Hollywood Sucker

2010-01-18T14:00:00.000-08:00

Hey everyone! I'm very happy to announce the start of my new blogging endeavor. The Doing Stuff Blog. Stop by and check me out some time.

xo
b

I Wish I Could Say This All In Fewer Words Because The Length of This Makes It Seem Too Dramatic

2009-12-13T19:37:00.000-08:00

After a 10 day stretch of blog writer's block, I come to you with upsetting news: Earlier today I was emotionally moved by Julie & Julia. Those of you who know me, and those of you--whoever you are--that only know me as Hollywood Sucker, might be surprised to learn that a feel-good, please-everybody movie could have this effect on me. Well, allow me to put this in some kind of context.

I bought the movie on demand at about 4:30. Up until that point, I'd accomplished nothing all day, except for managing to cram 2 carb-intense meals into my face in the span of just 4 hours. I have a love/hate relationship with lazy days like these. Lately I've been leaning more towards the hate side of things.

So I'm sitting there watching the movie, not a thought in my brain. I get to the part where (spoiler alert--I guess? not really) Amy Adam's character, Julie, is featured in a New York Times article and suddenly every literary agent and publisher in the universe wants a piece of her. Hurrah, hurrah, she is a real writer after all.

And I, in spite of myself, start to cry. These weren't sappy happy scene tears. I was just...bothered. With myself, not with the movie. I suppose the best explanation I can offer is that it occurred to me that my writing aspirations are little more than a hobby. And that I've never devoted a good amount of attention to any hobby I've ever explored. But this Julie person found a way to fix her own shortcomings as a writer, got lucky, got published, and wound up portrayed in a major Hollywood movie by an attractive A-list actress. Now she has a new blog with an About Me section that reads, "From dead-end secretarial job to a 110 pound dog and a job writing in my pajamas." Well la-di-freaking-da.

Because I'm trying to be a better human being these days I don't want to dwell on the real Julie and her real success. So back to the story at hand: me, my couch, and this darn movie.

I finished watching the movie, trying to put my ridiculous outburst out of my mind. Fortunately Devin had dozed off somewhere along the way and missed the whole episode, so if I could just get through the end credits and on with my night, I could ignore whatever feelings were rumbling around deep inside. I could pretend this had never happened.

But of course that was a stupid plan, and by the time the movie wrapped up and Devin stirred from his nap, I was still distracted and distraught. So I took a shower for no good reason, then went out to get a hot fudge sundae for dinner, and now here we are. I think I have reached some kind of conclusion.

I believe the writer in me is still alive and well. I think I've just wound up in the wrong headspace.

When I started this blog my plan was to chronicle the life of an average, daydreaming, underwhelming girl with no money, who lived in a city of glamour, celebrity, sunshine and wealth. Sure it was a self deprecating theme, but I think --I hope--that was its charm. And then for a while I became obsessed with The Hills during what was sort of an unannounced comparison study. Who's doing it right? People like me or people like Lauren? I don't know if I ever decided on a winning team, but I'd like to think it's the one I'm on.

And then sometime after that my blog just lost steam. In the last several months, especially, I can't seem to find anything to say. I realize now that it's because I can't write this particular blog any more. I'm not feeling so lost and lame, so bored and boring. My job is going really well, I just got married and thus started an exciting new part of my life. And in general, I think some part of me just changed somewhere along the line.

For instance, last week Devin and I went to a get together at the home of one of his coworkers. It was a beautiful house, and not in a massive, elegant way. It was cozy, and warm, and every piece of furniture or artwork had a story behind it. That night, in bed, I was acting sort of despondent. Devin asked what was wrong and I told him, "I just want a house and I'm sad we don't have one." Once the words came out of my mouth, I hated myself for saying it. And for being such a brat, as I lay in a warm bed, next to someone who loves me, with a roof over my head and a belly full of yummy dinner.

So it goes when I try to write this blog. More often than not, I stop myself from publishing my post because I re-read what I've typed and I feel like I'm being a little shithead, like I'm directionless and hopeless. And while I hate to admit that the story of Julie Powell has anything to do with the story of me, I think I realized I'd rather write a blog that sets goals. That speaks to accomplishments, or at least to the pursuit of something.

As 2009 comes to a close, I think it's time to put an end to Hollywood Sucker. In the new year, one of two things will happen: Either I will start a new blog, one where every entry I type feels right, or else I will just stay focused on my other writing, the countless screenplays I've started with great fervor and then carelessly abandoned.

And now that I'm here, I don't know exactly what to say. This is harder than I thought it would be. So thanks for those of you who have been reading. See you around the internet.

-Bri

Christmas In My Neighborhood

2009-12-03T13:20:00.000-08:00

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

Everywhere you go...

There's sleazy M&M's

And giant blow up snowmen

And trees tied up with pretty red bows...

It's beginning to look a lot like Chistm-aaaaahhhh!

[record scratch]

Holy crap! What happened here?

Teddy Bear, is that you? Pull yourself together, man. You're ruining Christmas.

Oh, I see. Drunk again.

What a pity.

Gobble.

2009-11-25T09:37:00.000-08:00

Lately my blog's done little than amass spam comments on old posts. It's probably a sign of quitting time. But anyway. Here's some Thanksgiving stuff.

"I'd try a slice or two. Sure." That guy's my favorite.

This is unrelated but. Why not?

Oh no. Now I'm on a roll.

Speaking of rolls...mmm crescent rolls. I'll be enjoying you tomorrow!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Letting Myself Go

2009-11-16T15:47:00.000-08:00

I've heard it said that many women will let themselves go once they are married. They'll put on a little weight, spend less time on their appearance. And then one day, years later, their husbands will wonder what the hell happened.

But I'm not going to say what you think I'm going to say. I haven't let myself go since the wedding.

No, I let myself go a long long time ago. There's just something about being married, comfy and calm that gave me a chance to put things in perspective and actually see what I'd done to myself. Or, really, what I'd let life do to me.

On Saturday I was at The Grove picking something up and then doing some writing at Barnes and Noble. For those of you who don't know, The Grove is what folks like me would call "The Rich People Mall." Everyone who shops there looks fantastic and coordinated, especially the teenage girls. Do you know how troubling it is to feel like a nerd when you walk by a group of 15 year olds?

Anyway, after several hours of typing away in the B&N Starbucks, I decided it was time to head home. But first, I stopped at the bathroom. While waiting in line for a stall to open I glanced over at my reflection in the mirror.

Who IS that? Her hair is slimy and in a messy pony tail. Her face is all broken out. She looks exhausted and pale. Her belly is hanging sloppily over her jeans. She's wearing a miserable gray t-shirt with gray sweatshirt combo.

You know, I used to care. I used to put effort into my looks. I'd have "outfits" not just "a shirt...with...these pants...yeah good enough." I used to spend more time at the gym if I noticed I was pushing maximum density in my jeans.

I guess you could say my self esteem is a little low these days. I blame the people who lied to me and told me I'd lose like 10 pounds the week of the wedding. Horsecrap! I was counting on this magic, guaranteed weight loss to counteract the effects of my stress-motivated Taco Bell trips and nightly booze consumption. Then there were all of the mai-tais on the honeymoon. And now presto-blobbo, we have a problem.

And I'm pretty sure the Starbucks peppermint mocha that I'm sipping right now is NOT part of the solution.

But aside from this morning's beverage choice, I've been trying to take care of myself and get out of this mess. On Sunday I ran a 5k and I'm hoping to do a 10k soon.

And I've been eating better (sort of). We have these snazzy wooden salad bowls from our wedding registry and they are motivating me to make salad every night. We also got a bunch of incredibly sharp knives as wedding presents, which are great for slicing off a hearty chunk of my thumb. Seriously, that happened the other day when I was cutting a tomato and it was really gross. And now my thumb has healed and it has a little scoop missing from the top. This is not the sort of weight loss I had in mind, but I think it will help me type more accurately on my new phone's touch screen.

It's all uphill from here.

The New Phone

2009-11-09T10:26:00.000-08:00

I remember when I was a kid, starting in maybe 4th or 5th grade, I began to develop brand awareness. The "cool" kids wore things like Starter jackets and those t-shirts with Looney Tunes characters dressed like gang members. As I moved on to middle school there were JNCO jeans and Airwalks, by high school it was Abercrombie and Fitch. And all the while, through the ages, I knew I had to have a Jansport backpack or I may as well walk through the halls with a "Kick Me" sign on my back.

So yes I was always aware of what I was supposed to be wearing, but there was little I could do to keep up. I knew my parents would never hand over enough money to buy all of these name brand things that I wanted, and to be honest I sort of saw their point. Once I had a part time job, I realized just how many hours I had to work in order to afford some hideous sweatshirt with GAP written across it in giant letters.

And so it went that someone could look at me and literally see, right away, that I was not to be taken seriously. I was tragically uncool.

Thankfully this stopped bothering me somewhere around my senior year of high school, or I would've been a wreck come the North Face jacket and Tiffany chain necklace phenomenon of 2001.

What does this have to do with my new phone? Well, simply that I thought by this point in my life I'd no longer feel pressured to have the right things to fit in.

And then the blasted iPhone was invented and I realized that nothing has changed since 5th grade. We just needed the right motivation.

The iPhone began as a coveted and difficult to obtain device. But as time went on, they became readily available and everybody jumped on board. The fact that they were so popular made those of us who did not own them stick out like sore thumbs. How did I become a giant nerd again?

And iPhone owners liked to tell me, SHOW me, about their iPhone ownerness. "You gotta get one of these," they'd say, putting it in front of me. I'd look at the glassy surface, shmeared with finger prints and face grease, and watch, mildly interested, while they used their finger to pull icons across the screen. Then they'd zoom in at some corner of a webpage by moving their thumb and middle finger out away from each other in a movement that struck me as creepy. "Cool huh?"

Yeah, I guess.

"And there are all of these great apps. This one tells me how to speak Mandarin, and this one farts when you press a button, and this one helps tune a guitar."

"But I really don't need to speak Mandarin. And if I want to hear a fart, I could just fart. And I don't own a guitar. And neither do you."

"Well...look you can flip it on its side and the screen flips with it."

"Fine, you want me to say I want one? I want one. I'll get one. Now please just leave me and my real-button phone alone."

So for a few weeks I told myself I'd get an iPhone, once I had the money and the time to deal with it. This meant ignoring the fact that everyone who had an iPhone said the coverage wasn't good, and that once the iPhone was available outside of AT&T, they'd switch back. It also meant convincing myself that even though I had always liked Verizon, I'd have to leave them. And that I'd have to go through the hassle of signing a new contract.

Wait, why do I want an iPhone?

Then on Saturday, Devin and I went to Verizon to see if we could get on a family plan together to save money. Two very long hours later, we each walked out with the Blackberry Storm.

Here's something about iPhones - they aren't buy one get one free. And Blackberrys are. Score!

I haven't totally figured out how to use it, yet. And I can't get the hang of pressing non-existent buttons. In fact, I'm starting to get a fat-finger complex.

But hey, it's new. And fancier.

And just like it's owner, it's not the coolest, but it'll be just fine.

These Are The People in My Neighborhood, In My Neighborhood

2009-10-29T10:00:00.000-07:00

Halloween is my second favorite holiday (behind Thanksgiving, of course), and even though I'm not throwing my usual ginormous Halloween party (wedding planning has sucked all of my hostess powers for at least a few months), I'm still very much in the spirit of things!

And so are my neighbors. Avid readers of this blog (all 3 of you) might remember last year's post on the extremely enthusiastic Halloween displays in my 'hood. This year, things pretty much look the same, but I'd like to show you some of the new additions.

First up is the lawn on the corner, which last year, in a tribute to capital punishment, had not only a hanging man, but also a frying one.

Well, this year I guess they had a change of heart because the poor bastard in the electric chair has been replaced by a hip rock trio I call the Bone-as Brothers.

Then up the road is the wonder house that last year provided us with, among other things, a mad bunny driving a hearse on the front lawn.

This year, they've expanded well beyond their yard, over the sidewalk and onto the street, where the hearse is now parked instead.

In addition to wondering why the City of Los Angeles is fine with its residents leaving coffins in the streets, I also wondered if the Funeral Parking Only sign was stolen from

A. A funeral these people had attended
B. The funeral of a stranger

And which of the above scenarios is worse?

At the front end of the hearse is a pair of feet sticking out from below.

The really scary thing about this portion of the display is that when I first drove by, for a second I really thought someone was hurt and lying in the street. But even more disturbing is my initial reaction of "Oh, well, er, I have to get to work, so."

And even MORE disturbing than my indifference to injured pedestrians is my choice of pants for a morning walk.

Sorry fellas, I'm taken!

Let's Face It, That $20 Isn't Going To Do Either of Us Much Good

2009-10-26T10:02:00.000-07:00

I try to avoid whining, too much, about my financial woes. They are ever-present and super annoying. If I allowed myself to write freely on my blog about my financial issues, the title of every post would be "I Hate Money."

Up until recently, I'd always been sort of "Eh, no big deal. So we're broke." I've never had a lot of money, so I was pretty much used to the lifestyle. In fact, it's made this whole economic depression pretty easy to handle. Welcome to my world, America. Would you like to come over to our place for Cost Effective Margarita Game Night?

But something about being married is aggravating the brokeness now. In my head, the Mrs. title should have come with a mortgage and the ability to treat other couples to a fancy dinner. And heaven forbid we really wanted to have a kid right now. He'd have to earn his keep as a baby model (and let's face it, he'd be handsome enough).

At my friend's urging, I signed up for mint.com, to track our expenses and set a budget. I remained optimistic that the problem is merely a result of poor budgeting skills and that the situation is not entirely hopeless. So far, I just find the site a bit confusing and immensely discouraging. It's one thing to throw around the term "in the red" during conversation, it's a whole other feeling to actually see a screen full of red text in multiple categories.

Now, with all of that as a backdrop, allow me to tell you about the $20 ordeal on Saturday. Warning: you are about to get some disturbing insight into my unquiet mind.

On Saturday morning (or, er, noonish), I ran out to pick up bagels and orange juice. Knowing that the bagel place charges an ungodly $4 for a single serving bottle of OJ, I thought I'd be wise and buy a full size bottle from the grocery store in the same shopping plaza. Then for the same price, we could have juice for days! I was off to a good start.

However, as I approached the entrance to the grocery store, I saw two men with clipboards talking to shoppers. As I've mentioned before, I do not do well with petitioners and people promoting their causes.

When I finally got close enough to the entrance, one of the clipboard guys reached out to me. "Will you help us make gay marriage legal again in California?" Oh yes! And thank goodness this isn't some cause I don't understand. (Or one I don't care about. And I do have those too.)

"Oh yeah. Sure."

"Great. Let me tell you a little bit more about what we're doing." And then as he went on explaining himself, I took note of his sincere blue eyes, his youthful face. I resisted the urge to hug him. When I tuned back in, he was asking me for a donation. Damn it. Now I've gone and gotten myself trapped again.

"Well, I'm sorry but I just don't have any money to spare right now. I'm on a really tight budget."

"You don't have to give a lot--"

"But I would. I would give a lot, I want you to know."

"We're asking for a one time donation of $44. That's one dollar for every --" I should have let him finish. I'm sure that would have been an interesting fact.

"Yeah, that's too much. Maybe it shouldn't seem like a lot, but it is."

"Or $28. That's one dollar for every--"

"I just don't think I can spare anything. My husband and I really can't afford any additional expenses." Damn it. Now I'd gone and rubbed it in that I'm married.

"We're really fighting an up hill battle as a grass roots organization, getting by on donations from people like you. Last year the Morman Church spent $40 million on their campaign to ban gay marriage."

Well now he'd gone and done it. I was particularly sensitive to this matter after Devin and I discovered we'd inadvertently visited this Mormon racket in Hawaii that promoted itself as the Polynesian Cultural Center. It was sort of like Epcot Center with villages for Figi, New Zealand, Tonga, etc. But we became suspicious when we discovered tour buses leaving from the center and going to the Mormon temple up the road. I'll spare you the full rant and instead just conclude that in a roundabout way I'd donated money to the wrong side of this debate. It was the least I could do to give some cash to this poor guy standing in front of me.

I opened my wallet to find a $20 bill. I paused for a moment, thinking that this $20 would either go to this guy or to, most likely, booze and food. How selfish could I be?

Unfortunately, I'm prone to borderline delusional flights of fancy (cute when you're 12 years old, troubling when you're 27) and began envisioning myself as a champion for gay rights. I'd be at protests. I'd help raise money with this guy. (Really, I am WAY too lazy to do any of that.)

I handed over the $20 and felt quite pleased with myself. But by the time I'd finished the 5 minute drive home, I regretted my decision. That was 20 bucks! I needed that! What was I thinking? I decided not to tell Devin about my new political endeavors.

Then later that night, as Devin and I were walking up to the restaurant where we were meeting a friend, something reminded me of that morning's encounter. "This morning I gave $20 to a guy for gay marriage."

"Why would you do that? You can't even pay your bills."

"I know. I just felt bad."

"That money could have paid for your dinner that you're about to eat."

"Yeah, but I had to do something..."

"$20 is not going to make a big difference to them. You may as well have just hung onto it."

Sure enough, my portion of the dinner was about $35. That long lost $20 bill would have been handy.

Dwelling on this matter again yesterday while grocery shopping, I decided that the only way to make up for giving up that money was to spend as little as possible for my lunches during the work week. So I bought 5 packs of ramen noodles for $1, to avoid spending $20 - $25 on take out or expensive foods with nutritional value.

Lesson learned, I guess. Don't donate money you can't donate. It's not going to help your karma, it's not going to save the world, it's just going to ruin your lunch.

Thank you, Toluca Lake Plant-life

2009-10-23T10:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning, while walking the dog, I felt rumbly and grumbly and generally upset. It seems like the world is playing a joke on me lately, specifically in the financial department.

While huffing and stomping through the streets, Seamus literally stopped to smell the roses. (Usually he just pees underneath them.) He shoved his snout right into one, then when he was done he looked over at me like "you gotta get in on this."

To his credit, he found a pretty cool looking rose.

I pat him on the head to thank him for reminding me to chill out and look around, then we strolled back home.

And I noticed I had a tiny flower tagalong.

Is someone getting all sentimental these days or what?

My DJ was a D-Bag. So what?

2009-10-21T18:46:00.000-07:00

In my last post I alluded to the fact that a number of things went seriously (I'd say disastrously) wrong at our wedding. And while this is true, and while I'd planned to share horrifying detail after horrifying detail with you, I've decided I'd better just stop thinking about the bullshit and focus on the memories. Isn't that what people advise brides-to-be? "Now remember, don't think about the bullshit."

Well, someone should start saying that to brides. I will.

Actually, it was Devin who suggested we just put a ban on the postmortem analysis after discovering that the further we tried to get to the bottom of things, the worse we both felt. I think I might actually be a little depressed. And I have stopped talking about it, sort of.

By now I'm sure you're really wondering what's going on and if I'm ever going to tell you. Well, I'm not. At least not exactly. Suffice it to say that we were fined a handsome sum of money for smokers smoking outside of the site's designated smoking area. (If you're reading this and you're one of them, you're an asshole. I'm sorry but it's true! And I can't call you up and tell you that personally.) The DJ started fights with me, Devin, my sister, my father, and our photographer. We nearly got shut down for someone smoking pot in the bathroom - or what has come to be called "the incident in the bathroom" in all related emails since. And I wound up leaving my kitchen shears and steak knives at the hotel.

I'd love to expand on all of those points of interest, but if I start, I'm likely to type so furiously I'll break a finger.

So since we've gotten back from our honeymoon we've been trying to get money back and make sense of it all. But nothing seemed to be going our way.

And in the meantime I have everyone I know asking me if I had a good time. I think the phrase "Don't even get me started!" was invented for moments like these.

It really sucks. To be honest I've been putting on a front as best as I can and seem like everything was perfect. It looks that way in pictures. And actually until everything took a weird turn the day genuinely WAS perfect. I'm really hoping that as time passes I'll only remember how great everything was, that it was 99% awesome and that I got to spend a day with everyone I love. Because for now whenever it gets brought up I have the same reaction you'd have if someone brought up a night you got really drunk and embarrassed yourself. I just want to pretend it never happened. And that breaks my heart.

Still, I'm getting better. The full DJ story (which I will tell you some time over drinks...later) is actually already a little bit funny. And it helps that Devin has somehow managed to filter out the bad stuff and I know I'll come around. When all is said and done, I really DID get married. That was the end goal and I met it.

In an effort to prove to myself that I don't really give a damn, I sent one final email to the location's (passive-aggressive) manager, whom I'd been battling with over the smoking issue. I wanted to type something jolly like "hey, my friends might be idiots but they're still my friends!" Then I deleted idiots and typed crazy. Then I deleted that and typed whacky. Then I gave up and instead just wrote "I really had a fun time!"

Thankfully she hasn't responded. So at least I got the final word.

The Best Wedding I Ever Hosted

2009-10-13T21:23:00.000-07:00

Gosh, one day of being back at work and in my messy apartment, and it's like the whole honeymoon never happened! Routine, routine.

I've been a wife for all of 10 days now, and the first thing I've learned is that people do not like you to say that you are glad your wedding is over or describe it as catastrophic. Don't get me wrong, it may have been the best wedding ever. I know this because so many guests said it was the best wedding ever. (Or maybe my friends are great with compliments.)

What I mean is... I wish someone had told me how tricky it can be to have fun at your own wedding. There are so many things to do and people to talk to and pictures to take and things that can go surprisingly and drastically wrong (but more on that later).

So lest you think I'm a bad bride, allow me to present you with visual evidence of my wedding awesomeness. I will also RE DO this entire thing once our photographer's pictures come in...but that will be weeks from now and who can wait that long? I can't without straining myself and passing out.

In the meantime, fantastic snapshots from my friend Barry.

We started with a peaceful ranch.

Added some well dressed men.

Some pretty ladies.

And a couple in love.

And Devin's friend Todd, a newly appointed minister in the Universal Life Church.

What you can't tell in this picture is that I shocked and embarrassed myself by bursting into tears the moment I began to recite my vows. I swear, I was fine, I was fine, and then "I Briana, now take you Devin.... gwwaahhhhh" Where did that come from?

Afterwards, our photographer suggested waiting a short while for the light to improve before taking more pictures. So I released the wedding party into the wild, where they must have each had at least 2 drinks a piece, for when I called them all back to take pictures I found myself confronted with an unruly bunch!

And then there was dinner. And a much celebrated speech from my father (who apparently channeled Dudley Moore for the evening).

And then there was dancing, and drinks sloshing all over the place (but none hit my dress... ha cha cha!).

By the end of the night it was time to slice the wedding pie and serve it up with ice cream. The caterer provided us with the world's largest knife, which prompted me and Devin to ham it up with stabby murder faces.

Seeing the pictures now, I'm not sure stabby murder faces were the right move.

But then it was time for more kissing. Yay!

Done and Done

2009-10-04T17:12:00.003-07:00

Heads Will Roll

2009-09-02T12:03:00.000-07:00

I must confess something. During the whole wedding planning process I've aimed to be described as "such a cool bride to be." I want people to say "she's so easy going about it all." "Even with all of the stress, she behaved like a sane person."

For a while it was easy to be this bride character I'd invented.

And then I actually took a look at the calendar and realized that -holy moses!- I only have a month left. And of that month there are only 8 weekend days in which to get everything done. 9 if you count Labor Day but I plan on day drinking, so.

8 days!

Then a switch went off somewhere in my brain. I swear there may have been an audible click. Now I'm a lunatic. I've been angry with Devin, my mother, my DJ for sending me a 4 word email response to my lengthy email to him, half of my guest list for not rsvping in a timely fashion, and the guy who manages the string trio for possibly vanishing off the face of the earth.

