Complicated

Isn't that a song title?

In any case, my biodad died yesterday. I don't really know what I think about it or what to say about it, or how to blog about it in a way that won't piss off everyone that's already pissed off or those who aren't or those who are too selfish to realize what they had or those who are too arrogant to think outside of themselves, or who are too angry to realize self righteousness is never the answer, so I'm going to go with the things that make me happy. Happy thoughts, memories for which I am grateful. In list form, for the most part.

Thank you, Luis Carlos DeCastro, for the following:

Flank steak and rice with onion sauce

Teaching me how to ride a bike

Taking me on bike rides around Santa Monica alleyways to look for fruit so often that I can still spot an avocado tree at 1/4 mile away.

Teaching me how to make Huevos Rancheros

Taking me to the Hare Krishna Festival of Chariots and letting me touch the elephants

Giving me my love of the ocean

Crying when you watched me play Anne Frank

Giving me a sincere appreciation for convertibles

That's what I have in the Grateful column. I hope I'm forgetting things, but I'm pretty sure that's what there was. I don't feel the need to make any other sorts of columns, cause I don't think it will help anyone. I hope he is at rest. I sincerely hope with this last passage comes peace.

It's Only A Matter of Time

Lord. There is no way I'm going to be able to focus all I could say about this topic into one blog post, and needless to say, I shouldn't, cause really, I'm not paying any of you for a therapy session, but I just read a post on my friend Gretchen's blog, and it's making all of these thoughts I've been having percolate inside my brain and burst forth into what else? A blog post.

Hers was called Skinny and Pretty and it was about how she often feels like she's neither. Recently I've been struggling with some notions with regards to those things, and this week has been an exceptionally challenging one, so reading this post could not have come at a better time. I'm going to be really honest right now, so if you're not interested, or if you're feeling particularly judgmental, just click away now...

I don't want to sound conceited, but I know I'm pretty, I get that. But I've been "the fat girl" since I was 8, with a 2 year break from 21-23, and I get that too. The latter, growing up and living in Los Angeles, can be challenging. Yes, even with a husband who can't get enough of me and a huge support system of very loving, very flirty friends and co-workers. I'm completely self-aware. I have worn plus sized clothing for 28 of my 38 years. I have type 2 diabetes. I am on more medication than my 92 year old grandmother. But don't think you know my life. I eat more heathfully than most of my friends. I don't eat fast food. I exercise (at a gym) a LOT. I keep a food journal, I don't drink soda, cook with oil, eat sweets, or do most of the things that people think fat people do. And let me tell you something...it's REALLY fucking annoying. Sometimes I whine that if I'm going to have this body, why can't I just eat whatever I want so that at least it's worth it. For a long time, it bothered me, but I recently came to peace with it, and decided that I was just going to have to accept the fact that this is how I am, and continue exercising and eating right because it was what was right for my body, despite the fact that I don't "look like" I do any of those things. But in November I had to start a new medication, and it's made me gain 10 pounds, despite the fact that I've been working really hard to keep it from doing so. The last week I've carefully measured every morsel that has gone into my mouth, totalling no more than 1200 calories a day, plus I worked out (and yes, I added calories on the days I worked out, so please don't say my body was in starvation mode). I gained a pound. In a week. It's not fun. It's been frustrating, coupled with having filmed a commercial last week where there was a fat joke at my expense, which is something I have to be used to if I'm going to be in this business. My cousin/doctor/brother brought up his concern about this kind of thing happening more now, and him being worried, knowing how hard I am on myself. He hadn't even heard the story yet about the extras behind me at the catering truck on set, who after I ordered my lunch- grilled chicken, sauteed spinach and snow peas and salad, said to each other "well, I didn't see THAT coming". Yes, that really happened. 2 weeks ago. At the time, I shrugged it off, but I can't help but think the meltdown over my weight I had a week ago may have had something to do with these shrugged off feelings.

Recently, I was watching a production I did in 9th grade, and noticed that I was not nearly as fat as I thought I was. This may have been more disturbing than had I been fat. I still describe myself as the "chubbiest Anne Frank ever", and seeing the video made me realize that I was probably the only person who actually thought that was the case. I currently have a 9 year old daugher who is NOT even chubby, who already thinks she's fat because of what she learned at camp, what she hears at school, and what my mother has (unintentionally) said to her. Do you have any idea how terrifying that is? How do I, as a fat person, say to my child- eat healthfully cause it's the right thing to do for your body to stay healthy, when she sees me eating healthfully and looking the way I do? And then to also say "don't look down on people for being fat" and "be comfortable in your own skin" and "no, no you're not fat- not that there's anything WRONG with that" a la Seinfeld? I don't even know how to tell MYSELF that, much less her. To paraphrase someone paraphrasing George W. Bush-- "parenting is hard". My daughter has 2 aunts who lived through major eating disorders and who struggle from the other side of it. I don't want her to have my struggle, and I don't want her to have her aunts' struggle. I want to protect her from all these feelings and tell her that her size doesn't matter...but that's a big (fat) lie. It does matter, and it's only a matter of time before she knows it. Except that that's a big lie too. She knows it already, I just don't know how to fix it. I'm beginning to believe that all confidence is fraudulent. So do I just have to teach her how to fake it? Or to recognize that we're all in the same boat? But just because I try to teach her that doesn't mean she'll actually learn it. Wait, is this what that easy button is supposed to be for? Cause that would be nice.

