WTF?

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Bastille Day 2010

Not long after Americans celebrate their Independence Day every July 4th, the French honor a similar holiday ten days later. This is known as Bastille Day. I could go into the history of why the Bastille is important, (even though the monument in Paris dedicated to this event is tiny and underwhelming just like a lot of things I've experienced lately), but that's not what this post is about at all. Two years ago on July 14th, while the French were setting off lots of fireworks, wearing scarves, and eating patriotic colored cheeses (I'm really not sure how they celebrate to be honest), I was having quite possibly one of the worst days of my life.

That's it?

Let's rewind the clock back to Summer 2010. (*Diddly do diddly do diddly do*) I had basically been unemployed since mid-November, even though I had recently attained an expensive but ultimately worthless college degree. I had briefly worked for the Census, (oh god, the horror!), and was reading scripts for a screenwriting competition at $10 a pop under the table (shhhh!), but still drowning financially. My unemployment checks didn't even cover half of my rent, and I was tearing through my savings just to afford little luxuries like the occasional ramen noodle packet and electricity.

Oh life sustaining yet nutrition less white carbs.
So delicious when you don't depend on them for survival.
 I may have this for lunch just because I can now afford real food.

Thankfully, my parents were able to take over my exorbitant student loan payments temporarily, which was a major financial hardship for them. I was also hugely overweight at the time. Not that this was unusual for me, but it certainly didn't help matters. I didn't really know that many people in Los Angeles, even though I'd lived there for a whole year. So basically I just sat alone in my apartment all day desperately combing Craigslist and other job listing sites for anything to keep the tiny South Central studio roof over my head.

It was a shitty, shitty period in my life. Weeks would go by when the only time I would step outside my door would be to move Stan from one side of the street to the other for street sweeping days. If it wasn't for this simple, yet very important task, I would have had no concept of what day of the week it was. Street sweeping was the only thing that gave me structure in my life. That's why I awoke with a jolt when I heard the obnoxious beeping of the street sweeper at 8am on Wednesday, July 14th, two hours before it was due. I had been planning on moving my car right before 10am, so I bolted out of my iron screen door wearing only a t-shirt and bright yellow happy face boxers. Sure enough, the entire side of the street was empty, and Stan was nowhere to be found. A helpful neighbor sitting on his stoop informed me that my car had been towed.

It's sad when this is the only thing giving your life structure.

This was a first for me. I had never had a car towed or even legitimately ticketed in my life! (Ok, there was that time six months earlier when I got a fix-it ticket for a busted headlight because Stan's cover fell off and lightbulbs always seem to burst). I was flabbergasted, flummoxed, and in all other ways bewildered. Luckily, said helpful neighbor knew where it had been taken and the impound was within walking distance. So I got dressed and walked the streets of South Central to rescue Stan. Remember how I said I was unemployed and broke at the time? I think I had maybe $40 in my checking account and that was it. My credit card practically screamed out loud when I had to fork over $300 to retrieve my beloved vehicle. It turns out that they were paving the street that day, without notifying the residents of Mont Clair St. They did post signs saying 'temporary tow away', but they did not have a date on them and I swear they had been up since the previous week. You know how they tend to leave those signs up for weeks after completion...

Sigh.

When I got to Stan, I noticed that not only was I towed, but there was a ticket on his windshield. SERIOUSLY? I didn't know you could be both towed and ticketed for the same offense. Yup. You can. The ticket was only for $60, which doesn't seem like that much. However, this paltry amount would have literally bankrupted me. I was so depressed that I didn't feel like going home after the impound. So I drove. I ended up all the way in Santa Monica, just wandering the beautiful, clean, smoke-free streets. Until I found the King's Head pub. And proceeded to drown my sorrows with cider and over-priced fish and chips. (Hey, I'd already spent $300 on my only credit card, what's another $30 at this point?). After the pub, I walked around the beach and pier, being all classy and day drunk, wallowing in misery. I had to stay there for several hours until my ill-advised mini-bender wore off and I could go home.

Ye Olde King's Head Pub. 

But I ended up fighting the ticket. I sent in a letter to the Parking Violations stating my case, and waited. And waited. To this day, I never received anything from them. Then my dad gets a letter from the DMV saying that I can't re-register my car until it's paid. Only now it's $154 with the late fee.

"We could certainly party with the Haiti-ans!"

