Playing Ketchup Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

As promised, here is the sequel to Playing Ketchup Part 1. Things get a lot cheerier in 2013. I decided to follow through on my recurring New Year's resolution to do more awesome things. So far, I think I've been doing alright. Here is a list of the cool stuff I've done:

1. I stayed in a hostel when I was in San Francisco visiting Eric. Even though I was only there for one night and I spent most of that night throwing up, it was still cool to harken back to my backpacking days. The tiny dorm rooms, the familiar silver Ikea bunk beds, meeting cool people from other countries (my roommates were from France and Germany), and the cute guy at reception with the adorable accent. I never get to travel for real anymore now that I'm broke and have a grownup job. Even though San Francisco was only a few hours away from my hometown and I had been there several times growing up, it still felt like a vacation.

That's my girl, killin' it!

2. I got to see my homegirl Kelly Bean in a creative re-imagining of Twelfth Night set in the Golden Age of Hollywood. Needless to say, she NAILED it! This was another mini-vacation all the way in Camarillo. Our best friend Jenna also came down from NorCal for the event. We needed a girls' night something fierce and celebrated afterwards with wine, cheese, and other delicious treats. We also watched "She's the Man," since you know, Twelfth Night. And if you haven't seen it, it's pretty frickin' epic. Tragic what happened to Amanda Bynes, isn't it?

3. I re-enacted the Ferris Wheel scene from Season One of "The OC" at the Santa Monica Pier. Check that one off the bucket list. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, don't even worry about it.

Damn good chicken and damn good waffles. Still not sure they go together.

4. I finally explored Downtown LA. I had never seen the Library, ridden the Angel's Flight trolley, hung out at the swanky Bonaventure Hotel (with the terrifying glass elevators!), explored California Plaza, and walked down Olvera Street. I also took the time to really check out Union Station and not just rush to and from the Gold and Red metro lines. I've always found it sad that if a place isn't on my way to work or not an Irish pub, I probably don't know it exists. Sidebar, I also finally went to Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles, another LA landmark.

Swoon!

5. SOCIAL DISTORTION!!!! AAAAH!!! I saw them once in college at the Disneyland House of Blues. And that was the last concert I had been to. Until I saw them again at the House of Blues on the Sunset Strip (Which is another area I've hardly ever been to even though I've lived in LA for years). I don't care if Mike Ness is as older than dirt and shorter than I am. I would do awful things with that man. Especially in his Machine Gun Blues gangster getup... We were about five feet from the stage which was super awesome except we were right in front of the mosh pit. I got kicked in the head by a crowd surfer, had at least six drinks spilled on me, and spent most of the time being knocked over. Soooo worth it!

This was at the Eddie Izzard venue.
I don't know what it is but I find it simultaneously terrifying and hilarious.

6. Eddie Izzard. What what??

Toepick!

7. Anaheim Ducks vs. the Los Angeles Kings. Hockey is the world's greatest sport. It has everything I love. Canadians. Burly men. Violence. It's glorious. Plus I was a Ducks fan sitting in a major Kings section. Gotta love crosstown rivalry games. It was a good one too. We scored in like the first 10 seconds, and then it was back and forth until nearly the end when we stomped on them. There was an insulting mass exodus of Kings fans when they realized they couldn't win and left before it was even over. (Sidebar, I'm usually a Kings fan, but the Ducks will always be Mighty to me thanks to Disney). After the game, we went ice skating at the Ducks practice rink in Anaheim. It turns out that skating is hard and dangerous.

I also shot at a zombie I named Hank. Because I'm also awesome.

8. LA Gun Club. Best. Date. Ever. Me and the Fella (oh yeah, did I mention there was a Fella?) got to shoot a Beretta handgun at a surprisingly popular gun range in the scary part of downtown that has also known visitors such as Queen Latifah, Exhibit, and Ryan Gosling. I'm not a great shot, and it felt a little like being in a war with so many guns going off (I left a bit shellshocked), but it really is a fantastic feeling. Amazing stress release. I have no interest in owning my own gun, but in a controlled environment it's AWESOME.

It's even cooler inside!

9. I saw Noel Cowards "Fallen Angels" at the historic Pasadena Playhouse. Oh the witty banter and the hilarious drunk old British ladies brandishing umbrellas at each other. I literally live around the corner from this beautiful historic theater and I had never ever seen it. I was also going to see Jekyll and Hyde at the Pantages, but I was too sick to go. Boo.


10. After my dear friend (and the woman responsible for my gainful employment) Allison, had her going away party (at where else but our favorite karaoke dive bar, Gabe's), I got stranded at Union Station at 3:30 in the morning. I had read the metro timetable incorrectly and missed the last train. I decided just to take a taxi, since it would take at least a half hour for the fella to come rescue me. I ended up waiting even longer than that for the taxi to come pick me up until I realized that I was on the wrong side of the station and that there were five taxis standing by the whole time. And I had to work four hours after arriving home at last. While this seems like a bad thing, Union Station after hours is truly a magnificent thing to behold. I got hit on three times (I must have looked like a fairly expensive prostitute I guess, though I didn't think my outfit was revealing at all), saw two people without pants on, and witnessed what I'm pretty sure was a drug deal. Fascinating I might have to go back on purpose sometime just to observe.

Meet CJ, the classy, blind, anorexic business fish.

11.  I bought a fish and named her Claudia Jean after my favorite character on the West Wing. Sadly, she died the other day because I can't keep a fish alive to save my life. Which is too bad because I'm not a cat or a dog person and cage animals like hamsters and birds freak me out. That leaves fish. Which are the least commitment possible. Speaking of low commitment, seven-day Betta food blocks do not work. Ask your roommate to feed your fish if you need to leave town.

