Hello Kitty sittin' on the toilet...

Michael and I tend to be very sporadic in our gift giving. I can't bear to buy him anything impractical so his gifts usually consist of socks, underwear, pj's, shoes, sketchbooks and the occasional cologne. Which he is totally okay with because that is an extension of my nurturing. He knows he is well taken care of.

His gifts to me are usually the same--paper, Sharpies, handmade jewelry and food. Prolly something we both need to retire from--the food and snacks, I mean. Anyhow, lots of times he will buy me something that reminds him of me. And those are the gifts that touch me because one, he was thinking about me and I was on his mind throughout his day. Two, he knows me. And three, they mean more to me than your average gift. So no matter how random or off the wall it seems, I treasure it.

This little Hello Kitty on the toilet is one of those types of gift. She sits on the toilet reading, and she bobbles her head.

It's perfect.


Moby Dick...moldy dick...same difference

Oh my.

Ahahahahahaaa. Hahaha. Heeehee. Hehe. Wooooo.


I was just reading through some of my archives. Funny ish right there.

And I can't believe I said this:

...when one of your kids tells you they read a story about a man and a whale called Moldy Dick in Sunday school...


Hilarious. And the chil'rens just keep the laughs coming.


Do they know its Christmas time at all?

Doood, I know I am totally dating myself but I absolutely loved Band Aid's "Do They Know its Christmas?" song when I was kid. It came out in 1984, so I was a ripe old 12 years old. I loved it for three reasons: Duran Duran, Boy George and Bono.

But what I could never understand were the lyrics, especially this one: And there won't be any snow in Africa this Christmas time. The biggest gift they'll get this year is life.

I always thought they were singing: ...the biggest gift they'll get this year are flies...

My cute, crunchy-haired twelve year-old self would furrow my bushy brows and shake my head incredulously and think, Geez. Flies?! Well that is pretty harsh!


Silly girl.


"Muah, muah....oohhhh....ssssssss!"

I love that my little ladies are very close.

They are the youngest two out of seven.
The only females (well, besides me).
They share a room and a bed every night.

That is something I'm going to work on next year, possibly buying them a bunk bed. Maya's been asking for her own space, since Xixi is a wild sleeper. I've really been dragging my feet on this because, one, their room is practically a glorified closet. Super, super tiny. And two, I can't stand bunk beds. I know they are fun to sleep in when you're a kid, but when you are into vintage/antique furniture like I am, the bunk beds just don't go with everything else they have in their room. My mom has a really cute set of antique twin beds and I've been dying to use them. But sadly, they will not fit in their room along with everything else they have in there.

So I wait....and Maya and Xixi continue to be sleep partners.

Which brings me back to my little ladies. They are very close. They make up the silliest songs and dances and they giggle all night long. I thought I would share their famous sister handshake. It is so funny. They've reworked it to include the sister version, the old lady version, the daddy version, the teenager version and the Hello Kitty version.

They are so cute and so obnoxious. I have no idea where they get that from.

Its a sister thing from Pearmama


Showing love in different ways

If you ever wanna hit me where it hurts, then bring up my daddy issues.

Daddy issues suck.

As I've matured, I see how these issues keep coming to the forefront of my other issues. Sigh. As you can see, I have many things to work through.

Like many children of divorce, I've grown up with the feeling that my Dad didn't love me as much as I wanted him to. Maybe its because after the age of seven, we no longer lived in the same home. Maybe it was due to the fact that as a newly divorced man, he had an entire life that was separate from me. Or maybe I just needed more demonstrations of love from him. I've always just craved more of him, more than he was willing or capable of giving.

I dunno.

What I do know is, I love my Dad and he loves me. We have a good relationship, we can talk, we enjoy each others company, we like to spend time together and all that good stuff. But for the life of me, I can't seem to keep the part of my heart that aches for some indescribable reason whenever I contemplate my childhood and the parts where my dad is involved under control.

I mean, I am tearing up just writing this. And I don't know why. Its like this raw wound that is still open after thirty-one years.

Anyhow, my Dad recently turned 60 years old. He threw a little get together at his house near the beach. My Dad took me on a tour of his new place, to proudly point out all of the construction that my brother helped him with. It's a cute little place, small but cozy.

As he was showing me his new closets, some cool furniture he found, I was noticing one big thing. My Dad had at least one of my paintings in nearly every one of the rooms within his home. Paintings I did waaaaaay back in college, like twenty years ago. Some more recent than that. Some of them I don't even remember painting. They greeted me like old friends.

Wow, I haven't seen you in ages. You look good, friend.

And then it hit me.

My Dad may not have shown me love according to my definition of showing love. That is evident. But the fact that he would have a part of me--my artwork--on the walls of his home...well, that screamed out, I love you mija and I love who you are are!

Which is exactly what I needed to see, feel and hear. I just never saw it before.

And now I'm crying again.

I love you Pops...here is to sixty more years of love and life.

Blowing out his forest fire a.k.a birthday candles.

My brother and sister and myself with my Dad on his 60th birthday.

"Fumando". It was my Dad who taught me how to love black ink drawings, so in many ways, this is an homage to him. Another piece to add to his art collection.

Love you, Dad.


The elusive pair of jeans

I own nineteen pairs of jeans.

I was not even aware of it but I was cleaning my closet recently and I started counting. I just assumed they were Michael's jeans.

But, nineteen? Wow.

Cuz I swear I seem to rotate between three pairs.

I found holey jeans, cuffed jeans, wide leg trousers, skinnies, straight leg, jeggings, trousers, distressed, zippers at the ankle, slight boot leg, dark rinse, black rinse, and faded.

But no capris. Ugh. I gave all of my capris to my Siamese Soul Sistah because she is all about the capris. I feel like Roseanne when I wear them. So my rule is no capris. Ever.

Short, stumpy and fat does not need to appear shorter, stumpier and fatter.

I just want to know two things.

Why do I always feel like I don't have a thing to wear? And worse still, why do I feel like there is always something a little wrong about each pair? I mean, with nineteen pairs?

Surely, something should work.

Either they are too baggy in the waist, tight on my thighs, the rise is too high, or its too low (which causes muffin top explosion and plumbers crack issues), they are too long (I have a ridiculous inseam of 30 inches), they are too stretched out after one wearing, they are too tight and I feel like a stuffed sausage or the rinse isn't right. Like I said, it is always something!

So I just keep buying and buying more jeans, in the hopes that I will find "The One". I just bought two new pairs last week. The pairs I already own are fine and dandy, but they could use some altering in some way. If I ever get off my procrastinating behind, I just might go to a tailor and have them all fixed to suit me.

Then I will have nineteen fabulous pairs of jeans to choose from.


Until then, I will continue to keep buying jeans, I guess. That and continue my quest for a pair of cute boots that fit my cankles.



Surfside Artillery Show 2010 in Hermosa Beach

Michael was in the Surfside Artillery Show curated by Xpres of Hybrid Apparel in Hermosa Beach earlier this year. The show was amazing and going to an art opening a couple of blocks away from the beach ain't too shabby either.

I loved all the artwork but what stole my heart was all the original artwork created on Vans slip-on shoes, by artists like Maxx242 and EnkOne. I wanted to cry when I realized I didn't have the memory card in my camera. The shoes were incredible and I didn't get any really good shots but if you go here, you can view a slideshow of the opening, and towards the end you'll see close-ups of all the shoes. Especially the Vans with the portrait of Jeff Spicoli and his pizza that he liked to enjoy while having a little feast on our time.

Oh, be still my heart.

A few photos of the night:

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