The Sonia Show

Warning: This show contains nerdy humor, cartoon violence and foul language.

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Weekend warriors

Yeah, so, mighty, mighty good man David is in Amsterdam at a trade show for work (no legal pot or prostitution for him … or so he says), which means it’s just me and The Kid for a week. David has been traveling quite a bit for work recently, and during the week, The Kid and I have a pattern pretty locked down.

In other words, there’s a lot of this …


And this …

That's what you get for begging, Homer.

That’s what you get for begging, Homer.

The weekends are tougher. We always go on little adventures together, and when David isn’t here, he is sorely missed. Good thing good buddies, Jeff, Jess and Henry let us crash their Saturday outing to the Martinez shoreline.


Buddies with a view.

After our stroll, we had lunch at a taqueria in downtown Martinez. Calvin isn’t super awesome in restaurants. He tends to act a fool, and we scarf our food down and leave. So I was hesitant, and I prepped Jess and Jeff, explaining that we (meaning The Kid and I) might make a hasty exit. Turns out, I was worried for nothing. We sat outside, and Calvin sipped his water, ate chips and pointed out every motorcycle that rode by. Also, why are there so many motorcycles in Martinez?

BONUS: On our way to the restaurant, a crazy man gave Calvin a dollar. The man was very insistent that Calvin take this dollar from him, saying something about how he never sees his kids. Umm, OK then. (FYI: We paid that dollar forward: giving it to a homeless person we walked by along the Embarcadero the next day.)

On Sunday, we parked around AT&T Park on the early side (around 10 a.m.), since there was an afternoon game, and we walked from the ballpark to the Ferry Building. The Giants were playing the Dodgers (the bad guys won, and the Giants lost – ugh!), and there were of a ton of fans walking around early before the game, but we were still able to secure a nice parking spot. We walked along the Embarcadero, which is one of our favorite things to do in The City. (Please take note that I showed incredible restraint here … I almost typed “one of our favorite things to do in Frisco” just to piss people off, but I totally didn’t … but I could have.)

So anyway, it’s a decent walk, especially for an almost 3 year old. It’s 1.2 miles. We look at the bay. We point out the boats and the Muni trains.  Once we get to the Ferry Building, we never go into any of the amazing restaurants or shops that are there. Although, sometimes I pick up a few things to go. Instead, we usually end up at the nearby Starbucks, because they have a restroom, and they have ceiling fans, which my kid thinks are the most fascinating thing in the world. We lucked out this time and got to sit in the cushy chairs. We did a “cheers” with our drinks and ate our Starbucks snacks and talked about the ceiling fans.


Ahhh, this is the life.

When we finished our drinks, it was time to go, but Calvin had feelings about leaving. He wasn’t ready. I put into a play a little tip that had been shared with me. I put a visual timer on my phone (the app is actually called Kid Timer). Basically, it’s a stopwatch with colors. So, I set it for 3 minutes, and I said, “When the green is gone, it’s time to go, OK?” I reminded him a few times, and when the time was up, he hopped off the chair and said, “Bye, bye, fans.” It was like magic. Calvin is a sweet kid with an awesome sense of humor, but transitions are tough for him. However, if you give him a heads up about what’s next, he’s more cooperative. I think this timer is going to improve the quality of our lives.

We left the Starbucks, and we didn’t walk too far before I realized that we walked too far. From the ballpark to the Ferry Building and back to the ballpark wasn’t an issue when we had the stroller, but we don’t use the stroller that much anymore, and I certainly hadn’t brought it this time. Calvin was tired, and he wanted to be carried, and we were still really far from the car. Calvin is WAY too heavy to be carried that far. Lucky for me, right by the Ferry Building, all the pedicabs were lined up. One of the riders said, “Need a ride to the game?”

“Nope, but we need a ride to our car, which is right by the ballpark.”

And that’s how Calvin and I ended up taking our first-ever ride in a pedicab. I wish I had taken a photo of Calvin during the ride. I don’t think his smile could have been any bigger. It made me think that I should get a bike with a seat for The Kid, but I’m not sure I would really ride it that much. I love the idea of it, though.

So anyway, Calvin and I made it through the weekend! David gets home Wednesday, and we can’t wait.

Get down for what.

Get down for what.