Oh, and another note about the string trio guy. This morning while in the shower I actually rehearsed (out loud!) the angry voicemail I'm going to leave him if he took over a week to respond to my last email. He has 1 day left. If I fire him I think that will make me feel better...for about 20 minutes.

I am trying not to feel stressed, even though really I am sort of a control freak and paranoid and I panic easily. I'm trying to ignore my instincts and be awesome.

But it's beyond me at this point. I'm going nuts and I keep feeling like I'm going to cry and I have no idea why this is happening.

Breathing in.
Breathing out.
Moving on...

Run Away With Me

2009-08-26T16:32:00.000-07:00

Attention fellow Angelenos! (no, I don't care for that term either)

And also attention to my friends out there in Brooklyn and whoever lives near Ohio State Univ.

The Nike Human Race 10k is happening again! This is a worldwide race where humans (that's you!) are encouraged to run 10k. Run alone, run with friends, and if you live in LA, NY, or OH, you can run with a whole big bunch of strangers.

I did this event last year and had a lot of fun.

So why don't you get off your butt and sign up? Oh wait, no don't actually get up because I need you to stay at your computer and go to this website. Or, get off your butt but don't actually leave the area. Maybe you could try standing at your desk, or holding your laptop.

Where was I?

Oh, right. Go to the website and sign up. I don't want to hear your excuses.

But I have never run in a race before...
Why not start now?!

But it says here the race starts at midnight. That's awfully late.
Okay, I admit this nearly stopped me, but then I thought of all of the other trouble I've been known to get myself into at that hour and running around through the streets seemed like a more intelligent choice.

But I don't eat right or exercise regularly and I'm completely out of shape.
Big effing deal. So is everyone else. I manage to work out MAYBE once a week, I never totally gave up smoking, and I just had a large Coffee Bean Mocha Ice Blended with whip cream for lunch.

Hmm. 10k. That seems really far. That's like 6 miles.
Actually it's 6.2. Which is really only like running for an hour. That doesn't make it sound much better. But if you start practicing now and run a few times a week, you'll be there in no time!

No. Really, I can't run that far.
Fine. Can you run 3 miles? Because you can sign up for the 5k too. That's much more manageable.

Alright. I'll run. But I'm not gonna like it.
Why do you always have to be like that? Is there no pleasing you?

I'm sorry. I'm just a little tired and cranky.
You know what will lift your spirits? Exercise!

I knew you were gonna say that.
Sucker!

One Less Car Clogging Up The Freeway

2009-08-21T12:13:00.000-07:00

I'm bummed out. In the past year a number of friends have packed up their apartments, thrown a goodbye party, and left Los Angeles for good. They've moved to go to school, to be closer to family, or to just try something totally different (Yes Monaghans who moved to freaking CHINA, I'm talking to you).

In the past week I've found out 2 of my closest girlfriends are leaving. One forever, and one for just a little while.

What's worse is that I know it's only the beginning. Certainly as we get older and more sensible, I'll lose even more friends to the call of A More Affordable Cost of Living. Who wouldn't want a 4 bedroom house with a yard instead of a 2 bedroom apartment with a standing-room-only balcony?

In some ways, I'm right there with them. For as long as I've lived here, I've had this on-going alternate reality fantasy where I live in Liverpool, NY, or Utica, NY (where Devin grew up). I work in the accounts receivable department of a company that manufactures hospital beds or lawn furniture or just some product I don't have to understand or know about in order to do my job. My hours are strictly 9 - 5. Sometimes out at 4 on Fridays! And then we all go out to TGI Fridays for happy hour, where I sip something like a sex on the beach and talk with my coworkers (Bev, Debbie and Carol). We exchange status updates on our kids and I make them laugh with stories of my DIY bathroom remodeling project from heck. At 5:30, I politely decline a second cocktail as I have to pick up the kids from the sitter and get dinner started.

On weekends Devin and I host bbqs. Much like we do now, except that in my alternate reality we have a house with a big backyard and a deck. We invite over our neighbors and Devin's coworkers from the fire department. They all bring their kids, who play with our kids on the slip-n-slide, while us parents drink frozen daiquiris and get mildly drunk.

At night, after the kids are in bed, we watch DVR'd sitcoms with TV-14 ratings, until we start to dose off on the couch. Then we shuffle upstairs (stairs! a second floor! imagine the glory!) and into our master bedroom with a walk in closet and partially remodeled master bath.

Ahh.

So I don't blame my friends who see a different life for themselves and want to give it a shot. Maybe some of them have the secret suburban dream like me. Maybe some of them are just sick of the scenery.

I'm just sad because I'm running out of friends. And it's so hard to make new ones. There are a lot of douchebags out there.

Douchehags

2009-08-18T14:07:00.000-07:00

That's the word my friend Miriam and I came up with last night to call women who are, well, douchebags.

I'm not a fan of calling women the typical insults. Bitch, slut, c-word. I feel like they are all over sexualized names and also probably thought up by men.

I just want to call her a d-hag without bringing down my whole gender. You know?!

So douchehag. I think it works. It's much less severe than anything else on the table.

Mid Week Activity

2009-08-17T13:24:00.000-07:00

Hey, how would you like to go to a party that leads to something good...for once!

Here's your chance!

Fundraiser benefiting the inspiring documentary ‘Defining Beauty’...the road to Ms. Wheelchair America

Brought to you by: The creators of Defining Beauty documentary

Host: Lisa Kline

Special Guest: Peter Wilderotter, President & CEO - Christopher & Dana Reeve Foundation

When: Wednesday, August 19 @ 7PM

Where: X Bar – Hyatt Regency Century Plaza

Cost: $30.00 for Industry members who purchase online, otherwise $40 @ the door. Discount code: beauty

Click Here to Purchase Tickets: http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/77878

Sneak Peek of the trailer: http://definingbeautydoc.blogspot.com/ OR http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P6Cn09NIOZo

Meteor Watching: What's Really Going On Here?

2009-08-12T12:16:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, in the interminable hours of the late afternoon, my sister IMed me to announce she'd heard about the meteor shower taking place at night. She intended on getting something to drink, staying up late, and watching it.

Simultaneously, it seemed, Facebook erupted with status updates relating to the heavens. "Hey everyone, the perseid meteor shower takes place tonight. Prime viewing hours are 12am-5am." "Hitting the gym and then watching the meteor shower with my girlies!"

The news wasn't John-Hughes-Is-Dead huge, but it was pretty major.

Even my old pal Google was getting in on the action.

I know space is fascinating and mysterious. But I wondered...what's with all the commotion? Are we really this starved for free entertainment and a reason to be outdoors?

We are, aren't we? This is terrible!

In fact, staring up at the stars is the only time we allow ourselves to ponder the enormity of the universe, our own tiny part in it, and ask the inevitable and unavoidable question: Is this it?

I'm not getting any younger, and I've yet to accomplish anything, or even choose a career path. I've been broke all my life with no sign of fortune in my future. Or maybe, like most people, I'm placing too much value on my job and money. And if that's the case, then I should probably do more to help mankind or animalkind or plantkind. Maybe I should quit my job to rescue polar bears or march on Washington for world peace. But if I did that, I wouldn't be able to pay my bills and here we are back at the money issue. Perhaps, then, the answer is to just focus on the people in my life. To work on my relationship and the marriage I'm going to be one-half of in about 50 days. But does that mean I've closed myself off to the outside world?

It's enough to give me a headache. But if I don't take the time to stargaze and have a good think about it, these existential queries just poke their way into my thoughts at inconvenient moments. While I'm typing an email to a client I suddenly stop, and find myself confronted with the questions, "What is the point of this? Really? In the grand scheme of things?" But there's no time to stop and sort it all out. I have to send this email because I just do.

If I pursue the real answers I'll certainly wind up homeless, wandering the streets, mumbling to well-dressed people or carrying a cardboard sign warning them about End Times.

So best to save up the crazy, look up at the sky and wait for the meteors I was promised. And that's exactly what I did last night, after inviting myself onto my neighbor's roof deck. I sat there with him, my sister and her roommate, sipping sake and eating tater tots. Early on, we saw a huge meteor. It shot across the sky with a white tail. We all shrieked and applauded. It's really happening!

But then two more hours passed, and there were no similar sightings. Our spirits faded. My sister was certain if we were further out from the city we'd see more. But how could we get that far away on a weekday. Where would we go?

In the end, we each saw 2 or 3 smaller little streaks in the sky. Each one was an individual sighting, its appearance too fleeting to get the attention of anyone else. "Oh! There's one! Did you see it?" And then a collective "no." Maybe it didn't really happen. Maybe it was just the eyes playing tricks. Or maybe it was meant just for me.

This morning, as I stood in the office kitchen pouring a glass of orange juice, the office coordinator spoke to me from across the room. "There's a metor shower tonight! I think I'm gonna check it out."
"I thought that already happened."
"They say it's happening again tonight."
"Oh. I watched it last night. I barely saw anything. It wasn't that great." Maybe it was because I hadn't had my coffee and I was tired from staying up late. I certainly seemed hellbent on being the downer.

But as I saw her sitting there, positive and perky, at the very desk where I used to sit, I felt like maybe this wasn't the right answer. And so I added, "I did see one or two though. They were pretty. I'm sure you'll see more. I probably just needed to give it more time."

Showering With Others

2009-07-29T18:09:00.000-07:00

I always knew that somewhere in this whole 16 total months of wedding pre-game coverage there was going to be a bridal shower. This made me nervous. I hadn't actually been the center of the extended family's attention since my college graduation/moving-to-California party. And that was rough! Trying to talk about my plans with each person individually, trying not to crack the same joke over and over again, trying to fight the urge to get another margarita even though I might be too buzzed to talk to the elderly.

I prefer to live without being that aware of myself. I don't like to have a clue what I'm doing or saying.

Still, as my mother and sister launched into planning the shower, I began to look forward to it. There would be finger foods! And colorful decorations! And a magician!

Wait, what?

Yes, Mom booked a magician that she'd seen at a local comedy club. His act really impressed her, and this blew me away because it is impossible to impress my mother. He also apparently had something of a potty mouth, and the thought of him swearing like a sailor in a room full of women was both creepy and intriguing.

And so the whole shower took on a theme my mother called "The Magic of Love." I know, it's precious.

There were rabbit-in-hat centerpieces.

Rabbit-in-hat party favors.

And a giant chocolate cake, which incorporated two kissing white rabbit cookies.

I narrowly missed the white rabbit cookie decorating fiasco, which took place the night before I flew into town. Apparently some non-hardening icing left my father and sister very frustrated when trying to decorate some 60 cookies.

My college friends Rachael and Yasi drove up from New York to hang out. I was ridiculously excited to see them. Of course, because we are all old people now, we went to bed about 20 minutes after they arrived. The next morning they worked with me to create this fruit kabob monster-thing. They stabbed themselves with sticks putting the fruit on, and then I stabbed the sticks into a watermelon's shell.

After that, Rachael, who is a brilliant photographer, went outside with me to take some pictures. I decided to help her by making a complete ass of myself and being un-photographable.

Eventually, I stood still. Look, I can pose nicely!

By 2pm, the party was in full swing. And because I am popular, the party had a great turnout.

I like this picture for 3 reasons:
1. I look crazy.
2. No one in the whole room is talking to me.
3. I'm one of only 2 people holding a drink.

Once I was feeling a little loopy, it was time to open presents in front of 30 people. This was terrifying. I wanted to show them how genuinely grateful I was without looking fake since I had to say the same thing over and over and over.

Oh, and you know how most people will tell you they look their worst when they've just woken up? Apparently I'm at my worst when opening presents. Good grief.

That's my lovely friend and bridesmaid Jackie helping me keep a list of who gave me what.

Once the gifts were opened and everyone was properly thanked, I had a lovely bow & ribbon bouquet, made by Devin's sisters.

Time to take pictures with it!

While I was outside frolicking, my mother was watching from the kitchen window and was heard saying, "Oh look. My daughter's been drinking."

Stay classy.

UPDATE: I was so busy trying to be clever that I actually forgot to tell you that the magician didn't show up! He didn't even call to cancel. It was probably for the best, since we were having such a good time without him.

The Dating Toilet

2009-07-28T10:32:00.001-07:00

Hi friends. If you like reading stories about other peoples bad dates, please check out my sister's new blog, The Dating Toilet.

Makes me wish I was still dating so I could have crazy stories to blog about.

Just kidding, that's a terrible wish.

Pork

2009-07-22T14:22:00.000-07:00

Last night I went to a very difficult toning class at the gym. One that was so ridiculously impossible that at one point I had no choice but to burst into laughter at how I was panting and flailing around.

Afterwards, I went home with visions of a nice shower, a big glass of water, and a light salad for dinner. I am fit! I am magnificent!

On the drive home, Devin texted me to say he was still out and asked if I would turn off the crock pot for him. Say what?! Is he cooking for himself? Sacrebleu!

When I walked in the door of my apartment, I was confronted with a smell that I would identify as meat fart. Like when you walk into an unfamiliar old person's house and the whole thing smells like there's a giant pot of deer meat cooking away on the stove, simmering in onions.

I wanted to barf.

I walked over to the crock pot sitting on the counter and stared through its glass lid. It looked like a rabbit had been skinned and hacked up. But that can't be right. I know we're broke, but we're not hunt-for-food-in-our-courtyard broke. When I removed the lid to look inside, I guessed that probably it was chicken? Maybe?

Could it be some special treat for the dog? Have we really achieved this degree of spoilery?

20 minutes passed, as I made my own dinner, frequently eyeing the crock pot suspiciously. When Devin finally got home, I inquired about the indiscernible meat wads in the pot.

Turns out, it was the makings of pulled pork. Hum. That's acceptable. It still struck me as odd, however, that he went through all this trouble since he hadn't recently expressed a desire for a 2 week supply of pulled pork.

His explanation of why he did it only led to more questions.

"Because Ryan dropped off this extra pig leg he had."

Here's The Thing About Chad...

2009-07-20T10:02:00.000-07:00

I must interrupt my plans to tell you about the bridal shower to show you this marvelous find. It doesn't need an introduction. I'll just say that I was at the beer garden at Venice Beach when I looked down and saw a little piece of paper. There's a front and a back side. Haven't decided which I prefer.

Continental, I Can't Stay Mad At You

2009-07-17T09:56:00.000-07:00

Hi. I'm back from my week at home. I have to tell you all about it, and I will. But I'm going to do this all backwards and start by telling you of my flight home.

I mentioned last week how United is a terrible airline and how if they were a person who was ever-so-slightly shorter than me, I'd punch them in the face. Well, they screwed over my sister on her flight back to L.A. from Syracuse, and she had to fly out Monday morning instead of Sunday night. They are jerks. Jerks!

And because nothing ever goes right when one is flying, I was worried when my father dropped me off at the Syracuse airport. I just wanted to get home and get there as soon as possible. I was scheduled to come in at about 10:45 am, which meant I could meet my friend for brunch and then have the whole day to unpack and unwind.

Guess how well that worked out.

I had a connecting flight in Cleveland, with a nice, short 50 minute layover. I got to the gate in plenty of time and waited, somewhat impatiently, as it neared closer and closer to our departure time and we hadn't been called in to board the plane. Finally, they made an announcement. One of those really awful ones that ends with a collective groan from 210 passengers.

"Flight 735 with service to Los Angeles will be delayed. There is a part on the plane that needs to be repaired, but we have to fly it in from Newark. It should get here by 11:30 am, and then of course we'll still need to do the maintenance...So expect delays of at least 3 hours."

The time of this announcement: 8:50am. Outstanding. Not to mention, I didn't care much for the idea of flying on a newly repaired plane. You know how sometimes at home you hang a framed picture or a shelf on the wall, and you fiddle around for 20 minutes and finally you think you have it set and you take a step back to admire your work...and then 3 minutes later it all comes crashing down? I pictured that.

So we were given $6 meal vouchers to go use in the airport to keep ourselves busy while we waited. That was nice enough, I guess.

Within an hour we had an update. The repairs would take too long and so they would need to fly in a new plane for us. But this one would have 30 fewer seats, and also wouldn't arrive until 12:30. After the announcement, I got away from the gate before anyone could bump me to another plane.

After many long hours of waiting at the bar, sipping a bloody mary and listening to two loud groups of Vegas-bound travelers make complete assholes of themselves, it was time to get on our new, smaller plane. I was miserable.

But then they gave us vouchers for 10% off a future ticket purchase AND made us fill out this other card that is mailed in and for a bigger cash voucher (amount TBD).

And there's more! Free headphones (I thought they were always free but I guess not) and free booze! Everyone was in a much better mood by the time we boarded.

From there, things were even better. They gave us sandwiches and salads and M&Ms. I can't remember the last time I was provided with actual food on a plane.

All of the seats had their own individual TVs, much like JetBlue, but instead of satellite programming we had 40 movies to pick from. I spent my flight sipping wine and watching A Streetcar Named Desire.

Yum.

It may have been a terrible delay, but the flight itself was fantastic and relaxing. Continental, you found the key to my heart. Free stuff!

We finally got to LAX at about 4, which put us in at just the right time to hit rush hour traffic on the way home from the airport. I didn't actually get to my apartment until 6pm. Okay, so 7 hours later than I'd planned, but such is life.

What's that? You'd like to see another picture of Mr. Brando, but with more sweat? Sure. I aim to please.

Making A List Makes Me the Opposite of Listless

2009-07-08T09:49:00.000-07:00

There are 87 days to go until our wedding. I feel like it wasn't that long ago that it was 387 days.

[By the way, I want to point out that I'm not actually keeping count myself. There is a countdown feature on our wedding website.]

[By the way, when I actually mention that our wedding has its own website, I feel a little silly. Other events that have their own websites: The New York State Fair, Ozzfest, The Olympics. But they are a handy way to get information to your guests and practically everyone creates one for their weddings so I try not to feel like I'm getting completely carried away.]

[Great, now I forgot what I was going to say. And I'm abusing the use of brackets.]

[Oh! Right. The countdown.]

My mother and sister are hosting a bridal shower for me on Saturday. And then when I get back to L.A., I'm taking my dress for some alterations. And I need to send out the invitations in a few weeks. Basically all of the things that make it feel like this is REALLY happening are all happening from this moment forward.

I couldn't be more delighted to get this show on the road. Or, as Devin and I like to say, "Let's get this over with." {We kid, of course.}

{See how I've switched to these fancy brackets?}

Since the very beginning of this wedding planning process, I've been a pretty disorganized bride. I've meant to keep everything in a need order, take notes at vendor meetings, and make a calendar. Instead, I make calls from my cellphone while standing in the parking lot of my office, writing down unintelligible notes on scrap paper. The scrap paper then sits somewhere on my desk until I inevitably, accidentally throw it out.

I have succeeded in keeping all signed contracts in a binder. Everything else is stored entirely in my head. And it's getting crowded in there.

So a few days ago I decided I better type up a list of every loose end that needs tying up. No matter how big or small the task, from writing vows to buying stamps. I thought there'd be something like 15 "to-do" items.

Imagine my horror when I finished my list and discovered there were 48. And I'm sure even more tasks will present themselves as we get closer.

In fact, just as I was typing this, something else popped into my head. Outstanding. Must remember to order food from the macaroni and cheese vendor.

{Yes, I'm hiring someone just for mac & cheese.}

{Oh, and I just went over to type that on my list, and while I did that I remembered I have to make bathroom baskets.}

{Who the heck started this bathroom basket business? I know they are handy but they are also totally obligatory now because I don't want to be the one bride who doesn't put out bobby pins and tampons for the womenfolk.}

When typing up my list, I didn't rank anything in order of importance. I probably should go back and reorganize. But to get things out of my head I just typed up items as they came to mind. This is actually somewhat scary because I noticed that I thought of a lot of tiny things first:

#8- Check with site manager to make sure mason jars qualify as fire safe candle holders

And then there's this:

#47- How the heck do you get a marriage license and when?

I hope to god I'm not forgetting anything major. I don't think I trust myself not to.

The Story In Which I Swear To Never Fly United Airlines Again But I Probably Actually Will If They Have the Cheapest Ticket at the Time I'm Buying

2009-07-07T09:26:00.000-07:00

On Thursday night I'm taking the red-eye from here to Newark, and then getting on a flight to good ol' Hancock airport in Syracuse, NY. It's a pretty regular journey for me, as it's the way to get home and see my parents. But I always feel anxious about it because I hate having connecting flights. Oh, oh, how I hate them. And I never seem to be able to avoid taking them because, apparently, I don't travel anywhere large enough to have a major airport.

And that was exactly the case when Devin and I flew to South Dakota last month. I may have mentioned that we kind of sort of got ourselves in a bunch of trouble. I did not tell you why. But it goes down as the worst flying experience yet (which says a lot, considering I once spent the night sitting on the floor of Cincinnati airport, watching the luggage of 12 friends while they all went to sing karaoke at the bar of the airport Hilton...).

Our trip started off well enough (a sign I've taken to interpret as indicative of certain doom). We flew from LAX to Denver and made it in early, which was a relief because we only had a very short layover. We exited the gate from our first flight and made our way down the insanely long terminal, alternating between brisk walking and riding that human-conveyor belt thing. We passed 3 food courts and about 60 gates before finding ours, gate 86. Except our sign said GATES 65-86. I guess when you are taking a plane to a rather small city like Sioux Falls, they mush you into one stadium of a gate area with the people flying to places like Bismark and Boise.

The gate was chaos. Announcements were being made for 5 flights at once. There was some commotion about a delay to Louisville. Weird look people milled about everywhere. You know that scene in Men In Black when Will Smith's character is first introduced to the alien refugee area and there are life forms from other planets blobbing and bouncing around? It was like that.

Devin and I found some seats and commenced snacking while waiting for our boarding call. We waited and waited. Every time I looked up at the board there were about 8 different flights scrolling across and I couldn't really make any sense of it, especially after waking up at 4 that morning and getting no sleep on the first flight.

At one point, we very faintly heard Devin's name being called.
"Did you just hear my name?"
"Maybe? It sounded like it was coming from a speaker down the hall."

I got up and walked over to the desk to investigate. "Excuse me," I asked a flight attendant standing at the roped-off boarding area. "Are you boarding yet for Sioux Falls?"
"Oh that flight's closed," she said. It was her casualness that really irked me. "Closed" was like a sigh. Like she was a bank teller escorting me to the next window.
Immediately I felt a thud in my chest.
"N-n-n-n-no," I blurted out. "How is it closed already it didn't even board yet?"
"Yes it did. It's been boarding for a while and it just closed."
"But we've been right here the whole time. Right here." I pointed to our seats. Devin, who was standing a small distance away, sensed a problem and walked over with our bags. "Devin! The flight is closed! Do something!"
"N-n-n-no. We were right here. Just let us on."

At this point, another employee perked up at the sounds of an argument and was just thrilled to butt in. For the purposes of this story we'll call him Horace. He reminded me of Ken Jeong's character of the bitchy delivery room doctor in Knocked Up. The original flight attended just sort of glided out of the conversation. I didn't think it was fair she got to just dismiss herself. In a way, I blamed her for this entire event.

Devin and I were moments away from making a scene, so Horace moved us over toward the desk. We continued to plead our case. The speakers must be broken! We couldn't hear a thing! Horace assured us that they had paged us several times and that paging was just a courtesy (oh how courteous of them!) and that it was our responsibility to get on the flight.
"That may be," I tried buttering up to him, "But there is a lot going on at this gate and we were relying on the announcements. And when we thought we heard our names we walked right over and already the flight was closed."
"There were 40 people on this flight. Everyone else managed to get on." It was like a verbal bitch slap.
"The plane hasn't even taken off yet," Devin gestured to the plane sitting right outside of the window. "Just open up the door and let us on."
"We have procedures. The door is locked, we can't unlock it."
"Yes you can!"
"No we can't."
"Yes you can!"
At this point, a young guy came up to the counter and asked if Sioux Falls was boarding.
"Ah-ha!" I shouted, while pointing directly at the guy and smacking my other hand on the desk. I was like an over-excited prosecutor in a courtroom drama. Ah-ha! So you see this man didn't make it on his flight either. Ipso facto...quid pro quo... uhh...let me on the goddamn plane!

