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Everyone always warns you that when you have babies your sex life goes down the tubes and pretty much ceases to exist. And while I normally wouldn't discuss our sex life with anyone, let alone millions of strangers on the internet (okay fine, just my sister who is the only person I know reading this), something happened to us last weekend that made me understand that warning that our friends heeded....
T-Ko had gotten us, and a bunch of friends, tickets to go to the Dodgers game at the Coliseum marking their 60th anniversary in Los Angeles. We both grew up in L.A. rooting for Dodger blue so we were both pretty excited, especially T-Ko. He has a bunch of Dodger gear that he had taken out for the game but was most excited to wear a Sandy Koufax jersey that a friend had given him from this famous store in Philadelphia. I have no idea the name or of it's importance, but apparently it's very cool and very special. Whatever, maybe it's like getting a real Hermes scarf at the Hermes store in Paris.... I don't know.
Anyway, the game was scheduled for Saturday night so we made arrangements to have my mom come and baby-sit. We told her to be at our house by 3ish so we could get ready and leave early since traffic would surely be a nightmare. Well, at like
2:45pm we put Baby-Ko down for a nap and T-Ko seized the opportunity and asked if there was any time for a "quickie."
With my mom possibly minutes away, I asked, "How quick?"
"Quick. Trust me."
Fine. Count me in. My hair still needed straightening and I remembered there were some stray hairs on my brows that needed tweezing that I had noticed earlier in the day. Stadium lights are brutal. I have things to do.
Just as T-Ko and I get our party started, we heard KEYS in the front door. T-Ko froze.
"Grammy’s here!" My mom yelled from the living room. DUH! She has her own set of keys!
"Shit!" T-Ko jumped up and ran into our bathroom. I quickly ran to my door and peeked my head out to my mom and tried to whisper, "Baby's sleeping. We're, um, getting dressed. We'll be right out. Baby's sleeping..." I said again so that she wouldn't be tempted to go check on Baby-Ko since his room is next to ours.
My mom shrugged and I shut the door. Phew. Operation quickie back in effect. Let's proceed.
"C'mon. Let's do it. " I said to T-Ko on a mission. "She thinks we're getting dressed."
"But what if she can she hear us?" T-Ko said like a high school boy about to get caught.
"I don't know... Just pretend we're talking about what we're going to wear... "
"Okay," he said and we RESUMED.
"So-what-should-I-wear?" I said mechanically.
"Um...I don't..." T-Ko was having a hard time playing the game.
"Jeans and a sweater. Or sweatshirt...?"
"Sweatshirt!" He was "pretending" a little too loud.
"Shhh!" I giggled. "Okay. Sweatshirt. What about you?"
"My jersey..." He trailed off.
"Oh, your jersey..." Shit, I was trailing off too.
"My jersey..."
"Yes, your jersey. Your jersey....” Playing pretend was getting tougher by the second. "Which one?"
"What??" Poor T-Ko. "I don't-"
"You should wear your Koufax one... Wear your Koufax one... Your Koufax...."
DONE.
"That's it?" I whispered. T-Ko shot me a look.
"Sorry. I mean, great!" I added, "You should definitely wear your Sandy Koufax one."
We quickly kissed, and then high fived and got (re)dressed. My mom (until now. Sorry, mom) never suspected a thing.
Well, tonight we've got plans to grab margaritas and dinner with Charlie, Sara and G-Rat. T-Ko's putting Baby-Ko to sleep now and we might have a few minutes to spare before my in-laws get here to baby-sit. And while Sandy Koufax kind of sex is a far cry from our good 'ol days, at least it's something. Besides, tonight T-Ko can stay an extra "inning" if he needs to... My in-laws don't have keys to our house.
April 4, 2008
April 2, 2008
ANOTHER PURIM, ANOTHER GOLDFISH
As I was searching through Baby-Ko's book shelf today, trying to find something to read to him other than Goodnight Moon and US Weekly (shut up, he loves it), I stumbled upon a series of Jewish Books for children that someone gave to him at his bris (as if he really felt like reading that day). They're called Sammy the Spider's First _____ (Passover, Hanukkah, Sukkot, etc). Despite the fact that Purim was two weeks ago, I thought a little story about Queen Esther and Mordechai might be a bit more exciting than The Runaway-slit-my-wrists-crying-Bunny.
There are obviously reasons why Purim is an important holiday for the Jews, but because I didn't pay very much attention in Hebrew school, you will not be privy to that information in this post. Besides, for me, Purim was, and will always be about one thing and one thing only: GOLDFISH. Winning a goldfish at a Purim Carnival for a Jewish child is seriously like a rite of passage. You go to the carnival not to see who is wearing the best costume, you go to dunk your fat Hebrew teacher in the tank and win a shitty Goldfish. Then you come home with the shitty goldfish in the shitty plastic bag and dump it into the shitty bowl with shitty rocks that you had already from the Goldfish you won the year before (and the year before that).
