The Write Girl

A Few Good Things

2013-03-29T10:10:00.002-07:00

Today, I have no purpose in writing this entry. This is indicative that things are going well. Nothing to complain about, nothing super exciting. It's fine.

I've been listening to some great music lately! Her name is Bebel Gilberto. You can find it on Spotify. She. Is. Amazing. It's the best music to work to- very inspiring.

By the way, I'm going to be featured as an invitation/wedding designer on www.brightsideprints.com soon! This is going to be my profile pic:

I'm really excited! Working through Elance has given me so many great opportunities to work with such a variety of people all over the world. I never thought I'd design a play poster for an Australian company, or a startup vintage clothing store in New Jersey.

I'm making small contributions to the world...like little deposits of pretty. It's nice.

Mrs. Memaw

2013-03-22T15:55:00.000-07:00

While I'm working, I always keep iChat open, so I can sneak little messages to the hubby while he's away at work. Today, I happened to glance at my friend's list, and saw, "CCRSBP" as a currently offline friend.

My heart sunk a little. This "friend" wasn't really just a friend at all. This was my late grandmother's account name. Before she died three years ago this month, we'd email and iChat pretty frequently. She wasn't your old-fashioned-kind-of-grandma who knitted and played croquet all day. No siree, not my "Memaw." She was technologically advanced for a woman of her age. I remember getting weekly emails reminding me to "Watch Survivor on Thursday" or "Go Spurs, Go!" She was a Texan, after all.

So, I clicked on her iChat name, and wrote a message. I don't know why. I guess I wish she'd answer. I wish we could go back to the way it was. Because, the way it was, was pretty freaking awesome. She had a small house in the woods, surrounded by trails she had personally cleared for the kids to play in. She even named and labeled each trail after all her grandkids. Mine was "Janine Junction." Some others were "Amber Avenue" and "Lauren Lane." I think those are right, anyway. She was such a clever and thoughtful lady.

I have so, so many wonderful memories of her. What a loving, and sweet little grandma she was. Emphasis on the "little!" When I hugged her I always thought I might break her, so I was really careful. She couldn't have been taller than 5'4", probably smaller. I always used to exclaim upon seeing her, "Hey! Your feet are so tiny, Memaw! Why didn't I inherit your feet?" Nope. Instead, I inherited my grandpa's feet: Size 10. Abnormally long toes. Too skinny for most shoes.

My grandma had roughly 50 grandchildren, and, from what I observed, never missed a kid's birthday. She had a calendar, with all our birthdays penciled in, and she stuck to it religiously. The only time she missed my birthday, was the year she was diagnosed with cancer, and had to get surgery. Even then, she was apologetic.

"Grandma, it's ok. I think I'll let it slide one time."

Honestly, I can't think of one thing that bugged me about Memaw- except for the fact that she smoked really heavily. That's what would ultimately bite her in the ass later. She got cancer, it spread, and well, the rest is history.

I got the honor of being with her the night she died. I don't know, is "honor" too strong a word? Is that weird?

It's weird.

The whole thing was weird, really. Like an out of body experience, or a scene from a movie. My poor mom was beside herself with worry. She'd been taking care of Memaw for a few weeks. And in those few, short weeks, Memaw went from, being able to walk, talk and smoke, to being comatose and unresponsive. A few days before she passed away, she had lost the ability to speak, or move. The cancer had spread to her brain. The only thing she had left was a gentle squeeze from her right hand. We used this as a way to communicate with her. One squeeze meant "Yes." No squeeze, meant "No." My mom and I took turns asking her if she loved us.

"Mama?" my mom would ask, "Do you love me?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze!

It made us happy. I think it made Memaw happy too.

I remember thinking, how scary it must be, to lose all ability, but still be conscious. So, I would go into her bedroom, where she was set up by Hospice, and talk to her often. I tried to remain upbeat. I told her not to be scared, and that everything would be okay, because, where she was going, was so much better than where we were. I brushed her hair. I told her stories. After a while, I'd get tired of hearing myself talk, and leave for a little.

The night Memaw died, my mom had refused to leave her alone in her room. And I couldn't leave my mom in there alone, so I went too. I think it was midnight, when we started noticing her go downhill. I was really, really nervous, but, I couldn't show my mom that. Mom tried to stay busy, putting extra socks on her, and trying to keep her comfortable. She just couldn't stop fussing over her.

The last hour Memaw was alive, Mom noticed she was having trouble breathing. So, like a good caretaker, she put the oxygen mask on her and sat down next to the bed.

"Mom, I don't think that's a good idea" I told her. "We have to help her cross over. She'll just suffer more if we don't."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?!" Mom blurted out nervously.

I think we sort of fought over who was going to do it. Mom refused. I don't blame her. What an awful job to be faced with. That just left me. I walked over like a soldier, turned off the breathing machine, slipped the mask off her face, and whispered in her ear, "Grandma, it's time to go."

Oh my God, did this really just happen?

I am not, in any way, trying to romanticize this, or be some sort of hero. It is what it is. Anyone in my place would have done the same. I hope.

Soon after the oxygen was disconnected, she passed away. Mom and I (probably from reading one too many spiritual books) looked up to the ceiling, and waved goodbye, because, we're taught that Heaven is up there, right?

I don't have any grandparents left now. If you're reading this, and you still have yours, please pay attention to them. Kiss them, call them, hug them. Whatever you can do. Let them know you care about them.

When I started to write this journal entry today, it wasn't going to be about this topic at all. But, maybe Memaw wanted her story heard, and wanted to spread "Grandparent Awareness."

Oh yeah, Grandma's name, CCRSBP, stood for "Country Corner Resale Shoppe." The "BP" was her initials. Grandma and her sister had owned a little resale shoppe in the small town they lived in. She loved, loved, loved garage sales, and reselling all the cool stuff she found.

Things That Used to Bother Me (But Don't Anymore)

2013-03-15T09:12:00.003-07:00

People Flipping Me Off in Traffic.
I just smile and wave back as if to say, "Hi! I haven't seen you in so long!" It really pisses them off. It's cute.

Telemarketers.
I just hang up on them. Though one time this backfired, and the man got so mad, that he called me over and over again. We played this cat and mouse game for an hour until I remembered I could block numbers on my cell.

Sales People in Kiosks at the Mall.
These people are crazy. They'll tell you anything to get your attention like, "Hey are you famous? Hey your skin looks dry! Hey do you like cartwheels?!" while waving little popsicle sticks of gooey lotion at me.

Whatever.

I don't want your gooey lotion. I just want to get frozen yogurt. I don't get sucked into their rat hole anymore. Now, I just walk by and completely ignore them, which sends them into a crazed frenzy. "HEY! HEY! HEY YOUUUU!!!" Eh...red velvet yogurt is more important.