Before Horace could intervene I began talking to the new guy. "You didn't hear it either! They won't let us on! We're screwed." I'm helpful like that.

The argument continued for a few minutes and then I realized I was never going to win.
"Okay," I surrendered. "What can we do now? We still need to get to Sioux Falls."
"Well I can put you on the next flight. There are available seats. It leaves in 3 hours."
"What!" Devin was not pleased. "No that won't fucking work. I have to be in a wedding. I can't wait. I need to get on this fucking flight." My memory isn't perfect, so I don't remember where the fucks were, but they were liberally sprinkled throughout his sentences.

This is where things took a bad turn.

"Sir, don't insult me."
"I didn't insult you. I swore at you."
"I will call the police. I'm warning you."
"Call them."
At this point Horace picked up the phone and mashed away aimlessly at the keys.
"Please... don't," I said with no emotion. I know he just wanted me to stop him.

Then there was a bit more arguing between Horace, Devin and the other guy. We were now officially causing a scene and were, I'm convinced, mere moments away from hurling "Yo mama" insults at one another.

I had to intervene. "Horace, it's not personal, we just really needed that flight and we're frustrated. Devin, it's not personal, he is just doing his job and he can't bend the rules. Now please can we have the boarding passes for the next flight?"

Horace printed them out, mumbling something under his breath. As he was handing them over, Devin said "This is fucking unacceptable" as his final verdict on the situation.

"Alright, that's it!" Horace snapped, yanking the boarding passes back and tearing them up in front of us. "I tried to be nice. But if you won't do as I ask and stop it with the language..."

"Horace, please..." I begged. But I think we both knew he couldn't just rip up boarding passes. Still, he'd made his point. He collected himself and printed out new ones. We left quietly, searched around for a customer service desk, and then realized the whole thing was pointless and sat down at a bar to busy ourselves for 3 hours.

When it finally came time to board our flight, we waited right at the desk so as not to make the same mistake twice.

As we boarded, Devin was pulled aside for "random" searching. I can't help but wonder if Horace had something to do with it.

Piss Or Get Off the Pot

2009-07-06T14:51:00.000-07:00

I can't tell if I like that expression or not. But it's fitting. For months this blog has been circling the drain. I have trouble finding the time to write, and when I do I don't seem to have a lot to say.

I used to get many more comments than I do now (I blame myself). And I'm not the sort of blogger who claims to write just for herself. I do it for other people to read and chime in. If this were just for me, I'd keep my thoughts in my head where they belong. It would save us all a lot of trouble.

To make matters worse, a number of my favorite bloggers have closed up shop. Surviving Myself and Miss Minneapolis have peaced out. It's really very tempting to do the same.

But, I won't! I don't have a good enough reason to stop. And not only will I not quit, but I also will put more effort into it. For you, the 14 people who read this. All for you!

That Cookie

2009-07-01T15:26:00.000-07:00

Today is payday. Every other Tuesday, at midnight, money is magically deposited into my checking account by some cashflow fairy who takes pity on me. And when I wake up on Wednesday, it's just like Christmas morning.

I have to admit, most pay days, moments after I wake up, I log onto my bank's website to see that the money has been deposited. There's never been a glitch in the system. I've never been accidentally not paid. I just do it because I know the money is going to be there and it makes me happy to see those little numbers appear.

It's a glorious moment, but a fleeting one. Usually by the end of the day 70% of my bounty has been doled out to bill collectors. This morning, I immediately started making some calculations of who needed to be paid and how much and by when.

Then I felt depressed. And also, had wasted too much time to do my Jillian Michaels workout DVD. Instead, I decided to take Seamus for a quick walk.

The sunshine on my face made me feel a bit better. And without realizing why, my mind wandered to thoughts of high school, when I had a free place to live and worked 10 hours a week. Ah, that was easier. Everyone I knew was an idiot, but still.

And then some music started to filter into my thought, getting louder and louder. "But in reality...something something...put my heart in a blender and still I surrender." It was a song that seemed to play all the time. It must have been the song that reminded me most of high school because it popped into my head. "Like a chump. Hey like a chump."

What the heck song is this? I was humming at this point.

Suddenly, it dawned on me. It was Limp Bizkit. Ah, my old friends. Who didn't love those guys back in the day? And who still likes them now? Nobody. It's sad, in a way. We've turned our backs on them.

I feel like an old fart when I picture how I'd react if I heard the song for the first time ever at my age. The lyrics, oh sweet heavens, the lyrics.

did it all for the nookie (come on) the nookie (come on)
so you can take that cookie and stick it up your (yeah)
stick it up your (yeah) stick it up your (yeah)
stick it up your

To this day, I'm still not sure what "that cookie" is. Am I supposed to know? Does everyone else know and they're laughing at me?

What's that cookie?

Huh

2009-06-25T20:17:00.000-07:00

I've always been pretty bad about death. I mean, I'm afraid of dying, sure. Like, really afraid. But whenever I hear about someone who dies, I'm always embarrassed about my matter-of-face treatment of the news. It's sad. It's tragic. And yet, I can never quite react in a fitting manner.

So Tuesday, I'm on set and someone in production tells me Ed McMahon died. I responded by saying, honestly, "I thought he was dead." I really was like 90% positive that had already happened.

Then this morning, a coworker turned around from her desk and told me Farrah Fawcett died. "Awww," I let out and then just kind of went back to typing an email. I saw (6 minutes of) her documentary on TV about her battle with cancer. It was really sad...but I don't know what I can do.

News of Michael Jackson's death broke out while I was at DQ with a coworker picking up a Reese's peanut butter cup blizzard. When we returned, totally unaware, several people at the office told us of the news at once. I made a face to indicate some level of distress, and then waited for what I thought seemed like an appropriate amount of time before shoving another spoonful of ice cream in my face.

When I got home today, I turned on MTV to watch 16 And Pregnant (because something is wrong me), and instead Sway was hosting a non stop Michael Jackson love fest with music videos and concert footage. I watched for a little while, and yeah it was kind of sad. But, here's the thing, and I'm sure I'm not the only person who has said this: the MJ we all know and love "died" a long long time ago. And since then we've been left with a zombie shell who does things that make everyone pretty freaking uncomfortable.

And when I was a kid I used to love him! So I think my sadness was used up a long time ago. But, I know a person died. I care.

And I don't know what this says about me, but today when I got home, I found that the basil plant I've been frantically nurturing for 2 weeks had shriveled up and died. I groaned and stared at it desperately for a little while. Indeed, I appear to have mourned a plant and not a person.

I'm sorry.

My laptop battery is dying so I'll keep it short

2009-06-16T21:47:00.000-07:00

Made it back from our trip in one piece. We nearly got arrested in the airport on the way there, and we (along with several other wedding guests) were accused of ruining South Dakota, whatever that means...

Actually, I do know what that means, sort of. At least I'm pretty sure Devin's not welcome back to the state after his performance at the wedding reception and his speech which the country club management called "the most vulgar thing they'd ever heard."

Not that I'm in a hurry to go back anyway, as I suspect South Dakota is inside a biodome because it doesn't get dark there until 10pm. I'm not exaggerating. What the H is going on?

Lastly, you can smoke in bars there, which just feels feels wrong. So wrong that it feels right. And I couldn't help but enjoy the novelty of the situation by chain smoking like a scary grandmother. My lungs beg me never to return.

For Those Of You Who Might Be Interested

2009-06-08T10:27:00.000-07:00

We're now less than 4 months away from the wedding. This is fantastic. And not just because I'm very excited for the big day (and even more excited to go to Hawaii afterwards), but also because I'll be glad to finally shut up about my wedding plans. Honestly, I hear myself yapping away and I think, "Dear god, woman. Stop talking about this at once!"

Aware that not everyone wants to hear every teency weency detail about it, I wait until someone asks me, "How's everything going with the wedding plans?" And then the poor souls are forced to listen to my debate over using an 8 person table versus a 10 person table. About why I'm not going to decorate with flowers and what I'll do as a centerpiece instead. I'll shove invitation samples in their faces and cringe as I hear myself saying "I like the shape and overall design of this one, but with this font, but with white ink. And I prefer this shade of red for the paper over this shade, but it's only offered on this particular design and I just thought the RSVP cards were too much."

WHAT?! How have I turned into this?

I assure you, and I am positive that friends will agree, I have in no way been a bridezilla. In fact, there are a lot of things I just haven't really cared much about. I mostly just want to make decisions as quickly as possible and then move onto the next task. As it stands, I have nearly everything done. Last night, I even made reservations for the rehearsal dinner.

The whole planning process started off really fun. It's been kind of a hobby, more than a chore. At first, I wanted my wedding to be as unique as possible. I didn't want to do anything that anyone else had done in the history of weddings. (A feat I soon learned would be impossible unless I could some how organize a wedding reception on the moon.) As time went on, and I realized everything costs a butt-loving load of money, I switched gears and just looked for the cheapest way to do everything.

But lately, since I have lost all motivation, I just want to throw money at the easiest solution.

I think all of my angst is owing to the foolishly long engagement period. I know, 16 months doesn't seem like that long. I sure didn't think it would be when we set the date. But now that a whole year has come and gone I am pulling my hair out. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? ARE WE THERE YET?

Next weekend we'll be going to the wedding of a couple whose entire relationship, from first date to wedding day, has taken place during the 4ish years Devin and I have been together. We also went to a wedding this past October for a couple with the same scenario. And all the while, I'm just over here, figuring out hairstyles and designing centerpiece mockups. When will it be my turn?

Just Embarassin' Myself!

2009-06-01T11:54:00.000-07:00

Recently I watched Mike Barbiglia’s stand up comedy special “What I Should Have Said Was Nothing.” The title refers to the many many times he has said something that turned a fairly normal situation into a perfectly awful one. He could have just said nothing and avoided the whole mess.

I wish I’d thought of that clever way to describe my constant run-ins with myself in public places. I hear myself saying something stupid, and somewhere inside my head, there is a much cooler version of myself shouting, “STOP IT! JUST SHUT UP AND GET OUT OF HERE!”

I’ve written about this here, and here, and here (see! it happens a lot!). Yes, I suck at being around other people. But that’s not a catchy way to say it. So, until I think of a creative title for my idiocy, here’s my latest installment of What I Should Have Said Was Nothing:

I was at the grocery store after work, picking up a few things for dinner. Just before heading to the checkout, I remembered we were low on Coke Zero, which I don’t care for but which Devin drinks entirely too much of. And because I’m a wonderful fiancé, I buy him some whenever I’m at the store.

While debating if I should buy 3 2-liter bottles to take advantage of the Vons Club sale, a young couple wandered into the aisle. I don’t mean to sound judgmental, but they looked like the sort of people I typically hate. For some reason, I began to focus all of my attention on them, instead of simply grabbing the bottles of soda and minding my own business.

“Baaaabe,” she whined, “I can’t find any diet root beer.”
“Maybe they don’t have it, babe.”
“I guess…but I want it.”

Now, what I should have said was nothing. And I very nearly stopped myself. I knew that there was in fact diet root beer because I bought it before. And she was actually standing right near it.

Then, I must have thought I would save the day by being helpful, so I marched right over and blerted out, “It’s right there. There is diet root beer!”

Trying to salvage my dignity, I started to immediately walk away.

“Oh…thanks,” said the girl. I couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t lean in to grab the 6 pack I’d pointed to. Somehow my lameness made her want nothing to do with that root beer.

In case you are thinking this interaction isn’t so bad, allow me to tell you what I said next.

“Yeah, no problem. Didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation, but I heard you about the diet root beer. Just listenin’. “

At this point the tiny cool version of me inside my head some how took control and jerked my body so that I turned around and began walking away.

Just listenin’? I said that!

Just listenin, little lady. Didn’t want ya to go without yer sodypop.

Ew, Facebook. You're gross.

2009-05-28T17:35:00.000-07:00

Some of the more annoying things about Facebook (aside from my inability to navigate its realms) (and the site's existence in the first place) are the ads that pop up along the right hand side of the page. Invisible Facebook gremlins have spied on my profile (I only wanted my 238 friends to see it!) and posted ads for products and services for which I am the targeted audience.

They've seen that I'm Status: Engaged (which sounds like warfare weapons lingo) and so have presented me with 200 different ads for wedding photographers and honeymoon destinations, etc.

But today they have crossed the line and entered WTF? territory.

Facebook Ad Gremlins, are you suggesting that my mattress contains pounds of...how do I say this... sex fluids? Really? Lingering from ex girlfriends. Really? Way to tap into unfounded paranoia.

Nice picture, btw. She's all, "Hope you like the cake, Darling. I'm so glad we're not rolling around in filth any more. Wheee!"

There's Something On Your Foot

2009-05-27T13:26:00.001-07:00

I’ll never be one of those women who goes out and splurges on a pair of over the top, expensive shoes that she just HAS to have. I assure you, I have great taste in shoes, but at the same time, I operate with a hilariously limited shopping budget. I am aware of the brands Jimmy Choo, Christian Louboutin, and Manolo Blahnik, but I’d venture to say I’ve never even seen a pair in person. I also had to google those names to make sure I spelled them correctly. That’s how removed I am from the world of fashionable shoes. I rock flops out of necessity (and partially out of love).

But with an upcoming wedding to foolishly spend a fortune on, I decided now’s as good a time as any to look for a pair of shoes out of my usual $25 price range (I know, it makes me sad that I’m like that). So I ventured online to try to find some sandals to wear with my wedding dress. I’d originally planned to wear white flip flops, but then the thought of them making that thwack thwack thwack sound as I walked down the aisle made me cringe.

Now, because I shop for shoes so infrequently, I often find myself overwhelmed at the hideousness of the latest trends. I’ve written about this before, and I’m about to do it again.

Can I just ask one of you fashion-forward and hip young readers about this?

An exploded leather eggplant engulfs your ankle, while the rest of your foot is held in place by a meager strap. And then your big toe is especially secured in its own little holster.

This shoe also piqued my curiosity for the same reasons:

Why would you want your heels and toes to be at such extremely different temperatures than your ankles? I could almost get behind the overall look of this black one, but then I picture wearing it to work one day and constantly shoving a pen down into it to pull it away from my foot and give my smothered ankle a breath of fresh air.

But before you go thinking I’m just worried about overly-constrained, over-heated feet, let me tell you that I also worry about shoes with no form whatsoever. Like this:

See that little barstool thing at the front? That and the 3 yards of rope at the ankle are supposed to keep your foot in this thing. I’m sorry, but I would never be able to make it down the block without stepping out of this shoe and having it drag behind me.

It’s a problem that would never happen with this foot cage:

Which looks like some kind of punishment or a cobbler’s mold to make boots.

And then there’s this leg brace, which prompted me to say “Oh my God” outloud at my screen.

You know, I don’t care how cool you are, you simply cannot get away with wearing this and I might be mad at you for even trying.

And I’ll leave you with this garden lattice turned foot entombment.

The trusty ol’ flop isn’t looking so bad now, is it?

It Was Only A Matter of Time

2009-05-26T16:20:00.000-07:00

Okay, yes, I've been gone for a while. After blogging for about a year and a half, a sort of fatigue set in and I didn't like the idea of going online and complaining about my own shortcomings yet again. I understand this is a common problem among us blogging types.

And then on Saturday, Kat from Pink India Ink called me out on my lack of recent postings, while also saying very nice things about me.

So I thought I better write something before everyone in the blogging world (I won't say "blogosphere") forgets who I am. Or maybe it's too late.

Let me tell you about this thing that happened to me last week that made me say, "Damn, I wish I was still blogging."

I split my pants.

I'll need to back up and explain something before this story makes complete sense. A few weeks ago, the company I work for moved into a new office. It's a big loft space with exposed bricks and hardwood floors and such. The upstairs area is, for some reason, divided into 3 large sections by 2 waist-high walls. And we've been told by the contractor and the property manager that if we were to cut openings into the walls for us to walk through, the whole building would collapse. No, really. We don't totally get how that's true, but whatever.

This means that if someone needs to talk to a coworker at his or her desk, and that coworker sits in a different section, one needs to clamber over a wall. As you can imagine, this leads to many awkward situations, especially if skirts, high heels, or an armful of papers is involved.

So now we get to last Friday night, and I needed to bring a presentation over to one of the creative directors. I threw one leg over the wall between us and then sort of did the splits until my foot landed on the other side, at which point I swung my other leg around. Then I threw my arms above my head in a V-shape, mimicking an Olympic gymnast. Impressive, I thought. Clearly I was getting good at this wall-jumping business.

After a brief chat with the aforementioned creative director, I walked back to the wall. Before leaping over, I got another coworker's attention. "Hey," I called out, "watch how fast I can do this!"

I threw the first leg over the wall, started to slide over, and then heard a strange noise. I paused mid-maneuver to figure out what had happened. I looked down and saw the inseam of my jeans had completely busted open from my knee to my crotch, allowing my fat thighs to come bulging out like a sausage with a torn casing. "Oh shit, I split my pants," I confessed loudly to anyone who was listening.

I knew it was only a matter of time before this happened. And in fact, that very morning as I put on this pair of jeans, I realized I'd absentmindedly put them in the dryer. They were always a bit tight on me, and when they went through the dryer they became the sort of jeans that flattened my ass into a pancake and cut off circulation at my knees. As I shoved myself into them, I noticed Devin was awake and watching me, and I felt compelled to say, "Whoops! Put these in the dryer and now they are way too tight," lest he think I believed these to be stylish and suitable pants.

Fortunately, and quite remarkably, the pants-splitting incident happened at the end of the work day and not first thing in the morning. So I was able to escape to my car and head home to mourn the loss of yet another good pair of jeans.

*I just wanted to add that the runner-up story that nearly got me blogging earlier involved my first ever encounter with a hearing-ear cat, which is like a seeing-eye dog, but opposite...I guess. I was in line at the bank and this man pulled a cat out of a cat carrier on wheels. He then held up an orange vest and, while the bank teller looked on, held the vest up to the cat, then pulled the vest away, then up to the cat, and then away. He then set the cat and the vest down and pointed to his ear, conveying, overall, that he was hearing impaired and that this cat was allowed to be in the bank with him because it was a licensed helper. I could not for the life of me make sense of this arrangement, particularly since the cat was in a crate.

Stalling

2009-04-23T12:16:00.000-07:00

Jump On It

2009-04-20T18:48:00.000-07:00

The Hills Recap: I Need To Get A Life

2009-04-15T20:31:00.000-07:00

I missed The Hills on Monday, but I was very much looking forward to watching it online and recapping it for you fine folks. However, last night as I sat on the couch with my laptop, Devin also settled in to watch TV. This meant if we were both going to live in peace, I'd have to leave the room or find headphones. But I'm too lazy for that.

And I'm also too brilliant. For in this stupid dilemma I saw opportunity. Who needs words when you have furrowed brows?

And so I present to you my first Hills recap written after watching the entire episode with the sound off. Let the experiment begin!

Last week, after Heidi found out about Spencer's flirtatious ways, she once again fled to Colorado for a little mommy time. But little did she know, her mom was hellbent on pushing Heidi's high school beau Colby as the greatest thing since white beard. (You know, as in Spencer. Get it? Let's move on.)

But in the 10 person universe that is The Hills, word travels fast and in no time Stephanie was onto her commitment-ceremony-sister-in-law. And now, she must tell Spencer.

Spencer: Oh you're here. I thought I smelled something.
Stephanie: You're hilarious. So what's up?
Spencer: Just whippin up a little french t. That's how I say french toas--

Stephanie: Yeah yeah. I get it. Anyway, I don't have much time to shoot the shit. I gotta get to fashion school drama club practice. We're doing a theatrical production of 1980's sitcom A Different World.
Spencer: Well that explains your outfit.
Stephanie: How do you mean?
Spencer: Uh, nevermind. So why are you here?
Stephanie: To tattle on Heidi. She was in Colorado with Colby.
Spencer: Who the eff is that? The muppet?
Stephanie: No her ex boyfriend. From high school...

Spencer: So? We're married. What's she gonna do, run away with him?
Stephanie: How many times must I tell you? You're fake married.
Spencer: Oh right right. So what am I supposed to do?
Stephanie: Don't worry. I too am cooking up a little something...bwa ha ha.
Spencer: I don't get it.
Stephanie: You know, because you're cooking french toast and I'm cooking up a plan to get back at Heidi.

Spencer stares blankly at his sister.

Stephanie: I hate you so much.

Meanwhile, over at The People's Revolution, Lauren decides to show up for work.

Lauren: Hey Kelly, how's it going up here in the loft?

Kelly jumps out of her skin as she looks up from her work.

Kelly: Jesus, blondie. You scared the bitch outta me. What are you doing here?

Lauren: Don't be silly, I work here.
Kelly: Really? You still work here?
Lauren: Yes of course. Why wouldn't I?

35 seconds pass by in silence and with uninterrupted eye contact.

Kelly: Alright. Whatever.

By the way, did anyone watch The City? Nah, me neither. I actually saw Whitney on the cover of a magazine while I was at the checkout at the grocery store and it took me a minute to recognize her. One wonders, what does the scripted reality star do once she's a has-been? I guess we'll find out soon enough.

But I digress.

Back at the world's most uncomfortable apartment, Spencer confronts Heidi about her Colorado love fest.

Spencer: Well look who's come crawling back...
Heidi: It's not like that. I told you I was coming home in a few days.
Spencer: Look who's come home with her tail between her legs.
Heidi: (sighing) Spencer...
Spencer: Look which little piggy went waa waa waa all the way home.

Heidi: Okay that's enough. Why are you pissed this time?
Spencer: A little birdie told me that you were cavorting with Colby.
Heidi: Do you even know who Colby is?
Spencer: Your lover! You're a whore, whore!
Heidi: I went out with Colby for like 3 days during sophomore year and it was just because he was in love with me and worked at the cineplex and got me into movies for free.
Spencer: Whore!

Heidi: I kissed him one time and I got free movies until we graduated. There was nothing else to do in that damn town. It was necessary.
Spencer: So why were you hanging around with him this time?
Heidi: My mom set us up. He's recently come into some money and he wanted to discuss a business venture.
Spencer: With you? Why?
Heidi: Spencer, I don't know if you've been paying attention lately, but we're sort of loaded.
Spencer: What kind of business?
Heidi: I don't know. We didn't really talk much about it.
Spencer: Because you were too busy making out?
Heidi: Oh my god...
Spencer: A lemonade stand?
Heidi: Importing/exporting.

Spencer: Importing what?
Heidi:..chips.
Spencer: Chips. And what does he export?
Heidi: Diapers.
Spencer: Something feels very familiar about this conversation.
Heidi: I don't know what you mean. I'm going to go brush my hair.

And over at People's Revolution, Stephanie has moved on to ruining someone else's life.

Lauren: (into phone) I'll be outta work at like 4:30. Maybe I can meet up with you then? ...Hahahaha.....Oh, Brody. You so crazy!
Stephanie: Hey I hate to interrupt but I've been waiting here for 15 minutes already.
Lauren: (into phone) Sorry, I gotta go. Stephanie is here...I don't know what she wants she just appeared...I think I told her I could get her a job...Haha...I know I was probably drunk...Oh well...Ok I'll call you later.
Stephanie: Finally.

So Lauren sends Stephanie upstairs to the lion's den.

Stephanie: I'm so excited to meet you. I've heard so many great things.
Kelly: Ok so clearly you're lying. No one says great things about me.
Stephanie: Have you seen my resume?
Kelly: Yes. And I gotta ask, have you ever actually had a job before?
Stephanie: Oh sure, tons of jobs I just didn't put them on my resume.
Kelly: Like what?
Stephanie: Uh, importing...exporting...oh neat is that the new Vogue?
Kelly: Please don't touch my stuff.

