Monday, June 30, 2008

DIET COKE IS MOVING!!!

A final decision has been made. I am moving my blog. I can now be found here.

http:://dietcokeandfries.wordpress.com

Sunday, June 29, 2008

"Bitches talk shit"

I was speaking tonight to Tight End, a good friend from high school. Since high school, Tight End has gone on to become a successful professional football player and is basically living The Life. Still, despite his new found glory and riches [he has groupies!], he has remained totally the same - in a good way. Tight End now lives in one of the fly over states and I seldom see him, but he is always good for a some wise words. Or at least some really unsage but hilarious advice.

After having spoken for about a few minutes with Tight End tonight, he asked me why I was so down sounding. I shared with him my axienty over confronting Work Troll tomorrow. After launching into my twenty minute long take on the situtation, Tight End laughed [literally, laughed out loud at me. Over and over...like a serious, hearty laugh] and said::

“Diet Coke, bitches talk shit. Why are you all twisted about that when you know it is how it is?”

Damn, he is right. Bitches do talk shit. Why am I so twisted about it? I am going to get over it now.

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Note:: I cant decide if I am actually going to move over to wordpress yet or not. For now, you can visit me in both spots!

Saturday, June 28, 2008

I love my dad.

So as a follow up to my last post about Work Troll, I just got off my the phone with my dad, to whom I just explained the story.

Of course, about half way through I started crying and he stopped me and said::
"Kid, I know you. And I think that instead of letting people who are cruel hurt you, you should just say 'fuck em' and keep doing whatever you are doing, because you are an amazing person."
Thanks, dad.

And in conclusion, 'fuck em.'

Turns out, women are the enemy.

I recently wrote about the evils of The Mens. Turns out though, that I should have been watching out for the women instead, as they are the ones who's special brand of evil cuts the deepest.

Fancy Shoes and I were dining at an Ethiopian restaurant somewhere in the middle of Los Angeles when he asked about whether I had encountered any person who knew him. The world being small, and the world of lawyers being even smaller, it seemed a reasonable question. While I had not, turned out that he knew not one but TWO people who "knew" me.

The first was a gal who had worked at my ex's [not an ex mentioned on this here blog] previous firm. The second, was was a girl who had heard about me from a girl who had heard about me from a girl that I work with. Don't follow? Well, let me break it down.

A girl that I work with told someone that I do not a know a series of unflattering half-truths about me. This person then told ANOTHER person that I don't know these things. The second person that I don't know then shared these things with Fancy Shoes.

When I first heard these things, I was a little shaken up, but I decided that I would brush them off. I know from my own experience, that when I speak negatively of people, unless they have done something TO me, my disparaging words typically stem from my own insecurity or envy. Since I know that I have done nothing to any person at work, I chalked up their unkindness to the same.

But as I sat picking at a giant plate of I don't know what with my fingers, I began to get increasingly more distressed. The things the person were saying were beyond the typical "I don't like Diet Coke" type jargon. They were statements that were very damaging, malicious and worst of all, mostly false [or at a minimum very misleading]. Whats more, the person that I believe is propagating the nonsense is someone that I lik[ed], that I am constantly standing up for, and with whom I thought I had a trusting relationship.

I don't know what possessed the person to say what she did, but frankly, there is no excuse for it. Aside from the fact that the comments she made me seem like a seriously problematic person/employee, the words were not spoken to a trusted confidant of the original speaker. They were told to some asshat who then decided that without even knowing me one lick, she was going to go ahead and propagate the gossip even further. That is downright ugly.
While I don't think that Fancy Shoes gave much credence to the things he heard [or at least that is what I hope], the fact is that he, or someone else hearing them, could have. And could have made their judgment about me based on what they heard.

Not sure how I am going to handle this come Monday. But I think there is a 90% chance tears will be involved.

The two things that did come out of this that were good were 1) another person from work that I consider my friend [but whom I briefly doubted] being hugely supportive and 2) Fancy Shoes being terribly sweet despite my unrelenting tears.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

My Ride.

Last night we had an office party. As with most office parties had by my office, booze were involved. In this instance, a particularly fine champagne selection was on hand. And after Diet Coke, Champagne is very much my favorite liquid to consume [well, that and milk shake]. Which is bad. Especially since at some point last night I knew I would have to get home and somehow also be able to get back to the office bright and early the next morning.

At around 8:30 [maybe?] I called Fancy Shoes (formerly "Creepy Sleeper")* and asked if he'd pick me up in an hour [not wanting to be the first to leave the party]. He said he was too tired and rejected my proposal.

Not wanting to take a taxi [because Taxi's are depressing], I replied to a friend** who had texted me earlier to see what he was up to. The friend who has earlier texted enthusiastically agreed to by My Ride. Perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

My Ride arrived to scoop me at around 9:15 [I think]. My Ride INSISTED, [seriously, I was pretty much held hostage] that since I was already in a drink-ie mood, we should stay out. Usually, I would be okay with such a proposal as drinking tends to make me want to drink more. But last night, I was tired, my head was a little achy from all the bubbly, I really wanted my bed and I was feeling a little down. But again My Ride kept pushing, until finally I gave in.

I thought a good compromise would be to go to a bar close to my house [Three Clubs] because that way, once I had my obligatory drink, I could ask that we leave easy/fast style. So at the bar, My Ride keeps prodding me about why I was down. I explained that I was not really down DOWN, but just maybe in a little bit of a pouty mood. At which point I guess My Ride thought a good way to make me feel better was to try to molest me at the bar.

Well, he didn't molest me. But he did go in for a kiss. At which time I cried out, "what are you doing!!!???" Quickly he apologized and I thought that was the end of that. THEN, like ten minutes later he tried to put his hand up my dress. I promptly removed his hand and placed back on his knee. I guess he thought I was being coy because then he went in for ANOTHER kiss. At this point, I told him I wanted to go home. And he replied that if I wanted to go home, I could mossy on out. Alone.

So I did - and ended up walking home. It wasn't that far [about a mile], but it really sucked. And I am/was really mad. And I cried. And I fully expected an apology by the morning, but alas, I have gotten none.

So the lessons I have learned from this experience are::

1:: Don't drink too much champagne at an office party.

2:: If you do, be careful who you call.

3:: [Some] people kind of suck.

4:: Always pack a pair of flip flops because you never know when you will be walking home.

* Creepy Sleeper does not like to be called Creepy Sleeper. So as a courtesy to Creepy Sleeper, I am going to refer to him as Fancy Shoes instead. It was either that or Transformer (because of an alleged impending transformation) or just pain old D. I suspect that Fancy Shoes won't like Fancy Shoes or Transformer or D. - but one must be chosen. I just want to be clear, Fancy Shoes is not intended to be insulting - it merely relates to the fact that he has lots of Fancy Shoes. Which is not a bad thing.

** This "friend" I speak of is a friend of one of my other friends who I met about a year ago at a party my original friend's girlfriend was hosting. Once several months ago we got drunk and kissed, but not before or after such time has there been anything physical between us. So I get that maybe he thought that I was drunk dialing him to hook up [which I have never done before so I don't know why he'd think that], but once it was clear that was not the case, why did he have to go on and be an asshole?

Oh god, and now it is the next afternoon and one of my favorite co-workers maybe just quit over a disagreement with another employee.

I want to go home and burrow.

Monday, June 23, 2008

Men may be the enemy.

I have always subscribed to the theory that woman are as bad as the men they date when it comes to deceiving, cheating, misleading or otherwise destroying relationships/other people. Personally, I know that for every instance I have complained about a guy blowing me off or otherwise "wronging" me, I have probably done the same thing to different person. But lately, I am starting to question whether women really are as bad as their male counterparts.

Cases in point::

1. Evil Troll and Her Evil Boyfriend:: This guy has now succeeded in successfully sleeping with or propositioning 100% of the women with whom Evil Troll has been closely associated over the last year. Arguably, Evil Troll deserves it. However, as far as I know, Evil Troll has been faithful to Her Evil Boyfriend. I think this means that Her Evil Boyfriend is actually more evil than Evil Troll. The thought makes me shudder.

2. Person I use to work with::
At the sweatshop at which I was previously employed, there is a woman who is phenomenal. Always positive, non-shit talking, funny and supa-smart. She had been married to a guy for about eight years [I totally made that up, I have no idea how long they have been married] and has two children with him [this part is true]. Recently, she has discovered that the bastard had been cheating. And not just a little. I was floor - FLOORED - when I heard about this. And sadly, so was she.

