Like a Cheshire Cat

What is it about a simple phone call that will put a stupid smile on your face? And leave it there the rest of the day?

I'm a grinning fool. Summer is in full swing!

Overheard in the Living Room

I lose things all the fucking time.

GPG: Dammit, I can't find that damn black sweater. I've torn my room apart and it's just not there.

Roomie: I have a black sweater you can borrow.

GPG: Oh, I have four. But I have that date tomorrow and that one is just modest enough to get me by. Hmm, maybe I left it in the car?

Roomie: Are you having sex in your car again?

GPG: No...but I totally should!

It's something to do this weekend, I suppose.

Overheard at the Krazy BBQ

'Tis the weekend for memorializing via grilled meat. Which I did twice. First at my birthday spicnic (so called because it's a bunch of hispanics in the park, like you needed that explained), then today at Chez Krazy.

On the invite list: me, the Princess, her Rock Star, the Lead Singer of his band, and that guy's Model Girlfriend. Imagine all of us wearing mom jeans in suburbia and playing Wii.

Not.

Well, we did mess around creating Jordin Sparks lookalikes on the Wii and then ate copious quantities of chicken before a deathmatch air hockey tournament. Some of the highlights:

As I arrived, the Krazy Daddy met me outside his garage, and we walked in the side door.

KD: Hey KM, look what I brought home! I found a brown person wandering around suburbia!
GPG: And he let me come in the back!

***
Krazy Daddy vs. The Rock Star at air hockey

Rock Star: KD is serious about this game. *puck flies into his hand*
RS: Ouch! Damn, watch my fingers.
GPG: He kind of needs that hand.
RS: Or else we won't get a gold record.
Krazy Daddy: Why not shoot for platinum?
RS: I'm trying to remain realistic.

***

Krazy Mommy: Who wants cherry pie for desert?
Lead Singer: *to the Rock Star* OH! I totally forgot to tell you!! There's a teeny tiny chance we might get to open for Warrant!!
Krazy Daddy: Oh, we partied with them in Aspen.
GPG: *to the Princess* Look at the world they live in, and the world we live in. Aspen? Shit.

***

KD: Where's our daughter?
KM: Inside watching The Little Mermaid.
GPG: You left her in there alone with a rock star and a model? She's going to end up with a heroin habit.*

***

KM: It's our youngest daughter we have to worry about. She's the one with Bitch Potential.
KD: She takes after my wife.
KM: You're a W-A-N-K-E-R!

(There was a child in the room, hence the spelling.)

***

Princess: And they have fart wars on the road.
GPG: Ew, why are boys so gross?
Model: Not all boys.
Lead Singer: Yeah, I don't do it. And that's why I have my own room in the back.
GPG: No that's because you're a prima donna.
LS: Yeah.

***

The Krazy's eldest daughter is almost 4. She came over and whispered something I didn't quite get.

GPG: Thanks, sweetie. *to KM* What did she say?
KM: I love your stinky face.
GPG: Oh, I heard sexy face.
KM: Yeah, because my kids go around all day singing "I'm too sexy for my toys!"

They might. While I was outside on the phone, the KM came out and flashed me her boobies. Then she and the Princess did the can-can.

I love my friends.



*None of these people actually engage in nefarious drug use. They're not exactly towing the stereotypical model/rock star line. Such disappointments.

Overheard at the Spicnic

My brother and I grew up with a little Irish boy who's mom is like a second mother to us. She has been at every single major function in our lives, from graduations to births and every single holiday gathering. Of course, she also came to my birthday bbq. And after 25 years, we actually had this conversation:

2nd Mommy: I brought watermelon!

GPG: Why? Because we're black?

2M: *gasp* You little asshole!

I could not believe this little lady who goes to church every Sunday and is one of the single most proper people I know actually said this to me. I fell over from laughing so hard. And then had to go share that exchange with every single person at the party. Man, was that hysterical.

Then she had this conversation with my baby brother:

Baby Brother: Wait you have something on your nose.

2M: Oh it's just the powder I was snorting.

She was on FIRE. It was awesome.

Then we decapitated Cinderella, and life was good.

Photoblogging Friday 5.25.07

Because it is Memorial Day weekend, which I'm supplementing with an extra day off, here's a picture I took of my cousin's daughter in 2002:

The flag of our fathers.

