Needed cash for margaritas and a desperately needed Saturday night away from child-duty.
Happy Birthday ARIA.
Let's just say, Aria's school play was a DISASTER.
This next post will see to it that I never get laid again. Forget, date, relationship, marriage, uh, coffee.
1. Oh. My. God.
2. Seriously... Ur like britney in her shave my head period.
3. I've got ur therapist on line 2. And 3. And 4.
4. Plz immediately give the asian lady at buzz all of ur sharp objects.
5. Ur making cam look stable. Tough to do. (Cam is a reference to his best friend)
6. Charles manson called, wants his crazy back.
7. How many of the voices in ur head told u to send that email?
8. Did u stick a finger in a nearby socket? Sometimes that helps.
He even called me after the emails to lay it in even deeper. It was a real early-stage-date tragedy of the highest degree. I can't believe I blew it. What an idiot. Can you say: Please help me die now? (Ok maybe not that bad, but you know I like to Greek Tragedy it up for you guys. I mean, Kayla).
Anyway, they say, I mean Kayla says (and she really does), that you can't say the wrong thing with the right person.
Clearly, I've always been with the wrong person. Or have said the right thing to the wrong person. Or something like that. You get the point.
Alas, the phone call ended. And this 'event' blew over. Sorta...
The following day, he wrote me an email that started like this:
Hello oh one they named a glue after.
And then I even chimed in with some pretty funny coo coo's nest references of my own. (I'm working on my duet with Seal...I'm going on tour with Neil Young...blah, blah...) It was all ha-ha, me so crazy. But I was really cringing. All over the inside.
CUT TO: Coupla' weeks later. The Dig.
We're still hangin out (until he reads this, obviously). Maybe it's true about the wrong thing/right person Kayla'ism. Or maybe I just give a good b.j.
Or maybe he's just cool enough to get it, a little spiral, a little loop-d-doop, is par for the dating course. Or that, yo! mistakes happen, that being in your truth is what counts, that being able to let others see you honestly and with (an uncanny) ability to laugh at your missteps, is worth more than being perfect at dating, which by nature is an oxymoron...
And hey, I really don't know. Dunno what he was thinking but I imagine it's something like this: he didn't get in his head about it. And viola, he dropped it like a foul ball. Just like that. Something I can learn from, yeah? Being comfy enough with yourself to be confident in being imperfect is the real cool way, no brainer on that one, but sometimes DROPPING IT before you make a total bafoon-of-no-return-of yourself, is even better. Imagine...
Good job on the hair. Cute. Love You, Mom We were supposed to go out to Lois's beach house for New Years, but I got bacterial sinus infection.....had to stay home. Went to bed early. Freezing in New York. Taking xythromax, and 100% better already. Now theres a new xythromax dosage. You only take three pills, one/day and it's over. What did you do for New Years??? (I am not editing...behold the typos from my dad...from an era where men never learned to type)This first one was from a few weeks ago after I had chopped Aria's knotty gnatted rasta dreads out (in lieu of attempting to brush) and inadvertently gave her a pretty cute cut. My mother said, i had yet 'another talent.' Huh. The cut is/was a work in progress as at first it was a bit of hockey player mullet, then a bit Joan Jetty, then long in the front and short in the back, cool for a week but she looked like a 60 year old performance artist from Berlin. Or just a little Hassidic. Boy. Now she's a bit Suri Cruise sans the bangs....I would love you to get her to a children's salon to give her some soft bangs, yes?
Love Mom
This was before I cut the Payas.
note the food I am feeding her: pizza, french fries, one stalk broc.
this was breakfast.
TV is great for kids upon waking. It keeps them occupied when you are sick of hearing their voices asking a million questions and you haven't even MADE the coffee yet. Which naturally means, it's even greater for parents.
Dad wants me to tell you that you cant go through life without combing and brushing (and shampooing at least once a week) Arias hair . He is truly upset at the way Arias hair always looks, and he is really concerned that you dont seem to think it is important or a problem.
Love Dad who said this
adorable, cute belly. Hair ugh. Go to childrens haircutter to fix the front.
You want to leave me alone with Aria for
a week?. That would not work out. That would be too much for me. No way. I
have too many physical problems. Painful hips, arthritic hands......
Aria looks a little like she doesn't want to have her pic taken.
Also, I still think Aria is too young to take to those kind of puppet shows; and on the week ends, I wouldn't forfeit her nap for that, or for anything.
Don't you agree?
Love Mom
It's there waiting for you when you go to pick your kid up at school. It's a plastic baggie. Nondescript. Maybe it's Ziplock or an empty Target shopping bag. It's on the ground, slumped in a corner. Looks like a dead animal might be in there.
Yes folks it's true. I cracked my kid's Teddy Bank, not to buy crack but for a mani-pedi. The place only takes cash. I was short. Ok, I didn't have any. I needed this mani-pedi. I needed it bad. I took out $40. Is that so bad? This cash filled bear is just sitting there, staring at me, must have at least a hundred bucks in it by now.
Aria has learned all about DOGS DYING.
So I did my first day as a sub for 4th grade today...everything, including MATH. I wont get into any of the details other than that one kids asked if I was on TV - because I looked really, really familiar. I said, why yes, indeed I was on television but on a show way too late for her to watch. She then asked if I was sure I was not on "Wife Swap".
With all this pre-school holidays that I have never heard of, I've decided to make one up of my own.
PUT YOUR CHILD TO WORK DAY.
The kid stays home and cleans the apt. It looks a little something like this:Download ariacleaning.3GP
It's Sunday.
1:24 pm.
Doing the usual Sunday ritual.
Walking up and down Larchmont, gettin fruit and veggies at the Farmer's Market, looking at things in stores I have zero dollars to buy, staring at the cupcakes in the window of Crumbs.
Except something is wrong. Very, very wrong.
I'm by myself. In fact I've done something I would not do on an ordinary Sunday. I'm at Peet's Coffee. Im writing outside on my laptop. And they only reason I am able to that is because I have been freed from my servitude. My captor is gone.
ARIA IS AWAY FOR THE WEEK WITH HER DAD!
And I am totally lost.
No schedule, no diaper to change, no screams to quiet, no tantrums to squelch, no milk to be poured. Ok, hold on, don't get all teary. That part is ok. In theory. But, for the past two and a half years I have been on a schedule that has nothing to do with ME but HER.
And it's a friggen trip having that all reversed.
Aria is on a week long trip with her Daddy to see his family and friends from childhood. And I wanted to go (and was invited and welcome), right up to the very last minute. But I resisted, knowing this would be a great time for the two of them to share and the intense and sudden gear-shift would do wonders for me. But it's not. I mean it is. But it's not.
I am getting pictures texted to me of Aria at this beautiful lake and it feels surreal for her to be experiencing something so new and amazing without me. Hearing stories about them (they are with another family with two small kids) cooking out, going on boats, making pancakes in the morn, is depressing me.
I wish I was there.
Yes, it's great. I'm working out, going out every night, (had one date - another story) and just feelin breezy...but I don't know if I like feelin breezy. Or, how divided families do it. This will be the first year that Aria will go on vacations with her dad, and I am having trouble managing the separation and the idea of her living life without me.
I do love the idea of her having special time with him, just the two of them, (seems I am always in tow during their time together, sharing meals, going to the Grove, etc...)
