When my husband told me that he got tickets for KISS (his 25th time to see them) the day before Thanksgiving, I was less than thrilled. I’m a notorious cheapskate. The price was astonishing, the babysitter cost staggering, traffic possibility nasty, hair and makeup required. After 7 pm, I’m pretty much done for the day. Uggg…
But WOW. Just WOW.
Walking in downtown Los Angeles through the cloying smell of bum piss and illegal street vendor hot dogs reminded me of carefree BB (before breeding) days of Kings Hockey. Suddenly, my constant mom exhausted lifted - I felt young! Energetic! I had on skinny jeans! I’m hip again!
Then came people watching on a grand scale: A two year old in a spot on Ace Freely outfit complete with make-up. A 60 something Hispanic couple in vintage “Lick It Up” t-shirts. LA hotties with gigantic fake boobs and hair extensions. (I assume that Bobby's spank bank is getting a deposit)
We meet with friends from hockey days. One of them is a face painter. With wig. I'm shocked. Really? You think you know someone…
In the row in front of us, four queeny gay guys. My people. We bond. One rolls a fattie and offers it – aside from the many reasons I should not, I decline simply because of the possibility of H1N1 on the soggy doobie. I'm reminded of my age.
Uh oh. Here comes the crowd sitting next to us. Confirmed douchebags. Douche #1 pulls out his iPhone and shows me the set list. Thanks asshole. One of the best parts of a concert is the song anticipation. Someone blows a terrible, terrible fart. Douche #2 laughs and admits guilt.
Buckcherry rocked. Finally eye candy for me - lead singer is smoking hot.
Here comes KISS. The arena is packed, the excitement is physically overwhelming and I get tears in my eyes. If not for waddle necks and old man hands, you’d swear this was 1974 KISS.
Highlights: Paul Stanley shouts “I must have the swine flu because someone back stage called me a pig!” Calling Doctor Love - my fave. And he intro'd it with a topical segue! Nice.
Bobby squeals like a little girl. “He’s coming right over us! He’s coming right over us!” Paul hooks his sliver high heel boots into a large ring and zips 10 feet, maybe less over us. “That’s officially the closest I’ve been to Paul Stanley.” The look on Bobby's face is pure joy - the cost, the babysitter, the traffic doesn't matter - this night is worth it.
Gene Simmons guitar solo - blood dripping from his mouth, his grotesquely long tongue wagging seductively in and out. I furiously condemn any parent who brought a kid under driving age. When Gene flies to a tiny perch high above the stage it's breathtaking.
"Rock and Roll All Nite" is accompanied by explosions, shooting flames and buckets white confetti blown at top speed from the stage. Just as it settles over the floor crowd, more is blown behind us towards the rest of the fans. Douch #1 "That's for the poor people!" Fuck I hate this guy.
But douche can't dampen the mood - KISS is the best concert I've been to since I started going to see live music in 1983 (Rush and Golden Earring in Oklahoma City) Better than, sorry Dave, Van Halen.
Thanks for a great night Bobby! Happy Birthday - I love you!
Friday, November 27, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
Arnold's Head
I have Arnold Schwarzenegger's head in my purse. And not the aging Governor of California Schwarzenegger. No – this is the bad ass sunglasses wearing TERMINATOR Arnold. Here’s how a housewife from the valley ended up waving a severed head and shouting to a crowd of 15,000 on a 50-thousand watt Southern California radio station…
I’m not going to say working from home and watching a 4 year old and an 9 month old is isolating and boring…but…let’s just say that by late afternoon, I’m ready to forget about writers block and diapers.
Crackly AM radio with its traffic reports and commercials for life insurance used to be the last thing I wanted to hear. But one afternoon, desperate to escape an evil 101 jam, I switched to 640 AM.
The voices of John and Ken filled my car.
“Mommy, those boys sound mad!” said my daughter.
True - those boys were mad! But they had me laughing out loud. After a few minutes, I was hooked.
I quickly realized that I had to listen without kiddos around when my daughter started repeating John – IDIOT! MORON! DUMB ASSES! Those are some of my favorite words too!
