August 28, 2007

The Summer of Feral Children

Feral children.
That is what we used to be when I was little. And it was summer.
Our lithe, tan bodies sliding away from Coppertoned hands as they tried to make sure our SPF was high enough.
We would run and jump. In the pool, on the bed, in the waves at the water park. We lived in our bathing suits. Towels were a needed accessory, more like a jacket. Only to be cast aside when your body temp resumed its comfort level and it was time to jump back into the water.
Our hair was an unnatural color of wet hair dried in weird clumps with a golden hue that you only get from summer sun and chlorine.

My dad lived in Fresno and we thought it was paradise. People laughed at us when we proudly proclaimed our summer destination.
For us, we lived in the pool

This week, we are three generations of feral children.
My dad and his sister
My sister, her husband and I
And my niece and nephews

We jump in the pool around 8am. Then we come out for breakfast.
We jump back in the pool for another round of whatever game we make up that involves splashing.
Now they are my hands which are Coppertoned, trying to catch the little active bodies to protect that with SPF that we now think should be 50 (where 8 seemed to be so high that you were too cautious when I was a child).

Yesterday, we got out of the pool for a guacamole break.
Then resumed our active state of being. At least for the week.

When I told people that I was headed to Phoenix in the summer, they were sad for me.

I knew I would have a good time regardless of the heat since I was getting to see my sister and her kids from Germany and get to see my aunt whom I hadn't seen for 9 years.

We are a contained little village. Of ferals.
My aunt didn't get out of her bathing suit once yesterday.

And at night, when you think it is winding down and everyone is getting ready for bed, you will hear a splash, and it is one of the adults doing handstands in the pool. And seeing ond of the adults only makes the kids take their pjs off and put on wet bathing suits to join them.


My week-long vacation isn't even halfway over but the R&R that I have been enjoying has been much needed and a whole lot of fun.

For me, I never really noticed that summer had gone by this year. I mean, I knew it was hot. And I knew kids were out of school. But I was working a lot. And I was doing my normal life as if there are no seasons of rest.

Until now. Where my paradise is another place people laugh when i tell them.

I didn't need to pack anything other than a tank top, shorts, a pair of flip flops and a bathing suit. I did pack more. But bag was packed by a girl in another life. A life where time has no meaning in terms of meals, meetings, traffic jams. My dramas are based around how the baby might jump into the pool without his waterwings and do we have enough milk for everyone to have in the cereal.

They say you can never relive your youth.

I might have to argue that point just a little.

Now if you excuse me, I must go back into the pool since my there is a water gun fight starting and I want to be on the best team. Plus, my hair has dried in a strange chlorinated wave and I must undo it.

Long live the village of the feral children.

Posted by Kirsten at 06:16 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

August 21, 2007

The Summer of Wine and...

My blog has been quiet.
I, on the other hand have been quite busy.

Which is sad, because when I have time to write, I usually don't have anything to write about.

That is not the case today.

I am so glad I have a few dresses and have been indulging in footwear since I have been attending a lot of summer garden parties and a girl must look garden party ready, no?

Ennui and Reedfish's LA wedding reception was a blast. What I learned that night was garden parties require shoes with a wedge rather than a heel, lest the lawn eat your heel. Which it did. Therefore requiring me to go to my summer standard flip flop. Crumbs cupcakes and Reedfish's delicious cooking and that favorite actress of mine's house made this night a fun and delicious time. There was a huge cardboard cutout of the new couple which we all stood next to for weird photo-ops. We all looked beautiful. And there was wine.

Last week, a co-worker of mine rented out the Montrose Bowling Alley (very retro, only 8 lanes - perfect for renting for parties) and it was really fun. I had never been to Montrose. It is like South Bay meets Larchmont meets Eagle Rock. I had the highest score on the losing team. We were the loudest and cheered when anyone even rolled the ball NOT into the gutter. Every other team thought we were the ones to beat. Ah yes, we psyched them out but good. Sadly, we weren't the slow threat I was claiming we were. We were just bad. Came in last. And there was wine.

A day later, I went to the 60th birthday party of my mom's friend. It was gorgeous in her back yard. Another garden party. This time, I wore the wedge sandals, just to show I had made an effort to dress up. Then I put the flip flops on for the dancing. The dj was very Wayne Brady-esque. The birthday woman is a Clay Aiken fan aka Claymate. There was a whole table dedicated to the Claymates she had met on the internet. We at our table made fun of them behind their backs. Not in a mean way. Just in a shake your head way. Dancing under the stars to "Baby Got Back" and "Wind Beneath My Wings", I realized, I was glad there was cake. And there was a bar, which of course, meant there was wine.

Sunday night, our storytelling night was held at Jazzy's. More people were invited than came which bummed me out (read kind of pissed me off) at first but the night was hilarious. Zappy's story made us cry. She read with a tearful voice, and I was trying to hide my tears. When she was done, she looked up and we were all sniffling and dabbing our eyes. It was a very moving piece. Then Dory followed her with hesitation because hers was, as she claimed, very superficial and silly. But it was what we needed. We laughed hysterically. It was great. Everyone brought great food. And the empty bottle count of the wine we drank was more roughly one bottle per person when we added it up.

This summer has just been one long party.
Sprinkle in that I am getting amazing opportunities to perform and that my dance classes (strip tease, belly and pilates) have been amazing routines, well, I just have to say that this summer for all the lows that I have gone through, have given me many more highs.

Viva la Summer.
I'll drink to that!

