The late 20s saw the Great Depression. During most of the 30s, the Great Dust Bowl brought on by drought dried out soil, turning it in to dust, and sweeping it off in to the Atlantic. Farmers went without. There have been Great Storms, Great Famines, and Great Blizzards. Great I ask you - what is so very great about depression, crop less land, raging storms, periods of hunger, and severe weather? These non-aptly named periods of world history are tragic and devastating and stressful for all involved, but none so much as the tale I tell of the Great Diaper Debacle of 2008.
I am my mother's daughter. A born shopper by genetic makeup, good breeding, and introduction to proper society. Valet at Nordstrom’s, a shoe closet to make Imelda Marcus envy. It's a noble pursuit I've mastered and some day I hope to pass down my knowledge to my children's children's children.
In 2007 friends my age started having children of their own. Anyone else would probably find concern that everyone around them was buying homes and procreating, but I was ok, I had great shoes. I had fabulous shoes. These babies also provided the never before allowed opportunity to shop for baby shit. I was a born shopper. Born in a family of shoppers who knew shopping. I could do this, no problem.
My friend Stacey is due in February and registered at Babies R Us. I had perused the list on the World Wide Web and saw several things that suited my fancy and Stacey's I'm sure, since they were on the damn registry. With the site down for several days undergoing updates, I had to make an in store visit. My closest Babies R Us is in Van Nuys, not far from, um, nothing. They printed me out the list, and told me how it works - find the item numbers on the shelves that correspond to the product. Easy enough.
I had little interest in nursing products and that sort of thing. Nor did I care for anything related to poo. "Horton Hears A Hoo." "One Fish, Two Fish, Three, Four, Five Fish." "There's a Wocket in My Pocket." The books were not in a dialect I understood. I read wocket. It didn't put me to sleep like it promised, and it seemed confusing for an infant. Babies need this? And that? Strollers, sleepers, onesies, twosies, special diaper pals and play pins, holders and swings. It was a world of baby I felt I didn't understand. All my previous shopping experience left me weak, unprepared, grasping for air. If only she had registered for a cute sling back pair of Jimmy Choo's at Neiman Marcus, well I'd totally like have that shit nailed. Baby, oh baby, I know nothing about you and the multitude of your needs.
I eventually settled on a diaper genie (no there was no Robin William's voiced character which showed itself despite looking), but it was a big box, and who doesn't like giving a present in a big box? Stacey would love me, if not for my girlish good looks, for bringing her presents in big boxes.
That could have been the most stressful experience of my life. It was great in the way famine and depression ravaged communities.
That should have been it, but I also needed to bring diapers. I know as much about baby diapers as the trip to Babies R Us for a gift that preceded this, but I was a smart girl (though I can't help but think my parents say so condescendingly). There were brands and stages of diapers - an entire wall of them. I picked stage 2 and put it in my cart. But it said "Jumbo." Oh this won't do. I put it back and grabbed another. "Super Mega." Shit. The last thing I need is for one of my best friends to think I think that she's going to have a Super Mega baby. Can you picture it in some Godzilla scene goo goo and gaa gaaing as she steps over tall building and picks up people and cars as she giggles. It was not an image I needed in Stacey's head, or mine. I asked a Target employee for help.
"I'm confused. My friend Stacey, I pretty sure she is going to have a very normal sized baby. I have no reason to believe its jumbo or super mega. Please just show me the diapers that say Average Cute All American Baby Size."
I think I had though forgotten where I was. Target in Van Nuys. My dialogue was returned with a one "no hablo ingles." I'd taken four years of Spanish but it had been a while and I don't think to the level to explain my Godzilla fear of a Super Mega baby. My Spanish stopped somewhere between where's the shitter, and I need another beer.
The loudspeaker announced the closure of Target Van Nuys and I put the Jumbo diapers in my cart. She'd be overloaded at the shower with small sandwiches and baskets of onesies and I'd cause a distraction as I put the diapers with the others we were asked to bring.
That could have been the second most stressful experience of my life.
