Stalkin: I iz doin it

I pass slowly along the extreme side of the road staring hungrily at the house. Then I loop around the block and do it again. Some days I repeat this as many as four times. Sometimes to be discreet, I’ll split it up into two separate visits.

No, not Dave Chappelle’s house--him I’ve gotten used to seeing outside the coffee shop all day and all evening as he hangs with the other townies like a charming porrukki.

It’s the house itself I’m stalking. It won’t be ours until Aug 1. And clearly, I have trouble waiting.

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Bang-Bangalore

I didn't realize that there had been multiple blasts in Bangalore today, until i retrieved a text (nine hours after it was originally sent) that read: Akka, all family in Bangalore are safe and fine."

I started fussing with google searching the news rightaway. Li'l A thought it was just a quaint way of saying "hi." Innocence must be bliss.

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(After)Life

Big A and I, we’re mean parents. We tease the kid (you figured that one out from the last post). But wait, it gets worse. We tease the baby.

Sudden loud noises freak Baby A out. Cute. Funny, actually. She’ll look startled, then the corners of her mouth dip down into a perfect curve, then her lower lip starts wobbling, and then she’ll cry. At this point, we’ll usually scoop her up into our arms and make her smile again, but that lower-lip-downcurl is precious. And rare, since our girl is a usually a tough cookie.

Here’s the really bad thing. Sometimes we yell something: “OMG!” or “The New Yorker!” just to startle her. (And see that lower lip do that thing). We do this sparingly. So far may be a couple of times. (OK, like 16 times).

The number of times I’ve single-handedly instigated Big A into startling the baby is roughly half. But I know I’m the one going to hell for this. Big A won’t because he saves lives and all and God will be all: Aw, he’s such a good person despite everything; heaven. But me with my books-food-fabric-music-artifact-pleasure loving, self-centered life? H-E-double the toothpicks.

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The Patriarchy

The most embarrassing part of this post is going to be admitting that I have Air on my ipod. You know “Alpha Beta Gaga?” That Air. Most of it is inarticulate, furrin croonin,’ and I had it out on the sound dock the other day. And then "Sexy Boy" comes on. Li’l A needs another chat with me about what “sexy” means. Mostly I think because it’s an excuse to say the word ;). So I do some explaining.

And then he’s all: Promise me one thing. Promise me JUST one thing!
I have no idea what’s happening. Not a clue. But his big eyes are full of earnest intensity, so I promise.
Promise me you’ll never call anyone but dad sexy boy. Promise me.

I laughed until my stomach cramped. And then I laughed about it some more when Big A got home. And the next day, in the car, my hands free because Big A was driving, I pointed out anyone remotely attractive to Li’l A: Sexy Boy, Sexy Boy, Sexy Boy, Sexy Boy.

It’s not like it’s a bad thing.

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No kidding

Guitar Hero has a lot to answer for. It’s pretty sweet when there is an interview with Rivers Cuomo on the radio and Li’l A tells me earnestly (because I didn’t just recently live through the nineties or anything) that Weezer is a band.

And oh, that avatar? Slash? He’s a real person.

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Neighbor

I don’t know Eliza. Haven’t even met her, actually; but already, I love her.

She’s Big A’s mom’s friend’s granddaughter (who was adopted from China). She and Li’l A might be classmates in the new school year so Big A’s mom was telling her about Li’l A and that I (his mom) came from India.

Eliza reportedly got all excited: “From India? Really? Did you know... Did you know that I’m from China?”

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I have an Obama dream

I woke up when Big A leaned over me to say Good Morning to the baby (who, btw, who stares at me every morning silently, with cannibal-level passion.)

I had a dream about Obama, says I.

Big A pounces: was it a sex dream?

Kind of--I didn’t have sex with him, but my friend T was trying to get him to have sex with her younger sister N. Oh, and also, we were all at the big seaside hotel and no one seemed to recognize him as the presidential candidate at all, except for politically savvy me. What I really liked was that he had two balconies: reportedly one reserved for looking at the sea and the other one for drying his towels--very bright man that. Vote!

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