Sporadic Sporkitudes

Tampons in the Zombie Apocolypse

2014-04-12T21:11:00.000-07:00

Let the record show that the only reason I'm writing this is because my brother David says I can't legitimately open up my bottle of fancy champagne until I write something worth celebrating. And homegirl needs some wine stat. I actually meant to write this weeks ago and just never got around to it. Like I never get around to most things... So here goes.

This blog is dedicated to that bottle of champagne,
which I will be drinking shortly
to celebrate my return to blogging.
Don't ask about the bananas and bare chest.
Long story.

Anyone else here tired of zombies? I know that I am. They're gross and boring, despite the few movies and television series that attempt to prove otherwise. (Warm Bodies is the exception. And the Shit.) In any case, zombies are a good demonstration of the philosophy that you just never know. And that it doesn't hurt to be prepared.

So freaking adorable. Though I would not tap that.

I started thinking about zombies a few weeks ago after LA was plagued by a rash of earthquakes. I was sitting at home by myself, when I felt a single jolt. My first conclusion? Some drunk ass ran their car into the building (much like I did when I was 16 and was backing out of the driveway by myself for the first time. True story. Though alcohol wasn't involved). But being too exhausted to investigate, I let it go. Maybe 45 minutes later, I felt The Big One. (At least the Biggest One I've Ever Felt. Tee hee, that's what she said...). I jumped out of my comfy chair and stood in a doorway. I was ok in the moment, but as soon as it was over, I instinctually called my mommy. When the call wouldn't connect, presumably because the circuits were jammed and you're not supposed to use your cell after an emergency, I started having a panic attack. I full on hyperventilated, even after reaching my half-asleep mother. As the on-site representative of the property management, I probably should have ventured forth to check on the welfare of my residents. But… rum happened instead. I would have been no good to them anyway with my nerves frazzled to hell.

Pictured: My worst nightmare

Lots of people on Facebook were making fun of those of us who collectively lost our shit, even though nothing really of consquence happened. While I am a native Californian and this was not my first rodeo, earthquakes are my biggest fear. Really, all natural disasters. But earthquakes specifically because of my geographical context and the complete and utter lack of warning. Chances are, if a zombie apocolypse hits, there's gonna be some kind of notice sent out.

The next 24 hours after the Big One, I felt 5 aftershocks. The earth refused to sit still and let me walk all over it. By the last one, I ceased to be panicked and breathless, and started being annoyed. The best way for me to deal with my anxiety over feeling helpless is to switch into project mode. I decided to finally put together my earthquake/tsunami/zombie apocolypse kit that I promised my dad I would make when I first moved down to Southern California in August of 2005.

Girl Scouts Prepare
Me: Before, Me: After. Pigtails and everything.

It's weird to think about what kind of things may come in handy in an emergency situation. Of course, I packed the usual: first aid supplies, bottled water, the combination flashlight/radio/phone charger/siren I bought on a whim during an ill-advised late night Walmart excursion. Then I started looking around at the random stuff I have around my apartment that I ended up stuffing in the ugly, hand-sewn tote bag I made as part of a mother-daughter Mormon activity night.

Yep. I made that bag. With my own two 12 year old hands.
And you never know when you're gonna need a bullhorn.

1. A floral hammer with Russian doll nesting screwdrivers in the handle. An unironic gift from my amazing, late grandmother. I know that she would want me to be prepared in case things get primitive and I have to construct myself some kind of shelter. And still be fabulous at the same time.

2. Playing cards, because I assume waiting for help to arrive will get pretty boring without electricity.

3. Garfunkel & Oates lighters, which I got an inexplicably large amount of after a concert at Upright Citizens Brigade. I don't smoke, but I don't like to throw away potentially useful things. Plus, Garfunkel & Oates would be amazing survival buddies.

What's your zombie apocalypse book?
Chances are it's a hell of a lot different than your desert island book.

4. "God Bless You Mr. Rosewater" by Kurt Vonnegut. I've never read it, but I bought it at a library book sale for a quarter a few years ago and never got around to it. (Notice a pattern here?) I think Vonnegut is a good choice for zombie apocolypse literature though.

5. A change of clothes: old athletic pants that probably no longer fit, my bright yellow 'P' t-shirt from high school (Go Hillmen!), socks, and some granny panties. Because no one is gonna care what kind of underwear you're wearing at the end of the world. But they do care about school spirit.

Sadly, I couldn't find a picture of the legendary P shirt.
Do they even still make them?

6. Non-perishable food items: all I had was ramen, Costco tuna, and a can of nonfat refried beans for which I purchased a cheap can opener.

7. Toilet paper.

8. Notebook and pens. In case I get the urge to pen the great Post-Apocalyptic American novel.

Fun fact, in the original screenplay, Julia Roberts was supposed to be snorting crack, not flossing.
But that would have made a less peppy survival tip.

9. Various personal hygiene accoutrements. Because as Julia Roberts tells us in Pretty Woman, "You shouldn't neglect your gums." Not even after a major disaster. Seriously, dentists may be in short supply.

Guts & Glitter
I found a happy face made out of tampons. My life is now complete.

10. Tampons. Because your period may not be able to wait for FEMA.

After I was done with my kit, I felt an enormous sense of accomplishment. I took control over my destiny. And the universe will get no pleasure from fucking with me now that I'm prepared. And my dad couldn't be prouder. Unless I had fashioned the whole kit from duct tape.

PS. I think my kit needs a kazoo. And I just so happen to have a Garfunkel & Oates kazoo. Everyone is gonna wanna be my survival buddy now!

Attack of the Blarg!

2013-12-04T18:51:00.000-08:00

I believe that I have invented or at least identified a state of mind with which I am all too familiar. I call it the 'Blarg.' Feeling 'blargy' is essentially a limbo of sorts. You don't want anything and yet you want everything at the same time. You just want to wear sweat pants and curl under a blanket, but it's really too hot, so you roll up one pant leg and stick your leg out of the blanket. You're hungry but you don't know what to eat and nothing sounds good. You're bored but everything sounds awful and leaving the house is unacceptable. You basically just want to sit around and watch Netflix only you spend hours flipping through the options because you can't decide on a single damn thing. You don't want to be alone and yet anyone unlucky enough to be around you is odious and therefore prey to your inner Blarg Monster. This goes double for your significant other, the poor bastard.

Google's depiction of the Blarg Monster

Forget about being productive. You'll just feel bitter and resentful at the stupidest things like the fact that you actually have to work for a living. Or the fact that in order to get the job that you really want, you have to devote your free time to honing your craft. You'll look at your bank account and stress that you just might not make ends meet this month and then go spend money you don't have online shopping for things that you don't really need. Like pretty teal cereal bowls that turn out to be not microwave safe (who the fuck makes things these days that aren't microwave safe? HEATHENS that's who). You'll try to cheer yourself up with things that normally make you happy like ice cream or music and yet the flavor seems off or your favorite song is suddenly annoying as hell.

A more advanced subspecies of Blarg.
(I didn't draw this, but it looks fairly accurate)

You're not really sad. You're not really mad. You don't really hate the people or things that are currently pissing you off. You're just knee deep in blarg. It's an existential angst caused by wanting everything and nothing at the same time. Somewhere between depression and PMS, (though PMS is often the culprit). It's just frustrating. And a problem thoroughly embedded in the First World. So I should really stop whining and just go to Trader Joe's already…

Blarg.

PS, I just looked up 'blargmonster' in Urban Dictionary and it does exist. Here is the definition: 'a person that rambles on while writing in a blog.' Heh.

Lifetime Movie of the Week

2013-12-02T11:27:00.000-08:00

I woke up yesterday morning to a lewd text from a guy I haven't seen in over a year. I sort of laughed it off and responded glibly along the lines of, "I'm doing well, how've you been?" Every now and then I'll hear from a proverbial "somebody that I used to know." It's nice to catch up, but clearly there's a reason we aren't together anymore. And with this particular guy, we were never really together. I mentioned him previously in a blog, but didn't go into detail because there was really nothing to tell. I always got kind of a weird vibe from him, so I lost touch on purpose. But we texted back and forth for a while anyway, chit chatting. I asked him if he was still with the girl he started dating after me, but he didn't really give me a straight answer. I told him about my boyfriend and how we've been dating almost a year now. Then he asked if I had any cute girlfriends I could hook him up with. The answer to which was a world of NO.

This photo came with the caption
"Every Lifetime villain ever."

He asked me to meet up for a cocktail as old friends. I didn't think it was a good idea, even though I'm still friends with some of my other exes. Besides there was no way in hell I was planning on leaving the house when I had so much Netflix binging in my PJs and procrastinating my internship assignment to do. Somewhere in that conversation, the tone shifted. He became predatory and creepy. He gave me an ultimatum to meet him by midnight or else he would tell my boyfriend I had been cheating on him. Which obviously I wasn't. I hadn't even talked to him since maybe February when I first told him I had a boyfriend and he left me alone.

I knew he didn't have any proof, since it didn't happen. I also knew he didn't know my boyfriend's name, phone number, or any other identifying information. Regardless, the fact that he was attempting to blackmail and manipulate me for no reason was scary as hell. He had dropped me off at my apartment in Pasadena last November after our final date. He remembered my address and that I worked for the company. He kept counting down to midnight. "1 hour & 53 minutes." "1 hour 11 minutes." "47 minutes." Then he texted me a phone number. "Still your office line?" He must have googled the property and found what was actually the Central Leasing Office number in Virginia. I told him I didn't work there anymore and even if he called that number they didn't have my forwarding address and wouldn't give it to him if they did.

One terrifying sonofabitch.

He didn't believe me when I told him I moved. He called me a liar as well as a cheater. At "25 minutes," he said he was getting in the car to come to Pasadena. I told him in no uncertain terms that this was harassment and that I would call the cops. He sneered and said that the cops wouldn't do anything. A fine at the most. Which really creeped me out. He knew the exact amount of fine. Like he'd done this before.

Even though I was telling him the truth that I had moved six weeks ago, and there was very little chance of him actually finding me, and he couldn't really do anything to me if he did, I was so unnerved that I was shaking. Someone wanted to hurt me, if not physically than emotionally. And if someone is determined enough, they can find you. Even with all the privacy settings in the world. I couldn't understand why either. I barely knew this person. Why did he want to "teach me a lesson?" All I could figure was that maybe the girl he was dating cheated on him and he was misplacing his anger onto me.

I actually still had her number from a time we all went clubbing together back when we were friends. So I texted her to see if there was anything wrong and to tell her he was really freaking me out. She never responded. So I'm thinking she's either lying dead in a ditch somewhere (I'm nothing if not melodramatic), or at the very least she changed her number to get away from this psycho.

Oh Lifetime. You get me.

I did end up calling the Norwalk Sheriff just to see what the protocol in this case would be. I felt like some white trash hick calling with baby daddy drama. I was trying to explain to the woman on the phone that it seems ridiculous to have to call about this kind of thing, but there were serious warning bells going off in my head. She didn't really take me seriously and just told me to change my phone number or at least block his and to call back if he made an actual physical threat against me. Since I couldn't honestly say I felt like my life was in danger, I had to hang up. Seems kind of strange that you can't call the police until something bad happens even though it's a possibility. Then again, I'm sure they would get overloaded with calls about all the freaks out there who aren't actually planning on any harm, and not be able to help people in mortal danger. Sigh.

So I just blocked his number. We weren't friends on any social media, and I don't even know if he knows my last name because I can't even remember his. Still, I'm a little freaked out. Even after my boyfriend reminded me that he has a baseball bat in his trunk and asked where that guy lives. (Not that he would seriously go beat the shit out of him, but it was a nice offer nonetheless). I also sent an e-mail to the office I used to work at and the one I used to live at just letting them know not to give out any information if anyone should ask. So embarrassing.

The whole thing seems so ridiculous, like a bad joke gone horribly wrong. I tried to reason with him and called him out for making less sense than a Lifetime movie villain. He just said, "Oh stop, u love me." WTF. So he's trying to extort me into cheating otherwise he'll expose me as a cheater? What kind of sense does that make? Oh, and by the way I DIDN'T FUCKING CHEAT, YA LOONEY!

I just want this whole incident on record in case I mysteriously don't show up for work one day… Also, just to remind everyone to make sure and keep your information as private as possible online and with people you don't know.

Hutch the Intern

2013-11-26T21:45:00.000-08:00

It feels very weird to be an intern again. I know that 26 isn't technically that old, but having been out of college for almost five years (JESUS CHRIST!), it seems like I should have outgrown the internship phase of my life. I have a full-time job with "manager" in my title, a 401K, and a benefits package (starting January 1st, so fingers crossed nothing happens in the next month or so. Crap. Totally jinxed it. Please don't slap me with a critical illness or horribly expensive accident, Universe!). These are not things normally associated with an intern. But they came with the territory of settling for a job that would actually pay for my exorbitant college film degree that I have no chance of actually getting paid to use. It's not that I don't love my job. On some days, it's damn near inspirational. Especially now that I'm not being harangued by angry crazies every day or having to run an entire 347 unit property with virtually no support from my colleagues.