On Monday I was at happy hour with friends, getting my drink on, something I know much better than baby books about Wockets and I told them about the days before and how clearly my training as master shopper, left me ill prepared for what I'd found at the baby store. There was much I didn't know. I told them, too, about the diapers.
The friend of the group, having a one year old of her own, bless her heart, says in the most diplomatic loving voice which said more to me about her concern for how I function in the world so deeply confused, "Super Mega, Jumbo - those are the sizes of the box. Those diapers, they are for normal sized babies. Not Godzilla babies."
It was funny to the group. Rather illuminating for me. But overall just a great relief. In 2 weeks when Stacey has baby Madison, I will try to be a good Aunt, loving and attentive, playful and adventurous, with little to no fear she will be a monster baby overtaking major metropolises and wrecking havoc on society. Just a cute little thing that I can't wait to meet.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Addiction
I hear it's terrible, addiction. Being so tied to someone or something that destroys you - and yet you still need. It's like totally uncool.
Having gone my life without any real attachment to anything, my unhealthy lust for couture aside, I wanted to see what it was like.
I decided to be a chain smoker.
It seemed doable. It was those smokers out there in front the bar, talking, laughing, sharing stories. I like to talk and laugh and share stories. And it's a built in break every hour at the old j-o-b. Who doesn't want to avoid doing work? Traffic - heck, I can handle that. I'll just pass the time smoking. I could find few downsides to it, other than the pesky health consequences. And I'd be the judge of that.
"You know you can put your cigarette out of your sunroof instead of the window," a friend said.
I did not know that. But what she failed to inform me of - the car had to be in motion. Several experiences burning my body with ash, being burned by others with their cigarettes, and I thought maybe this wasn't for me. But it was the last catch, that's what got me. Days would go by and I'd forget. A critical part, I'd learned, in being the chain smoker I'd aspired to be, is doing it a lot. As frequently as possible. But forgetting to do it, well that's not going to add up to addiction now is it?
Oh well.
Having gone my life without any real attachment to anything, my unhealthy lust for couture aside, I wanted to see what it was like.
I decided to be a chain smoker.
It seemed doable. It was those smokers out there in front the bar, talking, laughing, sharing stories. I like to talk and laugh and share stories. And it's a built in break every hour at the old j-o-b. Who doesn't want to avoid doing work? Traffic - heck, I can handle that. I'll just pass the time smoking. I could find few downsides to it, other than the pesky health consequences. And I'd be the judge of that.
"You know you can put your cigarette out of your sunroof instead of the window," a friend said.
I did not know that. But what she failed to inform me of - the car had to be in motion. Several experiences burning my body with ash, being burned by others with their cigarettes, and I thought maybe this wasn't for me. But it was the last catch, that's what got me. Days would go by and I'd forget. A critical part, I'd learned, in being the chain smoker I'd aspired to be, is doing it a lot. As frequently as possible. But forgetting to do it, well that's not going to add up to addiction now is it?
Oh well.
Oh You Want To Know More About Me? Very Well Then.
In the wake of James Frey's comeuppance on Oprah, I feel it behooves me to be as honest here as possible. If I had to be reincarnated I really would like to be the yellow fanta girl. My least favorite thing about being vegetarian is when people argue with me about it. Although I have been known to fall off the wagon for a dodger dog. Chances are I know more about Britney Spears than any human alive and I'm only a little ashamed to admit that. I once paid two dollars for a peach. I'm not sure why I just told you that but I felt like you should know. I like animals more than I like most people. I can't hold a grudge-it's physically impossible. I have zero tolerance for people who talk badly about the valley. Really, I dont want to hear it. I also have issues with being hugged. Although this one time I got a great deal on a handbag and before I knew it I was hugging people. I've been told everything is more fun with me around, and while I'm pretty sure I'm being lied to, I choose to believe it.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Door to Door Cleaning Supply Salesmen
Everyone knows I have but three weaknesses - Britney Spears, Major League baseball, and cleaning. I enjoy cleaning. There I said. It's borderline problematic, the excessiveness to which I clean, but I try to keep myself in line, balanced.
