f*ck this sellout sh*t.

(i've been working on this post for a while now... it's slightly dated but still relevant (to me anyway). the issue has been a thorn in my side for quite some time. must de-thorn. and really truly sorry for all the f-bombs.)


so, i watched the oscars on sunday night like most of snowbound america. i was really happy to see sandra oh in the audience looking quite lovely in her red ballgown. the first time i saw sandra oh was in a film called "double happiness". when i saw the movie, i had just graduated from art school and was struggling to prove to my parents that i hadn't made a mistake. i just couldn't disappoint them after they finally "allowed" me to pursue a career in the arts. so, the conflicted character she portrayed (a young asian woman pursuing a dream to become an actor w/o the approval of her parents) was very inspiring to me. since then, i've enjoyed her performances in the cable tv series "arli$$" and the movies "the red violin" ,"the princess diaries" and "under the tuscan sun".

anyway, she's in the movie "sideways" which was directed by her husband alexander payne. the film was nominated for five academy awards and actually won for adapted screenplay. (because i am lame and a slave to an extremely busy two year old, i have not yet seen this movie or most of the movies nominated for oscars this year.)

when the winner of the oscar was announced, the camera zoomed over to a joyous, beaming sandra hugging her husband and i just knew that the asian female sellout/race traitor haters would be rolling their eyes over sandra oh's "cracker" husband winning an academy award and mumbling that she got the part like all other actresses do - by sleeping with the director. and that thought made me sick to my stomach.

so, i'm curious and a glutton for punishment. i did a little googling and i learned, on different asian message forums, that me, sandra oh and all the women below have a few things in common a) we're female b) we're asian c) we're "sleeping with the enemy" d) we're sellouts, self haters and race traitors.

iris chang
juju chang
elaine chao
julie chen
connie chung
margaret cho
terry hong
andrea jung
maxine hong kingston
maya lin
michelle malkin
yuka sato
amy tan
kristi yamaguchi
jessica yu

oh yeah, we're also short sighted hypocrites too. you see, i may take the initiative to speak out against oppresion, protest racism and sexism, cultivate consciousness among other asian men & women, and blast asian stereotypes but if i'm married to "whitey" - i'm not helping "the cause". i'm not practicing what i preach. because i married a white man, i am biased and supporting white male dominance. i am perpetuating the vicious characterizion of asian men being undesirable and weak.

so, someone enlighten me, what IS "the cause" really? 'cause the way this issue has lit a fire under the *ss of almost every asian activist or pseudo activist, you'd think it was a communist state directive calling for the re-education of asian women of dating age.

do you want to put asian women in a different gilded cage than they're already in? do you want to make an asian woman feel even more responsible for the asian race than she already biologically, physically, intellectually and emotionally does? and why are my experiences and my involvement in the cause suddenly meaningless simply by my marriage to a white male. and how is that implication or conclusion any less demeaning that being connected to suzie wong, geisha girls, china dolls, bound feet, "me so horny" or "f*cky-sucky"? please clarify if my exsistence will always be tied to the one that i am attached to? if that's the case, i may as well be f*cking mormon (no offense intended to any mormons). and can someone tell me who the f*ck died and made all these other hateful male and female f*cktards the decisionmakers, outlining all the correct protocols for being pro-asian? it's to those people i ask the simple question - if you truly love your "asian sisters" why does your love come with conditions? pot? kettle? who's biased now? who's labeling who?

from my vantage point, society is ruled by a white patriarchy. newsflash! we live in f*cking america.

is it a perfect world? does a perfect world exist anywhere? does any one class or race hold a monopoly on being impoverished or chauvanistic or imperialistic? last time i checked, F*CK NO.

is this country better for some and not for others?
is there room for improvement? H*LL YES.

let's look at the news in asia shall we? let's see - asians are being tortured or brutally murdered at the hands of asian terrorist extremists. some asians are living desperately in deplorable conditions without all the things that we take for granted here - food, water, shelter, education while blocks away other asians are living in absolute luxury. whole islands and people were swept away by a tsunami and others were swallowed whole by massive earthquakes and mud slides. countries are ripped to shreds by abject poverty and rampant corruption. so why the f*ck are we even remotely focused on this dating issue? why is a minute of thought or energy wasted on who someone is dating and then, summarily kicking that person to the curb instead of getting off our collective *sses and re-focusing our attention to where it is truly needed?

my feeling is it's nobody's business why asian women date who they date. if the f*cking KKK can exist in the same century the my child lives in, do you really think i give a f*cking rat's *ss who a woman decides to date or marry? every woman has a preference just like every man. and why is it no sellout hater ever brings up the fact that some asian men date/marry white women exclusively?

to assume that asian women don't date asian men only because she's bought into the asian male misogynistic stereotype and feels she'll be treated like property is ridiculous. i'm sure it happens but frankly, if she does, she needs better role models and an education - not a man and certainly not to be demonized as a self hater or a race traitor. honestly, i don't think any modern urban woman feels like she should or could be owned by anyone - male or female - white or poc. additionally, i don't think any woman is free from sexism in this day and age. but to assume any woman's accomplishments are due only to the benevolence of a man is not only insulting, it's illogical. a woman's accomplishments are the fruits of her own labors, blood, sweat and tears. but a person's accomplishments are not the only things that define him/her. people are duty bound to many people and many dreams - i think it's masochistic to perceive and project one's self in just one way and still attempt a balance. i don't believe anyone is that simple.

my parents taught me that to successfully navigate this country or this life, the bottom line is if you think you're owned, you're owned, if you think you're trapped, you're trapped and it's your own damn fault. they should know. they were brought up in a country that has been colonized by almost every industrialized nation in the world. today, the philippines is characterized by others as "the sick man of asia" and a social catastrophe. the idea that they were less valuable than the people who "owned" them was drilled into their heads every minute of every day. but, my parents escaped that mindset and are successful. did they have to leave the philippines to do it. maybe yes, maybe no. but they don't see the philippines as a lost cause. my father loved it so much that he returned there and lives there now. my parents don't see themselves as the failed experiments of imperialist colonizers. they see themselves as success stories. could they stand to win a lottery? sure. couldn't you? were they fully accepted by mainstream america? hardly. are they happy? yes.

i guess my point is they are educated, successful and happy because they were taught and told that they could never be successful and even if they managed to be successful - they wouldn't survive. to which they resolutely responded, "f*ck you". they were challenged with different obstacles all of their lives and overcame them. they gave their children the tools we needed to do the same. i don't credit asia or asians or being asian or anything american with my happiness because i'm wholly aware that my parents are at the root of it.

i was lucky to have a very strong male and female role model. they were who they were and never apologized for it or hid from their true natures. they burned inefficient bridges wherever and whenever they appeared. they are very individual people. i remember being so conscious of how outrageous and honest and visibly vocal my parents were. everday, my parents shattered any illusions or goals i might've had of being a model minority and stopped me from fashioning a cage of my own making. so, for someone to call me a sellout, race traitor or a self hater is an insult to my parents and family as well as to me.

for the record, there wasn't a large asian male population for me to choose a mate from. growing up in my neighborhood, there were two asian boys and six asian girls. yes, i was attracted to both and both of them were attracted to every other girl but me (but, again - i am the circus freak - that was true for all boys, not just the asian ones). in my high school class, there were four asian boys. they also dated everyone except me.

to date, of all those asian boys i knew - one is gay, one is still a bachelor who only dates asian women and four married white women. i didn't keep in touch with the asian girls i went to primary or secondary school with but of the 14 asian girlfriends i have now, 4 are married to asian or other poc males, 4 are married to white males, 2 prefer to only date asian males and 3 have no preference and date males of all races.

in art school, i didn't have any asian male classmates. and despite the lack of asian men and vast wasteland of any asians in the media, i was ALWAYS attracted to asian men first but was open to dating men of all races.

in the end, i married my husband for many reasons, the least of which was his skin color. what's funny is that he looks white but is actually multiracial - mostly puerto rican and a mish mash of every european race. a large chunk of his childhood was spent with the puerto rican side of his family since he was raised in a single parent home by his father. i am always reminded of a story he told me about an argument he had with a female latino activist about a hot latino issue and she actually said, "and what do you know about being latino?" and again i ask, "who the f*ck died and made you the boss?"

look, not every asian woman that dates or marries a white man hates or dislikes dating or marrying an asian man. do those women exist? without a doubt. but conversely aren't sellout haters doing a disservice to all asians and dividing young asian males and females by a) stereotyping what a "politically correct and proper" asian woman should be b) painting those women who date or marry white as "anti-asian" women? and logically wouldn't that imply that bi-racial childen of such marriages are less valuable and have less to contribute than full blooded asian children? does that mean that full blooded asians the only ones allowed the right to fight for asian causes?

asian women and asian men need to put this issue to bed and just agree to disagree. we need to own up and learn from the mistakes and triumphs of our past as well as the best and worst of our asian role models. we need to re-group and resume fighting the myriad of more important battles - TOGETHER.

our common enemy is racism and sexism fueled by the racist, chauvanistic media that perpetuates the stereotypes - specifically, the perennial asian foreigner, the emasculated asian man and the exotic oversexualized asian woman. if studies show that the largest group benefitting from affirmative action is white women. i think it's time that we all get a clue. fighting against each other is what's short sighted and detrimental to asian americans as a group. it's preventing us from actually moving forward - instead, we're getting nowhere. let's get somewhere together, anywhere but where we currently are - going round and round in circles.

happy birthday to me!



i share my birthday with michelangelo, cyrano de bergerac, elizabeth barrett browning, lou costello, ed mcmahon, allen greenspan, wes montgomery, gabriel garcia marquez, kiri te kanawa, rob reiner and shaquille o'neal.

geebus... i need to get my act together... must fill big shoes.

happy birthday paloma!!!