Night falls and it's time for everyone to hit the town and have some fun. Spencer is ready for action and picks up his shadow-boxing pal Hot Dog Charlie.

Spencer: Dude are you feeling okay? You're acting super weird.
HDC: I'm great bro. Thanks for taking me out. I love that we're friends.
Spencer: Yyyyeah. Well anyway. I am ready for some tequila shots and some ladies.

HDC: And more tequila.
Spencer: That's right. It's what I use to grow my translucent facial hair at an astonishing rate.
HDC: White beard!
Spencer: White beard, bro. Are you sure you're okay?

HDC: I may have taken all our drugs.
Spencer: Figures.

Aaaand cut to Spencer doing shots.

Down the hatch!

Spencer: Ah man. It's great to finally get out for a little while. Blow off some steam.
Stacie: Yeah you must have had a hell of a week. All of that napping and playing Wii.
Spencer: Get off you high horse sugar, you work at a bar.
Stacie: Hey!

Spencer: Sorry. Sorry. Can we just stay focused? Stephanie is bringing Heidi here any moment.
Stacie: Wait, what?
Spencer: Didn't Hot Dog Charlie tell you? How you're helping me get back at my wife?
Stacie: Girlfriend.
Spencer: Whatever.
Stacie: No...
Spencer: Yo Charlie!

Hot Dog Charlie gurgles and spits up blood.

Just then, Heidi and Stephanie arrive and spot Spencer with his new buddy.

And let me tell you something, you don't need the volume up to tell when someone's saying fuck.

Spencer: Ruh roh. This is so much scarier than I'd anticipated, Stace.
Stacie: (through fake smile) Is she gonna kill me?

Spencer: Maybe.
Stacie: Thanks for dragging me into this, ass.

Heidi: How dare you do this to me! Out with some floosie! I got implants for you.
Stephanie: Mmm-hmm. Go on, girl.
Heidi: I gave up my best friend for you! I got these unicorn hair extensions. And pore reduction surgery.
HDC: Hey, chill out on him.
Heidi: Sit down, lumberjack.

HDC: It's Hot Dog Charlie.
Heidi: Okay, if I need meth, I'll let you know. Until then, will you please take your seat.
Spencer: Hey you started this when you went out with Colby to discuss your "business venture."

Heidi: Will you just grow up? And stop with the air quotes.
Spencer: Importing/exporting. The only thing he was importing was his penis into your vagi--
Heidi: That's it. I've heard enough. See ya next Monday.

And that concludes my first audio-less Hills recap. Wow, that was not hard at all.

The Hills Recap: On The Love Boat

2009-04-07T18:49:00.000-07:00

Apparently I prematurely stopped watching the last season of The Hills after Whitney interviewed with Diane von Furstenberg. I think I thought that was the final episode of the season, and up until LAST NIGHT I had no idea there were two Spencer/Heidi marriage episodes. Really. No clue!

I managed to catch the last 3 minutes of last season's final episode, however, and I feel like I pretty much got the gist (unless there was some more thrilling Nana drama that I missed).

I'd say we're ready to dive into season 5. Shall we?

We begin by checking in with Heidi and Stephanie as they meet up for coffee and chat about Lauren's upcoming-- HOLY FRICKIN FRICK WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR MOUTH?

Good grief, it's gotten so that we can't make it 4 seconds into an episode without being startled by a cast member's latest plastic surgery adventures. Stephanie Pratt is like that classmate you had who came back from summer vacation looking like... Jennifer Coolidge?

Now, where was I? Oh, right. Heidi and Stephanie are talking about Lauren's birthday.

Heidi: Doesn't Lauren have a birthday coming up?
Stephanie: That's so cute that you remembered.
Heidi: Well we were best friends. And also it's her turn in the rotation. Every third week one of us has a big birthday party.
Stephanie: My how time flies...
Heidi: What are you guys doing for her special day?

Stephanie: Oh it's going to be an awesome surprise. We all signed up for this new reality series called Stuck On A Boat. It's about a group of twenty somethings who are invited to this party, but here's the twist...they're all--
Heidi: Stuck on a boat?
Stephanie: Yeah! Wanna come?
Heidi: You sure that wouldn't be weird?
Stephanie: Why, because the whole country knows she hates you?
Heidi: Yeah...
Stephanie: Nah. Pick you up at 8.

Meanwhile, co-conspirators Audrina and Lo pick up the birthday cake.

Audrina: I'm looking forward to the party, but...I'm not sure we made the best plans.
Lo: What do you mean? It's great. We're gonna be STUCK..ON...A BOAT!
Audrina: Why did you just say it like that?

Lo: That's how you say it when you're watching the show at home. Like WHEEL...OF...FORTUNE!
Audrina: Oh God. This was a big mistake.

That night, the non-ostracized ladies of the cast gather in a limo to toast champagne before shipping out.

Lauren: Gosh, it's so crazy you guys are planning a surprise birthday for me. I never would have expected this.
Lo: Surprise!
Audrina: You don't say that yet. Jeesh.
Lauren: I mean, how lucky am I? That my friends may have rented a mansion in Hollywood to throw me a party. I mean, or something else... I don't know because it's a surprise.

Lo: Surprise!
Audrina: Pipe down, Skipper. She thinks we rented a mansion. She's going to shit a brick when she finds out we're gonna be stuck on a boat.
Lo: STUCK...ON...A BOAT!

When the limo arrives at the marina, Lauren is escorted out in a blindfold. Considering this girl's insane trust issues, I find this a bit impressive.

Lo: Now take it easy. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, lef--
Lauren: That makes walking impossible!
Lo: Sorry.
Audrina: We're almost there.
Lauren: Where are we? I sense a gangbang.
Audrina: There's no gangbang.
Lauren: Is that (sniff sniff)...Is that a marina I smell?
Lo: Whaaaa?
Lauren: Are we going on an effing boat?

SURPRISE!!

Lauren: God damn it.

By the way, can we just stop for a sec to check out Holly playing the role of hot chick from an 80's movie?

And while we're paused here, can I also please say something about Lauren's unfortunate interest in red lipstick. I brought up my concern previously when Lauren was sporting it during her Paris romp. But I wasn't too hard on her because I thought maybe it had something to do with her trying to look more European.

But now there's no excuse. Go ahead with your unibraid, and your thick black eyeliner, and your unflattering strapless cocktail dresses that you "make yourself." Just stop with this.

Okay, moment's over. Aaand we're back.

Just in time to catch Spencer doing a little dance move.

He's out with his new pal Hot Dog Charlie. I don't know where this guy came from, but his coloring makes me think he's a Pratt. He's like a Spencerized version of Justin Bobby. A golden oreo.

But more on them later. It's almost time for the booze cruise to set sail.

Wait! We can't leave without Heidi.

Heidi: I'm here! I'm here!

Outstanding. Let's pull up the anchor...and untie the ropes?... Does anyone know any nautical terminology? I apparently do not.

Toot toot! That's a steamboat noise. Toot! Horn! Pulling away horn!

Lo: So. You're here.
Heidi: Looks like it. This might have been a bad move.
Lo: No, I'm sure Lauren's really excited to deal with you all evening. We all are.

Heidi: Well there's nothing I can do now. Quite literally. I mean I'm stu--

STUCK...ON...A BOAT!

Heidi: What the fuck was that?
Lo: The studio audience.

Back at the bar, Spencer and Hot Dog Charlie are downing tequila shots and Spencer is getting a little too forward with the bartender, Stacie.

Spencer: So what do I have to do to get you to dance on the bar?
Stacie: Not much!
Spencer: Specifically.
Stacie: Just play a good song.

Spencer: Like what?
Stacie: Ok I was trying to deflect your creepy questions with cutesie answers. I have to go wait on those guys at the other end of the bar.
Spencer: Oh yeah, bro. She wants me.
Hot Dog Charlie: Dude. Take it easy. Aren't you married?

Spencer: Imaginationly.
HDC: Why are you so shiny right now?
Spencer: It's just my protective sealant. You ever shared pillows with a woman who wears stage makeup to bed every night? It does a number on my pores. So I got this sealant to protect me. It's a lot like that plastic film on the screen of a new cellphone.

And then Spencer notices his sister's ex boyfriend Cameron sitting in a nearby booth and says hello. But the minute his back is turned, Cameron starts tattle-texting on Spencer, revealing to Stephanie that there is some seriously gross flirting going down.

Message received.

Stephanie: Oh Audrina you do NOT want to see the text I just read.
Audrina: Good because I'm busy with this poker game.
Stephanie: That's good because you did NOT want to see this.
Audrina: You mentioned that.
Stephanie: Yeah it is a craaazy text message.
Audrina: Fine. What.
Stephanie: Cameron says he's watching Spencer flirt with a bartender.

Audrina: Hmm. That's not good.
Stephanie: Ruh roh, here comes Heidi. Don't say ANYTHING.
Heidi: What's up guys?
Stephanie: Spencer's being a whore!

Ring ring. Ring ring.

Spencer: Sup babelicious?
Heidi: Are you flirting with some bartender?

Spencer: Psshhh.
Heidi: That is not an answer. Spencer, we are somewhat married. You can't be doing this.
Spencer: Who told you that? Was it Cameron?
Heidi: So you ARE flirting?
Spencer: Where are you? It's loud there.
Heidi: I'm at this party. I'm st--

STUCK...ON...A BOAT!

Spencer: What was that?
Heidi: The god damn studio audience. I don't even know how they're seeing this.

Spencer: OK well I'm gonna go get in a lame-ass fight.
Heidi: Spencer, no. Bad Spencer.

Click.

Heidi: I wish I wasn't stu--

STUCK...ON...A BOAT!

Spencer: So, bro. I hear you've been using texts for evil.
Cameron: I'm just calling it like I see it.
Spencer: Prepare to be rapidly jabbed.

Okay, I don't know how to best describe this fight. It was something like fist stabbing?

When word of the fight makes it back to Heidi, Lauren is just drunk enough to rush to her aid.

Lauren: I'm sorry. He sucks.
Heidi: He does suck. Hold me.
Lauren: Only if you say I was right.
Heidi: What's that now?
Lauren: About that prick. I was right. Say it.
Heidi: You were right.
Lauren: I'm so...I'm so happy to hear that.

Heidi: (between big gluey sobs) Oh gaaahhhd, you were ri-hi-hi-ight.
Lauren: I'm so drunk right now.

And with that we conclude our first, and last, episode of The Hills: Stuck On A Boat. We all know a Hills spinoff is a bad idea anyway.

The Hills Premiere- Cheers & Jeers

2009-04-06T23:12:00.001-07:00

CHEERS: No Holly scenes.

JEERS: Darlene scenes. Why?

CHEERS: Spencer hits like a girl.

JEERS: Spencer's shiny skin reflects bright scene lighting and may have caused me permanent retinal damage.

CHEERS: Back to back episodes.

JEERS: Control freak MTV not posting episodes online until 3pm EST tomorrow, delaying my recap.

3 Things I Did This Week

2009-04-02T10:43:00.000-07:00

1. Had a 10 minute long conversation about earthquakes with a stranger
Our friends Kevin and Annemarie decided to up and move to Shanghai. I'm not sure I'd ever want to live in a wildly polluted city, in a communist country, where they only recently outlawed public urination. But, hey, whatever floats your boat. I was worried that they wouldn't be able to watch TV there, but Annemarie assures me there are like 60 English speaking channels.

At their going away party at Cat & Fiddle, I met one of Kevin's friends and we ended up sitting across from one another at the table. Everyone else was engrossed in conversation, in little groups of 3 or 4, but I'd just come back from a trip to the bathroom to find myself the odd man out. So I started talking with this guy and we ended up on the topic of earthquakes, which turned into discussing the best strategy to not die, which turned into the discussion of how to survive while trapped. And at one point it was so morbid, terrifying and awkward, we just silenced ourselves and when he looked down to check his iPhone, I took the opportunity to escape and stand somewhere else in the bar.

2. Watched no less than 4 episodes of Operation Repo.
Have you seen this show yet? It's on TruTV like every single night. Basically the same thing happens 3 times per episode. We start with the scary repo crew on their way to tow a car because its deadbeat owner failed to make payments. And then they spot the car parked on the street, hook up the tow truck, and just as they're about to pull away, a crazy person starts running at them screaming, "What are you doing to my car!? I paid my bills! I paid my bills!" And then a really wussy fight ensues and the repo crew busts out the pepper spray. It's fantastic.

3. Actively sought out Radio Disney
The other day I was driving to the gym, pressing madly at all of my radio pre-set stations, and finding nothing I could stand listening to. In recent months, Los Angeles seems to be purging any decent radio station from its airwaves. First, 98.7, which I used to get my fix of Top 40 pop, switched formats to poser alternative, boasting the slogan, "Are you a rockaholic?" Sure I am, just as much as the next gal. But I'm not jonesing for another hit of Collective Soul or Everclear.

The next station to kick the bucket was Indie 103, which played a mix of hipster rock and bizarre, not-so-melodic music I had never heard of and didn't like, though I could appreciate what the artists were going for. One day I tried to listen to Indie 103 and instead of being greeted with the Tings Tings, I was confronted with ranchero music. Certain that there must be some weird programming mistake, I tried Indie 103 again the following day. Again, ranchero. Now, while I strongly dislike ranchero music, I understand that some people like it. And in this culturally diverse city, I should expect some radio stations to cater to the ranchero audience. However, there must be at least a dozen ranchero stations and ZERO other indie rock stations so I don't see why they couldn't just keep Indie 103 around.

As if all of this format flopping wasn't bad enough, even 97.1 switched from talk radio to top 40. This means NO MORE ADAM COROLLA AND OH MY GOD I COULD JUST DIE!

So anyway, back to the other day...I'm driving around and can't find good music. And my mind wanders and I think, "Hey, lots of kids like The Jonas Brothers and Hannah Montana..." And then I think, maybe I should find Radio Disney on AM radio. Why not? Nothing else to listen to. And then in a moment of astounding serendipity, I pass a billboard for Radio Disney telling me the frequency is 1110 AM. Ha!

I immediately switch over, but instead of hearing the Jonas Brothers, I hear Alvin and The Chipmunks singing a cover of Wild Cherry's "Play That Funky Music." But in their version, they've replaced "white boy" with "chipmunks."

Play that funky music, chipmunks. Play that funky music, right.

And I listened to the whole thing.

Squidventures

2009-03-26T11:47:00.001-07:00

Because of limited budget, limited imagination, and limited time, I repeatedly prepare and eat the same 6 or so things for dinner. Pasta. Buffalo fake-chicken sandwiches. Salads. Trader Joe's frozen pizza.

And most of the time I don't mind that it's so boring. But then whenever I go over to my sister's she whips up something delicious and fresh and that contains more than 4 ingredients. I'm always impressed, and it inspires me to put more effort into my dinners.

I went shopping on Tuesday night with this in mind. And also, in my head I've told myself I'm on a diet. I'm all up on my high horse, saying to myself "I'm eating right. Getting in shape!' But I haven't actually altered my behavior. Yet.

While walking through the grocery store aisles, I tried to come up with some healthful and complicated meals. Unfortunately, I was also starving and had to pee so I was distracted.

I did come up with one dinner, however. A salad topped with fried calamari rings and tossed with homemade dressing. (I know, the fried part isn't terribly healthy, but it did meet the quota for complexity.)

I wandered over to the frozen seafood section. There was only one calamari option, which was a colorful package, the shape and weight of a brick. You couldn't see what, exactly, was inside it. And the copy offered no explanation. It was simply "calamari."

I presumed inside this brick would be delightful little rings. Last night, when I finally opened it to prepare my masterpiece, I discovered the brick was actually comprised of 4 whole squids, frozen together, with a wad of tiny tentacles at one end. Clearly they'd been shoved into this rectangular tray before they were frozen. And now they were holding its shape.

I stared at the squidbrick for a moment, debating how to proceed. I supposed I would just thaw it and then slice it into rings. I didn't have time to stand there and wait for it to thaw out, so I figured I'd just run it under water for a while.

I removed the squidbrick and brought it over to the sink. After holding it under running water for a minute, some of the outer portions of the squid began to thaw out. It was then I realized how squiddy this was, because I began to see its flippers. Or whatever they are called. These things:

So the flippers starting flapping around under the running water. And then a tentacle chunk fell off and landed with a slap in the sink. And then another. Plop. I realized then that the tentacles were those tiny spider kind that normally come with fried calamari at restaurants, and were not a part of the same 4 squids whose heads I was holding. Which was good, I guess. But weird at the same time. Where had the big tentacles gone?

At this point Devin wandered into the kitchen, wondering what was taking me so long to "throw together a quick salad." He looked at the squidbrick in my hands, fins flapping in the breeze, and the tentacle deposits in the sink. He made a face. "Don't worry," I said. "It'll be good. Just gonna fry it up. Just like a restaurant." And then, "If it doesn't work I'll make something else."

After about 5 minutes, I could sense the ice at the core of the squidbrick was beginning to melt. I applied pressure to try to separate the 4 of them and soon they snapped apart.

I was relieved none of them had eyes or beaks.

After slicing them up --I ended up with rings after all! --and battering and frying the pieces, I was quite surprised that I'd actually managed to make something that looked just like regular fried calamari. And it even tasted good!

It took 1 hour of fussing around in the kitchen in order to produce 2 salads which we ate in about 6 minutes. I'm not sure it was worth it. Tonight I think we'll stick with frozen pizza.

You're Not Fancy Enough

2009-03-20T10:21:00.000-07:00

I'm on blogging hiatus until one of the following things happens:

1. I have free time again.

2. I get far enough into the script I'm writing to feel like I'm not cheating on it by blogging.

3. The Hills starts its new season.

This hiatus may only last another week, but who knows. Until then, here's something for you:

They All Wanna Take My Picture

2009-03-05T17:31:00.000-08:00

Living in Los Angeles, you grow accustom to seeing members of the paparazzi occasionally darting about here and there as you go about your daily life. Sometimes they are in big packs, hanging around outside a popular night club. Sometimes it's one stray photographer running madly down the street, steadying his massive camera against his chest, chasing some irresistable target. Once, I saw a swarm of them in Hollywood, taking pictures of Paris and Nikki Hilton getting into a Hummer limo.

And it's always just a teency bit thrilling.

On Sunday, mere hours after the invention of the sauceholder, I was walking down Robertson in West Hollywood, leaving my friend's birthday gathering at The Abbey. Up ahead I spotted the bright lighting and red carpet of some sort of highly publicized, celeb-attended event. It was at an art gallery, and the party must have started much earlier because there was no one standing outside except for a guy with a clipboard and two paparazzi types.

Walking right in front of me was a couple holding hands. I watched as one of the photographers eyed them, trying to discern if they were anyone of note. But they just passed him by and he did nothing.

Then as I got closer to him, his eyes locked on me. His hands reached for the camera hanging around his neck. Without taking his eyes off me he lifted the camera, then hesitated, then just as I was right next to him he lifted it up and FLASH! Instinctively, I tilted my head and smiled, then kept on walking.

At first I thought, "How flattering!" I was mistaken for someone famous! But who? Some seriously misguided strangers and a few friends have told me I sometimes look like Audrina Patridge (and that would be fine if what they meant was my boobs looked like Audrina's).

Even if this guy didn't peg me for a specific celebrity, then I must at least carry myself in a way that suggests I could be seriously important and famous. And to think I hadn't even washed my hair that morning.

But then as I continued the walk to my car, the inevitable self-doubt and paranoia set in. What if he went to a meeting the next day, projecting all of his pics from the event on some big screen, flipping through them one by one in front of 5 or 6 tabloid editors.

Paparazzi Guy: Here we have Eva Mendes, and Russel Brand, Bradley Cooper, aaaaaand then there's this girl. I wasn't sure...is she someone?
Editor 1: Her? Nah.
Editor 2: With that fat face?
Editor 3: And look at that oily hair.
Editor 1: She looks like the kinda girl who'd put marinara sauce in the cupholder of her Ford Focus hatchback.
Paparazzi Guy: Yeah. What was I thinking? She's a loser.

Okay, you're right. Why would this scene ever actually take place? Well, it probably wouldn't (I hope). But you never know.

So I guess what I'm saying is, if anyone sees my face or my torso in a "What Not To Wear" person-on-the-street, tabloid photo ensemble... burn the magazine immediately and don't ever tell me.

Thanks.

New Advancements In Fat Slob Technology

2009-03-01T22:11:00.000-08:00

At the little cafe by the checkout of Target, you can buy an order of Pizza Hut breadsticks and a medium soda for $3. It's the perfect treat for late afternoon shopping and it helps dull the pain of spending $200 on stupid crap like laundry detergent and cotton balls.

Today, after pushing the World's Loudest Shopping Cart around Target for a half hour, I hastily purchased the breadstick combo on my way to the exit.

After cramming all of my shopping bags into the trunk and backseat of my car, I got behind the wheel, eagerly dug out the first breadstick and the marinara sauce cup, and started to chow down. Ordinarily, I have very strict rules about eating while alone in a parked car because...well...have you ever seen a woman doing that before? It's super sad. But today I was positively starving.

With one breadstick down and two to go, I realized it was getting late and I needed to bust a move to The Abbey for a birthday party. I'd need to take this show on the road, but mobile breadstick consumption seemed challenging. How does one dip and drive?

First, I dug around in the back seat and tore open the 8 pack of paper towels I'd just bought. I used two sheets to fashion a placemat like so:

With my lap safely protected, things were looking up. But there was still the problem of the marinara sauce. Foregoing it was simply not an option. Balancing the cup in my lap seemed too risky. I could try holding it, but this would hinder my steering.

After 2 more minutes --or the time it probably would've taken me to just eat the damn breadsticks-- I finally figured out how I could take them on the road.

The sauceholder:

Ah! A brilliant, and only slightly embarrassing, solution. Now I can add Target cafe Pizza Hut breadsticks to my list of foods I can eat while driving. [Previous items on the list include french fries, breakfast sandwiches, the filet-o-fish, the bean & cheese burrito. ]

Hi

2009-02-26T15:11:00.000-08:00

I deleted my previous post. Even though I thought it was a cute little joke about how I never think things through and how I can be won over by a stuffed animal, it seems an unintended reader did not get the punchline. And now I feel all paranoid and weirded out. Maybe I shouldn't, but I guess I'm just a sensitive gal.

The only person I ever really make fun of on this blog is myself. (And the cast of The Hills, but I've been a little too easy on them lately.)

I think my complaint is that I've been having a hard time coping with life lately, and now I can't even come to my blog and be myself.

"Just When I Thought Things Couldn't Possibly Get Worse..."

2009-02-14T10:24:00.000-08:00

So last week I fell in a puddle. And this week I have a new punchline to the setup "Just when I thought things couldn't possibly get worse..."

I got in a car accident. A stupid little one. It wasn't so much a crash as two cars bumping shoulders in a crowded hallway.

Last night I met up with my sister and Kesila for an after work drink. After an hour or two, we left to go to a friend's birthday party. Each of us drove separately.

I retrieved my car from valet parking, paid the attendant, and got behind the wheel. I waited for a pack of cars to pass by so I could pull away from the curb. Finally, the last car passed by, so I pulled out. But at the same time I was leaving valet, the other car was slowing down to park at the valet next door. (I know, only in Los Angeles...hardy har.) So we collided. I'm not entirely sure how I managed to drive into him and I wasn't even sure that I had, but the car immediately pulled to the side of the road, so I did the same.

I waited in my car while the man in the other car got out, looked at the area near his rear tire, and freaked out. Great.

Another guy got out from the passenger side and stood still while the driver (henceforth referred to as Guy) continued waving his arms in the air and pacing. Finally, I got up the nerve to get out of the car. At the same time, my sister walked up, having seen the whole thing happen because she was pulling out right behind me.

Right away I apologized to Guy, even though I know you're not supposed to admit fault in an accident. But I really was sorry. I thought that his temper tantrum was just a reaction to the circumstance, and that he'd be reasonable with me. After all, an accident's an accident.