I have this admittedly cliche poster on my wall and I was so excited to see that there was a statue of it! I tried to get homeboy to recreate the pose with me, but he would have none of it. Even after being shamed by a random Midwestern lady. Men are useless sometimes.

12. Speaking of leaving town, after living in Southern California since 2005, I finally went to San Diego for the first time. The fella and I decided to get the hell outta dodge and go exploring down Mexico way. (Without actually going to Mexico because despite being of Mexican descent, he doesn't have a passport and wouldn't be allowed entrance). Since we're both poor, kind of lazy, and didn't bring proper walking shoes, our exploration was somewhat limited. But it was lovely to take a Bridget Jones mini-break regardless. The beauty of San Diego is that it's so close, we can always go back. There wasn't so much pressure to fit in as much sight-seeing as is humanly possible, which is the speed I'm used to when traveling. San Diego in March is also bloody cold at night, which I also didn't prepare for. But I scored a $90 white Burberry-esque pea coat for $46 in under five minutes, so I think I just won at shopping.

I think this lists covers most of the awesome/interesting events of late. Basically it's a compilation of status updates/tweets/iPhone photos to serve as a memoir for a much happier time than the previous crap-tastic era. Let's hope the streak continues! Next on my list of conquering Los Angeles is to finally go to a Dodger game (or any baseball game for that matter. I'm a bad American for never having been...)

A Very Long-Winded Update

Yes I am aware of how much time has passed and I have multiple bruises from the amount of times I have kicked myself for being lazy and not writing when I really had no excuse because I had plenty of time, energy, and topics and I am now writing this uber-sentence to prove how many words have been bottled up inside of me because I suck at writing even lame little blog entries even though they're really the only writing project I've stuck with because I can't finish anything to save my life and even starting something takes a Herculean effort on my part and I've never been a big fan of Hercules.

Unless he's played by Kevin Sorbo.

*BREATHES.*

So what has Hutch been up to these last several weeks? Well I will update you all in the form of a list: The things I meant to blog about but never got around to!

1. My painful inability to keep anything to myself, especially when it comes to boys I take a shine to. Namely, Sexy Jesus (no, it's not his legal name, but it damn well should be. He's the most attractive man I've ever seen in real life and he bears a striking resemblance to our lord and savior. If our lord and savior moonlighted as a latin-flavored Chippendale's dancer. Now that I would pay big money to see... Sorry I was waiting to see if I was going to be struck with lightening just then. All clear! But seriously, he's like the ridiculously attractive Carl in Love Actually that Laura Linney could totally have tapped and was like, no I have to go hang out with my brother who looks like a lumpy John Cusack and tries to hit me even though I'm trying to get the Pope and/or Bon Jovi to exorcise him, the ungrateful loon!)

"Rock me, rock me, rock me Sexy Jesus!" ~Hamlet 2

Holy Sacrilege...

Long story short, every single one of my co-workers, including the Big Boss Man knows that I am head over heels in love with Sexy Jesus (even though he's married and his wife is going to have a baby. Now I'm really going to Hell). I have got to learn to not blush, giggle, fawn, and in all other ways swoon over this man and any other attractive menfolk that walk through my door. But it's just not possible. Sigh. There's also the Nutcracker (so named because he could crack many-a-walnut with that ass. Not that anyone would want to eat an ass-cracked walnut. But still, impressive, right?), but he has since moved out, much to my chagrin. But everyone knew I had the hots for him too. Why can't I play it cool like Don Draper? Why do I lack any sort of mystery whatsoever?

2. The Downtown Pub Crawl with my UC Irvine/Bordeaux Study Abroad/Vegas Shenanigans girls. We discovered the second greatest Irish pub, called Casey's (A-MAZING, but still not quite as good as Maeve's), and the Library Bar (which is exactly what it sounds like. Super pretentious and hipster-y which we celebrated by drinking grapefruitinis and reading aloud Shakespearean sonnets to complete strangers.) We also unearthed a libation entitled the Pickle Back, which is a shot of Jameson followed by a pickle juice chaser. This made my friend Jessica who did it on a dare, promptly vomit moments later.

Have I mentioned how much I love Irish pubs?

The Pickle Back is not to be confused with the band Nickleback, which sometimes can have the same effect. This night was also momentous because I discovered that I could resolve my hatred of Downtown (most of which stems from difficult and expensive driving, parking, and navigating) by taking the Metro. Who knew? Of course the night ended when we decided to skip the expensive taxi and take the bus back to my friend's place. I must have been pretty drunk if I willingly agreed to take a bus, because not only did we trek super-far to the bus stop, but I did it walking barefoot on the nasty-ass Downtown streets in lieu of wearing my painful heels. Who knows what gnarly things have oozed, splattered, died, or crawled on those sidewalks....Not the smartest thing I've ever done, but at least I wasn't driving!

3. I finally went to an LA Kings Hockey game! I scored a deal on Living Social and it was glorious! Again, I took the Metro, which proved to be an excellent decision. Only we weren't sure exactly where the Staples Center was, so we just followed a group of burly guys in jerseys until we found the place. For a girl from Sacramento, it was super weird to root for the LA Kings. (I've been bred to loathe all Los Angeles-based sports teams, especially those that have the same mascot as my sometimes-beloved basketball team.) I consider myself a Ducks fan, though it's mostly because I love the Mighty Ducks trilogy, and that was the first (and only) game I ever went to.

It's a beautiful thing.