YAY!!! she's officially a terrible two

paloma shares her birthday with alexander graham bell, jean harlow, robyn hitchcock, miranda richardson, jackie joyner-kersey, and tone-loc.

so happy birthday to all o' yous too. especially tone-loc, you, wild thing....

today in japan, they are celebrating "girl's day" or hinamatsuri.

wait. hmmm, maybe it was yesterday... i always forget the time difference.

i know this because last year, paloma and i spent the day at the shedd aquarium (what else do a pair of pisces do to celebrate birthdays but hang out with the fish). there were some japanese tourists at the aquarium who thought paloma was the cutest thing since... well, what ISN'T cute in japan?! anyway, they wanted to know how old she was and i told them "one". and they got all hella excited because apparently it's good luck for a girl to be born on "girl's day".

anyhoo... best wishes for the happiest of birthdays, baby grrrl...

my favorite way to learn about history...


so, i've never been a good history student. wait. that's not totally true. my sophomore year i had mr. harper. i remember that he was a really good teacher but i was failing his class. he asked me stay after class one day and we talked about what was going wrong. i realized i was just too afraid to learn history. i really didn't think i could handle the specifics of it - the dates, the events and their consequences, etc. but, because he took the time out to talk to me (and it was a pretty harsh reality check) and believed in my potential, i was encouraged. i received As or Bs the rest of that year.

but anyway, i was thinking about african american history month (february) and womens history month (march) and how i've never been a very good student of history (bad mamazilla bad) and should be more proactive in seeking out and re-learning history. which led me to think of when i was happiest learning about history 1) mr. harper 2) the soul train scrabble board.

ah, soul train. during childhood, every sunday, after church, you could find me glazed and slackjawed watching those shiny dancers feeling that funky music under the blinking lights of *S*O*U*L* *T*R*A*I*N* with "your host, don cornelius". those were good times. and yes, i was the scrawny, weird looking asian kid lipsyncing & dancing to earth, wind and fire on her moms furry, day-glo, orange sectional. if you were a soul train watcher too you would remember that and about halfway through the show, they'd haul out this magnetic board with a jumble of magnetized letters on it. don cornelius would give the dancers their clue, the music would start again and they would resume groovin' to the music while solving the puzzle...

so, i propose an idea - a la michele. here is the mamazilla version of the soul train scrabble board. i offer you three clues, you solve them and you (meaning the handful of awesome people that read this humble blog) offer another or two or three and so on and so on (and yes, the links are the answers). happy history!

1) she invented a device that assists amputees with the most difficult task of eating by themselves.

TOESNBEUSLIB

2) she became the first african female astronaut.

NIJMOESEMA

3) she became the first and the only known female buffalo soldier.

SIIAAMLHAYLTWC

dear straight man in long term monogamous relationship,

if your female significant other asks you to buy any of these products:

panty liners or pads
tampons
a lady shaver
ladies deodorant
azo standard
monistat 7
chick flicks


don't trip on it.
don't think about it.
just do it.


you're not the first guy to be saddled with this and you won't be the last. there's even a chance that your significant other will actually give birth to your child - a boy maybe - who will probably be asked to do the same thing in the future.

so, suck it up. you can always pick up a playboy or a penthouse or a maxim on the way to the register and hide the aforementioned items.

many thanks,
mamazilla

ok, i'm done. sorta....

i believe i'm unofficially done trying to get pregnant.

i'm pretty sure i'm done charting since i haven't taken my temp in a while and sadly, it wasn't that hard giving up. it's hypocritical for me to willingly wake up at the same time every morning, suck on a thermometer and wait for the beep beep beeping to end. the reality is, the only time i am willing to wait while listening to a series of beeps is when it's coupled with the scent of buttery popped corn or some other zapped warm goodie.

there should be more scenes about waiting for thermometers in independent films - it's a great metaphor for the mundane and speaks novels about being hopelessly hopeful. yes, that would be me, the poster child for the hopelessly hopeful. especially when i know where i am in my cycle and i realize (yet again and again and again) that my temperature dropped and i'm NOT pregnant. it's like my own personal "groundhog day".

i'm also not swallowing another drop of this homeopathic tincture i bought at the health food store. the bottle is kinda cool though. i may use it in some kind of found object collage (along with the thermometer maybe).

i will however, as a last ditch effort, try acupuncture. but that's it.

then, i'm officically officially done. if i get pregnant again, i get pregnant. but, i'm done with "working" at it. cause you can only say, "hey, it's fun trying", so many times and really mean it (which doesn't mean i don't like to have lots o' sex). besides, k'zilla is an awesome kid, she's the bestest little being my life has ever had the priviledge of bumping into. she's the one thing that proves my birth was not a mistake and i love her madly.

we have our difficult days when she's kid-a-plenty and occasionally on those days, even the shadow of the idea of having another child makes my ovaries shrivel in terror. what's weirder is the realization that someone out there thinks (or used to anyway) the same about me (thank you, mommy!).

and yet, i still daydream about k'zilla's nameless, faceless, genderless, phantom sibling. i'm sure i'm not the only mamazilla who hears the whispers of "an heir and a spare", as it escapes from that teeny tiny dusty little imaginary lock box in her head. (i swear i shove it right back in there immediately.) but the truth is life can be horribly brutal and unfair and the thought of any harm coming to her sends me running to her, desperate for empty reassurances. a giggle and a "hi mommy" will usually set me straight.

and for the record, if i do get pregnant again, i really hope it's a boy.

i remember when we scheduled our first ultrasound to catch a glimpse of k'zilla. i was wishing and wishing for a healthy child most of all, but after that, i was wishing for a girl. i figured i'd understand a girl better since a) i have girl parts b) i know other girls. and secretly, i just wasn't ready to get "christened" by my little boy with urine.

but now, that she's almost two. i realize that as a woman, i have to re-learn what it means to be a girl. girls are just different. they were and are an alien culture. growing up, i only had guy friends really. the girlfriends that i had and have are girls like me - girls with mostly guy friends. as a child, girls didn't hang with me because i was weird looking. the boys always made fun of me but they didn't mind hanging with me. they could appreciate that i could scale the back wall of my building like spiderman, run as fast or faster than them and could easily score goal after goal in floor hockey.

but, girls have always been so mysterious to me with their elaborate hierarchies, hushed secrets and esoteric streams of consciousness collected haphazardly in this perfumed, fuzzy, giggling, festooned package.... i was so glad and surprised when i graduated to "woman" because i failed so miserably at being a girl. and now, i'm expected to raise and educate one!? the one thing i can impart (besides the requisite abcs and 123s and random flashy dance moves) is solid fashion sensibility. and why is this, you ask? well, i'm convinced that the only reason i have the wide selection of clothes and accessories, my own quirky sense of style and a decade of experience in the fashion industry is because i had a huge crush on a boy who turned out to be gay. for years, i thought he had crushes on diana ross and donna summer. it wasn't until we graduated high school that he realized he wanted to BE diana ross and donna summer. everything else well have to explore and navigate together, k'zilla - no promises, except that i'll do my very best.

anyway, after two years with her, i think i'm ready to take on the challenges a baby boy would pose. i can hear all the other "been there done that" moms cackling and laughing hysterically right about now. i know, i can't believe how fragile i felt when i brought k'zilla home the first day. jeez louise - who WAS that person?

ok, really, i'm done... :)

my lungs - pre and post concert.


suffice to say, if the zutons/redwalls/keane tour is stopping by your city, i highly recommend you (and your favorite oxygen tank) see the show. and try not to pre-judge keane, solely on the funky dancing (?) that the lead singer does... :)

up next? xiu xiu, built to spill, john legend (opens for alicia keys), desmond dekker (woo-hoo!!!!) are all playing chicago venues...

i convinced popzilla to attend the kurt halsey frederiksen show by dangling a late dinner at rick bayless' frontera grill in front of him. the show was small but well attended. his work is quite beautiful up close and personal. we got to meet the artist and i caught a glimpse of his "model" (who i also think is his significant other and has a kurt halsey tattooed on her arm). kurt was very nice and i was a babbling starstruck groupie (pathetic). now, we are the proud owners of "met a boy", a small, unique full body drawing of a young pigtailed, flip flopped girl, by kurt halsey frederiksen. :) enormous thank you to wag artworks for hosting the show.