But no. Instead he came at me with "Look at this! These are custom rims!" Yeah, I really care. "You've ruined my night!" Wow, way to make it personal.

I looked down at the damage and saw some small, barely noticeable dents. I was expecting much worse, and was relieved. But now I still had to deal with Guy.

"I didn't mean to ruin your night. It was just an accident. And I have insurance. Let me just get my card." I turned to walk back to my car to retrieve my card when he says, "I'm not going to call the police and bring them into this. Although it's good to get a police report."

"Yeah okay." I mean, who ever feels like doing that.

"Are you drunk?" Guy asks.

"On 2 glasses of wine? Obviously you don't know me," is what I felt like saying in response. But that would have had the effect of actually making me appear drunk. So I gave him a straight "no."

My sister chimed in at this point. "If you call the police they'll take forever to get here anyway. They don't care. My boyfriend's a cop--"

"Yeah you don't need to bother," added Guy's friend.

"Okay. So I'll go get my insurance card then." I had a feeling this was going to take forever. Then a valet attendant jogged up to me. "Excuse me, miss. Would you move your car? It's blocking the driveway." Man, I'm getting shit from everyone!

When I got back to Guy, he still hadn't lightened up. I handed him my insurance card. "And I'll need your driver's license too." There's nothing I love more than being talked to like I'm in trouble by a guy who has no authority over me. So I hand over my license. "And do you have a pen?" Boy oh boy. So I fish around in my purse and pull out a pen for him.

Guy walks away to start writing everything down. My sister was bored with the whole scene and left. Guy's friend says, "He's cool. Sorry he's acting like this. He's just upset because earlier this week someone else hit his mirror."

"Oh, I get it." Then we stood there in silence for a moment before Guy came storming back over to give me another lecture about custom rims. Then he took down my phone number. And then read it back to me. And then called my phone to make sure it was a real number. And then he ranted on about how someone had hit his car earlier this week, as though I'd had something to do with it. I had just about reached my limit. I felt like saying "Your car isn't that great" or "You know, bad things come in threes, so stay tuned!"

But I was determined to make him succumb to my undeniable charm. "You know, everyone's okay here. You've got my insurance information, they'll take care of everything. Just put it out of your mind and have a great night."

Guy smiled the world's tiniest smile and said, "How am I going to pick up girls with my car looking like this?" Ah-ha! I'd was getting to him.

"If a girl inspects your car before she goes home with you, you don't want her anyway," I joked. Guy's friend laughed, but Guy had gone back to looking at the damage and making tsking sounds. Ah well, you can't win em all.

By this point I really didn't know what else we could possibly do, unless Guy wanted me to swab my cheek for a DNA sample or take pictures of me pointing to the dents and making an exaggerated frowny face. So I asked, "Are we good now? Can I go?" And I was dismissed.

I got back in my car and gave myself a moment to regroup. And just when I thought things couldn't possibly get worse, I realized Guy kept my pen.

Scrubs Stuff

2009-02-10T11:10:00.001-08:00

Hi there! Exciting news items-

1. Another installment of Scrubs webisode series "Interns" written by Devin is available for your viewing pleasure here.

2. Tonight at 9:30pm on ABC is the Scrubs episode written by Devin! Tune in or set your tivos. It's gonna be a good one!

Not Off To A Spectacular Start

2009-02-06T11:36:00.001-08:00

Since I last checked in, my life has consisted of the following things:

1. Work
2. Being sick
3. Complaining about the above 2 items on the list

Just wanted to let you know I'm still here, sort of. And that I'm still reading your blogs, even if I haven't commented lately.

So far, I'm not having a good year. Work is beating me up. And I have no free time so it feels like my life is unraveling. Everything in my apartment is covered in dust and in the wrong place. I don't think I've seen Devin for like 3 weeks because he's been working like crazy. And the dog is depressed because we're not home and when we are we don't feel like doing anything. So now I'm a bad pet owner. And I haven't felt like washing my face at night because I'm so tired before I go to bed, and I don't feel like blow-drying my hair in the morning, so I look gross all the time. And I'm getting fat and flabby because I have no time to adhere to any sort of diet and fitness regimen.

And I don't even feel comfortable feeling sorry for myself because there are plenty of people in the world with real problems.

So that's how that's going lately. And then this morning, the exact right thing happened next: I fell in a puddle.

I woke up really early, feeling pretty lousy after drinking 4 margaritas last night with my friend. I couldn't fall back to sleep and I could hear that it was raining lightly outside, so I thought it would be nice to take Seamus on a long walk.

Things started off fine, despite my feeling a bit dizzy. It felt appropriate to walk in the rain and think about things. In my head I was hearing that music from the Cymbalta commercial. "Where does depression hurt? Everywhere. Who does depression hurt? Everyone."

Then the rain started to come down harder. Seamus was displeased. But I trudged forward. But then my raincoat was soaked through (probably because it isn't really a rain coat at all, and is barely water-resistant, but it usually works to get me through the short distances from place to car and then car to place).

And then the rain reached ridiculous levels, Seamus was no longer having any fun, and a woman getting into her car gave me a dirty look for being a dog abuser. So, I turned around to head home.

Because it doesn't rain very often in Southern California, the roads aren't really built for drainage. Massive puddles built up along the sides of the road and especially at intersections. And I encountered one such massive puddle at a corner 2 blocks from my apartment.

It extended a few feet from the curb, so I hesitated in front of it for a moment. Then I decided to just make a leap for it. I jumped over the puddle, but Seamus did not jump with me. I landed on the edge of the curb, but was wearing slippery flip flops so I didn't take hold very well. I wobbled, leaning back, and then forward, and nearly had my balance, when Seamus did a weird puddle-hopping maneuver. Both feet went into the puddle. But this was no ordinary puddle. I'd say it was mid-shin deep.

And the fun didn't stop there. It wasn't like my feet slipped in and I just stopped. The whole thing was a struggle. I still hadn't regained my balance, and grabbed onto a the pole of a street sign to save myself from falling all the way backward. The entire time, Seamus was going nuts and pulling me in all directions. The two of us were splashing up a storm. And I made an embarrassing "wooahhh-oooahh" noise.

To make matters worse, a car was driving by as this happened. Which means there is a small possibility that somewhere out there, a man is telling his coworkers that he saw a girl and her dog flailing around in flood waters this morning.

Anyway, I finally made it onto the sidewalk and back home. At this point I was feeling sort of Charlie Brown-ish. Good grief. I took a shower and started getting dressed.

And then I pulled a shirt out of one one my drawers and realized my cat had peed on it.

I'm ripping myself off

2009-01-30T08:40:00.000-08:00

By posting something here that I already posted on facebook last night. It's one of those 25 Things About Me lists that are going around. I avoided doing one for like, 1.5 days, and then I gave in. I used to hold out longer. I'm getting weak.

Anyway, apologies for the unoriginal material, but I've been sucked into a work cocoon yet again this week so I'm doing my best. Also, does this make up for the meme's I never did on my blog? I'm just trying to take up space, people.

1. I ate too much pizza for dinner.

2. There's nothing good on TV tonight.

3. Devin thinks it's annoying I'm doing this list right now. He just said, "Aw, no. Don't..." But I think tomorrow he will read this.

4. I'm really into flossing lately.

5. If I want a guy at a bar to stop talking to me, I start talking about my favorite cereals.

6. I don't really like swimming, particularly in the ocean. There are sharks. And jelly fish. And floating bits of garbage.

7. I want to be the sort of person who likes tea, but I prefer coffee.

8. I just did my taxes. I couldn't help but note how much money I spent on alcohol this year.

9. I haven't washed the dishes in 5 days. The laundry in 3 weeks. My car in 7 months.

10. Sometimes I pretend I'm really preoccupied with wedding planning, but really I have nothing else to talk about.

11. I feel threatened by people who can memorize a lot of facts about particular bands or singers. I know which songs I like, but I'm not sure that's enough, sometimes.

12. I just glanced up and gave the news 2 minutes to draw me in, but I don't know what Rachel Maddow is talking about, so here we are.

13. I don't know when my favorite color became red, but it is now. It used to be purple. For a little while I would tell people pink, but I have no idea why I did that. Pink's a pretty lousy color.

14. I've watched "Vacation" 2 times in the past 10 days.

15. The other week I was watching a documentary about gangs in L.A. and I had to look up South Central on google maps.

16. If I had the chance to marry George Clooney, I totally would, even though I think he'd probably cheat on me. But then I think that I could also cheat on him and we'd be even. And I think my position as Mrs. Clooney would help me attract a lot of hot suitors because I think guys would probably have a thought like "If I can bang George Clooney's wife, I must be as hot as he is."

17. I don't remember the last time I ate a vegetable. I'm probably dying.

18. In any given week, I actually get plenty of sleep, but I always have to say that I'm tired to fit in with everyone else.

19. There's a good possibility that I'm irreversible scarred from high school experiences. But saying something like that makes me sound like a loser.

20. I would pay any amount of money to hear my pets talk for a day. And if I could find a way to make animals talk forever, then I wouldn't have to have kids.

21. I think I'd look pretty lousy as a blond, but then I wonder if I should just try it to say I did it.

22. No one ever really reads these things. People just enjoy writing them. That's not exactly a fact about me, but really, it's a fact about facebook users in general, and therefore sort of a fact about me.

23. I like elephants, but everyone already knows that about me.

24. Between my broken digital camera and carelessness with digital photo saving, in the future I will have no photographic evidence of my life from ages 17-26. So if my grandchildren and I can't look at pictures, we'll have to do a jigsaw puzzle.

25. I like jigsaw puzzles, but I'd never buy one for myself. Hopefully I'll get one as a gift.

The Bad Date vs. The Mexican Shrimp Wrap

2009-01-25T18:25:00.000-08:00

On Saturday night, I went out with Devin, his cousin, and her boyfriend to see an improv show at UCB. Afterward, we went next door to Birds for dinner and drinks. And I was completely thrilled because this meant being reunited with my favorite item on the Birds menu: The Mexican Shrimp Wrap.

I am embarrassingly obsessed with this sandwich, though I'm not entirely sure what makes it so awesome. It's just shrimp, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes and some sort of orange-colored sauce.

Anyway, while I was happily shoving my shrimp wrap in my face on Saturday, I was so enamored with it that I felt it necessary to force my dining companions to hear the story of the first time I tried this particular dish.

Yes, there's actually a story about this experience. And because it's a freshly resurrected memory (and because I have nothing else to write about) I'm going to share it with you.

Back when I first moved here, I was an innocent PYT with no job, no place to live, and no circle of friends. I did, however, have Kristen, who I'd buddied up with during my last semester of college because we both knew we were moving to L.A.

The second weekend I was in town, I went with Kristen to the birthday party of an acquaintance of ours. It was at this party that a guy started chatting me up. He was nice enough, but I wasn't at all attracted to him and we didn't appear to have anything in common. Still, I accepted his invitation to go out to dinner. At this point in my life, I was desperate for free food and new friends, so I didn't think it wise to turn down an opportunity for both.

And though I didn't know much about him, at the very least he didn't strike me as the sort of person who would suck me into a cult or expose me to intravenous drugs, so it didn't seem like giving him my number was the world's worst idea.

But Kristen did have quite the look on her face when I told her what I'd done.

He called me the next day. He was bad on the phone and immediately got on my nerves. He wanted to have dinner that very night, which bothered me because I would've liked him to at least entertain the idea that I might already have plans.

But, of course, I didn't have plans. And even though I just wanted to sit alone, drink wine and feel sorry for myself, we arranged for me to meet him at his place in Hollywood.

When I arrived at his doorstep, we had 2 minutes of awkward conversation, followed by a quick and unsolicited tour of his apartment. Then, he asked me where I wanted to go for dinner.

Annoyed, I reminded him that I'd just moved here and the only places I'd been so far were the bar where we met and a burrito stand near the place I was staying. So he thought about it for a while and then decided we should walk down the block to Birds.

As we set off on foot, I seriously began to regret my decision to go out with him. We walked passed my parked car and I stared at her longingly, tempted to just make a run for it. But, realistically, I had nothing better to do with my evening than have dinner with this guy.

When we arrived at Birds, we were seated outside.

Me: This place seems really cool.
Him: (snotty) I can't believe you've never been here!
Me: I...just...moved here.

I scanned the menu and then ordered the one non-chicken-based item on it: The Mexican Shrimp Wrap.

After 15 minutes of lousy conversation, the food arrived. I was pleased to learn that the wrap rocked my world, so while he prattled on about "the industry" and how much he hates hipsters, I zoned out and focused on eating without getting sauce on my face or seasoning stuck in my teeth.

Now, the wrap was sliced into two very sizeable halves. After I'd polished off the first, I hesitated to start on the second. If I just saved it for later, I'd already be set for lunch tomorrow. I had an opportunity to get 2 free meals outta this mess.

So I boxed up the second half, turned down the offer for dessert, and hurried us out of the restaurant. We walked silently back to his apartment.

Him: You wanna come inside and watch TV?
No.

Me: Sure, why not?
Him: Cool. Six Feet Under is starting soon.
Me: I've never seen that show.
Him: What's wrong with you?!

What's WRONG with me?

Me: I just...I've been in school the past 4 years. I guess I didn't really have a lot of time to watch TV.
Him: Can we watch it tonight anyway?
Me: Fine. Is it something I'll be able to follow?
Him: Not really.

Sigh.

While we watched the episode, he was sweet enough to try to explain each and every character's background and motivation. But then while he was talking he'd miss what happened in the scene, so he'd just have to rewind it, then watch it, then explain what all of that meant. In the end, it took us 45 extra minutes to get through the one-hour program.

When the end-credits rolled, I jumped up from the couch.

Me: Welp, guess I should get going! You've got work tomorrow.
Him: Oh...okay. Don't you want to stay and watch 24? I have last week's episode on tivo.
Me: I've never seen that show either.
Him: Oh my God!
Me: Aaanway...thanks for dinner! (Forced hug good bye) See ya later!

I walked quickly down the pathway from his door to the street. I'd almost made it to the sidewalk when I realized I forgot to grab my box of Mexican Shrimp Wrap goodness.

Fuck.

I stood in place for a second to figure out my next move. Do I go forward and just forget about this whole evening? Or do I go back, risk him thinking I just can't get enough of him, and then have to explain how I'm too poor to give up my precious ingestible resources?

Ah, who was I kidding? I want that effing wrap! So I marched back up the path and knocked on his door.

And when he opened it, he wasn't wearing pants. Boxers, yes. Pants, no. Of course, I believe everyone has a right to be pantsless in his or her own home. But there were a number of things wrong with this scenario.

First of all, I'd only been gone for 15 seconds. Which means he would have had to close the door behind me when I left and then immediately un-buckle his belt, take off his pants, and put them somewhere clean out of sight.

And second, he could have only assumed that it would be ME knocking on his door. So why did he look so surprised and embarrassed? And, more importantly, WHY DIDN'T HE PUT ON HIS FUCKING PANTS?

Lucky for me, his vulnerable state meant that I no longer needed to explain myself.

Me: I forgot my leftovers.
Him: I'll get them.

He closed the door. I waited. He returned with my food.

Me: Thanks.
Him: Bye.

He didn't call me again after that. And that was obviously just fine by me.

This is the memory that, unfortunately, comes to mind whenever I have the Mexican Shrimp Wrap.

But it's totally worth it.

A Time of Great Change

2009-01-20T21:56:00.000-08:00

Today was a momentous one in American history. And probably a lot of important words were spoken by our new president. And I care, really I do, but I was swamped at work and I missed it all and by the time I got home tonight and turned on the TV it felt like everyone on the news had inauguration-coverage hangovers and couldn't even half-ass it. So, I started watching The Cosby Show. In tonight's episode, Cliff was hiding chocolate donuts from Clair. You think he'd know better than to eat that stuff, since he's a doctor. And now I want a donut.

But anyway. It's time for change we can believe in. And so I painted my cabinets.

Behold:

I don't have a Before picture to show you. I should've thought to take one. Picture poorly constructed, yellowing varnished wood cabinets wearing the same filth that they've worn since the 70s. Picture the inside of a backwoods bunker inhabited by a pervert fleeing the law. Picture something like this:

Before you think I'm exaggerating, you should know that friends who have been to my home will agree that this picture isn't entirely off. If you don't believe me, then look at the after picture again, and notice the army-green torn piece of canvas serving as "curtains."

This is the first of many homemaking projects that I'll chalk up to pre-marital "nesting." Also, this is all part of my Be Better At Life Plan (also known as the Don't Suck At Life Plan) that I've kicked off for 2009. I will live in an apartment that looks lived-in by adults, I will not leave dishes in the sink for a week, I will remember to mail birthday cards, I will not drive around in a car full of balled-up taco bell wrappers.

Yes, times, they are a changin'.

Revisiting Small Disasters In Everyday Conversation

2009-01-16T09:19:00.001-08:00

Last year, in early summer, I had a series of awkward and unusual public encounters with strangers. I wrote about two of them: The Staples Girl and The Guy With The Shirt. I wrote, at the time, that I am the reason for these run ins. I am incapable of saying anything not-loserish when making small talk. I make other people uncomfortable.

But lately it seems the tables have turned (not entirely turned, just rotated about 80 degrees) and now I'm certain that other people are at least a little bit responsible for making me want to slap myself in the forehead.

I have two examples. Please note that while both of these examples involves me purchasing alcohol, I maintain that I drink just as much as the next person my age.

Anyway.

1. The Grocery Store
Last week I made a trip to the store after work to pick up some things for dinner. Among them, a bottle of wine. At the checkout, the cashier, a man in his 40s, asked to see my ID. I presented it to him, he took it, then typed my birth date into a keypad. He waited a moment, then nodded, then handed me back my drivers license. "How very thorough," I thought to myself. (But did not say out loud. See? I'm improving.)

Just as I was stuffing my license back into my wallet, he asked, "Do you know what day of the week you were born?" The former fake-ID-user in me froze up. He's trying to trick me! Think fast! Wait, I'm 26. What's his damage?
"Uh..." was all that came out of my mouth.
"Wednesday."
"How do you know that?"
"It comes up on the machine when I type in your birthday."
"Wednesday. Well, guess I brightened up Mom's week!" D'oh.
"Yeah it's a fun fact." This guy may seem like he was just being tons o' fun, but in actuality he was not laughing or smiling or joking. Just talking. No emotion, just words. As if he were reading a dinner menu aloud or something.

By I was trying to laugh and make jokes like a normal human. And so even though I came off looking like a buffoon, he was the asshole with the secret little ID machine, asking me if I knew what day of the week I was born. So there!

2. The Liquor Store
On Saturday evening, I left the nail salon, where I'd gotten a relaxing pedicure, to go meet up with Devin at a friend's house. Knowing that he and the friend were probably drinking their usual, vile drink --diet Sprite and vodka-- I figured I should pick myself up something more appetizing. So I stopped by the liquor store to get some wine.

After buying the bottle without doing anything stupid, I walked out of the store. At the same time, a guy was walking in. He peered at my brown paper bag and then said, "Wine. Simple."
What the effing eff? I didn't know what to say so I just let out a forced laugh. You know the kind that sounds like "Heh...."

I got in my car and tried to figure out why he would say that. I get that he meant like I was keeping it simple. Not drinking any complicated, fruity cocktail. Either that, or he thought I was simple-minded. But what I was really stuck on is why he would say "Wine. Simple," when he could have just said...oh...nothing?

Which meant that I was not at fault for this stupid exchange. I felt better.

In conclusion, I may not be charming and cool as a cucumber, but there's always someone worse than me.

Scrub a Dub

2009-01-15T09:30:00.000-08:00

Can't get enough Devin and Scrubs? Watch the webisode he wrote! (And then watch the other 2 because they are also good.)

Bonus points if you spot Devin walking in the background!

Webisodes!

Intermission

2009-01-12T16:30:00.001-08:00

I've been a bit busy lately.

Please enjoy this entertainment.

Traditional Cookies

2009-01-07T21:17:00.001-08:00

To celebrate Devin's very exciting appearance on Scrubs, a bunch of our friends came to our apartment to watch the episode. I love hosting and so I went out to the store after work to pick up beer and snacks (including pub cheese...have you had pub cheese? it's from Trader Joes and I'm obsessed).

My sister brought over some treats too, including cookies that she bought solely because they were such an oddity.

Presenting "Traditional Cookies":

I know. The word "traditional" doesn't come to mind when I look at them. The word "green" does.

And they aren't even a fun green. They aren't the shade of green that someone would tolerate in, say, a gummy worm. I didn't try any of them because I worried they'd turn my skin green.

What makes these cookies so remarkable is that the label doesn't make any mention of their greenness.

My sister and I set the cookies out on the coffee table with the other snacks, eager to see if anyone dared try them. And someone actually did, but I don't know who because they ate it while I was watching Scrubs.

And so this morning, I found myself confronted with a nearly full box of Traditional Cookies sitting on my kitchen counter. I couldn't bring myself to throw them all out, but I also couldn't bring myself to do what I would normally do with a bunch of leftover goodies: bring them to work. It's really a delightful experience to set out a tray of cupcakes or cookies or whatever, and spend the whole day hearing coworkers sighing at the sight of them. And then they come up to me one by one, moaning "I hate you," while chomping on a brownie.

But with this batch of green gems, I didn't feel so comfortable. I then began to think of what fun it would be to just leave the cookies on the counter and not own up to them or explain their existence. Or, even better, to remove the cookies and set them on a plate and claim to have made them. Perhaps I could guilt everyone into eating them.

Until I decide what to do with them, the cookies remain on my kitchen counter. Green. Terrifying. Traditional.

Oh! Oh! Also!

2009-01-06T10:56:00.001-08:00

Watch Devin playing the role of "Chubby Guy" on Scrubs tonight at 9:30 on ABC!

Let's try this once more. This time, with feeling.

2009-01-05T21:05:00.000-08:00

Thank you to those of you that commented that you would also have failed to stick to the resolutions I set out for myself at the beginning of 2008. Either you're all a great support system, or you're as lazy as I am. I'll leave you to answer that for yourselves.

So for 2009, I'll need a new list.

1. Lose weight before my wedding.

Notice how I didn't say how much. Trust me, anything will be quite the accomplishment.

2. Save at least SOMETHING from each paycheck.

I may not have devoted an appropriate amount of blog space to this topic, but I am disastrous with money. To be fair, I am getting better. Sort of. But it's still a very sad state of affairs for someone nearly 5 years out of college and soon to be a Mrs.

For goodness sake...I'm supposed to own a 4 bedroom house by now! So maybe if I save some pathetic amount. Say, $20 per paycheck--that's $40 per month. Which is $480 per year. And that's 480 times the amount I saved in 2008. Progress in tiny tiny steps.

3. Cook more meals at home.

This is a cop-out. I cook at home all the time. Whee!

4. Run another race.

And it can't be another 10k because I already did that. Crossing that finish line was one of the high points of my life. It reassured me that, yes, I can complete something.

5. Finish a screenplay.

This sounds like a real blowhard thing to say. Don't a lot of d-bags have unfinished screenplays? Well so do I. Unstarted ones, actually. But this year will be different! And to that end, I've signed up with a writing group. Me! In a writers group. We meet weekly at various apartments and coffee shops. It's so freaking adorable.

6. De-flab my arms.

I practically have wings. When I wave I can feel the distinct underarm swingery one normaly finds hanging from middle school teachers.

7. I just ate a slice of American cheese.

That's not a resolution. I just wanted to throw that in there to give you a sense of perspective on my situation.

8. Keep a clean house.

You know, it's funny, but the more pets you keep, the worse your apartment looks.

9. Get organized.

I don't have to bother expanding on this because I know I won't follow through with it. So.

10. Watch classic movies.

Lately, in spite of myself, I've been drawn to black and white movies. I don't know what it is. Something about the clothing. And the constant smoking. And the peculiar cadence in which the actors deliver their lines. And the supper clubs. (I'll never go to a supper club!)

