Travels and Tribulations

For real, this time.

2006-05-09T12:32:00.000-07:00

Ok, I realize I've said this before and then changed my mind faster than the Fuckwit Canadian changed his mind about being in love with me. But I am going to stick with it this time - I'm taking a sabbatical from blogging. I would take down this blog entirely, but I'm not ready to quite delete everything. Baby steps, people, baby steps. After rereading that article that I mentioned last time, I realized that I'm just using this blog as an excuse to not write for real. 'Cuz everytime I sit down to write, I end up instead writing a blog or sending out a mass email. While it satisfies my daily urge to write, it does so in a very meaningless way and that's the main problem. Blogging gives me my fix, gets me high, but when I come crashing down later on, I've got little to show for it. But I keep coming back for more because I'm kind of addicted, you might say. And I think I need to kick the habit so I can actually be productive in my real life if I ever want to consider myself an actual writer, instead of just saying I am, because really, there is a huge difference.

For as long as I can remember, I've been talking about writing something "serious", but as far as I can see, that's not happened as of yet. I just keep talking about it and never doing it. This could be because when I sit down to write something that I actually care about and would take longer than 10 minutes to write ('cuz, let's face it, writing these blogs? Not requiring a whole lot of brainpower and time - I sit down, I write it and that's that...what you see is what you get, for better or for worse), my brain suddenly switches into overdrive and I overthink every last word, rewriting every sentence 8 times trying to get it "just right." And in the process, the writing becomes completely unnatural and strained and not even close to the way I want it to come out.

My blog posts are a true representation of my writing style. It's casual, snarky and confessional. This has always been my style, even as a reporter in college. It just came natural to me, so I've stuck with it. I was never one of those writers who created beautiful worlds out of grandiose words, all serious, impressive and overly intellectual. Shakespeare I am not. I am a pop culture geek. My writing reflects that. My style is been closer to Joel Stein or David Sedaris than Jane Austen. And that's fine with me - I like it. But when I try to do something other than blogging, emailing or writing silly travel columns, it's I become so self-aware that I can't even begin writing without the fear taking over. So I put down the pen or shut off the computer completely to avoid even attempting to write through the fear.

I once read in a book this fabulous quote by an author - I wish I could remember the exact phrasing, as well as who it was attributed to since I can picture in my head the day I picked up the book in the Barnes and Noble on Third Street in Santa Monica, but it boils down to this regarding "the fear" that so many writers have - "you have to accept that once you put that first sentence to paper, whatever you write will never be as good as it is in your head." Whatever you envision your piece to be, it will never be as perfect as you imagine it. And you have to get over that fear. God, I want to. I want to be able to just continue on in my snarky, casual tone. But whenever I am emotionally invested and afraid of criticism, my style/tone becomes all self-important or affected. Not so much pretentious or pompous, but do you get what I mean? Totally unnatural and totally not ME. It's the weirdest damn thing.

I'm not sure how to turn that off - that extreme self-awareness - and I hate it. That's not how I want to write - all forced and strained and unnatural, like I was writing a term paper or something. I want the words to flow out of me like they do when I'm dashing off an email or a blog - I just want it to happen. When I'm writing for kicks, I lose myself in the writing as my fingers furiously try to keep up with the thoughts pouring out of my head. When I'm trying to write "for real", the process is painstakingly slow. Suddenly the ten minutes it would normally take me to crank out a page of story in a blog becomes an hour. Or more. I'm no longer lost in the process but completely aware of every last detail and I'm not enjoying it either. And that's a recipe for disaster for me. I need to be so into whatever I am writing that a couple hours could go by and I wouldn't even notice it. But that doesn't happen when it's "for real." But how do I change that? How do I take my style, my tone and my head-up-my-ass oblivious way of writing from blogs to "serious" writing?

If anyone has any ideas or suggestions, I'm open to it. I've written things in the past and not had a problem like this. I used to love coming into the newsroom at school on a Tuesday evening and cranking out an article or a column that was due later on that evening. I got a jolt out of it. Losing myself in the words that I typed on the old-school Mac, it was the best feeling in the world. I didn't overthink anything I wrote. I just let it comes as it was. That's why I wanted to be a writer. And, I'm not being conceited, the pieces were always pretty good. But whenever I took a creative writing course in college, suddenly I lost the ability to dash off something fabulous and interesting. The stories were clunky, forced and just lacking any sort of energy and personality. The fantastic dialogue I had imagined in my head became so unrealistic, like the "conversation" phrases you learned in 6th grade Spanish class. "Yes, let us please go to the discothèque tonight. That would be excellent."

It's truly the weirdest thing. I've not had that problem with silly columns for websites or travel articles for magazines. Maybe because I am not invested in those short pieces and although, yes, I am proud of the things I've written, I'm not emotionally invested in them. They're just articles or columns. So I am able to silence the inner critic and just write what has to be written.

Even trying to explain all this, I'm having a hard time coming up with the right words. Which is ironic, I realize.

Anyway, on an un-related note before I log off, the highlight of my days continue to be the half hour training sessions with HTB (hottie trainer boy). I have his phone number...but only for training purposes so it's not like I can just call him up for no reason. Especially since I found out today that he's been with his current girlfriend for over three years. THREE years. Good god, he was just a baby when he started dating her! So I can't call him - I don't think she'd like that and I don't want to ruin our trainer/trainee relationship. Maybe after the training is over I can ask him to hang out (don't get your panties in a bunch, I'm not trying to be a homewrecker, I just want to have some friends out here!). We'll see.

Ok, less than a week 'til State College. Woohoo. And then Baaaaahston. Gear up, kiddies, gear up. Then when I come back here, I have to decide if I am moving out of OC, moving back East, moving to L.A. or whatever. Come August, roommate gets married and I get the boot out of this really nice place to live - and it is a really nice apartment/house. To be honest, I don't totally dislike OC. I just dislike that I have no friends. It's not a horrible place to live. Sure, there are slightly more asswipes in this area than other parts of the country that I've lived, but whatev. There are pros and cons to every place in the world. I think I'd probably like it a lot more, though, if I had a large group of friends. Or even a small group of friends. That's what I am missing in life right now - human contact. No wonder I'm so excited to go the gym on a daily basis because I have someone interesting and personable to talk to, even if I am paying him to do so. Eh...whatev.

Aight..I'm off. Fingers crossed we never speak again cuz that would mean something good is happening. But who am I kidding..chances are I'll fall off the wagon in a couple short weeks and will be back, blogging with a vengeance...Toodles.

Santa Barbara, State College and then...

2006-05-04T23:00:00.000-07:00

I'll be home!

Yes, so tomorrow I head to Santa Barbara for work - only for the night though and it's not looking like I'll get much time to do any exploring. Sigh. I've heard lots of good things about Santa Barbara, but given that gas prices are hovering around $3.25 a gallon here in the lovely OC, I decided that not taking my boss up on her offer of carpooling in order to spend and an extra day wandering around Santa Barbara seemed like a very foolish idea. I suppose when gas prices drop, or I become an instant millionaire off a scratch ticket that I have yet to buy, I can always go up there again.

Then I've got another week of torture lined up with the hottie trainer boy (or HTB as I will refer to him). HTB decided that he and I will have a love/hate relationship. In that I will love to hate him for the sadistic training he has decided to put me through. Yup, sounds about right. Kid is hotter than hell, but he is the devil, I've decided. Tuesday I could barely walk due to the extreme soreness in my legs and today I've not been able to bend my arms without shrieking in pain. But it's a good pain, or so I tell myself. It means it's working. Or something like that.

To be honest, I almost like going to the gym now. Is it sad that the most conversation I have during the day is with this kid I am paying to put my body through horrible agony? Seriously. I mean, otherwise I sit at home on the computer all day doing work. So going to the gym to see him, it's like, thrilling almost. Plus, as I've mentioned, he's hot. But alas, has a girlfriend. Like that's a surprise and plus, as I've probably mentioned a few times - he's way out of my league anyway. But he's something of a goober, so he's actually really fun to be around and keeps me laughing through my physical pain. And he's a native of OC. It totally kills my theory about native SoCalians - actually, that's not true. My roommate had already killed that theory cuz she's normal and a native of Newport. But he is the first normal native guy that I've ever met out here. Alas, number two, he's only 22 years old.. Eeks. Yeah, he's just a baby.

But I've got 28 more sessions with HTB, so hopefully by the end, not only will I be smoking hot but maybe even have a new friend. Or just a friend, period. Since I've got so few out here. Well, basically two - roommate and Sarah. It'd be nice to have someone to hang with. I realize I can't ask him to hang out while he's my trainer - that'd be a violation of some client/trainer relationship or something, I would imagine. Although I am sure it happens, especially out here in Southern California.

Anyway, then I'll be in State College for a week before heading up to Bahston...Kenmore Squah, here I come.

Ok, that's about it. I got nothing much else to talk of. I did find an interesting article recently about bloggers who want to be writers and why blogging is just a handy excuse not to write, so I may follow suit and take down this blog at some point soon. Here, you should check it out.

Welcome to the OC, land of boobs.

2006-01-04T12:43:00.000-08:00

A warning: This started out about one thing and then ended up about something else. I have no idea how.

So yesterday the roommate and I decided to give ourselves a bit of retail therapy by spending an obscene amount of money at the semi-annual Victoria's Secret sale. Dangerous, dangerous place to be when you're in possession of a credit card and the attitude "Well, I need new bras anyway. I mean, it's not like I can go without wearing one, so this is a neccessity. I have to have one. Or two. Or ten."

Granted, I could just go someplace like Target and spend a whole lot less and get a whole lot more, but I was determined that this year would be different. I spend so much time thinking about money and cutting corners that I feel like I deserve some pretty underwear (I am sorry, but I hate the word panties and refuse to use it from this point on). And, also, pretty bras and underwear make me feel better about myself - you'll always know if I am wearing something cute under my clothes because I swear to god, I transform into this confident sex kitten or something. Too much information, I know, but get used to it because we're talking about bras and underwear. The worst is yet to come.

So we left the house yesterday around 8:30ish in order to be the first ones at Victoria's Secret, thus giving us an upperhand when it came to rummaging through the bins searching for the best bras and discounted underwear. As it was, we were not the first ones there, but at least it wasn't a madhouse as it was still early in the morning. Like a kid on Christmas, I eagerly ran around the store searching for the bins with my size. Hmm..34A..36C..32B..um...I'm not seeing any bins labeled "DD." Imagine my dismay after asking one of the already-frazzled sales girls, "Do you guys have any DDs in the sale this year?" and hearing the answer "Um, probably not. Cuz, like, we don't get many in the store and the sale is really just whatever we have left over. I mean, you can look through the D bins..if you want?"

Cut to me, looking seriously disappointed as only the year before I had scored a couple of really cute bras (and for those who are not women, or not a DD, cute bras just don't exist in that size. EVER) for the low low price of just $19.99 a piece.

I rummaged through the bins like a truffle pig let loose and found a couple of D's that I was determined to squeeze myself into. I wasn't leaving without buying something. I mean, honestly. It would be too cruel.

I waited patiently in line for a dressing room while the roommate went walking by with a shopping bag overflowing with bras and cute underwear. Grumble grumble. As a 36C, the roommate has infinitely more options than I do, although I once was a 36C myself not that long ago. This is a point I will bring up again a little later on, so keep it in mind.

I tried on the bras and wasn't convinced they really fit so I called over a salesgirl and said, "OK, this is kinda embarassing, but how exactly is this style supposed to fit?"

She smiled and said, "Oh don't worry about it. Ok, so it's a little small in the cup but it's a push-up bra, so it's not going to cover like the regular ones anyway. You're supposed to spill out of it a little, that's the whole point. I think you can get away with that one."

Score. So I bought three of them. And some extremely lovely-smelling shampoo.

After the roommate paid for her bounty, we headed back home. I still wasn't satisfied, so like a crack whore needing a fix, I decided to drive to the South Coast Plaza (a maze of a mall that I still have yet to conquer) in order to see if maybe I might find one actually in my size there.

Took me forever to find the damn store because I swear to you, this mall is the size of a small city. Seriously. I had to ask directions to the store no less than three times, I kid you not. When I got to the store, it was a madhouse. Women pawing through bins like crazed animals, strollers all over the place. It was pure insanity.

I did a quick scan and gave a little shriek of happiness when I saw the elusive "DD" sign in the distance. Alas, it was not the right DD, but I didn't want to admit defeat just yet so I dug through the bins in case someone had put the wrong size in there. They hadn't, but I found another push-up bra like I had bought at the other store in a pretty pink, so I figured what the hell, I'll buy it. Reluctantly I headed to the regular, non-sale section of the store figuring I might as well suck it up and buy some normal bras that would cost entirely too much. As I made my way through the chaos, I couldn't help but notice the 13 or so bins filled with 36C bras. Grumble grumble. C'mon, this is the freakin' OC. Land of boob implants. You've got to be kidding me that they don't have boxes overflowing with DDs here. I find that seriously hard to believe.

I picked out a couple of non-sale items and went to go try them on. At first I thought I mistakenly got into a check-out line because there were roughly 15 girls in front of me, then I realized that this was the line for the dressing room. I debated whether I wanted to wait in line to try on the bras and then wait in line again to buy them. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to face a platinum blonde chick who asked, "So is this the line for the dressing room?" I said, "Yep." We stood there for a few minutes and I made a comment in passing about how I should just buy the bras and try them on at home, would save me time. She smiled and said, "Oh, I would, but my boyfriend would kill me. Cuz I just had my implants done so I don't know exactly what size I am. Probably a D, but maybe a C."

Oh good lord. Even with her implants, I still had bigger boobs. I tried to smile sympathetically but was mostly thinking, "Good god. How is it that even in the OC I'm the one with the big boobs?" We talked for a few minutes about the sale and how it was unbelievable that any bra store would be so sorely lacking in D's and DD's, especially in the OC. After 10 minutes and only moving up one spot in line, I decided I'd had enough and motioned for her to take my spot because I was just gonna buy everything (including some very risque pairs of underwear which I am still not 100% sure about, they're just sitting in the bag right now on the floor) and deal with it when I got home. I left Ms. Implants to ponder just what size she was and stood in line for another 10 minutes at the check-out. All around me stood the "typical" OC chicks - thin, tight low-riding pants, with boobs out to ---> here. It's like land of the Barbies or something.

I, too, once was a 36C, however. (See, I told you I'd come back to this.) How I miss those days. At least I'd have more options for cheap, cute bras. Growing up I was always something of a tomboy. Hell, I don't think I ever wore a regular bra until college. I preferred the comfort of a sports bra I think until senior year in high school. It wasn't a huge issue when I was younger, but around 15 or so, I suddenly became a tomboy with big boobs. The sports bra kept everything mashed down for the most part, so I never really had to acknowledge it...except come Semi-Formal and Prom time. If a dress was low-cut at all, immediately it became a "boob dress." No, seriously. That is what my friends would say to me when they saw me at the dances. Imagine being a tomboy with boobs - it's like a sign of the apocalypse or something. I hated dresses to begin with as it was. I'm still not a huge fan of dresses.

So all the dresses I wore became boob dresses because, well, there wasn't much I could do to hide them. Sure, the next day I went back to my t-shirts and sports bras, but the truth was already out there.

It became worse in college when I decided to embrace my boobness and wear actual bras and fitted shirts (I went to high school during the grunge era, so it was all about big baggy plaid shirts that were 3 sizes too big, thank the lord!). Suddenly I was getting a lot more attention from boys, but basically it was because I had big boobs. I noticed during my college years that guys seem to think that just because I had big boobs that, for some unrelated reason, I must also be easy. I don't know how they came to that conclusion, like somehow the two are correlated in the physical world. Big boobs = easy lay. That was not the case, but I was amused nonetheless. At first.

Then it became irritating - like on my walk along the Southeast Expressway from the T station to work every morning one summer where I used to get a blaring honk from at least two or three cars (all driven by dirty old men. It was never cute, young boys driving.) It got to the point that I would no longer turn when hearing the honk, but instead immediately flipped off whoever was beeping. I stopped doing that once I ended up flipping off a friend from work without realizing it. I explained to him why I was doing it and he thought it was hilarious and the next day he drove past, beeped and flipped me off, all the while wearing a huge shit-eating grin on his face. Boys.

Anyways, so my identity has always somehow been connected with the size of my breasts, unfortunately. To the point that one day at my catering job in college, a guy co-worker asked my friend were I was and he referred to me as, "You know, boobs. I don't remember her name. Your friend with the boobs." Lovely. And it's not a secret that one of my college friends once programmed me into his phone as "(my first name)-boobs". Fantastic. He may still have it in his phone that way, I'm not sure. It's been a goal of his since freshman year to get me to "show 'em" to him. I've refused, partly because dur, I'm not showing him and partly because I think it's funny that he is still trying.

I've gotten used to it over the years, but this year my New Year's Resolution is to drop back to a C. Or at least a D. The gym is calling my name. Because in the past (especially in college), whenever I've gained weight, it went straight for the T&A areas. It wasn't a huge problem because I managed to keep a fairly hour-glass shape. Even at my thinnest (ah, the Summer/Fall of 1998), I still had curves. No one was ever going to mistake me for Kate Moss. Sadly, the pattern for weight gain isn't exactly holding true these days as it's spreading out to different areas, in addition to the T&A, but during my "youth" I could put on extra weight without it being too horrible, mainly cuz it just ended up in my bra. Apparently you just have to eat more, ladies, and you, too, can have a huge set of knockers. I've had friends who've lamented that fact, saying that they wished that when they gained weight it went to the boobs, but trust me, it's not really all that fun. You never get to buy cute bras. And sometimes, just sometimes, when guys see you in a bra for the first time, they say "Holy shit! Those are huge!" True story. I wouldn't make that up. In his defense, I was wearing a "minimizer" bra and those things are just not attractive at all. They're enormous and ugly, but then again it's not like I had planned on getting together with him that night. I never would have worn such a hideous old lady undergarment in the first place.

Uh..ok, somehow I have gone off on a tangent. So I'm just gonna leave you all here. I am sure you're happy as you now know far too much about my pursuit for underwear, something everyone was curious about, no doubt.

Thanks y'all.

2006-01-04T12:27:00.000-08:00

Just wanted to give a quick thanks to the many of you who emailed me to give your support while I try to kick the habit of the Emotional Fuckwit. I really do appreciate your kind words and I swear that I am trying my hardest to believe them - even though in the back of my head I think, "these are people who are my friends, of course they think I am cool, otherwise, why else would they be my friends?", so I wanted to make that clear. Of course, EF and I were also once friends, so you'd think that he would feel the same way you all do...but apparently not.

I promise I will try to keep these comments in my head, however, the next time I go to pick up the phone in an attempt to get him to talk to me. Comments such as:

"I think that you are very attractive and talented, and I don't think that you need to bother with 'scavengers'"- a friend in Seattle.
"it made me angry to read all that stuff. this guy is an immature idiot who CAN'T DEAL. you really don't have to put up with that shit. i give you permission not to, how 'bout that: you do not have to deal with assholes. you just don't. there you go. you are a super-cool person." - my favorite Harvard Hottie (a nickname given to him when we met during my very first co-op in college).

Plus many more telling me that I'm a super cool chick and I really needn't bother with morons like him from my favorite Brit, Heather (my personal cheerleading squad) and others.

So thanks. It makes me think that I'm not a total loser just because this one guy in particular can't get his shit together and have the decency to talk to me about whatever it was that made him want to give me the silent treatment in the first place. Jerk-off.

And that, officially, is the last time I will ever mention him. He doesn't deserve this much attention - even if I am just writing about what an ass he is. Think about how many precious hours I've wasted over the past year chronicling the ups and downs of this friendship - I coulda been using that time more productively. I should have been out there meeting people that aren't jerk-offs.

It's a good thing I'm not a smoker.

2006-01-02T13:51:00.000-08:00

Because if I was trying to kick that habit, I'd be screwed. If I was addicted to smokes, booze or dangerous behavior, I'd be in a much worse situation at the moment.

I'm just addicted to boys. Which is kind of dangerous behavior if you think about it. And so far, my attempt to quit the emotional fuckwit cold turkey has failed miserably. It makes no difference to me that he will not return my calls or text messages and really, all I am do is humiliating myself further, but I can't stop myself. It's not like I don't know what I am doing - while calling I'm thinking, "Christ, what the hell are you doing? This kid is a retard, why are you torturing yourself?" And yet...I keep trying to get in touch with him. Obviously, this is not going to make him want to contact me and I realize it. How do you quit a guy? They have patches for smokers, AA groups for boozers and all sorts of 12-step programs for various behaviors. I've never heard of a 12-step program for wanting to quit a guy. Someone, get on that, stat!

Heather once sent me an email with a link to a Cosmo article (the bible for many women) about how the female brain reacts to love and lust. Your brain releases dopamine - the reaction is the same as if you were taking cocaine, apparently. Which makes sense that women can act like lunatics when they're in lust or love - they're acting like addicts jonesing for a fix. Women in lust or love can not be held responsible for the acts of lunacy they commit, I'm convinced. You're not acting like a normal person when you're "addicted" to someone. The more you try not to think about that person, the more they become the center of your life. It's not like you want to act the way you do, I certainly wish I could just be over this idiot and move on with my regularly scheduled life. I've tried to "kick the habit" a number of times since meeting him back in 2003. I really have. And I keep coming back for more. Oh, the irony that I am currently listening to an Ashlee Simpson song called "Coming back for more" - "You keep me coming back for more. Even when I think I've had enough, when I tell you that it's over, that we're done, oh oh, just keep me coming back for more."

I didn't even realize what I was listening to on the computer until just then. Ha. Kind of funny. Granted, I believe she is referring to an actual relationship, versus the fucked up version of friendship that EF and I have had since first meeting.

It would certainly help if I didn't actually know his phone number - but I had erased it from my cell so many times in the past that slowly I learned the actual number. Err. Here's hoping the new year brings me a bout of amnesia so I can forget about the idiots I'm currently jonesing for and can't seem to kick.

Thank god for the new year

2005-12-31T11:51:00.000-08:00

I'm back in the OC and not sure I really want to be here. Something for you all to discuss: Native Californians, fucking retards or just aliens from another planet? Anyone, anyone...Bueller? Yes, you in the back, you have a comment?

I'll get to that in a minute. First I want to turn my attention to the events of the past week. Hooked up with one of my best guy friends from high school - surprisingly, everything is totally cool with us. Granted, we live in separate states and only get to see each other once or twice a year (this has been the situation since college) so I am sure that plays a part in avoiding the "morning-after-weirdness". We'll see what happens next time we hang out. To be honest, I'm not sure what I want. He has been one of my best friends for 13 years. I adore this kid to death and he's always treated me like a queen - I should learn something from this, mainly that the jerk-offs that I tend to be attracted to out here in Cali are not worth a second glance and I should pray they all die in a surf accident or freeway-related catastrophe.

HSB (highschool boy) and I have not lost the dynamic which makes our friendship so unique and for that, I am eternally grateful. It was weird while it was happening (we didn't have sex, I wasn't ready to cross that line) but now a week later, I am not upset that it did happen. It was probably bound to happen at some point since whenever we hang out, we're always hugging or lying on the couch entertwined. It never ocurred to me that he would ever make a move - that was just normal for us. Apparently his parents have asked when we would get together, which makes me laugh.

Anyway, so that was my excitement for Christmas weekend. Got some loot, some saw family, ate too much food.

Spent the last week seeing as many people as I could - and if I didn't get to see you, I'M SO SORRY!! Next time I come home. I promise. And I'll definitely make a trip home again before next Christmas.

Got back Thursday night after the flight that wouldn't end. We had a two hour delay while sitting on the tarmac waiting to get in line for take-off. Thankfully, I slept during most of the delay, but then I was awake for the rest of the flight. Watced the "40-year old Virgin". Oh my god, that movie had some really, reallllly funny bits. I could barely breathe during the wax scene. Good god. Mr. Napoleon Dynamite (Jon Heder) was also on my flight - that was the only exciting thing to report on that flight. I didn't ask for a picture or anything, but I was tempted.

I am officially doing nothing tonight for New Year's. Not for a lack of trying however. It's gonna be me, some chips and the girls from "Sex and the City" (as I borrowed Sarah's dvds) and that's fine with me. It'd be nice to have someone to hang out with - after 28 years on this planet, I've never had someone specific to kiss on New Year's but I guess I'll have to continue my streak. Probably better that way considering the two boys I had hoped to do something with are total freaks and are not worth my attention. My roommates are gone, Sarah's in Boston and therefore all of her friends are not around for me to hang with, Seth Cohen is not really talking to me and is in South Beach and Emotional Fuckwit...well, let's just say I hope he breaks a leg up at Big Bear tonight. So that leaves me with no one to chill with. I shoulda just stayed in Boston. Maybe permanently. Really enjoyed walking around the city earlier this week with my new camera. I forgot how nice is it to be in a real city around people who aren't a bunch of flaky ass fools.

And now we get to the question - "Californians, fucking retards or just aliens from another planet?"

I have a theory that native Californians (especially those from the southern Cali area) are extemely mentally challenged. There are a few exceptions, of course, but it seems like the guys that I've met here are especially retarded. Gay Johnny Hollywood springs to mind. And Emotional Fuckwit, whose real name is Ryan. This time I don't care that I'm using real names. I hope Ryan's friends do a google search on him and find his name on my blog....again. I hope they share this with you, Ryan, because you really should know that you're completely fucked up. Seriously, you prove my theory about native Californians.

For those readers who are familiar with this saga, you already know what a fuckwit this kid is. A brief summary - right before Hawaii, I tell him I like him as more than a friend (because I am obviously disturbed and have serious mental problems). He doesn't run away screaming, so I figure it's not completely a bad thing that I told him. Tells me to call him when I get back. I do. For a week. He never calls back. I'm thinking, "Uh, you're the one who told me to call, ass." I pop by his house two days before I am to leave for Boston to say bye. His reponse? "It's only Friday. You leave Sunday. I'll call you tomorrow."

Yeah, sure you will.

During my three weeks at home I called him a few times - left messages every time. You know, "Hey, merry christmas" and the like. Never heard back from him. Pretty sure he probably has a girlfriend and just isn't man enough to own up to that fact - otherwise, why would you chronically avoid someone? I mean, I didn't even do anything this time. I can admit in the past when I've acted like a lunatic and provoked the silent treatment. This time however, I am totally blameless. And if I'm not, I'd like to know what I did.

Popped by yesterday on my way back from feeding Sarah's cat. Told his roommate's brother to tell him I stop by. Left a message on his voicemail to say the same thing in case RB didn't tell him.

No word. Went back to Sarah's this morning and on the way back decided I'd had enough of this shit. Stopped by his house. He was there. Looked seriously freaked out by me standing in the doorway. Meaningless chitchat ensues. I am getting more and more frustrated and wanted nothing more than to pop the kid in the face, but decided against it. Seriously, it would have felt so good to punch him square in his nose.

I asked him, "So uh, do you want me to stop calling you? Because I will if that's the case."

He looks uncomfortable and doesn't answer. I say, "Fine. I will leave it up to you from now on whether you want me in your life."

He says nothing. That's basically my answer right there. I say something about how it's weird that he never has called back for the last month. He says that if he doesn't answer the phone it's cuz he's been "super busy" and I'm not quite buying it. Busy for an entire month? Can't take 5 minutes to call me back? That is the biggest line of bullshit I have ever heard. Honestly, why can't guys not lie? I am totally serious, the games they play are so fucking annoying. I mean, just be honest with a person. Don't lie to their face. That's so immature. What are we, 12?

Then he tries to pretend to be all friendly when I say I am gonna leave. Fuck that shit - don't stand there looking at me with an uncomfortable expression for 10 minutes and then be all, "Have a great new years, stay out of trouble!" - whatever dude! Fuck you!

That kid is dead to me. No, seriously. This time he really is. It's a new year tomorrow - and as far as I am concerned, in the new year, he and Seth Cohen no longer exist on my planet. They are not worth my time and effort. A friend in Seattle said to me, "You're attractive and talented. Don't waste your time on scavengers." Amen to that. I don't know where they get off thinking they can treat me this way and why I put up with it.

I was watching the first SATC episode last night and it's about unmarried women and toxic bachelors. The question is "Why are there so many great unmarried women in their 30's, but no great unmarried guys?" It's true. I know plenty of awesome, single women, but very few awesome single men. I can think of maybe 2 guys. That's it. Now, while I don't want to get married anytime soon, I can't help but feel like that question relates to me as well, however. I'm smart, quick with the wit, cute enough and damnit, if you treat me nice, there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you - hell, as we've seen here, even if you treat me badly, I will go out of my way to do things for you because apparently I'm a masochist.

So screw the lot of them. I am so much better than these freaks I find myself wanting to hang out with. If they don't want me around, it's their loss.

Of course, even as I am ranting and raving and trying be all "I am woman, hear me roar!" you know it's mostly lip service. I don't really believe I am better than them and a tinny (tinny, not tiny) voice inside my head keeps shouting, "But if I'm so awesome, why don't they want me??!!" I don't truly believe I am this awesome chick, but for self-preservation, I have to keep telling myself that they're just losers who don't know what they're missing out on because otherwise then I have to sit down and think about why they don't want me around (besides the fact that I have a tendency to act like a lunatic and say exactly what I am thinking and apparently guys are scared of girls like that). And that will just depress me further than I already am.