(i promised myself that i would never post a pic of me on my blog... never say never... )

me & kurt halsey frederiksen -

K is for Kumar, Keane and Kurt

harold and kumar go to white castle.

i can't believe i loved this movie. it's basically a romantic comedy with a solid music soundtrack,(except for the whole sing along with wilson phillips scene. *shivers*) routine toilet humor & gratuitous boobie fondling. it's a little deliverance thrown in with some risky business, mixed with animal house and a dash of pee wee's big adventure, some willy wonka folded in, garnished with joy luck club and sprinkled with a little map of the human heart and english patient.

with this many memorable scenes and hilarious dialogue, it's bound to be a cult classic. if i watch it again, i'm sure i could fashion a little drinking game out of it too. there's even enough of an unrequited love storyline (between a desperate man and his 420) that i may even classify it as a chick flick. and the kitchen sink? neil patrick harris (aka doogie howser) playing neil patrick harris. reDEMPtion! THANKYAJESUS! i am HEALED of the septic wound inflicted injuriously upon me by those satanic, havoc wreaking, fornicators - starship troopers!

however, my only beef (ha) about the movie is the choice of, shall we say, "holy grail". white castle sells the most disgusting "food" i have EVER tasted in my entire life. and not just because i was taken there after my senior prom. and no, it is not an urban legend that some girl bit into a white castle "slider" (hello? i'll give you one guess why it's called that.) and found herself chewing on a seashell. i'll take jack in the crack or booger king anyday over not so white castle.

if this movie sounds totally unoriginal and derivative of all the other comedies in its genre... well, yeah, it kinda sorta is. but they do make a few revisions to the standard that show this movie stands on it's own merits. the bottom line is it's funny (and did i mention there are two cute asian guys in the starring roles. wee-ha! asian power!).

anyway, tonight, i will be one of hundreds of women being serenaded by keane (and the redwalls and the zutons) and possibly swooning (due to a combination of smoke inhalation, bad ventilation and a cold snap) at the riviera theatre. what DO you wear to concerts in the winter? do i choose to be a fashion victim and freeze to death outside the venue or be roasted (along with my common sense and practicality) inside the venue? i remember thinking that only old folks brought coats to live shows and *gasp* checked their coats in. oh god, i just realized... the theatre is a general admission venue. i'm going to be standing for hours... i AM getting too old for this.

hopefully, tomorrow night, i'll be at the kurt halsey show, buying an item bearing a halsey image of some kind (i'll get the sticker of a band-aid). i say hopefully because there is a chance i'll chicken out because a) like cinderella, i am a former art school geek fraud b) also like cinderella, any outfit that i do conjure up will prove to be fit for a dress ball and not your garden variety outsider art gallery and the fashion police will be forced to haul me away and potentially do a cavity search c) wicker park is home to too many former girlzilla one night stands.

i hope kidzilla never reads this. come to think of it, i owe you a mea culpa too. just say no to bad writing.

"the craigslist experiment"

reason # 1,957,632 on the list of reasons why you shouldn't answer a personals ad on craigslist

i'm not sure this is real but if it is - how f*cked up is that?!

this is how i found out about it

happy valentines day anyway.... (eek.)

my fil (father in law) passed away this day last year. i'll never forget getting the call from popzilla in kansas city after kidzilla and i had gotten her first haircut and were celebrating and cataloging the event. it seemed so pointless to scrapbook anything without my fil to share it with.

although my fil and i fought small superficial battles, we always kissed and made up. he was very precious to me and i believe i was very dear to him. he is deeply and painfully missed by our little family. i'm really glad that before he passed away he was able to laugh and hug and play with kidzilla.

anyway, i've only been to one other funeral which moved me in the way that my fil's did and it's due to my husband's eulogy for the father and friend that follows. it's beautiful and i thought it would be nice to share it with you since you didn't get the chance to meet him. my father in law was such a wonderful person, a treasure that i was lucky enough to find and cherish.

"it is a cliche that no man is a hero to his valet but i think the opposite is true for fathers and children. every father is a hero to his kids. and that certainly is true in our case.

now heroism was not the first thing we considered when being taught that socks must be rolled, not folded, or that garbage cans must be kept clean lest the contents end up on the bed or that the proper way of teaching a 6 year old to dive from the high dive was to hold him by the ankles and release.

but even then, we must have followed our father's lead and emulated his leadership as we engaged in verbal battle with him over whether the spitfire or the mustang was the prettiest fighter of WWII or as we engaged in no-holds-barred sibling battles, which dad heroically parachuted into bringing peace from on high.

after our parents split, my fathers heroism became more obvious. in the turbulent early 70s our father took us and ventured forth to tilt at windmills and slay the dragons of the outside world. he raised us as a single father and the manner in which he raised us will seem, well, eccentric.

dad ran our family like a military dictatorship. he was fond of telling us that his family "was not a democracy". like many military groups, the food was terrible - swanson tv dinners, kfc and anything else simple.

despite the poor provisions, morale was high. how could it not be with the finest pilot who ever flew in command? our father flew for the greatest airline in the greatest country in the world. not many of our friends had dads who did something like that. morale remained high as our father escorted us out the door, playing his harmonica and singing "good-bye, children" as we walked off to school. it remained high through countless dinner table conversations that covered such mundane topics as the wives of henry the VIII, the periclean age of athens and the adventures of cortes and the conquistadors.

in our younger days, those conversations generally took the form of a soliloquy while we listened. as many of you know, our father was very good at talking. eventually, dad stopped delivering speeches and started questioning us, a practice which led us to wonder if he wanted children or debate partners.

as we grew older, we stopped seeing our father as heroic. he still had a great job and went and did pretty interesting things. he continued to fight the good fight against petty bureaucracy, refusing to tender what he considered non-relevant information (such as an SSN or phone # when asked). or else making up reasons for school absence that administrators squawked over like "mountain climbing in the himalayas" or "tiger taming in bengal" when all we were doing was going to the dentist.

but to a teenager, no father is a hero, even when doing admirable things. at best a father is merely tolerable. certainly , a father can't be a hero when ihe is grounding you or talking away or driving priviledges because you let the gas level drop below a quarter tank.

eventually, we left our little squadron and in the fullness of time, started our own families. and as we became parents our view of our father returned to a heroic one. yet it was not heroism in the sense of feats of arms that echo thru the ages. nor was he a hero for being a pilot and commanding the flight deck as he did. we see our father as hero for going beyond the call of duty in deciding to raise two hardheaded kids on his own through difficult and demanding times. and for doing it so well that he felt safe in saying "he had not fathered us in vain for i was better man than he was" during a toast he gave at my wedding - a sentiment that i deeply disagree with.

our father loved to talk. he was able to pass that trait to his children, occassionally to his regret. yet one of the great things about having such a talkative family is that as darkness fell, everything had been said. our father left this mortal coil for the undiscovered country he needed no further assurances of love from us, nor did we need them from him. we cherished each other and no child really needs more than that.

the phrases and quotations and aphorisms tossed out by my father during our conversations over 37 years will in turn be repeated to my children. yet only one seems appropriate for me to say here, and so i say to you, oh captain, my captain, may god bless and keep you."

because i can't write anything this sophisticated...

click here to read inside the book, "where willy went" by nicholas allan.

...the story of the little sperm that thought he could and did. quite successfully and with some emotion i might add...

(is it just me? i totally thought there was a stork involved SOMEWHERE.... flat earth? tooth fairy? flowbee? LIES! ALL LIES!)

WOO-HOO!!! PALOMA SLEPT IN HER BIG GIRL BED LAST NIGHT!!!!

per the advice of other mamazillas, i bought guard rails and a new toy (bullseye from toy story 2) in preparation for paloma's transition from crib to bed. actually, it's been all set up now for a couple of days (bed & rails).

last night, after our regular scheduled night time routine, i just mentioned to her that we were probably going to try sleeping in the big girl bed in a few days. i pointed to the bed and said "big girl bed" and then to the crib saying "baby crib". and paloma said "no! big girl bed".

i was A W E S T R U C K and skeptical.... i mean how could this one-month-shy-of-terrible-two-toddler know what i was saying? so, i made sure she wanted to sleep in the big girl bed. i moved closer to the crib and she said it again, "no! big girl bed".

so, i put her in the bed and said "ok, wait here for mommy and close your eyes. i have a surprise." i got bullseye out of the highest shelf in the closet (next to the freaky barbie doll and the (borderline psychotic looking) stitch doll - both slated for goodwill dropoff) and hid him behind my back.

i did a little "showbiz reveal" with him and she was OVER THE MOON! i explained to her that bullseye was only for the big girl bed and stayed in the big girl bed....

would you believe that she actually said "goodnight mommy" yanked the blanket up and pulled bullseye underneath with her? i couldn't believe it myself. i walked out the door and waited for her to cry out for me or to hear the groaning of springs from her jumping - nothing. just some quiet slumbering.... :)

however! i discovered this morning it looks as if she will be unable to NAP in the aforementioned big girl bed... as she's happily napping in her crib right now. oh well...

is it february yet?

february has always been the month of rushing for me.

early on, there's groundhog day, which always heralds my cue to send out a birthday card (and if time permits - a small lightweight present) to my father, who resides in the philippines. mind you, his birthday is mid february but there's no snail mail like air mail to a third world country, i always say.

i was thinking today there's something about groundhogs, their flaky shadows and wishing for the impossible that reminds me of my father. and yes, i do love my father. however, because i am prone to procrastinate and scarred from many years of dubious memories w/ or w/o my papa, it will be a miracle if i actually do get a card out. i puposefully went out today to get a card and came back with everything BUT a card - i even came back WITH stationary from the stationary store.

(i blame my friend, stacey. ok. no, not really. i do however blame her for the impulsive pink bedazzled cat ear barrette purchase.)

even more ironic, my stepfather's birthday follows groundhog day. as if i didn't have enough paternal pathos...

and let's not forget the preconceptions conceiving, can o' worms opening, nutrition ravaging holiday of holidays - valentines day! i, the biggest romantic cynic on the planet, rarely if ever, know what to do, plan, say on valentines day... to save us both the trouble, popzilla is taking a trip to miami to visit his abuelita. thank you, popzilla! ;)

then, there's the whole, shortest month of the year crap, which always reminds me of my mom and stepdad's anniversary on the 28th.

so, let's take a tally. that's at least four cards on the inside and/or four cards WITH four gifts on the outside or we could just call it a day at say four (zillion) mea culpas.... hmm, no pressure...

and last, but not least - february is the final month of my current year - 32 (i'm a march baby). february is the month that says, "that's right, ya old coot, celebrate now 'cause next month you'll be skooched a little bit closer to(or *gasp* further into) "middle aged"." i can't believe i'm older than dungeons and dragons AND hello kitty.

but, february is never as bad as i make it out to be in the end... as it turns out, keane, pedro the lion and modest mouse are all coming to play chicago venues in february. and best of all, kurt halsey will be having an exhibition at wag artworks too.