What I picture Parallel Universe Hutch to look like.

But there are days when I see my peers following their dreams and actually achieving moderate success, that I think about Parallel Universe Hutch. What would have happened if I had found that one job that lead down the path I originally saw myself taking after college? Would I be an assistant to a quirky but lovable television writer, a ruthless but brilliant acquisitions executive's right hand, a slovenly, scatterbrained creative development head's Girl Friday? (Yes, I'm some type of assistant in all of these scenarios. Even in fantasy, I tend to be very realistic). Who knows. I'd probably be very poor though and living in a three-bedroom crap shack in Koreatown with six other broke post-grads. You have to pay your dues somehow. But the thought of unemployment and never-ending ramen scared me into taking something a little more lucrative.

True story, a resident really did give me a bottle of vodka once.
It wasn't really a gift though. He got it from someone else and didn't like vodka.
His loss!

Almost everyone who works in property management wound up there by accident but stayed because it's stable and can be pretty awesome. A lot of residents are really nice and sometimes they bring you treats. And vodka. (Which of course you don't drink in the office…You take it home and mix it with some cranberry juice like a lady.) It's satisfying helping someone find their perfect new home and opening the door to the next chapter in their lives. But other than some inventive sales pitches and techniques, there isn't a whole lot of creativity involved. I had almost resigned myself to this road, first Assistant Manger, then Community Manager, then Regional Manager or other corporate gig where I actually get the Friday after Thanksgiving off in addition to Thursday. And I probably would/will be.

I looked a lot cooler when I did this in China town.
Probably because I had a college degree.

Yesterday, out of nowhere, I got an e-mail. A small production company, which I will not name because I don't like to identify where I work, and also because the name is just too much of a cheesy coincidence, came across a resume that I had sent in literally years ago. Probably some time in 2010, which I spent the bulk of job-hunting, census-taking, and sign-twirling. Since then I've had three different jobs with three different companies, and lived in three different apartments. It seems like a lifetime ago that I sent that resume off into what I assumed would be oblivion. They were looking for an unpaid reader/development intern. Someone to read 3-4 scripts a week from home and discuss them maybe once a month. Something I could easily do in my spare time. How freaking awesome is that? The perfect side job just landed in my lap.

Why, yes. I am the Gatekeeper.

Not only did it come to me, but the entire process of finding out about it, responding that I was interested, doing an informal phone interview with the producer, and receiving my first batch of scripts due the next week, all happened in about eighteen hours. Kind of the opposite of every job hunting experience anyone has ever had. Sure, it's not paid. And if a script is bad, it can be almost torture to read it and have to summarize and make comments. But it's a toe dip back in the pool of the film industry. And I can do it without having to sacrifice my cushy day job and discounted luxury apartment! SCORE!

Oh Rexy, you're so sexy!

This will be my third official reading internship, though I was a judge for two script competitions during which I basically did the same exact thing. It's been a while since I've written coverage, but it's all coming back to me. What makes a script great, what could be improved, and the ultimate power trip: getting to determine whether it's a Pass, a Consider, or a Recommend. I am the Gatekeeper, you must pass through me mwa ha ha! Of course it takes a lot more effort to create something original from scratch than to critique something already in existence. But I am a firm believer that reading scripts makes you a better screenwriter. So hopefully this will motivate me to actually finish something and perhaps Recommend my own screenplay to the producer (who has a very thick New York accent and wrote a movie once starring Maxwell Caulfield. He's done other more impressive things, but mostly I'm just hoping he can introduce me to Rex Manning!)

Ok, I'll give you one hint...

PS, while I obviously can't disclose details about the scripts I read, I just finished the first one and it was surprisingly kickass in an Evil Dead 2 sort of way.

Bloody Vampires

2013-11-25T12:57:00.000-08:00

I meant to write this post a week and a half ago. Do you ever find that writing about something so long after it happened makes it far less potent? It's like there's this window of time where you have to capitalize on an experience by blogging, and if you miss it, it's like it never happened. But seeing as I have made a semi-commitment to blog again (mostly because I forgot that I had made $22 by blogging over the past three+ years and if I earn another $88, I'll actually get a check for that money), I'm going to write about a slightly stale topic: blood. Specifically, the donation of blood.

Just in case you don't know what giving blood looks like.

I gave blood a while back and while lying flat on my back, squeezing a rubber ball, and trying to distract myself from the needle stuck in my arm, I started making a list. These are all the reasons why giving blood makes you a better person and why everyone who is physically and emotionally capable of giving blood should do it on the regular:

I was not born with God-given altruism. I'm a very lazy and selfish person, not to mention unwilling to depart with any money that does not immediately benefit myself in some way. This means that I do not give to charities (Planned Parenthood would be the one exception, God bless them). I do not serve food at homeless shelters. I very rarely recycle, unless it is convenient. I imagine that I am like millions of other lazy, selfish Americans out there. Giving blood costs you nothing, takes up very little time, and extremely little effort. You get to be charitable and help people, by doing what your body does anyway: manufacture blood cells. (I applied this same philosophy when I couldn't be bothered to cut my hair for over two years and ended up donating it to Locks of Love. Literally, the least I could do and still help people. Though for some reason, it creeps me out that someone is walking around with my hair on their head. Blood isn't as weird like that, since you can't see it. Hopefully.)

Who doesn't love a free T-shirt? This one is especially cute.

You get FREE STUFF!!! I'm not just talking about the free juice, cookies, cheez-its, trail mix, and all the bottled water you can drink. I'm talking about T-shirts, free coupons for Coldstone or Baskin Robbins, free or majorly discounted tickets to sporting events like the Kings, the Clippers, the Galaxy, also free Laugh Factory tickets (which I have yet to take advantage of. Anyone want to go with me? Two drink minimum, but still, score!)

A cross between a cornucopia & a smorgasbord.
Although, don't be too greedy.
People will judge you.

One donation, which only takes about an hour total, could save up to three lives. Seriously. The American Red Cross sent me an e-mail not long ago to let me know that one pint of my blood was sent off to three different people at a hospital in the Baldwin Hills area of Los Angeles. I used to live right by there. Those people could have been my former neighbors. Knowing exactly where it ended up, made the gesture a lot more tangible for me. It was also kind of weird. But still, cool.

Pictured: My blood (right), Your blood (left)

My ego gets stroked whenever the Red Cross hounds me with phone calls to set up my next appointment. They are ridiculously good salespeople, also possibly vampires. They know how to be persistent, overcome objections, attempt to have you refer more donors, and use many more methods I learned in my sales training classes. They like to remind me too that my O Positive blood type is Regina George popular. Everyone wants a piece of me. I'm like, really good at giving blood too. Great blood pressure, ideal hemoglobin & iron levels, easy-to-locate veins, no squeamishness or nausea around needles, plus I'm awesome and nurses love me. So even though you may only have Gretchen Weiner-level popular blood, or faint at the sight of needles, you are still important. Just not as important as me (according to the Red Cross).

A person who avoids exercise does NOT look like this, Google. Fail.

Giving blood provides you with one solid-gold built-in excuse NOT to exercise. Frankly, I'll let myself get away with a lot less valid reasons. But when a medical professional tells you in no uncertain terms that you are to take it easy for at least 24 hours (which for me often stretches into 48, to be on the safe side), you are just following orders by laying around, and eating your free Baskin Robbins. A reason to be lazy and actually feel good about avoiding the gym? Yes, please.

Since I obsessively google the health benefits of everything, I discovered that it is actually healthy to give blood. People who are regular donors have a much lower risk of heart attack and stroke. It gets rid of excess iron and subsequently free radicals in the body. My family has a history of cardiovascular disease, so this is definitely a good thing.

My actual arm with my actual bandage. Sexy, no?

I don't know if this is true for everyone, but I feel like I get a fairly decent buzz from giving blood. It's a bit like having a few cocktails, only without the hangover. I just get super loopy and everything is hilarious when you're lightheaded and woozy. And again, it's FREE! I wouldn't recommend actually drinking alcohol after giving blood though…

I realize that there are a lot of people who are not able to give blood for a variety of reasons. Some of which are somewhat outdated and not necessarily based on the most current scientific research. Some people are just petrified of needles. Though no one is especially fond of needles, except I imagine heroine junkies, I recommend looking away and thinking about things that make you happy while they're sticking it to you (tee hee). Like me with lists. Some people just can't, like a dear friend of mine who actually works for the Red Cross, that tries valiantly almost every time they have a blood drive, but is usually denied due to anemia. But she keeps at it, god bless her!

I couldn't find a picture of the Coke bottle blood donation scene.
So here's a picture of sexy circa 2001 menfolk.
Yes, it was a silly movie in a lot of ways,
but 13 year old Hutch was not complaining.

It's a trip to look down and see your life force pouring out of you while Luther Vandross's "Dance with My Father," plays in the background. Kind of makes me think of that scene in the not-so-seminal classic, "Pearl Harbor," when Ben Affleck and Josh Hartnett donate blood into coke bottles. Yick. But again, focus on the good stuff: you're helping people, while being sufficiently compensated with free cookies and comedy and sports, while feeling good about yourself and getting an excuse to be lazy and silly. Not that I need an excuse.

I saw some cute clothes at H&M that I probably would have
purchased after using the restroom, if they would have let me.
In the words of Julia Roberts, "Big mistake."

Pro tips: drink plenty of water, have a good breakfast, and make sure you locate the nearest bathroom ahead of time because after all that water they make you drink, you will have to pee like a mofo. And woozily wandering around Old Town Pasadena with a bandage on your arm trying to find a store that will let you pee without being a customer makes you feel like you're in a very bizarre version of "Pretty Woman." True story.

Enter the Controversy

2013-11-20T21:40:00.000-08:00

First of all, let me just say that I'm writing this on the wireless keyboard usually reserved for my desktop. Only I'm using my iPad. I just MacGyvered myself a friggin' laptop. I'm feeling very smug and impressed with myself. Especially because this means I can sit on my couch and watch Netflix and still write at the same time. Hopefully that means I'll blog more and maybe even write something worthwhile. Heh.

Now that was a damn good show.
Not exactly realistic, I'm sure. But entertaining nonetheless.

I mentioned briefly in my previous post that I'm wasting valuable procrastinating time watching the reality show. "Sister Wives." I hate reality shows. The only ones I will admit to loving are: "What Not to Wear," and "Say Yes to the Dress," which hardly count. But something about this show grabbed my attention. I've been on a polygamy kick lately, which seems like a very weird thing to say. But I've been reading The 19th Wife, and just watched a documentary about the scary compound polygamist, "Sons of Perdition." Both of which were excellent. I was also a fan of "Big Love," back in the day, though I stopped watching about halfway through the series due to my atrocious television ADD.

So. Much. Estrogen. I would feel bad for the guy,
but he's happy as a clam on prozac.

I guess the reason I'm so fascinated by "Sister Wives," and polygamy in general, is mainly the logistics. The majority of the show's content isn't terribly compelling and its subjects are not especially likable (the husband Kody is obnoxious and douchey but in a nice way, and the wives are mostly batshit insane drama queens who never want to hurt anyone's feelings and yet get their feelings hurt so absurdly often. Also, many of the kids have the stupidest names I've ever heard.). It's not that they're bad people. They're just normal. Normal, boring, folks from Utah. And that is why this show is so interesting (in spite of the fact that they repeat themselves over. and over. and over to the point where I'm currently concocting a "Sister Wives" drinking game). I'm caught up in the coordination of it all. How they accomplish basic tasks like grocery shopping, paying bills, going on vacations, packing up and moving. Suddenly things we take for granted become so much more complicated, especially if they have to be secretive about something so major. And yet, they have a whole team working to make it happen. It's just a different practical dynamic.

There's also a different emotional dynamic. The show explores the jealousies, insecurities, and divisions of time and affection that naturally emerge in such relationships. Even though the wives are well aware and willingly consented to plural marriage, their husband courting a fourth wife becomes a source of contention. Simple things such as whether it's kosher to kiss his fiancee knowing he's technically a married man, suddenly cause major (albeit exaggerated) drama. A woman with fertility problems becomes that much more sympathetic when she sees her sister wives with six kids a piece, and more on the way (Meri breaks my heart!)

The Brown Family Home

It's even more fascinating given that I was raised Mormon (distinct from the Browns' religion in that we do NOT practice polygamy). I know that there must be a lot of doctrinal differences, but based on what is depicted in the show, the culture seems very similar. The manner of dress, the colloquialisms, the prayers, and other minor aspects instantly take me back to my childhood, or at least what I witnessed around my uber-Mormon family members around Salt Lake City. I remember visiting my aunt in West Jordan and her pointing to a large house we were driving past on the freeway, whispering, "That belongs to a polygamist and his wives," as if it were a scandalous, shameful secret. Clearly there is a divide between LDS and FLDS, and a pretty fragile one at that. Both sides would be offended at the comparison, but it is undeniable, especially when it comes from the same root.