Disgustingly Dirty Restrooms at Barnes & Noble and Target
Is it just me, or are these bathrooms the most repulsive places on Earth? Seriously, every single one I've ever been in smells like turds built an apartment complex up in there. I just hold my breath and try to get it over with as quickly as possible. But, it's not just the smell, it's the fact that every stall has a turd the size of the Eiffel Tower clogging up the toilet. Who is pooping like this? It can't be healthy. People need to consider eating more vegetables and less cheeseburgers.

But it's OK. I've just learned to have zero expectations upon entering these restrooms. I've seen it all.

Lousy Clients
Fuck 'em.

People Who Like to Hear Themselves Talk
These are the best kinds of conversations. This used to bug me, until I came to the conclusion that I could just nod and zone out. Easy!

Confused Old People
Oh man, these were the worst! The slowness, the confusion, and the constant questioning!

"Are you sure this is the right price? I could've sworn it said fifty cents!" protested the little old lady holding a bag of shrimp at check out. Meanwhile the line behind her is so long that it has doubled over onto itself.

The only reason this ever bothered me was because I was young and in a hurry, and they were holding me up somehow at the store checkout or in traffic. "I need to get home to see Top Model! Don't these people understand that!?"

And then my heart softened when I saw my grandparents get really, really old. My mom's dad got Alzheimer's and was beyond confused. He was in a different world completely. Particularly the world that existed before 1980. He was convinced he needed to "go to work" every evening at sun down. He used to work on the railroad, and was obsessed with trains. Heck, he still had his old railroad windbreaker, and could be heard in the wee hours of the night "swishing" and "swooshing" to get ready for work.

So, now when I see confused old people, I just think it must be a natural progression of life, right? I mean, one day that could be me. Except, I think when I'm old, I'm going to pretend to have Alzheimer's just to mess with arrogant, young people. I'll plant myself in the middle of a grocery aisle and yell, "Who am I?! Where am I?! I need a chips!" I think that would be fun.

Unless it happens for real.

In conclusion, I've either become nicer or more of a bitch.

Home

2013-03-13T12:29:00.002-07:00

Hey All,

Hope you are having a wonderful week! Today is my Amelie's 6th birthday! So, it's a pretty momentous occasion. I dreamt of having a little girl for as long as I could remember, and I finally got her six years ago. Happy Birthday, little sweetheart.

In other news, lately, I've had this strong desire to move home. I'm from Texas originally, and I feel it's really time to go back for good. Los Angeles has so many opportunities, and a lot of other beautiful things to offer, but what it will never have is my parents, Tom's parents and all the other family members we love so much.

Screw that it's known for being Republican. I can deal with it. Besides, Austin is very liberal, and if I can surround myself with like-minded people, I'm okay with that. And, really, the more democrats that move there, the better the odds are that it will become more liberal, or at the very least, a swing state.

I miss my peeps. I miss my parents. I know they are adults, but I have this nurturing feeling that tells me, "Hey, it's time to go home, and take care of your parents. They need you."

And so, by Christmas time of this year, we will be making arrangements to go home.

An Evening in Paris

2013-03-02T08:16:00.003-08:00

I'm constantly looking for new pictures to put on my computer's background. Having a new photo, can completely change my mood. Luckily, I just got a Shutterstock account, and have been having the time of my life downloading new images. I get just as excited shopping for photos, as a Beverly Hills housewife shopping for Prada. I hate Prada. Not really, I just think it's insane to pay over $50 for a handbag.

The one I currently have my desktop set to is Paris- the Eiffel Tower- right at sundown. Oh gawd! It is pure eye candy when I open my laptop. I sometimes just sit and stare at it, and suddenly, I'm right there. How magnificent! No, I have never been. Actually, I've never left the country. Not even to Mexico. Getting kidnapped or beheaded is just too much adventure for me.

When I was fourteen, I loved to sit outside and watch the stars at night. And I can vividly remember, one night, while watching the stars, seeing a plane far off in the distance. Planes, always made my heart soar with happiness. The thought of getting on one, and flying somewhere mysterious (not Mexico) was so exciting. I would imagine where that plane was going. I had never been on a plane, so I didn't know how tedious the whole process really was- luggage, tickets, being squished between two weirdos you don't know who keep farting etc. All I knew was, that plane was going somewhere, and it must be fantastic.

Problem is, after you have kids, and you're trying to save for retirement, and pay off student loans, you don't have the time or money to travel around the world. Really, I should've done all this traveling in my early 20's. But, now as my 32nd birthday is quickly approaching, I'm beginning to realize, Paris and I probably won't meet until I am in my late 40's or 50's.

Until then, at least I have beautiful photos.

Target Time Zone

2012-10-25T18:25:00.002-07:00

Everybody experiences it, but most don't even realize it's happening. It's that weird window of time, when you enter Target, to pick up a couple of items, and BAM! You get sucked into Target Time Zone.

Time doesn't stop while you're in there. It's more like time just doesn't matter to your brain anymore. You become lost in TTZ. But it's not scary at all. There are plenty of cozy, fall sweaters to keep you calm. And there's even a Starbucks with sweet, creamy drinks. And all the stuffed animals are waving from aisle 9. Yeah I think I'll stay in here a while.

Two hours later and I'm mad at myself for staying in there so long! Well, the pharmacy was partly to blame. They kept getting my medicine wrong. When they finally did get it right, it ended up costing a small fortune. We have a 3k deductible, so insurance barely pays anything for prescriptions! It's unbelievable! Amelie's QVAR inhaler was $115. And they wanted $250 for her nebulizer liquids. Oh yeah, and the generic Singulair was like $142. There goes Christmas.

Anyway, before the trip to Target Time Zone, I cleaned the school classroom with some other moms. While I was cleaning, we discussed having a Halloween party! I got excited and offered to set up a cupcake area where the kids can decorate cuppy-cakes.

At first the moms wanted the kids to decorate bagels. What? Who decorates bagels? And how?

"Here kids, here's a raisin and some glue."

No, no, no, ladies. We are not decorating bagels. But they had a counter offer:

"Well, how about the kids choose to decorate either a bagel or a cupcake?"

Sure, we could do that. We could also play a drinking game with gasoline, but let's not. What kid is going to choose a bagel over a cupcake? And that's like, the saddest day ever for the bagel. The bagel is probably thinking, "This wasn't a fair fight, anyways! Shoulda put me against a biscuit!"

Brutal.

