PunkKittyDiddy

Adventures in Channel Surfing: "The Pursuit of Happyness"

When this flick was released theatrically, I had zero interest in seeing it.  Less than zero, actually.  (That's interest that can only be measured in negative integers.....does it get any more interest-free than that?)  Why the sub-zero interest level?  I didn't really know anything about it other than what the previews were hell-bent on shoving down my throat.....namely, that it was a big budget, big-studio-generated, based-on-a-true-story feel-good movie clamoring for an Oscar.  No way, man.  I'm cool.  I'm smart.  I watch edgy indie films.  Never mind that these days, "indie" films can have budgets in the mid-eight-figure range and are produced by indie production companies that are actually fully-owned subsidiaries of the big movie studios I'm supposed to be sneering at whilst thumbing through an edgy indie filmmaking magazine (that is probably published by Time Warner), as I sip my edgy indie coffee drink in some mom-and-pop-looking coffee house (which is probably a fully-owned subsidiary of Starbucks).  Look - just slap that "indie" label on my movie so I can feel smart, OK? 

Hmmmm.....maybe I'm not so clever, or edgy, or "indie" after all.  That makes me feel a bit bad about myself.  I'd rather feel good, if you don't mind.  Mwahahahahaha - the perfect target for a feel-good movie!

Fast forward to me undertaking this soul searching sojourn in Arizona with wee daughter in tow, finding myself at my dad's new place in a slightly-bigger-than-the-last-cowboy-town-I-was-just-in cowboy town for the weekend, where's there's nothing much for the three of us to do at night except sit around and watch feel-good movies that happen to be showing when nothing else is on.  I mean, I've since learned that The Pursuit of Happyness is based on the real-life story of a man who went from single homeless dad to successful investment mogul.  A parent who gets his career on track for the sake of his kid's future?  Timely.  I could learn something, right?

Besides, it was that or Basic Instinct 2, and I could hardly watch that with my dad and my toddler in the room.

So, I loved this movie, which is weird, because it made me feel (a) lazy, (b) spoiled, (c) lazy, (d) ungrateful for the advantages I've had in life, (e) lazy, (f) like the least resourceful person on the planet, (g) did I mention lazy?, and (h) like an emotionally pliable dimwit.  How impressionable am I if a feel-good movie actually made me feel good?  They win - with "they" being a bunch of expensively suited big movie studio executives who had pre-production meetings in which they said stuff like, "Hey, since it's only based on a true story and not a deposition or anything, let's make the kid even cuter, the homeless shelter even dingier, and.....say, should we go to town with that whole poetic license crap and throw in a puppy for the kid?  Maybe he could get run over or something.......no, no, I meant the puppy, but now that you mention it, the kid getting run over would really pack a punch!   Nice thinking, Gary!  What?  What do you mean, the kid-gets-run-over subplot tested low...?!?!  Somebody needs to get run over, goddamn it!!!  Heeeeeeey......what about the dad guy.........?!"

I loved a movie that was conjured in such fashion?  Now I feel like a total schmuck.  Wait, I'm confused.....did the feel-good movie make me feel good, or not?  This is making my head hurt.....I'll stop now.

I give this movie an A, for reminding me that however difficult my current struggles may be, I'm still a damn sight better off than any parent caring for their kids while ensconced in a homeless shelter. 

Newton's Law of Universal Gravitation + Flush Handle = Another $100 in the Motorola Coffers

Z.'s been fascinated by my cell phone ever since I can remember - and she's learned to not only turn it on, but utilize speed-dial.   For those of you whose numbers are embedded in said phone's bowels, perhaps I can clear up in advance the otherwise mysterious origin of any crank calls you may be receiving that go a little something like this:  "Abababbababababba - hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!"  followed by a click. 

Fair warning as well to those of you residing in Bora Bora or Iceland, because I belatedly noticed Z. entering a loooong string of numbers into the phone before hitting the send button last night.  Can a mother cross a large family room in the 2.5 seconds it takes a $70 overseas call to be placed?  The suspense is killing me.  Stay tuned.

Also last night for the first time, with my phone in hand, she stared at the open toilet with an alarmingly speculative look.  And here I thought that extended Motorola warranty was just a superfluous expense designed to bleed suckers dry......

The Local Grocery Store Plays "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" Over Its Loudspeakers, But BESIDES That.......

