Monday, June 30, 2008


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


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 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.


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 ( 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?"


* 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.

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.