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!

Welcome to NoHo, Bitch!

After over three years of living in what could arguably be considered "The Ghetto," tonight was the first time I ever felt like I was in any real danger. I was coming home from a night on the town with my girls, and had decided to take the Metro in order to skip the hassle of driving downtown. It was about 11:45pm and the train was just pulling into the NoHo station, the end of the line. Unfortunately, the escalator was out, so I had to hike up four flights of stairs in heels and a relatively short dress. I tried to hold the skirt against me to avoid flashing any unfortunate travelers below me, but apparently all this did was draw even more attention to my ass (which needs no introduction in the first place).

No easy feat.

I was still listening to my iPod, a necessity for warding off overly chatty neighbors on the train. But as I got closer to the top, I realized that someone was following a little too close. I needed all of my senses clear and my hands free. That someone turned out to be a man in his forties, about 5'6'', and drunk off his ass. He mumbled to me something along the lines of the following:

"You got a real cute ass. I want to munch on it."

Um. Ew.

My standard girl response was to walk quicker and just ignore my would-be suitor. I had my phone out just in case, and grabbed my keys out of my purse. Cursing the fact that I hadn't been able to park closer, I motored to the safety of Stan. I realized that the guy was following me still, quiet like a really drunk ninja. No one was around at this point, and the hoards of security guards hovering around earlier that night were nowhere to be found. 

The guy got down on the ground as I unlocked the door of my car. He was clearly trying to look up my skirt again, slurring some more about my nice ass and how he wanted to lick it. Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ewwwwwww!

The most badass scene of all time.

Without thinking, I brandished my car key like Crocodile Dundee's machete and said, "I will fucking stab you in the eyeballs if you don't get the fuck away from me right now." Then I threatened to call the police. He looked scared, as well he should, and stumbled away. 

I am one terrifying son of a bitch.

I got in my car, locked the door, and sped away. I almost hit him on the way out of the parking lot. That would have been Stan's revenge.

So the moral of the story is, always have your keys ready, and when ignoring someone doesn't work, threaten them with severe maiming and foul language.

I was having a bad day before this, and being raped was really the last thing I needed. In a way, I guess I should thank him. Because now I feel like an Amazon badass, straight outta South Central. Rather than feeling shaken and fragile, I feel empowered and self-sufficient. I don't need some stupid security guard. I'm my own goddamn security guard.

Suck it.

Things That Make Me Happy

My life sucks right now for a multitude of reasons that I do not care to divulge. But I am taking a cue from my brilliant friend Jessica right now, and focusing on the things that make me happy.

1. Lists.

I think most of the posts on this blog are at least partially in list format. Lists help me make sense of things. There's some kind of weird satisfaction to be derived in taking inventory of things in an easily digestible format, and checking them off one by one. When I was a little girl I would make lists of my chores (which I would do completely willingly and with joy if I got a little index card to write them all down on). I even won an award for this slightly OCD behavior in my Sunday School class. Even when I'm miserable, writing a list of all the things that piss me off somehow makes me feel better.

Jesus bonding with my dad.
(This sentence is hilarious if you know
my vehemently atheistic father)

2. Jesus.

I don't mean your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. But Jesus, my family's dog back in Foresthill. My parents call him something else, but that's not his real name. I don't call my dog Jesus because I'm being sacrilegious or deliberately insulting (though I do admit to feeling a bit of mischevious glee due to this moniker). He is Jesus because he is kind, loyal, protective, and loves unconditionally. He can tell when I'm feeling sad and just his quiet presence is comforting.

3. Stan.

I know that Stan is an inanimate object. He can't really think, complain, or sympathize. But there have been many times that I have just sat in my car and felt like I wasn't alone. In a not-creepy kind of way. It's like being with an old friend who has been with me through so many ups and downs (some of which he actually caused), and is still trucking along.

It only comes around once in a blue moon.
Unless you go through a LOT of peanut butter I suppose.

4. Peanut Butter.

Specifically the first spoonful from a brand new jar of Skippy creamy peanut butter. Simple pleasures.

5. Being Employed.

I have had some rocky times with my career, though so far, the move to a new property in Pasadena has been amazing. I'm still adjusting, but at least I have a reason to get up and put on pants in the morning. A few years ago, pants were optional, and that was a very depressing state of mind. So I'm grateful to have a job.