I was never very good at taking care of my fish. I hated to clean the bowl and forgot to feed them on a regular basis. They always died a few weeks or months after I brought them home, but year after year, I would make it my goal to win one. Finally, one Purim though, I walked into the house with the fish in the plastic bag and my mom looked at me and said, "Oy, not again!"
"I know, I know, " I said and walked straight into the bathroom and dumped the goldfish into the toilet and FLUSHED.
That was the last Goldfish I ever owned. Fortunately, in a few years the tradition will start all over again and Baby-Ko will come marching in one day with his Purim prize. Hopefully, he'll have a better sense of responsibility than I did, but I'll leave
the toilet lid up for him just in case...
There are obviously reasons why Purim is an important holiday for the Jews, but because I didn't pay very much attention in Hebrew school, you will not be privy to that information in this post. Besides, for me, Purim was, and will always be about one thing and one thing only: GOLDFISH. Winning a goldfish at a Purim Carnival for a Jewish child is seriously like a rite of passage. You go to the carnival not to see who is wearing the best costume, you go to dunk your fat Hebrew teacher in the tank and win a shitty Goldfish. Then you come home with the shitty goldfish in the shitty plastic bag and dump it into the shitty bowl with shitty rocks that you had already from the Goldfish you won the year before (and the year before that).
I was never very good at taking care of my fish. I hated to clean the bowl and forgot to feed them on a regular basis. They always died a few weeks or months after I brought them home, but year after year, I would make it my goal to win one. Finally, one Purim though, I walked into the house with the fish in the plastic bag and my mom looked at me and said, "Oy, not again!"
"I know, I know, " I said and walked straight into the bathroom and dumped the goldfish into the toilet and FLUSHED.
That was the last Goldfish I ever owned. Fortunately, in a few years the tradition will start all over again and Baby-Ko will come marching in one day with his Purim prize. Hopefully, he'll have a better sense of responsibility than I did, but I'll leave
the toilet lid up for him just in case...
March 24, 2008
MUFFIN TOP
Ladies and Gentlemen, I have an announcement please....
I. WENT. TO. THE. GYM. TODAY.
I do believe a "mazel tov" and even a "l'chaim" are due. The List God's Nanny is here today and along with getting some writing done and going to Target, getting my fat ass to the gym was high on my priority list. NOW, before you go burning my spanks, I suppose I need to come clean about my little "fitness routine" at the gym today...
Even though the Nanny is here, I didn't want to be gone too long so I decided to go to the ghetto gym closer to my house. The other one I usually go to isn't exactly fancy, but it's always crowded... Every machine is taken by gorgeous wannabe actors and actresses with killer bods. I used to go to that one and feel inspired, but this morning, trying to stuff my tribeswoman tits into my sports bra, was all the inspiration I needed. (More on breastfeeding in another post... maybe).
When I get to the ghetto gym, a wave of nervousness comes over me. First of all, it's packed. Second of all, there are young, good-looking people here. What the fuck?! Wannabe's don't live this far out in the valley! I spot an open treadmill behind a great big post, next to the only elderly person in the gym. I push the "manual workout" button and it automatically sets the clock for 20 minutes. Perfect, that's all I got in me. (Shut up, I walked fast. Very fast. Up hill... )
After my 20-minute fat-man-heart-attack-walk, I grab my belongings and jump off the treadmill. Behind my treadmill was a row of old school Stairmasters.... This guy gives me a look and then looks at my treadmill, as if to say "you were only on for 20 minutes? Seriously??" Quickly, I spot an open bicycle and leap towards it, hoping this guy sees me get on it, as if to say, "fuck you. I'm far from done with my workout."
As I start pedaling, I realize how lame I am... especially because I'm only going to put in another 5 minutes. (I have a lot to do today!) My 5 minutes are up before my Ipod even shuffles to another song and I jump off. Yes! Time to hit Target. Workout complete. I grab my purse and as I stand up, I feel more stares from all the women on the precor machines. "5 Minutes?! You really think you'll lose your MUFFIN TOP working out like a stroke victim after 5 minutes?"
Whatever. I have a baby at home whose need for diapers is far more important than fulfilling the recommended 30 minutes of cardio a day... I think. Plus, I'm still breastfeeding. I've heard a breastfeeding woman can burn like 600 calories a day- that's equivalent to a spin class. Precor, THAT, bitches.
I. WENT. TO. THE. GYM. TODAY.
I do believe a "mazel tov" and even a "l'chaim" are due. The List God's Nanny is here today and along with getting some writing done and going to Target, getting my fat ass to the gym was high on my priority list. NOW, before you go burning my spanks, I suppose I need to come clean about my little "fitness routine" at the gym today...
Even though the Nanny is here, I didn't want to be gone too long so I decided to go to the ghetto gym closer to my house. The other one I usually go to isn't exactly fancy, but it's always crowded... Every machine is taken by gorgeous wannabe actors and actresses with killer bods. I used to go to that one and feel inspired, but this morning, trying to stuff my tribeswoman tits into my sports bra, was all the inspiration I needed. (More on breastfeeding in another post... maybe).
