Fear and Loathing

I have been thinking a bit about fear. Once, in a pre-blogging blog, I wrote about what happens when you face the people or situations which you admire (or to some degree, fear). I tried to link it here, but evidentally the source is broken. (For you long time readers, think back to the Bernadette Peters entry from my trip to Italy blog) I have had this happen to me but I don't think I have learned enough to consistently extrapolate it into life.

In the last few weeks, and more importantly, hours, I have realized that my Voldemort is stupid. Really, really dim. I have feared, made life decisions, had personal image issues, and during a time of teenage melodrama and angst- tried to take my own life, based on things I was told by my own personal he-who-must-not-be-named. And even though the demon was vanquished over 2 decades ago, it was always with me...in the back of my mind, whispering those evil thoughts in the back of my brain. And if it sounds as though I am speaking in code, I am. With reason. As Voldemort has returned and as I just figured out, he is not the sharpest took in the shed, but he might just read my blog.

In related news, it turns out God is unhappy. Not your god...a different one, I guarantee. Still, he is unhappy to a degree, and very very human. Also, quite possibly as big of a dork as I am and completely fun and nice, after all. Isn't that weird? (I don't know, Ariella, because you're still talking in code and it is kind of confusing to figure out what on earth you are referring to). Well, let me assure you: it is weird!

So what is all of this about fear and loathing? Shhhhh. It means nothing. Fear of other people, loathing people, envy, holding on to what people may say or worse even, what they think, is meaningless, worthless, and really really bad for you! I am going to free myself from these chains that have held me for almost 3 decades. I am done worrying about "them". I just figured out that them is just one of us after all. And at least one of them is stupid.

Does my computer know that I'm fat?

It started with the targeted facebook ads- lose 600 pounds of belly fat in 20 days! Pictures of flabby flabby bellies turning into sculpted toned abs lined my home page. Thankfully, only I saw them. In discussing with some friends, it turned out they also were getting these ads, and so my paranoia that my computer had a secret camera to judge me via facebook ads was alleviated. Seems as though if you are over 35, they just assume you want to have less belly fat. Great. Even the Jillian Michaels ads could theoretically just be playing into (almost) every woman’s biggest fear.

So I log onto my yahoo account this morning, and I see a little picture of a heavyset woman in my ad area with the following caption: Find BBW singles in your area! Now. For those of you who don’t know (bless your heart), BBW means Big Beautiful Woman in personals codespeak. What exactly is going on here? Is it random? Is it targeted, as I think most of the ads are nowadays? And if so, upon what are they basing this particular target? I mean, surely they don’t think that I am on the hunt for a BBW based on my email content (really, not my type). So, are they gambling on the fact that as someone who would fall into that category, I might click there hoping to put up my own ad for someone to find me? It’s just weird!

Paranoia, paranoia, everybody’s coming to get me…

Fancy

We spend a lot of time in my house discussing being fancy. Capital F and ancy was the battle cry at college, but even now, “fancy” remains a favorite adjective. Perhaps it should then not be a surprise that my almost 5 year old boy is uber concerned with being fancy, whether it is about his own fanciness or the fanciness of others, fancy is where it’s at. And fancy is more than just about what you are wearing or how you look. Fancy is a state of mind.

We have a fancy president. I love saying that. I love not having to say “we have a stupid president”. It really makes me giddily happy. And after my experiences of the last week, I would have to say that it makes a whole ton of people giddily happy as well. The amount of Obama paraphernalia being sold and purchased within the city limits of D.C. was staggering. I saw t-shirts, sweatshirts, scarves, buttons, key chains, hats, beanies, calendars, photos, shot glasses, posters, postcards, coffee mugs, tote bags, purses, wallets, and my personal favorite- molded chocolate lollipops with his face on it. Really? Is it appropriate for me to be eating my president? (insert token Monica Lewinski joke here). It was amazing. I was sure they would run out, with that many millions of people buying stuff, how could they have enough stock? But judging by the vendors on the mall the next day, they were well prepared. He has rock star status…he is fancy…and that makes me happy.