(for the record, mamazilla would LOVE an original kurt halsey for valentines day or even her birthday. hint, hint, wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more, say no more....)

happy february everybody!

look out! i'm old!

this really isn't news to me... i had a sneaking suspicion i was old back in high school when i discovered my first grey hair.

i had really long hair in high school. i remember standing with my hands crossed behind my back and being able to feel the weight and shine of my hair laced in my fingers.

but, there it was - the lone long silvery thin ripple hidden deep under a dark brown black wave...
my mom told me that it was considered good luck for someone my age to have grey hair.
it portended wisdom. (that's like telling a bride that it's lucky when it rains on your wedding day.) i didn't believe her.

that summer, i visited my family in the philippines to attend my sis' graduation. my oldest sister graduated valedictorian of her class, was a star swimmer and sang in a prestigious chorus. she also had salt and pepper hair. so, i guessed my mom couldn't be totally wrong and since then, my grey hair and i have cohabitated quite well....

...UNTIL NOW!!!

i was in a hip little boutique yesterday. it's a very cute shop that sells nanette lepore, free people, bcbg stuff, etc... the woman who owns the boutique was very complimentary to me and very attentive. she was sure that i would fit into a size 2 (HA!). i was having a really fun time. i really liked this beautiful pair of pants from poleci. but, the pants were embellished by some folksy kind of embroidery on the side seams. it's amazing how far you have to go with babyproofing your life...

me: "these pants are beautiful but my daughter would have a field day with the embroidery".
she: "how old is your daughter?"
me: "almost two years"
she: "oh, i thought you had a teen. i thought you were worried that she would be raiding your closet for them."

YOU THOUGHT I HAD A TEEN!!?? DO YOU REALIZE I USED TO BE MISTAKEN FOR A TEEN!!?? NOW, I LOOK LIKE I HAVE A TEEN!!!!???

needless to say i walked out of there without those pants...

the experience actually reminded me of the time when i was talking with a college freshman who didn't know who kurt cobain was.

or another time when i was wearing a cute t-shirt with hong kong phooey on it .

a younger twenty something co-worker of mine saw my shirt and said, "cute shirt. but, who's that dog?"

i'm thinking, hmmm. maybe it's not a good picture of him and i say, "it's hong kong phooey... from the cartoon show... late 70s early 80s..."*make with the hong kong phooey moves*

i'm met with a totally blank stare and a look of pity for the crack smoker....
i desperately grasp at straws... "secret squirrel? wacky races? dynomutt? atom ant? underdog? precious pup and granny sweet?"

zip. zilch. gornischt. step right up and view the old fart circus freak!

well, i'm not the only one in the house. a few days ago at the potbelly deli, popzilla was listening to a conversation that two young sandwichmakers were having about classic rock. he asks them, "so, what do you consider classic rock?"

SM1 - anything before 1980.
PZ - like boston.
SM1 - who?
PZ - boston. *slowly enunciating the word and sweating a tad*
SM1 - don't know them, never heard of 'em.
PZ - y'know, "more than a feeling, when I hear that old song they used to play (more than a feeling) I begin dreaming (more than a feeling) ’till I see marianne walk away I see my marianne walkin’ away.." *quietly singing and swaying to the music in his head*
SM1 - nope. so what do you want on your italian?

fellow chicagoans, do you realize that the "oldies" station is playing classic 70s music now? and that to get to hear what i consider "oldies" music - I HAVE TO SWTICH TO THE AM BAND STATIONS!!! WTF!? (although, elvis on am sounds awesome and strangely old school.)

i'm convinced it's my own private conspiracy, y'all so, i'm jumping on the random bandwagon. i'm getting my hair dyed back to pink and dropping trou for a new tattoo. i may even get a gold tooth and a facial piercing. maybe a trucker hat and ultra low rise jeans with a miniature toy dog and a bedazzled phone.

i may not be young or even youthful anymore but as long as i have a fully functional frontal lobe, i'm gonna abuse it...



maybe.



ok, no, not really. but i could...

who approved this costume design!?

seriously. did someone lose a bet?



i predict that this show will gross more money than any other disney on ice show and not because of the nemo factor (though that certainly doesn't hurt).

the costume design is ingenious if you think about it... right now, thousands of bright-eyed, bushy tailed, breastfed children are instinctually turning their heads toward tv screens all across the greater chicagoland area, attempting to root for the wide, welcoming, nipple-y eyes of these looping, lutzing, flipping costumes...

no wonder kidzilla is dancing in circles to see this show. for me, whenever i hear about fish on ice, i'm thinking of sushi. i would dance in circles for sushi.

the water cycle song

yesterday, paloma and i were invited to tea (seriously) at the local private school (pinkys up, wallets out).

we're lucky in our neighborhood to have many excellent private and public educational options for paloma assuming we all survive her formative years.

lately, the schools have been holding their open houses. the local ($$$$$) private school (preK thru 12) is no different (ha!). so, because i'm curious to see how the well-heeled live, i accepted the invite. i didn't realize how freaked out i was until i realized that i walked out the door - shaved, parfumed, MAC'd, brassiered, aqua neted and accessorized for the event... i am such a f*cking FRAUD!!!!!

anyway, we got there and if it weren't for another parent's blatant disregard for her kids chasing paloma - i would've actually heard what the headmaster (i know can you believe it? "headmaster". does that sound draconian or what?!) and principal were trying to say (over paloma's happy screaming).

i caught bits and pieces - how journaling begins at the preschool level....blah, blah, blah... by the second grade the students are introduced to the idea of the thesis. they write a thesis and asked to defend it....blah, blah, blah...the students here realize that being one of the cool kids means being a smart kid (hoaaark.)....naturally, the kids are very competitive, but it's very healthy....blah, blah, blah....their alumni include the anheuser-busch children....blah, blah, blah...90% of the senior class is in the cum laude society...blah,blah,blah...

finally, we got to take the tour of the campus. the campus is composed of 10 or so buildings - the art and technology building, the dining hall and library, the lower school, the upper school, the kindergarten, etc...

mind you, we're looking thru the rooms and halls which are COVERED in their acheivements - really impressive art works, essays, trophies, award winning science projects, etc... the facilities and supplies are unbelieveable and top notch. and it felt like i was on the "it's a small world" ride at disney world. i was happily surprised to find the classes were very small and very diverse. so, paloma, my little half breed mongrel babe (i kid), would fit right in. it was kinda humbling to be honest.

so, we get to the kindergarten and apparently, they want to show off. (i've mentioned before that i am an idiot. well, my idiot lights we're going apesh*t right about then. with my luck i'd have to match wits against some kindergartener and lose...)

teacher: the kindergarten will now perform "the water cycle song". *gestures grandly to class*

class: *standing up, shifting and twitching* they being to sing and gesture the following song sung to the tune of "she'll be coming round the mountain"...

"water travels in a cycle, yes it does!"
(draw big imaginary circles, around and around and around and around with one arm!)

"water travels in a cycle, yes it does!"
(repeat motion above with other arm and with feeling!)

"it goes up as evaporation!"
(slowly zig zag your jazz hands towards the ceiling)

"forms clouds as condensation"
(imagine and make a big fluffy cloud over your head with your arms)

"then comes down as precipitation, yes it does!"
(sprinkle your fingers like rain coming down from the ceiling)


i'm so NOT kidding...

are you sitting down now? well, don't take a bite of that baked good just yet. you may choke. the tuition for this school is $4K. for preschool. HALF time. (it's $13K for high school) not including the annual gift (?) of $500 or the various fees for administration and/or supplies.

the thin man thinks and i quote "schools like that are so f*cking elitist. i don't want paloma to go to a school where they teach her that her whole raison d'etre is to go to an ivy league." this coming from my man, the proud pac-10 graduate, the attorney, the republican, fraternity man, the self proclaimed intellectual snob who reads at least 15 books a month.... i was speechless...

well, we haven't written this school off yet. but i was just thinking that by the time we decide and apply and assuming she passes their "test screening" she'll be waitlisted for a minor ice age.

somehow i doubt she'd pass the screening. last night, paloma, in another fit of genius, fell off our (Very Tall) bed, while jumping on it and faceplanted. she's fine, escaped with a little scrape on her nose...

i can't believe i have to think about this. she isn't even two yet! isn't it enough that i worry about potty training, learning to share and transtitioning from crib to bed right now? f*ck. maybe i should just homeschool.

of boobies and bugs...

ok. i give. what's the deal with guys and "starship troopers" (the movie)?

i have a fair number of guy friends and i've noticed lately that while they click past the umpteenzillion channels on cable at meteoric speed (which in itself is a sickness - imho) they recognize and stop slackjawed and drooling of what i can only describe as homeric (you pick - greek or simpsons) proportions at any scene in that film (if i can call that waste of celluloid - a film).

i'm convinced it's a rudimentary breast and insect fixation. as in, staring at the hot young science teacher's boobs while she explained the body parts of a cicada to you in the 6th grade.

a) you've got the beautiful and talented, denise richards (who played, "rebecca" in "yo puta" (i think that's whore in spanish), "carla, the friendly one" in "love actually" and the "white she devil" in "undercover brother") and dina meyer (who recently played "kerry" in "saw"). you may even remember a couple of scenes where dina meyer gets nekkid - horizontally and vertically.

b) you see denise and dina kick some giant alien bug *ss with large, loud, light up firearms .

c) there's the bugs. and is it just me or does the final brain bug with the multiple eyes not look like some freaky multiple boobied bug?!