I am beginning to wonder if I had just stayed in Boston if I wouldn't feel so crappy...I'm not sure. But I'm getting those familiar feelings that I had last year about a month into moving here - those horrible thoughts and depressed feelings. I don't want to go through that again. It wasn't pleasant, that's for sure. I hate that he can have such an effect on me - he doesn't deserve that much power over me. I was talking to Heather and said that I finally had closure because he made it clear he doesn't want to be my friend (even though what I really want is to actually hear the words come from his mouth and he refuses to do it) and a bonus, I didn't even think he was as cute as I normally do. I tricked myself into thinking he was hot previously. He's so not. I said he looked like Christian Bale before - I am insane. He can't hold a candle to Christian Bale. He's not cute enough to clean Christian Bale's dirty boots.

So I told her I was finally over it and she said, "You don't actually have closure...because right now you're still really angry. If you had closure, you would feel indifference." She has a point.

So my New Year's Resolutions (besides the usual - lose weight, make more money, blah blah blah) is to drop toxic friends who offer nothing to enhance my life. When I think of people like Ryan and Seth, I just have to remind myself of guys like HSB, James in England (who calls me from ENGLAND, but fuckin' Ryan can't call when he lives like 5 miles from me??!) and some other guy friends who I've known for years. These guys respect me, care about me and actually make an effort. Fucktards like Ryan and Seth are only willing to be friends if it's convenient for them and even then, it's like pulling teeth. Whatev. So they're done. Dead. Holding a little funeral service for them in my head as we speak so that I can get some closure.

That is that....and I am out. Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte and Samantha are patiently waiting downstairs for me. Happy New Year, kids.

Resigning myself to being a Dodgers fan

2005-12-21T12:28:00.000-08:00

Ok, I didn't actually just say that, did I? But with the addition of every Sox player to their line-up, I find myself thinking, "Hmm..maybe this year I'll go see some Dodgers games..." I mean, I could take my "Nomah" shirt out of the closet for the first time in years. Granted, it says "Boston" on the front, but whatever. At least I could wear it. And Lowe is there. And Mueller. Why the fuck not go see them? Pretty soon they may have more original Sox players than the Sox themselves. Christ, I should see an Angels/Dodgers game, I could get a dose of Cabrera at the same time!

That's all I have to say about baseball today. There are far more talented baseball-obsessed writers/bloggers out there who have more articulate and entertaining things to say about this whole trading fiasco currently taking place. Johnny-freakin-Damon. *grumble grumble*

What would Johnny Damon do?

2005-12-21T11:52:00.000-08:00

Apparently he would betray all of Red Sox Nation by going to the Evil Empire, the ONE team that no Red Sox player should ever defect to. EVER.

Loser.

You suck, Johnny Hollywood. I hope you find that you have a receding hairline when you get that nasty mop cut off, as per Daddy Steinbrenner's order.

I feel the need for a big bear hug from Papi.

And on a side note, please bring back Cabrera!! I'm going to start my own campaign to bring the OC back to Boston. As much as I love that he is playing with the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim, The United States, the World, the Universe (stupid-ass team) right down the street from me, he should be back in a Sox uniform doing all those silly handshakes. And maybe we can throw Lowe in too? I don't know why, but I just like that guy. Even if he did suck a lot during the regular season.

No, I haven't fallen into the toilet and drowned.

2005-12-20T10:23:00.000-08:00

Hello one and all.

Just in case you were wondering, yes, I am still alive and kicking. I came back to Bahston two weeks ago and haven't had the time to really sit down and write much. So rather than torment you with one liners and brief descriptions, I wanted to wait until I had the proper moment to really give it to you good. Does that sound dirty or what? :)

It's been a whirlwind of activity in my little world since getting back. Dare I say it's been a bit exhausting - physically, emotionally and especially financially. I love seeing everyone, but I can't help but feel stressed because I want to see each and every one of you and there are only so many free hours in my day (even though I am home on "vacation" I'm not really, since I don't get days off in the freelance world *grumble grumble). And my waistline is expanding as my wallet shrinks since everyone's schedule is so different so I end up "doing dinner" with a different person each night. I wish everyone had a couple days off and I could steal you all away, but I know that can't happen. Especially this time of year when everyone is running around like chickens tying to escape the farmer holding a hatchet. Isn't it ironic? This is the time of year that is supposed to be filled with good cheer and such, but usually, everyone's just stressed over all the parties to attend, gifts to buy and credit card debt to accrue.

Being home has made me more pensive than usual. Mostly because I'm torn about my current state of life. I do enjoy California, but it's more about the weather and just liking my house and my job. Being home has made me realize (even if it doesn't seem that way) that it's really nice to have friends and so many people who want to see me while I'm home. Friends make all the difference in the world. And although I have awesome peeps like Sarah and my roommates back in HB, it's not quite the same as having all these other people around.

I've debated maybe moving up to Santa Monica - bit more city, more to do than the 'burbs of OC but I don't know if that will make a huge difference. I like my hotel job, I really do...but I have to start thinking about the future, no matter how much I try to avoid it. Will this job lead to anything more? And is it really wise to be working a job where there is no advancement, no benefits and a salary of paltry proportions? I'm not 21 anymore, as much as I like to think I am. At some point, I'm going to have to get a job with a "real" salary.

I'm going to admit something right now so that you can all hold me to it... There's a show on the Travel Channel called "Five Takes". Five travel journalists are sent to travel a continent/country for 14 weeks on a budget (I believe it's like $50 bucks a day) and document their experience, both in writing (a blog on the TC website) and on video. They are now casting for the next round. I am going to send in a video to try my luck. I figure, I'm the queen of budget travel and I don't see why I wouldn't make for a viable candidate. Well, except for the whole being on camera thing. I'm not the most photogenic person in the world, it's always held me back I've thought. But I can certainly write a travel blog for their website about the adventures we partake in.

Plus, when I travel I turn into a different, much more interesting, person. I become "travelgirl", she who will talk to anyone and do anything for the sake of a good tale to tell the folks at home. Generally speaking, I'm not the chattiest of people in my own hometown - or even HB. I wouldn't approach random people at the mall here at home. But get me on a plane to a new city and country and you can't shut me up. I find mysel talking to people on buses, trains, wherever. I don't know what it is. Travel makes me come alive. I love the person I am when I travel (unless I'm on 2 hours of sleep and have not eaten in 12 hours. Then I'm not a very pleasant person to be around) and I wish I could be that girl in my everyday life. I'm much more entertaining and happy. So I think TC should choose me to be one of their next TJs. I just have to get over the fright of coming off like a retard in a video where I have to talk about myself. I always feel kinda dumb on camera. I'd rather be behind the camera than in front of it. Minor details. Minor details. And at least this isn't the "Real World" or something where they choose the sluttiest, dumbest alcoholics to be on camera. I don't have to make out with two other girls to prove that I am one wild and crazy gal. I don't think so anyways. So wish me luck. And if you know me personally, bug me about it until I do it - the video has to be sent in by Dec. 31. So that's very, very soon.

On another note, my sister and I went to see the film "Rent" last week. I liked it but to be honest, wasn't blown away by it like I was when I first saw the play almost 10 years ago. The music was great, as always, but they cut songs out and the whole "saying the lyrics" thing was pissing me off. Don't talk the lyrics, sing them! It sounds completely ridiculous for characters to have dialogue that rhymes since it was originally intended to be sung. And I'm not sure, I'd want someone who never saw the play to chime in on this one, but I felt like if I hadn't seen the play, I would have felt like the film was disjointed and somewhat plot-less. Anyone else feel the same way? It was worth the price of admission, however, to see the original cast reunited. Well, except for Joanne and Mimi, playing by Tracie Thomas and Rosario Dawson, respectively. How much do I LOVE Wilson Jermaine Heredia, who plays Angel? And I absolutely adore Anthony Rapp. He is fantastic. The whole cast is.

Also, I strongly believe in corporal punishment for anyone who talks during the movie. Seriously folks, this isn't your living room. Shut your piehole. These three kids were sitting behind us and when Angel and Tom kissed they exclaimed "Ew!! Gross!" Um, hi there. This is a film about artists, gays and people with AIDS. Might you not expect a couple of kisses between two gay men? Get over it and shut the hell up. I was about two seconds from turning around and letting my fists of fury reign down upon these irritating little shits.

Whatever happened to those before-the-movie short films where Barbie was blown up for talking or the cell-phone talker was ejected from his seat? They need to bring those back, because obviously people have forgotten how to watch a movie in public. If you want to discuss the movie with your friends and sing along with the songs, wait until it comes out on video. I don't care what your opinion of Angel's dress is, or how funny the answering machine message is. I dropped 10 bucks to see this movie. I want to actually enjoy it in silence. I take my moviegoing experiences verrrry seriously. This is why I normally choose to see matinees in an antisocial manner. I prefer to see movies by myself. I was almost irritated that my sister wanted to go with me. Yes, my name is TravelGirl and I am a freak. I'm okay with that.

I still haven't seen Harry Potter. I really should see it some afternoon this week before all the schoolkids are on vacation. Course, by now, they should all have seen it, but you never know....

Ok, there is still more to write, but I have to run because tonight it's ice skating on the Frog Pond and an el cheapo dinner at Anna's Taqueria in Davis. I might have to make a stop at Hahvahd Sq. too, as I haven't really been there since I've been home. At some point I should proably Christmas shop for my family gifts. Eh, minor detail. I have made honest attempts to do it this week, but I've ended up buying clothes for myself (no sales tax here!! Stupid California and your stupid tax laws on clothing) on my trusty Amex. I'm going to hate myself in a month when I'm staring at the credit card bill, but oh well. At least I got the $150 back on my crap hair cut. Although I promptly spent it at Victoria's Secret and the Gap last night, among other stores. Although, with my shopping pattern, you know it will all go back in a fit of guilt come three weeks from now. All works out in the end.

It's almost like Season 1..

2005-12-02T11:35:00.000-08:00

Oh, and for those concerned with my lack of "OC" fanaticism as of late, I wanted to share that I did catch last night's episode. Well, part of it, anyway. I had decided to make a Starbucks run at about 7:55 pm to get my hot chocolate fix (I don't even really like Starbucks, but there ain't no Dunkies anywhere in this freakin' state so I have to make due) so I missed the first 20 minutes or so. There was a time when I never would have even considered being anywhere but in front of the television at 7:55 pm, anxiously awaiting the arrival of my beloved Seth Cohen. Where has that girl gone?

Anyway, I'm surprised to say I actually enjoyed most of the episode. Oh sure, I'm really over the whole "Johnny Surfboy" character and bizarro world "Seth" (aka, Chili). Seriously Josh Schwartz, enough is enough with this lame-o new characters. Have the past 2 years not taught you anything? The original foursome is what we want! Along with Luke and his gay dad, as I might have mentioned before. I want to see Ryan punch someone, preferably while wearing a wife-beater and riding his BMX bike (where did that go? He moves into the pool house and suddenly he's too cool for his BMX? Have you sold out completely, Ryan?!). I want Julie Cooper to be plotting some nefarious scheme - although I did enjoy her plot-line last night. Seeing Julie Cooper move into a mobile home, well, that's just priceless. And telling her neighbor, "I have a gun" as he made his way over - too funny. I loved him replying, "That's cool" and abruptly turning his "cheap man's Sawyer" white-trash ass around to go back into his trailer.

I'm getting a little tired of the whole "Oh, I shot someone, my life is over" Marissa plot. God, she's irritating. Give us more Seth and Summer. I mean, how cute were they in their matching fur hats? As much as I want Seth to escape Newport for the East Coast, I just don't see that happening, unless they want to end the show. And although I've complained about its lack of Season 1-excellence, I wouldn't necessarily want that to happen...

I want Ryan and Marissa to break up. I'm so over that story. Couple her with Johnny Surfboy and be done with it already. We already know it's going to happen - I mean, how many times can Ryan stalk Marissa while she's off galvanting with Johnny Surfboy, who, by the way, isn't even all that cute? He understands her though, as she continously tells Summer, Seth, Ryan and whoever else will listen. Blech, puke. Whatever. He just wants to get into your pants, you stupid girl.

Ok, enough ranting. I just wanted to put that out there. Oh, and I'm not sure about bipolar Taylor, either. One minute she's being a queen bitch (and I kind of get a kick out of it) and the next, she's bringing Summer sweatshirts and offering sleepovers. Pick a side, already! She can't be both evil and nice. It'd be one thing if she went the Luke route - started off bitchy and then ended up being surprisingly funny and amusing. But she keeps switching back and forth. I can't handle that.

I suppose I will tune in next week, when we find out that Summer is secretly a genius. That should be entertaining. But I've got my eye on you, Josh. You need to step it up, or you'll be hearing from me once again...

The crisis is over (at least for now)

2005-12-02T11:28:00.000-08:00

It's day 7 of "Bad Haircut 2005" and I am happy to announce that I will receive a refund. Granted, I don't know if they are refunding just the perm fee or both the perm and cut fee, but at this point, I don't care. Because I won! I got a message on my voicemail this morning saying, "Well, we don't normally refund and we try to fix whatever happened, but the manager told me you were going to go to another hairdresser and I don't want you to hate me so call us with your credit card number and I'll do the refund. And I hope that this doesn't hurt our relationship - feel free to come back anytime for a hair cut or color."

Yeah, I'll get right on that. Nothing personal against her - she was a very nice girl during the whole process (except for that one snide "well, I tried to talk you out of it" comment) but I think it's safe to say I won't be returning. I'm sure she wouldn't be upset to never see my face again, either.

Now I have to wait a few weeks before trying this again with a hairdresser who knows what they're doing. And I have to wait out the layers - that's going to be the hardest part since I had maybe gotten 4 haircuts in the past 3 years while growing out my hair from "just at the ears" to "halfway down my back" (I know, my hair grew pretty fast, I guess). Once those of you who know me see me next week, you'll understand what I'm talking about. Or maybe not, since I'm most likely to be wearing it in a ponytail until the layers begin to grow out because that's the only way I can deal with it right now. We shall see.

At least, however, this crisis (well, the refund part of this crisis) has come to an end. A sigh of relief. Ahhhh.

Somehow, I'm not really surprised...

2005-11-30T14:24:00.000-08:00

Courtesy of Amy's blog...

Damnit. Everytime I try to post the link to a word, it comes out wrong. Anyways, here's the link to the sex appeal quiz:

http://quizilla.com/users/etherkiss/quizzes/What%20is%20your%20sexual%20appeal?/

Apparently, I'm the "Independent".

Now, does that really shock anyone who knows me?

"Bad Haircut 2005" update

2005-11-30T14:07:00.000-08:00

It's now day 5 of "Bad Haircut 2005". The public is getting antsy awaiting the final verdict, so I thought I'd give you an update.

I went in yesterday and talked to the manager and the owner. What a train wreck this place is. After they both informed me that the hairdresser cried in the backroom after I left on Saturday, they said "Well...we don't generally give refunds. We normally let the hairdressers decide what to do about it. Because they rent a station from us, they're contractors."

So basically, what they're saying is, although they are the owner and manager, they are not responsible for fixing any snafus that may occur at the hands of the hairdressers renting said stations. Lovely. I made clear to them that I did not want her to reperm my hair because "if you got food poisoning from a restaurant, you wouldn't go back and demand they cook you another meal. You'd want your money back. It's virtually the same here because I'm not buying a "tangible" product and I'm the one who has to walk around looking like a reject from "Good Times" or something."

They were very nice and well-versed in the art of "placating the customer" but come on, I've been in the customer service industry most of my life, in one way or another. The customer is always right - that's what I learned after years and years of dealing with irritating customers. Give them what they want and they will go away. Waitressing, Bartending, Sales, hell, even as a babysitter in high school - "What, oh, no he didn't get into too much trouble, we were just having fun, that's why he's covered in jello..." (Side note: none of the kids I ever babysat for ever ended up covered in jello, but you know what I mean.)

I explained to the owner that I had spoken to two other hairdressers after making my first complaint on Saturday and that each hairdresser individually told me that I had received the wrong kind of perm. Owner girl's reply "Well, every hair salon does things differently. Maybe they do their perms in a different way."

Um, yes, but doesn't every hair stylist go to hairdressing school or something? Are they not taught the proper way to do different styles of perms? Silly me. And I told her, if I had known beforehand, I would have specified a spiral perm, but as I am not a hairdresser, how can I be expected to know what will achieve the result I desire? I figured showing her a picture of actual curls, not just waves, made clear that I wanted CURLS not stringy, fried waves, which is what I currently am in possession of. After being informed by the other two hairdressers, I know for a fact that the old-lady perm she tried on me was, of COURSE, not going to work.

Either way, the fact that they told me that she cried pretty much makes my argument. If she's that upset about it that it brought her to tears, then I think I am justified in asking for my money back. Yes, I understand she spent 3 hours working on my hair. However, for me to pay 200 bucks to look like this doesn't seem like a fair trade-off. Her other solution was that she would chemically straighten my hair back to its original straightness. So, wait, your solution is that I would pay this 200 bucks and leave with my hair the way I came in, except with shitty layers that look totally craptastic, and not in a good way? Oh yeah, that sounds totally fair.

Christ. So I'll keep you in the loop. I'm supposed to hear back before the end of this week. I already told them I do not want a re-perm or a straightening solution. So basically, that leaves them with the option of crediting my American Express back. I told them she can keep the 40 dollar tip. Whatever. I don't care at this point. I want the 200 back for the perm and shitty haircut. I will go to my sister's hairdresser in Maine when I am back on the East Coast and have her do it right. Who would have ever thought that I could get something done better in Maine than in OC - the epicenter of vanity and materialism.

A mish-mash of things

2005-11-28T16:28:00.000-08:00

As I am sure you're all anxious to be updated on the "Bad Haircut 2005" fiasco currently taking place here in HB, I'll give you the final update tomorrow after I go back to the salon again to complain. This time to the manager, as she was not there on Saturday and they are closed on Sundays and Mondays. After managing not to cry in the salon on Saturday, even though they were quite rude to me when I came back to show them the state of my frizzy, fried fro ("I tried to talk you out of doing it. I told you it might not take" - um, hi there, are you the biggest bitch ever or what? It's called CUSTOMER SERVICE, I review it for a living ya skanky whore), I then went on a fact-finding spree at other salons.

My roommate's coworker's dad (is that something like my cousin's baby daddy's nephew' neighbor's lost-lost son...?) is a hairdresser, so I immediately went to his salon (god do I wish I had known about him before this fiasco) and he told me that she had not even done the correct process for long hair. That's just great. Well, then, no shit that the perm wouldn't take the way she did it - that's the process for old lady short hair. Apparently she also missed a couple steps during the process that lead to the frying of my hair. And now she wants me to come back next Friday to redo it? Hell no. HELLLLLL NO. If a restaurant gave you food poisoning, would you ask them to cook you a replacement meal? I don't think so. Originally I was going to just say, "Fine, I cut my losses when it comes to the haircut itself, I just want the perm fee back" but now I've decided I want it all back. I never would have gotten the cut in the first place if she hadn't sweet-talked me into it, telling me that it was just because my hair was too long that there was no curl. Um, no. There were no curls because you fucked up woman! And I'm sorry, but if I'm paying 150 bucks for a perm, doesn't 50 bucks for a trim (that's basically what she did, trimmed my hair into shitty-ass layers) seem a bit exorbitant? Because when she asked me if I wanted to have it cut at the beginning, I said, "Uh, no, I think I'll have my roommates just trim the back" (not wanting to say, "Yeah, I'll be going to Supercuts to get my 10 dollar trim"). But after the perm (or lack thereof), she convinced me that it would spring up nicely if she just cut some layers. Fine, whatever, do it. I'm already in the chair.

Yeah, I want it all back. I don't want her to try to redo it and further ruin my hair. The other hairdresser said that if I came there with that hair and asked him to redo it, he wouldn't touch my hair for at least 3 weeks or it will probably end up completely damaged. And she wants to redo it after one week? I don't think so. I'm traumatized enough as it is, walking around with my hair in a bun whenever I go outside because otherwise it's just too horrible.

So tomorrow. I'm a bit scared because although I talk a big talk, I'm not very good with confronting people about their services. Oh sure, if I buy something from say, Best Buy that doesn't work, I have no worries about complaining and demanding my money back. But when it comes to things like restaurants, hair salons, etc...where you're not really buying a "product" so to speak, I always feel bad if I complain. I mean, even tho I was afraid she'd fucked up my hair, I still tipped her 20 percent. What the hell is wrong with me?!?!? So I am going to have to steel my nerves and not be swayed by ass-kissing managers and just say repeatedly, over and over again, "I want my money back. Give me my money." And refuse to say anything else until they give it back to me. Wish me luck.

The weekend wasn't a total loss however. I did get to speak to my most favorite Brit in the whole wide world (Hi James :) ) on Sunday, so that was nice. God, I miss London (and of course, James and all the other crazy Brits).

Oh, had been meaning to share something with all of you who have been following the EF chronicles. Before going to Hawaii, I dropped a bomb on him. I decided to admit to him and to myself (as I've been in denial for too long now), that I actually like him as more than a friend. He was a bit surprised, claimed to never have guessed that (are boys really that stupid?) and that he was flattered and we should get together when I'm back from Hawaii and just hang out and see how things go. I was happy that it wasn't a straight-out rejection although I am well-versed in boy-speak, so I knew nothing was ever actually going to happen between us. He was just too chickenshit to say otherwise. As boys generally are. I'll never understand why they feel the need to lie to "spare your feelings" when telling the truth would ultimately be less painful in the long run - it keeps from having us cling to a small shred of hope for months at a time. Tell me straight out you're not interested and then I can throw out that small shred of hope in the garbage and stop kidding myself.

Anyway, so I talked to him a couple times while in Hawaii, just short conversations and he told me to call him when I got back. So I did. Once on Wednesday, once on Thursday, once on Friday...you get the picture. It is now Monday. Still have not heard back from him. Um, did he suddenly change his mind now that I am back in HB and not in another state, with hundreds of miles between us as a buffer zone? I have no idea. I'm more than just a little irritated, as well. Because I know that I should just let it go, but for some reason, this kid is like crack in my system. I just can't kick the habit. Oh, I've tried, but like a smoker who's failed to quit more times than she can count, I keep coming back for more. I wish they made a patch for this, that might help me get over it and move on. Scientists, get a move on with a patch to help people get over their lust for people they can't have, it's all a chemical thing in the brain - if you can cure impotency, why not this???

So that’s it for me right now. Just wanted to keep you in the loop. Ta for now. Prison Break on in a few hours – can’t wait to see my future husband try escape this week (Oh, yeah, did I not mention that we’re engaged? He just doesn’t know it yet. But he will…J )

Oh, speaking of my future husband, I know I said awhile back that I’d start doing weekly recaps/commentary on OC and PB. Well, the OC is becoming less and less of a “must-see” show for me. Ironic, I know, now that I live here. I just don’t feel compelled to watch anymore. I’m sorry Josh Schwartz, but the storylines are sucking and continuously adding these new characters that suck – what has happened to you? Bring back Luke and his gay dad. Bring back Luke! Bring back Luke!

And as for Prison Break, god knows I religiously watch it every week, but I haven’t felt compelled to write about it. I guess because I just want to enjoy it and forcing myself to write about it if I’m not dying to somehow takes the pleasure out of just watching and drooling over Michael Scofield - which my roommate and I both do. There’s usually a puddle on the floor in front of us after the show is over. I don’t know what it is about that actor, but he is hot with a capital H-A-W-T. Maybe I’ll write something about it tomorrow since tonight’s ep is the last one until MAY. Hello, MAY? Err. Stupid FOX and their stupid programming department. They finally have a good show and they go and drop it off the air for 4 or 5 months? Retards. Every last one of them.

It's only hair...right?

2005-11-25T23:42:00.000-08:00

I just got back from having the worst possible hair cut in my entire life. I spent two hours crying over it. I don't generally cry over my hair. But this is horrible. And a week before I go home. It's my own fault, really - I mean, I wanted to do something dramatic before going home. And it's dramatic all right. In the sense that it's absolutely craptastic. And not in a good way.

For a couple years now I've been wanting curly hair. Mainly because my hair has always been stick straight. Sure, I've gone between short and long. But after I had it chopped to ear-length three years ago, I've just been growing it out. Before leaving my house this afternoon, it was super long, a little past halfway down my back. And besides needing a trim to cut off the dead ends, it looked good.

But nooooo. I wanted curly hair. So I scoured magazines, tv shows, movies, etc., looking for the look I wanted. While watching Sex and the City one night, it hit me. I wanted Carrie Bradshaw hair, from Season 3 (specifically Season 3, the episode where she loses Aidan's dog). It's curly without being fried and frizzy and looks really good. I brought a picture to the hairdresser and basically said, "Do that to my hair."

Three hours later, I came out with hair that looks like I put my finger in the electric socket. It's not even curly. There's some kink to it, but mostly it's just fried and huge in a fro. It's HORRIBLE. Like I crimped my hair and then decided to brush it out. And she cut layers into it so that the curl would take. Except that the layers really are just long in the back, with one short layer around the back. So basically, if I decide to wash all this disaster out, I will have a really stupid hair cut. My hair was so pretty and long.

Course, I can't keep this ungodly fro nightmare. Everyone that has seen my hair has been like, "Uh, wait, you actually got a perm? Uh...it's not curly. It's just kinda, well, frizzy."

My roommate's friend just came over and was like, "Oh, you so did not get a perm. Go get your money back." And gave me her dad's number because he has a salon in Newport. So tomorrow, I attempt to get my money back from the Salon. I don't know if they will, to be quite honest. But it's not curly. I should not have to scrunch or do anything to a perm the first day - it should be super ass curly. I wish I could put a picture of this monstrosity on the page to show you, but alas, I am not that technologically advanced and plus, I never wanted to put personal photos on this blog.

Sigh. I will try not to cry. Time for bed.

Cranky Traveler

2005-11-23T09:20:00.000-08:00

I am back in the comfort of the OC. Who would have ever thought I'd be happy to come back here? After all my other work trips, it's felt weird to come "home" to the OC, rather than be going home to Boston. But I am "home" and it feels good.

But I am tired and cranky. I am seriously over airports. And red-eye flights. I just have one question for all of you out in cyberspace - what is up with women who get all dolled up to go on a red-eye flight? I mean, seriously, you're going to look like shit when you get off the plane no matter what time of day, but to actually spend the time to put on a full face of make-up at 9 pm when you're going to be on a plane for the next 5 or 6 hours makes no sense to me. Are you planning a mile-high affair with whoever might be sitting next to you?

I ask because as I was waiting to board my second plane of the night (direct flights for me from now on!) this woman was sitting next to me applying her face paint, er, make-up. Foundation, mascara, perfume, scented lotion..the works. And I looked at myself still wearing my bathing suit top under a tank top along with the same black skirt I'd been wearing all week, a black hoodie with stains from god-knows-what, wet hair up in a bun because I had decided to spend the afternoon out by the beach and pool during our last few hours in Maui, and I thought - is it really going to make a difference at 5 am what you look like?

Anyway, I was just glad she didn't show up in the seat next to me stinking like a combination of mango lotion and perfume. C'mon people! Don't load up on the overpowering scents before entering an enclosed space with recirculated air. That's just mean.

I told you, I'm cranky. I could not get comfortable in my seat for the life of me. I had even popped a sleeping pill before getting on - my body was screaming for me to sleep, but I just couldn't find the right position. The guy next to me must have hated me. I don't think I sat still for more than a few minutes the whole flight. Ah well, I've had my fair share of irritating passengers in the seat next to me.

And to add to my wonderful experience this morning, the shuttle bus driver was playing Christmas carols on the drive home. I am not making this up. There is a radio station out here devoted to playing all Christmas songs, all day. Hello, Thanksgiving hasn't even happened yet!

Once I got home at 6:30 this morning, I had a decision to make. Do I go immediately to sleep and waste most of the day or go straight to the gym and try to work off the 7 pounds I gained while in Hawaii (again, not making this up - I stepped on the scale at the gym and I swear to god, it screamed, "Get off me fattie!" Ok, so that last part I am making up. But the 7 pounds I am not. Right before I go home and see everyone I haven't seen in almost a year. Fantastic.)

As you can tell, if you're reading carefully, I went to the gym. Haven't been in weeks. Decided since I'm paying for it, I might as well use it and hey, it might be good for me. Tired of being the fattie in the group. It's not fun. Not even my stellar tan can distract from the out-of-shape-goodness that I am currently in. Le sigh. Secretly, that may be one of the reasons why I decided not to go to my high school reunion. But, shhh, you didn't hear that from me.

Ok, well, I am starting to get verrrry sleepy. I'm looking over at the luggage yet to be unpacked and thinking, "I could just take a little nap. That wouldn't hurt anyone. Laundry can wait 'til later...."

I should get off the computer before I fall aslee....

Ha Ha. Kidding. But I should get moving before I fall asleep from sitting in one place for too long. Things to do, people to see!

P.S. - what the hell is this I am hearing about Manny and the Mets? I just overheard it in passing, but didn't get the full scoop. Say it ain't so! At least it's not the Yanks. Anyone but the Yankees.

The Weird, The Wacky and The Insane

2005-11-20T23:34:00.000-08:00

Oh kiddies, you have no idea how good it feels to be back online. I've felt like I've been missing a limb this past week while in Hawaii without internet access. I feel like a crack addict jonesing for a fix. Ahhh...

Ok, so I've been writing some blogs on my computer, just waiting for this moment. The stories, oh, the stories. So read on, be amused and share your thoughts. I've got weird, wacky and insane stories to share.

