In this family, we love our deli meats. And we notice when one is missing.
GPG: Dad, did you buy prosciutto?
Dad: Oh, no.
GPG: Why not?
Dad: I forgot.
GPG: How could you forget that one? It's like forgetting to pick up your children!
Dad: Well, that happens too.
To make this my least active blogging month ever, I've given you a grand total of now 7 new posts. Shameful.
But by the time I actually sit down to write, all the words are gone. I could give you a rundown of my recent tweets, but that's kind of my last resort.
So...what are you up to?
Social networking will more than likely get you in trouble. And we all know I'm all for trouble.
Which is why you should read the stuff Mutha Mae puts out. One day, she's going to be famous and I can take credit for introducing her to you. I met her while networking socially, via this really cool device called the internetses. You should try it.
Plus she has twins from two different countries. How awesome is that? Even the Krazy Mommy, who is pretty rad in her own right, can't say her twins are from different countries. Or uteri, for that matter.
Enjoy!
The other night, my baby brother had to take his fancy-pants iPhone to get fixed. Baby Aladdin had stuck it in his mouth at some point, rendering it useless. On our way there, he felt the need to confess something:
Baby Brother: You're probably going to blog about what I'm about to tell you.
GPG: Why?
BB: The other night, I was bored. So I downloaded a trial version of World of Warcraft.
GPG: Oh dear god. You're such a dork.
BB: I just wanted to see what it was about.
GPG: DORK. And yeah, I'm totally blogging about that.
He knows me so well.
I forgot about how I use this blog as a time capsule. And the lack of blogging for the last few weeks might come back to bite me in the ass if I don't go burying nuggets of personal historical info in it and soon.
What's been going on? Well it turns out I own a dress that possesses magical powers. I don't know what it is about it, but every time I wear it, people go out of their way to compliment me. Like, emphatically. It's very...nice.
So when I thought I might run into someone from over the summer, I figured there would be no harm in wearing it. Nope, no harm. None. Not for the entire cocktail reception. Not on the corner outside the bar. Not in his car. And especially not from his office on the 19th floor of a downtown high rise. Overlooking the city. At night.
I'm clearly using my powers for good. It's delicious.
So have you all been reading my baby brother's blog? Because you should. He does crazy things like update regularly. Mostly on the hilarious hijinx that take place in the world of stupid people. Fun stuff.
Me, I've been too busy for your entertainment, and I'm not sure that's going to change anytime soon. Apologies all around, but such is life. For now:
1 missed Greek Festival
75 stories climb
0 pain endured after
1 very surprised, but apparently in-shape, GPG
6 songs by our favorite certain man
1 happy song he prefaced by quoting his favorite GPG
2 consecutive dates that held promise, then didn't
6 uncomfortable hours spent on the world's worst date
1 shot of absinthe
1 promise never to touch that crap again
2 fantasy football games won
3 fantasy football games lost
1 fantastic UCLA football comeback against the almighty SEC
3 consequent losses
3 days spent networking in Tucson
100 attendees
15 of us delayed at the airport
2 football games watched together
3 hours late getting home
1 tour of Staples Center
2 minutes sitting on the Kings bench
10 minutes hanging out in the Clippers locker room
1 picture taken of me crouching in Chris Kamen's locker
100 women met at the Wealthy Bag Lady event
2 of them encountered again that evening at The Kress
3 drinks comped at the Viceroy
35 year old scotch
65 dollars for the privilege
2 charity events in one evening
6 cocktail parties
2 mandated by work
News: today I became an exempt employee. Yay?
Tomorrow I work a 12 hour day. No yay.
The month by the numbers will be, consequently, delayed.
And I refuse to apologize for it.
Find me on Twitter if you want to know how I celebrated La Ria's birthday by wearing the big girl lipstick.
Happy birthday, Ria!!!
Very soon, I'm going to start documenting the hijinx that have ensued from the Dating 2.0 experiment. Like how I ended up on a date with an angry gay man.
I do NOT recommend it.
But till then, I have a new love to tell you about: crumb doughnuts. They're my new guilty pleasure. I cannot get enough of them. And they give me heartburn, but I don't care because they're so damn good.
For conquering the US Bank Tower on Friday, my parents bought me a box. We had them for dinner. They pair perfectly with a little rosé. I'm going to have one for breakfast tomorrow. And there's nothing you can do to stop me!
Mmm, doughnuts.
My baby brother has a new identity. He's The Nameless One at The Chronicles of WTF. Yay!!!
Expect to read a lot about people who can't spell. It's just what makes the grammar nazis in all of us cringe in horror. Exciting!
And now I must go to sleep because tomorrow I am climbing the tallest building in America west of the Mississisppi.
Wish me luck. And go read my baby brother's blog.
My brother came to visit last weekend. Over dinner one night, my mom was trying to feed Baby Aladdin, who can be a little bit of a pain in the ass at dinner time:
Dad: Hey, don't you want to eat your rice? *acts like a gorilla*
Baby Aladdin laughed and then asked for more green beans.