And that's it, folks. Now, we wait...

New Year's Resolution FAIL

2008-12-29T21:33:00.000-08:00

"Oh hi. Hope you had a good holiday!" is what I find myself saying to everyone lately. And now I'm saying it to you.

Well. Here we are, friends. The end of yet another year. Of course, it never feels like much of a milestone to me. I don't think I measure my life in days, months and years. So I don't know if this year was a good one, but I know that things lately feel pretty darn great.

Still, there is something to be said for giving yourself a moment to reflect on the events of your life. And for the plans that you've made, the plans that you've stuck to and the plans that evaporated into thin air while you were watching The Hills.

Last year I made a hearty list of resolutions and, in an attempt to hold myself accountable, I published that list on my blog.

Let's see how I did:

1. No more starbucks mochas.

I had one today! And one last week! And the peppermint ones are only available during the holiday season so it's only logical that I need to drink as many as possible.

2. Drink only 1-2 glasses of wine per night.

Actually, I did manage to achieve this. And some nights I don't even have any! I don't know if this is because of any real effort on my part or because I'm getting old and I can't overindulge like I used to.

3. Stop interrupting people when they talk just because I think I have something so witty to say that it simply cannot wait.

I'm a little embarrassed to say that I have not made any improvement in this area.

4. Stop writing blog while at work. It's not professional.

Yes! Mainly because my job got so busy that I no longer have time. But I'm counting it anyway!

5. Only have cheese in one meal per day.

To be honest, I forgot about this resolution entirely.

6. Quit acting like "party cigarettes" means something and just stop smoking altogether.

Okay, well, I haven't exactly quit quit. But I'm capable of going weeks at a time without a cigarette, so that's gotta mean I'm not a hopeless case.

7. Stop telling my coworkers stories about my cats, it makes me look super lame.

I think I've gotten worse. I now also email them pictures of cute cats I find online. And tell them stories about my dog. And about my dog and cats interacting together.

8. Join gym.

Done!

9. Go to gym.

Eh...

10. Read a biography of Oscar Wilde.

I haven't...yet. But I do have tickets to see The Importance Of Being Earnest.

11. Read James Joyce's "Ulysses" so that I can tell people I'm reading it.

I don't even know why I said this in the first place. Like, really. I can't remember what this was about.

12. Learn how to play poker.

Nope. But I did learn that it's fun to hang out with your girlfriends on a weekly basis and call it "poker night."

13. Make jazz the new thing that I'm into.

I think this was a joke. I always say I want to get into jazz because I want that interest the same way that I want to become someone who knows a lot about yoga and exotic herbal teas. It's an insincere desire to be someone I'm not and probably never will be.

14. Get car washed more than twice.

I believe I've washed my car three times this year. So...yay for baby steps.

15. When complimented on clothing, don't say "Oh, it's just from Target."

I rarely get compliments on my outfits any more, so this problem solved itself.

I admit, this doesn't look like a big heap of success. But, I'm okay with that. Because I've never been the sort of person to stick to her resolutions. So, at the very least, in 2008 I stayed true to myself.

It's Frickin Freezing

2008-12-18T14:32:00.000-08:00

I don't know if there's a strong Siberian wind flying over the Pacific or something, but it is so cold in California that people are fa-reaking out. It's been getting down to the 30s an 40s at night, which doesn't sound cold to some of you, but trust me, it's bad news.

And it was all so sudden! Last week I was prancing about town in a light sweater, and now I'm cozying up to my space heater, wrapped in blankets, wearing every sweatshirt I own, and wondering if my living room window has always been so drafty.

The only plus side to this nippy weather is that it arrived just in time for Christmas.

And speaking of Christmas (and pathetic segues)...

My neighbors, whose peculiar Halloween decorations were the subject of this post, are now crapping all over Christmas. Only a few houses got into the holiday spirit by decorating, and of those houses, only a handful elected to hang up the traditional string of colored lights. Instead, my neighbors seem to lean toward decorations of the giant inflatable variety.

Exhibit A:

Behemoth creatures like these are taking over my neighborhood. Or, at least, they were until it rained. Apparently they don't do so well when wet. Look at this poor guy:

Making the whole soggy mess even worse is the notable absence of snow. I imagine that even a light coating of snow would probably forgive the aesthetics of even the saddest displays.

This is a notion I clearly share with my neighbors with the face-down Santa shown above. See how they added some snow to their display?

Fixes everything right up. I'm dreaming of a white Christmas...

Now, you may remember from my Halloween decorations post, a certain house that went a little "out there" with their display.

You know...this one:

Thankfully there are no corpses or nightmare-inducing bunnies in their Christmas display. In fact, they've really cleaned up their act. It's still a little peculiar, but variety is the spice of life.

Ta-da! :

Yes, that red puddle in the front is yet another deflated Santa. It's like a massacre on this street.

In the background, you'll see a big screen TV and 2 Adirondack chairs (a repeat from their Halloween setup). I didn't know what this was all about until last night when I drove by and noticed they were playing a Christmas movie. Neat, huh? It's like having a Sears home electronics show room in their front yard.

Forgive this next picture (dern sunshine! always screwing things up!), I had Seamus on the leash and at the time of this picture he was showing off his dance moves for a snarling boxer across the street.

They are rejoicing penguins! Good morning, sunshine! Christmas is here! Wheee!

Or maybe they are just celebrating the demise of the inflatable Frosty the Snowman in the center of their circle.

Well, you know what they say, "You can't un-evil a penguin!" But they've come a long way from their gun-toting, pimping days.

It's a Christmas miracle.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

Days Later

2008-12-16T09:27:00.000-08:00

Well my mouth is healing nicely. This experience hasn't been nearly the disaster I'd anticipated. I was expecting to get the dreaded "dry socket" that everyone kept telling me about. People kept warning me "Don't get dry socket! It's the most painful thing EVER." To which I would just nod slowly and resist the urge to punch them in the face. I mean, really, it's rude to make someone petrified about a condition that's not entirely preventable.

Anyway, I think (I hope) I am in the clear now and will be all healed up in the next week or so.

I have to say I enjoyed my weekend of resting and recovering. Recent oral surgery is the perfect excuse to watch television for three days straight without showering, speaking to anyone, or picking up after oneself.

Also, I think I may go down as the only woman in history who actually gained weight after getting her wisdom teeth out. Yesterday at Koo Koo Roo I requested EXTRA gravy with my PINT of mashed potatoes.

The downside to all this is that I haven't been able to get any Christmas shopping done and my parents get into town TOMORROW.

Time to bring this sloth-fest to an end.

I might still be a little sedated...wheeeee

2008-12-12T13:30:00.000-08:00

This morning I has my wisdom teeth out. All 4 of them.

Most everyone I know has had them out by now. They got it done when they were 20 and didn't have to take time off work and could have their parents pay for it.

The thing is, that when everyone else's wisdom teeth were growing in and being pulled out, and I'd hear horror stories and terms like "impacted" and "had to break my jaw," I was waiting for my teeth to show up.

Little did I know, my teeth were just slowly, surely growing in like normal teeth. I didn't even know I had them until 2 years ago when I was at the dentist and he asked if I had a plan of attack for my wisdom teeth. "Uh, let's cross that bridge when we come to it," I scoffed.
"Well, no, I mean you have all four of them right here."
"I do?"
He handed me the little circular dentist mirror to point them out.
"That's what those are? They're wisdom teeth? I thought they were teeth teeth."

So I thought I'd lucked out. No sideways-growing, infected, disastrous wisdom teeth for me. Tooth Win!

But then, like all things in my life, everything went wrong. And the teeth all started to rot out of my skull. And my dentist suggested that maybe I should just pull them out since they all needed major work and were going to continue to need lots of care for the rest of my life.

And so here we are. For weeks I've listened to everyone else's stories about their wisdom teeth. My anxiety grew and grew. I was certain that I was going to die during the procedure. A tooth would come loose from the pliers and launch into my brain...somehow.

But then all of my nervousness went away the second they brought out the laughing gas. And they brought it out rather quickly, to my surprise. It was like, "Here, sit down. And...now breathe this." Before I even had my IV or was hooked up to blood pressure monitors. Before the oral surgeon was in the room.

And I looooved it. I could hear two nurses speaking in spanish outside my room. But their words were soooo sloooow. And then I looked over and saw the monitor with my blood pressure and I watched the number drop from 90 to 85, 75, 70, 69, 68, 67... Wait should it stop dropping at some point? Oh well I don't care.

I was actually genuinely disappointed when the oral surgeon was hooking up my IV and I knew I'd be asleep in a minute and my awesome high would be over.

Now I'm home, watching TV and wondering if anything I type makes sense. Today I learned that it's worth having 4 teeth ripped out of your head for 5 minutes of laughing gas and a day off work.

Have a great weekend.

I don't care what your mama says...

2008-12-09T09:00:00.000-08:00

Christmas time is neeeear!

Getting in the Christmas spirit these days. The office holiday party is tonight, which means the rare offering of unlimited free booze and food. It also means I'm going to get really anxious because one can only consume so much of these things before looking like an ass in front of one's boss and his important clients. So.

While I'm still feeling jolly I wanted to share my favorite Christmas song with you. It's from SNL a few years ago.

Click here to watch.

I particularly like Tracy Morgan's dance moves.

Happy Anniversary

2008-12-08T08:27:00.000-08:00

...to Hollywood Sucker!

It's been a year since I started this blog. And I can't tell if that year has flown by or dragged on slowly, if I've accomplished a lot or nothing at all, if I've said too much or said too little. But one thing's for sure: I still don't know where I'm going with this.

But it's been fun. And I've met so many blogger friends. I wish you all lived near me so we could actually hang out! And I've enjoyed getting my thoughts out of my head and onto the internets where friends and strangers alike can read them.

So in honor of this special occasion, here is a link to my first post ever.

Thanks to everyone who reads this.

xo
b

On Dead Bodies and General Slobbery

2008-12-04T08:51:00.001-08:00

Last night, for some reason, I watched the local news at 11. Let me tell you these news stories were real gems.

Most notably, there was a piece that took place in North Hollywood, where I live, but thankfully not right in my immediate neighborhood.

It all started with a house that had always been a little ill-kept, but over the past year had gotten completely out of hand. The lawn was all weeds and dirt. There was garbage heaped around the property, rotting in the hot sun and attracting vermin and stray cats. The whole place reeked and a neighbor finally got fed up and called the police.

When the cops got there, they found a shriveled up corpse sitting in one of the living room chairs.

The inhabitants of this house were a man and his mother. And the mother had apparently died a year ago and the son just never really did anything about it.

A reporter interviewed a coworker of this man, who said that he seemed pretty normal, if a little gross and smelly.

I know. Who leaves a dead body in his living room for a year?

But if you think about it, after a few weeks I'd imagine it doesn't stink that much. And by a few months, it's probably hard as a rock. And then, it's very likely she just got buried in old soda cans and KFC buckets and he forgot she was even there.

It may seem like I'm defending this poor slob, but I'm not. Well, not exactly. It's just that right before I watched the news, Devin stepped out to take Seamus for a walk and as he grabbed his leash off the ledge by the door he said "Hey, this cat puke's still here."

See, the cat threw up over the weekend and Devin discovered it. And I was supposed to clean it up when he was out with the dog...but I didn't. And then I forgot about it.

And then the puke dried up and became less noticeable and got covered in junk mail and stuff.

But last night when I got home from work, I noticed it again. "Oh yeah...that..." I said to myself. Only, I still didn't clean it up. I just carried on with my life and made dinner and watched The Cosby Show.

And when Devin later reminded me about it, I still didn't clean it up and carried on watching the news.

But it's a good thing I did watch the news, because after realizing that I had so much in common with the unnamed slob on TV, I immediately got up and cleaned the crusted cat vom.

UPDATE: Thanks to reader Raych for providing me the link to this news story. Check it.

Gobble gobble

2008-12-01T08:44:00.000-08:00

For the fifth Thanksgiving in a row, I've managed to be too drunk to appreciate my dinner.

Indeed, since I moved to Los Angeles and began celebrating with my friends instead of my family, this holiday's become more about the morning-to-afternoon-to-evening drinking. Bloody marys and mimosas in the morning. Beer and wine in the afternoon. And then by the evening someone gets the terrible idea to break open the whiskey and have a few shots.

This year about 25 of us gathered at the house my friend Ryan is house sitting (don't worry, the owners of the property are aware of, and in fact encourage, our parties there). The weather was great and I spent the day sipping wine, snacking on things, and being cute and sweet to Devin (much to his surprise).

Occasionally I wandered into the kitchen, where two of my friends had been cooking tirelessly. I felt bad about it and offered to help, and usually they'd request I go outside to fetch them more drinks. As it got closer to dinner time (which could have been 3 or 5:40 or 9:15...I have no clue), I made the big dish of sweet potatoes. This and dinner rolls were my assigned foods. Things went well until I had to take the pan out of the oven, at which point the thin, disposable metal pan sort of buckled in the middle and a wave of sweet potato juice rushed over the side, spread over the open oven door, and then fell onto the floor and my feet. I shrieked and then stood there uselessly until someone rushed to my aid. To my surprise, my feet weren't burnt, just sticky. It only took a minute to clean up, but I think the hassle I caused was enough to keep me out of the kitchen for the rest of the day.

All in all it was a great party and I loved spending time with all of my friends. Here are a few pictures, courtesy of Barry, our resident photographer.

This is Barry:

Yes, the party had it all!

Construction paper feather headdresses.

Seamus! (Who refused to wear the headdress, but looked handsome nevertheless.)

Fabulous chefs!

Cute boys!

And after dinner hot tub action!

Christmas Gift Idea

2008-11-26T10:31:00.000-08:00

Fundies. When you love someone so much, you want to share your underpants with their junk.

Yes. I’m still alive and well. But quite sleepy.

2008-11-24T10:47:00.001-08:00

I’ve been missing because last week was a crap week. I worked entirely too much and too hard. Some days, I even forgot to eat lunch!

It was a week of being tired and cranky. Of being nervous and on edge. Of wanting to eat nothing but cheese. It was the sort of week that would proceed my having a dentist appointment at 8:30 on Saturday morning. The only thing worse than getting a tooth filled is getting a tooth filled while hungover.

And then I meant to catch up with blogland over the weekend, but we got Guitar Hero for Wii and all other plans went out the window.

So here is my attempt to catch you up on important events:

1. Drunk + microwave popcorn = smoky burnt mess.
On Friday, I was so happy that my crap week was over that I went straight from work to the bar. Luckily, some friends met up with me there. But if they hadn’t, I probably would’ve just hung out there by myself.

At the end of the night, I went home and was starving. I went to the kitchen and made a bunch of noise, slamming cupboard doors shut and shifting dirty dishes around in the sink. Eventually, I found a box of microwave popcorn and decided this would be a good treat. So I took the plastic wrap off one of the bags, read the directions – 2 mins, 30 seconds – and tossed the packet into the microwave.

It seemed like about 10 seconds went by before the horrible smell of burnt popcorn filled the air and the bag had a little black spot on it. Out of curiosity and the hope that I could save a few good kernels, I opened the bag and dumped it into a big bowl, only to discover that about 60% of the popcorn had molded together into an awful brown and black mass.

There’s no point to this story, other than it reminded me of freshman year of college, when everyone had a microwave in their dorm room and popcorn was a favorite late night snack. And the frequent incidence of burnt microwave popcorn became such a nuisance that our floor had to have a meeting in the lounge about it. We all had to swear that we’d be careful when we drunkenly made popcorn, lest we accidently burn the building down or condemn our floormates to the stink of burntness for another day.

2. Books
I have to tell you that, despite my bi-monthly attempts at personal betterment, I don’t read books. I like the idea of reading books, I really do. But TV is so much easier.

My last job was in creative development for a production company. This involved reading lots and lots of books and scripts. I probably read about 80 books over 18 months. Since that job, I’ve read about 3.

Last month, when Devin and I flew back east for a wedding, I brought a book with me. Possible Side Effects by Augusten Burroughs. I was done with it by the time we boarded out return flight. Turns out, reading is the only thing that keeps me occupied on a plane.

After that trip, I was again inspired to read more. So I went over to the bookshelf in our apartment and scanned all of Devin’s books. There were a few by Chuck Palahniuk, but he scares me. And a few by Charles Bukowski, who I like a lot conceptually, but his writing doesn’t really do it for me. And then I found The Curious Incident of the Dog In the Nighttime. I remembered this book from my last job, when there was a lot of fuss about it. Apparently it’s written as though from the perspective of an autistic teenager and this makes it amazing (if a bit gimmicky).

So I’ve been reading this book now for like 2 weeks. I’m about 90 pages in because I fall asleep every time I get through 2 pages at once.

TV wins!

3. The Big One
Two Thursdays ago, Southern California had a big earthquake drill. At 10 am, everyone was supposed to pretend there was an earthquake and figure out what to do with themselves. Our office didn’t participate in this, as most of us roll into work at about that time so it wasn’t entirely convenient. But at our next meeting, one of my coworkers brought up that we should still probably take the time to have a drill because “The Big One is definitely coming.”

After the meeting, he chatted with me more about The Big One and how big earthquakes come every 150 years and we’re long overdue. And how it will last for over 90 seconds, compared to the 10 seconds of the last one we experienced. And how the brick wall next to my desk will crumble down and how the big window over my head will shatter and how I’m in the worst place in the whole building, but lucky for him he’ll be safe. My other coworker who sits with me in the death trap didn’t like the sound of this either and later, with much giggling and silliness, we worked out our evacuation plan.

Ever since that day, I’ve been really preoccupied with The Big One. Every time I am in a new environment I think about where I’m going to duck for cover if The Big One strikes right at that moment. I now know where I’ll hide if I’m at work (the doorway by the bathroom, or outside if I can make it), at home (run outside, it’s not that far), on the street in front of our building while walking Seamus (hold onto a stop sign pole and watch for falling palm fronds), at the bar we went to Friday night (duck under table), at the bagel place (again, table). And so on and so forth. As you can see, I’m extremely prepared and partially insane.

Ok, Ok, I Give Up

2008-11-13T20:53:00.000-08:00

I have some news:

I know that I was fighting it. Fighting it for far too long. But lately I noticed that when I admitted I didn't have a facebook account I was met with looks of disgust and confusion. As though I'd just told them I eat poo and sew all of my own clothes.

Moreover, I realized I was missing out on some good stalking.

And so today I signed up. Within 4 seconds I was confronted with a page of 55 profiles of people I apparently knew through one channel or another. "Would you like to send friend requests?" I was asked. Ok, sure. But HOW did facebook know that these people were my friends?

I checked off a bunch of boxes and then skipped over all of the hobbies and interests section and then ta-da, I was a facebooker.

I didn't know what exactly I was supposed to do at this point, so I just decided to ignore everything for now and check my gmail account.

And oh hey! 4 people already accepted my friend requests. And someone wrote on my wall. And Devin updated my relationship status and I needed to verify it, or something. Man this facebook is like quicksand!

So I followed a link in my email to try to respond to whatever facebook wanted me to respond to but then I was just led to my homepage which was like a little patchwork quilt of pictures and words and cool kid facebook slang that I don't comprehend. I felt a knot in my stomach.

This week on Brotherhood, Mrs. Caffee, a senior citizen, gets a new prescription from her doctor, but learns that her healthcare plan requires her to go through a phone service to order it. There's a scene where she is reduced to tears because the automated system on the phone is too unfamiliar for her.

I felt like that.

Anyway, if you'd like to validate my questionable decision to sign up, please be my guest. Friend me. I'd send you a link for how to get to my profile, but I have no idea how that works.

Class of '00

2008-11-12T13:43:00.001-08:00

The other day I got a little postcard in the mail from my high school's directory office asking me to call within 7 days to update my info. I nearly threw it out, but then thought I should follow up because this might have to do with my 10 year reunion. I want to make sure I am invited so that I can make a big deal about refusing to go.

So just now, while there was a calm point in my day at work, I dialed the hotline number on the card. I wanted a website. Who does these things over the phone?

While waiting for someone to pick up, I noticed the address for the directory office was a P.O. Box in Chesapeake, Virginia. My high school was in New York. What the?

And then someone picked up. He said that they were checking all of the graduates' contact information for some directory they'll publish soon.

Me: I've never gotten a directory before.
Him: We only do this every 8 years.
Me: Oh. So it has everyone from the last 8 years in it.
Him: It has everyone ever. Or, everyone who agrees to be in it.
Me: So this is optional.
Him: Can we start?
Me: Ok.

He double checked my name and mailing address and the year I graduated. He asked for my email address. I hesitated, but then figured what if SOMEONE randomly wants to talk to me? Like someone who graduated earlier than I did and also works in the entertainment industry and needs a new VP for his or her company and wants to hire an alum. I should at least be open to such things. So I gave the email address I rarely ever check.

Him: So what were your favorite activities in high school?
Me: I didn't have any.
(A pause)
Him: Did you play any sports?
Me: ...No.
(A pause)
Me: I was in marching band?
Him: OH! Well that's something!
Me: Great.
Him: And what is your favorite memory from high school?
Me: I don't have any.
Him: None?
Me: None.

I can just imagine my listing in the directory:
Favorite activity: marching band
Favorite memory: none

How sad.

Him: Do you have a spouse or kids?
Me: No.
Him: None?

I didn't like the tone of his response.

Me: None.

I was about to ask "well, I'm engaged, do you put that in the book?" but then he kept talking

Him: No kids?
Me: No.
Him: Or, at least, none that you know of, right? Hahahaha.

I wanted to tell him that this joke would only work if I were a man because, as far as I know, a woman can't birth children without her knowledge.

By this point I felt like I'd been on the phone for an hour and I was worried I'd provided much too much information about myself. I also figured no one would ever read this directory because everyone just stays in touch through facebook (except me, but I might get an account soon).

Then came the part of the conversation where he tried to sell me this directory. Or rather, "order a copy in advance."

Me: No thanks...
Him: Well, that's fine, but maybe a soft cover copy. It's $20 cheaper.

$20 cheaper? I wouldn't pay $20 total for this thing.

Me: No, really. I don't really want to talk to anyone or hear from anyone I went to high school with.

I hope they don't print that either.

Him: Oh. Got it. Can I email you my youtube videos?
Me: What?
Him: You know. Since you do production stuff.
Me: Oh. Uh, fine.

Say Hello To My New Pal

2008-11-10T13:04:00.000-08:00

Election night was full of fun surprises. And the biggest surprise of all came late in the evening when our neighbor returned home from a party with a bigger than life size Barack Obama cardboard cut out.

Here it is. It's like 7 feet tall.

And a close up. Look at that handsome face.

When Mr. Obama arrived at our door, we had only the screen door open. There was a knock knock, and I looked up to see him standing there. It startled and confused me. Our neighbors remained out of view as the President Elect stood at our door. All I could think was, "Is he personally thanking all of the voters?" I couldn't process that this was a cardboard object, and not a person. I think I was getting tired.

The neighbors brought him inside and then there was the telling of the story of how it came into their possession. And then the taking of the pictures for facebook use.

And then we didn't know what to do with it. We wanted to leave Barack somewhere in plain view, at least for a week or so. But, it turned out, there was nowhere in the entire apartment that we could put him that wouldn't cause you to jump out of your skin when you entered the room. That first night alone I scared myself senseless about 10 times. I think I actually screamed on a few occasions. I'd come inside from walking Seamus or go to the kitchen to get a drink and then HELLO! there he is again.

By this point I've gotten used to his presence and placed him in what's turned out to be the least upsetting location in the apartment.

Except that he watches when I walk out from the bathroom after I take a shower.

Okay, it went right.

2008-11-05T11:33:00.001-08:00

Which is good, because I don't have to move to outer space. My costume was too tight anyway. It was hella uncomf.

When I heard the election results I just sighed and said "Thank God." Then I heard other people in my office/loft building cheering.

