"Hey lady, nice legs!" "Are you being serious or are you making fun of me?" "Naw, I'm being serious!" "Oh, well, thank you!"*

    Ever since I moved into my new apartment, other people have been moving out. I don’t think it’s necessarily because of me (narcissist), but it is curious.

    But what else is interesting/highly irritating, is the fact that the building management has been systematically gutting each apartment and putting down hardwood (a.k.a. laminate) floors, so there’s been a great deal of extremely loud construction work.

    And here’s the thing about construction work in Los Angeles (or pretty much any other job in Los Angeles from farming to medicine): it’s usually performed by Latinos (hey, they’re not a minority here!). And this is why that is awesome: Latino men almost ALWAYS take the time to pause what they’re doing and admire the females as they walk by. Almost any females. Even me!

    So I take a little time out of each day to walk past the various apartments in a skirt or shorts so that they can stop their work and stare at me. You’re welcome, Latino men of L.A. But more than that: thank you. Muchos, muchos gracias.

    It’s funny, because I don’t have great legs or big boobs, but men from Latin America are so damned appreciative of the ladies. All the ladies. I feel like maybe I should spray on a tan and move to Guatemala or El Salvador. Do you think I’d get to feeling too good about myself?

    I know, women (even Latinas) say the “machismo” thing is off-putting; that sometimes the way they treat women is no better than the way you’d treat a prize-winning pig. But seriously: I don’t really care. Besides, the Latino men I know personally are just flirtatious and sweet, not condescending or patriarchal.

    I used to go to salsa dance clubs in the Valley with my friend Lucia. She and her husband, Jose (one of those amazing, wonderful Latino men I mentioned) would drag me along to these clubs where I stood out like an extremely white, extremely quiet, sore thumb. I don’t speak much Spanish (very close to nada, actually) and I’m white for even a white person. (Just a notch above albino, actually. When I buy foundation, I have to buy the palest shade they sell, and even that makes me look “painted”.) But despite how I looked or spoke, these perfectly friendly, delightful men would come up to ask me for dances. They didn’t grope me or treat me like a piece of meat. They simply salsa-ed their heinies off while I did the “Marcia Brady Dance” (which I think my Aunt Mel invented—it’s that thing of swinging your thumbs back-and-forth in unison with your feet). They never judged me or made me feel like I couldn’t dance (and I can’t). Some of them even asked me for my phone number (which I gave out indiscriminately, and then never answered...not their fault.  It just seemed awkward. I’d had numerous cervezas on each occasion and couldn’t remember what any of them looked like). 

Salsa 2000 in North Hollywood. More exciting inside.

     But white men here are too self-absorbed to stare or whistle or even glance up from their Pabst Blue Ribbons at a bar. The men in LA (the white ones, anyway) are far too busy looking at themselves in the mirror (or the storefront, or the silverware, or the sunglasses of whomever is sitting across from them) to pay any attention to a woman who isn’t famous. They're mostly concerned with their huge muscles (though then they're usually gay) or their tiny skinny jeans (in which case, they're still gay or they're straight but I feel like an elephant standing near them). Neither of these scenarios helps the dating scene. It’s infuriating. And sad.

    So, I guess I’m going to Pollyanna the situation. That is: I’m going to be happy for the construction in my apartment complex, as it gives me a chance to interact with some truly friendly, appreciative men…

    And maybe improve my Spanish. (Estoy aprendiendo español.)

*Quote is from an interaction that actually happened to Gabe at a gas station. Love it.

"You made a fool of me, but them broken dreams have got to end."*

Evil Woman Part VII (The End)

    

    I've decided to end the suspense and give you the seventh and FINAL chapter in the Evil Woman series (my story of a trip to New York City with a famous musician and his heinous bitch of a wife). You may find earlier installments as follows: one, two, three, four, five, and six.  I didn't really think you were in suspense, I just kind of forgot I was telling this story. Ha ha.

From 2009:

-THURSDAY!!!! Lucia and I have spent the day numbering the hours until we leave for the airport.

