Wait for me! I'm just little!

M – This is just a continuation from the last post, as I did not find a picture of Mango that would show how determinedly she moves. As mentioned before, when she is focused on something, it is hard to distract her (well, not too bad right now, as she is still less than a year old.) Hope this picture does her justice. After all, this is the Mango we see every day . We think she still has such a cute scowl though.

Hi tall person. Will you carry me?

M – No breaking news story here, I was just reading the ‘thejuma” blog and it reminded me we should probably get Mango’s eyesight tested. We know she has a really long reach, sticky fingers, and bat-like hearing, but have yet to find out about her vision. From the way she chases objects (toys) about, she has excellent depth perception. Also, she is distressing fast. After all, if I can barely keep up with her  when she is barreling across the floor in a squealing rush to get away from tickling fingers (just to be clear here, I am also crawling); imagine her speed when walking. I doubt she will be content to just amble along. She’ll be careening back and forth at high speeds, oblivious to the many dangers (such as sharp table/chair corners/edges, people lying in her way attempting to slow her down, etc.) Crazy times to come. Talk about getting off topic here. I had planned on finding out when one should get one’s eyesight checked, but ended up going on about something else entirely. Sorry.

I get this face a lot.  And a slight variation is the one below.  Her brow gets a good workout around me.  Somehow she can’t quite believe somebody put ME in charge of HER.

What were they thinking?

Quite frankly, I can’t believe it either.  She is much better at being in charge.   Quite energetic and emphatic about everything.

Get UP Mommy.

DANCE, Mommy.

RACE with me Mommy.  I WIN!!!

Mommy, I’m King.

(when she’s not a princess…)

Ever since she was born, she has been the queen of scowl.  Skeptical of her parents and everyone else.  Oh, she has a beautiful smile and a wide range of wonderful and charming expressions, but her scowl is exceptional, especially when she comes up with gems like this one.

She calls for me and I go to her.  She then claims that she doesn’t want me…, she wants her parents.

I reply that I am her parent.

NoooOOOOO!!!

I want Nana and Papa to be my parents.

I agree – I want Nana and Papa to be your parents too.

For a day or two anyway.

…

See what I mean?

This picture was taken on her first birthday…

Like I was trying to put one over on her…

Old man with frowning

face, reading a book titled

Human Misery.

…have suggested that you men, you silly men, choose to stare rather than smile in case you’re met with indifference or a scowl. Fucksake, cowards. As if you’re really putting anything on the line. Is being tickled by the rejection stick really so uncomfortable? And what’s wrong with a scowl? Scowls can be good. Trust me on this.

Leaving aside for the moment the fact that a cree hee hee hee pee glare might elicit a negative response where a smile would have otherwise been forthcoming, what do you have to lose? You’re looking at a stranger. Is your self-esteem so fragile that it won’t withstand the possibility that the stranger doesn’t want to look back? blah blah probably blah. There. I’ve saved you the trouble of replying. My turn.

Rejection is not awful. There are worse things. Writing as someone who has asked/approached a member of the sex to which I am inclined on at least two occasions and had a strike rate best described as 50%, I can quite conclusively say that being rejected is not. that. bad. Anyway, there’s compensation aplenty when later demands/suggestions/requests are met with acquiescence.

T and I some times (this “some” is getting to be increasingly more frequent, so much so that she insisted that we get a punch card and promptly grabbed one from the counter) spend Friday/Saturday late nights at a cafe in Uptown. The good thing about being there today is that the normally glum barista with a grim scowl (and who I suspect is a desi from Fiji) is not there. Instead, we have the friendly lesbian barista with the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard (again, her orientation is purely based on my often not reliable speculation arising from her crew cut ; I will not be held to this casual observation). I am lactose intolerant and so the huge list of all the drinks/coffee types/beverages that dangles so temptingly (and customarily) at every cafe, including this one, means nothing to me. However, I graduated from a chai latte (with soymilk ofcourse) to a frappe today. She was sweet enough to make one for me. The scowling Fijian refused to make one for me the last time. He didn’t even provide a reason and scowled some more at me. Now when I think of it, it was not as bad as the one I got two days back at work. The visitor from Kansas also narrowed his beady eyes while doing the same. I did not like it one bit. I have decided to not like him anymore.

I hope T finishes her cover letter. The last time I distracted her so much with my sluggish-bordering on being monkey-like-extremely annoying- wiggling (I was dancing to some very crass music on my Ipod), that she never quite got around to finishing it. I need a job. She does too. We both want good things to happen to us. For now, I am tensed about the move-out. September, according to celestial forecasts, is going to be a challenging month for me.