Ripped & High

2012-10-24T15:46:00.001-07:00

The weather is cooling down! I can't believe it. We really had the longest summer this year in California. I live in the valley, so it stays much warmer over in these parts than say, the beach. So, thank goodness it's finally in the low 70's. I'm very appreciative.

It was picture day at Amelie's school today. I'm not sure how it turned out (we don't get the pictures until a few weeks from now, I think.) But, it also happened to be a Wednesday that I volunteer in class after lunch. I was pretty excited to see all the little trouble makers wearing their best clothes. The little boys, who are usually pretty gross (sorry, but it's true) had on button down dress shirts and their hair combed. And some of the girls had dresses. They all looked so adorable!

However, I was pretty shocked when, at one point, a little boy ripped off his nice shirt to reveal *dun dun dun!* a wife beater tank and some freaking huge-ass muscles! Seriously, this kid was ripped. His muscles were bigger than mine. I actually think my jaw dropped.

Me, "Uh, dude, where's your shirt?" and him, "I got too hot!" What are they feeding this kid?!

STOP STARING, NINA! It's weird!

I really like going to see the kids cause they never fail to crack me up at least once before I leave. And today they were in rare form, let me tell you. We got into a classroom discussion about the cartoon "Monster High." All the kids know this show, and a lot of the girls are dressing up as one of the characters for Halloween (Amelie included.) This show has become some sort of kid sensation! I love it! Well, anyway, while we were talking about it, a little boy goes, "Oh I can tell you what Monster High is about! It's about monsters who are high!"

HOLY SH*T!

I can't pay for this kind of comedy, man. Thanks, kids.

School Stuff

2012-10-10T17:22:00.000-07:00

B.F.F.

I became inspired to write about the LAUSD (Los Angeles Unified School District) because I feel like it's a topic worth covering for a variety of reasons.

One reason is, if you're considering moving to Los Angeles and you have kids, you might want to reconsider. I just thought I'd give you fair warning. It's pretty here, and you're certainly going to find a lot more career opportunities available, but everything comes with a price. The school system is in a major budget crises right now. I've seen it firsthand at my daughter's school. There is constant fundraising to make up for the lack of funds, the teachers are stressed out, and parents are expected to volunteer in the classroom. Instead of getting to do fun things, like decorating the classroom, I'm vacuuming, mopping and disinfecting the place. Luckily, I'm a clean-freak, so it's not too big a deal for me, but it's something I never fathomed I'd be doing. My mom and dad never had to come to my school to clean! We always had janitors taking care of that stuff in Texas.

L.A. sign language

Also, on a side note, and this could be the glass of wine talking here (it is) but, I don't understand half the people who live in SoCal. People seem to be moving at an unbelievably fast pace, and for a place that has an abundance of roses, they sure don't stop to smell them often. The residents here are over-worked, under-paid (the median income is 45k, how can anyone survive off this here?) The commutes are not only measured in hours, but they are downright dangerous! People drive like maniacs, and have fits if you accidentally cut them off. The aggression and tempers run rampant. It's at a boiling point right now, and I'm so happy I don't have to get on the freeway that often. I stay in my 'hood about 95% of the time.

I'd like to add, that we live in an area that has homes selling for millions, so it ain't like we be slummin' it over here. Still not convinced? Well then, just do me a favor, if you want to move here, look into private schools. It's not cheap, but it's worth it.

I'm sure there are other districts also feeling the pinch though. It can't just be in California.

Catching Up!

2012-09-30T19:12:00.003-07:00

Hey Guys!

It's been a while, I know. Sorry about that. I've had a lot of really cool things going on! Let me bring you up to date.

I'm working on an iPhone App with my brother-in-law. I'm designing the whole game, and I made the music myself. He's a programmer, so together, we are unstoppable! Muhahahaha! It's so much fun! I came up with the idea of a cooking game for kids. But, it's a LOT different than your ordinary cooking games. I think kids will really like it. Amelie loves it so far, and she's five. WIN!

I've been struggling to create awesome, fantastical food at home though. It's a lot easier in the digital world. I just push some pixels around and, voila, there's a salad or whatever. But it's okay, I will soldier on! I made some pretty good non-pixel turkey burgers tonight. I'm sure the glass of wine made it seem a lot better than it actually was. WIN!

What else? Oh yeah, the fellow moms at my daughters school are mostly not very nice people (they steal my parking spots and other mean things.) And I got an email today confirming that one of the kids in my daughter's class has lice. Brilliant. I've probably checked Amelie's head about 20 times today. And I've had Tom check my head about 30 times. I'm so freaked out over these stupid bugs! Haven't found one yet though. WIN!

Elections are coming up, and I can feel the tension on Facebook. People be gettin' all offended and stuff. Listen, I'm a democrat and I post stuff a lot. But at least there's a button, where you can unsubscribe from me. I know this because, I've had to unsubscribe from a lot of super-religious postings about great stuff like, "HELL!!!" and "SINNERS!!!" I'm sorry. I just don't care for it. WIN!

My favorite show "Revenge" starts tonight on ABC. I just peed myself a little. For this special occasion, I will bust out the Nutella and spoon. Fruit need not apply. I feel like I've been waiting forever to see my show again! I also can't wait to see 30 Rock and Happy Endings. I consider all the characters from my favorite shows to be my friends. Lame. NOT A WIN!

Oh well, we can't win them all...or can we? Tom just informed me he finished washing all our bedding, and has made up the bed (Amelie peed in it two nights ago. I know, I know...) WIN!

Goodnight my dear friends!

Getting Your Big Break

2012-07-24T15:31:00.003-07:00

Today I'm feeling the ups and downs of being the wife of an aspiring film writer. Some days are normal, and I don't even think about it, but then there are days like today, where I'm painfully aware of how unstable Hollywood is. And not for any particular reason. I guess we just have those days sometimes.

In the 10 years that we've been plugging away at this dream, I've seen him go through so many emotions. There were times when he'd come home from a meeting with a big studio, and based off how well the meeting had gone, we'd think, "Okay, this is it. This is his big break." Only for it to never come to pass.

And even though I've seen him through the good times and the bad, I don't feel sorry for myself anymore. I used to think, "Oh man, this is so depressing. I try to be his cheerleader, only to be let down." As I've gotten older, I realize, it's his dream that's on the line- not mine. It must be a million times harder for him than for me. I really ought to save the tissues for someone else.

Here's the problem in Hollywood: Everyone is SCARED. All the executives are afraid to hire new writers for big projects- hell, even for the small ones. They are afraid that if the script comes out wrong, or does poorly at the box office, that they will get fired. So, if you're a new writer, and you don't happen to be Martin Scorsese's nephew, the chances of you being an astronaut and flying your ass to the moon, are higher than getting hired as a writer. I'm not even kidding.