But wow, it is something to get used to. And I don't think it's something I want to get used to. I like my identity as MOMMY, MOMMY, MOMMY. Perhaps the prob is I have no idea who the fuck I am when not MOMMY, MOMMY, MOMMY.
Until she returns, I'll fill me days with 'me' stuff. Catching up on writing and making art for a show I'm in in November. But the issue: Without Aria and her demanding schedule to contain me, I simply cannot focus. I'm scattered and all over the place.
And for that, my loving neighbor gave me an Adderal to try tomorrow to help me try to enjoy this time alone.
(sorry if this was corny)
...you throw an old, raggy, washed out, sun-bleached, Urban Outfitters tapestry over your bed because if you fall asleep one more night under that same ratty comforter you've had on there for years you just might chew your arm off, and then your not quite two and half year old says:
'new blanket, mommy, pretty. you got Target?'
...you are watching the Olympics and the same child cries:
'i want amican idol! i want ammmiiiccaaannn iddooolll.'
...when i talk to Aria about what we may do today: go to the bookstore, the museum, the zoo, she says:
'get bras at Kmart?!'
enough said.
was at Savon yesterday, as many who know me know that i just LOVE to cruise drugstores, and there it was in the diaper aisle. a brand of diapers called PLUSHIES.
uh, excuse me, isn't that the name of a sex fetish? why yes it is - take a lookie here on Wikipedia:
The term plushophilia is a neologism consisting of plushie and -philia, and refers to any person who has an attraction towards stuffed animals. This attraction can be sexual â a paraphilia â or non-sexual, depending on the person and plushie involved.[1]
Plushophiles are often linked to the furry fandom due in part to a 2001 article by Vanity Fair that linked various members of the furry community with plushophilia.[2] In addition, plushophiles are sometimes linked with zoophiliacs, also due in part to the Vanity Fair article's interview with Fox Wolfie Galen, who was quoted as saying, "[It was] Usually German shepherds, Labrador retrievers, size-comparable things. It all started because the dog started it. The dog would come and start trying to hump your leg and I'd be like, Wow, that's interesting. I was at that age where I was learning to see what made things work. I don't do it any more."[3]
are these people just so out of it? i mean, they could have done a tiny bit of market research here. no?
or wait, is it ME that's the freak for even knowing what this is?
um, ut-oh.
you gotta be kidding me?
what the heck is so great about toilet training?
of course Aria is taking to it like a mad woman.
first i was royally pissed because i had just spent $100 on diapers.com and bought like ten yrs worth of diapers not realizing she was gonna go ga-ga for it all so fast. damnit!
then, i realized, holy shit, i gotta dump piss and poop out of a plastic bowl - and wash it out - all friggen day?!
you gotta be kidding me.
that is not fun for anyone.
so i am untraining her. getting her smelly ass back in diapers pronto. i'm just not ready. they say the kid has to be ready. but what about me?!
ok, ok, relax. i'm not untraining her. but i am getting her to rinse the crap out (no pun) herself.
truth is, she only pees in the potty and runs for a diaper when she has to poop.
but really, the thought of her wiping her own ass and not doing a good job and it being all smelly and yucky - i'd rather i do it! and then, that thing about WHAT TO DO WHEN OUT IN PUBLIC??
so i bought a mini -porta-potty thing. and we're at Verizon wireless and it's her first day out in the world sans diaper, and lo and she says, 'mommy, i have to pee pee. now.'
i look at a salesperson in panic - 'where's the bathroom???'
'downstairs.'
holy mother!
i rush to the elevator, get our (still dry) butts to the bathroom. and she is hysterical and the looks of the porta-potty thingie.
so i try holding her over the toilet, not working. throwing a diaper on her, not working.
it was total mayhem. and then she decided to hold it in!! how did she do that?? i can't even hold it in. in fact, i pee in pants all the time.
you know i am not one of those moms that reads how to do things. chelsea is always like: go on babycenter and find out what they say! (about how to explain the death of a dog, get her to sleep before 10 pm, tell her we are losing the nanny she's had since birth when school starts)....no, no, no. i like to just wing it and use my 'instincts.'
needless to say, when we go out now, say to the Grove, our hideous stomping ground, i put her in a diaper.
we have regressed months worth of work. in fact, she is pretty much back in diapers all day.
well, two steps forward, three steps back. or something like that, right?
not only did the outdoor movie night at the Grove suck ass because i lost my blue tooth in the melee of screaming kids, but i was stuck in a melee of screaming kids.
how do you spell meee-laay?
i (bribed with bottled nordstroms water) asked, nicely, of the stroller security guards, if we could squeeze on the grass with our blanket (it was packed with real freaks, people with tupperwear upon tupperwear of home prepped food, not only blankets and coats for the kids (aria was still in a tank) but PILLOWS! i bought a giant box of animal cookies at nordstroms and barely had enough water for the two of us).
we got in there and it was total hell. didn't start for hoourrss....radio give-aways. screaming children. freezing. loud. i begged aria to let us go home. 'please, pllleasse, PPLLEEAASSEEEE let's go home! (this sucks!!) it' too loud! mommy's freezing! it's late. you need to go to bed!'
finally i convinced her with some masterful reverse psychology that the shark on the screen was too big and loud, (though 'nice' therefore softening the lifelong fear i created) and she conceded.
only to get home and discover my favorite mechanical device (besides my Acuvibe) had been left in the grass. my FREE swag plantronics bluetooth!
and i actually called the grove the next day to see if anyone turned it in. idiot.
anyway, never again. never, never again.
there really is nothing worse than the sound of excited children screaming for prizes. it really sends a chill down my spine.
...and, as Sheri Reed, my editor at Mamazine says, 'creepy in that way that kids innocently say creepy, awful things that make you want to die.'
so Aria is crazy-mad about kissing. she kisses everything (the stove, magazines, my leg, a lot). she even makes the things she kiss, kiss each other. (ratatouille kisses stove, fork kisses spoon, etc).
we took Aria to the beach on family outing last weekend. one of the rare times i go west.
of course, being NY Jews, we knew nothing of umbrellas or other sorts of west coast protective gear other than a tube of sunblock and a hat. Aria was tired. she wanted to nap. she crawled on my lap and started nestling in child pose - butt way up in the air, head in deep lap. i shrouded her in a pink sarong, trying to create a tent of sorts (not working) as she schooched around trying to get cozy and comfy. we all thought this was cute. until what happened next.
excited about me being in my 'underwear' (bikini - rare form) on the beach she thought what could be better than to 'kiss the underwear!' and she announced this to the entire beach as she proceeded to 'kiss the underwear, mommy!' and make loud smooching sounds bobbing her head up and down under the pink sarong.
this was so beyond disturbing and hilarious, in that - i'm going to be arrested kind of way - we didn't know what to do. we were in super creep kids are so innocent it's freaky territory. which puts the parent somewhere into not wanting to shame but get the heck off me land.
the plan: andrew and chelsea (bro and sis in law) tried gently to distract her which was really only a step away from extracting her like a tick. luring her with looks at the ocean, birds in the sky, ok, ice-cream. i simply pushed her off, 'no, no, no kiss the underwear!' which of course made her laugh and do it even harder and louder with more toddler triumph.
finally we got her off. my heartbeat slowed down. things got back to normal. there would be no napping on this beach today. and we decided it was time to go home. and me, to never go West again.
i have heard so many stories like this, where these innocent, pure little creatures freak you out with this kind of stuff but it ad yet to happen to me. i will have to devise a plan for next time as i can imagine there are many gross-outs on the horizon.
lesson: next time, get all Targeted out before coming to the beach and get that umbrella and comfy, shaded resting patch for toddler.
this was a cult classic for shizz.