Be good this weekend. And by good, I mean bad. That's how I started my weekend, and that's what I expect from all of you!

Not Being an Idol

I don't watch American Idol. Like most reality tv, I find it annoyingly ridiculous and stupidly overhyped. But in the last few weeks, I've been unable to avoid it as people have suddenly decided that I look like tonight's winner: Jordin Sparks.



The most bizarre experience I've had was two people in the drug store actually thinking I was this girl. One woman followed me around curiously smiling at me. I had no idea what the hell she was after, I figured she was just a weirdo. But when I got up to the checkstand, the following took place:

Male Checker: *does a double take, stares at me for a few seconds* Oh wow, for a second I thought you were Jordin Sparks.

GPG: No, she's got a bigger mouth than I do.

MC: But she can flow!

GPG: And that's the trade-off. I can't sing, but she's got a huge mouth.

Weirdo Lady (who up to this point had been standing waaaaaaaaaaaay too close for comfort): *comes stands directly next to me so she can look me in the face*: I thought you were her too! I really like her, I hope she wins.

I took my purchases and ran away. The next day I promptly shared this encounter with the work nemesis, who ignored me. A few days later, after the show aired, he then decided to use it to annoy the piss out of me and now has everyone calling me Jordin. Why does this bug me so much? Other than because I'm my own person and not the next 17-year-old semi-talented pop star about to be shoved down our throats?

1. I'm not 17. Nor do I want to be.

2. She's got a HUUUUUUUUGE maw. Me, not so much.

3. On the other hand, she's also much thinner than I am.

4. She's mixed race, as in black and white. While I might be black-inspired (Caribbean bloodlines aren't strictly one or the other), I'm definitely NOT WHITE. Again, I don't want to be. White people don't tan like I do. So sad. Also, my dad was not a football player.

So. The question now is, do I fight against the celebrity that will probably not come my way OR milk this to get unfair advantages in the hoity-toity restaurant reservation game, free celebrity swag, and make strangers think they're talking to a real famous person by offering passer-bys my autograph?

Regardless, I have to start hate-raying the people at work who continue to call me Jordin. It's not like this girl is being hassled by people calling her GPG.

Like she would be so lucky.

More Overheard in the Family

GPG: Big Fish* once wondered how long it would take you to find a pot plant if he put it in your garden.

Dad: I'd find it right away. I inspect all my plants.

GPG: Do you talk to them too?

Baby Brother: It would take him a while.

GPG: I'd give it 3 weeks.

BB: Please, it would disappear immediately. Then we'd find dad sitting in front of the tv asking for cookies.

This, while we ate cookies and drank red wine. In fact, my mother was dunking her cookies in her wine. She's nuts. And for the record, the harshest thing my father ingests is rum. Cut with Pepsi. So the idea of him smoking pot is rather hysterical.

Man, I love my family.



*What my older brother refers to himself as. He's a dork.

A Rollercoaster Day

Sometimes the universe fucks with you hard. Like when you find out your boss was just lying to you to get you not to quit.

And sometimes, almost immediately after crushing you with this, the universe gives you a massive and delightfully unexpected gift. In the form of a curly-haired belated birthday present coming to spend the weekend in your midst.

The plan is to merely survive the next 3 days and then all will be well.

Daaaaaaaamn well.

Overheard in the Family

As you know, most every Sunday is spent with my parents. My dad was in a silly mood all day.

At the Trader Joe's checkout:

Dad: Isn't that one of your bottles of wine?

GPG: I just paid, you can buy it.

Dad: But it's YOUR wine!

GPG: It's barely five dollars. You can buy me a five dollar bottle of wine.

Dad: *to the checkout girl* Don't ever have daughters.

Checkout Girl: I'm only 18! I'm not even thinking about kids.

Dad: When you do, don't have daughters.

GPG: Hey, you love me!

Dad: I do. Too much. That's why I'm telling her she shouldn't have daughters.

***

At the dinner table, discussing the Mexican-style birthday party my mother insists on throwing for me next weekend (meaning a bbq in the park, with piñatas):

Mom: Your aunt is bringing this special meat.

GPG: What about the carne asada?! I want that!

Dad: Your mother is going to take care of that. She's going to season it.

GPG: As long as it's the same old carne asada we always have, then that's fine.

Dad: Wow, you're spoiled!