We went to the inauguration and we were fancy. I would argue that aside from the people sitting on the capital steps themselves, we had the fanciest experience of anyone there. In fact, I would say sitting with my mimosa, watching the folks on the mall watching the folks on the steps, looking down at the canons for the 21 gun salute, we maybe had the fanciest experience including those people on the steps. This mainly happened by chance. A friend of Michael’s passed very suddenly in November. He was supposed to do something for someone which Michael took over doing as a favor. The person that Michael helped is a member of this law firm, and upon hearing of our trip, insisted on putting all of us on the guest list. We weren’t even sure we would take advantage of it, or what it would entail. We honestly had no idea. But we made it there, through the pissy purple ticket holders, through the rent-a-cops (literally) from as far away as Alabama, shivering in their uniforms, as clueless as the swarms around them, and through the once beautiful hedges which framed the building which had been ripped up, out and practically disintegrated by the overzealous crowds. We made it into the building, and Michael likes to say it was as though the heavens opened and choirs of angels sang “Ahhhhhhhhhh” in perfect harmony around us as the doors closed behind. It was fancy.

Inauguration Organically

I have been trying to write the whole thing down for days. It's crap. It's all crap. I can't possibly bottle or recreate what the whole experience was like. I could write a (really boring) book on every last detail of the day, and from the drivel I have been coming up with, I am getting close to that.

Here is the thing. It was amazing. It was. It was cold, and crazy, and crowded. It was full of hope and patriotism and excitement in a way I have never ever felt before. And that was all by 7am. In retrospect, taking the kids held us back in a way from the "whole experience". There was no concert, no parade, no balls...we had to do things in their consideration and they really hated it anyway. They were cold and bored and uncomfortable. They were pissed we weren't actually "seeing" Obama. In the moment, they could care less that we were witnessing history. We've been working hard on the revisionist history and I wouldn't have wanted to not take them, but it did change things.

We did luck out though. Michael getting us into the fancy party at the law firm was a stroke of luck that I would have never imagined. Watching the proceedings with a heater, a catered breakfast and lunch, an ice scuplture (actually 2), an open bar, Katie Couric within shouting distance and a bunch of (really wealthy) very nice people was a very different experience than we expected. They looked at me a bit strangely when I burst into "Ding Dong The Witch is Dead", as soon as Bush's helicopter flew away...but they were all waving goodbye with glee, so I thought it would be appropriate.

We got the steerage ambiance for a couple of hours downstairs in the streets jammed with people. I loved it, I loved having the crowd burst into Of Thee I Sing and America the Beautiful, I loved seeing all the excited people in their giant fur coats and fur hats next to all the excited people wrapped up in blankets and aluminum foil, everyone thrilled to be there. There was a moment of slight panic for the safety of my children, when the crowd surged...but we huddled together and felt like the rock in the middle of the stream while the salmon swam madly around us. And as much as I loved all of that, being able to exit it into comparable paradise was pretty amazing. Exiting the building back into the street after was like being in a post apoctolypic movie. I think each and every flier that had been handed out, each "free" newpaper which had been printed, were all strewn and tossed into the street...much to the children's chagrin. It seems hope includes hope that someone else will clean up our trash. Although, to be fair, as much as the city planned for the bodily funtions of the millions of people descending, it didn't seem that any extra trash receptacles had been set out.

We tried to hold out for the parade, but then the wind picked up, the temp dropped, and the whining of the children got to me, so we had to head back. It was a long day for all of us. A fantastic, wonderful, hopeful, inspirational, beautiful long day.

If I can find the voice to discuss details, I will...but I needed to get something down for the meantime.

Pre-Inauguration

About 2 weeks before the election, Michael came home with a thought. “You know”, he said, “If Obama actually manages to pull this off, it would be pretty incredible to be able to take the kids to the inauguration.” And thus started our journey. Two weeks later, I sat in front of the television, tears of joy and disbelief streaming down my face, with my laptop on my lap, a US Airlines reservation page with 4 tickets ready to be confirmed waiting in front of me. With all of us- Michael, Magnolia, Max, Nicole and Colleen sitting in the living room, waiting to exhale, Charlie Gibson said the words which changed history. Not pausing to wipe away the tears, I hit the button- SUBMIT.