Things took a slight turn for the better when I.G. booked a Christmas eve flight to Arizona at the last minute.  We had a productive, even nice couple of days - a fair amount of air clearing, as it's easier to blossom in vacation scenarios sans life's usual daily pressures.  Mom had ventured up to Grand Canyon country for a few days with family friends, in keeping with previously agreed upon plans, so it all worked out quite well - giving us time to focus on Z. and soak up the splendor of the season as seen through a wee one's eyes.  Whatever chaos reigns in the petty adult world, it's hard to feel too miserable with this great kid in my life.

I.G. hopped a plane back to SoCal last night, as work beckoned (thanks, America, for the standard measly annual allotment of vacation days - oh, to be French, with two months off every year.....and of course the inherent fashion sense....and fabulous pastries........).  While I am cautiously optimistic about the state of the union, I still wonder how much has truly been solved.  Once I return back to the daily grind, all too soon a day will come in which I.G. comes home wound up after a stressful day at work, and I'll be afflicted with a touch of cabin fever, coupled with frustration after dispatching a handful of resumes out into the yawning black chasm of freelance opportunity, and this will invariably be the very same day that Ex Wife has launched a poison dart into our camp for sport, along with Stepdaughter shoving Z. heartily onto the hardwood floor because Z. will have interfered with an apparent once-in-a-lifetime Nintendo-DS-generated moment..................

So I'll continue to gather my wits, ponder life, and recharge under the gorgeous desert sky a tad longer.  Z.'s having a blast with her little cousins, and Grandma's house is optimal for perfecting her running skills, what with the wall to wall carpeting, versus the cold and unforgiving hardwood of home.  Sure, I occasionally find Z. staring in utter confusion at the ceramic fruitcake sculpture at the center of Grandma's holiday dinner table, but I doubt this will result in extra therapy sessions in adulthood.  Bad taste is merely baffling, not traumatizing.........right? 

It's not a case of the grass being any greener here.  I know better than to over-idealize life in a small town - there's the fair share of drawbacks to be had here too. But for the moment, it's nice to hear a coyote chorus and the occasional train whistle as I nod off at night with Z. in my arms, instead of sirens and garbage trucks and inebriated Russians and brawls in the alley and car alarms that loop infinitely.....

More soon.

P.S. While I like to pretend I'm waaaaaaay too sophisticated for this two-stoplight town, I was appalled to find myself singing along to "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" while grocery shopping - that's right.......lodged somewhere deep in my subconscious, next to an affinty for Spaghettios and glitter makeup, were the lyrics.

Ergh.

Exhibit A

Because any story is more credible with visuals.....

Anyway, this begs the question: does dishwashing liquid casualwear cater exclusively to those who are a little bit more Marie than Donnie?  (Osmond, in case you're totally missing the "I'm a little bit country, I'm a little bit rock n' roll" reference.....) 

Is this a niche market that has yet to be filled?  Cozys with an edge - something more appropriate for the bottle of Dawn belonging to that chic urban dishwashing person?   Finally - a way to make my fortune and acquire something resembling an inheritance for wee Z.!  I'll be whipping out the sketchbook posthaste and coming up with a kicky spring line for the more trend-conscious dishwashing liquid bottle with nothing to wear......

Along those lines, is extra grease-cutting power the new black?

Deck The Halls, Not Your Significant Other, Fa La La La La La La La La.........

Z. and I have found ourselves transported to a land rife with homespun wisdom needlepointed on pillows,  and sweaters festooned with sequined Christmas trees, and Mannheim Steamroller and Yanni renditions of "Jingle Bells." 

Yes, we are camped out in Arizona for the holidays, in the company of a woman who uses words and phrases like, "hooey" (in lieu of "bullshit") and "my doo-dads" (in lieu of "my decorative yet butt-ugly knicknacks") and "the whole gamboot" (I'm not sure what this is in lieu of - my oft-touted powers of deduction surmise that this is a twist on "the whole enchilada," gone exceptionally wrong).   Historically, Mom has been somewhat dismissive, or downright derisive of some of my methods of parenting (such as extended breastfeeding and what have you), and we've never seen eye to eye on a host of other topics, but either she's been magically infused with an extra dose of Christmas "spirit" (she does enjoy a nip or two of brandy in her eggnog), or she's actually tapped into hereforeto undiscovered powers of sensitivity.  For whatever reason, she's treading lightly and using the insults sparingly, at least for now.  Will wonders never cease?

