Desperate Housewife

Fridays are special. This is the day the girls have their ice skating lessons which they have been looking forward to all week. I also look forward to it because they go to these lessons with their very best friends, Sophia and Samantha, and for a whole hour I get to sit and drink coffee with one of their parents and have interaction with another human who isn't asking me to get them a snack or begging for Pokémon cards. Friday nights are also special because for two of these a month Sophia and Samantha's parents, our friends Lisé and Bruce, take all four girls back to their house while Rigel and I get the evening to ourselves. We just started this trading-off of babysitting duties a few weeks ago but so far it's working out great, since even when it's our turn to have all of them at our place Kira and Kiyomi are fully engrossed and occupied with their friends, saving Rigel and I from having to provide enriching activities for our children like the making of math flash cards or elaborate macramé projects which is what we've always meant to do but actually have never done.

This past Friday was our turn to venture out, and we decided to do something creative and cultural instead of staying home and drinking pre-mixed margaritas right out of the bottle while we watched TV, which is something else we've always meant to do but actually have never done. We decided to go see Sandra Tsing Loh's one-woman play, 'Mother On Fire' which, while being an excellent title for a play also seems to sum up my perpetual state of being.

The evening didn't get off to a great start, since I neglected to look up the address of the theater and instead of being in Santa Monica it was actually closer to downtown L.A. This resulted in a frenzied drive across town with me at the wheel of our van cursing frequently and making liberal use of my upturned, middle finger while Rigel, his knuckles white and the color drained from his face, kept repeating the mantra, "It's just a play. Don't let me die." We made it in time though, and the evening got better when a friendly lady at the door motioned to a counter and uttered the two words I most wanted to hear at that moment, "Complimentary wine."

The performance was amazing and funny and insightful and championed a cause close to my heart, public schools, and captured the whole stressed L.A.-school parent dilemma perfectly. By the end of the show Sandra Tsing Loh was my new role model, surpassing Oprah (but not Will Smith) on my list of people Most Worthy Of Stalking. She's smart! And witty! And pretty! Maybe even prettier than Will Smith, in a less-coiffed kind of way.

As we were walking through the small lobby bemoaning our dull and insignificant lives, Rigel motioned towards the door and whispered, "It's her." I remember squealing like a chimp, realizing that I was within speaking distance of Ms. Loh, and proceeded to knock over an elderly theater patron or two in order to gain an audience with my new idol. At this point Rigel made up some excuse like having to go to the bathroom or having to wash his car, which was obviously just so that he didn't have to stand there and watch his wife LOSE HER SHIT.

And oh, the shit I lost! How I fawned! And drooled! In between dropping to my knees to clean her toenails and brushing her hair with my fingers I managed to spew out gems like "I've read all of your books!" and "I am the PTA president!" It's all a blur, but I have the vague memory of offering her all the contents of my purse and perhaps suggesting our families vacation together - why, I have two girls, too! Yours like malls and hotel rooms? Why, so do mine! She was so gracious, and respectfully refrained from groaning when I asked her to sign my program. She chatted with us for a few minutes (Rigel re-emerged when I agreed to release her from my bear hug) until some other pushy, way-less-interesting-than-us groupies barged into our private party to talk about things with little artistic or cultural merit. Philistines!

I did manage to leave one, last pathetic impression on her though, by slipping her my blog-card. I'm sure it was a coincidence that after this transaction the theater doors immediately closed shut and a large bolt could be heard sliding into place while a cadre of security guards personally escorted Rigel and I back to our van. Sandra, if you're reading this, I was SO joking about the Loh Shrine I'm going to build out of our ticket stubs and the strands of your hair I ripped out. Really!

Archive File: This Life

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