Besides those, there are also the tales of Hawaii. While in Kona, I learned how to hula, made myself a Ti Leaf hula skirt and have achieved the most perfect tan known to mankind. But that's about it. Ironically, I had so much spare time, I was horribly bored. While in Kona, we were in the middle of nowhere and since my name wasn't on the rental car, so I couldn't go anywhere. So I spent my days on the beach or poolside, sunning myself to a golden brown. Not that I'm necessarily upset about my perfect tan. In two weeks time when I'm back in Boston, I am sure I will be the envy of all the pasty white New Englanders :)

Anyway, the highlight of my Kona trip was meeting a professional golfer. Not because he was a golfer, but because it gave me something to do other than sit around watching television at night when I was done with reports. I know nothing about golf and care nothing about golf, and made this quite clear to Mr. Golf Man, but I think actually it amused him even more so than if I was an avid fan. And of course, it turned out he was from Connecticut and a Yankees fan. Good god. I kept giving him shit all night for that. I met him at the bar in the hotel - my boss and I were reviewing it and when we arrived, Golf Man was the only one sitting there. He struck up a conversation with us and we discovered he was there for the Pro tournament (I don't know the name) that weekend. So I talked about my dislike for golf and then when I found out he was a Yanks fan, harassed him a bit more. Then my boss apparently decided that Golf Man was into me, so he was going to leave me at the bar and go back to his room. Of course, I can't say anything outloud because no one is supposed to know why we're ever there, so I let him leave.

As soon as he leaves, Golf Man asked, "Is that your man?"

I couldn't help but laugh. My boss is gay. I said, "Uh, no, not even close."

So Golf Man, the bartender and I got into conversation about..I don't even know. Something about them thinking I was a native Hawaiian when I entered the bar because of my stellar tan, but that as soon as I started talking, they knew I wasn't native.

An hour later, we decide to leave the bar (it was only 9:15p) and GM says, "So...what are you doing now? Do you have to meet your friend?"

And I said, "Well, nothing I guess."

GM: "Then I think you should hang with me."

So I hung with him. We wandered around the hotel property for a bit, amazed at just how big it was and got lost for a little while. Hung out by the pool, talked a little. He said the thing that irritates me the most, "So, why don't you have a boyfriend?"

ARGH. I don't know. Stop asking me stupid questions, boy. As we walked to the elevators, he said, "So, I think you should come watch a movie with me."

I agreed, if for nothing than at least to have something to do because it still wasn't even 10 pm. We hung in his room for a bit (get your minds out of the gutter, people) and decided on a movie. "Four Brothers." Good flick, insanely violent. I was sitting in the big comfy chair and GM says, "Girl, what are you doing over there? You better sit on the bed with me."

I politely declined. It's funny, the older I get, the less likely I am to randomly hook up with people. And sometimes I think I might be a little weird because the more a guy shows interest in me, the less likely I am to return the favor. Like I only want to chase the freaks? I don't know.

GM gave me a pair of his shorts to wear so I'd be comfortable (I was in a skirt) and I stayed perched in my seat. Halfway through the movie, I moved to the bed, but I laid with my feet at the head of the bed, as not to mislead him in anyway.

After the movie was over, I said, "Thanks for the movie. It was cool meeting you and who knows, maybe I'll flick on the golf channel sometime and see you."

And I left. Harsh, perhaps? But it was midnight and I didn't feel the urge to stay any longer. My boss was pretty funny the next morning - "So did you kiss him? What?! He rented a movie and he didn't get none? Oh that's so mean!"

:)

What can I say, I'm a tease. Honestly tho, I knew that from the second I met the kid, I wasn't interested in him that way. I liked talking to him but a) he lives in Hawaii now b) he plays golf for a living and c)I had to lie to him about why I was even there in the first place so it just wasn't happening.

Anyway, so that was my story for Kona. Now I'm in Maui and I was sooo looking forward to snorkeling with the turtles and surfing, but the snorkel tour is booked for the day I can go and the waves have been total crap since I've been here. In Kona, there weren't any real surfing waves and you weren't even really supposed to be in the ocean cuz the undercurrent was so strong and the waves were breaking on the beach and it was super dangerous. Err. I will just have to settle for the perfect tan, I suppose. Alas.

And now, on to The Weird!!!

The Weird

2005-11-20T23:13:00.000-08:00

Thursday night, or rather, Friday morning (before I left for Hawaii) at 2:30 am, I get a phone call from Seth Cohen. I didn’t answer the phone cuz I happened to be in the bathroom washing my face. When I get into bed, I see that I have a missed call and it’s Seth (or “Don’t Answer!”/D.A. as you may remember). Curiosity gets the better of me and I decide to see what the hell he was calling me for at that hour of the night/morning. He picks up on the first ring and I say, “Uh, do you realize what time it is? What in the hell are you calling me for?”

He laughs and says, “Whaddaya think?”

“Ha!” I reply. “Not a chance in hell. Didn’t we already have this conversation? Wasn’t it you who said that we should never sleep together anymore because you didn’t want to hurt me over and over again? Didn’t I tell you a couple weeks ago that I hated you for being a man-whore and that I would never sleep with you again as long as you were sleeping with half the Eastern Seaboard or dating anyone?”

He protests this information, saying, “I’m not dating anyone right now!”

Yeah, tell that to the UCLA undergrad that you’re screwing on a regular basis. If it was a one-time thing, then no, you’re not dating. But when you make weekly visits to see someone and talk to them over IM/email on a daily basis, I hate to break it to you, but it’s not just about sex anymore.

He continues protesting, saying that he is definitely not dating her. I tell him that he is an ass and I will not sleep with him. He keeps pushing the matter, asking me to drive up to West L.A. I politely decline for the following reasons – a) I am not driving anywhere at 2:30 am b) I am not about to subject myself to this yet again because we both knew how it was going to end and c) I just don't want to.

He calls me four more times before 3 am, hoping I'll change my mind. He has a flight the next morning at 7 am so he figures rather than go to sleep for a few hours, it’ll be more fun to just have sex. Again and again I say, “No, thanks.” He then starts to propose that he will drive to HB and we can “have fun for a couple hours.”

At this point I ask, “Why is it that you are calling ME? Don’t you have your little hoochies up there? I mean, seriously, what is the point of this?”

He responds with, “I know we’ve had a lot of fun together before and I know it would be awesome, so that’s why I am calling you. Come on, I know you want to!”

Yeah, try to butter me up, why don’t you? That’s not going to work. I tell him to call his undergrad. Apparently he was supposed to go to dinner with her that night but decided he wanted to go out with the boys, so he told her he had to work. Oh yeah, that situation is going to end well, I can just tell. So he can’t call her all drunk because she would wonder why he had been drinking in the first place. Yeah, stellar relationship they’ve got. But again, I ask, “Ok, but you’re in L.A. WHY are you calling ME? You know I am not going to say yes.”

I am finding this all highly amusing because the more I declined, the more persistent he got. It was about time he got a taste of his own medicine, I think. I mean, whenever I was raging hormones, he would decline and it would drive me even crazier. Here he was, basically begging me to come to his house or let him come to my house and I wasn’t going to let him. I kept laughing at him because it was really quite hilarious. You always want what you can’t have. I don’t want him, so I’m not going to fall back into that pattern, but I am wondering how many more late night phone calls I will be blessed with the more I say no. I think he just likes the challenge. Ah, boys. Total retards.

---An update. Been talking to Seth Cohen a few times since in Hawaii. Mainly because I was bored and the time difference and all made it impossible to call the East Coast late at night. Anyways, I thought we might have been on the road to friendship until tonight. He starts telling me about all his conquests and it just started pissing me off. Like, really pissing me off. To the point that I hung up on him once. And then called him back and said, "I don't want to hang out with you anymore. I hate you again."

See, during one of our convos this past week, I had asked him if we were ever going to hang out as friends before I went home to Boston for Christmas. His answer? "Well, I will see if I can fit you in that week."

My reply? "You better damn well find time in your social schedule to fit me in or you can basically forget my number - don't ever call me again, sober or drunk."

He said ok and we made plans to hang out one night when I returned - maybe go out in Hollywood or something. But now I don't want to bother. I mean, this kid's whole goal in life is to get as much ass as he can. I have no idea how he does it. I've said it before, I'll say it again, he ain't all that cute. And if these women knew what kind of man whore he is, they would never sleep with him. He called me tonight to say he was in Huntington and he was waiting to meet up with some chick he met in LA because he was drunk and horny. Uh, yeah? Cuz I need to know that? Ass. So I hung up on him. He is so irritating. I hate him. And yet, I still want him. Probably because I hate him so much. I am truly fucked in the head, no?

The Wacky

2005-11-20T23:05:00.000-08:00

Ok, I was on the plane to Hawaii on Sunday and I kept drifting off to sleep, only to be awoken abruptly every time my body spasmed. As Kramer would say, I’ve got the Jimmy legs. It’s really quite embarrassing. I’ll be sitting there quietly, snoozing and my whole body will just spasm out, legs kicking, arms flailing. I have no idea what is causing it, but I’ve been noticing it a lot more when I fly. I don’t think I ever used to do it, but then again I haven’t been traveling much over the past couple years until now. On every flight I’ve taken since starting this job I’ve encountered the Jimmy legs. It always wakes me up out of sleep and sometimes provokes odd looks from the people sitting near me. So I end up only sleeping for brief periods of time before the Jimmy legs kick in. At least I haven’t started talking in my sleep on flights. Apparently, according to the Swede (my coworker), I talk in my sleep.

I actually realized that recently, too. There have been a number of times that I’ve woken myself up out of sleep at home because I’ll be dreaming that I’m saying something and I actually do say it out loud, which wakes me up out of sleep, quite confused. I’ve confused the hell out of my roommates if I am napping in the middle of the afternoon (which I am prone to do as I love naps) and they know I am asleep, but suddenly they hear me say loudly, “What? No, I don’t want any!” or whatever I say. It’s pretty funny, to be quite honest. It’s not like I have overnight guests ever, so there’s no risk of freaking a guy out with my random outbursts in the middle of sleep.

I’ve also noticed that I’ve gotten sick either during or after every single work tip I’ve taken. Airports and airplanes are horrible places. As I sit here writing this, my right gland in my throat is swollen and the right side of my neck is tender to the touch. I first started noticing on the flight that I was getting pain in the right side of my face. I thought it was weird, but figured I had pulled a muscle while surfing. How I would have pulled a muscle in my face while surfing, I don’t know. Just go with it.

But then the first night, swallowing became more difficult. I’ve rather just gotten used to the pain – every swallow is like my throat is on fire, but there’s little I can do here in Hawaii because we’re kind of in the middle of nowhere on the big island. I’m just waiting it out. Much like the cough I developed while in Seattle 2 months ago. Still got it. Christ almighty. Traveling is going to kill me, most likely.

---Update - sore throat, gone! Jimmy legs, still there!!! I was lying on the beach this morning on my stomach and fell asleep for probably 10 minutes. Woke myself up when my whole body spasmed. I can only imagine what the people around me thought.

The Insane

2005-11-20T23:01:00.000-08:00

Ah yes, now to the Insane. This is my favorite story of all week. I can’t wait to share this with you. In fact, Tuesday morning I had to call a number of people to share this story because I couldn’t wait until I had online access because it’s priceless.

Friday night I left a message for Johnny Hollywood on his cell phone asking if he wanted to go surfing with me and the roommate on Saturday morning. I also asked if he wanted to go to the Swap Meet that happens every Saturday in OC. 2 am Saturday morning, I get a voicemail saying that he had just gotten out of work so he wouldn’t be able to surf, but I should call him and he’d go to the Swap Meet with me. First of all – if you knew I was going surfing in the morning, why the hell are you calling me at 2am, ass? Text me or just don’t call me back. I think I would get that you weren’t coming surfing with us if you just didn’t show up. Ass.

So after surfing on Saturday, I left him multiple messages asking him about the Swap Meet. Finally I went on my own cuz I was tired of waiting for him. Later that night I asked him to give me a call because I wanted to make sure he didn’t forget that he was driving me to the airport the next morning. Again, I had told him a number of times that he didn’t have to drive me, but he insisted. Ok, whatever you want.

Sunday morning comes. 5:45 am, I am awake and getting ready. I call him because I had not heard from him. 6:15 am – I call him again. 6:25 am, I am starting to panic since I couldn’t leave much later than 6:30 am for the airport and it was too late to call for a shuttle. I end up knocking on my roommate’s door and saying, “Can you drive me to the airport? I’m SO sorry. Johnny Hollywood never showed up, I don’t have a way to get there.”

Thankfully she drove me – at least it was an early Sunday morning and there was no traffic. And had I asked her beforehand, I am sure she would have said she would drive me in the first place. But Johnny Hollywood had offered without me even asking, so of course I said yes. I now owe the roomie two rides to LAX. Ah well, I saved some money on the shuttle anyways.

So I arrive in Hawaii without much fanfare – tired, irritated, all the usual travel syndromes on the day of travel. I promptly erased Johnny Hollywood from the phone, figuring that unless he called to say someone died in the family, I was not going to bother with this kid ever again.

Sunday goes by. Monday goes by. Midnight on Monday night/Tuesday morning, I get a call from him. Of course I don’t pick it up. I don’t want to talk to that retard. I check the voicemail: “Hey, I should apologize for being an ass and not driving you to the airport. It’s just that you decided you wanted to be friends. And I think we really could have had something. But you don’t want it. So do me a favor, don’t ever call me again.”

Um, excuse me? How is this MY fault? Those of you who know me, know I can’t just let it go at that. So I fire off a text message saying, “Wait, you have the nerve to tell ME not to call YOU again when you’re the one who acted like an ass? That’s rich. At least I was honest with you. Pathetic behavior on your part.”

He responds by calling me again. I let it go to voicemail. “It’s very rich, indeed, considering since I didn’t have the balls to tell you I didn’t want to speak to you, ok? I think you can handle it at that, right? Cuz after all, isn’t that what you’re used to?

I have no idea what that is even supposed to mean. Go back to your Star Wars and X-Files little boy, maybe one day some pathetic girl will take pity on you and date you.

My next text: Hilarious. Get over it and grow up. I had already erased your number from my cell on Sunday so don’t worry, I won’t be calling ever! I don’t have time for drama queens in my life. P.S. It was one freakin’ date, how can you presume to know ANYTHING about me?”

His return text: “I don’t. But at least go to the dentist. That tooth of yours kills any mood that might be their.” (NOTE THE SPELLING OF “THEIR.”)

At this point, I call and leave a voicemail saying, “Oh my god, what are you like 13 years old? Seriously, get over it dude. So what, I didn’t like you. Jesus. Oh, and the next time you kiss a girl, try not to molest her face and eat it. Honestly, whoever told you that you were a good kisser was lying, because I was fearful of suffocating to death while you were kissing me. I am not going to stoop to your level by insulting you like you did with me. My teeth? Seriously, you’re a freak.”

I couldn’t resist further texting: Just because you are a closeted homosexual who fancies himself a writer, don’t take it out on me. And by the way, it’s “THERE”, not “THEIR.” Some “writer” you are.”

His response: “Kick ‘em when their up. Kick ‘em when their down. Kick ‘em all around.”

Ok, freakshow. What the hell does quoting Don Henley prove? Seriously, I mean, you work for CRAFT SERVICES. You are not a writer. You are a gay man who drives a gay car (I mean, really, what guy drives a new Beetle? A SILVER Beetle, no less?) and has some serious problems. We went on ONE date. It’s not like we were planning the wedding and I decided I wanted out.
Finally I texted: Leave me alone you freak of nature. Get over the fact that I am not into you and get on with your life. Christ, if I knew you were this insane…”

And that, my friends, is the end of Johnny Hollywood. THANK GOD. I talked to my best friend today and she jokingly said, “Oh man, you should go grovel at his feet. You can’t let this one go. What a winner!”

My thoughts exactly. Oh, how will I get over this one? I may be inconsolable when I arrive in Boston. Please take good care of me, friends. Yeah…right. At least I learned a lesson from this – TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS. When I first met Johnny Hollywood, two weeks ago, I felt uncomfortable in his presence but I thought it was just me being weird. And since I haven’t exactly made a load of friends out here, I didn’t think I had the right to decline invitations to go out. Oh, but I do have the right. And I will fully use that right in the future. I could give a shit if I stay single forever, as long as I do not have to encounter the likes of Johnny Hollywood-types.

To be honest, I really did find the whole thing highly entertaining. I mean, how can you not laugh at someone this pathetic? I told my boss about it this morning at breakfast and he was in shock that someone could be so crazy. I mean, it’d be one thing if I led the kid on for weeks and made him drive me to LAX multiple times. Instead, I was very straight and honest with him – if anything, I think that makes me a good person. So don’t try to put your shit on me and blame me for all this, Mr. “I’m gay and having problems coming to terms with it.”

The only comment that actually hit a nerve with me was the tooth thing. I mean, I have enough self-esteem issues as it is. I know my teeth are crooked. I fought with my parents my whole childhood to get braces. I’ve always been self-conscious about it. What irks me is that this kid made numerous, TONS, of references to my smile on the three (3!) occasions that we hung out and how much he loved my smile. Yada, yada, yada. Well, apparently he must have been bullshitting me and I’m glad I know what a loony he is. But it does make me not want to trust guys yet again because here we have another prime example of guys saying anything in order to get you to like them so you will sleep with them. And he couldn’t figure out why I didn’t trust guys? Hello, retard.

So that my friends, is the “Insane” part of the adventures this week.

God, I suck.

2005-11-08T23:16:00.000-08:00

I just got done with a "non-date". I say "non-date" because it was with Johnny Hollywood, the boy who tried to eat my face. He'd been calling me ever since that night and I was feeling very awkward and uncomfortable. Mainly because he is a very nice guy - honestly. I may not have painted a great picture of him in my last blog, but he is very nice and fairly interesting to talk to. But I just don't feel "the thing" for him. You know?

I don't get that excited feeling in my stomach when I think about him. I don't miss him when I'm not talking to him. But I feel like such a jerk. I feel like maybe I just need to try harder? I mean, here is this guy who is obviously into me and claims that he "loves curves" (I've been saying for years that I never meet white guys who are into curvy women) and thinks I look fantastic. And I don't like him. What is wrong with me??

So he offered to drive me to the airport Sunday morning at 6:30 am. At first I kept saying, "no, no, that's okay" because I didn't want to give him the wrong idea. And he kept asking me to go out for coffee, so I texted him tonight and asked him to meet up with me for about an hour. He showed up and we went out to coffee. Well, I thought we were, but we ended up at Maggiano's. Um, not exactly Starbucks. He ordered food, and I figured rather than sit there watching him eat, I ordered an app. Afterwards we drove to Barnes and Noble to look at books and so I could get my hot chocolate.

In the car on the way home, he was totally angling for information on my past love life and where he stood in all this. So finally I said, "You're a friend. I feel like a jerk for saying this, but I just don't feel "the thing." That's why I was so hesitant to accept a ride to LAX from you because I don't want you to think I am using you."

He was like, "No, don't worry. Friends drive each other to the airport."

Yeah, but not at 6:30 in the morning to freakin' LAX. I mean, yeah, friends I've known for longer than a week maybe, but I barely know this kid. He was a little bummed, I could tell becauase he was like, "oh, well I thought there was a thing maybe when we kissed. So you only kissed me cuz you had been drinking?"

I had had one drink that evening. I said, "No, I kissed you because I wanted to see if I felt "the thing." And I am really sorry, but I just don't. I wish I did."

I feel like such a jerk. Although he was glad I told him now rather than later. As he said, "It's always better to get that out of the way than to let it wait."

Which is why I wanted to get it out of the way. I didn't want to be like so many guys who've strung me along and made me think that they like me when in fact they didn't and may have just been using me for sex.

But I still feel like a jerk. I'm never on this end of things, so I wasn't sure what to do. And I didn't want to be overassuming things - I mean, maybe he didn't have any interest at all...but I had to take that risk of looking like an ass to make sure things were clear from the get go. Maybe I will like him later. Maybe not. But I've been totally stressed about it.

This is why I don't date. I'm socially retarded and I have no idea how to actually do it.

Thank god I am leaving for Hawaii in a couple days. Thank god.

The Chronicles of EF.

2005-11-07T00:54:00.000-08:00

I did say that I would talk about the EF events this week. After many saucy text messages and voicemails and one instance of a veryy, veryyyyy inappropriate phone call (after I had gotten back from Johnny Hollywood's house, incidentally, the first night we met him) at 4 am, I decided to do something about all this. Wednesday night I popped on over to EF's house.

At first, his roommate (jackass) looked panicked like, "Oh shit, I let her in. Sorry man."

EF was fixing a vacuum and looked less than thrilled to see me at first. I was not concerned however, because I was so distracted by the utter sexiness standing before me. Seriously, it took all my restraint not to jump him. His hair has grown out and has these awesome curls - normally he slicks his hair back, a la "American Psycho" (which isn't a totally irrelvant reference since everyone thinks he looks like Christian Bale. And OH.MY.GOD. does he ever. How much does it suck that I am obsessed with Christian Bale? If only EF looked like someone else. You probably wouldn't be reading any of this). Anyway, so he was letting the curl go and I just wanted to touch his hair. So very badly.

We shot the shit for a bit and talked about nothing. I told him I felt awkward being around him, given our past conversations and he told me (for the 8 millionith time) about how much work he's been doing, yada yada. Yeah, yeah, I get it.

We ended up outside so he could smoke a cig (Ew. No more cigarettes boys!) We talked of inconsequential things. Him promising to see me before I went off to Hawaii. Me telling him I wasn't going to hold my breath and that I wouldn't be around this weekend because I had a date. Him looking surprised at this information. Then I said, "Ok, well I should go...before I try to kiss you." He said nothing. I stood there. Then I kissed him. He kissed back for a second and said, "No, no, I can't do this right now. Later. We'll do this later. I've got to get back to the house stuff. And I gotta be at work at 4 am tomorrow for the new project."

Cut to me, feeling a tad rejected and still totally worked up. I told him that if never intended to go through with any of the things he's been saying that he should never say them again because it'd been quite a difficult week when it came to concentration. He laughed and I said, "It's not funny!" He again promised to see me this week.

Eh. I'm over my state of frustration. I don't know why. Nothing's changed. But suddenly today I was like, "Eh, whatever." Bizarre.

And I am not holding my breath when it comes to him seeing me before Hawaii. I've got 6 nights before I leave but I've got so many other things going on, at least it'll keep me distracted. I've decided that Johnny Hollywood did teach me one thing - and that's to call and text less. There's nothing so pathetic as being needy. It's a TOTAL turn-off. So I have to thank Johnny for alerting me to that. I really was completely oblivious to my behavior when it came to EF. I can see why he would have been slightly put off about getting together. I was a needy, needy girl. So I guess I have to play the game if I want to get him - I have to play the whole, "I've got too much going on in my life right now for you. If you want me, you'll have to chase me" routine. I hate games. I really do. Maybe I'll just meet a normal, nice guy who doesn't spout off a line of cheese every other sentence and has actual time for me.

If not, I can always start my legion of angry bunnies. We've got a nice big backyard out here...

Ok, time to go to bed. It's been over a month and I still have this ridiculous cough. I think I am allergic to cigarette smoke. No, seriously. I've noticed that the past 2 times I've been around lots of smokers that I've ended up lightheaded and dizzy for 1 or 2 days after and totally nauseous. I hate cigarette smoke. Yech, blech.

That's it. I think we're all up-to-date now. Hawaii next Sunday - Maui and the Big Island, and possibly Kaui if they get it all sorted out before we leave. Then back here for a week and then off to the cold, snowy (probably by then) depths of Boston! Yippee! I will be sad, however, that I won't be able to wear flip-flops every day while at home. Grumble, grumble. I live for flip-flops. And tank tops with my new sparkly skirt from Old Navy. Won't be able to show off my new California fashion sense. Oh yeah, I've gotten trendy. Although I did break my brand new "Hollywood" sunglasses last week after only wearing them twice. Err. They are super cool and I may have to just drive on back up to Santa Monica and see if they have another pair. Sigh.

Nighty, night!

Oh, and..

2005-11-07T00:53:00.000-08:00

The rationale behind the nickname Johnny Hollywood was that I wasn't convinced upon first meeting him that he wasn't gay. And I told my roommate this and she informed me that although it may be possible, it was probably that he was very "Hollywood." And he does work in Hollywood, so it all made sense.

So, from now on, he will be Johnny Hollywood. I have to be careful or I may call him that to his face. :)

Bowling, Beer and Baby Pictures

2005-11-06T23:54:00.000-08:00

Hello one and all....

So I am finally ready to share the tales of my great OC adventures...buckle in, it's going to be a bumpy ride. Now that the London mini-guide is complete (yay!), I can fully devote my time to the important things.

First off, I should talk about my date with Johnny Hollywood. Now, I don't date often. Or ever, as the case may be, so perhaps my opinion of said date may be harsh, but I honestly think it was quite possibly the weirdest date ever. Not counting my so-called date with the pompous Brit this summer.

I met Johnny Hollywood a week ago at a bar in downtown Huntington. Sarah and her b'friend wanted to dress up for Halloween so I tagged along with Miss Piggy and the Swedish chef (they had great outfits, by the way). Idiot that I am, I had no idea that originally when Sarah said "Dress up and go out to the bars" that she meant dress up for the holiday. For some reason, I thought she meant "dress up" like "get all dolled up." Thankfully I didn't go all out like I originally intended in my new sparkle skirt and heels. As it was already past 10 pm when we decided to go out, I just threw on a sweater and black pants. Better than my shorts and tank top that I'd be wearing all day.

We got to the bar, lots of people in costumes. Apparently "Skank" is the new trend for girl costumes. There was skanky pirate, skanky witch, skanky nurse, etc..There was even a girl dressed as a Victoria's Secret Angel. Even Sarah and I couldn't stop staring at her, mouths agape. She was beautiful.

Anyways, this one kid kept walking past us to get outside and he was dressed in scrubs that were decorated with tire marks and bloody holes. I kept leaning back as not to touch him as he passed by - I didn't want the fake blood to get on me. On his third pass, he turned and said "Everytime I go past you, you cringe."

I said, "Well, I don't want the blood to get on me."

He said, "Don't worry, it's not wet. Go ahead, touch it."

I politely declined. He had all these realistic wounds applied to his face, arms, neck. It was truly grotesque. It reminded me of "28 Days Later" - with the mutants and everything. I told him this. He was flattered, mainly because "that main actor is pretty hot. Thanks."

I didn't mean he looked like Cillian Murphy, but whatever.

Anyways, he kept popping up and the guys that we were with seemed to know him - at least, they knew his name and were talking to him so I figured he couldn't be a total freak. (Note to self: never assume anything.) He came over to me to tell me that he liked my necklace (what IS it with guys and my necklaces? Yes, I realize the proximity of the necklace to my boobs gives them an excuse to look at my boobs without being blatant about it, but c'mon. Think of something more original!) and told me that my shoes were hot. Then he proceeded to tell me how hot I was.

Um, ok.

Guys don't generally ever tell me that I'm "hot" so I didn't know quite what to do with that. I'm bad at accepting compliments from my girl friends, never mind guys I don't know. It makes me totally uncomfortable because generally, I think they're bullshitting me and they want something. So I just kinda blushed and said, "Uh, thanks."

Later on as I was sitting with Sarah's nutty friends (who by the way are some of the funniest bitches I've ever met. And they're guys. Just in case you were wondering), Johnny Hollywood came over to talk some more. And then Sarah's friends (the three amigos as I started referring to them as) said we were gonna go to another bar. Johnny Hollywood asked, "Where are you guys going?"

I said, "Uh, I have no idea. Originally I was going to leave when Sarah left and she's going home now. So I'm either going home with her or I'm going to have to walk home later." The three amigos started protesting, telling me I had to keep going on with them. And asked if JH was coming with. He said, "I'm going wherever she is going." And then saying, "I mean, look at that dimple. Look at that smile. Wherever she's going, that's where I am going."

Ok, um, cheesy much?

The three amigos, myself and a random "pimp" (that was his costume, I have no idea what his name was) headed off to another bar, me with JH's number in my phone so that I could call him when we figured out where we were going since he had to wait for one of his friends at the original bar.

Cut to an hour later, we end up back at the original bar cuz all the bars downtown apparently stop letting people in at 1 am even though they close at 2 am. Weird liquor laws or something. No idea. We get back to the original bar, I see JH who asks if I want to "after-party" at his house. I said ok, but made sure the three amigos were coming with me. I'm not an idiot. JH drives me to my house to get my car so I can come back and pick up the three amigos. In the car he gives me a rose he bought at the bar for me. Sweet, but still, sorta cheesed by him.

Then he starts telling me in the car about how he is so into music. Cool, I am a music fiend myself, so I can appreciate a fellow nut. But it got super cheese when he turned and said, "Yeah, I'm different from guys out here cuz I'm not some stupid moron. I am way into music, I'm smart and I'm a really good kisser."

It took all of my restraint not to bust out laughing at that last statement. I mean, c'mon. How sad is that? First of all, don't brag about how you're a good kisser. Secondly, it was just the funniest thing I'd heard all night. I wasn't going to do anything with this kid. I didn't even know what he looked like under all the zombie make-up and I had talked to him for a total of an hour or so.

Oh, and did I mention he drives a VW Bug? Yeahhh.

I get back to the bar, after a lengthy discourse with JH about music (he kept telling me, "wait, wait, you can't get into your car yet, you have to hear this song..." while playing snippets of an entire mix CD), and pick up the three idiots. I agree to follow JH to his house. The three idiots are in a state, telling me to "bump" his car or to drive up next to him so they can moon him. I mean, it was bad, but really quite funny at the same time. They were just ripping on him b/c of the car. It is a girl car. Let's not kid ourselves.

