Saturday, October 31, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Under construction!
Okay, now before you give up on me, let me explain that my awesome new site is under construction. So if you faithfully followed me to www.mylefthook.com, only to find that site dissipate late last night, please, please stick with me. Issues should be resolved within a day, if not within hours. I promise! I haven't gone away! Really! I even have three (THREE!) blogs in reserve for immediate publication.
peace. tricia
peace. tricia
Friday, October 23, 2009
tricia booker's my left hook: looking for me? hmmm?
Click here to access the new and improved My Left Hook available now.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Still here?
Have you found my new house yet? I'm at www.mylefthook.com. If you're having trouble finding/viewing my new site, please email me at triciabookerwrites@gmail.com. Hope to see you soon.
tricia
tricia
Monday, October 12, 2009
I'm moving!
Thank God I don't need boxes for this move.
I tired of saying the word "blogspot," so I've changed my website address. Hope you'll stop by for a chat.
Come see me at: http://mylefthook.com/
I tired of saying the word "blogspot," so I've changed my website address. Hope you'll stop by for a chat.
Come see me at: http://mylefthook.com/
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
American Girl - It's cool to be homeless!
I have tried to get the Diva interested in American Girl dolls, but have met with little success, primarily because of her loyalty to a funky little doll we affectionately call Baby-Missing-A-Chromosone.
The baby, whose actual name is Cordurory (yes, that’s spelled correctly), was given to her by her Papa six years ago when she was 2, and has been everywhere with us since then. Cordurory has been to Latin America. She has been tye-died purple. She has been left at school for a long sleepless weekend, flung against the wall, and had both her arms sewn back on by kindly Aunt Kay.
One of the Diva’s little friends once begged her mother for a Cordurory doll. “But you have lots of dolls,” the mother said.
The girl said she wanted one like the Diva’s, “all dirty and messy with sticky-up hair.”
Cordurory has a beanbag body and hard plastic arms and legs. She has a cute pink pursed-up cupid mouth, and a nose that looks slightly smashed in. She’s meant to look Asian, but her tiny black eyes appear almost too symmetrical, skinny almond slits a little too close together.
But it’s the hair that really gets you. It’s a thick black mop that sticks straight up and out. It has been washed many times - with Tide, hand soap, dish soap, toothpaste, and Pantene 2-in-1 shampoo. Still, it looks as though it could use a good conditioner.
In the six years that the Diva has been mother to Cordurory, she has received the following American Girl dolls: a Bitty Baby she named Timmy; the historical character with long blonde hair named Elizabeth; and the Bitty Baby twins, a boy and girl whose names have changed a hundred times. All of those dolls currently rest at the bottom of the stuffed animal bin. Naked. Because all of their clothes have gone to Cordurory. Elizabeth even came with a gorgeous real wood canopy bed with satiny blue bed linens. Guess who sleeps there?
Now, I’ve always liked the American Girl doll concept. Give a kid a doll with some sort of historical context, make her read the story, she learns some history and gets a toy to boot.
Addy, for example, has just escaped slavery. Kit and Ruthie are living through the Great Depression. Elizabeth lives during the Revolutionary War period.
And now there’s Gwen. She’s homeless.
That’s right. You can pay $95 plus shipping and handling to acquire Gwen, the homeless American Girl doll.
At least the money goes to a good cause, right? To support programs for homeless children or something? Uh, not so much.
This concept apparently eludes many loyal American Girl customers who have flocked to the company’s defense regarding GwenGate by writing glowing reviews on the website. One woman wrote: Her dress is lovely and so well made. I love the embroidery. Her sandals are so cute and look just like all the little girls wear nowadays. We love the headband as a belt or as a headband.
Seriously? The homeless girl’s dress is embroidered and lovely? It’s white, by the way. It must be vinyl so her mother can hose it down after sleeping on the park bench.
Not everyone is thrilled. Another woman wrote that she wished there were more accessories and outfits for Gwen. But there can’t be! Because she’s homeless! Get it? BWAAA-HAAA-HAAA!
My favorite comment, though, was this: "I bought this doll and was disappointed in her bangs, they are awful short and you can't do anything with them." I’ve never understood why they can’t get good hairdressers at homeless shelters.
So now I’m glad that the Diva has steered away from American Girl dolls, and happily writes long exhausting stories about the adventures of Cordurory, who certainly looks like she’s homeless but in fact lives in a hand-carved canopy bed and despite appearances is very, very clean.
