They crack.me.up

Second Hand Smoke

MYTH: ADD doesn’t really cause much damage to a person’s life.

FACT: Untreated or inadequately treated ADD syndrome often severely impairs learning, family life, education, work life, social interactions, and driving safely. (http://www.helpguide.org/mental/adhd_add_adult_symptoms.htm).

There are a lot worse things in life, like, um, not feeling your legs, having a numb face, the feeling of a zillion ants crawling up your head...but few things cause so much unintentional damage.

Dammit, I wish I could solve all that shit and more... fuckfuckfuck.

Hollow Leg with Pit Stop in My Ass and Thighs

It's not a matter of want, it's a matter of need. Since training with Lisa started about four months ago, I cannot stop eating. I am STARVING. I try sushi and starve. I try a little steak and starve. I try a bowl of once-forbidden pasta and starve. I simply cannot get satiated.

I can out-eat and out-drink almost everyone. I can put away four or five slices of pizza. I can eat salad out of an industrial-size bowl. I can drink a bottle of wine without blinking. I simply cannot get to the point where I'm not hungry. And no, a-hole, I am not pregnant.

I try all the tricks... drink a ton of water (made me want to pee and eat), drink tea (again, pee then eat). I eat large helpings of steamed asparagus and broccoli to ward off the dinner that's yet to be served...then chomp all my food and La Gringa's too.

There is no end in sight. I had three servings of Indian food on Saturday (a Cardinal Sin) which topped off the day of eating four different kinds of pig. Twelve hours later, I ate a giant eggwhite fritatta, three cups of coffee, a nonfat latte and 1/2 of my kid's french toast for breakfast the next morning. I left wondering what was for lunch.

One day, in lieu of raiding the service counter at Bills for hashbrowns, I ordered THREE Nonfat Eggnog Lattes from Starbucks. An hour later, I was farting up a storm and trolling through the ready-made, single-serveThanksgiving meals at Whole Foods. Last week I made the whole family go to Japanese food where I ate nearly 40 pieces of Sushi...guess what? I left there...hungry.

Maybe it's psychological, but to be frank, I've never been happier in all of my life and each day is the greatest day (besides 7.16.03) I have ever had. It's weird what a good healthy relationship can do... too bad it can't curb my appetite.

Slow as Molassas...Kiss My Ass Internet

Somewhere in the days after Thanksgiving comes the surge of panic. Everyone is shopping, late for deadlines, running out of time, stressed out beyond the capability of Lexapro and, broke. If there is such urgency, then why does everyone and everything move so damn slow in December?

Everything, everything seems to slow down like lingering effects of that dang triptophan. The F-in Internet is slow as hell. Try to order Christmas cards from Shutterfly...it'll fuck you silly. There is no fricking way that Shutterfly is so stupid that they can't figure out to perhaps S.C.A.L.E. during busy seasons? How about Nordstrom.com which in some freaky way is integrated with Amazon.com and if you've got orders in one place, it completely jacks you in the other. Like I am only going to shop in one place for all of Christmas? Um, yeah.

How about parking? How about browsing shops? How about getting your friends to respond to personal emails? How about your ever-present consultants fully available in January, but exercising their damn right to not be employees and f-ing disappear the Wednesday before Thanksgiving? Everything gets so slow that it's nearly impossible to do anything but join in the mix of droning slowness.

I run on an RPM that would burn the vinyl off my Neil Diamond collection. I'm not saying that this is a good thing, but 'nuff said that can't wait until January.

David and Goliath

My little Thing 1 won the only award given by his soccer team tonight -- most improved. Thing 1 went from freaked out and zoned out to focused and driven on the field. In the last game, he saved three goals from a giant SuperSized kid as the goalie for his team.

I have no idea where he got this tiger inside him for the game. One day, a few weeks ago, after weepy talks of wanting to quit soccer because they "push me and take the ball away," Thing 1's perspective just changed. Overnight, my boy didn't care who was bigger or faster or stronger. He had a mission: Get That Ball.

