Sam and I were watching TV. After observing the interactions of a husband and wife for a short time, he said Mostly it’s the mommies who are smart and do things. The daddies mostly want to hang around and drink beer.
So young to have learned one of the basic truths of American life.
Would you like to have your ass kicked out of bed this morning? Then I wholeheartedly recommend a cinnamon blackeye: Pull two shots of espresso and pour them into a mug; top with freshly brewed black coffee; stir with a cinnamon stick.
It’s the only reason I’m awake and breathing, most days.
And then on Friday night Ben and I drove up to West L.A. and sat in the dreadful Friday night traffic to see Pam read excerpts from her book. The traffic was so horrible that we were on the late side instead of on the early side as we’d intended; and on the walkway at the Grove, hurrying up to the store, I spotted a tiny beautiful creature yacking on a cell phone. I knew who THAT was.
AB! I squealed. She turned and looked at me; I think it took her a second, but she knew who I was.
Anna Beth Chao is the whole reason I have cool friends on the Internet. I met her on one of my old trying-to-get-pregnant message boards, but I have made a point to stick close to her ever since I met her, because AB is funny and smart and sassy and foul-mouthed and wise and speaks her mind. (A younger, prettier, tinier version of me, in other words, I guess.) She’s also amazingly resourceful and brave and strong and all that stuff, but I’ll shut up now. Suffice to say the girl is awesome.
Pam’s reading was fun. The book, which I’m about to read (as soon as I read Pam’s previous book; I am SO behind on my reading), is smart and funny, and Pam had a nice amiable way with the audience that I really liked. I was surprised by how stunning she is in person; stunning, but friendly, and I think nervous. The reading was a smashing success, and afterward I hugged AB and said goodbye while a whole bunch of people queued up to have Pam sign their books.
Afterward, Ben and I had coffee with his friend Danny, who Ben’s known since Beverly Hills High days. He’s my favorite of Ben’s friends, a bachelor still, and he’s a lot like Ben so of course I find him charming. The kids were with Sandi the day care lady back in Orange County, and it was pleasant indeed to sit outdoors at the Farmers Market and drink coffee and talk like adults about adult topics. We’ve got to get out more!
Driving back and collecting the kids, I reflected that the Internet is a wondrous thing indeed. What a lagniappe for a 45-year-old mom in Orange County to connect with a 30-year-old mom in Louisiana, and form a friendship based only on words on a screen . . . a perfectly amazing person I’d have never encountered but for the wonders of the Information Superhighway. And that’s got to be a good thing.
Just for the hell of it, here’s a joke. A middle-aged guy is sitting drinking in a bar when a beautiful woman, obviously an expensive prostitute, approaches him. She tells him she will do ANYTHING HE WANTS for $200. Anything I want? the guy says. She says yes, anything at all. So he reaches into his wallet, pulls out ten twenty-dollar bills, and says Okay, come over and paint my house. You know you’re a family man when you make the same choice, eh?
Today, the hair looks more Amy Irving. I just possibly won’t have to kill myself.
Turning to the national news, this very week I will be meeting the legendary AB Chao of Hashai and Television Without Pity, as well as possibly Pamie, who is doing a reading in Los Angeles. Now y’all who can’t get to the reading, buy her books, please. Because any friend of Anna Beth is a friend of me.
So then I was sort of noodling around, waiting for it to be time to go pick up my mom someplace, when I parked my car at a strip mall.
They’re all over the place in So Cal, usually containing one or two solid, substantial businesses — a major grocery store, a discount retailer — plus a bunch of little locally-owed businesses. And do you know what two little locally-owned businesses proliferate in the Huntington Beach/Fountain Valley vicinity? They are:
They’re all Asian owned and operated, and they’re everywhere. Guess which one got me into trouble?
See, I missed the curly hair I had while pregnant with Julia. So YES I WENT IN AND GOT AN IMPULSE PERM IN A STRIP MALL SALON AND OH MY GOD. Suddenly, belatedly, I remembered why I’d been walking around with limp fine hair all those years before the Julia pregnancy. BECAUSE LIMP FINE HAIR IS BETTER THAN A BAD PERM.
If I don’t brush it out, I look like Bette Midler.
If I DO brush it out, I look like Roseanne Roseannadanna. GOD.
See? So however fucked up your day might have been, or possibly your last night or your yesterday, you can console yourself with the knowledge that AT LEAST YOU ARE NOT SUFFERING THE SHAME AND REGRET OF A SCARY ASIAN PERM.
Sam started kindergarten last week, and by this time we’re well past the first-day jitters and into a routine. Dismissal is at 11:30 a.m. these first two weeks, and every day at around 11:15 I take my place in the array of parents at the picnic tables to await the return of my firstborn son. Picnic tables! Can you imagine? In Southern California, the lunchroom is outdoors.
Every day, he’s near the front of the line, and every day, my heart catches a little at the sight of him. He’s already all boy, so his answers are monosyllabic as I ask “How was your day? What did you learn?” Occasionally, he volunteers a little detail. “A couple of those kids want me out of that class. But they’re just poody-butts. Who cares what they think?” I’m glad to hear we’ve managed to give our son a little foundation in self-esteem — our son the self-proclaimed scientist, who wears button-up shirts to class while the other boys run about in T-shirts. You give ‘em hell, Sammy. You’re absolutely right; there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. And whoever says otherwise is nothing but a poody-butt.
Oh, I know he’s a bit too over-the-top and in-your-face, but I’ve developed a soft spot for Steve Irwin over the years. Sam had an intense Crocodile Hunter phase, and yesterday we were watching some of the footage, unable to really believe that someone so alive could be so abruptly dead. Left a wife and two kids. Whatever else you can say about the Crocodile Hunter, he was passionate about his work, and how many of us can say that, honestly?
Give ‘em hell up there, Stevie.
Jesus was always going about turning things into food, and feeding people. He used to turn water into wine, or produce loaves and fishes, or make it so this teeny bit of bread fed all these people. Always with the bread and booze and fish.
I would want to be able to turn water into Diet Coke, like AB Chao said, and produce Pop Tarts instead of loaves and fishes.