I look forward to three o’clock everyday but when John and Ken started talking about budget proposals and Sacramento politics in early ‘09, I thought BO-RING. I wanted to hear what they thought of Octomom!
But as their outrage escalated, I paid attention and couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Massive tax increases for California – sales, income and car taxes. The ultimate insult for parents – a reduction in the child tax credit! I am pissed.
As I spouted statistics at Mommy & Me, I was met with blank stares. Finally, I found a similarly informed and outraged mom. It’s Barbara! I knew I liked her the first time we met – she had on a maternity shirt covered in skulls.
We agreed that we have to go to John and Ken’s tax protest rally. (If nothing else, it’s an afternoon away from the kids) We jumped in Barbara’s mini-van and maneuvered the traffic choked freeways of SoCal. To get in the mood, I glared around and wondered how many cars were being driven by non-tax paying illegal immigrants.
Finally, we arrived in Fullerton and it’s a mob scene! Police estimates had the crowd at 15,000 and the energy rivaled any sporting event I’ve ever been to.
Signs included "Governor Schwarzenegger is a girly man!" to "Been-A-Dick Arnold". There were “heads on a stick” of reviled politicians bobbing above the crowd and even a couple dressed as giant tea bags. (Of course, I immediately think of the sexual term for tea-bagging)
Damn! We are stuck at the back but a guy noticed that Barbara has a laser disc of an Arnold film to be sledghammered.
“A laser disc!” He’s clearly in awe of the failed format. “You must get to the stage!”
The crowd parted as our nerdy savior shouted “Laser disc, coming through!”
The next thing I know, Barbara wielded a sledgehammer as the screaming masses cheered her on. The shattered disc joined the piles of pulverized VHS cassettes and DVDs of Schwarzenegger movies (so many horrible ones!).
Then John held up a life sized cardboard standee of The Terminator. “Who wants to chop the head of this tax terrorist?”
Like a contestant on the Price is Right, I hopped up and down shouting ME ME!
John scanned the crowd – he pointed – at me!
Shrieking non-stop, I maneuvered around the barrier. KFI’s cute Neil Saavedra handed me a sword brought by a group of rowdy pirates. It’s heavy and very, very sharp. John asked my name and where I’m from – I shouted the answers – the crowd goes wild. He asked what I think about the tax package. I screamed “I’m going to show you right now” and brought the blade down on the Terminator’s cardboard neck. A second chop and the head flew off. I jumped to grab my prize and Neil leapt out to taking the sword, making sure I don’t behead any real people in the front row.
Before I know it, I’m on the stage! I can see the whole crowd! I hold up the head and jump up and down. I wonder what might be visibly jiggling and am glad KFI is radio and not television.
I came to LA from Oklahoma to try my hand at stand-up comedy but most audiences were a few dozen other comics also waiting for an open mic spot. So 15,000 screaming taxpayers who totally approved of my actions? Intoxicating.
The next day, Barbara’s photo is in the Orange County Register and my video is on facebook. Some day when my girls are teenagers and accuse me of not being “cool”, I’ll show them the clip. They might not be impressed but maybe they’ll listen better…
For more information on John and Ken, the current recall efforts and why NO ON 1A is imperative go to http://www.kfiam640.com/pages/johnandkenshow/
I’m not going to say working from home and watching a 4 year old and an 9 month old is isolating and boring…but…let’s just say that by late afternoon, I’m ready to forget about writers block and diapers.
Crackly AM radio with its traffic reports and commercials for life insurance used to be the last thing I wanted to hear. But one afternoon, desperate to escape an evil 101 jam, I switched to 640 AM.
The voices of John and Ken filled my car.
“Mommy, those boys sound mad!” said my daughter.
True - those boys were mad! But they had me laughing out loud. After a few minutes, I was hooked.
I quickly realized that I had to listen without kiddos around when my daughter started repeating John – IDIOT! MORON! DUMB ASSES! Those are some of my favorite words too!
I look forward to three o’clock everyday but when John and Ken started talking about budget proposals and Sacramento politics in early ‘09, I thought BO-RING. I wanted to hear what they thought of Octomom!
But as their outrage escalated, I paid attention and couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Massive tax increases for California – sales, income and car taxes. The ultimate insult for parents – a reduction in the child tax credit! I am pissed.
