by Perez, Nina
Yesterday morning, around 10am, I found myself sitting at the kitchen table with Kali, waiting for her hot chocolate to cool down enough so that she could sip it without burning off a taste bud or twelve, and then I planned on taking her to school. You may be wondering what she was doing home at ten in the morning on a Wednesday, but the better question would be, "Why did she stay home the day before when all the other kids in our county returned to school?"
Simple: Her mother, that would be me, assumed that she returned to school next week. Why? Because that's when her mother, again me, is returning to school and in true Nina form, she believed that everything (in the world, universe, galaxy) revolved around her - her being Nina, not Kali. By extension everything in her (Nina's, not Kali's) world revolved around Kali. With the exception, obviously, of her education as this story so blatantly proves. When asked lovingly - and with all the patience one musters for a mildly retarded child - by Donny, where she obtained the information that Kali returned to school on January 9th, and not the 2nd, I replied, "From myself." Donny sighed. The same sigh exhaled when said mildly retarded child poops and then plays in it.
I was already in a pretty lousy mood considering that the weekend before, Donny and I had a moment.
I can count on one hand the number of times we've actually fought, and most of those took place last year. I can count on the other hand the number of times I've actually seen him mad...because of me...that I know of. I'm sure there are dozens of times that I inspired some unseen, festering beneath the surface, "white boy crazy" rage.
Those of you who are married know exactly what a moment is. In fact, you don't have to be married to experience this. Just live with someone. This can be a significant other or roommate. Inevitably, you will experience a moment with this person. A moment is when, for no apparent reason, the two of you decide you want absolutely nothing to do with one another.
Ours started on New Year’s Eve night. We went to my Dad's house and around 1am I decided I wanted to go home. Donny was fine with this but informed me that should we go, I would have to drive as he had too much to drink. I commented that was odd since I'd only seen him have one beer - a honey lager if memory serves.
Anyway, the drive home was really quiet, the trip to bed even quieter, and the next morning (yesterday) was downright icy. I woke up at eleven and went downstairs to find coffee brewing and Donny outside dumping garbage.
Oh, okay, it's going to be one of those moments. You know, where you each try to outdo the other in an effort to make each look like a lazy bastard. Not much work required on Donny's part, I should add. I grab a cup of coffee and head upstairs. As I hit the second floor I can hear the washer and dryer going. Oh, he's gooood.
I get in bed with my coffee and book, and wait to hear the washer stop so I can switch out the laundry. Unfortunately, I got so engrossed in my book that I missed it and moments later Donny comes in the room carrying clean clothes.
"What are you doing?"
"Laundry."
"I was going to do that. You don't have to."
He takes one look me, still in PJs, gripping a coffee mug in one hand, novel in the other, with the comforter up to my chin, looking every bit the opposite of someone ready for housework.
"Don't worry about it," he says dryly.
Bastard.
He takes a basket of clean clothes downstairs to fold. This is normal during a moment. We have a big house, and during a moment, we try to stay on opposite ends of it. In fact, if I were truly playing by the rules, my ass would be huddled in the master bedroom's closet with my book as that's about as far away from the family room as one could get without actually leaving the house.
Since there wasn't much housework to be done yesterday, we used the only tool available to us to prove "I'm the better spouse." Kali. Anything that poor child needed yesterday, Donny and I damn near broke our necks to be the one to get it.
"Can someone pour me some soda?"
That would usually be met with, "Go ask your mother/father." Not yesterday. We were practically tackling each other to get to the Cherry Coke first. Unfortunately for Kali, she never caught on to what was happening or she'd have been asking for a lot more, and getting it, more's the pity.
Anyway, at one point in the afternoon I was back in bed, watching The Unit without Donny, which is another moment tactic. You watch a show you would normally watch together off the TiVo, leaving the other to wonder if you're actually going to be bitch enough to delete it when you're done. (I wasn't.)