Why the sudden change of scenery?  While it's the least of our issues, Ex Wife has messed with the proposed Christmas schedule so many times in the past few weeks, and Stepdaughter has complained bitterly so many times about the apparent lack of concern for her need to have the most expensive gadgets money can buy, when she isn't busy pushing Z. over or slamming the door in her face, that I lost all but one iota of Christmas spirit myself.  I felt if that lone iota were to survive, it would have to be transported across state lines, at the very least. 

It's good to take a break from time to time.

And I can continue to find amusement in even the farthest recesses of a po-dunk cowboy town, and my mother's elaborately decorated corner of the universe in particular, where even the dishwashing liquid is dressed for the holidays in a Little-House-On-The-Prairie-themed apron-styled cozy.

Yup - stay tuned for some guaranteed good times, or at least a healthy dose of irony and culture shock..........

Fa la la la la la la la la.

Happy Birthday, B.!

First off, a happy birthday shout-out to the ever-fabulous B., who gamely accepted my and Z.'s invitation to take her to lunch today to celebrate.  I say "gamely" because dining in public is becoming less and less civilized as Z. discovers more and more new things to do in restaurants beyond sitting and eating.  There's running amuck, talking smack to the waitstaff, throwing stuff (menus, and more recently, cutlery), applying napkins to the bleeding head wounds of nearby fellow diners once the cutlery has been launched, and then smearing food everywhere but the general mouth region once it arrives. 

We somehow survived lunch without incurring any sort of airborne-knife-related lawsuit, had some ice cream at Cold Stone to cap off the birthday meal, and then did some shopping, which culminated in a visit to Marshall's, where a surplus shipment of Dora the Explorer Sit n' Spin gadgets were displayed too prominently to ignore.  It wasn't Z. who was insisting on its purchase - as usual, it was me.  I always wanted a Sit n' Spin, but never got one (which resulted in frequent play dates at my friend Kelly's house, because she had one). So once again, my deprived youth results in yet another win for the giant toy-making conglomerates.

If Z.'s reaction is anything to go by, Sit n' Spin remains an eternally awesome kiddie experience - she has spent several hours already this afternoon squealing in delight over this purchase.  (Yeah, I was too excited to wait until Xmas to get this item into playtime circulation.)  This Dora-ized version possesses an additional fun-for-kids-ear-wrenching-for-parents feature, namely a pathologically festive "Aie yi yi yi yi!" tune that loops infinitely........a tune one would otherwise only hear whilst drunkenly participating in a conga line at the annual office party.  But what can I do?  Z. is eating it up.  Spin on, my wee little Z..  Spin on.

P.S. You gotta laugh at the accompanying Sit n' Spin literature which boasts of a "silent" feature - so far as I can tell, it's the "off" switch........

How Many Ways Have I Become Unhip? I Can Think of A Hundred(s).....

About the only way I can really tap into contemporary youth culture these days is via bumperstickers.  Sad but true.  Why even bother tapping into contemporary youth culture, you ask?  I mean, just look at these impertinent whippersnappers skulking about (or skateboarding, more likely) with their pants worn deliberately around their knees and their mouths pierced shut which forces them to rely heavily on texting each other on their hip little gadgets, in lieu of spoken conversation, barely glancing at me and when they do, most dismissively, like I'm some rusty artifact........who cares what sort of hijinks they're up to, right?  Well, I do....not so much because I'm desperate to remain trendy and cling stubbornly to the last vestiges of youth,  but because one day Z. will be a teenager, and I'd like to exercise my ability to at least keep abreast of what the youths of today are up to, so Z. won't donate me to the Smithsonian prematurely.

Anyway.......eons ago, bumperstickers started popping up around our neighborhood to inform me, "The Hundreds is not a crime!"  My immediate reaction to that was, "Okaaaaaaaaaay - could you be more specific?"  So The Hundreds is not a crime.....gee, that really narrows it down.  What is/are it/they?  A political caucus?  A historical anniversary marking some barely known human rights travesty?  (Their intriguing little logo is a cartoon-faced bomb on the verge of ker-POW-ing, after all....)  A new Ben and Jerry's flavor?  What?

