Archive for January, 2010

Film Friday: The Dorky Tourist

I took a nap today, fans. I apologize. I was up all night, so there will be no Supa Sista original film this week. However, there is this:

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Thematic Thursdays: Lady Gaga Beatbox

This is just funny. Sorry.

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Workin’ Wednesdays: Back to Work!

My baby vacation is officially over. I can’t say it was restful. It was actually full of poop — literally. I’ve Hannibal has downloaded new music for the hip-hop class. Although I’m not sure how much hipping and hopping I can do right now. Damn, I sound old. I bought some Spanx to wear, so I should be fine. When I don’t wear them, it feels like everything is going to fall out of my abdomen. Anyway, Mooch is excited to return to Lula’s next Tuesday. That’s her home away from home. I start Colburn the following Saturday morning.

Design has already kicked back into high gear. I have a client meeting tomorrow at 3pm — at my home office, of course. Shoot, I’m not meeting anybody at Starbucks right now. I haven’t had any clients who were willing to let me post their stuff recently. Oh well. I’ll be designing Fuss’s birth announcements soon, so I guess I’ll post those.

Here is the final result of the Mooch and Fuss logo (mostly chosen by people on Facebook):

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Tuesdays With Mooch: The Music Video

Mooch had a video slumber party for her birthday a couple of weeks ago. I edited the footage yesterday. The funniest thing is that with her Kung Fu mouth, most of the vocals don’t match. She and her friends had a great time, and the video is still super cute. They will be burned to DVD and mailed to each girl by the end of this week. Here’s the video:

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Marital Mondays: The Laundry is Trying to Kill Me With a Little Soul

Saturday, we all got dressed — the entire family of four. I even took a shower. We marched our asses out to the car and got in. Hannibal started driving and then we realized we didn’t have anywhere to go. I wanted to play with the Motorola Cliq in person, so we went to some off-brand cell shop in Korea Town. I decided against that phone. The SD card slot is behind the battery and that’s absurd. The keyboard feels like sex, though!

We left and drove around aimlessly to keep Fuss asleep in the back. Then Hannibal came up with the idea to go test drive the Kia Soul, because I want one. It has soul in its name and that’s freaking awesome. Also, it comes in my favorite color (lime green). I was super excited, because Hannibal’s buying me one in March, so I don’t have to put a second car seat in a two door Civic. Mooch can’t fasten her seat belt on her own anymore, because Fuss’s seat is practically on top of hers. It’s sad. Anyway, I was supposed to get a BMW, but my readers were all, “Supasista, how can you claim to be eco-friendly and drive a big ass BMW? You should get a Prius.” Unfortunately, the Prius is ugly. That ain’t gonna happen, folks. Sorry.

Anyway, Google led us on a wild goose chase, and eventually told us that the nearest dealership with a Kia Soul available was in El Monte. I decided to pass on that. Maybe next week. What we should have been doing was laundry. Hannibal keeps bringing it up and asking me if I want him to take it and do it. I guess I feel like I need to be there to oversee it. I don’t feel like doing it though, so when he asks, I change the subject.


