Sunday, February 29, 2004
And so my quest for publication in 2004 continues...
In other exciting (oh, shut up) news, my intrepid father has posted flyers for the Daly City reading at...hold onto your raspberry berets...Ong Pin, Ling Nam, Sinug Whatever, and Ranch 99. He kills me.
Saturday, February 28, 2004
Wednesday, February 25, 2004
Risa, who dons her Snow White halloween costume daily (sans the black pageboy wig, thank God), must have been guided by some inner compass of decorum because she didn't even consider wearing it to the show. When she saw throngs of her peers arriving at the arena dressed in their tulle gowns and tiaras, I braced for a classic 4-year-old screech aria. But it never happened.
As the young men dressed in princely attire trolled the aisles proffering what amounted to pink plastic flashlights for $24, I feared the worst. But though they earned curious stares from my twins, there were no formal requests for ownership.
The kind, misguided woman who offered my daughters her $7 ziploc bag of lavendar Princess cotton candy was surprised when I answered, "Oh, no thank you," for them, but probably even more surprised when they echoed my response and then turned back to watch Cinderella waltz with what's-his-name.
And what of my 2-year-old? She was disenchanted after 20 minutes, but gets high marks for suffering through the entire two hours without causing even a momentary scene. Popcorn, that's why.
Disney's not the only one with princesses, ya know.
Monday, February 23, 2004
It's the 157th next-best thing to going to the spa.
Friday, February 20, 2004
Calyx Books and Daly City Public Library
writings by Filipinas
Jean Vengua Gier
Henrietta Chico Nofre
Angela Narciso Torres
Thursday, March 11 @ 2:00 p.m.
40 Wembley Dr.
Daly City, CA 94015
If you feel the urgent, inexplicable need to run to the nearest bulletin board to post this information, e-mail me and I'll send you a pretty flyer in PDF.
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
•Not simply, "We're getting married!" but "We're getting married and immediately moving to Washington, D.C., where we don't know a single person and where everyone wears sad blue suits!"
•Not just, "We're having a baby!" but "We're having twins, and unbeknownst to me, I'm going to have abdominal surgery during the fifth month of my pregnancy!"
•Couldn't stop at, "We have 18-month-old twin girls!" but had to add, "And another baby on the way, though we don't quite understand how because, really, who can manage to have sex after chasing around two toddlers who spend their days scaling bookshelves, bumping into table corners, and massaging yogurt into their hair?"
And now? Well, now the twins are starting preschool, I'm giving up the services of my frighteningly patient and impossibly chipper three-times-a-week kidsitter, and the two-year-old will either 1) spend the mornings howling over the loss of her other two partners-in-crime or 2) go into shock at the realization that because her sisters are at school, she no longer has to claw her way to the top of my attention radar by delivering blood-curdling screams or ripping off her diaper and running nekkid through the house. Oh, and I'm heading back to the gym after a 4-year hiatus.
I don't know about this, people. I don't know.
Sunday, February 15, 2004
Friday, February 13, 2004
Here's the inevitable petition. I'm signature 4 thousand something or other.
Thursday, February 12, 2004
1) I stood up and walked around the kitchen. I ate a slice of orange left over from my kids' lunch (the fruit of the fruit of my loins?!).
2) I returned to the keyboard. Typed fifty or sixty words.
3) I wandered into the den and turned on MTV. I danced with wild and scary abandon to that Missy Elliot video where everyone's wearing a t-shirt that says, "Hot." I pretended that I, too, was wearing a t-shirt that said, "Hot." And my tweed hat, dammit. I winked at imaginary people; I cocked my head as if to say, "Hey, what's up?" Then my thighs started to hurt.
4) I took a seat on the couch and changed channels. General Hospital, my true guilty pleasure. A fire was raging at the Port Charles Hotel. The angst, the drama, the hair. It was too much for me.
5) Back at the computer, I wrote a good solid paragraph. Then I went outside to check the mailbox. There was no mail yet, but gads the weather is lovely right now. I sat on my steps and let the sun kiss my spf'ed face.
6) Back inside, I determined that because I had danced so vigorously to the aforementioned Missy Elliot song, I deserved some cookies. I baked five of those little "break-n-bake" chocolate chip numbers. For the twelve minutes it took them to get softy and gooey, I wrote a little more. Then I poured myself a glass of milk and ate my cookies while watching more fire! more drama! more mascara running down faces! on General Hospital.
This was how I killed an hour of my life. I have only 304 words to show for myself, so I did the logical thing: I started to blog. The girls will be up any minute now.
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
While trying to keep up with Risa and Vida as they scaled the snowy hills of Leland Snow Park, I kept thinking, "And this is fun because….?"
A two-year-old child will lose her mittens approximately every 45 seconds.
The dry air will make your nose run and your hair straight.
Children cannot play in the snow for an entire day. Bring lots of DVDs and art supplies.
Going to the snow is a good excuse for drinking...hot chocolate!
Going to the snow with children is a good excuse for drinking...vodka!
Random and frightening observation made at the bar where the jukebox was in full swing: I know all the words to "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head."
Thursday, February 05, 2004
See you on Monday...
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
Humiliating Snow Experience #1. Long ago, in a galaxy far away, I moved to Vancouver, British Columbia, with my then-boyfriend, now-husband. I had lived my whole life in the Bay Area and owned no snow-appropriate outerwear. I had no hat. Even if I did have a hat, the chances of my donning it were slim, for I am not a "hat person." I had no snow boots. But none of this stopped me from attempting to return a video to the video store three blocks away. I stepped out of our apartment building and immediately slipped on the brick pavement. Slipped right on my ass all Looney Tunes cartoon-like. It hurt like a mo-fo. I stood up and limped back into the lobby. I stared through the glass at the beautiful snow-covered street with its beautiful snow-covered trees and took a deep breath. I opened the door and stepped out of the apartment building again. I slipped again. I repeated this sad little scenario twice more before returning to our apartment, crawling into bed, and weeping.
Humiliating Snow Experience #2. Age: 25. First time skiing. I was kicking some butt on the bunny hill, people. All the five-year-olds were impressed with me. So was my husband (do you see this? do you see how he figures into both of these humiliating snow experiences?). So much so that he convinced me I was ready to tackle an actual mountain. We took the ski lift halfway to heaven. I stood at the top of the mountain, stared down and began to curse delicately beneath my frozen breath. I voiced my concerns to my husband, who immediately pointed to the losers who were walking down the side of the mountain. He said, "You don't want to be like them, do you?" In fact, I did. But I kept this to myself and proceeded to make the best of my situation. In the thirty-five minutes (that's not a typo; that's a fact) it took me to get to the bottom of the mountain, I ended up face-down five times. During one of these times, a man flying by on his skis yelled, "That's a great sweater!" I lifted my face out of the snow and managed a weak, "Thank you..."
Humiliating Snow Experience #3. My third humiliating snow experience is sure to happen this weekend and will likely involve a sled of some sort. I will not be wearing a hat. But I do have snow boots. I'll let you know how it goes.
This post was for my friend Paul, who sent me an evil e-mail complaining about what he perceives as yawning gaps between entries.