We had to make a detour to drop off his drunk friend at her house. The three idiots are in my car telling me that JH has to be gay and they will all get more action than me that evening. Then they kept saying that I should just ditch him b/c what if he tries to rape them all? Good lord. We drop her off, wait around in the car park for him and when he comes back, he asks if someone will ride with him. Well, I'm not about to let any of the idiots drive my new car, so one of the amigos gets in his car, looking panicked, much to the delight of the other two who immediately start in with how the third is going to end up JH's bitch. Honestly. Again, I have to say, I felt bad the whole time, but I was laughing my ass off at the other two who kept trying to get me to just take a sharp left and drive off, leaving the third with Johnny Hollywood. I wasn't going to do that - that's just mean.

So at Johnny's house, he makes drinks and proceeds to quiz us all on music. For like an hour. He's got an insane amount of music on his computer. Insane. He plays the piano for us. Quizzes us more on music. Tells me that he is a writer and loves to travel - ok, score one for Johnny. Finally, one of the idiots makes up a story about how his girlfriend would kill him if he didn't get home (they were all sitting there convinced that they were going to be sexually molested. Idiots.) so as I was driving, I of course had to leave.

Johnny was very upset about this, asking if we really had to leave? I said, yes, thank you but we have to go. The 3 idiots were already at my car. So I told Johnny that it was nice meeting him and maybe we'd get together to talk travel sometime.

As I get in my car, I realize that one of the idiots had stolen a bottle of champagne. You've got to be kidding me. I couldn't bring it back in, but I couldn't believe them. This was Johnny's PARENTS house as he was in the middle of moving further north in the coming weeks because of his new job. I wasn't mad so much as I just felt incredibly bad. They assured me that there were loads of bottles and they wouldn't notice. Ay yi yi. I hang out with hooligans.

After I dropped off the idiots, I called Johnny to apologize if we all seemed a bit rude. He assured me that he didn't think that and asked me to come back. I said no, as it was already 3 am and that I had a lot of work to do the next day on my London guide. He pressed the matter, saying that since he was a writer and knew London extremely well, he'd help me. Ah, yeah. I'm sure you want to help me out at 3 am with a London guide.

Then he asked if he could take me out to lunch the next day or whether that was too bold and I would think he was weird. I told him, no, that would be fine and made plans to talk at 2pm.

He never did call. He called on Monday (which I was okay with because I ended up going surfing on Sunday afternoon anyway) and asked if I wanted to go to a party with him that night. I declined as it's "Prison Break" day (I didn't tell him that, however, I just told him I already had plans) and suggested we go out on Friday or something. Catch a movie or whatever. He agreed and come Friday I arrive at his house and he says, "So, is this a date?" I was like, "Uh, I dunno. Is it? Why does it matter?"

His answer: "Well, I need to know if I should dress differently. Put the moves on."

Seriously, you're insane. I should have just gone home and watched the WB's Friday night line-up.

He changes (he had only gotten home from work 10 minutes before I got there, so he had to change anyway) and we head off to the movie theater. Instead of going to the movies, however, we end up at P.F. Chang's where I guess he was showing off for me b/c he knew everyone that worked there? I'm not sure. I wasn't too upset about the movie, but I woulda liked to known ahead of time. Instead we ended up going bowling after. Which was pretty fun. I hadn't been bowling in years and it was one of those rock-n-roll bowling dealios. At the bowling place he says, "Yeah, I think this is a date. It's going pretty well." Hi, what's with harping on the matter? Who cares! As we're standing outside for him to have a smoke (Yeah...negative point for Johnny Hollywood here) he informs me that he'd been checking me out as I was bowling. Seriously, what IS it with this kid? And how he thought I was so hot. Again, cue my uncomfortableness. I tell him that that's nice and all, but my guard is always up so not to take it personally if I seem slightly distant. Experience has made me an untrusting person and I don't generally believe anything that comes out of a guy's mouth cuz anytime I've been complimented, it's because the guy figured he could sleep with me if he just complimented me enough - you know, easy target and all. Go after the girl with low self-esteem because she'll be thrilled that anyone is paying attention to her so of course she'll sleep with you - this is what I think guys are thinking anyway. That sort of thing. So now I don't trust men.

Anyways, he asked if I thought he was bullshitting me. I told him I didn't know him well enough to know that and plus, it was all just weird because guys don't say that to me. We end up back his house because he wants to show me some scene from a movie. (And cuz his parents are away and he's "got the house all to himself" - Oh good lord.) Not only is he is a music fantatic but he's a movie buff. So he starts playing snippets from all these movies and tv shows for me. It's all very bizarre. At 2 am I say, Ok, I gotta get moving. He protests and starts playing more songs for me, asking if I know them. At one point, he gets up from behind his computer and says, "Ok, you have to dance with me once before you go home."

Are you for real? I haven't slow danced with a boy since high school at the freakin' prom. I felt like such a mega-tool dancing in his house to some horrible 80s ballad. Then he starts in again on the "why don't you date often? guys must be falling at your feet. you're so hot, you're smart, you've got a fantastic smile and that dimple!!"

One side note, before I continue - ever since I was a kid, I've always wanted a straighter smile. My parents refused to get me braces and I've been plagued by insecurities about my smile ever since. What strikes me as funny, however, is that most every guy I've ever "dated" or hooked up with has made a comment about my smile being one of their favorite things. And yet, I hate it. I hate that my teeth are not straight - they're kinda crooked and I don't know. I've always hated it. But maybe I should just accept it because apparently it's something unique about me.

Anyways, he's harping on about my looks, making me completely weirded out and then...THEN..the piece de resistance. He brings out his BABY ALBUMS. TWO baby albums to be exact.

I am not making this up. He flips through the pages, showing me pictures of himself as a naked baby and throughout grade school. Now, correct me if I am wrong, because as I said, I don't date much or ever, but isn't it supposed to be that your mom brings out your baby pictures and embarasses you when your date comes to the house? Who brings out their own baby pictures on a first date? Honestly, I didn't think the night could get any weirder.

At this point, I'm ready to go. It's 3 am, my head is spinning from this bizarre evening and I tell him I really have to go. He walks me to the door and outside and I'm thinking, "Am I supposed to kiss him?" He's not a bad looking kid, but I wasn't getting the tingly feeling in my belly that I get when I like someone. So I thought about it and figured, "Ah, what the hell" and leaned in to give him a quick peck to just be polite. He took that as an invitation to practically eat my head. When I was able to come up for air, I started to walk to my car. He grabbed my arm and pulled me back in for another round of scuba diving. Honestly, the only thing I could think of was the Sex and the City episode when Charlotte is dating the guy who licks her whole face and she says, "You're a really bad kisser!" and he tells her, "What? No! That's my thing!"

What's worse is, the whole time I was wishing it was Emotional Fuckwit (more on that later) that I was kissing because I lurrrve kissing him. And he's a good kisser. And he looks like Christian Bale. When I saw him this past week, I was a puddle. I've never seen anything so suggestive of "sex god" than him that evening. Mmm..

Anyway, back to kissing Johnny Hollywood. Shudder. So I scamper off to my car and try to forget about the face mauling I had just experienced. And all I could think of was his insistent boasting about his kissing prowess. Hilarious.

Ten minutes later as I am driving home, my phone rings. It's Johnny Hollywood. Calling to tell me how much he enjoyed kissing me and we should have been doing it all night. And was I around the next night? Because we should get together and watch movies in "our jammies" (his words, not mine) and kiss some more. I told him I would have to get back to him. Then he proceded to go on and on and on...about the kiss and how good it was and blah blah blah. Seriously, if a girl had called her date 10 minutes after he had left, he would never call her again. You and I both know this. That girl would have just shot her own foot off with a phone call like that. And yet, here he was, calling me.

I told my roommates all this the next day and they were in hysterics. They told me I had to keep going on dates because if for nothing else, than the entertainment they get from the stories. I admit, it's kind of funny that the TWO dates I've been on since being out here (it's been almost 10 months, people) have been really funny in retrospect and they made for good stories. So I'm tempted to try go on more just so I have stories to share. The things I do for you people.

At the mo', I'm not sure if I want to hang with Johnny Hollywood anymore. He seems intent on going out again before I head off to Hawaii next weekend - who knew I'd be so glad to travel so much? After Hawaii, I'm home for a week before heading East for almost a month, so I know that if I decide I don't want to see him ever again, at least I have a nice way to let him down. By the time I get back, he will have moved up north and things will work out on their own. I am not going to be a guy and ignore him - if anything, my encounters with men out here has made me realize that I don't want to be like them. If I don't like someone, I'm not going to string them along. I'll tell them and end it nicely.

He has called me every day and I've been busy with other things, so I told him maybe this week before I leave we can get together and hang out. But I will NOT be kissing him. That's for sure. I actually called Emotional Fuckwit on Saturday to share the story of my date - mainly because I had to tell someone and also because I realized just how much of a turn-off neediness is. And I had been totally needy with EF for the past few weeks with my multiple phone calls/text messages. So I said, "Oh.My.God. I am so sorry. I just got a whole new perspective on frequent phone calls and it made me realize that I do the same thing to you and I am So.Sorry."

He just laughed and asked if I had gotten any action from my date. I said, "Uh, no. But he practically ate my head, so does that count?"

I think for now..my dating days are over -at least until the New Year anyway. I mean, I won't be around OC for more than a week or so during the next two months anyway. So unless I meet some hotties while home for the holidays, I'll be joining the nuns at the convent. Sigh...

A quick update

2005-11-03T10:43:00.000-08:00

Hello my beloved readers,

Just a note to say I have not forgotten you, but I am busy working on a mini-guide to London for the website I work for this week (yay! something actually interesting to do for work that doesn't revolve around linking restaurant reviews to the website over and over and over...) and therefore it's been quite a hectic schedule. I've got 20 categories to address and not all of them are exciting (where to get a rental car in London? Hi, don't do it! You'd have to be nuts to drive in London!) so I've been distracted from my blogging responsibilities.

As if the work wasn't keeping me distracted enough, I've been in such a "state" this week that it makes it hard to concentrate on anything else, if y'know what I'm saying. And if you don't, well you will soon enough. I'm blaming EF for this one. You can't be saying such saucy things on the phone and then not follow through with them. That's all I will say right now. Because that's just mean. And cruel.

Oh, but the stories I have to share! I have an actual "real" date on Friday. I'm sure you'll all be dying to know not only how this happened (I know, I'm in a state of shock over it myself) and how it goes down. And a tale of adventure from last Saturday that was quite possibly the oddest evening I have had since moving to California. And it includes the boy with whom I have a date with on Friday. I call him "Johnny Hollywood" - you'll understand why after I share these tales.

Alas, I have to get back to writing about the architectural gems of London, so I can not get into all this right now.

Ta ta for now, kiddies!

Another movie recommendation

2005-10-27T02:03:00.000-07:00

Ok kiddies, I've got another movie to recommend. The people at Blockbuster are going to start referring to me as "Miranda" if I continue renting films at the rate I'm going. (Ok, that "Sex and the City" reference might be over most of your heads...I'm referring to the episode where Miranda is having a bit of a dry spell and finds herself renting videos every couple of nights.)

Just finished watching "Lords of Dogtown". Loved it. I loved "Dogtown and Z Boys" so I figured I would probably like the Hollywood version of the story of the Z Boys: a group of renegade surfers-turned-skaters in Venice (aka "Dogtown") during the '70s. What amazed me most was how closely the actors resembled the real guys. They did a really nice casting job of getting kids who really looked like Tony Alva, Stacy Peralta and Jay Adams. It's completely amazing.

I think part of the reason I'm drawn to the story of the Z boys so much is that it speaks to the 15-year-old boy who still resides within me. It wouldn't be incorrect to say that I was a tomboy growing up. I liked to skateboard and I liked to play with the boys in my neighborhood. I'm probably a little too old to take up skateboarding again, but I have to admit, I'm tempted. It's more socially acceptable to be a 28-year-old chick who surfs, rather than skates. But then again, I do live in the land of skaters and boarders, so maybe I'll have to go out and cruise on down the boardwalk in Venice. Hey, the Z Boys had a girl member so why can't I do a little skating?

Either way, I think this might be a DVD I'll have to buy. I don't usually buy movies...but I could watch this (and the documentary) over and over again. Will have to put it on my Christmas list (along with the "Born into Brothels" photography book) for Santa to bring me.

If real "Prisoners" look anything like this...

2005-10-24T22:32:00.000-07:00

I'm going to start corresponding with the nearest prison facility to find my own version of Michael Scofield. Hellooooo, hottie. I have no shame in admitting that I'm addicted to this show. Mostly because of Wentworth Miller - have I mentioned he is HAWT? And apparently quite the intellectual as he graduated with a degree in English from Princeton . Swoon. A fellow English major like myself. And he was born in England. Double swoon. (He grew up in Brooklyn, however, but I'm willing to overlook that as long as he's not a Yanks fan. Actually, he is so hot, I might even be willing to overlook that, too. Well, maybe. I'm on the fence.)

Although the hottie factor is a main draw, that's not the only reason I watch. I like the storyline, too. The show has a lot of "Shawshank" elements - the old guy with his cat, the mean guards, the creepy pervy guy and the whole thing with them having to get rid of the evidence of their digging by depositing it bit by bit in the yard. Oh sure, when I saw the previews during FOX's advertising blitz to get people to watch the show, I scoffed and thought "Dur. Once they get out of prison, the show is over. How the hell can this show possibly appeal to anyone?" I missed the series premiere...and then the next couple of shows. But one Monday night I found myself with nothing to do and nothing to watch, so I decided I would just watch for the hell of it. I didn't expect to get hooked, nor did I want to - because the last thing I need in life is another "Must-See" television program.

You know what happened though. I went in thinking I could be a casual user but got hooked on the stuff within an hour. And now every Monday at 9 pm, you'll find me parked in front of the tube waiting to see just how Michael and his boys are going to bust out. I even watched the "P.B." marathon on FX yesterday. Seven straight hours. Granted, I did freelance work while watching, but still. I hadn't seen the first 4 episodes. It's amazing just how much information I was missing. The storyline makes a whole lot more sense now. Not that it was much of a problem before. As I said, the hottie factor was my main draw.

Anyways, so much like my recaps of "O.C.", I figured I'd weigh in with my opinion on "P.B." each week as well.

If creepy pervy guy doesn't get whacked soon, I'm going to get angry. First they kill off the chubby nice guard, then the chubby nice maintenance guy in Veronica's building and then LJ's parents..I mean, hello?? Do all the nice people have to die? Newpsie (roommate) and I were just waiting for the old guy to die in the fire. You know, because he was so upset over the guard (or creepy pervert, I haven't decided just who did it) killing his cat. I was so happy when I saw him walking around the yard. I was even happier when I realized that he had implicated mean guard in the fire by using one of his cigarettes to start the whole thing. Yay old guy! You show him not to mess with your kitty!!!

But killing off LJ's parents? That's just mean. Those "Matrix-style" Secret Service guys are completely out of hand. But go LJ for snapping a picture on his camera phone. Hello Summer, are you taking any notes here? Course, since the Matrix SS guys put LJ's prints on the gun that sort of throws a snafu into the plan. And now that Veronica and the guy are "dead" (or so everyone thinks), what the hell is Lincoln going to think? The man may just commit suicide if he thinks everyone he loves on the "outside" has been whacked by Matrix SS.

On a more important note, here I am sitting at home while my future husband and other FOX stars (Hi Adam Brody!) are out in Hollywood gambling for charity (I know, let that idea sink in..."gambling for charity") tonight.

Damnit.

I did have my first official "Celeb Sighting" at Borders today in Santa Monica. Alas, it was not my future husband (apparently I should spend more time in Hollywood stalking stars...I mean, sightseeing, instead of browsing for books I don't need at Borders). I was perusing the merchandise, fingering the cover of Johnny Hollywood's (Johnny Damon to all you non-Sox fans) lovely little ditty when who should be coming down the stairs in front of me but Owen Wilson. The blonde Wilson brother. You know, the one with the busted nose. Since I was walking with my head down (in order to give Johnny's "book" the attention it deserved), I almost walked smack into Owen. At first I just said, "Excuse me." He was on the phone, so he didn't say anything. Then as he walked past I did that doubletake where you go "Wait a second...was that ---??" All it took was a look at the nose and I knew who he was.

Course, this being L.A., you have to pretend you don't care about the celebs. And to be honest, I don't really care about Owen Wilson. Sure, I like his movies and all but he's not...I don't know, Christian Bale. Although if I saw Christian Bale, I somehow doubt I would shriek and go "Ohmygod I love you!" either. Mainly because I'd be too busy trying to slip my phone number into his pocket.

Anyways, what was I saying? Oh yeah, how cool I am. So I pretended like I don't care who he is and instead of continuing up the stairs, I sort of moseyed on over to where he was standing in line, under the pretense of needing to ask the cashier girl a question about a book I was looking for. And to be fair, I was really looking for a book - I want the "Born into Brothels" photo book but can not see to find it anywhere. So as he was checking out, I asked the girl about the book and she directed me to the computers nearby where patrons can look up books. D'oh. So now I look like an idiot.

No worries. I looked up the book, all while keeping an eye on him (it's not as stalkerish as it sounds. Seriously, everyone in that store has their nose in a book. No one was paying attention to me) until he paid and went to leave, stopping for a moment by the new hardcovers. Once he left, I went back to my normal book browsing. What was interesting to me is that no one bothered him at all while he was there. I mean, it's not like I expect swarms of people to follow Owen Wilson around, but I figured someone would at least stop him and say something. But then again, this is L.A. Celebrities are like Starbucks. There's one on every corner. After awhile, I guess the novelty wears off. Well, it will take awhile for this East Coast girl to get used to that. It's not like seeing a sports star. Ray Bourque used to live in my town and he used to shop at the sporting goods store I worked at but that was never a big deal. He was just Ray Bourque, Bruins player. Course, maybe if I liked hockey more I would have been more impressed. Or not.

I guess the moral to this story is if I want to see more stars, I need to get out of Orange County more. Here all I see is rich trophy wives with enough plastic in their bodies to construct a raft if you've ever stranded in the ocean and their obnoxious, spoiled kids. Ah, Orange County.

The EF chronicles continue

2005-10-22T22:39:00.000-07:00

Talked to EF today. So apparently Wednesday after his phone died, he left work an hour later and while waiting for the phone to charge at his house, fell asleep with his clothes and shoes on and did not wake up until the next morning.

Hmm..

Now on one hand, I don't want to just let him off without any punishment. On the other hand, the kid generally gets 4-5 hours of sleep a night because of his job and all the construction work he is doing renovating the house. So, I can understand at the most basic level that if he sat down for more than a couple minutes, it was likely that he'd fall dead asleep. However, I was still peeved. (To be fair, he told me this on Thursday morning when I called him to find out what happened. He didn't wait until this weekend to give me a reason/excuse for his Houdini.)

But his phone call today complicated things a little because on Thursday evening I sent him an email basically telling him that although I like him very much, I'm much too good to be sitting around waiting for someone to call me back or to wait around for someone who consistently bails. And that, in effect, I was terminating the friendship. But when I asked him today if he had read the emails (because I was a little surprised to hear from him), he said he hadn't because his computer shit the bed last week and he's waiting to get someone to fix it.

D'oh.

So I wasn't sure what to say...Now I'm thinking, "Oh shit. He hasn't read my rants. Err. Crissakes. Do I say something now while he's being all apologetic? Was I too quick to jump the gun and say all these things? Damnit." Email and cell phones have been very detrimental to my social skills. When I get all fired up at someone, I suddenly lose the ability to be level-headed and will fire off a text or email that I will no doubt regret later. I can't help it. I'm hotheaded and I don't like to hold things in. I'm not afraid of confrontation and have a problem with keeping my cool when upset. Email has been a very, very problematic issue for me...I can't tell you how many emails I've sent off in the heat of the moment, only to regret what I've said later on.

He went into everything that happened and he did admit that he can see how from my perspective how it would seem like he was ditching me and he apologized for it. He also reaffirmed that he had every intention of hanging with me that night and when we spoke that evening before his phone gave out, he had no intention of dissing me.

What is it about him that makes me feel so guilty every time I get mad at him for something he's done? He manages to turn it around and make me feel badly for getting pissed. It's quite a talent he's got.

So now I'm not sure what to do. Unlike "D.A." who is officially out of my life and I hope catches a sexually transmitted disease, EF is a more complicated situation. The problem being that, unlike with D.A., I still like EF very much. I can see so much potential in him. Unfortunately, I keep forgetting that you can't change who a person is inherently. So...that leaves me...where?

That's enough about EF for now. I feel like he occupies too much of my time - my blogs, conversations with friends, emails, etc. He does not deserve that much energy and thought, that's for sure, no matter what happens between us.

Apparently he wants to come by tomorrow. Won't hold my breath just yet. We'll see. Am I nuts for even bothering to talk to this kid? Probably. I think I know deep down that he's insane and I'm even more so for putting up with his shenanigans. "No more shenanigans, no more tomfoolery, no more ballyhoo." That about sums it up....

"Born into Brothels"

2005-10-22T21:50:00.000-07:00

If you have not seen the Oscar-winning documentary "Born into Brothels", go out and rent it immediately. I can not recommend this film enough. It is depressing and yet full of hope, and one of the best movies I have seen this year.

I had wanted to see it when it first came out, but like many other movies that I intend to see, I just never got around to it. I've got a list that goes on forever right now of movies to see, many of them the "off-the-radar" type films that I'm so fond of. Then the Oscars came around and "Born into Brothels" won the Oscar for best documentary and I was reminded of my initial desire to see it.

After watching it tonight with my roommate, I can honestly say it deserved the Oscar, hands down. I immediately went to the Kids with Cameras site to get more details about the movie, the kids and the "Born into Brothels" photography book. I will definitely be purchasing a book - not only are the photographs taken by these kids amazing, but all the proceeds go to the Kids with Cameras foundation.

If I had a spare $10k to spend, I'd buy one of the 10 signed limited-edition portfolios of 12 prints signed by the kids. But alas, I don't have that kind of cash lying around. I wish I did, because not only is the $10 grand tax deductible, but the money goes directly to the kids' education and for the Kids with Cameras School of Leadership and the Arts. And these kids need all the help they can get when it comes to getting the hell out of the shitholes in which they were raised. I wish I was independently wealthy. These are the kinds of charities and causes I would want to get involved with.

The kids are absolutely adorable and they are all so talented. It made me incredibly sad to see how their mothers were holding them back. The film talked of some girls in the neighborhood being put on the prostitution line as early as 14 years old and one of the girls was married off at 11 years old. No child should have to live like this.

The movie also reinforced my desire to travel the world and experience everything I possibly can through my lens and my pen. Watching documentaries like this make me wish I could pack up and fly to a foreign land where I could meet the native people and see things through their eyes. I've become addicted to photography lately, even more so than I usually am. I want to make my mark on the world through photography and writing like these filmmakers. I just haven't figured out how, or rather, haven't gotten up the gusto and drive to get my fat ass off the couch. Not yet, at least.

Just call me Miss Masochist.

2005-10-19T21:15:00.000-07:00

Well, I guess I knew this was coming. And if you've been following the story of me and the Emotional Fuckwit, you probably knew it was coming as well.

I am sitting here on Wednesday night watching "The Karate Kid" and drinking Smirnoff Twisted Apple drinks by myself. Yep, the EF bailed. And what's even worse is that I had talked to him at 5:30 this evening to call and check to make sure he wasn't planning to bail because I had offers to do something else if he was going to pull a Houdini. As of that moment, he was still planning to come over, so I told my roommate that I would go out with her.

At 6:30 pm...no call, no EF. His phone had died during our conversation so I figured maybe he got stuck at work and since he didn't have my address (even though I've lived here since Feb, he's never come to my house before), he would have no idea how to get here. So I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt (yes, I am a masochist) so I drove over to his house to check and see if he wanted to chill. His truck was in the driveway when I drove up, so I knocked on the door and his roommate answered. Now, I have to share something - I don't like his roommate. I am pretty sure he thinks I'm psychotic so I doubt he has a very fond opinion of me. But I was very disappointed when he answered. I said, "Hey, do you know if EF is home? We had plans but I haven't heard from him."

His answer? "Well, his truck is here, but he's not answering his door. He probably went out. He does that. He's a busy guy."

Me - "Uh, yeah that's great, but we had plans. I talked to him just before he left work and his phone died, so I figured he was waiting for me to get in touch with him cuz he doesn't have my address."

Him, looking at me like I'm making up some story: "Yeah, I'll tell him you stopped by."

Me, (thinking, whatever, you big fat fucking liar, he's probably in his room) : "Ok, thanks."

So I took off. Haven't heard from him. Left him a very civil message saying, "Hey, just wondering what happened cuz um..as far as I was aware, you still wanted to hang out...did I misunderstand? I'm not mad, just confused and wondering if I missed something."

Basically, he's out. I am so sick of having to wait around for people. I'm worth so much more than that. I'm beginning to realize, however, that the men out here in California are a bunch of assholes. Seriously. It's not just me who thinks it too. My boss informed me recently that if I ever decide I want to settle down, I need to get out of Southern California. According to her, the men of SoCal are the biggest bunch of assholes to walk the earth. I'm beginning to think she is right. The more native Cali boys I meet, the less I am impressed with them. They are flaky, vain, ignorant and really just the biggest jerk-offs that exist.

I don't know how much I like California right now. Granted, I shouldn't base my opinion of a place around the men I meet, but seriously, I don't know how much more of this shit I can take before deciding to pack up and move back East where at least the men there have some brains. They might not be all wonderful, but so far, the West Coast boys pale in comparison to East Coasters.

So for now, it's back to Karate Kid and my Smirnoff. At least it dulls the pain. Ralph Macchio is all the man I need tonight.

Let's try it again, eh?

2005-10-18T13:44:00.000-07:00

Ok. So now that I am over my rage black-out, I can address my absence from blogger for the past few weeks.

Basically, I didn't have much to say. Ok, that's not entirely true - from stories about "my naked boss" (my job is SOO not normal), to the neverending computer drama and tales of "Don't Answer!" and "Emotional Fuckwit" - the two latest entries into my cell phone, I've got more than plenty to say. Rather, I just didn't feel writing. I've been kind of mad at the world over the past couple days or week, and I've also been busy with work.

Right before I headed to Seattle, Seth Cohen (now programmed as "Don't Answer!" in my cell, or D.A. for short) drunk-dialed me and ended up coming to my house for bad sex. And it was bad. I don't mind sharing that with you all. He was terrible. And this week, I have a "hang-out date" with a California boy (aka, Daniel Cleaver, who is now programed as "Emotional Fuckwit" in my cell). Why do I continue to do this to myself? I don't understand why I like to torture myself by trying to attract the attention of assholes, when they clearly do not have any interest in me. And what's funny is that I just got back from Big Sur (yeah, my job doesn't suck too much) where I had guys stumbling all over themselves to talk to me. No, seriously. I'm not kidding.

Spanish men and men of "flava" have always had a thing for me. Maybe because their cultures are generally more appreciative of women with a little meat on their bones, versus white guys who prefer the look of an anorexic crack-whore. Ok, so I have more than a "little" meat on my bones, but that is something that apparently the Spanish and flava men can overlook, because on every hotel trip I've taken this year, I have the staff members falling all over the place trying to assist me. Apparently my appeal is strongest to those in the service industry who are not white.

Take this weekend for example. By the end of our three days in Big Sur, I had my own personal shadows following me around. While enjoying breakfast one morning, a guy walked around and handed out the newspaper. He had a checklist in which he would check off your room number so that you didn't get a duplicate at your door. He didn't even ask which room I belonged to. He handed me the paper and said, "Room 25, correct?" I had not even seen this guy before on the property. Then there was the busboy at lunch. Although the tables were full around me, this kid spent so much time hovering around my elbow, waiting to fill up my water glass after each sip that I was tempted to pull out the chair and offer it to him so he wouldn't have to stand there. He was by my side practically the entire meal. And the bartender who wouldn't accept my money..which, normally I would have been thrilled with because who wants to pay 10 bucks for a drink, but in my case poses a problem since I HAVE to pay for the drink for the purpose of the report I am writing on the bar. And then he only charged me half for the second drink. Ay yi yi. My personal favorite was when my boss and I walked into the restaurant the first night, all dolled up as to fit in with the rich and snooty and I saw one of the line cooks nudge the guy standing next to him and nod his head in our direction. Later on during the meal, I saw said line cook wandering the dining room, coming to a stop near our table and conferring with a waiter and moments later, both were looking in our direction. Line cooks don't generally wander the dining room. My boss found this hilarious as she later told me, "I totally watched them watching your every move when you got up to go take a photo. They were all standing near the waiters' station whispering and nodding. It was the funniest damn thing I had ever seen."

Sure, you might say, but this is a fancy place, their job is to dote on you. Ah, yes, that is true, but the extent of the doting was not limited to Big Sur alone. In Hawaii, the omelet chef and buffet attendant followed me around while I perused the buffet selections. I didn't notice them at first but as I moved down the line, I soon realized that these two guys were standing behind me, ready to answer any questions I might have. As I am not a rich snob and generally identify more with the workers than other guests, I smiled and said, "Hello." That was all it took for them to start asking, "So, where are you from? How long are you staying? etc., etc?" My boss also informed me during that incident that one of them had left behind the buffet to go and grab another worker in order to point me out.

Now, I am not a stunning beauty, nor have I ever professed to be. I think I am sorta cute in a plumpish, Ruebenish sort of way, but I am not used to this sort of attention. But I am beginning to think that I should start reminding myself of these incidences when I am trying to attract the attention of jerky assholes out here in California who only want to use me for sex purposes, as long as their friends don't know about it. It's like those jokes about guys and fat chicks - they all want to do it, but they don't want to tell anyone about it. These guys want to get with me, but they don't want anyone to know about it lest they get embarassed for whatever reason. I think I am a pretty cool chick - I'm smart, I can carry on an intelligent conversation, I'm witty and sarcastic, and let's face it, I've got a great rack. Ok, so I am not a size 0, platinum blonde, fake tittied girl. Nor would I really want to be. But I don't know why it is that no one wants to date me, save for those in the service industry at hotels where I am staying for a few days at a time and are really not my type.

