Things That You Do That Your Children Think Are Sad, Hilarious, or Unacceptable, and Usually Result in Screaming

                                                                                                                           
1. Dance
2. Sing
3. Be Joyful
4. Talk About Sex
5. Walk Down The Hall Naked Looking For A Towel
6. Cry During A Sad Part of A Movie
7. Forget The Name of Their Friend, Teacher, or Favorite Singer
8. Wear Tube Socks and/or Shorts
9. Fail To Proceed In Line (driving or walking)
10. Laugh at Your Own Joke

The Spa--aaaaah

I love this song, even though I'm not sure what the guy is singing about.

My friend Erin is taking me to a spa tonight, so in honor (preparation) I am reposting.

I recently soaked myself in a giant swirling bath of mugworts tea with three Korean women and a 70-year-old granny. Does that sound weird? It was supposed to be cleansing. It made me a little dizzy, though I’m not sure if it was my toxins being released, the realization that we were all soaking in the same"juices", or the shame I felt trying not to stare at everyone’s privates. I closed my eyes but that only raised the volume of my interior narrator: Oh grow up, everyone’s nude, what’s the big deal, it’s a beautiful thing. We’re all the same, basically. No one has pubic hair though, so strange, do they wax or are they just hairless, maybe because they are Asian? or Californian?  I popped my eyes open and focused immediately on a woman across the room squatting openly (yes I said openly) like a Chinese farmer in a paddy field. Ok, time to get out! I raised myself from the bath and tried to walk up the stairs, clenching and sucking in. I almost fell forward reaching for my robe that was on the hook 5 feet away.

“Giselle?” I don’t know why I turned my head, they obviously weren’t talking to me, but I looked and was glad to see it wasn’t, you know, the real Giselle, but instead a 45-year-old with a tattoo of an arrow pointing down right above her ass-crack. Say no more.

 Over by the steam room there was a row of tables where women lay face down getting massages and scrubs, their bodies shellacked and glistening with oils. I suddenly felt like I was in a Texas whorehouse. The masseuses (masseurs?) wore stylish black 2-piece bathing-suits and worked efficiently and silently. I watched Giselle shyly follow her girl to the tables with her head bowed and her hands clasped in front of her. Someone tapped me on the shoulder and when I turned, my girl, "Michelle", smiled and beckoned me with her finger. Since I was getting a facial, we had to go in another room that was through the café and upstairs. I held my robe closed tightly and followed. I have been to this spa a few times and it always struck me as a little odd that they serve Korean food only a few yards away from, well, vaginas, but I’m getting more used to it. Upstairs I got dizzy again from the calming smell of eucalyptus and lavender and jasmine and chamomile; I felt relaxed just from breathing. I loved Michelle, I loved myself, I loved everyone.

Take off your robe, Michelle said. For a facial? I thought, but she patted the table that had 3 quilts folded back and it looked so enticing I did as I was told. Then "Hannah" came in with a big jar of almond butter, which might have been alarming except that I knew she was going to be using it for the foot massage. Yes I got the foot massage/facial combo, how amazing, and though I hadn’t realized they were going to do it at the same time I was back in love. Ahhhhhhhh. At that moment I became a dog; I had no thoughts except the present: smells good, mmmm, rubbing, patting, drumming fingers. 

All was going great until Michelle started up with the extractions, which is the sterilized term for squeezing the blackheads on your nose and chin. Jesus, Michelle, come on! I tried to concentrate on my foot  massage but it was really difficult with Michelle thoroughly going at the little area between my nostrils with what felt like a mini pair of pliers. I felt like I was getting a blumpkin. Tears were pouring down the side of my face and I almost sat up and hugged her when she stopped. She put a cool and aromatic mask on my face and then massaged my head to the point where I began to hallucinate pinwheel stars falling out of the sky.

Finally it was over. I sat up and adjusted my eyes to the light and looked at my skin in the mirror, it was glowing. My face was completely relaxed and rosy and hydrated. I instantly forgot about the discomfort of being nude around nude people. I instantly had the thought that everyone, every man, woman and child, should have this experience once a month. It should be obligatory, like seatbelts, because the second thought I had as I looked at myself was: I wish that was me.

Watching the Watcher

There's a fat bald dude who has been sitting in an amc pacer parked in my neighborhood for three days.  I'm pretty sure he's doing surveillance. I'm assuming it's for Carlos, though I suppose he could be doing a repo, or maybe serving papers for an eviction.
Hey Chunky, I see you.
I don't say that but I want to. Instead I just walk by with the dogs, giving him the stink eye.
Why am I like this? He's just a guy, doing his job, trying to serve justice.
It's creepy, that's why. He's like the bratty tattle-taler. The silent stalker. The sad lonely person with nothing better to do than watch someone else.
Uh...That's not me though! I am not you. I'm minding my own business. Walking the dogs. Protecting my people.
"Beat it pal. Go watch someone else's neighbor", if I was a real tough guy, or from South Philly, this is what I'd say. I'd walk up to his car, slap the hood a couple times, point my thumb in the opposite direction. "Yeah you.. Fuck outta here"
But I'm not. So instead I walk past him three days in a row, gathering steam, fueling my imagination.