Pure Imagination

Magnolia just came in from the garden, where she had gone voluntarily to water the vegetables (miracles do happen) and as she passed through the house, she said, "There was a lizard right next to the strawberry bed and he was just sitting there STARING AT ME and it creeped me out". So, naturally, I say, "Cool! Was it trying to pass along a message to you from his lizard world?". She stopped, looked at me like she was 13 and deadpanned, "Haha. Very funny mom. But we both know there is no such thing as a lizard world."

I, without stopping doing THEIR chore of unloading the dishwasher, corrected, "of course there's a lizard world!" Max, shockingly having my back, agreed: "Of COURSE lizards have to talk to each other."

Magnolia, completely annoyed, sighed heavily and continued her path through the house. I pondered aloud "Did I end up raising children without imaginations? Is that what is happening here???" To which Max sighed, exasperatedly, "Mom, you didn't raise us!" At this point, I stopped with the dishes and said "what?" He explained that raising is what you do with children who aren't your actual children. I'm just their mom. I explained that the verb stays the same, and he can feel assured in the knowledge that I am, in fact, raising them.

But what bothers me WAY more about this conversation is the fact that Magnolia doesn't want to play pretend with me and discuss the possibility of a lizard world. Is it that she's growing up, and anything I say is totally annoying to her? Is it that she just learned of the reality of the other fictitious, gift bringing folk in the world (yes, the big 3 are all out of the bag, although her lying skills are coming in handy as far as keeping her brother in the dark about it) and this represents the demise of pretend? Or is it that I truly somehow managed to raise kids who don't have that lust for pretend worlds? Oh, how sad that would make me. Gah, parenting is so dang unclear most of the time I don't know why we try so darn hard.

Perspective

Sometimes I wanna go start a commune with like minded people. I read things like the Obama birther nonsense and it makes me SO frustrated with the world, I just want to hit something. I go to Costco and am surrounded by hypnotized, slack jawed, self absorbed morons the entire time I am there, and I think what is wrong with humanity? Why are people so completely unaware of the world around them and how is it that they seem to not care at all? How can it be that there are people who still throw plastic bottles into the trash? How can it be that there are still people using plastic bottles?? I just don't understand. As the "kids" would say, SMH. I am SMH big time.

Has everyone seen Idiocracy yet? I really feel like it's prophetic and it scares the daylights out of me...until I turn on my inner apathameter and turn off my feelings. I wish I could do that more.

But I know if I started a commune, even with a rigorous screening process, there would be snags. There are always snags. I learned well from Lord of the Flies and Animal Farm that Utopia can only last so long, and then someone's head ends up on a stick. And honestly, as much as I'd love to go live on some sort of autonomous collective (without the King Arthur showing up and getting all bossy), the reality is that putting myself in a progressive, intelligent, earth conscious, not self absorbed, caring, loving, talented bubble isn't going to make the rest of the small minded, bigoted, narcissistic, selfish, idiotic world go away. It might even make it get worse, as a bunch of us would be missing from it.

So what's the solution? Doing our best to make good choices? Living by example? Standing on the street corner with a bullhorn, cattywompus from the dude quoting scripture every weekend, instead quoting all the reasons why we should be recycling, changing to greener energy choices, reducing our trash output, supporting the arts, having compassion for our fellow men and women, allowing consenting adults who love each other to have the same rights as other consenting adults, realizing that there but for the grace of whoever or whatever you believe in go you? I don't know. For now, I'm just blogging. Evidently that's my solution. I suppose it's easier than starting a collective.

Oh yeah? Take THAT.

There is a quote somewhere that says something to the effect of "The sweetest revenge is to live your life well", but more eloquent than that. I'd look it up, but I don't have time. I'm blogging. Priorities, people. You get the idea, right? I don't need to spell it out for ya....

I'm super excited. I just booked my first commercial where I'll be in front of the camera. I recently got an agent and went on my first 2 commercial auditions last week. The first one, I was put "on avail", which basically means I made it on the director's short list. It can mean nothing, as there are other folks on this list, and I may not get picked...but it's still very cool that I made the list. The second one went SO poorly that I walked out embarrassed, horrified, and with my tail between my legs. That one, I booked. I got the call from my agent today and will be filming it on Thursday. She's less than thrilled, as what they listed as the pay has been cut drastically, which they can do, since I'm not union...but she didn't really want me to take it. It's still more than I've ever made for one day of doing ANYTHING and it's an acting gig. So, yeah, I'm cool with it. And I'm pretty much totally geeking out about it.