Regardless of my own monogamous upbringing, watching this show has confirmed my belief that I honestly don't think polygamy should be illegal. This is just another type of family. I preach tolerance and freedom of religion, and believe that the government shouldn't interfere in the personal lives of citizens who are consenting, law-abiding adults who are breaking no other laws. It's only right that it should be legal. That's not to say I believe in it. In fact, I barely believe in marriage at all, despite my own parents having been happily married for decades, and most of my many many siblings being hitched with young'uns. I'm terrified of commitment and I'm not even 100% positive that I want children of my own.

But I do believe in freedom. If they're not committing tax or welfare fraud, child or spousal abuse, pedophilia, or any of the other crimes associated with this lifestyle, then why the hell not? Yes, I realize it's problematic when viewed through a feminist perspective. That multiple women should submit to and revolve around a man for the ultimate purpose of breeding what some may deem obscene amounts of children, is definitely disconcerting. At the same time, it's not for me to decide. I'm not involved in their relationship. Just like they're not involved in my relationship. What's important is that they get to have the choice.

I highly recommend watching this documentary as well.

Some may also argue that they were brainwashed to believe that this is the only way of life. And so many polygamist wives are. But I'm not referring to the cultish compounds out in the boonies that haven't been exposed to anything else, as showed in "Sons of Perdition." They weren't given a choice and many of their practices make me sick. Each of the Browns arrived at the decision to become polygamists as adults after much deliberation. They made it clear that their children are welcome to choose whatever lifestyle they wish. Some of the children mentioned that they don't intend to be polygamists, though they appreciate the way they have been raised. I think that's admirable, seeing as many other religions or cultures forbid their children from even considering other options.

Fuck you, Warren Jeffs. Fuck you.

A major plot line of the show is the constant threat of a serious police investigation into their family. Because bigamy is technically illegal. As a viewer, it seems crazy to me that these folksy, though somewhat misguided, people could conceivably go to jail for a religious practice which should be protected by the constitution. Of course those laws were written to prevent sickos like Warren Jeffs from rising up and subjugating and abusing women and children, as well as other financial malpractices. But that is clearly not what is happening here. As someone whose primary political persuasion is based on the fact that the government should not waste time, money, and resources on unnecessary things (see my blog regarding legalizing marijuana for essentially the same reason), this sickens me even more. Are the Lehi police really so bored and rolling around in piles of taxpayer's money that they feel like chasing after a large family who just wants to extreme coupon, carve pumpkins and wear multiple layers of clothing in a burning desert?

I realize that this may be a hot-button issue for some people. Other people may not have even given polygamy a second thought. Personally, I hate debate and avoid any subjects more controversial than whether or not I enjoy "Breaking Bad," (which actually sparked quite the online tizzy, believe it or not). I just hope that people see this show and realize that these are not criminals. They are a loving, spiritual family, that has to work extra hard and sacrifice a great deal to stay together and maintain a strong bond with all the branches. It's almost admirable in a way, especially when so many mainstream relationships can barely handle one other person in their lives, let alone four.

Seeing as there's no way I'd ever become a polygamist, the legality of the practice isn't something that directly affects me. And as soon as I'm through with the show, I'll probably forget about it altogether. But for now, it's sparking a very small fire of political fervor that's usually neglected within me. Although the second the Browns try to cheat on their taxes or take advantage of federal social programs, I will turn on them so fast, every single one of their heads will spin. (That's my fiscally conservative side acting up again...).

Shows I Cannot Get Into for the Life of Me

2013-11-18T22:56:00.000-08:00

It's my Sunday night and I've done almost nothing but watch bad television all day and eat "healthy" junk food from Trader Joe's, (mostly pumpkin-based treats because I've made it my mission to eat ALL OF THE PUMPKIN THINGS ON THE PLANET. And yes, I am a white girl. But can we get over this stereotype? Because pumpkin spice is delicious and my gender and ethnicity have nothing to do with that. Ok, gourd-inspired feminist rant over.) Why did I waste my time watching "bad" television when I could have been writing the Great American Screenplay or at the very least, doing the dishes? Because I was determined to jump on a new bandwagon.

Surprisingly really good!
Though I always have a soft spot
for shows cancelled before their time.
Also, James van der Beek.

Having recently finished my latest obsession, "Don't Trust the B---- in Apartment 23," and finally closing out "The West Wing" (Which started off brilliant, but was brilliantly painful towards the end. Out of mad respect for Allison Janney I stayed the course), I was on the lookout for the Next Best Thing Ever. I am always open to suggestions as to what I should fixate upon and spend inordinate amounts of time consuming. But sometimes, those bandwagons that are so cherished by others, leave me cold and dusty. I realize that some of the following selections may make me seem hipster-ish in my rejection of what is normally considered to be outstanding and beloved. Let me be clear, I genuinely wish I liked these shows. I would love to participate in the cultural obsession and prattle on about sexual tension, the latest shocking twist, or basking in fan nostalgia. But I just can't get behind them, no matter how hard I try.

These are shows I tried, and failed, to watch despite critical acclaim, and/or high recommendations from friends, family, or pop culture at large:

No strong feelings one way or the other.

"Orange is the New Black"

It's a phenomenal show. The characters are compelling and well-fleshed out (anyone else creeped out by that term?). I like the story structure and it's certainly an original concept. I gave it a good 4-5 episodes before finally determining that no matter how high-quality the show is, I just am not interested in prison. Just like Shawshank Redemption is an incredible movie that I will never watch again, I just couldn't get past the bleakness.

Yeah…no. Put some pants on.

"Breaking Bad"

I watched the entire first season and the beginning of the second at the behest of a boy I was like REALLY into at the time. Ugh. Never again will I let my feelings for a man cloud my judgement of a show that did nothing for me. Yes, it's well-crafted. I get that. But I hated everyone. Like, actually hated. And why would I spend so much time and devotion to a show that just made me angry? Plus, I don't find meth all that fascinating.

I get it. You're sexy. Even with the ridiculous outfits and bad facial hair.
But this is not a world I care to hang out in.

"Sons of Anarchy"

I have been in love with Charlie Hunnam ever since "Green Street Hooligans" (which is one of the best movies you've never seen about British football hooliganism. Which proves that just because I can't actually relate to the world of a film or TV show, I can still lose myself in it. The pretty boys didn't hurt.) Charlie further captured my heart in Judd Apatow's short-lived, unappreciated "Undeclared." In fact, when I learned that he was going to be Christian Grey, I admit that I actually got excited about seeing "50 Shades of Grey." That being said, meh. Six or seven episodes in, I gave up. I do not understand the obsession with motorcycles.

Lulls me into a very fitful sleep.

"The X-Files"

I just tried to watch this on Netflix for the third or fourth time. I don't consider myself a nerd by any means, but I do appreciate quite a bit of nerd culture. (Buffy, Angel, Firefly, I'm sure there are more that aren't solely created by Joss Whedon, but I'm blanking at the moment. Oh Star Wars! I like Star Wars!) But dammit, if I don't fall asleep every time! And then I have nightmares. Because that theme song has made me shiver ever since I was a little girl and would hear it drifting creepily down the hall from the living room while my brothers watched it and I would cover myself in bed with stuffed animals so the aliens would get confused and not be able to find and abduct me. Yes, my biggest childhood fear wasn't spiders or snakes or the bogeyman. I was genuinely convinced that I would get kidnapped by aliens. And since I never was (fingers crossed), I like to think my stuffed animal misdirection method was foolproof. Anyway, back to the X Files. It manages to be both terrifying and boring at the same time. No thanks.

You sir, are no Mr. Darcy.

"North & South"

If you haven't heard of this one, it's a sort of Pride & Prejudice/Downton Abbey-esque mini-series available now on Netflix. Two of my bestest friends in the world, who normally have exquisite taste, have all but forced me to watch "North & South" at gunpoint, convinced that if I just give it a chance, I will love it to pieces. But Jane Austen, it is not. Once more, I hate everyone. They are extremely unlikeable, and not even in the way that is still fun to watch. Plus the setting is so very bleak (which is probably why I don't like prison or meth. But football violence is freaking awesome so the bleak explanation is flawed). Apparently, it's all worth it for the ending. But it's just dreary, and life is dreary enough.

He kills a dog with his bare hands in the first episode.
It was one of the most shocking yet effective character reveals I've ever seen.
But I just couldn't get on board.

"House of Cards"

1. Terrible, awful people you don't particularly feel like rooting for. 2. A setting that I have no relation to (I despise politics and can't fathom living in the hell that is D.C., no matter how awesome old school "West Wing" and new school "Scandal" are). 3. Isn't that enough to give up on a show that is impeccable in all aspects other than the fact that I just don't like it?

I'm referring to any and all series under the banner of "Star Trek."
But for our purposes, let's just focus on The Next Generation.

"Star Trek"

… Sorry, homeboy. I learned my lesson from "Breaking Bad."

I still love you Pacey (even though I was totally Team Dawson).

"Fringe"

Another show that was highly recommended to me by a fan who usually shares my same tastes. She had quoted me some of the more memorable lines and insisted that Joshua Jackson was just as charming as Peter Bishop as he was as Pacey Witter. Also, I toured the guy who plays Walter Bishop when I still worked at the Studio City property. I didn't know he was famous until we got stopped by a gushing resident who shook his hand and told him he was a big fan of the show. Awkward. He ended up not leasing an apartment despite clear interest and is therefore dead to me. But I was willing to overlook that fact and have been watching "Fringe" pretty much all day. (Taking a short break to watch some "Sister Wives." Why? I don't really know.) I don't think I'm ready to give up on it just yet. But it's honestly not doing much for me. I find myself more interested in reading blogs or random articles posted on Twitter or Facebook than watching this show. We shall see if it starts grabbing my attention more. Good luck, Pacey.

You can make all the arguments defending these shows you want. And I will probably agree with you in most respects. But like I said, I just can't.

Taking Back Christmas

2013-11-13T19:18:00.000-08:00

I decorated for Christmas this past weekend. And I'm not ashamed. (Of course, by decorated, I mean that I put up one strand of mini-lights around my breakfast bar and set up a 12 inch fake tree covered in tiny glitter balls ((tee hee balls)) on the counter. But it's way more effort than I've ever exerted in the past. So this is kind of a big deal.) Yes, I'm aware that Thanksgiving is still weeks away and everyone still has their creatively slutty Halloween photos posted on their Facebook profiles. I've been mocked by family, friends, and homeboy (who refuses to let me even turn on the Christmas lights when he's around until December 1st). Everyone seems to think it's wrong and commercial to get a jump on the season.

My actual tree. This is the extent of my Christmas decorations,
Mostly brought to you by the Target dollar section.

But here's the thing, by the time Christmas rolls around on December 1st, I'm already sick of it. It's like seeing a trailer for a movie you really want to see so far in advance that by the time it actually opens, it's been overexposed to death and you end up just waiting to watch it when it comes out on Netflix. Convoluted metaphor aside, I'm ready for Christmas now, dammit! And because I is an American grown-up, I can do whatever the hell I please! Ergo, a little holiday display that makes me inexplicably happy :D In the spirit of pre-Christmas, I have compiled a list of my favorite festive films (huzzah for alliteration!). Watch with some delicious egg nog pancakes from IHOP (they are a real thing and really friggin' good):

"There was more than one lobster present at the birth of Jesus?"

Love Actually (2003)

A romantic comedy that's both so romantic and so comedic, that it really can be watched any time of year. However, it happens to take place at Christmas and is there for the cheeriest effing movie on the planet. And if you haven't seen it, I pity your soul for it is incomplete. Also, read this blog I wrote about a heartbreakingly doomed romance inspired by this movie that I came across a few years ago in Studio City! Best line: "Let's go get the shit kicked out of us by love."

"This is my house. I have to defend it."

Home Alone (1990)

Another movie that really can be watched any time of year. Because that's how good John Hughes is. That's right, my hero John Hughes of Breakfast Club and Ferris Bueller acclaim also wrote this beloved family classic before sadly starting his descent into oblivion. Macaulay Culkin's best work, other than Party Monster which I also love. Best line: "When I grow up and get married, I'M LIVING ALONE!!"

"I have loved you since the moment I clapped eyes on you. What could be more reasonable than to marry you?"
"We'd kill each other."

Little Women (1994)

Fun fact about this movie, I originally went to see it as a chaperone for my brother Scott on what may have been his first date (Mormon dating rules. Go fig). Actually I have no idea if it was his first date, since I would have been about 6 or 7 at the time and all I remember is curling up in a ball and falling asleep in my chair. God knows what happened while I was out, but all I can say is, You're Welcome, Scott. Best line: Christian Bale proposing. Just all of it. I want to slap Jo every time, even though his hair was unattractively floppy at the time. She could have had it all and she settled for a potato-faced German professor. Boo.