-Once again, we are left at the hotel all day, but this time there is no free period. Or at least, no designated time for ourselves. Poor John is sick and poor Beth’s massage didn’t help her ailing back and it’s raining, so we’ll all just sit here all fucking day long. I managed to get time to run outside and grab a coffee and call my parents, and then after I’d gotten back into the hotel room John called me and asked where I was. I said I was in the playroom and I’d walk to their room. They wanted nose drops for the baby. I gladly volunteered to trudge back out into the night. Not that they were grateful, just expectant. I was plenty happy to leave the room again, so long as I wasn’t with them. And New York City in the rain is far preferable to anywhere else in the sunshine. Okay, huge exaggeration, but you see what I mean (I like how the word “exaggeration” has two g’s: like the word itself is exaggerating).

-They decide to order room service and let Lucia and I eat some as well. I scanned the menu in a paranoid frenzy trying to find something that wasn’t a sandwich, a soup or pizza (the only things I’ve eaten here) and yet something that wasn’t too expensive. I settled on the $29 hamburger and crossed my fingers as I requested it. It was the most delicious thing I’d tasted in nearly two weeks.

-I checked my bank account first thing this morning and discovered that I’d been underpaid for our trip to New York by $1386. I showed Lucia and she immediately faked a bathroom trip so she could check her account by phone (she doesn’t have an online account). We then spent a good half hour trying to figure out exactly what we were owed after taxes. Ugh.

-Before we left the hotel for the airport (one of the happiest hours of my life), Lucia snatched a bunch of great stuff out of the mini bar and shoved it in our bags! I love this gal.

-Beth brought up the surfer boyfriend again at JFK. Lucia and I talked about the potential significance of that. (She’s clearly mourning the loss of the man she ACTUALLY loved but gave up for the security of tens of millions of dollars. Sigh. Poor Beth.)

JFK.

-Conor woke up from his nap on the airplane and Beth asked Lucia to take him to the bathroom. Since Beth left her enormous Prada purse in the middle of the aisle, Lucia tripped over it, spilling Beth’s piping hot decaf on her (Beth's) pants. Poor Beth, I wonder what it’s like to have on wet, filthy pants. Oh wait: I do know what it’s like. Except in my case, it was blood. Coffee would have been a pleasure. Beth screamed at Lucia to watch where she was going and then got up in a huff to go change into alternate pants. 

-Lucia sat down next to me after returning from Conor’s bathroom trip, and started crying. I was rubbing her back when Beth returned. Beth leaned over the aisle to say things like, “It’s not your fault,” and “We just all need to watch where we’re going.” Then, in a fit of conciliatory inspiration, Beth said, “You know what, Lucia? Your money for the trip was deposited today!” And Lucia, god love her, responded with something along the lines of “Actually, it wasn’t.” She even whipped out our handy-dandy paperwork to prove it. That doesn’t, of course, have anything to do with me, so I know I’ll have to have my own conversation with Beth, but I feel good knowing it’s out there in the ether. Beth promises that it will be taken care of in the upcoming week. She also notes that in order for Lucia to be paid what she claims she’s owed, she will have to stay until 8:15 that evening (making it 11:15 in NY). BITCH, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Back home and never happier.

-On the way home from LAX in hellacious traffic, Beth yells at the driver repeatedly and doesn’t tip him. I apologize in the driveway, after she’s gone inside, wishing I could give him a tip myself. But I’m broke. Then I carry all the suitcases upstairs because it seems clear that Beth is going to keep Lucia working but send me home. I refuse to leave Lucia (because I am a saint-like human being). But seriously, there's no way I'm leaving a soldier behind.

-I wait for Lucia in the driveway and when Beth FINALLY lets her leave, we drive to a picnic table on Mulholland and have a cigarette. I tell her how I would have lost my mind without her. We hug and drive home our separate ways.**

    I quit working for the Hitlers about two weeks later. When I quit, I was terrified. My heart was beating out of my chest like I was about to go onstage. At a strip club. I told Beth that I didn’t feel like I was the right fit for Conor, that he didn’t seem to care for me and that maybe he was better off with someone he liked better and respected more. I had enough self-control not to mention that he was Satan’s spawn and by Satan I meant her.

    She said that she and John had already been discussing replacing me, so this worked out perfectly for her. I assume she was lying. Bitches like her can’t ever show weakness. Which is too bad, because weakness at that point might have made me think she was a human being and not the devil incarnate.

