Monthly Archives: July 2012

anza avenue memories

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tonight, after andy got home from work, the four of us snuggled close and watched the “world’s strongest man” competition together with many “oohs” and “ahhhs” punctuating the various mind-blowing human strength tests. it is insane how a person can actually pull a firetruck or toss 60 lb. rocks around like they were eggs.

i was brought back to my youth in which i watched the same competition with my dad year after year. we’d clench our teeth, grimace for those who struggled and celebrate with our favorite competitors-lou ferrigno, magnus ver magnusson, john matusak and franco columbu. i (distinctly) recall the very first w.s.m. competition (1977) in which franco was carrying a refridgerator on his back when he badly broke his leg.

despite being exposed to subject matter that was oftentimes not age-appropriate, like saturday night live, pro-boxing, monte python, endless war documentaries and risque films of the era, the important part was that my dad and i  shared the experience of what we saw together and the memories that followed. he had never met his dad, and was doing the best job he could at parenting. he was a loving and sensitive dad and i have no regrets. just a bit of scar tissue.

he may not have had the knowledge to edit what i was allowed to see on tv, but i sure am glad he had good taste. i owe my passionate love of documentaries and non-fiction to him and, if he were alive today, i am sure we’d raise a michelob to some u.f.c. and i’d introduce him to some kick-ass documentaries.

love you dad.

i know magic

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you know, it’s hard being unemployed. oh i work, don’t get me wrong, i  take my (unpaid) job of managing our home and family very seriously. but it’s challenging in that, although i am doing a noble and essential job,  i am not bringing any bacon into this joint. thus, i have no bacon to call my own. our breakfast meats are “shared”, they’re “ours” and they are definitely provided and maintained, in full, by my huz. thanks huz.

life is good and we have nothing to complain about, but, at times, the imbalance of financial power is frustrating. i used to work fulltime (until i had ronan) and i miss that independence of making financial choices on my own without having to justify it to anyone. i am sure it’s difficult for andy too, with the huge financial burden of supporting a family, but hey, this is my blog!

like everyone else, we try our best to provide what the boys need first. hopefully, this is followed by luxuries we need to machete our way through this dense forrest of parenting, marriage and adulthood. by luxuries i mean booze and lots of it. herein lies the subject of my blog tonight.

andy wears interesting glasses. he is master of all things film trivia. he can be crass, has taken up skateboarding at 43 and black, viking, death or prog metal gives him a skip in his step. i love him. he loves his bourbon. he has a collection of 4 luxury brands and enjoys savoring a night-cap each night, as he should.

i love night-caps too. i feel strongly that we, as parents, deserve them after a long day. it’s like candy for grown-ups and a cocktail can makes us feel more human. and giggly. but i’ve been out of my faves and hate bourbon with all that i am. this week i used my wine budget for an amazing score at value village. irresponsible? yes. worth it? yes! among other booty i found a “threadless” tee shirt in my size with a comic book type storyboard of a zombie doing every single step from michael jackson’s thriller video in order! but i digress…

andy sips his drink and smiles smugly, his facial muscles relaxing with the warmth of the alcohol. he knows i have no spirits to ingest. he also knows i hate bourbon and won’t touch his precious supply, yet, he always seems to be knee-deep in his bulleit, bookers or basil hayden. no justice, no peace!

so i thought long and hard about what would make my huz take notice of my thirst? my needs? verbalizing my desires does not work. i’m the one dealing with these little fockers all day. and today they were in rare form. andy gets to animate in silence, take lunch breaks in sushi restaurants with stylish adults and talk about culture, current events and  electronics. all this inequality makes me parched.

so tonight i made a stand. i wasn’t about to let him enjoy his fave drink without feeling my pain. i walked into the kitchen, reached up to the top cabinet and pulled out his knob…creek. the second i popped the squeaky cork, his gaze darted to where i held his precious nectar.

“what are you doing?!” he said, utterly shocked.

“making a bourbon sour, want one?

“i thought you hated bourbon?”