"I didn't come here to make an impression on anybody.
I just came here to blow every last cent I had."

Last Holiday (2006)

God bless Queen Latifah. Few things make me happier than this movie. It is life affirming, hilarious, and makes you want to reach for the stars and make all your dreams come true. Plus, you really can crack a walnut with LL Cool J's ass. Little known fact, but it's true. Best line: tie between "Don't that ceiling ever make you wanna cry?" and "I shoulda ate that. I shoulda ate all that stuff. Especially that. Shoulda put my foot in that."

Yippee-ki-yay indeed.

Die Hard (1988)

I know I'm not the first person to proclaim, "it really is a Christmas movie!" But it really does get me in the mood for jingle bells and ugly sweaters. And seeing as it's the one action movie that every other action movie thereafter was modeled after, I'd say it's pretty damn significant. I can already check this one off of my holiday bucket list, since I watched it right after decorating my teeny tiny tree. Best line: "Now I have a machine gun. Ho ho ho." (Ok, no one actually says it, this is written in blood on a dead terrorist's shirt, but it's still pretty badass).

"Welcome to a life of insecurity and paralyzing self-doubt."

The O.C. Chrismukkuh Marathon (2003-2007)

Now, I could rant all day about how much I love the O.C. and that it is truly brilliant on a self-aware, genre parody/paradigm level. I won't because I already wrote an entire paper on it in college. True story. Got an A and everything, and the professor wasn't even a fan. I convinced her to start watching. If you won't give it a chance because you have some pre-conceived notion of soapy teen dramas based on its predecessors and cheap copycats, then you can just hopscotch straight to hell. This show kicks ass, and it is never better than its annual Chrismukkuh-themed episode. Even if you only watch those four episodes, you will be convinced that I am right. Best line: "Jesus and Moses. They both had beards." (Sung to Death Cab's A Lack of Color).

Of course, this early celebration to beat the rush may end up backfiring. I'll have to start my festivities earlier and earlier every year, until I start celebrating Christmas 2025 the day after Christmas 2024 which defeats the whole purpose of my experiment. But for now, I feel good about this decision.

Commitment Phobia

2013-11-03T11:11:00.000-08:00

Remember that time I got drunk and cleaned up the heavy traffic stains in my carpet with Resolve and forgot about it until the next morning until I discovered a sparkling clean entryway in my groggy haze? Well last night I threw myself a little party with my secret lover, Franzia (purchased from Wal-Mart just because I'm so friggin' classy. I had to slum it, since I was cheating on Two Buck Chuck). I only had maybe two dollar store wine glasses full, but that stuff is POTENT. This morning I woke up to find the a much larger version of the blanket I started crocheting before the birth of my now three-year-old niece, Sadie. Yup, red wine makes me crochet, in addition to scrubbing carpets with Resolve. I'm like a tipsy eighty-year-old woman with dementia, just cleaning and crafting with abandon. I should probably start drinking more often though if I want to finish that blanket by the time Sadie graduates from grad school…

My drunken spirit animal, Dorothy.

I guess it's been so long since I've written that my boyfriend and I broke up for a whole month (during which I briefly dated someone else who saw his future children in my eyes, oy), and we're already back together again. Without getting into details, there were just too many external circumstances beyond our control that made it hard to be together. But seeing how most of those obstacles no longer exist, or are currently in the process of no longer existing, it's all goofy smiles and romantic trips to Ikea. (Though we made a pact never to attempt building any Ikea furniture together, if we want to remain together without one or both of us committing significant other-icide.)

The couch that almost sank a newly rekindled love affair.
Isn't it pretty though?

Even more changes have occurred since my last post on Mother's Day (Jesus, where does the time go?). For example, I'm at a new job, in a new apartment, driving a new car, all in a new city, and in general I no longer hate my life due to the misery caused by an unnamed company with an unnamed management team. HUZZAHS ALL AROUND!! I shall now elaborate in the form of a list:

Basically what I do all day, minus the crazy eyes.

New Job: the dude responsible for my entire career in property management who hired me initially in customer service at Studio City almost three years ago, who hired me again when I transferred to leasing in Pasadena, has now hired me a third time and promoted me to Assistant Manager with a new company in Norwalk. Whut uuuupppp??? Seriously though, god bless this man. More responsibility, more authority, more pressure, but buckets less of daily stress and the least amount of bullshit possible with any corporate gig. I'm so much happier now, I can't even explain it without vehemently comparing my experiences and coming off as bitter and gloating. :D

Not my actual kitchen, but it's basically the same.

New Apartment: While I was bummed to have to part ways with my awesome roommate, my housing discount from my old job died when I quit. I don't believe in commuting either, so as much as it killed me to leave my beloved Pasadena, I now live on-site at my property in Norwalk and it. is. AWESOME. Sure, it's waaaaaaay more money that I probably should be spending, even after my discount, but it's amazing to live alone again in such a nice place. Plus, you can't beat the ten second commute. Getting to not only come home for lunch, but run and grab a fancier blazer when an unexpected executive visit springs up, is pretty much the best thing ever. I'm saving so much money on going out to eat, which is good, since I can't really afford it anyway. As someone who hates driving, it's an incredible thing to only use my car a few times a week for errands or recreation (saving gas too!). Speaking of my car…

Muriel. Suggested originally as a joke from said boyfriend,
but seeing as Muriel Heslop from Muriel's Wedding is my other
sprit animal, it was PERFECT.

New Car: It took a lot of test drives, financial anxiety, and an epic spreadsheet using a point system to try and decide which car to buy, but it was all worth it when I finally brought home Muriel. After ten months living without a car in LA, it was miraculous driving down Colorado Blvd, blasting my Bon Jovi and singing along at the top of my lungs. I realized that if you don't have a car and find singing in the shower to be awkward even when you live alone, you just don't sing. And a life without singing is just sad and shriveled. With that in mind, I was able to finally re-join the Sally Tomatoes, my kickass a cappella group. It was nice having a break, especially since I was dealing with a lot of other crap, in addition to the commute being brutal and damn near impossible on public transportation. But I missed those girls and that music, and all the karaoke you can handle!

There aren't many photos of Norwalk online.

New City: Norwalk is a strange place. And by strange, I mean it's probably not strange at all compared to the rest of America. I've realized that every place I've lived has been very distinctive. Irvine, with its wide, clean streets and Big Brother watching your every move in a soulless but aesthetically-pleasing atmosphere. South Central, with its crazy characters, cheap rent, and great stories. North Hollywood/Studio City, with its wannabe-famous actors/porn stars and medical marijuana as far as the eye can see. Pasadena, with its charming and historical shops and restaurants, and pedestrian-friendly geography (*sheds tear*). But Norwalk is pretty generic, as far as I can tell. Not quite LA, but not quite Orange County. It's in this weird state of limbo where people aren't terribly tech savvy, no one uses reusable grocery bags, and you have to drive twenty plus minutes to get to a Trader Joe's but Walmart is just down the street. I don't mean to sound condescending when I say this. It's just when you've lived in LA so long, you don't realize that it's far from normal.

As close as I could come to capturing
LA yuppie culture in one photo.
I'm a bit disappointed in the internet today.

I'm sure there are other changes, but those are the big ones. It's crazy to think how drastically my life has changed from one year ago. And from the year before that. I never thought of myself as restless, but I haven't lived in the same place or worked at the same job for more than a year and nine months (random number I know, but it's been a pattern). In fact, it kind of freaks me out to think about the future and where I'll be in five years. Probably in a foreign country teaching English and taking vacations in Thailand with my Doctors without Borders husband, Ron. Anyone want to start taking bets?

Why My Mom is Awesome Part 2: Mother's Day Extravaganza

2013-05-12T09:29:00.000-07:00

Prepare yourself for a mushy, sappy, sickly sweet post in honor of Mother's Day! Because I love my mama (and am a horrible person when it comes to giving gifts, sending flowers, and taking her out to dinner because I'm a. poor, and b. 500 miles away), I've decided to compile a list of all the reasons why she's awesome. I've already covered one major facet of said awesomeness, so I know you're dying to know more about the special woman who created the awesomeness that is me.

Mama Hutch gave birth to five children in ten years the drug-free, old-fashioned way, like a friggin' boss. Not that there's anything wrong with epidurals or C-sections. I plan on going that route myself one day. I don't believe in unnecessary pain. You have to admit, it's pretty impressive to shove not one but FIVE watermelons down your hoo-ha. And we were not small watermelons.

Pictured: Ouch.

She graduated from high school at sixteen and travelled throughout Scandinavia before college like some kind of overachieving viking. So when she got married at eighteen and had my oldest brother at nineteen, she was already way ahead of the game.
She went back to school to get her teaching credential when I was two years old, meaning that she had five kids under the age of twelve and still managed to handle her business. What's your excuse?

No fetching hats required.

She has taught literally thousands of kids to sing, play all kinds of instruments, and genuinely enjoy music with a passion. From choir to band to piano lessons and musical theater, she has done it all, often spending her own money and free time to enrich her curriculum. The woman is basically a legit Professor Harold Hill, without the fancy hat. She organizes concerts every semester for parents bursting with pride at the sight of their children performing on a huge scale.
One of those children she taught to sing was me. First in church when I asked her why she was singing different notes from everyone else. She explained what a harmony was, thereby instilling in me an appreciation for the more hard core, under-appreciated altos of the world. I was hooked. She was my Mr. Shue in middle school vocal ensemble, with less hair product, and later the director/music coach for several musicals.

My mom is way less obnoxious though.

Given her large household of eight (including her mother who lived with us until I was fourteen), Mama Hutch was the guru of grocery shopping. By this I mean, she managed to fit 80 million bags of groceries (everything on sale) into the trunk of a compact Geo Metro. Watching her reconfigure the brown paper Tetris blocks was quite the feat. She could have had her own game show, for realsies.
Another little known skill is her ability to hide Easter baskets. I wrote an entire blog about that talent alone. I think she was a very successful pirate in another life, burying treasure where no one would EVER find it. It's probably because she is constantly losing things. Her keys, her phone, the remote, her damn mind (haha just kidding!)

OHMYGODSOGOOD!
(And to my theater snob friends,
get over Anne Hathaway. She wasn't that bad.)

She was the one who introduced me to Les Miserables when all we had was the Anniversary Concert VHS which we watched over. and over. and over. until she finally was able to take us to the real thing in Sacramento. It was very special to finally get to see the movie with her and my brothers Nick and Scott who are secure enough in their manhood to enjoy musicals (cough cough Andy and David...).
When I went away to college in Southern California, I wasn't homesick in the slightest until six weeks in when it hit me all at once. It was bad. I called her crying on a Friday afternoon and she literally jumped in her car that instant and drove five hours to meet me in Bakersfield to take me home for the weekend.

What I picture my mom doing everyday.

Did I mention that she's secretly Fraulein Maria (only a former Mormon instead of a former nun)? When I first into my apartment in North Hollywood, she came down to help me get settled. Most parents are willing to take their kids to Ikea. But do they also turn leftover curtain fabric into matching pillowcases? That's in addition to my favorite pink blanket, penguin apron, and countless costumes that she sewed herself.
Oh yeah. And she makes OUTSTANDING chicken. Like for real. Even when the power went out because of a crazy blizzard and all she had to work with was our wood stove, she still made the greatest chicken of all time. Also pot roast. And cheesecake. And Orange Goop (family tradition, don't ask).

The Ladies Hutch

Even with all of this, she still thinks that she's a sub-par teacher, a bland cook, a less than perfect wife, a mediocre mother, and an only ok human being. To that I say, poppycock.

Prison Bound Playlist

2013-05-02T10:48:00.000-07:00

I started writing this post when it was still relevant because I was in the throws of a gripping jury duty assignment. Two weeks later, I've decided to finish it because I didn't want to waste a good list. Feel free to download these songs and rock out whilst deciding a man's fate. Or just walking down the street, whatever.

So far my courthouse experience has been a tremendously fascinating bore (yes, it's possible). So to amuse myself, as I often do, I have created a playlist to make jury duty just a little bit more festive. I will leave out some of the songs just because I'm slightly embarassed that they exist on my iPod, let alone purposefully selected them to listen to whilst traveling to, from, or killing time in between sessions. Some are right on the nose, others are more metaphorical, and some just fit the mood of being trapped in a room with complete strangers who only have in common a random civic obligation.

Yep. Hot.

1. "Prison Bound" by Social Distortion
The namesake of the compilation. Mike Ness makes prison almost sound sexy. Which from what I understand, it most certainly is not.

2. "Police on My Back" by The Clash

This always makes me think of 80s youth causing mayhem and frolicking through the streets of London, being chased by ineffectual British Bobbies.

