Happy Sunday

There's one person who doesn't read my blogs, and that's Alex, and that's ok, cuz he knows everything about me. Everything I think, eat, do, etc. We think sometimes that we are actually the same person, because we eat the same meals and breathe the same air all day long, and considering your cells and skin are completely new and regenerated after 7 years or so, now we must be made of the same material. Well, whateva, I ain't no scientist. As Vicky would say: "Barev-a". (slang for "whatever") - and my cousin Benito would say  "Guat-eberd". (Mexican for "whatever")

And today my point is to write why I am blogging in the first place.

I don't post youtube clips (yet) of funny ass things I like, or every 80's cartoon and tv show I loved as a kid (even though I'd like to), I don't review movies cuz I never watch any. The main reason I believe to be writing is because I don't get to talk to many people much, and writing a blog is kind of like writing an e-mail blast. People who know you will read it, and unlike an e-mail blast, it won't go into your spam folder. Since I've been a mommy, I haven't had too too much time to just call up friends to tell them all the funny stories, or invite everyone around as much as I'd like, cuz really, getting older makes you busier, and for the most part, people just don't get around to seeing each other as much. Se la vie. And so, this is just a way to let people know what goes on every once in awhile. Mr. H asked me today when I'd blog again, so now I can call him in the morning and let him know I did. 

And so it's Sunday, and for me Sunday's are lazy. It is strange that even when I don't work on Mondays, I feel like resting on Sunday. It could be a Horlick thing, or possibly something instinctual or in my DNA perhaps, but something happens on Sunday, and I kind of shut down. 

All I want to do on Sundays is take a nap and eat. Sounds good right? Yeah, it would be if you could do it. And today I did get to eat, but didn't nap. Did you? For as long as I can remember I've always wanted to take naps on Sundays but not in the afternoon. Naps on Sundays are best at about 10am, given you've woken up before 8am. 

Since I don't have anything particularly funny or interesting to say to any of you today, besides the fact that I watched some of Pete's Dragon and realized that the lady in it (Nora) never even sees the dragon until the last 5 minutes, I better go and try to do some of the things I avoided all day today because it was... Sunday. 

This is for Becky

Mainly cuz it's just a good story. There's no anonymity here. You probably know me, and if you know me you know my family, and if you know my family you know the Q's, and if you know the Q's you know Becky, and if you know Becky, you're lucky, cuz she's one hellova gal. So, before I continue, let me write a disclaimer. I do love Becky, and I'm not mad about what you did to my daughter ok?! Great, now let's continue.

Wednesday: Becky and Alayna took Celia and Effie out around town and to the zoo on one of those unbearably hot days.

Thursday: Mama Lety babysat my kids as usual, cuz it was Thursday night, and I went to a Lachsa Alumni Gala, etc, etc.... 

Friday: Didn't do much, but it was hot. I think we went swimming somewhere, or to the observatory.

Saturday AM: Monica came over after her AIDS marathon training, and while we were in the living room chatting while the girls watched the Bearenstien Bears (or however you spell it) I noticed that Effie's rat-tail was gone. OMG. jajajaja (that's spanish for LOL)

Monica and I both looked at eachother and asked -"Effie! Where the hell is your rat-tail?" Now I could have sworn Effie's hair was really long, cuz I brush it sometimes, and in the bath I always comment on how lovely her little rat-tail (that she's had since birth mind you) was so sweet, and long, and so very rock n roll. Monica had just made fun of me weeks before for having a kid with a tail. Now my sister and I said if we ever had sons - they would have a tail, and now that I had my Effie, I didn't need a son, because I had a child born with a tail. Jajajaja.

So first thing - (in my mind) I thought "hmmm, someone cut my kids hair! but who?? 

I asked Celia.

"did you cut Effie's hair?"

She said "No."

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes."

So I called Mama Lety.

"I'm calling because I'm trying to solve the mystery of Effie's haircut."

"I have no idea, it wasn't me. In fact, I noticed her hair was uneven. Did you ask Celia?"