As I spouted statistics at Mommy & Me, I was met with blank stares. Finally, I found a similarly informed and outraged mom. It’s Barbara! I knew I liked her the first time we met – she had on a maternity shirt covered in skulls.
We agreed that we have to go to John and Ken’s tax protest rally. (If nothing else, it’s an afternoon away from the kids) We jumped in Barbara’s mini-van and maneuvered the traffic choked freeways of SoCal. To get in the mood, I glared around and wondered how many cars were being driven by non-tax paying illegal immigrants.
Finally, we arrived in Fullerton and it’s a mob scene! Police estimates had the crowd at 15,000 and the energy rivaled any sporting event I’ve ever been to.
Signs included "Governor Schwarzenegger is a girly man!" to "Been-A-Dick Arnold". There were “heads on a stick” of reviled politicians bobbing above the crowd and even a couple dressed as giant tea bags. (Of course, I immediately think of the sexual term for tea-bagging)
Damn! We are stuck at the back but a guy noticed that Barbara has a laser disc of an Arnold film to be sledghammered.
“A laser disc!” He’s clearly in awe of the failed format. “You must get to the stage!”
The crowd parted as our nerdy savior shouted “Laser disc, coming through!”
The next thing I know, Barbara wielded a sledgehammer as the screaming masses cheered her on. The shattered disc joined the piles of pulverized VHS cassettes and DVDs of Schwarzenegger movies (so many horrible ones!).
Then John held up a life sized cardboard standee of The Terminator. “Who wants to chop the head of this tax terrorist?”
Like a contestant on the Price is Right, I hopped up and down shouting ME ME!
John scanned the crowd – he pointed – at me!
Shrieking non-stop, I maneuvered around the barrier. KFI’s cute Neil Saavedra handed me a sword brought by a group of rowdy pirates. It’s heavy and very, very sharp. John asked my name and where I’m from – I shouted the answers – the crowd goes wild. He asked what I think about the tax package. I screamed “I’m going to show you right now” and brought the blade down on the Terminator’s cardboard neck. A second chop and the head flew off. I jumped to grab my prize and Neil leapt out to taking the sword, making sure I don’t behead any real people in the front row.
Before I know it, I’m on the stage! I can see the whole crowd! I hold up the head and jump up and down. I wonder what might be visibly jiggling and am glad KFI is radio and not television.
I came to LA from Oklahoma to try my hand at stand-up comedy but most audiences were a few dozen other comics also waiting for an open mic spot. So 15,000 screaming taxpayers who totally approved of my actions? Intoxicating.
The next day, Barbara’s photo is in the Orange County Register and my video is on facebook. Some day when my girls are teenagers and accuse me of not being “cool”, I’ll show them the clip. They might not be impressed but maybe they’ll listen better…
For more information on John and Ken, the current recall efforts and why NO ON 1A is imperative go to http://www.kfiam640.com/pages/johnandkenshow/
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Things I Don't Get...
Lunchables
Hummers
Vegans
Daylight Savings Time
People Who Still Write Checks
Rabid Football Fans
Interest in Jennifer "Sour Puss" Aniston
My Dad
Plastic Surgery/Botox/Liposuction (I need it, just don't get it)
Preschool Hysteria
Bumper Stickers - Especially more than two
Running/Jogging if you're not being chased
Homophobes
Skinny Jeans (I get them, just can't wear them)
Dane Cook
Twenty Five Dollars For A Can of Baby Formula
Hummers
Vegans
Daylight Savings Time
People Who Still Write Checks
Rabid Football Fans
Interest in Jennifer "Sour Puss" Aniston
My Dad
Plastic Surgery/Botox/Liposuction (I need it, just don't get it)
Preschool Hysteria
Bumper Stickers - Especially more than two
Running/Jogging if you're not being chased
Homophobes
Skinny Jeans (I get them, just can't wear them)
Dane Cook
Twenty Five Dollars For A Can of Baby Formula
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Los Angeles Times Essay from 2007
I need to reread my Los Angeles Times essay published in '07. So much has changed in the last year and a half but the familiar "School" anxiety for the 4 year old has reared its ugly head again.