When I get to the ghetto gym, a wave of nervousness comes over me. First of all, it's packed. Second of all, there are young, good-looking people here. What the fuck?! Wannabe's don't live this far out in the valley! I spot an open treadmill behind a great big post, next to the only elderly person in the gym. I push the "manual workout" button and it automatically sets the clock for 20 minutes. Perfect, that's all I got in me. (Shut up, I walked fast. Very fast. Up hill... )
After my 20-minute fat-man-heart-attack-walk, I grab my belongings and jump off the treadmill. Behind my treadmill was a row of old school Stairmasters.... This guy gives me a look and then looks at my treadmill, as if to say "you were only on for 20 minutes? Seriously??" Quickly, I spot an open bicycle and leap towards it, hoping this guy sees me get on it, as if to say, "fuck you. I'm far from done with my workout."
As I start pedaling, I realize how lame I am... especially because I'm only going to put in another 5 minutes. (I have a lot to do today!) My 5 minutes are up before my Ipod even shuffles to another song and I jump off. Yes! Time to hit Target. Workout complete. I grab my purse and as I stand up, I feel more stares from all the women on the precor machines. "5 Minutes?! You really think you'll lose your MUFFIN TOP working out like a stroke victim after 5 minutes?"
Whatever. I have a baby at home whose need for diapers is far more important than fulfilling the recommended 30 minutes of cardio a day... I think. Plus, I'm still breastfeeding. I've heard a breastfeeding woman can burn like 600 calories a day- that's equivalent to a spin class. Precor, THAT, bitches.
March 16, 2008
THE THINGS WE DO FOR LOVE
I think it goes without saying that when you have a child, there is nothing you wouldn't do to protect them... to keep them safe and out of harm's way no matter what is your duty as a parent. I knew I had this lay-down-in-the-street-to-protect-my-child instinct, but I didn't really know how sharp this skill was until the other night....
We decided to meet our good friends Charlie* and Sara* and their 13 month old at the Stand for an early Saturday night dinner. We figured the Stand, which is a Hot dog restaurant in the valley, would be easiest with the babies. (By the way, not kidding about early. We met at 5:30. I felt like my grandmother. ) Anyway, just a quick backstory on Charlie and Sara, so that you can get the full gist of my delightful tale.... Right before I met T-Ko, he was actually DATING Sara. They went to college together. It wasn't a very long relationship but they did sleep together. In fact, she was the last person he had sex with before me. (We've been together almost 8 years. Ha ha). Anyway, after they broke up, and he and I started dating, we would still see her and her new boyfriend (Charlie) because we had a friend in common. Now, normally I'm totally opposed to the "friends with an ex-girlfriend" thing, but I never felt threatened by Sara... I always liked her and actually wanted to be her friend. And as it turned out T-Ko liked Charlie too.... Most people can't believe that we're all so cool about it, but it's really never been awkward or weird. Several years, weddings, and babies later, they are our "go-to" couple and very close friends.
Now back to the real story...
So, I ordered an awesome hot dog with the works and Baby-Ko was fortunately content with sucking on his sleeve, which allowed me to wolf down it down a little slower than my usual caveman way. After I finished, I purelled my hand and picked up my boy. He's completely lunging and grabbing everything these days (in the hopes of putting whatever he's grabbing for in his mouth) so I made sure to wipe down the table seeing as how neon relish and chili are just a few stages ahead of the rice cereal he had started on THAT morning.
Baby-Ko started getting restless after he realized that he would never get his hands on my diet coke no matter how hard he tried, so Charlie tried to distract him. He picked up Baby-Ko and put him on his lap. Charlie made a silly face and sound and Baby-Ko lit up. But after a minute or so, Baby-Ko got bored and started to whine and this is when IT happened....
I turn to Charlie to relieve him of my fussy baby when suddenly, I see Baby-Ko's eyes meet a piece of RAW ONION on Charlie's lap. Without missing a beat, my hand intercepts Baby-Ko's hand and I SWIPE my hand (palm FULLY DOWN) across Charlie's CROTCH.
Phew. I saved my ....
WAIT. WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST DO? Charlie and I look at each other. I gasp.
"Oh! My god!! I'm so sorry!! I didn't mean to..." I say laughing hard.
"No, no, that's fine," he says laughing too.
"What did you do?" T-Ko asks.
"She just grabbed my package basically," Charlie says joking.
"I guess, WE'RE EVEN!" We all laugh hard.
Outside in the parking lot, as I'm taking Baby-Ko out of the Snap N' Go (which has officially fucking ruined my new manicure), I consider what the "hand job" I just gave Charlie really means... I mean, if a raw vegetable could ignite this mother bear instinct, I can only imagine what I'd do in an even more dangerous situation...
We load the baby into the car and I hug Sara and apologize for "grabbing your husband's junk."
Charlie teases, "I've still got a semi." We laugh.
T-Ko adds, "I'm glad someone's getting action around here." Ahh, leave it to my husband to bring us back to reality.