Baby Aladdin: Beeeees!
To continue entertaining him, my father started acting like Frankenstein while my baby brother gorged his ass on donut holes.
Later on, my baby brother played basketball with a huge beach ball and pretended he was any good at it.
GPG: You're retarded. *gets hit with a ball*
My third cocktail party of the week was held at the Elevate Lounge, 21 floors above downtown. Despite my intention to lay off drinking until next week's Stair Climb, there was an open bar. But it wasn't until I stood there talking about scotch with a client that I absolutely had to have some. And damn, was it good.
It also completely squelched my fatigue. I've been feeling like hell lately. Maybe because I was at THREE parties in the last 7 days. All work-related. My life is hard.
One glass of scotch, 5 glasses of water. One of which the bartender accidently spilled on me. Thank god I wasn't wearing white. Then we started making jokes about getting wet. It was funny. He's a good bartender. Except for the "accidental" dropsies.
I'd go back to if the valet wasn't such an jerk. Look, I can park my own car. And I usually will, unless there is absolutely no parking around. But the entrance to the club's building is down an alley, across from an empty parking structure. You think I can't find my own space 20 feet from the door? Why should I have to pay someone 7 bucks to do it for me? Unfortunately, the answer is yes. They won't let you self-park. And the guy is always rude to me. So I refuse to tip him. It almost makes me never want to go back.
It's really too bad. Because that bartender was really cool.
I was only half-joking about the tranny sitting next to me at the airport. She could have very well been a woman.
Just an not attractive one.
I was definitely not joking about the tranny at lunch today. She was sitting at the table directly across from me. Dressed as a woman with a 5 o'clock shadow. It was NOT pretty.
The story went out via Twitter. Find me there when I'm not here. Which is pretty often these days.
The real question is why am I suddenly seeing she-males everywhere? It's like they're coming out in droves! So eenteresting.
The checklist before the weekend:
1. New boy earning further dating adventures and, by extenstion, a nickname
2. Find job leads at the conference
Things I learned during my weekend in Tucson:
1. Drinking is a very important part of networking. Because when under the influence of Lagavulin 16, you will agree to serve on committees that will eat up all your valuable and precious little free time. And said committees will not only greatly enhance your resume, they will also put you in closer contact with the perfect people to help steer your career.
2. The boys are all gay, and you will end up watching football with women. All of who individually know more about it than all the boys combined.
3. A flight delay means more time to watch football with said women, all of whom are invaluable career resources.
4. Football is also a very important part of networking.
So while the trip was exceptionally successful, the boy has not yet earned himself a nickname. But that's more his problem than mine.
I just finished packing for my weekend trip to Tucson. And I found a pair of undies in my overnight bag (which doubles as my "smaller" carry-on). Which makes me wonder who I visited last I used said bag...
There will be a breakfast before departure. We'll see if he earns a nickname eventually.
In the meantime, enjoy your weekend while I party in the desert with a cadre of event planners. Maybe I'll come back with job leads.
Keep your fingers crossed!
I've spent the last 30 years of my life believing I am a unique person. One with a slightly unusual name. It's not outright odd but definitely far from common. Both first and last.
So imagine my surprise when a little girl on Facebook turns up with my EXACT SAME NAME. A 15 year old child with a main image that makes her look only slightly a lot like a whore. This is one of the many reasons why Facebook is evil.
Do a Google search for me and she's the 3rd listing on the page. I, of course, had to befriend her. She is, after all, my cousin. I know this because our last name stretches out of one solitary family tree. The geneologists say so.
It's very odd to see updates from me that aren't about me. "Ghetto Photo Girl commented on Random Person's photo." No I didn't. "Ghetto Photo Girl is a fan of Some Weird Group." No I'm not.
It's fucking crazy. 30 entire years meeting only ONE other person with my same first name. ONE. And now, this. It's not like my name is Jane Smith. Or Maria Lopez/Gomez/Gonzalez/*insert common Spanish name here.*
Not that this in any way changes who I am. I just have to make sure that if any potential employers are cyber stalking me, they recognize that the little girl with the straight hair and booty shorts isn't me. I'm the one with the curly hair.
Duh.
It was a glorious weekend, by mere virtue of the fact that the football season finally kicked off and my baby brother was in town. With his son, who we taught to throw his arms up whenever we yell touchdown.
I also was at an alumni event to which we invited all the incoming students. The first of who showed up was a grammar nazi. She was awesome.
And the Saints won, so Monsieur was very happy. It only took me 15 minutes to get down the 405 to watch the game, and that made me very happy.
But the funniest part of the weekend, was the fact that now my family members are sending me stories specifically to be posted on this here blog. Apparently my mom took her three grandkids for a walk this morning, and as they were crossing the street, a woman attempted to run them down while she made a left turn. Imagine this: a late-40s woman pushing a stroller with a 5 and 6 year old in tow. And a bitch in a Honda impatiently nudging them with her bumper because--this is fantastic--she was late for church.