hello!! the former doogie howser is in this movie. how do you guys MISS that!? how does your manhood not shrink from the sight of him like it used to on prime time tv!?

i just dunno. i just don't get the devout, starry eyed, fascination that grown men, mature men of sophistication and taste, have for this movie...






oooo! look! "much ado about nothing" is on! awwww! i LOVE that movie!!!

i am bozo

blatant misuse of cat...


jeez louise am i bored... that's right, you heard me. i love being a mom. i love my kid. but i'm only human. i'm a multi-faceted momma. i was girlzilla before mamazilla. please stop mistaking me for the walking dead - at least for today.

what's even more pathetic is that kidzilla - a.k.a she-who-loves-to-bend-toilet-paper-to-her-will - is also bored.... today, we've danced to music, read books, completed puzzles, thrown tea party after tea party, built and deconstructed small civilizations, demolition tricycled over sponges, colored every post it and magazine, shape sorted up the gazooobo, you name it, we done it...

in my house, if you're in one place for more than 5 minutes, you're fair game and potential playground fodder... unfortunately, dressing up the cat only took about 5 minutes. she's pretty fast and once she realized how unflattering the wig was she hid dead center underneath our king size bed, where she was sure she couldn't be retrieved by any searching limbs akimbo. i should have tried the afro on her instead, much more compositionally correct...

but, thinking i could use cat toys as bait, i lined up 6 plastic cups in a row and tossed them in - think GRAND! PRIZE! GAME! from the Bozo Show (sans the prizes). well, neither the cat nor the child could be convinced that it was in fact, grand or a game.

it was then i realized, after the wig, the game and the kitchen sink, i AM bozo. ok, maybe bozo's b*tch. see, there's the bozo you know - beloved icon of children's television, cookie the clown's foil, pie thrower, game hawker, march leader. and then there's the unknown man who took off the costume, drove home, made dinner, looked in the mirror and switched off the light. for decades, he straddled the line between "dinner for two" and "chuck e cheese".

but was bozo really a bozo? a fathead? an oblivious, incompetent fool?

is that who i am now? this smiling, hokey-pokeying, crafty beavering, gratin pan wielding susie homemaker with a colorful past who occasionally goes to see live shows, drinks alcohol, worries about her fading looks, curbs her sailor's mouth, and watches soft porn disguised as foreign cinema. (right, like you don't...)

i should quit reflecting on it and just make myself a shirt.
it'll say "i am bozo" on the front and "hear me roar" on the back.

woo-hoo! it's awardapalooza!

*

to my happy, happy surprise, i recently received the "Other Than Rebekah, The Only Person That Seemed To Care That I Went To Chicago" Mango award!

and then, today i find that i've received Puglet Ponderings' "Ghetto of the Week" award!

*snoopy dance*

...all in all, WAY mo' better than the toddler technicolor yawn award i got THIS morning.... that's right, despite friday's hurl-a-thon, kidzilla's slow but steady recuperation sounded a retreat at 2:30 this a.m. when the hostile rotovirus armies proclaimed martial law on her intestines again.

oh. and now, i have a cold. so, i'll be bingeing on vitamin C drinks in a corner of our basement laundry room.

many many thanks to mango (who receives the "i still can't believe you even gave me the time of day" award) and to puglet (who receives the "please walk down the street with me so it looks like were friends" award) for endowing me with their time and their accolades.



*eons ago, mamazilla actually received this (& a large monetary) award for "outstanding fashion illustration" from the chicago fashion group. this statuette is made by the same company who makes the oscar statue.

a difficult 24 hrs...

after a very rough 24 hours, the last thing i want to find is that my blog explosion rating has PLUMMETED to 7.92! thank you anonymous blog explosion rater! i suppose it could be worse... oh wait - it WAS worse...

this all started the night before last when i absentmindedly closed the door to kidzilla's room. the second i heard the "click", i knew we were locked in.

with butterknives held aloft, we tried to open the door - me from the inside & popzilla from the outside (kidzilla status - tantrum standby). finally, we thought it might be a good idea to call in a professional. we called a half dozen 24 hr locksmiths and came up with zip. but after a good part of an hour, popzilla got me out.

lesson #1 - if you're locked in or locked out, you're also sh*t outta luck.

then, we got a call from my sismonster in law that shattered the rest of our evening and the wee early o'dark morning. apparently, i'm not doing enough for my family by staying at home and if we don't hand over a substantial amount of money (that we don't owe or have) , she'll have nothing to do with us. she's got her principles, y'know.

all i wanted to do was inhale my ben and jerry's and watch the rest of alias season one (from under the couch). apparently, that was asking too much. thank you, sismonster in law and powers that be.

the lengthy call from my sismonster in law was followed by another protracted call to the fairymom in law who was very kind, wise, relatively non-partisan and who also came up with a reasonable solution.

lesson # 2 - LOVE, honour and respect the fairymom in law.

so, i didn't get much sleep since i was still mulling over my allleged worthlessness and to top it off, the following morning, my darling kidzilla's first words were "blrrraaaaggggh!" and ta-da! last night's dinner was served - again.

and again at 8:30 and again at 9:30... we went thru more wardrobe changes than the tents during fashion week. i've never been so afraid for kidzilla. i was drowning off the harbor of worry and after her last "hoooooaaark" into the kitchen sink, i jumped to the phone to make a same day appt with the ped.

i was able to catch a ride to the ped office with popzilla. after a 15 minute wait, during which i'm sure kidzilla shared her malevolent rotovirus with the rest of the ped office, we met with our ped and the diagnosis: everything i already knew but was too insecure to believe. stomach flu. emphasize the liquid, de-emphasize the food.

did i mention our ped office is 7 blocks away?
or that i don't drive?
or that we live in a very residential area inhabited by many senior citizens?

because if you happened to be in the vicinity of western & 97th , you would have witnessed mamazilla half carrying & half bulldozing a stroller through snowbanks to get home from the ped office. i finally gave up and we ended up walking in the middle of the streets that were plowed and salted.

lesson # 3 - shovel the sidewalks for the handicapped and elderly if not for your neighborhood stay at home mom who doesn't drive.

finally, yesterday ended with us watching a medley of silent disney movies, sipping water and nibbling toast under a mound of blankets. kidzilla was constantly asking for hugs and i could totally relate to really, really, REALLY wanting my mommy.

on a funnier note, the locksmith came today. the whole time, i thought he was a she who was in need of a good chin wax. it was so very "mozart opera" in a way... take it from me, you just had to be there. kidzilla's calling. ttfn!

i've lost my mind....

so, i'm doing really well on the resolution front which would explain my absence from blogging as of late...

but, the thing is - i think i'm going crazy.

the creative side of me is keeping me awake at night. (well, that and resolution #5... oh! AND i've been introduced to the whole ALIAS phenomenon and i'm marathoning seasons 1 thru 3.)

and y'know that "take a real vacation" resolution? well, i think i may be spending some time in tennessee. for three really good reasons -

a) to visit the queen,
b) the king,
c) and the world's longest yard sale(450 miles of random)

but does renting an RV to visit graceland, dollywood and the length of highway 127 really constitute a "real" vacation? doubtful.

but, after seeing "The Day After" movie, the footage from the tsunami tragedy and the slim mounds of teetering snow on my backyard fence... it might not be a bad idea to stay relatively close to home and landlocked.

i mean, really, what could possibly happen in tennessee?

the weather report

"...The National Weather Service In Chicago IL Has Upgraded The Winter Storm Watch To A Heavy Snow Warning. The Potential For Heavy Snowfall Of 8 To 12 Inches Is Greatest North Of A Line From Lee County To Aurora To Chicago.

Will Receive Some Sleet And Freezing Rain This Evening Before Turning Over To Snow. The Heaviest Snow Will Likely Occur From The Early Afternoon Through The Late Evening Hours On Wednesday. Heavy Snow Will Reduce Visibility And Cause Roads And Walkways To Become Snow Covered And Hazardous.

Avoid Travel. If You Must Travel, Use Caution. If Traveling In Open Country Carry A Winter Storm Survival Kit Including A Shovel, Dry Clothes And Blankets, Food, A Flashlight And Cell Phone. Any Travel Is Strongly Discouraged. If You Leave The Safety Of Being Indoors, You Are Putting Your Life At Risk. "

in other news...

popzilla learned that the city is not responsible for clearing sidewalks of snow. (collective "DUH!")

kidzilla learned to say sh*t.

i learned that the sentimental novelty of snow angels is overrated, especially when that snow's in yer crack. (no drug connection implied whatsoever...)

2 advil, an omelette & a gallon of water later...

highlights from new years eve:

1. une bouteille - veuve clicquot ponsardin (said with an outrageous fraunch auksont)
2. spending quality time with my b-girl, stayC
3. not killing a family of deer* - again.

the resolutions (compiled after drinking wine from a box) :

1. spend more quality time with popzilla, the cats, family & friends
2. discontinue impersonating creative people and succeed where milli vanilli failed
3. find babysitter for kidzilla
4. less procrastination, more hasty hotfooting
5. get knocked up - again. (by popzilla)
6. take a real vacation

and so begins 2005... pace yourselves, neighbors - 362 days to go...

*scientists are currently researching the near fatal attraction of deer to moving vehicles driven by stayC & mamazilla.
to date, no deer have been harmed during study.

love thy neighbor...

the next time you see someone wearing a sweater inside out AND backwards*, please let him/her know immediately. it's a good thing. thanks.

