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.
There's always something going on in this tiny city of ours. Tonight it was the American Idol finale at the Nokia Theatre vs. the Spurs/Lakers game at Staples Center across the street. Who wants to bet that traffic getting out of downtown was about 800% worse than normal?
Thank god I left at 2 pm.
I was invited to the finale taping. But turned it down for four simple reasons:
1. I hate American Idol.
2. Dentist appointment at 3 pm.
3. Dinner with my parents before they leave for their Puerto Rican vacation tomorrow.
4. Did I mention I hate American Idol?
My girlfriends subjected me to their chatter about it for weeks. Krazy Mommy will send me emails with nothing but AIAIAIAIAIAIAIAIAIAI!!! in them just to annoy me. I even got roped into sending a good luck message to one of the earlier contestants (friend of a friend, hence tonight's invite).
I spent my night drinking wine and watching the Spurs give up with just over two minutes left in the game. It's the playoffs. Even though San Antonio lost, I was still better off.
AI is for retards. Basketball is for the rest of us.
Oh, and to the idiotic morning DJ that called them the Indiana Spurs: you clearly watch too much AI. Retard.
1. Have a really late night with the girls. Include wine. The red kind.
2. Wake up waaaaaaaaaaaaay too early.
3. Force yourself to the gym upon finally waking.
4. Work out for 45 minutes. Don't drink enough water.
5. Nearly pass out while stretching.
6. Shower, eat a rice cracker, take a nap.
7. Become awakened waaaaaaaaaaaaay too soon by cute little people.
8. Go to library for research. Read small print under bright lights.
9. Eat dinner. Drink more wine. The sweet white kind.
10. Lay in bed the rest of the evening, beset with a dull ache behind your eyes.
I'm guessing I'm dehydrated.
In other news, I need a new template for this here blog. Because I'm bored. It's been over 2 years, so it's time for a rehaul. But everything I'm finding is very juvenile. Can anyone recommend a halfway decent place for templates?
Looking for one is just making my headache worse.
The birthday month is always the best on record. As far as I'm concerned, the year starts on May 1st and everything prior to that day is just a warm up.
This year it was fucking fantastic.
1 stunningly glowing review received for a job well done, again
2 Cinco de Mayo celebrations
1 pair of underwear lost to a rabid dog
12 miles driven for that privilege
3 moms at a Mother's Day garden brunch
1 G-brat being picky and proud of it
12 pink roses bestowed on her for an amusing dance debut
15 dollars spent between me and the Princess trying to win tickets at Chuck E. Cheese
3 major birthdays celebrated
9 separate birthday celebrations for me alone
4 of which included a sushi dinner - yum!
1 surprise cake with lawyers
1 happy birthday sung by my own curly-haired rock star
9 days between the date and his finally calling to apologize for missing it
5 more days until he arrived to make up for it in person
2 tequila sensations made by the hottie ninja bartender
2 piñatas
5 blindfolded adults battling to bust one open
510 dollars received in birthday cash
5-10: my actual date of birth
5'10": the height I currently have to reach to get a good night kiss
2 nights spent doing just that
3 musicians hung out with in a single weekend
2 photographed playing with the Krazy kids
7 photo shoots
1 case of mistaken identity prior to winning on American Idol
2 unfortunate run-ins with a Cat Burglar
3 mentees adopted for the next TNT running season
4 consecutive days off
5 ladies who lunch
2 noisy Lear jets out the window
5 glasses of champagne imbibed
3 Tums needed for that silliness
23 blogs posted
13 of which were about my birthday
0 spankings received for turning 29
1 29-year-old brat currently loving life
Don't look it in the eyes!I'll wait a little longer to post the incriminating shots from my drunken birthday parties. I know they still haven't bought me my presents yet, and I don't want to jinx it.
I'm a total brat.
2nd Street Tunnel, East EndContinuing on with why you should click on the blogroll links:
FreshBlade - The tales of an undercover surgeon who I strongly suspect has an Irish accent. Despite the fact that this incarnation is just a few posts old, I'm willing to bet there will be a lot of entertaining "blethering," some very good examples of photographic wonder, and also tales of the what hospital life is like behind the scenes. À la Scrubs, but with more redheads and not-American accents.