Sometimes I think, "If just one person would say yes. Just one! Then they'd see how brilliant my Tom is and what results they could get." They'd see that he's a mine field of great, blockbuster ideas. He is so funny, witty and original. Not only is he an amazing writer, he has the work ethic unlike anyone I've ever seen before. I've literally woken up on a Tuesday night, at 3 a.m. in the morning, to find him hunched over his laptop, working on a synopsis for a producer for free. Yep, that's right folks, you don't get paid to write 10 page treatments when you're not related to George Lucas. And, I also need to add here, he works a full-time job in addition to this. He's pretty much a super hero.

It just breaks my heart, guys. I want him to have everything. I wish that these executives knew that behind the person who is pitching ideas to them, is a family that's waiting for the "big break" too. I fantasize about what relief would feel like. What resolution would feel like. How it would feel to be vindicated. That all these years of hard work and waiting, finally paid off.

And sure, financially, it could be great, but, as cheesy as this might sound, I want Tom's excellence to be realized and appreciated. If he wasn't good, then he never would've made it into the Disney Fellowship in '08, or written a cartoon episode for Nickelodeon last summer, or had a novel published, or done so much free work for studios developing their ideas. And to add insult to injury, I've literally seen him pitch an original idea to someone who said it would "never work" only to have that exact same idea become a movie a few years later.

So, I mean, what do you do? You can't cry over spilled milk. And giving up is not an option. And it's hard because, most of your extended family members actually want you to give up. They want you to get that 9-5 job, buy that cookie cutter house, and sock away for retirement. Probably because a.) they love you and b.) that's all they know.

They don't fully understand what you're trying to accomplish. I know this, because, I was one of those naysayers at one point. I think that the rejections started to affect me. At some point you just yell, "Uncle!" and hope it gets better. But, when you love someone, you support them, no matter what.

Well, thanks for listening to my whining, friends.

Two Weeks In Hell is Sure Swell!

2012-07-19T16:12:00.001-07:00

Wow. What a crazy two weeks we've had. Amelie broke her arm, we moved across L.A. and I got rear-ended on the 405 south yesterday morning. I really would like for everyone, and everything, to just CALM THE HELL DOWN. Please.

Amelie's arm is okay now. It was (and still is) a sticky situation because the little girl who pushed her and broke it on the playground, is one of her closest friends at school. So far, we have received no phone call or apology from the parents. I'm really not sure how to handle it. If you have any suggestions, please let me know.

The move was pretty typical. Lots of sweating, organizing, and, in my case, cussing like a sailor on acid. I'm really loving our two story town home, but, I'm not loving all the stairs in the building. We park in an underground garage, and to get to the sidewalk, you gotta take a flight of stairs. Then to get to our door, there's an extra nine or so stairs, and THEN, we have stairs in the apartment, since it's two stories. I really didn't think about any of this when we first looked at the place. I was too busy drooling at the little 6'x6' back porch (more like a cubicle) hardwood floors downstairs, and gas fireplace.

Oh well, I'm convinced there's always going to be pros and cons wherever you live. Oh yeah, and one other con is, there are only two washers and two dryers- FOR THE WHOLE BUILDING. It's really insane. I think I might just give up on washing laundry all together. Do they make disposable clothes yet?

In my arsenal of mom-gear, I keep my exacto knife, hot glue gun and staple gun handy for all things crafty. I've whipped those puppies out more times in the last two weeks than I can remember. Having all these things gives makes me feel like I have superpowers and can fix anything. Got a loose door hinge? Exacto it! Pants too long? Staple it! Tooth falling out? Hot glue it!

Anyway, I've gotten pretty creative lately. I took recycling to a whole new level this week. Look what I made with toilet paper rolls:

Toilet rolls, hot glue, and spray paint - Oh my!

I wish I could say this was all my idea, but I got it from a website a few weeks ago, just can't remember where.

I've had a lot of fun decorating, but it's time to get back into the swing of real life. I wish every day could be "buy new sheets and curtains" day, but it can't. So, for now, I've vowed to put down the credit card (and hot glue gun) and pick up my wacom pen, instead. It's time to work, folks. Let's push some pixels around, bitches.

Love ya'll,

Mean People SUCK

2012-07-04T11:02:00.001-07:00

I wish I could look back on school memories fondly, but I just can't. I had such a rough time in school. We didn't have money, and I wore the same clothes a lot. In fact, one boy graciously pointed it out to me one day, in front of a huge group of people, "You need to get some new clothes."

Duh! Thanks for pointing that out, because I had no idea.

There really wasn't much I could about the clothing I wore. I couldn't even afford thrift store clothing. And getting a part-time job was really a catch 22 because I had no car- or friends to take me there.

This probably explains why I'm so fascinated with fashion now. I just want to be near it! Sometimes I wish I could buy big bags of clothes, go back in time, and hand deliver them to myself. I'd probably blow the 1990's people's minds away with my 2012 duds. I could totally rock that.

Did I also mention I was underweight by about 10 pounds? And I wore braces. Yeah. It sucked. Being 5' 6" and weighing 107 pounds is not a good look. And don't even ask me how my parents afforded braces. I'm sure they don't even remember how they did it. But, thank God they did, because my teeth were horrific!

I'm not sure what the catalyst is for mean girls in school. Hatred? Insecurity? Boredom? All of the above? I don't know, but I just wanted them to leave me alone. Sometimes being a super-nice person, gets you in trouble. I suppose I appeared to be the weakest link, giving them the strongest inclination to pick on me. One group of girls I tried to "join" decided it would be fun to hit me with their lunch kits on the playground in 5th grade. Another girl from my 5th grade art class, either made fun of the way I pronounced "crayon" on a daily basis or played the "ignore anything she says" game. I became a shadow.

That same girl, took a feminine pad, (yes this really happened) colored it red with a magic marker, wrote, "Nina started!" and stuck it to the wall in the girls public restroom. So. Humiliating. I was only 11 years old.

In 9th grade, a girl in my English class who sat behind me, would thump my neck all through class, and whispered in my ear that I was a "bitch" repeatedly. I was petrified of attending that class. Plus, she was that type of girl who you could tell, didn't give a flying fuck about getting into trouble, making her all the more terrifying. She told me if I told on her, that she'd beat me up after school.

And who could forget 10th grade, when a girl yelled out to me in the hall one day, "Bitch!" and proceeded to beat the living shit out of me in front of all the people in the school. Being 107 pounds might sound like a dream come true to some girls, but on that day it didn't come in handy. I was thrown around like a rag doll. This girl had so much pent-up rage it was unreal, and I was obviously the perfect person to unleash it upon. I found out later the reason she went so ballistic is that her best friend had been arrested for possessing cocaine at school. I ended up losing a quarter size circle of hair near the front of my head. It was a mess all over the floor. And the worst part is, my peers gathered around us, egging it on, yelling and hollering, throwing their arms up in the air.