I am addicted to the insanely ridiculous dance of “uncha lamba kad”.

We’re back with another edition of G.W.W.E. (Guys We Wanna Eff)!

Ladies, do you like a good nibble during a makeout sesh? Do you get off on the idea of escaping from the perils of public life into seclusion with your hunk? Do you get hot for precariously messy coifs? If you said ‘yes!’ to all of these questions, and can stand the sight of blood without fainting, Robert Pattinson may be the boy-toy for you.

At 23, Pattinson has set the world ablaze with his vacant, erotic stare that communicates the only emotion I ever need to know: ‘I want to eff the sh*t out of you.’ The hottie shot to fame last fall  for his film role as bloodsucking, sexy vampire Eddie Cullen in the Twilight series. Ever since, ladies aged 8 to 88 have been fainting in the streets at the mere sight of the British hunk, who has been known to instigate spontaneous orgasm with a single scowl.

Most recently, Robert has been making headlines in New York for the legions of girls who’ve come out to stalk him catch a glimpse as he films his new movie, Remember Me, in the Big Apple. Just last week, the effable villain was clipped by a New York taxi cab as he tried to escape the hordes of tween girls throwing themselves upon him in lust. But breathe easy ladies, he’s fine (or shall I say, he’s foyne!).

So, RP, I confess: your devilish grin has inspired me to return to my TigerBeat roots and pin up your photos all over my walls. And refrigerator. And, well, the inside of my medicine cabinet. No facade in my home has been spared from your infinitely effable visage. When you’ve decided you’ve had enough of the tween fandom and want a real woman, come scowl in my direction.

More than anything, this face lets me know that she’s 2.

She’s always been stubborn and bossy, but we are seeing the “Birdy Scowl”. A LOT these days.  Her nickname is also “little dictator” – she tries to call the shots on who can sing and when, when I can talk to “her” daddy, what music we listen to in the car (IF we can listen to any, of course). 

Heaven help me!

Why are you laughing at me?, originally uploaded by mollytics.

Come on… like you haven’t had days like these.

Hair staticy.
Scowl on face.
Baby doll just won’t listen.

Been there sister… so totally been there.

(Isn’t baby BR so cute?)

Dream – 1/24/2009

There is a job available for someone who can solve mysteries. I go to take a test. It is in a building that resembles a house. One of my daughters is with me.

A man who looks like Darius Rucker, the lead singer for Hootie and the Blowfish, hands me a piece of paper and a pen. The paper is colored, the pen is black. I lie down on a bed on my side. Others are working in this room. Some on beds, some on chairs. Some are working for the company, some are taking the same sort of test I am taking.

I open the paper. There are animal characters and people characters drawn on it. They are in a restaurant/bar.

On the right side, there is a blank section. There are places for characters to be drawn by me. There are also blank lines, where you are to write questions that you would need to ask to solve the mystery portrayed in the drawing. You have to fill in the clues by drawing characters and by asking questions.

One of the characters has been drawn for you near the blank lines and one of the questions has been written in for you, to show you how to do it.

The mystery has something to do with a man who had come into the restaurant/bar, had something to drink and left. He did something or something happened to him, which is what we are trying to determine.

The one question that has been filled in already is: “What else does this man like to drink?”

We need to ask other questions, and get answers to them, in order to solve the mystery. We also have to draw some more characters on the paper.

I draw some cat-like creature standing at the bar ordering a drink. I think I am not a very good artist, so this will not look very good. I figure the other people taking this test are probably better artists, so I will have to win the job by coming up with really good questions.

But after looking at what I drew, I think it’s not too bad. My daughter thinks so, too.

Some male employee walks in the door and chats with the room moderator (The Hootie guy, who happens to be black). The new man, who is white, says “Hi” to the room in general. Some people respond by saying “hi.” I think he is just saying hello to the employees in the room, so I don’t respond.

The room moderator gives me a disappointing scowl. Oh darn. maybe I just cost myself the job.

Then, we have to go outside of the building to look for clues and ask questions.

So far in the Olympics, the American team is achieving victory over China on the overall ranks, taking 31 gold medals, 36 silvers and 35 bronze! Michael Phelps won eight gold medals! For the average American, delivery of this news would be met with emotions ranging from slight satisfaction to raging excitement, possibly prompting a high five or even a leaping chest bump.

