Friends With Money

I went to see the movie Friends With Money the other day with my friend Lisa. It's very good. I have liked Nicole Holofcener's movies (Walking and Talking; Lovely and Amazing) and this one was no exception. She always manages to find very true issues about women and reveal them in a compassionate way.I particularly liked that it was about one of the verboten images which is money. I have a group of old friends from high school who I have been friends with for over 20 years. Some of us have been luckier financially than others and it has created some interesting issues. Usually it's about where to eat dinner. But it was nice to see something that is a real concern in my life be reflected on the screen instead of the usual beautiful boy gets beautiful girl. The character that I related to most was the one played by Frances McDormand. It made me a bit depressed because her character (Jane) is a bit bonkers. She said so many things that run through my crazy brain. At one point she stopped washing her hair because she said there was no point since it would only get dirty again. And it hurt her arms to wash her hair. Both of these points have crossed my mind many a time and it was validating, if not very disturbing, to see them reflected back at me. I lied theoverall message which seemed to be that friendships have trials and issues, but that the old ones that have endured through time can be the most compelling. girls.jpg

eating


eating, originally uploaded by lazygirl.

What Color is YOUR Cupcake?

For Ben's first birthday I wanted to get a cupcake and have him blow out the candle and I could take a picture. I went to a local shi shi (how the hell do you spell that word?) bakery to get one for him. I had two choices. One was chocolate with chocolate icing and the other was white with blue frosting. I had a dilemna. Did I get the chocolate which would probably taste better to Ben? Or should I get the one with the blue frosting, which would make for a more interesting photograph? I mean, let's face it, brown just isn't that pretty sometimes.For most of you this probably seems like an easy choice. Because most of you aren't insane. For me it was agonizing becaue I had to choose between my needs and wants and what I perceived Ben's to be. Well, I passed this good mother test and bought the chocolate one, which not only did Ben not touch but also made for a crummy photo. Just goes to show that altruism doesn't pay. Here is the photo that not only has boring color but also shows Ben's fascination with the flame pointing to his future career as an arsonist. cupcake_02_sq.jpg

The Sesame Street School

Did you ever notice how on Sesame Street the adults never tell the kids/monsters "because I SAID so"? They always take the time to explain the lesson and then make sure that the child understands it and is 'okay' with it. Somehow I doubt that will be my parenting method. I see a good deal of "because I said so"s in my future. Sorry Ben.

Why Don't I Do What I'm Told?

For all of my life I have been a contrarian. My aunt tells me stories of me as a two-year-old and my dad trying to sway what I did and I was apparently having nothing to do with it. In 38 years nothing has changed.I am an avid reader, but every time I join a book club I am an immense failure at it. For most people book clubs are hard because they can never find the time to finish the book. That's not my problem. I can easily read 10 novels in a month. My problem is that as soon as I am SUPPOSED to read something, it is the LAST thing I want to read. I will read everything BUT that book. This also made life in college difficult. Whenever I had assigned reading it was a trial. I finally managed to get school work done by making a deal with myself. If I read 50 pages in the assigned book then I could read 50 pages in 'my' book. And the irony is that my book was Thomas Hardy or Jane Austen. It wasn't like I was clammering for Danielle Steele. What a GEEK! I have the same problem with work. I have no problem doing work, I just have trouble doing PAID work (aka the work I am SUPPOSED to be doing). I can spend HOURS on stuff that I am either doing for free for people or that I am doing for myself. If I have 5 things to do, then I will inevitably reach for the thing on the list that is due last. You're probably wondering how I ever get anything done. Me too. But luckily I have a mechanism that kicks in right before a project is due (it's called panic) and then I am all business until I meet the deadline. And then I am exhausted. I wouldn't recommend this as a modus operandi.

Potty Mouth

I admit it. I have a mouth that would make Tony Soprano blush. I like to swear, curse, have a potty mouth. And I never really tried to change it. I grew up in a household where telling someone to 'be quiet' was considered profanity. My mother had had her mouth washed out with soap several times (literally). The only time I ever heard my mother swear was when she called me a bitch and even then she spelled it out. When I confronted her with what a terrible thing it was to call her daughter a bitch, she exclaimed that she did not say I WAS one, but rather that I was ACTING like one. I say call a spade, a spade.When Ben was born my mother-in-law hinted (and not too subtly) that I might want to check my potty mouth at the door to motherhood. I thought HELL NO. But the other day I took Ben to pick up Josh at the BART station and there was a nice looking young woman standing outside the station (okay how old and crusty did that description sound?) She was nicely dressed and was holding a bunch of flowers. She was also talking on her cell phone and cursing like a sailor. Every other word was fuck. And suddenly I thought, not so attractive. Maybe I should ditch the habit. I mean Lauren Bacall can make smoking look incredibly sexy, but the rest of us just look like emphysema
waiting to happen.