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License to ill

Yeah, so, during my morning commute to work I usually spend my time drinking coffee and trying to perfect singing along to Iggy Azalea’s “Fancy,” because I am so fancy. You already know.

While stopped at a red light the other day I saw a license plate frame that said, “Don’t Kiss Me. I’ll Get Hurt.” I tried to snap a photo, but it didn’t turn out very well.


Also, please note I was not driving. We were stopped. Completely stopped. I don’t text and drive, I SWEAR. Stop judging me. Ugh. You people are the worst.

So, anyway, what the hell does “Don’t Kiss Me. I’ll Get Hurt” mean? I did some googling, because I thought maybe it was a song lyric or a movie quote that I didn’t know about. My search turned up nothing. You know what that means, right? It means people are putting their personal issues on license plate frames now.

I wish people were doing that when I was dating. It would have made things a lot easier. I would have deleted my OK Cupid profile and gotten a license plate frame that said, “My dad never tells me he loves me.” Then I would cruise around and look for a man with a “Nothing I do is ever good enough for my mom” license plate frame. It would have saved me countless awkward dinner dates and follow up emails explaining why there wouldn’t be a second awkward date.

Right now my license plate frame says, “I’d rather be eating tuna.” It’s from Da Poke Shack in Hawaii, and mighty, mighty good man David bought it because he thinks it’s hilarious that his wife drives a car with a license plate frame that says, “I’d rather be eating tuna.” Get it? Because tuna is slang for pussy, and David thinks it’s funny that his wife is driving around with a license plate frame suggesting she would rather be eating pussy. Hilarious.

What would your personal issue license plate frame be? Also, if you have any insight into “Don’t Kiss Me. I’ll Get Hurt” I’d love to hear it.





Is it rude to refer to San Francisco as The City?

Yeah, so, San Francisco has a lot of nicknames: SF, Frisco, San Fran, The City By The Bay. Growing up a mere 33 miles away, I always referred to San Francisco as The City.

“We’re going into The City to see yet another director’s cut of ‘Blade Runner.'”

I don’t know where I picked that nickname up from, but I would guess that my friends probably referred to San Francisco as The City, so I did, too.

I don’t think much about it. A lot of folks that I follow on the social medias have thoughts and feelings about what are the proper nicknames for San Francisco.  I don’t get that worked up about it. No matter what you call it, San Francisco is awesome. Plus, I pay a lot of money to live here, so I’ll call it whatever I want. As long we keep paying that San Francisco rent, I can call it “Rick” if I want to.

I started working in The City in 1998, and I moved here 10 years after that. The City changed my life. I wrote a love letter to The City as part of the I Live Here: SF series. I moved here a single girl with wiener dog. And now I’m married with a wiener dog and raising a 3-year-old San Francisco native. I love living in The City.

Photo by local legend Julie Michelle. Taken in the Dogpatch in 2009.

Photo by local legend Julie Michelle. Taken in the Dogpatch in 2009.

So, yeah, I’m writing about San Francisco nicknames, because the other day I referred to San Francisco as The City, and I’m worried that it made me sound like a jerk, and now I’m thinking I need to reprogram my brain to call San Francisco something else.

We were in Concord at a playground with The Kid. We struck up a conversation with another parent at the playground, and she asked us where The Kid goes to preschool. “Oh, we live in The City. The name of the school is …”

Does referring to San Francisco as The City make it sound like where she lives is not a city?

I live in The City, not in some town like Concord. Do you even have running water and electricity here?” *accidentally drops my monocle into my martini glass* “Oh my!

She didn’t seem to think it was rude, and we had a perfectly fine chat. It wasn’t until right before I was falling asleep that night that I realized maybe that wasn’t very nice. I always save my little panic attacks for right before bedtime, because I hate myself.

So, you guys, what do you think: Is it assy to refer to San Francisco as The City when you are in another city?




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Star Wars Day

Yeah, so, every season the San Francisco Giants have “Star Wars Day” at the ballpark.

Obviously, I go to this game. I mean, I kinda have to, right? The main things I’m geeky about are “Star Wars” and the San Francisco Giants. This is my day.