I really wish this story ended with my mother bitching the woman out. But it doesn't. She did, however, get to teach her grandchildren a bit about hypocrisy. So I guess it wasn't all for naught.
Online dating is absolutely magical. You single people out there, have you tried this yet? It's awesome.
Here's why:
Before I go out with someone, he has to write me an email. Lets repeat: he has to WRITE to me. It's the perfect vetting system for the grammar nazi in me.
I really love this new social networking world. Dating 2.0. It's rad.
My vacation is officially over. Tomorrow I get a day full of meetings, in-fighting, and other crap about which I could really not care less. L'sigh.
There's another job in San Francisco which is looking very attractive.
The best thing about the last seven days was all the great stuff I packed into them. Like smacking my head on a machine at the gym today. Or the privilege of scraping my leg on a Kelly Wearstler chair last night. I am, after all, a klutz extraordinaire! And I'm continuing my trend from last month where I will bowl, cheerlead, date, network, drink, volunteer or tweet with reckless abandon just to make the hours between 8 am and 5 pm bearable.
Thankfully, the day will end with a cocktail party AND a Giants game. I love me some Eli Manning. While I drink scotch.
I think I've figured out a way to keep the days from flying by: schedule every single minute of my natural, waking life, and then I'll feel like I've actually done something with my time. It's...awesome? And oh-so-tiring, but in a kind of good way.
7 entire days with NOTHING scheduled
24 days packed with too many activities to count
6 candidates interviewed
2 candidates hired
13 site visits
1st visit ever to the USC campus
1 run-in with Ben Affleck
3 weekends with my baby brother
4 evenings with a certain man
1 declaration of love to avoid answering a pointed question about my faults
3 seconds of laughing before forcing him to answer
2 hours at the Bodyworlds exhibit
10 weeks of fetus development displayed
1 cross section of an obese individual
300 pound body
4 full inches of fat under the surface
16 days experimenting with online dating
59 emails received on the first day
4 first dates
3 throwaways
1 worth making out with, despite not liking sports or meat
2 alumni events
5 Belgian beers sampled
3 glasses of Duchess de Bourgogne
1 new love affair begun
1 night bowling
1 frame bowled
0 "pinz" knocked down
1 imposter named "Bill" made an honorary alumnus
3 networking events
3 more avenues for job searches
2 concerts in the park with my parents
32 years of wedded bliss reached by them
6 wines sampled in celebration
12 Puerto Ricans tasting wine
1 very noisy room
100 dollars spent on wine
130 dollars spent on cheese
3 days of vacation enjoyed
28 points between LSU and Appalachian State
45 points between USC and Virginia
1 glorious Saturday spent glued to ESPN, hailing the beginning of the college football season
I hate baseball. It's so fucking boring and goes on for-fucking-ever. But the other night, I was at a bar waiting for my date, and of course, all three televisions had baseball on.
But then one cut to the mug of one of Atlanta Braves. I have no idea who it was, but he was HOT.
A little bit of research on teh internets has turned up two probables: either Mike Gonzalez or Omar Infante. Omar looks a little bit like the hot Persian guy I romped with with a couple months ago. Mmm. But I think it was Mike.
So I'll watch baseball if the Braves are on. But that's it. I swear.
Up until last week, I thought I had already blogged about this. But then I realized I had been holding out on you for no reason. My apologies, but I don't even have an excuse.
Some time ago there was a competition that I wasn't aware of, but I won anyway. It was among the women in my department for who had best legs. They forced it on me as we were walking out of an event and I was innocently wearing a dress.
Well, not so innocently. It was moderately cleavage-bearing and I knew there would attractive gun-toting men in attendance. But I was working from the torso up. I wasn't even aware of my legs, lest they needed to be shaved.
In all honesty, I really was oblivious to how much woman yearn for skinny ankles. I would have written mine off as chicken legs if someone else hadn't pointed it out to me. Or, four someone elses.
I relayed the story to my dad, who then asked me if that was sexual harrassment. But since it was coming from women, it a) couldn't be harrassment, and b) had to be the truth since women are only known for viciously criticism of their peers.
I turned to my girlfriend Spanky for confirmation. He's fallen victim to my smile, but I still trust him to be straight with me. He confirmed I should wear the crown. I love having girlfriends with penises.
So when it came time to indulge in an online dating experiment, all I posted were a picture of my legs. Overnight, I had 50 messages.
Who knew???
There is a reason that doctors do not operate on themselves. As our dear friend Dr. Freshblade will tell you: Anaesthesia is the half asleep watching the half awake being half murdered by the half witted.
If that doesn't scare the bejesus out of you, I don't know what will.
All this to say that I shouldn't have attempted hair surgery on myself last night. Because now I left certain parts too short and will have to wait for them to grow back out and/or fuse with nearby curls.
