, I'll be at the grocery store every five minutes. I only have two bedrooms up in here, so where's the third child gonna sleep?

Oh, that's right... the baby will sleep in my bed with ME for the first few years of its life because I believe in co-sleeping due to me being unable to stick a baby in a crib and hope it cries itself to sleep. I'm still patting myself on the back that I finally managed get my sons out of my room and have them sleeping in their own rooms most of the time. I say most of the time because they have a tendency to sneak back in my bed and then there's no space and I'm on the couch or sleeping in THEIR room!

I'll also be quite frank and admit that I didn't really like being pregnant. Yes, you get the awesome baby at the end, so some people might think it's terrible of me to say, but I didn't enjoy the experience.

I hated maternity clothes. No amount of Mimi Maternity attempting to make them fashionable makes those duds look good to me.

I retained water like crazy so I felt like a bloated mess all the time. My feet were swollen lima beans and my skin went totally nuts so I looked like a freaking lizard on most of my body, no matter how much vitamin E oil and cocoa butter I slathered on myself.

What else? Working 60-70+ hours a week up till my due date was not enjoyable. Sure, I'm not doing those kinds of hours now, but the memory of it is still extremely horrible. And let's face it, most bosses are jerks deep down when it comes to a woman being pregnant.

Hmm... I nursed my eldest for almost two years and my youngest got cut off against his will on his 3rd birthday. So that means I've had a mere two years of my boobs being my own again. I like them being my own. I like not having to wear those nursing bra pads so your boobs don't leak milk all over your shirt at the most inopportune times. I like not hooking myself up to a breast pump several times a day. Seriously, sometimes I'd moo so I make myself laugh while hooked up to that thing.

Now, am I absolutely 100% thrilled I did all those things for the two children I have? Yes, and I'd do them again in a heartbeat for them. They're happy and healthy, and, for example, I'm proud of the fact that they never had infant formula.

Does that mean I want to do it all again? If it happened that two months from now I got pregnant, sure, I'd have to shift my mindset and do it again, but in the meantime, no mas!

Besides, I'm well aware that I'm closer to 40 than to 30, and so there are a lot more risks involved in being pregnant for me and any future baby. Not saying anything bad would for sure happen because PLENTY of older moms have totally healthy babies, but there is a higher likelihood and I'm not one to tempt fate. I think more about adopting these days, particularly about adopting older African-American children because those are the kids who sit in the orphanages for years and years.

Maybe I should just start replying, "Yes, I'll totally have another baby if you agree to be the surrogate AND pay for his or her college education!" -- but then I'd sound like an obnoxious heffa, and, well, we wouldn't want that, would we?

So, I'll just keep smiling and saying what's true, "I'm perfectly happy with the two boys I have. But thanks for asking."

Thoughtfulness = Jameil

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 06:56:00 +0000

I'm sitting here trying to doze off and as I'm mentally rewinding my day, I realized that I must share with you all a total act of kindness shown to me by one of my favorite bloggers, Jameil over at I Don't Know Why I Liked Ripped Paper .

I hadn't checked my mail in a couple of days and finally got around to opening the mailbox this afternoon. That's when I discovered that Jameil mailed me a little note congratulating me on completing the Los Angeles Marathon AND she sent me a Starbucks gift card as a little present!

Beyond the fact that I can now indulge my chai habit even MORE, I was really touched by how thoughtful Jameil was. There have been folks I've considered friends who have not once called to see how the race went, but here's someone who has NEVER EVEN MET ME, and she's congratulating me and sending me presents!!! Love it!

There is so much negativity all around. Sometimes it feels like I'm being assaulted by all the pessimism, discontent, dissatisfaction with life and bitterness swirling through the miasma of our existence. But there, in a parallel universe, lies the kindness and thoughtfulness of people like Jameil. She really sets such a good example... and you had best believe I'll be taking my behind to Starbucks in the morning!

Because Sometimes Drooling Is A Good Thing...