(meanwhile, is it just rude and unsightly that i don't use proper grammar??)
fine, so i have not written in for ever. whatevs. we'll get up to date sorta backwards.
anyhoo, watching the olympics and Aria sees the little girls doing gymnastics (nastics) and screams at the girl on the screen 'don't go pee pee in your underwear! go pee pee on the potty!'
so that is where we are at.
Aria goes away with her dad for 7 days next week and i'll fill you in on so many adventures. the most exciting - my new tits.
tune in!
OX
While in NYC with Aria, visiting the folks last week, we went to the Museum of Natural History and the Planetarium where you can stand on different scales and see how much you weigh on different planets.
Before my mom hopped on the Hayley's Comet scale she gave me her pocketbook to hold and then weighed herself. Enough said.
I am going to DRIVE ON THE FREEWAY today, yes, you heard me, drive on the freeway, which i hate like sharp knives and the LA Times....and (attempt to) take Aria to the Long Beach Aquarium.
My Single Mother Fucker Blog is now back to Motherhoodlum. I'll explain LATER!!
XO
It's 8:14 PM.
Am I reading books to Aria in bed, bringing the energy down, talking in soft soothing tones with the lights dimmed?
Uh, no. We are whooping it up to American Idol.
Now that I have cut down my phone bill, cancelled the New York Times and CUT OFF MY CABLE - this means there is no TIVO and I gotta get my Idol on LIVE.
So, here we are, watching Jason Castro massacre "Memory," Aria purring with her freshly shampooed head on my lap and working our way through a tub of Trader Joe's cat cookies. All while wondering how old Paula looks in the portrait she's got stashed in her closet. And of course who the hell her dermatologist is.
This is what I call a classic SMF night!
11:41 pm last night. I'm still trying to catch up to life. Writing. Emailing. Setting up my in-store kid portrait event at Juvie. Trying to find BABYSITTERS as I will be working all day that day.
and....KA-FUCKING-PLUNK!
Aria fell out of that mofo bed!
Hooray!
I scooped her up, 'ya wanna go back to sleep in your bed or mommy's bed?'
'MOMMY'S BED!'
'Ya sure? You don't want to go back to sleep in your new bed?'
'MOOMMMMMYYY'S BEEEDDDD!!!'
Ok, so that was that.
I'm sorry Sleepy Planet. Yes, I paid $600 to learn to sleep train her. And I followed all the rules. And it worked. But that was when I was still with Baby Daddy. I like to cuddle. And have you noticed how COLD it's been lately? So Aria and I spooned all night long. Of course I didn't get a wink as she was screaming out for milk, cookies, crackers in her sleep. But who cares. I just cannot wake up without her.
Anyone need a brand new toddler bed?
Ok, so you wanna know why I am finally writing after WEEKS of MIA?
I bought Aria a conversion bed for her crib. I put it together today. She is sleeping in her own bed AS WE SPEAK. It is 9:41 and I am up, by myself, not forced to a toddler time turn in because I couldn't (too lazy to do the work) get her to sleep without me.
And let me tell you I am totally depressed. And scared. As I was putting it together and seeing how happy she was I was thinking 'what the fuck have i done??' and, 'what do i do now?' I am going to be all alone in my bed. Ok, fine, so I might actually sleep through the night without her screaming nightmares, the ones I try to deconstruct with her while she sleeps (she shouts, totally alseep ' i do dat! i do dat!' i say 'do what? do what?' going all Freud and Miracle Worker on her ass.) And the kicking. And the early morning demands for books, books, books. (I tempted to try and explain that reading IS BAD in the morning but that just felt like child cruelty). So. Big whoop. I hate sleep anyway. Mostly because I suck at it and I hate things I suck at like card games and sports with balls and pretending to care about winning at Scrabble. I'm up most of the time anyway usually in one of my classic loops about another stupid way in which I've made a fool of myself somehow, or doing the math of how much money I will save if I cut out home delivery of the New York Times, or wondering if I can go on Welfare (my mom's idea!) if I have a car lease that is $400/ month. In other words, sleeping with Aria made sleep even more of an Olympiad struggle but it least I got to do it with the only good thing I got going now. (aw, don't cry for me, I can't even cry for myself).
What was I thinking? I'll tell you what I was thinking: I was thinking I am SUPPOSED to not be sleeping with her, because Chelsea sent me that article from Time and Kayla told me I will never ever get a boyfriend that way, ya know, cozing into bed with her like a new lover every night. Getting all thrilled to snuggle up and nuzzle cheek to cheek, all yummy and all that nauseating stuff you don't need to hear about how delicious it all is and how cute when she demands 'Light off.' I won't get into that. But FUCK! What have I done? And now I can't go back! She loved her new bed tonight. She was asleep in minutes without a whimper. She practically kicked me out. BITCH.
Now I have NO excuse for not writing. NO excuse for not painting. And no excuse for all the things I say I can't do (HAVE-A-LIFE) because Aria won't sleep without me. I've been sprung from my cozy little prison of my own creation. SHIT.
Fuck you Oeuf. Fuck you Psychobaby.com for that great sale you had on the conversion kit and the free fucking shipping. That free shipping was what pushed me over the edge.
And it's so damn small I could barely fit on that damn bed to read books to her. Hey, maybe I'll return it. Get a bigger bed. A twin. One I can fit on. That way I can read her books and who knows, maybe fall asleep in her bed??
BABY STEALER!!
and what i have to say is heavy, intense, depressing and most glaringly -- an obvious cry that i need to get back into treatment myself. monday. or at least get a job writing on this show.
...anyway, here it goes, and just so you know the tv is on as i am in a rare relaxation mode which means I'm also doing my nightly detective work/internet stalking and for tonight that has me in deep research on what the hell courtney cox did to her face - she looks ten yrs younger. and it's freaking me out -- i want one.
what i mean is that i am multi-tasking as we speak and i don't proofread...
so here it is: sometimes i think to myself...i am waiting for my real life to start. like, 'well when my real life starts this will happen' 'when my real life starts, that will happen' etc etc...
here i am at the age of _____, thinking my life hasn't begun yet. this can't be a good thing. i sometimes still feel like a little kid in pajamas on the couch watching tv eating milk and cookies (maybe that's because i am doing exactly that right now). it's only party metaphoric.
sometimes when I'm crossing the street or heading to the post office or peeing, i think, 'don't worry, it'll be better once my real life begins...won't it be fun when my real life begins?' ' oh, yeah, that'll happen, I'll get that, I'll feel like that, I'll live like that when i get the life that i am waiting for, the one that is on the way, the one that i deserve, the one that will wipe out the one i am presently in, which is this one, the one that is just a pin in the board of my real life that has yet to happen.'
this may not be making sense to you and as per course i am yet again too tried to try and break it down right now.
but if you know what I'm' talking about please feel free to comment and share as i would love to know if i am not the only one living my life this way. and i promise i will read what you have to say now, in this life and maybe even get back to you in this life too.
