Fuck the Boys of Summer

I hate baseball. I really do. It's boring as all hell.

But I really, honestly hate the Dodgers. Everytime Tommy Lasorda gets on tv talking about bleeding Dodger blue, I want to sock the old man in the balls. Shut up, Tommy!

But today really reminded me just how much I despise the Dodgers, their fans, and the assholes who put the stadium in the least accessible place on the planet--which also just so happens to be smack in the middle of my ride home.

And don't even get me started on what the city and developers did to Chavez Ravine in order to get their stupid stadium built. It, along with what happened to the Little Tokyo around WWII, is one of the saddest periods of LA history. Commerce over human lives: hurrah.

Back to my problems. My commute, in both directions, is about 30 minutes. This morning, as all the asshole fans were lining up at the gates (20 cars deep at 9 am) and setting up their barbeque pits for the home opener, it took nearly 45 minutes to get to work. I was furious. And I know all the back roads and secret streets that can normally get someone around that mess. Even that didn't help. Fucking baseball.

Then there was the commute home. I left my office at 5:02. It took 16 minutes to move 4 blocks and I wasn't even near the stadium yet.

I'll spare you the vehement profanities I screamed for the entire ride home, mostly at the drunk assholes who couldn't decide which lane to drive in while their stupid blue flags hung out the windows. Dodgers fans are similar to Raiders fans. They're both characterized by fat, stupid gangbanger wannabes. But I'll take a Raiders fan over a Dodger fan anyday, mostly because Oakland's traffic problems are not my problems.

I finally got home some time around 5:56. Pissed and hating baseball more than ever. And it's just going to get worse. The night games start at 7 pm, which just means hell for me. Expect a VERY cranky GPG on the nights they play at home. I could take a huge detour by heading west and then north into Los Feliz and just avoiding that area completely, but that won't gain me anything but NOT having to stare at stupid asshole fans while my clutch gets an unnecessary workout.

I'm rooting for the Angels. Mostly because they wear red and are nowhere near me, my house, or my office. Fucking baseball.

Did I mention I hate baseball?


Time for Bed

It's like this, which I told someone yesterday: all I can think about is how fucking tired I am, and how much I want to murder someone.

My feet are swollen. From standing. In heels. For 2 hours. And drinking wine.

Also, if you're watching this game and really think Western Kentucky is going to win, the short bus is waiting to take you back to retard school. Because you're a fucking idiot.

That is all.


Eating Out and Dining In

In light of this news, I've been trying to determine just how bad off I am. Certain things affect me in varying degrees. I can have small amounts of sugar but absolutely NO wheat products unless I want to feel like I'm dying for a few hours. Same goes for eggs, they're death on sight.

Safe to eat:
- cheese
- wine, tequila, AND scotch
- rice cakes
- tortilla chips
- pork rinds
- Jack in the Box tacos and cheese sticks
- sushi with very small doses of soy sauce
- foccacia
- steak with truffle butter

Not safe:
- Philly cheesesteaks
- pizza
- quiche
- Panda Express eggplant and fried tofu
- soy lattes
- cherry pie
- ciabbata sandwiches
- French fries

The weirdest thing is how I react to diet Coke. Aspartame makes my arms feel like they're going to fall off. It's not fun.

On the upside, it turns out there are a lot of bad things that are still okay to ingest. Yay!

Testing will continue until I overcome these silly allergies and/or die. I wonder how I'll tolerate Reese's peanut butter cups...


Where's Florida this Year?

With UCLA and Stanford barely squeaking out wins tonight, there was much hyperventilating at my house. And also text messages with Jack (who doesn't post anymore, so no linkage for you!) about Kansas. They pretty much made UNLV cry. Nice job.

Yay Pac-10 teams! Except for USC. But as Jack learned, we hate them anyway. Losers.

Now I want SD to take out Western KY (yes, I'm a 12 year old boy and snickered when I wrote that) so my baby brother and I can have a little cross-county rivalry before UCLA moves on to the Final Four.

I love March. But I do miss the Gator's hottie coach. L'sigh.


Whoopsie Daisy

I fell down went boom today. At a luncheon with 800 other people. It was not my finest moment.

It also happened right next to a table full of men. But it was the two women next to me that helped me up.

Chivalry? What's that?

It's not really my fault, the falling. The speaker told us to jump out of our chairs and yell "tada!" In doing so, my chair fell over. So when I went to sit down...oops! On my ass. One of the chair's legs tried to impale itself into my lung, but I think it only got as far as my 3rd layer of skin. I imagine there's going to be an angry mark on my back. I feel it growing.