“oh, i do. but if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

and i made and drank two bourbon cocktails and did not enjoy them one bit. but i took two for the team. team lisa.

and the funniest thing happened the next day. magically, the booze fund swelled and i was encouraged to head over to the local b.c. liquor store and stock up on my favorite beverages! humph. what do ya know? justice is not just the name of the pitbull who lives in the apartment down the hall.

grayth no more

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first off, i am aware that some folks are losing their shit and shooting up packed movie theaters full of innocent people. i also realize that a riot is brewing in so-cal due to apparent police brutality and racism. mr. jefferson is dead and will never utter “weezy” again. the middle-east is still a mess. world economy, food supply, global warming, etc. this is reality and it’s effing depressing, which is why i like to focus on the absurdity, triviality and hilarity of life…rather than the grim stuff.

last month i decided that, at 45, i should probably begin the ego-crushing process of growing out my gray hair. i’d been noticing lots of  mid-life sexy dads and moms rocking their natural state. this gave me courage that i could do the same despite having colored my hair for the past 3 decades. and being plagued with fragile self-esteem and laden with insecurity issues since birth.

since that post, the grays have grown out a full inch and at times i feel like i’ve thrown in the towel. given up. let myself go. the wiry white hairs have caught me off guard… this morning i threw on a pale vintage shift dress and, when i caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, i looked like franky doyle from the brilliant 80′s aussie show “prisoner: cell block h” eek! i am hopeful that i still have style, i’m fairly fit, and very stubborn, so i stood resolute in my gray experiment. that is until tonight.

over bites of chicken and mixed veggie rice, liam casually glanced up at me and said, “you kinda look like an old lady with your hair that way.” sensing my embarassment at his candid remark, he unsuccessfully attempted to remove his foot from his mouth, “i mean your gray hair does make you look like an old lady, but i still love you mom.” a rusty shiv in my side.

that’s all it took, the honesty of my child, and by the time you read this post, my hair will be any color except gray.

franky out.

the conversation

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today i awoke dreading my first ever proctologist appointment. although i had not received any instructions to “prepare” for the appointment,  i felt the need to arrive fresh, clean and clear. i ate some prunes, drank a cup of coffee and had a fruit smoothie. as i drove to his office, i realized that the breakfast concoction had not worked as planned and that i was now a walking time bomb. this only added to the suspense i was already feeling.

my regular doctor had referred me to this proctologist and had mentioned nonchalantly that some of her patients found him “odd”, but that i could get in to see him quickly. far from a sparkling recommendation, i decided to throw caution to the wind and go for it.

during the week preceding my appointment, i had imagined what my family doctor had meant by “odd”… was this doctor a hirsute midget with a hair-lip and a stutter? a creepy loner with a coke-bottle glasses and a captain hook hand? i took a deep breath and hoped for small, gentle hands.

i had a large paper towel wrapped around my waist and when he appeared in the stark beige room i had to swallow hard as i realized he is a hulking 6 foot 4 (with hands in proportion to his size). he is a fit, normal-looking guy in scrubs. he asked a few questions and then asked me to approach the examination table. i had no idea how to mount the table, which looked like no examination table i had ever seen. he instructed me to lose the paper towel and kneel on the table on my hands and knees facing away from him. a very humbling experience to say the least.

despite being gentle, polite, professional and kinda handsome, all i could think of was the prunes/coffee/smoothie trifecta that i felt currently working it’s way through my system. tick-tock…i made it through the exam and he explained that all was well in my nether-regions. he went on to say that, based on my symptoms, i probably had “proctalgia fugax” (a recurring, intense pain in the ass that usually occurs during sleep).

he then said (and i quote) “i have been told it’s like being woken up with a samurai sword being shoved up your ass”.

ok. wow. descriptive and right on the money. he was straight-faced and at that moment i realized… i like this guy.

“what can be done about the pain?”, i asked.

“well, i have patients who shove a gloved finger up there and massage the area, or have their partner do it.”

“oh. you don’t say?” i said grimacing.

he went on “and some people shove a frozen dildo up their ass.”  100% dead-pan. i almost started laughing, but stopped at a smirk. much respect to this doctor and his delivery.

whoa. a professional doctor just uttered the phrase “frozen dildo” nonchalantly. this guy is awesome! i realized that here is a man who, several times daily, shoves his finger into strangers’ asses. fuck! it must be a worse experience for him than it is for the patients! poor, poor man MUST de-sensitize himself and maintain a kick-ass sense of humor to get through each day. if you can’t find the humor in stranger-on-stranger ass-play, you are screwed.

he is my new hero. no wonder some patients thought he was “odd”. he is a a straight-shooter, funny and making the best of a unique situation. you either get him or you don’t. if you are a pinched, royals-loving anglo-phone, you are easily offended and think he is flip or “odd”.

