Scavenging for Prizes

Over the weekend, my baby brother, the Shambot, my mom and Baby Aladdin participated in a scavenger hunt in beautiful downtown Burbank. Well, the baby was more of a silent partner. Like the team mascot.

We figured we had the inside track against the 4 other teams given that 3 of us were raised in the area, and most of the team lives with 5 blocks of it. We took the four page list, divided it among us, and ran off to hunt.

I was done with my list within 45 minutes, buying most of the items on my list. My teammates were much more resourceful, spending a whopping 86 cents between the 3 of them while I forked over a good 40 bucks. I returned everything except $8 worth of toys, which were immediately gifted to the G-brat and C-note.

2 hours later we reconvened and felt pretty confident about our findings. We were only missing 5 items, which were nearly impossible to find without running back to one of our houses. Which would probably have been cheating anyway.

Well we should have cheated, or at least driven a car to the event because we ended up coming in dead last. We could have picked up at least 4 of them at my mom's house: a driedel, license plate frame, magnets, fake monster teeth. That would have given us 20 points and tied us for 2nd place.

There are two morals to this story:
1. Always drive to the mall, and
2. Cheating is the only way to win.

I'm annoyed. This after running around in 3-inch wedges for two hours after attempting to climb a 74-story building the day before.

My feet still hurt, dammit.

But we did have a lot of fun. Next time, I say we do it drunk!

"Can't Make Both Ends Meat"

It's infuriating when people without the proper means choose bling over basic needs.

Case in point: yesterday I was waiting for my car to be washed. I drive a common Toyota. Nothing fancy, but it has nice rims. That came standard on the car. They're not flashy. It's just how the car is put together. And it's what I could afford.

I was minding my own business when along came a little family. The mother was dressed in her Sunday's best, black-on-black right down to the pantyhose. (It's 85 degrees beachside in Los Angeles. Why anyone wears head-to-toe black is ridiculously beyond me. But I digress...) Her wild children ages 6 to 11 were jumping around like spider monkeys. And then I noticed that the youngest one was sporting some serious metal in her mouth.

it's not uncommon for young children to lose their front teeth to the ravages of milk. Hispanic mothers tend to allow their kids to sleep with a bottle in their mouthes, which leads to some awful tooth decay. The front teeth end up rotting and that explains why you see so many kids with silver smiles in the Spanish-speaking 'hoods.

It happened to my C-note when he was about 2 or 3. But vanity and the ability to pay dental bills allowed for his parents to give him natural-colored veneers. It was either that, silver chompers, or a huge gap for 5 years. Because those suckers don't grow back until they turn 7. That's a loooooooooong time to be sportin' the toofless look.

Finally, they pulled the little family's minivan out to the drying area. And wouldn't you know it, it puffed out black smoke and rattled like it was dangerously close to exploding right there. But wasn't it pretty with its four shiny chrome rims? Because, you see, it was more important for this family to sport unnecessary and expensive accessories on a shitty car than to take care of their own children's teeth. Or, better yet, a car that isn't going to break down on the side of the freeway, stranding its occupants and causing a 4-hour bottleneck.

There's nothing more ghetto that fucked up teeth or a shitty car with ridiculous enhancements. Isn't it awesome when a beatup 1982 Datsun with busted headlights and exposed primer rolls past with a set of spinners? No. It's merely pathetic. Poor people are willfully keeping themselves poor.

But I guess that just means there's more money for the taking by me. So that I too can one day afford spinners of my own.

For now, I'll just put them on my shoes.

Overheard at the Tea Party

My nephew was the only little boy at my niece’s tea party yesterday. Not to be outdone, he contributed meaningful conversation:

Grandma: Where did you go yesterday, C-note?

C-note: To the gift shop.

*puzzled looks all around*

GPG: What did you get there?

C-note: A sprayer.

GPG: Oh. Where was the gift shop?

C-note: In the back.