My saving grace was literally my older brother, Chris, a senior at the time, who heard the commotion in the hall and saw it was his sister getting beat up. He picked up the girl, and slam dunked her to the floor. And in an act of pure chivalry, he picked me up off the ground, and carried me to the nurse's office like a baby. I was limp, scratched up, shaking and crying. Thank God for that brother. Thank you, Chris.

I got beat up again in 11th grade. This time it was in a class room, in the morning, when no one was around. She threw me across the room, I became a human bowling ball, knocking over all the desks. No one even saw it. So, of course no one would believe it happened. And my older brother, Chris, had already graduated, so no savior this time.

Another girl threatened to kill me in high school. I am not even kidding. Not even a little.

I'm not writing this for pity. I'm writing this, because, I want everyone to see how awful bullying is. People need to see this. They need to know how real it is. People you're friends with today, might have been bullied. I bet you'd never have guessed how bad I was bullied. It can happen to anyone.

And it's happening in every city- not just the big ones. This happened in a very small town in Texas. That whole, "everybody knows each other in a small town and is your friend" bullshit isn't real.

This is why I have such a low tolerance for injustice. I protect people I love to a fault. I pity the fool who tries to mess with my kids.

So, the moral of the story is, if you're reading this and you are currently a bully or once were, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Picking on who you perceive to be the weakest, only shows how pathetic and low you are. And if, on the other hand, you are the one being picked on, I send you my deepest sympathy, all my love, and I wrap you in white light from God a thousand times over. You are wonderful and special, and good things will come your way.

I never in a million years, while living in that shit-hole of a city as a kid, believed I'd one day be a designer, living in Los Angeles, married to a brilliant writer, with a beautiful daughter. It worked out for me better than I ever imagined. And it can happen to you too.

Stay strong, power through, get your education, and succeed. Succeed at being happy. Succeed at finding love. Succeed at helping others. Succeed at fulfilling all your goals. If the bullies worked half as hard at achieving positive goals as they did threatening, belittling and berating you, they'd probably be millionaires. Beat 'em to it.

Love you guys!

Movin' & Shakin'

2012-06-28T09:05:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, Amelie asked me when the hamsters were coming home from hamster school.

Damn it!

I told her, "When they get their diplomas!" And, again, she asked me if the whole thing was real. I was driving, so luckily I didn't have to look her in the eye. I just sort of waved my hand in the air, dismissing it and exclaimed, "Of course it is!"

Then it got really quiet back there. So I did what any good mom would do, and turned up Lady Gaga nice and loud.

There goes my mother of the year award.

Our move date is 3 weeks from tomorrow. I'm dreading it, even though the place is nicer than where we are right now. It's a two-story town home, and the master bedroom is larger. We get our own front door with a stoop, which is pretty cool. I have big plans to decorate for every holiday.

I know it's going to be a great change. We're moving there for the better school system and the rent comes in $100 below our budget. Don't even ask how much it is. For most of you, our rent in L.A. will be the equivalent to two mortgages combined anywhere else.

But, it is what it is.

I'm currently priming all the walls that Tom and I so painstakingly painted two years ago. It got me thinking, maybe I shouldn't paint the walls in the next place. And then I thought, no, I like design waaaay too much to leave the walls plain white. What I'll probably end up doing is painting bold stripes on one wall as an accent, and leave the other's white. Kind of like this:

Wish me luck!

Hamster School

2012-06-21T08:04:00.000-07:00

Everyone has pets during some point in their life. When I was a kid, we lived out in the middle of nowhere, and stray cats and dogs were always finding their way to our house. At one point we had a whole litter of ten adorable puppies. This made going out the front door a real treat. As soon as those lil' round pups heard the door open, they'd run over, in an excited frenzy. It was so awesome.

My brothers and I would lie down in the grass, whistle, and wait for a million puppy kisses. I don't know if I'll ever experience that again, but I'm sure glad I had the opportunity to feel all that puppy love.

It was great for me. I didn't have to buy them food, or worry about them having heart worms, or if they got hurt.

My parents did.

Which brings me to the title of this posting, "Hamster School." I had this bright idea six months ago to get Amelie a pair of hamsters. She loves animals a lot, so it seemed natural that she ought to have one. In a perfect world, she'd have gotten a puppy, as those are her favorite animals of all. But, she settled with hamsters.

When we got them, they were the size of quarters. Literally. Their breed is small and SUPER fast. I'm talking like, lightening-fast. Once, one of them got loose in the house for three days. And when I finally found her under the stove in the kitchen, she zipped out so quickly that it scared the shit out of me! It also made holding them pretty impossible, which was the point of getting them for Amelie in the first place. Poor kid never got to hold them.

Anyway, the pair of "hammies" were sisters and fought constantly over food. Are you kidding me? There was plenty of food.

But, this is what hamsters do, apparently. They play tug-of-war with nuts, poop and pee everywhere, build large, unstable nests and climb the walls at night because they are nocturnal and pissed off.

One day, while talking to my Aunt Sherry on the phone, we had this idea to "Send them away to Hammy High School." Is it real? No. We'd like to think it is though. Sure sounds fun. We even talked about all the things they'd learn at school, like hamster manners, socialization, and getting haircuts at "Hamster Cuts." We had it all figured out.

Now, I just had to broach the subject with Amelie. So, this is how it went.

Me, "Amelie, what would you think about sending the hammies away to a special school? They could learn new things, make new friends."

Amelie, "Is it for real?"

Me, "Yes! They will get hamster backpacks, and sleep in bunk beds. It'll be great! So, what do you think?"

Amelie, "Tell me more!"

It was decided that the best thing for the hamsters would be to send them to Hammy High. It just felt right. So, I called the Dean at the school, also known as "Craigslist, " and away they went, to a very nice family with a teenage girl who could take care of them much better than Amelie.

I feel...a little guilty though. I mean...one day she's going to realize what I've done, right? How long can I keep this up? She's going to kill me when she figures it out! I'm a little worried.

I hope she doesn't send me to Hamster School too.

Bullies Be Bitches

2012-06-19T11:50:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago something disturbing happened on a park playground. What happened was, three girls from ages 6-10 were very mean to my little girl. My mom senses are always on high alert for mean girls because when I was a kid, lots of girls treated me like shit. I'll be damned if I'm going to let the brats be mean to my baby.

Hell. No.