We are so lucky. We are lucky to have won that election. We are lucky to have the means to fly to DC. We are lucky to be able to take the time off work and school. We are super lucky that 2 of our favorite people in the world happen to live right outside DC in a gigantic house with a guest suite and 2 kids the same ages as ours. We can’t even begin to count our blessings, we feel so lucky right now…and if we weren’t sure, today confirmed it.

We arrived on Saturday…the plane trip was uneventful, thankfully, because our arrival was a little bloody. Not our blood, but the blood of our host (now, that sounds Catholic) who, upon running to meet us inside, mistook the glass wall for a open space and split his head open. Several panicky cell phone calls, an enthusiastic EMT, a drive through Baltimore, dinner, and 6 stitches later, we were settled in to our east coast vacation home…feeling like we’ve never left.

Sunday was a day of cooking, eating, hanging out, laughing, cooking, eating, catching up, eating, and (for me and Michelle) an intense tear-jerking movie (Rachel Getting Married- excellent). Pretty much perfect. I know there was an incredible concert in the city, but honestly, with the 2 kids, we figured it was more than we could handle, so we stayed close to home. But Monday rolled around and we thought heading into the city would be good, if for nothing else than to have a trial run and get to see another good friend.

We met our friend Julie at the National Zoo and walked around for a few hours. The hippos were really fucking big…and the Zebras were just fucking. Snow was falling, but just in the novel sort of way, and we were plenty prepared. It was lovely. The zoo wasn’t very busy, but as we were walking back to the metro stop, we noticed the buses. Maybe 20 of them, in a row, all heading down the street we were on. Different charter companies- some with hints of their contents inside (Mariott Suites Inauguration delegation), all politely and resignedly inching their way down the bare tree lined street. In front of us, a group of teenagers kicking a piece of ice which they decided to try to kick all the way onto the subway, and behind us, groups of tourists with badges and nice outfits which didn’t keep them warm enough talking excitedly in groups about which balls they were attending.

We arrived at the subway station and I asked to wait a moment before going down, because I wanted to go and check out the vendors, who were being slammed by the folks coming off of those charter buses. I had decided I wanted to make a quilt to commemorate the event, and that I wanted to do it with a combination of t-shirts and photos, so I had to check out what my options were. I found a fantastic shirt for the center of the quilt, but it was sold out. When I asked if I could have the display, the first guy told me it was damaged, and I explained that I would be cutting off the center anyway, so he asked the owner of the booth, who sheepishly admitted that he wanted to keep it for himself. I went with my second choice, and managed to snag the last large…hoping tomorrow would present me with more options, and hopefully more inexpensively. But at least I have one. I got a few buttons too, at the request of my mother in law, and then we headed back down the gigantic escalator into the throes of folks heading all about the city for their individual celebrations.

Folks sporting all sorts of Obama gear, everyone talking to each other, asking how far they’d come, plans for Tuesday, strategies for dealing with the event, comparing garment bags filled with ball gowns, the energy was like nothing I had ever experienced. Above us, at Dupont Circle, we found out later, someone had made a giant balloon of soon to be former president Bush with a “Mission Accomplished” sign across his chest and people were hurling shoes at it. In the subway, from the signs on the train, to the billboards at every stop, to the happy chatter amongst the travelers, nothing seemed to matter anymore except the change and hope for the future that we all have.

We returned tonight, prepared and excited for tomorrow. As my kids would say, today was just the appetizer.

Mornings with Max

As much as I look forward to a time when I have the time to devote to my work on a daily basis- both Quilting Mama work and actual office work, I will so miss my mornings with Max when he starts kindergarten in the fall. Here are some excerpts from our conversations thus far today:

Max (holding screwdriver): Mama, do you have something I can screwdrive?
Me: (washing dishes): Huh?
Max: I need to screwdrive something, please!
Me: Oh, um, sorry sweetheart, I don't have anything that I can think of that needs screwdriving (enjoying my new verb).
Max: But MOM! I really really need to screwdrive SOMETHING.
Me: Yeah, you might want to get used to that.
Max: Huh?
Me: Why don't you check outside, honey. Maybe you'll find something.