It hurts like a bitch. So does my right arm, which is somehow bruised too. And my left groin, which is making walking nearly impossible. That's the queer one, how did I fuck up my groin falling on my ass?

I don't know why these things happen to me. It's not my fault I'm a klutz. It's gravity's.


Exoterica Two Years Later

Looks like I missed my own blog-o-versary. Oops. Which is not spelled

Sooo...what did we do around here? I'm not particularly thrilled about where this blog has gone. I've become a little to self-indulgent lately and less aware of the outside world. Maybe because there's a pointlessly slanderous presidential race taking place and that sucks the fun out of all conversations.

But it's not too late to turn the bus around! Lets reminisce on the highlights:

Befriending a Spanker: he's now my go-to legal expert.
Worst Blind Date Ever: but I still wear red lipstick.
I'm a Boy: except for the boobs.
Q&A w/GPG: interviews are fun.
Happy Birthday to Me: because I have nice boobs.
Faux Celebrity-dom: I'm not her, get over it.
Discovery of a New Vice: it's so damn good for you
And The Family Grows: he's so fucking adorable

Then nothing good until some
Queer Dude acted the fool at the nail salon.

Maybe this year will be better? You tell me: what should I do now? I must overcome this blog ennui!


Falling Apart at the Seams

Remember how I suddenly have a bad liver? Which sucks because one of things I love most in this world is 18 year old scotch. Well it just goes from bad to worse:

Now I find out that my adrenal glands are "tired." Which isn't in and of itself a death sentence. The adrenals can be rehabilitated. It's the fact that I'm also allergic to wheat, soy, sugar, peanuts, eggs, and chlorine that bothers me.

Did I mention I was a swimmer in high school? I was just poisoning myself back then.

Most of the rest of these are easily avoidable. Except for the wheat and soy. They're in EVERYTHING. Lucky for me, gluten-free products are suddenly all the rage AND the price of wheat just skyrocketed world wide. So very soon, wheat products will be priced out of the market and then I can go back to only worrying about the fact that I can't eat sushi without soy sauce.

Oh, soy. It seems so harmless. Then I found out today it was in my tea. TEA, for chrissakes! Lemon ginger tea. What the hell?

It is so annoying.


Hey, That's My Bike

La Ria and I solve the issues when we chat. Big, global ones.

GPG: I'm really irritated by Washington Mutual's new slogan.
Whoo hoo! It's spelled all wrong.

La Ria: How?

GPG: W-h-o-o-h-o-o. That's wrong. The verb "to woo" is spelled w-o-o.

La Ria: You know which one bugs me? Oops spelled o-p-p-s.

GPG: What? That's wrong. Who does that?

La Ria: I see it all the time!

GPG: Are you sure they're not channelling Naughty by Nature?

La Ria: Yeah, "you know me?" It's 2008.

GPG: I just heard that song yesterday.

La Ria: Really?

GPG: I swear.

La Ria: It's not Naughty by Nature. And it really bugs me.

GPG: Like "whoo." Well, wait. "Whoops" is spelled with a wh. Hmm. Then again, to WOO. Hello. If the world just came around to my way of thinking, things would be so much better.

La Ria: And spelled correctly too.

I love my like-minded grammar nazi friend.


Sanity Makes a Comeback

I've noticed recently that my writing is beginning to suck. First of all, I'm forcing it out. It's just not flowing. I'm stuck.

And when I do write, there is no eloquence. I think I'm writing like I talk, which is not well most recently. But, if you learned anything in school, is bad form anyway.

Now someone has returned to the fray. My personal blog idol and wordsmith extraordinaire
Roonie is back!

So maybe now I can get back to being gooder.



Spring Forward

Remember this promise I made to you, myself and a god I don't believe in? It turns out that when you go on vacation, the work doesn't stop. Who knew?

This time change isn't helping. It's really easy to think it's time to rush home when it's dark out, and just as easy to assume it's time to keep working when the sun is still out. Don't get me wrong, I think it's great when I get out "on time" and there's still hours of daylight left. And now that I don't drive directly into the setting sun, this is a giant bonus.

But the shitstorm that started while I was on vacation--a subordinate employee, personnel changes--has me chained to my fake cherry wood desk. I don't even like dark wood. I'm a naked pine kind of girl.

You can quote me on it.