Luckily they are long enough still to tie back in a ponytail, where all manner of sins and mistakes can hide.
I've told you before, but it bears repeating: my life is hard.
Tonight I went to a concert. In the public square downtown. It was the Gin Blossoms.
With my parents. No, really.
It was also free.
And then at one point, my mom turned to me and said, "you have to blog about this! You're at a concert--with your parents!!"
My mom is the cutest thing. And actually, it was a lot of fun. The opening band Sugarwall was also quite entertaining. So much so that I went over to talk to their manager about booking them for a gig.
But before that, my mom had made a joke about smuggling some gin in a water bottle. And when my dad said the band sounded a little too country, she told him that there was no way. Because then they'd have to change their name to Whisky Flowers.
And that's when I got the joke about bringing gin to the show.
It only took me three hours and a hot chocolate. I'm just a bit slow.
I love networking events. They're always in cool locations, filled with people who will help move my career along.
And, of course, there's free alcohol. Mmm.
But why is it you always meet the most colorful people at the end of the night? Just as I was walking out, I bumped into a woman who told me she was a professional man-watcher. I told her that's what I wanted to be when I grow up. She said to me, "honey, it's about NEVER growing up!"
And then I spent the next hour and a half chatting with her. We didn't leave until they had to break our table down. She was that awesome.
Then, as we were finally walking to our cars, she stopped me and said, "you have the best legs! I wish I had those legs. Girl, you have to STRUT those. Hike your skirt up!"
Then she proceeded to do the can-can.
This is my life. For reals.
My brother is in trouble. Now that he knows about the blog, he knows that he's fair game.
Baby brother: You know what I realized today? I've been mixing up "sore" and "soar" for years now.
GPG: What?
BB: Soar and sore. I've been using them wrong.
GPG: Are you sure you want to admit that to me?
BB: Yeah.
GPG: You know I'm going to blog about this, right?
BB: *sighs* Yeah.
This, after we traded text messages all day calling each other retards. And then plotted how we're going to expose his kid to football this season. It's going to be awesome.
I love my baby brother.
I have a new employee. He's pretty cool. But he's still learning my sense of humor.
New Guy: So my brother moved his family down to Georgia.
GPG: Ooh. They're under attack from Russia right now. Not a good place to be.
NG: Oh, no I meant--
GPG: I'm kidding! I know what you meant.
He'll come around eventually. I hope.
I love my parents. Over dinner (that mom made):
GPG: Man, I used to be able to cook...there was once a time that I could bust out a gourmet meal.
Dad: Now you're useless in the kitchen.
GPG: Thanks dad. Now no one is going to want to marry me, right?
Dad: Pretty much.
GPG: Wow. Mean, much?
Dad: Nah, you can get married if you want.
GPG: Did you hear that, mom? Dad just gave me permission to get married. Should I ever want to.
Mom: That's so giving of him.
While playing hooky from work (but still, somehow, working--I even hired someone) to tinker in the fantasy football world, and just because I'm too fucking tired to do anything else today, I realized that some of you have been trying to get a hold of me. And you may have thought I was ignoring you. Rest assured, that is NOT the case. I just don't use that private Gmail account some of you have. It's only for, you guessed it, fantasy football.
So if you've ever invited me to a party, or inquired as to who that other blog reader was, or just wanted to know if I survived an earthquake, THANKS! But so we don't get disconnected in the future, I do use the email account published for this very secret identity of mine: ghettophotogirl AT gmail DOT com.
Enjoy your weekend. Since my official vacation won't actually start on Monday like I had originally planned, I'm sure I'll be around with stories. I hear my brothers will be going to Sea World together this weekend. Maybe my baby brother will guest blog some Overheard in the Family for us...*hint*
Here are a few tips I picked up during my workday today:
1. Do not walk around Universal Studios in three-inch wedges. Even if you get escorted in for free.
2. Do go on The Simpsons RIDE. It's cute, funny, and better than any of the other rides in the park.
That is all.
It's no secret that I love my brothers. Very much. I also love men who carry guns. And one of the few perks of my job is occasionally getting to drool over the eye candy that is these gun-toting federal cops.
My dilemma? The Raiders are playing in San Diego on December 4th. It's the same night as one of the few events where said cops will be present. And also a school night.
I've never been to a professional football game. A fact my baby brother used to guilt me into coming down that night. He also called our other brother, the hard core Raiders fan, to convince him we're doing this.
L'sigh. I now have the 4th and 5th of December off. So that I can go down to watch football with my brothers. Instead of getting some necessary overtime, with men who know how to use guns.
You're so buying me dinner for this, little one!
I'm afraid to blink again, lest it suddenly become 2009. I've been trying to make the most of each 24 hour day, but somehow they just run past me like sands through the hour glass. Isn't that the hokiest comparison I've ever made? I challenge you to find a better one somewhere in the archives.