Saturday afternoon, as I prepared for my hostess role, I was vaccuuming, taking out the trash, prepping appetizers and such, I heard someone at my front door. Unable to understand him when I asked for identifcation, and thinking it was just my family arriving early, I opened the door. The stranger at the door, holding a purple and sudsy clear bottle, identified himself as Charles. And without any further prompting, continued on with his speech. Selling cleaning supplies door to door, in town from Cincinatti, for only $43 I too can own this here bottle. Even given my weakness, I was inclined to say no, but then there was talk about a daughter back home he was trying to support, a college education he was trying to pay for, and everytime I clean I can brighten a childs life. I don't really remember a lot that happened after that, but I think I gave him a check and took my $43 bottle of cleaning solution.
I have before said I am but one knock of the door away from being a Jehovah's Witness. I can be convinced of anything. But perhaps with my weakness for cleaning, I should not open the door for door to door cleaning supply salesmen either.
Saturday afternoon, as I prepared for my hostess role, I was vaccuuming, taking out the trash, prepping appetizers and such, I heard someone at my front door. Unable to understand him when I asked for identifcation, and thinking it was just my family arriving early, I opened the door. The stranger at the door, holding a purple and sudsy clear bottle, identified himself as Charles. And without any further prompting, continued on with his speech. Selling cleaning supplies door to door, in town from Cincinatti, for only $43 I too can own this here bottle. Even given my weakness, I was inclined to say no, but then there was talk about a daughter back home he was trying to support, a college education he was trying to pay for, and everytime I clean I can brighten a childs life. I don't really remember a lot that happened after that, but I think I gave him a check and took my $43 bottle of cleaning solution.
I have before said I am but one knock of the door away from being a Jehovah's Witness. I can be convinced of anything. But perhaps with my weakness for cleaning, I should not open the door for door to door cleaning supply salesmen either.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Crispy Kitty
What you've heard, read, perpetuated yourself, is false. No one likes their kids equally. Nor their pets. You don't not love the others - but you like one more.
I found Sophia Maria Consuela at Katie's Pet Depot in Westwood. I was all together opposed to acquiring myself a pet from a petstore, but the pets there were only there to be put up for adoption, not sale. I was 20, and no real position to spend a lot of time taking care of another being, so I said if I was going to get anything, it would be an old cat. Everyone wants a kitten, while the old cats get no love. I'd do the right thing, get an old cat, and they wouldn't give a damn if I was out all night getting my party on.
I paid the nominal $30 or so fee for fixing and such, and took her home. Sophie was her name at adoption, and I thought it too confusing for an old cat to change it abruptly. Little did I know the name was chosen days before at the pet store, and Sophie wasn't old, the legarticness could only be attributed to spending her day in a cage with people looking at her. She was one.
So I took home my not really an old cat, gave her three names - Sophia Maria Consuela - easier to yell should I be looking for her under a bed and the like, and we sort of continued on like this. Over the years, we'd pick up another cat, but Sophie would be my favorite. There would be little in the world that would match her perched on the penthouse of her cat condo, peering through the blinds, watching the world happen. When I'd come home and she'd try to escape, "go ahead," I'd say, "it's a rough world out there, if you think you can handle it, who am I to stop you." I am not a crazy person, I know she had no idea what I was saying, but she got I just knew better.
As life got complicated, and disappointments mounted, a search for myself in my 20s turned in to uncertainly closing in at 30, she was there, ready for a good nap. "What do I want to do at 2:00 on a Saturday? Take a nap with Sophie."
At times I gaze at her and she looks troubled, "Kitty tell me your woes."
She doesn't have any woes. She's a spoiled housecat who naps at will and plays with only the finest storebought toys. She does just fine for a cat looking for a home 8 years ago at Katie' Pet Depot. And I've learned love. I loved before her. But I was young and never had I ventured on my own to care for something to that scale. I see her and I just see love. I hold her and I just feel love.
She's my favorite.
In the morning when I get ready, beautify myself so to speak, she jumps up top the sink with little room for her and demands love. Because I adore her ridiculouslike, I give her said love. This morning as I pet her and scratched her and told her how cute I thought she looked, I smelled something just terrible.