3. Guy my New Roommate is dating::
This guy, as far as I know, has not been cheating. He has however, managed over the course of 1.5 months to morph from a clever fun to be around guy into a controlling ass-wipe Aloof-Cool Guy [for those of you that don't know, "aloof-cool guy" is its own category of man - described below]. The fact they he has spiraled down so far in so short a time is alarming.

4. Guy my Old Friend S. dates:: I have mentioned this situation previously, but he is still totally running around behind her back. She is kind of an idiot for letting it happen, but still, can't blame the victim ya'll!

5. Guy my NY Bestie told me about::
NY Bestie has a friend who just broke up with her boyfriend of a lot of years after catching him text messaging and phone calling with strippers. They had just moved in together no less! I am a reasonable person who thinks that flirting is ok in a relationship, but there is no reason a boyfriend should be text messaging and talking on the phone with strippers. We are not talking about friends of his who happen to be strippers [which would be ok]. We are talking about strippers who he knows by virtue of his frequenting strip clubs [which is not ok].

And there are more current goings on of guys misbehaving amongst my friends that I don't even want to get into. But the point is, WTF fellas? What do you have to say for yourselves?

I hope that I am wrong about guys. Especially since I can't seem to stop liking em. I would like to think that any future relationships I have are not doomed as the cases above seem to suggest.

This might warrant another Highly Scientific Experiment.

-----------------------------


The "aloof-cool guy" is the guy that is super laid back, okay with everything, never gets mad, and is almost overly balanced. He is the kind of guy that says things like "it is what it is". This sounds good, right? It is, unless you are a normal girl [read:: slightly neurotic], in which case you will take Aloof-Cool Guy's demeanor and interpret it as not being interested in you. This will turn you into Needy Girlfriend who is always trying to get Aloof-Cool Guy to tell you/show you how much he cares. Aloof-Cool Guy will never give you such satisfaction because it is not in his nature. This will lead to infinitely circular conversations like the following::

Needy Girlfriend:: Do you want me to come?

Aloof-Cool Guy:: I want you to come if you want to.

Needy Girlfriend:: I only want to come if you want me to come.

Aloof-Cool Guy:: Well, if you want to come, just come.

etc., etc., etc.

It is a dark ugly road ladies, watch out. I have seen it too many times. The main problem with Aloof-Cool Guys is that they typically can't accept that their behavior impacts other people. And even if you tell them, they think of it as your problem and not their problem.

-----------------------------

* To one particular guy who I suspect will read this, I am really sorry. I didn't mean to be a jerk, I just kind of didn't know what to say. I am still routing for you on the Elite front.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Evil Troll infiltrated my Joe.

It was one thing for Evil Troll to lie to me, steal from me and be an all around wretched human being. But ladies and gentlemen, the bitch just crossed the line!!!

I went to *my* favorite Trader Joe/personal oasis, which I have previously written about here, and scored a ridiculously awesome parking spot. Feeling awesome, I moseyed on out of my car in a jovial mood, making a mental shopping list as I skipping towards the doors.

And then out of the corner of my eye, I saw something very disturbing. Inching towards me was a car that looked very much like that driven by Evil Troll - a black jaguar with ghetto tint - the same car that she was going to sell because she Soooo. Needed. Money. Or. She. Was. Going. To. Die.

No way that is her, I thought.

Then, I hear The Cackle [front window was rolled down]. The Cackle is this horribly awkward thing Evil Troll does that screams - HEY YOU, LOOK AT ME. I AM HAVING SOOO MUCH FUN!!! This caused my promptly to run into Trader Joe, sprint to the doors my cashiers, and scurry back to my car.

One thing really surprised me about my encounter.

I thought I was over Evil Troll and the horrible things that she did. I thought that I had gotten to a point where recounting the story was more funny in a tragic way than it was hurtful. But seeing her released a geyser of emotions. And all of them were bad. Despite my effort to be a person that is above the pettiness of hatred, it became very clear to me that I still hate that girl. I have never encountered any person who has betrayed me more. I can't and simply put, I can't forgive her. Ever. Not that she is asking for my forgiveness.

On a more positive note, i went to the gym for the second day in a row.

** Looking back on the original Trader Joe post, I am thinking maybe this Trader Joe is for the birds and I ought to find a new one.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Gym People. They scare me.

I recently joined a new Fancy Pants Gym [where I am paying astro-fucking-nomical monthly dues] under the guise that THIS is the most convenient gym for me to attend. Thus, despite my umpteen other various gym related memberships, joining THIS gym will cause me to actually work out, resulting in my becoming a skinny Diet Coke, as opposed a pleasantlyish plump Diet Coke.

Unfortunately, however, there are few problems with my new plan.

Problem #1:: I fucking hate the gym. Because 1) the gym makes you sweaty and tired [and not in a good way], 2) pleasantlyish plump people such as myself don't look hot in gym clothes [no matter how awesome Lululemon makes their damn pants] and 3) gyms are gross.

Problem #2:: Fancy Pants Gym is worst than most because 99% of the people defy nature and are gorgeous while working out. I am not one of these 99% percent. This makes me feel like a failure. [Addendum 1:: This turns out not to be so much of a problem. While I am not trying to pick anyone up at the gym, having lots of cute boys around ain't so bad.]

Problem #3:: Fancy Pants Gym, despite the aforementioned astro-fucking-nomical monthly dues, does not have enough tvs. How am I expected to get anything done without watching tv? This isn't the third world people. One tv per person at ALL TIMES. Thems the rules. [Addendum 2:: This is totally false. I must not have noticed on my walk through, but the place has shit loads of TV. So many in fact, that no matter where I looked tonight, all I could see was the Lakers sucking.]

Problem #4:: People I know work out at Fancy Pants Gym. I do like the notion of looking not hot in gym clothes while being sweaty and tired in front of people I know. I bet it is not that awesome for them either.

Problem #5:: I suck at working out. From afar, it may look like I am doing awesome. You will often find me dripping sweat on a treadmill while seemingly running my tush off. A closer look, however, will reveal that my "sprinting" is the result of the treadmill only moving at 4.3 miles per hour. I don't really get how that is possible either. I am an enigma.

And STILL, despite all the problems, I am off to the gym. Right....NOW. God bless me.

[Addendum 3:: Done working out. Feeling kind of awesome.]

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Follow me (on Twitter).

When I go driving I stay in my lane
But getting cut off it makes me insane
In a nut shell, I was driving on Beverly on a stretch where one lane was closed for construction. The two lanes were merging in the very civilized, and widely accepted, one car per lane manner. When my turn came, the car on my left totally boxed me out, and then gave ME the finger!!!

I was angry.

I was really angry.

But there was seemingly nothing I could do.

Then I had my most brilliant idea of the week. There is something I can do!

I can use the Internets to publicly shame that guy and all drivers like him.

So I now have a twitter account (https://twitter.com/roadrevenge) for that very purpose. Watch out readers, mess with me and I will blast your license place/offense to the universe.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Mayhem outside my window.

It is 3:14 a, and I am awake not because of the usual Friday night drunk shenanigans, but instead because there is helicopter/five-0 madness outside my window.

I have no idea what is going on, but I don't like it.

And what I dislike more the notion of a maniac on the lose in my neighborhood [an assumption based on the 20 or so cop cars littering the street, the closure of Melrose plus the po-po chopper with flood light hoovering overhead] is the fact that for the first time EVER [since yesterday], the Internets have failed me.

I have googled searched my fingerprints off [what does that mean anyhow? I don't know - it's late] and scoured the world wide universe. Still, no word on what is going on :(

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Due to circumstance, I am prohibited about writing about my dating life. Actually, not so much "prohibited" as trying my bestest to abstain. As a result, I was finding it really difficult to write posts to inhabit my blog. Turns out there isn't much to my life except lists and boys [and drinking].

Then, someone said "Preditor." [Bear with me people, this is a depseration post]

The mention of the movie title instantly took me back to my New York Era [aka - the Good Old Days, the Always Broke Days, the Really Badly Behaved Days, and Damn My Apartment Is Small And Really Expansive Days], where I spent the vast majority of my days and nights with a pack of five guys [one of them being my then boyfriend] with the occasional rif/raff random unsavory character mixed in. We spent about 5% our time being students [typically, the week or two before finals], 20% sleeping, and the rest [don't ask me what "the rest" equals, I forgot math after high school] engaging in some combination of drinking/eatting [tacos usually]/watching tv/general time wasting. Mostly drinking and wasting time. Or are those the same thing? Gosh, I was so good at wasting time back then.

