Throwing Heat

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.


I Forgot to Tell You

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???


In the Cut

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.


Hey Jealousy

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.


Random Rooftop Encounters

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.


Dear John Letters #10

Dear Mr. Edwards,




Overheard in the Family #20

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. 


Overheard at Barragan's

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.


Overheard in the Family #19

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.


All Apologies

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*


And You Can See My House From There

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.


Steel & Pigskin

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!


July by the Numbers

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