GeezohPetes! - The trials and tribulations of one Roonie-licious, who lives her life out loud and without regard for your rules of her behavior. I admire her for her scathing and well-written honesty. She's great at wielding words like a sword and will cut you down in no time flat. She's one of my favoritest real life in person people who just happens to blog too, but now that she's off in Tejas, I rely on her blog to keep me looped in to the cowboy culture.
Jennie SMASH - I'd been reading Jennie's blog for a couple of years before I had the balls to link to it because she's, like, a professional writer. You know, one of those intimidating people that actually gets paid to commit thoughts to paper and is good with them words? Yeah, one of those. I have a soft spot for NYers who aren't native but still all about the city. Kind of in the exact opposite way that I feel about non-native Angelenos. Read her. Now.
Jet Blach Jabber - I forced H. Wood to be my friend when he moved to Los Angeles last summer, mostly because he seemed to like to drink and who doesn't like fresh meat new people? He played along for a while. He also used to be one of those real writer people, which is what makes his blog a good read. Someone who can actually write, imagine! He's inconsistent with his posting, which is infuriating, but we do allow people to have actual lives here at Exoterica. I guess.
Just Another Girl... - Kali found me through Roonie and I have since stolen her idea for naming your girlie parts. Mostly because the Girls and I will use any excuse to introduce new words into the lexicon, and crotchles is the best one yet. Plus, she has kind of an art deco French boudouir thing going on with her blog template. And she seems like a nice girl.
Lil Bit of This... - The Princess is one of my oldest friends and makes up one-fourth of the aforementioned Girls who make life delicious. By default, she is given a spot in The Harem. Plus, she likes to rant about bullshit she has to deal with, like the fact that a SWAT team was running around her neighborhood the other morning, which she now firmly believes is a ghetto. (She doesn't actually live in the ghetto, but a very nice neighborhood within a mile of a golf course, so don't be fooled.) She also has more boobs than brains, but that's just a joke I came up with at Disneyland. Her brain is very big, but her boobies protect us from terrorists.
Today is the Princess' 29th birthday. She and I have been friends since we were seven years old. There are many, many, many memories spanning those 22 years. Like NKOTB. Heh.
To celebrate, we spent Saturday at Disneyland. What happens when The Girls get together? Zaniness. Add a dash of the happiest place on earth, and we're full on wacko (especially after the margaritas at Ariel's Grotto...thank god they didn't give us whipped cream!).
At the Princess' house before we left:
Princess: Here's a picture from us in 6th grade!
GPG: Oh Jesus Christ...look, there's the Princess with her real hair color.
La Ria: *smirks* Nice dresses.
GPG: It was 1990, ruffles were in!
***
In the car on the way in:
GPG: *to the Princess* How did we get back in touch?
P: Myspace...I found you on JTS' page and figured if he remembered me, you'd have to.
Krazy Mommy: *from the front seat* Wait, who are you again?
***
On the carousel:
GPG: Did you guys ever read this blog about naming your vaginas? I'm gonna start calling it Crotchles.
LR: The Crothles District!
GPG: Since KM has kids, she should call hers Bertha.
KM: No, that's my grandmother's name!!
(We nearly fell off our animals, we were laughing so hard at this.)
KM: Instead of the Vagina Monologues, we can call it the Vagina Dialogue.
LR: VD!
GPG: We have VD.
***
Continuing in the line to Pirates of the Caribbean:
KM: Since La Ria is so quiet and sweet, we should calls hers something sassy. Like your alter ego.
LR: Quiet and sweet?
P: Yeah, so it should be something evil!
KM: Like the Devil Inside.
P: Or Pillowpants!!
LR: Huh?
GPG: Didn't you see Clerks 2???
LR: I don't remember that.
GPG: Movie night on Friday: we're watching Borat and Clerks 2, dammit.
P: Got them both.
GPG: And I'm going to call it Meow-meow from now on.
***
On the tram back to the car:
GPG: Back to the gym this week, Princess?
P: Definitely.
