Even though I have lived in my new-ish apartment for a little over a month now, I can't seem to find the time, or the proper 'company' to accompany me out on discovery adventures, frequently known as "good and random local bar quest(s)'. Why would I always want company? You know, for the quintessential conversation and/or people watching, and mandatory subsequent laugther.
Tonight that problem was solved.
After securing not only the ambition, time and suto perfect company, I explored the eatery's and theaters at The Pike, slowly paced the way to a trendy neighborhood near Ocean - had coffee and beers and chatted like we couldn't stop the wave of convenient and entertaining conversation.
All on the same few blocks...placed so perfectly clandestine in a hobo corner of my downtown mecca and all its public wonders.
Three new places in one night and I feel closer and closer to my new home; as it drops the prefaced title of new and simply becomes, home.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
One of those classic "WTF" moments
Anyone that knows me (and I suppose after writing this, the 'secret; will really be out) knows I love kids. I think they are fun, creative, imaginative and with three younger siblings under my wings, I find myself in the wonderful position of 'spoiler' and not disciplinary. Yes!
Still...
this love of children has its place and while I cant wait to have my own one day
I realize that this is very much
one day.
Leave it to the lovely toy industry to help young girls - like 5,6,7- capture one of the beautiful duties of motherhood in the midst of thier own youth: breastfeeding.
Kindly insert a very necessary "WTF?!"
Yes, Berjuan, a Spanish toymaker introduced to the world the 'gluttonous baby', also known as the Bebe Gloton, a doll that is specially made for breastfeeding.
Not so wierd, you think? I mean, they already have dolls that cry and pee and burp and all those fun absolutely disgusting things that kids do that only a mother would dare to take care of.
For me, the issues are out of control:
Society puts a ridiculous amount of pressure on girls and women of all ages and this is simply another ploy in the making. From day one, females, young girls especially, are told to be young and innocent; look pretty and always be agreeable. Don't make waves. Then, at a magical phase sometimes known as puberty, we hear these loud voices from magazines and TV and (oh fun) the Internet, to be sexy and fearless and desirable. Just don't make waves. Fast forward past the presumably unavoidable 'Brittney/Lindsey/Miley' years, and its demanded that we be professional career-minded women with independent tendencies and Samantha-a la SATC-esque cravings. And about those waves...get a few years older and poof - your a cougar who's been done in and turned out from the stress of men, children and a lifetime of assumed 'roles'.
Simply put - its exhausting.
What is so wrong with little girls just being little girls? Enjoying pig tails, and melting ice cream, trying on mom's earrings and writing notes on fun paper with those cute little stickers. Good times, good times.
The point is:
periods and boobs, leg hair and mood swings come soon enough as it is. We don't need our little girls with yet another burden of adulthood.
Still...
this love of children has its place and while I cant wait to have my own one day
I realize that this is very much
one day.
Leave it to the lovely toy industry to help young girls - like 5,6,7- capture one of the beautiful duties of motherhood in the midst of thier own youth: breastfeeding.
Kindly insert a very necessary "WTF?!"
Yes, Berjuan, a Spanish toymaker introduced to the world the 'gluttonous baby', also known as the Bebe Gloton, a doll that is specially made for breastfeeding.
Not so wierd, you think? I mean, they already have dolls that cry and pee and burp and all those fun absolutely disgusting things that kids do that only a mother would dare to take care of.
For me, the issues are out of control:
Society puts a ridiculous amount of pressure on girls and women of all ages and this is simply another ploy in the making. From day one, females, young girls especially, are told to be young and innocent; look pretty and always be agreeable. Don't make waves. Then, at a magical phase sometimes known as puberty, we hear these loud voices from magazines and TV and (oh fun) the Internet, to be sexy and fearless and desirable. Just don't make waves. Fast forward past the presumably unavoidable 'Brittney/Lindsey/Miley' years, and its demanded that we be professional career-minded women with independent tendencies and Samantha-a la SATC-esque cravings. And about those waves...get a few years older and poof - your a cougar who's been done in and turned out from the stress of men, children and a lifetime of assumed 'roles'.
Simply put - its exhausting.
What is so wrong with little girls just being little girls? Enjoying pig tails, and melting ice cream, trying on mom's earrings and writing notes on fun paper with those cute little stickers. Good times, good times.
The point is:
periods and boobs, leg hair and mood swings come soon enough as it is. We don't need our little girls with yet another burden of adulthood.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
S.O.S: An Unexpected Vegas Reunion
Several days ago, I wrote about my up-coming voyage to Vegas.
Think: Jennifer and myself, in an air-conditioned Corolla, 108 degree weather outside and the open deserted desert at our feet.
