Making fun

All the kids on my block used to make fun of me. I used to say it was because I was always so bony skinny but I think they knew that I was weak, unconfident, and would take their crap.

There was this one asian kid who was the ring leader, Wing. He was about a year younger than me and would always and I mean always get everyone else going. I was in first or second grade when they moved onto the block, and that's when it started. He would say something in that sing-songy evil voice "Stacy is a blah-blah -- NA NA NA NA NA NA" and I would chase him (yes, I am disclosing my name -- it's a little weird but it just doesn't seem right putting a fake name in that quote since I can actually hear it running in my head over and over). Then everyone would join in and I would have to run after everyone. I never caught anybody and to be honest, I don't know what I would have done if I did. I really just wanted them to stop and be my friend.

Sometimes I would run away, far far away.... around the block and hide in this driveway. I would sit there and cry and hope that someone would come find me. Sometimes they did and on girl, Lisa, who pretended to be my friend, would bring me back.

It was this horrible game, this horrible cycle I let myself be a part of. They suckered me into so many things all the time and I would do it, take it, just to hang out with them. I wish I had more of a backbone but no one taught me how. My grandmother used to tell me to "just walk away." Ugh. How about "Stand up for yourself!" Why didn't she ever tell me to do that?

Well now, my daughter is in a similar, much less drastic debacle and I need advice. She's only 3 1/2 but she has this one 4-year old friend who is a ring leader, a kid who likes to make fun. But her mom lets her get away with it because her sing-songy evil voice is saying things like, "Ladybug is a Bunny Rabbit. NA NA NA NA NAAA NA." And my poor little Ladybug hates it. But she just whines and cries and says "STOP IT!" The more her "friend" does it, the more she whines and cries.

I've told the "friend's" mother that we really don't like that kind of talk, and sometimes she will scold her kid but not always. I've even told the kid to stop myself and she doesn't. Sure, maybe my daughter is slightly easy to tease because of her overly dramatic and somewhat sensitive personality. I think the mother sees my daughter as a kid who needs to grow a little bit of a backbone. But honestly, my kid is not like I was. She's far from shy, pretty confident and very outgoing.

And I try to explain to Ladybug that if she would just stop crying about it and ignore it, maybe her friend would stop. I tell her to ignore this kid and go play with the other kids. I try to tell her do the same thing back. I try to tell her to tell her friend that she isn't going to play with her if she keeps it up. Sometimes these things work and sometimes they don't.

What I want to my little Ladybug, is to punch her "friend" in the mouth. Is that wrong? That must be wrong.

Does Tom & Jerry Offend You?

Things have been pretty quiet on the home-front... for now. Nothing to write about really, although I have been having this weird recurring dream... maybe I'll discuss another day. I know why I'm having it, which makes it much less mysterious and interesting.

Anyway, some time ago I came across this blog, My So-Called Strife. I like this guy's humor, it's riddled with sarcasm. The entry about how some people found episodes of the original Tom & Jerry series offensive had me laughing out loud and I actually went back a few times to read it again for another laugh.

I had to keep his collage of offensive Tom & Jerry episodes in my pictures file because it was just too good to pass up. Here's his entry on the subject:

http://kirkkitsch.blogspot.com/2006/08/nuckin-futz.html

Thanks, Kirk!

Dinner with my Father

My father decided to join us for dinner on my birthday. Wow, that is so weird.

Not to bore you with the gory details, but my father wasn't really present in my life growing up. After my parents divorced (when I was under 2 years old), he rarely visited me until my mother threatened to change my name to her maiden name. Not sure when that was, but then he decided to become the Sunday visitor.

My father was (and still is) a charming, smart, funny, good-looking Puerto Rican man. Tall, dark and handsome. He has a beautiful deep, soft voice and a wonderful personality. He has a million friends and everyone loves him... he was one of those guys who is a great friend but a crappy husband/father.

I have such mixed emotions and mixed memories about those Sunday visits. I remember waiting (for what seemed like hours) for him to pick me up -- he was often LATE. I remember playing mostly with my uncle (his brother, who is just 2 years older than me) at the park while he played paddle ball with his buddies and smoked a lot of weed. I remember going back to his house to eat Kentucky Fried Chicken only to find his big german shepard named Hatch had peed on the floor, and my father would proceed to beat him senseless. Poor doggy. He was such a good boy really.