WHAT THE HELL????!!! I had to call in three separate times and wait on hold for them to determine that they sent the letter with the decision that the ticket was valid (B.S.) to the wrong address. Luckily, I was able to sweet-talk them into waiving that late fee, "totally based on my powers of persuasion." Cher Horowitz would have been proud. And since I now have a job (though I still manage to be broke all the time), it's not quite as painful to shell out $60. But since the registration deadline is ticking, I had to make sure that the check got mailed today. Because naturally this is the one case where you can't pay over the phone or online. Argh. So I literally chased down the mail man, who happened to be driving by. He was very friendly and took my letter for me. He was also a champ and didn't laugh when the back full of donated clothes I happened to be carrying split all over the road. (I was going to make a pit-stop at the Salvation Army barrel thingy). It was quite the slapsticky sight to see.

Clearly Sadie has a "Stan" of her own!

Super long, depressing, and boring story short, this was one of the worst days of my life. The only thing that got me out of my funk was that my adorable, spunky niece Miss Sadie was born the next day. So even though my life was still super crappy, I realized that being an aunt makes it all worthwhile. (Cue the Awwwws here!)

Arcade Ragamuffins

I went mini-golfing yesterday, and it was fabulous as mini-golf tends to be. After the main event, we stuck around to play games at the castle-themed arcade (sidebar, why are mini-golf places always shaped like castles? Did they used to play mini-golf in medieval times? Were knights lining up to put brightly colored balls into holes in astroturf?). I was never big on video games, but I loves me some skeeball. Skeeball is, as they say, The Shit.

Castles and mini-golf. What's the connection?

But the point of this story is not to recount our nostalgic evening trying recapture our childhood. I bring this up because I witnessed something very disturbing at Sherman Oaks Castle Park. Not one child, but TWO children came up to us and asked us for spare tokens! Like friggin' orphans from Oliver Twist all strung out on Dance Dance Revolution and Cruisin' USA (that's a thing, right?). "Please sir, I'd like some more...tokens!!!!" The nerve of these children! One of which couldn't have been more than five or six. Who taught him that it was ok to go up to total strangers, looking all cute and pathetic and panhandle for another round of Buckshot Something-or-Other?

Ya greedy bastard!

My first thought was, where are their parents? Did they just dump them off at the arcade so they could go have grown-up time (meaning intravenous drug abuse and unprotected sex?) But then it occurred to me that if they had such parents, these children were probably never taught that it was wrong to beg. I just wanted to shake this poor little boy and say, "You want tokens? Get a job and buy your own damn tokens! Because this is Amer'ca, goddammit!" But then I would be the one kicked out and not this charming little vagrant.

I just really love skeeball.

One kid even tried to get into our good graces by offering color commentary as we played a very confusing safari game consisting of shooting at giant spiders and flies (for no particular reason). I was like, dude, occupado! After the game was over, he asked for spare tokens again! This just went against everything I stood for! Especially because those tokens were not cheap. (Even though we got a half-off coupon...)

So the point is, this could potentially be an epidemic! Are America's youth being taught that if you bat your eyes and stick out your lower lip, people will just drop hours of free video game play in your lap? I say NO! Not in my backyard!

Movin' On Up To the Northside

Well, technically I am moving up in the world. From ghetto South Central to glamorous North Hollywood. Though despite my change in latitude, I really see this as a lateral move rather than an upgrade. I was super excited to find a one bedroom for not much more than my studio, plus when you subtract the cost of the ever-rising gas prices, it's a great deal. And it's a great apartment, in theory. But when I saw it this morning in the harsh light of day, I realized several things:

1. It wasn't painted. Which I wouldn't care, but it really looks bad. All sorts of scuffs and marks and dirt.

2. The sinks and counters are dirty, like they were never cleaned.

3. There are holes in the walls that they didn't even bother to spackle.

4. The cupboards are in terrible shape. They are grimy and stained. They also need contact paper.

5. There is a hole in the bedroom where a outlet plate used to be.

6. The light in the bedroom is basically a bare bulb.

7. There's a random CHP bumper sticker on the front door (which is filthy).

8. The overhead light in the kitchen is broken and dirty.

9. There's probably more that I'm forgetting, but you get my point.

I hate to rant about stuff like this. I have super-low standards (I live in South Central, exhibit A), and I am not the kind of person who files formal complaints or asserts her rights as a tenant. Which is why my heater and a/c have been broken for a year and a half. And then I get all passive aggressive and whine about it online or to my mom without actually getting the problem fixed or fixing it myself. And that's on me.