It. Rocked. My. World. I love Canadians. I love big burly Canadians. I love big burly Canadians beating the crap out of each other on ice. Hockey really is the greatest thing ever. Only we lost by three in a shut-out which was kind of embarrassing. Plus, there were no fights. LAME!! But it made for a great date, which was followed by a second visit to Casey's (conveniently within walking distance of the Staples Center!). Yes, I was dating someone for about three weeks (who knew that Plentyoffish would work out after all?), but it just kind of fizzled. No one's fault, but if the chemistry isn't there, you can't force it. But the point is, yay hockey!

4. My 24th birthday on October 15th! (Technically my birthday is October 16th, but since I spent the entire anniversary of my birth regurgitating bile in my very understanding friend's toilet, I'm gonna stick with the 15th). We celebrated with another one of our legendary Sally Tomatoes' visits to Gabe's, the karaoke dive bar extraordinaire since that tradition began on my birthday last year. You should know that I have very strict rules when it comes to drinking. These are my rules and a description of how I broke most of them (here comes a list within a list. Blow your mind just now, did I?):

a) Always eat a big carb-y dinner. I am currently on the South Beach Diet and carbs are in short supply. I didn't have time to grab real food, so I wolfed down a salami sandwich on that thin, round bread that resembles a whole grain hockey puck. It was not enough. And for some reason, I was trying to be good and refused to eat any greasy, starchy french fries that might have absorbed some of the booze and prevented me from tossing my non- existent cookies. (It occurs to me that I talk about vomit way too much on this blog. My apologies.)

b) Make sure you have a ride home. Thankfully my friend Eric took over designated driver duties and drove Stan and myself back to his place to crash. Not literally, because then he wouldn't be a very good designated driver.

c) Never drink sugary drinks. For one thing, they're bad for you. For another, the sugar is what makes you super-hungover. Every single one of my drinks, excluding the tequila shot, was a delicious, sugary catastrophe.

d) Speaking of tequila shots, Never never never ever mix liquors. Pick your poison and stick with it! I learned this lesson the hard way at my brother's wedding where I sample shots of every kind of liquor available at the open bar. But I ended up paying for it in vomit for hours on end afterwards. But since my friends were paying for the drinks, they insisted that I mix an AMF with a White Russian, with a Long Beach Iced Tea, etc. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!

Drinking anything this color is never a good idea.

Audios Motherfucker indeed.

e) Know your limit. I am usually very good at this. I know exactly how much I can handle to feel pleasant, but to avoid getting sick and/or sloppy. No one likes a sloppy drunk girl, even if it is her birthday. I was done, but the DJ who quickly became my best friend after high-fiving me for choosing "18 and Life" by Skid Row, bought me a vodka tonic. I'm a sucker for free drinks, but I should have 'Just Said No.'

f) Drink tons of water before, during, and after drinking booze. This one I actually followed faithfully, but I still was hurting so bad I could barely get out of bed until 5pm on the 16th. Not the best way to spend a birthday.

So that was my birthday. It was totally worth it too, so thanks ladies (and Eric) for the serenades and for not judging me for christening the toilet at Gabe's with low-carb stomach butter!

5. Speaking of my birthday, I got Target gift cards for gifts (always acceptable!) I finally bought myself a real dresser, since I had been using plastic and fabric storage containers for the past 6 years. I had picked it out and put it back for months before finally pulling the trigger. I put it together almost all by myself, a fact that I was super proud of. One month later, the damn thing is completely falling apart. It was expensive too, even with my gift cards. Stupid crappy Target furniture. One day, I'll own things that aren't terrible...

I was so proud when I took this picture.

Future Me laughs derisively at past Me.

6. Halloween and the Monster Massive that Wasn't. My big brother Scott flew all the way down here from Northern California to see Armin Van Buuren ("The World's Number One DJ" according to him as I shrugged in ignorance) perform at Monster Massive in Orange County. My friends have gone to Monster Massive in years past and from what I understand, it's a massive concert/rave/spectacular filled with tens of thousands of bedazzled club kids in crazy/slutty costumes. I was down, even though I didn't know crap about techno music. We were about to leave when we decided to check the website one last time. Monster Massive had been cancelled a few weeks before. Seriously. They never sent an e-mail, they just refunded the money without a word.

See, World's Number One DJ!

Which to me is like being the World's Number One Pole Vaulter.

It's certainly impressive, but it's still not really my thing.

He is rather attractive though, isn't he? No Kevin Sorbo, but still...

So we had to find something to do on a Saturday Halloween Eve in Los Angeles. Seems easy enough, but while there were a myriad of parties, costume balls, and other events of debauchery, all were either sold out, super lame, or really expensive. We ended up going with our back-up plan which was to see DJ Sasha (like the Number Seven DJ in the World, don'tcha know) spin at Club Avalon in Hollywood. I had never been before, but apparently Avalon is, like, super famous. It took us two hours and forty bucks each to get in and from the moment we walked through the door, our ears were assaulted with the loudest, most obnoxious music ever. Did you ever see that episode of How I Met Your Mother with subtitles? It was like that, only worse. There were costumes. And Asian tourists who push you around. I hate to be pushed around, especially when the floor is vibrating so hard my esophagus was shaking. But we had a good time nonetheless. After a while, we walked down Hollywood Boulevard and saw all the crazies out and about at 2am. Many of which were entranced by my shiny, silver, satin, sequined dress (that I bought for South Pacific in 10th grade. Nothing goes to waste in my closet!). That weekend, we fit in trips to the Hollywood Overlook, the Santa Monica Pier and Promenade, The Getty Center, and The Griffith Park and Observatory. Pretty damn good considering Scott was barely here more than 24 hours. It's nice having someone come to visit so you have an excuse to do all the touristy things you never get around to doing when you live here. Plus, Scott and I hadn't hung out just the two of us since I was 13 and he was 23 and he took me to an N Sync concert in San Francisco (what a stellar brother!). By the way, the Getty is the coolest place ever. Go.