Donny comes into the bedroom, sits on the edge of the bed, and starts to put on a pair of socks.
"I'm going to the store. Do you need anything?"
Now, don't go "awwwwing" and taking his side. He had an ulterior motive and you're about to read about it.
"No. What are you going to the store for?"
"Ingredients."
"For what?"
"Dinner."
Son of a bitch.
A few hours pass, Donny's making his world famous chili and watching college football, I'm still upstairs, and Kali's in the study on the first floor playing an I Spy computer game we got her for Christmas. She comes upstairs and asks, "Can you come downstairs and help me find something in my game?"
She had me at "can you." Moments later I'm at the computer trying desperately to find a whale's tail in an underwater scene. I tried everything I could think of. I squinted, I turned my head left, right, upside down, I sat close the screen (which only gave me a headache) and I sat far from the screen, I even found Waldo, but I could not find the damn whale's tail.
"I'll go ask Daddy."
"No!" I said, a little too quickly and loudly.
I was determined to find the whale's tail all alone without any help from his attitude having, laundry folding, chili making ass. At some point I was so into finding the tail, I didn't notice that Kali had left the room and returned with Donny. Traitor.
So, now we're both sitting at the computer trying to find the whale's tail. The tension is thick. I was sweating and I'm pretty sure Donny was drooling. We were determined to be the parent to find the whale's tail first.
Wanna know the kicker? I could not, for the life of me, remember what a whale's tail looked like! And I refused to ask! Was it rounded, spiked, curled, or forked? I tried to conjureup images of Shamu and Willy. Nothing.
Finally, from Donny, "Oh. There it is."
He clicks at a place on the screen, near the top, amongst the blue sky and clouds, and I'll be damned if a part of the blue sky wasn't actually a tiny whale. As he clicked, the whale shook his little whale tail, mocking me no doubt, and disappeared behind a cloud.
Son of a bitch.
Hookers Fascinate Me
January 6, 2007
Hookers amaze me. They really do. First of all, I know there are different kinds of hookers. There are the high-priced call girls, the streetwalker who hits the stroll to feed addictions and/or children, the pseudo strippers giving hand jobs for an extra fiver (Well, hopefully more than that), and massage ladies who deliver happy endings.
If you want to get all deep with it, some say married women and women in relationships are hookers as well. That's if you just go by the definition of "trading sexual favors for goods or services" and omit the "with strange men" part. Although, some ladies may argue that their men are pretty strange, but that's for another blog.
Did I engage in a little prostitution last year when, while on my lunch break, some girlfriends and I hit up Macy's and I spent $275 on a purse, two pairs of shoes, and some MAC cosmetics, stashed the stuff in the trunk of the car until I could make love to my husband before showing him my purchases? Po-TAY-toes, Po-TA-toes.
Anyway, for all intents and purposes of this blog we will be discussing the traditional prostitute: sex for money with strangers. In particular, I'm talking about the high-priced call girls like the two arrested here in Atlanta on Wednesday.
The head hooker, madam, H.H.I.C., whatever you want to call her, is a
former Playboy Playmate (and I think porn star) who ran the business from her very nice home in the Sugarloaf Country Club subdivision. Now, this is very near where I live and I can tell you that these houses are fabulous. Michael Vick (Atlanta Falcons QB) lives in there - just to give you an idea of the kind of money and houses we're talking about.
So, the first news reports were that two women were arrested for operating a prostitution ring out of a house. There was no shot of the house, just their two mug shots. No matter how hot you look before the picture is taken, everyone looks busted in their mug shots. It's just physics.
By Thursday it was all over the news, all the sordid details of their business: the location of the house complete with an aerial shot of the sprawling estate, the fact that the madam was a former Playmate ("North America's Most Published Centerfold and one of Penthouse Magazine's Most Published Pets"), and the website listing their fees.
Ready for the fees?