    I remember saying something like, “You’re children are wonderful and bright and beautiful.” All of which were (pretty much) lies.

    She responded, “I know how amazing my children are. I don’t need you to tell me that.”

    Oooooookay. Thanks, Beth! I love you, too.

    I gave her two weeks notice, but she sent me a text saying that I shouldn’t show up for my next shift. That it would be "too confusing" for the kids. I'm sure. I missed out on some money, but it was worth it to get my sanity back.

    And then came the depression of unemployment. But that’s a story for another time.

*Electric Light Orchestra's "Evil Woman."
**I'm still friends with Lucia, so there was some good that came out of the experience. She's a delightful human being, and she's taken me out dancing a couple times at some of the Latin clubs around town. I'll have to get into that more later, because it's worth discussing. But sadly, she's still working for Beth (who now has a third child). Last I talked to Lucia, she said she went to Europe (various cities in Germany, Italy, and The Netherlands) for another band tour (or tour of duty, as I like to think of it), but managed to get a day off each week and all her pay in cash. She paid off her car and all her credit cards. Happy ending!     

"There's an open road that leads nowhere, so just make some miles between here and there."*

Evil Woman Part VI

     This is the second-to-last in the Evil Woman series, and I'm sure it makes all of you sad. It makes me sad, because I have lots of other good dish on Beth that didn't even make it into the New York trip because it happened...duh duh duh...in Los Angeles. But I'll get to that another time. And her name's not really Beth and there's just so much so much good good dirt (and no, I'm not stuttering).

     For those new to this, it's number six in a very long series of episodic work the like of which the world has not seen since Charles Dickens. And he got paid per word, so one wonders why I'm such a blabbermouth, since I do this shit for free. But the previous installments can be found as follows: one, two, three, four and five.

Yet again, my journal from 2009 opens itself to you, dear reader:

-Sophie slept well through the night despite having a stuffy nose. She snored, though, and ground her teeth. I love when she stays awake screaming and crying all night and when I tell Beth about it in the morning, she says, “Oh, poor Sophie. I hope she’ll have a nice long nap this afternoon.” I’d adore a nice long nap as, I’m sure, would Lucia, but I feel super bad for THE INFANT who sleeps 90% of every day. Poor thing must be exhausted from all that eating and pooping.

-We again went nowhere today. Beth and John took Conor to Toys R Us AGAIN and then to lunch at Serendipity. Lucia and I took turns running out for a half-hour or so. That was nice—it really broke up the day and made it seem like it was going faster. 

Augustus Gloop. My second Willy Wonka Reference (weird?).

-Lucia and I both realized that we’ve lost weight, but we were both pretty surprised. I don’t know why she was surprised, since she’s eaten barely anything in the time we’ve been here. But I was surprised because I’ve eaten like a freaking hippo since we arrived on account of all the junk Beth keeps around and buys perpetually—we’re talking bags of caramel popcorn, pretzels, black and white cookies from the deli every day, cake from fancy restaurants and from the hotel staff, huge bags of junk from Dylan’s Candy Bar, Toys R Us, FAO Schwartz etc. I think she's one of those anorexics who gets off on watching other people eat. I asked one night for a bite of dark chocolate—maybe a Hershey bar. She came home with five different kinds of dark chocolate candy bars. And yes, they’re all gone. I ate four and Lucia ate one. Actually just thinking about it makes me sick. I remind myself of Augustus Gloop—my face smeared in chocolate, eating my pain. Which is what I’m doing. Normally I would drink my pain, but for obvious reasons I can’t on this trip. And you know, it hasn’t been so bad. I’m rather pleased with myself. It could be part of the reason I’ve lost some weight, but considering how much crap I’ve eaten in substitution—or from plain boredom—it seems unlikely that it makes any difference at all. I should’ve spent this last 10 days doing a cleanse. I really could have lost weight and Beth would’ve been ecstatic that she didn’t have to pay for me to eat.

-Lucia told me that when I was in New York with my mom last month and she was working all those extra hours covering for me, Beth was writing her a check at the end of the week and the total came to $400.75. And Beth said, “You’ve worked so hard this week, honey. I’m going to give you a little extra.” Lucia was so excited until she drove home and looked at her check. Beth had written it for $401. What a generous woman! Lucia told me if she’d noticed it she would have said, “Beth, you can keep your quarter.”

