If You Belonged Here

The Model in Shades of Grey

One of my oldest, dearest friends is a musician. We'll call this very talented and hip friend of mine "Iris." I hadn't seen Iris perform in three years since I was exiled in Florida. Ever since I moved back to L.A., I'd been meaning to attend one of her shows with her new band. I missed a couple of them due to various circumstances, but when the latest Facebook event invitation came, I knew I had to make it to this one.

I picked out my very coolest dress (a recent Goodwill find that makes me look like a bondage cowgirl) and did my hair and makeup while I gave the kids a bath and got them ready for bed. The show was supposed to start at 9:30, which seemed rather early to me, but I figured she'd probably go on a bit late. If I started putting them to bed at 8:30, I thought I'd have plenty of time to get the kids to sleep and drive over there.

Yeah, not so much.

This night, of all nights, was the night my littler one decided to take for-ev-er to meet the Sandman. So I didn't get out of the house until 10. 

It was 10:30 by the time I parked in front of the art gallery in Silver Lake where she was performing. I went in and made my way through a dark, swaying sea of very skinny people with very cool haircuts wearing very cool (mostly grey) clothes, seemingly hypnotized by the sound of Iris' voice and guitar and the images washing over her face from the projector (which was also the only light source).

I only managed to catch about one and a half songs before she finished her set, but what I caught was excellent. I helped her pack up her gear and then we joined most everyone outside in the alley while the next band set up. Looking around, I said, "So, who are all these pretentious hipsters?" and she said, "Uh, mostly people I know..."

Oops.

There was a time when I felt much more at home among the more avant garde members of our society.That is, back when I was one of them. 

I originally had plans to have tea with an old photographer friend of mine after the show, but Iris was going to have a drink with a couple of her old friends from art school and invited me to go along. So, I followed her to downtown. We met her friends on the street and made our way to a stairway which led down to a large, unmarked, black lacquer door.

Some painfully fashionable people stumbled out (including a Lady Gaga doppelganger whose couture rivaled that of her famous twin) while a small man in an expensive suit checked our IDs. We entered a large, luxurious, dark lounge that resembled an exclusive nightclub sans the dance floor and blaring music. The kind of place I imagine vampires would frequent, but not in a goth-y way.

We sat at the bar and I spent most of the time talking to one of her friends in particular, a Parisian. He was a musician too, so when the topic of conversation came around to comparing which obscure bands we were digging at the moment, I had to admit that my musical taste is sadly frozen in time since before I had kids.

 

Or maybe not so sadly. Don't get me wrong, I still dearly love music and being exposed to great new things, but what I was doing during those years when I fell out of touch was pretty awesome too. My friends mostly all make things. They make music, or clothing, movies, furniture, photographs... art. I used to do some of that, but I don't as much anymore.

For a while I sort of rebelled against it, even.

I got a little fed up and felt like it was shallow, indulgent (which in hindsight was more of a generalization of my feelings about the fashion industry at the time). I would (ok, occasionally still do) smugly point out that while I don't really make any art or anything, I'm the only one of my friends who can isolate and amplify DNA (and the greatest works of art I've created are these two spectacular humans). I expected to have to defend myself that way with the very cool Frenchman, but he said he actually found it refreshing not to have to compare obscure bands. He even enjoyed seeing pictures of my rugrats and showing me ones of his baby half-brother.

It's always a little difficult to enter back into a world you used to be involved in after you've gone away and done something else for several years (particularly when what you've done is gotten sucked into the vortex of Mommydom), but I think my point is that it's not all black and white.

It doesn't have to be us-vs.-them.

Were some of the people I met totally pretentious? Yes. Did they just totally not know what to say when I said I was late because it took forever to put my spawn to bed? Yes. But the side of me that can relate to artsy intellectuals never completely died either, and I don't think I stuck out like as much of a sore thumb as I felt when I first got there. And I ended up really having a fabulous time.

The other day, I saw a sign on the door of a baby boutique here in L.A. that was targeted at the hip mom set. It said, "Rocker Moms, not Soccer Moms."

Why can't I be both?

Bookgirl is Begging the Question 3

Sorry for the late posting today. Technical diffculties...

So as Polly mentioned, I'm taking over some of the Wednesday duties around here. Partially because I like the potential zaniness of the Wednesday question. Partially because I like having you all subject to my whims. I've always wanted minions. Ever since I was a little girl and Mr. Rogers used to sing that song... "Won't you be, won't you be, please won't you be my minions?" But I digress...

(By the way, if the whole "minion" thing pissed you off, and you're tempted to not answer, do it for Polly. She so loves audience participation. And you know what they say. "If Polly ain't happy, ain't nobody happy...")

So back to the question. Sort of. I have this magnet on my fridge that says, "Despite years of personal development, she still turned into her mother." As an aside, if you have that fridge magnet, for the love of all that is holy, take it down before your mom visits. She will NOT be amused.

 

So for real now, the question...