On one particular night we all decided [one person decided, the rest of us were sheep] to gather at home base for what seemed at the time the to be the Worst. Plan. Ever. We were supposed to eat, drink, hang out [ok so far]...and watch the critically acclaimed movie Predator 2 [this is where the plan was lost me]. About three minutes into the movie, someone thought we ought to kick it up a notch by making bets on what point in the movie Gary Bussy was going to die*. There was an over/under, vegas style, and each person had to pick a specific time. You would think a bet of this nature would require some sort of high stake to be exciting, but in our case, the sheer glory of being right was always enough.

Immediatly after the bets were memorialized on the white board [why was a white board on hand? I have no idea] the night was transformd from a regular drinking night in a teeny tiny New York City apartment [which, by the way, had mice] into complete and utter magic. The highlight was when Garry Bussy died [or seemed to anyhow] and then came back to LIFE! AND THEN DIED AGAIN!!! Seriously, an outside observer would think our fathers had just won the world series or the presidency or something. It was sheer pandemonium.  So much drama. So much fun!

A friend of mine was in town visiting me that weekend and was on hand to witness the glory. I will never forget her glancing over to me at one point with the look that said "So, this hooting and hollering, couch-jumping, Predator 2 watching jackass is your boyfriend? And these are the future high powered lawyers of America?"

Priceless.

* Come to think of it, I don't remember if it was Gary or some other actor.

Monday, June 2, 2008

Do unto others blah blah blah.

Hodge, a reader and frequent commenter [thanks on both counts] pointed out in response to my last post, basically, that ignoring people ain't cool.

And dense as I tend to be sometimes, I know that he is right and that I am being a bit [a lot?] of a bitch. If the tables were turned, I'd be really annoyed with Producer for just blowing me off [my general rule is after three or four dates, an explanation is owed if you stop talking to someone].

On one hand, I don't really know what to say. Sure, I could say "Hey Producer, you are awesome. But I am back in rehab/too busy/have stomach flu/back with my old boyfriend, etc." but all of that would be lies. And more so, I think he'd know that all of that would be lies. Not to suggest that if he didn't know they were lies, it would be better. Just seems even more useless to tell a lie when everyone knows you are lying. Anyhoo.

On the other hand, I could write "Hey Producer, I don't like you that much because you are not funny and kind of a bad kisser. So sorry, I don't want to hang out again." But that would be mean.

What is a girl to do?

Anyhow, you are right Hodge. I will try to be a better person next time around. I don't need any bad dating karma, that's for sure.

Also, to answer someone else's question, Producer does not know of this blog. I wouldn't be talking shit about his comedic/make out prowess if he did. I am not THAT mean.

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Rules of Engagement.

People in glass houses should not throw stones. That I know. I also know that I am pretty much Captain Google Stalker. I mean, I am a freakin black belt jedi master at it. You tell me two digits of a person's social security number and their shoe size and I will tell you every web site they visited and/or thought about since 1997. [Don't get scared. I am not internet stalking YOU of course].

But everyone knows there are RULES when it comes to internet stalking. Actually, just one rule.

Rule::
We all do it, but it is not to be discussed. Like, almost ever. Seriously. Bad idea.

I bring this up because of a guy I dated a month or so ago (the "Producer"). We went on around five dates. Producer was nice. Producer was cute. Producer was also horribly boring. I mean, not funny. At all! I can't have that. So anyhow, I used the "fade out" on him. You know, where you slowly make yourself unavailable, become slightly less agreeable, take longer to return msgs, etc. I have not heard from him for about two weeks, making me believe that my master plan had worked. UNTIL...I get a myspace message from Producer on Friday.

"You still around?" it reads.

I do not reply because 1) what the hell kind of stupid question is that [where might I have gone?], 2) why is this joker sending me myspace messages when he can call/text/email, and 3) because I don't like him. Mostly because I don't like him. Ok, 100% because I don't like him.

Then yesterday, Producer sends me an email to tell me that he KNOWS I read his message and he wants to know why I didn't reply. And then reason he KNOWS that I read his message is because myspace tells you when someone reads your message.

Sending me a myspace message to see if I will read and reply so that you can settle once and for one whether I still want to see you or not is a little lame, but somewhat understandable. However, bringing it up is creepy. Worse yet, he has sent me a third message, that I am afraid to even check.

A total violation the e-stalkers code. Also probably a sign that I need to bid my myspace account farewell.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

I like it twice a day.

Posting that is.

Anyhow, so I am TOTALLY f-word-ing obsessed with that Coldplay iTunes commercial. I don't like Coldplay so much as a band, but I am so oddly/creepily/hugely intrigued (and maybe a little turned on?) by the way Chris Martin flails his arms around during the whole thing. Especially around seconds 20 to 22.



Can. Stop. Watching.

My day.

Below, please find a summary of my day.

1:: I discussed, among other really important things, the virtue of dipping crusty bread in soda, the personality traits of eastern European grandparents, and the deep pschological truama Halloween causes certain children. All this during the course of 100,000 words worth of emails. I know because I counted each and every single word.

2:: I determined once and for all that crunchy peanut butter is better than smooth peanut butter. Don't let the Reds tell you any different.

3:: I broke my shoe. And not just any shoe. A Valentino adorably stappy sandle shoe that I spent bucket fulls of pennies on. This makes me mad and sad.

4:: I drank three diet cokes. I am soooo off the wagon again.

5:: I found myself a future husband. We are going to adopt children from European counties with really high tax rates. We are going to be very ELITE. I will likely refuse to sign a prenup so that upon our inevitable divorce (I am pretty sure he loves my nachos more than me) I will have the funds to finally hire that driver that I have always wanted/needed.

6:: I didn't do any work. Like, ANY. I am trying to fill out my time sheet and I tears are coming to my eyes. I am pretty sure I can't bill for becoming a Yelp! master.

7:: I ate a cupcake at 8:30 in the morning. It was free, I can only be expected to have to so much will power.

8::
There is no 8. That was it. 1-7 is all I did today. And it was fun. Thanks.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

I have officially exhausted the LA dating scene.

I mentioned before that I was starting this crazy new fitness thing [CrossFit]. CrossFit is not in itself crazy, but it is crazy for someone like me, given that I am a slothful ball of lazy. Anyhow, fitness craze #2 for the month of May 2008 began today. All went well[ish]. I made it official and signed a contract committing myself to TWO workouts a week, each beginning at 6'o mother effing clock in the a.m. Feeling slightly giddy from my workout this morning [it is not clear why], which I pretty much sucked at, I went to work [truthfully, I stopped at starbucks first and got a gigante iced coffee, and THEN I went to work*] and hopped onto the gym's blog which prominently features a group photo from their last event.

And what do I find smack dab in the middle of said photo? My life being what it is, I spy a guy I once dated. "Dated" may be a bit strong, as we went on a single "meh" date. There was, however, making-out involved, causing any future encounter with this person to be potentially awkward. Whats more, thinking back on our date, I do recall Fitness Guy telling me he did this bizarre workout thing that involved pull-ups and a rowing machine in the mornings that he loved. Lo and behold, it happens to CrossFit. I really really hope that I don't run into him, and that if I do, that he does not remember me. But given my luck, I WILL run into him, he WILL remember me, and he WILL totally think that I am stalking him.

Universe:: 34
Diet Coke:: 0


I think I need to move to a new city, there is no safe place for me anymore in Los Angeles.

In other news, I broke down and had my first Diet Coke in seven days. And it was every bit as delicious as I remember. Oh Diet Coke [the beverage, not to the blogger], I love you so.

And in yet more news, I purchased the most brilliant dress for a wedding I am going to be attending on July 3. And with the arrival of said dress comes Operation Wedding Hotness. OWH merely requires that Hot Wedding Dress still fit me come the day of the event. This seems doable, even for me.

* Iced Coffee with "Energy," actually. Misnomer. Did not provided me with any energy. It did, however, cost be an extra fifty cents.

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Beautiful Day

I complained a lot going into the weekend because of the doom rain forecast, but today turned out to be lovely. I started the morning off with a hike at Runyon, and enjoyed it more today than I have ever before. The weather was cool and clear, the mountain [okay fine, hill] was totally deserted [passed probably 10 people along the way] and I was super motivated. I even ran half the way, and not just on the downhill either!!!

Lovely way to start the long weekend. Looking forward to more of the same.

Tomorrow, I am going to see Indiana Jooones! Yes, I know it is supposed to suck. But I don't care. Indy gives me the happy fuzzy fizzy feeling inside. And Shia ain't so bad either. ;)

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Things I don't like to admit.

