Sunshine, Lollipops, and Puppy Snuggles Part Deux

I am the first to admit that I am often a Debbie Downer, Negative Nelly, and an Unpleasant Ursula. And having a crazy stressful job working with a community of close to one-thousand of LA's most wealthy and eccentric residents only accentuates my dramatic tendencies. But today rocked. Not unlike this day last year when I just felt the need to spread happiness and good cheer. Also like last year, I feel the need to make a list of the reasons why life is just grand, despite my incessant venting and frequent exclamations of "You're killin' me, Smalls!" Because making lists makes me even happier.

"You're killin' me, Smalls!" -Me on any other given day.

1. I woke up in a fabulous mood. It might have been the margaritas and True Blood the night before that gave me sweet dreams, (Oh Alcide...Why must you be a fictional character who also happens to be a werewolf with a savior complex? Otherwise it would totally work between us. He needs a special mention on this list too).

Mr. RamblingHutch

2. I got to listen to my customized Pandora station chock full of classic 70s rock, 80s hair bands, 90s grunge, and some random newer stuff mixed in. This lead to...

3. "Footloose" dance party with the maintenance guys. Can they cut a rug, or what?

4. Speaking of maintenance, my buddy Edi made us all killer orange julius type smoothies with fresh squeezed orange juice just for the hell of it.

5. No one yelled, tattled, or whined at me like a well-dressed, overgrown kindergartner. This is a big deal.

6. There were no crises of any kind, whether they involved Canadian and/or Mexican mafia, unstable porn producers, the wretched hellbeast I have unaffectionately nicknamed Big Mama, or flaming tacquito shrapnel.

An artist's rendering of "Big Mama,"

the Mother of all Muthereffers

7. We got to watch the end of Superbad and the beginning of Forgetting Sarah Marshall at lunch while eating McDonald's and making an unofficial, off-the-record list of hot, foreign male residents who may be interested in a sham wedding for green card purposes. Simple pleasures indeed.

8. And for the grand finale, my Costa Rican co-worker and I hijacked the golf cart and went on a joyride to 7-11 for a popsicle and candy run! Just because we could. It was terrifying since there is no buffer between you and certain death from the distracted driver of a mondo SUV. Plus, my co-worker insisted on pushing the little cart to top speeds of 25mph (It feels a lot faster when you're out in the open like that. Not to mention, I'm still terrified to drive the damn thing, even after all this time.) I kept expecting to get pulled over by the police who followed us into the store because of my unwarranted guilty conscience. But we were big damn heroes when we came back with supplies of cookies, chocolate, and ice cream for the troops.

I kept expecting this to happen, but all was well.

9. This may be anti-climactic, but I was also able to go home at 7pm on the dot. It's amazing that it was slow enough I could get all my work done on time and be out the door when scheduled. We're just so used to being bombarded by interruptions that we often can't even start our actual work until the doors are locked and phones are off the hook.

Who knows what tomorrow holds in store, but I'm not sure we could top today. Especially since I'm a lot more productive and content when I have popsicles in my system. Food for thought.

PS!!! Oh oh, I forgot one of the other awesome parts of the day! I got to give a tour to some USC grad students who want to film on the property. They brought when them a retired location scout who is old school Hollywood. He just talked my ear off with all kinds of stories about who's good to work for, who's terrible, and other great anecdotes about famous people. He wished me good luck with my career. It was nice to chat with fellow film people and hear all the juicy gossip!

Hutch the Apartment Hunter

A few weeks ago, I was all stoked because I had decided to finally leave my hovel in South Central. But then I ended up not going out to look at apartments because I had so many other things to do. Like watch Snakes on a Plane with my gay best friend, Eric. That was absolutely vital. Who else was going to drink 3 glasses of white wine and dance around his living room singing "So kiss me goodbyyyyyyeee, honey I'm gonna make it out alive, so kiss me goodbyyyyyye!!!!!!!!?" (I nominate that song for new best 'dance around singing like a jackass' anthem, now that 'Ain't No Mountain High Enough' should be graciously retired). So I lost momentum on the search, burrowing deeper still into my trenches and just gritting my teeth through the 25-50 minute commute. (Sure it could be worse, but commuting is commuting. And Stan is not long for this world. Every minute counts). I even told my landlady, "I like it here, I'm settled. Plus, moving is such a pain."

Singing into a spatula.

Because hairbrushes are so overdone.

But then someone egged my house. And when I say 'egged,' I mean singular. One egg. Some jackass (the obnoxious destructive kind, not the ridiculous dance around to catchy one-hit wonder kind) threw a single egg at the iron screen door of my apartment. This is why I hate living so close to the street in the ghetto. Hoodlums feel entitled to employ unhatched chicken offspring as a form of malicious vandalism. The thing that pissed me off more was that they did such a half-assed job of it. If you're going to egg someone's house, egg the damn house. You don't throw one roll of toilet paper on someone's tree and call it a day. Kids today. So fucking lazy. In any case, three day old, dried stuck-on egg is tricky to get off of a non-stick pan (which reminds me, I have to do the dishes). But how does one get it off of an iron door when one doesn't own a proper bucket or have access to a hose, I ask you?