....and turning it down as we speak. Not as I’m writing this very second, technically speaking. In theory, obviously. There is a dripping hot, sexy, man of mans, macho hot mother fucker who wants to bed me. Like yesterday. When we spoke briefly on the phone to try and arrange a date, my voice went up three octaves. I became a five year old. I then avoided him for weeks. He texted on Valentines Day. I wrote back something stupid. He keeps trying to pin me down for a date, what will inevitably be a fuck-date, but here’s the THING: I am fucking terrified.
This is not someone I could ‘date’ or fall in love with. This is a flaming hot fuck and I’m avoiding it like herpes. There is a big problem to begin with when it comes to this matter. It starts with, I refuse to get naked. Anywhere. With anyone. My heart starts racing just thinking about it. I am not going to get into the list of body issues/problems/plastic surgery needs because they are complicated and I am not just being body-crazy. I have REAL problems and need REAL help. I have not been naked with anyone since my five disfiguring hip surgeries (re: I look like I’ve been attached by a husband and wife shark team), my daughter ate my breasts off and I just noticed that if I am leaning down (re: on top of someone) my face sags in a way that is scary. Like the Boogie Man. Or Woman.
I am also frightened to death of his giant penis. It’s been so long since I got near one, I definitely forgot how to give a blowjob. And the scarier thing is, I have no desire to. As a single mom doling out so much care, affection, attention to a toddler, at the end of the day, I have nothing left. How’m I gonna lovingly carter to a large, feisty penis when I’m too beat to walk my dogs? There is not one cell in me that has any desire to DO THE WORK that it takes to be a decent lover. So why bother if I’m going to stink at it? I hate failing.
Which brings me back to Friday night. At home. Again. And about to get naked with the one person I have no qualms being naked in front of. That would be my daughter, Aria. We’ll take our nightly bath together. Again. Get in our pj’s and climb in my bed where we do a nightly ritual of lotion application to our toes and feet and legs. Read some books and go to sleep together. Again.
It's heaven and that is so troubling to me I need to get back into therapy, STAT.
*I DID go out the other night but it was a work thing. Needless to say it cost me $75 in babysitting dollars for just a few hours. A sex date lasts a long, long time. I can only imagine how much it will cost me to get laid.
I’ve been BAD. Really. Fuckin. Bad. Note the CAPS in ‘bad.’
Let me confess…
I've been smoking.
Yes, folks. And it’s totally fuckedup.
Started my dirty little secret at Sundance.
And haven’t exactly stopped.
Aria is away with Dada for the weekend which means I’ve I got carte blanche to smoke my brains out. And I am. I'm talking 7 am styleee.
Please god make me stop.
I will. Starting Monday.
But it gets worse. I’l tell ya a little story of just how bad I am.
WATCH THIS VIDEO MOMMY CONFESSION:
Download mommy_confession_bad_girl.mov
And speaking of confessions, I've been getting lots of notes from readers to please keep posting my
MOMMY CONFESSIONS from days gone by, soooooooo.....I've created a youtube channel for them!
FOR MORE CONFESSIONS CHECK OUT:
http://www.youtube.com/mommyconfessions
xo
I survived Sundance. And 5 days without Aria. Not only did I survive and make out like a very FAT rat with tons of swag but, and here’s the thing: I didn’t miss my child. Um, like, really…at all…Ok look before you call child services on my ass let me explain:
I have been glued to Aria since day one. With a nanny two times a week, the only times I have been away from her is like…well, basically never. I thought I would for sure - freak out - go into a separation spiral and be on the first plane home the following morning after my arrival filled with dread and longing and self-hating-ness for having left alone with her dad and his mom. God knows, I have done that over MEN in the past.
But something miraculous happened. I got up to Sundance and was within minutes so caught up with my superficial schmoozing and swagging, I didn’t have a single minute to miss her. I was getting dressed up everyday, having my make-up done at my cushy, cozy condo next to a roaring fire three times a day by a MAC artist who always left me with a gift bag! I was going to photo-shoots and parties and whoring myself all over that snowy slope. I was in bed at 3 am every night after hours of playing and partying (which meant smoking cigarettes for me, I cannot drink at sea level without being a total idiot, let alone attempt a glass of vino in high altitude) and nearly having sex with at least one huge hot movie star and an even sexier rapper. In other words I was having a fucking blast. I forgot I was a mom. I forgot I was a single mom who hasn’t had sex in (fill in the blank with the worst imaginable time span here) And thanks to Dr. Weider and my good friends Botox and Juvederm, I (almost but not really) forgot I was f-o-u-r-t-y. In other words, I was FREE. Fucking free. And it felt great. I could wake up and smoke cigarettes and drink coffee and not have to do anything but check email and read about the latest Sundance gossip in Richard Rushfields hilarious blogging for the LA TIMES (http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/sundance/2008/01/nude-for-though.html) I didn’t have to run to the fridge for MILK! Crackers! Take the dogs out and nearly kill myself getting down the stairs with two dogs and a toddler in arms. I didn’t have to do jack shit. Yes, it was like pre baby times. I found myself stopping in my slushy tracks and thinking, “wait, do I have a daughter? That is so weird!” There was something totally surreal about it. And the fact that Aria was having a blast with her dad and his mom didn’t hurt. I did call every day, several times, but Aria wanted nothing to do with me. Out of sight out of mind, I guess.
All right so on day four I did indeed decide to go home early, but it was only because I was in swag overload and could not imagine another night of schlepping from party to party in the sub-zero cold. Ok and yes I did start to miss Aria. I missed smelling her head in bed at night. And I watched every cell phone movie over and over again before I went to bed by myself for the first time in almost two years.
As I got closer to getting home, I was going nuts – just dying to see her. I imagined our reunion. All slo-mo and giggles and big wet kisses. When I opened the door, she ran to the dogs and started yelling their names over and over. She jumped on the couch and yelled COUCH! It was like I hadn’t been gone at all. What I now know is that kids (at least the little, little- post baby ones) live in the moment. They don’t understand time and soak up every inch of every second of the perpetual present. I’d love to wrap this up with something about how I too learned this lesson just from hanging with my baby for the past 2 years and that’s why I was able to totally let go and be present up at Sundance but it feels way too corny. The truth is if felt great to be unburdened of the second to second harrowing responsibility of motherhood.
me: swag whore:
two more days until i leave for sundance for 7 days. the first time ever away from aria since...forever. i have been talking to her about it and much like dogs get exactly what it is that we are saying even though they cant speak our language- aria totally GETS IT. it's freaky, i start saying, mommy is going away because she is going to go to work for a few days and starts whimpering and grabbing me and ...shit, it's fucking CUTE!
then she grabbed ratatouille and jumped into my suitcase and would not get out!
and im so crazy that i run and get my cell phone to capture this on video. she is in her dire moment of bracing herself for the first separation ever of this kind, and im making home movies of it to send to everyone.