But for the average hipster, common physiological responses upon processing this type of information are a steady elevation of one side of the upper lip and a narrowing of the eyes. This is not only because hipsters are disinterested by sports-related information and consider it a waste of mental space similar to the way that some politically-minded Americans feel after hearing celebrity gossip or watching reality television; hipsters shun all sports related things because they actually have an instinctual aversion. In fact, according to ground-breaking research, hipsters experience a knee-jerk reaction of loathing when the prospect of participating in sporting activities, viewing sports on television, or even wearing sports paraphernalia emerges. (Note: The only time hipsters will take on an interest in sports is when it has some kind of ironic quality. For example, hipsters from northwestern Ohio will wear “Cleveland Browns” sports garb and even occasionally attend an event only because the team is known for perpetually losing and also has several bars dedicated it.)

As researchers have hypothesized, the hipster dislike of sports is likely associated with abnormally low levels of androgen during development, the chemical that stimulates the male reproductive system to form in-utero and also that enables male hipsters to fit into skin-tight jeans and avoid excessive muscle tone, both of which increase the chance of mating and enable hipsters to withstand hours upon end of sitting in front of a computer screen surfing Williamsboard. This genetic quality is becoming more and more prevalent as hipsters evolve and diverge from the population with every new generation. (Note: Ironically, this trait does not diminish the hipster male’s capacity to grow porn ’staches at will.)

Researchers suspect that the evolutionary purpose that links hipster androgyny and a dislike of sports is one based on survival. Because most male hipsters lack the natural defenses necessary to prevail in a situation where aggressive competition is present, such as in sports, hipsters have a heightened perception of aggression and instinctively avoid it. This is similar to many primates’ instinctual aversion to spiders and snakes.

This is why in the face of sports-related suggestions from non-hipster males, such as drunken push-up contests and having to move continuously at a fast pace, the hipster will immediately enact a psychological defense mechanism in which he appears to have reached some level of maturity over the competitor, invoking self-doubt and Jedi-mind-tricking him into awkward failure. For example, this often occurs when a male of the machismo phenotype suggests arm wrestling at a party. The hipster will vocalize immediate disdain for the idea, eliminating the aggressor’s opportunity to call the hipster a pussy. (Note: The aggressor may still call the hipster a pussy, but it will likely be minutes later when the testosterone rush clears and he is able to realize that he has, in fact, been burned. At this time the hipster will likely have left the room and be tampering with the host’s preselected i-Pod party mix.)

Volleyball, kickball and dodge ball are the few exceptions to this phenomenon of sports aversion, as hipsters can regularly be seen engaging in these activities at McCarren Park. Although technically classified as “sports,” the true object of these games when played by hipsters is to pick up potential mates by flaunting items of hipster apparel, such as anything neon and as short of shorts as as possible. Also, “playing sports” is an excuse for hipsters to draw attention to themselves by ironically brandishing Halloween costumes off-season.

As you can see from these photos, taken at a McCarren Park pool party, some popular sporting costumes include, “tourist,” “patriotic mechanic,” and “drunken snowboarder.”

The same genetic predisposition that causes hipsters to avoid aggressive sports also renders them incapable of using physical violence to assert dominance, get thrown out of bars and gain street cred – common behaviors observed in hypermasculine “machismo” populations. In fact, the height of violent tactics that are employed by a vindictive hipster is a passive-aggressive bang flip.

For example, in this video, “HIPSTER STAND OFF,” the hipsters involved demonstrated their dislike for one another by engaging in an epic battle of apathetic shrugging and hair tossing.

I also found this essay online that demonstrates the closest anything anyone has ever come to being jumped by hipsters. Here is an excerpt for your reading enjoyment:

“they had advanced on me quietly and i did not notice until they were almost on top of me!! well they did not so much attack me as sort of stand near me and nod their head out of time to the music and clutch their stubby five dollar beers! one hipster was standing directly behind me! i looked down at his feet and his vintage tennis shoes were only two inches behind mine, ready to step on my heels at any time!”

As you have learned today, hipsters are not aggressive creatures. Unless you have a desire to be scowled at and potentially embarrassed by a biting remark, I suggest avoiding all mention of sports or aggressive actions around hipsters.

____________________________________________________________________

Photos by Christophe Legris for Stuff Hipsters Don’t Like ©2008.

I was perusing the ‘net for facial expression reference pics, seeking inspiration for a work project I’m doing, when I came across the photo that inspired the above doodle. He ain’t pretty, but he’s definitely interesting, which is a heckuvalot better in my book.

And–since I found him interesting–I, of course, did what anyone would have done in that situation. I stippled the daylights out of him.