7. Thanksgiving Vacation in Foresthill. I actually scored 6 days off in a row and had my first real time off in about a year. I got to go home to Foresthill and jammed literally 10 pounds of fun in a 5 pound bag. There was the Mountain Mandarin Festival (like the orange, not the Chinese), where I saw about eight people I used to know, most of which I tried to avoid, including the mythical Skank who stole my man in high school, that bitch. Then the reunion with my friends I've known since 5th grade and that I haven't hung out with altogether in about 5 and a half years (they have kids now! Weird!) There was also our annual visit to Apple Hill, which is this awesome apple orchard with delicious pies, beautiful views, and cheesy crafts for sale. It's the best way to celebrate my favorite season.

Post-Soggy Turkey Trot.

The morning of Thanksgiving itself, my friend Jenna and I decided randomly to do the Roseville Turkey Trot 5K for charity. Not sure why, since I usually hate running, doing good works, missing the Macy's Parade, and being outside in the rain, but overall it was a fabulous experience that I totally want to do next year! I came in 812th out of 997, badass! The meal afterwards was epic, and pie at my grandma's was even better. I loved being surrounded by the adorable mini-mafia that is my nieces and nephew. We started decorating for Christmas the next morning, before I visited with more of my best friends that I never get to see. Then I flew home and it was back to reality. Or as real as Studio City can get.

8. I guess I'll go ahead and toot my own horn too and announce that I have lost about 36 pounds since August 16th! Toot toot! Turns out that eating healthy and powerwalking every morning is a potent combination. I even survived the terrifying obstacles of my birthday and Thanksgiving, and managed to come out unscathed.

One of these days, I'm hoping to take the iconic,

"Look at how big my pants used to be!" picture.

Normally when I lose momentum, I can't get back on that proverbial horse for another 8 or 9 months. But I refuse to beat myself up about eating pie on Thanksgiving, because you can't deny yourself everything. You can't indulge every craving either. I'm striving for balance and so far it's working. But ask me again in a few months. We'll see. December is going to be a bitch.

9. Oh I almost forgot! I also survived the freaking delicious Sally Tomatoes Formal Dinner Pah-ty (you have to say it with a hoity-toity accent)! Survived as in I was strong enough to eat Dana's monumentally amazing food without going crazy on it. You can read more details and get recipes on her delightful cooking blog here!

So that brings us back to today when I had to fit in nine days worth of work into one since it is now my regular weekend. But at least I got to spend a good hour showing potential transfer apartments to Sexy Jesus (and his pregnant wife who is annoyingly delightful and normal looking so I can't even hate her). If you are still reading this, congratulations! You must have even less to do than me!

Vomit on the Freeway (And Why it's Kobe Bryant's Fault)

Let me just state right now, I effing HATE the Lakers. I was born in Sacramento and although I am not obligated to be a Kings fan, I have been raised to loathe those sell-out bastards and everything they stand for. I knew this would be a problem when I moved to their stomping grounds. What I did not count on was the fact that whenever they're in town (or the Clippers for that matter), they completely clog up the 10 freeway, turning my 15-30 minute commute into over an hour. On top of that mess, a Friday night rush hour commute in Los Angeles is already a colosseum-sized bitch.

Fuck the Lakers, man. Especially since they just beat the Kings.

Today, for a number of reasons, I developed a migraine. One I couldn't shake despite several rounds of tylenol, tums, and a dose of the big guns, exedrin (which is like crack to my caffeine-sensitive body. But dammit, if it doesn't work like a charm. Usually.) The migraine took its course and before I knew it, I was puking at work. Classy lady. My boss must have had a moment of clairvoyance because the second after I exited the bathroom, she called down from three floors above to see how I was feeling. I got to go home about ten minutes early, but still had to make the dastardly trek to my car in the far-off parking garage. My stomach was still disagreeing with me (it felt like the gastrointestinal equivalent of a Glenn Beck vs. Jon Stewart smackdown).

I prayed for decent traffic on the 10, so I could drive the ten miles home in relative haste. No such fucking luck. Goddamn Lakers. But tonight was bad even for Laker traffic. Five miles an hour, I swear to god. I tried to sing along to the radio, but that failed to distract me from my misery. So I called home (hoping to get some sympathy from my Mom). My Dad answered, and I told him about my current predicament. He just laughed. I didn't blame him. Finally I just asked him, "Do you think I could just stick my head out the window and let 'er rip?" To which he replied, "Go for it."

So I hung up the phone, because this was going to happen with or without my consent. I was stuck going less than ten miles an hour, with no time to merge off the freeway. So I indeed poked my head out the window and with little provocation, there was my half-digested salad and French toast lunch back for a visit from beyond the grave. I was still driving, mind you. (I am nothing if not the Queen of Multi-Tasking). Luckily I didn't veer too far out of my lane and for the first time that night I was grateful we were going so slow. I don't know if the other cars saw it happen. But I'm pretty sure one or two noticed the streak of vomit down the side of Stan's door.

I'd post a picture, but I'm pretty sure

that description is enough to make you feel queasy too.