The smallest package was $500. The largest was $15,000. They would entertain at the house sometimes, but most times the clients would be entertained in high-end hotels all around Atlanta, and sometimes the clients would pay to fly the girls to different cities.
Wanna know what you get for $500?
Oral sex.
For one hour.
Now, oral is great, but an hour is a really long time. And five hundred dollars?! What the hell are these girls putting in these blowjobs? Crack? Diamonds?
The women were released on bail yesterday, and now there's talk of their customer and financial records seeing the light of day. Now, I'm going to go out there and ready myself for ridicule when I say this: I don't know why this is illegal. I think they should be left alone. They're consenting adults and these men can obviously afford it. Who are they hurting? And that's not rhetorical. I really want to know. Maybe you guys know something I don't. Maybe I'm not thinking about this deep enough.
Now, could I do this personally? No. Strange penis makes me queasy and I have this pesky little habit of loving the men I sleep with or falling in love with the men I sleep with -whichever comes first. But, for these women, I think it is fine. Let 'em do what they want to do.
They interviewed some of the hoity-toity residents of the subdivision, and they were all shocked, amazed, and had no idea what was going on in the house. Although, it was reported that some of what started this investigation was complaints from neighbors of heavy traffic to the house and loud parties. You would think hookers would be a bit more discreet ... unless some of the neighbors were getting their freak on, too!
That's right. It's been reported that the client list of this house o' hookers includes some of the rich and respected residents of Atlanta, including those in the subdivision. For some reason Donny is downright giddy with the idea that Michael Vick might be on the list.
Note: Of course, we’d later come to find out that Michael Vick had other worries.
More arrests were promised in the coming weeks. More girls and clients. I'm willing to bet that we will see plenty of girls doing the perp walk in front of news cameras in the weeks to come, and every time they have a court date you can be sure news cameras will be there, but I seriously doubt we'll see any of their clients taking the walk of shame... and that's a shame.
iPod Resuscitation
January 8, 2007
I have issues with charging things. Just ask my friends. My cell phone has been uncharged since December 13th or thereabouts. My house phones are never on their chargers so when I'm in the middle of a very good conversation they start beeping. It's to the point now where they won't even do that. Mid-sentence a voice interrupts my conversation, "Time's up, bitch!"
Last night, I had a panic attack. I went to connect my iPod to the computer after many, many, many days of inactivity. I opened up iTunes and noticed it wasn't acknowledging my iPod. I pick it up, look at the screen and it's black. No, wait. There's the little apple symbol. What's that doing there? Wait. It's gone again. As so for a few minutes I'm watching this apple flicker off and on. I'm crying and calling for Donny.
"Dooooonny! My iPod's broken!"
Actually, I might have said it the ghetto way, "broke," which I realize now means my iPod was low on funds, but he seemed to understand what I meant.
"Don't tell me that."
So, he starts doing what all husbands do to fix a situation: every fucking thing I already tried before he got there!
"I tried that already," I sob.
"Well, let me try it."
Men.
Finally, I notice that the little apple is staying on the screen for longer periods of time. It was my little iPod's heartbeat! Come on, iPod! You can do it! We wait another minute or so and the apple is replaced with the familiar white screen that says, "Do not disconnect," and has the prohibited symbol. The little battery up top is completely empty but after a few more flickers, the little red bar starts to rise inside of it.
"Oh thank you, Jesus! It was just really low on juice. She's coming back!"
Donny shoots me a disgusted look. I ignore it, too happy that my iPod is finally breathing on its own.
"For one second there, I thought I would have to slit a hole in her neck and stick a straw down there. What? That's what they do on ER."
Panic Attack
January 9, 2007
I usually freak out in the middle, or at the end, of a semester. "I'm going to fail!" Never at the beginning. Until this weekend. Two of my classes are online courses and the other two are on campus.
I logged in to the school's online portal yesterday to see if the online courses had been loaded. Holy crap! What the hell was I thinking? I took one online course my first semester, General Intro to Psychology or Psych 101, and it was horrible. Much more work than I expected. Well, academic woes are right up there with pregnancy pains. You obviously forget how bad they are, because in time you'll find yourself doing the shit again.