(Don't worry folks. My favorite anxieties are still lurking including the popular "I'm 41! What have I accomplished?" and now "What's up with my short term memory and inability to read small print?")
Toddler trauma
Drive yourself crazy with preschool
July 10, 2007
http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/la-oew-robertson10jul10,0,6234212.story
"Have you picked out a preschool?" My jaw would have hit the floor if it could get past my belly. My PREGNANT belly. "Ummmm…you mean school before kindergarten? In six years? " I asked innocently. "Oh no!" said the perky mom. "Preschool starts at two nine and if you're not on a list now...well…." She clutched her Baby Bjorn and hightailed it to an SUV adorned with a Mommy, Daddy, Baby and Kitty stick figure decal. The look in her eyes said I was probably carrying a serial killer or worse — an unpreschooled serial killer. My What to Expect When You're Expecting handbook was missing a chapter called "Expect to be asked about preschool ten times a day and judged on your answer."
Lots of things surprised me about becoming a parent. I thought baby-proofing was simply putting the bong away and covering electrical outlets. I couldn't image not being gung ho for sex. I swore I'd never be in public with vomit on my shirt. But the biggest shocker was the insanity surrounding TWO NINE!
What do those numbers mean? It's the magic age of two years, nine months when you can ship your crumb cruncher off to a preschool that will shape the course of their lives. Prison or Princeton? Teen pregnancy or Rhodes Scholar? According to some, it all depends on the preschool. For fun, I Googled preschools in the San Fernando Valley and got about nine billion hits. Luckily, you can throw a rock at the mall and hit a mother who has visited all of them.
I should have seen the signs of impending preschool hysteria at playgroup with my 3-month-old daughter. Playgroup is mostly eating pastry and talking about being tired. But it doesn't take long before a sleep deprived new mom starts waxing philosophical about her little mini-me's future. "I'd like Madyson to be an advocate for the environment!" said a minivan driver. I'd love to say, "Congressman Xander" cooed one delusional mother. Yikes — I didn't have a fantasy career in mind for my poop machine so I blurted out the only wish my husband and I had discussed: "I hope she's hot." A mom on four exclusive waiting lists shot me an icy glare. "I'm not sure what preschool she should attend to achieve that goal." I excused myself and said I had to fill out Sabrina's early admission papers for USC.
A preschool in Los Angeles can cost more than college, with prices ranging from really expensive to crazy expensive. Seriously, does snack time include a cheese course? Do art projects use Swarovski crystals? Once you've figured out how to pay tuition — cancel cable, pawn your grandmother's jewelry, sell plasma — there's a registration fee! This scam can cost fifty to five hundred bucks. I imagine the school administrator waving registration checks above her head and buying drinks for the whole bar. "Suckers," she'll slur as administrators high-five each other for inventing another way to squeeze money out of panicked parents.
And you don't choose a preschool — preschool has to choose you. Your two-year-old may have an admissions interview. I set up a mock interrogation, certain my kid would ace it. Elmo, Barney and one of the creepy Care Bears sat around the table. Question one: "What is your favorite color?" Sabrina didn't hesitate and shouted "Spiderman!" Thanks, Sony marketing department. Elmo showed us the door.
Before I got knocked up, my husband and I decided that I would quit my job (yippee!) and become a full time mom. Wasn't the payoff for living on one salary spending time with your kid? It's pretty cool. I get to look at Los Angeles' great parks, beautiful beaches, museums and cultural events with fresh eyes. Sabrina and I have a blast at music class and we love our Mommy and Me group. What would I do while she was at school? Laundry? Dusting? HA!
Occasionally, I have fantasies of leaving Sabrina at school. I'll turn off Radio Disney, listen to Howard Stern and say the "f" word out loud. But I'm not ready for that yet. Will she go to preschool? Sure. Will she be scarred for life and horribly disadvantaged if she doesn't attend a "top tier" preschool at two? I don't think so. I'm pretty sure my mom parked me in a play pen and waved a cigarette for stimulation during my preschool years, and yet I managed to achieve the American Dream — trapping a man to pay my bills. And to that end, we still hope that Sabrina turns out to be hot. Because no one cares where a smokin' chick went to preschool.