"Don't Answer!" was at a wedding this weekend with a mutual friend. She emailed me today to say, "After spending a couple days with D.A., I can honestly say - erase his number, do not every contact him again!!" Apparently he shared the story of our drama with her and informed her that he is playing the field and could never be serious about me and not only had slept with a girl the night before the wedding, was also apparently macking on every girl at the wedding. Lovely. I've decided that I really am beginning to hate him. But mostly because I hate the fact that he makes me hate myself. I hate that I feel like shit everytime I think about him. I don't want to be one of those girls who bases her worth on whether a guy likes her or not. But right now, I can't just drop him. I wish I could. God I wish I had that sort of strength. I know, what sort of strength should it take to drop such an ass? Trust me, I realize the irony. And I am sure that Emotional Fuckwit will bail on me tomorrow night and I will have to drop him. I must be a glutton for punishment. I could have any of the hotel workers in Big Sur (which is a nice thought, even if I am not interested) but yet, I keep going back to the two biggest losers on the planet, trying to convince them that yes, I am worthy of their attention. I guess it's true that you want what you can't have. If I could have D.A., chances are I wouldn't want him because honestly, he's not all that cute and (this is bad, but I don't care), I was always a little embarassed by his appearance when we were in public, like somehow people would pass judgement on me for being with him. I'm no better than he is!!! Except that I actually did really like him and wasn't just using him for secret sex.

And as I talked to him on the phone last night, I got the distinct impression that he really didn't want to talk to me. I asked him what he was up to this weekend and he told me that he was busy every single night this week and wouldn't be around this weekend except for late night but we can't do that since we're not doing those kinds of things anymore. Basically, it's safe to say I hate him. And I wish I could see him in person so I could tell him that, but he's too much of a freakin' pussy to ever confront me face-to-face. That's what I hate about guys, they are like freakin' skittish puppies. Women can't make any sudden movements (declaring, "I'd like to have a serious boyfriend") lest these mutts scamper off in fear. So we placate them with comments like, "Oh, I'm happy being single" or "I just want to have sex, I don't mind if it's casual" and hold out our hands for them to sniff and then once they inch towards us, we plot how we might grab hold of them and convince them to love us. So when a guy decides he doesn't want to date us or continue casual sex, he prefers to just scamper off rather than face the facts and tell us the truth. I hate that. Be men for chrissakes! You're not 5 years old and afraid of monsters. God damnit, do we as women not deserve to at least hear the truth from you instead of getting the silent treatment in hopes that we might one day just decided to stop calling you? I mean honestly. It's pathetic. If you ever are not interested in someone or whatever, do them a favor and just tell them. When people play the avoiding game so they don't ever have to face the truth, it's the most asinine and immature way of behaving. I don't do it - if I don't like you, I'll tell you rather than just not picking up your calls and hoping you'll get the hint. It saves everyone a lot of hassles if you just say what you mean and mean what you say.

So that's why I've been alienating blogger. I didn't want to go on and on and on about these idiot boys because it means I am wasting my precious time on them. Plus, who really cares about any of this besides me? So I was feeling angry at the world yesterday when I got home from Big Sur and didn't want to write. And last week I was sick. And everytime I thought about writing, the idea just tired me out.

For now I am back in the twisted reality of Orange County. Soon, however, I will be heading back to Hawaii. Which should be nice, as long as I keep my smoothie intake to a minimum. Almost two months and smoothie free so far..I should get a coin or something for that. Hopefully my naked boss will keep her nakedness to a minimum in Hawaii. Oh yeah, I should explain..my boss is an ex-dancer who used to perform in theater. So she is used to changing in front of people, i.e. me. So when we've had to share a room, she parades around in the hotel robe but doesn't always shut the robe. I've begun referring to her as "my naked boss." Basically, I don't have normal work relationships with the people I work with, since you basically spend 24/7 with them when at the hotels. I know all about her relationships, her life's history and things you wouldn't generally know about those above you. This is good and bad, evidenced by me telling her, "You so suck!" when she said she would be reviewing the "swim with dolphins" experience at one of the Hawaii hotels. I don't actually mean she sucks, but that's what I say when I am jealous of someone. She admonished me by saying, "Don't say that; don't put negative energy out there" and after I said it, it was like I saw it in the air and tried to grab it and shove it in my pocket before it came out. Because, hello, this is my boss. You don't tell your boss, "You suck." But like I said, I don't have a normal job. I mean, we share shoes. Who shares shoes with their boss? Who sees their boss naked, for chrissakes and spends an hour sitting in a hot-tub with them at 11:30 at night when you want to take a break from writing reports? Granted, I don't hang out with her when I am not out on trips, although she wants to set me up on dates with some of her friends' younger friends but I am not sure that would be a good idea.

My life is bizarre and it just keeps getting more and more odd as the days go by.

So I apologize for my lengthy absence. I will try to be better, but I can't guarantee I won't continue to be mad at the world. Although something tells me I will be sharing the story of the hang-out date ocurring tomorrow night (if it actually happens) because no doubt, it will be bizarre as well.

Sigh.

2005-10-18T12:47:00.000-07:00

Son of a bitch. I just wrote a fabulous post about why I've been so absent and this damn computer just fucking erased it. I am using a new computer while my old one gets fixed and I keep hitting the wrong keys. God DAMN IT.

Let's just say I've been angry at the world and busy with work. Maybe if I get the time to write this blog over again, I will. I am pissed off like you wouldn't believe about this effin technology that I have to log off immediately and go for a run or something.

Technology is a pain in my ass.

2005-10-02T01:49:00.000-07:00

What up Best Buy? Why are you selling me craptastic pieces of electronics?

I sit here typing away on my HP laptop and it continuously shuts off mid-sentence. There is nothing more irritating than to have written a fantastically witty blog and then lose it all because suddently, the laptop decides that even thought it's plugged into a power source, it's going to switch over to battery power and shut itself off with no warning.

Argh, you drive me mental! Nevermind that this is the second computer I have gotten since June 2004. I had the same problem with the first. And since I work from home, sending my computer away for two weeks so they can tell me that it's a problem with the motherboard is not really an option for me. What do I do for those 2 weeks while I can not work and therefore can not get paid? Hmmm? So last time, I convinced them to just give me a new computer altogether (it helps that the manager is my best friend's brother and is also like an older brother to me).

This time however, I am 3,000 miles away from him and his power. I dare say, I don't think I will be able to convince the managers at the store down the street to just give me a new computer. Nor would I want a new one - having to transfer all my photos and music files is the biggest pain in the ass. But I want to know - why does this keep happening to me. Even now, as I type, the computer tells me it is charging. Except that it hasn't changed the power percentage once since I've been logged on. It just keeps saying, "2% power remaining." Oh, well that's great.
HP, why do you make crappy products, eh? How about a laptop that actually lasts for an entire year without having to be fixed? I realize that after a year, every laptop sold is practically obsolete due to new technology and all, but this is ridiculous. A $2500 computer should not be turning itself off with no warning. And I shouldn't have to keep having Best Buy take my computer for weeks at a time, leaving me penniless, in order to have it fixed every couple months. Thankfully I have a 4-year service plan (I'm not an idiot. I know how things tend to break whenever I am around, so when it comes to a very expensive piece of machinery, I am certainly not going to screw myself by refusing to cough up the extra cash for a service plan), but I'd rather not have to use it.

HP, you are the bane of my existence. Tomorrow I will take my piece of shite laptop (a rather expensive piece of shit laptop) to Best Buy and see what they can do for me without having to take it away for any period of time. Otherwise, please send all donations to TravelGirl, care of "The O.C." so I do not starve for the next 3 weeks.

The "OC" and Sgt. Blue Lips

2005-10-02T01:08:00.000-07:00

Hello all. Sorry for the delay in my weekly recap of "The O.C.". You'll have to forgive me for after I watched this week's craptacular episode, I was still feeling under the weather and was taken over by stomach pains, dizziness and other illness-related delights. I am feeling better now, however, and ready to address the weekly summary.

Just last week I was singing the praises of one Josh Schwartz and his ability to bounce back from the sophomore slump. I'm sorry to say, dear readers, but I fear I may have to send him back to the Minor Leagues for this week's episode. (Am I mixing metaphors here or what?) Have you not learned anything from the past two years, Josh? No one cares about extraneous characters. We want the Fab Four and nothing else. Did the Oliver fiasco not teach you that? If you keep adding more and more characters, "The O.C." is going to lose its innate goodness even more so than it already has.

While I admit I am slightly fond of the "bizarro world" Seth, Summer and...Ryan? - I'm not actually sure who is supposed to be who in the bizarro world version of the fiercesome foursome, I'm not ecstatic because having theses new kids means less screen time with Seth and Summer. A cardinal sin. Plus, if last year's series showed anything, new characters don't generally last very long in the world of Orange County, so really, what is their point? I do believe the first season was the strongest because it focused more on the 4 main characters. And their parents. Can't forget the parents in the OC. I like them almost as much as I like the teenage characters.

Soon enough we'll be rid of stalker lady and her flower-delivering boyfriend. One can only hope the same for skankalicious Taylor and the cradle-robbing Dean of Discipline. As Summer would say, "Ew!"

Speaking of Summer, does she not have a camera phone? Why would she not just snap an incriminating photo of Skank-Ho Barbie and the Dean of Discipline? (I'm sure we know why he's called the "Dean of Discipline", eh? "Oh yes, Dean, punish me!" Um, sorry, that might have been over the line...) Instead, she spies the two making out and runs immediately to find "Cohizzle" (admittedly one of the funnier lines of the night) but then doesn't even tell him. Hello?! Tattle on their asses. Your best friend and her boyfriend are no longer at school because of these two - why hold back such a scandalous secret??

This better be leading to a very good episode, otherwise I'm going to be sorely disappointed. Oh! And don't even get me started on the whole portrayal of Newport's public school system. I'm sorry, but it's still Newport. The whole "bad ass chicks clique" is a little too much to believe. My roommate (who is from Newport) watched this episode with me and couldn't stop laughing - not because she was enjoying the show, but because she found the public school thing so hilarious. Sure, private schools are nicer, but no public school in Newport quite resembles what they've created. As she said, "Yeah, maybe in Costa Mesa, but even then...." Last I checked, Newport wasn't Torrance. I understand the reasoning of making the public school so the opposite of Harbor - I mean, you've got the bizarro world Four, so obviously they can't be going to school that is anything like posh Harbor where they eat lunch overlooking the ocean. But c'mon...it's just too much.

I would also like to see a return to Chino Ryan. The one who wears wifebeaters and rides his BMX bike. And while you're at, grow your hair back out - this preppy 'do is just not working for you, Ryan. I realize he's been living in the Cohens swank poolhouse for two years, but this is just pathetic. Bring back the Chino we know and love! Yes, he still hits people (as evidenced in the Carnival episode..which I still have yet to watch. Bad TravelGirl, bad!) but he's not the same kid who could reply to Seth's inane breakfast comments with just a stare. Now he drives some fancy SUV to pick up his rich (well, not so much anymore) girlfriend from school and styles his hair like some sort of Abercrombie and Fitch reject. As Seth said, "You home schoolers are pathetic." When Seth is the one making , there is something not right with the world. At least, the world of "The O.C."Sigh. If only we could return to the good old days when he was picking fights with Luke on a daily basis and sporting his "bad boy" look with the dark jeans and grey hoodie.

And then I come to find out that "The O.C." will be on hiatus while the World Series takes over Fox for the month of October. Sgt. Blue Lips (A-Rod) and the rest of the Evil Empire will be participating in this spectacle, but as of today, the Sox are not guaranteed a spot in the playoffs. All I can say is that the Sox better damn well be in the playoffs after tomorrow or I'm going to be pissed off that I have to miss "The O.C." for the Yankees. Even at its worst, "The O.C." is better than watching Blue Lips be the little bitch that he is on the baseball diamond. Unless he's pulling a Bill Buckner and letting the ball roll right between his legs. Classic. Absolutely classic. I could watch that and the infamous "hand slap heard round the world" every day and never get tired of it.

So for now, the weekly recaps will take a vacation. Perhaps by November, the episodes will have magically changed back to their glorious status of days gone past and be worthy of my praise. If not, there are going to be some bitch slaps handed out like I was A-Rod running towards first base.

Congressman Affleck?

2005-09-28T00:43:00.000-07:00

My dad told me tonight that apparently Ben Affleck is debating running for Congress? Is Ashton Kutcher behind this? Seriously Ben, you've got to be Punk'ing us all. Massachusetts isn't California. The Terminator may be Gubernator out here, but do you really think Boston is ready for "Chuckie" from "Good Will Hunting" to be Congressman? Methinks that since now Matt is engaged, Ben's looking for a new way to divert attention back to himself. You married Jennifer Garner. Isn't that enough?!

Maybe my dad is on crack and has misinformed me. I know that this was the first I had heard of such a story, but then again, they don't generally follow Massachusetts politics out in the "land of fruits-and-nuts", as Sarah and a lot of other people refer to the great state of California.

Time for a change.

2005-09-27T21:22:00.000-07:00

Hello kids,

I hope this weekend treated you all well. I spent a day and a night in San Diego with the plan of apple picking and stuffing my face with tasty apple pie. Unfortunately, the place for apple-picking was closed until next weekend, but we still got our fair share of pie. So it all evens out.

This weekend is the big Sox/Yankees series. The plan is to head up to Santa Monica to Sonny McLeans, home of "Red Sox Nation West" (according to the owners), so Sarah, myself and any other fellow Sox fans who want to join us can cheer on Big Papi and the boys against the Evil Empire. This could either be a very pivotal series or just a big disappointment. Here's hoping it comes down to the wire and the boys from Boston kick A-Rod and Jeter's asses. Feels really weird to be so far away from home at this time - I'd give anything to be watching from Beerworks or Cask-n-Flagon this weekend. But as long as I'm surrounded by fans in red, I'll be okay. Apparently there's another Red Sox Bar in Hermosa Beach, as well. Perhaps we'll make it to that New England-obsessed establishment as well...

Next week I'm heading to Seattle for work. Here's hoping I get some time to explore since I've never been there before. We'll be staying less than a half mile from that famous fish market, maybe I'll get a chance to see them throw fish at each other. Fingers crossed.

I bought my tickets home for the holiday season. Originally I planned to go home for Thanksgiving and stay until after Christmas, but I realized the only reason I was doing that was so I could go to my ten-year high school reunion. But I have no desire to go to my reunion and the airfare was cheaper if I went home two weeks later. So...going home the second week of December. I'm sure that I will get many arguments from the kids at home, but what can you do. I can see them all at Christmas. I already keep in touch with those who I want. If I don't keep in touch with you, chances are I don't want to see you at a reunion. That's my theory, anyway.

What else is new..? Nothing really. Decided finally to take control of my life. This year, things are going to be different. After Christmas, I'm finding a real job. One that I actually like, gives me benefits (I am soo over paying for health insurance out of my own pocket) and gets me out of the house on a daily basis. I don't know what this mystery job will be or if it will even be here in California, but damnit, it's time. I'm not getting any younger. So I will enjoy the next few months of freelancing from home, taking advantage of sleeping in late, going to the gym during the middle of the day and enjoying a random walk to the beach when I feel like before committing myself to a life of security with a steady paycheck. Since I'm going home for 4 weeks, I figured it might be a little silly to start looking for this job right now, but I'm starting the research at least. Wish me luck. Who knows where the future may lead.

Ok, well, that's about it. Not a very exciting blog, I realize. Just kind of a summary of what's going on. Might try to start writing something more creative in the coming weeks, I'm really missing that feeling - the feeling of getting lost in the words, oblivious to everything around me as I focus all my energy on creating something from just the thoughts in my head. I used to love going into the newsroom at school and spending a couple hours writing my articles, headphones on so I could ignore the outside world. I got lost in my own little world, only to resurface a few hours later, unaware of what had been going on around me. It is my most favorite feeling in the entire world. I think that's why I wanted to be a writer when I was little. I grew addicted to the escape. I can imagine that's how drug addicts feel about a chemical high that allows them to escape the real world. Writing is my high. I don't need drugs. I only need the written word.

With that...I'm out.

A change in the cast

2005-09-23T00:12:00.000-07:00

I was talking to my best friend tonight and I shared this little tidbit with her that I originally wanted to post, but forgot because I am sometimes a little flaky. Or distracted by the wonder that is Seth Cohen. (The real one, that is. Not the cheap man's version that I am currently in the midst of drama with.)

Recently I've begun to think that my life is a one-woman show. It really always has been. Sure, there have been guest appearances by a guy, here or there, and some supporting actresses from time to time, but for the most part, it's just me. Me up there on the stage, doing my thing and yapping about it for the world to see.

But in the past few months, I've realized that I don't want to be a one-woman show. I want to be part of an ensemble. Most of the popular television shows are ensembles - "Desperate Housewives", "Friends" and the like. No one person is more important than the other. I miss the days of college when my roommates and I were like the "Sex and the City" girls. It's not that we were sophisticated city girls out man-hunting on a nightly basis, but they "my girls". We lived together, we partied together, we did everything together. They were my core.

I was telling the B.F. tonight that although I miss having boys around, I miss having "my girls" more. You can never underestimate the power of having a good core group of girl friends who will be there for you no matter what. I have close girl friends these days (especially the B.F. who has no idea just how much I appreciate her friendship because she has been there for some of my roughest times and no matter how many times I complain and whine on a daily basis, keeps coming back for more) but it's not the same as it used to be. Partly because they mostly live 3,000 miles away from me. Partly though, it seems like none of my close friends are close friends with each other, you know? I don't have a "core group" - I have an abudance of friends from various walks of my life. I'm still missing that ensemble feeling.

Perhaps the roommates and I watch too much "Sex and the City" and "Friends" these days. I've been tricked into delusions, thinking that my life could be that way - that I, too, could be part of a close foursome or sixsome like these characters. I love my roommates, I really do. But we're not a core. We're so different. We're roommates, not so much "friends", you know? They're the coolest chicks, but maybe we haven't known each other long enough to be "friends" yet? I'm not sure since this is the first time I've lived with strangers.

All I know is, I wish this one-woman play would come to an end and that I could join the cast of a fantastic ensemble. I want the boyfriend who is also my best guy friend - someone who makes me laugh, is there for me when I cry and have my psycho episodes and doesn't freak out and run away, is kind and genuine, and who I lust after as much as I love him for his personality; I want my core group of girls who will be there to rally each other for the good times and be there to comfort each other in the bad times; I want the kooky neighbor or the random outsider who just keeps showing up in scenes. I want it all. I just haven't figured out how to get there yet.

Just a note to readers~

2005-09-22T22:51:00.000-07:00

Sorry guys, but for now, I had to enable the "word verification" thingamajig on blogger for people to leave comments because I am getting spammed up the ass after every blog I write. I don't enjoy having to delete a gazillion spams advertising finances, diet pills and every other fuckin' thing under the sun. So for now, you will have to type in whatever word they want in order to verify that you're an actual human and not just a computer trying to send me spam comments.

Apologies. Hopefully after a week or so, they won't try to do it anymore and I can get rid of it. I have no idea how to block them otherwise because they're just coming from the most random places. I hate spammers. I hate them a lot. They ruin my O.C. buzz.

I so (heart) the O.C.

2005-09-22T21:10:00.000-07:00

Oh my god, is it possible for me to love "The O.C." anymore than I already do? I don't think so!! Season Two be damned like a memory of a bad date. I suffered through you and am that much stronger for having been through the experience. Season Three - thumbs up! Well done Josh Schwartz, your sophomore slump is officially over. It feels like Season One all over again! Sure, Jeri Ryan's character is hugely irritating, a la Oliver, but that's ok. We're getting back to the juicy drama that we have come to expect and love from our favorite Newport residents. I want to be a member of the Cohen family. Can I move into the pool house with Ryan? Please? Pretty please? I promise to wear wife beaters and throw punches at authority figures.

Oh man, and did you not think that Jimmy was dead after his vicious beating/near-drowning? Seriously, I started backtracking in my head, wondering if I missed any recent magazine or website articles saying that Tate Donovan was leaving the cast. I had been lying on the couch, idly watching but when his face hit the pier's pilings, I sat up and gasped. I actually put my hands to my face like some sort of old lady and shrieked "no, no, no, no!" Thankfully, neither roommate was home. As they are native Californians (and one being from Newport to boot), they don't quite understand why my love runs so deep for this example of televised greatness.

Who else wants to punch the new dean? Oooh, he is pure EVIL. I didn't catch last week's episode (I have it on tape, I just haven't gotten around to watching it. Yes, I realize, that's a cardinal sin but I've been in a bit of a funk lately) so I don't know exactly why he is Harbor's new dean. He looks like he should be playing for the water polo team. And the skankalicious Taylor? WHAT is her deal? I want to smack them both for even thinking they can threaten Seth and Summer, who by the way, are quite possibly the cutest coupling in the history of mankind. Oh no you din't Taylor *picture me snapping and doing the head nod like I got cornrows in my hair and a pair of spandex jeans on my behind*, stepping to Summer and trying to mock her geekalicious boyfriend. Step back, beyotch. So Seth is a nerd. So no one likes him and he gets picked on by mutant-sized sophomores. He's way cooler than any water polo-playing rich kid. And speaking of water polo players, whatever happened to Zach? He does still go to Harbor, no? It's not like with Yard Guy, Lindsay and Alex - they all left and not a moment too soon. Zach's...where? So busy with water polo practice that he doesn't actually attend classes? Hmm...a little bizarre if you ask me.

I can't wait for next week's episode when Marissa attends public school, aka "hell", where tough chicks threaten her because they think she is just some rich bitch who thinks she's a badass. People, please. She only shot Trey (who deserved it anyway). I don't think the Bloods or the Crips are going to try to initiate her anytime soon. From this point on, I'll be providing you with commentary after each episode - either immediately after or on Friday morning for your reading pleasure. Come out of the O.C. closet already and join me, won't you?

Err.

2005-09-21T23:16:00.000-07:00

I am seriously beginning to wonder why I have the worst luck when it comes to men. I'm getting a bit tired of complaining about it, too. Hopefully I will soon find something else to talk about. I'm getting sick of hearing myself whine, probably as much as you are. Somehow, this blog has taken a complete turn from what I intended. Gotta work on that sometime soon.

So I decided that I was willing to try this whole "just friends" route with Seth Cohen, as I mentioned. I called him earlier today to see if he wanted to go down to San Diego this weekend on Saturday and Sunday to go apple-picking and eating lots of apple pies with Sarah and her friends. I figured if nothing else, at least he could meet my other friends out here and it would give me some company on the ride down since I don't think I will be heading down Friday with Sarah. Want to go surfing with Newpsie on Saturday morning, although if today's surf was any indicaton, it may not happen - freezing water and choppy waves...crap surf session.

I called him, we chatted for awhile, nothing too exciting. I invited him and he said he was actually heading to San Fran. No worries. I didn't think he'd come anyways. I ask him what he's doing in San Fran and he proceeds to give me all the details. More details than I would have cared for. A friend of his lives there and apparently rents out a club or something once a month or every couple months. I have no idea. I wasn't really paying attention. I was too busy trying to ignore him as he went on and one about how many hot women attend these parties and how he can't wait to get his "freak on" with as many as possible. I was like, "You're an ass. You're seriously saying this to ME?! Hi there, shut the fuck up. I don't want to hear about how you're whoring it up. Thanks for rubbing it in, ass."

Then he goes on about how his sex drive is out of control. You've been single a month. In that month, you've had sex 6 times with me. And god knows how many other times with other skanks you've picked up in the club. Fuckin' ass. So I told him what an ass he was and he should shut the fuck up because he had no right to complain. He thought it was funny. I didn't quite see the humor.

I decided that this subject was a dangerous one and I was close to losing it so I changed topics. I told him how a friend of mine had recently broken up with her boyfriend and I wasn't sure how to help her feel better. "Do I know her?" he asked. "Yes, you dumbass. You ask me that everytime I mention her. You met her before," and described her to him in detail. "Hmm..so she's single, huh? Would you set me up with her?"

Dumbfounded, I stared at the phone as if I hadn't heard correctly or had gone through a bad cell area. "Are you kidding? What kind of idiot are you? No, I will not hook you up with her. You're not her type anyways."

"What are you talking about? I bet if we were hanging out together and I turned on the charm, I could get her to bed."

I could not believe him. What kind of ass says this to a girl he was just recently sleeping with? Honest to god, I can't believe I even talk to this kid. Or any guys in the world because I can think of perhaps 4 guys that I know right now who are not the biggest jackasses that ever lived. The rest...they treat me in a similarly tactless manner, saying things that you shouldn't say to your female friends.

After I convinced him that she was completely out of his league, which she is, I said something along the lines of "I can't even believe you get as much ass as you do. I mean, no offense, you're not the kind of guy that you'd expect to be slutting around."

And I wasn't kidding. Looking at him, you would never think that girls would sleep with this kid on a regular basis. I don't even know why I wanted to sleep with him on a regular basis. I mean, he's not even that cute. You meet him and you think, "Total nerdsville." Seriously. Crazy curly hair, super ass skinny (even for me, who loves the super skinny nerds), and well, he's not that cute. I'm sorry. He's not. So why am I upset that he doesn't want me? And why does he get so many women? Why are all the women in the world idiots like me? Good god.

The one benefit to our horrible conversation was that I was on my way to the grocery store. I spent 30 dollars on groceries this week. Mainly because I didn't want to eat ever again. Seems like a pattern when I talk to him - I should talk to him once a week because suddenly, I lose my appetite for days. I mostly just feel sick in my stomach after speaking to him. Maybe by Thanksgiving, I'll be svelte and beautiful. Then I will go to his house and kick his ass.

Sigh. When did I turn into such a girl? It's not like I am looking for a husband or to start a family. I'm not. I've never been one for that dream of the white picket fence, 2.5 kids and a dog. Seriously. I know my mother will be disappointed that she has to wait for my sister or brother to have grandkids first - at this rate, it will be my younger brother getting married first since my sister would have to actually move away from home and meet some boys. She's worse off than I am, I think. But the more I start to think about it, the more I want a boyfriend. Or at least, just someone who will love me as much as I love them without stupid games or heartache. Is that asking too much? I don't think so. But apparently the universe thinks otherwise....

FOX..the new MTV?

2005-09-19T23:19:00.000-07:00

I'm beginning to think the best place to hear new (and some not-so-new, but at least unfamiliar) tunes is to just turn to the latest episode of any FOX show. As you all know, I'm a huge OC fan, so I've been exposed to quite a few new bands and cool songs courtesy of the boys and girls who choose the music for that supershow.

Tonight, however, I was watching the new series "Prison Break" (with perhaps the yummiest new actor since Adam Brody, Wentworth Miller) and the song playing as Michael was being taken away from his brother caught my ear. I loved it. I did a quick google search for "I stood beneath an orange sky" (part of the opening lines) and the name "Alexi Murdoch" popped up. I knew that I had heard this name before. But could not figure out where. I listened to the song on his website and knew I not only liked the song, but I had also heard it before. Digging a little deeper on google and lo and behold, "Orange Sky" appeared on The O.C. Mix #1.

But back to FOX as the new MTV. Last week I was watching "House" while doing work (I find that watching television keeps the boredom of work from driving me insane) and, I heard the hauntingly familiar refrain of a song I'd heard before. I did a quick online search for "Songs heard on 'House' " and discovered that this beautiful song called "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley, had also been featured on The O.C.

Perhaps it shouldn't be FOX as the new MTV, but rather The O.C. as new MTV?

Either way, I am finding a whole slew of new bands and songs that I really like by watching television. On the radio, you seem to hear the same songs over and over again. And although watching television may not be the most academic of pursuits, I'm finding that it's adding to my music collection considerably. Oh iTunes...how I despise your .99 cent fee for each new song, but if it will make my work-out on the elliptical slightly more enjoyable, I suppose the end result justifies the means. Sigh.

Yay! Thunder and Lightning!

2005-09-19T20:03:00.000-07:00

It finally has happened - there's something besides sunny, beautiful weather out here in California. It's amazing!!!!

We're having a crazy thunder and lightning storm. Here's hoping it actually rains tonight or tomorrow, too. If not, at least maybe this storm will warm the ocean somehow so it's bearable for an afternoon surf session on Wednesday.

Plus, these storm fronts have created massive swells so it's been pretty cool. I can't surf the big waves because, well, I suck. But it makes for a great photograph...

(Side note from me...a few hours later) - it actually is raining. Woohoo!! Who would have thought that I would be cheering rain? Certainly not me. Normally I hate rain and snow. But right about now...I'm pretty happy for the rain since I have not seen rain since, oh last March.

I hate spammers.

2005-09-14T22:06:00.000-07:00

Ok, seriously, what is up with the spam comments I keep getting on my blog? STOP IT!! I don't care about your health insurance site or your comments about some stupid ass French car that's coming out. If it has nothing to do with the post you're commenting on, what the hell is the point? No one is going to click on your random website through my blog, Anonymous, so quit it. I'm just going to continue erasing the comments - it's a pain in the ass, but I'm certainly not going to leave up some stupid ass comment with directions to a retarded website.

I've now had 5 spam comments in the past week. The first one I thought was weird, but I figured it was a one time thing and didn't delete it. The last 4 however, have gone right into the trash can - I mean, really. Who cares about some stupid French car or UK mortgage rates? They try to trick me by writing something like, "I really like your blog. I'll be sure to bookmark it. If you get a chance, check out my site www.iamastupidspammer.com (obviously not the real site, although there should be one)." Yeah, like I can't see right through that Sparky. They all write the same exact thing, wouldn't that perhaps clue me in? Tossers.