This is what happens when you google "British Bobbies."
Doesn't exactly inspire fear of authority. Just giggles.

3. "Policy of Truth" by Depeche Mode

We discussed at length whether witnesses can be trusted to tell the truth or not. The result of that debate was that we would hope so, but people lie all the time. Whether lying under oath on penalty of perjury, or lying to themselves about what they want to have seen. Truth is so subjective, it's scary.

4. "Two Points for Honesty" by Guster

Along those same lines, I have to respect a witness admits something that portrays themselves in a less than positive light. This song also keeps popping up randomly on my shuffle and I always forget how pretty it is.

Oh Kingston Trio. With your sweet harmonies and matching shirts.

5. In the Jailhouse Now by The Kingston Trio

My dad used to listen to this old school folk group all the time when I was growing up. It’s also on the O Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack, but there’s far too much yodeling in that one.

6. "Criminal" by Fiona Apple

So. Messed. Up. And yet so good. I'm not a Fiona Apple fan, (I just want to slap her in the face with a two-foot hoagie of pretentiousness) but you can deny how brilliant this song is. It's also hot in a confusing and wrong way.

Epic.

7. Folsom Prison Blues by Johnny Cash

You knew this was coming. Johnny Cash also makes prison sound awesome.

8. "My Bad Reputation" by Joan Jett

Yes, this song is way over-played, even to this day. But whatever, it kicks ass.

9. "My Bloody Valentine" by Good Charlotte

Just a tad embarrassing, but Goof Charlotte was my jam junior and senior year of high school. So earnest yet disturbing. I remember singing this at the top of my lungs while driving Stan home. RIP Stan.

Florence is just so damn ethereal. I'm not entirely convinced she's human.

10. "My Boy Builds Coffins" by Florence and the Machine

Every so often I will hear a song from Flo that I never noticed before and it never fails to change my life. Ok, total exaggeration. But she is phenomenal. And this song makes you think about mortality all philosophical-like. (Also can you tell I chose the last three songs by going in alphabetical order down my iPod?)

11. "Cry Me a River" by Justin Timberlake

This may seem like an odd choice, but I was getting so sick of my peers going through selection who spouted all these sob stories to get out of jury duty. There was a pregnant full-time student who mentioned she had to reschedule a midterm to be there, and I didn't hear her complaining. Suck it up guys!

I dig this. I think I need a life-sized version in my foyer to discourage any
would-be wrong-doers.

12. If It Hadn't Been for Love by Adele

I've never heard anyone talk about this song. It gets overshadowed by Adele's numerous monster hits. But this broken down, badass blues burner gets to me. I think I was a scorned woman in another life.

13. Hard Knock Life by Jay-Z

Jay-Z is not my usual cup o’ musical tea, but I’ve always gotten a kick out of sampling show tunes from a musical about a little ginger girl for a supposed ghetto anthem. I heard he’s also doing the music for a reboot of Annie. This should be interesting.

Makes me laugh every time.

14. Janey's Got a Gun by Aerosmith

Aerosmith takes me back to my childhood as well. I don’t think I really understood this song back in the day though. Guess that’s a good thing. High five for Janey though.

15. It's Too Late to Apologize by One Republic

Hehe, get it?

Panic! At the Disco. Douuuuucches.
Yes, it's possible to hate the band yet love their music.

16. Build God, Then We'll Talk by Panic! At the Disco

Catchy and kind of gross. Makes you want to dance, then take a shower. I was obsessed with this song when I lived in France and was dating the French Creeper. If this song reminds you of your significant other for some reason, you really need to end it.

17. Tha Crossroads by Bone Thugs-N-Harmony

I don’t know why I picked this one, but I dig it. It's like a peaceful resolution. Even if the name of the group pisses me off for grammatical reasons.

Marcy Playground. So. Much. Angst.

18. Sex and Candy by Marcy Playground

Another weirdly sexy, sinister song that makes you want to shower after. I loved this vestige of 90s angst.

19. I Hung My Head by Johnny Cash

This song is uber-depressing and dark, and gives me the chills every time I hear it. God bless Johnny Cash, man.

Cage the Elephant has a wicked sense of humor.

20. Ain't No Rest For the Wicked by Cage the Elephant.

One of the best hooks as well as awesome tongue-in-cheek lyrics. Just listening to it makes me feel like a badass.

21. I'm a Man of Constant Sorrow from the O Brother Where Art Thou Soundtrack

If you don’t love this song, then there’s something wrong with you. That’s just the truth.

Love it.

I'm listening to it now, kind of dark, bluesy, rebellious and yet self-righteous. Not a bad mix for the days you find yourself tagged with a number, a badge, and a week off from the real world. A world where frozen chicken doesn't determine your verdict. (I hope...)

Oh, and by the way, he was guilty. And kind of an asshole.

Also, the District Attorney looked exactly like B.D. Wong. And there's not a damn thing wrong with that.

L-7 Weenie

2013-04-14T21:23:00.001-07:00

This is the first time I've ever written a blog on my phone, and it feels really awkward. But I'm sitting in the jury waiting room at the LA County Courthouse with nothing but an awesome book ("Dear Rick, Dear Teri" by the fabulous Teri Brown ((read it now, I say!))) and the entire Internet to entertain me. Sadly the public wifi blocked all the really *fun* websites. But Teri's book has inspired me to blog, and blog I shall!

So frickin' proud of my girl Teri!

Keeping with the spirit of my New Years resolution of awesomeness, let me tell you a little bit about baseball. "Including baseball and awesomeness in the same sentence, are you batty Child? Baseball is boring and long and stupid. America's pastime my foot!" You guys, it turns baseball is friggin' sweet! Who knew? (Still not as good as my first love, hockey, since there are far less fights and even fewer Canadians). But I do believe the LA Dodgers have found themselves a brand new fan.

This is a baseball with a Los Angeles logo on it. Get it?

"But Hutch, why the Dodgers? You're from Northern California. You are contractually obligated to like the Giants. Or at least the A's." The Bay Area is not Northern California. Ok, yes geographically it is in the northern part of the state. But it's doing it's own thing over there being pompous and expensive and douchey. (Sorry Bay Area peeps, but you know it's true!) I've lived in LA almost four years now, and I'm so much more at home here than I ever was up North.

Proof!

I'm also picking the Dodgers as my new loves because I'm highly susceptible to the power of suggestion. I know I always say I love the Ducks because of Disney, but in reality it's because my favorite professor at UCI took my friend and me to a game at the Ponda in 2009 and really introduced me to the sport. Her passion for the Ducks was contagious. As is the case for the Fella who worked at Dodger Stadium for three summers in high school. It's hard not to get caught up in the fervor of die hard, lifelong fans.

"You bob for apples in the toilet. AND YOU LIKE IT!"

I managed to get out early from work last Wednesday and we headed down the backstreets of LA to the less crowded entrance of the ballpark. Being too cheap to pay the snack shack prices for Dodger peanuts, we smuggled in our own huge bag. But I just had to complete my inaugural baseball experience with a beer and a hot dog (even though I like neither I those things usually. I'm nothing if not ceremonial.) Sixteen bucks later, I had a tankard of Blue Moon and a genuine Dodger Dog. I could hear Yeah Yeah and Squints echoing in my ears, calling me an L-7 weenie. From then on couldn't stop quoting the Sandlot (my third favorite movie of all time). Beer and hot dogs have never tasted so good though.

Disgusting. (Those aren't my feet by the way. I totally stole this photo.)

We found our seats in the second to nosebleed section and settled in. I was shocked to discover that people just drop their peanut shells on the ground for the staff to clean up later. Savages! I had consumed maybe a quarter of my beer by this point so naturally I was pretty toasted. I switched from quoting the insults of the Great Hambino to singing "Savages, Savages" from Disney's Pocahontas. Because that's what you do when faced with such rampant littering. (Mormons don't litter. Not even Former Mormons.)

You know you want to start singing now too. Give in.

As the sun was starting to set, a castoff from the Voice sang the National Anthem. And even though he Mariah'd the crap out of it (which never fails to make me think of how much my music teacher mother hates when people do that and how it's technically illegal to alter the National Anthem), I still got tears in my eyes. Because I'm a boob. (Which is totally something my mom also says. Dear lord, it's happening already...)

Without commercials, the game went by really quickly. I was shocked at how exciting it was and how much I really got into it. I was also surprised at how often the players hit foul balls. (Tee hee balls.) In movies it seems like this is a rare and dramatic occurrence. In real life, they seem to hit foul balls (tee hee) all the friggin' time! Apparently hitting a small ball hurled at top speeds with a thin wooden bat is really difficult? Huh.

Aww, Luis Cruz, you are just too adorable. Was that you I toured that one time?

On a related note, I swear that I toured Luis Cruz at my property a few weeks ago. I know it's a fairly common name for Los Angeles, but that guy was the same height, build, face shape and age. I even texted my colleague who had also assisted him to see if she remembered him mentioning anything about being a Dodger. But she didn't. That would be sweet, even though he didn't end up renting with us. Now I feel like a racist though... Sidebar, Luis Cruz has his own little, well cheer I guess is how you would describe it. When he goes up to bat, everyone starts yelling "CRUUUUUUUUUZZZZ" in a really deep voice. To me, it sounded like they were booing him and I was like, hey that's not cool. Mormons are also nothing if not sportsmanlike. But I guess it's a good thing. Sports confuse me sometimes.

I don't understand. But I do love it.

Shortly after tweeting about my Blue Moon-fueld one-woman Disney cabaret, my dear francophile amie Amanda texted me: "Are you at the game right now too??" Small frickin' world! Running into my old UCI/Bordeaux chum (who coincidentally happened to be the same friend that went with me to that first hockey game back in '09) in the middle of a crowded stadium at my first baseball game! (Also coincidentally the same friend I happened to run into at a hostel/campground outside of Venice, Italy completely out of the blue.) So I met up with her after the game in front of the giant statue of a macaroni noodle. Like you do.

I'm weirdly turned on by this.

Back to baseball though. It's a hell of a sport. I also have much more respect for the game after hearing about the brawl between the San Diego Padres and the Dodgers. Now that's more like it! (I'm shockingly bloodthirsty. I think I was a gladiator in another life.) I'm determined to see a grudge match just in case someone starts throwing punches in addition to curve balls (tee hee, balls). It's also kind of sweet that everyone stands and sings "Take Me Out to the Ball Game," in the Seventh Inning Stretch. Like I said, I dig ceremony. I also dig the fact that the elderly organ player is a big fan of old musicals and that these big tough baseball fans probably didn't realize that they were singing along to showtunes from "Guys and Dolls" and "South Pacific." True Story.

I should probably also mention that we lost. Because I'm bad luck. But I won't let that stop me from going back to the ball park!

Lazy Day Stream of Consciousness

2013-03-31T16:06:00.000-07:00

This is pretty rare for me. I feel like blogging, but I have no particular topic in mind. Yet, I'm just going to keep typing until something starts to flow. Heh. The word 'flow,' always makes me think of periods. Periods, and Progressive insurance. Either way, not a pleasant association...

HAHAHAHAHA! But also, kind of depressing if you think about it too much.

So, it's Easter today. I suppose I could write something Easter-y. But I did that last year. Or was it the year before? Except that the only festive activities I've accomplished today entail eating the Robins Egg-shaped Whoppers I bought myself, and the mini-Cadbury Eggs my mom hid around my apartment whilst she was visiting me. (Thereby re-creating my dad's tradition of hiding treats around the house for her to find when he goes away on long trips). I don't think watching massive amounts of Buffy and lazing around in bed all day is particularly reminiscent of the Resurrection or pagan fertility symbols of rabbits and eggs. I definitely enjoyed it though!

"Grape nuts are neither grapes nor nuts."

I suppose I could branch out and write about my Passover experience last Tuesday. Seder dinner is always (and by always, I mean both times I've gone), a treat. Fascinating cultural ritual (which involves a lot of interactive drinking of wine, which we all know is right up my alley.) It's also a fun fish-out-of-water experience for a former Mormon-turned-agnostic to participate in a Jewish holiday extravaganza. I also got to hear an older Jewish lady say, "this brisket is like buttah," thusly invoking childhood memories of Mike Meyers in drag on SNL. But for realsies, the brisket really did taste like buttah. Kudos to my sister-in-law's stepmother on a fantastic meal!

This cake better be worth it...

I could also use this platform to call out my fella for texting me a picture of cake at three in the morning. AND for refusing to give me any of said cake. Not cool, friend-o. Our relationship is officially on the rocks. (Sidebar, he just now texted me saying that if I was nice, he would bring me a piece. Apparently being nice means either giving him a back massage and/or buying him new underwear. Worth it?) (Second sidebar, he also texted me not to blog about that particular negotiation because it makes it seem like he uses "food for clothing like a hobo with magic." And then I called him a ninny. I'm pretty sure he'll never date another writer ever again.) What a couple of weirdos.