I maybe kinda actually sorta like Carrie Underwood. I am pretty certain the lyrics below were written with me in mind.
"Last night I got served a little too much of that poison baby
Last night I did things I'm not proud of
And I got a little crazy...
Oh, my mama would be so ashamed"

[yes, I am watching the American Idol finale right now]

Not much happening.

God wants me to be fat. Otherwise, why would this be opening one block from my house?

In other news I am a) starting a craaazy new exercise regimen called "CrossFit" next month [will expand upon this when I am having a more articulate day], and b) on day two with no diet coke.

I have nothing else to report, except that I am really looking forward to seeing the new Indiana Jones movie this weekend.

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Foutune cookie, don't leave me hanging!

My fortune cookie told me today to "[b]e prepared for a new relationship."

Umm, can I get a little more info here, Fortune Cookie? You've been right before. Like last time when you told me that I would soon be eating Chinese food - totally on point! I just want to be sure I understand what you are getting at so that I can make the most of your wisdom.

So when you say I should be prepared, do you mean RIGHT NOW? Tomorrow? OMG, what am I going to wear?! And this "relationship" you speak of - are we talking boyfriend? New gardener? New bookclub member?

Seriously, Forture Cookie, I am certain your intentions are good. But next time if you are going to get involved in my person life, make sure you are very clear. Because frankly, the ambiguity stresses me out.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Bad things.

I do not like the following::

1:: The phrase "it is what it is." Yes, it is. But, must we really have a saying stating as such? And must people use it with such frequency and self satisfaction? Next time someone tells me something is what it is, I am going to say:: "Potatoes will always be potatoes." Because, they will, you know? Just like it is what it is. And I am who I am. And I arrived when I arrived. And I ate what I ate. And then I left when I did.

2:: Securities Exchance Commission. I do not like you.

3:: That my New Roommate's ringtone on her phone is a song. And further that the song is one by Akon. And further yet that the song contains the lyric "hundred dollar bills ya'll." And I don't mean in jest.

4:: Text messages as a means of substantive conversation. I can hang with text messages for simple communication, drunked flirtation, sober flirtation, and "just wanted to say hi" kind of nonsense. But, please. Please. Please. Please. Do not try to convey important things to me via text.

5:: People who pretend (mostly boys in my case) that they do not know you when they CLEARLY do. This just happened to me a few days ago. There is a certain guy whose parents are friends with my family. I have known him for about a million years and see him at least three times a year. We aren't friends per se, but we are friendly. And he totally asked me out once. I see the guy at a family get together this past weekend, and he literally said "Hi, nice to meet you." This makes him either (a) exceedinly stupid, or (b) exceedingly pathetic. Either way, I don't like it.

6:: Running out of popcorn. One should never, ever run out of popcorn.

7:: Sunday, 8:53 p:: I have done extensive studies, and it is proven that 8:53 p is the WORST. TIME. EVER. It is at this time that you realize the weekend is over and Monday is looming. Sunday, 8:53 p is the inverse of Friday 6:00 p.

Monday, May 12, 2008

Weekend tales.

In no particular order::

1. My mother, solidifying her spot as the coolest mom of all time, decided Sunday morning that she wanted to spend her mother's day not at the Four Seasons brunching, as we had planned, but at a local casino playing poker. And so began a little family trip to the City of Commerce.

2. At the casino I sat beside the hottest guy I have seen in 2008. As I was leaving, he followed me to the cashier [I won three hundred dollar dollar bills ya'll (all of which has been spent - see item 3)] to give me his number. Given that he had degenerate [and very sexy] gambler written all over him, I don't intend to use it.* But still, it totally made my day/month. Any furthermore, if I should ever be back at Commerce Casino again and happen to sit beside him, I may just think our encounters to be destiny and may have to propose to him.

3. I purchased an awesome new "work" dresses. I say "work" because it is not actually work appropriate, but somehow classifying the dress as such, even if erroneously, makes me feel more justified about the purchase.

4. Gameboy e-dumped me on Friday. He then tried to take it back Saturday [kind of], suggesting that perhaps he was hasty and we should see what happens. But alas, one can not take back a dump. Especially one so ill-conceived and delivered electronically.

5. I joined eHarmony. Because, you know, I don't have enough male induced drama in my life already. I also have been informed that Gameboy is an eHarmony patron and that so I hope desperately that we lack the five points of compatibility. The reason that I know this about Gameboy is because the world is intent on demonstrating over and over how small it is. I get it world. Please stop tormenting me.

6. I met blogger Single/Fabulous on Saturday. We went hiking at Runyon Canyon. She was very Nice/Awesome.

7. I had eight tons of tortilla chips at Pink Taco while watching the Laker's play shit basketball, then drove to a bar in Hollywood to meet up with some friends. Met up with said friends. Downed two shots of tequila under intense peer pressure. Wanted to leave about 10 minutes later and was obvs not going to drive. So instead, I left my car at said bar and took a cab. The end result was my car being held hostage for two days and my having to pay a usurious "parking" fee to get it back. Fucking Hollywood.

8. Evil Troll and her boyfriend seem to have broken up yet again, as her Shitious Boyfriend has called my New Roommate in hopes of re-re kindling whatever it was they had. This whole situation is rapidly morphing from somewhat amusing to just plain old sad. Also, I am very displeased to have it reaffirmed yet again that people can be such scoundrels. There are literally two women on the planet that are off limits to Shiteous Boyfriend by virtue of their acquaintance with Evil Troll. Why must he pursue one of those gals? Anyone care to comment on this?

9. [Redacted for now]

10. My New Roommate has met a new guy that is phenomenally cool. They seemingly have nothing in common, but I hope she keeps him around because he is fun to hang out with. Also, he is not Shiteous Boyfriend.

11. I had one of the best hair days EVER [not counting professionally done days] Saturday night.

12. I can't tell sometimes if my blog makes me seem more neurotic than I am or if I am more neurotic than I let on in my blog.

* This is what they call progress. For the first time ever, I am avoiding a guy that is all but assured to spell danger for me, despite my intense physical attraction. I am growing up people.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

A moment of clarity.

As I sat at my desk today, I thought to myself how much time I waste thinking/worrying about nonsense (i.e., Gameboy, Aristotle boy, Evil Troll, etc.). I looked out my window and for about eight seconds I felt in a state of bliss. Really believing that my life is awesome, and that I need to chill out and enjoy it more thoroughly. Then the moment passed. I still feel like my life is awesome, but I also fell like I want to throw up at the thought of another rejection.

Sigh.

In other news, Evil Troll and her nasty pants boyfriend are back together. He called New Roommate to tell her, and to tell her to tell me that I had better not say anything to Evil Troll about his indiscretion.

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Hickeygate 2008

So begins another cycle of the Diet Coke Dating Horror Show.

This time around, I was/am re-dating a person [henceforth "Gameboy" - because he designs video games] that I previously dated, but then stopped dating because I got semi-serious with someone else instead [the guy I picked over Gameboy turned out to be a total whacko, but then I maybe should have deduced that early on given his die hard obsession with Proust and Morrisey]. I was going through my emails the other day and came upon exchanges with Gameboy, and was reminded of how he was both cute and sweet. Plus he called me almost immediately after our first date, which is the type of early dating behavior I tend to favor.

Sure, several months had passed, but what was the harm in emailing him to see if he wanted to grab a drink? So I did just that. And much to my amazement he emailed back, and not just to tell me to shove off. We ended up getting together last weekend [Friday night] for dinner at a vegan place called Cru in Silverlake. After dinner we headed to 4100 Bar - a cool bar where good dates go to die [or maybe just my dates]. And by "some drinks", I mean he had one scotch to my three Kettle/soda's.

At 4100 Bar, things got a little strange. He didn't want to order another drink, which made me think he was over the date. As we were walking out, I was fully prepared to say goodbye. Instead he suggested that we walk over to a coffee shop we had seen earlier. The coffee place was closed, so we continued walking around for a bit looking for places to go until it was decided that we'd go back to my place [Very clever tactic, Gameboy. Very clever indeed.]

Back at my place, Gameboy drank tea, which concerned me greatly. Diet Coke likes alcohol on a Friday night, not tea. My fears were quelled when he insisted that I drink whatever I please. And I think he meant it. Or at least I hope so. Anyhow, we hung out for a long while, chatted, joked, laughed, blah blah. I ended up having a lot of fun and decided that I liked Gameboy [which of course, means that Gameboy cannot like me].

