Where Am I Going, And Why Am I In This Handbasket?

Friday, December 30, 2005

Why I'm the (reluctantly) coolest fucking Stepishmom EVER

I don't need to elaborate:


(Mojo worships the false idol)

Oh, but I will ELABORATE.

I consented to the purchasing of a fucking electric guitar for Nick for Christmas. And surely I will suffer for my saintly generosity.

Now, I'm totally thrilled that the kid finally has a fricking hobby. And he's really into it, and has a natural knack for it as well - I want to be supportive, and I think it's important that he does this. I'm glad about it, really.

But shit. We even got him an amp. It's so fucking loud. And so is the goddamn Xbox ThreeSiddy, and Joey's sax (which he's notsogood at, which is quite painful to the ears, actually). Our condo is under 1100 square feet. There is nowhere to escape The Noise.

Calgon will not be enough to take me away.


TURN THAT FUCKIN' RACKET DOWN, YOU TWERPS!


Posted by Marci Twitches :: 6:12 PM :: 0 Comments:

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Wednesday, December 21, 2005

My Frickin' Hungerforce

So the Steppies and I are watching Aqua Teen Hungerforce when Nick declares that he and his dad and brother each have a corresponding character on the show. I roll my eyes. Until I realize he's onto something:

Frylock is Chris. Knows everything. Authority figure. Is quite grouchy. I don't think the facial hair is a coincidence.

Master Shake is Nick. Nonsensical thought process. Cloudy logic at best. Silly in a frightening way that you worry when you leave him alone too long with too many tools. Lotsa bad ideas. Same droopy stoney eyes.

Meatwad is Joey. Short and round. Eats anything you put in front of him. Friends with everyone. Talks a lot. In random circles. Even if no one is listening. Easily absorbs what others might call pain. It helps that Joe can imitate Meatwad's voice perfectly.

So I feel a little left out.

I guess I could be Carl. I'm pretty hairy and I bitch a lot.


Posted by Marci Twitches :: 3:12 PM :: 0 Comments:

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Tuesday, December 20, 2005

NOW what am I supposed to wipe with?

You think I was kidding about my fucking cat, didn't you? We woke up to this on Saturday morning.


And THIS?

He's faking it. That's not real penance. He's not really sorry. Fucker.

Joey played on a basketball team this year and they won all but one game this season. Yay Joey! So they handed out trophies to the kids on Saturday and finally, for the first time in his trophy-receiving life, Joey's name was spelled right on his nameplate (everyone fucks up their last name) and Chris was quite thrilled.

The trophy had an old-school bronzy look to it, instead of the cheapy yellow pseudo-brassy plastic style we all got growing up. Sweeet. Then Chris turns it around. Hmm. The kid on the trophy has a ponytail.



Because it's a GIRL. Hahahaha.

The parents were the ones that laughed hardest. Notsomuch the wee ones. Joey didn't care because he plays like a bowling ball and can take anyone out without even trying.

I went to an Xmas party over the weekend and was lucky enough to catch that moment on film when a baby that doesn't quite know what to do with Santa, just decides to cry. I love that instant when the face is on the tip of transforming.


Ended the weekend by babysitting my goddaughter Sunday night, the cutest lit tot this sida the Mississip, so that mom & dad could go out to dinner.

Maya was a total love until bedtime. Then came The Drama. After half an hour of howling like all the animals in the baby book I was apparently reading only to myself, and pointing and going OOOH Nice Crib, and cuddling with her blankie to make her jealous enough to hustle over, I just picked her up and lowered her into her crib. OOPS.

(Judy Attitudy)

I just wanted her asleep before Joya & Matt came home.

She panicked and kicked out her legs and started wailing. As if I was lovering her into a lava pit. Seriously. Each time I'd try she'd cry cry cry. The crib was a torture chamber and she was horrified of it.

It broke my heart, she'd wail and cling to me and cry no no no no over and over. I'd pick her up and hold her and she'd drift off in my arms and then when I'd try to lower her again, she'd wake up and wail. Hahaha. I felt guilty and sad, even though I suspected she was playing me (Matt confirmed this later by laughing at me when I told him the story). Even though I know I could have left her there and she'd be fine. Which she was, when I finally got the balls to leave her in her crib 20 minutes later. She cried for a couple of minutes and konked out. Phew.

Then when they came home I realized I'd left my shoes in Maya's room so I snuck back in to get them, and couldn't resist the urge to peek. I noticed her blankie was tight over her face so I just took it off, you know, so she wouldn't suffocate, and then whoosh her head swung around and even though it was too dark to see her eyes, I knew she was awake. I swooshed outta there, hoping she'd think it a dream. But, no. She had woken up and started crying again. I could hear her in the hall as I scampered out.