GPG: Hey, I didn't ask for this party. But if you're going to insist on doing it, then you're going to do it right!

Dad: You are so spoiled!

I am. But that's all his fault.

Photoblogging Friday 5.18.07

I've been feeling a bit bogged down with life lately, which sometimes leads to wanderlust. With a camera. Which I haven't done in much too long and that makes me sad. So in an effort to renew the fire, here's a picture from a trip I took to San Diego 3 years ago:


It's nothing, and yet, something. What, I don't know. Let's play another round of "Name This Picture." Because I can't think anything beyond "Door & Window, San Diego 2004."

And that's just kind of lame. So have at it.

Overheard at China Inn Bistro

GPG: He told me he didn't think any of his friends were good enough for me. And that I chew men up and spit them out.

Baby Brother: Well, you are fiery...

GPG: I'm not discounting that. But I never asked him to set me up with any of his friends! I never even asked if he had any single friends. Married people usually don't.

BB: Doesn't matter. Men are scared of women like you.

GPG: Bullshit.

BB: No. You're too confident.

GPG: That's a problem?

I mean, seriously? It is? I want to hear from the men on this, please.

The Naked Cube

Want to see pictures from my birthday?

Here's one:



Gotta love your coworkers. Not.

What cracks me up about this picture, other than the painfully fake smile on my face, is that my tits are dead center.

Go ahead and enlarge it. My boobs just get bigger.

It's kinda awesome.

Overheard at Joxer Daly's

Thursday, one of my clients joined us for a celebratory drink. Of course, this ensued:

Man looks at his watch.

Girl #1: Time to go home?

Man: It's getting about that time.

Girl #1: Aww! Stay for another beer.

Man: I can't.

Girl #2: It's dinner time. He's gotta get home to his family.

Girl #1: *pouts* You're going to miss us making out later.

Man: If you two make out, I'll stay for another beer.

Girls: *fit of giggles*

Girl #1: Oh, I thought you had to get home. See your wife and kids?

Man: I can stay for one more...

Girl: #1: Uh huh. *looks at Girl #2 with an evil smile* Now you know we HAVE to, don't we?

Girl #2: *still laughing* Yup!

And so we did. And suddenly, many men in the bar wanted to buy us drinks.

I wonder why...

5 Questions

Last week, before Will became a married man, he was throwing out interview questions to anyone willing to whore themselves out for blog fodder. Here's what he asked me:

1 – What inspired you to start your blog and what inspires you to continue?
My insane vanity, and also the writings of one Jennie Smash. My blog crushes on her blog constantly, even though her blog doesn't know mine exists. It's also a forum for me to express my love for my boobs and tequila. Like heaven, but with words. And sometimes pictures.

2 - In your writing you sometimes talk about boobs, tell us about them?
I'm a huge fan of boobs, but mainly my own. Because they are rad, if a pain in the ass. Lately, I can't eat a damn thing without spilling something on at least one of them. Usually the left one. Which is interesting because I'm right handed but keep dribbling out the left side of my mouth. Maybe I've had a stroke?

3- Do you want to know who reads your stuff?
Yes! It feeds my colossal megalomania, which is necessary. Like oxygen, but not as cheaply available. Tell me everything, who you are, what you like and how you look naked. Or just comment on what's written. That's okay, too.

4 – Has there been anything you have written that you wished you could have back once it was posted?
Not really, but there are a great deal of things I wish I could post that I don't. Because I don't want to hurt people's feelings. Deep down I'm not really a bitch, though I play one on tv and on this here blog. I'm good at it. Mostly because I'm Puerto Rican and it's in my DNA. And going against one's nature hurts kittens.

5 – You have a birthday coming up, how do you plan on spending it?
This has since past without much fanfare, but I can tell you how I didn't intend to spend it: sober. It was interesting waking up on Sunday morning not hungover. And unlike any birthday in the past 7 years. I think I've clearly become an old lady. Wow, so soon?

***

If anyone else wants to play this game, just leave a comment saying so and I will send you 5 custom-made questions of your very own.

Photoblogging Friday 5.11.07

As I lay in bed enjoying a well-deserved day off, I've spent most of the morning watching tv and trying to find an appropriate picture for today. So here's the view from where I'll be tomorrow night, as long as it's not on fire:

The streaky lights are for Jay.

The birthday weekend commences!!