Now this is a proper job. Take note, hoodlums.

Normally this kind of thing would amuse me. Haha, I live in the ghetto, isn't that funny? Like the sign on the Boost Mobile store that just opened on Crenshaw "Grang Opening!" And it's not like my house hasn't been vandalized before. There's some sort of tagging on the busted a/c unit outside the window. I don't think I'm a specific target, people are just bored so they want to draw on shit. But still, this was the last straw. As soon as I got in the house I started Craigslisting apartments within a 5 mile radius of my work. And yes, I just used 'Craigslisting' as a verb. And it sounds vaguely dirty for some reason. The other last straw, the epilogue straw if you will, was when I made a delicious chocolate cake last night. I had one piece and didn't cover it with foil right away. When I went to do so, I discovered a small cockroach crawling alllll over it. What a waste. Stupid cockroach. Stupid apartment.

Me, more or less. More more than less.

I found a few options, all more than I'd like to pay ideally, but I could probably swing at least 5 or 6 of them. So I'm going forth and going north today to check them out. And I can't back out like I did a few weeks ago. This is happening whether I like it or not. Because I just gave my thirty days notice a few days ago (about 5 minutes after discovering the egg on my door), and now the clock is ticking. Though most places you visit want you to move in right away and intimidate you by making up fake other interested parties which doesn't work out so well when you have to give 30 days notice. It's the catch-22 of apartment hunting. I wonder if there is an apartment website that has a search parameter "within walking distance of a kickass Irish pub." Now that would be sweet.

I'm excited to see my potential new home, but at the same time, the daunting task of driving all over Hollywood, North Hollywood, and Valley Village is intimidating. I don't even like going one place in a single day. This is one of the reasons I'm living where I am, because I was too lazy to look at several different options before jumping on the most convenient at the time. One shouldn't impulse shop when picking out an apartment. Especially when you don't know the area. It's just that my first three apartments were all in Irvine, ranked one of America's top 5 safest cities. Every apartment is gorgeous, new, perfectly maintained, and fully stocked with every appliance you would need. I took for granted that I would have my own washer and dryer, a full-sized fridge, a dishwasher. Then I moved to the ghetto and was in for a world of doing without. Which was fine, I dealt with it. I just think I could have gotten a lot more for the same amount of money if I had actually tried. And now that I actually work for a property management company and have become more worldly in the ways of Los Angeles, I think I'm much better equipped.

A typical leasing office in Irvine. It may have been a boring college town,

but it sure was purdy. And you'd have been arrested on the spot for egging someone's house.

I'm still just as lazy though. And I still hate driving around to more than one place.

But enough apartment talk. Actually, enough talk period. I need to start getting ready to haggle and peruse.

Hold the phone! I forgot to mention that I finally got to drive the golf cart at work! It only took me two months and one failed attempt (during which the thing just beeped angrily at me and wouldn't budge.) To be honest, it was kind of a let down. It just beeped a lot, and didn't have any turn radius, and I kept running into curbs and guard rails. Plus, it was a bitch to drive in heels since you have to slam on the accelerator to get it to move. So, my inner child is severely disappointed. But still, VICTORY!!

And in other news, I found out that a one-hit wonder R&B group from when I was in high school used to live in my apartment complex. They threw an all-night eviction party the night before they were kicked out. Poor one-hit wonder R&B group who couldn't pay the rent. The high school version of me used to sing their song and attribute it to this totally dreamy guy we dubbed "the Sexy Beast" because he was on the basketball team and had a small part in real movie.

And that's all the news for now!

Spontaneous Move-Busting

Did you ever hear a song that you've always liked but never really noticed in a big way? Then all of a sudden you hear it again and it's like the most mind-blowing thing ever? You have to listen to it a minimum of ten times in a row just to fully appreciate its awesomeness. You may even find yourself spontaneously busting a move in your living/bedroom, the kind that you wouldn't be caught dead dancing in front of anyone else. It feels soooo good though!

The song in question is a silly little pop rock song called "Ultraviolet" by the Stiff Dylans (although I'm not sure if that's their real name). It's from the Angus, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging soundtrack, and is such a joyful, happy song that it's undeniable despite its seemingly superficial pop melody. I had a sudden craving to listen to it while reading the previously discussed Bridget Jones book since Angus, Thongs, etc. is essentially Bridget Jones for the middle school sect. For the moment, I am completely obsessed with this song, and am belting the lyrics at the top of my lungs :D