Californication

The best thing about "Californication" (aside from the myriad boobielicious tittie shots and pot smoking) is that David Duchovny just entered rehab for sex addiction. His wife, Tea Leoni, stands by her man. You gotta believe!

A Place in the Sun

Milan has sand in his ass crack. He has sand on his gums and on his scalp. I’d say that’s a successful first trip to the beach. I wore my über-stylish über-sized black tent from Torrid. Hot, I know. And I wasn’t afraid to be seen with a crunch bar. That’s because we went to family friendly Zuma Beach. Not our usual local hot spot in Malibu. They would have probably asked me to leave because I’d be blocking their sun. But Zuma was cool. Jumbo chips bags, magnificent coolers, generous suits with impossibly outré floral prints. Seagull poop. Lifeguards and lots of sand for Milan to eat. And we didn’t even get into a fight. Wise ones we are and early we left.

Mid-Century Modern Owls

Your home is not complete unless you have an owl. It's the closest thing to actually owning a Mid-Century Modern house. If you cannot afford a Frank Lloyd Wright in Los Feliz, you can at least show you're hip by selecting tasteful pieces of owl art. The nursery especially is a great place to showcase your belonging to the cool class.

They have sweet stuff here: www.petitcollage.com.

Toxic Bibs?

Geez, the things you have to think of. I just realized that Milan's bibs are probably all toxic, too. I need to get non-poisonous ones like these http://gollygeezbaby.com/shop/category.asp?catid=122. They're only twenty bucks!

Born Free

I did it. I bought Bisphenol-A free Born Free bottles and sippy cups. They taste kind of funny, though. I was walking around the lake with J. today and got really thirsty. All I had was Milan's sippy cup. I must say the plastic nipple tastes kind of funky. Would bother me if I were a baby. But I'm so glad that at 10 months Milan is finally BPA free! It also has a low vacuum valve, allows a free flow of liquid and reduces the risk of ear infections. They don't cure cancer, but at least they don't cause it. Nifty name, too. Makes you feel almost politically active. Not quite as cool as Free Tibet, but probably at a Che Guevara level and definitely better than Go Green or whatever slogans are on people's shirts who need to show off that they recycle their 150 water bottles.

Finger Nails are Pretty

Have you ever noticed the correlation between French manicures and intelligence/education levels? The longer and thicker the tip, the dumber the girl. Smart girls don't get fake nails. At least not on the East side. But I want them really bad. I want a French manicure with black tips and glitter. I guess that makes me really really stupid. At least I'm no longer blond.

Moo: Mi Cucina, Mis Reglas

I'm not supposed to eat dairy. Today, I ate zero vegetables, zero fruit, 5 pieces of string cheese (that I got for Milan originally). One yogurt. 3 pieces of peppered pastrami. A bowl of oat meal and two cappuccinos. Circa 1500 calories, mostly dairy. That's why I'm fat. Among other reasons.

I like You, I REALLY do!

I like you, I really do. No, I didn't think you are an uptight yuppie bitch whose ego is so brittle and yet so overblown (a Gen X paradox) that you need to point out your academic acumen over and over again. You wear your motherhood like armor; your self-righteousness keeps your serotonin levels steady. You can sleep at night. No, I don't think you have a stick up your ass. But I wish you'd move back to the West Side. Or Massachusetts. Or wherever the hell you're from.

Pre SCum

Social discrimination must begin at a young age. Ideally before birth. If you don't have your kid on at least 4 exclusive preschool waiting lists before they can roll over you are = a total loser. A total irresponsible, socially undesirable schmuck (although the world schmuck in and of itself is cool). And we won't have anything to do with you. You smell of little brown children that can't spell, bring tortillas to lunch and whose parents don't discuss topics such as developmental stages and maturity. Oh, but it's cool if your kid speaks Spanish, of course. You just wouldn't want him to learn it firsthand. Better through a warm, grandmotherly nanny. And if she makes tamales for lunch, hey, that's hip! Like those from Whole Foods.

White People

I've been living in California for what? going on 20 years and I'm still not used to the fact that I'm white people. Sometimes La Guera. White people said one of Abe's cousins today. They only care about money. That's all. They care about nothing, man. Only money. I wanted to say, wait, not all white people! It's this country, this cut-throat capitalistic society that makes people that way. People here have no choice but to fight and hustle and struggle. And besides, not all white people are the same. There are Canadians and Swedes and Germans and... but it's no use. I'm a white person. If I were truly part of this big Mexican family that fell in our lap last month, I wouldn't have to worry about whether the women at the Silver Lake's Mom's Club like me. I wouldn't have to worry so much at all. Oh no.

stuffwhitepeoplelike.com

Good Nuff Mom

Must get "I Was a Really Good Mom Before I Had Kids." I'm already feeding Milan banana puffs. And they're made of chemicals. Not the stuff of life kind of chemicals, but evil cancer-causing ones. Need to find out where else I fall short. No TV so far, but I see it coming!

Woody Who?

