Tracing the Days and Nights

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.

Off to the Grand Canyon State

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 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???

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.

Cultural Identity Crisis

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.

Inspiration Found

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!

Too Fast for a U-turn

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?

I'm a Giver

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!

Worker Bee Horror Stories

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.

The Death of Funny

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?

Pulling Back the Curtain

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...

Got Sauce?

Mildly weird and/or annoying occurances:

1. I'm going to see STP at the Hollywood Bowl. The Bowl has always seemed like a venue for higher cultural events, not pop music. Forget that it's where I was first exposed to The Rocky Horror Picture Show. But now I get to see the one 90s band I regret not having being able to see when Weiland was still a functioning and entertaining drug addict. The band that my friend and I sat OUTSIDE the Greek Theatre for in 1995, while a drunk guy named Ron hit on us and then threw up next to our blanket. To the tune of Interstate Love Song.

It's a night that lives in infamy in our 1996 high school yearbook. Along with a reference to how I busted my tennis racket in 1992. But that's a story for another time.

2. G. Love, another notch missing from the musical bedpost, is coming to said Greek in September. I love the Greek. It's nestled in the Griffith Park hills and you get to park on top of one another on a huge grass field. It's all part of the experience. That's where the Krazy Mommy and I got to see INXS just four months before Michael Hutchence died. Rodeo Clowns was my first taste of Jack Johnson. He's dreamy. And touring Europe with G. But he won't be coming to LA. Oh no. We get not the Jack, but instead we get the dirty Black Crowes. I'm less than thrilled.

Why G, why???

God Loves Aliens

Do you believe in E.T.? The Vatican says it's okay to do so.

Read more here.

Those crazy Catholics. You gotta love them.

T-5 Days

The Official Birthday Countdown started way long ago. And as we enter the home stretch here, there is suddenly a juggling contest going on.

Whoever sang that raining men song had it right. Just last month I was pleasantly single, making out with random guys at parties. Fast forward a few weeks and suddenly I've got suitors. THREE of them. What the...? It's like I won the Man Lottery.

I am NOT complaining. Just trying to figure out how I got so lucky and so suddenly. Did I mention I get to see my sexy fed on Thursday? Woo wee. He's just eye candy. But still.

It's going to be a really good week.

Speaking of which, I have one, possibly two, dates tomorrow night. One will definitely be lowering my already weak inhibitions with that good scotch I love...the other might be the one I make out with at sunset. Who knows?

The only other question is, what do I wear?

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?

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.

The Upside of Downsizing

We restructured my department today. It's been a full two months of planning for all sorts of contingencies, strategies, and all the eventualities that come with a reorganization--on top of doing my actual job. The fun part was creating the org chart.

I didn't get to do that part.

I did, however, find out that one of our support staffers is scared of me. I was both surprised and, oddly enough, flattered. He has very little reason to be afraid of me. It's just that he hasn't worked for me for very long, and I've heard I can be intimidating. And this is why he delivers everything I ask of him in a very timely and efficient manner.

Hey, if that's what it takes to get people to do their jobs, I'm all for it. It's not like I'm purposely terrorizing anyone. I'm just being myself. And most people like me as is.

I'm actually very nice to him. I just treat him like an equal instead of patronizing him, which everyone else does. And I don't think he's used to that.

It's an interesting new world. I'm still cracking up that someone finds me scary.

That's just too good.

Why Drugs are Bad

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Overheard after the Mani-Pedi

Lets cut to the chase. The moral of this story is that you NEVER pick up a man in a nail salon.

My vacation started off nicely enough. I'd slept in, ignored the mounds of crap still to pack, schedule a massage and a date...and then decided to get my toes done.

I walked in and was the only customer. Score. I sat in the spa chair and let the rollers do their job while the girl went to work on my feet. Then he walked in.

We'll call him Nail Salon Guy.

He was dropping names left and right while chatting on his cell phone. And because the place was absolutely empty, he had to come sit down right next to me. Lucky me.

As soon as he ended his call, he complimented my color choice. OPI I'm Not Really a Waitress: bright red and shiny. He said it would make a great lipstick. I responded that the only shade of lipstick that counts is red.

I, of course, assumed he was gay.

Despite the shallow Hollywood vibe, he turned out to be thoroughly entertaining, in an ADD sort of way. So I let him take me to lunch. Because who doesn't need a gay boyfriend?

After a few glasses of Sapporo and sake, he told the waiter that I was someone famous. I let him believe I was Jordin Sparks. Who NSG, supposedly in the music industy, had never heard of. Yeah, right.

He finally agreed that I wasn't this Jordin girl, but I had to be someone "known." And so the conversation went something like this:

NSG: You really are famous aren't you?
GPG: No, not at all.
NSG: Of course you are! You're just laying low, getting your nails done in the middle of the day.
GPG: I'm NOT famous. Do you want to see my license?
NSG: No, famous people have fake IDs all the time. You're definitely someone. The way you walk, the hair, you don't wear make up, and that sporty red car...you're somebody, you just don't want to admit it.

Then he tried kissing me and getting me to go back to his house with him. So I guess he wasn't gay. Which was probably the most disappointing part of the whole story.

But seriously, me as an undercover celebrity? Because I have curly hair and opted not to wear make up? Can you think of anything more absurd?!

It's been over a week and that story is still making me giggle. Some people are just bizarre.

And that is why, boys and girls, you should never go on a date with a guy you meet at the nail salon.