*not that this happened to me or anything... just saying...

nutrition facts

so, something's been really bothering me lately...

if i came with a nutrition facts label i think it would go something like this:

Nutrition Facts
Serving Size 1920 oz
Serving per Container 1

Ingredients
Oxygen (65%)
Carbon (18%)
Hydrogen (10%)
Nitrogen (3%)
Calcium (1.5%)
Phosphorus (1.0%)
Potassium (0.35%)
Sulfur (0.25%)
Sodium (0.15%)
Magnesium (0.05%)
Copper, Zinc, Selenium, Molybdenum, Fluorine, Chlorine, Iodine, Manganese, Cobalt, Iron (0.70%)
Lithium, Strontium, Aluminum, Silicon, Lead, Vanadium, Arsenic, Bromine (trace amounts)

Best Before - MAR2072


see, the thing is... i'm realizing lately that i'm not easily labeled (probably due to my speedy, twinkle toed, label dodging) but on occassion, i realize i have been *sniffle* labeled.

i get the impression that i'm not liberal enough for "the liberals" nor conservative enough for "the conservatives"; not filipino enough for "the filipinos", nor american enough for "the americans"; not pro-life enough for "the pro-lifers" nor pro-choice enough for "the pro-choicers"; not artistic enough for "the artists" nor intellectual enough for "the intellectuals"; not catholic enough for "the catholics" nor tolerant enough for "the ?-theists"; not disfigured enough for "the disfigured" nor symetrical enough for "the symetrical"....

really, i don't want to be a part of a self titled group. (i'd even say i'm crowd phobic but i'm not going to insult the agoraphobics out there.) i can promise that my views may change, i'm only a mere human in possession of a faulty brain. and i realize that may make some people uncomfortable, skeptical even, but i hope that doesn't discourage you from staying a while - i may bore you to tears but i won't sell you tupperware. (flowbee, ginsu knives, mr. microphone, a variety of tv products perhaps, but no tupperware - the burping is just dreadful...)

hopefully, we'll engage in some of that archaic obsolete conversation i keep reading about...

hmmm, any tips on making this soapbox into a derby car? please & thank you?

get your free ham milkshakes! anyone!? anyone!? bueller!? bueller!?

how cute is my doorstop?!
check out my tuff lil doorstop mouse! that's right yoda, don't let the door hit ya on the way out... there's a new jedi mastuh...

which reminds me... we have ruffneck squirrels in my hood. i'm convinced it's a southside thing.

a few months back, kidzilla and i were out for a walk and i saw a squirrel get run over by a car. not only was it run over but it was
s k i d ded on. we're talking SCreeeeeeCH - as in longjohn on the vertebrae.

there was that split second of horrified realization - *gasp* "ohmygodthatpoorinnocentlittlecreaturejustgothitbyaspeedingcar"

and then the furry little punk actually got up, bounded into the neighbors yard and dug up some nuts. it had NUTS APLENTY if ya ask me...

there's another squirrel (then again maybe it's the same one) who's been terrorizing a neighbor. apparently, it' s grown quite fond of the neighbor's house and likes to hang there, literally, by it's nails, on the window screens. well, the neighbor thinks, "if i bang on the window, it'll go away." well, not only does the squirrel not go away - it urinates on the screen while hanging from it.

so, don't mess with squirrels on the south side of chicago - i'm just saying... also, more squirrelly wrath and hilarity can be found here.

anyway, i'm still recovering from christmas but i thought i should come out from under my couch to say "hi". i trust your holiday was happy - whichever holiday you chose to celebrate.

it was very odd to spend christmas eve at my aunt's house and say "merry christmas" audibly without fear of offending anyone in the room... then again, i probably offended all of my filipino relatives by saying "merry christmas" instead of "maligayang pasko".

hmm, yeah, that'll put me in therapy for a while....

suffice to say, christmas eve was lovely. my extended family rocks. christmas morning, kidzilla roared with delight at her red retro trike. she's still throwing it around willy-nilly. hasn't quite figured out the whole "ride-on" feature...

my christmas lunch went off without a hitch. the masses were sated. but of course, we have enough ham to sustain us through a nuclear winter. which is absolute gluttony because we already had two cats for that... mmm, cat - the other OTHER white meat.

...average everyday domesticated circus freak...

the red retro radio flyer trike...


see this? i put it together last night for my lil monster... *patting back, patting back, breaking arm* (it's not done yet - radio flyer sent me a defective pc. but, it'll be complete on friday...) i may still get her a pink big wheel - this is just her sunday driving vehicle....

...and this among many other things is why i am now - a domesticated circus freak...

further evidence:

a) wears a "uniform" - printed flannel pajamas, &/or sesame street underwear. (today? oscar.)
b) dances the hokey pokey, chicken dance and a variety of 80s club dance forms to entertain child and the random neighbor/skilled tradesman.
c) researches info online re: the range of dutch ovens and gratin pans that offer the best results for stews and gratin dauphinois. ("your what hurts? dolphins and potatoes?! wtf!?" my friend, E, IM'd...)
d) walks around neighborhood shops in search of a mandoline and a cheap set of 16 pc stonewear in -6 windchill.
e) is overjoyed to receive these early christmas presents: a ham and a doorstop
f) loses sleep over what to get the mail carrier for christmas

anyhoo, i have to go & flip on the christmas lights... (and for the record, whoever the f*cking joneses were, i hate 'em! probably started the whole salem witch trials for all i know, or came over with thyphoid on a boat, overachieving b*stards... )

dec 8, 1980...

let's see in december of 1980, i was eight years old... which means i was in the third grade and oh yes, sorta in between grades - it was around the time that i had gotten promoted and was trying my best to fail miserably in every class i had.

promoting someone like me to the next academic grade level in 1980 was like dressing me up in a crisp bonnet, starched blouse and voluminous skirts and sentencing me to a colonial stockade while still in the year 1980.

first of all, i was born with something called cystic hygroma - the mothership of all facial deformities - imho. second, i was one of two filipino girls (not the pretty one) in my public grade school of mostly underprivileged white and latino kids.

i should preface this by saying i love my mom. she is my hero. i can't imagine landing in a foreign country and not really knowing the country's language perfectly, then shortly thereafter, giving birth in the same country and raising a child alone - who's also sick and a girl.

my handful of years spent at avondale elementary on chicago's nw side were difficult. i remember wanting to fit in so badly, wanting to be accepted, etc. i remember wanting the right clothes and a lunchbox like all the other kids. my mom was very cognizant of my "needs" and did the best she could.

most of my clothes came from the thrift store or rummage/garage sales. (they still do. it's where my obsession for all things ebay/thrift comes from.) i asked my mom, "can you buy me garanimals clothes from a store?" my mom responded, "what are garanimals?" i replied, "they're clothes that you match up by the animals on the tags." i have to mention here that i really had NO idea what garanimals were, i got the idea, i'd heard the explanation, but i really didn't know. my mom asked "the top and the bottom match?" it was looking promising... i said "yes". and that was when i started wearing second hand pajamas to school.

wait. it gets better...

re: the lunchbox... even in the ghetto, kids had a requisite lunchbox decorated with their favorite 70s cartoon character. everyone except me. so, again, i asked my mom, "can you buy me a lunch box from a store?" my mom replied, "what's a lunchbox?" i offered, "it's a box that you put your lunch in." and she returned, "oh, sure, i can do that." and that was when i started bringing a large porcelain sugarbowl (w/ a rubberband around it to clasp it shut) to school.

here's an idea: let's promote the freaky looking, asian girl brainiac who wears pajamas and brings a rubberbanded porcelain sugarbowl (filled with rice, banana chips and prunes) to school.

i'll never forget walking into my first class as a promoted student. it was absolutely terrifying. everyone was SO much bigger than me in MY class - but they were G I A N T S in this new one. i failed every test i got and did everything i could to be put back in my class - which they did.

but, the damage was done. the legend of my historic rule as school freak was wrought - i was the standard to which all future freaks would be measured.

y'know... i was originally going to wax poetic about how yoko ono and john lennon helped to perpetuate the stereotype of the asian female/white male couple. and in doing so, how their relationship haunts my own "sellout" existence with my "white" husband and my "mongrel" child. but that's a post for another day....

today, i'll remember sitting in the dark next to my mom. she was sipping some red wine with ice and then offered me a sample sip too. her face was lit up by the gray blue fuzz of the tv and the tears were streaming down her face as the details of lennon's death were broadcast. no sounds, just tears.

today, i'll be listening to some lennon in remembrance of the other man that made my mom cry.

stuffed animal fornication

i think everyone should have a retail job during the winter holiday season sometime in their too short lives. my theory is that after every person gets the sh*t kicked out of him/her by the blood-thirsty, holiday reduction obsessed hoi polloi, s/he gains a little perspective and the world becomes a much better, calmer, happier place.

while in college, i worked for one of the oldest and most respected toy stores in the world.

yes. that one.

and except for the theme song (which by the way, when you get the job, they tell you that you hear it while you sleep for a few days and they are not kidding), it was one of the best jobs of my life.

ok, so the actual working hours weren't all that much fun admittedly. the constant questions:

"do you have *insert brand name of toy, vague description, ancient year of issue, random series #, limited edition nightmare color & useless size*? is it still on sale? it better be because i made a special trip..."

and the complaints:

"this one isn't "fresh" (said while holding aforementioned inanimate toy at arm's length). can you get another one from stock? and you people can't wrap. just let me do it."

from duty bound parents and their overstimulated kids.

and kids, if there's a lesson to be learned, it's this - you never, never, ever, ever, ever want to piss off an overworked, underpaid grunt in the retail regiment - especially IN their place of employment. and it doesn't matter if the irrefutable question and/or grotesque complaint is regurgitated out of the mouth of an obscenely rich, beautiful and famous person or a regular, obscenely rich, beautiful joe. winona, take notes.