The worst part was I didn't make it all the way out the window and basically slimed my entire sleeve and the interior of the door as well. And we were still going 5. miles. an hour, with 8 miles left to go. So I had to sit in my poor Stan, covered in regurgitated spinach (that smelled like rotten ranch dressing, just so you have the full sensory effect), for another 40 minutes at least. I called my dad back just to give him an update on the Situation, and we both had a good laugh. I was in pain, but I could still recognize how hilarious this all was. I had to drop the phone, ninja-style when I spotted a cop though. The last thing I needed after throwing up all over myself like some rookie sorority girl was a ticket for talking on my cell phone.

Finally I arrived at Crenshaw and parked. I immediately dashed into the house for some lemon-fresh Mr. Clean and paper towels. I pray that you will never have to know what it's like to scrape off stomach butter from your beloved car of seven years, whose more like a best friend than an automobile. So now I'm home, and thanks for asking, I feel remarkably better now that I've purged (in the most disgusting/amusing way possible).

This mother-fucker.

I'm thinking about suing the Lakers though for the cost of thoroughly detailing and washing my car. No, I think just make Mother-Effing Kobe clean Stan himself with his own goddamn golden toothbrush. They need to relocate the Staples Center to somewhere not directly on my way home, so I don't have to deal with their crap, especially when I'm feeling under the weather.

Plenty of Fish? A Brief Foray into Online Dating

This morning on a whim I decided to check out plentyoffish.com after being constantly bombarded by their ads on Facebook. Dating sites, diet pills, and get rich quick schemes are all I ever seem to get, in fact. It's kind of creepy how the internet knows I'm single, overweight, and poor and wants to a) rub it in my face and b) make money off of my misery. But a friend actually recommended plentyoffish, claiming to have known people who've had success with it. So I idly typed it into my browser this fine Saturday morning.

I refused to actually sign up and get a profile, not wanting to commit even to a website (my commitment-phobia could be a problem when it comes to actual dating). I figured I should check out my options before I sold my soul and e-mail address. This got me thinking about my requirements in a potential mate.

1. Male

2. Straight (This has been a problem for me in the past, since despite my bevy of fabulous friends, my gaydar is often broken)

3. Interested in dating, not just friends with potential (my other kryptonite. Most people say it's better to be friends first, but who, when, and how does one decide to cross the line? And what if that ruins the friendship? It's a valid concern. If you're dating from the start, you don't lose anything if it goes sour).

4. Non-Smoker (Smoking makes me literally vomit. I think I'm allergic. Plus I don't want him to die, or smell bad, and I would rather not catch the second-hand black lung).

5. Taller than me. (This may seem completely arbitrary, a socially constructed ideal, and probably cuts me off from a world of kickass men who happen to fall short of 5'8''. But that's just how I roll.)

6. Preferably older than me, or at least not younger. (Another socially constructed ideal, since I know plenty of wonderful, happy couples in which the woman is older. But it's a fact that women mature faster than men, and therefore often want different things in life. However I can be flexible on this issue if the guy is unusually mature and/or awesome.)

7. Employed. (But only because I won't be in about two weeks. It would be nice to have a sugar daddy until I get back on my feet. Wow, that's a terrible image. I apologize. But I'm not picky as to profession or salary)

8. Good hygiene, a regular doer of laundry. (Is it too much to ask that he be clean?)

9. Must love movies, (otherwise we'll have nothing to say to each other. Fact.)

10. Must not mind that I'm packing quite a bit o' junk in the trunk. (In fact, I'd be cool if he were also not in great shape.)

Bonus points for being Canadian and/or Jewish. If he's a Canadian Jew (now that Seth Rogen is off the market), we're headed for Vegas after the first date.

I really don't think that's too much to ask. I know most women have a huuuuge list that comprises their ideal man. And sure I have some more preferences (college educated, sense of humor, or at least likes my sense of humor, likes board games but lets me win occasionally). But this list is pretty much the baseline of what I'm looking for.

Judging by what plentyoffish had to offer, I'm not so sure I'm going to find that anytime soon. At least not in L.A. Because what most L.A. guys seem to be looking for is one-night-stands or future former model/actress/porn star trophy wives. I don't begrudge them that. But it does make finding one's soulmate a bit tricky if you are a different kind of fabulous (no self-pity here!)

This toe-dip into the pool of online dating has made me realize that the system does have its pros and cons. It's nice to know from the start what each of you is looking for. As opposed to the unrequited friendship, or the 'tell-em-what-they-wanna-hear hook-up.' It also makes sense to weed out the people you would meet organically but discover a major deal-breaker ten dates in. And if you don't really go to places often where you would meet a potential man-candy, that also makes dating difficult. So it's definitely a good idea. But online dating does still have a major stigma attached. The idea that there must be something wrong with you if you can't find a date in real life. (Some of us would rather stay home and watch the Exorcist on a Friday night than go clubbing in some obnoxious, cold, slutty Halloween costume, ok! And who meets their soulmate at a loud, sweaty, crappy music-playing club, anyway?)

It's not that I'm looking for a soulmate right now. In fact the idea of going out on a first date, let alone an internet blind date, terrifies me. Especially since I so don't have my own s#@! together, so how can I expect a man to have his? But it would be nice every once in a while to actually go out with someone and do the whole dinner and a movie thing. Which I've never actually done. The few encounters I've had that could be considered dating have all been awkward and disappointing in their own, unique ways. So I'll keep plentyoffish in the back of my mind, seeing as I'm only 23 and shouldn't give up on finding someone who meets my requirements and more, who also happens to think I'm pretty swell.