*Shh. Their real names are a secret :-)
We decided to meet our good friends Charlie* and Sara* and their 13 month old at the Stand for an early Saturday night dinner. We figured the Stand, which is a Hot dog restaurant in the valley, would be easiest with the babies. (By the way, not kidding about early. We met at 5:30. I felt like my grandmother. ) Anyway, just a quick backstory on Charlie and Sara, so that you can get the full gist of my delightful tale.... Right before I met T-Ko, he was actually DATING Sara. They went to college together. It wasn't a very long relationship but they did sleep together. In fact, she was the last person he had sex with before me. (We've been together almost 8 years. Ha ha). Anyway, after they broke up, and he and I started dating, we would still see her and her new boyfriend (Charlie) because we had a friend in common. Now, normally I'm totally opposed to the "friends with an ex-girlfriend" thing, but I never felt threatened by Sara... I always liked her and actually wanted to be her friend. And as it turned out T-Ko liked Charlie too.... Most people can't believe that we're all so cool about it, but it's really never been awkward or weird. Several years, weddings, and babies later, they are our "go-to" couple and very close friends.
Now back to the real story...
So, I ordered an awesome hot dog with the works and Baby-Ko was fortunately content with sucking on his sleeve, which allowed me to wolf down it down a little slower than my usual caveman way. After I finished, I purelled my hand and picked up my boy. He's completely lunging and grabbing everything these days (in the hopes of putting whatever he's grabbing for in his mouth) so I made sure to wipe down the table seeing as how neon relish and chili are just a few stages ahead of the rice cereal he had started on THAT morning.
Baby-Ko started getting restless after he realized that he would never get his hands on my diet coke no matter how hard he tried, so Charlie tried to distract him. He picked up Baby-Ko and put him on his lap. Charlie made a silly face and sound and Baby-Ko lit up. But after a minute or so, Baby-Ko got bored and started to whine and this is when IT happened....
I turn to Charlie to relieve him of my fussy baby when suddenly, I see Baby-Ko's eyes meet a piece of RAW ONION on Charlie's lap. Without missing a beat, my hand intercepts Baby-Ko's hand and I SWIPE my hand (palm FULLY DOWN) across Charlie's CROTCH.
Phew. I saved my ....
WAIT. WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST DO? Charlie and I look at each other. I gasp.
"Oh! My god!! I'm so sorry!! I didn't mean to..." I say laughing hard.
"No, no, that's fine," he says laughing too.
"What did you do?" T-Ko asks.
"She just grabbed my package basically," Charlie says joking.
"I guess, WE'RE EVEN!" We all laugh hard.
Outside in the parking lot, as I'm taking Baby-Ko out of the Snap N' Go (which has officially fucking ruined my new manicure), I consider what the "hand job" I just gave Charlie really means... I mean, if a raw vegetable could ignite this mother bear instinct, I can only imagine what I'd do in an even more dangerous situation...
We load the baby into the car and I hug Sara and apologize for "grabbing your husband's junk."
Charlie teases, "I've still got a semi." We laugh.
T-Ko adds, "I'm glad someone's getting action around here." Ahh, leave it to my husband to bring us back to reality.
*Shh. Their real names are a secret :-)
February 26, 2008
My ACCEPTANCE Acceptance Speech
The Oscars. Perhaps my favorite day of the entire year. Anyone who knows me well knows that I love the Academy Awards... That I watch them from top to bottom without missing a frame (literally, I want to hear every last bit of the dude who wins for Best Sound Mixing speech). I love the glitz. I love the glamour. I love the chips, dip and wine that I have grown accustomed to noshing on as I watch Ryan Seacrest ask retarded questions to celebrities that act like they just slipped on that Valentino dress without having a team of bitchy stylists help stuff them into their spanks.
Well, this year, there was no Oscar watching party for me. I wasn't with my gays or even my gals. I wasn't even on the phone every two minutes bashing someone's dress. In fact, I even fast fowarded it (gasp) to get to the best picture winner, and didn't even watch their final acceptance speech (double gasp!) I mean, this year was OFF. Off in a major way. And I felt it. Felt it in my bones. Literally. You see, on Oscar Sunday, I had the flu. But not only did I have the flu, but my husband AND our 5 month old baby had it too. So with three out of three people in our house sick, something had to give, and unfortunately, it was my beloved Oscars.
As I bounced on the workout ball trying to console my feverish son, while trying to not to let my own runny nose drip on to his shoulder, I watched the Oscars with a different point of view than I normally do. It wasn't the usual 'I wish I was an ex stripper who suddenly became an Academy award winner' or 'I wish I was a cocktail waitress in Vegas and George Clooney fell in love with me' envy. Instead, I was re-evaluating my Acceptance Speech, the speech that I give every year in my head as I watch the awards. The speech that I used to say out loud when I was a little girl (in a British accent. Don't ask.) accepting my Academy Award for Best Whatever. Then I would (in my head) sit down for my interview with Barbara Walters and tell her, ever so humbly, about the fortunes in my life- the loves, the losses, the desires and the many babies and countries that I was single handedly saving in the world.
