Tuesdays With Mooch & Fuss: Sew Much Fun!
Over spring break, Mooch and her rites of passage sisters took a sewing class at Sew Creative Cafe in the South Bay. I love the lady, who owns it and runs the classes! She created a special class just for the girls. The first project they created was a bag. They did it entirely by themselves — pinning, loading thread into the machines, threading the bobbin and removing stitches that went awry.
It took two sessions of two hours each, and it was well worth it. They learned patience and perseverance.
Fuss surprised me this week at UCLA when she sat idly by for the entire hour that I taught. If you know Fuss, then you know this is a miracle. The funniest thing, though was her shouting, “Up” when I said, “Up” and “Eight!” each time I yelled out “Five, six, seven, eight.” My baby: the cosigner.
Also, this week she stacked her soft blocks up to her head.
Marital Mondays: Ready. Set. Launch!
This weekend was so exciting for so many reasons!! Brownstone Magazine had their official launch party and The Cupcatier catered with cupcakes. Two awesome clients teamed up for a wonderful event, and there were vanilla cupcakes with chocolate frosting present! Can you say winning? I wore an eighties revival asymmetrical dress with a cute little Steve Madden handbag.
Even with The Cupcatier’s decadent buttercream, Hannibal was the most important piece of chocolate in the room — to me, at least. It’s rare that we get to go out, we’re really serious about providing a space of regularity and ritual for the children. Also, we’re tired as hell most of the time (remind me to tell you about how I accidentally fell asleep on the dance floor — fun story). The Tabus were in full effect Saturday night, spreading hilarity and obscenity throughout both of the events we attended (it was also the birthday of another client, Leslee, that night). We’re very loud! I’m sure the two of us could sit in the back of fire trucks and warn traffic to get out of the way with our voices alone.
We enjoyed our kid-free time, with Hannibal making fun of people’s outlandish costume choices (I would have called them outfits, but shit was bananas, yo!) and me shouting out “Pistol Grip Pump” lyrics at the top of my lungs. We bumped and we wound. Shoot, I may have even dropped it low a couple of times. I think a certain amount of flirting and teasing on the dance floor does something for a couple. We were in our own world most of the night — even as we tucked away in a corner at the launch party to chat. At Leslee’s party we danced in the VIP area provided, because there was more space there than the dance floor. I must admit that we were both pooped by eleven but stretched it to twelve. Leslee has been very supportive of my company, and we wanted to make our presence known at her event.
Brownstone is an online magazine, which seeks to empower girls of color. Their site officially launches today. I designed their logo almost two years ago, and they’ve worked so hard to raise the funds to get their site off the ground.
The Cupcatier offers specialty cupcakes in the Los Angeles area. For more info or to place orders, feel free to use the contact page on this website.
Thematic Thursdays: Facebook Effed Your Wife. Sorry.
Wait, what? So you mean if your already disengaged husband clicks “like” on the picture of some chick with a behind that could keep a small country of midgets warm, you wouldn’t like it? Apparently, America is upset at spouses who “poke” long lost ex-lovers in the dark corners of Facebook’s sidebar. Shocking! (insert side eye here)
Last month, I was going through my Google Reader and saw this article, which stated that Facebook is cited in 1 out of 5 divorces. In over half of the cases it’s the primary evidence source. I couldn’t figure out if I was actually supposed to be surprised or upset that with Libya burning down, this was even considered newsworthy.
Before you go thinking I’m okay with cyber-hickeys and extramarital net-nooky, let me clarify. I’m of the firm belief that a healthy couple, who speaks to each other on a regular basis about something besides gymnastics tuition, gas bills, and pony porn, wouldn’t be able to blame Facebook for spousal straying. Meditation and sex several times per week doesn’t hurt either. 