“huh. well, i think i will just pop an advil next time and tough it out. nice to meet you doctor.”

“likewise”.

i heart haters

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being a native southern californian, a big part of my heritage is the surf and skateboard culture. i must have spent 3/4 of my life at the beach smoking pot amongst them. i love and respect the sport/art. i grew up with a skateboard and it seemed like everyone had one as a mode of transportation. everyone had a smile, good vibes were abundant and we all just wanted to be happy and have fun together. vicki, one of my best friends from elementary school, and i got custom van skate shoes made. we each chose our four favorite colors and had each panel of the shoe a different hue. we’d take our fiberglass boards down to anza elementary and catamaran down the steep hill, holding hands. we never got good enough to do tricks, but we sure had a lot of fun. sadly, once we discovered roller skates, the skateboards collected dust in the garage.

as an adult, i moved up to northern cal, became a mom and moved away from cali in 2004. for the past eight years i have been hanging out at parks, indoor play areas, indoor pools (ew) and other places i’d rather not be, just so my boys could have a good time and socialize. lucky for me, the favorite venue of my boys has changed. for the past four months, they have been obsessed with skate-parks. instead of staring at a kid on a jungle-gym, i get to see art being made right in front of my eyes. every ride is a unique experience and you never know what will happen next. even the skaters don’t know if they will nail it or wipe out and when they ride the rail or fly 3 feet into the air from the lip of the bowl, it is a magical thing to behold.

watching my boys learn to tic-tac, to do a manual, to attempt an ollie brings joy to my heart. it’s not so-cal, but it is the international language of skateboarding. it is poetry in motion, a soulful artform and it is much more entertaining than the playground.

it may not be my childhood, but it sure is fun to be a spectator of theirs’.

i took this shot the other day at our local skate park.

n.w.a was playing on the boombox, the precious sun was shining,

and the dude’s socks were printed with “i heart haters”.

i blame the yogi

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ever feel like your life is careening out of control? like there is more chaos than control? that’s my situation since summer vacation began. i’ve had the boys home for just 6 weekdays so far, but the stress this has created has been intense. having to grocery shop with these guys is a nightmare. the worst is being trapped in our apartment with no outdoor space and two aggro boys who need to run wild. what has happened to chill time? silence? serenity? reading?

in order to deal, i have turned to food and drink. lots of food and drink. last week featured homeade fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, steak with chimichuri sauce, peach and basil pastry, cheeseburgers and massive quantities of wine, beer and gin. i get just 26 weight watchers points per day and currently i am -135 points for the week! no shit.

if my ankle was healed and i could run, i would be working out like a madwoman right now. this is the best de-stressor i know. unfortch, running is not in my near future. this leaves me with very few cardio options that i can stand. i hate swimming and the stationary bike hurts my taco. even if i could work-out, the question is…when? i have the boys on my own from 9-6. at night i am too pooped to party.

i may have to begin early morning yoga and hope for a good teacher that doesn’t suck and say things like “imagine yourself in a field of lavender…”. shut the fuck up! i want to sweat, to be challenged, to push myself mentally and physically. most yoga teachers i come across are flacid, have monotone voices and teach classes that are just too easy.

the only form of exercise i truly love is a wesleyoga class. he’s my favorite yogi, but has recently retired and come to think of it, his retirement coincides with my weight gain, my lust for rich foods, my crankiness and my unquenchable thirst for alcohol. fulltime kids and no yoga?

damn you wesley salter! please come back to me!!!!! i don’t know if i can take another month and a half of summer “vacation” without you. do it for the kids wesley.

4th of july

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such a strange feeling to know it’s one of the biggest holidays in your homeland, yet of no significance in your resident country. i always look forward to the 4th and one of my favorite memories was with a new boyfriend on the ferris wheel at the marin county state fair. it was approaching sunset and we finally got onto the ferris wheel after a long, sweaty wait in line. we started going and felt so free and so fortunate. we held hands and made out over the view of the lake.

suddenly the ferris wheel stopped and we found ourselves atop the wheel with an amazing view! time for fireworks! we were delighted by the fireworks for over 30 minutes! it was magical and we felt lucky to be americans, californians and in love.

love american style.