Commitment Phobia

Remember that time I got drunk and cleaned up the heavy traffic stains in my carpet with Resolve and forgot about it until the next morning until I discovered a sparkling clean entryway in my groggy haze? Well last night I threw myself a little party with my secret lover, Franzia (purchased from Wal-Mart just because I'm so friggin' classy. I had to slum it, since I was cheating on Two Buck Chuck). I only had maybe two dollar store wine glasses full, but that stuff is POTENT. This morning I woke up to find the a much larger version of the blanket I started crocheting before the birth of my now three-year-old niece, Sadie. Yup, red wine makes me crochet, in addition to scrubbing carpets with Resolve. I'm like a tipsy eighty-year-old woman with dementia, just cleaning and crafting with abandon. I should probably start drinking more often though if I want to finish that blanket by the time Sadie graduates from grad school…

My drunken spirit animal, Dorothy.

I guess it's been so long since I've written that my boyfriend and I broke up for a whole month (during which I briefly dated someone else who saw his future children in my eyes, oy), and we're already back together again. Without getting into details, there were just too many external circumstances beyond our control that made it hard to be together. But seeing how most of those obstacles no longer exist, or are currently in the process of no longer existing, it's all goofy smiles and romantic trips to Ikea. (Though we made a pact never to attempt building any Ikea furniture together, if we want to remain together without one or both of us committing significant other-icide.) 

The couch that almost sank a newly rekindled love affair.
Isn't it pretty though?

Even more changes have occurred since my last post on Mother's Day (Jesus, where does the time go?). For example, I'm at a new job, in a new apartment, driving a new car, all in a new city, and in general I no longer hate my life due to the misery caused by an unnamed company with an unnamed management team. HUZZAHS ALL AROUND!! I shall now elaborate in the form of a list:

Basically what I do all day, minus the crazy eyes.

• New Job: the dude responsible for my entire career in property management who hired me initially in customer service at Studio City almost three years ago, who hired me again when I transferred to leasing in Pasadena, has now hired me a third time and promoted me to Assistant Manager with a new company in Norwalk. Whut uuuupppp??? Seriously though, god bless this man. More responsibility, more authority, more pressure, but buckets less of daily stress and the least amount of bullshit possible with any corporate gig. I'm so much happier now, I can't even explain it without vehemently comparing my experiences and coming off as bitter and gloating. :D

Not my actual kitchen, but it's basically the same.

• New Apartment: While I was bummed to have to part ways with my awesome roommate, my housing discount from my old job died when I quit. I don't believe in commuting either, so as much as it killed me to leave my beloved Pasadena, I now live on-site at my property in Norwalk and it. is. AWESOME. Sure, it's waaaaaaay more money that I probably should be spending, even after my discount, but it's amazing to live alone again in such a nice place. Plus, you can't beat the ten second commute. Getting to not only come home for lunch, but run and grab a fancier blazer when an unexpected executive visit springs up, is pretty much the best thing ever. I'm saving so much money on going out to eat, which is good, since I can't really afford it anyway. As someone who hates driving, it's an incredible thing to only use my car a few times a week for errands or recreation (saving gas too!). Speaking of my car…

Muriel. Suggested originally as a joke from said boyfriend,
but seeing as Muriel Heslop from Muriel's Wedding is my other
sprit animal, it was PERFECT. 

• New Car: It took a lot of test drives, financial anxiety, and an epic spreadsheet using a point system to try and decide which car to buy, but it was all worth it when I finally brought home Muriel. After ten months living without a car in LA, it was miraculous driving down Colorado Blvd, blasting my Bon Jovi and singing along at the top of my lungs. I realized that if you don't have a car and find singing in the shower to be awkward even when you live alone, you just don't sing. And a life without singing is just sad and shriveled. With that in mind, I was able to finally re-join the Sally Tomatoes, my kickass a cappella group. It was nice having a break, especially since I was dealing with a lot of other crap, in addition to the commute being brutal and damn near impossible on public transportation. But I missed those girls and that music, and all the karaoke you can handle!

There aren't many photos of Norwalk online.

• New City: Norwalk is a strange place. And by strange, I mean it's probably not strange at all compared to the rest of America. I've realized that every place I've lived has been very distinctive. Irvine, with its wide, clean streets and Big Brother watching your every move in a soulless but aesthetically-pleasing atmosphere. South Central, with its crazy characters, cheap rent, and great stories. North Hollywood/Studio City, with its wannabe-famous actors/porn stars and medical marijuana as far as the eye can see. Pasadena, with its charming and historical shops and restaurants, and pedestrian-friendly geography (*sheds tear*). But Norwalk is pretty generic, as far as I can tell. Not quite LA, but not quite Orange County. It's in this weird state of limbo where people aren't terribly tech savvy, no one uses reusable grocery bags, and you have to drive twenty plus minutes to get to a Trader Joe's but Walmart is just down the street. I don't mean to sound condescending when I say this. It's just when you've lived in LA so long, you don't realize that it's far from normal.

As close as I could come to capturing
LA yuppie culture in one photo.
I'm a bit disappointed in the internet today.