KM: I don't know how you guys work out, I hate it.
P: The endorphins are really great.
GPG: Sometimes almost better than a Meow-meow workout!
We talk about sex and our privates a lot. Girls are just like guys in that respect, we're just prettier and have boobies.
And I'm sure there are a lot of other funny things we said and did, but after 12 hours at D-land, we hurted a lot. I sounded like a 30-year smoker all day Sunday from all the screaming on the rides all day. Hot.
But that's why I love my girls. Happy birthday, little one!! Hope the Rock Star makes it a good one tonight. ;)
Did you come here expecting another picture for your Friday? You're shit out of luck because I didn't feel like looking for one. Instead, a recap of what has been the craziest month of the year thus far:
4 weeks of abject stress, tension and worry
24 days in pain thanks to that
1 ex-Marine good for relieving the pressure
3 blissful days on holiday
26.2 miles in less than seven hours
2 days eating EVERYTHING in sight to make up for that
12 days of recuperation
5 pounds gained
215 hours spent in the office
1 quazillion dollars in overtime
3 hours of Girl Time spent avoiding the water at Jerry's
7 dollars for a damn good Sunday morning breakfast
100 dollars on tequila and scotch in Los Feliz
2 Saturdays spent avoiding the clueless Girl Stalker
1 entire Saturday afternoon hopping from one movie theater to another
4 weekends in a row with at least one of The Girls
2 sets of boobies ready to protect us
90 minutes of the most horribly self-indulgent production of crap that passes for live theater in LA
15 minute intermission
7 minutes on a perfectly timed phone call from a certain man
2 girls exponentially better off for that
1 evening with the indomitable Rodger Jacobs
30 minutes from downtown to Van Nuys in rush hour traffic
3 day blogging vacation that effectively screwed up my sense of time and chronology
450 legal eagles observing the State of the Courts
3 hours that made my career
4 hours celebrating with basketball, whisky, and a new contract
But just like Xmas isn't the only time we should look out for our fellow man, it does tend to culminate into one huge annual celebration anyway. And thus, V-day does too.
And because it's been a while since the Queen of Lists (tm Jeen Yes) made one, here's a list of things I love (in no real order):
- My girls. Unequivocally, no one is better than my 3 girlfriends who are never backstabby, jealous, or insecure. Real women is what they are.
- My boobies. They're truly awesome. No lie.
- A double shot of chilled añejo. No salt, no lime, no window dressing bullshit. Just cold, gold and nummy.
- The Boys. If only because musicians always get me in the right-there place. They're walking entertainment. And pretty to look at.
- Especially the curly haired boy, who has willed me his "Rock & Roll Saves Lives" t-shirt. Now that's love.
- La familia. They're the bestest. Like the little girls who want to be just like me. I'm building an army of Mexirican Mini GPGs. And we're going to take over the world.
- Los Angeles. For all its many faults, it is home. And has my heart. All over its twisty canyon roads.
- In the same vein, Mulholland Drive. Especially at night, with the city glittering below. There is no better view than from the top of those foothills. It's another world onto itself.
- Weekends in the Mojave ghost towns . The rich history of the place is almost tangible. I should really get out there sometime this spring.
- Being a total girl. There's just no other way to be.
- The fact that you all continue to read this, day in and day out. You realize you're just feeding my already grossly overinflated megalomania, right?
What started as a conversation about my vanity (because I just noticed wrinkles around my eyes today and am feeling fucking old!), led to a followup to yesterday's boobie talk.
Because if there's one thing we girls love, it's our tits:
Krazy Mommy: Just as long as you don't get old in the boobs. If Bush doesn't get out of Iraq soon we may need your missile deflecting boobs to protect us!
Princess: Well I hope that I get some compensation for that one. Geez I don’t want them blown off, then what the hell is going to protect us?
KM: I think you are well compensated. We give them plenty of attention, sometimes a little touchy feely and sometimes they even get dessert! Hehe
P: Yeah yeah, it’s all fine and good but that all ends the minute they get blown up!
KM: Thats ok. Dr. 90210 can make you more, maybe he'll throw in a free amplification shot.