UPDATE!!! I forgot to add that I can't handle Jesus Freaks. Having faith and being spiritual is just fine, but Psycho Born Agains, Orthodox Jews, Full-On Muslims, Straight-Up Mormons, and religious extremists of any kind need not apply. That's just a fundamental dealbreaker.

Hypothetically Stressing Out: Utah Edition

In my grand tradition of paranoid over-analyzing and obsessive excuse/list-making, I've decided to compile a pro/con list for the unlikely situation in which I land a job working for the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah. Keep in mind that I haven't even applied and most likely won't, given the outcome of this list, laziness/procrastination/forgetfulness, and my general fear of new and scary situations. But my co-worker planted the seed in my brain and now I can't stop thinking about 'what if...' The main pros are that it's a job I'd be perfect for, having volunteered twice for both the Newport Beach Film Festival, and the Sacramento French Film Festival, and worked two years in a row for the American Film Market, have an extensive background in customer service, and love seeing famous people. Not to mention it would probably set me up for life with a real, permanent job when Sundance ends.

It is kind of pretty there though, and Park City

is more like Colorado than Salt Lake City...

The downside, and it's a mother-effing doozy, is that it would involve packing up and moving my oh-so-fabulous life (note the sarcasm) here in Los Angeles, for the cold, dreary, oppressed world of Park City, Utah. I hate Utah. I've been several times, having gobs of family that reside in that cursed state, so It's not just blind hatred. The worst thing about Utah is that it's not California. I'm a huge California snob, not to mention my immediate family and friends are all here. It would mean leaving my beloved home state for only three months, but is three months really worth that big of a transition?

Pros
Networking
Famous People (yay!)
Interesting new experience (I like those. Sometimes)
Break from L.A. (I like living here, but this town seriously gets to you)
Change is good (according to Rafiki)
Amazing on resume (Like, epically amazing)
Could lead to even better jobs afterward (arguable)
Perfect for it (never have I been more qualified for a position in my life)
Not great salary, but lots of hours
Passion for independent film, yada yada (Can't let that expensive film degree go to waste!)
Maybe opportunity to see some of those movies for free? (Please?)
Good timing (As this job is almost over)
It's a job.

Cons
Utah (Not CA)
Utah (Surrounded by Mormons when I'm headed for Outer Darkness)
Utah (So far away...)
Packing up entire life just for 3 months (if it were longer/permanent I'd be more gung ho. Tee hee, gung ho. Your mom's a gung ho.)
Giving up my sweet bachelorette pad
I hate moving (no, like seriously. The main reason I live in South Central is because I don't want to move again)
Only 3 months (big commitment for short amount of time)
Have to start over to find job/apt. in LA. (it was too easy the first time around. Now not so much)
It's freezing there and I don't even own a raincoat (meaning shopping when I have no $)
Miss both Thanksgiving and Christmas (I LOVE THANKSGIVING!!!! And what is Christmas without your family?)
Miss family (but spend time with Utah family pro/con)
Miss friends, some of which just moved to LA. (I can't ditch them, can I?)
Long hours and weekends (Momma needs her 'me time'.)
I'd still be poor. (And I'm so tired of being poor)
No benefits/insurance (Not that I have any now. But still, I gotta get me some of that eventually)
Updating resume when not in job search mode (Harder for me than it sounds)
Logistical nightmare and I'm afraid of those. (ie finding an apartment, transportation, etc.)
Bad timing (the job starts right after this one, but interviewing, etc. will be tricky during the Market)
I'd rather find a full-time, year-round job. (Is that too much to ask, Universe?)

I may still apply, but then I'll just freak out about actually getting the job (which I probably won't) and then I'll get pissed because I'm perfect for the job and there's pretty slim pickins in these parts. Now is the part where y'all say, get over it Hutch. Either suck it up and update your resume or quit whining and making excuses.

Why UPS is dumb: a Rant

Don't bother reading this, expecting some cute, carefully packaged anecdote, list, or review. I just need to complain and get it off my chest before I head off to work all toxified and irritated. It's already going to be a hell of a day (deadlines, what what). So it's my birthday tomorrow, yay me, and someone was kind enough to send me a package from Amazon. Or maybe I was sleep-online shopping and ordered something for myself and don't remember. In any case, I came home yesterday to find a UPS notice that they had tried to deliver it yesterday, but I wasn't home. I wasn't home because I have a job (temporary though it may be). Many people do, though not as much as need them these days. The point is, how am I supposed to be home at 10:30am on a Thursday to accept a package?

In normal neighborhoods where people have porches or at least doorsteps that aren't located 2 feet from a ghetto sidewalk where passersby can and probably will steal a scrumptious looking box from someone else's stoop, UPS will just leave the package and go on their merry way. (In those short brown shorts, I always envision them delivering things mid-musical number). But not in my 'hood. At first I wasn't bothered, since they always try 3 times before returning to sender. And I would definitely be home on Saturday to sign for it. But on the notice it said that they only deliver Monday through Friday. What crap is that? Are they more lazy than the US postal service who works six days a week, rain or shine (bullshit holidays like Columbus Day not included)?

So the solution to my dilemma is that I arranged for them to hold the package (tee hee) at the local UPS center. Unfortunately the closest one to my residence is Downtown. I HATE Downtown. With its nonstop horrible traffic, confusing one-way streets, scary homeless people, expensive lack of parking, it's just the worst. The center closes at 7pm too, which means I have to get from Westwood, where I work, all the way Downtown when I don't get off until 5:30. If you're not familiar with the area, that's a long-ass way WITHOUT Friday night rush hour traffic downtown. I don't even know if it's possible. And there will probably be a line of other people with day jobs who want to pick things up before the weekend, because the brilliant UPS center isn't open on Saturdays!!! What the hell, man??!?!?!?!