And now, back to enjoy my second favorite past time: lounging in bed.

The Day Thus Far

I got out of the shower this morning to a barrage of phone calls. 3 within 5 minutes. So I laid in bed, wet and naked while my mom, Krazy Mommy and La Ria all called one right after the other. Happy birthdays all around.

In between I missed a phone call and the second-best "happy birthday" rendition yet:

Happy birthday to you/Happy birthday to you/You're a Puerto Rican and I am a Jew.

That one had me rolling on the floor.

Then I got to work and my coworkers decided it would be funny to clear out my entire office and put up a banner saying "You're Fired!" Had they not lost some files and gone through all of my personal things, I might have found this funny. But I'm in the middle of major back-to-back programs, so I didn't. I still haven't found everything those assholes misplaced.

I truly hate practical jokes.

But then my boss brought me a bottle of Don Julio añejo and that was awesome. And then the assholes gifted me a hundred bucks. I still don't like them.

More people called. Some texted. Spanky sang to me yet again.

I cut out of work early to the Krazy Daddy gargling caffiene-free diet Coke (he knows what I like!) and singing at the same time. It was the best rendition of the song yet!

And now I will go drink with the Princess and get my spank on.

More later if I'm sober!

Happy birthday to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

T-1 Day

I was just going to write Exile a quickie happy birthday message today. He's celebrating the Canadian way with crocodiles and oranges in Florida or something. And then tomorrow someone else is getting married.

But then I had a DAY and so we're going to keep it about me instead.

Like you really expected different.

I have monthly meetings with my client groups. Some are in swanky offices up high above the city. Some are at hotels. They are all with lawyers. And sometimes, judges.

Today was one of those.

I'd picked the menu specifically because it's what I wanted to eat during my birthday week. Especially the dessert. It had alcohol in it. The chef indulged me nicely.

And we were just about to wrap up when the kitchen staff came into the room, holding a huge cake. On it, the words "happy birthday" scrawled in beautiful script. Two candles lit in the middle. I scanned the room to see who was responsible. Spanky was sitting next to me, but he swore he knew nothing of it. (Of course not, he's a man. They don't think that way. Turns out it was a gift from the director of catering, a woman.)

The entire group of them sang happy birthday, including the hotel staff. It was nice. Then we realized the cake was chocolate (I heard later from the mortified catering director that she had ordered me strawberry shortcake--definitely not chocolate--but I was so surprised I had to appreciate the gesture).

I laughed when it was over and invited everyone to partake of a second dessert. The man taking the minutes was sitting on my other side and pointed out the fact that I had just been sung to by name partners of international firms as well as federal judges. Not to mention a few superior AND appellate court jurists. I agreed with him that it would go down in history as one of the most interesting birthday celebrations ever.

And by "interesting" I mean BIZARRE. They're entitled stuffed suits. Singing. To me. And then eating my cake.

I then told anyone who asked that I was turning 35. Or 21. And then let them figure it out.

I relayed this story to my mother later on, and she freaked out thinking that today was my birthday. But she calmed down when she realized it's only Wednesday.

If that was today, I cannot imagine what tomorrow has in store.

Overheard in the Office

I did good today. The words "kick ass" and "absolutely stunning" were used by the people that matter. But the energy it took to do all that effectively zapped me of all brain power and the will to live by 3 pm. How I'm still awake at 9 pm is kind of a small miracle.

But now we're that much closer to the big day. In the meantime:

GPG: *reading* Lanugo: “a soft, fine coat of hair that forms on the arms and other body parts of a person who has anorexia nervosa.” So if you’re hairy, you might have anorexia!

Coworker #1: If you have anorexia, I think it grows on you to keep you warm.

GPG: Or to make it look like you aren’t so skinny! Because it shimmers in the light, adding weight.

Gaggle of coworkers: *roll on floor laughing*

GPG: I think that’s cool, you get a free fur coat if you’re too skinny. Bonus!

This was probably only funny because we were on our innumerable consecutive day of 10+ hours in the office. You get a little loopy from that much fluorescent light exposure.

I'm also in no danger of a fur coat. But that's really okay. Fur is murder.

An Unexpected Birthday Surprise

May is when summer starts here in Los Angeles. And what good is summer without a good ol' fling?