La Ria: To be on the safe side, just like you would keep a spare tire in your trunk, we would need to make sure we have a spare boob set. Any volunteers?
KM: Mine are too deflated. Sorry, 3 kids sucked the life out of them.
GPG: Mine are not nearly as big as the Princess', but I'll offer mine up in case hers are injured in the line of duty.
KM: Does that mean we have to give them lots of attention too, so they will be ready to go if needed?
LR: GPG, you're a real patriot.
I totally am.
Princess: When they asked if I'd been in the Air Force during 9/11, I said yeah. So they said thanks for protecting our country.
GPG: By living in the sand.
Princess: Yeah. But I did get shot at!
Krazy Mommy: Her boobs protected the plane! They deflected the missle.
GPG: That's your superpower: boobie bullet deflection.
So the Princess protects us against terrorism by having gianormous mammaries. Awesome. My superpower is that even though I have a maniacal giggle, I'm cute and everyone naturally loves me.
Which makes it very easy to manipulate the masses to do my bidding.
*evil laugh*
What's your superpower?
If you've been reading this blog for any length of time you have learned two things:
1. I have curly hair, and
2. I'm an absolutely unapologetic and thoroughly spoiled brat when it comes to my birthday (the KM and Princess will tell you stories).
Given that, the planning for said curly-haired birthday celebrations starts as early in the year as possible. Because the date of my birth was monumentous and must be observed with all the reverence such an event commands.
That, and I really just love parties. Especially in my honor.
Everyone knows this. The girls keep the countdown starting about a month out.
May 10th. It's a blessed day.
But in 2007, for the first time in 29 years, we might run into some trouble. Because of the newly employed torture device known as the minimum 50-hour/7-day work week, there may not be enough hours in the day, much less a month, to do this event justice.
You might question why I worry about these things when the date is over 4 months away. Well, a glimpse into the first two weeks of May might give you some insight.
In my personal life, we will be celebrating my mother's birthday, my nephew's birthday, my cousin's birthday AND Mother's day in the first 14 days. Also in that time span, I will be hosting a large-scale function for the local tax lawyers, responsible for a weekend conference in San Diego, a ceremony honoring a federal judge's lifetime achievement, and quite possibly working a program at the Biltmore Hotel on the very holiest of nights: my actual birthday.
Attendance for all these programs number in the hundreds.
The latter half of May will be spent sweating over more award functions and dinners for the state Supreme Court. If and when I finally get a break, will I even have the energy to celebrate?
This is a gianormous dilemma. Where is my clone when I need her?
Today, my oldest friend on the planet turns Old Minus 1. That's right, 29.
Over the past 23 years we've had our share of laughs and heartaches. The brat would ruthlessly cheat at hopscotch because she was jealous that Tommy liked me better (I kissed him first...when we were 6). But then we'd run inside and eat cream of mushroom soup on hot summer afternoons. And life was good.
We're all growed up now and yet somtimes we're still those silly little girls trying to match our Madonna-esque jewelry to our outfits. Despite the fact that we lead completely different lives--she's the president of moms, I'm the career girl; she rules Agrestic, and I love LA--we cling to each other for sanity.
We've traded in the soup for margaritas, that are especially delicious when the boys are out of town. Every once in a while she ditches her suburban life for a night in the city with her girls. Where we get drunk. On margaritas. And chocolate sauce.
It's friends like her (and the Princess and La Ria) that make it worthwhile to be a woman. In a world full of flakes and backstabbers, I know I can count on her (and them) always.
Everyone should have themselves a friend as great as my Krazy Mommy. Happy day, you old bitch! I love you and appreciate you more the older I get.
But thank god I'll always be younger than you!
For the backstory on what this is all about, skip on over to these three previous posts:
Mutual Admiration Society, Texas Chapter
Mutual Admiration Society, LA Chapter
When It Rains
***
Sitting in the back of the Martini Lounge, she couldn't take her eyes off the man onstage covering Bullet the Blue Sky.
"He has to pose for me," she whispered to her friend.
"I have his number," the friend replied, smiling.
"Fan-fucking-tastic."