anyway, after closing, the click of the lock left us refreshed and renewed - we'd begin to work dilligently to clean & to get our specified areas straightened so we could go home. but, there was something dark and primitive deep inside of us, working its way up to our shiny vulnerable surfaces and one thing would lead to another and we'd be blaring blatantly anti-oompaloompa music, engaging in sanguinary nerf bow & arrow wars, late nite b-movie gak theatre, painfully slow demolition derby and then we'd dive to our most plebian and utterly base depths - the stuffed animal orgy.

oh, the horror, the corruption!!! *fade to black*

well, the poor defenseless, decaffeinated morning crew would arrive thru the rear entrance. in the back office, they'd put their things away in their cubbies, sip their coffee, nibble on a croissant, chit chat and finally, they'd enter the store and begin the routine of morning duties.

and then, you'd hear it, the collective gasp (and hysterical laughter) as the dimmer knobs were turned and our night shift masterpiece revealed - our cute and cuddly visual aids to the world of sexual slang - it was "puddles" buffing the beaver with "bixby", "chaplin" spanking the cat with "spencer", "madge" bumping fuzzies with "melvin", "patrick" doing it doggy style with "bootsie", "felix" feeding the kitty with "dreyfus", "biscuits" givin' the "george" a banana, "ozzie" riding "chuck", the pony - all of these and more would be on brazenfaced display in the licentious stuffed animal section.

it. was. anarchy. (oh, c'mon, like ANYONE would have noticed...)


wow. hmm, it's like i need a ciggy now....

so, ya like quizzes, do ya?

i notice that when i'm surfing thru blogs (via BE or that handy "next blog" button on blogger) that when bloggers get blocked they turn to quizzes for some help. so, here i am - blocked - turning to a quiz for some left brain lube...

and according to this quiz "i am a modern day idiot".

below are some sample questions from an 1885 admissions examination to jersey city high school: (i stole the quiz from "how i accidentally joined the vast right wing conspiracy (and found inner peace)" by harry stein.)


algebra (on second thought. let's skip this part - i can't type this stuff out.... if you REALLY want the questions. feel free to email me.)

geography

1. name four principal ranges of mountains in asia, three in europe and three in africa.

2. name the states on the west bank of the mississippi, and the capital of each.

u.s. history

3. what event do you connect with with 1565, 1607, 1620, 1664, 1775?

4. what caused the mexican war? what was the result? what american general commanded at the capture of the city of mexico?

grammar

5. write a sentence containing a noun used as an attribute, a verb in the perfect tense potential mood, and a proper adjective.

6. write the declension of (a) bird, (b) man, (c) fly, (d) fox, (e) it.

7. make three sentences, using the plural of sheep (a) in the nominative case, (b) in the possessive, (c) in the objective.


ANSWERS

1. himalayas, urals, hindu kush and khangal; alps, carpathians and pyrenees; atlas, drakenberg and ethiopian highlands

2. louisiana (baton rouge); arkansas (little rock); missouri (jefferson city);iowa (des moines); and minnesota (st. paul)

3. 1565 - pedro menendez de aviles founded st. augustine, fl. 1607 - jamestown settled., 1620-103 pilgrims landed at plymouth rock. 1664-british seized new netherland from the dutch. 1775-battles of lexington and concord.

4. manifest destiny, diplomatic blundering and instability of american government;california, new mexico and arizona became part of us and texas border was established at rio grande; zachary taylor.

5. my expertise tells me that i am going to fail this english test, since i'm guessing a lot.

6. (a) bird, birds (b) man, men (c) fly, flies (d) it, its

7. (a) the sheep are in the meadow. (b) the sheep's wool was carded (c) we sheared all the sheep.

the ghost of turkeys past...

i have very very fond memories of turkey days... especially those i experienced while living in san francisco. you say, "turkey", i say "gay men" and "boston market".

my first roomates were steven, sam, buttons, frisbee and monster. *insert obligatory flashback shimmer here* that's me, in the living room of that apt where the guy just urinated on the stoop. i'm the hill of blankets on that futon covered in cats. the guy wearing the yellow monkey fur? that's sam. the guy wearing the plaid lumberjack robe and a sunflower scrunchie in his hair... that's steven.

for thanksgiving, it was our tradition to attend dinner at a fabulously decorated home owned by a sparkling gay man and then get wasted drunk somewhere in the castro, only to awaken seemingly decoupaged to our beds.

this year was like all the others. we were post feast, rolling each other down the hills, picking up random revelers in our wake. i remember we started the night at the Cafe, then we ended up at another bar, the Pendulum, i think... and then...

well, then all i remember was waking up, cheek to sticky floor of another bar. i vaguely remember steven, vertical, laughing so hysterically that he skipped away. and then, sam helping me into a cab and climbing in after me, his body shuddering in his failed efforts to repress his rolling cachinnations - in my haze, i realized "sam is a canary jell-o hellion come alive".

i'll spare you the details of the moronic emergency room visit.... suffice to say, the golfball on my forehead (from the doorstop that cushioned my fall) finally disappeared a few days later.

so, what does all of this have to do with boston market? um, nothing really - well, i guess the common denominator is the consumption of big dead birds and another non native sf holiday tradition.

so, i lived with steven and sam for only a few months (we did share a ravaged bird or two and anonymous vats of liquor again, later in my sf years) then, i flew the coop and got my own nest in the tenderloin and lived near another bird named elena, my greek born, british bred, closeted virgin, chain smoking, newcastle drinking, private investigator, next door neighbor, and dearest beloved friend.

elena and i (the all-inclusive holiday feasters) celebrated ye olde turkey massacre with the other pseudo homeless, shower deprived and unidentified but charming masses at boston market. i know - who woulda thunk that anything - especially a boston market - would be open on thanksgiving? well, apparently all the dregs of humanity on polk street knew the 411 on the BM (boston market, not... oh, nevermind). then, it was off to "the castle" for pints, chips and unruly behavior (including cheating at darts) with random boys.

come to think of it, we also celebrated christmas at BM but we'd bring some imported english crackers (as in - poof! STREAMERS! yay! not - salty. crumby. yucky.) with us - we caused quite a stir... oh yes, we did.

these are my little memories... *sigh*, *head tilt*. i should stop now or i'll break into song and we just can't have that.

anyway, i hope you had a lovely holiday and that as you raised fork (or spork) to mouth you realized that you (like me) had and were something to be thankful for.

wouldn't it be weird if blogging women cycled at the same time?

(my ol' bike, named "ajax", from electra ...)

but i'm not talking about uni-, bi-, tri- or motor-. i have cycles on the brain, gentle reader...

i was just thinking about when i worked at an art gallery and all four of us realized one freakish day that we were all cycling at the same time. (yep, i'm talking about "the curse", "aunt flo", my "friend".)

i think it's because of the charting. the temp taking, the... um, gathering of input material for... nevermind. it's supposed to be this useful tool in predicting when i am at my most fecund (love that word. so pre-raphaelite. so jessica rabbit).

it's supposed to help me take charge of my fertility! so far, it's bearing a stronger resemblance to a useless extra screw from a bookcase which has more control over me than i have of it. but that's a subject for another unread post.

anyway, according to my chart, i'm just another day or so away from my "rose parade". i really want to be optimistic since i recently had so much sex that i thought i sprained my hair. i had optimal cervical fluid. it was right before ovulation. my temperature is up. yada yada yada - all that good stuff. but i can only remain in denial for so long - the cramping is too obvious and my devouring chocolate is so obscene, it borders on the pornographic. oh, and i can't stop snapping my husband's head off when he says "hi".

ok, stream of pms consciousness shift here - so, i read somewhere that a pregnant woman carrying a daughter is also carrying her grandchild since every female fetus contains all the eggs the newborn child will have. how cool is that?! well, ok, i can accept that i'm the only one who thinks it's very cool.

i really want to have another child. i want my daughter to have a sibling. i really would like my husband to have a son. i know there's always adoption. it's an option that we were open to long ago. but, i LOVED being pregnant. i actually miss it.

anyway, i'm going to bed now if only to apologize profusely to my wonderful husband. it's weird though how an apology can feel so commonplace now, and maybe useless in a way, like teaching a turtle how to fetch.

is it a lamb? is it a purse?

after my daughter was born (on 03/03/03) my cousin, wyndee, sent this as a gift. now, my daughter is old enough to appreciate it. she loves this little guy. well, we're talking about the same child who has a fond attachment to my husband's shoe horn.


view #1


view #2



view #3 (wtf?!)


anyway, somewhere in a factory in china, there's someone laughing hysterically in quality control.

i dedicate this post to you! i applaud you! :') signed, former garment industry slave.

cookie monster? chicagoland resident...

warning - you may want to shoo your sesame street fanatics outta the room...

ok. are they gone?

i just don't want to burst any "big-bird-is-real" bubbles. (well, of COURSE, big bird is real, sweetie!!!)

i should preface this by saying - i am a HUGE sesame street fan. well, more muppet show than sesame street, but you know what i mean... so, i was recently informed that a friend of mine is friends with a sesame street muppeteer. AND not only, does she KNOW a muppeteer. she was allowed BEHIND the scenes at sesame street during a recent visit to nyc. (you suck, meemers - but thanks for my hot (as in, stolen) bowling shoes.) she actually got to meet many of the voices behind the muppets including the voice of elmo, kevin clash (who also did the voice for baby sinclair on the 80s prime time show, "dinosaurs").

this encouraged me to google sesame street in hopes of finding my own way into "the inner sanctum" (lotta good that did me - nada, zip, zilch, gornischt). anyway, i came upon an intesting factoid...