I'm sure there are other changes, but those are the big ones. It's crazy to think how drastically my life has changed from one year ago. And from the year before that. I never thought of myself as restless, but I haven't lived in the same place or worked at the same job for more than a year and nine months (random number I know, but it's been a pattern). In fact, it kind of freaks me out to think about the future and where I'll be in five years. Probably in a foreign country teaching English and taking vacations in Thailand with my Doctors without Borders husband, Ron. Anyone want to start taking bets?

Playing Ketchup Part 1

I've definitely been through some crap in my life, but the Universe (my arch-nemesis) decided to throw my way a rather eclectic slew of challenges both big and small within a relatively short period of time. With every new shitstorm, I would chuckle and utter, "Well played, sir, well played." Then I would burst into tears because eventually even the most minor of hiccups would send me reeling at the cruelty and injustice of fate. Once the clock struck 2013, however, life became just a little bit brighter. (After I stopped vomiting all over San Francisco, details to come). I know it's insane to think that things magically change when one year ends and the next begins. But the proof is in the pudding. Mmm... pudding.

Playing Ketchup

How do I summarize six months worth of drama, heartbreak, transition, and triumph? Why, let's make a list! (I feel like this is the start of a very bizarre musical number, but then again, that's how I feel about 90% of the time).

1. My Body Has Declared Mutiny

After hardly being sick a day in my life (other than a random week of vertigo in high school during which I tried to walk down the hallway and ended up swaying and stumbling into lockers like the love child of Lucille 2 and a drunken sailor), I managed to end up at the doctor at least a bajillion times (more like 7 or 8, but still). While the issues I faced were in no way serious or life-threatening, (trying to maintain perspective), it definitely felt like it at the time. Ultimately I blame the stress from my job at Studio City for completely fucking up my immune system. I'm still dealing with some health problems, but everything seems to be under control at the moment. Of course now I find myself frantically WebMDing even the slightest twinge, cough, or tummy rumble. The experience has made me a raging hypochondriac, so thanks for that new diagnosis as well, Universe.

Lucille 2
My imaginary mother

2. RIP Stan 1989-2012

My beloved car and oft-mentioned Partner in Crime, Stan, perished on October 5th, 2012. I was coming home from Sally Tomatoes practice late at night when I noticed he was making strange chugging noises up the 405 near Sherman Oaks. All of a sudden, the lights went out. Whatever strange car disease he caught must have been contagious, since he sidled up right behind another car that was also stopped dead in the right hand lane. They had to shut down the whole frickin' freeway which was still crowded at 10:30pm on a Wednesday, so a CHP car could literally push me up the hill and roll down the other side to the offramp. It was very dramatic. While I waited in the cold for a tow truck, I curled up in a ball in the front seat, sobbing. I had a feeling this was the beginning of the end for my dear friend. Sure enough, Pep Boys would have had to basically rebuild the whole frickin' engine. Not worth it for a car this old and admittedly shitty. So I donated his body to charity and adjusted to the harsh reality of being a pedestrian in LA.

3. The Schlep

I had only just transferred to my new property in Pasadena, originally a mere 20 minute drive from North Hollywood, when suddenly I had a two hour commute on my hands. This involved two trains and a thirty minute walk through ghetto NoHo. Because LA public transportation is stupid. Adding two hours on either end of my work day was just killing me. Not literally. But it did suck.

4. My 25th Birthday

Speaking of suck, October 16th was my 25th birthday. Arguably the last milestone birthday I will ever have (if you consider finally being able to rent a car as a milestone). I had to work that day, so I carried my party dress, cute shoes, and makeup all the way through the Schlep for my birthday dinner at Cheesecake Factory in Old Town Pasadena. I invited fourteen people. Guess how many showed up. One. My dear gay husband Eric, who still made the whole affair fabulous. But when you're already having a hard time, you just want to have fun and cheesecake with the people who love you. While I know that this is not the end of the world, especially compared to everything else that was going on, it was definitely the rancid cherry on top of a crap sundae.

Fun Fact: My birthday was at the same Cheesecake Factory where Penny works in the Big Bang Theory. It looks nothing like this and I'm not sure why on earth she wears that ridiculous uniform that also bears no resemblance to the real thing. In any case, the more you know!

5. The Big Move

This one is actually a good thing. Because I could no longer stand losing four hours of my life commuting, I knew I had to move to Pasadena STAT. Ever since I left UC Irvine, I vowed never again to have a roommate. Not that my experiences with roommates were so bad, but I love being Queen of my own castle. I finally came to the realization that I could either spend $775 for a terrible one-bedroom in the ghetto with no A/C or heater, but plenty of cockroaches, or spend substantially less to share a discounted luxury two-bedroom in glorious Pasadena at one of my company's properties. Needless to say, my place is BOMB (to borrow a 90s colloquialism)! Also, my roommate Smita is awesome. We very rarely see each other, but when we do, we hang out and watch Say Yes to the Dress or forensic cop shows.

Another Fun Fact: the exterior of City Hall from Parks and Rec is also in Pasadena. I fucking love this town!