She called to set it up a few days later.
***
"Do you want me to take off my shirt?" he asked as she adjusted the studio lights.
"Yeah, that'll work," she replied. "Okay, I want you to hold the snake up here."
"I can take my pants off too, if you want."
Too flustered to imagine him naked in her studio, she declined the offer. A decision she regretted in the very next moment, and every one since.
***
Standing in the middle of a crowd at the Troubadour, they rocked out to the boys closing out their set. He was up in the rafters. They all screamed in equal parts horror and fascination.
"This is the best fucking moment of my life," he exclaimed later when they posed for pictures, him remarking on her groupie status now that she had a band t-shirt.
"This is better than sex?" she teased.
"Well, second best then." And it really was a that great.
***
"It's not working," he told her. "We're fighting constantly and everyone wants to go in a different direction."
"What are you going to do?" she asked, afraid she knew what was coming.
"I think it's over."
"No."
"Yes."
"But you can't! You can't just leave your fans like that."
"Sweetie, I wish I could stop it. But the four of us just can't agree on anything anymore. And we just have to call it quits."
***
Outside Tongue n' Groove he sobbed sorrowfully into her shoulder. It was the last night they'd ever all be together like this.
And out on that San Francisco street, she couldn't believe it was over.
***
"I have a secret to tell you," he intimated over their shared prosciutto sandwhich.
"Ooh," she replied, eyebrow cocked, wondering what she was about to be privy to.
"We haven't made it public yet, but...we're moving to Austin."
Shocked by the confession, she tried her best not to choke, disbelieving what she was hearing. She swallowed hard before speaking. "Why?"
"LA just isn't going to happen. We'll have a better shot in Austin. And frankly, I'm tired of the bullshit here."
As the words settled into her brain, she felt her heart slowly begin to crumble into pieces.
"When?"
"Beginning of the year...maybe a little later, depending."
She was at a loss for words, knowing it was futile to argue. And that the heartbreak would take a long time to heal.
"I get it," she finally replied, choosing her words carefully. "And if that's what you really want, then I fully support you. But I hate to see you leave." She couldn't bring herself to look at him, knowing if she did, she'd immediately start to cry. "I am going to miss you something awful."
"I'm going to miss you too, sweetie."
She was too stunned to say anything more. She returned to work and finally let the tears flow.
***
"So how's it going out there?" she asked during one of their weekly calls.
"We found a drummer. Young guy, really good."
"Congratulations!"
"Yeah. So we're rehearsing and will probably get a tour going at the end of the summer."
"Are you coming through town?!"
"Looks like we might."
"Fuck yeah!!" She couldn't wait to get off the phone and tell everyone else. Her boys were coming back home.
***
It was unseasonably humid for September.
"Suspend me!" screamed the basisst and jumped into the two girls' arms.
"Dammit, you're going to break us!" they complained. Someone took a picture.
"Where are we going now?"
"Miyagis, I think." And they posed for more pictures. Later there would be a photographs of sake being poured down their throats.
***
"I wrote a monologue about it," confessed the actress.
"What about?"
"All the things I wanted to say to him while he was still here. How he broke my heart. And even though we could have never worked out, how much I still love him."
"Does he know?"
"I told him about it when he was here last. I'm going to perform it at the showcase."
"Damn," was all she could think to say.
***
"Oh my god, I did coke for the first time on this street!" she giggled at the stupidity of her youth as they walked away from the theater.
"No!"
"Yeah, it was that night I was late getting to the second party. I was with that weird old guy we met at the first one."
"Oh damn!"
"Man that was fucking stupid!"
"Yeah you are."
"Hee! I feel drunk!" she exclaimed gleefully, despite not having had anything harsher than a diet soda.
"Me too!" answered her sidekick.
When they finally calmed down, she turned to her friend and asked "you know who she was talking about right?"
"Yeah, changing the name to Eric didn't really hide it."
"That was painful," she mulled over the emotional impact of the act, before noticing an amusing license plate on a car. "Dude, look at what it says! MUPPETE?!!"
"Take a picture!"
"I'm sending that to our Muppet."
"Heh. He hates that nickname."