I love it. Not ashamed one bit.
Even without the iconic theme song.

6. Netflix.

Netflix is my escape. I love being able to come home and lose myself in a ridiculously long marathon of whatever show I happen to be obsessed with at the time. Right now I'm knee-deep in Dawson's Creek, a show that I absolutely loved as a middle schooler, before I really understood half of what they were talking about. When you watch something is just as important as what you watch. And right now, it's so much easier to focus on the contrived problems of 30-year-old, narcissistic teenagers from a bygone era, than my own.

7. Cleaning.

While I am far from being a neat freak, there is something very cathartic about putting things back in order. When my apartment is cluttered, I feel like my brain is cluttered. Putting myself in project-mode, makes me feel productive and proactive, not useless and helpless. The best feeling of all is scrubbing my shower. While I keep things usually pretty tidy, this is one task that does not get done as often as it should. And it seems to happen mostly when there's been a big change in my life. Some girls get haircuts, I break out the Scrubbing Bubbles. There's some sort of symbolism there, but I don't feel like analyzing it right now.

The other side is pink, thus the name,
'Pretty Pink Blanket.'

8. My Pretty Pink Blanket.

Yes, I have a security blanket. I never really dragged it around with me like Linus in Peanuts, while sucking my thumb. But I still have the pink, floral bedspread with white lace around the edges that my mommy made me when I was probably around 6 or 7. It will always be the most warm, comfortable blanket ever. Even when it's too damn hot for a blanket, like right now, just seeing it draped over my crappy black futon makes me happy.

9. Taking a Walk.

I've been wallowing the past two days of my belated three-day weekend. I haven't really left the house other than to go to Sally Tomatoes practice, and 7-11 to buy some ill-advised Cookies & Cream. As important as that is for me to recharge, sometimes you just have to get out of the house. My favorite place to walk is down Magnolia in Burbank. There are a ton of cute little antique and vintage shops that I never actually go in, but love to pass by. I love just listening to my iPod, which always knows the right song to play, and figuring things out while shuffling along aimlessly.

10. Writing.

I don't really mean blogging, though that makes me happy too. Whenever I'm trying to deal with something, I open up a blank Word document and just start typing. It's amazing feeling to channel the crazed thoughts swirling around my chaotic brain into actual words. Writing the things I can't really tell anyone, and don't even like admitting to myself. It's the best therapy, and I highly recommend it. I also recommend securing the document with a password, because no one should ever have to read those manic, self-absorbed rants. (Though these blogs are only slightly less manic and self-absorbed...)

There are very few pictures of my entire family,
and even fewer that are easily pulled from other online sources.
I'm the little one inexplicably sitting in a car seat while not actually in a car.

11. My family.

Having a list of 11 items may seem like an odd number (get it? Odd? ba dum chhh!), and I guess this one kind of goes without saying. I also keep trying to think of a clever Spinal Tap reference that hasn't already been done, but just insert one here. Anyway, my family is amazing. They're all truly incredible people (except Nick. He's pretty dumb. Just kidding. He probably won't even read this) and even though they sometimes drive me nuts, I'm glad they're in my life. I include my friends in this category as well.

I'm including this one because my mom isn't in the one above.

Anyway, that's enough sap to fill an entire bottle of syrup. I need to get going on my cathartic cleaning rampage. That shower isn't going to scrub itself!

Beulah

I'm having an affair, and what's worse, I'm falling in love with the other woman. She happens to be a green Honda Civic I've named Beulah. But you have to understand the circumstances during which I went from a loving, monogamous relationship with Stan (my 1989 Mercury Topaz that I've had since I was sixteen, easily the longest relationship of my life), to considering transferring my loyalty and devotion to Beulah, all in under 12 hours.

Beulah, the Green M&M of Vehicles

The only things my parents still pay for are my car insurance and DMV-type registrationy fees. (Other than that, I am fully independent). So when the DMV informed my dad that it was time to get Stan smogged for his registration come June 1st, my dad made sure to give me plenty of time to take care of it. Being a natural procrastinator, and proud of it, I just now made it in to Pep Boys with four days to spare. I even made an appointment online (self-five!). Four hours of waiting, reading a large section of "The Help," and awkward conversations with a stranded young family with car trouble on the way to Disneyland and a teenage Tim Burton look-a-like, I still hadn't heard about the status of Stan.