6. Boy Drama

a. Winston.
I took a break from boys while I was figuring some stuff out. But once I thought I was back on my feet,  I met a guy named Winston. He was very sweet and I thought the name Winston was the best thing ever. Sadly Winston gave me the creeps. I could never put my finger on why exactly. I tried to give him a second chance by inviting him to watch Community over at my place. I was still commuting at the time, so I ended up falling asleep on the couch halfway through the second episode. Yes, I was exhausted, but I have a feeling if I had liked him more, I probably would have powered through. Poor guy, will probably always be traumatized by that. He tried to kiss me good night and my gut instinct was to basically shove him out the door. The last time that happened was with the French Creeper. Has this impulse ever happened to anyone else?

"Are there other black nerds, or is it just you and Urkel?" -30 Rock

b. Patrick
Patrick was a good guy. Imagine Toofer from 30 Rock, only slightly less pompous. We went on a fantastic first date to a South American BBQ place that must have been really expensive. (I'm not used to that). We got along great, talked for a few hours at Starbucks, and he walked me home in the rain. Then I was an adorable romcom heroine and couldn't get the damn security gate unlocked with my fancy new laser fob thingie. I ended up having to call myself on the intercom to buzz myself in. Which he thought was hilarious. And then I never heard from him again. At least not until a few weeks ago. I was used to guys disappearing though it always drives me nuts. But he sincerely apologized and explained himself to my satisfaction. When I told him I was dating someone else, he gallantly said, "I knew I couldn't be your only fan." Sweet, right? Though now it sounds kind of creepy and stalkerish. But I swear, it wasn't like that. I hope.

c. Matthew
Frickin' puppet master. Not even worth a whole paragraph.

I find this picture highly unsettling...

d. James
The first time I ever said "Fuck you" to someone, and genuinely meant it. I guess it's my own fault. Damn those twinkly blue eyes and devilish grin. That boy is poooooiiiisoooon.

7. Family Drama

I don't really want to go into the details of this one. Basically, the one thing I always thought I could count on, my family, nearly fell apart around Thanksgiving. As a whole, we seem to have moved past it, but it's still not ok with me.

Corporate espionage!!! Dun dun dun!

8. Selling Out

The Monday after Thanksgiving, my company found out that our two biggest competitors bought us out and were going to divide us up 60/40. The well-established, flourishing company that I finally had grown to love (after transferring to Pasadena and realizing that it was just Studio City that was Hell on Wheels), no longer exists. Imagine if McDonald's and Carl's Jr. randomly decided to buy out Burger King. It's kind of like that. No one saw it coming. At the time, we didn't know if we were all still going to have jobs, or what the new company would be like. The term "drinking from the firehose" was thrown around a lot. The sale is finally complete, but we are still in the painful process of transition. It's turning out to be ok, just awkward. The only thing that remains to be seen is whether I my kickass employee housing discount will be cut in half. That would suck. But we shall see.

9. Grief

Not long after attending a friend's funeral, I lost two members of my own extended family. Some of my other friends have experienced similar tragedies and my heart just breaks for them as well. It definitely comes in waves.

I wish I looked this pretty when I'm sick...

10. Vomitting on BART

To top off a truly banner year, on New Year's Eve I christened a Bay Area Rapid Transit train with the contents of my upset stomach. Specifically, copious amounts of pasta mixed with vodka. Sorry about that, people of San Francisco! But that's what you get when your best friend who moved to San Francisco leaving you alone and miserable in LA is a former alcoholic and drinks vicariously through you and you just happen to be a lightweight. After a lovely day visiting with Eric and exploring the city, we had decided to watch the midnight fireworks over Fisherman's Wharf from on top of a faraway hill. But the entire time the fireworks were exploding and Eric was sharing the traditional New Year's kiss with his boyfriend, I was blorching like a champ. I like to think that I was vomiting up everything bad about 2012. I still had a nasty hangover on January 1st, but once it was over, a fresh start lay ahead.

So that's just a sampling of everything that sucked about 2012. This is already a really long post, so I think I'll leave the sort-of happy ending for next time. Ta da!

Scum and Villainy

Recently I have taken over the task of managing the Facebook page for my property. Which is kind of fun, since I'm getting paid to do something I've been doing for free for the past six years. It's also nice to take a break from parking catastrophes and leaky water heaters and think about something positive. After meeting with our Regional Marketing Manager (who also happens to be a good friend and fellow Sally Tomato), I had some great ideas for what to post. She mentioned highlighting strange holidays, like National Talk Like a Pirate Day or National Grilled Cheese Day, stuff meant to get peoples attention and have them discuss in depth on our page. Voila, free advertising! Social media marketing is the wave of the future after all.

Grilled Cheese is awesome.

Seeing as today is May 4th, it seemed only fitting that my inaugural status update be about Star Wars Day (if you aren't friends with any nerds, it references "May the Fourth be with you"). Here is what I said, "Happy Star Wars Day! May the Fourth be with you! What are some of your favorite Star Wars quotes?" I have to admit, I was slightly bummed that we weren't instantly bombarded with hundreds of George Lucas's best lines. So I decided to get the ball rolling with my own favorite quote:

"You will never find a more wretched 

hive of scum and villainy." 

Now, if you are complete dolt and have never seen Star Wars, this line describes the Mos Eisley Cantina, an intergalactic dive bar with some killer live music and local color. It may be somewhat obscure, but I just love how eloquently disdainful the quote is. Plus, Alec Guiness's delivery gives me goosebumps for some reason. (Sidebar, did you know that Alec Guiness hated Star Wars? Well La Di Da Mr. Shakespearian Thespian...)