I did notice that wherever these bumperstickers would materialize, skateboarding youths would start cropping up too.  Our neighborhood has slowly been undergoing a form of urban renewal, whereby old bookstores and bakeries are sadly, gradually yet steadily being replaced by trendy sneaker and t-shirt shops frequented by the aforementioned skateboarding youths.  So I finally deduced that The Hundreds was something skateboard-y in nature! (Golly gee! Reading all those Nancy Drew novels in my youth really paid off!)  My curiosity was finally piqued to the point that I decided to google my way toward trend enlightenment.  Only....it was kind of depressing to learn how marginalized I've become at the ancient age of 37.  I've tried to get into the mindset of these kids as they chat and post messages online, giving each other MAD RESPEKT! and additional, grammatically woeful props, but man.......they really are from another planet (one on which the spellchecker has also been pushed aside as just another rusty artifact, apparently).  I can barely keep up with the thread of conversation. I'm utterly unschooled in the lingo.  It's official - I'm socially irrelevant.  But still curious. 

Finally, The Hundreds own website expanded to the point where it could coherently inform me that it's basically a clothing line.  That's it.  That's the big mystery.  It's a brand. 

Damn, I do have to hand it to these kids.....that's some fairly ingenious marketing and promotion going on.  I talked loads of gibberish in my teenage years, but I never thought to slap a label on it and sell it.  MAD RESPEKT!  (Or whatever it is one says to convey, "I'm impressed by your youthful yet ingenious thinking, you entrepreneurial whippersnapper, you!")

Sadly, as of yesterday, a new bumpersticker informed me that, "Streetwear is dead - The Hundreds killed it!"

What?!  I just figured it out, and now it's dead?!

Typical. 

A Career-Making Stepping Stone for Aspiring Doom-mongers!

Check out this knobhead on Craig's List - he's looking to collect "solid believable facts" which will prove it's the end of the world.  And believe you me, he's willing to fork over big bucks for the gloomy goods.....a whopping $5 per nihilistic nugget!!  Now, he claims to need 200 such facts in order to assemble a book that will have any kind of convincing pull amongst the skeptics and the scientifically-minded, but he's helpfully done the math for us and pointed out that if you provide all 200 facts, you can earn yourself a cool $1,000!  (Better spend it fast, what with the end of the world close at hand.....)

Having stumbled across this advert, and being eager to breathe some new life into my freelance career, I immediately thought, "Hmmmmmm........define "solid" and "believable"..........."

Well, how many new, interchangeable, cookie-cutter contestants will be appearing on the next season of American Idol?  Don't they always start out with 24 whiny warblers?  Check it out - that's 24 highly believable signs of the apocalypse right there, and I wasn't even trying.  Somebody stop me!  What about the fact that Paris Hilton can carve out such a lucrative career for herself as a professional nincompoop?  (Fact #25!)  And it's rumored that Britney Spears is preggars yet again.  (26!)  Geez - the portents are flying rather fast and furious these days......this guy might be onto something.

Maybe I could buy a Jesus-shaped pancake mold, make a Jesus-shaped pancake, and send the fellow a picture of it, claiming it turned out that way all by itself.  (27!)  (You know, I'm too lazy to follow up at this particular moment, but I'm sure somewhere out there on the world wide web, someone is actually selling Jesus-shaped pancake molds.  (A tentative 28.))

Eh.....I'm already bored with this game, but hell, I furnished $140 worth of foreshadowing without batting an eyelash.  If I can corral a few more corroborating chunks o' calamity before December 25, Z. might even be able to score this entire backyard playset from Poshtots.com which is retailing for a mere $97,510.......  (Surely the very existence of a $97,510 backyard playset qualifies as a solid #29.)

As Perry Como was fond of singing, it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas..........

Tonight Feels A Teensy Bit Like House Arrest, Only Without the Beeping Anklet.....

One of the pitfalls of stay-at-home momming is that this extraordinary, disproportionate emphasis gets placed on opportunities to leave the house.  For instance, tonight I.G. and I were to bundle up Z. (well, maybe not "bundle" - throw a light sweater on her, more like it), go meet I.G.'s very funny friend P.H. for a drink, and watch some faux snow fall at the local outdoor shopping center.  Being Southern California, we rely heavily on faux snow for that Christmas-y feeling.....but the end effect is still quite magical.  You should see the faux snow lightly dust the faux bosoms and faux noses and faux facelifts gathered under the glut of Christmas lights and plasticine Santa-and-reindeer figures suspended mid-air next to the cinema multiplex and neon Barnes and Noble sign......with Bing Crosby blaring from the speakers, it's a veritable enchanted wonderland, only one littered with kiosks selling stuff like decorative iPod jackets and high-end Yorkie clothes where the stone cottage and frolicking woodland creatures would otherwise be located.  But I digress.....