Finally I decided to ask the very cute and charming Pep Boy Artin. (He's lucky that he was cute and charming, otherwise I would have been even more annoyed at this waste of my time). He said, oh, bad news, it failed. I had joked in my Facebook status before leaving that I had my fingers crossed for him to pass, otherwise it was "curtains for ol' Stanny." But it never really occurred to me that he would actually fail. Sure he has his many many many flaws and eccentricities, but he's always come through for me in the past six and a half years.

How can you not love this face?

Naturally, the technician who tells you exactly why he failed and what you need to do to get him fixed, wasn't in that day and won't be in tomorrow for Memorial Day (which is already my day off and I don't think I get holiday pay so it's more of a nuisance than a mini-vacation like for most people). Plus, it's an extra $140 not to mention a whole day without a car in order to diagnosis this mysterious illness. Not including the repairs to make him pass. I'm already having a belt-tightening month and was barely going to afford the cost of the test and an oil change. Now I find out I have to sink even more money into Stan just to pass California environmental standards? I'm all for the environment, but do the hippies mind forking over the money to buy me a new Prius? 'Cuz I don't have it, son.

I found out that it's possible I could qualify to get financial aid from our bankrupt state to "retire" my old man. It's the least they could do since they're the ones imposing such high standards anyway. But the thought of letting go of my buddy, the Murtaugh to my Riggs, is heartbreaking. Not many partners-in-crime will stick with you even after throwing up all over them while driving in Laker traffic on the 10 freeway. I always knew that Stan wasn't going to last forever. But it's like losing your first dog or your first boyfriend. That's a bond that will never break, no matter how temporary. I just know that I'm going to cry if I have to drop Stan off at a recycling plant to be dismantled. Think of how gut-wrenching that one scene in Toy Story 3 was!

I picture this, only insert a

Mercury instead of cute CGI toys.

Sure I'll be happy to get a new car. One that functions like it's supposed to and doesn't make weird old man gurgling and sputtering sounds. And idly browsing the North Hollywood online used car market yielded a few prospects, like the lovely, enticing, and affordably priced Beulah. The more I check out her statistics and financing options, the more seduced I become. But the fact remains that I am broke. The best thing about Stan was that he was completely paid for. I'm even considering getting a bike and just biking to work. But we all know that not having a car in Los Angeles is laughable.

The Green M&M of M&Ms

Hopefully I'm just jumping the gun and throwing the baby (or old man car) out with the bathwater. I don't know how much it's going to cost to fix. It could be less than a couple hundred dollars in which case maybe I can squeeze a few years out of Stan. But at the same time, isn't it better to start putting the money towards a new car and let go of the past? Should I start embracing a future with Beulah, the saucy Japanese mistress?

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.

Santa Ellen

This year has been generally pretty awful. But Santa made up for it in a big way by making the last couple weeks be absolutely incredible! This year Santa took the form of a Louisiana lesbian comedian and talk show host, Ellen Degeneres (and also a creepy dancing Elvis elf with an oversized head for some reason, I tried to find a picture, but Google was too scared to post one). Yesterday was the grand return of me and Kelly Bean to Warner Brothers to watch the taping of the Ellen Degeneres Show (since we technically didn't get to last time). I could hardly sleep the night before. It was like Christmas Eve on crack, since my normal Christmas doesn't involve celebrities and an overload of expensive gifts.

Nothing to do with Christmas, but I would have killed to see this episode.

I'll skip right to the show, since we got in the studio with absolutely no drama whatsoever. It felt soooo good to finally be in the crowd, jumping around, dancing, screaming, cheering, and bruising our hands from clapping so hard. Before, we could only hear the fun of the pre-show dance contest (during which two complete strangers who were no spring chickens got DOWN, and by down I mean they basically did the nasty to the beat of "Baby Got Back.") It was awkward and hilarious, my two favorite things. When Ellen came out for her monologue, she remarked about our inherent need to present and shake our booties whenever the occasion arises. She even had her editors compile a monologue of rump-shaking to that effect. Good times.