Things also accomplished today:

1. Multiple hours spent on reading my new favorite blog, Brittany Herself. Thank you Kelly Bean for introducing me to Brittany. If I lived in Ohio, had three kids, and a flair for plus-sized fashion, Brittany is who I would want to be when I grow up (even though she's only like five years older than me).

My mom and I are terrible influences on each other when it comes to shopping.

Aaaand... that's about it. I fully intended to clean my apartment today. I'm surrounded by discarded DSW shoeboxes, yogurt cups, and various items of clothing flung carelessly about my room. But some days I'm in the mood to clean like some kind of germaphobic demon (still in Buffy mode), and other days I'm totally happy to just wallow in filth. But at least I completed a blog! Even if it was completely incoherent and babbly, just like me!

Why My Mom Is Awesome

2013-03-27T12:53:00.000-07:00

I originally posted this as a Facebook note (the second prototype to Sporadic Sporkitudes following the decline of my many ranting Myspace blogs) on October 25th, 2008, just before the vote on Prop 8. It is just as relevant over four years later as it was back then.

My mom is down in Pasadena for a short visit. Naturally we're spending quality time together in our PJs watching the Notebook and Beaches, and eating whole wheat blueberry pancakes. We're sitting side by side on the couch with our phones out, scrolling down our respective Facebook pages. While mine is practically bleeding with all the variations of the red equality symbol, hers is covered in anti-gay outcries. My mom, like me, worries too much about offending people with her opinion, but she is allowing me to re-post the following:

"I just want to share how incredibly proud I am of my mother. She wrote the following response to a friend who was sending Yes on 8 e-mail chains out. As a heterosexual, usually conservative, white, middle-class woman with five children who's been happily married for over thirty years, this is the last person you would expect to see the light about this incredibly important issue. But she stood up for what she believes and that proves to me that people's minds can change.

'I know this is a huge issue for you, and I respect that. Your answer was carefully thought out and shows how much you care about this. There was a time when I thought the same way. In fact, I thought the worst thing that could happen to our family would be to find out that one of our children was gay. (That didn't happen). It is also a huge issue for me. Enough that I left a church I loved my whole life over this as one of the key issues.

I'm sure this is not the case with you, but many people have a distorted view of gays. They only see the extreme and think that's how the majority of them are. Most of them live in our neighborhoods, work around us, and you would never even know they are gay. Many are intensely spiritual people with extremely strong moral values. Many are still Christian, while others have been completely disowned by their churches and family causing tremendous heartbreak. Many Christians don't know the Bible well enough to know that Christ never spoke a word about the subject. Paul did, but then he never even met Christ except as a vision on the road to Damascus long after Christ was dead. It is talked about in the Old Testament along with several other outdated laws that don't apply and are not practiced in this era. The form of homosexuality talked about in the Old Testament is really pedophilia. That is certainly not acceptable in this day either! Some people assume that all gays and lesbians are pedophiles which is absolutely not true. This is not directed at you, but I just get frustrated with the ignorance and superiority some people feel over their way being the only right way. There was a time when good Christian people believed in the the right to own slaves using the Bible as their support. I feel like this falls into that category, and hopefully some day will be looked on the same. To deny them this right is essentially saying they are not as good as the rest of us, and I believe that not to be true.

It was nice to get to express my opinion. I haven't been able to do that before over this particular issue. We can respect our right to differ. I should have just let the email slide, but I felt I had been silent on the issues long enough. To say nothing would be like saying I agreed with it.

Life would be pretty dull if we all agreed on everything. You know how much I care about you, and hope you know none of this was directed at you personally. I just needed to vent as did you apparently!'-Cathy"

Yeah... my mom is cooler than your mom. Don't hate.

Playing Ketchup Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

2013-03-24T19:56:00.000-07:00

As promised, here is the sequel to Playing Ketchup Part 1. Things get a lot cheerier in 2013. I decided to follow through on my recurring New Year's resolution to do more awesome things. So far, I think I've been doing alright. Here is a list of the cool stuff I've done:

1. I stayed in a hostel when I was in San Francisco visiting Eric. Even though I was only there for one night and I spent most of that night throwing up, it was still cool to harken back to my backpacking days. The tiny dorm rooms, the familiar silver Ikea bunk beds, meeting cool people from other countries (my roommates were from France and Germany), and the cute guy at reception with the adorable accent. I never get to travel for real anymore now that I'm broke and have a grownup job. Even though San Francisco was only a few hours away from my hometown and I had been there several times growing up, it still felt like a vacation.

That's my girl, killin' it!

2. I got to see my homegirl Kelly Bean in a creative re-imagining of Twelfth Night set in the Golden Age of Hollywood. Needless to say, she NAILED it! This was another mini-vacation all the way in Camarillo. Our best friend Jenna also came down from NorCal for the event. We needed a girls' night something fierce and celebrated afterwards with wine, cheese, and other delicious treats. We also watched "She's the Man," since you know, Twelfth Night. And if you haven't seen it, it's pretty frickin' epic. Tragic what happened to Amanda Bynes, isn't it?

3. I re-enacted the Ferris Wheel scene from Season One of "The OC" at the Santa Monica Pier. Check that one off the bucket list. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, don't even worry about it.

Damn good chicken and damn good waffles. Still not sure they go together.

4. I finally explored Downtown LA. I had never seen the Library, ridden the Angel's Flight trolley, hung out at the swanky Bonaventure Hotel (with the terrifying glass elevators!), explored California Plaza, and walked down Olvera Street. I also took the time to really check out Union Station and not just rush to and from the Gold and Red metro lines. I've always found it sad that if a place isn't on my way to work or not an Irish pub, I probably don't know it exists. Sidebar, I also finally went to Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles, another LA landmark.

Swoon!

5. SOCIAL DISTORTION!!!! AAAAH!!! I saw them once in college at the Disneyland House of Blues. And that was the last concert I had been to. Until I saw them again at the House of Blues on the Sunset Strip (Which is another area I've hardly ever been to even though I've lived in LA for years). I don't care if Mike Ness is as older than dirt and shorter than I am. I would do awful things with that man. Especially in his Machine Gun Blues gangster getup... We were about five feet from the stage which was super awesome except we were right in front of the mosh pit. I got kicked in the head by a crowd surfer, had at least six drinks spilled on me, and spent most of the time being knocked over. Soooo worth it!

This was at the Eddie Izzard venue.
I don't know what it is but I find it simultaneously terrifying and hilarious.

6. Eddie Izzard. What what??

Toepick!

7. Anaheim Ducks vs. the Los Angeles Kings. Hockey is the world's greatest sport. It has everything I love. Canadians. Burly men. Violence. It's glorious. Plus I was a Ducks fan sitting in a major Kings section. Gotta love crosstown rivalry games. It was a good one too. We scored in like the first 10 seconds, and then it was back and forth until nearly the end when we stomped on them. There was an insulting mass exodus of Kings fans when they realized they couldn't win and left before it was even over. (Sidebar, I'm usually a Kings fan, but the Ducks will always be Mighty to me thanks to Disney). After the game, we went ice skating at the Ducks practice rink in Anaheim. It turns out that skating is hard and dangerous.

I also shot at a zombie I named Hank. Because I'm also awesome.

8. LA Gun Club. Best. Date. Ever. Me and the Fella (oh yeah, did I mention there was a Fella?) got to shoot a Beretta handgun at a surprisingly popular gun range in the scary part of downtown that has also known visitors such as Queen Latifah, Exhibit, and Ryan Gosling. I'm not a great shot, and it felt a little like being in a war with so many guns going off (I left a bit shellshocked), but it really is a fantastic feeling. Amazing stress release. I have no interest in owning my own gun, but in a controlled environment it's AWESOME.

It's even cooler inside!

9. I saw Noel Cowards "Fallen Angels" at the historic Pasadena Playhouse. Oh the witty banter and the hilarious drunk old British ladies brandishing umbrellas at each other. I literally live around the corner from this beautiful historic theater and I had never ever seen it. I was also going to see Jekyll and Hyde at the Pantages, but I was too sick to go. Boo.

10. After my dear friend (and the woman responsible for my gainful employment) Allison, had her going away party (at where else but our favorite karaoke dive bar, Gabe's), I got stranded at Union Station at 3:30 in the morning. I had read the metro timetable incorrectly and missed the last train. I decided just to take a taxi, since it would take at least a half hour for the fella to come rescue me. I ended up waiting even longer than that for the taxi to come pick me up until I realized that I was on the wrong side of the station and that there were five taxis standing by the whole time. And I had to work four hours after arriving home at last. While this seems like a bad thing, Union Station after hours is truly a magnificent thing to behold. I got hit on three times (I must have looked like a fairly expensive prostitute I guess, though I didn't think my outfit was revealing at all), saw two people without pants on, and witnessed what I'm pretty sure was a drug deal. Fascinating I might have to go back on purpose sometime just to observe.

Meet CJ, the classy, blind, anorexic business fish.

11. I bought a fish and named her Claudia Jean after my favorite character on the West Wing. Sadly, she died the other day because I can't keep a fish alive to save my life. Which is too bad because I'm not a cat or a dog person and cage animals like hamsters and birds freak me out. That leaves fish. Which are the least commitment possible. Speaking of low commitment, seven-day Betta food blocks do not work. Ask your roommate to feed your fish if you need to leave town.

I have this admittedly cliche poster on my wall and I was so excited to see that there was a statue of it! I tried to get homeboy to recreate the pose with me, but he would have none of it. Even after being shamed by a random Midwestern lady. Men are useless sometimes.

12. Speaking of leaving town, after living in Southern California since 2005, I finally went to San Diego for the first time. The fella and I decided to get the hell outta dodge and go exploring down Mexico way. (Without actually going to Mexico because despite being of Mexican descent, he doesn't have a passport and wouldn't be allowed entrance). Since we're both poor, kind of lazy, and didn't bring proper walking shoes, our exploration was somewhat limited. But it was lovely to take a Bridget Jones mini-break regardless. The beauty of San Diego is that it's so close, we can always go back. There wasn't so much pressure to fit in as much sight-seeing as is humanly possible, which is the speed I'm used to when traveling. San Diego in March is also bloody cold at night, which I also didn't prepare for. But I scored a $90 white Burberry-esque pea coat for $46 in under five minutes, so I think I just won at shopping.

I think this lists covers most of the awesome/interesting events of late. Basically it's a compilation of status updates/tweets/iPhone photos to serve as a memoir for a much happier time than the previous crap-tastic era. Let's hope the streak continues! Next on my list of conquering Los Angeles is to finally go to a Dodger game (or any baseball game for that matter. I'm a bad American for never having been...)

Playing Ketchup Part 1

2013-03-20T11:04:00.000-07:00

I've definitely been through some crap in my life, but the Universe (my arch-nemesis) decided to throw my way a rather eclectic slew of challenges both big and small within a relatively short period of time. With every new shitstorm, I would chuckle and utter, "Well played, sir, well played." Then I would burst into tears because eventually even the most minor of hiccups would send me reeling at the cruelty and injustice of fate. Once the clock struck 2013, however, life became just a little bit brighter. (After I stopped vomiting all over San Francisco, details to come). I know it's insane to think that things magically change when one year ends and the next begins. But the proof is in the pudding. Mmm... pudding.

Playing Ketchup

How do I summarize six months worth of drama, heartbreak, transition, and triumph? Why, let's make a list! (I feel like this is the start of a very bizarre musical number, but then again, that's how I feel about 90% of the time).

1. My Body Has Declared Mutiny

After hardly being sick a day in my life (other than a random week of vertigo in high school during which I tried to walk down the hallway and ended up swaying and stumbling into lockers like the love child of Lucille 2 and a drunken sailor), I managed to end up at the doctor at least a bajillion times (more like 7 or 8, but still). While the issues I faced were in no way serious or life-threatening, (trying to maintain perspective), it definitely felt like it at the time. Ultimately I blame the stress from my job at Studio City for completely fucking up my immune system. I'm still dealing with some health problems, but everything seems to be under control at the moment. Of course now I find myself frantically WebMDing even the slightest twinge, cough, or tummy rumble. The experience has made me a raging hypochondriac, so thanks for that new diagnosis as well, Universe.

Lucille 2
My imaginary mother

2. RIP Stan 1989-2012

My beloved car and oft-mentioned Partner in Crime, Stan, perished on October 5th, 2012. I was coming home from Sally Tomatoes practice late at night when I noticed he was making strange chugging noises up the 405 near Sherman Oaks. All of a sudden, the lights went out. Whatever strange car disease he caught must have been contagious, since he sidled up right behind another car that was also stopped dead in the right hand lane. They had to shut down the whole frickin' freeway which was still crowded at 10:30pm on a Wednesday, so a CHP car could literally push me up the hill and roll down the other side to the offramp. It was very dramatic. While I waited in the cold for a tow truck, I curled up in a ball in the front seat, sobbing. I had a feeling this was the beginning of the end for my dear friend. Sure enough, Pep Boys would have had to basically rebuild the whole frickin' engine. Not worth it for a car this old and admittedly shitty. So I donated his body to charity and adjusted to the harsh reality of being a pedestrian in LA.