The comment had been up for about a minute when I began to over think as I am wont to do, especially when sending out something that hundreds, potentially thousands of people are going to read. Think about that line again. In the context of an apartment complex Facebook page. Does it sound at all like I'm calling the property a "wretched hive of scum and villainy?" Because that's what it seemed like to me. Completely unintentional, or course. But I decided to delete it after only a few minutes. God knows how many people saw it, read it, and read that much into it. I seriously doubt they gave it any thought. I know that I tend to ignore or hide any postings from companies. But since I'm obsessive and this is Corporate America, you can't be too careful when it comes to anything permanent like that.

Yes, that is a cake. Happy Star Wars Day Indeed!

I'm publicly admitting to this blunder mostly because as soon as I took it down, I started laughing hysterically. Because on a really bad day, when people are really pissing me off, I would feel that it's not entirely inaccurate. But you just can't go around inadvertently trash talking your place of business, particularly through a medium designed to promote the darn place. Even if it is thinly veiled through a quote from an iconic seventies sci fi opera/western/epic. So far no one has provided any other quotes. But I'm determined to make this the most popular apartment company Facebook profile on the interweb, so help me Yoda!

Without Hope or Agenda

The day before Christmas Eve, a vase full of beautiful red roses was delivered to my office. For a brief moment, I entertained the fantasy that they were for me (because I’m a girl and couldn’t help it). Sadly, the envelope was addressed to one of our residents. I dutifully notified her via phone and e-mail of her special delivery. We would be closing early on Christmas Eve, so I wanted to make sure that she received them before the holiday.

These particular roses cost $115. What a waste.

A very beautiful, heart-rending waste.

But the resident never came. The flowers were still sitting on the table when I returned from my mini-vacation four days later. By then they were all wilted and sad looking. I’ve always thought that in theory, flowers are a terrible gift. They inevitably die (plus they’re way overpriced and I don’t believe in wasting money). I still love getting them, though! It’s the thought that counts more than anything, right?

Sad!

When the roses died for real, the office housekeeper threw them away and washed out the vase. She put the card on my desk to give to the resident if she ever came to pick it up. It turns out that the resident had called to see who they were from. She authorized my co-worker to open the card and read it over the phone.

This is what it said:

“_____ Just wanted to say, without hope or agenda, just because it’s Christmas (and at Christmas you tell the truth), to me, you are perfect. Thinking of you and wishing you a Merry Christmas : ) _____”

My cold, crusty heart just melted at that! And if you are a complete loon and didn’t recognize the reference, this guy was quoting a famously heartbreaking scene from the greatest Christmas movie/romantic comedy/anytime movie ever, Love, Actually. I was shocked, SHOCKED I TELL YOU, that none of my co-workers were familiar with it. Once I explained the significance (it basically means that this poor sod is in love with a girl he knows he can never have, but still feels compelled to spill his ever-loving guts out to in one of the sweetest ways possible), they nearly died from estrogen-overload as well! The girl's response to this note was, and I quote, "Oh." Could she be less enthused?

The notoriously frustrating yet sweet scene in question.

The fact that this biznatch must have totally shot him down got me all up in arms. I mean, I don't know this girl or her situation. Maybe she's also married to the guy's best friend like in Love, Actually. Maybe she's a lesbian. Or perhaps she really just doesn't have those feelings for him no matter how much she wishes she did. I also don't particularly care if the guy is a screamingly hideous, soul-sucking bastard (though I highly doubt it if he's willing to quote an uber-chick flick and send roses). All I know is, if I had received those flowers, I would have bolted past airport security with sweeping, epic string music in the background and a crowd of Portuguese townsfolk following me, only to bang on the window of the gate where the guy (who inevitably looks like Sexy Jesus) is getting on the last plane out to America, and start belting, "All I want for Christmas is you!"

Unintentionally stole this from my friend Jess.

The other most frustrating scene in Love, Actually.

Who knows if the resident will ever stop by to claim her empty vase and love note. On second thought, she better not. Otherwise she'll get a punch on the nose from me, having imagined this grand and tragic love story that never was.

Keys in Strange Places

One of the services my office provides is to unlock people's apartments when they lose their keys/get locked out of their apartment. Usually I dread someone coming in saying, "Can someone open my door for me?" First of all, I revile these people for being so stupid/unorganized/lazy and losing their keys in the first place. Secondly, this usually happens five minutes before closing and we have to rush maintenance to cut another one (which is very stressful and difficult not to mention we all just want to go home.)

Boo!!!

And finally, it means I have to drop however many hundreds of balls I happen to be juggling at the moment (tee hee balls), get the keys from the box, and escort them all the way to their apartment. Depending on where their apartment is located, this could mean quite the trek. Especially if it is 100 degrees like the other day and I'm wearing a full suit. Then I secretly chant makeshift voodoo curses in my head while making cheery small talk.