I skipped out the front door right then and said bye to Joya realllly fast.

"Marci. You're an idiot."

Posted by Marci Twitches :: 8:57 PM :: 0 Comments:

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Tuesday, December 13, 2005

The Jealous-of-My-Sister Club

So let me start by being very clear - I love my sister. I dig my sis. She is totally swell and I want her to be as happy as possible. I am, here, asserting my love for her.

Okay.

In one weekend:

She dabbles in identity theft. Sits on laps that don't belong to Santa.


Hangs in her basement/abode. Takes her flamenco class.


Hangs with a cute baby. And a well-balanced daddy.



Teaches 2 yoga classes. Catches Xmas fireworks on the beach.


Takes a Manhattan Beach sunset for granted.


And I left out the part of the weekend where she whips out her Everest photos. Over 500 mindblowing photographs from her month-long jaunt. And that she finds out she's working the World Cup this summer in Germany.



So every once in a while I just have to remind her that my girlfiends and I created the I Hate Sabrina Club years ago. Or, actually, I just finally told her about it. OOOPS. She has the opposite of Murphy's Law. Like in the Charlie Brown cartoons, Pig Pen has this brown clowd following him everywhere. Except hers is the color that makes all this stuff happen.

And this was just a ho-hum weekend.

So if you're not done gagging: last night she handled Baz Lurhman at the LA premiere of "The Producers".


That's a Sliver of Sabrina on the left. I'm pretty sure her toe was on the red carpet.

Posted by Marci Twitches :: 8:19 PM :: 2 Comments:

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Tuesday, December 06, 2005

El Embarcadero and Spanish Mags and Buffet Wannabes

Sitting alone in a quaint (or so I thought) lil hotel restaurant called El Embarcadero in San Carlos, Mexico, eating lovely proscuitto and shrimps and half the seafood of the Sea o Cortes and suddenly my dinner is interrupted by the "entertainment" - a gray-haired acoustic fucker imitating Jimmy Buffet better than Buffet himself (ACK ACK where the hell is his goddamn salt???). The only reason I´m not throwing my food at him is because ONE I´m sober(ish), TWO because I wanna eat it myself, and THREE I´m actually in San Carlos on business and already self-conscious as the youngest person in this (and most) rooms - which is surely fuller than usual (not in season) because of this conference, but FOUR because everyone knows my boss. So I can´t throw food, no matter how badly I want the cheeseball playing in the corner to fall over and choke on his goddamn parrot & margaritaville.

The view from the restaurant made up for the crap music


SO I´m reading a magazine in this crowded restaurant because I´m dining alone. I am reading a magazine because I cannot commit to a book right now. This unnerves me and makes me just a little bit angsty and itchy and guilty. It´s just not right, I feel - there is just sooo much out there that I want to read - WHY can't I grab one of the hundreds of books from my fucking shelves (insert photo of bookshelves here to prove it hahaha)?? I know I´m an over-thinking neurotic donkey because of this, but it feels like I´m wasting valuable time (isn't all time valuable?) by NOT reading a book in my (rare) spare time. I reserve magazine reading for idle accidental free time, or for the caught-without-a-book or in-between-books time. Mmagazines are really 2nd class citizens to me (even the laborious New Yorkers & Vanity Fairs)...ooh I´m suffering some deep shutup shutup neuroseeeees...

Proof of my ridiculous options


SO I bought a magazine after settling into the hotel and realizing my boss wasn´t interesting in finding me, wherever she was - or maybe, the fact that my cell wasn't working in Mexico, there was no voicemail in our rooms, and that the little wire which connects to the earpeice of the phone kept popping out and killing any call I might get, had something to do with it. So I wandered to the lil mercado down the road and now I get to struggle my way through fucking Vanidades (for my Spanish fashion vocab is retarded and I still read slowish). But there I am feeling stupid because I catch myself sounding out the words and I´m sucking on some shrimp and rolling my eyes at WannaBeBuffet and hiccuping because now I´ve had more wine.

There is a piece on Rio de Janeiro. There is a photo of the famous landmark Cristo Redentor del Corcovado, the Christ statue on the mountain top - his arms wide wide open - que benedice - and I've had some more wine by now - but it just made me so sad.


It made me want to believe in something. It made me sad that apparently I did not. I don´t feel like I have a right to partake in the comfort of an embracing god (despite suspecting that my kind of god would allow it) if I don´t truly & actively Believe. In the same way that people suddenly pray to their childhood god when they want something or when someone they love is dying. I just wish I did Believe - it would suit my hidden romantic sad little soul if god existed. And off to bed. Meetings and stuff in the morning I gotta not be hungover for.


Posted by Marci Twitches :: 6:59 PM :: 0 Comments:

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