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Sat, 30 May 2009 06:13:00 +0000

I know, it's just 100% wrong that I see this picture and want to lick my laptop screen. The only thing keeping me from doing so is I that I'm worried I might burn my tongue because the screen is so hot.

Yeah, yeah, I shouldn't even say such things in my head, let alone type them. I feel like I'm in need of a lecture on the Seven Deadly Sins. It's just that, wow, is homie-love-affair fine or what???

Seriously, why oh why did I wash my hand after meeting Orlando Jonathan Blanchard Bloom?

Yes, I know all his names by heart, but, um, that's ONLY because I'm a visual learner with a quirky memory and I saw them written down somewhere. Really. I pinky swear that's ~~not~~ true, if only because I'm too dang old to write his name over and over on the cover of my notebook.

I should get a t-shirt made with this picture on it, saying, "He said I'm gorgeous. How ya like me now???"

Yowzer... I might just have to get my Legolas doll down off the shelf. HOT!!!

My Los Angeles Marathon Experience

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Thu, 28 May 2009 17:01:00 +0000

Wow, that was fun.

Yeah, I said fun. Three days after I crossed the finish line of the 24th Los Angeles Marathon, that's the word that still comes to mind when I think about the whole experience. Yes, my legs are a still a little sore and it hurts a teeny bit to walk down steps or down the hill I live on, but I don't regret the experience at all. Running my first marathon was amazing, unreal, tough, grueling... and sooo much fun.

Think of it this way: Only in marathons do you get to run in the middle of the street with people dressed up as Darth Vader and carrying light sabers, folks wearing Spiderman suits, blue afro wigs, and, ahem, running in a testicle suit.

Seriously, run down the street dressed in that testicle suit on any other day and people will not cheer for you. They'll dial 911 instead.

While I've been relaxing over the past couple of days, I've been trying to come up with some way of summing up the entire experience. There's just too much that happened! I could start with the night before the race and tell you how I, the Queen of Insomnia, took some Tylenol PM. That "PM" means it's supposed to put you to sleep. Pfft! Two hours after I took that stuff, I was STILL awake!

I could tell you about how before every long run, I always eat some toast with peanut butter and have a cup of Earl Grey tea, and so I did the same thing on Monday. Or I could share how while waiting for the race to start, I watched my hands shake like crazy because I was feeling so nervous.

Hmm... maybe marathon observations in list form:

1) The Start: Talk about a crazy adrenaline rush!!! I totally cheered as we ran over the starting line... and there, standing on a platform was the Mayor of Los Angeles, Antonio Villaraigosa. He looked positively bewildered and like he was thinking, "Look at these ca-razy people! How many of them voted for me? How many could I get to vote for me if I run for governor?"

2) Crackberry: Because I'm such a tech nerd and I just got a new Blackberry, I decided to do race updates on Twitter and Facebook. I'd also planned to take a picture at every mile marker, but, uh, it's kinda hard to run and use a Blackberry at the same time, so there were definitely some gaps where there were no pics.

3) Spectators: Some of them yell, "Hey, you wanna cigarette?" and some of them have orange slices and cups of water, but they are all cheering! They're out there with signs and posters, chillaxing in their lawn chairs, and showing the wonderful diversity that exists in Los Angeles.

4) My kids: The best spectators were my family and friends that came out... especially my little boys. The look on my son's faces when they saw me between mile 19 and 20 is one I'll never forget. They were in awe! Oh, and my five year-old tried to jack my pretzels that I had pinned to my running belt. He actually started running alongside me, trying to snatch them. Post race, they kept hugging me and telling me how proud they were of me. I feel like such a good role model for them!

5) Death: Without fail, on long training runs, I'm fine for the first dozen miles or so. Then I start to not feel so fabulous at around mile 14 or 15. I start wondering why the heck I'm doing this to myself. I start to want to just go sit down on the curb for a second and rest. This feeling only lasts for a couple of miles, and I know this so that's why I told my family to come see me after mile 17. That way, I couldn't let them down and not show up.