Saturday was stressful, because being crazy as I am, I expected that Gameboy would call/text/email me. He did not. Not being able to contain myself, and knowing full well that I would have been better served by doing nothing, I texted him anyhow. This of course led to additional hours of agony as Gameboy did not respond. Or at least not until Sunday, when he asked if I wanted to see a movie at his place. I of course, despite knowing that I should have pretended to have better things to do, accepted his offer. [Clearly, I could use some of those horrible "Rules" in my life]

All was going well until, as I got ready to leave, I glanced at his neck and realized the he had a hickey, junior high style. As I imagined the thirty two year old man standing before me going to work with a giant red mark on his neck, naturally, I laughed out loud. Two seconds later, completely in jest [I swear it], I uttered five tiny words.

"You are a marked man."

His whole expression changed. As if I had some how branded him on purpose so all the ladies of the world knew that he was mine, mine, mine. When in fact, I think he probably just has sensitive skin.

Anyhow, I left. No word from Gameboy since. Sad, because I could have totally dug him.

But then again, if he can't handle a hickey and a harmless remark, it was doomed anyhow.

And finally, I am clearly doing something wrong when it comes to this whole "dating" gig.

Monday, May 5, 2008

Highly Scientific Experiment #1: Sex on a first date.

Inspired by my previous post, and wanting to know once and for all whether doing the dirty dirty on a first date is the kiss of death for a budding relationship, I set upon devising a High Scientific Experiment.

At first I considered asking my male friends, but quickly determined they would make a very poor sample as they are predominantly gay, and those who are straight would be so excited to be getting some play that they would propose marriage to any mammal that was willing to put out. So I did the next best thing, I turned to the diverse [“diverse” as in they encompass perverts of all ages and sexual proclivities] group know as the Men of Los Angeles Craigslist (the "Men").

I posed as a 25 year old who had foolishly gotten naughty with a suitor in whom she had real interest [as opposed to merely sexual interest] and feared that she had blown her chances at a real relationship by whoring out. The Men responded in droves [over 60 replies to date].

My findings are as follows::

46% of the Men replied with some variation of "you dumb slut, you blew it."

Interestingly of those 58%, about half first apologized and THEN called me a slut. Most believed that a man cannot respect a woman with whom they have had sex [I don't really get this - someone explain?]. Also, these replies were the least articulate of the bunch, utilizing phrases like "lol" and using "u" for "you."
“No healthy long-term relationship can spring from a one-nighter.”
[What about unhealthy long-term? I would take that]
“he just lost all respect for u. He thinks ure a slut”
[says the man with “69” in his email address]
“It's not a riddle it's just that you're a slut..lol"
“He will not marry you. Guys have two categories - women they will sleep with and women they will marry.”
“Basically, you just made yourself a tramp sorry to say. You can disagree with me and you can even lie to me but you can never lie to what your inner soul will tell you. That is why sex was created by God to be within marriage.”
[This last one was my favorite. It went on for a really long time about my soul.]

27% told me about how they had healthy relationships that resulted from a first night sexer [at least one of which ultimately ended in divorce, but what marriage doesn't these days?] Most of this group thought that the timing of sex has nothing to do with it, and it is based solely on other factors, like whether the person actually likes you or not. How very novel!
"sleeping with a guy on the first date is as equal as reading his resume you gotta see if he is good enough for the job"
15% said it depends on how good the sex was.
“If he digs you, (and the sex wasn't awful) then of course he'll want to see you again.”
5% propositioned me.

3% had some sort of God theory.
"trust you me, if he wants to Create he will be back."
2% asked me why I am asking such a dumb question.

1% wanted to know why the girl they recently went out with has not called them back.

1 very creepy person thinks that one night stands lead to rape.
“If he expects sex from you every time you meet, he's controlling you, and guess what happens when you threaten his masculinity by breaking his control? Right, and that's how girls get beaten, raped, or worse.”
Conclusion::

Sex on a first date is a very bad idea if the guy with whom you are sleeping (1) has an IQ lower than 100 [lolers, I am looking at you], (2) finds you to be a bad lay, (3) doesn't like you anyhow, or (4) really loves God. Otherwise, go crazy ladies, cause no one cares.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

When small things turn into big issues.

My friend, A.M., has been dating a guy for about a month now. The last few times I have spoken to her, she was very enthusiastic about the state of the relationship [not unusual as she is typically wild about all new boys - for about a fortnight- and then not so much]. So enthusiastic, in fact, that she had not been engaging in any sexy bed time action with said boy in an effort to project herself as being sexually unattainable, and therefor more desirable. [Aside:: Really? I have certainly heard of such a thing, but is having sex with someone really the kiss of death in a budding relationship? Seems dumb. Like, really dumb].

Below is a PG-13ified version of the conversation I have with A.M. last night::

Diet Coke:: So, what is up with the new fella you have been (not) boinking?
A.M:: It is so over.
Diet Coke:: Oh noes! Did the pretending not to be a slut backfire?
A.M:: He and I were hooking up the other night and I discovered that his Business is really really small.
Diet Coke:: Shut up, it can't be THAT small.
A.M:: No, seriously. It is THAT small.
Diet Coke:: So you just aren't going to see him anymore?
A.M:: Yup.
Diet Coke:: But weren't you really into him?
A.M:: Yeah, but D.C., it was REALLY REALLY small. Like, unemployable small.
Diet Coke:: Damn.

All this got me thinking, Carrie Bradshaw style.

Is it totally reprehensible to dump a guy because his package is the size a single serving Crystal Light pack? [I think no]

Doesn't this all mean that you should have sex with a guy BEFORE you decide you like him? [I think maybe] After all, it seems that prolonged abstinence can only lead to either 1) a broken heart upon discovery of your objects physical deformity, or 2) if the sex happens to be good, several missed week of good sex. [And let's face it, you may not be dating this person for very long so any possible weeks of good sex needs to be taken advantage of].

If I were in such a situation, would my earlier truth proclamation require me to share with said guy that I was dumping him because of his inadequacy or does a lie in this circumstance solidly fall into some "lie for the sake of human decency exemption"? [I think the latter].

So many questions, so little time.

Monday, April 28, 2008

Lover, you should really love Jeff Buckley.

It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when I slept so soft against her
It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It's never over, she's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever
I really want to meet someone who loves that song as much as I do.

It blows my whole brain every time I listen to it. Which is frequently.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Self Imposed Exile/ Girls are dumb.

Part I - Self Imposed Exile::

For the past several months, I have been going a little overboard in my life. I am not saying it hasn't been fun [it has], but I felt like I was getting a little out of control. In order to get back on track, I have been wanting a weekend all to myself, free of vice, technology, and outside influences. Originally my plan had been to go to Palm Springs and just hang out, all by my lonesome. But when my roommate announced she was leaving for a week, I decided that I would make my house my own personal sanctuary.

So basically, for the last two days I fell off the face of the earth, I worked on my tan, I wrote a bunch, I read even more, I felt wonderful and happy and sad and lonely and wonderful again. I relearned how to spend time with myself. I organized my closet. I even had my own little Project Runway experience when I tried [and failed] to sew a tunic for myself. I dealt [and continue to deal with ] a gas leak.

At the end of it all, I learned no great lessons. I didn't find myself, discover the meaning of life, or write the first few pages of the next great American novel. I am still bummed as hell that it is Sunday, thereby making tomorrow a workday. But I feel grounded and strong. And over all, I am pretty gosh darn happy.

Part II - Girls are dumb [sometimes]::

So I have this friend I will call Dee. Dee and I were very good friends in High School, are slightly less friendly these days, but still quite close. We speak irregularly but have always managed to somehow keep a genuine connection between us. Or at least I think so, anyhow.

Dee, despite being brilliant in nearly every facet of her life, has atrocious taste in men. Worse than me even. If there is a useless man within 10 miles of Dee, she will sniff him out and make him the love of her life until the whole farce of a relationship blows up in her face. It is rather painful to watch, but I always just figured that one day she would realize the absurdity of her ways and find a man that didn't totally suck.

I may be wrong. Dee's latest conquest, Moldy, is her worst yet. So of course, true to form, Dee has declared him the love of her life. Moldy is a pathological liar, a womanizer, and pretty much a total unreliable asshole. I know all of this because he is a pseudo friend of mine. Pseudo in that I hang with him on occasion, can have a beer and a laugh with him, but don't trust even a teensy little bit.

Recently, I went out with a Mutual Friend of myself and Moldy and had a conversation that went as such::

Me:: Hey, how is Moldy? I have not seen the kid for a while.

Mutual Friend:: He is really good, he has been really busy dating lots of chicks.

Me:: Say whhhha? Did he and Dee break up??

Mutual Friend:: Oh shit, I forgot you are friends with Dee. Please, please, please don't say anything.