But this year, imagination and fantasy was too hard for even crazy me to muster up. I was stuck in the present and in the reality of now. NOW I HAVE A SICK BABY. And with that, the sense of motherhood and all that it entails struck a major chord. Instead of wallowing though in what I was missing, I realized that I could still have a speech. I don't have to give up my acceptance speech. In fact, it's an ACCEPTANCE ACCEPTANCE SPEECH.....
Here are just some of the things that I accept:
I accept that this year, I have only seen two of the nominated films. Ratatouille being one of them.
I accept that (even in my fantasy) instead of a Chanel gown designed entirely for me, I'm wearing vintage Target pajama bottoms with a hole in the crotch.
I accept the fact that the only cocktail I'm having this evening is an Airborne and Water cocktail with a twist of chamomile tea.
I accept the fact that my precious baby, so small and delicate, due to congestion, is now snoring like a fucking truck driver.
I accept the fact that my sweet husband, loveable and kind, sounds like he's going to lose a lung if he hawks one more luggee.
I accept that the color of the baby's poop is more important than the color of Heidi Klum's dress.
I accept that the shower will not miss me, even if I don't use it for another day.
I accept that the only "after-partying" I'll be doing will be in a nursery, administering baby Tylenol.
I ACCEPT THAT MY BIGGEST FANTASY OF ALL, IS NOW A REALITY: I am a Mommy, and I humbly accept this REWARD.
Well, this year, there was no Oscar watching party for me. I wasn't with my gays or even my gals. I wasn't even on the phone every two minutes bashing someone's dress. In fact, I even fast fowarded it (gasp) to get to the best picture winner, and didn't even watch their final acceptance speech (double gasp!) I mean, this year was OFF. Off in a major way. And I felt it. Felt it in my bones. Literally. You see, on Oscar Sunday, I had the flu. But not only did I have the flu, but my husband AND our 5 month old baby had it too. So with three out of three people in our house sick, something had to give, and unfortunately, it was my beloved Oscars.
As I bounced on the workout ball trying to console my feverish son, while trying to not to let my own runny nose drip on to his shoulder, I watched the Oscars with a different point of view than I normally do. It wasn't the usual 'I wish I was an ex stripper who suddenly became an Academy award winner' or 'I wish I was a cocktail waitress in Vegas and George Clooney fell in love with me' envy. Instead, I was re-evaluating my Acceptance Speech, the speech that I give every year in my head as I watch the awards. The speech that I used to say out loud when I was a little girl (in a British accent. Don't ask.) accepting my Academy Award for Best Whatever. Then I would (in my head) sit down for my interview with Barbara Walters and tell her, ever so humbly, about the fortunes in my life- the loves, the losses, the desires and the many babies and countries that I was single handedly saving in the world.
But this year, imagination and fantasy was too hard for even crazy me to muster up. I was stuck in the present and in the reality of now. NOW I HAVE A SICK BABY. And with that, the sense of motherhood and all that it entails struck a major chord. Instead of wallowing though in what I was missing, I realized that I could still have a speech. I don't have to give up my acceptance speech. In fact, it's an ACCEPTANCE ACCEPTANCE SPEECH.....
Here are just some of the things that I accept:
I accept that this year, I have only seen two of the nominated films. Ratatouille being one of them.
I accept that (even in my fantasy) instead of a Chanel gown designed entirely for me, I'm wearing vintage Target pajama bottoms with a hole in the crotch.
I accept the fact that the only cocktail I'm having this evening is an Airborne and Water cocktail with a twist of chamomile tea.
I accept the fact that my precious baby, so small and delicate, due to congestion, is now snoring like a fucking truck driver.
I accept the fact that my sweet husband, loveable and kind, sounds like he's going to lose a lung if he hawks one more luggee.
I accept that the color of the baby's poop is more important than the color of Heidi Klum's dress.
I accept that the shower will not miss me, even if I don't use it for another day.
I accept that the only "after-partying" I'll be doing will be in a nursery, administering baby Tylenol.
I ACCEPT THAT MY BIGGEST FANTASY OF ALL, IS NOW A REALITY: I am a Mommy, and I humbly accept this REWARD.
February 11, 2008
THE TONY SOPRANO OF MOMS
A few weeks ago a friend told me about this LIST that gets emailed out every day from this "Famous" mom here in the valley; We'll call her LIST GOD. Almost every new mom I know, knows her or knows of her. She is like the Tony Sopranos of Moms... She is really tapped in to everyone, everything, and everywhere. Her list goes out via email to over 3000 moms and she posts everything on her list from pre-school information to designer jean sample sales to car seat recalls to nanny leads. The list is fantastic and is very LA: probably read by other yentas like myself, wanting both access and information to anything that could give their child an advantage in life and/or anything discount or insider tip that could be advantageous to them.