Comic Relief after a stressful day with baby: A. sitting on the porch and proclaiming, completely disregarding a prolific, brilliant body of work, "Match Point. That's got to be one of Woody Allen's better movies."

Fat at the Zoo

We went to the L.A. Zoo on Sunday and to my relief it was schleppy Moms in head-to-toe Target everywhere. While A. and M. checked out the monkeys and tigers and flamingoes I counted the female bipedal primates of the Homo sapiens sapiens genus that were a size 12 and up. I was very satisfied. I haven't felt this "at home" in weeks, months! It almost made it OK to eat ice cream. Well, almost. Maybe an Icee. That's mostly water, and sugar. But somehow seems less gluttinous. Less of a personality flaw.

The Highly Sensitive Person

I met R. for lunch today and over chilled pea soup and salmon tartare she told me about the Book "The Highly Sensitive Person," by Elaine N. Aron. It describes 99% of me, and I take one percentage point of strictly for not avoiding violent movies. But I do get overwhelmed by stimuli such as lights, noises, and smells. Other people’s moods and emotions deeply affect me. I become uneasy when someone is watching me complete a task. I become tired easily after a “normal” day of activity. I'm aware of other things in my environment that most other people are not aware of. I become agitated or anxious when I have a lot of tasks to do and not enough time to complete all of them. I feel the need to escape and retreat when there is too much going on around me. I am deeply interested in the arts or music. I seem to be more sensitive to pain than other people. I'm sensitive to certain foods such as foods containing caffeine, sugar or alcohol. I become (very) unpleasant when I'm hungry. I easily sense the energies of places or situations. I need (tons) of time alone. I have a vivid imagination. Here I thought I was just a super cranky, misanthropic pessimist!

Birth and Your Chi

I saw an acupuncturist yesterday who told me birth depleted my chi and weakened my blood. He took one look at my tongue and pronounced: phlegm. I'm no longer allowed dairy. What about milk? I wondered. No. Cheese? No. Yogurt, certainly? No, no, no. So it's back to soy lattes. and Chinese fungus.

Categorical Imperative

I'm under strict orders from Dr. S. not to discuss my fat with A. He realizes that it will take superhuman effort to resist the horrible temptation to keep scratching at it like at a mosquito bite that has gone scabby and bloody, but I must cease, desist and resist. Categorically. But Dr. S. also asked if I ever, in a lighthearted way, thought about suing him over having gotten fat. I swore no, but he just shook a finger!

Ven is de bebe calming?

It hasn't happened in a while but it happened today, at beautiful "Jons" in Glendale. I was getting hummus (what else would you get at Jons in Glendale) and the friendly counter lady smiled a big Armenian smile, pointed to my protruding gut and said. When is the baby coming? I paused for a moment and then lied, oh, I just had the baby. In a thick German accent. As if somehow having an accent made the situation less horrible. Cause people with accents are sort of, you know, soft fruit, a little half baked. Oh, boy or girl? she asked. Boy I hissed. Oh, God bless you, she said, God bless you and your baby. On a positive note, I got raspberries for $1.99 that elsewhere go for $4.99. And they have real Dutch cheese.

Mac Mutantes

We've been watching the Olympics on TV a bit, mostly gymnastics and such things, because we got sucked in with the bombastic, ueberkitschy opening ceremony. There's a McDonalds commercial and it features an Os Mutantes song! An Os Mutantes song! One of the most radical 60s Tropicalia bands. It makes me sick. A Minha Menina is one of my favorite songs and to see it associated with big corporate quarter pounders and McChickens is deeply saddening. What do you call an aberration like this? It's beyond sellout. It's an artistic tragedy. But it figures. Last summer we got tickets to see the old farts at the Wiltern. I was very pregnant and it hurt ot be on my feet and the opening band was going on forever, so I finally asked Abe: When do you think Os Mutantes is gonna go on? He looked at me strange and said, uhm, they are on, that's them. I looked at the stage and back at Abe and went: what? He said, that's Os Mutantes, they are playing! I swear, the music was so hideous, vaguely tropicaly of course, but mostly Carlos Santa in Vegas with lots of dreadful solos and working the audience. Then I realized it was them. And we both looked at other and laughed so hard and left and in the car rocked out to She Wants Revenge. True Story.

The Waiting Game

Whenever I'm eager to go somewhere, Milan will take a 2-hour nap. When I'm exhausted and want to rest, he will be up for hours. I'm learning to be OK with what is. Although I do look at my watch a lot.

Tao-d

My heart is filled with doubt and doubt is a terrible thing. It casts a shadow on every action and eats at the mind from within. Sometimes it threatens to erode me completely. It is totalitarian, relentless. Dr. S. said Milan is my teacher, my little guru, and I’m trying to be more present in the moment, to be more relaxed, more Zen-like. I like to just sit with Milan in silence; that’s when I’m happiest. But then doubt comes in, yakking that maybe I need to fill the space with words, maybe I need to talk more, tell Milan things, show him things, teach him. And as soon as the thought is thought, I’m out of the moment. I hate to talk to just comment on things, oh look, that’s a nice shape, a nice color, oh look how well you are moving the car, good job. I hate breaking the silence but I feel like I should talk more. After all, how else is Milan going to learn to talk? Through a silent mother? And I think what good is it me sitting there, just being… and I get up to “do” something, like washing the dishes, and Milan will stop his quiet play immediately and follow me in there. And then he will cry. So the quiet being together, the being silently at play is “doing something.” Or is it?