This year was a crazy good giveaway: an R2-D2 beanie. They were giving them out to the first 10,000 fans, and I needed to make sure I was one of the 10,000. So, my mom, because she is the nicest lady in the world, hopped on BART and was at our house a little after 10 a.m., so that mighty, mighty good man David and I could get to the ballpark early.

We were at the ballpark about 90 minutes before the game started, because we are dorks. We weren’t the only dorks, though. There were A LOT of people in line before us. Still, I am happy to report that we got our beanies. David is giving his to our son, because David is a grownup, whereas I’m a selfish dick dork.


R2-D2 beanie achievement unlocked!

David and I didn’t dress up in “Star Wars” costumes; however, we did wear our “Star Wars” T-shirts. We even dressed up The Kid in a “Star Wars” shirt, even though he wasn’t going to the game.

Using The Force to play Endless Alphabet.

Using The Force to play Endless Alphabet.

We saw a lot of folks in costumes at the ballpark. One of the things that kinda bums me out about “Star Wars” is — for ladies — there’s pretty much only Princess Leia (or Queen Amidala if you are into those lame prequels that I have had Eternal Sunshine-d from my mind.) I was glad to see a few ladies dressed as R2-D2 and some random jedi knights. I hope we get a little more variety in the new “Star Wars” sequels. There must be more than one or two women in a galaxy far, far away.

So anyway, we saw a lot of costumes. I felt particularly bad for the people that dressed up as ewoks or Chewbecca, because — in a San Francisco rarity — it was actually warm that day. Seriously, we left the house without sweatshirts, you guys! We saw a few people wearing the full-on Darth Vader costume, and I kept thinking, “They must be sweating like crazy in that costume, and it must smell terrible in there.”

An amazing view of AT&T Park ... and my Star Wars shoes.

An amazing view of AT&T Park … and my Star Wars shoes.

Sadly, this was the only Giants game we have been to this season. It’s shameful, really. We are going to an A’s game on Saturday, and I’m hoping we can squeeze in another Giants game before the regular season is over. Obviously, the Giants will make to the playoffs, but playoff and World Series tickets are really expensive.

David and I at the 2010 World Series.

David and I at the 2010 World Series.


The Curious Case of Curious George

Yeah, so, The Boy is really into “Curious George” right now, and by “really into” I mean “REALLY INTO.” He won’t watch anything else. You put on “Thomas the Tank Engine,” which he was REALLY INTO a month ago, and he immediately starts pointing at the TV. “George. George. George.”

“Curious George” is fine. It’s an adorable PBS cartoon about a man who dresses weird and lives with a monkey that he is raising like it’s his own son. Michael Jackson did that, and we all thought he was weird, but apparently we’re all fine with making a cartoon for children about it. That’s cool.

Calvin is so into “Curious George” I thought it was a good idea to buy the first book for him. I hadn’t read it since I was a child. It doesn’t hold up very well, if you ask me. Just in case you don’t remember the story, allow me to share it with you:


Once upon a time there was a happy, little monkey named George, who lived in the jungle.


Then some asshole in yellow hat came along and decided to kidnap George and take him from the jungle. There is no mention of George’s family, but I’m sure they are wondering where he is, hanging missing person posters all over the jungle and going on the local news pleading for his return.


 The Asshole in the Yellow Hat brings George on to a boat bound for New York, where George tries to escape by flying, because he is a monkey and doesn’t know any better. He falls into the ocean and almost drowns.


In New York City, George gets into all kinds of mishaps and ends up in jail because he is not white. The Asshole in the Yellow Hat bails him out and takes him to his new home.


George goes to live in the zoo, because all animals love to live in the zoo. The end.

I don’t want to talk shit about the zoo. I love taking The Boy to the zoo. BUT, have you ever seen a chimpanzee that was stoked to be living in a zoo? I haven’t. They always look horribly depressed. We don’t stop by the chimpanzees when we are at the zoo, because it totally bums us out.

So, yeah, I don’t remember the “Curious George” book being such a bummer. I’m sure the other books in the series are way more fun. And the cartoon, like I said, is cute. Calvin loves it. He dances to the theme song and laughs out loud when he watches it. Fine. I’ll admit it, even I have laughed a few times watching it. I’m not made of stone, people. As far as kid-friendly programming goes, “Curious George” is pretty non-offensive. It’s no “Barney” or “Caillou” is what I’m saying.