But still, when you rent an apartment, even a cheaper one in a quasi-ghetto, you expect certain things. Especially if the previous tenant lived there for over 5 years. Fresh paint is not too much to ask for. No gaping holes in the wall isn't either. It's mostly the kind of stuff that on its own isn't a big deal. But when you realize that there's a flaw in every room, that's all you can see. And I don't have a lot of time, energy, money, skill or patience to fix this stuff myself.

Maybe it's the beer I had at lunch (yes I actually went out and bought beer on my own accord for the first time ever), but I just feel super down about this now. It's taken all the fun out of setting up a new place and all the possibilities that come with it. I know you get what you pay for, but seriously? I'm just wondering if this is going to be worth the pain in the ass it's been so far to move. Because right now I'm having major renter's remorse.

I remember the first day I moved into my current apartment and just looking around, completely stoked that I had my own place. It was fresh and clean and cute, even if it was in a bad part of town. But moving into the new place just feels like putting on someone else's dirty laundry. That's the best way I can think of to describe it.

The worst part is, I am just not comfortable asking for things. I hate to inconvenience people, even if I'm the one being inconvenienced. I know it's important to be assertive, but on the other hand, it's almost more important to me to have a good relationship with people I have to be in contact with frequently. I hate and avoid awkward situations at all costs. But what do you say? Um... I'm sorry, I think you missed a spot during the week plus that you had to get this apartment ready for a new tenant who is paying a significant portion (even if it is cheap for LA).

I guess I'm going to go back there later this afternoon to take some before pictures and maybe do some cleaning. It just sucks because I shouldn't have to. I'm already going to bust my ass cleaning this apartment because that's what a decent person does when you move out. Or a decent landlord who understands that apartments need to be clean and ready for the new tenant. That's why there's a freaking security deposit, folks. Maybe it's because I now work in the industry, at a place where the standard is impeccable. All the people who call me to bitch about the tiniest thing have now been wearing off on me and I've become the kind of person I hate.

I apologize that my first blog in weeks is such a boring downer. But I really needed to get this off my chest before I resume dragging my stuff up to the Valley. Sigh.

Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Ranting

I'm so over thongs. Not that I was under them really. I just don't see what the big deal is. They're uncomfortable, for one thing. Basically a voluntary permanent wedgie. Which is fine if you're into that I guess. But my biggest problem with thongs is that they fail to achieve their primary purpose: to eliminate the dreaded underwear line. (I refuse to use the word 'panty' *shudder* or VPL since I loathe acronyms that you end up having spell out anyway. Why waste the time in the first place? I'm looking at you, Rachel Ray with your EVOO). I'd say 60% of the time, you can still tell the wearer is wearing a thong. It morphs into 'visible thong line' which to me is more embarrassing than people knowing you're wearing full, comfy underwear (I don't mean granny panties, but a little coverage is way better than none at all).

And yet this girl was worried about a visible panty line.

(It killed my soul to google 'pictures of thongs.' I wouldn't recommend it)

Thongs often stick out of the top of your pants, and if you're wearing a dress, it's often noticeable as well, depending on the fabric in question. The lines just go around your hips instead of under your tush. And why does everyone freak out so much about a visible underwear line anyway? Does it affect them in the slightest? There are children starving in Africa among other places and we're worried about panties? *shudder* At least we can afford panties! *shudder* So be grateful that we have enough disposable income that we don't have to go commando (which for me is completely out of the question. Unsanitary and even more uncomfortable). Speaking of disposable income, thongs tend to be more expensive than regular underwear too. What's up with that? Less material, lighter weight for shipping, and yet more moolah just for a fancy-looking wedgie. Boooo. I can understand thongs when it comes to sexy time. Because they're decorative rather than functional and are usually discarded fairly early on into the festivities. But as for day to day undergarments, the thong is kaput!

Thong despisers of the world, unite!

Allow me to rant a bit...

Today has just sucked (other than spending the first part of it with my wonderful Mama Hutch and fellow gang members). I feel like whining because I should be ironing my new suit and I think I'll avoid that by throwing a colossal hissy fit. A hissy fit, in list format.

1. My throat feels like "death shat on me." (Thanks to my friend Kirsten for that little nugget.)

2. I'm still achey and weak from this dragged-out cold, but I don't have insurance so I'm hoping it's not something more serious than laryngitis.