But sometimes, I enjoy rescuing people because they often have hilarious or unusual stories about how they came to be without their keys. Here are the top five:

1. Guy who lost his keys several months ago in The Body Shop, a strip club off Sunset. To this day he still has not paid the $5 fee to cut a new key. He simply locks his front door from the inside, then goes out his patio door and jumps over some bushes. This is someone who pays at least $1200 for rent every month, (and god knows how many thousands on strippers), and he won't fork out five bucks for a key. I hope she was worth it, buddy.

My favorite part is "18 Years OK!" Classy joint.

2. Guy who left his keys in Israel. God knows how expensive it must have been to overnight a package from a place where the local post office is probably getting bombed constantly. Reliable courier services must be hard to come by there.

3. Guy(s) who left their keys in Vegas. From one type of pilgrimage to another. This one happens quite frequently. I just chuckle at them and ask them if they had a good time. They tend to respond with a sheepish grin.

4. Guy(s) who pissed off their crazy girlfriends who are now holding their keys hostage until they grovel. Seriously, I encountered this with two different residents, one of which not only stayed with the girl, but she did this twice! I don't know what they did to piss them off, but it sure is a brilliant way to get revenge.

Bitches, man. Bitches.

5. Guy whose keys are at the police impound lot. I asked him if he had had a rough night, and he replied, "Not as rough as some." Badass. But it turns out that it was his friend who was caught smuggling something nefarious unbeknownst to our hero, and his car was impounded because of it. Doesn't that suck? Anyway, the guy told me that now anyone who enters his car will be subjected to a strip search in case they too may be holding. I thought he was joking until he exclaimed, "If you don't want my finger up your rectum, then you won't be getting in my car." True story. Needless to say, I will be avoiding this person for several reasons from now on.

If you've noticed that this list is comprised of entirely male residents, then you would be spot-on. Girls get locked out all the time too, but they don't have nearly as good stories. (Usually it's because they went to the gym and their roommate locked the door. Yawn) I will update the list if I get any more good ones. Just so you know, the curse I put on these people is less severe depending on how entertained I am by their excuse.

Getting Busy

I am convinced that yesterday was the pinnacle of my customer service career. One resident was so fed up with her upstairs neighbor's "bedroom habits" that she decided to record the incessant squeaking of the bedsprings that were keeping her awake at night. She was tired of having to explain to her young daughter that the neighbors were just "moving furniture" in the middle of the night. "Momma, they sure move a lot of furniture," the daughter said. So just in case we thought she was exaggerating or making it up, she actually caught the neighbor in the act on tape knocking boots like some kind of boot-knocking madman.

I kept trying to convince her that we believed her and that we were doing everything we could to resolve the situation. But it's not like we can ask this poor guy to stop having sex in his own apartment. We didn't need proof but nevertheless she insisted on holding the tape player up to the phone and playing it for me. So there I was sitting at my desk, listening in on the intimate if not exactly private affairs of one of my residents. Emotionally, I was torn. I felt bad for the guy on the tape who just wanted to get his freak on and here we were about to meddle. But at the same time, it was really loud. I'd be pissed too if that was my neighbor and I couldn't sleep whenever he got lucky. And then on the other hand, I was impressed. Homeboy has stamina. I mean, he was REALLY going for it. Hat's off to you, sir. But mostly I was just uncomfortable. There's nothing worse in my opinion than accidentally overhearing other people getting it on, no matter who it is. I have some horror stories, believe me.

So this incident just combined many things I despise:

1. People bitching

2. Problems for which there are no answers

3. Awkward confrontations

4. Listening to complete strangers have sex

I believe the compromise was that Homeboy was going to dismantle his bed frame and just put the mattress on the floor. Hopefully that helped. I really don't want to have to listen to another amateur recording of his mating rituals. Situations like this, of which there is no short supply in Studio City, definitely keep life interesting.

"Is Everyone Ok?": Murderers in Studio City

This was the headline of an e-mail I got from my operations manager today at about 2:30pm. Most every one else was out of the office on tours or jaunts or whatever it is people do when they leave me to man the fort. Intrigued, I opened the e-mail and discovered this message:

"I heard there was a murderer loose in Studio City. Three schools are on lockdown.

Is everyone alright?"

At first I thought it was a sick joke. But April Fools Day was over two weeks ago (and had passed thankfully without event. Damn that blasted holiday. I positively loathe practical jokes.) But this isn't the kind of guy to pull that stuff.

So frantically, I started googling "Murderer loose Studio City April 15th" (just in case there were murderers loose on other days). I came up with an article saying that sure enough, three schools were on lockdown and many of the streets within a mile from us were closed.

Suddenly feeling the urge to start

singing "Bad boys, bad boys

whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do

when they come for you."

But that's every Friday.

I panicked, since I was basically alone in the office. The apartment complex I work at is massive with lots of sweet hideout spots for someone on the run from Johnny Law. And though it is gated, with full-time security guards, there are ways to penetrate our defenses if one is desperate and crafty enough to try. Naturally my mind started flashing back to the special I had just watched on E! the day before about "15 Shocking Acts of Violence." (Which was followed by E! News. It's hard to go from watchings Kindergartners get murdered in cold blood to Who is Miley Cyrus dating this week?). Then I started thinking about that season finale of Grey's Anatomy where that crazy dude starts shooting up the place (a most intense and excellent episode). If it happened on Grey's Anatomy, it most certainly could happen in Studio City. Because as you know, that kind of shit actually does happen here in real life!