Elton John: the original Lady Gaga.

-They went to a Broadway show—Billy Elliot—and I was really excited for them. When I asked Beth about it in the car, she managed to brag about how it was sold out but since they “know Elton” they were able to score seats. I said, “Oh, did he write the music?” and Beth said yes but then proceeded to try to drop a little more bullshit. “One time, we went to see Elton's show in Vegas with Rob Roth, and we were backstage and he was going on and on about how much he loved this song that Rob had written. I mean, he just kept saying, ‘I love your song! I listened to it a hundred times today!’ over and over.” I waited for there to be a story, but alas, that was the story. She was just bragging. Fun. And who the hell is Rob Roth? Am I missing something? (Okay, he might be a big deal. He has a webpage. We all know that takes a lot of clout.)

-Unfortunately, though the kids were exhausted, Beth called at 11 and told us to keep them awake so Mommy and Daddy could put them to bed. They were cranky and tired when Beth and John finally rolled in at 11:30, and of course that was our fault. 

*Lyrics from ELO's "Evil Woman".

"It's so good that you're feeling pain, but you better get yourself on board the very next train."*

Evil Woman Part V

           The never-ending saga of my trip to New York City with the middle-aged famous "musician" and his beastly wife twenty years his junior goes on. If you are new to this story, please find the previous installments here, here, here, and again here. 

From computer diary entries written in 2009:

-Monday

-Do not leave the hotel all day because Conor is sick. Just like Lucia’s been sick for days, but unlike Conor, she didn’t get to be sick in a bed. All she got were couch cushions on the floor.

-I mention I like doing laundry and that it is the only chore that gives me a sense of satisfaction. So Beth gives me a shirt to clean. Isn’t that sweet? I wish she’d quit spoiling me!

Tuesday

-Lucia tells me a story in front of Beth and I ask about the story using the word “murder” (it was a story about a murder!) and Beth snaps at me in such a way that I can’t help it—I start tearing up. She says in her serpentine, litigator hiss, “I am really not okay with those words! Don’t ever use those words around them!” 

-I try to control myself but the tears start coming, and I have to leave the room. I really don’t want Beth to have my tears. Part of me knows I’m crying because I’m tired and afraid of her and tired of being afraid of her, but I have to cry a little.

-Beth apologizes for snapping at me saying, “You didn’t know. I’ve never told you before that I don’t like those words. “Murder” and “kill” are just not okay with me. Something can “die” but the action of murder just isn’t okay.” It seems like a mostly semantic argument, but I understand the point, I guess. I just didn’t need to be snarled at. And it’s odd to me that treating human beings like garbage in front of your children is acceptable, but using words like “murder” and “death” is verboten.

-We go to the Children’s Museum of Manhattan. Beth asks the driver to stop in front of the Dakota (knowing my obsession with all things John Lennon related) on the way so I can look at it, but I’m too cowed by Beth to bother to get out of the car. I look out the side of the window and thank her for stopping (it’s on the way to the museum). She asks if I’m sure I don’t want to get out of the car, but I don’t want to end up owing her anything, so I stay put.

The Dakota. John Lennon lived and was killed here.

-Lucia and I are made to wait in the lobby of the museum with the baby because Beth doesn’t want to pitch an extra $20 so we can look around too. She says it’s because they might make us check the stroller by the door and Sophie’s sleeping. I’m sure that’s it. It’s not that she’s an unbelievable skinflint or anything.

-Sophie’s stale bagel falls on the floor. I pick it up and give it back to her. I feel very evil about that, but I also feel that germs are important. She'll probably be eating gold the rest of her life, so it's good to build up resistance to germs now.

- We eat at Artie's Deli and Conor throws a pickle at my face. He starts laughing maniacally and I can tell that Beth is trying her best not to join him. It would be funny if I didn’t have the feeling I was in an alternate universe and might actually be able to murder a child. (And would the act of murder make Beth as mad as the word does?) I get up and walk Sophie around the restaurant. Lucia eats quickly and comes to replace me, but I tell her to go back and enjoy her meal—neither one of us has had a chance to sit down and eat an entire meal in over a week. And I don’t want to be around Conor. Or Beth. 

Artie's Deli. Where I decided I didn't care anymore.