Tonight, as a dozen pizza faced 4-6 year old's cheered and walloped around the nearest RoundTable, I found my son stunned, eyes glassy and unaware of the dozen or so parents who voted him the kid who grew the most, instead staring at me smiling a cheeky grin. A child -- even a grownup's -- greatest wish: a unanimous crowd of cheering teammates, coach and friends howling your name.

My son, two years out of diapers, facing his first Goliath.

Damn this parenting gig is cool sometimes.

The Playdate...isn't Me.

The Things have a playdate today, one of the first of its kind. The girl was dropped off at our house, the kids ran into the bedroom and closed the door. They've been laughing a giggling and fully engaged.

I am thrilled for my kids, but a bit, I dunno, jealous? I offered to make brownies with them and they just ignored me. I guess I'm going to have to step-up my tactics if I want to get in on the fun.

I'm sitting here, wondering when playdates turned from my girlfriends and I drinking wine and watching the kids toddle and bobble around before falling into a heap of exhaustion from sheer social engagement to today where I stand in my kitchen with a preheated oven alone with Betty Crocker wondering if they'll let me play too....

Defending Spam Satan

I defended the Spam Satan tonight. A little startup company that's been around a few years. I mean, "Start Up company around a few years" is an oxymoron in itself.

I've got this buddy, an ex-boyfriend, turned friend, turned acquaintance by necessity who runs a startup that's well funded and doing okey dokey. Their schemes of helping out small business owners is a little sketchy, but hell, so are most things that have a sexy storyline. How is this company going to help small business owners get publicized online? It's a great need to fill, a great question to answer, and moreover, a great obstacle to tackle because small business merchants lack a few things: money, time, power and influence.

If you're not trying to shop at your local ditty instead of at Target for everything, then you've got the spirit all wrong. Creativity lies in small businesses. And marketing small businesses takes creativity too. So this company has got some schemes. Real down and dirty 'Bama-esque schemes. But what the hell? They just got a second round of funding for another $10Million which is a shitload more than a lot startups I've seen go belly and ass right up.

So I made a post to Valleyfag...ooooh, big mistake. Never, ever challenge satan's critics. I feel like an idiot for going up against them, but seriously, WTF with messing with the little guy on every fucking level?

Follow Up to the Vomit

It was Thing 2. My heart is broken for her. I have never wanted so badly to crumble and had to, absolutely, without blinking, be the best.fucking.mom.ever and get what my girl needs. Time for me to walk the walk and CowgirlUp.

I Look Like Shit

I actually said the words OUTLOUD today: "Okay girl, you look like crap, so shoulders back so you don't make it worse than it already is." Argh.

A new friend of mine's father-in-law -- an abusive, gambling, obsessive prick -- is dying. I ran her to the airport at 4:45 a.m. this morning and I'm paying for it by looking homeless all day long. The story of this dude reminds me of my dad and gives me the creeps.

...but that's nothing compared to New Friend who reminds me of, me.

The Case of the Mysterious Vomit

Investigation began when vomit was found in downstairs bathroom sink by Thing 1 and Mommy at 8 a.m. Both children and both parents deny any vomit episodes. Further inquiry and bribery into children's behavior subsequently corroborated their story: not puke perps.

Suspects:

Thing 1 : Discovered vomit, called it "poo in the sink" admitted to throwing up "when I was 3" but not today. When bribed with ice cream, said that it was not him.

Thing 2: Said surprised: "No, mom," when asked if she'd thrown up in the sink. A towel was in her bed, mysteriously, but not soiled. When bribed with ice cream, said it was not her, "and that's the truth."

La Gringa: Said she did not vomit, claiming that she couldn't vomit if she tried to do so, and despite being on a diet currently. Never noticed the vomit in the sink, despite being in the bathroom several times.

Me: The only person to eat carrots (carrots were in the vomit along with a lot of leafy green looking things.) and the co-founder of the vomit in the sink with Thing 1.

Friend with Bulimia : Visiting for the night. Lifetime bulimic who has type 1 diabetes. Neither La Gringa or I saw her go to the bathroom. She left about 11 p.m. after several glasses of wine.

This is an open case. Send any information to our tip line!

Junk in the Trunk

So I Guess They're not Dumb -- Quotes from this Week

Thing 1: "That lady's boobies hang so low it's like a dripping ice cream cone."