Then Marky Mark came out (for he will always be Marky Mark to me and the Bean). I'm not an especially big fan, but when I saw those especially big guns he was packing (after having worked out for basically 4 years straight for his role in the Fighter), I couldn't take my eyes off of the point where his Pabst Blue Ribbon t-shirt ended (classy guy), and the biceps began. He wasn't terribly interesting to listen to, and he's a bit of a butterface, but day-amn. He can send good vibrations my way anytime. I don't even remember what he talked about, I was too busy drooling.

Sorry Marky Mark. That's what you get.

Next was a performance by Ciara. Yawn. Totally generic, less than mediocre, poison for my ears song, but the dancing was phenomenal. Usually I don't really care about that kind of thing, but this was stellar showmanship. Sad that it couldn't be for a more talented singer or more worthy song. (We were stuck with the CD afterwards, sigh.) We also got a sneak peek at Grayson Chance (the 12 year old Youtube sensation Ellen discovered)'s new video. He's playing a bland pop song in the rain, on a piano surrounded by a crowed of throbbing, cult-like girls. He's 12! Plus they autotuned the crap out of his amazing voice. Trying to Bieberize him? Not cool, Ellen's record label. Not cool.

The second guest was Olivia Wilde, who most people recognize from House or the new Tron (I hated the first, so I definitely won't be seeing the second), but I will always think of as the badass girlfriend of both Seth and Marissa on the O.C.. I didn't like her then and I didn't think I'd like her now. She has kind of an evil beauty about her, as if in ten years she'd make an excellent wicked step-mother. She reminds me of Voldemort, if Voldemort were an adequately hot chick. Anyway, I was determined not to like her. But she won me over! Who knew she was actually quite charming and adorable beneath her icy cold, pointy-featured exterior? Or else she's a better actress than she seems and she really is a demon...

She's still a demon, even if she is surprisingly likable.

Speaking of demons, I heard the phrase "Ellen feeds off your energy" at least twice more. It's definitely a thing. Ellen claims that she takes that positive energy and sends it back out into the universe, but I think she keeps most of it for herself to stay young and kickass. Just a theory. I don't blame her. I'd do the same if I were a demon.

But enough about the show, y'all just want to hear about the presents!!! For many presents there were! It was crazy, I had kind of forgotten about them. I was totally into the show, though if I had been watching it on TV, I probably would have changed the channel early on. All of a sudden this alarm went off and everyone was jumping up and screaming! I thought it was because that creepy Elvis elf thing came out and started skipping around. But no, PRESENTS!!

Here is what we won:

1. Amazon Kindle

2. Tomtom GPS

3. Fancy Schmancy Bluetooth

4. Camcorder

5. Calphalon Waffle Maker (I'm told it's a good brand)

6. $500 worth of Calphalon pots and pans

7. $100 gift card to the Amazon Denim store

8. Unbearable Lightness by Porti Di Rossi

9. Rock Band 3 Game + Keyboard

10. PS3 with Move

11. Oh, and Ciara's CD (anticlimax)

Isn't my display attractive? I think I could work as a window dresser. I could dress the shit out of windows. Anyway, AMAZING, right? The thing I was most ecstatic about was the GPS. As you all know, I get lost all the frickin' time. I'm a mess in the car. I freak out about the littlest thing and I have absolutely no sense of direction. But I used this handy little gadget today as I had to drive from South Central to Marina Del Rey to Studio City to South Central, and I didn't get lost once! Plus it took me on back roads so I'd miss most traffic. SCORE!! My second cousin and Kelly Bean's mom saw us on today's broadcast and apparently they caught the moment where we high-fived because I wanted that GPS soooo badly!! So sorry, no more hilarious Hutch getting lost stories! Also, I named it Hudson, because Stan's true persona matches that of Stanley Hudson on the office. So Hudson is now Stan's sidekick.

The Kindle I was also excited about. I have such ADD when it comes to books and I'm always reading like 30 at a time. I like options, so it's nice to always have it on me in case I get stuck waiting somewhere like I did this morning and I could just plop right into the Secret Garden. I don't like that you have to pay for books, but there's tons of free public domain stuff that I'd be reading anyway, and libraries have some ebooks you can check out for free too. So sweet!