And I hope American Girl rethinks this little Gwen girl. At the very least, make her a bit more realistic. I’m sure those trendy pink flip flop sandals look fabulous. But they're not very practical for the streets. She should probably sell them, actually, and get herself a few accessories. That way she'll really fit in.
The baby, whose actual name is Cordurory (yes, that’s spelled correctly), was given to her by her Papa six years ago when she was 2, and has been everywhere with us since then. Cordurory has been to Latin America. She has been tye-died purple. She has been left at school for a long sleepless weekend, flung against the wall, and had both her arms sewn back on by kindly Aunt Kay.
One of the Diva’s little friends once begged her mother for a Cordurory doll. “But you have lots of dolls,” the mother said.
The girl said she wanted one like the Diva’s, “all dirty and messy with sticky-up hair.”
Cordurory has a beanbag body and hard plastic arms and legs. She has a cute pink pursed-up cupid mouth, and a nose that looks slightly smashed in. She’s meant to look Asian, but her tiny black eyes appear almost too symmetrical, skinny almond slits a little too close together.
But it’s the hair that really gets you. It’s a thick black mop that sticks straight up and out. It has been washed many times - with Tide, hand soap, dish soap, toothpaste, and Pantene 2-in-1 shampoo. Still, it looks as though it could use a good conditioner.
In the six years that the Diva has been mother to Cordurory, she has received the following American Girl dolls: a Bitty Baby she named Timmy; the historical character with long blonde hair named Elizabeth; and the Bitty Baby twins, a boy and girl whose names have changed a hundred times. All of those dolls currently rest at the bottom of the stuffed animal bin. Naked. Because all of their clothes have gone to Cordurory. Elizabeth even came with a gorgeous real wood canopy bed with satiny blue bed linens. Guess who sleeps there?
Now, I’ve always liked the American Girl doll concept. Give a kid a doll with some sort of historical context, make her read the story, she learns some history and gets a toy to boot.
Addy, for example, has just escaped slavery. Kit and Ruthie are living through the Great Depression. Elizabeth lives during the Revolutionary War period.
And now there’s Gwen. She’s homeless.
That’s right. You can pay $95 plus shipping and handling to acquire Gwen, the homeless American Girl doll.
At least the money goes to a good cause, right? To support programs for homeless children or something? Uh, not so much.
This concept apparently eludes many loyal American Girl customers who have flocked to the company’s defense regarding GwenGate by writing glowing reviews on the website. One woman wrote: Her dress is lovely and so well made. I love the embroidery. Her sandals are so cute and look just like all the little girls wear nowadays. We love the headband as a belt or as a headband.
Seriously? The homeless girl’s dress is embroidered and lovely? It’s white, by the way. It must be vinyl so her mother can hose it down after sleeping on the park bench.
Not everyone is thrilled. Another woman wrote that she wished there were more accessories and outfits for Gwen. But there can’t be! Because she’s homeless! Get it? BWAAA-HAAA-HAAA!
My favorite comment, though, was this: "I bought this doll and was disappointed in her bangs, they are awful short and you can't do anything with them." I’ve never understood why they can’t get good hairdressers at homeless shelters.
So now I’m glad that the Diva has steered away from American Girl dolls, and happily writes long exhausting stories about the adventures of Cordurory, who certainly looks like she’s homeless but in fact lives in a hand-carved canopy bed and despite appearances is very, very clean.
And I hope American Girl rethinks this little Gwen girl. At the very least, make her a bit more realistic. I’m sure those trendy pink flip flop sandals look fabulous. But they're not very practical for the streets. She should probably sell them, actually, and get herself a few accessories. That way she'll really fit in.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
He's gay. Or weird. Or weirdly gay. Whatever.
The Pterodactyl wants me to buy him a purse. Obviously he’s gay. Which would explain his fascination with the hair dryer, his weird attachment to anything fuzzy, and his tendency to sing along to Taylor Swift songs. He’s almost five years old and he loves rainbows. Can there possibly be a gayer sign?
No, I’m kidding. He’s totally not gay. He is obsessed with trains, airplanes and volcanoes. He seems to love boobs. Two little girls in his class have crushes on him. He loves to smash his tricycle into things. He pees standing up. He’s as manly as a boy can get.
But....then again, he did ask me some questions about ballet the other day. He likes to put his stuffed animals in the baby stroller and push them around. He loves baking cookies. Now that I think about it, he really likes to smell flowers and take bubble baths and occasionally try on my dress shoes. He’s kind of a crybaby. I better call PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) tomorrow.