"Yes",  I said. "But I'll ask her again".

So, I asked her again, and she answered me.

"Yes. I cut her hair, but just a little on the top."

"With what?" I asked her - 

"With my blue Scissors."

"Ahh ha!" 

But Monica and I were still a little confused. We found no hair on the bedroom floor where Celia said she did the chopping. Aaaand... Effie's hair was cut so straight!

Hmmmm.. Becky I thought. But since Celia had already confessed to the crime, I believed her. She rarely lies to me ( I think ), so I just thought she did it. Besides, I find her all the time sneaking scissors to her room to cut her dolls' hair and her own...

Later that evening I get a call from Becky.

"It was me! Effie got gum in her hair, and I forgot about it, and I thought you'd be mad cuz I gave her gum, and I didn't know if she was allowed to have gum, and when I saw you I totally forgot".

"Yes, Effie is allowed to have gum with supervision, but not haircuts!" 

Ok, so I didn't say that exactly, but that's what I meant. 

To make this long story short, Becky could've been scott-free (BTW what does Scott free mean? I'll go ask my friend Skot), but she just had to confess, and in the end I found out that she didn't like the rat tail, and that she felt bad for my little kidling for having such a disgrace of a hairstyle. jajajajaja.

All is said and done, and I still love Becky. It's ok, but a lesson has been learned. If you REALLY like your kids rat-tails, be sure to tell everyone how much you like it or someone someday may just chop it off. 

And one more thing - just for Becky - you did do a great job. It looks pro. But next time - throw in a trim of them bangs - the poor girl can barely see!

Cars

I really, really miss my old cars. Two days ago I got a letter from the dmv to sign because the girl I sold my maverick to lost her pink slip, blah blah blah.... 

I haven't signed it yet, and don't know if I will but that's besides the point. The point is: I miss my cars. 

Don't tell her, but I've been really tempted to ask someone I know if I can rent her Super Beetle for the summer cuz driving around in a bland Jeep Grand Cherokee, guzzling gas on leather seats just doesn't feel right. 

As an ex-Escort driver, I'm used to no A/C, 3 tone paint jobs, and broken everything. There are 2 things wrong with my Jeep that are funny to me, and make me like him/her a little bit: He/She makes a farty noise everytime I lock it, and a piece of the panel that surrounds the driver's window is falling off. BORING... I know.

It's just not the same. I miss cars whose transmission slips. I miss being lower to the ground, and feeling like you are actually going fast when you are only going 35. I miss having lame stickers and buttons all over the car. I miss chrome. I miss plastic. I miss Reuben. I miss Leroy, I miss Dugan, and I miss the Chinook.

All this talking about my old wheels makes me feel kind of bad for the Jeep though. Maybe if I gave him or her a name, I might feel some sort of attachment?

Any suggestions?

It's my dream to soon have a Toyota Corona, Corolla, or Pick-Up circa 1979-1984, and hopefully that dream will come true soon, but as for now, I'll just have to cruise the streets in the Air Conditioned Cherokee and just keep on smiling at those old mexican guys driving those chunty Toyotas that I wish were mine. Hmmmm.

Dishes

I'm glad I've never owned/used a dishwasher because then I would probably want one so bad. I wash dishes multiple times a day and today as I was taking a walk I realized something.

The reason that kitchens were built with windows in front of kitchen sinks is so that you will not shoot yourself in the head because of doing so many dishes. I can't think of a kitchen sink in anyone's home that does not have a window to look out of. 

When I wash dishes, at least I can look outside but imagine if you'd have to look at a wall while scrubbing away all day. You'd die!

As of right now, the dishes are done - meaning washed and put away, and by  9am tomorrow the right side of that stainless steel tub will be full and ready for me. At least I"ll be able to look outside at the birds in the blistering heat while I do those dishes.

Snow Cones

Too bad I'm only posting portraits, cuz a picture would really do the LA Zoo's snow cones justice.

