CityMama™

OKAY, SO HERE'S A FIRST

Portland has the dubious distiction of having more strip clubs per capita than any other city in the nation. And in Portland, they take it all off. So to de-virginize (as it were) a friend who moved here recently, the bitches decided it would be fun to take her to one of Portland's most beloved strip clubs, the Acropolis "Steakhouse." (Yes, they are also known for their $4 steaks, which ain't all that. I didn't think it was possible to get a rib-eye to taste like shoe leather. But I digress.)

Now, it was not my first time in a strip club, but it was my first time at a club where all patrons are essentially forced to sit ring-side. There were no tables off in the back which was kinda sucky because eight of us went out last night and we kinda wanted to talk. And we did go there to have dinner as well. (Can you see where I am headed with this?) The only place to eat your dinner was at the stage-side table, about 6 inches away from another woman's back porch (to quote a friend).

So, yeah. I can honestly say that never in my life have I eaten a baked potato close enough to a naked woman that I could count 20 separate labia piercings (and one, possibly two clit* rings), and I probably never will again.

Probably.

* yes, J., I needed to say "clit"

RAIN

It's raining in Portland today. The first time since the spring. My yard is so happy. It's been so dry here that even my trees were wilted. I can't ever remember seeing that before. I sent Bunny off to preschool in rainboots and her froggy rain coat. While I love the heat of summer, I realized today, as sloshed through puddles, that I am really ready for fall to be here.

Bunny and I pulled out our Halloween decorations this week so I think I will put them up while she's at school and surprise her when she gets home.

THE PRINCESS AND THE HIPPIE TAKE SEATTLE

MISS INDEPENDENT

It was another one of those "it's too quiet in the house moments."

She poured her own cereal. Thank god she doesn't like it with milk. (In her defense, I must say, she did a pretty good job!)

SEE? I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE

See that book over there on the left, Tiny Ladies in Shiny Pants? If you came of age in the 80's (and especially if you are female) you haff to read it. You really do. (Unclench your butt cheeks, "Sarah," I am not getting paid to mention this.)

When I first got it I couldn't put it down. Memories of my tween and teen years came flooding back. The hair spray. The Tretorns. The Fiorucci jeans. The Lean-Cuisines. The watching of the triumverate of daytime soap operas: AMC, OLTL, and GH. Yeah, you know it.

I feel like Jill Soloway* is my long, lost ("Jewess") sister. Her description of rushing sororities had me cringing and laughing at the same time. I, too, got sucked into that scene. Except my university was a lot smaller than hers. My choices were DG ("the cute, blond girls"), Alpha Phi ("the brainy girls"), and DZ (the newest sorority on campus and, therefore, populated with "the ugly girls.") Alpha Phi deemed me worthy, but after a year I decided that my "sisters" were a bunch of back-stabbing, gossipy bitches so I quit. (Yeah, I also didn't barf after every meal so there was no place for me there.) Apparently you don't just up and quit a sorority. Especially after you learn all their secret shit. I was stalked by giant hairbow-wearing Alpha Phis until I graduated. It was not pretty.

But that's not the main reason why I feel like Jill Soloway is a long lost sister (as opposed to my real sister who shares the same first name). Jill Soloway hates dogs, godblesser.

Now, I don't exactly hate dogs (I like the cute ones), but I do hate nature. And people really don't understand that. I really don't pay much attention to sunsets and waterfalls and shit like that. (Oh, but I do love fall when all the leaves turn.) It's not that I don't care about the environment, I do. I recycle. I just don't want to camp, climb, or hike in it. Ooh, and I don't want to touch it or smell it.

Says Jill Soloway:

People can't understand why. Why? Why would I, a seemingly kind and decent person in every other respect of my life, a mother of a child even, a bringer of life even, hate dogs?

Admitting this drives people crazy...it's worse than saying, I like Hitler.

I understand, Jill Soloway. You're preaching to the choir here.

*Jill Soloway likes to google her name so I'm going to type it a lot.

"PAPA GOT ME PRINCESS CEREAL, MAMMA!"

How pissed were you the first time you saw "Disney Princess Cereal" on an end-cap, at kid-level in the grocery store? Do you know how hard it is to steer a three-year-old past that shit? For those that haven't seen this latest marvel of the cereal world, it is a box of cereal adorned with giant pictures of all the Disney princesses. This band of hookers is led by the sluttiest rendering of Sleepy Beauty I have ever seen (Paris Hilton much?), and stacked up behind her—all tits and hips and ass—are the other princesses rockin' half-lidded, come-fuck-me-looks. The only way this cereal would ever make it into my house is over my dead body.

Yet the above is what I hear Bunny shouting with glee as I was lying in bed half-awake this morning.

So I fly downstairs to see what all the commotion is about, incredulous that J. would ever make that cereal choice. Turns out he bought her some Rice Crispies, but way waaaaaaay in the corner of the box, is a teeny tiny Disney logo (the castle? I dunno, I've never been.), and this is the reason why Bunny is calling it "princess cereal."

On the one hand—Thank god that the Disney hoors did not grace our breakfast table this morning. But on the other, how fuckin' insidious is that? Bunny has no idea what Disney is, but now she kinda does. And honestly? The princess shit is bad enough. It is unavoidable. But now Bunny has that logo etched into her developing brain and will now be able to spot that brand no matter where she is like she has a bionic eye. //boo-boo-boo boo-boo//*

I know that if any Disney marketing execs were to read this, they'd probably circulate it around with a subject line that said, "Another job well done." Yep. Give that brand and licensing group a raise, Michael-Eisner-style! I hope you feel good about yourselves. I'm sure it's not a big karmic fuckfest that you make your living off the backs of innocent three-year-olds. ...so how 'bout another round!