So to anyone who is thinking about spamming me, I'll hunt you down. It's not like I've got a ton to do out here on the West Coast. I'll find a way to figure out who you are...and then there will be trouble....

The Seth Cohen Saga continues..

2005-09-14T18:06:00.000-07:00

I'm seriously beginning to wonder about men. Ok, so this weekend, Seth Cohen informs me that although he thinks I'm this fabulous, kick-ass girl who he wants to continue hanging out with, he would never want to date me. One reason for that being because we have nothing in common.

Course, that confuses me even more because if we have so little in common (and to be honest, we really have nothing in common at all, besides the Boston connection), why bother wanting to hang with me on a platonic level? It doesn't quite make sense. His concern was "what would we talk about on a daily basis if we were dating?" Um, what will we talk about when hanging out platonically? Do you see what I'm getting at? His rationale is kind of logic-free, don't you think? Maybe it's just me.

Anyways, fine. So we'll be friends. It was decided that we wouldn't contact each other for a month so that perhaps as the days go by, the feelings will subside (on my part) and we'll be able to be normal, platonic friends. I have my doubts, but oh well. Willing to give it a shot.

And yet...last night as I was coming home from my hip hop class (I should mention that the double rejection of this weekend has lead me directly to the gym - hey, revenge is a good motivator), I got a voicemail from Mr. Seth Cohen saying, "I thought you might want to know...the girlfriend and I are officially over. We're not just on a break anymore, we're done - she gave me the boot tonight. I thought you should know."

And, why is that? To rub it in that now that you're "officially" single, you still don't want to date me? He even acknowledged that he was breaking the "one month rule" on contact by calling me. This situation just gets weirder and weirder. I have no idea what to make of it.

I wish I could just find my own Mark Darcy and be done with these emotional fuckwits. So far, no luck. Maybe after a good gym stint for a couple months, I'll be svelte and sexy and then can a) laugh at Seth and Daniel when they decide I'm suddenly date-able and b) find a guy who might actually both like me AND want to date me. It's a thought. Has me going back to the gym tonight, at least. Who knows how long this gym-going will last, but for now....

On an un-related note, I caught an HBO show "Reverse of the Curse of the Bambino" this afternoon. I wish I had taped it - but I only caught the last 15 minutes of it. It was really good though, made me wish I was home for the rest of the Sox season. Sigh...And to top it off, they keep running ads for "Fever Pitch" since the DVD just came out. Makes me a little homesick.

Ok, that's it..Time for the next hip hop class at the gym. Three days in a row. This must be a new record for me. Hopefully I'll keep it up...my gift to myself for Christmas is to be a whole pant size smaller.

Emotional fuckwits and the cheap man's Seth Cohen

2005-09-12T00:28:00.000-07:00

Oh kiddies, if you thought some of the last blogs were right out of Carrie Bradshaw's column, wait 'til you get a load of the crap I've got to tell.

So guy # 1 (who I will refer to as Seth Cohen from now on. My old roommate in Boston and I used to refer to him as the cheap man's Seth Cohen because he reminded us of him - with the crazy Jewfro and the dry, sarcastic sense of humor) went away for the week back to the East Coast. We were in contact through the week, it was actually quite nice. Unfortunately for me, I realized that I was starting to have feelings for Seth Cohen and he also apparently decided during his stay at home that he would never want to date me. So as you might have guessed, it's over before it even started. Which sucks. And this happens to me every single time. I don't get it. There must be something inherently un-dateable about me. It's a mystery to me. I'm convinced it's a physical thing. I know, that sounds nuts considering he obviously finds me good enough to sleep with so he can't be completely repulsed by me. But sleeping with someone and dating someone are two different things - I tend to tell myself that if I only lost 30 pounds, maybe he would decide he wants to date me. Masochistic, I know. But what else can I expect? I mean, he has given me the whole "you're such a great girl, I have so much fun with you" speech (which, coincidentally, I've heard so many damn times I should have a copyright on it) and yet, for some reason, does not want to date me. I'm sorry - am I wrong for being confused? If I am so great, why don't any of these guys want to date me? I really don't understand why he is so anti-dating me, how can he know without trying it?

That's it, tomorrow I'm starting back on my gym routine. If for nothing other than to lose 30 or 40 pounds so I can at least see the look on his face and all the other guys who found me so undateable. So I can say, "No, I'm sorry...I don't want to date YOU now."

Childish. I know. But that's about all I've got going for me right now.

And guy #2 (who I will refer to Daniel Cleaver from "Bridget Jones" because of his hair and his ability to mess with my emotions like no other) pulled an interesting stunt this weekend. Friday night he invited me over to his house at midnight. I went. Because I'm an idiot. I will spare you the details. Nothing much really happened to be quite honest. I left a couple hours later with him promising that much would happen the next night. Next day comes and goes without any contact from him, despite my attempts to get him on the phone. I get mad (because that's what I do when people bail on me and consistently disappoint me) and left him a couple angry voicemails. Ok, I left him more than a couple voicemails. I admit, I sort of went off the handle because I was off the anti-depressants as I was trying an experiment with the whole "sex/antidepressats" thing. Yeah, I won't be trying that again since I saw just how badly I reacted to the whole Daniel Cleaver bailong on me.

Today he calls and yells at me for overreacting and being a psycho. Um, hi there, Daniel? Don't be a jerk and bail on someone when you've made plans. Don't ignore their phone calls, hoping they'll just go away.

So a week later, I am left with nothing. Seth Cohen and I are apparently going to try to be friends. Yeah, right. Like that will ever happen. We were never friends to begin with. So I don't know how we're supposed to start all over as friends without any physical interaction. I probably should just cut my losses and never talk to him again, but since I have so few friends here in California, I really don't want to lose two friends (or so-called friends) in one weekend. That would cut my number of friends down to 3. At least Seth and I have been completely civil to each other throughout this whole ordeal. He is genuinely concerned with my well-being, or at least is really good at making it seem that way, and doesn't want to hurt me. So he's put the ban on any further physical encounters, lest my feelings grow stronger. Even though I originally was the one to tell him we should stop all encounters (in an email yesterday that he only got today when he returned home), I can't help but be hugely disappointed. I guess because I secretly hoped he would say, "No, let's continue. Let's see where it takes us." But that was just my wishful thinking. I should know better than that. It's all about self-preservation at this point. That's what I keep telling myself anyway while attempting to not cry at being dissed yet again. How stupid am I to let the same guy do this to me twice? I should have known better than to go down this road again.

I never understood how guys can have casual sex relationships. I mean, ok, a one night stand I understand. You can't really get attached to someone in one night. But if you continously hang out and sleep with someone, how can you not get attached? I don't care what any girls say - it is impossible for us to have that sort of relationship without emotions. If a girl says it, she's lying. Unless she really can't stand the guy she's sleeping with. And at that point, I don't know why she is sleeping with him in the first place, but that really is the only instance where I can see that a girl wouldn't get emotionally attached. Seth Cohen told me that during the whole month we were together in Boston, he never got emotionally attached to me and . I was so hurt by that comment - especially given my emotional attachment to him by the end of that month. I was ready to have a full-time boyfriend, something I never thought I'd ever want. He made me see how nice it would be to have someone around to laugh and sleep with, and share things with. I didn't understand how he could have spent so much time with me and not developed any feelings beyond friendship at all. I was pretty bummed when he told me that tonight.

As for Daniel Cleaver and I...I haven't the slightest idea what the hell will happen. I can't be friends with someone so unreliable and with such disregard for my feelings. He really is Daniel Cleaver. He's a total emotional fuckwit. And just like Daniel Cleaver, he shows up at the most inopportune times and professes his lust and love. It's not really fair. And just like Daniel Cleaver, he is a very good looking guy. So it makes it that much harder. Especially considering I have no other boys to distract me at the moment, given that I know a total of maybe 6 people out here in California - some just as passing acquaintences.

Ah, I don't know. Part of me thinks perhaps I should just joine a nunnery and call it even. At this point, I don't know what I am supposed to do. How I can go from being a total "Sex and the City" girl from one week to a pathetic, celibate loser who can't even get guys who previously wanted a booty call to answer her pleas.

All I know is, I'm sick of crying over boys who don't actually deserve my tears. I've watched "Bridget Jones" both Saturday and Sunday night, now. I'm finding that I relate entirely too well to the story, disturbingly so. The weight problem, the emotional fuckwits, the lack of a career. The only thing I don't relate well to is the drinking and smoking addictions. At this point I'm tempted to take up smoking, just to have something to occupy my times.

It's like coming home..

2005-09-08T23:44:00.000-07:00

Tonight was the season premiere of my most favorite show in the world, "The O.C." Go ahead and mock me, I know you want to, but secretly (and some not-so-secretly) you love it too. How can you not love a show chock full of pop culture references and a fabulous Jew-fro on one of the main characters? Life is officially good.

Finally, I can get my fix of witty Cohenisms and snarky Chino banter. It's now obvious what my life was missing all this summer. And I live in the O.C.! This episode (minus all the stupid D.A./interrogation crap) was actually pretty good, too, especially when you consider the amount of rubbish last season contained (until the second half of the season, of course, when it finally started to get good again). Who knew Ryan could be so funny? His imitation of Summer was priceless. I can't help but get the feeling that it might not have been scripted and it may just have been Ben McKenzie making fun of Rachel Bilson. Which makes it even funnier. And the ending with Ryan leaning on Sandy's shoulder to cry. Och, I feel a tear coming on just thinking about it. I'm debating switching sides to be a Ryan girl instead of a Seth girl these days...

So Trey is gone and so is that storyline. Thank tha Lord! Please, no more stupid extra characters. First Oliver first season. Then the 4 freaks last year. Now we have to deal with Jeri Ryan. C'mon Josh Schwartz. Throw me a bone, dude! Bring back Luke - I miss Luke and his gay dad.

At least for now Summer and Seth are back trading insults and kisses, Marissa and Ryan are together - although next week's previews with the new principal (um, hi, what happened to the old one?) wanting to give "The O.C.'s most notorious couple" the boot seems a bit harsh and probably spells trouble for my beloveds. The other major snafu this season seems to be that Kirsten is still in rehab and doesn't appear to want to come home. Oh, and Sandy hasn't told her anything about Marissa shooting Trey? What the hell is that all about? I mean, I know the woman is in rehab, but isn't she going to be a little pissed off when she finds out about all the drama she's missed?

For now, I can just bask in the glow that is Ryan Atwood's impressive upper body, as I taped the episode tonight so I wouldn't miss a single second while riding my bike home from swimming at the high school. I have my priorities, people! So I can watch that scene from Catalina (or wherever they were supposed to be) over and over again. Swoon.

As you were...

There's no question...

2005-09-08T15:19:00.000-07:00

I need one of these shirts. Specifically the one for Gabe b/c he is hawt. With a capital "H".

Check out the shirts at www.soxtease.com

I want one. Nuff said.

Size L please, if anyone is feeling generous :)

A Blast from the Past. And 3 dollars.

2005-09-08T12:37:00.000-07:00

Hey y'all.

I know. It's been awhile. I've not had much to say. Or rather, I have lots to say, but much of it is not appropriate for public consumption...

Having a bit of financial troubles - checked my bank balance today. I have 3 dollars. Yes, that's correct. THREE dollars. How does this continuously happen to me? I am waiting for a nice-sized check to arrive for my hotel work, but I am worried that my car payment will go through before I get it and then will get bitch-slapped with bounced check fees and whatever other fees they choose to throw my way. Argh.

A boy from my past has recently reappeared in my life and I'm not quite sure what to make of it. He and I pseudo-dated back in Boston for a month. I said "pseudo" because when we first got together, it was understood that the "relationship" really wasn't going to go anywhere because he was leaving for Los Angeles at the end of the month. Of course, you know the story - I still got attached and was heartbroken when he left. I disliked him for quite awhile after that for various reasons, one being that he started dating a girl out in L.A. within the first month and I was distraught that he was obviously not missing me the way I was missing him.

Alas, that's the way it goes. It took a long time, but about a year ago, we started talking on and off again. He was still with the girl but I was okay with that. We were just friends - something we never really had a chance to become when we first met - it was basically, we met, were friends for a week and then started our pseudo relationship.

About a month ago, I was having some issues with the fact that I've been celibate (voluntarily? I would like to think so, but somehow I am beginning to doubt it that it's really been my choice, sadly enough) for almost 2 years. So in a moment of weakness, I sent off a rather filthy email to him, suggesting all sorts of things. Keep in mind, he still had a girlfriend. Stop yelling at me. I know I'm not a good person.

A week later, he called and said, "Hey, I finally have a night free, you wanna hang?" I was a little surprised, seeing as we'd been trying to get together to hang out for months, but I was always away or he was. So I said sure and told him I could meet him halfway between HB and L.A. so he wouldn't have to drive that far but he insisted on coming all the way down to HB, but wouldn't be at my house until after 9pm. I was like, "Uh, ok...but that doesn't give us a ton of time to hang out if you're going to need to drive back home a few hours later. But whatever."

He came, we went out, it was fun. I made innocent (or not-so-innocent if you know me) comments about it being a shame that he was still with the girl and he told me to behave because I wasn't about to get any from him.

Flash forward three hours later and he's propositioning me, just "a one-time thing. This doesn't mean anything and you can't be like calling me all the time or something." Um, whaat?

I'll spare you the details, but suffice to say, I was the other woman. I'm not proud of it. I swear. I was feeling guilty the whole time - to the point that I had to actually leave the room to "collect myself" and think "what in the HELL am I doing?" I hate to admit, but the fact that a guy was offering sex to me was more important to me (remember...2 years of celibacy) than the fact that I was helping him cheat. Hey, in my warped mind, I wasn't sure when the next time an offer such as this would come along, so I justisfied it that way.

Anyways, we left it on good terms, him telling me that if and the girl ever broke up, I'd be the first person he called. I wasn't all that concerned. It was nice, but nothing like I remembered and for the first time, I wasn't obsessed with a guy after such an incident. Possibly due to the anti-depressants. I find that I don't get as passionate about such things ever since starting them. I'm more indifferent to things - although it's good I don't experience the lows like I used to, I also don't experience the highs and that's a whole other problem I want to discuss in a few paragraphs.

I went to Hawaii, we emailed a few times - all normal emails, remember we were friends before this. Then I came home and was having some...urges. So, again, in a fit of weakness, I called him. I left a voicemail - it wasn't actually all that bad. Just saying, "Oh, too bad you and the girl are still together, I could use some human contact right now."

I'll be honest. I didn't actually expect to hear from him - unless he was calling to yell at me for leaving messages like that. But the next day, he called me at 9:30 am and asked if I wanted to come "work" from his house cuz he had the day off before going home for the week. At first, I agreed. But as the hours passed (I had things to do in the morning before driving up to his place) I began to rethink my decision, realizing that there was no way I should be doing that. So I called him back and said I couldn't do that. He then informed me that he and the girl were currently on a break so I shouldn't have any guilt because he didn't. His view was, since she was the one who wanted the break, he was allowed to do whatever he wanted.

So, I'm sorry to admit, I went up to visit. Again, sparing you the details. What's odd is that I am completely comfortable around this. More so than any guy previously. I'm not so much a fan of nakedness. I never get naked in the women's locker room at the gym, nevermind walk around naked in front of guys. I hate communal changing rooms. But for some reason, I'm less squeamish around him. Maybe because I'm not really as concerned with his opinion as I used to be? I mean, yeah, I care what he thinks, but not in the way that I do when I really, really like a guy and am afraid he might be repulsed by me or something. (yes, as we've determined, I have serious issues.)

The weirdest thing is that when we are together, we totally fall into this comfortable sort of pattern - if you saw us out on the street, you'd think we had been dating for years. We've got the banter down, the comfortable air about us that makes it seem like we're a pair. I drove him to the airport later that night and did the whole "Have a good flight, kiss, kiss-goodbye" sort of thing. I don't know about you - but if I'm just hooking up with a guy for sex, I don't generally take it outside the bedroom. While I don't mind the kissing in public, it seems a little odd. Specifically given his constant insistence that "this can't go anywhere, you know this right? I mean, we're just having fun. There may not be a next time."

I realize that he is obviously trying to cover his own ass - make it clear from the start that he just wants sex so that later on, he doesn't feel bad if I get attached. Been there, done there. But then I think - then don't kiss me good-bye. Don't answer my dirty emails or phone calls. Tell me to just stop. And don't tell me that we should maybe do this on a monthly basis.

To make matters even more confusing, since I never expected him to call me back after the voicemail this week, I had also sent a truly filthy email to my other guy friend here in Cali. I have a problem. I like to send innappropriately dirty emails to guy friends. I can't help it. Imagine my surprise when he sends back a response "Hell yeah I am game." Um, sorry, what? You have never given any indication that you might want to hook up.

So I told guy #1 this answer. His answer, "That's cool. I don't mind sharing you with him."

Good lord. What the hell am I doing? On one hand, I want to be like, "Woohoo, go me, I'm all Sex and the City!" but in reality, this is probably going to lead to problems. I don't know if I can do this without getting attached to either one - both of whom I've had romantic feelings for in the past.

The other thing I want to bring up, which will fall into the category of Too Much Information, but bear with me. I wanted to know if anyone else has been on anti-depressants and found that they have affected their ability to...perform. In the past, I've never been one of those women who had any problem "getting hers", so to speak. I won't fake it - I'm the one losing in that situation, so why would I fake? And god strike down the guy who doesn't concern himself with getting me there. I'm sorry, but we're not leaving until I'm just as satisfied as you are, sir. That's my view on things. I'm as selfish as any guy in the bedroom. TMI, I know.

But since the anti-depressants, I find it nearly impossible to..get there. And it's frustrating the hell out of me. I just wanted to know if anyone else has had this problem? I am hoping to overcome it because I can't imagine going through life in this manner. No thank you, ma'am. It looks like being crazy has its advantages. I definitely see a difference in my approach to men - I don't get as excited about guys as I used to. Maybe I'm just older and therefore less boy-crazy, but that can't be the only reason. I don't get the highs and lows. I mostly feel like Vanilla most of the time. There's no exotic flavors to my world right now.

Ok, now that I've blessed with information most of you never wanted to know, I'll leave you here. Haven't had much travel-related tales to share. I'll try to get on that sometime soon so that this blog doesn't turn into some Sex and the City-type blog.

Blargh.

2005-09-02T01:34:00.000-07:00

You know what's really depressing and makes you feel even more pathetic than you might already feel? When your 20-year-old roommate has her new boyfriend over until the wee hours of the night and you can hear her laughs through the thin apartment walls. She has the loudest laugh of anyone I know, so it just serves to remind me of how pathetic I really am as I continuously hear her giggling at his no-doubt charming and amusing sweet whispers.

It seems like everyone I know these days has a boyfriend. I honestly can think of maybe two other women that I currently know who are not dating anyone (and even then, I could be wrong, as it's been awhile since we last spoke). Every single other girl in my life has a boyfriend. Some even have husbands. Both roommates have boyfriends. Sarah, the only other friend I have out here, has a boyfriend. Every friend from home and college has a boyfriend.

I'm actually having a really hard time coming to terms with this. Friends who I've only ever known as single gals suddenly have boyfriends and I feel like I no longer know them. And I feel a little angry at them, inexplicably so. When I hear about their new men, I get all angry inside and want them to just stop talking about. I don't know if I feel like they are rubbing it in (even though I know none of them would ever intentionally do that). It is so bizarre. Life now revolves around the new man, and I do understand it - the beginning stages of dating a guy are exciting. You want to be around him all the time. I'm really surprised at just how hard I am taking all of this, however. Partially I am jealous because I don't have that, partially I am sad because I know that this is how the rest of life is going to be if I continue being the independent, boyfriend-less girl. Everyone else around me will be changing and growing, getting married, having kids and I'm just wondering where that leaves me. Alone with a bunch of cats? (Or rather, a legion of angry bunnies roaming my yard. I decided that the crazy lady with cats thing is far too cliched. I'd much rather have angry bunnies roaming my backyard. Don't ask why.)

I've never been one to ever gauge the success of my life on whether or not I had a man. I never understood those women are seemingly incapable of living life without a boyfriend. I know women who are like that - serial daters. Once they leave one guy, they find another immediately. It's like they can't be alone for any length of time or they might spontaneously combust. I've never been that way. I've never thought to myself, "I need a man or my life is incomplete!" I've always been irritated that this is the view that society tends to have for women, especially women my age. I've always thought, "Another person can not make you complete. You have to be complete on your own. You can't depend on other people for your happiness in life."

This is probably a good thing since I've never actually had a "real" boyfriend in my entire life. I've "dated" (and I use that term loosely) here or there, but most of my "relationships" have been of the one night variety. Sometimes the one nights have happened to repeat over the course of a few weeks or even a month. They've not been deep, meaningful relationships. And I'm not sure why. I don't think I'm completely hideous. I'm smart, I can carry on a conversation, I've got a wide variety of interests and I think I can be pretty damn funny under the right circumstances. So why is it that I'm the only one left of my friends still wandering the the aisles of the supermarket shopping for one?

Being single never really bothered me all that much in Boston because a lot of my friends were also single and I had enough other things going on that I was distracted momentarily from the lack of love in my life. I was young and I think, under the impression that life would be like that forever - forgetting that as you get older, generally people tend to get married and have kids. I keep forgetting that I, too, am getting older, preferring instead to think I'm 23 for the rest of my life. Here, where I have so few friends, everything is illuminated and magnified. Without people to hang out with on a daily basis, or an office routine to keep me amused during the day, I have a lot of time to think and reflect on my life. And suddenly, I'm not so sure that I haven't been doing it all wrong. My fierce independence hasn't exactly led me down a stellar career path. I'm not writing Pulitzer Prize-winning novels (or any novels, for that matter). I haven't become a worldly traveler, regaling the masses with my adventures. So, did I forsake having a relationship for no reason at all? I always used to tell myself that the reason I never had a boyfriend was because I didn't want one and I had too many other things I wanted to focus on. I didn't want to be tied down. I wanted the freedom to travel, to move wherever I wanted, to change jobs, without ever having to worry about someone else's feelings.

Maybe I haven't been forsaking a relationship at all - maybe it's never been my choice to begin with. Maybe the reason I never had a boyfriend was not out of my desire for freedom, but rather because no one else wanted me in the first place. Course, in those rare occasions when I did date, I always found a reason to end it within a month or so, claiming that "I was bored and needed to move on." Deep down, I was probably more scared that he would be bored with me and end it. Get out before you can get hurt. Can't fail if you don't try. I tend to live a lot of my life in that respects - can't be a failure at writing if you don't send out queries to editors...can always call yourself a writer if you have a blog and were published in the past.

I've begun to think that my cry of independence has just been a defense mechanism - like the fat kid who makes fun of himself before anyone else can. I proclaim my independence so loudly that it makes people believe that it's a voluntary choice to be single, not because no one is asking me out. Am I proclaiming a bit too loudly in an effort to actually convince myself that I'm independent and don't really care if I don't have a boyfriend? That's another possibility. Tell yourself something enough times and you begin to believe it.

I see how lacking in love my life has really been. I have never once, in my life, said "I love you" to another person. Even my parents. Sure, I love them, but I've never said the words aloud. We're not a very intimate sort of family. I could count on my fingers the number of times they've said those words to me over my lifetime. Usually when I am about to embark on some big trip. Then there's that awkward hug at the airport and a quick "Be good, love you" moment that I'm so eager to get away from.

I don't know if my sudden realization of this has hit because my 10-year high school reunion is looming on the horizon. I have no desire to go. Everytime I mention to my high school friends that I don't feel like going, I get threatened with death. What is the purpose of me attending such a function? So I can be asked the same three questions over and over again? - "Are you married? Do you have kids? What are you doing for work?"

No, I am not married. No, I do not have kids. I'm not sure I even want either of those things. I've never had the maternal instinct and how can I get married if I don't even date? Work? Well, I currently have two, possibly three jobs but as for a career...I haven't quite settled on one thing yet. I know what I'd like to do in an ideal world, but so far, National Geographic hasn't come knocking on my door asking me to explore the world, taking pictures and writing long essays about my experiences.

I dread the idea of going to this reunion because I'd say at least half my class is married, many with kids on the way, living in the New England area. A lot of them married within our hometown - i.e., high school sweethearts and the like. To them, I'm a strange character. A single girl who has moved across the country and likes to travel to foreign lands for kicks instead of shopping for the most recent SUV? I'm a freak of nature. I don't feel like being prodded and poked and examined like a circus sideshow or an exotic creature in a zoo exhibit. To many of my fellow classmates, having a husband and a family is the end all and be all measure of success. So to them, I am a miserable failure.

Personally, I'd rather keep tradition alive and go to London over Thanksgiving. It's usually cheap to fly then and I really miss my silly British friend James. I didn't make it over there last year, so (before I even knew about the reunion) I was plotting my escape from LA for a few days to enjoy a bit of cold weather in London, before coming back to the O.C. and embracing the sunny SoCal weather. I've been told that this is not an option by friends at home who have not seen me since Feb. My parents, too, were a little concerned when I mentioned London instead of a trip home. What, I'll be home for Christmas! What's the point of going home twice in the period of a month?

Alas, it is almost 2 am here in the O.C. I should be sleeping. Or at least doing some freelance work so I can pay my rent this month. Which, incidentally, was due today. D'oh. So for now, that's enough of my rants and raves.

I'll never look at Jamba Juice the same way..

2005-08-31T23:19:00.000-07:00

I had all these amusing stories I wanted to share about Hawaii, but the longer I put off writing blogs, the less entertaining they become to me. Plus, they probably won't be as funny to you since most of them are the kind of "you had to be there" tales. The agony of downing 4-6 smoothies on a daily basis for 10 days isn't so much funny as it is disgusting, now that I think about it. And it was, let me assure you. That combined with stuffing yourself with three square meals a day plus in-room dining reviews, it's enough to make anyone wish they were bulimic (which, incidentally, my Swedish co-worker was well on her way to becoming by the end of this trip).

So the smoothie detox story shall go on the backburner for now. And probably will stay there unless something reminds me of it and I feel the urge to share. Suffice to say, I'm off smoothies for awhile, although sickeningly enough, I almost got one today at Jamba Juice until I started really thinking about it and decided I would sorely regret such a purchase later on.

I do want to say one thing about Hawaii though - if you're paying $400 bucks a night for a room, wouldn't it be nice for the hotels to throw in the internet for free instead of making you pay an extra $10-20 bucks a night? I mean, I'm not personally paying $400 a night since the room is paid for already, but if I wanted internet and couldn't steal if from another wireless source, I had to pay. I think that's a bit ridonkulous. Sure, you might say, but if you're throwing that kind of money around for a hotel room, what's another 20 bucks? Yes, I understand that, but it's the principle of it all. The Holiday freakin' Inn offers free wireless, but the Sheraton can't? That's the most retarded thing I've ever heard.

On another note, the Sheraton gets my award for the "Best Hotel Amenities" however. Most hotel amenities suck after the initial novelty wears off. No offense Hyatt, but your shampoo and conditioner are crap. The Sheraton uses real shampoo, not some generic brand with their own name slapped on front. Ooh la la. It makes my hair all shiny and pretty. Which, as we all know, is the most important thing in the world.

Another reason for me to avoid writing elaborate and extensive blogs on Hawaii is that I just don't feel like it. I've been writing too many cover letters and sending emails to various travel (and non-travel) publications looking for a "real" job (with benefits and health insurance, oh my!) that I don't want to write for my own personal enjoyment much. Which is a problem, if you think about it. I'd much rather write about how the Swede and I totally freaked out the bellboy when we were trying to get his name off his nametag when he came to our room and we started referring to him as "Silver Fox" in our reports (in the end we changed those references, even though we really wanted to keep them in for the sake of injecting a little humor into the reports). Or how I met a newlywed couple from Weymouth at a luau and ended up on their honeymoon video because the chatty husband (who spent more time talking to me than his new wife) wanted "the cool Sox fan" they (he) met in Hawaii to say something on video. *Cringe* I am thinking she beat him when they returned to their suite that night. He wasn't getting no lovin' that night that's for sure.

One small word of advice - if you don't surf, but want to give it a shot while in Waikiki, by all means, please do. But do the 8 thousand other people in the water a favor and make an effort to use the board for its intended use. Don't just use it as a raft, lying parallel to the waves 'cuz then you're just in the way. I can't tell you how many fat old ladies ruined a perfectly good wave (one of the very few) because they were in the way and I don't have the skills yet to maneuver around them. They were all just lying on the boards, sunning themselves. If you want a tan, buy a cheap raft at the ABC stores (there's over 50 of them on Oahu alone!) and lie out in the shallow waters. Don't place your board perpendicular to mine as I'm trying to catch a wave and then feign deafness when I spew obscenities because I had to bail off the board 'cuz you're smack in the way. I'm using my own precious money to rent the board (the company sure as hell wasn't letting me expense it) and I only have so much time to try not sucking at surfing. Don't make it that much harder for me. My patience is already non-existent when it comes to my fellow tourists.

As it was, there were already way too many people crowding the waters at Waikiki Beach and with few waves to go around, it was a frustrating experience. I didn't bother renting a board a second time while there because it just didn't seem worth it. The roommate and I went down to Newport Beach yesterday for a couple hours and I actually managed to get up a couple times without immediately falling off the board. Swallowed a whole lot of salt water and snorted a bunch up my nose, to the point that I had an attractive nosedrip all day, but it was worth it. Even though the red tide was out of control and we stank to the high heavens when we got home. Did you ever collect sand dollars in buckets as a kid and then bring them home and leave them outside in the hot sun? That's the stench that clung to our rashguards and shorts and scented our hair, even after a couple "rinse, lather, repeat" scrubbings. Oh yeah, it's sexy.