Thing 2: "I can't take your jacket, because then *you'd* be cold."

Thing 1: "The sunroof makes a breezy breeze flowing through the car and it makes me feel good and windy and happy."

Thing 1: "Sorry friend, I can't be your *best* friend. My mommy is my best friend already."

Thing 2: "Can you invite my grandma to the movies too? Just give her a call. She *loves* movies."

Compatible? Nah, that'd be boring...

Picture deleted. Some compatibility thingy from Facebook where @la_gringa and I are polar opposites on our movies tastes.

Trust Me, I'm Lightweight

Truth, Justice and the American Way

I wandered through "The Children's Place" and sighed a long quiet sigh. The kids followed me up to the counter again, knowing that mommy was going to ask for the manager. Yet again, the damn racks were too close, leaving no room for a wheelchair to navigate through the store. Damn straight if there wasn't an adorable preteen in a wheelchair trying to check out a stripped hoodie...but no go, since she couldn't.f-ing.get.to.it.

This is my thing. I stalk shitheads who put racks too close to each other. Christmas is a real pain the ass, since I'm perpetually asking for some manager or another to move their frigging racks 30 inches apart to allow for a wheelchair to pass through. It happens to be the same size as my stroller, so it's easy to prove my point while ramming my kids' arms and legs through a space meant for one-single-able-bodied anorexic.

It occurred to me that this is my Thing. I like Justice. I believe in Guns. I like the idea of an eye for an eye. I call 911 for the asshole who was running folks off the road with the "How am I Driving?" bumper sticker (then I called his boss, that MO-FO freak going over 110 MPH). I believe that illegal immigration should be handled by who is best to serve our country (yeah that means kick the shitheads out). I HATE liars. I think rapist should have their balls ripped off (um, I actually mean it) and that anyone who harms a child should d.i.e.

My standards are high, I know. But here is what I know: Justice is my calling. Truth is my baseline and the American Way is a vehicle to get me there.

This Little Light of Mine!

At the top of his lungs, Thing 1 picked up this song singing it loud and with both verses. All day today he grooved and rocked like he was jamming to Zepplin.

Then Thing 1 turned around and started singing in 3rd person to the baby in La-La's belly. "This little light of YOURS, you're gonna let it shine!" So proud he told me he could see the light in his heart and it only glows when no one is looking.

I didn't tell him that little light of his lights up my whole world.

La Luna

Every night I can look out our new bedroom window and see the moon this week. I swear it wasn't there before inbetween the panes, lowering slowly as the DVR ticks on past 10 p.m.

I mention it every night to La Gringa, but tired as she is, she phews a nod and mumbles something random as she turns over to bed. In Palmilla, that same moon was magic and as it lights our bedroom at home, I wonder how it lost its light for La Gringa.

The BabyCatcher

My dear friend La-La is pregnant. It's been a long hard haul for her. La-la started out as Thing 1 and Thing 2's nanny when they were 5 months old and instantly became family to me.

My dear La-la fell in love while on a student visa from an EU country and, well, ditched her visa and is here now illegally (nothing to be said for her double master degrees, tight-knit family, dear lifelong friends and two amazing parents) for her equally illegal boyfriend. I love my La-la like a sister, my children, like an Auntie.

La-la's got a baby in her tummy. Tonight my kids left this on the back step for her. They called it the BabyCatcher and want her to use it when the baby is ready to come out. They also left plastic kid scissors (to cut the baby out) and are convinced that the baby needs oatmeal ASAP. That little prima is going to need food!

Being illegal in America is no joke. It's on my mind almost constantly. How will I protect her from whatever fate God and Country have in store for her?

Spaghetti Legs

Big 5 is a right of passage as a kid. The day is completely etched into my memory. I can see my Big 5 store on the corner of Wilshire Blvd. and, I dunno, somewhere around 20th Street and my brother and I walking around with my mom collecting shin guards, soccer cleats and socks every single August for the start of AYSO.

I played soccer from the time I was tiny and played as a passion for years and years. My brother went onto play NCAA soccer at Cornell. Every single Saturday was soccer day and most Thursday nights, cold for L.A. standards, we'd huddle in practice drills at Will Rogers Park.