So to recap, on my birthday eve, which happens to fall on one of the few insane work days of the Market, I have to drive clear across down, in traffic, with a very small window of opportunity to pick up the package that I didn't know was coming so I couldn't arrange to have my landlady sign for it instead. Then I get to come home and change for Karaoke night at Gabe's, with my a cappella ladies. Actually, that will be kickass. I've never done real karaoke. Once when I was about 17, a few of my choir geek friends and I stood in the doorway of the bar area at Denny's at like 4AM and dorkily harmonized to "I Will Survive." (We were underaged, so we couldn't actually go in the bar). So that will be sweet. But if you know me, you know what a big deal it is to drag my ass out at night, and to do anything that isn't strictly necessary for survival. And I've already gone out several times (for me) this week.

ARGGHHH!!!! Maybe I'll just wait until next week and pick up my package (tee hee) when I'm not stressed about Karaoke. Though I won't get it in time for my birthday, sad. I do however have a large box to open from my parents that actually asked what to do about the delivery-non-grata in my area. They sent it to my office, instead. And I can't WAIT to open it, because I think I know what it is, and it will be the greatest. present. EVER!!!

I don't want to sound ungrateful to whomever sent me the Amazon package (tee hee). Especially if it was myself. Thank you soooo much for being considerate enough to give me a birthday present. Especially since I am the world's worst gift giver. If I buy a present at all, I'm cheap, it's not a good choice because I can never think of anything good. I'm just whining because that's how I'm wired.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's report on my first real Karaoke night!!!

Homebody

It is my friend's birthday today and he just invited me to come hang out with his friends at the Edison Lounge downtown tonight. My first instinct was panic. The following are my reasons:

1. The Edison sounds swanky. Which means I will feel like a homely midwestern cousin (who's actually from Northern California) that they take pity on in my $20, three year old dress from Target that is a smidgen too small. If they let me in at all.

2. Though I just got paid, I'm still recovering from my recent bout of unemployment. And awkward social occasions require at least one glass of overpriced wine for me to loosen up and be my sparkling self.

3. Downtown parking, if you can find it, is a pain in the butt. One of my charming idiosyncrasies is that I tend to avoid situations in which parking is difficult. It stresses me out way more than it would the average non-neurotic person. Plus I always get hit on by black homeless guys named Tiny who play the jazz trumpet, while walking to/from my car.

4. I don't know very many people here even after over a year, and I should use this opportunity to expand my social network. (Brief shout-out to the random yet brilliant team of David Fincher and Aaron Sorkin). The problem here is that I don't really like meeting new people, being a stodgy misanthrope.

5. Sad as it is, I really just want to do nothing today. My big plans were to watch old episodes of Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place (I'm on a Ryan Reynolds kick right now). I should be writing my Great American Novel, but I'll probably end up spending the weekend with a slightly obscure late 90s sitcom.

But I would like to see my friend again, and it has been too long since I interacted with normal people (outside my office, that is). So I may force myself to shower, straighten my mutinous hair with the savage yet effective In-Styler, and drive all the way (10 minutes) downtown to celebrate the birth of my former writing partner and UC Irvine cohort with a delicious yet bank-breaking glass of merlot.

Sawyer

I apologize for the multiple posts in a row kick I seem to be on, but I'm trying to make up for 6 months of silence. And if you know me at all, you know that I do not do silence well.

When I moved to LA, I thought I would see famous people everywhere I looked. In reality, I rarely see celebrities, though recently sightings have picked up. I saw John Francis Daley (Bones/Freaks and Geeks/Waiting) for the second time at the Burbank movie theater, Rosario Dawson at the Venice boardwalk, and David Krumholtz walking in front of me on the sidewalk in Westwood. Those I'm pretty sure about. However, I often think I see famous people, when they turn out to be not who I thought they were. Which makes gawking at them even more awkward.

Case in point, I was driving home from work the other day when I could have sworn I saw Sawyer/Josh Holloway from Lost driving a silver Porsche down Wilshire. How did I know it was him? I identified his sideburn. When I drove closer I realized that in fact it was not a hulking, blonde Southern television star, but a scrawny 24ish Persian guy who, according to his license plate frame, is a USC law student. Ok, that one was a bit off. But one of these days, I'm going to meet someone really famous, and it will actually be them. Instead of whatever the opposite of a doppelganger is.

Adventures with the Homeless So Far

Tonight is when I go out and count the homeless for the Census. It might rain too. Should be super fun. Anyway, I've been encountering some unusual homeless people lately and I thought I would share my experiences in anticipation of tonight's madness.

A few days ago I was driving to Hollywood to visit my friend Eric and I must have looked super miserable in my car. People always assume that just because I'm not smiling at the moment, I look like I want to kill myself. Anyway, I got stopped at a stoplight, way too close for comfort to a relatively normal-looking homeless guy flipping his sign around like one of those guys who advertise Mr. Pickle's Sandwiches or Instant Tax Returns dressed like the Statue of Liberty. He saw me, dropped his sign and started pointing at the corners of his mouth, indicating that I should smile. I just looked blankly at him, praying for the light to change. Then he started dancing crazy, which did make me laugh and then he shouted through my window "You owe me a tip for that smile!" I was just like uh...sorry. And I drove off.

