The view from my bedroom. Goodbye commute I love. Goodbye 2006. Goodbye free time.
As this is the last day of my 20 minute commute--in 5th gear at 80 mph ALL the way down the 10 freeway, do you know how fucking rare that is, ever?!--I present you with the sun setting on Los Angeles:
Have a great weekend ringing in the new year. Drink heavily and give your keys to the teetotalers.
Because dead readers don't comment much. And I hate that.
For boys who need a little oomph when it comes to what they're packing in their Jockeys, try HUGE brand condoms.
No, they're not for the overly endowed. They're for the average pee-pee. That could use a little "ego boost." I kid you not.
From their website:
HUGE Brand was founded, in 2004, to be the alternative to traditional corporate condoms. We believe in bringing fun to safe sex and understand that responsibility doesn’t have to be boring. The clever twist to our youthful brand is that the condoms are actually standard size - it’s the packages that are larger.
HUGE Brand condoms were designed with quality and safety top of mind, but the packaging ensures a clever ego boost in every purchase. HUGE Brand has also changed the way we purchase condoms. Gone are the days of just buying 3, 12 and 36 packs.We offer customers a selection based on the length of their
…ummmm…layover.
Our condoms are available in three quantities:
The Nightcap (3 pack)
The Weekender (12 pack)
The Extended Stay (36 pack).
"Are they going to get married?" he asked.
"Eventually, yeah of course," she answered
"Will they have a big wedding?"
"Probably not. I wouldn't guess they'd want that."
"Probably can't afford it."
"Oh, I'm sure my parents would help out," she replied.
"Yeah, but then that's a burden on your parents," he countered.
"Hmm. And then it cuts down on how much they can afford for mine," she mused playfully.
"You're not going to get married!" he exclaimed.
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because! You? Married?!" he asked incredulously.
"You asked me to marry you, remember?" she chided.
"Yeah but...do you even want to get married?"
"Eh. I don't want to die alone," she joked.
"Man...marriage. I can't...that's just too grown up."
"Says the man moving in with his girlfriend," she teased.
"Yeah," he sighed. "You know, if the us from two years ago heard the us now, we'd be kicking our own asses."
"Hee. You're probably right."
Today, I'm doing something I haven't done since I was an intern in college. In fact, I'm pretty sure that record company I was at closed down for the holidays too, so we're talking at least 6 years:
I'm working on the day after Xmas.
I know, I'm not the only one. Lots of you are in this same boat. But for years on end, I got this week off. To sleep. To dream. To fucking rest.
I don't get that this year. And I'm not very happy about it.
Yeah, I could have taken the meager 3 days worth of vacation that I've earned. But I'm saving those for the various trips I'm taking out of town next year. So, I will don a short wool skirt, black leather boots, and make my way to work today.
But I will pout. Because I can.
When I woke up this morning at my parents' house, after a night of much great Puerto Rican food, 14 glasses of red wine with the people I love, the title of our family's undefeated poker champion, and a shitload of really awesome gifts, it smelled like pine trees.
The Christmas tree has been there for about 3 weeks, the smell should have permeated the entire house. But somehow, it hadn't gotten into my nasal passages yet. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me lately, but I hadn't been feeling very much in tune with the season...maybe it's had something to do with the fact that it was 78 degrees yesterday in the Valley, which is so damn queer and wrong! There's snow in the local mountains, but we're experiencing the strangest heat wave today. Yeah, it never gets winter cold in LA, but it shouldn't feel like spring right now either.
But when I smelled that scent this morning, I finally caught that damn Christmas spirit. Then I got to watch the kids shout exclamations of joy every time they opened a new present, ate Christmas cookies with coffee and eggnog, and now everything is okay.
Yes, I'm a little late getting with the program, but you know what they say: better late than pregnant!
So merry this and happy that to all y'all out in the Exoterica readership. Hope y'all have lovely days, regardless of how or what you celebrate.
One of the two kids who make me the proudest auntie:
My 5 year old niece, the G-brat.
The other one is this little person. They have the same face, same eyelashes. Go figure.
They're precious. Wrapped in brat.
But during Christmas--and any other time--that's okay.
I'm stuck at home today because of walking complications brought on by this bullshit. When you drive a stick shift and have to sit in traffic for 45 minutes with your foot constantly on the clutch, you don't go to work when your legs are out of commission. Especially when it's two flights down to your car and you ain't got no elevator.
This totally sucks because I feel fine otherwise. I'm not sick. But I AM bored!! With a pain in my left hip. When did I suddenly become an 89 year old arthritic woman?!
There's stuff I could be doing since I am burning a sick day on this. Like laundry. Or Christmas shopping. Instead, I've soaked in the tub and also gotten myself a Gmail account. So if you feel chatty, find me there.
Though I still like my AOL accounts...so for now, I'm a multi-portal user. Like an email whore, if you will.
Whatever. I'm bored. Play with me.
I've been feeling discontented lately. There's been a lot going on in my head, and despite this, I've been significantly dissatisfied in that respect. Discussing it with a friend today, I started to wonder about something.
Then again, I have toyed with the idea of just chucking it all and starting over in either San Diego or San Francisco.
What's a girl to do?
On Monday nights, the Princess and I usually enjoy the an hour of cardio kickboxing to set the week off right.
This last Monday, our instructor was nowhere to be found. Hopefully she wasn't abducted by aliens. Nevertheless, a high energy replacement came to take her place. Except he wasn't running kickboxing. He was the "Hi/Lo" instructor. And he was fucking psycho.
He looked a little bit like Luis Guzman, if Luis was a drill seargent on speed. He started booming into the microphone and would. Not. Quit.
We weren't sure exactly what this "Hi/Lo" mumbo-jumbo meant. Were we in for a nasty surprise!
There was weirdo choreography with kicking and knee raises and you had to keep your arms up no matter how much they started to hurt, and the music was sped up so it was like working out to the fucking Chipmunks, and all the while the Princess and I were spinning in the wrong direction and looking at each other like WHAT THE FUCK?!
After 30 minutes we just couldn't hang anymore. My feet hurt as much as they do when I hit the 9th mile of an endurance run. And after running the day before, my hips were hating me. This didn't help our relationship.
The guy was Puerto Rican. I thought he'd be cool, not a workout nazi. Not so much. On the way out, the Princess told me I should cut him.
Hee. For a split second, I forgot how we deal with these little situations.
Next time...
After a weekend characterized by comments like:
Girl at bar: I love your hair. I want to play with it!
and
Married boy at a party: You don’t look almost 30. You look like you’re our age…24!”
It should have come as no surprise today that when my boss asked me to come in to her office for some “good news,” that it was going to be…well, good news.
She started with a barrage of compliments about how damn good I am at this job and how I’m the silver lining in this mess with one recently hired then fired employee. Blah blah blah.
I blushed a lot.
Then came the really good news: I got a raise!
It’s not huge, but when you weren't expecting one in the first place, and had no idea that it was even a possibility, it’s that much sweeter. Holy awesome surprise, Batman!
Who said good work is never recognized? Some cynical bastard, probably.
***
And yet, there's a sneaking suspicion that something isn't right. I don't know if it's just the time of year and lacking the usual Christmas spirit...or the fact that my favorite coworker is leaving us in January (effectively opening the door to my nice new salary)...or what. But something is bugging me.
I guess I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Bah.
In an effort to force myself into the Christmas spirit, I'm playing the "Dear Santa" Madlibs game found which I stole from the Princess:
Santa Claus
North Pole, EarthDear Santa,
I have been a good girl.
It really wasn't my fault what happened at Krazy Mommy's Office party.
It was the Princess who spiked the punch with too much Bacardi 151. I can't help
it if I drank 14 glasses. It was so good---smelled and tasted just like heaven.
I thought it was funny when I put Smooty Smoot's silk ascot on my head
and danced the cha-cha-cha on the cocktail table while singing `the Milkshake
song'. I didn't mean to break Krazy Mommy's radio controlled airplane and don't
know why Krazy Mommy would accuse me of public nudity.
I don't remember
calling Timmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay's wife an anal kangaroo---even though she looked
like one with purple eye shadow and chartruse lipstick!
And when I threw
up on Nancy's husband's pee-pee, it was only because I ate too much of that
bread pudding in the shape of Baby Jesus.
After all that fun, I admit I
was a little tired. So I fell asleep on my way home and drove my Mack truck
through my neighbor's master bedroom. I don't think that was any reason for my
neighbor to call me a drunken monkey and have me arrested for lewd behavior!
So, Santa...here I sit in my jail cell on Christmas Eve, all cute and
innocent. And I'm really not to blame for any of this comical stuff. Please
bring me what I want the most---bail money!
Sincerely and sweetly yours,
GPG (Really a nice girl!)
P.S. It's only 83,000 bucks!
(Do your own at members.aol.com/frogiearno/dearsanta.htm)
Sailor and Names, acting their ages.
The brown dude, as you know, is my little brother. The other one is my former platonic boyfriend, the Cat-roo-key. And he is 30 years old today. Yay!
Happy birthday, sweetheart! I'll catch you in Super Happy Shiny Pow-Pow Cowboy Ray-Gun World tonight.
Much love,
Your Kitten
This past weekend, my baby brother announced that his girlfriend is pregnant. And that they will be keeping the child.
My initial reaction was not a positive one. In fact, I spent a good portion of Sunday morning crying. And not because I think he's going to be a bad parent. On the contrary, I know he's going to be a wonderful father. I love my brother more than anything else in this world, but I could not fathom him compromising all his hopes and dreams at this point in his life. And I was pretty sure I wouldn't be the only one in my family reacting that way.
In fact, when the kid asked me what I thought, my answer to him was, "if I answer you truthfully, it's going to make you very angry. And I'm not going to be the one to do that. I'll let dad do that to you."
Man, was I wrong. Turns out that everyone adopted the "what's done is done, let's celebrate!" philosophy while I wasn't looking. I had the acute feeling of spinning around in a bizarro world when I heard that my father, the ultra-serious, no-nonsense patriarch of our growing clan, had a perma-grin from ear to ear. No one but me bothered pointing out the obvious (and unnecessary) difficulties that lay ahead.
So I'm the asshole. Thankfully, my older brother backed me up, agreeing that I brought up some good arguments, and that I just wanted to make sure he fully comprehended what this means. Because, even though he is a grown man, he's still my baby brother and I have a fierce need to protect him.
Eventually I realized he and his girlfriend had made up their minds and nothing was going to change that. They are, after all, both adults. And it is their collective life to live, not mine. He's a smart kid, with a lot of heart and a good head on his shoulders, and they are doing what's right for them.
It's all going to be okay.
So with that, I'd like to offer my heartfelt congratulations to my baby brother, his lady, and their unborn child. Next summer there will be a new addition to our family and I truly couldn't be happier.
Let's celebrate, indeed!
The Curly Haired Girl has too many clothes. So much clothing that she can go approximately 5 weeks without doing laundry. That's 35 days without having to rewash unmentionables. Because at about the 35 day mark, she runs out of undies.
But there are still plenty of clothes. 35 outfits out of the closet and there still isn't enough room in there.
It has been exactly 12 weeks and 2 days since she started the new job. In that time, she has done laundry a grand total of 3 times...twice it was only because a particular item needed to be reworn. Like the right sports bra for the two half-marathons she's run.
But she has not repeated a single outfit. 86 days. No repeats. Waaaaaaaay too many clothes, yo.
Now the laundry is piling up again. But doing laundry is such a pain in the ass, she might just let it continue.
Because who really needs to wear undies anyway?
(For the web-savvy, you'll already know without me admitting that I appropriated today's post title from Pamie, who used a similar one almost exactly one year ago. Usually I steal my best ideas from Will, but just call this the sincerest form of flattery. Or whatever.)
Today's topic was going to be a very short tale on how wearing a dress to work, because you have a Xmas party at the beach later, will give you the happies before 8 am when even the homeless guy at 7-11 compliments you. But instead, you get this bitch session:
I have horrid luck when it comes to my cars. Not that I own multiple cars at the moment, I mean the 4 cars I have owned/used over the last 12 years.
My cherry red 1990 Integra was the first car in which I had an accident. It was a hit & run on the part of the perpetrator, who left me at the scene admist trillions of unconcerned eyewitnesses with a bumper falling off my back end. I was 16 and already set up for a life of chronic backaches. Yay me.
Not too long after that, the engine gave up and that was the end of my little red car.
Then came the Altima my mom let me use once in a while. I don't remember anything bad happening in that one, but you never know. I tend to forget shit. My dad did have a car at the same time that literally blew up. Right there in front of the house. Caught fire and everything. No one could explain how or why.
Finally came the car that I drove into the ground over the course of 8 years. It was a black 1998 Nissan 200SX. Very cute car, its only downside at the outset being that it was had an automatic 1.8 liter shit-engine. No balls whatsoever.
Then came the problems.
First there was the alignment that never seemed to hold. Forget potholes, stepping on a crack broke its fragile little back. I was also rearended in it about 3 times. Then I bounced off a huge Russian tank, completely destroying my front end. Even my brother was rearended while driving it one time. It was a cursed car.
But the best was when each of my four Pirelli tires systematically blew off of it within one year. One right after the other. The last was right after the brakes locked and I spun a full 1.5 times around in a circle up on Mulholland Drive. As if getting all spinny wasn't enough to make me hysterical...I lost the last tire on the freeway on the way to my parents' house. It was right then and there I decided to buy a new car. I'd suffered enough in this one.
I've been pretty drama-free with it for the last year. But just recently my bad karma decided to rear its ugly head again. And forgetting the scrapes I've put into the little red devil, now the badness has infected the car that parks next to it: my roommate's poor innocent Camry.
I had to move her car on Saturday morning (we park tandemly, she was behind me) and in a rush (I was late for work), I thought I had put it in park. I did yank up that parking brake nice and hard, but apparently I'd left it in reverse. Which is why it rolled backwards with a huge BANG!!, right into our back gate. Lucky for me, her reaction was exactly along the lines of "don't worry, shit happens!" Man, I love her. But I will of course be spending all my money on fixing that instead of buying Xmas presents, so I hope no one was expecting one.
The icing on the cake was the no-nonsense, humorless stickler of a cop who "caught" me running a red light on my way back from today's Xmas party. The passenger in the car with me didn't know what he was talking about either. But he would not be swayed with girly looks of confusion and now I have another $350 ticket to match the one I got for the exact same thing last September. Lest you believe I make a habit of this, it was one of those stupid camera things that got me that time. I believe photographic proof. I don't believe a cop when my own passenger called bullshit on him.
The best thing about that experience is that since I"ll be attending traffic school for the last ticket, I am stuck with this one on my record. Way to rack up points!
I think this is all a very cruel way for the universe to tell me to quit driving. If it didn't take 18 busses and 42 hours in each direction to get the 13 miles to work, I would! But it's just too great an inconvenience, so I will continue to pay the exorbitant gas man fees and pray to the automotive gods to please let the stranglehold on me go and fuck with someone else. Please, please, please, please, PLEASE!! I need a good five years at least.
Because if this keeps up, I won't be able to afford the insurance. And then what?
I had a rollercoaster of a weekend. There were oops! of both the big and little variety, and a lot of general disgust with the short sightedness of too many people. However, there were also some truly fantasmic things that happened as well.
Lets concentrate on the good:
A wise man once said that success is measured in units of happiness. All the above make me happy. Therefore, it must have been a mostly good weekend.
Yay.
In a former life, this is what I used to shoot:
Not Chris Cornell.
Ah, musicians. So pretty and so fragile. They should be kept in glass cases so you don't break them if you play with them.
For the backstory on what this is all about, skip on over to these three previous posts:
Mutual Admiration Society, Texas Chapter
Mutual Admiration Society, LA Chapter
When It Rains
***
Sitting in the back of the Martini Lounge, she couldn't take her eyes off the man onstage covering Bullet the Blue Sky.
"He has to pose for me," she whispered to her friend.
"I have his number," the friend replied, smiling.
"Fan-fucking-tastic."
She called to set it up a few days later.
***
"Do you want me to take off my shirt?" he asked as she adjusted the studio lights.
"Yeah, that'll work," she replied. "Okay, I want you to hold the snake up here."
"I can take my pants off too, if you want."
Too flustered to imagine him naked in her studio, she declined the offer. A decision she regretted in the very next moment, and every one since.
***
Standing in the middle of a crowd at the Troubadour, they rocked out to the boys closing out their set. He was up in the rafters. They all screamed in equal parts horror and fascination.
"This is the best fucking moment of my life," he exclaimed later when they posed for pictures, him remarking on her groupie status now that she had a band t-shirt.
"This is better than sex?" she teased.
"Well, second best then." And it really was a that great.
***
"It's not working," he told her. "We're fighting constantly and everyone wants to go in a different direction."
"What are you going to do?" she asked, afraid she knew what was coming.
"I think it's over."
"No."
"Yes."
"But you can't! You can't just leave your fans like that."
"Sweetie, I wish I could stop it. But the four of us just can't agree on anything anymore. And we just have to call it quits."
***
Outside Tongue n' Groove he sobbed sorrowfully into her shoulder. It was the last night they'd ever all be together like this.
And out on that San Francisco street, she couldn't believe it was over.
***
"I have a secret to tell you," he intimated over their shared prosciutto sandwhich.
"Ooh," she replied, eyebrow cocked, wondering what she was about to be privy to.
"We haven't made it public yet, but...we're moving to Austin."
Shocked by the confession, she tried her best not to choke, disbelieving what she was hearing. She swallowed hard before speaking. "Why?"
"LA just isn't going to happen. We'll have a better shot in Austin. And frankly, I'm tired of the bullshit here."
As the words settled into her brain, she felt her heart slowly begin to crumble into pieces.
"When?"
"Beginning of the year...maybe a little later, depending."
She was at a loss for words, knowing it was futile to argue. And that the heartbreak would take a long time to heal.
"I get it," she finally replied, choosing her words carefully. "And if that's what you really want, then I fully support you. But I hate to see you leave." She couldn't bring herself to look at him, knowing if she did, she'd immediately start to cry. "I am going to miss you something awful."
"I'm going to miss you too, sweetie."
She was too stunned to say anything more. She returned to work and finally let the tears flow.
***
"So how's it going out there?" she asked during one of their weekly calls.
"We found a drummer. Young guy, really good."
"Congratulations!"
"Yeah. So we're rehearsing and will probably get a tour going at the end of the summer."
"Are you coming through town?!"
"Looks like we might."
"Fuck yeah!!" She couldn't wait to get off the phone and tell everyone else. Her boys were coming back home.
***
It was unseasonably humid for September.
"Suspend me!" screamed the basisst and jumped into the two girls' arms.
"Dammit, you're going to break us!" they complained. Someone took a picture.
"Where are we going now?"
"Miyagis, I think." And they posed for more pictures. Later there would be a photographs of sake being poured down their throats.
***
"I wrote a monologue about it," confessed the actress.
"What about?"
"All the things I wanted to say to him while he was still here. How he broke my heart. And even though we could have never worked out, how much I still love him."
"Does he know?"
"I told him about it when he was here last. I'm going to perform it at the showcase."
"Damn," was all she could think to say.
***
"Oh my god, I did coke for the first time on this street!" she giggled at the stupidity of her youth as they walked away from the theater.
"No!"
"Yeah, it was that night I was late getting to the second party. I was with that weird old guy we met at the first one."
"Oh damn!"
"Man that was fucking stupid!"
"Yeah you are."
"Hee! I feel drunk!" she exclaimed gleefully, despite not having had anything harsher than a diet soda.
"Me too!" answered her sidekick.
When they finally calmed down, she turned to her friend and asked "you know who she was talking about right?"
"Yeah, changing the name to Eric didn't really hide it."
"That was painful," she mulled over the emotional impact of the act, before noticing an amusing license plate on a car. "Dude, look at what it says! MUPPETE?!!"
"Take a picture!"
"I'm sending that to our Muppet."
"Heh. He hates that nickname."
"That doesn't matter. The boys know they're stuck with what we give them."
"Such is the life of our boys."
"Man I miss them."
Waiter had this to say today. I think it's a fabulous idea since it combines two of my favorite things: history and drinking!
Since most of you won't read this until December 6th, and I have to work late, you are invited to celebrate a belated Repeal Day with me at the Vine Street Lounge on Thursday night. Sanction, hugely famous in North Dakota, will finally be gracing Los Angeles with their presence again and I'll be there drinking tequila.
Like a good little American.
As an added bonus, you can meet me, the Princess, and our boobies (which will be on parade!). It's a guaranteed good time.
If you are not in the LA area, please do your part and have a stiff drink. It's your duty as a citizen of this country. For you non-American readers, don't feel as if you can't play along at home. I highly encourage everyone to drink!
"We should get married," he stated, matter-of-factly.
"Ha!" she laughed. "No."
"We really should."
"Uh, no."
"Think about it. If we combined our incomes, we could get a sick house!" he continued, ignoring her refusal.
"No thanks."
"I'd get you a huge ring."
"Fuck no, I can't wear anything ostentatious."
"What's wrong with you?"
"I don't like big jewelry."
"My wife is going to have an enormous diamond."
"Which is why I'm not going to be your wife."
"I can't believe you don't want a big rock."
"Sorry."
"You're ridiculous. I can't marry you."
Exactly.
Before 1 pm today, I had:
- acquired a new running buddy
- run 13.1 miles
- massively enjoyed being a Bruin
- had lunch with my girlfriends
Now it's time for a nap.
How did you spend your lazy Sunday?
We won!! We actually WON!!
U-C-L-A! FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT!!!
I have to go pass out from the delirium now.
Thanks to SJ @ I, Asshole for this bit of urban internets lore. That I stole. Like a stealer.
Real or fake? You decide.
Also, eww.