So, while everyone else is binge watching “Orange Is The New Black” and “House of Cards,” we are binge watching “Curious George” on Netflix. We have watched six seasons of “Curious George.” According to Wikipedia, there are two more seasons, but they are not on Netflix yet, so no spoilers, you guys! We don’t want the end ruined for us, but mighty, mighty good man David has a theory that it will turn out the entire series was a dream, and George will wake up in the zoo. I, on the other hand, think it will end with George waking up in bed with Michael Jackson.

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It’s a pirate party in Canada

Yeah, so, mighty, mighty good man David was in Vancouver last week for work, so you know what that means, right?

If you guessed, “You watched a documentary about the hunt for Osama bin Laden and some depressing crime shows” you would be technically correct, but that’s not what I was going to say. It means Calvin’s pirate, Sebastian, was also in Vancouver.





Meanwhile, in San Francisco, Sebastian’s friend, Bruce, was having a less glamorous time, eating pasta and watching “Curious George.”


Just in case you don’t know the history, allow me to explain. Whenever David travels, he brings Sebastian with him. You can follow Sebastian’s European adventures riiight here.

Next month, Sebastian is going to Amsterdam. Prediction: That pirate is going to get fucked up and never come home.

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‘Prime’ time

Yeah, so, while David is away on his work trips, I usually watch depressing documentaries that he has no interest in watching.

David: “So what did you watch while I was gone?”
Sonia: “A documentary about AIDS, and then another one about how all the food we eat is killing us.”
David: “That sounds fun.”

I also binge watch TV shows that he’s not into. I finished the “Fargo” miniseries on Saturday night, which I loved. I highly recommend it. There is almost no connection to the Coen Brothers movie, but that’s cool, and probably the smart way to go, because the movie is damn near perfect.

Sunday night, I was ready to dig into something else. I thought about “Orange Is The New Black.” I’ve only watched the first four episodes and I enjoyed it. But then I discovered that the 1990s BBC miniseries “Prime Suspect,” starring Helen Mirren, is on Netflix, so I’ll pretty much be watching that all week. I love a good cop show — emphasis on the word “good.” I have no interest in the CSI: NCIS: Bones brand of cop shows. I like cop shows like “Homicide: Life on the Street” and “The Shield.” “Prime Suspect” is in my sweet spot.

David is traveling again in September. Maybe I’ll watch “Orange” then.

When I’m not watching “Prime Suspect,” it will most likely be baseball. It will look something like this:



Dadvent calendar

Yeah, so, mighty, mighty good man David is traveling again for work. He’s going to Vancouver for the week for a trade show, and he’s leaving Saturday morning.

David travels quite a bit for work. We all miss David when he is gone, but it’s tough on Calvin. He really misses David. The first few days Calvin puts up a brave front, but after that, well, he’s ready for Dad to come home.

In the past, when David has traveled for work, we didn’t really tell Calvin about it. Calvin just woke up that morning and Daddy wasn’t there, and then I say, “Daddy will be home later.” It’s kind of a dick move on our part. He’s almost 3 years old. He understands a lot more than we think.

We’ve been having positive results with telling Calvin what to expect. “After ‘Curious George’ were going to take bath.” “After your bath we’re going to read a book and go to bed.” If you give him a heads up, he’s pretty agreeable. So, for David’s weeklong trip we told in advance and we’ve come up with the Dadvent calendar.

dadvent calendar

Ta-dah! A Dadvent calendar is like an advent calendar but about dads.

Every day Calvin and I are going to mark a day off the Dadvent calendar until David gets back. I thought about making a Dadvent calender involving stickers or a pie shape with removal pieces of paper, but I don’t think we need all that. Also, I’m not even remotely crafty. The Kid is kinda obsessed with counting and numbers right now, so I think this will work. … I hope it works. I will report back.

Also, the usual “David is traveling” warning applies: Be on the lookout for excessive tweeting. I have thoughts, and when there is no one in the house to listen to my shit, I tweet it out. My apologies in advance.


Share a Coke with someone you hate

Yeah, so, have you seen these stupid Coke and Diet Coke cans with the names on them?

They say “Share a Coke With …” and then it has a wide selection of names. The same names that you will find those little novelty license plates for, but never your name.