But here's the thing. When I was around 12, my biodad and stepmother had a dinner guest. I have no idea who it was. I may have blogged about this before, cause it was a formidable event in my growing up and has always stuck in my memory. This dinner guest was making conversation with me and asked me what I liked to do. I said "I'm an actress", cause frankly, that was the only extracurricular activity I ever did. Ever. My stepmother later pulled me aside and told me I was NEVER to answer that question that way again. That I was NOT an actress, that just taking acting lessons and being in plays and student films and psa's that didn't pay and the like did not make me an actress, and it was misleading for me to tell someone that is what I was. I could say "I like to act" or "I do theater" but calling myself an actress was presumptious and incorrect. I stood corrected.

Today I was in the Social Security office, waiting for to get called in line to get a renewal card, and a man overheard me talking to my friend about getting this booking...when I got off the phone, he made eye contact and said- " Are you an actress?"

And I know it's just ONE commercial, and I know it's not even union, and it's not national...but you know what? I have an agent, and I am getting paid, tomorrow I'm going in for wardrobe, and this feels more "real" than anything I've done since coming back to this life...and now I feel pretty freaking ok saying it. Yes, I'm an actress. Take THAT.

Hide of a Rhino

Ethel Barrymore once said - "For an actress to be a success she must have the face of Venus, the brains of Minerva, the grace of Terpsichore, the memory of Macaulay, the figure of Juno, and the hide of a rhinoceros." I have none of these things.

Ok, well, let's break it down.

The face of Venus.
I get told a lot that I have "a pretty face" which, for those of you not in the know, is code for reminding me I do not have the figure of Juno. Now, whether or not said face is equivalent to Venus, I don't know. I like to think I have happier eyes than Botticelli's version. All of Botticelli's women look morose in person. But in the business of acting, having my face combined with my figure, well, it makes casting me hard. "Zaftig" girls (again, with the code) are supposed to be unattractive. I am (modesty aside) not unattractive. Not at least when I make the effort not to be. Wow, lots of negatives there but I think I got my point across. There isn't a lot I can do about the face...it's just there. In terms of acting though, it'd probably be better if I had a more "interesting" (again, code) face.

The brains of Minerva. Well, I'm no Harvard grad, but I like to think of myself as a decently smart cookie. When it comes to acting, I'm certainly in the know when it comes to general theater knowledge, acting awareness, character development, scene study, and the sorts of things you need to know to be an actor. I think of myself as a smart actor...I like having backgrounds and reasons for the choices I make, and I consider what I do when I am doing it. I know I can always learn more, and I may not have the brains of Minerva, I mean, she was born from a head and was a doctor, a war expert, a businesswoman AND the inventor of MUSIC. So it's a lot to live up to. In any case, I'm smart enough to know I could be smarter.

Let's hit the next 3 at once. Grace? Not so much. Memory? HA. Figure? Um, well, let's just say I've been the fat kid since the 3rd grade. I have a figure...but knowing full well what Ethel Barrymore meant, it's not the sort she was discussing.

The hide of a rhinocerous.

Working on it. All the time, working on it. I just got turned down for a role I've wanted to play since 12th grade. Again. In 12th grade, I got coached for several lunch periods from the director, trying to get me to be able to sing it as well as my competition. He wasn't successful, so neither was I. I will play the part one day, but next month in a production in my hometown with 5 of my friends, I will not. I moped a bit, but only within self allotted confines (I got an hour), and then moved on. So far in my "acting comeback", I've been told I'm too pretty, not big enough, and too young. Not terrible. But every time I don't get a part I audition for, it feels like a tiny failure. Silly in a profession where I won't get parts 99% of the time. Where there are 1000 actors for each part being cast. Where even if I am the best they see, they'll still cast the director's babysitter instead. I'm a little fearful about being cast in something where I get told the sort of mean things they tell people in this business. I want to be able to hear it and take it in stride, with that hide, but I know when it comes, it's going to sting. I signed with an agent 2 weeks ago and she told me not to lose weight. I got less competition in my size bracket, you see. But I have to take these things as tiny stings flung from well meaning bows...they won't actually injure me, they'll only annoy until I pluck them out and throw them away.

If I could learn to have this tough skin in my acting life, maybe then I could bring it to my regular life, where an angry email from one friend upset with something I said off the cuff put me in a bummed out, crappy mood for days. Where someone else's off the cuff statement about me can make me second guess all my choices. Where the kids consistently not wanting to eat my cooking makes it so I don't want to cook anymore. Then, after that is solved, I can work on that pesky world peace problem.