But there are so many great things that I remember about our adventures: going to museums, the aquarium, the beach, the movies, bike riding (in the STREET!), boat rides -- we did so many fun things. I loved to go to my Abuela's house for dinner and she would make arroz con gandules and all that great Puerto Rican food. I remember his many girlfriends with their long red fingernails and bright makeup. I remember hearing everyone around me speak that beautiful Spanish language around me while I longed to have him teach me what they were saying.

I remember playing hide-and-seek with him where he would pretend to be this monster going "ROOOAAAARRR!!!" But whenever he found me, he kissed and tickled me endlessly. I still think I long to be found that way.

I remember there was a time for about a year where he didn't come on Sundays and I was stuck in my step-grandparents house with my mother. Not that I dislike them, but I was so completely bored just sitting in their house waiting for dinner, eating dinner, then going home. Not sure where he was during this time. Maybe going through his own difficult time, maybe he thought I didn't want to be with him, not really sure.

Needless to say, when I was with him I often felt like an outsider paying a visit to an inside world. But I loved my father's mysterious world, his apartments, his language, his friends. He seemed so free of anything and always just did what he wanted. I was sad every time I had to go home even though he and I never really spoke to each other much. I was always pretty quiet.

So, my father called me on my birthday and I invited him to join my husband, Ladybug and me for dinner. He surprisingly accepted. We went to Morton's, a fairly expensive steak house. He loves steak but not sure if he's ever had it at this price. My father seems to be at a crossroads these days, he recently moved out of his house away from his wife and teenage son. I think he has a girlfriend, actually, which doesn't surprise me one bit. Someone was calling him every 15 minutes during dinner.

In some way, he was the outsider looking in at dinner that night. I'm pretty much a stranger to him now, and here he is sitting with my husband and daughter. We're all talking about separate vacations, separate parties, sharing separate stories... as if we don't know each other. It was slightly uncomfortable for both of us but I'm glad he was there.

Overall, it was nice to have him enter my world for a night. And I wouldn't mind it happening more often. I just wish he wasn't late all the time.

A Day of Remembrance

I remember everything about this day, September 11th, 2001. I'm just a simple New Yorker who was working as usual in my Rockefeller Center building. I remember the fear, the helplessness. I remember watching it unfold on live TV on the 28th floor of an office building and I felt terrified. I remember that I so desperately just wanted to get home. I wondered who I knew that may have worked in those buildings. The phone literally rang off the hook. I'm grateful that I didn't lose anyone in my family, although I knew a wonderful co-worker I worked with some years prior who was a wonderful man.

But I still grieved. Not only for him, but for all those who have died, for the buildings that fell, the planes that crashed, the families who lost so much. Going to my former co-worker's church service had to be part my grieving process even though I really didn't know him that well. We had to do something, feel a part of somewhere, feel the strength of others and grieve together.

I've grieved so much in my life prior to this event that I knew I had to go through it. They say there are 5 stages of grief and I knew I had to feel them all: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. We were all walking around during this time, some grieving more than others but we were all grieving on some level. Some were even grieving the fact that they survived, and feeling the guilt.

My little blog can't even make a dent into the feelings and emotions that ran through on that day, and on the world after it. But in some way, it helps me to express my own feelings and just remember my own account of where I was, who I was with, how I dealt with it.

So today I will watch the news reports. I will hear the stories once again of some of the people who were lost, of the heroes, of their children and families. It's necessary to feel it, to remember it. Last night I watched the documentary of the brothers who were filming a rookie fire fighter on that day and remembered, reflected, and cried.

Birthday Thoughts

Today is my 35th birthday. Wow, that number sounds old to me, although I really don't feel old. I'll be 40 in 5 short years! Although, these days I know 35 really isn't THAT old, but ever since my daughter was born, I'm feeling a sense of my own mortality. I'm afraid that crap I've been eating is going to cause me to have a heart attack, that I'm going to get cervical cancer, or that I'll have some rare disease and die a painful death. I wouldn't say I'm a hypochondriac, but there's probably a phobia for having a "fear of death." It actually keeps me awake at night sometimes, thinking about what it will feel like to die, what I'll be missing in my daughter's life, how my husband will react and move on. Ho hum.