While the trip itself was low-key relaxation, the play by play leading up to the trip and during it is PRETTY much epic:
Think: Jennifer and myself, in an air-conditioned Corolla, 108 degree weather outside and the open deserted desert at our feet.
While the trip itself was low-key relaxation, the play by play leading up to the trip and during it is PRETTY much epic:
Thursday
After hastily packing just about EVERYTHING I own, I make my way south to Irvine where Jen lives. The plan is to leave bright and early the next day. Even on vacation, I seem to manage a 6am wake up call – go figure. As were prepping for Fridays take off, I get an 11pm call from a 714-number and instantly recognize those all too familiar digits. It’s my ex.
We ended up talking for 3 hours. About what? Everything. Single life, our families, the weather, old memories, my new place and his new roommate. It was strange at first; strange to feel so at ease with a person whom I haven’t had a laughable or enjoyable conversation with in over 3 months. Wow – 3 months.
Friday
In the car at 645 am, and onto the 55, the 91, & the 15 to Sin City. We arrive around noon, are graciously given rooms hours before obliged on the itinerary and make our way to the shops. We meet up with our company for dinner, do 5 rounds on Patron shots and taste every wine the cute waiter hands me.
In the meantime – the texts are flooding in. He wants pictures: of the hotel, of the casino and mostly of me. I oblige. He asks how the trip is going; the trip he was supposed to be on pre-break up and move out. Its great, I let him know. I wish he were here, I hesitantly add at the end, hoping for a miracle in my liquor filled haze. In all the places miracles could happen, I got mine in the middle of a casino restaurant.
Saturday
After 3 hours sleep, Im up. We He and I spoke into the wee hours and now Im anxiously awaiting his arrival.
What are we going to say, how are we going to act, what will other say about us?
We, us, our? I really need to stop doing that.
We spent our day sleeping, talking, swimming, socializing and smiling. Grinning ear to ear, it seems we both forgot were not really together together, just ‘a couple for the weekend’. Sometime this moderate thought entered my mind and I would kiss him like in the movies to shake my doubts.
After hastily packing just about EVERYTHING I own, I make my way south to Irvine where Jen lives. The plan is to leave bright and early the next day. Even on vacation, I seem to manage a 6am wake up call – go figure. As were prepping for Fridays take off, I get an 11pm call from a 714-number and instantly recognize those all too familiar digits. It’s my ex.
We ended up talking for 3 hours. About what? Everything. Single life, our families, the weather, old memories, my new place and his new roommate. It was strange at first; strange to feel so at ease with a person whom I haven’t had a laughable or enjoyable conversation with in over 3 months. Wow – 3 months.
Friday
In the car at 645 am, and onto the 55, the 91, & the 15 to Sin City. We arrive around noon, are graciously given rooms hours before obliged on the itinerary and make our way to the shops. We meet up with our company for dinner, do 5 rounds on Patron shots and taste every wine the cute waiter hands me.
In the meantime – the texts are flooding in. He wants pictures: of the hotel, of the casino and mostly of me. I oblige. He asks how the trip is going; the trip he was supposed to be on pre-break up and move out. Its great, I let him know. I wish he were here, I hesitantly add at the end, hoping for a miracle in my liquor filled haze. In all the places miracles could happen, I got mine in the middle of a casino restaurant.
Saturday
After 3 hours sleep, Im up. We He and I spoke into the wee hours and now Im anxiously awaiting his arrival.
What are we going to say, how are we going to act, what will other say about us?
We, us, our? I really need to stop doing that.
We spent our day sleeping, talking, swimming, socializing and smiling. Grinning ear to ear, it seems we both forgot were not really together together, just ‘a couple for the weekend’. Sometime this moderate thought entered my mind and I would kiss him like in the movies to shake my doubts.
Sunday
Jen and I reunite after seemingly being apart for forever. We inhale breakfast and parts ways to pack and exit our humble abode at the Four Seasons. I’ve never dreaded going home so much. Yes home is where the heart is, but right now Im still in my liquor haze and being in love isn’t helping me sober up. He leaves around noon since he has to work and our good-byes are turned into see you later; he asks to see my new place when I get home.
Jen and I have a tumultuous 7-hour saga home and 10:30 pm encroaches as I find parking in front of my duplex.
He comes around 1130 and we are simply happy again. No drama, no fighting, no nonsense- just happy in the moment and silently wondering, what’s next? Yet neither he nor I ask and perhaps that’s a good thing.
We’re both asleep in our fantasy when he’s beckoned back to reality and the night shift. Quiet, sad and naïve I walk him to the door and finally say good-bye. No see you later this time because the weekend is over. But again, the question of what’s next looms over us, as we stand sheepishly fixated in the hallway of my building. I don’t know – I don’t want to know.
Im just grateful for the weekend.
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