Before this conversation, I had the required 10 minutes of "how old are you, Mama?" to which I am supposed to answer truthfully sometimes, and completely randomly other times. He goes through our family, and then talks about our relative ages...sometimes fictional ages, sometimes the real ones. This gets tiresome.

This one was earlier this morning:
Max: Mama, in Mulan all the boys fight in the war and Mulan has to pretend to be a boy.
Me: Uh-huh.
Max: But why? Why don't they let girls go to China?
Me: They do allow girls in China, honey, it is just that a long time ago, in olden times, they didn't let girls fight in wars in China. ( I think this may still be true, I just wasn't sure)
Max: Why?
Me: Because they thought that girls weren't as strong or as smart as boys.
Max: Why do they gender stereotype like that? They're big gender stereotypers.
Me: Yes, honey. Lots of people are. Even today and even not in China.
Max: But we don't. We aren't big gender stereotypers.
Me: We do our best.

He went on to discuss how Magnolia and I are very smart girls. Yay.

And I do have piles and piles to get through still, but hey, I can do them while he's screwdriving.

Things I Cannot Tell You

I miss my secret blog. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy writing here, and although I have no followers (*sniff*) I am pretty sure somebody is reading my drivel...and I appreciate it. It's good for me to get out all the insanity in my head, or at least most of it, and this is what I mean.

After Max was born, I suffered from postpartum depression followed by an identity crisis and a cancer diagnosis. It was a rough time. I wasn't me- at all. There were things I did, thoughts in my head, ideas that made no sense and were turning me into someone else. I found myself by writing. I started a real blog, which quickly became the cancer update place, which thankfully was moot as soon as they took the cancer away. I started a myspace blog very similar to this one, but didn't really keep it up, plus only fellow myspacers really read it. But I needed somewhere secret to write my darkest thoughts...more secret than a journal, because after all, what is a journal more than a place for people to read your secrets after you die? And no, I didn't want that. So my secret blog was born. There were things I wrote there that I would have no problem sharing now...but at the time, it was so secret, so crazy, and me not having a good sense of self anymore, there was no way I could put that out for public consumption. Well, not public who knew me anyway.

In my secret blog, I called my real life self "Little Mommy Sunshine". I felt like I was putting on an act in my life, an act where everything was perfect and there were never problems more severe than the cable guy putting in the cables wrong. In my secret blog, I wrote about everything...my deepest darkest thoughts and what I did with them. In detail. I had about 5 followers, people I had allowed to access after making certain that I did not know them in any way...even though my information was anonyous, my details enough off where someone who knew me wouldn't be able to figure it out, I was super Sidney Bristow about the whole thing. But like all covert black ops spies with a heart, I grew to feel for those folks who helped me out of the road to darkness and helped me (through just reading my thoughts in my own voice and by never ever being judgemental) find my way back to the light. Three of those folks, I eventually granted access to my real life. One I have met and consider an exceptionally important friend with whom I still share more than I share with anyone else. But I have since stopped writing there. I didn't need it anymore, really, which is a good thing. But that doesn't mean I don't miss it. Unfortunately, it isn't something I can really pick back up...it's pretty much defunct now, and those folks have all moved on. I have not the time, inclination or the energy to do it all over again, so now I just live with my secrets inside my head. Which is fine for now.

I toy with the idea of writing a book, but I think it would be selfish. A way for me to get out all the thoughts in my head, but potentially painful for some people...and I am nothing if not conscious of not appearing selfish. :)

RHPS

Last night I went to the Nuart Theater for the 21st anniversary of the Infamous Live Shadowcast, the Sins O' The Flesh, of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I was in this cast from the age of 15-20. I presided as cast leader for one year, until I gave it up for a boyfriend, with whom I then broke up and went running back to my garters and high heels. I played Magenta, the domestic...but at one point or another, played every role. It was a huge part of my informative years, and helped make me who I am, as much as anything else. I always enjoy going to our little reunion show, but last night was different. Instead of just dining before, hanging out in the parking lot, then heading home at a reasonable (relatively) hour, I stayed. It was the first time I went without posse, and maybe that is why...but in any case, I had a brilliant time.

