Thursday, January 27, 2011

Fun Theory

"I really didn't like the 2010 Nannette. I'm getting rid of her in 2011!" I expressed this sentiment to a close friend, my boyfriend, and my sister. I was referring to my bad behaviors. Behaviors like procrastinating, severe temper tantrums, making impulsive decisions, and spending frivolously, to name a few. Forget resolutions, I needed to change my bad behaviors.

My lovely friend, Mallu, is always so considerate of those who opted out of Facebook and sent these videos from Fun Theory to me.  I would never have known they existed had she not sent them and I was inspired! Now if I can only make my own behavioral changes fun...


Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Coming of Age

Nothing screams "OLD LADY" louder than these foul-smelling white patches popularly known as "Salonpas". For those who are fortunately ignorant to what Salonpas are please visit their web-site. To my fellow Filipino cohorts or family, I don't have to explain that the sight and smell of Salonpas conjures up images of our Lolas and Lolos mummifying themselves in these patches to alleviate their aches, pains, and arthritis symptoms.

Last year,  after countless doctors visits, x-rays, ultrasounds, MRIs, and physical therapy I discovered that my neck and spine are degenerating. I was advised to take it easy, don't push myself like a teenager, blah blah blippity blah. I was given pamphlets on how NOT to sleep, specifically, on my stomach. Since my goal is to continue running well into the golden age of 80, I've been extremely careful in treating my precious temple like a fragile piece of Renaissance art and have succeeded until now. I woke up Sunday night from a deep sleep...ON MY STOMACH! It is Wednesday and I am paying the price for my faux pas.

Out of my arsenal of pain management treatments, Salonpas does the job the best. (Please note: this is not a shameless plug for Salonpas; rather, it is my vent of the day so bear with me.) I told my doctor narcotic medications were out of the question, Ben-Gay was too greasy, muscle-relaxers knocked me out for days, and Icy Hot was useless. However, my vanity and stubborn pride compels me to procrastinate (oops, failed resolution #1) from using Salonpas until I am dizzy with pain. Sitting at my desk I could feel the muscle spasms on my neck and back like phantom labor pains. So I dragged my feet into our office bathroom to plaster myself with Salonpas.

Mistake #1: Never attempt to stick Salonpas on any part of your body in a very small bathroom. Thankfully, my contortions and slipping on the toilet and sink (don't ask) didn't alert my co-workers.

Mistake#2: Never attempt to stick Salonpas on your back because you will need more than one patch AND more than a pair of hands.

Mistake #3: Never attempt to stick Salonpas on your neck without putting long hair up first, removing your shirt, necklace, bra, and office badge lanyard. Butt naked is preferable when sticking oneself with these dratted patches. (I should know better.)

Mistake #4: Never attempt to stick Salonpas on AFTER you've doused yourself with perfume. Acqua di Gioia does not cancel out the aroma of menthol. In fact, it is a complete weakling to the overpowering bully, Salonpas that the strong odor would bust an olfactometer.

Mistake #5: Never attempt to stick Salonpas on your back in a confined, fluorescent-lit bathroom that will cause you to slip (addendum to mistake #3, remove high heels), plastering your face against the mirror, and magnifying the crevices and wrinkles under your eyes, thus furthering the depressing reality of aging.

After my botched attempts at sticking Salonpas on my person, I nonchalantly sauntered out of the bathroom hoping the cloying smell taking my nostrils hostage didn't permeate the office.

So I wear my badges of maturity without pride, unseen by my co-workers, hoping I will not pass out from the strong odoriferous scent of Salonpas. If that happens and someone breaks out the smelling salts, just put this granny out of her misery. Please.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

A Grandma's legacy

I borrowed this idea from Kelle Hampton when I read her blog last week. Okay, I didn't "borrow" it. I straight up ganked her idea. If you don't know Kelle Hampton and haven't read her story please visit her blog: Enjoying The Small Things. To describe her as an amazing woman would be an injustice. She's the kind of woman I can only dream of being: a wonderful mom, a bad a$$ photographer, immensely creative, and radiantly beautiful inside and out. I haven't personally met her but my admiration for her is palpable. I thank my friend Lina for forwarding her blog to me last year.