SEE HOW MUCH SOMEONE LOVES ME??!! SEE!!! SHE WON'T GET OUTTA MY SUITCASE?! SEE HOW AMAZING A PERSON I AM??
and on that note, let me see if i can upload it here so you too can see that someone out there really does think i am the cats pj's. albeit, a two year, spawned of my own loins-ish. (does that still count?)
hold on....Download 0114081016.3g2
where the fuck have i been?
i must tell you, i caught a mild case of blog-paranoia.
i wont get into the details. but lets just say, i am no longer doing online dating. it started to freak me out. the lack of anonymity.
which led me to a fear about blogging. i started to think about stranger reading about my (semi)private life and now that i have a child, i am starting to feel differently about opening up to the ENTIRE UNIVERSE about blow jobs and vagina waxing and the sex i have not had for over two years.
it is freaking me out.
so what do i do?
write in character? as the Emily in Motherhoodlum? hey, that s not a bad idea. but who has the time to WRITE ABOUT A FICTIONAL CHARACTERS life when i can barely find a minute to really relax and read Domino while taking a shit?? i mean relax, without a toddler hysterical at my feet to help her pul her sock off.
so there you have it.
i've been hiding out. planing my next move.
i feel weird talking about things like dating. like how intense it is being a single mom and how that plays out with baby's daddy. the trials, the tribulations, the triumphlessness.
anyway, i'll do my best to check in.
to fill in in ways that don't make me feel i haven't exposed anything that will come back to haunt me.
oh, i also started to get bored reading and writing about BABY TODDLER SHIT! i started to think, who the heck CARES about what happens to me and how my child is hitting this milestone and eating that food if it bores me wont it bore someone else?????
ok, ok, maybe there is something to all this sharing. i don't know. I'm trying to make sense of WHY BLOG right now.
forgive me if I'm complainy, please. ok?
i sound cranky. i know.
on an up note, i am going to sundance with that film i shot in alaska. i am really excited.
leaving next week.
and leaving aria for the first time ever.
now THAT will be something to write about.
XOXO
When do I really have to start setting an example for Aria?
Like, being a good person and all that?
She’s 18 months.
Can I still throw gum out the car window, not recycle and curse at people who nearly run us over while crossing the pedestrian unfriendly L.A. streets?
My sis in law, Chelsea and I got in a huge fight (it’s ongoing) about my not tying up the dog-shit bags before throwing them the trash. Isn’t it enough that I have to protect the street from dog shit? Now I have to look out for the inside of the garbage can’s well being and cleanliness as well? With two dogs and a toddler – I have enough butts to worry about, thank you.
So Chelsea says: ‘what if Aria did that? You would be furious!’
I said, ‘are you kidding me? I wouldn’t give a shit.’
She said, ‘yes you would, you would want her to grow up to be a person who doesn't tie their dog shit bags.’
Nope, don't care. Not a bit. I swear. Okay, I'm pretty sure?
And then today, Aria and I were on the hike. While she was sleeping I threw a giant wad of gum into the bushes. And strangely, I thought twice about it, and said to myself, ‘hmm, I wonder, if Aria was older, and say, awake, would I NOT do that, or at least not let her SEE me do it' ? Like, maybe it was something really bad like smoking a cigarette? (which I did quit. The day AFTER I found out I was preggo. Though I did smoke for several weeks, and a lot, while I was shooting a movie when Aria was 10 months, I tried not to let her see,well, mostly)….
Since Aria now mimics everything I do and say, I have a sneaking feeling it's time to start upping the ante of my moral fiber. I'm pretty sure time is running out. Aria is going to start picking up on all the bad shit I do and she will be at risk of becoming like me. This cannot be a good thing.
Well, I guess, I can look at the bright side by thinking about what’s in it for me: from all this good shit I'm gonna start doing, some good karma will definitely be coming my way!
YEAH!
Here's a pic from the Larchmont holiday family fair.
I saw Patricia Arqeutte there. She's cute. Her boobs are huge.
wait, they are on my other hardrive. will get them later.
in years....
the only person who has seen my vajayjay in years besides my OBGYN was my waxer, jackie, of jackie nail (no 's' on jackie there). and the nicest thing anyone has said to me about said JAY, was by jackie herself.
after a fresh rrr--iii---ppp, she slapped it a few times and told me, "you look 18!!, you look 18!"...i was pretty sure she was trying to suck up for a good tip, so i grilled her, "whadaya mean? like how? REALLY? you're lying, jackie. really? i look 18? i bet you say that to all the girls." well, she just kept saying i looked 18 and that was the end of it. you can't say something like that and not explain. as if i know what an 18 year old VG looks like? i wanted a detailed explanation. sadly, i didn't get one. i'll never really know what she meant, if she was lying or how my jay looked like it was fresh from the prom, but nevertheless it was the nicest thing anyone has said to me in years.
i know this post went nowhere.
"no no no"
i know. it's the stage they're in. TODDLERITIS APPROACHETH.
no diaper. no shirt. no shoes. no dice.
aria has developed quite the personality.
(as you will witness in these most recent pics...her dad took her to the Getty yesterday. do YOU see something...brooding here?)
i'm doing my best to teach her things. important things. that will make her life and my life s much better. like, how to give me a back a deep tissue massage, program The Hills (without reruns) to record on the DVR, how to say 'no, mommy, your tits look EXACTLY like they did before I sucked the living life out of them for 15 months....you know, the important stuff.
she still says NO NO NO!
maybe i should try teaching her some new stuff....
i have reversed the expensive and grueling sleep training i worked so hard to master. it started out innocently enough. there was that heat wave this summer. it was hot as snot in aria's room sans air conditioner and cool in mine with one. so,i took her into my bed when i went to sleep.
and that was that.
now i'm friggen' hooked. so what if she pokes me straight in the eye, uh, hard, cries out intermittently and basically keeps me up half the night kicking me in the head - it's heaven. there's the good stuff that out weighs it all... the heat of her head as she shoves it into an armpit... the smell of her hair: hot oatmeal cereal, molasses, pancakes - fucking YUM...ooh, and feel of her feet and toes when i grab and cuddle them like the worlds cutest living teddy bear...it's the closest and coziest I have ever felt to anyone. i know, i know, it's sick. but i feel complete. yes, as nauseating as it sounds. she completes me.
i don't feel like i need anyone...you get the point of what i'm saying..RIGHT?
as shane, my tv hubby says, i am getting the intimacy from my daughter that i should be getting from a man. kayla said, it's perfectly fine. as long a you know you will never, ever get a boyfriend again.
FINE. and gross.
they're right. i feel guilty about it.
but isn't this what attachment parenting is all about? maybe i'm just doing it by default? is it so wrong? why do i feel like i'm doing something horrible bad for my daughter by bringing into my bed?
well, maybe because now, ten minutes after she's down in her crib she is hysterical. and this basically going on until i decide its time for me to go to bed and then bring her in with me.
oy. oy . oy.
well, i'm not giving it up anytime soon so...maybe ill just go eat a few pints of ice cream so i can feel guilty about that instead. oh wait, i don't feel guilty about that anymore since i don't have to worry about being a fat pig in front of a MAN, so...i guess i could smoke a cigarette. that would send me over the edge of shame. maybe ill just think abut it. that feels scary enough.
ok, look, i'm writing as i'm watching dr. 90210 (kid got a firework to the eye! i'm holding my breath it's so freaky) and reading the latest new york (not new yorker, too much work) magazine...so keep that in mind when my sentence crafting starts to ddrrifffttt into ugly territory. see? like right there... downright fug.
went to get a potty today at target. all i can say is, 'what the fuck?' these things were tiny, plastic carnival rides. they sing, they talk, they fly. as if this house need another hideous electronic red and blue plastic thingy that talks back to me. now i gotta scour online for something that wont go beep in the night when i trip over it like everything else around here.
dating is a bore. i mean, i'm not actually dating, dating, but virtual dating. i'm less that enchanted with the process. talked to one guy on the phone recently. after a few emails, i thought ok, give him my number...(says he's) an architect. meanwhile, his phone freaked me out. it was robotic, devoid of life or humor. i should have not even called him back but then i (actually) felt bad if i didn't just because of his voice was WEIRD. anyway, it was a total waste of time. just like potty shopping.