-Beth finds us after 10 minutes or so. She apologizes for Conor. Beth is worried now—I can tell. She wasn’t sure how Conor's behavior had affected me. She’s been really nice to me all night. The part I don’t understand is why she didn’t reprimand her child for throwing food at another person—an adult, no less. The other thing I realize is that as long as I can get a flight home, I really don't care what happens to me anymore. I'm feeling more clearheaded than I've felt in years, somehow.

*ELO's Evil Woman.

"Ha ha funny how you broke me up, you made the wine now you drink the cup."*

Evil Woman Part IV

Here again I will relate the events of my trip to New York with the Satan Family (a wig-sporting, middle-aged "rock star" and his much younger wife, who also happened to be the devil) as I have spoken of here, here, and again here. Yikes! It's like a never-ending story! (But it does end because that trip was only two-weeks-long, even if it felt much, much longer, so never fear!)

On a separate topic: I think I suffer from a comma abuse problem. But I'll talk about that later.

From my Doogie Howser computer diary in 2009:

-In contrast to my excellent day yesterday, today was a big, fat snore. John and the band had the day off and he gave Lucia a car and driver to take her to all the neat places in Manhattan since her aunt had cancelled on her and she had nowhere to go and knows nothing about the city. She gets lost on her way to buy coffee in the morning (although she told me secretly that she does that on purpose so she can get a little extra time for herself—I think she’s a genius).

-So while she was off driving all over town looking at New York City, I was in a van parked on a side-street off Times Square with Giovanni, our driver for the afternoon, and a sleeping Sophie while John, Beth and Conor were inside Toys R Us. The van was better than being back inside the Toys R Us because that place made me want to hurl. But after 20 minutes, Giovanni saw John standing in the street looking for us. They all came rushing back to the car freaking out that Conor was sick and maybe he had the flu. Oh get over yourselves!

Where I went.

-Lucia had an excellent time—she went to Ground Zero, to Battery Park to take pictures of the Statue of Liberty, Intrepid Museum, Central Park, The Brooklyn Bridge, and Gray’s Papaya. John kept insisting that she eat a grilled hot dog at Gray’s (he’s from Queen’s, so he can be bossy about what one should do in NY) so she went and took a picture of herself there, then she and Jesse (her driver) went and ate a slice of pizza. Hilarious. And, I’m starting to realize, typically Lucia. I went out to get dinner for us and used the time to buy some stress cigarettes, smoke one of them and call my mom, so everyone was happy. Especially John who can't stop talking about how amazing it was of him to so generously offer Lucia the use of a car and driver for the day. He's a real saint-like human being. 

 

Where Lucia went.

-Tonight I saw John naked. I did not want to. Sophie was screaming and wouldn’t go to sleep and I wanted to tell Beth that I figured I’d just let her wail it out (and hopefully prevent Beth from coming into my room). I walked toward their room where the light was still on and the door still open and just as I rounded the corner, there he was. Wigless, butt-ass naked and talking on his cell phone.  I did an about face and scurried back down the hall. Thank god he didn’t see me. I’m mortified enough being the only one that knows about it. Moments later he came to the room and got Sophie himself. Then he brought her back, 20 minutes after that, sound asleep. Acted like he knew what he was doing and playing Daddy was something he was really super amazing at. Hey, try being an actual parent and doing it every night, jackass.

*"Evil Woman" by the Electric Light Orchestra.
Read Evil Woman Parts I, II, III and V.

"But a fool and his money soon go separate ways, and you found a fool lying in a daze."*

Evil Woman Part II.

            This is continued from my earlier post, which you can find here, in which I describe my glamorous journey to New York City with an aging rock star and his evil young bride.

            Continued from my journal of 2009:

-We walk over to FAO Schwartz and Beth buys a bag of candy—at this point I’m so sticky and wet I’m making a conscious effort to widen my stride. (I know, it’s gross. Forgive me, especially if you happen to be a man and can’t handle hearing about these kind of realities.)

- I make several comments in the course of the day’s outing to the effect of “I feel really gross” and “I have to buy some tampons…and underwear,” and Beth keeps saying cheerfully that she fully plans to stop at Duane Reade on our way home. I don’t understand why I couldn’t have run off and done it while they were at the toy store (or at any other point) but I think I forfeited my complaining rights when I slept those two hours this morning instead of playing peek-a-boo with Sophie (like I did all night long).