3. The Schlep

I had only just transferred to my new property in Pasadena, originally a mere 20 minute drive from North Hollywood, when suddenly I had a two hour commute on my hands. This involved two trains and a thirty minute walk through ghetto NoHo. Because LA public transportation is stupid. Adding two hours on either end of my work day was just killing me. Not literally. But it did suck.

4. My 25th Birthday

Speaking of suck, October 16th was my 25th birthday. Arguably the last milestone birthday I will ever have (if you consider finally being able to rent a car as a milestone). I had to work that day, so I carried my party dress, cute shoes, and makeup all the way through the Schlep for my birthday dinner at Cheesecake Factory in Old Town Pasadena. I invited fourteen people. Guess how many showed up. One. My dear gay husband Eric, who still made the whole affair fabulous. But when you're already having a hard time, you just want to have fun and cheesecake with the people who love you. While I know that this is not the end of the world, especially compared to everything else that was going on, it was definitely the rancid cherry on top of a crap sundae.

Fun Fact: My birthday was at the same Cheesecake Factory where Penny works in the Big Bang Theory. It looks nothing like this and I'm not sure why on earth she wears that ridiculous uniform that also bears no resemblance to the real thing. In any case, the more you know!

5. The Big Move

This one is actually a good thing. Because I could no longer stand losing four hours of my life commuting, I knew I had to move to Pasadena STAT. Ever since I left UC Irvine, I vowed never again to have a roommate. Not that my experiences with roommates were so bad, but I love being Queen of my own castle. I finally came to the realization that I could either spend $775 for a terrible one-bedroom in the ghetto with no A/C or heater, but plenty of cockroaches, or spend substantially less to share a discounted luxury two-bedroom in glorious Pasadena at one of my company's properties. Needless to say, my place is BOMB (to borrow a 90s colloquialism)! Also, my roommate Smita is awesome. We very rarely see each other, but when we do, we hang out and watch Say Yes to the Dress or forensic cop shows.

Another Fun Fact: the exterior of City Hall from Parks and Rec is also in Pasadena. I fucking love this town!

6. Boy Drama

a. Winston.
I took a break from boys while I was figuring some stuff out. But once I thought I was back on my feet, I met a guy named Winston. He was very sweet and I thought the name Winston was the best thing ever. Sadly Winston gave me the creeps. I could never put my finger on why exactly. I tried to give him a second chance by inviting him to watch Community over at my place. I was still commuting at the time, so I ended up falling asleep on the couch halfway through the second episode. Yes, I was exhausted, but I have a feeling if I had liked him more, I probably would have powered through. Poor guy, will probably always be traumatized by that. He tried to kiss me good night and my gut instinct was to basically shove him out the door. The last time that happened was with the French Creeper. Has this impulse ever happened to anyone else?

"Are there other black nerds, or is it just you and Urkel?" -30 Rock

b. Patrick
Patrick was a good guy. Imagine Toofer from 30 Rock, only slightly less pompous. We went on a fantastic first date to a South American BBQ place that must have been really expensive. (I'm not used to that). We got along great, talked for a few hours at Starbucks, and he walked me home in the rain. Then I was an adorable romcom heroine and couldn't get the damn security gate unlocked with my fancy new laser fob thingie. I ended up having to call myself on the intercom to buzz myself in. Which he thought was hilarious. And then I never heard from him again. At least not until a few weeks ago. I was used to guys disappearing though it always drives me nuts. But he sincerely apologized and explained himself to my satisfaction. When I told him I was dating someone else, he gallantly said, "I knew I couldn't be your only fan." Sweet, right? Though now it sounds kind of creepy and stalkerish. But I swear, it wasn't like that. I hope.

c. Matthew
Frickin' puppet master. Not even worth a whole paragraph.

I find this picture highly unsettling...

d. James
The first time I ever said "Fuck you" to someone, and genuinely meant it. I guess it's my own fault. Damn those twinkly blue eyes and devilish grin. That boy is poooooiiiisoooon.

7. Family Drama

I don't really want to go into the details of this one. Basically, the one thing I always thought I could count on, my family, nearly fell apart around Thanksgiving. As a whole, we seem to have moved past it, but it's still not ok with me.

Corporate espionage!!! Dun dun dun!

8. Selling Out

The Monday after Thanksgiving, my company found out that our two biggest competitors bought us out and were going to divide us up 60/40. The well-established, flourishing company that I finally had grown to love (after transferring to Pasadena and realizing that it was just Studio City that was Hell on Wheels), no longer exists. Imagine if McDonald's and Carl's Jr. randomly decided to buy out Burger King. It's kind of like that. No one saw it coming. At the time, we didn't know if we were all still going to have jobs, or what the new company would be like. The term "drinking from the firehose" was thrown around a lot. The sale is finally complete, but we are still in the painful process of transition. It's turning out to be ok, just awkward. The only thing that remains to be seen is whether I my kickass employee housing discount will be cut in half. That would suck. But we shall see.

9. Grief

Not long after attending a friend's funeral, I lost two members of my own extended family. Some of my other friends have experienced similar tragedies and my heart just breaks for them as well. It definitely comes in waves.

I wish I looked this pretty when I'm sick...

10. Vomitting on BART

To top off a truly banner year, on New Year's Eve I christened a Bay Area Rapid Transit train with the contents of my upset stomach. Specifically, copious amounts of pasta mixed with vodka. Sorry about that, people of San Francisco! But that's what you get when your best friend who moved to San Francisco leaving you alone and miserable in LA is a former alcoholic and drinks vicariously through you and you just happen to be a lightweight. After a lovely day visiting with Eric and exploring the city, we had decided to watch the midnight fireworks over Fisherman's Wharf from on top of a faraway hill. But the entire time the fireworks were exploding and Eric was sharing the traditional New Year's kiss with his boyfriend, I was blorching like a champ. I like to think that I was vomiting up everything bad about 2012. I still had a nasty hangover on January 1st, but once it was over, a fresh start lay ahead.

So that's just a sampling of everything that sucked about 2012. This is already a really long post, so I think I'll leave the sort-of happy ending for next time. Ta da!

Dawson's Creek Drinking Game

2012-09-16T21:54:00.000-07:00

One of my less reputable hobbies, which tends to fit in nicely with my love of movies and television (and wine!), is inventing drinking games to make my favorite, or painfully terrible, viewing experiences much more interactive and enjoyable. So far, the most successful games have included: the Newsies, High School Musical (1 & 2!), Twilight, Gilmore Girls, Lost, and Forgetting Sarah Marshall. The rules have ranged from the obvious, the obscure, and the ridiculous.

Obligatory cast photo

Since I am currently still obsessed with my favorite teen drama that dates back to when I was barely even a pre-teen, it was only natural that I come up with rules to accompany "Dawson's Creek." If you find yourself bored on a Sunday night, drinking two dollar cabernet out of a Dollar Store wine glass, feel free to drink along!

1. Drink during the theme song in its entirety. Especially if you are still resentful that Netflix had to change it from Paula Cole's "I Don't Wanna Wait" to Jann Arden's "Run Like Mad" but find yourself singing along to the surprisingly catchy yet heartfelt upbeat tune.

2. Drink every time someone walks in on someone kissing someone that they probably shouldn't even though they just can't help themselves because the growing passion between them is so great that it will eventually overcome the trumped-up obstacles it faces.

So coy and mysterious. And slappable.

3. Drink every time Joey shrugs and/or talks out of the side of her mouth like a stroke victim. (WARNING! This may lead to alcohol poisoning)

4. Drink every time someone turns off a movie abruptly because it's just so damn frustrating that for a show obsessed with movies, they rarely actually finish one.

5. Double the drinks during a "Very Special Episode," such as when Jack comes out to his dad, or when Andie takes exctacy and nearly dies because it interacts with her antidepressants.

6. Drink every time they use a word that you don't understand or a reference you've never heard of. Because the actors probably didn't know what it meant either.

Wait for it...

7. Drink whenever a couple comes thisclose to having sex, but decides not to for whatever dumb reason, just so the writers can string out the anticipation and keep the audience's limited attention. Or to keep the moral majority happy. Whatever.

8. Drink when it's an episode that blatantly rips off the plot of a famous movie, disguised as a clever homage.

The bad girls club. Yes, I'm including Dawson in this.

9. Drink when a new Pot-Stirrer character is introduced (i.e. Abby, Drew, Busy Phillips)

10. Drink during any disaster such as: hurricane, storm at sea, fire, etc. that causes everyone to realize how important they are to each other and to get over their petty disputes.

Bodie, the only one with a good
head on his shoulders.
Seeing him is like seeing a magical ethnic unicorn : )

BONUS: Chug the entire time that Joey's sporadic, lone ethnic brother-in-law figure with the stupid name, Bodie, appears on screen.

There are many more, I'm sure. But I'm still in season 4 and they haven't left high school yet. Feel free to add to this list, or create your own drinking game! It's fun even if you aren't drinking alcohol!

Welcome to NoHo, Bitch!

2012-09-08T00:30:00.000-07:00

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

No easy feat.

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

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

Um. Ew.

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

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

The most badass scene of all time.

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

I am one terrifying son of a bitch.

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

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

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

Suck it.

Things That Make Me Happy

2012-09-07T09:42:00.000-07:00

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

1. Lists.

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

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

2. Jesus.

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

3. Stan.

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

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

4. Peanut Butter.

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

5. Being Employed.

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

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

6. Netflix.

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

7. Cleaning.

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

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

8. My Pretty Pink Blanket.

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

9. Taking a Walk.

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

10. Writing.

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

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

11. My family.

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

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

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

An Empty Box

2012-07-09T20:12:00.002-07:00

I am having a problem of a personal nature. It is both uncomfortable and mortifying. So humiliating in fact that I had been putting off resolving it until the discomfort outweighed the mortification. Tonight, I finally grew a pair and went to the store to acquire the antidote to my problem. I was standing in the most embarrassing aisle with my back to the item I really needed, because it was a lot easier to pretend I was perusing the many different kinds of shaving cream with unusually intense focus. Every now and then I would sneak a peek behind me at the products actually relevant to my condition. And every time I did, there seemed to be someone walking by and judging me. It took me a full ten minutes to just pick up the damn box and shove it discretely behind the tomatoes and skim milk.

And now, the many faces of awkward...

When I was ready to purchase, I steered the cart to the front of the store. It was rush hour at Ralph's, and my cart was pretty full. I couldn't really get away with the self-check out, at least not without pissing people off who only had one or two items. (I am susceptible to major grocery store peer pressure). That meant choosing which of the clerks seemed to be the most understanding. Of course they were all young, reasonably attractive menfolk. Because God hates me. I finally chose a line and started unloading. Again, I tried to hide this item which seemed to call attention to itself like a Vegas slot machine complete with bells and whistles.

I happened to be purchasing a few bottles of wine at the time, and the checker asked me for my ID. It was at this point that I realized I'm a grown-ass woman. I can buy wine and everything (though I can only afford the cheap stuff). I shouldn't be embarrassed by something that is just a fact of life! If it makes some people uncomfortable, than screw them. And as a former grocery store checker myself, I can attest that I honestly didn't give a shit what people bought as long as they paid for them and weren't rude to me. It was quite the epiphany. Though I still turned bright red as the box slid smoothly over the scanning platform.

I got home less than ten minutes later, anxious to finally take advantage of the ______. I opened the box only to discover that it was empty. I thought it felt kind of light in the store, but never having purchased this item before, I figured it was just a really lightweight substance. Plus, I had grabbed it so fast that I didn't think to check it like I would check a carton of eggs. Apparently I'm not the only one embarrassed to purchase this stuff. Whomever got there before me must have been so cowardly that they couldn't even bear to bring it to the check-out. They took it out of the box and shoved it into a purse or pocket.

Part of me doesn't blame them. Another part of me is indignant that not only did they commit one crime, but they screwed me out of six bucks (or two and a half more bottles of cheap wine as I like to think of it). Not a ton of money, I grant you, but also not insignificant to someone of my limited means. However, a third part is gloating that I had the lady-balls to do what this anonymous woman could not. I faced my fears and the imaginary judgment of my fellow shoppers to take care of business like the strong, self-sufficient broad that I am!

Of course this means that I'm still without the item that I reeeeeeally needed. I was barely able to buy it in the first place. There's no way in hell I can handle going back and approaching customer service, which will also undoubtedly be helmed by a man, and saying, "Uhh this box I just bought was empty." That's way too much progress for one night. So I can either make a second trip to Target (because clearly I can never show my face at Ralph's again) and be out another six bucks. Or I can suffer in awkward silence. We'll see how this goes...