GPG: In the back of what?

C-note: *exasperated* In the BACK!

GPG: "The back" where?

Sister-in-law: *trying to run interference* C-note, where do we go to see the animals?

C-note: The zoo. Duh.

Oh. Of course.

Overheard in the Family #3

My brother took his kids to the Time for Heroes Celebrity Carnival today. I was almost tapped to go in his place, but they rearranged their schedules at the last minute and I was allowed some desperately needed sleep instead.

It wasn't just flesh-and-blood celebs that milled about, the Care Bears, Power Rangers, Disney Princesses and their ilk were also on hand to blow the minds of little children. Who came to dinner covered in paint and deliriously happy from all the madness and free toys.

This is how the adults talked over their heads:

Big Brother: C-note likes the Power Rangers.

GPG: Oh yeah? Who's the pink one?

C-note: My daddy! [This is his standard answer for everything]

Big Brother: There is no pink one.

Sister-in-Law: G-brat doesn't like them.

G-brat: I like Caillou.

Pregnant sister-in-law-to-be: What's Caillou?

SiL: You have to watch children's tv to get it.

Dad: He looks like Charlie Brown. Very bald.

SiL: Yeah, Charlie Brown...on chemo.

Take it from Britney, kids: bald is not necessarily beautiful.

Photoblogging Friday 3.23.07

On a recent Sunday in Los Angeles, some people went out and ran a marathon. On that same day in my cousin's backyard, a young boy showed us he could run too:

Look at me!

I know, I post a lot of pictures of my niece and nephew. Sue me. It's rare I shoot anything else these days. But next week I promise to find something different.

Maybe.

Photoblogging Friday 11.24.06

My nephew, Easter 2005

Eyelashes like that should be illegal.

P-N-R Theater for Kids

I posed the same question regarding personality archetypes to my niece G-brat, who is 4 1/2 years old, and my nephew C-note, who is 3 years old.

The G-brat without hesitation decided she is a robot. And then immediately started doing The Robot. She's four. Where did she pick THAT up? It's fucking awesome.

C-note, after a recent viewing of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest and being the my nephew after all, has decided he is a pirate. Like his auntie. With whom he shares a birthday. And an affinity for playing with swords. Also very fucking awesome.

They're too damn smart and hysterical for their own good these days, kids. Gotta love 'em.

Happy Birthday to Me!!!

On this last hour of my day of celebration, I present to you 28 random facts about little ol' me:

1. My stupid human trick is that I can identify the make and model of a car from its headlights in my rearview mirror. But I'm still a little sketchy on the newer models. I don't actively work at this. It just kind of comes naturally. I have no idea how or why.

2. If forced to, I could subsist on a diet made up completely of hummus, sushi, chicken satay with peanut coconut sauce, and Jack in the Box tacos. And tequila. With some diet Coke thrown in once in a while for variety's sake. Oh, and some water too.

3. Being half Puerto Rican, the joke amongst my friends is that I am violent when angry (which is not necessarily true--or untrue). Rumor has it I will cut you if you displease me. My ex-boyfriend bought me a little pocket knife just for that reason, thinking it funny. He did this on the day we broke up. Can you say "stupid"? He did stay out of reach after that, though...

4. The other half is Mexican, and as such, I am an utter tequila snob. I like what I like and don't care what anyone thinks about it. My three favorite brands are, in no particular order, Cazadores, Corzo and Corazon. (I have a thing for Cs, apparently.) Don't try to entice me with Patrón or, worse yet, Cuervo. Because (see number 3) I will cut you!

4a. Don't ruin my tequila with salt, lime, or worse yet, margarita mix. There's no need for window dressing on good tequila. Chill it, serve it, sip it. That's how I like it, that's how I want it. No training wheels.