So a couple weeks ago, the List God had a posting that said she "knew" of a nanny looking for part time work. I myself was looking for a part time nanny so that I could start writing again. I emailed the List God directly per the posting and she quickly responded. She told me that the nanny for hire was actually HER nanny but doesn't want to "just send her anywhere."- She told me that the Nanny has been with her for 3 years, since the time her twin boys were one month old and her kids adore her, but doesn't need her every day now. We sent a couple emails back and forth and the next thing I knew, I had an interview set up to meet the List God's Nanny. The List God told me I should call HER with questions about the nanny before I met her. Clearly, I was the one being tested out. I called all my friends with nanny experience and asked them what I should ask the List God about her nanny. I wanted to get the job. I mean, I wanted her to get the job....
When the List God's Nanny showed up, I could tell immediately that she was a pro. We chatted about our needs and her experience. As she surveyed our house, I prayed she didn't notice the tremendous dust ball that had formed underneath the baby's swing that from a certain angle looked like a dead rat. I was also thankful that the baby smiled and flirted with her instead of spitting up on her pretty jogging suit that she declared the List God had given her for the holidays. I immediately flashed forward to the holidays and racked my brain for what to get her. Clearly, I can NEVER REGIFT with the List God's Nanny. There is far too much at stake. It'd be like showing up to Tony Soprano's house on Christmas with a cannoli from Costco. I'd get axed like Big Pussy. But when my/her interview was over, she said, "So I can start next Monday," and I breathed a sigh of relief. Phew, we passed.
The following Monday, the Nanny showed up at 8:30 on the dot. I threw on my cute pink robe instead of the one with tomato sauce (I think) on it. I remembered that I had an appointment that day in Beverly Hills. (And by "appointment" , I mean therapy). I didn't have enough breast milk pumped to safely leave the baby with the nanny at home so I told her that she and the baby would come with me and could go for a walk while I was at my "Doctor's Appointment." While we drove into the city, I had to think fast about what kind of doctor I would tell her I was seeing in case she asks me and inevitably report back to the list god. OY, can you imagine the posting on the List about this one?! "News Flash: J-Ko sees a therapist. Nannies and Preschools with waiting lists beware!"
Of course she never asked. But just in case, I am prepared to tell her I am seeing a Dermatologist for a mole that developed during my pregnancy. Well... On second thought, maybe I better stay away from "moles." "Mole" sounds gross. I think I'll go with "dry skin."
Should this ever get back to the List God, the worst thing that could happen would be for her to send me a discount for fantastic body lotion. And THAT is information that I can live with.
So a couple weeks ago, the List God had a posting that said she "knew" of a nanny looking for part time work. I myself was looking for a part time nanny so that I could start writing again. I emailed the List God directly per the posting and she quickly responded. She told me that the nanny for hire was actually HER nanny but doesn't want to "just send her anywhere."- She told me that the Nanny has been with her for 3 years, since the time her twin boys were one month old and her kids adore her, but doesn't need her every day now. We sent a couple emails back and forth and the next thing I knew, I had an interview set up to meet the List God's Nanny. The List God told me I should call HER with questions about the nanny before I met her. Clearly, I was the one being tested out. I called all my friends with nanny experience and asked them what I should ask the List God about her nanny. I wanted to get the job. I mean, I wanted her to get the job....
When the List God's Nanny showed up, I could tell immediately that she was a pro. We chatted about our needs and her experience. As she surveyed our house, I prayed she didn't notice the tremendous dust ball that had formed underneath the baby's swing that from a certain angle looked like a dead rat. I was also thankful that the baby smiled and flirted with her instead of spitting up on her pretty jogging suit that she declared the List God had given her for the holidays. I immediately flashed forward to the holidays and racked my brain for what to get her. Clearly, I can NEVER REGIFT with the List God's Nanny. There is far too much at stake. It'd be like showing up to Tony Soprano's house on Christmas with a cannoli from Costco. I'd get axed like Big Pussy. But when my/her interview was over, she said, "So I can start next Monday," and I breathed a sigh of relief. Phew, we passed.
The following Monday, the Nanny showed up at 8:30 on the dot. I threw on my cute pink robe instead of the one with tomato sauce (I think) on it. I remembered that I had an appointment that day in Beverly Hills. (And by "appointment" , I mean therapy). I didn't have enough breast milk pumped to safely leave the baby with the nanny at home so I told her that she and the baby would come with me and could go for a walk while I was at my "Doctor's Appointment." While we drove into the city, I had to think fast about what kind of doctor I would tell her I was seeing in case she asks me and inevitably report back to the list god. OY, can you imagine the posting on the List about this one?! "News Flash: J-Ko sees a therapist. Nannies and Preschools with waiting lists beware!"
Of course she never asked. But just in case, I am prepared to tell her I am seeing a Dermatologist for a mole that developed during my pregnancy. Well... On second thought, maybe I better stay away from "moles." "Mole" sounds gross. I think I'll go with "dry skin."
Should this ever get back to the List God, the worst thing that could happen would be for her to send me a discount for fantastic body lotion. And THAT is information that I can live with.