3. I have no voice because I used what was left of it debating with my dad last night about heteronormative gender roles and feminism. It was already going, and now it's gone. And I have to go to work tomorrow and spend a large portion of the day rasping into the phone.

4. My plane was late, and check-in/security took way longer than usual.

5. Confession: the seat belts on airplanes just barely fit me. I am that reviled, disgusting creature who is so large, she will soon probably be asked to purchase an additional seat which I so can't afford. It's humiliating fighting with the seat buckle, just barely getting it to close and then have it snap open again. When I switched to the seat next to me, it closed just fine. So it wasn't me! But in the meantime, this was mortifying. It's like the time I couldn't get the seatbelt on a roller coaster to close and they had to stop the whole ride to help me. My face was bright red and sweating from the effort. Kevin Smith, I feel your pain. Pray you never have this problem and stick with your new year's resolutions.

6. Because I still am harboring this cold like a fugitive, my ears still refuse to pop, giving me a massive headache and echoing in my ears.

7. Baggage claim took forever. Taxi line took forever. It's 39 degrees in Burbank, not exactly the kind of weather you want to stand out in a thin, joke of a pea coat.

8. When I arrived at work to pick up my car, they told me they almost towed it. Wonderful, thanks for the heart attack, security.

9. Thankfully Stan started (which he doesn't like to do after several days of being neglected), but then when I got out of the front gate, this ditzy soccer mom in an SUV backed into my bumper, literally all up in Stan's grill. I honked at her, but she claimed she couldn't see me. Well you can't see something if you're not looking, honey. Luckily this was like 1 mile an hour and neither us, nor our vehicles were harmed. There will probably be an incident report tomorrow morning waiting for me since it took place on company property, but we didn't want to deal with the hassle.

10. I was so shaken from the accident that I almost rammed into someone else when turning onto the street. And I never am that careless. I hate being honked at. I take it way too personally.

11. So I get home and it's 54 degrees in my apartment and my heater is barely good for raising the temp 3 or 4 notches. Ffffff-reezing!

12. My friend is coming to stay with me for a couple of days until she finds an apartment. I'm happy to have her, but I fear that I will just be a big, old, frozen solid block of crankypants who can't talk and can't listen because her ears have still not popped. Not to mention, I'll be working like crazy to prove that I'm not a slacker at my new job. And there are dishes in the sink and trash piling up and I really don't have the energy to deal with them right now.

13. Oh, I'm still depressed about my grandfather's funeral during which Papa Hutch gave a heart-wrenching eulogy that haunts me to this day.

14. OH and Mama Hutch and I went suit shopping on New Year's Eve, which was miserable because I'm two different sizes and completely out of proportion in many areas. Shopping for something specific as a plus-sized woman at her holiday heaviest is not fun, let me tell you. You'd think every store would carry a plain black suit in every single size, but nope. No they don't. And even with extensive tailoring, the ones I ended up with are both snug and pouchy.

15. One final thing: I'm exhausted because I kept having to wake up to go pee in the middle of the night because I was good and drank buckets of water to get over this black death. Whoever said "Drink plenty of fluids" clearly had an iron bladder the size of the hoover dam.

Ok, I think that's everything that's irritating me. Other than fighting the scam website which totally screwed me out of 200 bucks and AT&T for charging me a massive late fee when they never sent me a bill in the first place. Bollocks bollocks bollocks. 2011 was supposed to be different, Universe. You better get'cho shit together. On the plus side, I did spot a little kid wearing a tin foil hat at the airport, presumably so aliens couldn't read his mind. My team.

Hopefully I'll be in a much better mood for my next post, but in the meantime, Happy Friggin' New Year.

A Thanksgiving Rant

I have been attempting so far to blog every day, but being home when there are so many fun things to do and awesome people to see (including meeting my four month old niece Sadie for the first time, yay!), it's kind of hard to even check my facebook once a day, much less keep up with a stringent blogging schedule. When I get back to L.A. I will try to maintain with my original goal. Anyway, on to the ranting.

I love Thanksgiving. It is my favorite holiday. I love it more than Halloween (which I actually hate because it requires too much effort, I am terrified of haunted houses, and I can never think of good costumes). I love it more than Easter (when you're too old for egg hunts and usually don't even bother going home, and are vehemently non-religious, it's kind of pointless other than eating festive candy like Cadbury eggs...mmm... what was I talking about?). I even love it more than Christmas (too stressful, expensive, and on some level always disappointing after it's over no matter how awesome it was).