And because my birthday falls right at the beginning of this wonderful season, I usually give myself a very special present. The kind that keeps on giving, if done right. On my 24th birthday, it was the bassist of a local band. At 25, it was a French restauranteur. 26 was a lovely Swede.

This year, maybe in preparation of this annual ritual, my body decided to give me something back. Sometime over the last week, my boobs have felt heavy. Bigger. And my bras weren't fitting properly.

And it's not because I gained weight, thank god.

There's also been this weird tightness over my sternum, like my boobs are pulling it out of its socket. It's very weird.

So whoever the lucky penis-bearer is this year will, at the very least, have his hands full.

Respondez S'il Vous Plait

I haven't seen my semi-Jewish friend Mr. Reed since...well, he's missed the last few birthdays. And he's missing this one again for a bullshit reason: school. He's currently attending that Christian university out there in Malibu.

Mr. Reed: I can't make it, I'm so sorry.

GPG: Bad! Why not?

Mr. Reed: I have a conference for school.

GPG: What the fuck?

Mr. Reed: I'm going to be holed up at a hotel in Agoura Hills all weekend.

GPG: Mother's Day weekend, seriously?

Mr. Reed: Yeah, isn't that fucked up? And we can't leave the hotel.

GPG: What the hell are they teaching you anyway?

Mr. Reed: How to find Jesus? I don't really know.

Religion is now fucking with my birthday plans.

ARGH!!

Photoblogging Friday 5.4.07

It has been a very, very long week that most nights ended with a liquid dinner in the form of red wine. It's amazing how tired the body can be, and yet the brain doesn't want to shut the fuck up. So, alcohol to poison it into submission.

Aside from the wine, two things got me through the stress:

Hello boys...

A crappy candid taken 3 years ago at Red Rock on Sunset, but I like it anyway. The boy on the left, a badass guitarist. The boy on the right...just a man with a certain je ne sais quoi.

And they both helped keep me sane this week by reminding me that not only is there something to look forward to next weekend, but also that my love is never wasted on either one of them.

L'sigh. My heart hurts.

***

PS: Happy birthday, mommy!!

Overheard at "Yoshinoya"

The hill top house of Cal Asian fusion has been a hangout of ours for years. Mostly for the view, but we're also in good with the people up there and are treated like rock stars. And the hottie ninja behind the bar sometimes tries to poison me with chocolate-infused tequila martinis. Who could ask for a better time than that?

The hottie is your typical tall, dark, gorgeous model of a man, but he's also a sweetheart who cracks me up (and, did I mention, a NINJA?!). Like the other night after the Clippers game, when I was telling him about the really attractive white man sitting down on the floor with us, that I spent the entire game drooling over:

GPG: I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, but I've had this blond thing going on lately.

Hottie Ninja: You don't like blonds?

GPG: Ew, no. Not usually. I like the tall, dark, and handsome package just like you. But the last few guys have all been light.

HN: Ah. You've got the Aryan Fever.

GPG: *laughing* Yeah, and it's white hot.

Is there a vaccine for this?

Abracadabra

There are days I spend living in hotels. Today, it was the beautifully cavernous, magical old Biltmore. Where I always run into someone.

Through the throng of women in hats, a cacophony of voices ricocheted off the high ceilings and suddenly, there he stood staring directly at me, with a look of bewilderment all over his once-pretty face. He told his colleagues he'd catch up to them and made his way over.

"Hey," he stammered, not quite sure what to say to a woman whose last words to him were, "you disgust me."

"Hello." I raised an eyebrow.

"Uh...I'm here for the women in business luncheon. Just escorting a couple of colleagues." As if he had to explain himself.

"I've got a couple lawyers in there," I told him, tossing my head in the general direction of a room teeming with attorneys. Gave the curls a good shake.

"You look good." He was being polite, of course.

"So do you." I lied. He's lost 30 pounds and looks emaciated under that lovely suit. It just hangs on him now.

"Well, I've got to run, but it was really nice to see you."

"Bye."

And he ran away. Literally, ran. The shock was clear on his face, his body language, his hesitancy. Me, I never changed expression. Nonchalant and a little cold maybe. Because I could be.

He was in my world. When a Cat Burglar invades my territory, he's not going to play his verbal mind tricks on me.

The whole episode did, however, fuck with my brain. Because I just so happened to be telling a coworker about a drunk I once knew. And suddenly one appeared.

As if I had whispered the wrong magic word.