Me:: Of course not. It is none of my business.

BUT, the problem is this. I don't actually believe that it is none of my business. Because after all, Dee is my friend. If I were Dee, and I loved a man who was cheating on me and my friends knew, I would damn well expect them to tell me about it.

So that is what I did in a roundabout way. I didn't want to get Mutual Friend in hot water, so I made up a cockamamie story about how I thought that maybe I may have possibly maybe seen Moldy with another gal. My thought was that telling Dee her boyfriend might be cheating 1) would cause her to reexamine the relationship, and 2) would force her to confront Moldy and he'd have to come clean, since he is in fact cheating.

Turns out, neither of the results I had anticipated came to pass. Dee refused to talk to Moldy because according to her, he is under a lot of pressure and she does not want to add to it. And further, Moldy would NEVER cheat. They are in love. I am mistaken. And that is that.

On one hand, I understand where Dee is coming from. She is desperate for a relationship and to feel deeply connected to someone. She does not want to see how flawed her chosen partner is, because she is desperate, and she can pretend, at least for now, he is what she wants.

On the other hand, I want to say to her - For the love of God lady, wake the hell up. You are dating a total asshole. Just because you don't want to admit it or see it, does not make it any less true. And when a friend of your's who loves you tells you something, perk up your ears, open your eyes, and stop being so stupidly naive.

But of course, I can't say that to Dee. So I am saying it to you instead.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Working out is hazardous to your health.

I kid you not. One day post Burn/Torture 60 and I am incapable of walking, standing, laughing, drinking or thinking. Literally every single muscle in my body aches. Certainly more information than you desire, but I had to use the handicap bathroom at the office today because I needed the handrail to hoist myself back up to standing position. I would not be able to sprint down the hallway if my life depended on it. And I tend to think I could do ANYTHING if my life depended on it (I do after all, plan to be immortal).

On another note, a great many of you have expressed shock and awe over the current Evil Troll Situation. And I know!!! The whole situation is totally bat shit crazy. The latest is that Evil Boyfriend (as in Evil Troll's current/ex boyfriend) called my New Roommate to tell her that he and Evil Troll are engaged in a project together (I can only imagine what this "project" entails) and that he can't talk to my New Roommate until after they have concluded said "project".

And the reasons for his mandated hiatus? Because he can't think of my New Roommate without wanting to [expletive] her and he needs to not be [expletiving] her right now out of respect to Evil Troll. Those are his words, not mine!!!!

And by the way, please add this to my list of pet peeves::
Someone who has already done bad things X and Y says that they will not do bad thing Z "out of respect."

Real life example:: I just stole your shoes and cut a hole in your socks, but out of respect for you, I will not step on your toes.

Thanks?

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

A world of pain.

Examples of a good idea:: ice cream, pool side frolicking, pancakes, vacations, backyard BBQs, baseball games, massages, cupcakes, swimming pools, bubble bath, diet carbonated beverages, photographs.

Examples of a bad idea::
waking up at 5a (in the morning people!!!) to engage in the most hellish workout ever after not having worked out in half a decade.

Wanting to fit in with the early morning worker outter contingent at my work place, I signed up to join my clearly masochistic cohorts today at Burn 60. The class was way the hell over in Brentwood and started at 6a. I have not woken up that early since my burglar alarm went off a couple months ago, and even then, I considered staying in bed. And the name Burn 60? Accurate in part, as their is in fact burning. However, not merely for the 60 minutes the name implies. I am 9.5 hours post workout and I am in PAIN. I can't walk, I can't bend down, it is a wonder I can even type.

I also went to see Dr. Kerendian, marking our one month anniversary. Between the lipotropics and the ass kicking workout, I better see some results. And I mean soon!

Monday, April 21, 2008

No title is good enough.

First of all, let me say - holy fucking shit. Second, let me say - the following is shockingly, amazingly, karma is a mean bitch-edly true.

Most of you will recall my tales of Evil Troll. The basic synopses is as follows::

Once upon a time, Evil Troll and I were BFF style. Inseparable. Sisterly, even. I defended her against plethora's of (correct) naysayers. I put up with her absolute flakery. I introduced her to all my friends and basically made her part of my family. And worst of all, I made the fateful decision last September to move in with her.

Fast forward two months, and Evil Troll informs me that she is going to bail on the lease to move in with her boyfriend of one point five months. She fails to inform me that in the process, she intends to lie, cheat, steal and act like a total psychopath.

For a while, I was very sad, not to mention completely stressed that she and I had moved into a giant house for which I was now solely responsible. I started to surround myself with non-Evil Troll like persons. Time passed. The anger subsided. The memories of the havoc Evil Troll caused faded. Recently, I stopped thinking of Evil Troll (almost) altogether.

Until.

Today.

When I come home, and find who?

Nope, not Evil Troll.

I find Evil Troll's mother fucking BOYFRIEND!

Hooking up with my New roommate (who for the sake of clarity, is not Evil Troll).

[Aside:: They had meet when New Roommate came to visit the house a few times before she moved in. Turns out they met again today - and well, the rest is history as they say.]

Let's recap shall we?

Evil Troll befriends Diet Coke, Evil Troll fucked Diet Coke over to move in with her boyfriend, Evil Troll hoodwinks some poor unsuspecting girl to take over her lease and buy all of her stuff, poor unsuspecting girl ends up fucking Evil Troll over by fucking Evil Troll's boyfriend.

OMG OMG OMG OMG.

Part of me feels sad for Evil Troll because that totally sucks, and frankly, is not that kind of thing that people should have to experience. But dang, former home slice had it coming. Also, what kind of total asshat is this boyfriend of hers (or not hers, rather)??!?!?!

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

My weekend from Wednesday's perspective.

I meant to share with you my thoughts on last weekend because it was pretty eventful. And here we are, Wednesday night, and I am finally getting around to posting about my weekend. The reasons for the delay are::

1. When I got home last night, I plopped down on my couch and became completely incapacitated. I could see my laptop two feet away and still could not muster up the strength to get up grab it. I sat there for about three hours, not sleeping, thinking about all the stuff that I had to do that I was not doing. And then I dozed off and had a dream that I had finally figured out how to draft this wretched agreement I am working on. And then I woke up. Feeling really sad because it was almost morning and the agreement was not in fact figured out.

2. Being the consummate procrastinator that I am, I figured it would be fine to put off my weekend blog until later...and later...and later...

So again, here we are, Wednesday night, and I am finally getting around to posting about my weekend, and all I can remember about it was that it was really fucking hot.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Coolin by day then at night working up a sweat

You know how sometimes you go to a place and you see some gal or guy rocking out to the music? And I don't mean rocking out in an adorable way, which also happens. I am speaking of the times where a group of people are staring dumbfounded while a lone girl sings along and makes accompanying hand jesters to "Oops, I Did it Again." And you feel sorry for this person, and you swear that you will never be this person, because to be this person is a crime?

Sadly, at 7:42p last night, in the vicinity of Beverly and La Jolla, I was that person. Here is my story.

I was driving along after a hard days work (very hard day's work), feeling a pretty out of it and exhausted. The radio was letting me down as it always does* so I started sifting through my glove box (does anyone actually keep gloves in their glove box?) and found an unmarked CD. Actually, I found about ten or so unmarked CDs, and just randomly plopped one in. All of the aforementioned happened while I was driving, so you can imagine how much my lane mates liked me at this point.

The first song was "Buttons" by Sia. Good song, but not appropriate for the mood. I was thinking something a little less pep and a little more Jeff Buckley, so I skipped ahead to the next track. As the next song started to play, I showed a little apprehension. But by the time the second "Ah, push it" rang out, the volume was already starting to creep up to deafening levels.

At "Ow! Baby! Baby! Salt and Pepas here!" my driver's seat has turned into a full on 80's roller rink party. Everything continued going swimmingly well until I got to, "Better make it fast or else I'm gonna get pissed." I was shucking and jiving like a lunatic when I noticed that the car full of peeps to my left were laughing hysterically, taking great lengths to drive right beside me, so as to not lose sight of their nights entertainment. When the passenger in the car winked at me, I decided I needed to flee the scene at once and swiftly busted a right. I lost sight of the car, but the mortification followed me all the way home.

Last night, I fell victim to Push It. I became The Girl rocking out while people stared in astonished amusement. And frankly, it felt pretty damn good. Not the being a spectacle so much, but the part about letting the music overtake you. When I left the office, I was totally bummed and stressed. By the time I arrived at my driveway, I was feeling slightly euphoric about the carefree weekend with perfect weather that was ahead of me. And for this, I have Salt n' Pepa to thank.