It reminded me of a time in Prague when I was absolutely miserable, walking back to my hostel, half-drunk at 2 in the morning, having had one of the worst nights of my life. I stopped in Wenceslas Square and sat on a bench, crying. A Czech homeless man came up to me, asking for money (I assume) but I really didn't have any. He saw that I was crying though took my hand and shook it, smiling at me as if he was trying to make me feel better. Then he walked away. It actually worked. He was so nice to a total stranger who had nothing to offer him.

I was driving again to Hollywood last night, and once more got stopped at a stoplight. A girl was standing there, wearing nice jeans and a cute Forever 21-type top. She was holding a sign that said "22 years old and homeless, please help." The person in the car next to me gave her money. I felt really bad, being 22 myself and very poor. But then I wondered if she really was homeless, or just running a scam. She seemed very nicely dressed for someone who was homeless. It got me thinking that does someone have to look like crap in order for you to really feel sorry for them? Or at least believe their situation enough to give them your hard-earned money?

I think one of the reasons I feel so uncomfortable around homeless people is because once when I was about seven, I was eating dinner with my family at a KFC in Albuquerque and a homeless man came up to us and asked us for money. We had an extra sandwich that we tried to give him, but he wouldn't take it. He just wanted money. This seemed so bizarre to me that if you were starving and to the point of asking others for charity, you would take what you could get. I know this was just one person, and is in no way representative of an entire subculture of people all with their own stories and personalities, but it really had an effect on the way I view the homeless.

Now I sound super-judgmental and harsh, but hopefully this will explain my hesitation about tonight. I'm also worried because it's supposed to rain. In Los Angeles. The one night I have to be out and about doing paperwork. But at least it's something, and so many of these people have nothing. So I'll quit whining, at least for now.

Clash of the Commitments

I am a commitment-phobe after burning myself out in middle and high school with far too many extra-curricular activities that involved several 16-19 hour days a week. Not to mention belonging to a church that takes up half of your free time with lessons, gatherings, and other various obligations. So for the past few years all I've wanted to do is go to work/school and come home. But I love singing and I miss being in a choir. So I finally joined one after searching for a low-cost, low-commitment, non-professional group for several months now. It's a small all-girls (: ( ) a cappella group, and it's been so challenging but much fun!

I discovered recently however that this group meets on Thursdays. Being unemployed I have very few time slots that are filled, but once a month on a Thursday, I have my ScreenplayLab Mixer networking event (see previous post Shmoozing Part 2). This is probably the one organization that could really help my career and I have to miss it because I committed to this group. We only meet for an hour and a half once a week and I don't want to be the girl who ducks out early to drive all the way to Beverly Hills just to stand around awkwardly.

It's not a big deal, it's just I wish I could do both. Hopefully I'll get a job without the help of this ridiculous tradition of networking and I won't have to feel guilty about missing my singing group. I do still have the other networking thing I go to, but that's mostly just sit around and pretend you can hear what people are saying. Ok, gotta get back to reading scripts! I've been able to take in a lot, and it's really been improving my own screenwriting skills.

Shmoozing Part 2

So I worked up my courage to venture forth without my trusty wingwoman, Carli, and went to the Screenplay Lab mixer at the Regent Beverly Wilshire. I was pretty late, having gotten caught up finishing the coverage on an impossible to read cockney heist film, but eventually made it out the door looking fabulous. I've driven by the Reg. Bev. Wil. several times but never actually been inside. It is gorgeous! Oh the doormen and the marble-floored lobby, it's to die for.

Anyway, the event was a lot smaller than last night and the music wasn't quite as loud. I got myself a nice glass of wine. This place was so fancy there was actually a list to choose from instead of just red or white. I tried to look like I actually knew what I was looking for but pretty much just chose the cheapest one. Bless the bartender's heart, she went through the motions of letting me taste it before pouring the whole glass. I'm sure she knew I was poor and ignorant. But I swished and sniffed and pretended I knew what I was doing. God I felt like a fraud. But I bet everyone feels that way in this town.

I sort of walked around a little before running into a very cool guy named Travis, also a screenwriter. We talked for nearly two hours about screenwriting, the Oscars, French New Wave, crockpots, the us'. I probably should have tried to circulate and meet lots of different people, but I figured, hey this guy is cool. What are the chances of finding someone else just as cool? So I decree that this night was a success. Even though at one point I felt so dizzy I almost fainted right on the marble floor. Bad combination of not wearing heels often enough and only having a spoonful of peanut butter for dinner. Overall a big improvement from last night. I think they do these mixers every month, so we'll see how it goes next time.

Shmoozing

So I went to a shmooze-fest tonight, otherwise known as a networking mixer. Luckily my friend was there to introduce me to some of her friends. If I had gone sans wingwoman, I probably would have wanted to shoot myself in the head. Picture a dark, overcrowded, obnoxiously trendy bar in Beverly Hills with the bad music cranked up so loud you can barely carry on a conversation. Why do people think this is fun? I only go so I can potentially meet people to help me with my career or god willing people that don't totally suck to hang out with. Too bad I'm not as outgoing as I once was. And too bad I'm too poor to afford social lubricant juice (ie vodka tonics or classy red wine). I'm going to another mixer tomorrow night, one specific to the film industry. Hopefully it will be more productive than trying to shout small talk at people I barely know who are totally in my personal bubble space and pretend that I can hear their most likely insipid responses.

Wow, this sounded super bitter and anti-social. I apologize. I like people. I just would rather be able to converse with them instead of stare awkwardly at my fingernails after we run out of things to shout about in the first five minutes. Oh well, we'll see what tomorrow's shmoozing at the Reg. Bev. Wil. (Pretty Woman reference!!) will bring.