3 nights in a row coming home in the wee hours
3 nights spent drinking too much
2 glasses of wine equals just enough
1 earthquake
5.8 on the Richter scale
1 inquiry from Kansas City
2 days scouring the internet for a 90s tune
3 days trying to get the damn song out of my head
12 months of life celebrated
8 bug bites sustained
0 bugs found
3 social networking sites
1 more person asking if I'm Persian
1 night spent with an actual Persian
2 nights with a certain man, who is not Persian
1 ex-pretend boyfriend singing from the stage
6 songs spent front and center
1 glass of wine stolen
1 shot of whiskey to make up for it
1 confession from Monsieur
20 years he claims he'll spend regretting it
1 red carpet party
100 dollars per ticket
8 dollars for the worst gin & tonic ever attempted
2 award winners at our table
3 weeks spent on a business plan
2 tortured presentations
1 almost completely approved proposal
1 more round to convince them fully
10 candidates interviewed
2 jobs to fill
1 Kobe beef steak ordered
2 bites before I gave up even pretending it was Kobe beef
50 business cards given out at a tradeshow
1 vendor I hired on the spot
2 UCLA alumni events attended
1 more extracurricular group on the agenda
What causes traffic on what should otherwise be an empty freeway at 11 pm? I'll tell you what: asshats. And also, CalTrans.
The 405 freeway is one of the single most congested piece of road in all of Southern California. That's because it's the main artery on the entire westside of Los Angeles, and connects everyone to the Republican stronghold behind the Orange Curtain. This is also known as Irvine. Which houses an amphitheater at which I saw every single band that mattered between 1995 and 2002, except of course for STP. It's also where the 405 dies and merges back into the main interstate.
All that to say that in west LA, where the 10 and 405 make babies, there shouldn't be any fucking traffic in the middle of the goddamn night. Except that there was. Tonight. Because of construction. Which sucked. And that's the only reason I'm still up at midnight when I should be in bed because I have another late night tomorrow with a man I adore and another that is my ex-pretend boyfriend. Maybe one day, or night, when I'm not so irritated, I'll fill you in on what that means. Otherwise, you can meet me at the House of Blues tomorrow and all will be well.
My boss and I were in the middle of a serious discussion about candidates we were considering hiring when all of a sudden it sounded like really fat people were walking on the floor above us. Then things started falling off the walls. That's when it was time to get in the doorway.
Earthquakes are always fun. My flawed philosophy is that each little one staves off the "big one" that much longer. They release the tension and keep it from building up and turning California into an island.
It was really funny watching the people who had never experienced one get that panic-stricken look trying to figure out what to do. Us natives forget that they didn't grow up learning to get under their desks in those drills at school.
It was rad that it happened just before lunch. Even radder that my catered luncheon showed up right on time as if nothing had happened. I just wish someone else could have cleaned up my office for me. Damn earthquake, messing up my feng shui!
At the gym the other day I half-heard a song over the whirring of the treadmills that I remembered liking when it was a hit. It's a 90s song and the band sounds like something between Big Audio Dynamite and SR-71, or between The Toadies and Tripping Daisy. With a nasally kind of lead singer...I spent a good amount of time going through the KROQ 90s list and listening to a bunch of songs on iTunes, but I gots nothing.
The one line I remember clearly is "I can't live without her." That's it. I know for damn sure it's not Beer by Reel Big Fish, though that's what Google wants me to believe.
It's really upbeat. I thought the line before it was "she don't think she needs me," but Google doesn't like that either. So help a girl out. Does anyone know what I'm talking about?
This weekend was my nephew's first birthday party. The little cousins ranging in ages from 7 months to 9 years gathered to celebrate. My pregnant cousin's four year old angel of a son had this to say to the daddy of the birthday boy (retold to me later):
Angel: So when are you going to give him a sister?
Baby Brother: Um, not for a long time.
Angel: I'm going to have one soon. When she gets here I can sell her to you. I'm not going to want her around. All she's going to do is cry.
I fell over laughing when I heard this. He's four year's old! And already trying to get rid of his unborn sibling. Wow.
1. Something is eating me alive. First this, and then today, little vampire bites on my chest. I'm in the middle of a meeting with our CFO when I realize that I have itchies and it's from two pricks on my chest. I got home and realized there are four more on the bottom of my left foot. For fuck's sake!
2. I finally joined Facebook. And I hate myself. It's my alumni association's fault. They're using this to keep everyone in touch. Why they can't use the website they created expressly for that purpose is beyond me. Can't we all be adults and stick to Linked In instead?
Last week, a guy who will remain nameless because he probably made a racist joke he'd rather you not know about, and I had a drink together. Or, I had 4 and he had...I don't know how many. Then I had sex with a Persian. Who, to be fair, bought me tequila.
Today, I interviewed a girl who asked told me I looked really familiar. She asked me if I had a sister named something I can't remember...I asked her if this girl was Persian. The answer was yes.
I have a profile floating around the internets where the last question is "You'd never guess..." Which I answered "not Persian."