The evening started at my parents, an evening concocted to celebrate mine and Michael's birthday, which included my brother's favorite main dish, and his girlfriend's favorite side dish, and no cake or presents. Don't get me wrong, I've celebrated plenty for me, and we have another 2 weeks before Michael's actual bday, so it is fine...just amusing at the auspisces under which the whole thing was planned, when really it was about my brother, as usual.

About 5 years ago, when my brother was 16, I gave him a certificate for his birthday, promising to take him to Rocky with me sometime. He never took me up on my offer, but a few days ago, he asked about it, and since I knew I was going to be going anyway, I suggested he and his girlfriend come. They had no idea what they were in for...which was so fun. My old cast friends knew me when my mom was pregnant with him, so it would be a shock. At dinner, he asked, "So, is it a play? I don't understand." I tried to explain the concept, but then said, just wait and see. After Michael took the kids home, I changed and fixed my makeup, which my mom then "adjusted" adding enough eyeliner to make it look like I was performing in the show. I guess if there is anywhere to wear that much makeup it was the Nuart.

I went to the restaurant where we meet before, caught up with Eain and Dave. Eain nicely agreed to be my boyfriend for the evening...so compliant. :) He's the reason I ended up going back to the party which started me and Michael so he always gets mad props. I stopped at Starbucks, and headed to the parking lot, where I broke Duckie as soon as he got there by pointing out 20 year old Tommy. I introduced them, my brother handling meeting probably his first albino, most certainly his first hardcore looking pierced albino wearing a kilt, with much aplomb. He only looked slighty shocked when Duckie said- "Man, you used to wake me up when you were a baby whenever I would sleep over!" (little. brother. registering. married-sister-as-teenager). I mean, Michael has been in his world since he was 7, so he knows no different, really. He recovered nicely, although Duckie was sufficiently freaked out to make the whole evening worth it.

Eventually we were allowed into the theater, it was a packed house, and I actually stayed in the theater for the 90 minute preshow and the movie. I yelled lines I haven't thought about in years, I messed up a lot, I kept thinking a line was coming up, when it was just a Magenta moment...I yelled, I laughed, I caught up with friends, I made my brother squirm, I pointed at Gillian's Dodds, it was so. much. fun. It almost made me feel like actually agreeing to perform again someday. Several of the cast members from when I joined cast (laura-laura, scott, sean) were there, and we discussed performing at an original alumni alumni night...wow. That would be something.

I drove home at 4:20, totally awake, and wholly confused at having been able to make it as long as I did. The kids started in at around 7:30, which sucked...but I got a little nap in later. I am still wonky, but it was totally worth it. I can't wait for next year.

Tonight, I am someone else's bitch.

Metaphorically.

I have a nice custom order I am working on for my dear friend Jenny. 3 adult bibs, 3 adult crumb catchers, and 2 pillows. I will be busy, as it needs to be done for tomorrow. I really love the adult bibs. I do. Which, considering I may have to stop with the baby stuff in a month, is a good thing.

You know what isn't a good thing? Me in a fabric store. I fear one day Michael will come home and I will be buried in fabric, just my head sticking out, possibly suffocated. I bought a ton of stuff today...a ton. As if I needed more than the 4 yards of things for this order. No. No I did not. I spend more on fabric than I do on groceries. And my children are hungry. But I do not hear their wails over the drone of my sewing machine, nope.

Looks like I picked the wrong week to...

It seems as though my need to blog comes when I am have more than my facebook status updates can handle, which is a lot, judging by how often I manage to change that darn thing.