5. My mother, who is from the state of Jalisco where tequila is made, is a bona fide border jumper. 30 years ago she ran across the border. But last summer, when I was stuck on a bus trying to get back in the country and make it to Street Scene on time and called her to ask where the damn trail was to sneak back in the country, she couldn't remember. Apparently becoming a citizen means you forget that rubbish.

6. Spanish was technically my first language, but it quickly disappeared once I started kindergarten. I'm rather ashamed of this, and wish I wasn't too lazy to relearn it.

7. I have this strange TMJ issue that causes my mouth to lock up on the right side. When it finally pops, I'm always reminded of a snake unhinging its jaw. Needless to say, I don't eat rats...but sometimes I can't eat at all because I can't open my mouth. As you can imagine, this has a negative impact on certain activities.

8. My favoritest time in my life so far was my early 20s, when all my friends were guys in bands and every weekend was one debaucherous adventure after another. That was back when I could get by on little sleep and my lockjaw didn't hinder my fun at all. Now everyone's grown up, or gone on tour, and I need more sleep than I'm comfortable admitting.

9. That last statement made me feel really old.

10. At work, I'm the youngest person in my department. But also a level below everyone else. This doesn't bother me since I consider it a very temporary situation (the level, not the job), and know I shouldn't be comparing myself to other people my age. But sometimes I wonder if I should be farther along in my career, now that I have one that I absolutely love.

11. I was once involved in a completely unsatisfactory affair with an egotistical yet awful lay of a man. I don't understand why I still yearn for it on occasion. Maybe because he was a really great kisser.

12. I hate egotistical men. Arrogance is a huge turn-off. But so is wimpiness. I like my men confident, ambitious, but sweet and creatively-inclined. And tall, dark, and handsome. But I'm not a cliché.

13. The way a man hugs is almost as important as how he kisses. I need strong, enveloping embraces. A man who can't do that needs to a) learn how, or b) stay away from me. Because I love to hug.

14. When I was about 4 years old, I was nearly run over by a car. Because I was laying in the middle of the street. Waiting for it to run me over. Because I wanted to see what would happen.

15. That story got me accepted into UCLA. Twice.

16. It took me 6 years to graduate from college. My Ivy League credits didn't transfer for shit. Because the Ivy League sucks. And so does Philadelphia.

17. College made me terrible at math. I can barely do long division anymore. Thank god for calculators.

18. I love scary movies. The first movie I remember being really scared at was The Lost Boys. I was 9 and couldn't get to sleep that night, despite the fact that my mom slept in my room with me. I was convinced the vampires were going to fly through my window at any moment. It's still one of my favorite movies.

19. I don't care for Jennifer Aniston, Claire Danes, Jason Schwarztman, Gwenyth Paltrow or Julia Roberts (except in Pretty Woman). I won't see their movies unless forced to at gunpoint. And will be very grumpy about the entire experience.

20. What I really wanted for my birthday was a trip to the shooting range. I want to fire my friend's carbon fiber shotgun, but I'm afraid of the kickback.

21. I bruise too easily. It's not unusual for me to wake up with bruises I never remember getting. Given that I'm pathologically clumsy, I just accept I bumped into something at some point. It's not pretty.

22. I share my birthday with Bono, Fred Astaire, and my nephew C-note (not his real name). On C-note's first birthday, I turned 26. He had a piñata party in the park (so Mexican!). My friends and I crashed the party, brought my own piñata, and took over the bounce house. It was the best birthday I've ever had.

23. When I was a teenager, I wished Holden Caulfield was a real guy so we could play catch in a rye field. I didn't realize at the time what a drag depressed people are.

24. Sometimes I miss the thrill of being a teenager sneaking behind her parents' backs. There's nothing like the risk of getting caught doing something naughty. There's nothing comparable to it now that won't land me in jail.

25. I recognize my short-lived adrenaline junkie phase must have scared the shit out of my parents. The older I get the less I want to bungie jump.

26. I really must be an old lady.

27. 27 was a really good age.

28. That's why I'm staying that age for another year. At least.