I love me some Persians. Seriously, see the first paragraph. But for the record, I is not one. Thank you for playing.
Remember this game? You gotta be a bit careful when you play it in the presence of gorgeous men.
GPG: Ooh. *gestures over towards the manager* That guy's on my team.
A Certain Man: Huh?
GPG: It's a game we play. Whenever you see a hot guy, you claim him to your team before your friends do.
ACM: Am I on your team?
GPG: Sweetheart, you're my team captain!
No matter how old or hot they are, they all need their egos stroked.
My mom is a do-gooder. I'm considering dating running again.
GPG: A certain man wants us to run a half-marathon together in October. I think it's a little soon for that.
Dad: He needs your legs to run his marathon?
Mom: I want to do the walk for Alzheimer's.
Dad: You want to walk with the Old Timers?
Mom: I think it's a cause I could get behind.
Dad: If you're going to run with a bunch of Old Timers, you need to put them on a string.
Mom: Your father will be the head Old Timer.
Dad: Depending on their ages, I might have to bring up the rear.
They're nuts, I tell you!
Working in the center of downtown Los Angeles means that on any given day, a rally at City Hall or a film crew in the middle of the street can impact business. We get notices on a weekly basis for street closures or other activities that might affect our commute.
Sometimes these are worthy causes and/or fun events. Like a marathon to raise money for charity or a Madonna concert at Staples Center. But sometimes, they're bullshit. Like the media advisory that came last week:
Last night I was atttended a charity fundraiser. The kind with a red carpet and black ties. These types of events in the middle of the week always strike me as funny. Don't normal people have to work? I certainly do.
But I found myself sitting next to a husband-wife team of photographers. So successful in their endeavors that they were honored with an award during the ceremony. Yet, they were the most unassuming, down to earth people you can imagine.
We chatted about our work and I lamented the fact that my personal albatross was the current 44 women. And that it had been three full years since I started it. The wife told me that these things can last 10 years, but the important part was in the process. And that once it was done, she had a friend with a gallery where I should hold my show.
They were truly the awesomest people I met all night.
She's inspired to shoot again. It's always great when you can talk shop with people who get it. And she was no amateur. Her credentials include the Los Angeles Times and Washington Post. So for her to take an interest in little ol' me was like a dream come true.
Who knows, you might get another photo blog out of me just yet!
I woke up with 7 bug bites all over my body. This is clearly a sign of the impending apocalypse.
At least none of them were on my face. Dating and the red carpet fundraiser I have to go to this week would be doubly difficult.
Fucking vampire bugs.
On July 1st, the law in California changed. Upon penalty of death and/or imprisonment in the black hole of Gitmo, you can no longer talk with a phone to your head while driving. You CAN dial and/or text with the phone in your hand while driving, thereby taking your eyes off the road, but you CANNOT watch the road and have the phone to your head at the same time.
Lawyers write these things...
I have a bluetooth headset. It sucks. So I went looking for a corded solution.
The first place I went to was Radio Shack. The sales guy was clearly enjoying the benefits of required sales, and his eyes lit up when I said I needed an earpiece for my Blackberry. Because now he could upsell me on all sorts of gadgets, I'm sure. Imagine his disappointment when I told him I already had one. He then turned sullen--like a child, with a pout and all--and told me they were sold out of the others. Then he stopped talking to me and stomped away.
I kid you not. He threw a tantrum because I didn't want a wireless earpiece. It was amazing.
I was most disgusted with the human public today. Because the human public is STUPID. Case in point:Time is speeding up. I kid you not. We've discussed how it's already July and that should really be illegal. When did we blink and make June disappear? It's like a bad episode of I Dream of Jeannie. Which, for the uninitiated, was about astronauts and genies.
Also, it's already Thursday. I didn't ask for it to already be THURSDAY. Just yesterday it was Monday and I had the whole week to figure out my next move. Now it's Thursday and deadlines are looming and I just don't know.
I hate this new fast time mode. When can we slow it down again?
The Krazy Mommy, as the Queen of Suburban Agrestic, is also a member of a country club. Apparently the women there pay handsomely for their accessories.
KM: All the women there have fake boobs. And some are soooooooooooo badly done.
GPG: Well, if you're going to pay for it, might as well get your money's worth! Go big!!
KM: It looks so bad. And you want to be walking around looking like that? Clearly fake?
GPG: Unless you're a porn star. Are they making porn out there in Agrestic?
KM: Ugh. I don't care if a woman has fake tits, but at least make them look real!
And then a man walking by said, "I agree." Random, and yet funny all the same.
The long weekend is slowly coming to an end. Too bad. But at least my dad made this observation:
Dad: I saw this woman who was dressed like a teenager. She had on a tight shirt that showed her stomach and then a mini skirt. She was too old for that. And she had two kids with her.
GPG: Was she trying to recapture her youth?
