Party Like It's 1996!

My 10 year high school reunion is next weekend. The Princess and I have opted to go sans male escorts for the opportunity to tag along with the Queen of Suburbia/Krazy Mommy and her husband.

Like a harem. Because a night with my oldest childhood friends is nothing if not a Boobies on Parade event.

I've been excited about this for a really long time. I'm in that -.0007% that actually enjoyed high school. It was so easy! My parents let me get away with all sorts of shit because I brought home the grades. And they had no idea that some of my closest friends were notorious drug addicts since they were so polite when they came over to the house.

Man, those were some good times. And through the magic of Myspace, I've been reliving them for the better part of the last week.

I just want to get dressed up and party! And catch up with everyone I haven't seen since June 1996. Back before I dropped out of the Ivy League, before I lost my kick-ass job, before I wrote a blog all about myself.

I had been putting off buying a dress for the occasion, when I decided to give my existing wardrobe the once over. And there was the perfect burgundy cocktail dress that I had completely forgotten I own. Score! I love shopping in my own closet.

Now I just have to decide which pair of strappy 3-inch stilettos I'm pairing with it.

Oh, my life. So hard!

P-N-R Theater

There is only one personality quiz you will ever need to take to read this blog. And there is only one question on it:

Are you a pirate, a ninja, or a robot?

Clearly, I am a pirate. The curly hair, the penchant for drinking too much, the inability to remember a fucking thing. It all leads to piracy.

Also, pirates were the original rock stars. And we all know how I feel about them.

This isn't hard, since you only have three choices. Are you a raucous mess like a pirate? Stealthy like a ninja? Or emotionless like a robot?

Choose!!!

Whoring My Skills

After 3 interviews this week, I really just want to spend the rest of the week in bed, hiding from the world. Which I think I'm due.

This shit is exahusting, you know?

The first interview ended with a question that had to be thrown out there. Thankfully, I'm friends with the recruiter, allowing me to be quite candid. So when he asked, "you don't really want this job, do you?" I could honestly say, "it would be like having the marrow sucked out of my soul" and he knew exactly what I meant. And then we made plans for sushi.

So I will not be working for the Japanese auto maker. Oh, darn.

Today I was walking out the door to the Last Comic Standing finale taping in Pasadena , when I got a call from a billiards club in Old Town looking for an event sales manager. I hadn't applied for the job, but the GM saw my résumé and wanted to meet me. Since I was going to be in the area this afternoon anyway, I figured why not?

I don't know how the hell these sales jobs keep dropping in my lap. I plan events, I don't sell the space; I'm the client not the vendor. So I don't get it. But this gig would be pretty cool...except for the commute.

I have a strict policy against driving through LA traffic to earn a paycheck. And the ride between West LA and Pasadena passes through some of the worst possible clusterfucks this city has to offer. Like the East LA interchange. It's the very reason road rage exists.

As such, I had to come up with several reasons to drive 25 miles to work each morning:

• 7 types of tequila in the bar (including Corzo, Tres Generaciones, and Cazadores. Yum!!)
• Pasadena = Rose Bowl = UCLA football (and yes, it is a decidedly Bruin house!!!)
• Complete free reign to work this job as I see fit (no predecessor means I set the bar)
• Honest-to-god, legit party planning, 24/7 (no really!)
• With football season coming up, my work would be almost completely done for the entire rest of the year (which gives me a nice long time to find my groove)
• Three words: Pimp & Ho Ball (and you're all on the invite list)

And finally: It's a fucking bar, yo!

What's funny is that while the Princess was looking for a job, I kept trying to convince her to become a club promoter. And now she's a corporate whore. Things really do come full circle.

Hopefully tomorrow I find out about the job I really want. Which will save me from wearing those ridiculous stripey socks. That, apparently, you all loved.

Savages.

Acts of Boredom

I've decided I'm going to wear these until I get a damn job:

They'll look great with my vintage paint-splattered 10-hole Docs. Because 1994 was a good year, dammit! I'll listen to Chili Peppers and Stone Temple Pilots and Mazzy Star and wear lots of black eye make-up.

(Slowly but surely I'm turning from cute and quirky to eccentric and pitiful. It's just a hop, skip and a jump to owning 82 cats from here. I never even wore goth make-up in high school.)

I just need a fucking job. I'm going stir crazy here. And the two interviews I have this afternoon do not excite me. But maybe stripey green thigh-highs will!

Pick a song and sing a yellow nectarine.

Blah.

Lack of Memories, circa 1996

I have an especially bad memory. How I managed to come away from college with a degree in dates when I can't even remember what the date is today is beyond me. And just goes to prove that 6 years spent in college at least taught me to be crafty! (Now you know why it took 6 years. I kept forgetting to graduate!)