I swear to god, I'm living a weird sort of solar-induced soap opera. Is anyone else dealing with weird shit now that the sun shines till nearly midnight?


Thar She Blows!

One of the things I would highly recommend doing in this life is going on a cruise. You're treated like royalty by the greatest collection of international staffers, who wait on you day and night. And many of the men are quite attractive. Even the gay ones, who provide you with plenty of R&R. It's like heaven...floating out in the big blue sea.

The rocking boat is awesome. I've been on dry land for about 36 hours and I'm still swaying. It's like being tipsy without the fear of a hangover. But that wasn't the best part.

Our favorite game was ogling at what we dubbed "impressive" people. The ones who caused all those
broken boats at Disneyland. It's mind boggling that a person can grow up to 400 pounds. And that there was a small country's worth of them on our ship--and we didn't sink!

What's truly amazing is how they managed to shower. The shower stalls in those tiny staterooms are about the size of a postage stamp. The entire bathroom could probably fit in the back seat of my car. How did they get clean???

But seriously, morbid obesity is no joke. Look at what can happen if it gets out of hand!

More stories to follow!


Into the Big Blue Sea

Bob Schneider knew what he was talking about in that song from 40 Day and 40 Nights. Which was a better movie than the completely unrelated 30 Days of Night. Oddly enough, both starred Josh Hartnett. Not important. Back to Austin favorite Bob. When you're overwhelmed and in despair, the only thing to do is take to the ocean.

Or something. Which is why tomorrow, the Krazy Mommy and I will be celebrating 25 years of friendship and 30 years of age on top of a rock wall, floating out in the Pacific Ocean. Please don't send pirates.

It has been an incredibly stressful month. I pulled off some more of those sweet tricks that solidified my already strong reputation, and tonight, bought me a huge bottle of San Matias. My clients adore me, and my job comes with some fabulous perks, but I've earn every fucking second of this very short vacation.

So if you don't hear from us again, it's because we opted to stay in Mexico. Have a great weekend while we're in a foreign country.


The Night Terrors

The other night, I dreamt someone attempted to shoot me. I managed to get away from him, but was stuck in a bizarro fun world environment from which I couldn't escape. And when I found my lawyer, he told me there was nothing I could do.

It was awful.

Mostly because everything was brown. My would-be assassin had brown hair. I was in a brown car. The buildings all around were brown stucco. The security guard that held us up at the exit was brown. So was her uniform. Everything except the bar that I finally met up with Spanky and his wife at: there the walls were green.

What the hell does it all mean?


CHG Confession #8

The Curly-Haired Girl remembers the day that Monsieur told her he had a child. They were on the phone as she was rushing out for a birthday dinner with a certain man. It was a Friday evening, two days after she'd asked him out.

She hesitated...then figured what the hell. Having always said she'd never date a man with kids, but also having just turned 29, she decided to take a chance.

It's been this long and she still hasn't recovered. The CHG fell in love with that little boy long before she fell for his father. She reveled in the times when he smashed ants with his fingers, chased after pigeons, babbled hello at strangers and smashed mushy cookies into her suede couch. When the three of them went out to eat, he always sat next to her. With a coloring similar to hers, and his own head of black curls, everyone assumed he was hers too.

She never corrected them.

At this point, she doesn't know which she misses more: his father or playing mommy.

She's afraid it's the latter.


February by the Numbers

I enjoyed February. It flew by, but I think it was good.

1 trip to San Diego
230 miles round trip

20 miles with a screaming baby in the back seat
10 miles spent feeding him with my right hand while shifting with my left
3 hours to get there
2 hours to get back
4 days spent with my baby nephew
1 last minute Valentine's Day booty call received
0 seconds spent even considering it

1 rejected architect
1 brand new crush on a cop
10 V-day texts sent
4 responses received within 60 seconds

2 short films

8 minutes each film
35 minutes to get to the theater

45 minutes spent in the theater
7 new LA spots visited
9 Yelp reviews posted
1 glass of honey wine

2 hours enjoying Ethiopian food
3 types of tequila to choose from
1 Porsche jokingly posited as incentive for services rendered
0 chances of receiving said gift
8 hour-marathon of my favorite new tv show House, MD
1 38th birthday ignored
1 30th birthday celebrated all classy-like

2 promotions handed down
25 percent of my work off-loaded
7 chiropractic visits
1 numb arm caused by poor posture and knitting

1 G-brat learning to knit
1 cruise to Mexico booked
29 days that prove I've earned it
30 years that prove the same