I swear I spend half my life gathering, sorting, carrying, loading, unloading, loading again, unloading again, loading again, unloading again, folding, re-folding, and putting away. I haven’t seen my floor in months. It’s buried under a never-ending stack of towels, sheets, gym clothes, pajamas, t-shirts, errant socks and underwear.
The Arduous Laundry Process starts Friday night and continues through the weekend, until Sunday around 10pm when I finally finish Load #115, and I cry a little because I’m SO SO SO GLAD that shit’s finally over. Not the big Ugly Cry, mind you — just a few tiny teardrops of grateful-to-be-done-ness that quietly roll down my cheek until I brush them away, ready move on to the next thing. Like, maybe, SLEEP.
And I DO sleep. Peacefully. Totally content in the knowledge that the Arduous Laundry Process has been checked OFF my To Do List. In my dreams, unicorns dance under sparkly rainbows and sweet-smelling babies float on clouds and everyone is HAPPY because I, The Hero, have taken their soiled sheets and pajamas far away to the Land of Bad Things and replaced them with soft clothes and linens that are CLEAN and FRESH and it’s like they’re brand new, but EVEN BETTER! We all rejoice in the Land of Wonderful Lovelies! Even my superhero cape smells like fresh rain!
But then Monday morning I wake up, and the Wonderful Lovelies are no more. Instead, I face a dark, horrible, epic nightmare. A WHOLE NEW LOAD of dirty clothes and linens has magically materialized overnight and scattered itself around the house. As I rush to get myself and the Mooch ready for work and school, it mocks me from every room — MWAH AH AH AHH! So naive! You thought you were done! But you will NEVER be done!! You will DIE among a load of unwashed delicates, haunted by the question of Woolite versus Regular Detergent!! HAR HAR HARRR!
I cover my ears and pretend I don’t hear it, but deep down inside, I know it speaks the truth.
So Monday night it begins again. I faithfully perform my motherly, wifely duty (hee hee! I said “duty”! AS IF!) and not-at-all-cheerfully complete Steps 1 through 157 (or 6 or something) of the Arduous Laundry Process. But when I reach the final step of PUTTING AWAY, I make the extremely unwise decision to walk away — leaving the beautifully cleaned and folded items there on the futon. They look so pretty. I just want to admire my handiwork for a few moments. IS THAT SO WRONG?
Apparently, yes. The insane people I live with do not see the beauty in my freshly laundered, neatly organized pretty. They only see a big, neat stack of shit that MUST BE DESTROYED, and in those very few moments, before I can reach them to make it stop — that is exactly what they do.
Mooch thinks it is HIGH-LAAAAARIOUS!!!!!! to jump directly INTO the stack and toss all the individual pieces into the air, like a pile of leaves on a beautiful fall day. But the difference is, it’s NOT fall, it’s winter, and the laundry is NOT leaves, it’s clothing that I painstakingly washed and dried and folded, only to see them thrown into chaos while Mooch screeches with glee and gives me that look — you know that look, right? The look that says SCREW YOU BITCH. I WIN.
And Hannibal? That motherfucker just STANDS THERE and LETS IT HAPPEN. And LAUGHS. As if it was FUCKING CUTE, or something.
Okay, I admit it. It IS kind of cute. Or at least, it WOULD be if it was happening to someone else. But it is NOT happening to someone else. It is happening to ME, and I AM PISSED, and I cry again. Still not the Ugly Cry, but not the grateful happy cry, either. No, these are tears of pure, blazing anger. So much work, so much sacrifice. And do these people appreciate it? NOT ONE LICK.
I used to have a life. Now I just have … LAUNDRY.
Anyway, to make a long story short (ha ha ha hee hee hoo!!), the next day is a repeat of the last, with the Arduous Laundry Process beginning again, yes, again. I get through Step #1 and I’m about halfway through Step #2 when DAMMIT I CAN’T DO THIS AGAIN. I. JUST. CAN’T.
So I stop sorting and haphazardly throw caution to the wind, along with ALL THE LAUNDRY, ALL TOGETHER, into one sack. The rebellion has begun. I take it to the laundromat. As I close the lid, I ask myself — Really, what’s the worst that can happen?
Oh, hello there, FAMOUS LAST WORDS. I was wondering where you were. Of course, I don’t realize right away that I’m back in the Land of Bad Things. Oh, no. I live in ignorant bliss (I’m living proof that there IS such a thing) until about 45 minutes later, when I step over the ever-present stream of leaked machine water to open the lid and face both SHOCK and HORROR as I stare into a tub of PINK.
And THAT’S when the Ugly Cry starts.
So it goes. On and on and on and on. Another phase of the eternal battle between Good and Evil. An infinite descent into the dark abyss of pain, drama, futility and desperation. Each day brings more of it — LOADS and LOADS of anguish and injury and despair.
The Laundry is trying to kill me.
And so far, it’s doing a pretty good job.
Luckily, I didn’t do the laundry this weekend.

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