I'm watching an episode of Made on MTV (unemployment has its privileges) where this girl does no laundry whatsoever. She's away at school and basically lives in filthy clothes. Which is gross, but then got me thinking about my own freshman year in college. And I cannot for the life of me remember doing laundry. Ever.

I know I must have because dirty clothes gross me out, and walking around in the snow meant I had a lot of dirty jeans that winter. Hence, the need to do laundry. But where and how? Totally lost to the ether.

It's a completely mundane detail and bears no significance on my life today. But it freaks me out that I might have lived in filth for 9 months. Eww!!! 18 year old me couldn't have done that!!

I lived on the 2nd floor of Warwick House in the Quad. If anyone knows what that means, please remind me what laundry day was like.

And just to prove to you how utterly stunted my memory is, my insurance company just called to tell me I paid them twice this month. There I go, throwing money away when I don't even have a job!

I'm mentally retarded in the brain.

Adding Insult to Injury

I nearly fell out of bed last night. And not because of any enjoyable activity, either.

I need railings like you see on hospital beds, or what they put on children's beds when they first move out of the crib.

Maybe I need a crib?

The problem is the gimpy left leg. The pain was so bad last night that I couldn't find a comfortable position all night, so I kept tossing and turning. Around 2:30 am, in a half-asleep state, I didn't realize I was already at the edge of the bed, so I went to turn over one more time--in the wrong direction. The combination of my leg flopping off the bed and the sharp shooting pain up my thigh from that motion woke me right up.

I cursed at the bed, at my leg, and the damn comforter I was tangled in, and then started laughing. Because I'm 28 years old and apparently cannot sleep in a queen-size bed by myself lest I roll right out of it.

Think of the upside of having railings, though! Especially ones with restraints...

In the meantime, I'll just surround myself with pillows. Which don't come with restraints.

Unfortunately.

Aches, Pains & Automobiles

My issues with water retention and malfunctioning legs are becoming increasingly problematic. After spending the whole day sacked out on my parents' couch with a godawful headache and no discernable reason for being unable to keep my eyes open or move my limbs, I realized I could be in real trouble. And that I was terribly thirsty.

Because of my excessive dramatic streak, I started imagining how I would be able to face you all if I were suddenly hospitalized for "exhaustion and dehydration." Buzzwords that act as the precursor to rehab. I don't even have a job to deplete my energy reserves, much less afford me the luxury of drugs that would "exhaust" and/or "dehydrate" me.

Sunday I have another long-ass run. 8 miles along The Strand. I'm looking forward to it, mostly because I've never run a full 8 miles. That'll be a nice milestone. What I'm NOT looking forward to is the guaranteed leg cramps on Monday. Which makes it hard to dance salsa, you know?

My options, in terms of avoiding dehydration and paraplegia and/or amputation, are:

• quit my alcoholic tendencies (I think not)
• quit running (with almost $1000 raised for charity, also not an option)
• quit walking (though that somehow helps, just not on stairs. Taking them is like sticking hot pokers in my thighs)
• actually start taking drugs (not good, since I'm really bad at drugs)
• hook myself up to an IV with equal parts saline and muscle relaxants (upside: a totally chill and non-mummified GPG)
• sack up and just ignore it, drink more fluids and stretch 23 hours a day

I wish there was tequila-flavored Gatorade. Then staying hydrated wouldn't be such a pain in the ass.

And if some medical professional could finally give me a straight answer about my legs, that would be a great treat. But I'm afraid that might be like asking for the moon.

Off to bed so I can quit my whining. Though I'm no longer tired.

Fuck.

Confidential to my drinking buddy: NASCAR is on tomorrow at 1:30. Bring beer. (I'm kidding. No really, I'm just kidding! Please don't sic your degenerate garden ornamentation on me!)

Hello, I'm Blue

The results of yesterday's poll are:

2 votes for the 'fro, one for the martinis, one Joe who can spot the trend and another who can't follow the rules.

So the winner by a landslide is the 'fro. Which is kind of what I would look like if I were a blue iPod commercial.

We'll see how long this lasts...

Oh, and confidential to Sandra: who DOESN'T love the kitty?

Time for a Change

I'm a little tired of the pissed kitty avatar. I'm in the mood for something different. You get to help me pick.

Choose one from the following pictures I've stolen off the internets. Vote in the comments. Tell us why your choice is superior to the others. Voting ends when I wake up tomorrow morning. Which could be at 7 am or 12 noon PST, depending on whatever the hell I do tonight. I'm thinking sushi. Who wants sushi for dinner? It comes with sake. Mmm.

Anyway.

Blue afro:



Flaming martinis:


The Blue Room:


Your turn.

Waiting for "The Call"

Yesterday I received two unexpected and wildly differing phone calls.

9 am - cellphone rings from a 714 number:

"Hello, this is GPG."