In this scenario, and this scenario alone,

I fancy myself McDreamy.

I started running around the office frantically, not sure what to do in case of a possible mass murder of our precious porn stars and child actors that live in the complex. I didn't know what or whom I was looking for, but I couldn't just sit at my desk and wait to be killed to death! (Because I was convinced it was going to happen at this point. Though the way the afternoon turned out after this, it probably would have been a relief. Hooo-wee!) Eventually I sat back down and re-read the article for clues on how I could take this mother down if he tried to hurt me, my co-workers or the porn stars. Then I noticed this addendum at the bottom of the article:

"The suspect has been captured and is in custody as of 1:30pm"

So he had been caught for over an hour before I got the e-mail. Phew. That was fun. Then it was back to frantically working as always without the threat of impending doom.

Until about 6:45pm when the FedEx guy arrived. He was late because of the streets being shut down. We started talking about the murderer and he said that he was still on the run. But...but...but...they caught him hours ago, right? Apparently there were three and they had caught two? At least that's what the FedEx guy said. Maybe it had just gotten exaggerated by the media over the course of the day. But by that time I was just so stressed and exhausted by normal things that I just started laughing. Of course there's a murderer still on the loose. Because that's exactly what my day needs.

Not me. But sometimes I feel

the urge to bite my keyboard because

I'm just about to lose it. Well, no.

This lady is batshit ka-razy. But still, you get the point.

This is a really long caption. Mazel tov.

Anyway, it's over now, and I just want to soak in a vat of red wine. But I'll probably just end up cleaning for when Mama Hutch comes to visit tomorrow (YAY!!!) This is not the first time a situation has gotten real at my place of business. When I worked for the Market, there was a major FBI standoff with a shooter at the Federal building one or two blocks away. Then there was a bomb/anthrax scare a few weeks later when I got trapped in the kitchen with the sexy guy from legal. Good times. It also reminded me of the time my dad thought he saw a dead body in the desert but it turned out to be Mexican Drug Dealer's jackets. Just in that I got all riled up for no good reason.

Here is the follow up article on the murderer in case you were curious.

Discrete Gossip Queen Part 2

I'm going to skip the self-flagellation for being such a sporadic blogger (with a name like Sporadic Sporkitudes, you have to expect periods of radio silence in between frantic, Fun Dip fueled rants and lame but lengthy lists). Basically what I've been up to these past few weeks has been just collecting stories. Oh, such stories. Wonderful, weird, so unbelievable that they could only be true, stories. Unfortunately, I can't really share many of them. I don't want to get in trouble. But one of these days, your new favorite prime time 'soapedy' (a phrase I just coined) will be based on the wacky land that is Studio City.

Especially if you are off your nut, balls to the wall, k-k-krazy!

With a population of residents larger than my hometown, there is no end to the hijinks that occur on a daily, no hourly, basis. Especially when that population consists of porn stars, child actors, their stage moms, struggling actors both attractive and not, (also talented and not), wannabe musicians, fading flash in the pan reality sensations, participants in the Witness Protection Program, spoiled rich playboys/girls, and the straight up bat-shit crazy.

Yes, I'm writing it all down. Observing to report later on. If nothing else but for my own amusement. I already had the idea for a show that was based upon the first apartment complex I lived in in Irvine. But Studio City blows that sleepy little college town out of the water and into the stratosphere. I'm actually overwhelmed by what goes on here. It's too much to even fathom at times. Luckily the stress has gone down now that we're not as busy. But there is no shortage of insanity.

So I guess this blog is a bit of a tease, but I will tell you some of the elements you will see in my future, probably never to be written much less produced soapedy:

1. Mistresses featured in major celebrity sex scandals. Yes, that was plural. (and finding out the preferences certain insane celebrities request when choosing their prostitutes).

2. Crazy ladies screaming in gibberish whilst running topless from one of the three gyms on the property.

3. Former one-hit-wonder rap/rock celebrity rehab junkies (the one that climbed the building a few months ago) trashing an apartment and then hearing on the radio the next morning about this person's arrest.

4. Rumors of a meth lab that could explode any moment and discussing whether or not this was a legitimate excuse to evict someone.

5. Residents using the move-in inspection as an excuse to attempt to seduce certain employees (which certain employees claim to have refused, but you never know ; ) )

6. A Russian mob shooting in the parking garage

7. Couple who may or may not be in the Witness Protection Program. (They're not very pleasant. But I guess you wouldn't be either)

8. A big time hip hop artist and producer's daughter's Crip boyfriend dragging her out in the hall by her hair wearing only a bra at the time.

9. A Saudi princess with her own security detail who did nothing but shop for Gucci bags all day.

10. I assisted an 18 year old male model with his very first taxes.

Even the dogs are actors. I met one who had been in multiple episodes of CSI New York among other things.

I'm sure there's more, but I'm just slowly taking it all in. There's years of crazy to sift through and find the juiciest bits.

On an unrelated note, I just found out that Kenneth from 30 Rock frequents the pub down the street where my friends and I went to trivia night the other night! And to think we were stoked to see the kid who played Elliot in E.T.!