I love the parade. It's cheesy, ridiculous, and often boring, but I love it. We usually put up our Christmas decorations while watching it, as my mom starts cooking and the whole house smells fantastic. I love the fall foliage in Foresthill that I so rarely see in Southern California. I love going to eat literally hundreds of pies at my grandma's or aunt's house that evening. It's a holiday soley devoted to food and family, two of my all-time favorite things. Plus it's an excuse for me to see most of my old friends who come home to stuff their faces as well. Not to mention leftovers. Thanksgiving to me is magical.

Don't blame this delicious turkey for our

jackass ancestors. He already died so that you might feast.

So why am I ranting? Because there's always that one person at dinner who brings up the Native Americans. What we did to them was real shitty. There is no denying that. But lots of great civilizations have sordid histories. It's terrible, but true. Our ancestors did it to their ancestors. No one alive today has been directly affected by those atrocities. I am not trying to justify or belittle their pain and suffering. All I am saying is, do we really have to bring it up EVERY SINGLE YEAR? It's like the one guy who always mentions 'tryptophan.' You're not revealing some startling new fact. We all know this. Can we just sit around the table, say what we are grateful for, eat our fucking delicious turkey, and not have our already formidable white guilt turn the meal that Mom worked so hard for sour in our bulging bellies?

With Facebook, this awful tradition has become global and therefore has increased exponentially. By updating your status with something about Native Americans, it doesn't make you seem intelligent and sensitive. It makes you a Debbie Downer. So please enjoy the day off from work, appreciate that you are not a culture that was shamelessly oppressed by another, and have another piece of pumpkin pie. And for that matter, anyone else who makes the oh-so-witty and original observation that Americans are gluttonous and mindless consumers should also be slapped.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

A Prop 19 Soapbox by a Non-Stoner

Welcome to Election Day. Or if you're me, welcome to In N Out Burger Day at my work. I'm more excited about the prospect of free, delicious burgers than I am about voting this year. This is for three reasons. 1) Have you had In N Out? It's like a religious experience. 2) I really don't feel strongly about any of the candidates/propositions. They all kind of suck. 3) I am one of those mythical, reviled "apathetic youth" that has trouble getting riled up about politics. Yes I know I should care. And there are a few issues I feel very strongly about. These are:

1) The economy. But mostly because I personally will not have a job soon.

2) Keeping religion the hell out of government (don't even get me started).

3) Allowing homosexuals to marry, adopt children, and generally be treated like honest-to-goodness U.S. citizens (see #2)

4) Legalizing marijuana.

That is my entire political platform. If you ever see me rant about something that actually matters (unlike late 90s family sitcoms), it will probably be about one of those issues. The last of which concerns me today on this lovely November 2nd. I will now issue an important disclaimer: I am NOT a stoner. I personally couldn't care less about marijuana. I have tried it a couple times (in Amsterdam where it was legal and what a shocker, they haven't managed to burn their city to the ground yet). And while it wasn't a negative experience, I really didn't care much for it. I'd be perfectly happy if I never did it again.

Meh.

So why am I so fired up about Prop 19, the proposition to legalize minimal possession of pot? Because California needs the money. I'm sick of budget cuts, bankruptcy, tuition fee hikes, tax increases, overcrowded prisons and all manner of unpleasantness. By taxing and controlling marijuana as much as possible (let's not kid ourselves that we'll be able to control all of it), we can reap the dual benefits of saving money on this ridiculous War on Mary Jane, and tax the shit out of it so we can start filling potholes again.

Kids are going to smoke marijuana, whether or not it's legal. Just like kids are going to smoke cigarettes and drink alcohol before they become of age. I know that's poor logic to say just because people kill other people and we can't stop them, we should just make it legal. But honestly, I'd rather have my kid light up a joint at a friend's house on occasion, than get into a car drunk, or start the lifelong addiction to nicotine that leads to cancer. But it is practically impossible, not to mention unlikely that someone will overdose or become addicted to marijuana. In fact, the only reason marijuana became illegal in the first place was because the cotton lobbyists wanted to muscle out hemp in the fabric business. It's basically a smear campaign for economic reasons. I'm not going to get into the health benefits of medical marijuana, seeing as that's already legal and for good reasons.