* Speaking of the radio, I like the "I can ride a bike with no handlebars" song as much as the next person, but must it be on the radio 6 times a day? Is there really such a glut in the music industry that the same good song has to played constantly? If so, and I highly doubt that it is actually so, it makes me sad.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

By the time I grow up.

The Apocalypse is around the bend (aka - Diet Coke is turning 30 soon). Soon is relative, of course, and in this context means five hundred and one certain to be fleeting days. Gasp.

I seldom think of the aging process, probably because I act more like a college freshman on a typical day than a sophisticated adult. And still, the fact remains, I am getting old(er). And I have no more of an idea about life now than I did ten years ago, and aside from my scholastic achievements and income earning, it is safe to say that I have not accomplish much either. I am basically the same person now as I was then except with three extra gray hairs, reduced skin elasticity, a better wardrobe, more clutter, and less optimism about the world. Thank god my boobs have held up, I'd otherwise be totally defeated.

I decided last night rather than rue the day I roll over into my Dirty Thirties, I am going to make the next five hundred and one days the most fantastic I've experienced yet. When my personal Age Apocalypse arrives, I won't look back and wish/wonder/lament what could have been and be sad over a waste "youth".

To that end, I have made a list of all the things I want to accomplish (my list is clearly unbridled by reality)::

1. Run a marathon (even if really, really slowly)
2. Save a life
3. Finally clear my closet of all the clothing that I love but never wear
4. Publish a book
5. Write a poem that dose not suck
6. Learn how to properly use "that" and "which"
7. Stop being a lawyer
8. Cease all lies, even the ones that I tell to make others feel better
9. Learn to cook like my mother
10. One time (just one measly effing time) get something done BEFORE the deadline
11. Start writing thank you notes
12. Forgive Evil Troll for being the worst person I have ever come across (clearly, not nearing forgiveness quite yet)
13. Only engage in activities that I want to genuinely be engaging in (no more party attendance out of obligation, ya'll!)
14. Travel somewhere by myself
15. Have sex on a mountain top
16. Start remembering people's birthdays
17. Learn to drive - properly
18. Pay my parking tickets before the fine doubles
19. Stop signing up for things and then never going
20. Meditate
21. Levitate

There you have it. Those are the first 21 things that came to mind. There are hundreds more, but you get the point. And if you perhcance don't get the point, it is this:: I have a lot a lot of things I want to do in my life. And for the most part, I am not doing them. And I am getting tired of having things I want to do and not doing them. Because life in general is short, and mine is getting shorter by the second, and so by golly - I am going to start going to make shit happen.

Errr, I just thought of one more thing.

22. Stop being the kind of person that purchases extravagantly expensive shoes.
When I grow up
I'll be stable
When I grow up
I'll turn the tables

Friday, April 4, 2008

The Importance of Maintaining Decorum

Today, we have two topics up for discussion. First we have a little story about how your dearest author has managed to embarrass herself for the trillionth time (and that is in 2008 alone). Then we have an update on my visit to Dr. Kerendian.

The Importance of Maintaining Decorum::

Four score and one year ago, my friend Teebs and I attended a certain marketing event hosted by a certain investment bank. While marketing events are typically not my style, we were lured in by promises of hot guys, and more importantly, free booze. Whereas the aforementioned good looking men were nowhere to be found, the alcohol was as abundant as oxygen. After about two (or perhaps closer to six) mango infused Bellini's, Teebs and I were totally out of control – basically acting like two ditzy (but very cute and endearing) ass hats. Apparently, investment bankers are into ass hats, because we were certainly the most popular girls in the room. Or perhaps the only girls in the room? Either way, we have a gaggle of guys surrounding us, more or less hanging on our every word.

Three more Bellini's and an hour later, someone had the idea of going across the street to the Peninsula Hotel to get a late night bite. Once we left the confines of the marketing event, all hell broke loose. When drunk, Diet Coke has a tendency to (a) say EVERYTHING in her drunk (and thereby, feeble) mind, and (b) talk to strangers. And on this particular night, I indulged in both (a) and (b) to the greatest extent possible. So much in fact, that by the time we sat down to eat, we had at least one random guy from the bar dining with us. After that, I don't really remember much. All I know is that someone had to drive me home and the next morning I felt like the death bus had run over my face. Twice.

Imagine my surprise, when I walk into the attorney meeting on Monday where a new lateral partner is introduced, and said partner is none other than one of the guys from that investment banking marketing event turning into a drunken brouhaha. The shame, the embarrassment, the hilarity!

My point, dear readers is this:: When going to a social function where your current or future colleagues are likely to be in attendance, don't get shit faced drunk and act like a total baboon.

More on the Good Doctor Kerendian::

I have received an alarming number of emails from you registering your shock, dismay, and concern over my visit to Dr. Kerendian. Let me say, first, that I realize that there is no magic pill that is going to make me super model thin and that in order to attain the body I want, I have to work for it. Being the smarty pants that I am, I also know that there are many diet fads that can be dangerous. That all being said, the Good Doctor Kerendian is an actual doctor with credentials and experience, and not some random who-ha hack that just popped up. And most importantly, whether it is my crazy brain playing tricks on me or a legitimate result of lipotropics and vitamins, I feel super.

Thanks for looking out though!

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Must. Lose. Weight.

Having spent the better part of the last two years lamenting the ten extra pounds on my frame despite all my various weight loss efforts (which admittedly, have typically compromised my eating "healthy" for two days, and then going out for Mexican food) – I am taking (semi) drastic measures.

I heard rumblings a few months ago from Evil Troll about a Dr. Kerendian in Beverly Hills who is supposed to be a weight loss guru. Such rumblings were ignored given Evil Troll's status as 1) a dishonest and 2) evil. But then again on Monday, the Good Doctor Kerendian entered into my life when I heard someone in the elevators at my office talking about how their friend's, friend's, friend lost – "like, 25 pounds and looks, like, totally awesome."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is all the endorsement I need.

So I rang up the Good Doctor Kerendian, who is conveniently located down the street, and come tomorrow at 1:00 p, I will be in his care on my way to weight loss bliss. I hope. The first appointment is taking various tests to measure my metabolic rate, blood work, and all that other doctorly stuff. I am verboden from consumption of caffeine AND alcohol for the 24 hours period prior.* Thusly, the diet coke I am drinking right now makes me a rule breaker. But I swear, after this one, no more. Errr, maybe.

Also, for those of you curious about Dr. Kerendian (and apparently, that is many of you because the phone guy told me the place gets 180 calls a DAY), I will post periodically about my results, costs, and give a general review of Dr. Kerendian. Until then, you can refer to his website.

* I totally cheated and had two drinks last night with some friends at The 3rd Stop. I used to love this place, but they have totally lost themselves. They are trying to be all fancy now and it is v v v v v annoying.

The First Appointment::

I just returned from my first appointment with Dr. Kerendian. I use the term "with" very loosely, as the appointment was in fact with his medical staff (I was previously informed that the first would be). They took some blood, weighted me (THE HORROR!!!), took my body fat (THE HORROR!!!!), and had me take a metabolic test (my metabolism is normal to higher than normal – I guess I am fattish because I eat a lot. Damn!). Afterwords the Good Doctor's Physician Assistant came in any told how he thinks I basically don't eat right and how I need to work out more, build some muscle, yada yada blah blah. He then told me to come back in three days to see the Good Doctor Kerendian.

My thoughts:: Yes, buddy. I know all this. And I didn't pay three hundred cash American dollar dollar bills to hear you tell me I am fattish because I eat too much and I don't work out enough. Give me some pills!! Give me some shots!!!

My reply::
Ok, thanks.

The Second Appointment::

The *real* appointment day arrived at last. I was off to see the Good Doctor Kerendian in the flesh. We chatted for nearly an hour, talked about my eating habits (bad), life style (naughty), work outs (non-existent), energy level (low), etc. After about forty minutes of yapping, we got to the good stuff.

He put me on a 1200 calorie diet, twice daily metabolic packs (fist fulls of horse sized vitamins), and lipotropic injections. I received the first of the injections yesterday - in my butt (left side for those keeping track)- and I know it's crazy and impossible, but I feel much thinner already! talk about placebo effect.

Summary::

I just started The Program. Good Doctor Kerenian thinks I can lose up to 16 pounds, so that shall be my goal.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

The day the music died. In Silverlake. At a bar.

The Silverlake Hipster contingent likes their juke music, as I discovered on a recent trip to 4100 Bar, which is probably one of my top 5 east side bars.