February 5, 2008
THE SERIAL COMPLIMENTER
So a few weeks ago, I get this email (via Facebook) from JC, a guy I went to high school with. We were in Drama together- I was THE drama girl and he was THE drama TECHIE. A very big difference in my opinion. It's like the quarterback and the mascot. Two people on opposite ends of the social spectrum. Not that I was so popular that I was untouchable, but let's just say he and I were not friends. So anyway, I get this email from him. He says that he found me on Facebook and had been looking for me for years and how happy he is to finally find me and reconnect. I was pretty shocked by his enthusiasm over finding me (I would have just accepted a "friendship request" posting rather than an email), but I thought it was sweet and I wrote back. My email was brief, giving him the jist of my life (married, baby, job, etc) and sent the requisite "keep in touch" closure.
He emails back. He tells me that we both work in the same industry (I knew his name sounded familiar) and tells me about his life a little bit. Then, he says he has to admit something. (Okay....) He says that he has had a crush on me since senior year and after college he moved back to LA and contacted everyone he knew from high school in hopes of finding me and asking me out on a date. He adds, "Now that I finally get back in touch with you you are gorgeous and married... What luck!"
The word lingers in my mind as I say it out loud. GORGEOUS. Here I am, sitting in my "homeless robe" as my husband dubs it, I have spit up in my hair, and my legs haven't seen a razor since 1998. I am feeling far from gorgeous. I'm tempted to tell T-Ko who's in the other room on his laptop (probably on facebook, but supposed to be, "he promises," emptying the dish washer), but I decide to bask in the compliment. I read the email again, write a quick "thank you, you made my night" email and again the requisite "keep in touch" and press send. He's a nice guy, I think, but I have no interest in talking again, unless he wants to play a correspondence free game of Scrabbulous (it's the online version of Scrabble you can play on Facebook). "Crush" and "gorgeous" was all I needed to hear to get through another sleepless with my "teething" (okay, fussy) baby.
I logout, turn off the computer and get into bed. I'm awake and staring at the monitor waiting for the baby to make his midnight move when T-Ko climbs into bed.
"Someone thinks I'm gorgeous," I turn over and tell him.
"Huh?"
"I got an email from a guy I went to high school with. He said he had a crush on me only to find me married and 'gorgeous'," I say emphasizing 'gorgeous.' T-ko looks at my face. I'm blushing.
"Oh my god. Are you like in love? Look at you, you're so happy."
"Yeah, I'm happy. I feel like a slob. That was really nice to hear."
"I tell you that you're gorgeous all the time," he says.
"Yeah, but it's after you make me pull your finger to fart. It's hardly romantic." Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but T-Ko telling me I'm pretty isn't the same as getting an email from some random guy after you've been married for 5 years. It's fun and it made me still feel like I "got it." Fortunately, T-Ko is not the jealous type and within minutes was snoring like a banshee. Ahh, love.
Over the next few days or so, High School Compliment Guy and I emailed back and forth. In each email though, he said stuff like "How did this guy win you over" and that I met my husband so fast, I didn't even give him a chance to find me. Cute, I think, but a little much. Like I said, I really wasn't even friends with the guy, let alone aware he had a crush on me. I dismiss the creepiness for a minute though and realize that he is single and moving to New York. Perhaps I can set him up with one of my best friends (who also went to high school with us.)
I call Lo and tell her about my new facebook friend. I tell her he's moving to NY and maybe I should set them up. She has no idea who he is so I tell her that her sister probably remembers him because she was in drama too.
"Perfect," she says, "She's on instant message right now." She IMs her sister and asks if she knows him.
"Uh oh," Lo says laughing.
"What?!"
"She said she knows JC and she wishes he'd leave her alone." She's laughing. "Apparently, she 'still has eyes that draw him in.'"
"Yuck!" I say.
"Yeah, he found her on Facebook and won't leave her alone."
OH MY GOD. He's a serial complimenter of the worst kind. What a dork!
"Don't even think of setting me up."
I laugh, "Don't worry. I'm hitting delete from my inbox now."
Ha. So I'm not the only person he's been "tracking down" for years. What a joke. What a loser, actually. I laugh it off and tell T-Ko who gives me a "told you this guy was creepy" sort of speech.
"So you think that he was full of shit when he said that I was gorgeous?"
"No, that's the truth. Probably the only truth." Aw. What a guy.
A few weeks later, I'm chatting with my girl Amac. We're catching up and I remember that she used to work Serial Compliment Guy (we made the connection in one of our email exchanges).
"Oh, by the way," I say, "Do you know JC?"
"Yes! What's the deal with him?" She asks in sort of a freaked out way. "I’m going to be in NY and he wants to take me out for a drink." I tell her the whole facebook story.
"Oh my god, J-ko! That's so funny! He said the same thing to me... He told me that I 'torture' him and all this other shit... Ew. I'm so not meeting him for a drink."
"Yeah, unless you're desperate for a free drink, make different plans." I say.