The main reason I believe in legalizing marijuana is because I firmly believe that the government does not have the right to tell us what to do with our own bodies. Marijuana is not a safety issue, as people are most likely to do it in their own homes just to relax. And while innocent bystanders may experience a "contact high," it is nothing compared to the dangers of second hand cigarette smoke. So if you don't believe in smoking marijuana, don't do it. I fully support that. Just like I fully support abstaining from alcohol or cigarettes for moral or health reasons. But why do you get to harsh someone else's buzz? (Is that what the kids are calling it these days? I'm not really up on my pot lingo). Please don't be like those awful Prohibition activists in the early 20th century. No one liked them, and people kept drinking anyway, with no taxation.

Awesome movie, but not exactly factual.

Decriminalize this harmless, recreational substance. Stop watching Reefer Madness, believing it to be a hard-hitting documentary. Stem the wasted tax dollars on hunting down small-time smokers, and reap the benefits of marijuana revenue. Go Prop 19! Sure, it might be flawed, and not everything we would want in legalization of marijuana, but it's a step in the right direction.

(I know, I should back up these claims with citations and research, but I have to get to work and I really don't have time. Just google it if you're curious. I could be wrong about some things, but my intentions are pure)

And one more thing "It is one thing to get laced at parties, but it is quite another to be fried all day." -Clueless. So smoke responsibly. And buy air freshener, not incense, because that shit smells.

http://www.drugwarrant.com/articles/why-is-marijuana-illegal/

UPDATE: Post election. Wasn't a fan of either gubernatorial candidate. Or the word 'gubernatorial.' And I really didn't expect that we would get away with Prop 19. Eh. What are you gonna do. I'm going to watch SPICE WORLD. Who needs marijuana when you have GIRL POWER!!

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!!!

A Case of the Mondays

Every Monday the scene from Office Space pops into my head in which Peter laments the phrase, "Sounds like someone's got a case of the Mondays!" Like Peter, this drives me positively batty. So does any variation of "Thank god it's Friday!" We all have co-workers who never tire of pointing out what day it is. They don't seem to realize that the same day comes around at the same time every week. While you may be grateful that the weekend is nigh after a particularly long and challenging work week, it still doesn't change the fact that Monday is just a few days around the corner. Deal with it.

Not Pictured: Me taking out my frustration with a cricket bat

As I was making use of the facilities today, however, I encountered a co-worker I kind of know, but don't really converse with often. She seems perfectly nice, but so far we haven't struck any common ground in terms of bonding. Bathroom small talk is awkward as it is, but in this situation, you can't just ignore the other person. Naturally there was the "Hi, how are you?" "Great, how are you?" "Just fine." But there's still that extra space of time when you're both not quite finished washing your hands. What do you say? The only thing I could thing of was, "Ugh, it's Monday." I was able to stop myself from becoming the type of person I hate, but I am super uncomfortable with silence. "The wise man speaks because he has something to say. The fool speaks because he has to say something." By this definition, as well as by many others, I am a fool.

This experience has led me to a deeper understanding of those obnoxious co-workers that Peter, myself, and most of the world endure. We're all just trying to fill the silence and sometimes the only guaranteed successful conversation topic is "Monday," "Hump Day," or "Friday." So even though it's trite and cliche, it's something we can all relate to (now that Lost is over, anyway). I suppose I'd rather say TGIF and be a fool than nothing at all and be a snob.

I couldn't help but wonder...

As I was watching the Sex and the City movie, I started thinking about Carrie Bradshaw's sex column. I have a lot of issues with SATC, which I'll probably go into more detail at another time. Basically, my main problem is that it's about supposedly smart, sophisticated and independent women but the only thing they find to talk about is men and shoes. It's so superficial, one-dimentional, and poorly written. I'm a fan of the occasional pun, but when that's the extent of your humor and writing prowess, maybe you shouldn't be a writer. It's also one long advertisement for Louis Vitton, Manolo Blahnik, and Mercedes Benz. Despite all this I still watch it frequently and find it immensely satisfying on a very shallow level.

I could rant forever about Sex and the City, but for now I'll just focus on the topic at hand. The whole premise of the show/movie is that Carrie Bradshaw is a writer who uses herself and her friends as the subjects of social and sexual discussion in her columns. Now, I've seen every single episode and the first movie several times (I haven't bothered with the second for obvious reasons). And although the ladies have had drama among themselves (my personal favorite is when Miranda actually points out the fact that their entire lives, not to mention conversation, focus on men), they don't seem to be bothered by Carrie's candid revelations of their most intimate relationships and sexual encounters.

