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My Profile
Retro-retrospection - 2008-10-06
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5:15 p.m. - 2003-05-29
The easier question would be, "LA, where HAVEN'T you been since last you updated?" I've been giving tours at the new house. I've been antiquing in PA and NJ. I've been to SIL's. I've been to NYC. I've been on a crowded smelly bus. I've been to the flooring store, the electrical supply store, the plant nursery, and Home Depot for the umpty-billionth time this month. I've been to the bakery, the video store, and the grocery. I've been to the playground. Frankly, I'm exhausted. But I've been having big fun and lucky, lucky me, the pukes and the shakes didn't start until about 2 hours ago. For the next 18 hours or so the only places I'm going are to the can, my office, and to bed. Keep your fingers crossed that taking the time to rest will halt this flare dead in its tracks. Still have another 4 days of family stuff to attend and I'll enjoy it much more without falling down and vomiting. Tuesday I was a Bad Mommy and made Mike go to Sesame Place without me. One, I've been dragging Wolf around for almost 6 years now and it's high time MIKE does some of the scut work. Enduring Sesame Place and herding a wildly excited Wolf around was simply beyond toleration. I deserved a day of grown-up time. Two, Engineer BIL and his wife have been pontificating for YEARS about what a crap job everyone does raising their kids. This includes sniffy remarks about what a crap job I've been doing and how spoiled my kids are. Since having their own child they've done a complete 180* and have spoiled their kid so badly that it's enraging to watch. For example, the other day SIL sat in the car for 2 HOURS because their little precious had fallen asleep in his carseat and she didn't have the heart to wake him. Baby is never allowed to cry EVER. The second Baby's bottom lip begins to wobble Mommy and Daddy are there with hugs and kisses and treats. The kid is ALWAYS carried, his stroller and playpen are still unused and the kid is 16 months old! I knew I couldn't spend the day with them and keep my tongue in check. So my bowing out was a double good thing, I got to go to shops I'd never dare bring Wolf into, and by not bitch slapping my in-laws I avoided starting a family row of epic proportions. Yesterday was the trek into the city. Nobody was up for the schlep down to Chinatown, so no dim sum for LA. We got some coffee and I finally wrangled a suggestion out of the other three about where they'd like to go. SIL suggested the Guggenheim. Fine. I flagged a cab and off we went. Both there and back we scored kamikaze cabbies who screeched around corners on two wheels, dove in and out of traffic lanes or carved one of their own, and leaned on their horns in a continuous blare. Me? I have a rather fatalistic mindset about NY cabdrivers and their hell trips. I don’t worry about it at all. If the gods decree I’m to get snuffed in a Yellow than so be it. My MIL however sits in the cab gripping the armrest, sweating and flinching and praying. When we get to where we’re going she shakily climbs out of the back and lets out the breath she’s been holding for 70 blocks. I find this most amusing. The current featured artist at the Guggenheim is a whacked-out madman. This stuff was VILE! Seriously disturbing. Weird sculptures made out of rubbery slimy junk which bore an uncanny resemblance to phlegm. And photographs full of tortured twisted bloody bodies coated with vomit. Modern art at its worst. Many, many Emperor’s New Clothes types were wandering around muttering, “Brilliant!” “The inherent sophistry of today’s lifestyle stripped bare.” “Such BRAVE work!” Right. This “art” was dreck, crap, and most unworthy of display in a roadside attraction let alone the Guggenheim. When we’d been revolted enough to flee, we went back to nice safe touristy Times Square, bought some souvenirs, and then hiked over to the theater. “Chicago”? In a word...WOW! We all had a great time. My MIL was practically unhinged with joy. Her first stage show of any kind and here she was 5 rows back, dead center at one of the best Broadway shows ever. The “name” hook was Gregory Harrison playing Billy Flynn, but he was a big snore compared to the rest of the cast. Voices like angels and bodies built for deviltry. Especially this one guy who was wearing a pair of leather pants and an irresistible rogue’s grin. Smitten? Ha! More like instantly obsessed. I had to practically tie my arms to my seat to prevent me from leaping onto the stage and begging him to come home with me where I’d keep him in luxurious splendor if he’d agree to wear those pants and let me look at him forever. Gay, straight, or somewhere in between mattered not a whit. He was eye candy of the finest kind, and that was good enough for me. Yeah, yeah, I’m a rutting dog. So what? After a meal at the Roxy Deli and having a giggle over MIL’s amazement over the size of the sandwiches, (we four shared two corned beefs and an order of onion rings and still left the place waddling and groaning about how full we were) they walked me down to the Port Authority so I could catch my bus. Their train left about an hour after my bus and I gave them several warnings about not getting lost and not talking to strangers. Grown people they may be, but this was New York and they had the naked innocence of new born mice. Today was one of those nutty runaround days with too many decisions for my tired brain to handle. Finally I begged Mike to stop asking me stuff. I mean why on Earth should I be deciding what kind of replacement windows he should put in HIS tool shed? What am I, the Colgate Wisdom Tooth? Since we’ve started house hunting I’ve had to make EVERY SINGLE DECISION. Where to buy. How much to spend. Which mortgage at which rate. On and on it’s gone. Once we closed on the house I’ve had to decide on everything from the placement of the electric sockets to which garbage company we wanted to use. Floor finishes, furniture, sinks, tiles, ceilings, wall colors, towel racks, bedroom assignments, how much to prune the trees, what we’re going to keep and what we’re going to get rid of and how (garage sale? donate it? give it away? foist it on friends? leave it outside for the curb shoppers? throw it away?), when we should move, what kind of grass seed to use on the lawn’s bare spots, what brand of appliances... Good God! I am simply decision-ed out. I explained to Mike that along with resting my bod I need to rest my mind. I declared a 24 hour moratorium on my having to decide anything. I don’t want to be forced into choosing one more thing. For one stupid day he’ll have to figure out what to have for breakfast all on his own. We who are about to nap salute you! ~LA Today’s Pick: “I Can’t Do It Alone” from “Chicago”
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