Even though the Serial Compliment guy is a total creep and it's kind of sad he's so desperate, I appreciate what his email did for me that night. Someone had a crush on me (spit up and all) and it made me feel great. Needless to say, since his M.O. was revealed, I have ceased emailing with him. (By the way, he even sent me a "did you get my last email? I think something's wrong with my inbox." Oy.) Well, thanks to fucking facebook, I'm still playing against him in a game of Scrabbulous. However, I am winning. And THAT, my friends, is GORGEOUS.
He emails back. He tells me that we both work in the same industry (I knew his name sounded familiar) and tells me about his life a little bit. Then, he says he has to admit something. (Okay....) He says that he has had a crush on me since senior year and after college he moved back to LA and contacted everyone he knew from high school in hopes of finding me and asking me out on a date. He adds, "Now that I finally get back in touch with you you are gorgeous and married... What luck!"
The word lingers in my mind as I say it out loud. GORGEOUS. Here I am, sitting in my "homeless robe" as my husband dubs it, I have spit up in my hair, and my legs haven't seen a razor since 1998. I am feeling far from gorgeous. I'm tempted to tell T-Ko who's in the other room on his laptop (probably on facebook, but supposed to be, "he promises," emptying the dish washer), but I decide to bask in the compliment. I read the email again, write a quick "thank you, you made my night" email and again the requisite "keep in touch" and press send. He's a nice guy, I think, but I have no interest in talking again, unless he wants to play a correspondence free game of Scrabbulous (it's the online version of Scrabble you can play on Facebook). "Crush" and "gorgeous" was all I needed to hear to get through another sleepless with my "teething" (okay, fussy) baby.
I logout, turn off the computer and get into bed. I'm awake and staring at the monitor waiting for the baby to make his midnight move when T-Ko climbs into bed.
"Someone thinks I'm gorgeous," I turn over and tell him.
"Huh?"
"I got an email from a guy I went to high school with. He said he had a crush on me only to find me married and 'gorgeous'," I say emphasizing 'gorgeous.' T-ko looks at my face. I'm blushing.
"Oh my god. Are you like in love? Look at you, you're so happy."
"Yeah, I'm happy. I feel like a slob. That was really nice to hear."
"I tell you that you're gorgeous all the time," he says.
"Yeah, but it's after you make me pull your finger to fart. It's hardly romantic." Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but T-Ko telling me I'm pretty isn't the same as getting an email from some random guy after you've been married for 5 years. It's fun and it made me still feel like I "got it." Fortunately, T-Ko is not the jealous type and within minutes was snoring like a banshee. Ahh, love.
Over the next few days or so, High School Compliment Guy and I emailed back and forth. In each email though, he said stuff like "How did this guy win you over" and that I met my husband so fast, I didn't even give him a chance to find me. Cute, I think, but a little much. Like I said, I really wasn't even friends with the guy, let alone aware he had a crush on me. I dismiss the creepiness for a minute though and realize that he is single and moving to New York. Perhaps I can set him up with one of my best friends (who also went to high school with us.)
I call Lo and tell her about my new facebook friend. I tell her he's moving to NY and maybe I should set them up. She has no idea who he is so I tell her that her sister probably remembers him because she was in drama too.
"Perfect," she says, "She's on instant message right now." She IMs her sister and asks if she knows him.
"Uh oh," Lo says laughing.
"What?!"
"She said she knows JC and she wishes he'd leave her alone." She's laughing. "Apparently, she 'still has eyes that draw him in.'"
"Yuck!" I say.
"Yeah, he found her on Facebook and won't leave her alone."
OH MY GOD. He's a serial complimenter of the worst kind. What a dork!
"Don't even think of setting me up."
I laugh, "Don't worry. I'm hitting delete from my inbox now."
Ha. So I'm not the only person he's been "tracking down" for years. What a joke. What a loser, actually. I laugh it off and tell T-Ko who gives me a "told you this guy was creepy" sort of speech.
"So you think that he was full of shit when he said that I was gorgeous?"
"No, that's the truth. Probably the only truth." Aw. What a guy.
A few weeks later, I'm chatting with my girl Amac. We're catching up and I remember that she used to work Serial Compliment Guy (we made the connection in one of our email exchanges).
"Oh, by the way," I say, "Do you know JC?"
"Yes! What's the deal with him?" She asks in sort of a freaked out way. "I’m going to be in NY and he wants to take me out for a drink." I tell her the whole facebook story.
"Oh my god, J-ko! That's so funny! He said the same thing to me... He told me that I 'torture' him and all this other shit... Ew. I'm so not meeting him for a drink."
"Yeah, unless you're desperate for a free drink, make different plans." I say.
Even though the Serial Compliment guy is a total creep and it's kind of sad he's so desperate, I appreciate what his email did for me that night. Someone had a crush on me (spit up and all) and it made me feel great. Needless to say, since his M.O. was revealed, I have ceased emailing with him. (By the way, he even sent me a "did you get my last email? I think something's wrong with my inbox." Oy.) Well, thanks to fucking facebook, I'm still playing against him in a game of Scrabbulous. However, I am winning. And THAT, my friends, is GORGEOUS.
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