-We do FINALLY stop at Duane Reade and I buy, on accident, the largest underwear I've ever seen in my life. I mean, these go up to my boobs. But who cares? I buy other (clearly) mentionables and when we get back to the hotel I feel better than I've felt in ages.

Heaven?

-John and Beth take Conor to dinner somewhere nice and leave us to watch Sophie. Beth gives us money to buy dinner—telling us that one of us should run out and get it. I volunteer because I am so excited to have a few minutes to myself.  So I ask the concierge where to go and he sends me out the back of the hotel onto 58^th and I walked half a block to the deli on 7^th avenue.

-I contrive (somewhat unintentionally) to spend the entire $50 bill Beth had given me. But mostly, I just didn’t know what to get for Lucia. She’s a bit of a picky eater and she doesn’t tell me much about what she wants. So I fill three containers with different kinds of salads, potatoes, chicken, ribs—all kinds of yummy stuff. I really like walking around New York by myself. I wish I had more time to do it.

-My bag finally arrives at about 9:45 pm. I am so happy.

-John rather discourteously, and with many a disgusted gesture and facial expression, says I should clean up the dinner dishes and put them outside for housekeeping. I start crying (no one sees but Lucia).

-Wednesday morning at 7:30, after another wakeful night, Sophie wakes up. I try repeatedly to get her to go back to sleep, but no good. It’s probably because she hasn’t pooped since Monday morning and it is now Wednesday morning. I would most likely be crying too. I did bang my head against the bars of her crib again in exhausted frustration, but believe me: it didn’t solve anything.

-At nine a.m., Beth comes to get her for nursing. I tell Beth to bring her back when she’s ready for me to take over and I lay back down. I sleep until 10:30, and feel much better—but I’m scared to find out what’s been going on. Fortunately, all is cheerful because Sophie is sleeping in Conor’s room and Conor and Lucia are playing quietly in the living room.

-Beth buys Starbuck’s breakfast, explaining that room service is so expensive and it’s not that she doesn’t have the money, it’s the principle of the thing. So I eat a stale bagel and drink a delicious coffee and feel great.

-We go back to Central Park and take Conor to Heckscher Playground to run around on the equipment. Lucia and I push Sophie in circles around the playground while Beth and Conor go on the slides and jungle gym. She likes to take these opportunities to play “fun mom.” We talk about how upsetting the trip has been so far.

 Heckscher Playground, Central Park.

-Beth said we’d get some lunch at one of the copious restaurants along the way to Dylan's Candy Bar. But as is often the case in New York, once you need a restaurant, you can’t really find one—especially one with chairs. So we ate at Subway.

-It was good until I got in a weird sort of argument with Beth about the peppers on my sandwich—I could’ve sworn there was a third kind of pepper I’d never had and she was adamant that they only had two kinds of peppers at Subway and I felt sort of like she was being a little unreasonable—I mean, I saw the man get peppers from 3 different bins, and I suppose the jalapenos could have been sliced two different ways, but it was weird that she was arguing about what I was tasting on my sandwich. Sort of like how she consistently argues with me about people who live in cold climates. She says they can’t do anything when it gets cold outside and snows—that they have to just stay in. Since I come from a place where it frequently snows, a place far colder than New York City, I feel like I can speak intelligently to the fact that people can do plenty of things outside when it snows. But she knows I’m wrong.

-We go to Dylan’s Candy Bar and Beth and Conor go on a crazy shopping spree. Who cares? It’s just overpriced junk food. But she’s Ralph Lauren’s daughter, so she gets to have her own store. Nice. I will say she’s a marketing genius. Way to take a really simple idea and make a fortune out of it. She’s the Willy Wonka of the new millennium.

Willy Wonka.

Dylan Lauren.

-I take a moment when we get home to check my email—I do it in the living room so that I can still supervise the children (makes sense to me, considering Beth and John do it all the time and both Lucia and Beth are there). Conor, being the shit he usually is and hopped up on the pound of sugar Beth gave him on the way home, got into the baby aspirin and spilled it on the floor and Beth flipped out at me saying, “Lacey, can you help? Maybe you can just be here now and there will be time later to play on the computer!”