Carrie contemplating how she can use her friends' intimate gossip for profit

There's a joke in the movie that Samantha makes her maid of honor speech. "In our group, we never kiss and tell." It's funny because that's all they do. I have no problem with girl talk among friends. Certainly my friends and I share more details with each other than our own partners would appreciate. But Carrie delves into every instance of lady parts problems, mechanical mishap, secret fetish, and each indiscretion with all of New York as an audience. I can't help but wonder, doesn't this bother Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda? Each of them has a very public image, high power career, relationships to maintain, and in Charlotte's case, a prudish sense of sexual privacy. Are they getting a cut of Carrie's profit from their secrets? Is that why they don't mind the breach of slumber party/cocktail confidence?

The reason it irritates me that it doesn't irritate them is that as a writer myself, I often wonder where to draw the line when drawing from my own experiences and those of my acquaintances. There are some incredible stories I could tell about my friends, but there is no way I would share them with the world. That's the worst kind of gossip, the kind that could actually damage reputations and dissolve friendships. I even quibble about characters I've written that are partially inspired by real people. I'm so afraid of offending people, worse of getting sued by them. Maybe it all comes down to the fact that Carrie is so self-absorbed that she listens to her friends and instantly ponders how she can use the intel for her new book. She doesn't consider that it might hurt Miranda's career as a partner at a law firm, or Samantha's public relations gigs.

In the end I guess it doesn't matter. As much as Sex and the City drives me nuts, I still love it and will probably keep watching it over and over again while drinking cosmos with my girls. Like Twilight, it taps into that primal girl psyche, and overrides any rational realization that it's vapid and ridiculous. Also Patricia Fields' costume choices more often than not make my eyes wish they could vomit. I know she's considered a genius or whatever, but about 95% of the time, the ladies just look absurd. But I love to hate it, even though I secretly love it. Holy guilty pleasure, Batman.

"'Welcome to the Real Word', She Said to Me, Condescendingly"

I love when I discover a movie or show that completely parallels my life at the time I experience it. Like when I saw Avenue Q right after graduating from college, and wondered "What do you do with a B.A. in Film and Media Studies?" Or when I started watching and relating to My So-Called Life when I was super depressed about something way too dark to blog about. Even Mamma Mia I saw twice in the theaters, and both times were incredibly poignant (one involved a pregnancy test in the Regal Cinema bathroom, and the other was on a Hawaiian vacation with my best friends in the whole world).

Today was the first time I've ever seen Reality Bites, the definitive Gen X diary. It's a tale of coffee, cigarettes, and existential crises. Personally, I've always identified with the more carefree youth of the 80s, as evidenced by my taste in music, movies, and worship of John Hughes. But now watching this movie, and thinking back to My So-Called Life, and the Seattle Grunge rock I was exposed to at a young age, by my older brothers, I think I may be a moody, chain-smoking, AIDS-fearing, emotionally stunted Gen X at heart (just minus the cigarettes).

This movie is one of the greatest examples of what it feels like being a post-grad and just struggling to find your identity in a world where you have no real role models. No one tells you it's going to suck, and if they do, you don't believe them. Because your whole life you've been told you're going to succeed. You're going to graduate college, start your fulfilling and lucrative career, meet the person of your dreams, and settle down, etc. So you have all these expectations of where you should be by the age of 23 (which is in two weeks for me), 24, 25. And you compare yourself to the friends who have already gotten there. People you've known since high school who are married and have kids, or are on track for their dream jobs. And you're just barely treading water.

So you find what does make you happy, friends, family, your passion. And just enjoy those little moments, because now is the time when you're supposed to be screwed up and confused and basically suck at life without the structure of a curriculum. But I'm impatient. I just want to get where I'm going already, or at least be on the right path. I also want to smack people when they smirk and say "Welcome to the Real World," as if they have it all figured out. We all know it sucks. But knowing it and experiencing it are two very different things.

Sorry for being so dark and bitter. It's raining, plus I think Ethan Hawke's pretentious existentialism rubbed off on me. Though it only further demonstrates why I was born in completely the wrong era. But if anyone of you is also going through this now-typical recession-fueled quarter-life crisis, then watch Reality Bites. Because it's pretty damn good. And it's a damn shame Winona Ryder peaked so early.

