Showing posts with label Two Buck Chuck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Two Buck Chuck. Show all posts

Sunday, November 3, 2013

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?

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Obligatory Holiday-Themed Post

Since commenting on the arrival of any given holiday always seems to be a proven goldmine for blog topics, I thought I would continue my grand tradition of lameness and discuss this most glorious of days, Easter. And by glorious, I mean, 'meh.' Seriously, if you're not a kid, you don't have kids, and you're not religious by any means, Easter kind of sucks. Especially if you don't even have any family nearby to at least use it as an excuse to gather boisterously, eat too much Orange Goop, play an overly competitive round of Apples to Apples, and drink boxed White Zinfandel (is that just my family?).


Happy Easter Island!

Because I disdain of most religions, I'm not obligated to give up my Sunday off and sit around in a drafty church getting high off of incense or torn up bits of Wonderbread (that last part makes since if you are now or ever were Mormon). So that tradition is out. Because I'm four and twenty, not just four, I can't rationalize a good Easter egg hunt (because that would look kind of creepy for a childless grown-up to hang out around an event meant for children. Plus, the best hunts were always at my Grandma's in Sacramento). And because my mommy is five-hundred miles away, I can't even re-enact the best of my childhood memories: searching for my skillfully concealed Easter basket. My mom was seriously a Wiz at hiding our baskets. Our house was not huge, and yet it always seemed to take me at least an hour and a half to find it. But when I did, there would be waiting a giant chocolate ostrich-sized egg filled with fudge or peanut butter. *DROOLS*

Sorry, Chuck. Never a good idea.

Mom came to visit me last year right before Easter. She left the morning of, but left me a note that I had to find my "basket." And by "basket" she meant the white, plastic kitchen colander she re-purposed and filled with Ikea chocolate she bought when I wasn't looking the day before. Pretty sneaky, Mom! So that was awesome. But then the rest of the day I spent doing laundry and drinking a bottle of Two Buck Chuck Chardonnay. Then the rest of the night I spent puking up the Two Buck Chuck Chardonnay. (The lesson learned was that if you're going to go with Chuck, stick with red. And eat something besides Ikea chocolate first, for God's sake!) Maybe the Easter bunny will bring me some Cabernet Sauvignon, since I'm on a diet and can't technically eat most treats associated with the occasion.

Totally irrelevant, but this made me giggle.

But this year, I'm all by my lonesome. Just sitting at my computer, reminiscing about holidays and massive chocolate eggs gone by. Woe is me! But at least I had eggs for breakfast. That's somewhat festive, right?

Why thank you Rob Pattinson!
Happy Easter to you too!
(I don't think he actually knew he was posing for an Easter-themed greeting, do you?)
(Sidebar, I'm not really a fan. I just thought this was really random.)

Monday, December 6, 2010

Fictional Men who have Ruined Real Men for Life

I was attempting to distract myself from the tortuous waiting of a very important phone call, so I decided to make a list. Upon revisiting The Office after watching Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, I have determined that no man will ever live up to the glory that is Jim Halpert. Sorry heterosexual menfolk, you just can't catch a break. He's pretty much perfect. Tall, sweet, adorable in a non-Ken doll way, smart, funny, hopelessly romantic but in a subtle, not-cheesy way. Jim got me thinking about all the other fictional men who collectively set the absurdly high standard their gender.

Yes, we realize that these are not real people. Mr. Darcy isn't really going to sweep us off our feet one day. And in reality, my personal standards aren't terribly high. But we've devoted countless hours to drooling over perfect (or perfectly flawed) man candies we can't have. And so here is a tribute to them and how they make every man we will ever meet seem short, awkward (in a not cute way), and generally off-putting. And I put a picture for every man because I was that bored today.

1. Jim Halpert - The Office
The perfect man. Period.




2. Jake Ryan - Sixteen Candles
The last real dreamboat and every teenage girl's fantasy.




3. Angel - Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel
Hulking brooding savior complex type with an unexpected self-deprecating sense of humor.




4. Mr. Darcy - Pride and Prejudice
Every woman's fantasy. I had a Mr. Darcy myself until I realized he really was just an asshole and not secretly awesome in addition to being sexy.




5. Seth Cohen - The O.C.
Snarky, adorable, with pop culture references to spare and the world's greatest jew fro (one of my particular weaknesses).




6. Prince Eric - The Little Mermaid
I'm not taking it back because he happens to be animated.



7. Captain Malcolm Reynolds - Firefly/Serenity
Badass space cowboy pirate, aptly nicknamed Captain Tightpants.



8. Indiana Jones - Duh
Fedora + whip + stubble = hawt.



9. Tom Lefroy - Becoming Jane
I heart James McAvoy with all my soul, and if Jane Austen is going to give up on him to be noble, I will gladly be there to pick up the pieces. I'm no saint.



10. Christian - Moulin Rouge
He's got a huge talent.




11. Lloyd Dobbler - Say Anything
Quite possibly the greatest grand gesture of all time.




12. Ned - Pushing Daisies
Hopefully I don't die before we get together and therefore can never actually touch him.



13. Theodore "Teddy/Laurie" Lawrence - Little Women
As with Jane Austen, if Jo is a moron and doesn't realize what she has, I'll tap that.



14. Wesley - The Princess Bride
I dig the mask. As you wish indeed.




15. Ferris Bueller - Ferris Bueller's Day Off
Can you imagine how perfect life would be? Everything would just fall into place.




16. Connor McManus - The Boondock Saints
Irish vigilante in a pea coat, what's not to love?



17. Crybaby Walker - Crybaby
The only role I truly dig Johnny Depp in as a sexual object. Swoon.



18. Chuck Bartowski - Chuck
He's just so darn cute. And he has skills.




19. Ted Mosby - How I Met Your Mother
Mostly the first season before he gets all Barnified. Hopeless romantic who performs a rain dance for the woman he loves.



20. Dr. Jack Shepherd - Lost
Maybe I just like guys with God complexes. Plus the manliest stubble ever depicted on celluloid.




21. Ben Stone - Knocked Up (This may be just for me)
I definitely have a thing for delightful Jew-fro'd shlubby guys with hidden sweet sides.




22. Bill/Eric/Alcide/Eggs/Jason/Sam, pretty much most male cast members of True Blood Who is their casting director? Because they have mad skills.





So that's my list. Feel free to contribute, but they must meet the criteria of: fictional (not actors, though it could be argued that their public persona is in fact a character and not actually representative of them in real life), and they have to be the kind of guy you want to run away with. Not just to take advantage of him and then never call again. If you mention Edward Cullen, I may have to slap you. Unless I'm kind of tipsy and admit that I secretly love him even though he is everything that is wrong with males (possessive, sexist, poncey, with too much hair product. But goddamn, can he wear a pea coat. Which everyone knows is my weakness). Also if you're a heterosexual man reading this, you are fully entitled to create a corresponding female list. No double standards at Sporadic Sporkitudes.

UPDATE: That phone call never came, so now I'm drinking a delicious glass of Two Buck Chuck Cabernet and feeling just fine. Though still tortured that Jim doesn't exist. And that Jim also happens to be my dad's name. So that would be a problem if Jim Halpert did exist. But I like to think we could overcome that. I could always give him a nickname. Big Tuna?