Shortly thereafter I drove home. All through the streets I could hear cheers coming from apartments. Much better than the riots I anticipated if McCain won.

Speaking of him, I feel a little bad. I mean, I'm extremely glad he didn't win. But it's sad to lose. And unlike George Dubs, I don't think McCain is rotten to the core. I think he just hangs with the wrong crowd.

Also, I hope Sarah Palin feels like a jackass. She should. And did anyone see that footage of her voting in Alaska? She was wearing a ratty winter coat. You're on TV, woman! Pull yourself together.

My favorite moment of Obama's victory speech came after he'd finished. First Biden walked out on stage. And then a few minutes later, about 20 family members. They stood around awkwardly hugging for a while. Can you imagine if the first 10 minutes of your family's Christmas party took place on stage in front of the world? It was like that.

And then, Michelle Obama's mom, in the midst of all of this excitement about her son-in-law, pulled Michelle to her, pointed toward the crowd, and said, "Look! There's Oprah!"

If This Election Goes Wrong

2008-11-04T16:20:00.000-08:00

I'm all set to move to outer space.

I even made a paper mache helmet.

Thrill The World - Happy Halloween!

2008-10-31T16:25:00.001-07:00

Frankenspecs

2008-10-30T14:49:00.000-07:00

Just over a year ago, I got prescription glasses. For years, I hadn't been able to see distant objects very well, and over time I also had trouble reading street signs or words on the TV.

I spent $500 on my new glasses. That's a good chunk of money that I'd normally never drop on one single item, except for maybe a plane ticket. MAYBE.

But I figured these specs would last me for years, so I may as well splurge on designer frames. And, while I was at it, get the best "glare free" fancy pants lenses too.

For a few months, life was grand with my new glasses. People said they made me look hip. And cute. And I, in turn, felt hip and cute.

Then we got Seamus the puppy who promptly found my glasses and chewed on them. The left arm (stem? stick? what is that called?) came off and he left little tooth marks on the lenses.

Angry, I ignored Seamus for a few hours. He didn't seem to notice. How does one teach a dog not to chew glasses? It's probably easier to teach a human not to leave her glasses on the coffee table.

I threw my mangled glasses into a drawer, figuring I'd get the arm re-attached...eventually. After all, I'd spent years squinting to read the menu at Starbucks, I could certainly handle it again.

I handled it for, oh, 6 months.

I know, I am a horrible procrastinator.

Finally, after nearly turning the wrong way down a one-way street, I decided it was time to get my glasses repaired. So on my lunch break one day last week, I drove them to Lenscrafters, where I'd purchased them in the first place.

"My dog ate my glasses," I announced to the woman at the front desk. God, I'm so adorable.
"Oh dear. Well let's see."

I opened the case to produce the chewed frame and the detached arm. For effect, I separated the two pieces by a few inches when I set them on the counter.

"Now, we can't fix those here, but..." What? Why not? Are you not a maker of glasses? Do you not have tools? "Here is the business card of Joe Roberts Optical. It's on Magnolia. He should be able to solder that back on."

Hrrmph.

So I drove to the block of Magnolia where I thought I'd find this store. I parked my car and then walked up and down the street, but I didn't see it anywhere.

Finally, I spotted what looked like the door to a small storefront, but was actually more of an open archway that led to a secret courtyard filled with many blue doors. There were all sorts of businesses hiding back here. Accountants and talent agents and chiropractors. And it looked as though nothing had changed since the 60s --faded signs, cracked paint. It was eerily silent. No one else was walking around. I felt as though I'd stumbled upon a hidden time portal. (That last statement gives you some indication of how desperate I am for a little adventure in my life.)

I found Joe Roberts Optical at the end of one of the corridors. I opened its blue door and walked into a teeny tiny room with two chairs and a torn leather couch. The walls were covered by wood paneling and signed headshots of old actors, presumably Mr. Roberts' patrons.

No one was in the room to greet me. To my left there was a doorway into a small office with a desk and 2 chairs. And behind that, another doorway leading to a back room. What a weirdly deep space.

I stood there silently, looking at the headshots in the front room. George Burns! Huh.

"Hello?" I heard a man's voice from the back room.
"...Hi"
"Come in, sit down."

I presumed he meant for me to enter the room with the desk, so I did just that. At the same time, an old man came through the doorway to the back room. He struggled to walk, and used the handle of the open door to support himself. It made me sad.

We met on opposite sides of the desk in the center of the room. He was completely adorable.

"My dog ate my glasses."
"Let's see."

Just as I'd done at Lenscrafters, I dumped my mangled glasses onto the desk. He picked up the pieces and examined them. "Well, I can't solder this."

Crap. I imagined this meant the frames were now totally useless and I'd have to drop $500 on a new pair.

"You see, if you solder it, it will melt this plastic. But I can try to dig up another one of these (he held up the detached arm) and attach that instead."
"You mean find some random piece and attach it."
"Yes. If I can match the color close enough."
"Oh...uh...sure."

So I left my glasses there for him to fix. And by fix, I mean attach some foreign arm that came from who knows where, thereby negating the entire point of designer frames.

A few days passed and I called to check up on my glasses.

"Are they ready?"
"I think so."
"Ok...can I come get them?"
"Yes."
"How much will it be?"
"Twenty dollars." Score! Suddenly I didn't care what my glasses looked like. I'll put up with a lot for a good bargain.

I made my way back to his store and he greeted me. His shakey hand held out my glasses.

"Here. Try them on."

I wanted to look at the new arm a little better, but didn't want to give the impression that I cared about it. So I put the glasses on.

When I did, he smiled. "Good as new."

And so now I have these glasses with two different arms. The new one is tortoiseshell, whereas the original is solid brown. And the new one has this little metal diamond on it instead of "Ralph Lauren." And also the new one is sort of sticky, like it had been wrapped in tape.

But that's okay. Because I like Joe and his tiny store in the time portal.

Also, it's physically impossible for anyone to see both sides of my head at once. So no one will ever know about my Frankenspecs.

There's Something On Your Lawn

2008-10-24T11:41:00.000-07:00

I've grown to really enjoy my morning walks with Seamus the dog. Yes, it means getting up earlier than usual, walking aimlessly through the neighborhood and picking up poop. But it's also a chance to enjoy the day when the air is cool and the sunlight in bright yet gentle. There are few other people milling around, just those unfortunate folks who have to head into work earlier than I do and some other dog owners (who always stop to remark just how handsome Seamus is).

During these walks, Seamus is oh so happy just to be alive and starting his day, and watching him makes me feel the same way.

But lately there have been some odd sites in our neighborhood that make it a little difficult to feel jolly and energized. Now, our particular block is all apartment buildings, but as you head further into the neighborhood the streets are lined with neat little one story houses. As Seamus and I walk passed them, I admire the well-kept lawns, Spanish tile roofs and cactus gardens by their front porches.

And now that it's nearing Halloween, there's something else for me to look at: A shit ton of heinous stuff on their fronts lawns.

This morning, I brought my cellphone with me to take pictures to share this all with you.

First, there is a house just a block away from us that has their whole front lawn covered in tombstones and zombies that look like they are crawling out from the ground.

They also have a monument to the death penalty.

I'm not sure why, but skeletons have always made me uncomfortable, ever since I was little. And I don't appreciate how close this one is to the sidewalk. I find I keep crossing to the other side of the street to avoid it.

And see that hanging man in the background? Is that legal? Doesn't it seem like it would be illegal to have a life size dummy hanging from a real noose on your front lawn?

This house also had some small spooky little touches around the side of the house. Like these impaled skulls in the rose garden.

I've also noticed that those gossamer spider webs are a popular choice for decorations. You know the kind I mean? It's like a loose wad of cotton that comes in a big package for like 75 cents.

Anyway, this one house LOVES fake spider webs. And, apparently, they also love caution tape.

I think at some point people just started associating this fake stuff with general creepiness and forgot that it's supposed to represent a spider's web. No spider or group of spiders could possibly ever generate this much web.

Except, of course, for this spider:

One block over, a house is entangled in a spider web. As some of you may recall, I'm not a fan of spiders, and this sort of made me uneasy. I also don't like the two evil people standing on the roof.

And now that I've given you a little tour around some of my favorite displays, I'd like to show you the piece de resistance. A whole lawn chock full of batshit crazy. I really have to applaud these people.

See, some how these folks obtained the shell of an airplane and made a zombie pilot. They also made a scarecrow and carved a jack o lantern head. Look closely and you'll see the scarecrow is holding a rope, which is tied around the neck of a wheelchair bound person with a bag over his head. Behind that, you'll see a mirror. "Redrum" is written on it in red paint (Or maybe actual blood. I wouldn't put it passed them.) There is a whole movie theme worked into this display. And that mirror represents, of course, The Shining.

But wait, there's more! There is so much shit going on here that I needed to take several pictures.

Here is the representation of Se7en. That sign reads "What's in the box?"

You can't ask me "What's in the box?" and then put a box in front of me. I stood at this stupid thing for entirely too long, resisting the urge to open the box. I know...I KNOW these people put something in there, but I'm too terrified to see what it is.

Then there is a bathtub with Psycho written across it and a dead woman.

Seamus smelled this part of the display for a good while. He was all, "You look like a person, but you smell like old plastic. And you're weird."

This next part of their display has nothing to do with the movies, but it's disgusting.

And then there's this baby in a basket, with a sign that reads "Don't abandon your baby." Ah, maybe a nice bit of social responsibility?

But then what's with the other sign, "Don't abandon your human" with some sort of wolf thing eating a baby? A dingo! A dingo ate this baby!

At one point, the owners of this house must have gotten a little too creative, and they began inventing other movies, such as Attack of the Polygamous Pimp Penguins From The Projects of Pittsburgh PA.

Are you allowed to leave rifles on your front lawn?

And yes, in the background that is a hearse. The hearse first appeared a few weeks before this Halloween clusterfuck came into existence. I saw it parked on the street near their house, thought "Who has an effing hearse?" and then poof, it was on their lawn.

And yes, it's driven by a maniacal bunny rabbit.

When I saw this small detail I was actually startled. I felt a little flip in my stomach.

So my hats off to these particular neighbors. You've really come up with something here. I have never seen anything like this in my whole life. And I hope I never see anything else like it again.

Engagement Pictures

2008-10-22T11:33:00.000-07:00

I have no talents. Really. But I do have a lot of talented friends. Maybe you could say my talent is making friends who are talented.

And my talented friends are also very helpful. One such person is Kesila, who offered to take engagement pictures of Devin and me. I'm not quite sure what one does with engagement pictures, but I never turn down free offers of anything, so we gratefully accepted hers.

We met on Saturday to take the pictures. I knew things wouldn't go well because, as I mentioned before, I'm not photogenic. And Devin won't sit still for 5 seconds and also has a problem with seriousness. We were somewhat doomed from the start.

However, SOME of the pictures turned out well. Here is what we have so far. Keep in mind these aren't touched up yet.

A good one, though I might look a bit evil:

**

Not sure why we decided to act this way, but it's certainly easier to goof off than act like terribly serious and important engaged people:

**

I like this one because it seems like a picture taken by someone who was spying on us, hiding behind something:

**

A big smooch. Sadly we are facing the camera the wrong way and missed a good opportunity to show off my engagement ring bling. But I like this ring too. It's also from Devin:

And then we cut the session short due to the camera's fussiness with lighting, so we still have some more smiling and cuddling to do in a future session.

Foods I Apparently Felt Were Absolutely Necessary To Shove Into My Fat Face Today - The Fried Sandwiches Edition

2008-10-17T14:07:00.001-07:00

Oh hi there. It's been a while since I did one of these. And it's the perfect time because in the past 7 days I've had 2 grilled cheese sandwiches and 2 tuna melts. That's right, 4 sandwiches that are made by slathering butter on the outside of the bread, then frying it. 4 sandwiches filled with cheese, 2 of which are also made up of 90% mayonnaise.

It began over the weekend, when Devin and I were at a wedding near Buffalo, NY. We were staying at Beaver Hollow (hehe), a resort in the middle of the woods. There was no cell phone service and no sign of civilization, except for Smokey's Bar and Grill, located about a mile up the road. We went there after we arrived at Beaver Hollow on Friday and I was starving. As we pulled our rental car into Smokey's gravel parking lot, I noticed no other cars parked out front and wondered if perhaps the establishment was closed. But when we went inside, I was surprised to find it quite full of patrons. How had they gotten here? Had they just emerged from the woods? By the looks of them, probably.

The menu featured a great many re-workings of two key food stuffs - ground beef and breaded chicken fingers. The only thing I saw on the menu that I could eat: grilled cheese.

To my delight, the grilled cheese sandwich totally ruled. The bread was crisp and yellow, having apparently soaked overnight in a tub of melted butter. The cheese was of the unfortunately delicious, processed variety. Bright orange, like a traffic cone.

That night, after the rehearsal dinner, everyone gathered around a bonfire and drank. We woke up at noon the next day, missing breakfast by several hours. The kitchen at Beaver Hollow doesn't stay open all day, and so we knew we'd need to go back to Smokey's. This time we brought some new friends we'd made --wedding guests on the groom's side who were in need of some good greasy food.

Surprisingly, the menu hadn't changed on my second visit to Smokey's. And so again, I ordered the grilled cheese. It was just as delicious. But I was beginning to worry I'd gone too far.

Cut to yesterday. Lunch time. I go out with two friends to a little diner. Before I even get there, I know I want the tuna melt.

And so I order just that, and I eat it. ALL OF IT.

WITH FRENCH FRIES.

This morning, when I got dressed, I could barely fit my fat mass into my jeans. And even after I managed to zip them shut, I found it hard to walk or sit.

Today, I told Devin to meet me for lunch at the same diner. Without even meditating on it, my fat self was demanding another tuna melt. Must...have...butter crusted bread...melted cheese...

Let me also interject that I started my morning off with a mocha latte with WHIPPED CREAM.

When Devin and I sat down at the restaurant, I confessed my dilemma. "I want a tuna melt. But I can't. I CAN'T."

"Oh, just get it," he responded.

"Okay. Good point."

And so with that I came to consume my 4th fried sandwich of the week.

I am banning them from my diet until my jeans fit comfortably again.

3 Items to Discuss On This Wednesday

2008-10-15T14:23:00.000-07:00

Item 1: Subway

I was just at Subway picking up some lunch and I noticed something that I've noticed before. When you ask for cheese, you get 2 measly triangles that are so thin they are nearly translucent. When you ask for tomatoes on your sub, you get 3 slices the size of nickels.

But when you ask for banana peppers, your whole sub becomes 80% banana peppers. The sandwich-maker sticks both hands into the banana pepper tub, scoops out giant mountains of peppers, and mashes them onto the sub. Peppers are falling off the top of the heap, but the sandwich-maker gathers them up and places them back on top. They add the top half of the roll, then cram more banana peppers into the crevices on both sides of the sub. "Would you like some extra banana peppers in a little cup on the side? In case you need more?"

I've noticed this also happens if you request jalapeños or dill pickles. Those little items that are only meant to add a touch of flavor.

Why?

Item 2: Excess of Target clothing

While I was waiting in line to pay for my banana pepper sub, I looked down and admired my shoes. "You'd never guess they were from Target," I thought to myself. Then I noticed my pants are from Target. And so is my shirt. Indeed, Target clothes are to my closet as banana peppers are to my sub.

I didn't want it to be this way. I know I am thrifty. And poor. And that I hate spending a lot of money on clothes because I always end up spilling soy sauce or red wine all over them. But still...a whole outfit from Target?

Item 3: The dent in my car

Once I left Subway, I got in my car to drive back to work. As I drove through the parking lot, I slowed down to go over the speed bumps. It was at one of these speed bumps that a man in a truck going the opposite direction waved his hand to get my attention. I nearly ignored him, but then noticed he was looking at the side of my car. Right away, I knew what he was trying to tell me. I rolled down my window to see if my hunch was right.

"I can fix that scratch on the side for ya," he offered.
"Oh...um..."
"I work at a dealership, but I will do it on the side. I'll fix the paint, pop out those dents."

You see, I got my car brand new 2 years ago. When I drove it off the lot it had 24 miles on it.

I bought the car to replace Misty, my previous car, who was killed in an accident. Misty also had a giant scratch along her side, resulting from a parking garage with tight corners and a big cement pole near my assigned space. I'd done this damage about 3 days after moving into my first apartment in LA.

When I drove Misty around, I'd often get stopped by car repair people --when she was parked at the 7/11, when I'd pick her up at valet --who would offer to fix the damage. "How dare they!" I thought. "How do they know I don't like my car all scratched up. And...and who are they to butt in and point out her flaws?"

Still, when I brought my brand spankin' new car, I was happy to drive something around that wasn't all scratched up.

This lasted for about 2 months. Until I pulled into my parking space and scratched the whole side of it. Same situation, different parking space. Go me!

And so when this guy in the Subway parking lot pointed out my unsightly dent, I tried to pretend there was no dent.

"It's fine! I hardly notice it!"

He had a little kid in the passenger seat. I could see him pearing from behind his dad's shoulder. Judging me. I pictured them later driving off, the father saying to his boy, "Now when you grow up, you have to take good care of your things. Or you'll be like that lady with the banged up car."

The man was persistent.

"Won't take me long. I'll charge you $170."

Cars were backing up behind both of us. The kid was squirming around in the passenger seat. I was holding him up from his Subway lunch.

I sighed. "Fine. I'll think about it."
"Great. I'm Peter. Just ask for me at the Ford dealership up the road."

I know already I'll never go get the dent repaired. But I'm getting a step closer. And I know that years from now, when I scratch up my next car, I'll be sure to get it fixed immediately.

These Kids and Their MTV

2008-10-14T17:27:00.001-07:00

We're throwing a Halloween party. It's our third one and I'm pleased Halloween is finally landing on a weekend.

Because I'm excited, and because I haven't had much to do at work lately, and because the last episode of The Hills was boring and I don't have much to say about it on Hollywood Sucker, I've spent the day planning for the party.

After sending out the invitations (not using evite...I can't stand evite any more) and ordering decorations (streamers! and paper bats!), I decided to make a playlist.

Obviously I don't have my itunes library here with me at work, so I figured I would think of some new songs I can download.

It took me all of 20 seconds to realize I couldn't name one new song ---and certainly nothing anyone would want to hear at a party. I don't have much of a drive to work in the mornings, so I don't really listen to the radio in my car. And I don't get out much, so I'm not really around DJs at clubs.

So I found myself on MTV.com, watching 25 music videos I'd never seen --mostly by artists I'd never heard of --jotting down songs I liked.

I don't have a point to this story, other than to remark on how old and out of touch that made me feel.

And while I'm (sort of) on the topic of my Halloween party --can anyone tell me what to be for Halloween? I have no ideas.

My top 3 options so far:

1. A martini (but I was a margarita last year and I don't want to be stuck in a rut)

2. A fairy (but there isn't anything funny or clever about this...I just like wings...)

3. A sweatsuit

Please help.

Good News For Booze Enthusiasts

2008-10-09T12:04:00.000-07:00

From the gmail labs: Mail Goggles. This application for your gmail aims to prevent you from sending drunk emails. The feature activates late at night, and forces you to complete a series of math problems before allowing you to send your alcohol-fueled, poorly typed and over emotional email to your ex, your long lost friend, your crush.

For more information, read here.

I was going to write something like "Why didn't they have this when I was still single?" But then I realized gmail didn't exist then either. And that I've actually never sent a drunk email. (Usually I prefer to embarrass myself in person.)

But anyway, I'm ever impressed by new technology. I want an application like this for iTunes. Something needs to stop me from getting drunk and downloading songs just because I liked them in 8th grade (See: Nada Surf's "Popular") or because I heard it on the radio earlier in the week and desperately needed to hear it again (See: Snoop Dogg "My Medicine").

The Hills Recap: Star-Crossed Lovers

2008-10-07T12:54:00.000-07:00

Last week, Heidi's mom came to town to check in on her little blonde angels and see how they were fairing in the big city and with the Big Shitty (Spencer). Her visit brought her to tears as Spencer acted like an asshole and Heidi, quite frustratingly, defended him. "He's not that bad. He's just ruining our lives. And yes, Mom, he has a real job. He's a producer. It's super important."

After witnessing this family drama, big sister Holly decided to launch her plan to reunite Heidi and Lauren, thereby saving the pair and securing her role on The Hills. It's time to put an end to Speidi and move forward with Laurdi. (I don't know yet if it's pronounced Lordy or Lardy. I prefer the latter.)

STEP ONE: HANG OUT WITH LAUREN ON A SEMI-REGULAR BASIS

We join Lauren and Lo in their kitchen.

Lo: Morning, shmoopie!
Lauren: Hey. How's it going?

Lo: Great! I like your new headband. It's like you have a banana on your head.
Lauren: Thanks...what's wrong with your mouth?
Lo: What ever do you mean?
Lauren: It's all red and irritated.
Lo: Oh, right. I was just practicing kissing with the bathroom mirror again. I think Conchita is using some weird new glass cleaner that I'm allergic to. Remind me to leave her a note.

Lauren: Will do. Hey, are you busy later? Holly invited me out for drinks.
Lo: Holly? Again?
Lauren: Is that bad?

And then Lo says something that really confuses me. "Drinks are harmless." Ah, yes, isn't that what everyone's always saying about drinks? How harmless they are. How they never lead to inappropriate behavior, regrettable hookups, accidental divulgence of secret information, unimpressive dance moves, and Sundays wasted hugging a bottle of gatorade and watching Julia Roberts movies on TNT.

Drinks are harmless. Harmless, I tell you!

STEP TWO: RUB IT IN HEIDI'S FACE

Heidi and Holly meet up for a nice lunch.

Heidi: (perusing menu) Hmmm. What looks good? Ooo heirloom tomato sal--
Holly: I'm hanging out with Lauren.
Heidi: That's...nice.
Holly: Yeah she is so fun! Don't you think so?
Heidi: If memory serves...
Holly: Yeah we went to breakfast the other day and now we're going to S Bar. I haven't been yet.
Heidi: Why are you telling me all this?

Holly: What? Are you jealous?
Heidi: Yes.
Holly: Excellent...

Meanwhile, Audrina is blissfully unaware of the Laurdi activities. She is out on a date with Colin, a man who is intentionally the opposite of Justin/Bobby.

He is conversational, clean, and lacks that certain horrible something that just makes you want to sleep with him despite your better judgment. (You know what I mean, right? No? Just me. Ok then.)

Colin: I'm really glad you came out with me tonight.
Audrina: Well thanks for asking me out, Justin.
Colin: It's Colin.
Audrina: What is?
Colin: Me. I'm Colin.
Audrina: Duh... Have you had too much to drink or something? You're acting weird.

Colin: No. And even if I did, I'm not a weird drunk. I'm a happy drunk.
Audrina: Justin's a mean drunk. We fight every time. He just gets so bossy. And full of himself. And he starts ordering me around...and it's just so...hot.
Colin: Um.
Audrina: Justin has a shirt just like the one you're wearing. His has a big barbecue sauce stain on the front though.
Colin: Look, I don't know who this Justin character is, but I've had just about enough of him.

Audrina: Oh, Colin, I like when you get angry.

Meanwhile, in another fancy place in Hollywood, Holly is working her plan.

STEP THREE: DO A SOLID HEIDI IMPRESSION AND HOPE FOR THE BEST

Holly meets Lo and Lauren, who all but burst into tears at the sight of her. And no, not because her hair's so tall, but because she allegedly reminds them so much of Heidi.

Lo: It's uncanny.
Lauren: You're just like her.
Holly: Um...really?

Lauren: Yes. Like twins.
Holly: Hum. That's interesting. You know, these are my real boobs. And everything on my face...it's real.
Lo: That's exactly what Heidi would say.

Lauren: Adorable.
Holly: Ok. So I take it you miss her?
Lauren: Yes.
Lo: Totally.