Where had it come from?
I gently pushed her off the sink, and as she made the leap, I saw it. All along her tail and legs her entire backend - charred hair; big clumps of black charred hair. In what had probably initially felt good, getting her booty warm, she burned her ass and tail on the open flame of my bathroom candle. I raced around the house, and I know she wasn't hurt, but I was panicked nonetheless. Her tail is a little skimpy on clumps of hair, but a good nap and I'm sure we can both soon put behind us this most unfortunate run in with the candle. The owner trauma may be slightly more long lasting.
Goodnight,
Rebecca and Sophia.
I found Sophia Maria Consuela at Katie's Pet Depot in Westwood. I was all together opposed to acquiring myself a pet from a petstore, but the pets there were only there to be put up for adoption, not sale. I was 20, and no real position to spend a lot of time taking care of another being, so I said if I was going to get anything, it would be an old cat. Everyone wants a kitten, while the old cats get no love. I'd do the right thing, get an old cat, and they wouldn't give a damn if I was out all night getting my party on.
I paid the nominal $30 or so fee for fixing and such, and took her home. Sophie was her name at adoption, and I thought it too confusing for an old cat to change it abruptly. Little did I know the name was chosen days before at the pet store, and Sophie wasn't old, the legarticness could only be attributed to spending her day in a cage with people looking at her. She was one.
So I took home my not really an old cat, gave her three names - Sophia Maria Consuela - easier to yell should I be looking for her under a bed and the like, and we sort of continued on like this. Over the years, we'd pick up another cat, but Sophie would be my favorite. There would be little in the world that would match her perched on the penthouse of her cat condo, peering through the blinds, watching the world happen. When I'd come home and she'd try to escape, "go ahead," I'd say, "it's a rough world out there, if you think you can handle it, who am I to stop you." I am not a crazy person, I know she had no idea what I was saying, but she got I just knew better.
As life got complicated, and disappointments mounted, a search for myself in my 20s turned in to uncertainly closing in at 30, she was there, ready for a good nap. "What do I want to do at 2:00 on a Saturday? Take a nap with Sophie."
At times I gaze at her and she looks troubled, "Kitty tell me your woes."
She doesn't have any woes. She's a spoiled housecat who naps at will and plays with only the finest storebought toys. She does just fine for a cat looking for a home 8 years ago at Katie' Pet Depot. And I've learned love. I loved before her. But I was young and never had I ventured on my own to care for something to that scale. I see her and I just see love. I hold her and I just feel love.
She's my favorite.
In the morning when I get ready, beautify myself so to speak, she jumps up top the sink with little room for her and demands love. Because I adore her ridiculouslike, I give her said love. This morning as I pet her and scratched her and told her how cute I thought she looked, I smelled something just terrible.
Where had it come from?
I gently pushed her off the sink, and as she made the leap, I saw it. All along her tail and legs her entire backend - charred hair; big clumps of black charred hair. In what had probably initially felt good, getting her booty warm, she burned her ass and tail on the open flame of my bathroom candle. I raced around the house, and I know she wasn't hurt, but I was panicked nonetheless. Her tail is a little skimpy on clumps of hair, but a good nap and I'm sure we can both soon put behind us this most unfortunate run in with the candle. The owner trauma may be slightly more long lasting.
Goodnight,
Rebecca and Sophia.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Reinventing Downtown LA
"After years of being offered street drugs by neighborhood hobos and dealers, today I got offered vicodin. Who says downtown isn't getting nicer?"
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Rebecca On Bowl Games
Rebecca: As soon as I sent that text I knew I shouldn't have. You know there are always those people who you just can't joke with about their sports team.
Dianna: You can't take a joke when it comes to your teams.
Rebecca: Bullshit.
Dianna: Ok then what about that time I took a picture in that Padres hat and emailed it to you?
Rebecca: Oh so different.
Dianna: You can't take a joke when it comes to your teams.
Rebecca: Bullshit.
Dianna: Ok then what about that time I took a picture in that Padres hat and emailed it to you?
Rebecca: Oh so different.
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