Parenting Sucks

Yesterday I posted as my facebook status the following conversation between Max and I:

Max: Mom, just so you know, sometimes, at night, I play with my weenis.

Me: Well, sure, honey, that's normal. It's natural to want to do that. It feels good.

Max: (incredulous) But, how would you play with a vagina???

Me: You can! With your fingers.

Max: Do you play with YOUR vagina?

Me: Yep.

Max: Cool.

To be fair, I only posted Max's first sentence as the status, because I'm all about the funny, and honestly, I was a little embarrassed to admit how the conversation played out. My recently graduated from PI school friend sleuthed it out of me, and it didn't take *much* arm twisting to admit the rest of the conversation. The 36 comments that followed were a mix. I got everything from the *actual* definition of weenis, to being called a stripper, to being called (repeatedly) the best mom ever. Honestly, I felt like this all was part of a larger conversation...and that was what brought me here, to the blog I've all but abandoned the last 6 months. And for the 6 months before that.

I struggle all the time with parenting. Having been raised by 4 incredibly different parents, with 2 auxiliary parental figures, plus the rest of my "village"...I've got a lot of parental baggage to manage. There isn't time in the world to walk through my therapy needs when it comes to sifting through all that craziness, so I'll stick to this particular issue. Firstly, I usually feel like I'm a terrible parent. It's not in any way what I expected. I wanted to be a mom, a stay at home mom like the moms in the books I read growing up, like the shows that I watched, for as long as I can remember. What I didn't really realize, was that they were fictional. I've watched and been responsible for more children than some people have spoken to over the course of their lives. I've been a camp counselor, a child care director, a teacher, a mentor, a camp director...very little of which actually prepared me for the reality of my children. I thought I had a battery full of tools in my arsenal. Good, solid parenting tools which would help me navigate through every new situation and issue which might come up with my own children. The day I realized I was wrong is one of my strongest memories. Magnolia was 18 months old and we had our first throw down. It was after the 90 minute battle that I realized I had no idea what the hell I was doing, no matter what kind of experience I had under my belt.

I was raised (by large measure) by 3 relatively conservative Latinas who gave me a lot of outdated and bizarre notions about sex, many of which were reinforced at Catholic school. I didn't really have any friends, so my actual sex ed came from 1. a nun, and 2. books like Flowers in the Attic. Also, we had cable. It was a bizarre educational experience. I remember setting the table when I was 14, and my mom nagging me about the napkins (totally out of character for her to care) and my response was - "Don't have an orgasm!", an expression I'd read in a book with NO concept of it's meaning. Her reaction sent me looking for a dictionary, I'd never seen anything like that. Obviously (to anyone who has known me more than 10 minutes) I got over all the lack of knowledge, and even most of the shyness about sex...but as much as people may not believe it, there is a friendless, shy, naive, Catholic school girl buried inside me...and I mainly have to fight with her to be me. As a parent, I struggle between wanting to be "appropriate" and knowing what the hell that means.

I fight with myself all the time. Intellectually, would I think a conversation about masturbation with my 6 year old is a good idea? Probably not. But he watches movies that have violence in them (Disney), that have evil in them (Harry Potter), and I struggle with the idea that sex is forbidden and wrong and shouldn't be discussed. The American Puritanical "notion of sex" and the fact that it is to be kept quiet and not discussed FEELS right, but I KNOW it isn't. Interestingly enough, the thing that got me thinking about this a LOT was the movie "This Movie is Not Yet Rated", talking about the mpaa and the rating system for movies, and how absolutely fucked up it is. How can I allow my child to watch a movie where a parent is trampled TO DEATH (thank you, Lion King) and not let him know that playing with his penis is natural? I mean, I'm not suggesting I buy him a box of Kleenex and a bottle of lotion just yet, but I don't want him to have shame in it. I'm sure the time will come when I have to give parameters about appropriateness of where one does things and such, but as of yet, he's kept it private. And above everything, I want my kids to feel they can come to me and ask whatever they need to ask. I don't want to give them shame about their urges.

Last night, a friend called me hippie dippie. She does that a lot. But it's really inaccurate. I struggle with my decisions every day. I hope to Bertha that I am making the right ones, and am not screwing them up too badly. I overanalyze and consider pretty much everything I do and say and often than not snap then I say and do things I regret 5 minutes later. But sometimes I do it right...and I have to say, as squeamish as I feel about the conversation Max and I had, I think it was the right thing to say. I give my kids shame over treating another person badly, or not doing their best, not being good to Mama Earth, not cleaning their room, or beating each other up...but I will not pass on totally misplaced shame we as a society in general put on the issues of sex. I just won't. This doesn't make me the best mom ever, but I'm working on it.