The first time I saw the snow cone guy, he used to work over by what is now the new gorilla exhibit. He was always talking. If he wasn't talking to a costumer, he was talking to a janitor or anyone who would listen. Every single time we'd go to the zoo, this guy was just blabbing away. I always wanted my chance to talk to him, or buy a snow cone, and finally about a year ago I did.

Two guys ahead of me both got big snow cones. I mean, real big. The second guy got a bigger cone, then the snow cone man asked him if he thought his friend would be jealous if his snow cone was not as big as his snow cone. It was weird. So then I was next. Even though the size jokes didn't apply to me, I wanted a big ass snow cone too. How big you ask? Well, the one I got was about 10 inches high, on top of a 5 inch paper cup. Plus it was really fat. This snow cone guy doesn't just talk, he is a man of action. On top of this mound of shaved ice, he loads on the artificial flavoring, and tells you to keep coming back for more syrup. He has told me now 3 times about a woman who drove all the way from Santa Monica one day just for his artificial banana flavoring. I wonder why he always tells me that. Maybe he fell in love with her. 

So, today we went, and I didn't have my cell phone to show him my previous large lumped mountains of ice to prove to him that he hooked it up before, so when it was my turn to order, I said to him - " I know you have the mental and physical ability to really pack on the ice - so please do" - then he said - "heavy on the ice?" - I said "Yes please". 

Today's snow cone was big, but not embarrassingly large, and we all ate it together and slurped the excess fake pineapple and cherry flavors. It was good. And today was hot. So, if you ever get to the zoo, walk past the new gorilla exhibit, up the hill, and right before you get to the hippos you will find this chatterbox of a man in his little cart, with a big smile, and a hell of a lot of ice and a rainbow of flavors waiting for your $3.50.

The simple things are Never Easy

Now that I'm a mom, (being a mom could be an excuse) has made simple things quite difficult.

Here's my list of things that for a normal person (a.k.a. single person) can be simple and for me are not:

1. Closing the doors of cabinets in the kitchen or bathroom.

2. Putting dvds or cds in their appropriate cases.

3. Keeping my wallet in my purse.

4. Watering the lawn.

5. Wiping my butt. (just kidding, or am I?)

6. Maybe number 5 is true, although I do wipe, it is difficult to do it when you can't find any freakin toilet paper anywhere.

7. Putting freakin pinto beans in the slow cooker over night.

8. Getting out of the house before 10am.

9. Returning library books or dvds on time. I just can't do it! Not even with the new email reminders! UGGS!

10. Reading a real book.

Being a mom is part of the excuse, but having no time is the other. Any time management suggestions? Oh - I have one. How about I stop writing a pointless blog entry, and go shut the cabinets above the microwave? hmmm. Maybe I will.

blogs are no fun

so, blogs are no fun, if you wanna be telling the truth. 

But I don't. Well, I mean I do wanna tell the truth, I do wanna write chisme, and I do wanna write about my life, but I can't do so without everyone knowing my private life, knowing too much about someone else's private life, or knowing the truth that Celia tends to spit out everyday. 

Hmm... so then, if I can't write about these things - what should I write?

If I write about my day, you will invade Alex's privacy. If I write about other people, I may get in trouble. If I write about my job, I'll get fired. So then what?

I guess I'll try writing a review. Ok. A review about what?  I don't see movies. I don't read books. I don't read magazines. But I do go out to eat to one place once a week. So, yeah - eating works.

This week, and every week for the past month or two we've been going to Dinah's. If you don't have kids, then you don't understand the power of macaroni and cheese to fulfill the appetite of a child. Dinah's has exceptionally good, cheesy, sometimes soupy mac n' cheese. It's cheap too. 

Sometimes, we'll run into ralphs, or whole foods for this kid's treat (or dinner or lunch) but... at ralphs it's $3.99/pound, and at whole foods it costs $7.00 per pound. My kids eat about a pound of the stuff, but at Dinah's you can get about a pound for $3.00. We tend to get our 6 pieces of chicken, the pound of mac, cole slaw and potaters for $12.33. (without drinks) and bam, there's dinner. Plus the chicken is freakin awesome once shredded for tacos the next day. So, if you are hungry and poor, you can get that meal, with rolls and honey included for that price, and feed 4 people for about $3 and something a piece. Not bad. 