Kelle posted a photo book she made for her youngest daughter's first birthday on one of her blog entries. When I saw the beautiful photo book she made for her daughter Nella, I was slammed with the memory of the scrapbook I bought for my granddaughter BEFORE she was born. I could see it in my mind, sitting forlornly on my book shelf, wearing a light jacket woven together with three years' of dust. Gross.

Knowing my limitations and time constraints I decided to chuck the scrapbook idea and created a Shutterfly photo book for Rylee's birthday. I sorted through my Rylee archive from 2008-2010 and laughed at the evolution of my photography. I resurrected my dream of becoming a professional photographer the year I discovered I was going to be a grandma. Thus, the evolution of my photography will always be paralleled to Rylee's growth. My photo book for her isn't as creative or stunning as Kelle's since I only had 2 days to bust a move. I doubt Rylee would mind and hope she knows that her grandma's love is splattered on every page.

And so continues my legacy...

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Brat Be Gone!

My hormones were jockeying for position on the last day of 2010 awakening the inner brat in me. I felt the chemical imbalance slowly toppling my self-control like wooden Jenga pieces crashing chaotically to the floor. My inner brat was sullen and sulky, stomping her feet with arms crossed in defiance. I didn't want to stay home on New Year's Eve. I wanted to be out on the streets of Los Angeles on the intersection of Hollywood and Vine dancing to the music played by the bands and DJs heralding the new year. (I didn't say my inner brat was wise, mature, and rational.) I knew my vitriolic tirade on how I longed to celebrate New Year's eve outdoors (the way I used to) wasn't received warmly by Ray; yet I didn't stop the trajectory of venomous words spewing from my inner brat's mouth. Ray wasn't barricading me from New Year's eve revelries, in fact, he gave me the choice to do exactly what I wanted. 

Although my inner brat took center stage, the rational part of me knew I couldn't leave Ray alone on New Year's eve. Surprisingly, my heart isn't blackened and charred as an over-barbecued beef rib as I had believed. How could I party in L.A. when my boyfriend chose to stay at home with his terminally ill mom, taking full advantage of the time he knows is fleeting? The fact that Ray didn't wring my neck in frustration unraveled my brain. With controlled patience he told me, "You can do what you want but what are your priorities? I've been a DJ for over twenty years and I know what's out there. I don't know how much time I have left with my mom." Okay ouch. I wish I could say that a beam of light parted the heavens, targeted my inner brat who exploded into millions of cosmic particles, never to be seen again until the next millennium. Instead, I called time out on her...until eternity. I chose to do the right thing and stayed home with Ray and his mom, grateful for our time together.

As an added bonus for my wise choice I became the default babysitter for my granddaughter Rylee whose birthday falls on January 1. (You can read her birthday blog here.) It was up to Gramma Nette to carry on the tradition from last year-allowing her to stay up 'til midnight synchronizing the advent of her birthday with the birth of the new year. Just before midnight we uncovered her birthday cupcake and presented it to Rylee. I couldn't discern which was sweeter--the delight frosting her face or the icing on the cupcake.

Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve was on the television and Rylee stopped to sing along with Train. "Hey Soul Sister aint that mister mister..." She upstaged me by singing the words while I pretended to know them. 

With undisguised envy I watched Rylee forgo the social etiquette we instilled in her young life as she tried to fit the entire cupcake in her mouth. 
As 2010 waned, making room for new promises and in my case, new lessons, I realized Ray was...was...r...ri...right. New Year's eve didn't have to be filled with mindless revelry and dancing on the streets. It was the moment when my two big cupcake heads battled for the sweet prize that I wished I had the power to suspend time for one full minute. Sixty seconds purloined from Father Time that I could savor and hoard in the deep bowels of my memory. 
When 2011 announced its arrival my heart was awash in gratitude for the just turned three-year-old granddaughter reclining on my lap and the man who loves me with infinite patience and tolerance. This face, a face of purity, naivete,  and uninhibited candor, will serve as a blatant reminder that Gramma Nette needs to shut down her inner brat. For good!