-I cleaned up the mess and when she came back from her panic in the next room over Sophie’s spit-up (oh my sweet lord! a baby spit up!), I told her I was just checking to see if my rent check cleared and I was sorry and it wouldn’t happen again. I’m starting to think part of the problem is the way she acts as though her children are combustible or fragile—like they’re different than other kids and we have to treat them like we would baby Jesus or a king’s kid or something. They’re fucking kids—and sometimes they get hurt (of course, not when they have 15 care-takers surrounding them at all times) and sometimes they get dirty. That’s life.

-While Beth and John are out to dinner, Lucia and I play with Conor and Sophie. When they come home, we're all dancing to Madagascar’s “Move it, Move It” scene. Beth likes this and imitates it the next night. She can't come up with these things on her own.

-The following morning, I learn that Lucia is sleeping on a four-foot-long LOVESEAT because Conor thinks it’s cool to sleep in a “big boy” bed. Beth allows this—does not stand up for Lucia or attempt to discipline her child so that the grown woman can have a bed to herself. But then again, I’m now sleeping on a couch NEXT to a room with a crib (Sophie’s) and two EMPTY queen size beds—because Beth is afraid Sophie will be kidnapped if she sleeps in a room with a door leading out to the hallway. And if Sophie sees me when she wakes up in the night, she won't stop crying (at least this much we've figured out). But at least my couch is long enough to fit an entire adult human body.

Loveseat.

Sofa.

-I go to get the coffees the next day, and Beth says she’ll meet me down there and help carry them back. She doesn’t show. And it’s raining. And there are five coffees, a bagel, some granola, and a muffin.

-We get picked up by a car and go to the three-story Toys "R" Us in the middle of Times Square. It is a hideous monstrosity.  Beth and Conor ride the Ferris wheel while Lucia and I walk around each floor with Sophie and talk shit about Beth.

-When she can’t find us, Beth begins SCREAMING Lucia’s name (I was playing with the baby while Lucia went to the bathroom). It was mortifying. I called to Beth so she’d come find us (and shut up).

-She makes me feel like I’m in high school and I’m about to get caught doing something bad--like I used to get caught smoking cigarettes in the parking lot. But I’m not doing anything bad! It’s like I was saying to Lucia, she makes you feel so crazy because she acts like everything you do is so atrociously wrong that you start to think that maybe it really is atrocious. Maybe you are the horrible, idiot monster she’s making you out to be. But the truth is: she’s completely insane, but has courtroom experience and a law degree, so it’s like she’s a debate Samurai—but though she will win, her argument is asinine. Does that make any sense?

-She sent Lucia to a touristy shop next to Stage Deli so Lucia could buy presents for her family and then got mad when she wasn’t back in 10 minutes and asked me to call her. Lucia got no chance to eat, since Beth was acting like we were in a mad rush to get back to the hotel. Why? So she could go shopping. (Oh, poor Beth! She hasn't had ANY free time with all the parenting she's been doing!)

-Beth made me climb over the back seat of the Escalade because she didn't want to move Conor. (This ended in me losing my cell phone for a day, thereby cutting off all my contact with the outside world.)

-I ask about Lucia and I having a brief chunk of time to ourselves each day—she assumes we mean to have it inside the hotel. With her children. I gingerly explain that we'd each like what some people call "a break." Which is legally required in a work environment. Especially when one's work day is 24-hours long. She is silent. (I think at this point she is REALLY mad that she hired an American-born nanny who knows to what she is entitled and isn't afraid to ask for it.)

-We wash the kids’ clothes in the bathtub with Woolite from the drugstore because it’s “too expensive” to have the hotel do it—and she’s got cheap labor in her suite! It works out okay, though, because I’m able to wash a few things of my own. And laundry gives me satisfaction the way few things do.  I heard from Lucia later that Beth bragged to one of the roadies that with all the money she’d saved having us do her laundry, she was able to buy herself and the kids new clothes at Barney’s. Nice.

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Okay, this was another long one. If you're still with me: many thanks! I know that the verb tenses are varied, but I was high on misery when I wrote these entries. Lighter and shorter entries in the next few days! I promise.


*Yet more lyrics from ELO's "Evil Woman."