Today I got a parking ticket. For parking in front of my own flippin' house. I hate that...and when I parked there yesterday, I momentarily considered that I would need to move the car before 10am. I figured I would. I didn't. Michael called at 9:30, and thought about reminding me...but I didn't answer, so he figured we were out. We weren't. I have saved many of my neighbors the same fate, calling or knocking to remind them they needed to move their cars, hoping the kharma would pay me back. It didn't. Can't park on my side of the street on Tuesdays from 10am until noon. I remembered at 11:50. $55 dollars I don't have and now owe. Bugger. On the upside, usually it takes me several hours to recover from that stupid ticket (yes, it has happened before)...today only took me about 30 minutes. Not bad.

The middle of the day included mundane stuff...laundry, sweeping, ridding the house of pine needles, dishes, unpacking, keeping the kids happy and at bay...mostly with the help of a friend's kid, who came to distract mine. I am not a fan of this sort of thing, but it has to get done, so do it I did...and then once the extra child went home, I went to work out. Now, I kind of worked out a little yesterday, and was more sore than I should have been, but this was a full on, full hour, Zumba workout. My favorite cardio. It's been at least a month. I turned very very very red...but I made it through and had a blast. I look forward to having the time to do it regularly again. Between rehearsals and prepping for camp and the boutique, I just didn't have the time...which sucked.

I followed up my workout with a trip to the post office, where I waited for 30 minutes for the APC behind people for whom reading the back of the cereal box must be an overwhelming experience. Once it got to my turn, I discovered the machine was no longer printing stamps in the small size I needed. Brilliant. My hungry kids, having been patient throughout the whole experience, were none too pleased that mommy was none too pleased. The crazy lady (of the night?) outside the post office, who followed us to the car with such witticisms as "well, you never can trust government run offices" who I pandered to, but rushed my kids (mommy, do you know that lady?) into their carseats with the speed of a...well, the speed of a mom trying to get her kids away from a Sepulveda hooker.

Homeward bound, where thankfully, Michael and Colleen had started the oven and prep for dinner (homemade pizza...dough left over from my bday, YUM) and we had a lovely dinner. I worked on my new hangtag for my products when I realized what I really needed was a graphic designer in residence. Sadly, the one I had I have driven away...and I could really use his help right now. Damn me and my stupid ability to make women jealous at the drop of a hat. I wish I either had some sort of graphic design skill or a GD cabana boy/girl.

For a day that had nothing going on, a lot happened.

Going Out of Business

The federal government, in all it's wisdom, has passed legislation that makes my baby items illegal after February 9th, 2009. Because of the rash of childrens' items imported with high levels of lead last year, the new law states that all items that are in any way manufactured for children under the age of 12 must be individually tested for lead content. Well, if you are a toy company and make 1,000,000 Tickle Me Elmos, the $1200/per item cost for 3rd party lead testing is annoying, but not impossible. Not so much so if I make one of a kind baby blankets which cost $25.o0. Or few of a kind bibs which cost 8.00. Get the picture?

But the fabric will be tested! Isn't that enough, you ask? Well, firstly, no. The way the law is currently written this is not enough. They are now taking suggestions towards this end- the testing of the raw goods versus the finished product, but nothing is decided. Furthermore, even if they alter the law this way, the fabric manufacturers can just say any fabric is NOT meant for children so that they don't have to pay the cost of the lead testing. In addition, many of the fabrics I use for my bibs and quilts are not the traditional nursery type prints. It's what makes them special. So what now?

Well, for now, I write to the appropriate government officials, none of whom are going to go against legislation for stricter lead testing. I look into the rumor about state's rights with regard to this issue stating that I can still sell within California. I revamp my product line, focusing online sales towards things decidedly NOT for children. I love making my blankets and bibs and burp cloths, but I can live with making them for people I know instead. The keepsake quilts I make aren't for children per se, so that should still be fine too.

The ironic thing is, the folks responsible for importing all this shoddy, poisonous stuff for kids? They won't have any new restrictions. That's right. The legislation affects manufacturing in the US, not imported goods. So technically, we're back to square one. And in this economy, with factories and businesses struggling to hold on to their livelihood, this "safety feature" will serve to annihilate more of us. All because we can't stop our addicition to cheaply made, imported crap.