boys’ night in
So last week, the women of what we affectionately call “The Bakpak” [our little family of exiles in Bakersfield] decided to have a “girls’ night out.” Mind you, this started as The Pumpkin’s BFF’s dad’s idea to have a boys’ night out [though being the avid sports fan that I am—yes, that’s sarcasm—I’m not too broken up about having to scrap plans to attend a game of our little burg’s NBA Development League team]. Somehow, though, it turned into a girls’ night out and, thus, a boys’ night in—with the kids. BFF’s mom is an expert at getting what she wants and making situations go her way, after all—she keeps winning all these local contests for Target gift cards and is our go-to person when, say, we need to return an item to a store after it’s been opened and used five times and we don’t have the receipt or the box that it came in and the store doesn’t even carry that item. Plus she’ll get ‘em to honor an expired competitor’s coupon so that we get back even more than the item was worth. Heh.
But anyway, the four ladies absconded off to our suburban-sprawlotpia’s latest national-chain-validation-of-local-worth, the new P.F. Chang’s, leaving three, shall we say, very active toddlers with me, BFF’s dad, and expectant dad [read: not tired yet] Dr. Lo Siento. While the ladies enjoyed a brief unencumbered (and much needed and deserved) respite over cocktails and pan-Asian-fusion fare, we chowed down on a couple pizzas and a crockpot of sausages simmered in a jar of spaghetti sauce mixed with a jar of salsa (courtesy BFF’s mom). Plus homemade chocolate chip cookies from the mom of the BakPak’s only boy (until Dr. Lo’s progeny arrives in April)—unfortunately, the homemade lemon gelatine my dear partner-in-crime attempted to provide for us never quite became other than a liquid [does powered gelatin go bad? I have no idea how long those envelopes of Knox were in the cupboard].
While “the girls” were engaged in some scintillating girl talk, I’m sure [but I’m told that “what happens at P.F. Chang’s stays at P.F. Chang’s”], we tried to make sure that our children ate more than chips and didn’t leave any visible bruises on each other. [Did the dads engage in our own macho version of dishing, you ask? Hey, what happens at B.F.F.’s parents’ house stays at...well, you know.]
[BTW, the ladies had an interesting time of their own: After siting in the bar at an unusually low table for about half an hour with no drink service, they finally got somebody’s attention and ordered drinks and appetizers. This low table, by the way, was short a chair, which they had to supplement themselves by dragging in an even-lower chair from the nearby outdoor patio. Then, when they were finally shown to their table for dinner, no move was made by the waitstaff to move their drinks and appetizers for them, so they did it themselves. Yes, the place was busy, but they were befuddled by the exceptionally horrendous service. Then, the group’s one non-Asian mom had a horrible realization—their party had the only Asians in the entire “Asian”restaurant. Could there be a connection? Gasp!]
The soundtrack for the evening included both the Dora soundtrack and what The Pumpkin calls “B.F.F. music”—any beat-thumping hip-hop whose lyrical content will very soon need to be bleeped or otherwise obscured for the consumption of children who are started to pick up obscure words in the middle of sentences and repeat them. [At least we’re still able to convince our babygirl that the chorus to one of B.F.F.’s signature songs is a rollicking paen to the holy teacher of her grandmother’s spiritual upbringing—picture a tiny Asian American toddlergirl dancing and singing at the top of her lungs, “Buddha buddha buddha buddha rockin’ everywhere!” Heh. Thank god they don’t believe in hell, huh?] The rest of the entertainment, as you can see from the video accompanying this post [click through to the full entry page to see it], was provided by everybody’s favorite “uncle,” Dr. Lo. We all can’t wait to see how he is with his own kid, ‘cause ours love him—and aren’t gonna be too happy about sharing him, though I’m sure they’ll get over it quick with a new baby to play with.
This weekend, as payback, the ladies watched the kids (though they napped for part of the time) while the guys went to see...wait for it...”Rocky Balboa.” My compadres were shocked and appalled to learn that I have never seen any of the 5 previous Rocky movies (though I have distinct memories of owning a cassette tape of the soundtrack of the one with both Survivor and James Brown on it). I know, I know, for someone with the stockpile of useless pop-culture trivia that I have in my head, it’s inexcusable to have never seen such guy-flick icons as “Taxi Driver,” “Scarface,” any of the “Rockys” or “Rambos” or “Godfathers,” “Reservoir Dogs”.... What can I say? As for catching up now, well, we barely watch the burned DVDs our friends give us, let alone rent stuff or go out to the movies. It’s been so long since I’d been in a theater that, going to see “Rocky” with the guys, I was stunned to discover that the bargain matinee in freakin’ Bakersfield was already $7.25! But I digress. At any rate, though admittedly I would not have picked this movie to go and see, I was pleasantly surprised. And not only that, but there was this whole father-child thing going on in the story, with Rocky rejected by his own son and trying to play surrogate dad to both a girl from the original film, now all grown up, and her biracial, fatherless son while trying to reconnect with his own son. In a climactic speech, after his son [played by the guy who plays Peter on “Heroes”] begs him not to fight again because it would embarrass and tarnish him by association, Rocky exhorts him to stop looking for excuses and stop being afraid to be himself, because all he ever wanted to teach him was that winning in life means not stopping the fight, no matter how hard or unfair things always are.
Okay, not to end on a serous note or anything.... I mean, we are talking about the sixth “Rocky” movie, after all! Heh. So go watch the video at the top of this page again. That’ll get you smilin’.
Oh, and next “boys’ night out”? I’m picking.
Monday, January 8, 2007