I’ve been hiking up (and, uh, down) Runyon Canyon with Aria. And when my mom in not calling me in a panic that mountain lions and wild hyenas are going to swoop down from the mountain tops and steal Aria out of her stroller, I'm having a blast. I’m like Sisyphus pushing that stroller up that hill and hoping it wont roll back down on me. I’m sweating, I’m huffing, I’m about to fucking die. And I love it. The ideas start flooding and I have to call my home phone over and over and leave messages to myself of all the fun things I’m thinking up. My ass is getting poofy and round (again) which makes me happy. Aria passes out and I feel like I’m really getting her out in nature when it’s really about me getting my endorphins on. But, whatever. It’s grueling and I can’t get enough. It’s a healthy good positive torture, unlike the psychological torture I tend to put myself through – all the time- about this, that, and the other thing…you know...
And what is also so amazing about this daily hike is that it feeds me positively! It makes me feel BETTER, about myself! Why? Because for every woman whose thighs are way too far apart from each other to make anatomical sense, there is another woman who's thighs are chafing madly. For every set of frozen, freaky, fake boobies, there’s another whose looks like tube socks filled with tennis balls. Pretty women with ugly boyfriends. Buffed out men with doggy girlfriends. Tired, sweaty, flabby, imperfect. REAL WOMEN. They do exist in LA. And they are hiking Runyon Canyon. Makes me feel like maybe I’m not so bad (fat, ugly, old, et al) after all. This smelly dog-pooped filled hill is the great equalizer.
And that has me looking at looking at all the MEN up there. Seeing what’s so great about THEM? And I get deep into my study of them too. Tucked beneath my wide brimmed hat and mirrored/gas station-purchased sunglasses, I stare at everyone. Damn well, I do. I’m on an anthropological study for chrissakes!
Now this gets me thinking about things that immediately turn me off, just by looking at a man. Yes, this is totally superficial, ridiculous, juvenile....but what the heck – it’s fun and I’m making in into a LIST. I’ll update it weekly if I'm not too tired from hiking.
Lets call it, THE LIST!
Men who run down hills.
Men who run up hills with weights on their legs.
Men who shave their body hair.
Men who name their dogs women names like Lisa or Jennifer.
Men with more than one small dog.
Men with bandanas on their heads.
Men who have more than one cat.
Men with bad toenails.
Men who sing loudly to music on their ipod.
Men who wear mirrored sunglasses.
I know, I know, it's stupid. It is. But everyday another occurs to me so I can't help but make this stupid list.
OH! I even asked someone to take a pic of me on my cell phone trudging up the hill.
shit, the nanny leaves in 20 mins. and i have tons to write!
two days a week of nanny-dom and producing MOTHERHOODLUM episodes leaves no time to fuck around.
last night Chelsea and I were invited guests to Women's Night Out. It was super cool. Alicia Ely the host is hilarious. they showed an episode on a big screen and it was nuts to hear these huge laughs from the audience. WOW!
it was a miracle i got there at all.
had to leave at 6:30. it's 6 already. and i was still covered in all things baby.
aria had to get fed, bathed and ready for bed by the time i left at 6:30 and it was 6 p.m. and we were still mid-din.
somehow, in a matter of 20 mins, i stuffed her with food (does a muffin count as dinner? whatever...), got in the shower, threw her in it with me, got her in PJ's, me in some clothes that were scrunched on the towel rack from last weeks outing but still basically clean, put oil in my hair to slick in into a ponytail, so i was not only going to give an onstage interview and promote the show but also finagled a simultaneous deep conditioning hair treatment, threw on some make up and got out of the house by 6:35.
it was feat of modern science. and worth every minute as we had a blast. people were coming up to us wanting to e on the show.
it was awesome-!!
so what if i missed the premiere of gossip girl and had the worlds worst gas from bingeing on bran crackers with sugar free maple syrup a few hours earlier??
i managed to hold it in until we got out to the valet.
a perfect night!
NOTE: NO TME FOR SPELL CHECK
shit, the nanny leaves in 20 mins. and i have tons to write!
two days a week of nanny-dom and producing MOTHERHOODLUM episodes leaves no time to fuck around.
last night Chelsea and I were invited guests to Women's Night Out. It was super cool. Alicia Ely the host is hilarious. they showed an episode on a big screen and it was nuts to hear these
huge laughs from the audience. WOW!
it was a miracle i got there at all.
had to leave at 6:30 and i was still covered in all things baby.
aria had to get fed, bathed and ready for bed by the time i left at 6:30 and it was 6 p.m. and we were still mid-din.
somehow, in a matter of 20 mins, i stuffed her with food (does a muffin count as dinner? whatever...), got in the shower, threw her in it with me, got her in PJ's, me in some clothes that were scrunched on the towel rack from last weeks outing but still basically clean, put oil in my hair to slick in into a ponytail, so i was not only going to give an onstage interview and promote the show but also finagled a simultaneous deep conditioning hair treatment, threw on some make up and got out of the house by 6:35.
it was feat of modern science. and worth every minute as we had a blast. people were coming up to us wanting to e on the show.
it was awesome-!!
so what if i missed the premiere of gossip girl and had the worlds worst gas from bingeing on bran crackers with sugar free maple syrup a few hours earlier. i managed to hold it in until we got out to the valet.
a perfect night!
NOTE: NO TME FOR SPELL CHECK
behold - aria is not, as i had previously thought, headed into the loving lesbo arms of gender-benderism!
i had thought, for sure, this was our destiny as she so loved to play with...TRUCKS.
alas, today i cut together ( meaning, no sewing, i sew like Dr. Frankenstein) what started out as a skirt, and quickly became a wrap around top as it was too tiny for her growing butt. it was incredibly sexy, in a Dynasty meets Bedrock (Flintstones) way. and she went NUTS-O for it! she squealed with delight when i put it on her. twirling around and everything! like a true GIRL. then i made a matching skirt and she was positively ecstatic about it - pushing her red chair around the house in her new ultra femme ensemble as if she were walking the red carpet...!
i'm pretty sure she in not gonna be a bull dyke after all!
(not that that would be a problem or anything, of course...)
but, witness!
ok, i've morphed!
this blog has now become:
http://www.emilywagner.com
which is SINGLE MOTHER FU*KER!
so as not to be confused with MOTHERHOODLUM the series....
please come see me there, ok?
xoxox
What’s in a name?
From these headlines, I truly have no idea.
Here is a sampling of some of the headlines people are required to write underneath their name (or ‘handle’ as they are called) on the personal ads. You have to write at least ten words, or letters or something like that...Let me know if you are as miffed as I am.
pack your bags, we're going on a guilt trip.
Helen Keller said, "Life is a daring adventure"
I hope you are who I think you are
We dream but this world is no dream
disturbing the universe
"Between the viaducts of your dreams........."
I'm tired of being treated like a Mime
I shall be obedient and cheerful
metaphlowers & gaian tango
make a muscle in your head but use the muscle in yr heart
I have five sisters
will you love me like a sailor?
who here likes riboflavin?