Another reason I don't feel like regaling you with stories is that there are more important things going on in the world than my silly travel tales. The devastation down South, for instance. My mom has spent the afternoon trying to reach her uncle down in New Orleans. When I was there back in '97 for Spring Break, I visited him and his wife in their Metarie home, so I am hoping they are alright. I remember going through his extensive photos (he's a professional photographer) and be awed by his darkroom. I keep thinking that of course I hope they are safe first and foremost, but it would be a horrible thing if their house was flooded and all his photos were ruined. Losing things like journals and photos is worse than losing any other material item, in my humble opinion. You can't replace those things like you can a book or clothes. So I've got my fingers crossed that they evacuated and they're fine. Metarie isn't very far from New Orleans, but I believe it is slightly higher than sea level, so they shouldn't have suffered the same kind of damages as the poor people in New Orleans. To the people of N'awlins I say, put the guns away and help each other. Looting the local Walmart for a rifle doesn't help anyone. Becoming a vigilante is not the answer. Take the bread, water, candy, cigarettes and all the diapers you need - but without electricity and a home, what in the hell are you going to do with a plasma television? Honestly. Looting and rioting ain't gonna help anything get better. The rest of the country is here to help, we're not turning our backs on you, so don't make what's already a horrible situation even worse by shooting those around you because you're "a victim" and you feel like you should be able to take the law into your own hands. This isn't the Gaza Strip.

When in America...

2005-08-29T00:34:00.000-07:00

Aloha kiddies.

I'm back from Waikiki. Good lord, what a trip. At some point this week, I'll get into the details of my new smoothie detox program, my pathetic surfing, the last two days of doing all the work myself because my coworker had to stay in the hospital with my boss who needed emergency surgery and all the rants and raves that I've got about Hawaii.

But just a short little note - I am sorry if this is racist, but I have to get it out. If you're going to work in America...LEARN ENGLISH. There is nothing more irritating to me than to go to a McDonald's (yes, I admit, I was frequenting Mickey D's) and have to repeat my order 5 times because the girl behind the counter does not speak English. Did Hawaii recently become part of another country? Last I checked, Hawaii was still an American state. I have no problem with foreigners in general. I mean, come spend your money, it's all good. But if you're going to live and work here, LEARN ENGLISH. I'm not saying to ignore your own culture, but if you're going to service Americans, you're going to have to speak our language. I hate to point fingers, but it seems to be mostly Asians that refuse to learn the language. I don't get it and I feel bad even saying it outloud, but Christ Almighty. Everywhere we went in Waikiki, I could hardly understand the staff behind the front desks at the hotels or the shops. If I moved to say, Spain or somewhere, I sure as hell would learn Spanish before attempting to work there. If you're just visiting a country, fine. Speak your own language. But I'm specifically talking about those who live in our country (illegally or not) and work here (illegally or not..I'm guessing mostly illegally, which is another whole issue I won't get into here today..) and refuse to assimilate. You ever been to Chinatown in any major city? That's what I'm talking about here, people.

And don't get me started on that whole issue with the government (or whoever it is) wanting schools to teach Spanish kids in Spanish and everyone else in English. Because the Spanish-speaking population doesn't think it's fair to teach their kids in English because they don't know English since they speak Spanish at home. Well, goddamn. I'm sorry but if you're going to live here and work here learn the damn language. Why should we take more of the little money that schools get as it is to make a special program to teach your kids in Spanish? Move to Mexico if you want them to learn in Spanish. Hmm, not such an appealing alternative is it? Refusing to learn English is not going to help you in the long run if you really want to make a life here in the United States.

But enough of that. I just had to get it off my chest. 10 days in Waikiki repeating my orders 8 times everytime I went into a store was getting a little annoying, especially given that Hawaii is not a foreign country. And the little kids running around annoying the shit out of me...I hate kids. I hate kids whose parents are completely oblivious to the fact that their kids are running around pissing off everyone in the vicinity. Control your kids! Don't let them throw silverware in the restaurant. Don't let them shout and scream and disturb every other patron in the place. That's just plain rude. Wolves could raise these children better.

Ahhh..enough ranting for tonight. I'm tired. Tomorrow I go to dinner and a bar in Beverly Hills. Ugh. More eating. Not only do I have to enter a smoothie detox program, but also a food program. You know it's bad when you dread having to eat a beautiful cut of Filet Mignon, fancy Tomato and Onion salad and a selection of sorbets. The idea of eating anything by the end of the 10 days made my stomach turn. The girl traveling with me even took to hurling up dinner after we got back to the room. Not for the sake of making sure she didn't gain weight. Just because she felt disgusting. I felt gross too, but I can't bring myself to throw up if I'm not sick. I just can't do it. But trust me, I considered it. It was akin to packing a musket with an overload of smoothies and food, without any sort of release. You want to die. And then your boss says, "Ok, time for the dinner buffet!" Good god, kill me. My pants didn't fit by the end of the week. I am so not kidding. I was so disturbed by that when I put them on to go to the airport, having not worn any pants all week (only shorts and skirts...it was just too damn hot for pants!).

Fancy, gourmet food is only a treat when you don't have to eat it every single night. Moderation id definitely the key to enjoying life. Moderation, bitches.

Until then, drink a smoothie for me.

Aloha, bitches!

2005-08-18T10:18:00.000-07:00

Just a quick note to say I have not forgotten you all, but I am presently in Hawaii where if I have any actual downtime, I prefer to spend it outside near the beautiful water rather than inside writing blogs.

However I do have some entertaining stories to share, so perhaps one day soon I will get the drive and motivation to put them to paper..err, computer. Hawaii is a beauteous place and I can't wait to try my sucky hand at surfing later on. Already at 7 am, the water is dotted with inept surfers like myself so at least I will not be alone in my quest to "hang 10" (I'm so sorry. That is such a lame phrase. I should at least be able to come up with a 21st century surf phrase, being that I live in the self-proclaimed "Surf City." Sheesh.)

Toodles for now...I know you're jealous that part of my job yesterday was to lie by the pool drinking strawberry smoothies. No, seriously. An hour of my day consisted of doing that for the purpose of reviewing the lounge staff. Sometimes this job really does rock...sometimes, such as last night being up still after midnight writing a review about stupid, weird room service people, it does not..

Back to reality..

2005-08-09T20:15:00.000-07:00

I heard back from the hottie with a body today in an email. Sigh. Apparently he was not as taken with me as I was with him because this is what his response read :

"Hey Jill,
Ha, I totally forgot that I had even given you the email address and I am impressed you remembered it. I had a great time in L.A. and maybe I will see you in Aspen. I am thinking about volunteering now because it was so fun. Thanks for the picture and the pin....yeah....Mine is a beer coozy so not quite the pin but close enough! The website was [a random website] and the webmaster's name is [name] so good luck! I don't know if he has some sort of direct contact on there or not. But I will talk to him if I see him. Good hearing from you again, and what was the trackie dance? I really don't remember it! hahah! Anyways keep in touch. Peace.... ~ (Hottie with a body. Or rather, his actual name. Which I will not be putting publicly)"

This was in response to my email :

"Hey [HWAB], (I'm hoping I remembered the email address correctly...)

In case you weren't sure, this is Jill - the Boston ("Bahston") girl who tried to tattoo you and also continuously grabbed your ass throughout the evening. What can I say, I couldn't help myself. It's not everyday you meet a fellow nerd who is funny AND hot. And can do a fairly good British accent! "You what? Cheers, love." ;)

I realize it's been less than like 24 hours since I saw your impressive white-boy "I'm a trackie" dancing act, but I tried looking up that website you told me about and could not remember the address. Collegedays or Collegemaze or something?

Who's that hottie in the glasses? Oh wait, it's just you. See, I told you I would send the picture. I don't have photoshop so I couldn't get rid of the red eye. And this other pic - is this the pin you were saying you had? If you really do have it, that is hilarious because you're the only other person I've ever met that has one. We must share the same twisted sense of humor. Scary thought, eh?

Hope you had a good flight back to Chicago. Take it easy and drop a line if you want. ~ Jill "

I never once talked to him about volunteering in Aspen for the Winter X Games. Maybe he was talking to someone else about it. I never considered volunteering - but if he's going to be there, perhaps it could be fun. Oh, who am I kidding - I'll never have the money to get to Aspen in order to work for free.

I was just saddened that apparently our very memorable (to me, anyway) good-byes did not stick in his memory. I guess beer will do that to you. I am imagining he doesn't remember telling me he would have sex with me if I stayed or kissing me on the cheek and telling me how much fun he had and was so happy he met me. Stupid beer! This was all after he gave me his email address. Sigh.

Back to reality for me - reality being my dateless existence, working from home and being bored once again. Well, except for Hawaii next week anyway.

Hottie with a Body

2005-08-09T02:02:00.000-07:00

I'm in love.

Have I mentioned that I wish the X Games would come every weekend to L.A.? Because if they did, and I could guarantee a fabulous weekend like the one I just had, I would never want to leave this place for the rest of my life.

Ok, so by now, you know the story of my X Games experience, as well as the crappy "date" that I had on Saturday. On Sunday evening, there was a party being held for the volunteers at the X Games. At first I thought it was supposed to be from 4-7 pm, which yes, would be an odd time but all the events were scheduled to be over by 4, so I just assumed they would do it right afterwards. Since CPK had to work until 8 pm, I wasn't planning on going because I didn't want to go alone. Thankfully I checked my emails again and discovered that the party was scheduled from 7-10 pm. Perfect. And since CPK got out of work early, we headed over there about 7 pm.

What should have taken us roughly 25 minutes ended up taking over an hour because once we got off the exit for the Home Depot Center, we could not figure out where this party was supposed to be taking place. Nevermind the fact that everyone we asked for directions was obviously on crack and telling us the wrong way. At one point I pulled up to a stop light and saw this other car slowing down next to us, window rolled down. I nudged CPK and said, "Ask that kid where it is." As she went to ask, he leaned out the window and said, "Do you know where the Home Depot Center is?"

He, too, was a volunteer looking for the party. Ah, the irony. They really should put up some actual signs directing people to the parking lots and stuff. After 15 minutes of banging U-eys and repeated circles, we finally found our way there and went in with our new friend Rocco. Turns out Rocco is from Oahu and was just in town for the X Games, so when I go there for work in a week, he's gonna look me up and show me where I can swim with the dolphins and sea turtles. Sweet!

Once inside the party, we looked around for people we actually knew (meaning Gregg and a couple other volunteers we'd met the previous Friday). Found Gregg immediately, who I think was already half in the bag but was a friendly face, so we stuck by him for a bit before hitting the bar. Did I mention it was an open bar? They must have spent a shitload of money since every single one of these volunteers appeared to be a hardcore boozer. It was a lot of fun. They had a deejay spinning tunes, a raffle where you can win more skate decks, a couple dirt bikes and other random X Games gear. The staff from ESPN, the tv crews and all the other workers were there too.

Made our way through the crowd to hang with a couple other chill guys we'd met. The boys were all following young CPK around. As I've said, she's a hot chick, but she's also a smart one so she doesn't take any shit. The girl makes me so proud. She loves to dance, too, so of course, once on the dance floor, she had no shortage of boys wanting to grind around her. It was actually pretty funny.

While she was grooving, I decided to check out the rest of the party - we were on the top floor overlooking the Home Depot Center. Was pretty cool. I wandered through the other spots and noticed a Very Hot Guy standing in a group. He looked kind of familiar so I figured he must have been volunteering at Staples when we were there. I went in to ask CPK if she recognized him, but as I stopped to use the bathroom and then went to the bar to get another drink and when I turned around, he was standing next to me. Suddenly, I realized I knew exactly who he was.

"Were you the guy I was harassing all day Friday about tattoos?"

He laughed and said, "Oh yeah, that was you!"

"Wait a sec, were you a volunteer?"

He replied, "Oh, no. See my roommate from college is doing an internship out here with ESPN so I came to visit him for the weekend and decided to check out the Games."

I was relieved, at least that I hadn't been pestering a fellow worker about the tattoos. I was just so amused that the Hottie with a Body was here at the party and I was talking to him. Have I mentioned that he was H-O-T? Tall, thin but totally cut, with blonde spiky hair (with exactly the flippy front thing that I love so much) and a total riot. He kept teasing me about having a stash of tattoos on me just in case I wanted to paste them all over someone. I replied that if I had some, I would wait until he passed out from drinking and then would cover his entire body. Mmmm..damnit, why did I not have any extra tattoos?

CPK saw me at this point and waved me over. I said goodbye to the HWAB and went over to her to squeal, "Ohmygod, do you know who that is?!" She excitedly replied, "YES! And I'm so proud of you for talking to him!!!"

I was in heaven. I could barely concentrate on talking to anyone else, even Gregg who initiated a very entertaining conversation with me about one night stands and how women should just have them whenever they want. Amusing guy, to say the least. Actually, he is one of the nicest Cali guys I've met out here. Hopefully I get to hang with him again in the future because he's chill, down to earth and fairly normal - ie, not stuck on himself. He teaches 3rd grade in South Central, so he's obviously not just looking to be rich. It's kind of a nice change of pace.

Anyways, Gregg was encouraging me to talk to the boys, as there were many, after I told him about my horrible date the night before. I told him that there was a hottie present at the party, but I thought he was a bit out of my league. HWAB looked like a hotter version of Seth Myers from "SNL" - I know that's a weird comparison, but he totally had something, like the smile or something that reminded me of Seth Myers. And he also reminded me of the hottie Tom from England that I met in Oz. He could even do the British accent which freaked me out because with the accent AND the resemblance to Tom, it was like Byron Bay all over again. In a good way, of course.

The rest of the night continued as such - HWAB and I flirted immensely, resulting in a lot of ass-grabbing (all in good, clean fun) and references to his muscles (I told you, the kid was cut. He's a scholarship trackie in Indiana, there was not an ounce of fat on this boy). He kept telling me that I would never get to tattoo him and I pretended to be torn up about it. I kept threatening to find some, somewhere, but instead all I found were some stickers, which I promptly stuck to his biceps. He accused me of just wanting to touch his muscles. Guilty as charged! I found every excuse I could to rub his six-pack or grab his ass. Hey, he didn't seem to mind.

I found out that he is a tad young for me (21..eeeps) but not only was he hot, but he is super smart, super funny and totally not self-absorbed. You would think that a boy this hot would know he was hot and therefore be totally stuck up. That was not the case. I was amazed that he even spent as much time talking to me as he did. Hot boys don't generally pay attention to me. He was probably the only guy there who didn't seem to be interested in CPK. I'm not sure why, to be honest with you. She's about half my size and 5 inches taller than me. I'm used to being ignored when she's around. I don't know if it's because I had no problems coming up with witty comebacks to everything he said, or the fact that I used to be a soccer player and he also was a soccer player (when he's not winning track races). No idea. I guess I shouldn't question it and should just be happy he was paying so much attention.

We hung out a bit more, wandering around the partying and dancing a bit. His "I'm a white boy therefore I have no rhythm" dance moves were particularly funny. I loved the fact that he was okay with being a complete dork. This was after he had shared his secret that he was also a complete nerd with a 3.9 GPA. I was like, "be still my heart. You're an all-star runner, a nerd and you're hot?! I think I'm in love!"

I think he thought I was joking.

I so was not. If he only lived here and was not 21, he would be my perfect man.

He then challenged me to a "quote-off" of "Good Will Hunting" after I told him I was from Boston. Child, please. I will kick your ass any day of the week when it comes to "GWH". I know the damn movie by heart. He also informed me that he thinks the Boston accent is "hawt" so of course, I had to start speaking in my native accent. I generally suppress the Boston accent - after years of being tormented by New Yorkers while in college (in Boston, no less), I have pretty much lost it. I can still pull out the "retahdeds" with the best of them, but it's not as natural to me as it once was. But you can be sure, I was pulling out all the "r"s in my words Sunday night....oh yeah.

Later on we were watching his roommate break dance in the middle of a dance circle and he told me that he had to get his roommate a girl for the night because ever since the roommate got to America 3 years ago to start college, he hadn't been with a girl. I had made a joke about how it's been 2 years for me and HWAB said, "We should get you guys together."

I said, "Ah, nice thought but I think you are more my type - the hottie, tall, blonde guy and all."

He smiled and said, "Aww, thank you. That's so nice."

Nice, my ass. I want to jump your bones, dude!

So bummer of the night was that he was leaving today to go back to Chicago, where he's from. But...the story doesn't end there. No, I didn't go home with him. I'm not a floozy. Plus, this kid was way too hot for me to ever considering sleeping with - hello, how self-conscious would I be the entire time? Not an ounce of fat on him? Thanks, but I already have self-esteem issues as it is. Being with a boy who has the absolute most perfect body I have ever seen would have me running for the covers. Literally. Although to be honest, when I told him me and CPK were taking off and he said, "No, don't go. I'll have sex with you if you stay," while flashing me a devilish grin, I almost said, "Ok then. You get naked right now."

Alas, I think he was joking.

I then said, "Well, I was gonna ask for your email...is that stupid of me?"

He replied, "Why don't you just ask and see?"

So I laughed and said, "Ok, can I get your email?"

He promptly gave it to me. I realized that (dork that I am), I had a couple biz cards in my wallet so I ran to get one and gave it to him. I wasn't about to let him go without a number or anything. Then he hugged and danced with me some more and told me how glad he was to met me. I told him how very sad I was that I didn't get to tattoo him, to which he replied, "No, no, that's my job. To tattoo you."

I replied, "Are you being dirty? Was that a dirty reference to some sort of sexual thing? You are bad!!" And then I turned to continue dancing with him. Or rather, just hugging him and sort of dancing. Swoon. Course, I had to go back to HB and he was going to Venice. Bummer.

I did email him today (I tried to hold off, but I just couldn't) but at least I had a good reason. A friend of him runs a website and they are looking for writers currently (and they actually pay!!) but for the life of me, I could not remember the damn address. I tried every phrase I could think of to search for it online, but I think the booze might have erased that conversation of the night. Oh well, I'm okay with that as it gave me a reason to email him, no regrets there!!!
So that ends my fabulous, most wonderful, awesome weekend ever. I hope you all enjoyed the ride. I am sure I will have nothing much to say for the next couple weeks, so try to pace yourself with the readings here. I don't want you to get too bored at work without me!

A tsunami in your pants.

2005-08-09T00:56:00.000-07:00

I just had to share this phrase from the Craig Ferguson show. Instead of using the phrase, "ass explosion" the next time you're discussing a particularly foul bathroom incident, you have to use the phrase "it was like a tsunami in my pants!" It made me think of Sarah's dog when we took him for a walk down Main Street a few weeks ago and poor Sully had a major bout of ass explosion all over the street. It was both hilarious and disgusting at the same time.

I was watching his monologue as I was writing all these other blogs tonight and that phrase just made me laugh outloud. I probably woke up my roommate who is currently sleeping. But is that not the funniest phrase? Maybe I've been writing too long tonight - I'm already going on three hours at this point. I should really go to bed.

Check me out, I'm moonwalking!

2005-08-09T00:53:00.000-07:00

I woke up Saturday morning to find a note on the frig saying, "You guys should check out the waves tonight - they should glow because the red tide is out of control today." Newpsie had gone down to Bolsa Chica to surf, but once there, discovered that the red tide was just too much for any decent surfing. It's apparently not dangerous, but you can get sick from it, so she avoids it whenever possible.

So after having escaped from the date from hell and gone to Sarah's to salvage the evening, I decided I'd check out the waves on my way home. I called CPK at 11:30 pm as I approached home and said, "Hey, you wanna go check out the red tide tonight? I'm on the PCH and I'll be home a few minutes. I'll come pick you up and we can check it out."

As I passed by Bolsa Chica, I suddenly noticed the waves were lit up as if a neon spotlight had been placed on the ocean floor. It was very, very cool. I sped back to the house, picked up CPK and we booked it over to the Huntington State Beach. We noticed there were a ton of people roaming the beach, mostly huddled around bonfires, so we weren't sure if there was anything to actually see. As we trekked through the sand to where the ocean meets the shore, we started to see flashes of light out in the water. Once we reached the water, we saw the waves lighting up like the fountains at the Bellagio - as each wave broke, the underbelly would light up in a bluish-neon green color. It was the coolest thing I had ever seen. I don't know why the waves light up, but I don't really care because I was just lad I got to see it. Something about the bacteria of the red tide and its luminescent quality or something. I can't even describe how cool it was, my descriptions really can't do it justice, it's just something you have to see to believe.

We began to walk back up the sand and for some reason I happened to look down at the sand. It was like something out of Michael Jackson's video for "Billie Jean" because with each step, the sand glowed brightly just like the waves had. Obviously when the water came ashore, it deposited whatever it was that was making the waves flow in the first place. CPK and I immediately began stomping on the sand, kicking it around and laughing hysterically with each step. We were like 5-year-olds, running around making designs in the sand and trying to moonwalk through the sand. It was so much fun.

We both agreed that it was one of the most amazing things we'd seen since moving to Huntington and can't wait until the next massive red tide so we can try to get pictures of this crazy phenomenon. All in all, a fantastic way to end a bizarre day. It made up for the so-called "date" earlier in the evening. And to boot, once we got home, I discovered that ESPN was replaying the highlights of the Moto X final, much to my delight. I had missed it earlier in the evening due to my participation in the most retarded date in history. Mr. "I'm such an incredible musician, everyone should bow down to me" is a lucky bitch that they were showing repeats because I was pretty pissed that I had missed seeing my future husband, Travis Pastrana, compete for his 5th X Gold. He wouldn't even entertain the idea of popping in to a sports bar so I could at least find out if he won. What the hell kind of man doesn't want to go to a sports bar? Anyway, I was quite happy to watch the replays until 2 am to see Travis take gold without suffering any injuries like he has seemingly every other year. They kept replaying the footage of last year's Moto X when he slammed into the ground like a rag doll. Even now it freaks me out to watch it. *Shudder*.

Next year I am so volunteering to work at the Home Depot Center. I can't imagine how freakin' cool it must have been to see all those events live. Those guys are amazing.

Funny, you don't look like a picky eater

2005-08-09T00:49:00.000-07:00

Ah, dating. It's quite an odd thing, no? Especially online dating. The whole idea generally gives me the heebies. Welcome to my tale of the most retarded date in the history of mankind. Won't you join me, please?

I recently decided I needed to be more adventurous in my dating life (or lack thereof, since it has been over 2 years since I have even had a date) so I moseyed on over to Craigslist to check the "Men for Women" section, all the while feeling a bit like a twat the whole time. I decided I should really answer some of the ads, just to see what happened. So I picked one that was by a British guy (hey, if I'm gonna answer personal ads, I might as well pick out some Brits just in case there are any Jude Law/Hugh Grant lookalikes finding themselves without a date here in Cali after just arriving from London) and wrote a very witty, humorous reply. Within a couple hours, he had replied and wanted to speak to me on the phone. I thought this was a bit quick and perhaps he was getting ahead of himself, but I agreed to speak to him.

A couple hours later, I received a phone call from Mr. Brit. We chatted briefly, I discovered he lived quite a distance from me - up in the Valley. For me, that seemed like an important detail, as Orange County isn't exactly neighboring the Valley so I made a comment about how if he ever found himself playing a gig (he's a bass player in a couple bands) in the O.C. area or I found myself up near the Valley (unlikely), we should maybe grab a drink and hang. His reply? "I'd very much like to see you this weekend."

Um..why so soon? This was a Thursday evening. I didn't think online dating generally followed such a quick timeline. But then again, I don't know much about online dating except that it mostly freaks me out since people are picking and choosing based on a photograph in a line-up (or so it seems to me) and that seems unfair to those of us who do not photograph well or are much more entertaining than our pictures may suggest.

I replied that I might be up in the Venice area on Sunday so perhaps we could meet there, since it was closer to me than the Valley. He told me to ring him if that was indeed the case and we ended our 10-minute conversation quite pleasantly.

The next day, he emailed me to ask if I would rather just come to his house and he would cook a "delightful meal, as (he) was a very talented cook. Just bring the wine!" Um...dude, I don't know you and I already said the Valley was a bit out of my way. I'm a Bostonian, we don't generally make hour-long journeys in the car to date. In Boston, if you weren't on the same T line, I was hesitant to date you as it was a major inconvenience. I returned his email with a reply of "Well, I'm quite a picky eater so I don't think that's a good idea for a first meeting. Plus, I'd rather just meet out somewhere and Santa Monica is closer to me, so why don't we just do that Saturday night?"

He finally stopped insisting on a Valley meeting and said that Santa Monica would be fine. On Saturday, I dropped him an email suggesting we meet around 8 pm. He replied back within minutes saying that "Why not earlier? Then (he) could bike." I wasn't sure if that meant he wanted to bike to Santa Monica so I just said, "yeah, ok, whatever. We'll meet at 4:30 pm in front of the Kenneth Cole store at the Promenade."

I was still trying to figure out the bike comment but decided to just ignore it. At 3:30 pm, I got in the car and started to drive on the always-crowded 405 freeway. At 4 pm, I received a call from him saying, "the traffic is a nightmare. I may not make it until about 5 pm. I'm in Brentwood and I just got off the trails so I'll ring you when I get there." Again, not really sure what he was talking about but figured it was no big deal because I assumed I'd be there by 4:30 and I could just wander about checking out sunglasses on the Promenade.

At 5pm, I was still stuck in traffic getting into Santa Monica, getting more and more frustrated with each passing minute. There was absolutely no parking and I started to feel like I wanted to just turn around and drive home. I didn't even really want to go on the date to begin with. But everyone convinced me that I might as well go, so at least if it sucked, I'd have a story to tell. I haven't been on a date in over 2 years. I haven't had any sort of contact with the male species in over a year and a half. Who knows, maybe this guy would be fantastic. I was still a little weirded out by his continous comments about me going to the Valley. It just seemed a tad creepy, so I was not exactly looking forward to the date to begin with.

I finally found parking about 5:15 pm and ran (I did not walk, I ran) to Jamba Juice to get a fix before I would have to meet Mr. Brit. At 5:30, he called again saying he would be in front of Kenneth Cole momentarily. I saw him riding his bike before he saw me. I was not overly impressed with his appearance. Then again, I am sure he was not overly impressed with me. He was a typical trim Brit, dressed in the typical Euro-fashion with slim fitting pants, Euro-sneakers and the like. He wasn't hideous but he was definitely not my type - prematurely graying hair, a goatee (I totally dislike facial hair. I don't know why, but I do) and an air of superiority about him.

He greeted me with a kiss on both cheeks (how very European) and said, "Let's go into Kenneth Cole." Um, okay. He browsed the racks, looking for god knows what, and after not finding anything to his liking, motioned that we should leave. At the stoplight he turned and said, "So, where are you taking me?" Um, what? "Uh, I dunno. I just like the 3rd Street area and I thought we could walk around, chat a bit, whatev. I didn't have anything specific in mind."

He decides we should go to Armani to look around. Hi there, have you not looked at me properly? Do I look like a girl who shops at Armani? I made a comment about how I had never been in an Armani store and he almost gasped. I shit you not. He could not believe I had not been in there. I replied with a comment like, "Well, I'm generally known as the Old Navy spokesgirl, since practically everything I own is from there. I'm not well-off enough to afford Armani."

I do believe that was the beginning of the end. He then dragged me to French Connection, another Euro store whose name I don't remember and then to Borders so he could flip through the pages of a music magazine in which he appeared in some guitar ad. Yawn. Thankfully I'm a book nerd, so browsing Borders wasn't really a problem for me. I made a beeline for the new fiction and amused myself while he continued his trek into self-absorbtion.

Once we left Borders, he decided he needed caffeine so we found a "non-trendy cafe where there would not be any posers and utters slaves to Hollywood" so he could grab a latte. By this point, our conversations have revolved around him and him alone. I asked as many questions as I could think of about his music, his living in LA and New York, London, etc, etc, bloody etc. Not once did he ask me a single thing about myself. The only thing this man knew about me is that I was a big fan of London and that I was from Boston. That.Is.It. I am not making this up.

In the coffeeshop (where I purchased my own water and scone because I was absolutely starving, having not eaten earlier because I thought we were going to a bar to eat and drink), he proceeded to school me on rattlesnakes and the various types of poisonous snakes he had chased as a child in Morocco where he spent his summers with his family. Whoopeedoo. Then he regaled me with tales of his mountain biking in the woods of LA. After about a half an hour, he then turned and asked, "So are you really a picky eater?" I responded, "Yes. I am."

He then replied, "Funny, you don't look like you'd be a picky eater."

Excuuuuse me? It's not ok to make a comment like that to someone you don't know. I commonly make that comment myself when explaining to someone how I don't like seafood or asparagus or whatever, because to be honest, I don't look like a picky eater. You wouldn't mistake me for a starving model. But I am quite picky. I eat certain things and that's just the way it is. I never made any comment about not being an eater period. I just happen to like only a few things and that's just the way I am.

I was a bit insulted, but figured perhaps this was the weird British sense of humor and chose to ignore it. As I explained to him that I had grown up in a very typical suburban American household where we dined on meatloaf, mashed potatoes and spaghetti most nights (although not as a meal altogether), I was never exposed to many different cuisines. He looked at me in utter horror and commented on how fucked up Americans were. Oh, yeah, that's gonna score you points, you freakin lunatic. It's not exactly my fault that my palate is not as sophisticated as others.