UPDATE: 9:55pm, 7/9/12. I ended up caving and went to the somewhat ghetto CVS in North Hollywood. There's no judgment at Ghetto CVS. It was a lot less dramatic but Mission Accomplished. :D

Sacrificial Lamb

2012-06-29T21:05:00.000-07:00

What's new on the online dating front, you ask? Because you just can't get enough of my pathetic love life, or lack thereof? Well I'll tell you! I've basically been bombarded with men who are unapologetically looking for fuck buddies. While I've always been appreciative of a straightforward approach, that doesn't pretend to be anything other than what it is, it's getting old and slightly offensive. On the one hand, I like that they don't try to play games and trick you with grand romantic gestures. I can see through those sneaky ploys from a mile away like [insert superhero with x-ray vision here]. But on the other, can't they at least suggest dinner and a movie and make you feel like you're worth more than just fifteen minutes of their time?

Is this too much to ask for? Yes. Yes it is.

I know it shouldn't surprise me that these guys are only interested in sex. Hasn't that been the stereotype since the first adolescent boy first discovered hair on his you-know-what? But has the whole species given up on the pretense of dating altogether? Was your grandmother's theory about free popsicles and expensive ice cream trucks right all along? How many rhetorical questions can I fit into a single blog post? Are you taking a shot every time I employ this overused and somewhat lazy device?

Tee hee! How can an inanimate object like an
ice cream truck have any kind of sexuality?

"Billy" is one prime example of this new-ish breed of man, who is without guile, but also without game. He popped up on my OkCupid instant messenger last night, "Yo." I quickly perused his profile. Lives within 30 minutes, 6'1'', adorable in a Big Bang Theory sort of way. Check, check, and check. Then I looked at the questions he had answered. The first thing that caught my eye was that not only was Billy a twenty-four year old virgin, but that he openly admitted it. (I had to quickly check again to make sure he wasn't a Jesus Freak, which definitely would have been a deal breaker). Phew. I decided that we had enough in common and I was intrigued. Since I'm adorable, I replied, "Whut up?" Only, my computer autocorrected it to say "Shut up." Not a good start, but there was some decent witty banter surrounding this snafu.

Every guy's fantasy. At least the first part of this movie anyway.

After the opening statements, Billy asks the question that I've learned to recognize as a precursor to the whole No Stings Attached proposal: "So what are you looking for on this site?" The answer to this being essentially semi-casual dating. Not a serious relationship, but not a waste of time either. That's when he straight up told me he was just looking to get laid. No lies, no flattery, just an honest mission statement and declaration of lust. Naturally I had to ask him about his being a virgin, because that was a pretty ballsy move on his part. According to him, he had had lots of opportunities to have sex, but it had just never worked out. (This seemed a little less honest, but whatever). Billy even described his virginal state as a 'handicap' that he just wanted to get over.

Speaking of which...

Even though I'm sure being a twenty-four year old male not-by-choice virgin is definitely embarrassing, this seemed kind of sad to me. Sure, the goal to lose one's virginity constitutes the plot of almost every teen movie ever. But still, it's an important milestone in one's life and he was just offering up his precious flower to some random girl he met online that he'd only been chatting with less than ten minutes. (Or maybe I'm just so irresistible that boys are falling all over themselves to sacrifice their virtue to me). Strangely, I was honored to be chosen to be Billy's first. It was flattering in a sort of not-at-all way.

One would think that he was auctioning
off his virginity to the highest bidder.
Like in that one movie.

When I made it clear that I was not really interested in acting as his de-virginator, but wished him good luck on his quest, he wrote back, "I probably won't talk to you again." Ouch. Not that I wanted to talk to him again. But again with the brutal honesty! It's slightly painful, but appreciated nonetheless.

WTF?

2012-06-24T19:57:00.001-07:00

Lately, I seem to be baffled by the behavior of the men in my life. I originally wrote out a whole rant about how irritating that several guys I've encountered lately like to drop off the face of the earth for several days at a time, only to reappear as if no time has passed at all. But it really did make me sound like the crazy, needy girl that I most certainly am not. This particular post is not to rant about how flaky men are. This blog is to pose the following question:

What the fuck???

That picture is an actual text that I received from one of said guys that I went on exactly two dates with earlier this month. I had texted him once on Sunday and didn't hear from again for five days. I get that guys have a tendency to just stop calling if they're no longer interested. I too am a coward when it comes to awkward confrontation. So if a guy is just not that into me and decides not to pursue any further interactions, there's truly no hard feelings. I had just figured that I was never going to hear from him, and continued with my daily life (and flirtations with other men). My heart will go on (completely intact I might add).

Say, wasn't it Berger himself who came up with the phrase,
"He's just not that into you?" (Even with the whole post-it thing,
he was still the only guy Carrie ever dated that I dug)

So again I ask, what exactly does it mean when a 31-year-old guy who was pretty but had the wit and sensibility of a 12-year-old, sends you a picture of a large, partially eaten hamburger? We had never eaten burgers together. We had never discussed burgers together, neither philosophically nor as some kind of obscure inside joke. And there was no text accompanying the burger to give it some kind of context. I could only assume that he had sent it to me by mistake. (Which would have been even more awkward if he really had decided never to text me again.) Not knowing how to act in this scenario, I responded with a sophisticated and concise, '?"

Ronald McDonald is not amused.

He responded right away (refreshing, for a change), "It's a McGangBang!" ... Still not getting it. He answered my subsequent query: "It's a McChicken and a Double Cheeseburger altogether!" All I could think to say to that was, "Sounds gnarly. Did you enjoy it?" Of course he enjoyed it. It has the word 'gang bang' in the name and as I mentioned, this man is 12 years old. And that was the extent of our conversation. Clearly this is not the love of my life. But seriously, WTF?

Oh, and some of you were wondering what happened with the guy from my previous blog post, Underwear Limbo. Not a damn thing. I must have ended up inadvertently standing him up after all because he never contacted me to reschedule. Unless he's like all these other guys who seem to believe in not contacting a girl unless enough time has passed that she's already given up on you. Sigh.

Underwear Limbo

2012-06-18T21:24:00.000-07:00

I am just sitting here at my desk in nothing but underwear and a green reindeer bathrobe. Why am I sharing this excess of useless information that has probably put a random and unpleasant picture in your mind? Because I may or may not have a date tonight. And because I'm not exactly sure, I don't know whether to put on my comfy pajamas, or get all cuted up for some boy. We started IMing and things were going well. We bantered about the poorly chosen location for West Hollywood, as well as how much commuting sucks. Then he asked me to meet for a drink and I said, sure, why not? (He's 6'' and lives less than a half hour away, so those are the first requirements right there. He's also a writer so he was able to spell correctly and express himself using real words. Score!)

This is not me, but that is my bathrobe.
And my happy face slippers, aww I miss those!
My friend was wearing them as a costume
for when she played a crazy person in one of my movies
in college. It was a good wardrobe choice for crazy.

I had to cut the conversation short because I was headed out to yoga. I totally would have ditched it, but I already signed up and would have lost a credit. Not to mention I skipped last week to go to my parents' house and already felt guilty enough about it. So I gave him my number and told him to text me if he wanted to hang out later. I also gave him the name of an awesome Irish pub conveniently located near my house. Then I skedaddled because there's nothing worse than running late to yoga class (you get hate stares when you interrupt the flow of the chi.)

I found this when googling "yoga bitch face."

No text while I was in yoga, and no message when I got back to my apartment. Since the original plan was to meet at about 8:30pm, I knew I had to book it to get showered and ready. But there was no real confirmation that he got my message about my number and the bar. So I proceeded with my routine up until the point where I have to decide, makeup or no makeup? Cute butt jeans and ever-so-slighty padded bra (which always feel like false advertising, but man do they do the trick!) or yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt? Thus the reindeer bathrobe. Because there's no commitment with a reindeer bathrobe.

Haha, and this had the caption, "Unbuttlievable!"

I re-read the IM conversation we had and realized that unfortunately our conversation could be interpreted in a couple ways. The first, that we were going to meet tonight at around 8:30pm. The second, that on some unspecified day this week (other than Wednesday because I have a date with another guy, BALLA!!!) we would be meeting at around 8:30pm. Oops. That's what you get for trying to be casual and noncommittal. You end up not making commitments like when and/or where you're going to meet up!

Lady pimp.

Why am I stressing about this so much? I don't owe this guy anything. It's not like it's a meeting with my parole officer (that's tomorrow night. HAH!). But I feel guilty because it would be a bit of a drive for him and he has to wake up at 4:30am every day for work. He was already going to be staying out late just to meet me (awwwww! Sounds like good people to me!). So because of this modified sleep schedule, it's possible that he's either asleep right now and that's why I can't get a hold of him. Or he's sitting at the Irish pub waiting for me to show up in my cute butt jeans and padded bra (side note, the padded bra has become a necessity since I started losing weight in the one area I could not afford to shrink).

This could be him, all sad and lonely
with only his girly cocktail to comfort him
from the devastation of being stood up by me!

So what do you think? Is he fast asleep, secure in the knowledge that we'll set up a date at a later time? Or is he all sad and lonely at a bar in an unfamiliar town waiting for this delightful creature who may very well be the love of his life? I DON'T KNOW! I already sent him a message essentially asking him if he wanted to reschedule, and no response. He may not have a smart phone (I don't either), so he doesn't get the OkCupid app. He also may be slightly dumb and forgot to take down my phone number and left the house without a way to contact me. I know I'm way over-thinking this. But I would hate to take the trouble to get cute (ugh), and then go sit at a bar by myself for an hour. However, I think I would hate to do that to someone else that's going out of his way for me (eventually affecting his work tomorrow).

I haven't even met this guy and already I'm going psycho on him (though that would explain the reindeer on the bathrobe I'm wearing in June). And I'm not really a psycho girl, I swear. I just would like some confirmation so I can at least put some goddamn clothes on!

Maiden Bikini Voyage

2012-06-03T19:37:00.000-07:00

I have not bought a new swimsuit in about four years. Since I really only wear one a few times a year, (both because of lack of opportunity to swim and because I never really fancied prancing about half-naked in front of strangers) it didn't really seem necessary to upgrade. But I'm going home next week (yay!) and I fully intend on making use of my parents' current pool. Out of curiosity, I tried on my old suit last night. I was both overjoyed and dismayed that it hung limply on my new body like a tropical-print muumuu. So huzzah for me for losing weight, but boo for having to pay for a new suit when I'm super broke and probably won't use it very often. So this afternoon, I was off to Target, armed with my ill-advised credit card that still carries the balance from my last yoga-inspired shopping spree.

I wish Target carried this suit!

Clothes shopping has become pretty fun since I've lost weight. It's exciting to see the numbers go down and actually have to ask for a smaller size instead of the humiliation of a zipper not going up on a pair of jeans you thought were your size. But even 81 pounds later, bathing suit shopping still sucks ass. For one thing, I'm still sort of between regular and plus sizes when it comes to swimwear. Meaning I'm either drowning in frilly mini-skirt bottoms designed to cover middle-aged, cellulite-ridden thighs, or my muffin top is spilling out of a tankini meant for a sixteen year old girl who has never known the taste of Splenda. (Hope you enjoy that visual, that's my gift to you!) There are very few options for someone who doesn't have children in college and isn't about to send in their college applications.

What most plus-sized bathing suits look like. Yeah. Not cute.
I feel bad for this model who had to pretend like she likes it.

I decided to go for basic black, simple and chic. The big, bold prints that the plus sized "fashion" industry seems to fixate on, are no one's friend. You'd think it would be an easy process to pick out a black swimsuit, but it literally took me an hour and a half just to decide on the very first one I tried on. I'm such a girl sometimes... I stuck with the old reliable tankini and regular bottoms, since one-pieces bum me out. They're also impractical when you have to pee. But in a moment of boldness (and by moment I mean 45 minutes of painful deliberating), I also bought a matching bikini top. This may not seem like a big deal to you, but you should know that I have never worn a bikini in my life. Even when I still could probably pull one off, my religion prevented me from baring my stomach. When I was finally free of those restrictions, my weight had already skyrocketed. As a favor to society, I abstained from that particular look.

What I wish I looked like in my new suit...

But now that I'm working out like a maniac (doing the Flashdance routine as I type), I actually don't look too shabby. While I still have a looooong way to go, I can almost pull this off. I seriously doubt that I'll ever have the guts to actually wear the bikini out in public (there's a major fading stretch mark issue to deal with still). But it was a huge step to even purchase it and believe that someday I actually might go out in a bikini and not become Captain Ahab's new object of obsession.

Bastille Day 2010

2012-05-21T16:11:00.000-07:00

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

That's it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sigh.

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

Ye Olde King's Head Pub.

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

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

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

Clearly Sadie has a "Stan" of her own!

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