I stood in a surreal moment today at the counter of Big 5 paying for Thing 1's first ever soccer cleats, a shiny #3 ball and shin guards so tall that they went over his knee. He carried the bag out of the store -- Big 5 bags are always bigger than your gear -- dragging it all the way to the car. He had his cleats on before we got out of the parking lot and screaming "Gooooooooooaaaaal!!!!!!!" by the time I got him to his first ever soccer practice today.

My kid wobbled and bobbled around the field, the ball dribbling him, it seemed. He's speedy enough alright, just like I was. I could see his face flushed, concentrating so hard on that dang ball and loving every minute of freedom to fly and bump and roll on the grass that he could muster. In the end I asked him his coach's name. He bluntly told me, "Coach." It made me smile remembering that I still call my first soccer coach (Dick Earnest, my pal Eric's dad) "Coach" to this day and that moment for me was 30 years ago.

I think Thing 1 is gonna love soccer. Not nearly as much as I love watching my passion for it through him.

Me 101

I'm a freakish mommy kidaholic, work my ass off as a consultant, running a snall Internet company side-by-side with my partner in an office about 750 square feet. I've got a gaggle of extraordinary friends that mean the world to me and a mom that is my sunshine. I'm known for thrusting wine in your hand at the front door, and for giving a gazillion spontaneous dinner parties for whomever needs a good meal and a great hug.

I've got it really good.

Today's a bit of a shitty day as we just got home from a short 4-day holiday alone without the kids (four-year old twins, Thing 1 and Thing 2) and frankly it just was not long enough. I came home pissed off at our clients because the iPhone (amazing gadget) kept ringing with their calls the entire trip. One client in particular, I'm ready to punt. I've never punted a client...

In anycase, I've got a stomach virus that is putting my fatt tanned ass locked right in the toilet for the past two days. And today, when I finally went to get myself some soup, I got stung by a bee. Fucker. In the meantime, my partners are in L.A. for a new client meeting that seems to be going really well while I'm sitting here on the pot. At least the WiFi works.

Bastard of a Client

Shit. Fuck. Mother fuckers. I cannot stand this client. I seriously hope they go down in a blaze so small that my kid could pee on it and douse their lameass fire

I am so angry at this client I want to scream. But alas, instead I just blog. :)

Unprofessional, disorganized lying...run by a madman until a (very cool) ElCEO jumped in to save them. He damn well might do it too. He's had a bunch of good hires, phenomenal vision and passion. I believe the guy...his intensity is convincing.

One CEO is not enough to keep a gaggle of confused staffers from chomping on us like a pitbull on a baby. And we, for the first time as a company, are completely fucked. There is nothing positive we can do except wait it out...and get out.

We counted down the days until the end of the contract, then, five days after our contracted ended, they called us non-stop on our vacation with demanding, conflicting requests from various people, pissed enough to treat like their whipping bitches. We've never had a client that is so out of control.

It's over in nine days finally. I literally cannot wait and have removed myself the best I can. At some point we had to rock the boat and you never want the chick rocking your boat to stick around with an oar. I was furious today to find that they are looking for a different interactive agency. But I'm the fool: we are the ones who didn't renew the contract! It's like dumping a lame boyfriend and then getting upset when he dates someone else. Ah well. they are still a shipwreck waiting to happen unless ElCEO can pull it off.

Whew, rant done. I feel better and I have go to finish making dinner for the kids and La Gringa.

p.s. fuckers. mother fuckers rat bastard worst client in history dickwits.

Stick a Post in the Ground to Walk From

..it's the only way to remember where you've been.

Welcome to my first ever public facing Blog. I've had a few wonderful blogs, including ones from my company that we build a few years ago (http://www.familyroutes.com) that was focused solely on family, but I'd like this one to be the blog I can share -- not be freaked out by exes and freaks looking at pictures of my children or the remodel of our new house or, godforbid, the bitchings of running a small Internet company in Silicon Valley. This one, I swear it, for as big as my mouth can be, will be anonymous as I can make it. We'll see how it rolls.