Tom and I were watching Amelie at the park try to make friends...but unfortunately she's at a weird phase where she's becoming extremely shy. I felt the need to help her, so I found a group of girls climbing on metal bars. They seemed harmless enough, so I whispered to Amelie, "Hey, go play with those little girls." Amelie looked at me and said, "But what do I say?" To which I replied, "Ask them if you can play with them."

And so she went, slowly, proceeding with much caution, to the clique of girls. I heard her ask the girl if she could play with them, and the little girl looked at her with disdain and snottily retorted, "No! Go play somewhere else!"

What the fuck?

Doth my ears deceive me? Are girls becoming bitches even EARLIER?

The little girl looked up at me, realized I was Amelie's mom, and tried to cover up her bad behavior by saying, "Well, I guess you can climb with us" and rolled her eyes.

I went and sat down, unsure of what had happened. I decided to keep my eye on these kids, to make certain my lil' sweets wasn't getting bullied.

Sure enough, there they went, the clan of three girls, running away from my Amelie as if she had the plague. They hid behind benches, snickering, watching Amelie appear lost and disoriented and ALONE. Tom assured me, "Oh, they're just playing tag."

Warning: Explicit material to follow!

FUCK TAG. They're not fucking playing fucking TAG. They're fucking being BITCHES is what they're fucking doing! And to my kid? FUCK THAT.

I jumped up from the bench, with my mother-claws out, ready for battle. I started yelling and pointing on the playground, asking Amelie if she understood what was going on. Sadly, she did not. She doesn't understand the cruelty people maliciously inflict upon one another for fun.

I explained to her in the nicest and simplest form possible, that there are some people who are mean, and will not appreciate how wonderful you are. She looked confused.

"But why?" she asked.

I so wanted to answer, "Because they're ASSES, that's why!" I decided to keep it PC.

"Um, because they aren't smart enough to appreciate you. Something is wrong with them, not you. And you know what? You should feel sorry for them, but you should never let them push you around. If there's ever anyone, anywhere who treats you like this, you don't run after them trying to make them like you. You go find people who are nice, instead, because you're an amazing person."

That's exactly what we did. I found a little girl who was playing alone, and seemed painfully shy. She averted eye contact when I applauded her monkey-bar climbing skills.

"What's your name, and how did you get so good at climbing?!" I asked.

I introduced them both, and told the little girl (who's name was Vanessa) that she should teach Amelie to climb as fast as she could. And away they went.

Meanwhile, the little clan of mean girls got chewed out by their father. I guess I made such a big stink about it on the playground, that he realized what they were doing. He was speaking spanish to them, and luckily I had Tom there to translate.

Dad, "You never run away from little friends! We don't do that! That's mean. How would you feel if you were all alone on the playground and someone did this to you?!"

Mean Girl 1, "She was being mean to us!"

Dad, "No she wasn't! What if she was baby Jesus! Would you do that to baby Jesus?!"

Oh DAMN! He done pulled the "Baby Jesus Card" on their asses! If I had a gold medal, I'd have given it to him right then and there. Well done!

I'm scared I'm going to encounter this situation again. Not scared for me, but scared for the bully. I will unleash my fury in a fit of atomic bomb rage. Heads will roll across deserts igniting in volcanic FIRE. My razor-sharp tongue will annihilate you!

I'm not sure the PTA is going to welcome me with open arms this year.

I Have Stuff To Say

2012-06-16T08:22:00.000-07:00

I don't know why, but I woke up this morning thinking, "I have a lot of stuff to say. I should go post a blog about all the stuff I have to say." So, here I am.

Next time a Republican tries to argue with me I will just say: VAGINA.

That'll teach 'em!

But really, I don't follow politics as closely as some die-hard people I know. I generally know what's going on, but I don't focus a lot of energy towards it. I have other shit to do, and I can't sit around watching Mitt Romney getting locked out of his little tour bus. Okay, maybe I did see that one.

What other crap can I talk about? Oh! It's Father's Day weekend, folks! Tom got his present early this year (he usually does because I'm horrible at keeping surprises.) Guess what lucky ol' Tom got?

AN iPHONE!

Yay! It's his first iPhone ever. When he got it, and started playing with it, he looked at me with big sad eyes and said, "This phone is so cool."

And then I said, "Why the sad face?"

Tom, "Now I feel embarrassed that I was always showing off my old Android. I feel like the retarded kid in class. Always showing people and then them humoring me with 'Wowww, that's reallllly nicccce Tom."

Me, "Huh?"

Tom, "I'm so happy now."

Me, "Yay."

The TV

2012-06-15T21:22:00.000-07:00

Duuuuude.

I just saw the gnarliest car chase on channel 9. I've never seen anything like it before! It blew my mind! Amelie kept getting in front of the TV to play with toys and I kept yelling, "Get outta the way, kid!" This is my entertainment on Friday night, yo! MOVE IT.

The eery thing is, they always get in front of it right when something super-cool is about to happen. It's like they have a sixth sense.

So, what's the deal with kids getting in front of the TV anyway? It drives me nuts! She has a bedroom which we painstakingly painted bright purple and hung up glittery, pepto-colored trinkets to lure her in. But where does she want to go? IN FRONT OF MY TV.

The only thing that makes this okay, is that she is a sweetheart. Yesterday, while I had her home, I fell asleep on my bed while she put makeup on me. I woke up looking like a hot hussy. But, I also found that she had carefully removed my glasses, put them on the nightstand for safe-keeping, and draped a blanket on me.

Thanks for being awesome, Leedle.

NOW GET OUTTA THE WAY OF MY TV!

A Post About Something (Sort of...)

2012-05-21T10:38:00.004-07:00

Good morning, Monday!

Today is a good day because I'm alive and have my little girl with me! I mean, she's always with me, but I still think it's amazing that I get to stay at home with her. Tom reminded me the other day that this time in her life is really special because she's starting school in August. These are the last few months I have with her.

The good and bad news is: she's starting pre-k again June 1st. Yes. I know. It's expensive. I'm sort of taking a risk by doing this. We're putting her back in before she starts kindergarten, so that I can have time to A.) Find a job and B.) Write an iPhone App with my brother-in-law.

The pre-k is full-time, but I'm going to try to keep her home on Fridays because I can't bear to be without my little stink-bug all week. She is so excited to be back with her friends! But for me, it's bittersweet. I look at her lately, and get teary-eyed because she's getting so big. I see her running around, I see her big eyes, I see her taking the world in, and it makes me cry. They really do grow up so fast. Everyone tells you that, but you don't understand it until it happens to you.

Now I'm getting to the point of desperation to have another baby. I feel like we're getting closer to trying for a second, but it seems like I've been waiting an eternity. Oy!