Discrete Gossip Queen

I have the world's biggest blabber mouth. If I know something juicy (or even vaguely moist...ew...moist), I have to spill. Unfortunately, I'm not technically allowed to divulge any personal information from my job. And this is Sporadic Sporkitudes, not TMZ, so I have to keep it classy. But things happen and they're so weird/funny/crazy, and I feel like I'm going to explode if I don't tell someone. Because if no one knows about it, it didn't happen. And therefore my entire existence is invalidated. (Blow your mind just now, did I?)

Not actually me. But just so you know

how I feel when I see these things

and think, wow that's super cool

and can't say anything...

So I've decided to let y'all in on some of the wacky hijinks to which I am lucky enough to be privy. Well most aren't really wacky. But they do involve people you might recognize if I were not classy. What follows is the censored version. I won't give any names, any real info other than the situation.

Here is what happened in the past week:

1. A former Playboy model took family pictures out on our lawn.

2. A recurring character on the L Word took a tour of the premises.

3. I reset a password for a girl I recognized from a movie I had just seen on Netflix, as well as an episode of Grey's Anatomy.

4.5. I gave away a former resident/current Laker's parking space to someone else. Oooh exciting, right? But still it was cool to see his name in our system even if I don't follow sports and actively loathe the Lakers and everything this person stands for.

4. A former Nickelodeon star turned legitimate actor marveled at my strength as I lifted his enormous package. (Best compliment ever, "Wow, you're really strong." Darn tootin', former Nickelodeon star. Darn tootin'.) Get your mind out of the gutter. It was a cardboard box, not his penis. But it was really heavy, so be impressed nonetheless.

5. A former rapper/singer for a band that had a one-hit wonder when I was in 7th grade that my mom wouldn't let me sing because she thought it was dirty even though I didn't get the innuendo at the time but now I do (breathes) turned junkie turned Celebrity Rehab reality star turned back into a junkie ("who prefers to smoke rock-cocaine" according to the report) literally scaled several floors of one of our buildings to break into someone's apartment. Now that one I wish I could say his name, because it is the best name EVER. (Hint, it's an alliteration. And I do love me some alliteration)

6. This doesn't involve someone marginally famous, but I did get a call from a new resident asking if I had heard anything about the attempted murder in the parking lot. That one caught me off guard. But nope. No attempted murder. She was misinformed. But still. Weird.

7. And speaking of non-famous people who do weird things, a guy called our front gate to report that his psycho ex-girlfriend was so mad at him she was "pouring orange juice and kool-aid all over the floor." Who does that? I swear, these people may have money, but they crazy.

This is a very strange place. You can basically assume that anyone who walks through the door is in some phase of fame, whether it's child stars with pushy moms obsessed with dog poop, those you can tell probably won't make it, those right on the verge, those who will never make it out of the fringe, and the washed-up has-beens. And if they're not famous, they think they are and you should treat them accordingly. Sigh. Good stories though, even if I can't say everything.

UPDATE: 2/2/11 A sitcom child star is finally grown up to get his own apartment, but still needs his momma by his side. I think if I say the sitcom is based on a certain comedian, it won't give it away too much. Most of them are.

Aspirations of a Meter Maid

When I was little, the very first job I ever wanted to have (besides jet ski instructor, even though I'd never ridden a jet ski and wasn't sure such an occupation existed), was a meter maid. I remember seeing one their little cars parked on the street in downtown Sacramento and thinking that was the coolest ride ever! I didn't want the Batmobile or Barbie's dream convertible. I wanted a metermobile.

SO FREAKING COOL!!!

I thought I would just drive around in my little car all day and say hello to people. I didn't realize that meter maids are probably one of the most hated professions behind IRS agents and referees. As I grew up and learned to seek approval from my fellow man, this career seemed less and less likely. I can't stand being yelled at, or being the bearer of bad news. But I still wanted the little car. That's when I discovered golf carts. I don't play golf, never plan to play golf, and even mini-golf is boring and difficult. But I knew that someday, I'd drive one. I don't know what kind of satisfaction is derived from driving a smaller than normal vehicle. But I drove a go-kart once and it rocked my world. So imagine my delight when I discover that my new place of business owns not one, not two, but THREE golf carts solely for our discretion!!!!

MINE AT LAST!!!!!

And today I was handed the magical key to these babies. Happy holidays, indeed! I haven't learned to drive them yet, but I plan to as soon as I kidnap a co-worker and coerce them to show me. Violently if necessary. Who would have thought that this job I took to pay the bills would turn out to be the fulfillment of a lifelong dream? The people rock, the work is fun and stimulating, and there are treats everywhere ('tis the season after all)! And did I mention the golf carts? Days just fly by, and so far it's been just fine and dandy. I'm only three days in though, so we'll talk in six months and see how much the golf carts affect my contentedness.

Sunshine, Lollipops, and Puppy Snuggles

A lot of the time I'm pretty much Little Miss Doom and Gloom. But today is unequivocally awesome. So I think I shall revel in this euphoric feeling before it passes and I return to regularly scheduled whining. Yes, I'm at work on a Sunday, and have worked every one of the last 8 days. But I honestly love my job and will genuinely miss it when it's over next week. (And not just because unemployment sucks). I think the reason today rocks so much is because it was supposed to be INSANE. But here are the reasons why I'm full of sunshine, lollipops, and puppy snuggles today:

This is me today.