Actually, though, he doesn’t like the color pink. So he can’t be gay.
Okay, you want the truth? The truth is that I don’t care whether my son is gay, or whether any of my children are gay. I particularly don’t care to speculate about my kids’ sexuality when they still believe in Santa Claus and think life’s climaxes are related to fruit roll-ups and the dollar bin at Target.
I’m surprised that not everyone feels that way.
Recently the Diva convinced the babysitter that she was allowed to watch You Tube, and she dug up a Black-Eyed Peas video in which Fergie wears a thong. Now, in all honesty, I find it unlikely that any living breathing thing on earth could watch that video and not feel some sort of twinge of something or other at the sight of Fergie wearing a thong. It really is something to see. So the Pterodactyl exhibited a predictable reaction: he stared and said, “I like her.”
I thought the story was funny and have told it to people. You know what a lot of them have said? “At least you don’t have to worry that he’s gay.”
This statement leaves me a little bit speechless, as I’m unsure whether to say: a. I don’t worry that he’s gay b. this one small incident does not mean he’s not gay c. I was slightly aroused. Am I gay? or d. HE IS NOT GAY!! HE LIKES THOMAS THE TANK ENGINE, FOR GOD’S SAKE!!
If he is gay, the biggest bummer will be that he probably will have to move to another state if he wants to get married. I don’t really care who he marries, as long as the person treats him with love and respect and is not a Republican. But I certainly would rather he settle someplace nearby so that when I’m old I can conveniently interfere in his life.
Hot Firefighter Husband feels the same way about all this. His biggest fear, I think, is that his children will not share his pathological obsession with the Boston Red Sox, an ailment that unfortunately crosses gender preference lines.
I like the Red Sox okay, but frankly I’m a little more dedicated to the New Orleans Saints, and I’m trying to pass that on to the kids. For one thing, I’m a Big Easy native. But also, the Saints uniforms are black and gold, with a cutting edge style that will never go out of fashion. Gay people love that kind of thing, n’est-ce pas?
No, I’m kidding. He’s totally not gay. He is obsessed with trains, airplanes and volcanoes. He seems to love boobs. Two little girls in his class have crushes on him. He loves to smash his tricycle into things. He pees standing up. He’s as manly as a boy can get.
But....then again, he did ask me some questions about ballet the other day. He likes to put his stuffed animals in the baby stroller and push them around. He loves baking cookies. Now that I think about it, he really likes to smell flowers and take bubble baths and occasionally try on my dress shoes. He’s kind of a crybaby. I better call PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) tomorrow.
Actually, though, he doesn’t like the color pink. So he can’t be gay.
Okay, you want the truth? The truth is that I don’t care whether my son is gay, or whether any of my children are gay. I particularly don’t care to speculate about my kids’ sexuality when they still believe in Santa Claus and think life’s climaxes are related to fruit roll-ups and the dollar bin at Target.
I’m surprised that not everyone feels that way.
Recently the Diva convinced the babysitter that she was allowed to watch You Tube, and she dug up a Black-Eyed Peas video in which Fergie wears a thong. Now, in all honesty, I find it unlikely that any living breathing thing on earth could watch that video and not feel some sort of twinge of something or other at the sight of Fergie wearing a thong. It really is something to see. So the Pterodactyl exhibited a predictable reaction: he stared and said, “I like her.”
I thought the story was funny and have told it to people. You know what a lot of them have said? “At least you don’t have to worry that he’s gay.”
This statement leaves me a little bit speechless, as I’m unsure whether to say: a. I don’t worry that he’s gay b. this one small incident does not mean he’s not gay c. I was slightly aroused. Am I gay? or d. HE IS NOT GAY!! HE LIKES THOMAS THE TANK ENGINE, FOR GOD’S SAKE!!
If he is gay, the biggest bummer will be that he probably will have to move to another state if he wants to get married. I don’t really care who he marries, as long as the person treats him with love and respect and is not a Republican. But I certainly would rather he settle someplace nearby so that when I’m old I can conveniently interfere in his life.
Hot Firefighter Husband feels the same way about all this. His biggest fear, I think, is that his children will not share his pathological obsession with the Boston Red Sox, an ailment that unfortunately crosses gender preference lines.
I like the Red Sox okay, but frankly I’m a little more dedicated to the New Orleans Saints, and I’m trying to pass that on to the kids. For one thing, I’m a Big Easy native. But also, the Saints uniforms are black and gold, with a cutting edge style that will never go out of fashion. Gay people love that kind of thing, n’est-ce pas?
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