That's all I got, folks! Have a brilliant Monday! Go hug someone!

A Post About Nothing!

2012-05-19T12:46:00.003-07:00

Yay!

I get to say whatever I want, and not care about whether or not I thought it through or not!

Tom and I have been dieting a couple weeks, primarily drinking fresh juice from our juicer. Very low carb, no meat, bread or processed foods from cans. Just fresh whole fruits and vegetables, juiced, swirled and iced. Because of this, it's been challenging trying to feed us dinner every night because so many foods we used to love are off limits now. But when I put my mind to something, my stubbornness pays off, and I don't quit. That is how I got through fashion school. I just put my nose to the grindstone, and plow through it somehow. I'm a bitch to adversity.

It does help, however, to have one cheat day per week. And yesterday was that day. Mexican food, pizza, ice cream, churros and how! We surfed on cheesy, sugary pillows floating in puddles of lard and unabashed happiness. It was great.

A bunch of great things happened shortly after we started juicing/dieting. My under eye circles and bags went POOF! My skin cleared up. I started losing weight. I had more energy, and motivation, which is always welcome in my world.

After a day of cheating, though, my under eye bags/circles come back with a vengeance. I spent a good chunk of my morning trying to cover them up with three kinds of concealers. Poop.

By the way, we're still juicing. I know the way I worded it above was past tense, but it's still happening. I'm just too lazy to go back and fix it. :)

Be Great Today!

I'm not sure what we're going to do today. Tomorrow we have to go to farmer's market for more fresh veggies and fruits. Also, there's a lady there who sells fresh dates, and they're so freaking good that I'd choose them over a candy bar any day.

Everyone have a great day! Do something awesome!

Family Ties

2012-04-28T23:12:00.000-07:00

Hi! It's been a long time, @ssholes! I was on vacation in Portland, visiting my brother and his lovely in-laws.

Best. Trip. Ever.

Can I also just say how wonderful my family there is? I mean, seriously! I consider myself lucky to have a handful of people in my life that really complete me. And as you get older you realize, most of those people who complete you, are the ones who have been there all along.

Sometimes, you just have to grow into each other, like sunflowers in a crop field. We all start as seeds in the earth, and as we sprout taller, our leaves begin to touch, like best friends holding hands.

It's odd because, when we're young, we look to and fro, to find people who will make us feel cool- like we're part of the club (whatever the hell that is.) And one day, a light goes off, and you finally understand, it's a big-ass world out there. And finding the people who really "get" you- the ones who accept and love you- is really hard.

And I'll bet some people never find that. I'm so lucky that I have such great family. Not just in Portland, but all over. From Tennessee to Texas to California and Oregon.

Thanks for being awesome, ya'll. You've all made my life richer and healthier.

Lucy and Adriana, you really are my sisters. Thanks for showing me a great time. I love you both. Bob, you are the stinkiest, but you are amazing, so you can get away with it. And Lucila!!! We love you so much! You brought joy to Leedle's life. I'm just sorry she turned your refrigerator off. :(

And while I'm at it here, Tom, you are my hero. I saw you today, busting your ass at Amelie's b-day party, playing with kids, talking to everyone...what a wonderful, beautiful man you are. Thank you so much for helping me make Amelie's birthday dreams come true. I love you. I love you. I love you.

I'm the happiest person in the world right now.

Kindergarten University

2012-04-17T10:02:00.002-07:00

WARNING: I'M USING A LOT OF CAPS TODAY BECAUSE I AM NERVOUS.

Man, the weeks are flying by now that I'm not working at an office job. It's kind of scary, because sometimes I lose track of days, and then I wake up in the night scared that I missed paying a bill or getting to a doctor's appointment.

Logically, I know that January has already passed, but my brain keeps telling me that there is no way we can be mid-through April, because that would mean 90 days have passed. No way it has been 90 days.

Because of this weird distortion of time, I've somehow overlooked a very important part of my immediate life equation: Kindergarten.

Ohhh nooo!

It didn't occur to me that parents were already going to open houses NOW to pre-register their kids for kindergarten until moms started to RSVP to Amelie's party. The conversation goes pretty much like this:

Mom #1, "What kindergarten is your daughter enrolling in?"

Me, "Uh, the one that's the closest?"

Mom #1, "So, which one is that?"

Me, "You know, the one down the street from my house- that one."

Mom #1, "But what's the name?"

Me, "I DON'T KNOW! WILL YOU PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE NOW??"

Honestly, I do not remember going on a kindergarten tour when I was five. The only thing I remember doing at that age, was peeing my pants, watching other kids throw up, and eating Sugar Smacks.

Healthy AND Intelligent!

But now I feel bad, because, shouldn't I know this stuff?! I'm a good mom! I take my kid to swimming classes and Jedi fight classes (this is true, they really have this class in L.A.) So, where have I been the last few months?

I swear, after talking with these moms, it feels like kindergarten is the new university. There are waiting lists to get into private ones. WHAT?! Who are these people? Where am I? We're paying for kindergarten now? I can barely pay my electricity bill, for crying out loud!

Fully armed with guilt and anxiety, I set sail into the internet waves, to explore the unknown lands of kindergarten. Unfortunately, what I found was a big lump of poo-poo. Apparently, the school zone we fall into is a really SHITTY one. The online reviews from bestschools.org say less than stellar things about this school.

I thought, well, maybe it's a good school, let's go drive by, and see what it looks like. So, we did. Guys, I'm not kidding when I say, the place looks like a PRISON from the 1970's. Bars on the windows, peeling orange paint, loads of concrete. Oy.

Now, we have to figure out a way to move into a good school zone, on a very limited budget. The good news is, I won't have to deal with the infamous panty thief living in my current apartment building anymore.

Panty Thief

2012-04-16T15:20:00.001-07:00

Okay, this is going to sound completely paranoid and crazy, but I'm pretty sure someone in my apartment building is stealing my underwear. Yes. You heard me correctly. My underpants have gone a missin'.

M.I.A.

This is becoming super annoying, because I'm running out of options here. After every shower, I go to grab a pair out of my drawer, and only come up with a wad of socks. If things progress at this rate, I might have to buy a magnifying glass, put a "lost" sign up in the building complete with a picture, and dust for finger prints.

And going all natural isn't going to happen, by the way. I'm not going to become "the girl who doesn't wear panties." That's just not me. I can deal with being the girl who wears socks with sandals, or the girl who doesn't wash her hair for three days, but this panty business has to be remedied.

Before I get my panties in a knot (heh heh) let's think about who would do this. (For the record, I know I'm not imagining this. And I've done all the laundry, and even checked in Amelie's room. They are just gone, baby, gone.)