6) Running Buddy: My running buddy, Ollie, who I've trained with for most of the past year, was amazing. When I was feeling like I was going to die, he didn't ditch me just because he was feeling better. We stuck together and crossed the finish line together. Here we are at around mile 20:

I smiled a lot during the race. I couldn't help it, I was so happy to be accomplishing something so amazing.

7) Weather: I'm SO grateful that the weather stars aligned because all last week I was stressing out about the possibility of heat. (Last year was 100 degrees on Memorial Day.) However, we had a super deep marine layer (that means fog) so all the sun and hot weather I was terrified of didn't materialize until I was maybe at mile 18 or 19.

8) Students Run LA: It was so fun to run the race with almost 4,000 high school students! They were amazing and so full of energy. It got me thinking that in another 10 years when my kids are in high school, maybe we can all run a marathon together...

9) Water: Lots of volunteers stand along the course with cups of water and those are great for drinking and for dumping over yourself to cool things down when the sun's starting to feel super hot. But, it wasn't till I'd dumped maybe four cups of water over myself and was totally wet that I remembered my shirt was white... oh well.

10) The LA Leggers: Are hands down, the best running club in Los Angeles. If you want to run a marathon and you live in LA, come train with them. Everybody is so encouraging and they know their stuff. I'd never run more than three miles before last August when I started training with the Leggers... plus they had special support stations along the marathon route just for us and it was SO good to see their friendly faces!

The Finish: After mile 20, your mind starts thinking, "I've got this. Only six miles left... that's nothing!"

Yeah, six miles actually turns into nothing when you've already run 20 of them. I could see Downtown ahead of me, and with every step those skyscrapers were getting closer.

The finish was challenging because it was an uphill grade going into downtown. Because we've been training in Santa Monica and Venice, it helped to think stuff like, "We just crossed out of Venice and we're in Santa Monica now. We're almost to the Ferris Wheel!" Also, I was very grateful I've been running in my super hilly neighborhood. That helped a lot.

Around mile 23, I started feeling really emotional, and had to wipe tears off my cheeks. I felt so good, and so proud of myself... this was a really serious goal and I was thisclose to achieving it! I also kept thinking of my kids waiting at the finish and how happy I was to be able to prove to them that you really can do anything if you set your mind to it.

And my gawd, when we turned off Olympic Blvd. and onto Flower Street and could see the 26 mile marker ahead, and then beyond that, the finish, I was SO happy. Both sides of the street were packed with people behind barriers who were screaming like crazy, ringing cowbells... OMG IT WAS NUTS!!!!!

The last .2 miles after crossing the 26 mile mark was totally surreal. And then I was over the finish line, I was giving Ollie high fives and hugs, and somebody was putting a medal over my head!

I walked three more blocks, found my family, got a million hugs from my kids, my friend Maisha took them home with her, my husband too me home, and I sat in a big tub of ice water for awhile! Then I took a hot shower and, two hours post-race, I was chilling on the couch with my medal!

Yeah, it's kind of heavy for an everyday necklace, but I had to run 26.2 miles to get it, so I'm not taking it off anytime soon.

Since then, I've been taking it easy, sleeping, taking slow walks around the neighborhood, stretching... and thinking about my next marathon. Yes, I want to do another one. I'm not sure which one or when it's going to be, but I'm going to do another one for sure!

I do have to say thank you to all you sweet people who thought of me and wished me well. It really means a lot... and you were another reason I kept going. I couldn't very well come back to this blog and say, "Sorry people, I just decided to quit at mile 17 because I was tired!" could I?

And what about you? Really, if I can run a marathon, you can do one, too. Think about it... the idea is not that crazy. Besides, you might surprise yourself and have a LOT of fun along the way!

Marathon Day!!!

los.angelista@gmail.com (Los Angelista) — Mon, 25 May 2009 12:43:00 +0000

Yes, it's that day, FINALLY! I'm off to run the LA Marathon!!!

I may be updating my Twitter feed during the race. I'm not sure yet. But, check back in a few hours for a full debriefing of the entire race!

YAY!