The Lesbian Theme and Things That Should Not Excite Me but Do


Apparently Virgin and William thought it would be “fun” to introduce me to a new writer. I devoured AM Homes’ novel This Book Will Save Your Life. I loved it for it’s uncomfortableness, disliked that she didn’t understand the geography of Los Angeles, liked that she understood the flavor of our city. I immediately downloaded another of her books, Music for Torching. I sat down on a Saturday morning, got to page 75 and declared it a wonderful read (because it is). I then proceeded to tell friends and acquaintances that I was reading the most wonderful book about suburbia.

And then I got to page 77 and the lesbian affair. The graphic lesbian affair that would let you know exactly how things are done. This is tame compared to some of the other pages and I’ve just recommended this book to women I know only through children’s sports. I’m pretty sure I never want to see any of them again… it was super porny.

I’ve ruined the gas grill. I often pride myself on completing difficult tasks, but this might be the most difficult yet. I set it on fire. Not the outside of the grill but the insides of the grill, there was fire and it just sort of disintegrated shortly after the flames were a meter high. When I started reading Music for Torching they (the husband and wife) use the grill to set their house on fire and presumably start anew. I found it wildly disturbing and not at all relatable, the only thing we have in common is that we can’t be trusted with a grill.

I picked up some beautiful porterhouse steaks from Whole Foods and was drying them in the refrigerator. They were absolutely perfect and last night I remembered that the grill was just a cadaver and needed replacing. Since I’m halfway through a road test for the Kia Rio and neither Mr G nor I have cars with flip down seats I decided to run to OSH and pick up a grill.

Of course I got to talking with the guys in the grill section and they were like, “This one is a gas grill, charcoal grill and smoker.” I asked them what a smoker is and they got all excited and twenty minutes later I was pulling the Kia up to the back for them to load up the grill. Junior and I were convinced it would fit. We made believers of them.

Of course unpacking it was another story all together. It was nearly impossible to remove from the car so I just slit the sides of the box with a razorblade and took the components out piece by piece. I listened to Howard Stern for three hours and at 11pm I had this.

Sometimes I wish I could put together an outdoor item a day. It’s just fun, like LEGOs but for grown ups. I went to bed tired but happy. Content really, it had been a pleasing day.

This morning the window washer arrived. He was a little late with a new helper so I wasn’t optimistic and then something amazing happened. He explained to me that his new helper was an ex roofer and was really good at walking on roof tiles, he could clean my skylights. I shouldn’t be this excited about clean skylights. No one should but I am. I’m actually overjoyed and I keep standing on my landing looking up to the blue sky and wondering how I ever got so lucky.

I’m a simple woman. Wash my windows, bring me joy.



Toms, Gap and Mossimo: the Holy Trinity of Fashion Defeat


This is what I wore yesterday.

The shirt isn’t horrible. Well, it wasn’t when I bought it four years ago. Now it’s stained and stretched out and incredibly comfortable. I think the cat hair is an appropriate touch.

The skirt is something I bought at target, obviously without trying it on or looking at the pattern. Had I done either of those things I’d recognize that it’s hideous. By the time I dealt with the ugliness of it I’d succumbed to the comfort. It’s my writing skirt. I can sit and eat and type in this thing. If my mother had a basement I’d be wearing it in there while I blogged and sipped wine from a box.

Then there’s the Toms. There’s no excuse for the Toms. They’re a cheap shoe that’s not particularly good for your feet or the people they purport to help but they sell them at Whole Foods and I love the idea of buying my lambchops, Haagen Daaz and footwear all in the same place.

Oh wait, I actually don’t want to shop that way. It’s like Walmart, only surrounded by organic stuff.

If you’re horrified by the slide please know that the kids are too. When I picked Alexander up from school he hopped in the car and said I looked different. Did I mention that I hadn’t brushed my hair?

I told him that I didn’t feel like looking fancy if Daddy isn’t around. He nodded sagely and said, “I miss him too.”

A few hours later when I picked Jane up from volleyball at the park she chattered away a million miles an hour. Stopped abruptly, looked me up and down and said, “You got out of control pretty quickly this time Mom.”

For the record Mr. G has been out of town since Thursday. I typically only get to looking this bad after a week.

This fish needs her bicycle. Stat.

A Struggle With Conscience


I threw out a half a steak yesterday and felt ill. I love meat, I love steak and lamb chops, I like chicken and fish but I don’t love wasting food, particularly meat. When we have leftover green things I can toss them in a compost bin and feel absolved. I’m not absolved, but I get the feeling that I am… which is only sort of okay.

Over the years I’ve been vegetarian and vegan too. Vegetarian while eating dairy wasn’t the best I’ve ever felt. I did feel incredibly good and strong as a vegan but to be fair I was in my early 20’s and would have felt good and strong in any event. I also spent an inordinate amount of time planning my meals. I’m not interested in living that way.

These days I languish… no I anguish at the meat counter of Whole Foods wondering if I’m inhumane because I buy my family $16 a pound beef that’s grass fed as opposed to the $24 a pound beef that’s also organic. What I’m really concentrating on these days is buying the proper amount. I serve meat in 5 ounce portions… except for when Mr. G gets a porterhouse, then it’s total Flintstone style where I fill his plate and delight in watching him enjoy his food. There are never leftovers with Porterhouse Steaks.

Lately though I’ve felt stuck. Like when I handle the meat raw I don’t want to eat it, and when my kids eat restaurant food I get panicked that they’re eating the sick and dying cow that got sent to slaughter just because no one gives a shit anyhow. I can’t smell bacon without thinking of the fake pigs that are live in metal pens shitting a river below them. It’s not that I don’t want to eat meat, it’s that I want to eat meat from real animals like chickens with normal sized breasts. Remember when turkeys had more dark meat than white?

I get a little obsessive about food and when I walk through the grocery store I’m pretty sure that the food processors are trying to poison us all. Most of my breakfasts and lunches are vegan but I don’t want my life to be vegan. I just want to be able to feed my family meat that isn’t full of corn, antibiotics or disease.

I’m looking for alternatives, where can I buy sustainably farmed meat in Los Angeles?

Quick Update: Whole Foods In Pasadena, CA


I’ll be at Whole Foods market in Pasadena at 10:30 this morning along with some of your favorite Mommy Bloggers.

Remember Supermarket Sweep? Today I’ll be the dope running up and down the aisles. I guess Nintendo has a new game where you learn to cook?


Nintendo Personal Trainer: Cooking

Uh, okay?