I'm going to use my super-detective-skills:

1.) This must be a woman (I hope)
2.) She is a size small/medium who appreciates 100% cotton from Target.
3.) She is desperate.
4.) So, she might be a struggling artist, college student or actress.

Can I just point out, how gross it is to wear another woman's underwear? That's our lady-bits down there, people! "Our junk", or as I like to say, our "girly-goods." Ain't nobody else's underwear gonna touch my stuff.

You see, this is the problem with having a shared laundry room. People don't clean the lint traps, they leave their wet clothes in the washer after they're done, and they splash bleach everywhere, ruining other people's clothes. And now, I can add "your panties might be stolen" to the growing list of negatives, as if I needed another reason to hate living in an apartment.

Now, I have to go to Target and restock. So, thanks a lot, panty thief. Thanks a lot.

Baby Fight Club

2012-04-14T11:46:00.000-07:00

I misread things ALL THE TIME. I sometimes wonder if I'm dyslexic, but I'm not sure how to tell...since it's all I know.

Every time I misread something, I tell Tom, and he usually just laughs at me, because it's such a weird translation. Last night, while he was perusing Netflix, I saw a movie that I thought said, "Baby Fight Club." To which, Tom busted out laughing, and reread it correctly to me, "Baby First Club."

Honest mistake! Oh well, at least I made something funny out of it:

Ethical Food

2012-04-12T20:54:00.000-07:00

If you're not friends with me on Facebook (why not?) then watch the link below. It's very graphic, so if you have a weak stomach, prepare yourself. But, also keep in mind, you are probably eating food that was raised in exactly this same fashion. I believe it's only natural, and responsible, that we see where our food comes from. It didn't just drop down from clouds in shiny plastic wrap, with barcode stickers slapped on the side.

Mistreatment of Egg Laying Hens

Now that you've had a good look at the birds who've selflessly provided you with that egg mcmuffin every morning, please consider the following information, feelings and genuine concern I have about our farming industry.

"Please stop and think, before you cut our beaks."

The health of our beef, chicken, pork, eggs and milk are in major trouble. I knew things were bad in the food industry, but I naively thought that if it said "Organic" or "Free Range" on the packaging, that it was probably OK. I'm not going to lie, I turned a blind eye to it some of the time. But as I grow, I have come to the conclusion, that I want no part of this inhumane behavior.

The number one reason animals are treated this way, is because of the lack of respect some humans have for them. To some of us on this planet, they are merely pieces of property to be used, abused and sold at their disposal. And while humans might be higher up on the food chain, this shouldn't discount the fact that we have brains. There is no excuse for the irresponsible treatment of these animals, or any animals for that matter.

We adore our pets. Most of us wouldn't think of feeding our dogs and cats the slop that's fed to our farm animals. Did you know, that before the 1990's, it was legal to incorporate dead carcasses of animals into farm feed? So, basically, Babe's old friend, Piglet, who liked to snuffle around the corner of the gate, is now Babe's dinner. I don't know about you, but I really don't want to eat Babe now.

I'm not saying to become a vegetarian, I'm simply saying to treat animals with respect. These animals are giving us a sacred gift by feeding us their bodies and providing us with milk and eggs. The least we can do is honor that gift by giving them a good and healthy life while they are alive.

Let them see sunshine, blue sky, the stars at night, rain, trees and grass. Cooping our beautiful animals up in a cage on top of one another, corralled by hitting them with sticks, cutting their beaks off, letting them live in their own filth...oh my god...this can't be right, you guys. I am literally crying as I write this.

Every living thing on this planet, including this planet, was created by God, Source, or the Universe. Or whatever name you've assigned to "the higher power." Do you really think God would be okay with the way we've collectively decided to handle these animals?

Today, I sourced some "Organic Pasture-Raised" eggs that are raised humanely. I found a couple brands at Whole Foods that I'm going to try out. The first one I'm trying is from Vital Farms. $6.99 a carton. I know it sounds steep, but I'm a city girl with no live chickens in her non-existent backyard so, the price will have to do.

The next brand I'm going to try is imported from New Zealand by Frenz. A half dozen was around $5.00

Also, the chicken breast I sourced from Whole Foods was also humanely produced where cows are free to eat grass, roam a pasture and take in nature with all it's glory. The way God intended.

On a side note, if you're worried about not getting enough protein by eating less meat, look into making quinoa (pronounced: keen-wah.) It is an amazing source of protein, fiber and vitamins all by it's little self, and it tastes similar to rice. Check out this website for more information:

All About Quinoa

Love and Light,

If You Build It, Will They Come?

2012-04-11T09:45:00.000-07:00

Everyone has bad days. When I'm down and out, I don't think it's healthy to hide it from people. I'm not perfect, and I don't have perfect days. I'm human.

Why is it okay for people to write songs about feeling terrible, but then it's considered a faux pas to vocalize how you feel in real life?

All I wanna do is eat a donut. That's probably a bad idea as I already ate two last night after dinner. I don't do this every night, by the way. Usually I'm quite good. In fact, my dinner started so healthy! Quinoa in tomato sauce with tofu meatballs! I mean, c'mon! TOFU! Followed by a cream-filled donut. And half an apple fritter...

One thing that's really bothering me is Amelie's birthday party coming up. Everyone was supposed to rsvp by April 15th, and no one has done so yet. It's a parent's nightmare to plan a birthday party for your beautiful little girl, and have no one show up. But then, I wouldn't want anyone to show up out of pity. I just want her to have a great day, fair and square.

I told Tom, if less than 4 kids rsvp, then we should just cancel the whole thing, swoop Amelie up, and take her to Disneyland. She probably wouldn't even know the difference! I haven't mentioned any of this to Amelie. It's better to not involve her in adult problems. It's better to let her believe fairies are real, the Easter bunny delivers Cadbury eggs, and that Santa flies in the sky with reindeer.

My BFF

God, I wish I still believed in that crap.

At least if no one shows up I'll have over a dozen embellished, glittery fairy wings to give away as gifts to her friends through out the next few years. Hey, when life gives you lemons, make tequila shots, bitch!

Is it wrong that shots sound SO good right now at 9:30 in the morning? Don't worry, I'm not going to do it- I'm not a rebellion. I'm going to sit here, drink my delicious coffee, watch "Hoda & Kathy Lee" and help Tom finish up his writing project.

And any minute now, I expect to hear the pitter-patter of size 12 feet approach my recliner, jump up next to me and cuddle under the throw blanket. I let her sleep as long as she wants. There's plenty of time for schedules and alarm clocks the rest of her life. For now, she gets to be a kid.

Swimming in happiness