Seriously. Technology didn’t make cheating anymore prevalent than it already was. It made it easier to get caught. Citing Facebook as a cause sounds like blame to me. Sure, that blue and white onscreen crack pipe gives Tyrone the ability to hide behind clever quips and score tail he would have never landed in the club. Nicole is also able to research that “one” ex, who got away without “closure” a lot easier with the great online reuniter. In both of these cases, the parties are searching for something in the ether that isn’t part of their reality.
It takes work to coexist with another person and their bad habits and shedding pubic hair. It requires a certain amount of centering and selflessness, which fragile egos often aren’t capable of, to tolerate the dynamic essence of merging two lives. Teamwork is demanded from people who are only used to reserving that extra spot on the couch for their popcorn. Most importantly, those seeking external validation or someone to “make” them happy are sadly disappointed.
I can concede that Facebook is addictive — sexy even — but there’s nothing online that makes me want to run off and lick another man’s balls. For some it’s different. Facebook is shiny! It’s the land where the streets are paved with ass. They open their fly, scratch down there and think to themselves, “There’s got to be something I’m missing. Something else is out there for my introverted lazy self.”
After all, everybody looks good on Facebook, right? Five hundred dollar photoshoots from top photogs make everyone look skinnier and happier than America’s Next Top Model. Status updates like, “Mmm. Last night was great!” mean everyone is getting laid more than you, and three people posted what they ate for dinner, so now these shmucks are eating better than you, too? Aw, heck naw! It’s just about enough to push any fragile personality into full on sin and debauchery. I feel like loading porn in another tab right now. Where’s my Prozac?
Tuesdays With Mooch & Fuss: Just Today (Poetry)
Now I’m not committing to thirty poems in thirty days, be in honor of National Poetry Writing Month, and because I was so inspired at Brass Knuckles last night …
My eyes are that Fisher Price shade of red.
If I never have to spread another pink and purple bed
or comb another knotty tinsel topped head, I’d be okay with it.
Shoulders ache from nights
propped on one side nursing whining and backtalk
of tomorrow’s leaders into something resembling respect.
Hot, steamy, showers — interrupted.
“Mommy, where’s my other sock?”
Dr. Bronner’s soap trickles between tired teabag tits
baby girl just wants to suck.
Drink last drops of girl I used to be.
Miniature fingers tap on my thigh like
biological clock used to
Dreams and feelings as compartmentalized as
the bento box lunch I’m preparing
My kids are driving me crazy.
See, usually I’m that swiss army knife mama
Solutions for every situation whipped out of my sexy, sleek frame
I’m a stuffed tie-Dye Backpack
by the front door
Little piggies in a row
Onesies folded in the chest of drawers mama
Three-course meal wafting through the air mama.
Table is set.
Tonight, I don’t want to hear, “What’s for dinner?”
So I’m hiding in cluttered closet
that smells of yesterday’s woman.
Every piece of me and
stacks of bills shoved here to make room for
Tonka trucks and building blocks.
Crumpled panties under left foot,
and gray sock on my right,
remind me of filthy, unrelenting laundry with stampeding hooves.
This fragile peace is shattered.
Confused voice of seven-year-old
frames my reality so perfectly
“Mommy, where are you?”
Marital Mondays: Foreplay Conversation
This is a conversation, Hannibal and I had in the middle of foreplay this past Friday.
M: Did Teddy Pendergrass die?
H: Many years ago.
M: Nah uh, that was like last year.
H: It was at least five years ago. Maybe three.
M: No! I remember saying, “Welp, he said, ‘Turn out the lights,’ so the universe turned them out.”
H: Yeah, like three years ago.
M: Nope, put down my breast. Google challenge.
H: … and that’s how they ended up never having sex that night.
M: We gon have sex. Be quiet. Teddy P makes people have sex. *singing* “Rub me down in some hot oils baby, yeah”
H: He don’t make people have sex through no Google!
*laughter*
M: Just grab your phone and look it up. I’ll keep it hot for you.
H: (grabs phone) *sigh* He died last year. You’re right.
M: (moans) Mmmmm, being right makes the sex so much better. Come here, fool. You can get it.
[redacted/removed/mind ya bidness!]
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