Soylent Green is people!!!
Master of the opening scene
avain bird flu
Precious and Free
Looking for a mutually beneficial situation
I'm watching "Rescue Me"
Single male looking for a woman to connect with intellectually and personally.
I'm not afraid of your children
Slightly removed yet high functioning
Being alone is safe but boring!
SO WHATS WRONG WITH ME
Models/Actresses Go Away!
I like to hike and I am just as comfortable in a tux as I am (um, i think he forgot the last part of the sentence here)
Ugly, boring, and stupid (this guy was actually quite handsome, sexy and well, i wrote him)
In case you are wondering, mine says “ LA DOLCE VITA” …seemed simple enough to me….Though I’ve been thinking about changing it to “I can’t believe it’s not butter.”
It’s too hot to think.
Though I did keep checking my oven today as I thought it must have been on.
It wasn’t.
So I supposed I did think a little during this HEAT WAVE.
I have some random thoughts now though as it Saturday night, 8:45 and I’m home (of course) in bed and it’s cooled down a bit.
First of all, heat makes me eat. All day. So besides rolling around in my bed today with Aria, as it is the only air-conditioned room in the apt, I took breaks to stuff my face with everything that was not nailed down. Would have eaten my dogs but Baba has some weird skin condition that I’m in denial about and Flo’s breath really stinks due what’s left of her rotting teeth. And I’m always eating all of Aria’s food. She’s lucky if she can get a mouthful. I’m like, ‘Hey, you eating that? No? Ok, it’s Mommy’s then.’ My mother even commented on how the child never gets to eat because I’m shoving all of her food into my pie hole. What can I say? You gotta be quick on the draw with food around me. Ask my friends. I’m the Appetizer Hogger, The Desert Devourer. In other words, if you want to share something with me at dinner, don't. You better order a defensive desert cause I'll take it on down in five minutes or less.
I threw Aria in the tub, as she likes, no loves, no is obsessed with sitting in it while the AGUA runs and she sticks all kinds of toys in the running water. She did this for two hours today. Now, if the plug is not plugged and the water is not filling up at all, is it considered a bath? In other words, can I go fuck around on the computer while she’s dilly dallying and making me sit there forever while she stares at water filling up a cup? Just wondering….Not that I ...I mean I would never leave here....And go check email....or get a tasty snack..or anything.....no really....
ONLINE DATE UPDATE: a very cute guy, a writer, AND lawyer, with a headline that read: UGLY STUPID BORING, which I couldn’t resist, well he is also incredibly handsome, wrote me back (oh yeah, I wrote him first, obviously) saying my profile made him spill his peas*** and he thought I was attractive and a good write, but alas, he was ‘hanging out’ with someone he met online. He said it was going well but hadn’t checked the freezer for frozen body parts yet. I responded with something quippy about, if he does indeed discover and parts or arsenal of weaponry to please give me a holler.
And now, I’ll go scour the personals.
*** oops, it was someone else, 'hairy_muscles' that spilled his peas....not 'ugly, boring, stupid.'
Not only am I a bad mother because I use Aria’s dirty clothes to clean the bathroom floor, sink and toilet before throwing them in the hamper after pulling them off of her, or because I curse and use the word ‘fuckin’ in front of her face and not only as an adjective but as a noun, pronoun and adverb but also because I let her whimper at my feet while I scope out potential online dates.
If I was addicted to checking my email, I'm rabid about logging on to the personals at nerve.com.
I’m scared Aria is going o develop a foot fetish from worshiping at my feet while I refuse to play with her and continue to aimlessly ‘online date.’
A quasi-boyfriend I was once entangled with, years back, a classic foot fetishist in the true sense of the word, said he developed this obsession because his mother refused to pick him up while he clung to her feet looking up at her, desperate for some good old fashioned mirroring. As an infant he transferred his desire for love, affection and reflection onto his mother’s feet and shoes and they became the love object. And today, the depressing detritus of his mother’s cruel dysfunction is that he can only get a hard on by looking at, touching or making out with a woman’s foot, sometimes with even just a shoe.
Oh no, come to think of it - one of Aria’s favorite words is ‘shoe!’ She’s screaming it all the time, SHOE, SHOE, SHOE!
Oh crapper. What have I done? If she didn't already have OCD and bi-polar disorder - now she's a freaking foot fetishist!
Ok , ok, first thing in the morning, upon checking to see if anyone has written me I’ll make sure to attend to her, pick her up, cuddle, give her some milk in a sippy cup. Then again, I could just fold my legs up and sit crossed legged on my chair....I mean, kinda solves the problem without messing up my dating check-in schedule.
after my first date in years disaster, i decided to go back in and see if anyone piqued my interest. there was one guy, who, though, not my type physically, said he was a documentary film editor, which i found interesting.
so, i wrote him back after brushing him off weeks earlier. sometimes these guys give you their number RIGHT AWAY and expect you to call?? this freaks me out and i DELETE their email entirely. maybe it's the protocol, but it's just not right for me. then again, no one seemed intriguing enough to actually pick up the phone and call a stranger. anyway, had given me his number and i deleted his emails but wrote him again to start up a dialogue. he gave me HIS digits this time then i said, ok, ok, here's is mine.
he called. the talk was not bad. he told me he had been a writer on some big TV shows ( i later researched him on IMDB and this turned out to be FALSE...FREAKY)...which made him sound smart. hopeful as MASSIVE BRAINS are the only way to my vagina.
then we got to talk about kiddie school. he has a son. mind you, we had already sort of talked about meeting that upcoming weekend. anyway, he started to say the word CURRICULUM, but couldn't. he stumbled, he stammered. it just wouldn't come out. and then he mentioned something about his lack of education. SEXY!
and, gross.
one thing i am a Snobby Snob Snobberman about it, LITERACY!
it's one thing if you are from a foreign country but if you are from northern california, please, please be able to pronounce CURRICULUM.
i have not figured out a way to get out of the date. what do you say?? um, please say curriculum 10 times really fast??
where to begin?
my first date out there - i was a MESS. first of all, i got drunk. and fast, as in 10 minutes into the lunch.
most likely because i took an ATIVAN before hand. second, i was very nervous. beyond nervous. this person is very much in the public eye, who has achieved incredible creative success, who i admire tremendously as an artist. not to mention, downright incredibly sexy. shit.
then the spiral began. basically, to sum it up: i talked about myself the whole time. but not myself-self, like a different self. are you with me? i have no idea who i was talking about. he asked me a million questions
(i asked none), and every answer made me sound stupider and flakier and un-smarter than the next...ALL coming from a place of beyond-insecurity.... further and farther (can never figure out which is correct here) removed from who i really am. crap.
at the time, i thought it was going great. then, i mentioned the two meetings i had later, i mean, commercial auditions. something about HEADSHOTS. i badmouthed an old friend of mine. i bragged about this and that. i told him i grew up rich? i told him NOT to google me (can you say NARCISSISM?) and NOT to watch my youtube show as i 'don't look good.' i mentioned i got into online dating to research an article for an online magazine i write for, and wondered if a 41 year old with a baby could get a date. i think i mumbled into my penne that i never actually wrote the piece. everything that came out of my mouth was disconnected.
anyway, it gets worse. i can't relive the shame anymore. needless to say, i wrote to thank him that night, and offered my REAL email as i thought i might be ending my month on nerve.com. he wrote a few days later, a couple of lines, thanked me for giving him my email, (didn't give me his) and ended with a 'take care.'
i looped for several days about how unfair it was. my first date out there with someone who literally is, at least on paper , everything i'm looking for to a tee. and, ya know the 'if only he got to see the real me he would have totally fallen for me' conundrum... then again...maybe that WAS the real me?
afraid it is. i get nervous, i spill, i take on personas, even if only one of an UBER-version of me. does this make sense? probably not. no wonder i got a 'take care'...
mortally depressed.