For good or for bad, how have you turned into your mother?

My mother is a 1950s housewive. That's not a euphism. She really is. Dad came home from the Korean War, mom quit her job at the curtain factory, and they settled into wedded bliss and started popping out little brown-haired, brown-eyed girls. (For the record, that does not make me remarkably well-preserved for my age. Once they started making those little girls, they forgot to stop, and I came along 20 years later.) Also, mom is Catholic. Very, very Catholic. Put those two together, and you get a woman who can wield guilt and manipulation like a scalpel. Her favorite was, after a half hour of arguing over whether or not I was allowed to do something, throwing up her hands and saying, "Do what you want. You're going to anyway." Occasionally that would backfire, and teenage Bookgirl would be out the door like she was on fire, headed to Diosa or Polly's house. But mostly, that one statement, in the right inflection, could rob the plan of any fun, and guilt would keep me home.

I've recently come to realize that I have learned that art at the knee of the master. And I'm not proud of this, but I'm good. Very, very good. My older sister misunderstood and thought I was trying to guilt her into something last week, and I decided to not set her straight. Because I figure that I've done it enough times when I didn't get called out for it that even though this wasn't one of them, I probably had it coming.

So chime in everyone. How have you turned into your mom? Come on, answer. It's the right thing to do. Angels will smile, abandoned kittens will find homes, and you'll make your mama proud...

Pandora Wants Her Cake and To Eat It Too

Disclaimer:  Things in my household are a bit tense right now.  Some unmentionables have gone down so roommate and I decided we needed the demon alcohol to forget our troubles.  I invented Wine Night last weekend and used my powers to convince boys to drink with me.  That's right, I got beer loving college boys to sip chardonnay with me.  Here's the great thing- they love it.  They are the ones who ask me if we can have Wine Night every weekend.  Anyways, what I'm getting at is that Wine Night last night completely destroyed me.  I'm currently laying in bed running off of 5 hours of sleep and listening to The Postal Service while eating a burrito.  So, if I spell a couple words wrong or have run off sentences, just know that I'm not at my full goddess potential.  

     

Now normally I'm the one who turns someone's world upside down or throws off their game plan.  It usually ends up with me accidently leading someone on or me changing a person's entire outlook on life.  I was the girl in your english class that reminded the teacher of an assignment that was due.  I was also the same girl who's broken a couple hearts unintentionally. 

I mean after all, I am mutha-f*ckin' Pandora!  

You see, there's this boy that has got me stopped.  I'm talking like a-trained-slammed-into-me kind of stopped.  This boy is gorgeous.  This boy skateboards.  This boy has the most gorgeous Golden Retriever that I've ever seen that's called Maximus Prime!  Tell me how that's not the greatest??? 

I haven't crushed on a boy this hard since probably middle school.  It isn't helping my crush that I've been hanging out with him almost every other day.   

He makes me feel like my life has turned into a Taylor Swift song.  You know the drill- there's the cute guy who is your friend, but you always think there could be more there and you secretly hope that one day he sees that.  Apparently, I'm not the only one who's been smitten by this boy.  So has my roommate and a friend of ours.  (Okay, I love my roommate dearly, but I'm going to be vain for all of 5 seconds and say I'm the better match for him.  Alright, now I can return to my sunny humble self).       

Now here's the kicker- there's also a second boy.

Our introduction was just a tad bit unconventional because mainly, we don't remember it....

I'll leave it at that.

Now this boy, he's a total adorable goofball.  I'm a total sucker for boys who are quirky, cute, and god to honest sweet.  He has the genius slacker factor thing going for him.  He's insanely smart and rocked a higher GPA than me in high school yet, he's kicking it at the local JC.  He's just as much into music as me, although only like 40% of our musical taste overlap.  He always tells me his favorite Muse song reminds him of us.  All of our mutual friends give us grief for what happened the night we met, but we've moved and have become really close friends.  I've always had a little crush on him since meeting him, but lately it's grown.    

So what's the issue, Pandora?

Well, these two boys are best friends.  Their level of friendship is the ultimate bromance.  They would go across the ends of the earth for each other.    

According to my twin (male Pandora), I can only have one.  I think he's right on this.  

I'm convinced that skater boy is completely out of my league and I'm content with just being his friend.  However, there could be a slight reason of why he always wants to hang out.

Now, with other boy, everyone loves the idea of us being together.  They're already planning our wedding and I guess you guys can come if you want.  We both take it in laughs, but I think secretly we both wonder if we really should try dating.  I mean, I feel like I can no longer justify making out with him while intoxicated if it happens more than once.  I also have the feeling that skater boy might know his best friend likes me and therefore he's not trying anything with me out of respect because he really is that good of a guy.  

So the gods have flipped the tables on me.  I asked for a boy and now I've got two.  I don't want to pick just one right now.  There is a possibility of me leaning towards one, but we'll see if I take that extra step.  What I have learned is that apparently Pandora's world can be rocked.