(Don't worry folks. My favorite anxieties are still lurking including the popular "I'm 41! What have I accomplished?" and now "What's up with my short term memory and inability to read small print?")
Toddler trauma
Drive yourself crazy with preschool
July 10, 2007
http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/la-oew-robertson10jul10,0,6234212.story
"Have you picked out a preschool?" My jaw would have hit the floor if it could get past my belly. My PREGNANT belly. "Ummmm…you mean school before kindergarten? In six years? " I asked innocently. "Oh no!" said the perky mom. "Preschool starts at two nine and if you're not on a list now...well…." She clutched her Baby Bjorn and hightailed it to an SUV adorned with a Mommy, Daddy, Baby and Kitty stick figure decal. The look in her eyes said I was probably carrying a serial killer or worse — an unpreschooled serial killer. My What to Expect When You're Expecting handbook was missing a chapter called "Expect to be asked about preschool ten times a day and judged on your answer."
Lots of things surprised me about becoming a parent. I thought baby-proofing was simply putting the bong away and covering electrical outlets. I couldn't image not being gung ho for sex. I swore I'd never be in public with vomit on my shirt. But the biggest shocker was the insanity surrounding TWO NINE!
What do those numbers mean? It's the magic age of two years, nine months when you can ship your crumb cruncher off to a preschool that will shape the course of their lives. Prison or Princeton? Teen pregnancy or Rhodes Scholar? According to some, it all depends on the preschool. For fun, I Googled preschools in the San Fernando Valley and got about nine billion hits. Luckily, you can throw a rock at the mall and hit a mother who has visited all of them.
I should have seen the signs of impending preschool hysteria at playgroup with my 3-month-old daughter. Playgroup is mostly eating pastry and talking about being tired. But it doesn't take long before a sleep deprived new mom starts waxing philosophical about her little mini-me's future. "I'd like Madyson to be an advocate for the environment!" said a minivan driver. I'd love to say, "Congressman Xander" cooed one delusional mother. Yikes — I didn't have a fantasy career in mind for my poop machine so I blurted out the only wish my husband and I had discussed: "I hope she's hot." A mom on four exclusive waiting lists shot me an icy glare. "I'm not sure what preschool she should attend to achieve that goal." I excused myself and said I had to fill out Sabrina's early admission papers for USC.
A preschool in Los Angeles can cost more than college, with prices ranging from really expensive to crazy expensive. Seriously, does snack time include a cheese course? Do art projects use Swarovski crystals? Once you've figured out how to pay tuition — cancel cable, pawn your grandmother's jewelry, sell plasma — there's a registration fee! This scam can cost fifty to five hundred bucks. I imagine the school administrator waving registration checks above her head and buying drinks for the whole bar. "Suckers," she'll slur as administrators high-five each other for inventing another way to squeeze money out of panicked parents.
And you don't choose a preschool — preschool has to choose you. Your two-year-old may have an admissions interview. I set up a mock interrogation, certain my kid would ace it. Elmo, Barney and one of the creepy Care Bears sat around the table. Question one: "What is your favorite color?" Sabrina didn't hesitate and shouted "Spiderman!" Thanks, Sony marketing department. Elmo showed us the door.
Before I got knocked up, my husband and I decided that I would quit my job (yippee!) and become a full time mom. Wasn't the payoff for living on one salary spending time with your kid? It's pretty cool. I get to look at Los Angeles' great parks, beautiful beaches, museums and cultural events with fresh eyes. Sabrina and I have a blast at music class and we love our Mommy and Me group. What would I do while she was at school? Laundry? Dusting? HA!
Occasionally, I have fantasies of leaving Sabrina at school. I'll turn off Radio Disney, listen to Howard Stern and say the "f" word out loud. But I'm not ready for that yet. Will she go to preschool? Sure. Will she be scarred for life and horribly disadvantaged if she doesn't attend a "top tier" preschool at two? I don't think so. I'm pretty sure my mom parked me in a play pen and waved a cigarette for stimulation during my preschool years, and yet I managed to achieve the American Dream — trapping a man to pay my bills. And to that end, we still hope that Sabrina turns out to be hot. Because no one cares where a smokin' chick went to preschool.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Get the F*&K off the playground.