Sikh and Ye Shall Find

I've decided to become a Sikh, once and for all. I'll be the only Sikh in Echo Park, the only Sikh shopping at Vons and the only Sikh at the Rose Bowl Aquatic Center. In West Hollywood you see lots of them. Like at Erewon (sp?). I've even seen them at soup plantation years ago. Seriously, though. I took the best yoga class, one of the best ever, at Golden Bridge this week. I got into a trance, seeing a white light, a halo, and aliens almost crawled out of it. I loved chanting wahe guru and I was jealous of all of the preggo ladies. You see, I had the chance to take prenatal yoga there and I didn't because I was too lazy to drive. So instead I went to Silver Lake Yoga the whole time. I sooo regret that. Golden Bridge is beautiful and light-filled and they have delish iced yogi tea with soy milk. I think anyone pregnant should go there. The place just oozes happiness and loving kindness. Oh, they have little Gandhi baby tees, too.

Nonviolent Parenting

I’ve come across several parents lately that were quick to tell me that they practice nonviolent, nonharmful parenting. What an odd trend! Whatever happened to good old beating the living day lights out of your child and locking them in a broom closet without food for three days? Milan just loves his martini very dry and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’ve also heard “playful” parenting. I personally think all playing should be utterly dry and void of laughter. We need a generation of depressed nihilists. America is just way too optimistic=Bush two times!! for my taste.

In all seriousness, though, maybe these people have violent tendencies they need to keep in check and maybe I should stay away from them? They might have a relapse any moment. Or maybe it’s just another of those annoying labels people like to slap on to feel good about themselves. Poor bastards. I, for one am one happy meat-eating, coffee-drinking, wine-guzzling, non-voting, backward-bending momma. No labels needed.

Anthroposophy

I have a love-hate relationship with Rudolph Steiner. I want to be an anthroposophist, I really do, but some of the philosophy regarding children is just too irritating. Like faceless dolls. And dressing in complementary colors. Like this: if your child is hyper, dress him in red, because when you look at red long enough you see green, which has a soothing effect. Hm… And dolls and stuffed animals, well, they better not have a face, so the child can project her own desired emotions. Dude, I’m just not sure. It’s so, well, anti-American. It’s like you almost run the risk of getting a ticket if you don’t smile. Even in LA, where people have fangs!

So, I discovered that there is a Waldorf bookstore and library in Pasadena. Should I go? It feels a bit like going to scientology. My parents' neighbor is huge into Steiner philosophy and she was upset at me for using eucalyptus oil when Milan had a cold. And she brought over a book that suggested using sunshine to help bring up your child, as in ‘let the rays help you.’ And she wears floor length skirts. I hate floor length skirts. Unless they are white and worn by Sikhs at Golden Bridge. Anyway, a secret little part of me really does want to get some faceless dolls for Milan. What do you think?

Gluten Glee

Every time I hear that another mom cooks gluten free baby food, my blood pressure rises and I'm one step closer to heart disease. Oh, and there's salmon that doesn't have WHEAT in it. Amazing! And water is gluten-free, too. I think. Although sometimes it makes my gallbladder feel sticky.

from Wikipedia:

Gluten is a composite of the proteins gliadin and glutenin. These exist, conjoined with starch, in the endosperms of some grass-related grains, notably wheat, rye, and barley. Gliadin and glutenin comprise about 80% of the protein contained in wheat seed. Being insoluble in water, they can be purified by washing away the associated starch. Worldwide, gluten is an important source of nutritional protein, both in foods prepared directly from sources containing it, and as an additive to foods otherwise low in protein. Tests have recently shown gluten is in corn.

L.A. Moment or Six Dollar Chai

I was craving an iced chai this morning, and having decided to boycott Starbucks, I drove to the unabashedly superior LaMill on Silver Lake Blvd. Their chai Masala is $6. Six dollars!!! Actually, six fifty with tax! But it’s so good; it’s the equivalent of the DB foie gras burger. So I grabbed my overpriced prize and drove to the reservoir, so Milan could play in the grass, It was under siege by some sewage repair crew, so we headed to lush, verdant-urban, now lotus free Echo Park to chill with the bums. When I tried to park, some raggedy women were waving furiously and yelling at me. Turns out in the---legal---spot where I was about the park, the free food delivery truck usually parks at 1p.m. And me with my spenny chai. Ugh. They looked hungry, too, so I moved further down. We set up camp, me sipping my chai in my boho (not hobo) chic outfit, trying to keep Milan from snacking on garbage, watching the truck people hand out free meals. It was such an L.A. moment.

What?

A year and a half has passed since I decided to become a blogger? Wow, that lasted a whole five minutes. Well, I'm ready to roll now, so watch out!