First of all, I’m not sure understand the idea behind marketing plan. Is the idea that I would walk up to the cooler in a store to buy something and see my name on a soda can and immediately buy it?

“Well, I was going to be healthy, thirst-quenching water, but then I saw my name on this soda can and I just had to buy it.”

I assume this was to create some social media buzz, and I’m sure it’s working, because we’re all ridiculous. I post photos of my beer on Instagram. I’m not superior.

My office buddy Paul drinks so much Diet Coke it should be illegal. No, seriously. There should be a law, because I’m sure that much Diet Coke causes cancer. I don’t want him to get cancer, because then he will take a bunch of time off of work, and I’ll have to do his work, and I’m lazy. I know I will have to do his work, because Paul and Jennifer covered for me and did all my work when I had breast cancer … that maybe I got from diet sodas. Dun dun DUN!

So, some of the Coke and Diet Coke cans have names on them, but some of them are a little more generic, too. They say “Share a Coke With Your Pal” or “Your buddy,” or “A star.”

Boring! Here are a few suggestions for you, Coke.

Share a Coke with …

Your turn. Who should we be sharing a Coke with?

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Random stuff: Mascot racing, sour beer and more

Yeah, so, I accidentally took more than two weeks off from my blog. That’s not like me. I apologize. Let me make it up to you by writing a blog post filled with random crap. Cool? Cool!

At the end of June, the company I work for laid off my office buddy Jennifer, who was not only my office buddy, but she was the only other person on the content team. So, yeah, I’ve been swamped at work, and when I get home I’m not exactly aching to turn on the computer, which is most likely the reason for the lack of blogging. Ugh. I hate working at work. That shit is so lame. Let’s talk about something else …

Speaking of talking, The Kid is starting to talk a lot. There’s still some babbling, but we are hearing a lot of sentences, too. The other day he handed me my phone and said, “Take a picture of me.” So I did.


Bunny ears.

I posted this photo on Facebook, explaining that Calvin asked me to, and good buddy Katie commented, “See? He knows what a phone is for.” Suck on that, speech therapist.

On Sunday, mighty, mighty good man David and I finally got to go to our first game of the baseball season. I know, right? That’s so sad. We went to the A’s game with good buddies Corso and Kate, and once again the baseball gods were smiling on me at the Oakland Coliseum because David was able to snap this photo.


Big heads!

For those of you who don’t give a shit about baseball because you care about other cooler stuff, that’s Dennis Eckersley, Rollie Fingers and Rickey Henderson. They race on the field during the 7th inning. I think all ballparks need to do mascot racing. Where’s the Kickstarter to make that happen? I’ll contribute. Hey, San Francisco Giants: You have a organic garden in centerfield (seriously), but you don’t have mascot racing. Priorities! We’re going to the game on August 31 (it’s the Star Wars game), and I want to see some goddamn mascots racing. Make it happen.

I’ve had really good luck at the Coliseum lately. Last season, I got my photo taken with the A’s mascot Stomper and some “Star Wars” folks.


Yes, I’m more of a Giants fan, but still … Take this, haters!


You: “I’m jealous of your Han Solo shirt.” Me: “I know.”

Speaking of awesome things that happened, Almanac released a Dark Pumpkin Sour beer. I repeat, Dark Pumpkin Sour beer. Those are my four favorite words: Dark Pumpkin Sour BEER!


Dark. Pumpkin. SOUR!

I read about this beer a few weeks ago, and I tweeted to my local bottle shop. “Do you have the Almanac Dark Pumpkin Sour?” And they replied they would have it later the following week. Last Thursday, I walked in, and the owner said, “It’s back there.” This was cool for two reasons:

1) Dark Pumpkin Sour beer.

2) The bottle shop owner knows who I am.

Actually, that second one might be a sign of a problem.

So anyway, the Dark Pumpkin Sour was everything I dreamed it would be. If you like sour beer, I recommend it. If you don’t like sour beer, well … more for me.

Speaking of things I’m addicted to, David served me a bowl of Peanut Butter Fudge Swirl ice cream from Bi-Rite tonight. After one bite …



Oh man. That ice cream is going to be a problem. Now I understand why people are lining up around the block for it all the time. I get it now, you guys. I get it.


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