Of course I won't get to see that - not tonight, anyway.  At last minute, I.G. and his pal decided they want to do more of a guy's night out, sans chicks both large and toddler-sized.  I said I was cool with that, which was a big fat lie, but I desperately wish I were the kind of easy-breezy, too-rock-n-roll-to-care gal who was cool with that, which is why I said it. I guess I'll be forced to reveal the truth in a few days time with some acerbic and utterly random passive-aggressive barb directed at I.G. when he does something hapless but trivial that would otherwise not bother me.  Because I'm complicated that way.

The truth is, when I hang out at home all day, wiping down a high chair encrusted with a weird berry-spaghetti-oatmeal blend, singing Itsy-Bitsy-Spider as Ziggy Stardust (just to imagine I'm still capable of presenting a hipster flourish here and there, albeit in a counterproductive, sad, I-talk-to-toasters-when-I'm-not-talking-to-my-toddler kind of way.....), and tending to the other mundane details and chores of a largely homeward-bound life, then I get really, really, really, really excited by the prospect of going out and interacting with other people.  Did I mention *really* excited?  I mean, I brushed my teeth and everything in planning for tonight.  I imagined being engaged in a conversation about...... ..um.....whatever it is that cool adult people talk about these days. I even picked out an outfit that didn't have a drawstring waist. 

And now instead I get to sit at home some more, with my newly glimmering chompers and wee Z., and......you know....look at and do the same stuff I just spent the last 8 hours looking at and doing. 

Dang.  It's not a "dang" of any real magnitude - it's practically amoeba-esque in stature - though I feel better having shared it.  Luckily, there's a brand spanking new chocolate cream pie in the fridge, just begging to be punctured with my fork, and Little Drummer Boy (the rudimentary claymation version which is near and dear to my heart) is on TV as I type, so Z. and I will fare just fine.

I'll still miss the Styrofoam-byproduct faux snow, but whatever. 

Bah Humbuggery, Part I - The Onset

Since my last post, I had one awfully good day which resulted in a marvelous chocolate cream pie and some prime cuddling with the wee one, but since then, I've been fighting off a particularly acute case of bah humbuggery.   Reasons?

Could be the diminishing yet lingering coughing crud that both Z. and I have been plagued with since England.  (Her pediatrician remains unconcerned.) 

Could be the gnarly - and gnarled - holiday shopping traffic. 

Could be that stepdaugher C. is insisting that the holiday will be a complete and utter failure unless she finds a brand new laptop computer under our tree with her name on it.  Is it me, or is this kid's Christmas list reading more and more like a ransom note with each passing season?   "Dear Santa:  Bring me a Sony VAIO 25" laptop with built-in Web cam and Bluetooth technology, or that whole warm and fuzzy spirit of the season is TOAST.  Thanks in advance."  Now, her mom is wealthy, so that sort of James Gandolfini approach to gift "requests" doesn't raise any eyebrows in C.'s other home.  Alas, said laptop would actually have to have fallen off the back of a truck if it were to find its way into our more modest household, so I'm anticipating at least one medium-to-large sized outburst come gift-opening time.  The real kicker is that C. already has a laptop at her mother's place, but it has been deemed, for reasons wholly unfathomable to me, inadequate.  Ergh!  Ergh, I tell you!  Hell, I'm a writer, and I'd be doing cartwheels if I had an "inadequate" laptop in my possession!  Instead I remain chained to this industrial-sized desktop model of many moon's ago, which grinds and groans mysteriously whenever random keys are pressed.  But I digress.............

Other reasons to bah humbug?  What about the mask of sanity that is lifted from many a face in the shopping malls and stores this time of year?!  Seriously - I just hit RiteAid this afternoon to pick up some odds and bobs, like more scotch tape and gift tags, only to be followed around the store by a *special* sort of Santa's helper in the form of a modestly groomed, albeit friendly schizophrenic, who was helping Z. and I complete our holiday shopping by continually trying to hand us a dancing, singing, plasticine reindeer sculpture.  I'm too frazzled to make that up - it actually happened.   Maybe it serves me right for doing any holiday shopping at a drug store laden with those kinds of classy gift ideas targeting the last-minute shopper - and those shoppers who've recently earned shopping "privileges" and day passes......

Let's just break out those little liquor-filled chocolates now, and call it a day already.....