Anyway, I don't want to bring you down too low or anything! I woke up bright and early this morning, showered with makeup and hair done all before I woke Ladybug for school. In some ways I'm looking forward to this day. Friends and family calling to wish me a Happy Birthday, going to a special dinner tonight with my husband and Ladybug...

I saw one of my cousins last night who is turning 30 this year, and who just got back from a fabulous vacation in Greece with her college friends. She's doing well in her career, and we have a lot in common in that department -- drive, dedication, pride in our work. And she said to me, "I would be very happy to have my life where yours is at 35. Your career is said and done, you're married, you have a house and a child. I hope I'm where you are by then." That was a very big compliment to me.

And I do look pretty damn good for my age!
(even though saying that is some sort of back-handed compliment in my opinion but I'll take it)

13 Things I Plan To Do While Ladybug is in School

School has begun! And in honor of my first Thirteen Thursday, I'm going to try to be a little funny. There are a TON of things I plan to do while my little Ladybug is in nursery school. But those things are pretty boring: clean out my closets, catch up on laundry, shop for groceries, go the gym, etc.

Instead, here's a list of 13 Things I Would Never Really Plan To Do While Ladybug is in School:

1. Take a nap.
2. Mess up my husband's organized closet and when he asks say, "Wow, I don't know what the hell happened in here!" (he's wayyy too organized)
3. Watch porn.
4. Smoke a joint.
5. Have an quickie with the gardner.
6. Eat a whole Entemann's Devil's Food Cake.
7. Drink a Cosmopolitan, glass of Sangria or do a shot of Lemon Vodka.
8. Drive to a dive bar and have a beer.
9. Masturbate.
10. Smoke a few cigarettes.
11. Throw out all my bills.
12. Say "FUUUUCCCCKKK" at the top of my lungs while standing out in the middle of the street (believe it or not, I rarely ever say that word).
13. Set the dog free and see if she comes back.

Happy Thirteen Thursday! :-)

"Final Score is Love" - Andre Agassi's last match

It's unfortunate that I found a certain passion for tennis so late in life. I remember when I was a kid how my mother used to have a crush on Andre Agassi. "I dreamt about him last night!" she said one day with such fervor. My stepfather has played tennis for as long as I can remember and he's even an instructor now at his local club. Somehow I was never into the game. I hate to say it but I think I was waiting for someone to want me to have an interest in the game.

Anyway this year, I have played tennis at least once a week, and even played in a doubles league this past season. And I wish I could play more. Today, I'm trying to learn a lot about the current and legendary players, study the technical aspect of the game, and become a true fan.

I'm absolutely ecstatic to say that for Andre Agassi's last match -- I was there. My mother, who was watching my little Ladybug while we were out, even called me at the beginning of the match to say, "I see you on TV!" That was how close we were!!

My husband and I were one of the 21,000+ fans who gave Agassi the 8-minute long standing ovation; we were one of the few who were there to cry with him in that stadium, and hear his words of greatness.

I'm so happy I married an avid tennis fan for more reasons than one. It's given me a new passion in life, a big attitude about my own game (albeit very much a beginner's game), and allowed me to partake in tennis history.

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/09/04/sports/tennis/04tennis.html?ref=sports

Two Feet In; lunch with boogies

Boogies is the nickname my best friend and I call each other. I have no idea why.

So, I went into the city yesterday and had lunch with Boogies. It was just like it always was: catching up on current events of our lives, giggling about silly stories, her telling me all the things she doesn't like (and I say that in a suprisingly endearing way).

Throughout the years, I've always accepted the fact that she doesn't like coffee, hates mushrooms and any kind of fish, and despises alcohol. That's Just Who She Is and I love her for that. And I'm pretty sure she still loves me even if I don't always take her advice. I wonder if she realizes she's slightly controlling and plays a mother role. I need to realize that just because we get on each other's nerves sometimes, it doesn't mean we're going to break up. Regardless, she's still my Boogies and no matter what, this simple little lunch with just she and I (my little Ladybug was with my aunt for the day so I was thankfully FREE) showed me that she doesn't have one foot out the door; she's got both feet in... hopefully for the rest of our lives.