Dad: And then I saw her husband pushing a stoller with yet another kid in it. And he had a mohawk! 45 years old, when is he going to grow up? What he hell? Did the world end and they made all new people?
Oh my dad. The traditionalist. But seriously, would you take your father seriously if he had a mohawk?
It's Thursday, and my first day of vacation, so why am I up at 6:30? The entire purpose of vacations are to sleep in late and ignore the real world. I got good and drunk last night so that would guarantee a late morning in bed. But then I decided I wanted to go to the gym at 8:30 and fouled up my entire plan.
I'm really my own worst enemy.
With all this extra free time, I decided to go through my Linked In contacts to help a friend get a job in SF. But as soon as I fired up the internets, lo and behold, broken testicle stories! And since we hate the baseball here at Exxy HQ, what better way to start the morning than sharing it with all of you?
Enjoy!
A few weeks ago, I had a small luncheon at one of my usual hotels. Only about 100 people. I was there the day before for a meeting, after which I decided to chat with the catering director about what yummies we were serving at the event.
Except there was no meal, no menu, no info whatsoever. Because the event wasn't on their calendar.
Cue a freakout.
This had never happened to me. Usually my contracts are in order months ahead of time. This was just crazy fluke that was mercifully resolved within 5 simple minutes. I never even really got to panic because the catering director's first reaction was "not a problem."
Thank god there wasn't some event that sold all of the hotel space that week. Then I would have been seriously fucked.
And not in a good way.
Hopefully that never happens again.
It's July. Time just keeps passing me by. It's quite freaky. I didn't realize the kids are already out of school. Hey, does anyone remember what a summer vacation is like?
6 inches chopped off during hair surgery
10 days spent enjoying the fabulousness of short hair
2 weekends with my baby brother
27 years of age celebrated
5 pictures snapped of us girls on the red carpet
2.5 hours noshing from the sushi and chocolate stations
1 evening with visiting English solicitors
2 hours of jokes about American politicians
2 days spent at the LA Convention Center
3 hours before my feet started hurting on the first day
10 more spent on my feet
420 dinner guests
3 feds
45 minutes spent playfully locking horns with one
1 lesson on drinking whiskey
50 paperclips collected before abandoning the paperclip jump rope idea
2 employees quit
10 weeks left to hire their replacements
94 minutes spent as a fugitive in San Diego County
168 dollars in bail
2 hours of Scott Weiland looking like a chemo patient
69 rows from the stage
2 semi prophetic dreams
1 phone call from a certain man, confirming he'll be here in just a few days
113 minutes wasted on the disastrously flawed Bloodline documentary
110 minutes enjoying the adorably funny Get Smart
116 minutes with Black Snake Moan in the background
1 job found in Geneva
1 year to relearn French...and Spanish
I have a client who is friends with a former president. I shared this story with the girls while we were having dinner together the other night.
I also happened to be wearing a blue dress at the time. That I apparently spilled something on.
GPG: Does this look like a white spot to you? I can't tell in this light.
Krazy Mommy: Now she thinks she's Monica Lewinsky, all because she has a connection to Bill Clinton.
La Ria just laughed. KM is so funny.
I had an all day event followed by an all night event today. I've been on my feet for nearly 14 hours. It's awesome.
What's also great is how my subconscious decided to remind me what all was going on in the city tonight. I had a dream that we were at the hotel for tonight's event with a bunch of young guys hanging around wearing college basketball jerseys. And that's when I remembered that the NBA Draft was today!! Who needs a blackberry when you get your reminders in your sleep?
As I drove past Staples Center, there was a huge party gathering, hosted by the Clipper Nation. I got my invite several weeks ago, but already knew I was otherwise committed. I sadly looked the other way and made my way from event #1 to event #2. Fuck, it was a long day.
And Kevin Love went to Memphis? Ironic, don'tcha think? I do have to give Chicago credit for snagging Derrick Rose. That kid is unstoppable. As Love will tell you.
Who had George Carlin in the celebrity death pool? I certainly didn't.
It fucking sucks that he's dead. "Fuck" being one of the seven words he turned into legal history. You can read the rest here.
My favorite one of his jokes was about praying to the Empire State Building. I heard him do it on one of the late night shows, and how your prayers are just as likely to be answered by the ESB than by God. Who maybe we should now refer to as ESB because that's equally funny and offensive.
R.I.P Mr. Carlin.
Russert and Carlin in the same week. Who's next?
I despise scented body products. I don't want to smell like fruit or flowers, I just want to smell clean. So I go out of my way to buy unscented deodorant, body wash and lotion--or they're at least as unfragrant as possible.
But I ran out of my standard Olay Quench, so I tapped into a couple products I received for my birthday. Obviously they were from people that don't know me very well, otherwise why the hell would you give me stuff that smells like a goddamn flower garden?
Anyway, I didn't have much of a choice today. I opted for the Japanese Cherry Blossom lotion. It comes in a pretty red tube, at least.