This semester’s American Literature class? Oh, sweet heaven. It's like literature from the beginning of time. Ok, I'm exaggerating. But it's from, like, a REALLY long time ago. The first assignment? A Model of Christian Charity by John Winthrop.
God Almighty in His most holy and wise providence, hath so disposed of the condition of mankind, as in all times some must be rich, some poor, some high and eminent in power and dignity; others mean and in subjection.
Oh my fuck. I don't even know what that means! I don't go to church! I tossed Norton Anthology's of American Literature to 1820, and 1820-1865, under the computer desk. I don't want to look at those books again. They're evil.
Oh, and my American Government class? On the calendar for today he says, "Welcome to the first day of class. You should read chapters 1-3, 6, and 12. Also, read lectures 1 and 2."
Dude, I don't even have the book yet!
And his syllabus! 360 and higher is an A. Use the sheet below to mark your points as you take quizzes and exams. I will not do your math for you. Do not come to me asking how you're doing in the class. Deadlines are not to be missed. Deadline. You cross the line, you're dead. Simple.
I'm not even making that up. I’m so screwed.
Nina Does Goodwill
January 13, 2007
I was born without that gene that most women seem to have - the one that makes it so they love shopping and can do it for hours at a time. Well, I'm going to go one step further and say that there's some metaphysical, biological phenomenon that makes it impossible for me to catch a deal. Every other woman I know says shit like this:
EOWIK: “They were 75% off the original price, then marked down another five bucks, and I had a coupon, plus the 30th customer of the day got an extra $20 off their purchase and that was me! So, I got these Prada shoes for four dollars! Can you believe it?!”
Nina (with hate in my eyes and a fake smile): “How nice … for you.”
I've been hearing great things about Goodwill for awhile now. I have bags and boxes of stuff that I want to donate, but I never get around to sorting thro
ugh them and dropping them off. In the past week alone I’ve had three friends gush about the great treasures they found at the Goodwill, so I took it as a sign that maybe today was the day I should check it out.
Right before I left the house, I was talking to my friend, Bertha, and she issued a warning.
“I'm headed to the Goodwill.”
“Be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
She proceeds to tell me how people can bring home all kinds of shit from Goodwill stuff: roaches, mothballs, cooties, elves, AIDS. I almost didn't go.
As I was on the way there, I called my Dad for directions because I was a bit unsure of where I was going. He wasn't there, but when I told my sister where I was headed, she kinda paused. No doubt thinking, "What have you done with my sister?"
My mother has been calling me a snob for years and the moment I entered the Goodwill I finally knew why.
I walk in wearing low rise jeans, high heeled boots, a black pea coat, designer bag and with my digital camera swinging from my wrist. I walk right past the shopping carts and stop dead in my tracks. There was furniture. Actual furniture. Like sofas, bookcases, end tables… you know, furniture. I actually turned around and looked at the entrance thinking that I’d mistakenly entered the wrong store.
Then the smell hit me. Does every Goodwill smell like old people house? I almost left, but I was determined to find a bargain.I wanted to be one of those women who find a miraculous deal. I went to the back of the store, straight past the clothes, and spent ten minutes looking at lamps. Then I looked at some framed paintings. I saw one that would be perfect for the baby's room. Then I remembered that my dumb ass doesn't have a baby, and that it would probably be years before I did, but damn, it was only two dollars!
The most interesting things I found were a cassette copy of the first LP I ever bought. Jack Wagner’s (Frisco from General Hospital) All I Need. "All I neeeeed... is just a little more time... to be sure ... what I feeeeel." And I found an Amazing Shrinky Dink maker! I almost bought it, but I couldn't remember what a Shrinky Dink was. And I figured you couldn't find the necessary ingredients anywhere on Earth.