Confessions of a PMS Mom

I often think of the Seinfeld episode where George is wearing sweatpants and Jerry says to him "Have you just given up?" That's me! I can't remember the last time I wore pants that weren't sweats. I have come to a sad, sad point. I thought that when I had a kid I would try harder for his sake, but it's so much easier to just consume yourself with his clothes and his appearance. Since I feel invisible already it hardly seems worth the trouble to gussy up. But we're not talking a two hour hair, nails and make-up routine for godsake. I am even failing at basic clean clothes, brushing my teeth and taking a shower. I am shocked that Josh has not come home yet and informed me that he's upgrading to a better model.Okay, okay. I know that self-flagellation is SO UNATTRACTIVE BUT I HAVE PMS DAMN IT! And to make matters worse my father-in-law is coming to town tonight. I must have a kick me sign on the back of my head. As long as it doesn't get in the way of my eating chocolate and reading in bed, I suppose it will have to stay for awhile.

I Wish He Would Be My Best Friend

I LOVE David Sedaris. DAMN he's funny. Josh just sent me an e-mail with the latest and funniest from the funny man himself (re: the James Frey scandal/debacle/take your pickal):"I've got to tell you, I really squirmed for that James Frey guy. It seems a bit silly to me that everyone gets their panties in a knot because, like, a first-time memoirist lied! You've got all these people saying, 'That drunk lied to us!' Well, yeah, he's a drunk!" If that didn't make your day, then you're already dead. source

Stress Relief

Ben does this really cool thing. He plays on his own (with my lobotomized self supervising) really well. But every 5 minutes or so he will scream out of some sort of frustration. It lasts about 5 seconds and then he goes right back to playing happily. I think if more people let off steam that way we'd be better off as a society.I, on the other hand, usually get rid of my stress by devouring a pint of Ben and Jerry's. But this morning I went running because I needed to blow off some steam. Yep. Running. I know. SOOO hard to believe. I don't know WHAT came over me. I am certain that it's an abherration and I will be back to stress release by engorging any time now.

Pukety, Puke, Puke

Ben is sick. Throw up sick. We'll just be hanging out on the bed, having a grand ol' time and suddenly he vomits. Projectile, scary, Exorcist vomit. Get the hell out of the way and save yourself vomit. Apparently, he picked this up at daycare (what a shock!) Then I was told horror stories of the next phase, which is apparetly diarrhea. Scary, all over the walls diarrhea. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Boobs

This post is about boobs. So for those of you who are faint of heart or still harbor romantic ideas about breasts--stop reading now. I don't want to ruin it for you.For the rest of us...ah gravity. It does so many wonderful things. But where boobs are concerned, it is the enemy. And boy has it wreaked havoc on mine. As I quickly approach forty they were already quickly descending and now after breastfeeding it is more like a plummeting towards my feet. I feel like I need to wear a bra even to sleep. I was always someone who wanted smaller boobs. I always found them to be in the way. Okay, yes, during sex they're nice, but the other 98% of our lives they're just obtrusive. And any romantic illusions I may have harbored were all quickly dispelled after breastfeeding. I had a very hard time breastfeeding. I thought it would be like in the movies. I would put the baby to my breast and magically everything would just happen. It was so NOT like that. It took weeks for Ben and I to figure it out. And after using my mammory glands for what they were intended, they are not only less mysterious, but just plain old sad looking. Every once in awhile I will se a 50-ish looking woman whose breasts are hanging down at her ankles. I look at her and say the following silent prayer "Please God, let her not have worn a bra her entire life."

Mood

in

mood, originally uploaded by lazygirl.

Saturday Mornin'

It's Saturday morning and Ben and I are watching Saturday morning cartoons. When Ben was born, I was one of those women who had had years to observe her friends and their children and decided that I would (of course) do it better. So I set up all sorts of rules for what I would and would not do. Needless to say, I broke almost all of these rules within 18 hours.One of the rules I had was that I wouldn't let Ben watch television. I wasn't hardcore on this idea, but it seemed like a good guideline. As a kid I watched HOURS of television. And bad tv. Soap operas, game shows, junk. 'After School Specials' was about as culturally highbrow as I got. I remember one summer everybody was out of the house almost every day. My brother was a competitive tennis player and competed all summer all over the map. My mom used to drag me along, but I hated it. It was HOT and BORING and we would have to be in the car for HOURS. I think I wore my mom down and she let me stay home alone. As Josh can attest, it's usually easier to let me have what I want than to fight me on it. I can be one helluva pain in the heinie. As a result, I would spend long days at home by mtself at the age of nine. For those of you who are gasping in horror, I will say that my mom was hardly neglectful. My grandparents lived 5 minutes away (I could walk there in 10 minutes if need be) and my dad's office was about 10 minutes away. Plus I was a ridiculously self-sufficient child. I was 30 when I was born (no wonder I feel so damn old). The days always seemed really long. There were no children nearby that I played with (we were new to the area) so I was alone for long periods of time (those were the days). I had a VIVID imagination and I would play all sorts of imaginary games. But what I usually did was watch tv. I remember that I had eleven hours of tv shows lined up with no gap. ELEVEN HOURS. Isn't that obscene? After hearing this story of my childhood, you probably think, of course she should ban tv. But I turned out okay (relatively speaking) and I read more than most people I know. I'm not saying that I would let Ben watch for hours, but the occasional 'Sesame Street' or 'Thomas & Friends' is the only thing that allows me the occasional shower or peace. So here we are, watching Saturday morning cartoons. I must admit that I end up watching WAY more than Ben. He just glances from time to time, while I watch and overanalyze the artwork and deconstruct the narrative. Some things never change. Once an addict, always an addict.