1. Daylight Savings Time. I got a fantastic night's sleep thanks to good ol' DST. I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to take on the day. And because it's Sunday, there was no traffic. At all. It took me less than 15 minutes to get here. If you've experienced L.A. traffic, you know what a HUGE deal that is.

2. My car, Stan, doesn't smell quite as bad as he did yesterday, so things are looking up after that fiasco.

3. Though I had no caffeine in my system, I was absolutely wired when I got to work. Like seriously, I had to reign in the impulse to perform an impromptu floor show set to a mash-up of the Hawaii 5-O theme song and Fuck You by Cee-Lo Green (the medley running through my head at a squirrel's pace and pitch). I so rarely feel naturally energetic and it was glorious.

4. I got to work in the registration room at work. Which does not sound remotely interesting or fun. Today was supposed to be our busiest, most hectic, most scream-at-each other's-incompetence day. But everyone I encountered was also in a stellar mood, super friendly, and grateful for our excellent customer service. I don't interact with new people all that often, so the chance to actually have some face time with people who do what I want to do, was exhilarating. It was fast-paced, but never overwhelming, and made the morning just fly by. Plus, someone asked me to bless their badge so they would have good luck at the Market. I placed my hand on it and cried, "BOOSH!"

5. Because today is our busiest day, we got to order room service for lunch on the company's dime. Free food is always welcome, and fancy free food that they bring right to your door is quite the novelty for me.

6. When I sat back down at my desk, I had an e-mail waiting for me from the Sassy Curmudgeon. I had e-mailed her a while ago to tell her how much her blog meant to me (and how frickin' hilarious it is, so if you haven't read it yet, check it out post haste. I'll wait...). She is super cool and was really supportive and encouraging of my little endeavor here. I felt literally star struck. She also made the incredibly kind gesture of plugging Sporadic Sporkitudes via her blogroll. So yay many times over!

7. The weather has finally cooled down, but it is still an absolutely gorgeous day in Santa Monica. We can hear the screams from the roller coaster on the pier, which sounds disconcerting, but is actually kind of fun. We can see sailboats gliding on the mid-afternoon ocean and the waves are all sparkly like something out of a beach town reality show.

8. I feel hot today. I probably don't look hot. But it's of those rare occasions when my self-esteem is actually pretty damn high. So even though I know it's all in my head, and I'll soon go back to feeling like a lumbering Russian circus bear, I like the way I look today. (Plus I got a sweet but not creepy compliment from a guy in the reg room).

9. There are hot. guys. everywhere I look. I never get to see attractive men. It seems like everyone I meet is either female, gay, married and/or old, or freshly released from prison. (Sadly I was attracted to the ex-con. He was easily 6'3'' and I have a tall-guy fetish. Plus I made him giggle. A huge, tattooed bald ex-addict with a Hollywood anklet and I made him giggle). Not only are there hot guys everywhere, but they're hot film guys. Double bonus. Plus, I met the love of my life. A be-stubbled Canadian filmmaker with a Jew fro in a plaid shirt who was a decent height and who laughed at my lame 'pen thief' joke. That's like every single one of my turn-ons.

10. Working today means I get super duper magical bonus round overtime pay. And there is not a thing wrong with that ; )

Seriously. Wow.

So to recap, I feel fantastic about life. It may be light-years from perfect, but right now I really can't complain.

UPDATE: Just as I finished this ridiculously saccharin post, I've learned that there is a Laker game tonight. Goddammit. That means I have to sit in my smelly car for an hour. Well, the euphoria was nice while it lasted.

Never flash a Japanese businessman...

Working this event has been a lot like revisiting middle school. The company can be kind of cliquey (Everyone is absolutely wonderful. We just have our little groups and tend to stick to them); we eat in a cafeteria (and experience that moment of panic in deciding where to sit down); and we ride the bus (the shuttle to the far-away parking garage). There is also a bevy of delicious snacks!

My story tonight, after a ridiculously long and tiresome day, involves the shuttle bus and a poor, unfortunate Japanese film executive. These vans have rather small aisles so if you have any sort of girth at all, you have to turn sideways to get through. I happened to be wearing a dress today, and as I made my way to the back of the bus (where all the cool kids sit), my skirt got caught on one of the armrests. When I was no longer able to keep moving forward, I turned around to see what was impeding my progress. In this process, my dress flipped up and the Japanese businessman got quite an eyeful.

Luckily I was wearing bike shorts underneath my dress (ironically something I also used to do in elementary school. Though back then it was a fashion statement rather than an effort to keep my poor chunky thighs from viciously rubbing together.) But the experience was rather humiliating and unpleasant for all parties involved. The businessman didn't say anything, but the entire ride back to the garage he was chatting with his buddy in Japanese. Like any self-involved person, I assumed they were talking about me and my enormous...bike shorts. They were probably discussing a multi-million dollar business deal, but they very well could have been mocking me in a language I don't understand. Who's to say?

So the moral of the story is...I'm not sure. Just watch where you're going? And never flash a Japanese businessman. Unless he's paying you good money...