Holly pulls out a tiny notepad.

Holly: How much would you say you miss Heidi on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being "Heidi who?" and 10 being "She completes me"?

Lauren: I'd say about a 7.
Holly: Hmmph.

Holly writes something, then closes her notepad, shoves it back into her purse, and lifts up her drink.

Holly: Well. Cheers!
Lo: Yay I love this part! Cheers!

STEP FOUR: RECONCILIATORY CORRESPONDENCE

Holly really timed this out perfectly. She had Heidi write a good old fashioned love letter to Lauren, and then sent it out so that Lauren would get it the morning after Step 3 was put into action.

Lauren brings the note with her to work to get Whitney's opinion on it. Oh yeah, Whitney's on this show. I forgot.

Whitney: What's this?
Lauren: A letter from Heidi.
Whitney: Oh wow. That's crazy. Can I read it?
Lauren: Of course.

Whitney: Dear Lauren. I've been thinkingk about you and I just wanted to say I'm sorry for everythingk I did. You're a good friend. I like butterflies, do you like them too? My favorite color is purple. I have a cat named Binxworth. Your friend, Heidi.
Lauren: What should I do?
Whitney: I don't know.
Lauren: Then why are you even in this episode?

Across town and still totally unaware of all things Laurdi, Audrina goes on date #2 with Whats-His-Face.

Colin: How was work?
Audrina: Good. I was tired though. Justin called and I was up all night talking to him.
Colin: Outstanding.

It doesn't take long for Colin to realize that Audrina's too caught up in her old flame to give him a fair chance. He probably should've realized this on the first date, but we can't all be geniuses.

And speaking of geniuses, mastermind Holly is still working feverishly to reunite Lauren and Heidi. She drops by Lauren's house to carry out step 5.

STEP FIVE: ENSURE RECONCILIATORY CORRESPONDENCE WAS RECEIVED, UNDERSTOOD

Lauren: Hey new bestie, what's up?
Holly: Just dropping by for a little chat. Get any interesting mail lately?
Lauren: Oddly enough, yes. I got a letter from Heidi.
Holly: You don't say...
Lauren: She said she was sorry. She wants to be friends again.
Holly: And what do you have to say in response?
Lauren: I mean, I want to move on, but--
Holly: Wait! Don't say anything yet. I need to get my notepad.
Lauren: OK...

Holly rummages around in giant purse. Produces her notepad.

Holly: Ready.
Lauren: It's just that I want to punch Spencer in his stupid face. And as long as she's with him, I can't be around her.
Holly: This makes so much sense. I --I can't believe I didn't see this before...
Lauren: Why does she even need to be with him anyway?

Holly: Well some people prefer to be with someone horrid than to be alone.
Lauren: Ha! That's crazy! I'm alone and it's...pssh...awesome. I get to hang out with my friends in my kitchen. I get to go on dates with guys I went to high school with. It rules...
Holly: Yyyyeah. And how certain are you that you'll be friends with Heidi if she ditches Spencer?

Lauren: Very.
Holly: Aaaand if you were to rank that on, say, a scale of 1 to 10?
Lauren: 8.
Holly: Nice. Well I'll just be heading home now.
Lauren: Aren't you gonna stay for dinner?

The next day, Lauren and Audrina convene in their backyard to sunbathe.

Audrina: Hey hey. What's new?
Lauren: I think Holly is plotting to make me be friends with Heidi again.

Audrina: Wow, really? Since when.
Lauren: She started a few days ago. I don't think she knows how obvious she's being.
Audrina: And I missed all of this? Where I have been?
Lauren: Good question. Where have you been?
Audrina: I went on a few dates with some guy. Carl or Gavin or something like that. He was a bartender. Or maybe he built custom coffee tables?

Lauren: Sounds like it's not going so well.
Audrina: I broke it off with him. I just can't stop thinking about Justin. And the way his hair smells.
Lauren: Kinda like tree sap?
Audrina: And cigars. Yeah.
Lauren: So this Carl/Gavin guy? Is he cute? Is he my type?

Audrina: You're kidding, right?
Lauren: Ha! What? Yes! Of course...

STEP SIX: GET HEIDI AWAY FROM SPENCER FOR THREE FREAKING SECONDS AND TELL HER WHAT SHE NEEDS TO DO

Holly: I talked to Lauren again.
Heidi: Good for you.
Holly: No, I mean. I've been doing some detective work and--
Heidi: Nerd.
Holly: Do you want to be friends with her again or not?
Heidi: (sigh) Ok, what's the deal?

Holly: On a scale of 1 to 10 she is just 2 points away from being your friend.
Heidi: Beg your pardon?
Holly: You're so close. All you have to do now is...

Holly trails off, looking at something behind Heidi.

It's Spencer! (Cue sinister cartoon music.)

Spencer: Why are we discussing Lauren? I gave you a list of acceptable discussion topics when you arrived at this apartment, Holly.
Holly: I know, but I have nothing left to say about the jelly fish tank, Les Deux, Batman, or "tight" brunch spots.
Heidi: Spencer, we were just talking about my attempt to fix my friendship with Lauren.
Spencer: Well that ain't gonna happen, not in a million ye--
Holly: Spencer is the reason it won't work! There I said it.
Heidi: That's not true!
Holly: Yes it is! Studies show!
Heidi: Really?

Heidi is quiet for a moment. She looks as though she is about to make an important decision. And then--

Spencer: Forget it, babetard. You're mind.

STEP SEVEN: AW, NUTS.

October

2008-10-06T12:18:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I woke up early, eager to tackle a number of household chores before setting off to meet Shannon for lunch and then to (eek!) go to my dentist appointment. As I walked from my bedroom to the living room, I was overcome by the irresistible urge to nestle into the couch and bury myself under a blanket.

The living room also seemed darker than usual. And the floor felt cold on my bare feet.

"Wait a second..." I narrowed my eyes and made my way over to the front door. I flung it open, took a few steps outside, and a cold breeze hit my face. The sky was overcast. The air was chilly.

For the first time since March, we were getting a solid dose of perfect cozy snuggle weather.

Sadly, I had miles to go before I snugged. So I got dressed for the day ahead, but allowed myself one early-autumn indulgence: the wool scarf.

Ah, I love a good scarf. They make any outfit look infinitely cuter and more stylish. And in southern California, where it never gets too cold, scarves are the perfect way to get dressed up for wintry warmth, while still wearing a light jacket and ballet flats.

As I drove to Beverly Hills to meet my friend for lunch, I was admittedly a bit too toasty in my wool scarf. And it started to itch. But I refused to take it off. So, at red lights, I squirmed. And panted a little. And put my window down to get some fresh air on my flushed face.

It sounds stupid that I was putting myself through this for a stupid scarf, but you don't understand. It's been so effing hot for months! And I grew up in a very cold and cloudy land far far away from here. I am not used to such heat. I need scarves! And gloves! And adorable winter hats!

By the time I'd finished lunch and, later, the worst dentist appointment in history (this just in: my teeth are rotting out of my face), I hadn't had enough of the cool temps. So, still numbed up and fussy from the drilling and cleaning, I wandered around the streets of Beverly Hills, window shopping. Finally, at 5pm, I realized the shoppers and tourists were all going home, and so I walked back to my car and made the drive home as well.

Today it is 84 degrees and sunny. Oh well...

Attention fellow Californians!

2008-10-03T13:15:00.001-07:00

More About Camping- Now, With Pictures

2008-09-29T13:31:00.001-07:00

Hi hi.

So, as promised, here are some pictures from our "camping" trip to Big Bear last weekend.

I drove up on Friday night with Devin, my sister Katie, and Seamus the dog. Devin drove, while I spent the whole time trying to find one acceptable station on Sirius Radio and Katie fought for space in the back seat with Seamus. Also, she and I were car sick. I think this blurry picture helps convey the car sickness. We had to wind our way all the way to the tippy top of a mountain, where the air was cool and thin.

We'd left work early to hit the road at about 4:45. Our friend Ryan, who spearheaded this whole adventure, was supposed to have gone up to the cabin early in the day to get the keys out of the lockbox and get everything ready for everyone else.

When we arrived at the cabin, we were alarmed to discover that it was very dark. It appeared no one was home. Immediately, I called Ryan.

"Hi..."
"Hey Bri"
"Where are you?"
"I'm almost there...I got, er, delayed."

And so we set about finding the lockbox and attempting to open up the cabin. This doesn't sound hard...but there was no light anywhere, except for one porch light around the corner.

Once inside, we were surprised to find that it was quite homey. We settled in, unpacked the bottles of wine, and made a cheese plate. Over the next hour, everyone else showed up in groups of 2 or 3. We were all very cozy, and pretty tipsy.

Note Devin in the back, left, with whiskey bottled resting on his chest.

I got in a cooking mood and whipped up some linguini with clam sauce. Here I am with the pasta, and Julie with her vodka & cranberry.

Don't be concerned about that strange man on the other side of the glass door. We weren't being stalked. That's just our friend Tomas.

Later that night, we all crammed into the hot tub. We managed to displace about half the water in the tub, sending it cascading over the edge and soaking the deck.

Note Devin still holding whiskey bottle.

The next day, after spending about 3 hours making a giant breakfast for everyone, and then 2 minutes eating said breakfast, we drove down to the lake to rent a pontoon boat.

Because it was Ryan's birthday, and because no one else had driven a boat before, he was the captain.

It looks like it's all fun and games in this picture, but he was very bossy and drove us into choppy waters. We'd all severely underestimated how cold it would be on the lake. And with Ryan speeding around like a mad man, we were all chilled to the bone by the strong winds.

Eventually, we found an arbitrary place to stop the boat and attempt to fish.

Seamus, while nervous at the start of the trip, eventually grew to enjoy boating.

My sister and I are not into fishing, so we enjoyed coronas and used our new Big Bear beer cozies. (I'm on the left, btw.)

In fact, there wasn't much for the ladies to do while the men exchanged horrible ideas about how to improve their odds of getting a big fish. So, we had more beers.

Later on, we found our way into a nice cove, where we dropped anchor and decided to fish some more. This is where everything went wrong. The rope of the anchor got tangled up with the rope of a buoy. It seems like this combo would have made us doubly secure, but in fact the boat drifted into shore, dragging the buoy with it. While everyone at the anchor end of the boat was busy figuring out how to untangle everything, those of us on the opposite end of the boat couldn't help but notice we were rapidly drifting into shore. And, more importantly, toward a private dock with a very nice and expensive looking wooden boat.

"Hey guys... guys...we need to do something about this."

We drifted closer, and closer. Meanwhile, Mike had jumped into the lake to untangle the anchor.

"Guys...seriously. We're going to hit that boat."

As we neared the dock, Julie (the smallest person on the whole boat), jumped onto the dock, held onto a post, and used all of her strength to keep the boat from going any further.

It was simultaneously hilarious and scary. Also, I'm pretty sure we were damaging some property...and that's never a good thing.

Eventually, we freed the anchor, pulled Julie back into the boat and sped off.

That night, everyone was pretty pooped after a day of adventure at sea. But before we all passed out, we celebrated Ryan's birthday with some really brightly frosted cupcakes.

The Hills Recap: The Cheese Stands Alone

2008-09-23T20:24:00.000-07:00

I have to say that I was intrigued and delighted when I read the title of this week's episode of The Hills.

"When Lauren's Away."

Refreshing, isn't it? Let's say that again. "When Lauren's Away." Take a deep breath. The air is cool, crisp. Like after the first winter's snowfall.

Inside you feel mischievous, like when your boss is away on vacation. There's so much potential for joy, but you know you're supposed to be your same, solemn self.

"When Lauren's Away..." Ah, it's a sentence I can't wait to finish.

So where is Lauren? She's off to Italy, for reasons unspecified. I'm sure it's either a well deserved vacation or a hard earned opportunity.

Audrina: So are you excited for your trip?
Lauren: Not especially. I mean, it's just Italy, you know?
Audrina: I guess...

And while Lo and Audrina assure Lauren that the two of them won't fight while she's gone (or, at least they won't draw blood), poor Audrina doesn't look so convinced.

"When Lauren's Away...Lo shaves off Audrina's hair while she's sleeping."

Later that day, once Lauren's long gone, Stephanie drops by the house, unannounced. She rings the front buzzer, startling Audrina, who is idling chopping vegetables in the kitchen.

Audrina: Um...hello?
Stephanie: Hey slut, whats up?
Audrina: Who is this?
Stephanie: Stephanie.

Audrina: Who?
Stephanie: Lauren's friend.
Audrina: Oh...
Stephanie: Can I come in?
Audrina: Lauren's not home.
Stephanie: Yeah I know.
Audrina: Okay. Well she won't be home for a long time. She's in Italy.
Stephanie: I know.

Audrina: I don't know how else to put this...go away?
Stephanie: I wanted to talk to you.
Audrina: I see.

Stephanie waits a moment for the sound of the front door buzzer. There is only silence. Still, she makes an attempt to open the front gate. It's still locked. So, she rings the buzzer again.

Audrina: Hello?
Stephanie: It's still locked.
Audrina: I'm aware.
Stephanie: Audrina, please just let me in. Come on, people are starting to notice me standing out here. It's embarrassing.

Stephanie can hear the sound of Audrina sighing heavily through the speaker. Then, a buzzer.

As Stephanie enters, Audrina tries to put on a happy face.

Audrina: So...hi. You look nice. You know, nice for you.
Stephanie: Oh thanks. Sorry to drop in on you like this. I hope I'm not interrupting.
Audrina: Well, a little. I was just making a salad.
Stephanie: Were you gonna eat it or something?
Audrina: Not really...Ok, you got me, I have nothing but free time. What's going on?

Stephanie: I need your advice. This guy asked me out and I don't know if I should go on a date with him.
Audrina: You should. I mean, you have no other options.
Stephanie: You don't even know anything about him.
Audrina: Who is he?
Stephanie: Doug.
Audrina: Lauren's Doug?
Stephanie: Yeah.

Audrina: Then no, don't go out with him.
Stephanie: I knew it was a bad idea. Lauren would be pissed huh?
Audrina: Ha! Shyeah. But also, Doug's lips are the same color as his face...which is the same color as his hair. The whole thing's just weird.
Stephanie: That's an interesting point...

The room is quiet. Audrina continues chopping vegetables while Stephanie shifts around in her chair.

Audrina: Seems like we're done here so...
Stephanie: Oh, right. Bye.

"When Lauren's away...someone takes her place and no one really notices."

Meanwhile, at SBE, Heidi stops by coworker Kim's desk for some inane chit chat.

Heidi: You working on that event?
Kim: Yeah. I'm looking at skate ramps now.
Heidi: This is my favorite.
Kim: I know, right?
Heidi: I think I'm going to bring Spencer.
Kim: Awesome.

"When Lauren's away...the bullshitting continues."

Attempting to forge ahead with their new pretend friendship, Audrina and Lo meet for lunch.

Lo: I really miss Lauren.
Audrina: You do?
Lo: You don't? Hmmm. I'm sure she'll be interested to hear that.
Audrina: Oh please don't. We're supposed to be rekindling our friendship right now. La-aaaame.
Lo: You don't deserve her kindness and...and warmth...and guest house.
Audrina: You think I'm bad, you should hear what Stephanie's up to.
Lo: That bitch! I'll kill her.
Audrina: She's going on a date with Doug.
Lo: Doug? Doug Doug?
Audrina: That very Doug.
Lo: That bitch! I'll kill her!
Audrina: You mentioned that.

"When Lauren's away...lunch dates become 35% more awkward."

That night, having learned nothing from their earlier outing, Audrina and Lo get all dolled up to go to the club. Once there, they nestle into a booth and begin rhythmically stabbing their straws around in their cocktails. Silence follows. And then, thank heavens, the evening's entertainment arrives in the form of Heidi and Spencer.

Heidi: Wow, hi guys!
Audrina: Hiiiii!

Lo clears throat, fusses with sagging tube top.

Heidi: I never though I'd see you guys here! I mean, I had hoped. I mean...I sort of thought you might be here. And I thought hey maybe if I just get dressed and go to Goa, I might just happen to run into some friends. And I've been trying that all week but finally...it worked! Crazy! Now I won't have to spend another night at home sitting through Spencer's made up card tricks or watching him reorganize his DVDs from most to least kickass. Hahahahahahaha. Who's talking a lot? I AM! It's like I'm nuts but I'm not. I'm SO happy. SO in love.
Audrina: Um...that's...

Spencer: Hey, Lo! Something about Lauren.
Lo: What? What about her?
Spencer: Something, I don't know.
Lo: You can't just say "something," dipshit.
Spencer: Whatevs sketchface, I'm tired. Heidi, can we go home now? Play a little Wii tennis?
Heidi:(shaking violently) NO GOD DAMN IT! Ahem. So, Audrina. Any gossip?
Audrina: Did you hear Stephanie's going out with Doug?

"When Lauren's away...Heidi will play."

Later, we find ourselves at the X-Games party that Kim and Heidi planned. Audrina and Justin drop by to hang out. Spencer entertains them all with the witty dinner convo he's been practicing for days.

Spencer: You guys see Batman?
Justin: Yeah.
Spencer: So good. The joker...so good.
Justin: Uh-huh.

Audrina and Heidi start a little side conversation where they discuss the two things they have left to discuss at this point. Item 1: What's up with Stephanie? Item 2: We used to be such good friends. In the beginning. It was always us going out. It was so fun. We should be friends, etc.

While these good times are going down, Stephanie and Doug are out on their infamous date that Audrina won't shut her yap about.

Stephanie:You look nice. Your lips are really shiny.
Doug: Oh yeah. It's natural.
Stephanie: Well thanks for bringing me out.

Doug: Sure thing, babetard. After Lauren ditched me I was like, "I'll be damned if I'm getting kicked off The Hills." You know?
Stephanie: What?
Doug: You look pretty.

Stephanie: Aww. Thanks.

Just as they're about to tuck into their appetizers, Brody's mom strolls up to their table. And Stephanie gets a little glimpse into her own future. And it ain't pretty. It's just...odd.

They make small talk and Doug introduces himself. "Oh YOU'RE Doug," says Brody's mom. Ruh-roh. This isn't good.

When she shuffles off, Stephanie looks a little queasy.

Stephanie: Do you think she'll tell Brody?
Doug: Probably. Do you think she dug me?
Stephanie: Oh my god. Lauren will have my head for this!
Doug: I think her friend mighta liked me too. MILF. Hahahaha. MILF.
Stephanie: Then what will I do? Make NEW friends? Ha. Between the two of us we've already met everyone worthwhile.
Doug: Are you gonna eat your gazpacho?

"When Lauren's away...things get interesting."

But don't get too comfortable. Looks like Macky's back in town.

Lauren: I'm hoooooome
Lo: Lover! Oh I've missed the smell of your hair.
Audrina: How was Italy?
Lauren: Italian. I dunno, boring. I'd rather hear about the lives of the 3 people I know. Tell me everything I've missed.
Lo: Oh, um.
Audrina: Uh. Well.
Lauren: What?... What?
Lo: Stephanie was gonna go on a date with Doug.

Lauren: My Doug!? I mean, oh, that Doug? My ex Doug? Who I didn't like. I was done with him anyway. I don't care. No sir-ee-bub.
Lo: You're not mad?
Lauren: Pssh. What? No. Anyway, she'd never go through with the date.

Don't know quite why there was such a breakdown in the gossip machine all of a sudden. Didn't they hear she WENT on the date?

One good date deserves another, and so Brody and Lauren go out for some Mexican food. Oh, I see where this is going. And it doesn't matter when or how Brody broke the news of the ACTUAL Stephanie/Doug date to Lauren. All that matters is this precious look on her little face.

What's the Italian word for betrayal?

Roughing it, and drinking wine in a hot tub.

2008-09-21T21:42:00.001-07:00

I just got back from a weekend camping trip in Big Bear.

Ok, it wasn't like full-on camping camping. This was more like a bunch of friends renting a cabin with a full kitchen, cable and internet, a big deck and a hot tub.

This is a big step up from previous camping trips with friends. A while back, when Devin and I had only been dating a few months, he invited me along on a weekend camping trip. With tents. And bug spray. And sleeping bags. You know, camping camping.

Eager to make a good impression in this formative stage of our budding relationship, I said "I'd love to go!"

I'm kidding. I was honest. And I frowned and protested, "But I hate camping!" I'd always hated it, even as a kid. Growing up in Central New York, we were about a 10 minute drive in any direction from a patch of wilderness worth camping on. And though I'm certain my family and I went camping many times, I can only recall two instances (the rest, I believe, I've blocked from memory)(or, more likely, I'm just growing forgetful in my old age).

On one camping trip, we went to the Thousand Islands. It rained all weekend, leaking through our tent and forcing us into a dry island of blankets and backpacks in the center. During the night, raccoons got into our cooler and ate everything except for the cans of Spam. The presence of these cans of Spam was sort of a mystery, given my mother's disapproval of both meat and preservatives, but I digress...

The second camping trip was in the Adirondacks, I think. By this point I was in my early teen years and therefore eternally bored. I don't remember much about the trip, only that while we left the campsite to get dinner in town, a black bear reportedly chilled out on our picnic table for a while. We learned this from our next-door tent neighbor who was forced into her car, fearing for her life. I did not sleep well that night.

But I don't think it's these experiences that caused my distaste for camping. I mean, really, I was a kid. I'm sure I mostly had a blast.

The real problem with camping is that it's all just a way for us to inconvenience ourselves for no good reason. We voluntarily throw ourselves into a situation with no running water or indoor plumbing, no cushy mattresses, no cell phone reception. We get no sleep whatsoever. At night, we freeze our asses off, wearing a wooly hat and 3 sweatshirts, tucked into a sleeping bag. And then in the morning, at like 6 am, the sun comes out and begins baking us inside our tents as though we are some manner of puff pastry. Oh, and, AND! Everything we need for the trip --layers upon layers of clothing, aloe vera gel, etc. --is shoved into backpacks, which are then shoved into a tent. Then, every time we need something, we have to climb into the tent, being sure not to drag in dirt or allow a moth to fly in, and then rummage around, tossing our belongings in all directions, so that they inevitably become entangled in a fleece pullover or a blanket or even the tent lining, and then the next time we crawl in the tent, we can't find anything.

Anyway, I went on that first camping trip with Devin, despite myself. And I went again the next year. And sure enough, I was cold. And restless. And somehow, always sitting downwind of the campfire so that my clothes and hair ended up smelling all smokey, like hot dogs or something.

At bedtime, we'd all nestle into our tents, where we would spent the entire night wide awake, scared to death of the mysterious rustling noises in the bushes. On the second camping trip, when we all woke up after the first night, we gathered over breakfast and concluded that no one had slept a wink because we were all convinced that a yetti or bear or madman was stomping around outside our tents. Devin had even slept with a knife clutched against his chest.

Then, before going to bed that night, we divided our weapons among the tents. Someone had a machete (for some reason), Devin had his Rambo knife with (for some reason) a belt holster thingy, another camper had a shotgun (what?), and Devin lent out his hatchet.

I'll stop here, and remind you all that in no other situation and during no other form of vacation does one need to worry about their personal safety like this. Camping...why do we do this to ourselves?

And so, I was relieved to learn that this year's annual camping trip would be gloriously tent-free, and lead us instead to a cozy cabin with a fireplace and a dishwasher, and a washer/dryer. Hell, those are 3 things I don't even have in my own apartment.

And it was a great weekend. With lots of drinking. Lot and lots of drinking. Because, it turns out, there's not much else you can do while camping unless you're actually hunting and preparing your own meals.

I'll go into more detail later, including the near-shipwreck of our pontoon boat, if and when I get pictures to show you.

Until then, cheers to the new way to camp!

A likely story...

2008-09-17T17:02:00.000-07:00

Help help! I'm being held hostage at work! They're making me earn my money! It's ruining my blog. There are people who need me to write bitchy things about The Hills. And I'm failing them.