Daily mood average: 7
Moon phase: Still waxing gibbous
Breakfast in The District. Frances got her pink Abba pants all wet in the splash pad area. I’m going to bring her there with a swim diaper and her bathing suit next time it gets toasty outside.
We waited a good long time to get our food at The Utopia Cafe. They have colored locks on the gate outside a la the love locks in Paris. Like many places in our tidy suburb, the space is well-decorated and new, and the customers are plentiful. The table we nagged ended up being too small for all our drinks and food, so Frank placed his tray on the seat next to him. Henry brushed his teeth with my Crest On The Go toothbrush, standing on the booth to get a good view of his reflection in the gigantic circular wall mirror.
“Henry! Sit down!” Frank hissed, which is a typical refrain.
Frank dropped Henry and me off at the Ranch Park. We joined Hayley’s party. I talked to Greg and got a better sense of his extended family. Mason cried because Henry kicked him. Henry said Mason jumped on his head. They stopped playing together soon after. I saw Derek, Enzo, and RuiRui on their fancy white go-carts. I told them to join us, which was probably not my place to do so. They sped off just as quickly as they came. I went into the bounce house several times in my thin little summer dress, jumping up and down to the children’s delight and the parents’ displeasure. I told myself, “I am a very strong woman. I am the child with the lit candle.”
I avoided Hayley’s mom. Not her stepmom. Her real mom. I avoided all the people I had met at Harrison’s birthday party a few years back even though I recognized all of them. The women had on too much makeup; loneliness and desperation wafted from their bodies like cheap heavy cologne. Perhaps I’m projecting? I do like to point out to my husband sometimes that I get more male attention everyday. Well, I do it because I think it’s flattering, and I also like to tease my husband a little.
Henry had a great time. We spent the rest of the day fighting LA traffic so I could attend a Secret Walls semi-finalists event. Once there Matthew and I ate food truck tacos and played tag. I talked to one of the contestants who sat doodling outside. “I’m trying to get all my bad stuff out before I start,” he explained. The art that went up on all the walls was full of angst, anger, negative mood from possibly the crowd roving in the tight space, the constant, ear-aching beat blasting from the speakers, and/or the lack of sufficient air circulation in the presence of art material fumes. I spoke with a lesbian couple in the cafe in an awkward manner while they played pool. I chatted with a black streetwear designer and did more uneasy maneuvering. Then I became obsessed with the most handsome, debonair artist. Tall, lean and handsome. Suddenly I wished I were single. Or at least that I had come alone so I could talk to him.
I ended up doing no such thing! I ditched my bro, called “Daddy,” hopped into the minivan, and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. And then I had a dream that BFlow was more corrupt than I had bargained for.
H.M.K. 