"I Live For This"

Isn’t that the Major League Baseball’s slogan these days? It’s true, I do live for this. The start of baseball season, Spring, going into Summer…it’s a glorious time of the year for me. I do enjoy every season as it comes though. When Fall starts I’ll tell you it’s my favorite season. But baseball season brings so much with it for me, most importantly, baseball games. Hot Dogs. Beer. Peanuts. Cotton candy. Here’s my Bubba at the game with me. (He’s taking after his mommy with the whole baseball thing).


My Bubba

I'm too cool with my free floppy hat

"Ohhhh a beer cap, never seen one of these lying around the apartment before" (sure)

Bubba loves riding the trolley

The Highly-Flammable Blanket of Kitch (hereinafter “THFBoK”)

I’ve really been itching to crochet something lately. I’ve also really been needing to do some serious stash-busting. And yes, that is Red Hart Super Saver in all its glory sitting on my desk. Isn’t that red fabulous? For the life of me cannot remember why I purchased that, and I should really be ashamed. Not only is it what it is (Red Hart Super Saver), but that color! What did I originally intend on making with that?!?! Anyways, it’s now part of my THFBoK.

Last night I was feeling kinda blue, not totally sure why, but I was. Perhaps it is a hormonally induced slight depression. But anyways, I needed to work on something and I came up with THFBoK. I just sat there all night making up these little squares and stacking them neatly on top of each other on the couch. My daughter comes out of her room, sees my little stack of acrylic, and starts laughing “hahaha you are on crack”. She then went on to doing an imitation of what appeared to be a crack-head crocheting.

I have a feeling this blog is going to end up being about how a teen daughter abuses her dorky mom.

What, exactly, do you mean by that?

"Ethnically-confused, ghetto-dwelling white girl who knits too much"

While it's pretty self-explanatory to me, it may not be to someone who doesn't know me well. Let's break it down. "Ethnically-confused". That means that I think I'm Mexican. I really do. I'm as white as they come really, but when I was about a year old and my mother divorced her first husband (my real father) and had to rejoin the work-force. In doing that I was placed in a daycare where the provider only spoke Spanish, therefore Spanish was really my first language. Luckily my mom studied Spanish in college and was able to communicate with me. I really didn't start speaking English until I entered Kindergarten. Then my mom proceeds to marry a Mexican man (husband #2, who I call father) and a year later we move from Newport Beach, CA to Tijuana. Talk about culture shock. At least for my mother. I was a happy camper. I was finally home. I completed all my elementary school in Tijuana, speaking only Spanish, and lived in Tijuana until the age of 15. As you can see, I'm a little ethnically-confused.

"Ghetto-dwelling". Well, that just means I live in the ghetto. It's the closest thing I have to Tijuana living here. I need to have a 7-11 and a Mexican market very close by. I also like to have a Mexican bakery in the area, and I currently have two walking distance from my home. Bliss. I also need easily accessible 99 cent stores. And fast food restaurants. And taco shops. I would never, ever survive in the burbs.

"White girl". Yeah, I'm white. Scary white. My teen daughter somtimes looks at me, and says (in a kinda nasty way if you ask me) "You are so white".

"Who knits too much". I knit too much.