Posted by Kirsten at 10:01 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

August 05, 2007

Comfortably Numb

We headed out in the early evening. Zappy and I had decided to chill out by the beach with a nice dinner and then significant drinking.

She wore a light summer dress with platform sandals and I wore jeans, a black top that clung to my chest and torso and flip flops.

Once we finished with dinner which was Italian food and lots of wine and garlic bread, we went to the Other Room in Venice.

I was drinking faster than she was. Which surprised both of us.
"I will not be outdone by YOU." she proclaimed.
I giggled. A weird giggle that alerts my friends that I have just passed tipsy.
"Oh, no...I know that laugh. How is it that you are drinking so much so fast? That never happens."
"I am thirsty." It is my attempt to sound like an old time movie siren.
It flops.

We are seated at the bar and I start conversations with men who are buying their drinks to take back to their tables.

One in particular, I find very cute.
"He looks like Paul Rudd." I say
"Who is Paul Rudd?" Zappy asks.
"You know who he is! You love him. Knocked Up guy."
"Oh him. I love him! Oh, that guy did NOT look like Paul Rudd."
"Yeah he did." I coo as I turn around to find where he went.
"Maybe a girlie man version of Paul Rudd."
"He is my girlie man Paul Rudd." and as I say the words, I realize there is a slight chance I am slurring.

And that is how the night went. Zappy and I having light to serious converstaions with each other, intermingled with flirting with men who come up to the bar.

We stare at the board to find out what drink we want next. The bartender buys our next and final round.
"What is this? It's good." we both ask him.
"It's the wine you started with." He says back to us with a chuckle.
"Oh, that was so long ago." Zappy quips.

My face feels like novacaine has been shot through it.

We leave to walk around Venice for awhile.
I try and take drunk photos of us walking. But they are mostly of Zappy looking down since she somehow has become shy. I try and take her photo next to some cartoony looking murals. She poses for a moment but when people start to approach, she gets very embarrassed and nervous, pressuring me to hurry up. Funny, that is usually my role. But since I am in the land of feeling fine, I write off her anxiety as something very easy to overlook AND override.
"Shut up and pose!" I yell at her.
Which only embarrasses her more.
I laugh.

We wander into a bookstore. The titles of the books wash over me in a haze. I open a book and ask Zappy to put her finger on a page. Whatever passage her finger lands on will be the title of this blog.
She landed on, "...self destructed rather than buying into the myth of evolution..."
I drunkenly write it down in the little pad I carry with me.
I tell her that passage sucks and she needs to pick another one.
She refuses.
"These books are for sale. I am pretty sure they don't want you to keep opening them." She chides.
"if we don't open them, how will we know what's inside?"
"that is why they want you to buy it."
"I can't even tell where the register is. Or who is in charge."
I look around and see all kinds of people reading. But no one who looks like they are going to ring up your purchases.
Zappy goes down one aisle and I go down the other.

My eyes land on a book. I open the back to read the last line and to find out about the author. He looks like someone who did some acting in the early to mid 80's. At least that is how old the picture looked.

He didn't look like he would be a very gentle kisser. He looks like he would
be kind of angry in the bedroom and then pull away any kind of attention when work got to be too much for him.
I decide I don't like him. I decide that he would be mean if I tried to break up with him.
Zappy walks up.
"What you got there?"
"A book by some asshole." I say replacing the book from whence it came.
We walk back out of the store.

We head over to a gallery to check out some art.
Zappy falls in love with the paintings.
The art is very urban, very anime, very abstract. I like the titles of the pieces. They are what draw me into the paintings, actually.
I overhear a guy trying to explain one of the pieces to a woman. She is cute, not hot or beautiful. but then neither is he. I wonder if this is their first date.

Zappy's favorite is the most expensive. "Of course it is" she says almost dejected that her elite tastes have run her life off course.

As we are walking back to the car, she says "Can we talk about how the black girl is Scary Spice? That seems racist. And why hasn't anyone talked about this? Can we talk about it?"
I start laughing.
"I am serious."
"I know...that is why I am laughing."

She isn't drunk anymore but I am. We get in the car.
"I am going to sing for you."
"okay" and I roll down the windows and feel the beach air on me. I scream, "I love this night"
Apparently, she has already started singing.
"You are missing the best lyrics."
And she starts the song again.
I giggle because this is so something I would normally do.
She is very dramatic as she sings and very good. I would pay to see her on stage.
I tell her this.
"As a drag queen maybe," she scoffs.

Mads once called her a Rock and Roll Snow White. She is beautiful but ladeled with pain. She has been through a lot more than people our age normally have been. She looks innocent at first glance but upon further inspection you see there is a whole layer to her you will never know and it is dark.
She likes that it exists in her.

I like the song she is singing.

I crash at her place and turn on the tv. "Scott Baio is 45 and Single" is on.
"Oh, let's watch it." I say. I don't have cable, so I am happy when I get to tune into these pop cultury type shows.
We both watch in disgust as he ponders why he has problems settling down.
"Gimme a break" we both yell at the tv.

"I hate men" Zappy says.
"No you don't. You love them."
"You're right. I really love them."
"I know. Me too."
"But they can be such pains in the asses."

I think I said something back. I meant to.
But my mouth couldn't move. I was a second away from falling asleep.
I haven't been that relaxed in a long long time.
I stumbled awake just to walk to her guest room and curl up on her extra bed. The night air blew her sheer curtains against my pillow. And sleep overtook my smiling face.

This was a good night.
But there was no way, the passage she picked would be my title. No way. Now if only she would have chosen again, we would have had gold baby, pure literary gold.

Posted by Kirsten at 12:38 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack