January by the Numbers

Do I usually have a long winded introduction to these things? Well, I can't even quantify how many hours I've spent in the office when I should be in bed, meaning that my brain is on the brink of explosion, so there will be little preambulation beyond this.


24 measly miles ran (run?)
4 days unable to walk
1 misdiagnosed hip ailment
2 birthdays celebrated
1 tiara lost to a toybox
4 art exhibits visited
1 historic look at women of history
30 pretentious "art" pieces
8 Rothko canvases
50 more pretentious pieces
1 well-deserved night with tequila and entertaining midwestern boys
0 Paris Hilton spottings
1 hour spent nuturing the next generation of photographic genius
110 shots taken by my 5 year old prodigy
102 taken by her auntie
3 hours spent making balloon dolphins (more fun than taking pictures)
2 hours being wined and dined by the best of Santa Barbara
7 "tastings" of wine
5 minutes flirting with the young culinary masters
2 reminders of why I unabashedly adore a certain man
1870 new clients inherited

1 new slave
1 disturbingly sycophantic text message
0 spaces left on the friend dance card, for that reason
1 ex-boyfriend who can still make me blush
23 years relived in pictures
8 billion reasons why I'm so thankful for the people who knew me when--and STILL love me
1 realization that a love story can begin with the drunken retelling about orgasm via face punch
0 Raging Cunt Cards revoked
26 blogs posted


Bono for Pope?

It seems a bit crass to utilize modern rock music (for years vilified as the devil's instrument) to entice people back to church. But this really isn’t anything different than what has been done for centuries upon centuries.

Conquering powers would usually destroy the temples and other religious sites of their enslaved people. But then they would build their own temples on the same site. Why? The subjects were already used to going there for worship. So if all they did was change the flavor of the religion, but still hold ceremonies in the same spot, there was less of a reluctance to convert. It makes sense. A dog will still go to its water bowl if you leave it in the same spot but fill it with beer instead.

Pavlov was onto something when he recognized us as creatures of habit.

Back to the Church of England: they haven’t destroyed the temple, but they are instead trying to speak their people’s language. Whether or not it works remains to be seen.

I, for one, find that U2 shows give me all the religiosity I can stand, so you won’t see me attending a service across the pond just to hear choral renditions of Daddy’s Gonna Pay for Your Crashed Car or Bullet the Blue Sky. Though I’m sure they’d focus more on In God’s Country than Sunday Bloody Sunday given the subject matter.

I do, however, believe the canonization of one Bono is not far behind. Which I can get behind, since that would make my birthday not only an international holiday, but also a saint's day.

Holy GPG, indeed!


Happy Birthday, Krazy Mommy!

Today, my oldest friend on the planet turns Old Minus 1. That's right, 29.

Over the past 23 years we've had our share of laughs and heartaches. The brat would ruthlessly cheat at hopscotch because she was jealous that Tommy liked me better (I kissed him first...when we were 6). But then we'd run inside and eat cream of mushroom soup on hot summer afternoons. And life was good.

We're all growed up now and yet somtimes we're still those silly little girls trying to match our Madonna-esque jewelry to our outfits. Despite the fact that we lead completely different lives--she's the president of moms, I'm the career girl; she rules Agrestic, and I love LA--we cling to each other for sanity.

We've traded in the soup for margaritas, that are especially delicious when the boys are out of town. Every once in a while she ditches her suburban life for a night in the city with her girls. Where we get drunk. On margaritas. And chocolate sauce.

It's friends like her (and the Princess and La Ria) that make it worthwhile to be a woman. In a world full of flakes and backstabbers, I know I can count on her (and them) always.

Take a look at the two of us growing up, from 1985 to 2007:

Everyone should have themselves a friend as great as my Krazy Mommy. Happy day, you old bitch! I love you and appreciate you more the older I get.

But thank god I'll always be younger than you!


Best Spam Ever

Despite the best efforts of our email filters at work, sometimes you get this kind of shit coming through:

Not until I lifted you, said Fred. & I can supply them better than she is getting them now, he said. & expected the other one to lock the door. in whiskey and cigarettes youd ahad something to kick about. I dont

"Come, thirteen then," said tired one. pneumonia poking toward him. leadership enough to hear his words, which were Dont worry.

It's like the monkeys are translating the works of Shakespeare into Korean, then Pig-Latin, then Esperanto, and finally back to English. Some things got lost in translation, clearly.

Brilliantly entertaining. Really.


Photoblogging Friday 1.26.07

Today's post is once again a product of my overwhelming vanity. Also, I don't think I took either picture. So it's kind of a guest blogging Friday, too! (By phantom photographers because I don't know who took the pics.)

My hair is in that in-between stage that just sucks. It's been 9 months since I did
this, and it isn't anywhere near where I'd thought we'd be now. Which should be halfway down my back, instead of merely an inch past my shoulders.

I'm so annoyed and I don't know what to do. I can either chop it all off again and get the cute bob back, OR suffer through another god knows how many more months to get back to the mermaid hair.

The problem: I really like both.

GPG rockin' the shorty 'fro GPG stylin' with hair for days.

I leave it up to you, people. which way should I go: shorty 'fro or Rapunzel locks?

Keep in mind that both versions of GPG come with the cutie pie baby brother, so just ignore his presence there.


In the Age of Virginity

This blogger is having a crisis of creativity brought on by lack of sleep. Because who needs sleep when there's a Taco Tuesday Rockstar Birthday Celebration?? Not me!

Well, yeah me if I'm going to produce anything of worth on Wednesday. Oh well. You get shlock instead.

Below is my how old I was when I popped my cherry. Various times over.

1. Fell in love?
Each time it ends, I wonder if it was real.

2. Lost someone close to you
My two best friends when we were 23, out of a combination of miscommunication and immaturity. But they're back now, and responsible for keeping me sane. And kicking off the International Makeout with GPG holiday celebrations (tm The Boy).

3. Drank alcohol?
There was tequila in my breast milk, I'm sure.

4. Got kissed?
7th grade, behind the gym, at a school dance. I wonder if he remembers too.

5. Went to the hospital?
I was born in one.

6. Got your heart broken?
25, when my favorite person told me he was leaving. My heart literally broke. I'm still finding pieces of it in my shoes. And missing him terribly. Especially when he calls me on Saturday mornings to try out his Spanish.

7. Lost a pet?
3 years old. My German shepherd was run over by a car. Asshole driver.

8. Got arrested?
Still a virgin there! (Haha, and you thought I didn't have any firsts left.)

9. Got in a (real) fight?
Does fighting with siblings count? Because I still have gnarly scars from our fights when I was 10.

10. Broken a bone?
Also virgin territory, though with my clumsiness, that's kind of a miracle.

11. Got a job?
16, worked at Miller's Outpost and spent all my money on clothes.

12. Got cheated on?
17, and somehow still friends with the guy...go figure.

13. Went to a concert?
10, New Kids on the Block. (Shut up.)

14. Got your own cell phone?
19, and it weighed, like, 3 pounds.

15. Had 1st boy/girl friend?
13, and he wrote me one of those "will you go out with me?" notes. So cute.

16. Snuck out of the house?
I never did.

17. Got something pierced other than your ears?
Tongue when I was 22.

19. Got caught having sex?
18, by the police. In a park. The night before I left for college.

20. Snuck someone in your house?
17, and he definitely still remembers that, the pervert.

21. How old are you now?
Old enough to know better and still not care.

Tag you're all it.

Overheard at the Pump

Why girls should never go to the gas station by themselves late at night.

Man in BMW: Hey, that's a nice car. What kind is it?

GPG: Thanks. It's a Scion tC.

BMW: Ah, nice. Are you Egyptian?

GPG: *laughs* No.

BMW: Really?

GPG: Yeah, but my dad's Puerto Rican. He gets that a lot.

BMW: Yeah, very pretty. Are you married?

GPG: God, no.

BMW: Any kids? [Why do they always ask this???]

GPG: No!

BMW: What do you do?

GPG: I work with lawyers.

BMW: Oh! Maybe you can help me with this trust I have?

GPG: Uh no. Call a probate lawyer?

BMW: What's a probate lawyer?

GPG: Look it up in the phone book.

BMW: All I see is "attorney-at-law."

GPG: Well call one of them.

I was just minding my own business. I swear.

Happy belated birthday to the Princess' Rockstar. This is what I get for being the first to leave the party.


All Hail Dr. Danger

Today I came home to a lovely package from Toronto, aka Over Here. Sandra was one of the winners of this self-indulgent pity party of a contest, and for her prize she picked a couple of GPG originals from the gallery.

Raised like a good Irish lass, she returned the favor by gifting me with one of the raddest wallets I've ever seen. How she knew I wanted a new wallet, and was able to peg my tastes so perfectly, is beyond me. But thank you!!

You should all have readers as cool as mine.


Ad Nauseum

Know any unabashedly self-involved people? That will manufacture drama just to have something to talk about? Over and over and over again?

"My girlfriend is crazy," he admitted. Finally.

"Duh," she answered, already tired of excuses that were coming.

"I know this," he continued. "But I can't imagine my life without her".

"So...?" She rolled her eyes.

"I don't want to raise my children that way."

"You want kids?"

"Well, if I have them."


"But I do love her."

She sighed and restrained herself from smacking him upside his stupid head. "But she's crazy?"



And so it goes. Over and over and over again.


Photoblogging Friday 1.19.07

I have no dedication today. Mostly because when I had the time to go out and shoot your suggestions, I couldn't walk. Instead what you get is something I shot in February 2005.

In the steep hills of northeast LA, lies a little area the communists and counter-culturists still consider their enclave: Echo Park. Narrow walkways and tight staircases connect the paved roads. Some properties are only accessible via these hidden paths. It must suck when you move. Or have a lot of groceries to carry from your car.

But it is very serene.

Someone's front walk.

I have no idea where exactly this is located. I probably couldn't find it again if I tried. So we'll let it live here in infamy instead.


How It All Goes Down

It starts off innocently enough.

You’re a grown woman, he’s an attractive man. You’re both capable conversationalists and damn good at putting back a few after work. Just two intellectuals, nothing to prove to anyone, enjoying each other’s platonic company. He becomes another one of your girlfriends that you can vent to about work and boys, and you’re just the chick he can throw peanuts at during halftime.

It becomes a regular occurrence, this “lets meet up for a drink after work” situation. Because you both love the tequila. And each other's company. Every once in a while it spills over to dinner. Pretty soon, there’s a movie night involved. You repeatedly quote one another’s brilliant remarks when chatting with others. People start asking questions about the nature of your relationship.

Because men and women can’t just be friends.

You find yourself offended by this narrow-minded thinking, and vehemently defend your ability to separate sex and friendship. And you don’t think of him “in that way.” But in the back of one, or both, of your heads a small spark is lit.

Until that one night a few month--or even years--later when the budding curiosity wins out. You notice the crooked smile holds a certain flirtatious glint you hadn’t seen before. You counter back with one of your own. And suddenly, the intelligent discourse is infused with increasingly brazen innuendo. Casual observers no longer see two buddies shooting pool, but a couple in their own little world oblivious to those around them.

And then it happens. You go that one last step and suddenly, there is no more standing night at the watering hole. The line between platonic and sexual is blurred to the point of erasure and suddenly everything you’ve been denying is in plain sight.

And that's when it all goes to hell.

Regardless of how that works out (and we all know that story) the original, quixotic essence of your relationship is lost. For the lucky few, it may actually have evolved into something better. Good for them. But most of the time, the effort you spent on cerebral stimulation is replaced with something less than...well, satisfying. If only because you still yearn for the challenge it presented.

Anyone can fuck. Unfortunately, not everyone can hold a conversation.

Happy Anniversary, Los Angeles

13 years ago on January 17th, at 4:30 am, those of us dwelling in the land of perpetual sunshine were rudely awakened by the earth having a temper tantrum.

I was sleeping in a water bed. If you've never had the pleasure of trying to escape a riptide under the sheets, let me tell you, it's not easy.

Or fun.

I could hear my parents yelling from the other side of the house. Once I finally stumbled out of the wave pool, I ran to the doorway. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the shaking stopped. The family met in the living room.

My little brother, who had been sleeping in there, was thrown from the couch and was still lying on the floor. The aftershocks would continue all day. As soon as the sun came out, he and my cousin set up shop outside away from the cracked walls, and slept under the sunshine. They refused to come back inside after the pre-dawn ordeal, afraid the walls would collapse.

And they did. All over the city. My sister-in-law's building was condemned. The university across the street fell to pieces. Freeway overpasses fell down and went boom. It was so very unsettling.

A few days later, they reopened our high school. By that point, most of us were used to the aftershocks. We no longer evacuated at the slightest tremor. But one day, in 5th period pre-algebra, we had another one and the girl sitting in front of me freaked out. She dropped to her knees and scrambled under her teeny desk. The rest of us just stared at her for a few seconds and then broke into hysterical laughter.

What doesn't kill us makes us laugh. Like hyenas.

Where were you that morning?


To Convert or Not Convert

Since most of my dear readers are also bloggers, I have to come to you for expert advice.

Is "new" blogger really better than "old" blogger? Is it worth the conversion? I know in the beginning that the comments were all fucked up and sometimes it outed your real personality and all of a sudden there are my comments with my real name and holy shit now you're all going to find out where I live!!

But it's better now, right?

I'll wait to read everyone's comments before deciding. I want specifics too. Don't just post "beta blows." Because, duh. But beta is over. I want to know the real deal.

Overheard at the Birthday Dinner

I banished your father from the kitchen.

GPG: Why?

Mom: You know how he is! Paella is supposed to be cooked more like Mexican rice than Puerto Rican. And if I let him in here, he'd get his hands in everything. I've been comparing recipes for days figuring out how to make it right. I'm not going to let him ruin it.

Dad: *sulks*

GPG: Aw. It's your birthday, Dad. You shouldn't be cooking anyway.

Dad: *staring at the simmering rice dish* You know, you should...

Mom: Shush! I've done the research! I know what I'm doing here.

Baby brother: Dude, Mom is now Tom Cruise!


GPG is a Moron

I sat at my desk photoshopping for about 4 hours. With frozen fingertips. It's in the 40s outside and that's fucking arctic where I live.

I was wrapped in sweats, but my fingers wouldn't warm up. I alternated between sitting on them and blowing warm air on them so I could keep working.

Then I remembered that I have central heating.

4 hours. Suffering. Like a retard.

A little later I went to make a phone call. I picked up the television remote and started dialing before I realized what I was doing.

And sometimes I pick up my cellphone and listen for a dial tone.

Me = idiot.

If you know me personally, this is not news to you. Now the rest of you know my dirty little secret too.


My Hips Don't Lie

Running 12 miles in less than 3 hours is rad.

Doing it in 40 degree weather is pretty bad ass.

This is so not rad.

My next apartment building must have an elevator. Please remind me of this if I ever move.


Photoblogging Friday 1.12.07

Today's post is dedicated to one JTS. Seems like this is his week over here in the Kingdom of Exoterica. First a full recap of 2006. Now, a picture just for him.

Alcohol, yum.

Taken at Red Rock on the Sunset Strip, September 2004. In between shooting publicity stills and candids of a band, I captured this.

Ah, whisky. What's not to love?


Come Out & Play!

I'm late to the party, as always. But you know what they say about being fashionable.

While I was busy putting you through the last year of my life, the ultra fashionable people over at
Paper Napkin have deemed this National Delurking Week. So even though it's already Thursday, feel free to tell me what an ass I am down there in the comments.

Sorry kids, I've got nothing else for you. I'm staring down the barrel of the innumerable consecutive 12-hour work day without a lunch break. I should be in the shower. I should be ironing my pinstriped pants. Instead, I'm blogging.

I'm so fucking tired, my hair hurts. The upside is I've scored myself an office assistant slave. The downside is I have no idea what to post for tomorrow's photo. So I'm leaving it up to you all. Make suggestions for what you'd like to see.

Or just call me an asshole. Or both. Just say something, dammit.


Memoirs of 2006: Fall

Overlooking Hollywood to DowntownThe end is in sight. I swear.

While I went
searching for a clone, my entire family descended on Malibu to watch my cousin (the same one who unintentionally barred me from getting that damn job) get married. Again.

Then I ran.
A lot.

A certain man came in for
a surprise visit and I ran off to San Francisco (with Pete Carroll of all people) to shoot and cavort. With the ultra-spectacular Jack. Who has promised that next time we can drink without a time limit. The Raiders won their game that day, by beating Carroll's darling, Matt Leinert's team. A good Sunday all around!

The Princess and I celebrated
our first reanniversary (we fell out of touch in high school, but it's all better now) by going to Halloween Haunt. We held hands so that the monsters wouldn't eat us.

Then there were the Halloween festivites during which I spent as
a big, dumb blonde.

La Ria and I finally saw each other again, after an extended life-related hiatus. Then I took her to see the
Bouncing Souls and all was right with the world.

I then embarrassed my work by showing it to a
bunch of morons from New York. I've apologized to it and decided to just show it to you guys every single Friday instead.

I then forced all my friends to wear hats during poker. Because I can. And they did, even if one was a tinfoil beanie. My friends love me. And they damn well better after I sat through 90 minutes of watching some of them simulate sex. Gay and incestual sex, to be exact. I'm nothing if not supportive of the people I love.

My sports bras, however, are not. Assholes.

102 hours on the job in 11 days. I was fucking tired all month long, but still made time for
UCLA, another half, and my boys. For my troubles I received another traffic ticket and smashed up my roommate's car. I swear to god, I'm fucking cursed. Fuck fuck fuck.

the Cat-roo-key turned 30 and we gorged on sushi. And soju tonics. If you've never had one, I highly recommend them. Zip on 3rd and Traction is the place. Hit it.

The final blogger meet-up of the year finally came to fruition. Yay! I love me some
Roonie. She's fun. And funny.

a raise, Xmas, and NYE at a pajama party.



Memoirs of 2006: Summer

Oh, what a summer.

I had gotten wind that my job might be in jeopardy the month before, but choose to ignore reality. People were being laid off left and right, but I was riding high on some great career accomplishments.

I spent 5 glorious days in Texas, networking and abusing my corporate account. Because I could. It was a good thing I did meet people, because a week after I got back to LA, I lost the job. Oh well. I spent a weekend partying with Exile and the rest of the time generally abusing my severance.

And trying not to fall out of bed.

This month was a blur of interviews and time spent drinking. Birthdays passed without the usual Vegas fanfare, but I met yet another blogger who was brilliance squared. It always nice to find out that the people behind the words are cool in person, too.

There was the 10 year reunion and that was a fabulous party. Being sans job was actually great because I did whatever the fuck I wanted whenever the fuck I wanted. Till the severance ran out because I'm not good with money sometimes. Like when I'm unemployed. And am rejected for a job I'd kick ass at just because my cousin is a moneymaker there. Fucking financial firms with their Sarbanes-Oxley restrictions.

Then Lex left us for the KY and life hasn't been the same since. Miss you, doll.

Interviews, job offers, a guy that said my blog made him want to make out with me. I tried raising money for cancer, but just ended up drinking a lot of Rolling Rock instead. And making out with said guy. Though not at the same time.

We drank whisky instead.

La Ria's birthday at the Laugh Factory gave us a glimpse of what Michael Richards would do to himself shortly thereafter.

For the record, he's just not funny. Like badly NOT funny.

Memoirs of 2006: Spring

Continuing on...

I worked my ass off making up for all the work I missed in March. There were huge sales conferences at work, and photography in the free time. Two pictures I took ended up in a beverage magazine, which was awesomeness squared. Plus infinity. To the five-teenth power.

The Cat Burglar and I started drinking together, mostly in a mutual attempt to mend our respective and freshly broken hearts. It worked for some time.

I also chopped off all my hair and then got the crazy bug up my butt to run a marathon. It's been 8 months since the hair surgery and it's only grown 3 inches. Regret is a strong word, but probably the most relevant.

The year never really starts until my birthday, and I was more than happy to forget the 4 previous months. Work was kicking my ass with more sales conferences, but I also got to throw a mega-circus of a party for the founder of the big toy company AND meet the original Barbie. It was a really good few weeks, professionally speaking.

After my own birthday party and making out with various peoples, I acquired myself a stalker. That wasn't fun. At all. But then a certain man came to town and made it all better. Aw, that boy...

May rocked. Lets just call it the highlight of the year. Even if some asshole almost ended it all. I win!

Also a good month, it was characterized by much running and the easiest tradeshow to date, even though it was still exhausting. In fact, we were so hands off on the execution of it, I even found time to shoot the 44 women during it. Good times.

This probably also marked the downward slope where the Cat Burglar was concerned, but that wouldn't become apparent until much later down the line.

For my baby brother's birthday, he smashed up a Batman piñata and then a gaggle of rowdy strangers sang him happy birthday at a nearby restaurant.

Life was good'ums. Squared.

Until I lost the ability to walk.


Memoirs of 2006: Winter

Because my favorite ex-boyfriend of all time asked so nicely, and because I have a pathological need to keep track of everything that happens in my life, I decided to recap the past year. You don't have to read. In fact, you never have to read. But you do. I don't know why...

So here goes:

I woke up on New Year’s Day to mimosas and a text message from the Sugar Bitch, C-dub, that she was engaged. Happiness! And the USC lost to Texas! More happiness!! I celebrated by going to see Dane Cook be not-funny at The Improv. La Ria loves him, but I think he’s ridiculous. But there’s really good spinach dip at The Improv, so we kept going back. And learned that Sunny D tastes like clown asshole. No lie. Then we watched people get kicked out of the club for having sex in the bathroom. Which I’ve never done.

That makes me sad.

There was also that super secret Louis XIV show we got into. Being in the know was all kinds of cool. And was one of the things the Evil Engineer told me he liked most about me. Gee, thanks. You like that I have a social life? Ass.

Then there was the night we subjected ourselves to Trapped in the Closet, Chapters 1-12. That’s 40 minutes of our lives we’ll never get back. Baretta does NOT rhyme with dresser!!
That was followed by a card game with the Poker Nazis, who no longer play in our semi-irregular game. I learned the hard way that just because everyone loves me does not mean they’ll love each other. Especially when there are egos involved. Annoying.

Finally, the Krazy Mommy turned 28 and all was right with the world. We celebrated by gorging on fried food. Yum.

Before I ran off for 10 days of New York Toy Fairing, we celebrated the Krazy Daddy’s 30th birthday. There were surprises, a condom-filled piñata and more poker! The rest of the weekend was spent soaking up all the love I wouldn’t get while back east.

While I was in NYC, two people I cared for died, which sucked really badly. And the city had the worst blizzard in recent history (26.9 inches in one night). The night before which, I stumbled drunkenly through Times Square and came so very close to hooking up with a fellow photographer...but I was a good girl. I threw up my Chilean seabass instead. I'm so sexy when I try.

Valentine's Day was spent in that damn city, watching people ice skate in Rockefeller Center. That didn't really measure up to the hot sex I could have been having back home, but I returned to my hotel room to a display of chocolate-covered strawberries and rose petals strewn about my the bed. L'sigh.

Almost immediately when I got back into town, it was the boy's turn to leave, so I went to a wedding with an ex-Marine. It rained on the outdoor reception, but we still danced the night away. With tequila. Which is so very dangerous when I’m with someone out of the little black book, but once again I was a good girl. He kept pushing the issue of our brief prior relationship, but I still behaved.

(Quick aside: a few months later, the same boy would take a punching joke too far and be cast into GPG Jail, where he still lives to this day. Don't piss a GPG off. It never works out well for you.)

2 weeks later the EE and I broke up over brunch. Then I went to one of the funerals. Suckage.

Somewhere in all this hurt, I introduced the Princess to her Rockstar, and it’s been blissful living for them ever since. When one relationship ends, another begins. Who says life isn't bittersweet?

Consolation prizes for the broken heart: getting a thank you in the liner notes of a cd, and turning up in the commercials for Last Comic Standing. Which you all saw because they ran for-fucking-ever. Yes, you may have my autograph.

I was sick, sick, and even sicker forever. But I managed to pull it together enough to brave the freezing rain and celebrate the Princess’ birthday. Two days in a row. Because that’s just how we roll in this clique. There was kissy-facing, band boys who stalked us, and a fuzzy purple penis. Which I bought her at the Hustler store.

I give the best gifts.

She and I were also stalked by the pretty gothboy lead singer of a band. He just seemed to turn up everywhere we went, so we finally decided to catch a show. They rocked, but he was the flakiest, most self-involved person I've met in a long time, so there were no repeat performances.

UCLA lost the NCAA basketball tournament and the boy and I lost at rekindling. Things you should never do: give any sort of second chances to the exes. They’ll only continue to disappoint from then on.

It was an icky month. And fucking cold and rainy. Thus ended the "winter" in LA season.

I started blogging sometime around this point. You can really read the rest of everything in the archives. So the rest of the year will be only quickly summarized.



The Plan

Last week the Princess turned me on to this. While I think people who elect to eat out of dumpsters are nuts, the idea of living a nearly consumption-free lifestyle has its appeal.

First off, it would certainly go a long way towards helping with that whole debt resolution I made. And I've already decided I'm not buying any new clothes until I absolutely have to (quick aside, I went exactly 3 months, 2 weeks, and 1 day without repeating an outfit. It finally happened last Tuesday...so ridiculous that I could even pull that off). So except for some absolute essentials, this shouldn't be too difficult. I figure the real point is to divest yourself of the unnecessary material things so you can appreciate the more intangible things. Like good company.

(It's wonderful how idealistic one can be at the beginning of a journey. Check back with me in May to see how long I can pull this off...)

The following list is what I am allowed to spend money on:

  • Food
  • Hygiene products
  • Photography supplies (but not new equipment)
  • Batteries for cameras, remote controls, etc
  • Running paraphernalia (I'll need new shoes before the LB marathon)
  • Monthly brunches with the girls
  • Car maintenance, including gas
  • Bikini waxes
  • Manicures/pedicures (but only for special events)
  • Necessary repairs

I'm also allowed one movie every three months and we've made spending exceptions for birthdays. Because we can't NOT celebrate our birthdays! But this means no new cellphone like I'd planned (not like I need one, I just want a Treo), no more impulse buys, and seriously little socializing.



Photoblogging Friday 1.5.07

Happy new year, everyone!! And hello, 2007.

One of the resolutions I didn't remember to list was the desire to finally finish this project. It will officially hit the two year mark in April, so I'm only giving myself until then to get the last two girls done.

Here's an outtake from the still unpublished "Patty" reshoot:

"Patty had a house in Dallas, shot cough syrup in her veins"

Once upon a time, all it took to do this was a roll of Fuji Velvia 50, a 5-stop push, and a few hours in the dark room. If anyone actually appreciates what that means, I'll send you this picture.


Final Requests

Amidst everyone dying last week (James Brown, former President Ford, and Saddam Hussein), I got to thinking about the end of the road, so to speak. Turns out presidents have to have these plans in order when they take office, too. I imagine that scenario plays out something like:

One week after the election, the president-elect receives his offer letter from the People of the United States. Once he signs and returns it to the Government Human Resources Department, he is considered hired, pending a final background check. He is then invited to the White House for the official “insider’s tour,” allowed to pick out the proper executive chair for the oval office (ergonomics are important!) and given additional paperwork to fill out. It’s the usual W-2, nuclear codes packet, parking information, and keys to Camp David.

Then they ask him how he’d like to go out.

Here’s where it gets tricky. There are contingency plans for dying while in office and also for the post-presidential career. Will he be buried in the national cemetery, his hometown, or cryogenically frozen to be reanimated in the distant future when everyone else is
too stupid to function?

These are hard questions.

Well, since my birthday is already a national holiday (in Mexico), clearly I'm important enough to warrant having these plans in place now too. For the record, I want my body to be cremated. My ashes will be scattered from the top of Mullholland Drive, starting from the overlook point just west of Cahuenga, then driven around in a black Porsche 911 convertible, very quickly along the entire route to PCH. That way the ashes will blow away all along the ride. It would be best if this were done at night so no unsuspecting motorists are stuck with a windshield full of GPG ash. That’s just impolite.

And I'm nothing if not sweet as sugar.

Just make sure the driver doesn't take any of those hairpin curves too quickly. Spinning out on Mulholland can be deadly.

I've done it twice. I suspect the third time will be that unlucky charm.

You can consider this my will. And testimony thing. Yeah.


The Year Ahead

2006 didn’t measure up to expectations. AT ALL. But for each of the bad things that came to pass, there was an equally—if not better—event to compensate. Such as:

  • The evil Engineer breaking my heart as I was almost literally on my way to a funeral for crying out loud. That lovely combination of events led to 3 weeks of the worst flu I’ve ever had, BUT also motivated me to make some drastically healthier choices, like running marathons and raising money for cancer research. Then I cut off all my hair and sent it to the bald kids.
  • Losing a job that I absolutely loved led to 2 months of reckless unemployment, and drinking with this boy, who is really fabulous. Though he doesn’t blog nearly often enough, he’s fucking brilliant, so go read. I also found a job that, though lacking in certain pecuniary aspects, has me liking it in spite of myself. Mostly because it's finally challenging me in the right way. And (as an added bonus) puts me in a position to rub elbows with the mayor. And the District Attorney. And the Attorney General. Next month. Oh yeah.

So 2007 can’t be much worse. Then again, I said the same thing about my New Year’s Eve plans…and ended up doing nearly exactly the same thing for the second year in a row (albeit minus the evil Engineer. But then again, also lacking mimosas in bed until 2 pm the next day. You win some, you lose some.).

Other truly great things have happened in the past 12 months: C-dub got engaged, the Little Princess met her Prince, my brother’s cd dropped, UCLA beat USC for the first time in seven years, and I got to spend some major quality time with my favorite boy.

Okay, so I was wrong. It was a pretty damn good year! All that AND I’ve acquired a fabulous motley crew of drinking buddies. And really, what more does one really need in life?

In 2007, as I enter the last year of my 20s, I will have a new niece or nephew, celebrate my first blogiversary, handle some of the most prestigious events of my career thus far, and hopefully continue to learn and grow from the many mistakes I still have yet to make. So here are some more guidelines for the upcoming year:

  • Less procrastination and more organization (I’m tired of my bedroom looking like a papermill exploded because I let my mail pile up).
  • Debt be gone! I’ve devised a plan that will keep me painfully poor for most of the year, but will finally allow me to start living nearly debt-free in 2008. Right before I turn 30!
  • Stop being the sole catalyst behind friendships that are about to expire. I’m seriously tired of feeling like the one always making the effort to stay in touch with people who might otherwise fall off the face of the earth. I am no longer putting up with flakes. If you love me, prove it. Otherwise, you can rest comfortably in GPG Jail, where we throw away the keys and forget about the inmates.
  • Improve my penmanship...it's a sign of a disorganized mind.
  • Get that damn passport.
  • And no more blogs whining about my life. I promise to be better. For you guys.

And that’s it about it. Just enough to keep me out of trouble.

What's everyone else resolving to do this year?


December by the Numbers

Because I rang in the new year in a champagne shower while wearing silk (way to ruin a new boob shirt) and kissing a 50 year old man, I'm not at my best today. But at least I have stories! And a new admirer...yay me?

The rest of the month played out as follows:

4 points to win the annual football rivalry
13.1 miles run through Los Angeles
4 girls celebrating with French fries and beer
3 attempts to drink with one hysterical
7.5 hours spent drinking, finally
3 Xmas parties
15 dollar gift certificate to Jack in the Box won
1 red light ticket
2 birthdays
22 hours of overtime in a single pay period
200 extra dollars in my paycheck for that trouble (fucking taxes)

2600 new clients
2.5 days of training to understand their needs

30 minutes of exercise hell leading to arthritic hips
15 days free of the damn caffeine allergy
3 pounds gained because of that

4.5 hours spent in the Downtown Jewelry District hunting for the perfect watch
4 Macys stores hit for the same reason
0 watches bought
95 minutes of drunken charades

3.5 hours spent trying not to encourage a smitten 50 year old man
3 hours waiting for the Woodpecker's signal to save me
1 text message lost to the ether, never received
24 blogs posted