Certain Someone and I descended upon 4100 Bar at around 9:30 after dinner at Malo down the street. First off let me say, I do not recommend Malo. Any Mexican Restaurant that makes you pay for salsa is not ok. This is the kind of trend that will result in McDonald's charging for straws or Taco Bell for sporks (aka - end of the world).

When we first got to 4100 Bar, the place was pretty empty, allowing us to cozy up to two bar stools right by the vaunted Juke Box. Immediately, Certain Someone started demanding I procure dollar dollar bills to start playing some music. Having quit my job at the strip club, I was fresh out. When we tried to get some change for a five from the bar back, we were informed the box had run amok, playing tunes at will - ignoring the wishes of its paying clientele. As the place started to fill up, LITERALLY 30 people walked up to the Juke to try to put their money in (some actually did) and were crushed to learn that it was broken.

All through the bar, there was malcontent, snickering and suspicion over the lack of musical styling. Just as we had all lost faith - reconciled ourselves to an evening of silence followed up by 30 second bits of random songs followed by more silence - the doors swung open. A light shone in. And entered - the Juke Box Man. He whipped out a box of magical tools, and before I could say Hoe Gardin three times, the music was back.

And all was good in Silverlake again.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Back on the Juice

I blogged a while ago about my experimentation with FRS Healthy Energy products and about how they generally tasted like crap. I started using the product after hearing some trust worthy endorsements and learning that FRS offered a free two week sample pack. While their products don't taste that great - unless you are into fake orange/lime flavor with a funny aftertaste, they are pretty good at providing energy. Since I have been taking them I don't feel that afternoon post-lunch slump that had become my existence.

Since I had run out of the free goods, and the not-free stuff is kind of overpriced, I had decided to shelve the notion of taking FRS Health Energy products forever - or at least until their next promotion. Then, just as I had given up, I got an email from them offering me 30% off my next order. I still resisted. THEN, I got a second email offering $100 worth of free products if I re-uped my order.

The coupon/gift hook was too much for me to handle. So I placed my order.

There are two points to this story. First, my Free Radical Scavenger order is on its way. Five boxes of their antioxidant health drink, two bags of antioxidant health chews and one orange concentrate. Second, and more important, it seems FRS is like then men in my life. It comes in a tidy little box. It starts off being mostly bad. Just when I come to accept the bad and focus on the upside, it runs out on me. I feel sad for a bit, and then forgot about it. And just then, at that VERY moment, it reasserts itself into my life. Typically, havoc ensues.

And speaking of the men in my life...

1. Certain Someone:: still awesome.
2. T/S, Shit Fuck Face:: still an asshole.
3. The Philosopher/Aristotle Boy:: briefly regained his status as The Philosopher by sending a bevy of nice messeges but then promptly lost said elevated status by returning to blowing me off.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

My favorite trader joe became the scene of my worst nightmare.

Maybe not my worst nightmare, but pretty damn bad.

Imagine me, the Trader Joe hoarder that I am, just having finished loading eight (yes, really) boxes of Lentils Madras into my basket. I had just reached for two bottles of organic ketchup when who moseys on by but Shit Fuck Face from dating nightmares past. And he was at MY Trader Joe.

Normally, my instinct* in such a situation is either 1) flee from subject, 2) feign ignorance and pretend not to have seen subject, or if drunk, 3) confront and make out with subject.** In this instance, I went with a 1/2 combo. Flee the isle and ignore having seen subject. Subject, however, ignored the rules of engagement to followed me. Subject further wanted to pose the most absurd inquiry EVER:: "Why didn't you call me?"

My next instinct was to squeeze the hell out of the tubes of ketchup in my hands and squirt organicy tomatoey sugary goodness all over him. But then I thought of how the Ketchup deserved better and instead said:: "Sorry, I got really busy" and walked away.

I was so distracted on my way out that I forgot to grab a bag of my favorite delicious cheesy poofs. =(

*and thereby the proper instinct.

** Option 3 is not recommended.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Confused.

Confusion seems to be pretty much the only thing I am feeling these days.  I spent all day at work slaving over a filing that needed to be made - which filing was of course due yesterday. The partner who assigned me the wretched task assured me that the whole process would take no longer than three hours.  Diet Coke, he said emphatically, you will be done in time for lunch. Fast forward eight hours later and there I sat, in the same seat, still not done.  And still not having had eaten lunch.  Feeling utterly confused.

I rushed out of work to meet up with the Philosopher for dinner/drinks.  Shortly after my previous post about the confusion he was causing by toying with me, he made the best decision any man can make.  He asked me out.  Our meeting started out with the usual pleasantries - "hello, how are you, where you from, who you be with" etc, etc, blahpity-blah.   As our blood alcohol levels rose, so too did the fun quotient of our conversation.  By the time we were three glasses of wine deep, I had already convinced him to flash his very silly yet endearing tattoo (to the extent a tattoo can be endearing) and a sort of truth or dare (minus the dare) banter was exchanged.  We covered religion (he has none), drug use (he does none), 
and a few other things (that I don't recall).  It was fun.  And, alas, it was confusing.  

Which confusion begets further confusion - because why should a fun date be a source of confusion?  Probably because of the underlying confusion I feel about Certain Someone.  He and I had exchanged several emails yesterday trying to come to a mutual understanding about what the hell was going on between us.  And I thought that we had.  But then instead we spent the better part of the time since then not communicating at all, or being mad/sad/confused at each other.  

Will I ever reach an age or a place in my life where things just make sense and I know what to do and how to handle situations? 

I am starting to doubt it.

Monday, March 3, 2008

Someone totally hated on my blog today. This person started off in such a way that it seemed like they were giving me a compliment. Like, "Hey, your blog totally sucks but that other shit you write is pretty good." Then when I gave this person a chance to take it back, such person reaffirmed their belief that my blog sucks (and suggested that I know as much) and further extrapolated that if this person read my blog, but did not know me in real life, this person would assume I am crazy. After said person was done insulting me, this person asked that we just pretend the whole conversation never happened.

Four things came to mind when all this happened::

1:: I don't like when people give me an insult gift wrapped in a compliment.

2:: I don't like when people give me unsolicited negative feedback.

3:: If someone thinks that I seem crazy after reading my blog, this person likely also thinks I am crazy in real life. And maybe I am, because I don't think that what I write here is all that different than what I would say/do/think in person. Sure, this blog only reflects a very selective sampling of my life, but still, it is me. And frankly, I like it. And I think it is funny. And if others don't and want to get all judgmental on it, they should just stick to reading my reviews instead.

4:: I am being immature and posting this because my feelings are hurt.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

I get by with a little help.

Words are flying out like
endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass
They slip away across the universe
I had agreed several weeks ago to join a few of my closest friends to go see a Beatles cover band known as the Fab 4. I like the Beatles as much as the next person. Assuming the next person is a passive Beatles "fan." And further assuming that "fan" means having their number one hits records and being able to sing along to the chorus of their songs on the radio. But interest in going to see a bunch of forty something year old men PRETEND to be the Beatles? Not so much. Still I agreed to go, mostly just because my friends are awesome and I like to hang out with them. Well, that and promises of alcohol.

When we arrived at the show, I was less than enthused. First of all, the venue was this wacky supper club type place called the "Canyon Club." Think pirates of the Caribbean meets an opium den. And if that wasn't bad enough - and trust me, it was pretty effing bad - the place is in Augora Hills, which it turns out is one of those far away places that need not be visited. Ever.

When the show started, my morale plummeted even further. As I watched four men prance around the stage in bowl cut wigs signing Can't Buy Me Love the thought "what the hell am I doing here?" ran through my mind quite a few times. But then, somewhere between Hard Days Night and Yesterday, something changed. Probably, it had a lot to do with the fact that I was two vodka and soda's deep. More so, though, I think it was just the infectious (in a good way) nature of Beatles songs. You basically have to be a terrorist or a vegan not to like them. Once I got past the absurdity of watching a band pretend to be another band, fake accents and all, I could almost imagine that I was hearing the Beatles live, or at could understand what it must have been like to have had that opportunity.

Pretty awesome I imagine.

And I can't lie, when they played With a Little Help From my Friends, I got a little choked up. I've been talking a lot about Evil Troll and how awful a person she turned out to be. But what I should be talking about is my true and dear friends who are so wonderful and who I really love. And who really do help me get by. So to all of those friends, near and far, (most of whom who will never read this because they don't know that it exists and the two that will read it) - thank you.

And finally, I am very curious how it must be to be the fake Ringo in a fake Beatles band.