cookie monster is an illinois resident! :) *doing the roger rabbit* that's right! we have john cusack, oprah AND cookie monster. CHICAGO ROCKS! nee nar nee nar nee nar....

anyway, listen to the chicago public radio interview with david rudman here . david rudman is also the voice of baby bear and strangely, the fingerman from the ziploc bag commercials. don't remember that guy? count yourself in the "haves".

in conclusion, a) i have to somehow beg, cheat or steal my way into sesame street. and b) i have GOT to see that show avenue q on broadway. (the story (told with puppets and former/current muppeteers!!!) of a nyc newbie, his hood - avenue q - and its eclectic collection of neighbors, including gary coleman as the bldgs super.) the reviews have been great, not to mention the nod (three tony awards, including best musical) from the theatre community. c) i have to get off my *ss & rescue my daughter from the foreign madness that is lazy town.

nigella, so close and yet so far...

years ago, i actually took cooking lessons - really expensive, intensive, you-might-as-well-be-attending-culinary-school-with-the-amount-of-time-&-money-you're-spending-on-a-few-weeks-of-lessons - from Tante Marie in san francisco. if you're looking for basic cooking lessons - i highly recommend this school and its classes.

anywho... of the many things i gleaned (i love that word) from my steamy, spicey, aromatic time at the cooking class - the rejuvenating quality of lemongrass soup , sell your organs for a set of good knives, honey + bourbon + carrots = yum! - i was introduced to the recipes of Nigella Lawson.

she truly is the domestic goddess i wants ta be when i grows up and grows up and grows up. and if i were a guy, i wouldn't kick her outta bed either. it's very complex, my love for nigella, who just happens to be on a book tour and just happenned to visit this midwestern hamlet this past weekend... *sigh*

i patiently waited a full hour (just an hour?) for nigella. in that hour, i moved five feet - MAYBE. (the above pic was taken on the sly, as close as i could get without getting hauled away and with a zoom lens) but her new book, which i shoulda bought (but i could not stand in another line!), Feast, is filled with her wonderful comforting recipes dressed in her comedy and wit. i do have her earlier book, How To Eat, which is underlined, dogeared, stained with soy sauce and oily now. i have yet to attempt her "white-trash (how un-PC!) lunch for 6" which includes ham in coca-cola, parsley potatoes, snow peas and young peas and cherry pie. but, the easy peasy carbonara recipe is awesome!

anyway, nigella, wherever you are, you truly inspire me, but there was no way i was missing a dinner at NoMi - even for you. stalking will resume from afar....

four words.

the amazing race six

if you haven't seen this show. you have got to watch it tonight! tivo, if you must! it's a two hour season premiere. this is the best reality show on TV. i don't watch reality show really, but this one hooked me from season one. for you TAR fans - did you guys hear that old teams would be running commentary this season? i don't know how i feel about flo's whine echoing thru my house.

>:(

oh yeah, i've heard a rumor that TAR6 actually started here in chicago. i can't believe i missed them!!!!

...i am yarn-less...

and so begins another quest for another creative process... anyone got a writing excercise just lying around?

i've seen one circulating on the blogs - something about grabbing a book and opening to page 23 and quoting the fifth sentence. hello, john irving. hello, john wheelwright.

"It was a stone church, and there was a ground floor or even underground mustiness to the place, which was overcrowded with dark wood bric-a-brac, somber with dull organ pipes, garish with confused configurations of stained glass - through which not a single branch of tree was visible." (ok, so that was the sixth sentence. the fifth sentence smelled like feet and *ss. )

i saw another one on the Ellis Paul discussion forum that looked interesting:

1) Name your character-- Do you use the real name, just their first name, or something suggestive that perhaps adds some anonymity, or color to the story... Your choice, but be careful, you don't want someone to get mad at you...

2) Describe five items in the persons bedroom. what do these items tell you about the character? How old is the character? what does he like to do? How does he live?

3) The Character looks into a mirror, what does he see? name five things... what do these things show us about the character? how does he take care of his appearance. Is he proud of himself? Shy? Disappointed? Where is his ego?

4) Assign the character two colors... colors literally paint a scene or a person... you might only use a color in passing, but it helps create mood and understanding. what do these suggest?

5) assign the character a non human twin... this creates a metaphor, for the person-- solid as an oak tree-- wise as an owl... that type of thing-- don't be afraid of feeling like you are reaching when writing this one down, you can disguise and smarten it up when you frame it in a sentence or song lyric... so it looks less like Disney when it's edited...

6) Give your character a voice-- what does he sound like-- what might he say? what does this reveal about your character?

ok, so that's a start - in the meantime, i really am looking for plus d'excercises d'écriture.

so, share the wealth already.

thank you for reading my blog, all of you anonymous blog explosion readers!

i really just wanted to say thank you - i appreciate you taking the time (personally, i can do many things in 30 sec - due to a program that auto-installs when you have a child) to stop and read my pointless, misspelled & grammatically challenged blather...

i'm new to the blog phenomena, blogger and especially new to blog explosion and it's sparkle*y accessories. i just noticed (when i clicked on basically everything you could possibly click on) that 3 people voted favorably for this, my humble blog, and that two readers have actually blogmarked me. so, THANKS! :) oh, and where ARE my manners?!

HI! howareya!? *waving to screen* i'll talkatcha soon!

things i would want for christmas if i was still 7 years old.

"...Includes recipes from: Rick Bayless, Mark Bittman, Erik Blauberg, Flo Braker, Clare Crespo, Tom Douglas, Rob Feenie, Bobby Flay, Gale Gand, Eleni Gianopolous, Martin Howard, Mollie Katzen, David Lebovitz, Emily Luchetti, Alice Medrich, Mary Sue Milliken, Cindy Pawlcyn, Caprial Pence, Guillermo Pernot, Colette Peters, Anne Quatrano, Amy Scherber, Rob Seideman, Art Smith, Walter Staib, Sherry Yard..."

"...eatery has over 40 funky pieces, including chairs, a revolving sushi table, chopsticks, and a karaoke stage with mike..."


"....VOICE FX technology allows action figures to not only shout commands and talk, but it also causes realistic facial movements of the characters...."

who am i kidding? i still want this stuff at 32. and i still have toys from my childhood that i hide from my child.

there are 1,440 minutes in a 24 hour day. i have already thought of myself as a horrible mother once today - only 1,439 times to go.

beastie boys! scratch and sniff.

by the end of the weekend (beastie boys, hideout, bowling), coats were getting aired out all over the house. my poor lungs - i feel like i was wearing them outside, scarf-like.

speaking of which... of the many high points from the beastie boys show i can include - my fake burberry scarf (it's a souvenir from my honemoon in venice) getting dissed, drinking "wine-from-a-box" brand vino @ $6.50/dixie cup and NOT getting carded >:( but despite these petit snafus- the beastie boys (showing a teeny tiny itty bitty little age) r o c k e d.

if you haven't seen this show - by all means, do yourself a favor and get your rheumatic fanny to whatever large impersonal arena is hosting this circus NOW (no, i can't translate this into italian, sorry). if you like vegas show dogs, the bass turned up and the beatbox in your chest cavity, your favorite arcade game playing on large concert screens, ruffle tuxedo shirts and the familiar garage screenprint tee - you will like this show. it's excessive and anthemic and yet, you'll feel right at home.

here's a link to their blog featuring the set list and comments - unforunately, no comments from the boys about the chicago show - http://www.beastieboys.com/blog.php?&page=4

and lastly, to the unknown lovely girl who was sitting next to me who was going in for chemo treatments the following day- BIG WARM HUGS - can't stop thinking about you! to the tall jerks who nicked the seats in front of me - a UTI on your bachelor pad! to S - thank you for reminding me that even though i feel (and probably look) 40 - i'm still in my early 30s and more than overly qualified to shake my old school *ss with the p.y.t.

knitting palooza!!!

i actually made something!!!

i am a knitting fiend. if i can't hear the scritch scritch of graphite on cold press bristol board i guess the clicking of metal (yuck) knitting needles will have to suffice. would you buy this scarf from me? or here's another prop - if you buy the yarn, i will make you a scarf. i'll post a pic of the another one i'm finishing later. i need to visit ye olde art supply store... oh, creative process, you are the butch to my femme.

to shower or to blog? that is the question.

...i can't believe i'm sitting here typing.


a severed hand - realistic, no?

my little pets here turned out to be the hit of the front porch yesterday. so glad the postman doesn't deliver on sundays. he would've had my head on a plate - he's a very surly & unpredictable man, the neighborhood postal worker...

well, my display of 288 spiders really didn't look all that impressive. you'd think that 288 spiders would prove to be a daunting obstacle course (yeah, they're fake. but their shiny, black, eight legged, heebie jeebie creepie crawlie-ness is evident nonetheless).

the littlest kids were only slightly freaked out (due to the ratio of LARGE dad to tiny spider). it seemed they were more disturbed by the bloody severed hand (mwahahahahahaha!) than the spiders. so, i'll have to saunter off into the halloween sunset and retool my plague scenario for next year.

the wierd thing is that in the light of this morning it looks as if i have fewer than 288 spiders. which could mean many (ok, 3.) things:

1) kids have absconded with my spiders
2) birds and squirrels have absconded with my spiders
3) the spiders are actually real and were shipped to me in a state of suspended animation. during the night, they woke up and are eagerly awaiting my bidding (they owe me since i cut off their rings - the shackle of indentured servitude to some high school goth wannabe) somewhere in the deep dark recesses of the house.

please Lord, let my plastic ringless minions be hungry and make them eat all the freakin' infidel ants!