Wannabe Entertainment Weekly Article: Lone Star's Untimely Demise

It is my favorite season at last! Season premiere season! I'm a big fan of Fall in general. The weather, the clothes, the food, the atmosphere. But the most exciting thing to me is getting to watch and review (for personal edification, rather than for compensation) the season openers and hot off the press pilots. As a TV junkie (who ironically has no TV), I have caught a good chunk of the new shows this year, and I've been rather impressed.

1. How I Met Your Mother, one of my favorite shows of all time, returns fresh from a rather stilted, sitcommy Season 5 with the undeniable combination of Wayne Brady and Neil Patrick Harris. Good times were had by all.

2. Mike & Molly, which I was excited about, being an overweight person finally represented on TV by characters who were not just sassy sidekicks. You'd think we were a minority from the way we're invisible on screen. Embrace the jigglypuff, America. They got a lot of the obligatory fat jokes out of the way, and still managed to have some sweet moments.

3. Hawaii 5-0. Never watched the old one. Probably wouldn't watch the new one if it excluded Jin from Lost and super sexy though super boring Alex O'Loughlin. But I was pleased to see as the inaugural baddies, the less attractive Boondock Saint (Norman Reedus) and Buffy's own Spike the vampire (James Marsters). Wasn't otherwise too impressed with the pilot, but the following episode ended with an adorable makeshift police academy graduation.

4. Raising Hope. The best new show I've seen so far. It's random and awkward (high praise in my terms), with a pretty man candy lead, and extremely well-done. Highlight was when new father Jimmy pukes on his new baby whilst changing her diaper. Sounds cheap and vulgar, but it was genuinely hysterical. Watch it now, I say!

5. Glee. I love it with all my heart, but it is seriously flawed. Hated the new kids, and as for the Britney episode, surely they could have picked better songs. Though "Stronger" re-imagined as an 80s training montage power ballad, was a stroke of genius.

6.. Lone Star. I confess I did not watch it. And I was not alone. It didn't really appeal to me, despite the attractive star. But upon hearing the news yesterday that Fox was canceling it after two underachieving episodes, my heart broke for the Dallas-set sudser. Fox has a history of canceling amazing shows (again, didn't see this one but it got great reviews), many of which became legendary in their afterlife. But what the network needs to remember, is that this was someone's baby. Someone dreamed up the concept, pitched it, was stoked when it sold, even more stoked when it was produced, and probably experienced the realization of a dream the night it aired. Its creator even appealed to audiences in an open letter, pleading his case to a public overwhelmed with new shows and old favorites. And yet still Lone Star got the axe. Production on episode 6 was halted, most likely never to be finished. All those people lost their jobs and may not be hired again now that the season is underway. Am I the only one who is touched by this? That some cliched money-grubbing executive can just yank the show off the air with a metaphorical vaudevillian shepherd's crook? I know television is a business, and what's a business, without revenue. But they could have at least given it a chance to find its identity and its audience before throwing in the towel. (How many metaphors can I mix here?) Anyway, I'll be mourning the death of a show I never watched while rejoicing in the (fingers crossed) success of my other obsessions.

Several Things

1. I just 'monetized' this blog, meaning I allowed Google to decide whatever ads best fit the content of said blog in order to perhaps make some money off of it. I know that this will in all likelihood never happen, but it couldn't hurt, right? And even if it does, the payoff is probably pennies. I'm just curious to see what they choose to advertise. I hope it's pie.

2. I almost ran over no less than 3 Orthodox Jewish folks on my way to a cappella practice tonight. Not on purpose. Unlike the 3 people on bikes I usually almost run over every day on the way home from work. Now those people I probably would aim for. Ten points for the snooty yoga-mat toting girls, twenty for the pretentiously 'green' yuppies of either gender. Not that I have anything against bikes, the environment, good exercise, or saving money on gas/insurance/metal box on wheels. But you can't ride a bike on the mean streets of LA and expect to live very long.

3. Today as I mentioned earlier was payday. Sweet. Tomorrow is chicken sandwich day. Even sweeter.

4. Whilst spying on my neighbors this morning, I noticed two detectives visiting the home of my neighbors across the street. They had guns, handcuffs, the whole nine. The looked more like software engineers than detectives, but the hardware they were packing was pretty impressive. I don't know what that was about, but it was pretty exciting. Hopefully I'll hear something from my wonderfully gossipy landlady who is always in the know. If I don't, then I'm making something up. Because all kinds of crazy goes down in this joint. And it's my job to observe, report, and possibly exaggerate. Because I have no life of my own.