I already sold the pots, pans, and the waffle maker to a friend who will actually give them a good home. In my tiny kitchen, they'd end up feeling lonely and neglected, never to reach their full potential. I'm also most likely selling the PS3 and Rock Band. It would be fun, but I honestly don't think I'd use it that much. I have my Wii, so anything else is kind of redundant. I'm not a gamer whatsoever, but I like that the Wii has real games like tennis and basketball, not video games which don't interest me. So if anyone is interested, make me an offer! But I won't ship.

Sorry about the product placement, but I'm just super stoked about all this loot! We managed to wrangle a Subaru with folding back seats, so we could take everything home. All that times two definitely wouldn't have fit in Stan. Also in case you were wondering, my first day work went fantastic today. I'm not technically allowed to blog about it (apparently I work for the CIA or something), but I will say that I scored a catered Persian lunch, free Starbucks, and delicious cake. Apparently I love Persian food. Who knew?

I should be turned on, but this is really just unsettling.

Do his abs seem wonky to you? Also, he looks plastic. Yeeech.

UPDATE!!! Oh my god, I totally forgot to mention Slater! I knew I should have taken notes. So yeah, after the show was over, they told us they needed to film a segment for Extra. So Mario Lopez came out! Huzzah! I was super excited, having been a HUGE Saved By the Bell fan back in the day (and to this day if truth be told). Though my heart belonged to Zack, I wouldn't have said no to Slater. But throughout the course of Slater's interview, he became creepier and creepier. He has this perfect, blindingly white smile that doesn't reach his dead eyes. And even though he talked about his wife and new baby daughter, Kelly Bean and I agreed that there's no way he's straight. It's ok, Slater. We'll still love you if you love yourself enough to admit the truth. So yeah. Woo!

Stanley the Manly

I have often mentioned my delightfully quirky automobile, Stan, in this here blog. This is because he is a big part of who I am. He was originally named after the unseen wealthy, overweight, elderly husband of Karen on Will and Grace, mostly because I happened to be watching that sitcom the night I got him. Stan also gets his name from my favorite South Park character at the time (even though I'm so over that show now). What I did not know at the age of 16, was that Stan's personality is largely similar to that of Stanley Hudson on the Office. (Now on Season Five, so bear with the incessant references.) From the moment I first sat in the drivers' seat, I felt that his name was Stan.

Stanley Hudson, Dunder Mifflin Paper Co.

I had always imagined the human embodiment of Stan to be much older. But after watching countless hours of the Office, I realize that Stan is truly a disgruntled, African-American, middle-aged office worker who hates his job, loves crossword puzzles, and in general can't be bothered. Stan/Stanley both sometimes refuse to work on principle. They are stubborn and cantankerous, but they get the job done. They are lovable, misunderstood curmudgeons, and are usually taken for granted despite their considerable efforts. Sometimes they have heart attacks/break down in the middle of intersections. And sometimes they sass their boss ("Did I Stutter?" "Rrr rrr rrr, not gonna start no matter what you do, Hutch!"). But ultimately, they are essential to the team. So even though sixteen-year-old me had not even heard of The Office, deep down I knew that one day Stan would meet (or hear second-hand from me, his driver), his television soulmate: Stanley Hudson. And it wouldn't make one bit of difference. But still. Trippy.

God's gift to me.

And on a completely unrelated note, I am psyched that I was hardcore and lit my own oven's pilot light (which goes out all the frickin' time. I usually just call the Gas Company and freak out that there's a "leak," like a helpless little girl.) But I wanted those crescent rolls, dammit. And I provided for myself and made it happen. Now I'm feeling all empowered and stuff. Hoo-ah!

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that description is enough to make you feel queasy too.

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

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

This mother-fucker.

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

An Ode to Stan

Stan is my partner-in-crime, shoulder to cry on, and best friend in the whole wide world. He just happens to be an '89 Mercury Topaz. I first met Stan on October 21st, 2003, otherwise known as the day I failed my first driver's test. Apparently you can drive perfectly the whole time and still fail automatically because of bike lanes that your hometown doesn't have. Anyway, the whole day I was absolutely distraught, wearing sunglasses to class to hide my tears because all I wanted to do was drive.