Not another breeder blog! But write what you know so here’s my rant of the day: If you have a mustache and a driver’s license, get the f*&K off the playground.
Hey over here! Yes you! With your baggy Raiders jersey and untied shoes. Shouldn’t you be texting or driving too fast?
Oh no. Here you come! Your lazy shuffle walk has brought you to the toddler play ground.
I get it. It's the middle of holiday break and you're bored. Even though you think I'm from the metazoan age, I do remember that school-free days in the winter can be long and tedious. I feel for you but there are thousands of activities for you to do that don’t put you on a collision course with children.
Look. A sign.
Perhaps you can't read?
I'll help you sound it out - AGES THREE TO SEVEN. You are eight to ten years too old for this area of the park.
Oh good. Here come two of your friends.
One has a clever message on his shirt reading "vagitarian". Hilarious to announce your penchant for eating pussy to the world. With your big jiggly belly and acne covered face I’m sure the girls are lining up for you.
You're suddenly filled with energy! Use it to go away. But no, yelling "Hey motherfucker!" to your friends while leaping to the top of the jungle gym is so much more fun.
Your 200 plus pounds is on a collision course with the Talker! (4 years old)
I have Tiny Bubbles (6 months old) in baby carrier so leaping body block is out of the question!
By a hair, you miss mowing down Talker. Oblivious, you jump onto the slide, over to the teeter totter then across the monkey bars with a continuous stream of vulgarities including “Hey faggot!” and “Fuck you dude” The Talker gets tears in her eyes and runs to my side.
I become alpha mom and yell “GET OFF THE PLAYGROUND ASSHOLES”
After 4 years of spelling cuss words and speaking in sing-song mommy voice it feels very, very good.
Thank you for slouching away. Parents and kids are such a buzz kill. I know! Back in the beginning of time, I used to blow a stream of Marlboro Light smoke toward the heavens while ignoring the stink-eye from nearby breeders and glaring at their snot nosed brats.
Now go home and do what I did during school breaks – steal liquor from your folks.
New Year’s Resolution #3 – Don’t be so bitchy. Broken January 1, 2009 at 2:00 pm.
Hey over here! Yes you! With your baggy Raiders jersey and untied shoes. Shouldn’t you be texting or driving too fast?
Oh no. Here you come! Your lazy shuffle walk has brought you to the toddler play ground.
I get it. It's the middle of holiday break and you're bored. Even though you think I'm from the metazoan age, I do remember that school-free days in the winter can be long and tedious. I feel for you but there are thousands of activities for you to do that don’t put you on a collision course with children.
Look. A sign.
Perhaps you can't read?
I'll help you sound it out - AGES THREE TO SEVEN. You are eight to ten years too old for this area of the park.
Oh good. Here come two of your friends.
One has a clever message on his shirt reading "vagitarian". Hilarious to announce your penchant for eating pussy to the world. With your big jiggly belly and acne covered face I’m sure the girls are lining up for you.
You're suddenly filled with energy! Use it to go away. But no, yelling "Hey motherfucker!" to your friends while leaping to the top of the jungle gym is so much more fun.
Your 200 plus pounds is on a collision course with the Talker! (4 years old)
I have Tiny Bubbles (6 months old) in baby carrier so leaping body block is out of the question!
By a hair, you miss mowing down Talker. Oblivious, you jump onto the slide, over to the teeter totter then across the monkey bars with a continuous stream of vulgarities including “Hey faggot!” and “Fuck you dude” The Talker gets tears in her eyes and runs to my side.
I become alpha mom and yell “GET OFF THE PLAYGROUND ASSHOLES”
After 4 years of spelling cuss words and speaking in sing-song mommy voice it feels very, very good.
Thank you for slouching away. Parents and kids are such a buzz kill. I know! Back in the beginning of time, I used to blow a stream of Marlboro Light smoke toward the heavens while ignoring the stink-eye from nearby breeders and glaring at their snot nosed brats.
Now go home and do what I did during school breaks – steal liquor from your folks.
New Year’s Resolution #3 – Don’t be so bitchy. Broken January 1, 2009 at 2:00 pm.
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