"Hi GPG. This is Self-Important So-&-So with Such-&-Such Staffing Firm. I received your résumé in regards to a job I posted for a client. Now, I'm not one to mince words, so I'm just going to come right out and say this: you're not qualified for this job"

Then why is she wasting both our time calling me?

"This is an EVENT planning job, not a MEETING planning job. You need to be really creative. This is not rote. I was a meeting planner for 12 years and I wouldn't be qualified for this job. Do you think you could pull that off?"

"I do. [Insert something about being a fiercely creative photographer and having planned wildy ingenious events.] But it appears you have already made your mind up about my experience so I don't see the point in continuing this conversation."

But she wouldn't let it end there. She kept up her brusque tirade and finally, 5 minutes later, had talked herself into submitting my résumé to the client (who later told her they had already received it directly from me and were indeed considering it, effectively removing her--and her commission--from the process).

And for the record, the job listing stated Meeting Planner in the very title of the ad. Nice false advertising, yo.

***

6 pm - cellphone rings from a 310 number:

"Hello, this is GPG."

"Hi! This is the Really Cool Newly-Hired Director of Catering at Super-Swanky Private Beach Club. I saw your résumé online and feel you would be a perfect fit for the Catering Manager position [that I didn't apply for because I honestly didn't think I was qualified!] I have available. Is that something that you're interested in?"

I have an interview with her at 4 pm today.

In the mean time, I'm waiting for the ridiculously bureaucratic unemployment folks to call. They decided they need to review my case before granting me my frickin' $450 a week. Which isn't enough to pay my bills anyway, so I really should just tell them to suck my cock.

It couldn't hurt.

***

Just as I was about to publish this post, the unemployment folks called. It's all cleared up and they're going to start sending me money within the week. I didn't even have to tell them to suck it.

Yay!

July by the Numbers

What started as a month of me at the very top of my game now finds me trying to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do next. But it actually isn't so bad...yet. If I'm still here next month, I'll be singing a different tune.

And now, the stats:

20.3 miles run
1 semi-reunion at The Park for Ry's bday
5.5 days spent loving rocker boys in Texas
18.50 dollars per shot of tequila
3 shots ordered
92 dollars for that dinner eaten solo
2 hours spent in line for Last Comic Standing
103 degrees in the shade in Pasadena
40 minutes until you see my face on tv in that episode
2.5 seconds of screen time
2 lovely meals spent with the visiting C-Dub
87 gagillion pieces of sushi eaten in one sitting
359 pictures taken at a one-year-old's birthday part
95 attendees for said one-year-old's party
107 degree temperature in the Valley on that day
7 o'clock when the power (and with it, the AC) gave out
71 pictures shot of my baby brother
3 outfit changes for said shoot
2 days spent amassing bug bites
5 reasons for moisture loss
3 high school boys fatally shot in my neighborhood
1 worried phone call from my dad after he heard the news report
5 minutes spent assuring him I'm okay
10 days spent unemployed
2 interviews spent charming the pants off hiring managers
4 female interviewers foiling my H. Wood-supported plan to utilize the ta-tas to their full extent
3 games of pool played
2.25 dollars total paid for those games
1 supremely misguided and irritatingly obtuse Scotsman trying to figure out his pickup lines
1 German Indian who knew better
1 Irishman who won the pot by playing the blues guitar and generally being as adorable as a puppy...on Scotch
20 blogs posted

I Missed a Day Somewhere

I love calendars. I live by them. I need three of them on the wall next to my computer just so I can stay on top of the day. Because what I do--or, did--requires that I constantly project at least a few weeks, if not months, out. While still operating in the present.

Which can be disorienting, all that time travel.

I also carry a Palm Pilot. And am wedded to it for my daily agenda. Because I have a bad memory and am quite capable of messing up all my dates.

Which I did. Today. Because for the longest time, I thought today was July 31st. I had planned all my last-day-of-insurance activities for today: the acupuncture, chiropractic and optometrist appointments. Yesterday, all these visits would have been covered. Because yesterday was July 31st. All day long.

I also thought I had a party to go to tonight at one of my favorite bars. I put it on the calendar(s) as being Tuesday. Never bothered to check that the second box on the grid is actually the Monday box (I love the things, but I don't know how to use them, clearly).

Meaning that yesterday, while Lex and I were avoiding annoying Scots at Backstage and shooting pool at Joxer Daly's, I should have been wearing fangs and fake blood over at Saints & Sinners.

And that when I woke up today, thinking I had all these appointments, I was actually lying to myself. I had tricked myself into living in the past. The realization of this hit me like a ton of bricks right across the forehead. Turns out I'm pretty free all day long!

But after all that bourbon, tequila, and boys last night, a long morning in bed certainly cannot hurt. (The BTB, my favorite cocktail.)

Happy August 1st everyone! July by the Numbers up later.