What a shitty blog. I'm really gonna have to start chismiando. (gossipping)

Have a great sunday. I will. 

Lots of butter

While the lakers were losing, I was eating some divine cake. Wow, that cake was good. It was so good that my stomach is pushing its way outta my jeans yearning for more. On the way home, some foolio in a big white mercedes tried to kill me by swerving outta the left lane to make a right turn in front of me and I saw my kid's life flash before her eyes. Griffith park was real nice tonight - and we played hide and seek for a few minutes after watching the one family who was not watching the laker game fly a kite. And now, Sunday night, I have to write a poem, dedicated to a girl who knows who she is. k?

Ode to my homegirl:

there's this girl that i like to talk to

cuz she has a voice of a fine cholita

she likes to talk about all the boys

and no her name ain't juanita

she likes the boys some old some young

and makes the shy ones stutter

she even makes the hearts of the ugly ones

flitter fly and flutter

i can't wait to hear that cholita voice soon

to hear all that she has to say

cuz without this lady (and her homegirl too)

how boring would be my day

Tired

If you know me at all, you know why I'm tired. Even though the day and the whole past week of preparations for today are over, I'm still exhausted just thinking about what goes into making a party possible.

What happened today though, needed to happen, and by God my Mother better be real happy, cuz I am. 

Effie finally got the chamuco outta her. (Chamuco=devil)

The priest rubbed the oil on her forehead, and rinsed the pink lemonade lollipop stickiness out of her hair while he washed out her original sin. It was really beautiful, and I'm glad she's now one of us. We accept her we accept her  - one of us! one of us!

In all seriousness - it was a great day, for God, Effie, my mom, me, and if you were with us eating garlic rolls and drinking beer, thank you. 

Parties

Throwing a party takes about a week of planning.

There's food, cutlery, napkins, appetizers, dessert, drinks, ice, coolers, chairs, tables, table cloths, cleaning up, sweeping the floors, preparing shady spaces, washing lots of dishes, getting favors, buying food, food delivery, bothering people, ignoring your children, ignoring your spouse, calling up people, forgetting to invite other people, being sad cuz someone can't come, being mad cuz too many people come, being happy cuz it's actually really fun, being stressed cuz it hurts the wallet, and more.

With that said, I will now embark on the remaining hours of the night in which I will make some salsita, cut some veggies, fold some laundry, and then go to sleep so I can wake up and enjoy Effie's baptism and first real party.

Good night. 

Mondays

Mondays at the school I work at go by pretty fast. They went by so fast today that I don't even remember who I saw, but no one was interesting enough to write about. Sad, huh? But I did get to read many rough drafts of college essays. One of them had a sentence that said, "I'm brilliant because....". Wow. And I thought I was a crappy writer. 

My sister had a new jacket on today, and I got to see my nieces. They are around my age and a world apart from my sister and me. We went to Fossleman's ice cream parlor, and I noticed that most of the people there looked like they go there every night. I wish I could have ice cream like that every night. Yum.

I saw this episode of a Winnie the Pooh show that we had on VHS where Winnie the Pooh and his homies look in Christopher Robin's journal and tell the stories out loud. Do you think that's teaching kids to invade other people's privacy? Hmm. Maybe if Chris Robin had a blog it wouldn't be seem so bad.

In the beginning

I decided to follow in the footsteps of my sister and begin.

Is it true that nowadays we are so vain that we want all our thoughts posted on the world wide web?

I guess so - and why should you care about me? No reason. But I am Sara. Sara the sub, Sara the mom, Sara the sister, Sara the wifey, Sara the dishwasher. And I can betcha that one or two of my stories may make you laugh. I can betcha that I may bore you. And you can betcha that you will feel something good.

It's Saturday night - and Celia went to bed way too late - and I'm scanning the 102nd scan of portraits. Here's one of my favorite students. He gave me a great bulldog necklace that I wear with pride.