Guess what? It doesn't smell like cherries or flowers. It smells like aftershave. For men. A cheap one at that.
I smella like a man. (Whoever can guess which Mad TV character I'm trying to channel here wins a million bucks. Not really.)
This is more irritating than that sour guava/grapefruit combo softsoap has.
It's gross.
My baby brother has apparently been reading my blog lately. He emailed me today to say it's hilarious. Yay, I made him laugh simply recounting conversations we've had! So I decided to feature him and the Shambot some more. This one is especially offensive, but we laughed so hard, I can't not share. Also, I've never worried about offending anyone on here, so why start now?
We had the baby brother's birthday dinner at a nice restaurant on Coronado Island. The weather was lovely and the food at was quite delicious.
Instead of family-style dining, we usually all order something different and take liberties eating off each other's plates. It's the best way to go. I was torn between bacon-wrapped shrimp and bacon-wrapped filet mignon, but my brother went for the steak so I opted for the shellfish.
Of course, we never let the opportunity to make religious jokes in truly poor taste slide. Which is why this happened:
Baby Brother: Babe, you want some of my steak? Or is Allah going to be mad?
Shambot: Yeah, give me some. I think He'll be more mad at me because of the whole out-of-wedlock baby thing.
GPG: Do you have to fly yourself into a building now?
Even my parents laughed. We are all going to hell!
And now, we wait a long time for football to start. L'sigh.
I've got to get into soccer...
My baby brother's birthday and first father's day was this weekend. In order to maximize the partying, I took the train down on Friday night. No traffic, no misery, just a great view of the ocean for most of the way down.
Usually, the Shambot and I gang up on the poor guy. But since it was his weekend, we ganged up on the Shambot instead. Because she can take it as hard as she dishes it out, this is usually a lot of fun.
Except when they ganged up on me. I got carded at the tequila bar. My baby brother did not.
Shambot: Take it as a compliment.
Baby brother: Yeah, you're old. But at least you don't look it.
GPG: I'm not old.
BB: Dude, you're THIRTY.
GPG: You guys keep thinking that's an insult, but it's not.
BB: THIRTY!
GPG: It's an accomplishment. You don't know what I did in my twenties. I'm lucky to have made it this far.
Shambot: You were a whore, weren't you?
GPG: Hey, at least I didn't get pregnant!
That pretty much shut the Shambot up. But we all knew it was just fun and games. Because Baby Aladdin is totally awesome.
Then we went home and played Grand Theft Auto IV. I forgot how much fun shooting people in the face can be!
I met one of my readers last night, Dan of a blog I can't link to because you wouldn't be able to read it. But that's okay.
Dan's assessment of me, if I understand correctly, is that I come off a lot sassier and with an edge here at Exxy HQ that I don't necessarily display in public. He did actually say that I'm a lot friendlier in person than in print.
I found that interesting. My explanation is that I use this as my forum to vent almost completely uncensored and my inner thoughts, when woven into what I hope is more entertaining than plain garbage thrown out on the internets, come out a bit more bitingly than what I might vocalize in person.
So lets take a poll:
- For those of you who know me, am I indeed what Dan proclaims: nicer in person?
- For those of you who only know my online persona: what do you imagine me to be like in person?
I'm really curious about what y'all have to say about this...
Talk about a successful weekend. In list form:
1. Enjoyed a hot stone massage
2. Cat napped, both days
3. Vamped on the red carpet
4. Ignored the ex-boyfriend's attempts to use his son as a reconcilation point
5. Told a queen to quit his bitchiness
6. Got him to take our picture
7. Chinese food, yum
8. Read an entire book
9. Ignored the Lakers
10. Ignored the Dodgers
11. Guacamole, yum
12. Carne asada, yum
13. Ignored the gym
14. Rum-soaked chocolate, yum
15. Was not mistaken for Persian again
16. Bought three new dresses
17. Red wine, yum
18. Posted 3 new galleries to my website
But mostly I laid around my house and did not a fucking thing. That was the best.
And now, to start the week...
My brain aches. I spent last night drinking cocktails while the feds looked on. One showed me his gun. Have I mentioned how much I love me some cops?
And by gun, I mean his .40-caliber Glock, not whatever he's packing inside his pants. But maybe we'll get to that.
4 cocktails + 3 hours in 3-inch heels = hurty feet. And a slight hangover. I followed that up with a day at the tradeshow. In 3-inch wedges.
Have I mentioned I'm retarded? At least I didn't drink today. The one wine vendor had his permit pulled. So he couldn't serve me alcohol, no matter how badly he wanted to.
Tomorrow there's the rooftop party. More cocktails!
But maybe I'll just show up in flats.
And yet I've spent the last 30 minutes updating pictures, responding to comments, leaving some for people with birthdays.
Before this, I hadn't signed in for a good 3 weeks...and back then it was only to see who was leaving me birthday comments. And also for pics of Baby Aladdin.
Ugh. Who am I?