My dad felt so bad that he went out that very day and bought me a car. Before you think I'm a daddy's girl who is completely spoiled, keep in mind that Stan is almost as old as I am, and has more quirks than a Diablo Cody screenplay. Not only did my dad buy me the car, but he baked me a happy face cake (I am obsessed with happy faces, and even have a happy face tattoo), complete with yellow icing. So when I came home, he handed me the world's largest piece of cake, which instantly made me feel better. I felt even more incredible when I discovered that he had baked the keys inside the cake. (Looking back, I really hope he washed them first...) He then told me I had to find the car, in order to take possession. My parents' property isn't huge, but there are a surprising amount of places one could stash a 4-door sedan. So it took me an embarrassing amount of time to locate Stan.

Me and Stan, the day he died in the middle of an intersection.

He was kind enough to wait until after I had finished my Christmas shopping.

He also must have known that the tow truck driver would be hot.

When I did, I flipped out. A car of my very own! I sat in the drivers' seat and instantly felt at home. A month later, I re-took my driver's test and passed with flying colors, all thanks to my new friend. He's seen me through good times, rocking out with my girls to Bohemian Rhapsody on his surprisingly stellar sound system. He's seen me through bad times, sheltering me from the world when all I wanted to do was escape. He's seen me through daily commutes to the office, and long-term road trips of self-discovery. He's taken me back to my parents' house many-a-time, never complaining during the 500-mile trip. He also didn't complain when I ran right into that house on my very first day of solo driving, or flinched when I ran over a raccoon recently.

Most of my friends are on their second, third, fourth + car since high school, and I'm going seven years strong with my first love. We've had a few hiccups, but thankfully my dad can fix just about anything and what he can't, the good fellas at Foresthill Towing and Garage take care of. (They know Stan just as intimately as I do.)

As much as I love my car and as grateful as I am to have it, I can't imagine anyone else being able to drive it. To quote Jessica Alba in Sin City, "Nobody but me can keep this heap running." It takes a special mixture of love, patience, and understanding to drive a car like Stan. It takes even more to appreciate his idiosyncrasies. For instance:

1. Stan does not like to idle at stoplights or drive-throughs. He likes to go go go and if he can't, he sputters and dies.

2. If you leave the lights on and take the key out of the ignition, the radio will still play as if by magic.

3. Speaking of the radio, sometimes Stan selects random stations if he doesn't like the music you're listening to.

4. The last 3 digits on Stan's license plate are '666.' Even funnier is that when we bought him, Stan had a Jesus fish bumper sticker on his heiney. (Naturally I removed this. I didn't think people would get the irony and accuse me of being a Jesus freak.)

5. The roof upholstery is shredded, causing blue felt streamers to dangle freely in the wind.

6. Stan's entire right ear (side mirror) has been lopped off (when I ran into my friend's hedge), glued back on, and now the mirror is gone since I ran into the side of my garage once.

7. The gas gauge doesn't work, so you have to know his mileage by heart to know when to fill up. And good luck getting the gas door open.

8. Stan's left eye (headlight) has lost its cover after being carefully duct taped for so long. So now the bulb is exposed and could break at any second.

9. The back windows are permanently stuck open, as neither the power windows nor the power locks function.

10. The back right door does not open at all.

11. I'm a stickler for using my turn signal. Unfortunately Stan's blinker blinks once every 5 minutes, so you have to keep clicking the lever for people to realize you need to merge.

12. Stan has automatic seat belts that make a distinctive farting noise when they move up and down. It sounds like he is an old man with a colon problem.

In about a week, Stan and I will celebrate our seventh anniversary as car and driver, and we've never been happier. He may be a crotchety, sputtering, pig pen of an automobile, but he's still all mine. That's not to say that if/when I ever get financially solvent, I'm not going to buy a car that actually functions as it's supposed to. But no car will ever have as much character as my buddy, the Thelma to my Louise, the Murtaugh to my Riggs, the Goose to my Maverick. I love you, Stan :D

"Love keeps her in the air when she oughta fall down." -Serenity