"That doesn't matter. The boys know they're stuck with what we give them."
"Such is the life of our boys."
"Man I miss them."
The phone rings as she's about to get on the 101 south. She looks at the photo caller ID and smiles.
"Hi you," she grins into the phone.
"Hey! What are you doing?" he asks.
"Ugh. Driving home from this stupid thing at Paramount," she laments. "It was for work."
"Aw, but you've had a good weekend, no? The race in less than three and a half hours? That's awesome!"
"Yeah yeah yeah. I'm pretty proud of myself," she laughs. "So what's up, what are you doing?"
"Well," he starts carefully. "I'm sitting in my room. Packing my bags. Because I'm coming to LA tomorrow."
She nearly drops the phone while trying to negotiate a lane change. "No, you're kidding," she laughs in disbelief, since in their last conversation him coming to town wasn't an option.
"Nope. I get in tomorrow morning. Work's got me out there."
Dammit, she thinks. The universe is fucking with me.
"So, I'm going to be all over the place, but I want to make sure we get some you and me time. Maybe Thursday night?" he continues.
"Shit," she spits out, the self-imposed hurricane of craziness weighing heavily on her. "I've got 2 shoots that night. And then I'm in San Francisco this weekend."
"Huh...Well, okay. We'll work it out."
They spend the next few minutes figuring out how.
"Okay sweetie, drive safely. It was good to hear your voice."
"You too, honey. Travel safe."
She hangs up knowing that if that boy is around, she suddenly has all the free time in the world.
Stuck in traffic between the 10 west and 405 south, I popped in a cd I hadn't listened to in years. It was from a band I love, that doesn't exist anymore, fronted by a man I adore.
The first few chords played and all of a sudden I was transported back to that initial night in May 2000...when the cd was released...when the boy climbed the rafters like a randy monkey...when The Troubadour became home...when I met the people who would be responsible for most of the trouble I'd find myself in over the next 5 years.
It was the start of an era characterized by a seemingly endless run of reckless fun. And it was fucking fantastic.
As the music continued to tickle my heart strings in the way only his songs can, the cherry red sun sank across a purple sky and I slowly inched along to my exit, willing myself to let it go. Because we're no longer those same kids. There are no more party buses to Vegas. Or late nights at St. Nick's. Or hug therapy at Mel & Rose with the boy who warms hearts with his very smile.
L'sigh.
Time refuses to stand still. But melancholy has a way of overstaying its welcome.
I'm watching Reality Bites while cleaning the house, rediscovering old pictures of the days when drinking and debauchery were the only things that mattered. Welcome to my 20s.
I hadn't seen this movie in quite some time, until I received it for Xmas last year. Upon watching it one cold December morning, I realized that the birth of my love affair with musicians can be traced back to 1994, with the release of this movie.
I cannot stand Winona Ryder, but somehow, I forgive her supreme acting AND personality flaws when it comes to this movie. And it was back before Ben Stiller became...well, Ben Stiller. Because there was that one archetypal character that made it all worthwhile. I admit that, as a tender 16 year old, I fell prey to the romantically flawed ideal presented by Ethan Hawke's character, the dirty unwashed Troy. Because it was the mid-90s and subversive meta pop culture irony made that okay.
Remember, I was only 16. You cannot hold that against me.
Several years later, happily bouncing along in college, I found myself surrounded by the reality of a life with musicians. It did not bite, as evidenced by this random smattering of strangers bonding on the road to Vegas for a weekend of sex, drugs, and rock n' roll:
Where's GPG?
I've known too many guys since then that completely embodied the Troy character, from the goatee to the flakiness to the tortured soul bleeding through his music. And I've loved every single one of them.
I'm laughing at how silly we were, how much fun it was, and how few battle scars I actually have. The self-obsessed are usually pretty harmless, if you don't let them get in the way.
The other funny coincidence of all this is that the movie is set in Texas, where I will be next weekend, with the very musician we were going out to support in that picture.
This, also, does not bite.
I guess I'll never be able to let go of that part of my life. Or those boys that I still idealize, despite knowing better.
Eh, what can you do?