How does a SMF wind down after a long day of toddler wrangling? I watch the same episode of Hey Paula for the third time. TiVo really is a girls best friend.
An UPSIDE discovery today when taking Baby out in her noise polluting red truck buggy thingy. I can fart my brains out while I'm walking and no one can hear a thing.
.
Now, a DOWNSIDE or two:
Being a SMF can feel like Groundhogs Day. Sometimes I wake up and think, oh my god, it's happening AGAIN. Not that it's not amazing, and wonderful, all that blah, blah talk...but lemme explain:
Taking care of Baby, all day, every day (basically) is how I feel when get an acting job. I wake up and get to set, totally excited and grateful and disbelieving that I even got the job in the first place. But then, I get in hair and make-up and it all starts to feel dreadful and scary and soon I'm asking any P.A. I can grab when they think I'll be wrapped. Soon enough everyone starts taking bets on how long the next set up will be, the next scene, when the goddamn day is going to end. Even the director is making threats "You people wanna get outta here? Then let's get going folks!" It's all about getting it over with.
That's how my days feel. I pray for them to end. And now Baby wants to stay up even later because it's still light out and she's standing in her crib and my fake her out to get her back to sleep routine takes hours and it's almost 9 before I can do anything for me. I'm so burnt from her sleep resisting screams (last night I overheard my downstairs neighbors saying "What is she doing? Strangling her?) all I want to do is eat my stress away. Or take a Klonipin. BUt then I get scared that something terrible will happen in the middle of the night and since her daddy doesn't pick up the phone when I call sometimes, depending on his mood, well, I have to be on top of my game at all times.
I'm so burnt, I'm just too lazy to teach her anything. I taught her NOSE, and that's fine for me.
I just keep saying SHOW ME YOUR NOSE, WHERE'S MOMMY'S NOSE? NOSE, NOSE, NOSE...And she's pointing to, or near it, and I'm happy. But the thought of moving to other body parts? Forget it.
What I'm saying is, I better sell my tv show soon, because it really does take a fucking village and I need one badly. I could make a joke about me being the village idiot but that would be stupid.
Things that did not go over well when I made my profile:
Don't write under IF I COULD BE ANYWHERE NOW:
"getting a thigh lift."
Conversely, under LAST BOOK READ:
Don't write "A Smart Girls Guide To Plastic Surgery."
Under WHERE I'D LIKE TO BE IN 25 YEARS:
Don't write "Rich and thin."
And my handle is TheRealE.
Don't ask me what it means.
I made it years ago when I really WAS a swinging single.
And it costs $10 to change it so forget it. It's already cost me a small fortune to join these dating sites.
Look me up and send me a wink!
I usually HATE music class. It’s so depressing. All I can do is stare at the other moms and make up stories about their lives. And even when I make them dark and twisted and sad they still end up being better than mine.
But there is one upside when you are a SMF! There is another great way to make class go by faster. You can check out the dads in class.
Not to flirt or anything. They are married after all. And I'm just not built like that. Physically that is. You see, when you have my genetics you are not programmed, deep in your brain, to think about things like flirting with a married man. The brain just doesn’t go there.
But, I can fantasize that maybe the good looking one who came alone is single. Maybe his wife died. Or she runs a studio or something and is a total Cuntessa who didn’t fuck him for years and then divorced him and has his balls in a jar in the fridge. Or something.
So there was a guy a few weeks ago in class that I projected this fantasy onto. He wasn't even that cute. But I was rip-roaring bored outta my mind so I pretended to send him secret messages.
And it worked. Sort of.
I must have been sending out the perfect ‘I’m the perfect replacement mommy’ vibes as suddenly his butt-ugly daughter started to glom onto me!
For sure she didn’t have a mom, the way she was throwing herself all over me and drooling. I had to keep repeating in my head that her mom was dead, her mom was dead. I rubbed her back a little. I was Ann Bancroft and she was my Helen Keller.
Maybe if she were the least bit cute it wouldn’t have been so hard. But I really hate ugly babies. And I hate the way diapers look in their pants too. So puffy and dumpy. I was so embarrassed I could not look up at her daddy. I just knew he was thinking I would be the best replacement mom ever. I was on Oscar watch I was so good. Rubbing, Giggling, Cooing. It was all total make believe as I was holding my breath, trying no to breathe in the germs of this sniveling toddlerette. This kid was in love with me. Her daddy was beaming. And then, as all this beauty was happening, it occurred to me I hadn’t looked in the mirror for an entire hour. I was just dying to see how this all looked to the outside world. I was so IN IT, I couldn't tell.
I looked up and watched us from across the room in the giant mirror. We all looked so amazing. Me stroking the motherless ugly baby’s back. Her dad watching us bond from the room, rapt. And most importantly, how THIN those mirrors made me look. I never noticed before. These were the most amazing mirrors ever. I looked ten pounds thinner and at least 5'7''. I pushed the kid off me and shoved her back to her dad with whom she belonged, widowed or not. I stood up to admire myself, all while pretending to do the horsey dance around the room. I now love music class. Who cares if the songs make me hungry and I can't stop wondering if the teachers are gay, they have great mirrors in there and that alone is worth suffering through those mother sucking 45 mins.
Mission Statement for SINGLE MOTHER FU*KER!
Besides taking an earnest crack at good spelling/grammar and not binging on vegan cookies while writing, I have several goals for this new blog.
Mathematical twisters such as:
41 years old. 16-month-old baby. 0 dates.
Is trying to ‘get out there’ and actually date someone an oxymoron with the above statistics?
Will I ever find a GOOD DADDY for Baby?
a GREAT HUBBY FOR ME? (and by hubby, i don't do marriage...i mean, life partner, but that sounds GAY)
Gee, it sucks not being Sug Daddy material.
Yeah, I’ll talk about that too.
And sometimes in haiku.
I’m back.
After hiatus of a lifetime.
So much to catch up on.
I think ill just begin from where I am NOW.
Baby is 15 months.
I am single mother fucker.
MOTHERHOODLUM the tv series is in full effect-ish.
And I went to barnes and nobel baby reading series today and it was so depressing I wanted to shoot myself. I was one of three moms in a sea of nannies.
And the other moms were those freak moms. The two babies model. and like, suburban.
Where do they come from?
I hate them.
I’m filled with rage right now.
I won’t talk about anything like RAGE towards baby’s daddy.
That would be totally uncool not to mention well, just bad.
So, ill talk about how angry I am that i'm so tired I cant see straight.
Waking up before 6 am for over a year now is killing me.
Seriously.
I know its terrible. My first post in 5 months and im Debbie downer.
Hopefully when the ativan kicks in, ill lighten up.
Maybe ill just write when that happens.
Until then. Welcome back.
xoxx
