More weirdness

Its Friday night and I’m sitting home with the princess. Her brother, who’s fast approaching puberty, is staying the night at his cousins’ place like he does every weekend. The princess is playing with her new Polly Pockets she got for Christmas, explaining the game she’s playing with them. You know, the whole there’s one girl who’s unfashionable and not cute and then a girl who is cute and fashionable whom everyone calls the “Fashion Queen” game. Typical game for most 7 year old girls. I wasn’t like that. I was the tomboy in a frilly dress and mary janes or jellys climbing trees, playing marbles and fixing the neighborhood kids’ bikes. The princess is a girl through and through who plays with Barbies and my make-up.

So as we’re sitting in the living room I start thinking and ask her how she imagines herself when she gets older. “I don’t know,” she replies. When I was her age I can distinctly remember wanting to be pretty much how I am now, except I really wanted to be a model/actor and I wanted to have a vintage 1966 Dyna Glide Harley Davidson

. All my cousins thought I was weird. I don’t even know where I got all this from. Most of my family members were/are “cholos” and my parents are hippies. I did play the “chola” part when I was about 10-12, wearing men’s work pants with my Nike Cortezs’

, black eyeliner and bangs in a pomp. Yeah, I was cool. I even hung out with gang members around my best friend’s neighborhood and had my very own “chola name”. I can’t, however, remember it for the life of me. It had something to do with smiling or laughing or something. I still listened to the “alternative” radio station that played Jane’s Addiction and the Cure, but still knew all the words to all Salt n Pepa’s, Boyz 2 Men and Bel Biv Devoe’s songs.

The princess, however, likes to listen to Hannah Montana, wants to be a cheerleader and a veterinarian when she grows up. I mean, how else is she supposed to rebel against a mom like me. It’s crazy to watch them grow up before my very eyes into this weird little personality that you have very little control over. You never know what’s going to happen.

On a side note, I have a new boyfriend who’s a tattoo artist and I just have to queer out about it for a second and brag about it. If my 18 year old self could see me now, she’d think I’m the coolest.

A few things

1. Ok, so I had a few things I was going to talk about and I don't remember at all what that was. The whole point to me writing this 1st "thing" is to try and jog my memory as to what those topics were that prompted me to finally blog again. Ugh, I hate when this happens. It makes me a little more anxious at the thought of getting real old and senile. I guess I don't have much to worry about since that's, hopefully, 50 years away.

2. I've recently started learning how to do a hot shave with a straight razor, just like the barbers do. I've always wanted to learn, even though I constantly cut myself. At least I'm not ever a danger to my clients, just to myself. But I digress. So the barber at the tattoo shop I get my work done at is making comments blatantly hitting on my in a passive aggressive way as he's showing me how to do the shave. I just giggle and make sarcastic comments, as I often do, as a defense mechanism since I don't know how to take compliments. About 15 minutes after I leave the shop I get a text message about how he thinks I'm "a really hot piece of ass". I laugh to myself, because a. he's not my type (and I do not go out of my box anymore since the temporary lobotomy) and b. he's married. Which, besides the fact that mostly only married or girlfriended boys like me, this proves my theory that boys can sense when a girl's had sex recently. I've recently gone through a massive dry spell in which I couldn't pay a dude to hit on me. The second after I get laid, I've got a couple of boys wanting to "get to know me". Hey, I'm not complaining, just merely stating that I think there is some truth to the whole we-emit-pheromones-to-alert-the-opposite-sex-to-mating-possibilities theory. Though it could just be that the boys are just thinking, "She has a glow to her, like she just had sex. Hmm, I bet she's slutty. I'm going to try to bang her too." I believe the latter.

3. The genius just told me he was real excited about St. Nicholas Day, which he told me, is some legend where you leave a note by your shoes 20 days before Christmas with 5 things you would like and then you get them the next day. I don't know about that, but as he was putting the note by his shoes (he ain't getting any presents before x-mas), he proclaimed how excited he was...then he said he had to pee. "I always have to pee when I get excited!", he says as he runs to the bathroom. Now he's talking about legos and I have no idea what he's talking about. Kid-speak is like a completely different language I am NOT fluent in.

4. I need to go visit my dad. Oh, if only I didn't work all the time and have no money for a plane ticket. This is your cue to send me money people. Nah, just kidding...but seriously...

So nothing I had in mind to talk about came to mind when writing this and that is going to drive me crazy. Alzheimer's strikes again.