*bionic eye sound effect

REMEMBER THE EARLY NINETIES?

My world consisted of:

• The Prodigy
• chill rooms
• collecting rave flyers and analyzing the graphics
• Orbital
• Jeno and Garth
• The Gathering
• Spundae
• Equinox
• the B*AT line
• staying out til the next morning with J.
• and this anthem

Thanks to mylai for taking me back. Waaaaaay back. Back into time.

PEER PRESSURE CAN BE A GOOD THING

Bunny,

Today you stood at the window of preschool and waved to me as I walked out the door and got into the car. You stood waving until I drove away, and driving away was hard. I know you were imitating another little red-headed boy who likes to stand at the window and do the same thing, but it broke my heart anyway.

You have changed so much since you started school. You are cuddlier and clingier than you ever have been in your life. I see you as you watch parents drop off crying kids, kids that don't want to leave their mama or papa's arms, kids that don't want to play with you because they are sad and miss their parents. I see you taking it all in.

I see that you have finally recognized that some kids actually miss their families when they are not near. You have never been like that, and this must be a shock for you. You have always been comfortable letting us leave you knowing that we will always return. You have always waved enthusiastically and blown kisses when trotting off with Hippienanny.  You have always crashed into my arms shouting, "MAAAAAAMMMMMMAAAAAA!" when we see each other again.

But now, you tell me in a small, quiet voice that you want me stay at school with you.  That is until I reach for a toy. Then you take it and scamper off while calling, "Bye, Mamma!" over your shoulder. You've started calling me "Mommy" because that is what other kids call their mamas. You willingly snuggle into my shoulder or lie in my arms "pretending to nurse" because your schoolmates do the same.

Bunny, you've been always been fiercely independent—never wanting me to play with you. Never wanting me to help. Never holding still to accept snuggles. (Your face in this picture says it all, "Jeez, lady. Could you just leave me alone for once?") But now, I know you miss me when I'm gone. I know you love hugs and kisses. I know you really do need your mamma sometimes. And for this, I am so thankful for preschool.

THEY REALLY ARE DIFFERENT KIDS

When friends used to tell me about their babies who threw tantrums or screeched while getting their diapers changed or who wouldn't sit down in the tub, I would nod in sympathy but I really couldn't relate. Bunny didn't really start to show her "strong personality" until her hitting phase started around 16-17 months-old. And she used the changing table up until she was 26-months-old.  And she sat happily whenever her clothes needed to be changed.

Well.

Wallie has been throwing tantrums since she was born. You know that crying-baby-on-the-scale picture that everyone has of their seconds-old baby?  The one where they are lobster-red and tight-fisted with mouth open as wide as can be? That's Wallie during a tantrum. Thankfully we know what sets her off so tantrums (for the moment) are easily avoided. She perfected the Shreiking Back-Arch before she could sit up. We ditched the changing table at about eight-months because she is so strong and twisty that it is just not safe to use it anymore. Getting her to remain sitting in the bathtub is a job for two adults. She has never not screamed bloody murder when being changed. I am sure our neighbors think that wehave a nightly Baby Torture Hour because getting Wallie into pajamas practically requires duct tape, zip cuffs, and a stun gun.

But, as long as Wallie is happy, she is the most adorable baby on the planet. Most of the time, she really is silly, lovable, and mellow.  ...long as you don't ever change her diaper or bathe her.

I COULD HAVE STAYED AWAY A WEEK

It felt like old times. In a weird way, being sans famille for the first time in a long time, felt completely natural. For a moment I could picture myself without children and it felt just as normal as it did when, well, I didn't have children. That was kind of strange feeling to have. Twenty-four hours away from my family was not a long enough time to miss them, I suppose.

My cousin doesn't have kids yet, but she should because she is great with them. Picture her house. Can you smell the pretty candles? Can you visualize the artistically arranged knick-knacks? Can you see the orchids placed on low tables? Can you imagine adult decor with no kid-shit ruining the aesthetic? And, if that's not enough—girlie-girls take your seats—she manages a Sephora store. Say it with me, girls, "p-r-o-d-u-c-t." Up the wazoo.

She greeted me with a shopping bag full of samples. "I want you to feel like this is your spa weekend," she said. Her guest bathroom is filled with different bath gels and lotions. My yeux are de-puffed. My levres are plumped. And my peux has been masked, buffed, toned, and "anti-rides-ed" like nobody's business. I have enough samples on me that I could start an eBay store.  But I won't. (I had to promise her I wouldn't.)

J. dropped me off at the cousin's in NE Seattle and headed off to his sister's across the lake with the kids. The girls did fine and my sis-in-law took beautiful care of my family, I hear. (This while also attending to her newbown son.) Wallie had it a little tough not being able to nurse, but she got through it. We both did. My boobs woke me up in the wee hours of the morning saying, "Hey! What's going on here?!",  but I pumped a little, and  they piped down.

When J. and the girls came back the next day to pick me up,  Wallie wanted to nurse immediately. She latched on and her eyes rolled back in her head (it's soooooo good) and she promptly fell asleep. We loaded the girls back into the car and headed home to Portland.

The babes slept almost the whole way home and J. and I were able to have some quiet time to hold hands and talk over the weekend. I can't remember the last time we had the opportunity to talk for two solid hours. Even when we are home something manages to interrupt us like crying babies or Battlestar Galactica. We decided that time away is important and we are going to try and alternate weekends off every couple of months. I want him to go away somewhere soon and come back refreshed and relaxed. He deserves it just as much as I do.