Customer Service At Your Service

Hi Friends, I'm reposting an oldie again today and I'm feeling bad about it but I'm trying to get some work finished, so I hope you don't mind. Hopefully if you read this before, you completely forgot about it. xo

I go to the grocery store almost every day. Sometimes more than once. I know the full layout of the place: produce, frozen, dairy, cereal, dish soap, water, etc. I recognize some of the people who work there, and we know each other well enough to ask, how are you? or have a chat about the latest People headline, but that’s it.

Recently the employees at my store must have been given a pep talk about welcoming customers when they walk in the store, and it always makes me uneasy and a little bit annoyed. Why am I instantly suspicious, hateful and chafed? I DON’T KNOW WHY. 

Hello, welcome to Piggly Wiggly.

What?

Or

Hello, welcome to Piggly Wiggly, can I help you find something?

I JUST WALKED IN! LET ME ACCLIMATE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

Or

Hello welcome to Piggly Wiggly, can I help you find something today?

Back. The Fuck. Off.

Whoa.

I’m sorry. I just don’t need you in my face right now.

But I-

I just had to avoid those freaks outside with the clip-boards and their blue pinnys, asking me "if I care about the environment".

Well, uh—

Seriously? Do I care about the environment? What kind of lame passive/aggressive question is that? Of course I care about the fucking environment. I just don’t want to stand in a parking lot talking about it.

Geez--

And now you’re right up in my face.

Oh, sorry--

No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but seriously, give me a minute before you viciously accost me.

(chuckling) What—

I don’t even know what I want yet. How could you help me if I don’t even know—

I was just trying to be friendly.

But, see a friend doesn’t get all up in my face like that. A friend takes one look at me, assesses my situation, gives me a little space, and then decides what to say.

Oh-

See you’re missing those crucial first steps. Don’t just spout out the same little words to everyone, you gotta read the person first. It only takes a few seconds.

Ok, ok let me try: Hi welcome to Piggly Wiggly, what the hell’s wrong with you?

See, that’s better, but you know, only a few of us can get away with that kind of aggression; if you can’t say it with love, then I think you’re just being mean.

Okay, how about: Welcome to Piggly Wiggly. I love you. I’m here if you need me.

That’s IT. See? Now you’re on to something.

Falling Down and Getting Up

Yesterday I was walking the dogs down the back alley way; it's a short cut from the street one block over from mine. It's not an alley like an east coast city alley but more like a long connected driveway to the back of people's houses. Coyotes gather back there, occasional crimes take place, but for the most part it is safe. Anyway it was morning and I was walking and I knew there was someone behind me because I could hear plastic bags swishing. I wasn't really paying attention but then I heard a heavy thunk and when I turned around there was an old lady flat on her face. Her bags were strewn, one of them was filled with cut up chicken, and her comb and keys had spilled out of her purse. I turned and ran to her and tried to help her to sit and we both talked at the same time, she in Spanish, I in English. I rubbed her back while she tried to pull her pant leg up. She had pebbles and dirt on her face and down her shirt, and her jacket had come off  at one shoulder. My dogs kept trying to go after the chicken and I shifted gears from yelling and kicking at them to soothing her, which made her giggle. I listened to her talking and then I told her that just two nights ago, my mother who was visiting from out of town, had fallen on the steps near my house, and that a week before that I had tripped and fallen over this weird garden ledge on the sidewalk. We nodded and pantomimed and laughed. I'm not sure if she understood any of what I was saying and I know I didn't understand what she was saying. I got her to her feet and helped brush her off and then we walked up the rest of the hill together.

Later I wondered if it was an ominous sign that I had been part of 3 falls within 2 weeks, or a sign of good fortune that each time we got up and walked away.

An Oldie: Bigger Than We Were

                                        This was a few summers before we got to stay in the camp-house.

In the summers we stayed in a two story cabin/camp-house that was buried off the side of the road in the woods. We had to walk 1/2 mile down a dirt road from Nana's house to get to it. After baths and some toast she sent us all out the back door, Good night!, but we were together and were rarely scared. I think of it now and I know I could never walk down a dirt road by myself at night in the pitch black, the kind of black where you don't see anything until you bump into it. But then we did. I remember pockets of cold air, like in a lake, and our signal call to each other. We memorized the road with our bare feet, which side had fewer rocks and where the divots were. We walked quietly in single file, once in a while snapping a green branch into the face of the person behind us. We talked about the man with the ax, and laughed and screamed and yelled Quit it.

My aunt and uncle stayed there with us, but we rarely saw them unless it was raining and we spent the entire day inside together. Mostly it felt like we were on our own. We needed grownups to feed us and take us to the beach, but everything else we managed. We drove a VW bug down to the corn fields, sometimes straight through uncleared green stalks until it would get stuck and then we'd leave it there like a forgotten toy. When we needed it again, we'd spend an entire day trying to figure how to get it started. Sometimes we just needed gas. It's weird to think about how much we were alone, how we didn't feel unsafe, how we jumped out of trees and threw rocks and figured out how to jump start a car, when at least three of us still peed the bed at night.

Monday Morning Prayer For Barack and MLK

(my sisters and their friend recorded this in the livingroom with my step-mother rockin the cello)

I don't usually listen to music like this; I think its earnestness makes me feel uncomfortable. But I loved this one as soon as I heard it. It leaves you with a question you know you can answer. Maybe that's what a prayer is like.