He was persistent, basically telling me how unadventurous I was if I did not eat seafood. Buddy, I'm 28 years old. If I haven't learned to like seafood, beer or coffee by now, you're certainly not going to be the one to convert me, you fool. He proceeded to lament how unadventrous I was, not only in the matter of food, but in life itself, because I made a comment about how I would rather ride my bike along the ocean on the bike path than tempt fate by barreling through the mountains where rattle snakes and moutain lions make their home.

By this point, I was ready to leave but I thought it might be rude and I didn't want to stoop to his level. We returned to the Promenade to walk a bit, him critiquing every street performer and their apparent lack of skills when it came to the guitar (what IS it with the Brits and their fascination with making fun of the street performers? San Fran James was the same way. Freakin' weirdos). We returned to Borders...AGAIN, where he spent 20 minutes wandering about somewhere - I honestly thought he might try to sneak past me and leave and actually, I was okay with that idea. I contemplated bolting myself. What was odd, however, was that each time he passed me while looking for perhaps more pictures of himself in magazines, he would wink and smile. Like he was having a good time and thought that he was being a flirt. Whaaa?

After Borders, he received a few phone calls and announced that he would be going to see a show later that night in Hollywood. He asked if I planned on going back to the Valley with him later on. I said, "No, I was going to drive to Huntington." He asked why and I explained that I had already mentioned how far a drive the Valley was, so I didn't think I'd be doing the drive later at night. He pouted and informed me, again, of how adventurous I was not because I didn't like to drive. Funny, I don't recall him offering to drive to Huntington. Wank.

I decided that since he was doing all this shopping that I might as well go into the stores I like, so I said, "I wanna pop into RipCurl. I need to get some boardshorts for Hawaii." I ducked in the store, assuming he would follow me and was surprised when instead, he stood outside like a fuckin Buckingham guard. Whatever. I checked out the rashguards and shorts, found some I really like but thought it would be a tad rude if I started trying clothes on. I don't know why. I should have just done it, the shorts were more important to me than impressing this tosser. But my conscience got the better of me and so I left without trying on the only boardshorts that may have actually fit over my big fat ass. And trust me, I've been shopping for boardshorts for over 2 weeks now. I should have just tried them on. Errr.

We parted ways 2 hours after meeting, him commenting on how we'd have to "work on getting (me) to drive up to the Valley" and how I should see his band play in Long Beach next week. Oh yeah, I'll be penciling that into my schedule.

I was not unhappy to see him ride off into the sunset. In fact, I was quite thrilled, because it meant I could go home and go to Sarah's for a barbeque where it would be infinitely more exciting than this experience - what I like to refer to as the "shortest and most retarded date in history." I should have returned to RipCurl, but I was so sick of Santa Monica that I just wanted to leave. Hopefully this experience does not taint my view of Santa Monica. It has been my favorite place in LA. It's not so much at the moment...

My question is - can it be considered a date if you didn't do anything and the guy didn't ask a single question about you? In the entire two hours, he learned nothing about me, besides the fact that I prefer not to ride my bike around snakes and I don't like a lot of different foods. Wow. What a waste of two hours that I will never get back. That and I missed the damn Moto X finals. I had been hoping we could pop into a bar or someplace so I could at least check the results. But when I mentioned how I had worked at the X-Games the day before, he pretty much ignored my comments and continued mocking the street performers and their guitar-playing skills. What are you, Jimi Hendrix? I don't think so.

Diary of an X Games Volunteer

2005-08-09T00:32:00.000-07:00

As soon as I discovered that the X Games were being held in L.A. this summer and that it was possible to volunteer to work at one of the locations, I knew that come August 4-7, I would be there, front and center. I convinced my roommate CPK to join me in my pursuit of skateboarding and Moto X hotties and we signed up back in April. Our assignment was to work "Spectator Services" at the Staples Center on August 5 at 8:30 am sharp.

Seeing as rush hour traffic sucks aise around here, we planned on a 6:30 am departure time. Considering neither of us is known to rise before 9 am on most days, this would be something of a shock to the system and to be completely honest, the night before I almost didn't want to bother going. Man, am I glad I did, however.

Traffic wasn't even that bad - we were by the Staples Center by 7:30 am, but spent the next half-hour trying to find the damn parking lot for the volunteers. One way, no way, wrong way, argh, it was like the first time I tried to drive in downtown Boston. Thankfully we made it to the parking lot without any major injuries. I was banging U-eys and cutting people off all over the place - the Masshole in me comes out whenever I'm driving around here. Beware if you're in front of me and going the actual speed limit. I will curse you and then gave you "the fist" as I speed past you on the freeway. You've been warned.

We checked in, got our sexy-ass yellow volunteer vests and sat around taking pictures of ourselves on my digital camera. Gotta love the self-portraits when it always ends up far too close up or someone's head is cut off. We met our "boss" for the day who informed us that we'd be handing out programs and maps to the people lining up outside the gates. For the next hour or so, we papered everyone that walked by, sometimes more than once. It was fun, but hot as hell and I was already beginning to sweat right through my shirt. As most of you know, I'm the sweatiest person alive, so it doesn't take much for a trickle to start creeping down my back and give me serious "swamp ass" (that phrase is all Sarah's boyfriend, but I will use it shamelessly from now until the end of time). So I'm trying to make sure I'm not sweating buckets through my shirt at 10 am, because that would be embarrassing, all the while yelling out "If you don't have tickets, you're in the wrong line - go to the box office, then you come back to this line!" to alleviate some of the waiting time for a number of unsuspecting fans. CPK and I made small talk with some of them since they were all just standing around waiting for the gates to open and we were the only entertainment they had for at least a half-hour. What can I say? We're all about the people.

Once the gates opened, the crowds flooded in and CPK and I returned to our booth in the front of X Village. At this point, our boss Gregg gave us more programs and told us to walk about. This was actually quite fun because we got to check out everything that was going on, all while harassing fans to take flyers and programs. This is why I wanted to volunteer - I talked to more people in that one day than I have in the entire 6 months of living in California. Why pay to watch something when you can be part of it for free? As a volunteer I got to meet vendors, athletes and fans from all over the country. Of course, whenever I saw Sox hat or other Boston-related clothing, I made a big deal of it and became best friends with the person wearing it for a brief minute. I met a number of fellow Red Sox Nation residents that day.

After we exhausted the supply of programs, we returned once again to the booth. Gregg then challenged me to use the bullhorn to attract people to our booth where they could sign up to win a Fender Guitar and get a free X Games poster. Oh honey, please. You do not want to give me a bullhorn. I'm already loud and obnoxious. Now you want to give me a device that lets me shout over everyone? Surprisingly however, once I had it in my hand, I got a bit of stagefright. It was really quite funny. I got over it quickly and started shouting at people walking by. Little kids came to our table for the funky X Games tattoos that we would slap on their arms and legs. I made friends with a little boy wearing a "Brady" shirt. Another boy came up to me and had a couple of David Ortiz baseball cards in his hands which I of course immediately noticed and showed him my "Red Sox Nation" bracelet. He was the cutest little kid - his face lit up and he shouted excitedly to his mom - "She's from Boston, mom!!" Apparently they had just returned from a vacation in Boston. He was stoked because he had gotten to go to Fenway and see his hero, Big Papi. I told him he got extra tattoos just because he was a Sox fan. I do believe I made his day. Kids will take anything you give them and if that happens to be fake tattoos, all the better.

At this point, Gregg sent us back out into "the field" to give out the tattoos. I started targeting the men in business attire, telling that they just weren't cool without a tattoo. I had so much fun making an ass of myself that I wish the X Games came to town every freakin' weekend. An extremely attractive boy came in the gates and I pressed him to take a tattoo. He took it, but declined to have me put it on him personally. Remember, I was wearing a sexy volunteer vest and army-green surplus looking hat. Oh yeah, I was hot. So I let him be and dubbed him "hottie with a body" when pointing him out to CPK. (Yeah, we've been watching a bit too much "Laguna Beach" on MTV in these parts.)

As we walked around the premises, I kept seeing HWAB and each time gave him another tattoo. He seemed pretty amused by the whole thing. Hey, I was having fun and smiley and perky. You can't help but smile with me. HWAB was definitely the hottest boy I had seen in a very long time. I wanted to continue stalking him about the Staples Center but figured that would be a bit wrong, since I was technically there to stalk athletes, I mean, work.

The day passed by and we had a fantastic time. CPK and I even made it onto Sirius Radio. One of the radio guys interviewed us about why we were volunteering and how come we didn't just pony up the 15 bucks to get into the X Village. Then I gave him a temporary tattoo on the air. I'm telling you, the tattoos made me the most popular girl in the place. We made friends with all the little kids who kept returning to our table for more tattoos. CPK and I cut the autograph lines to get signatures from Paul Rodriguez and Wade Morgan. We collected freebies from other vendors - it was like Collegefest all over again. Sigh. I miss Collegefest. Later on I took pictures of Gregg abusing his power with the bullhorn and CPK looking like a "Barker beauty" holding up the poster that people could snag for free.

Once the Men's Skateboard Vert event started inside, Gregg took each of us in the back way, one by one, so we could sneak a peek at guys like Andy Mac and Bob Burnquist. As I was sitting in one of the empty seats by the press guys, I kept watching the camera operators, impressed with how they kept up with every twist, turn and run on the half pipe. Little did I realize that Tony Hawk was sitting right in front of me the whole time, acting as a commentator. Only later on when I looked at my pictures from the inside did I notice him. Damnit. Damnit. Oh well.

After getting to watch Shaun White and the others tear it up, we returned to the booth to pass out the stankiest friggin car freshners I've ever smelled. The X Games will put their name on anything, I've decided. You didn't know the car freshners smelled until you opened them, so kids were grabbing fistfuls of them (again, because they're free) and stuffing them into their bags. I can only imagine their moms' faces later on when they go through the bag of freebies and get a whiff of the bathroom cleanser odor. Oh yeahhh...

The smell was so bad that CPK started feeling really sick, so Gregg sent us to dinner (they gave us lunch and dinner while we were there - decent food, too. And we got to meet a radio deejay from San Diego by the name of Midori who was working the X Radio that weekend.) and told us we could check out afterwards. After nourishing ourselves with some tasty grub, both of us felt better but figured we might as well head home. When we were checking out, the volunteer leader told us to stick around for another 20 minutes so we could take part in the raffle where they would give out X Games skate decks and other goodies. We decided to sneak back into the Staples Center to watch the rest of the Skateboarding but by this time the security peeps were just not having it and booted us. How rude. We're freakin' volunteers for chrissakes.

We hung around for another hour, waiting for the raffle and feeling kind of bad that we never went back to see Gregg and the other volunteers since they were still doing work. We hoped we wouldn't run into him because we didn't want to piss him off. In the volunteer tent was a guy who I will forever refer to as the "Black Jack" (as in McFarland from "Will & Grace"). He was fuckin hilarious. He had all these stories about stalking some guy who looked like Allen Iverson the day before (he was a volunteer who signed up for all 4 days) and just had all these funny stories to share. He was a drama queen like no other. Talkin' about his white shoes that got all dirty and teasing me about being from "Bahston!" I explained how Tom Brady was a hottie and a half and that it doesn't matter who he plays for - he'll always be hot. He thought that was highly amusing. Oh man..

CPK and I also spotted Pauley Shore meandering about the volunteer section (probably prowling for underage girls) so CPK bolted out to go talk to him. I shouted, "No one chases after D-list celebrities, c'mon!" at which the entire volunteer tent busted out laughing. I was being serious. :) She then saw Tony Hawk and tried to run after him (I would have run after him had I seen him, but I didn't) but didn't catch up with him before he left. Ah, well..at least she got to talk to Pauley, who was probably trying to figure out a way to get her to sleep with him, since she's a hot 20-year old.

So the raffle started and I won a skirt that could possibly fit only Lindsay Lohan (at her present weight). It may have fit one thigh. I could have used it as a headwrap, but I decided to just give it back to them so they could give it to someone else. I really wanted one of the skate decks, but alas, did not win. Of course, Gregg popped in right as they were calling my name for the skirt so I was a bit ashamed and said, "Um...they told us to stay for the raffle..." as I made my way to claim my prize. Whoops...

At 8:30 pm, CPK and I finally made our way to the car, but not before I ran after Andy Mac and got him to sign my sexy hat as he was leaving the athlete's tent next to the volunteer tent. YAY!! I got someone who I actually know to sign my hat. It's almost as good as getting Travis Pastrana's signature. Almost...

Holy Good God

2005-08-08T02:07:00.000-07:00

The many, many stories that I have to share about this week will take some time for me to write down. All I can say is "I love the X-Games. I wish they happened every weekend" because this has been the BEST WEEKEND EVER. So many cool things happened I feel like my head may explode. From the fantastic experience at the Games themselves, to the awesome new friends I (finally) made at the party tonight, I didn't want the weekend to ever end. And even though there was one instance of a crap time this weekend (the date I like to refer to as "the shortest and most retarded date in the history of mankind"), it too is a funny story that I want to share with everyone I know.

In short, I will share my "Diary of an X-Games Volunteer" as well as "Funny, you don't look like you'd be a picky eater" and "Look at me, I'm moonwalking!" not to mention "The Hottie with the Body". Just to give you a taste of what's to come. I haven't had this much to write about in years.

Today, by far - Sunday night, was the BEST DAY EVER. Not only did I get a phone call from England from my favorite Brit in the whole wide world this morning, but I had the BEST TIME EVER (are you sensing a pattern yet?) at the party for the X-Games volunteers where I met the HOTTEST BOY EVER and had an absolutely fabulous time. Alas, he lives in Chicago but that's ok. I have not been this excited about a boy in a very, verrrry long time. It's nice to know I haven't completely lost my sex drive.

So, ahhh. It is so past my bedtime, but roommate and I just got back from the party a little bit ago. And I am far too happy to sleep right about now. I will have excellent dreams, no doubt.

No, Tony Hawk, I can't marry you..

2005-08-04T23:06:00.000-07:00

Oh, Tony Hawk, how I love you. Really, I do. But I can't marry you. I love Travis Pastrana even more. And Dave Mirra. And Rob Machado. And all the other X-Games athletes. I can't possibly choose just one of you. It wouldn't be fair to the rest.

If you catch any of the X-Games footage on ESPN tomorrow, look for me in the background (hopefully not being detained by security). I'll be helping direct spectators and answer their questions about the events. But really I'll be trying to stalk Travis Pastrana. I love him. I lurrve him. Unfortunately I believe he will be competing at the Home Depot Center, whereas CPK and I are volunteering at the Staples Center. Sigh. It's all skateboarding events at the Staples Center and seeing as how Travis Pastrana is a Moto X guy, chances of stalking him successfully are slim. Alas. I'll have to settle for shrieking like a little girl around the skateboarders like Bucky Lasek, Geoff Rowley and Shaun White. I don't believe Tony Hawk is actually competing this year, which I am rather sad about.

I have no shame. If I can get an autograph or a picture, you can bet your sweet ass I will. I was telling CPK today that I'm just a middle-aged teenybopper and that's okay by me. X-Games athletes impress me more than "regular" athletes (well, except maybe Red Sox players). If I saw an NFL player, it's doubful that a) I would recognize him or b) care that he was there even if I did recognize him. I'll take my skater boys over beefy football players anyday, thank you very much.

So keep an eye out for a crazy lady running after the skateboarders shouting, "Just one more picture! I swear that's all I want!"

And now, for something entirely new..

2005-08-03T15:06:00.000-07:00

Ok, I'm going to stop posting so much stuff about my personal life and get back to the basics - that's why I created this blog in the first place. To write about travel, music, movies, books, etc. Obviously I won't be writing in the third-person a la a real critic so there will be elements of the personal in the forthcoming blogs, but at least if I focus on these things, then I am not blabbing on about things that are inconsequential to anyone besides me (or whoever I might be writing about...I've learned my lesson, oh yes I have!) Plus, I think I am more entertaining when I am writing with a purpose rather than just rambling for the sake of rambling. I'm sure I will still regale you with tales of my inept surfing and the like because doesn't everyone find humor in stories about fat chicks trying to (unsuccessfully) balance on a surfboard? I know I do. And of course, I will continue embarass myself for the sake of a funny story at any time. I am here for your amusement. I have no shame and dignity left at this point in my life, so why not use it to my advantage?

On that note, I am loving this new singer I've recently discovered (or not discovered but started hearing on the radio) - Anna Nalick. Depending on where you are reading this from, she may be old hat to you. Apparently the music stations out here in LA are a little behind the rest of the country, which is ironic considering LA presents itself the music capital where everything new and exciting comes from. I think not. I started hearing the song "Breathe" about a month ago and couldn't figure out who this amazing singer was - her voice reminds me of someone else, but I can't place my finger on it just yet. She's got a familiar sound to her. Maybe someone can help me out - anyone got any ideas? Either way, my sister sent me some of her songs to check out and I am digging all of them. They might not be the most profound songs, but they're better than a lot of the mass-produced crapola flooding the airwaves currently.

Also, finished Nick Hornby's "Long Way Down." I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed. Ever since reading, "About a Boy" (my favorite of Nick Hornby's novels by far - the movie adapatation was a little...meh. Love Hugh Grant and he was a fabulous Will Freeman but overall..just meh. That's all I can say about that), I've been disappointed with his recent novels - I thought "How to Be Good" was terribly boring and when I heard he had a new one coming out, I got excited to think that hopefully he returned to the equation that made him so enjoyable in the first place. I enjoyed "High Fidelity" and "Fever Pitch" and I think that perhaps it's the way he plays with the narrative that bothers me the most. In "How to Be Good" he writes from a woman's perspective. Ambitious and admirable, but I don't feel like he quite captured a woman's view accurately. I have male friends who loved the novel, but then again, they are men. They don't understand my criticism about Hornby failing to capture a woman's perspective. "Long Way Down" is told from four different points of view, jumping between them without much warning. I think that was my biggest complaint - I didn't like the choppy narrative. I like the idea of a story being told from four different characters but I just miss the Nick Hornby of old. I realize he can't write the same story over and over and needs to evolve and change as a writer, but I can't help but feel like I've lost a close friend. It's like having an overweight friend who you loved for the person they are, not because of what they looked like. And suddenly they lose 50-100 pounds and become a different person. You're happy for them and the way they suddenly have a new zest on life, but at the same time, you miss the old person. I miss the fat Nick Hornby (not that he is fat in real life, I've seen pictures) but you get the idea.

Well, it's back to work for now. Listening to "Canned Heat" by Jamiroquai presently. Can't listen to that song anymore without the image of Napoleon Dynamite dancing around the stage, but at least it's a humorous image...

Dolphins, Jellyfish, oh my!

2005-07-28T22:13:00.000-07:00

My roommate, who I will refer to as "Newpsie" (since she is from Newport) from now on (other roommate will be called..."CPK") decided it was time for me to learn how to surf properly, so we loaded the boards on top of the car, gathered up some rashguards and wetsuits and headed out to Bolsa Chica before 8am today. The fact that I was even up at 7 am was a minor cause for celebration because generally it takes a lot of coaxing to make me leave my cozy bed. When you don't have to actually be at a job, it's really tough to get motivated to leave the confines of your plush comforter in order to read restaurant reviews and link them to a website. I don't have cute coworkers to look forward to or free food in the company kitchen. And stealing pens from yourself just isn't the same. Man, I do miss the supply closet of jobs past. I have an unhealthy obsession with pens, stationery and other office goodies. I really don't know why. I still have company pens from my days as a salesgirl back in high school. MVP Sports doesn't even exist anymore, but I've got the pens to prove it once did. I mean what's the incentive to leave dreamland these days? (Besides of course, being able to pay rent and all the many other bills that show up in my mailbox every month, no matter how many times I change my address.)

So really, is it any surprise that I end up being a slacker most of the day (well, a slacker in that I tend to go swimming or hang at the beach instead of working) and then am forced to stay up to odd hours of the night to get the work finished. It's a vicious cycle. One I hope to break this coming fall by finding another job (besides the hotel one) outside of the house.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, surfing.

Apparently it was a good day for learning because the waves were very, very small. The only real danger was the massive hordes of jellyfish lurking in the water. Last year at this time hundreds of squid were washing ashore - this year the jellyfish rule the Pacific. Personally, I think I'd rather battle the squid, at least they don't sting you in the foot.

Thankfully the jellyfish are a dark purpley-pink so you can't accidentally step on one unless your head is completely up your ass and you're not paying attention to your surroundings. That didn't stop me from shrieking like a little girl everytime I fell off the board (as I continuously did) in the vicinity of those blobby, gooey creatures. I wonder if pro surfers squeal and shriek like I did...probably not.

Tomorrow, we try again because today I didn't even manage to stand up on the board. Last time I took a real lesson, with Amy in Naragansett, we used foam boards because those are easier for beginners. I don't think I managed to stand up then either, but at least I wasn't sticking to the board - mainly because you don't wax foam boards. The one I borrowed from Newpsie today was a real board that non-newbies use, complete with tons of wax so that whenever I tried to "pop up", I got stuck. I guess it's something you just have to get used to. That and I need to build up arm strength so I can do a pop up the correct way instead of landing on my knees, which is the cheater's way to surf.

I was exhausted by the time we finished an hour and a half later. Paddling back out against the waves part is the hardest part because with each wave you get knocked back and have to start all over again. I could have just walked the board out most of the way, but I was terrified that the scary jellyfish might lash me with their tails and I'd be forced to pee on myself to alleviate the pain (or I'd have to get Chandler to do it...sorry, "Friends" reference.) There were a number of other people learning to surf so it was a chill vibe and there was no attitude from the other surfers like you might find at the Pier. For all the stereotypes of surfers being laid back and cool, some of them can be serious assholes when it comes to staking out their territory. I probably will never surf near the Pier because I suck and according to Newpsie, the surfers there have little patience for those learning and have no problem cutting you off on a wave or even grabbing your board to hold you back. Uh huh..yeah, I'll be steering clear of that area. As well as the local spots when I go to Hawaii - I've heard some horror stories from a friend who lives out there. If you're not a local, you just don't surf certain areas because you're not welcome. I can understand the whole, "we surf here year-round, we don't want tourists taking our waves" mentality to an extent, but physically fighting someone over it seems ridiculous. Hello, you don't own the ocean, dude.

I promptly came home, gobbled up an omlette (surfing makes you so hungry!), swore I'd do some work and then fell alseep for 2 hours. Ah, yes, back to bed for the weary. Then I shopped for a rashguard and boardshorts all afternoon, but to no avail. The women's boardshorts come in two styles - hoochie shorts that ride up the ass and are clearly not for anyone actually looking to do any physical activity while wearing them or long shorts that are designed for pre-pubescent girls with no asses. It wasn't a pretty sight in the fitting room as I tried to yank the long shorts up over my big fat ass. I know that the sizes run small in many of the surf brands, but this was ridiculous. I tried on the men's shorts, but they are far too long for my midget legs. And the rashguards. Don't even get me started. I realize they are supposed to be fitted, but when a size L ends up looking like a sausage casing around my boobs, there's a problem. I found one I really, reaaaally like, but they only had a medium and that sure as hell was not going to contain "the girls" so I have to go back out again tomorrow in the attractive wet suit that Newpsie's aunt refers to as "The Shamu Suit." Oh, it's sexy. Let me assure you.

The coolest part of the day was getting to see a bunch of dolphins swimming about and feeding. I've never seen an actual real live dolphin in person, unless you count Sea World, which I so don't. We were standing on the beach checking out the waves the first time a group of dolphins went by and they were really close to shore. Then when we were out in the water, more dolphins came by - not close enough for me to get a really good look, but a lot closer than I thought they'd come to humans in the wild. Newpsie had one swim under her board a few weeks ago and she told me that they're enormous - much more so than you'd think. Although they're friendly, playful animals, she said it still freaked her out to have it swimming beneath her, even though it was "super cool at the same time." I've been told that you can see whales migrating off the shores as well - even Shamu whales, which I think would perhaps be the coolest thing ever. I guess there are good reasons to get up early in the morning, I might have try it again sometime.

Public Service Announcement for my fellow wannabes

2005-07-27T17:27:00.000-07:00

Be careful what you say in a blog...even if you think you're being sneaky with a pseudonym and using fake names/nicknames for those you write about, it's not impossible to figure out a blogger's identity, especially if your friends read it or worse, your enemies. Did you know that airing personal grievances about your job in a blog can get you fired?

Blogger beware.

Thought of my fellow bloggers who post about their jobs, bosses and coworkers when I received my daily Ed2010 email a few days ago. Ed2010.com is a group of wannabe editors, basically. It's a good site, has lots of job listings, a round-up of the daily news and that sort of thing. I find it quite helpful and interesting, actually. But anyway, one day the news round-up revolved solely around the anonymous blogger behind the (apparently) popular Jolie in NYC. Someone revealed her identity, getting her into quite the scandal, as she had written extensively about her job as an associate beauty editor at Ladies' Home Journal, the beauty industry, celebrities and other juicy gossip. She was promptly canned - although now articles are saying that she was not fired, but in fact, resigned. Supposedly she had given her notice (only moments before the shit hit the fan) because she had just accepted a job as beauty editor at Seventeen Magazine - but that offer was rescinded once the news broke. Course, as it turns out, good things are happening for her - including CNN interviews, book deals and the like. But that isn't necessarily what would happen to you if you got canned for writing about the dirty secrets in your particular industry.

While I certainly appreciate the stories of rude coworkers, bosses and the general dysfunction that comes from working in a cubicle (mainly since I don't get to experience that anymore, now that I work from home), I wouldn't want any of my blogging peeps to get fired.

I had read something in the Globe a few weeks back about the consequences of mixing blogging and work - you can see it here. They recommend not writing from your work computer because people can always go into the history and figure out what you're doing. (Nevermind the fact that they could yell at you for wasting company time, but if you're posting something particularly nasty about your boss, it could lead to more than just a dressing-down.)

That is one reason why I have never named any companies I work for, I do not post photos of myself, nor do I ever really use specifics (except for talking about some friends, but they're cool with it anyway and it's not like I'm publicly mocking them...well, most of them anyways). I don't want anything coming back to bite me in the ass if I ever am to make it as a successful, well-known writer. Granted, putting up a link to my USA Today article may have been stupid if I truly want to stay anonymous, but I can always take that down. As it is, I'm not exactly spilling the deep, dark secrets of any particular industry, besides that of the freelance world and even then, I'm fairly short on scandals.

But just keep it in mind the next time you get the urge to take "a mind dump" (I'm stealing that phrase from somewhere on the internet, I don't remember where I saw it, but it seems like an apt description) and spill a salacious story about your coworkers or boss.

Today's lesson brought to you by the letters "R" and "H"

2005-07-24T17:04:00.000-07:00

...As in "Racist" and "Homophobe." Ooh I learned quite the lesson while trying to do the nice thing by showing a fellow backpacker around Venice and Santa Monica today.

I should always trust my instincts and never do something just because I feel like if I don't, I will end up insulting someone or feeling badly about it. Then I never would have wasted three hours of my life that I will never get back, up in Los Angeles showing this flippin' lunatic around. Since Friday I'd be saying to my roommates, "Yeah, you know..I don't really want to show the Brit around on Sunday. I just don't feel like hanging out with him - something doesn't feel right." But I finally decided, "Fuck it. I'll go." If I met someone while traveling who promised to show me around their city and then ended up ditching me when I finally arrived in their city, I'd probably be pretty pissed about it. I felt like it was my civic duty as an American and a backpacker. Plus, I really wanted some of those trendy sunglasses everyone's wearing - you know, the huge ones that take up half your face? And in Venice, there are a gazillion places to get those sunglasses for like 5 bucks.

Remember James from San Francisco? The one I didn't fancy because he is so the opposite of my "type" and had bad English teeth? Turns out that not only is he unfanciable, but he's a raving racist and homophobe.

As I said before, normally I am the one who is all psyched about "staying in touch/exchanging email addresses" with travelers I meet on the road who I think are really cool. With this kid, I really didn't care either way, but I thought maybe I was just out of practice as it's been a long time since I've done any real traveling, so I wasn't in the right mind frame to make foreign friends again.

I know now that it was really just because my gut was telling me, "this kid is not like Australia James, Tom, Brett, Geraldine or Ryan." Those kids (save for Ryan and Tom who I no longer speak to for reasons I won't get into here) were awesome and I could tell instantly that I wanted them to be my friends for a long time to come, no matter what it took on my part to make that happen. They're smart, funny, witty and fantastic all around. My unwillingness to let them disappear into the void of cyberspace (by bombarding them with emails and letters) paid off because now I've got 3 really good friends. I'm not bothered that I had to be an irritating twitch in order to get that result. Whatever it takes. That's my philosophy when it comes to people I truly like and feel a connection with. Not everyone is as obsessive with email and letters as I am. In the beginning, I used to worry that they didn't want to be my friend and were trying to phase me out if weeks went by and I didn't hear from them. Now I know it's just because half of them forget to check their email and I'm fine with going a month or two without contact because I know somewhere down the road, I'm bound to find a friendly email or card in my mailbox.

Back to James (James San Fran, that is, not Awesome James Australia who I love to death and would marry if only I fancied him sexually and vice versa). I squashed any feelings of uneasiness and agreed to meet up with him on the Pier. After 20 minutes of searching for him with no luck, I finally found him near the bike rental place. Immediately, I realized this was going to be bad. Bad, bad, bad. I just had a feeling. And not just because I totally do not find him attractive in the least bit, either. That's not what it was. So we walked down towards Venice, him expressing disbelief over every street performer and drugged-up hippie that we passed. Maybe I'm just not as easily shocked anymore, having lived in the city most of my life? I don't know. It takes a lot to really get me going when it comes to the nutters you generally encounter in everyday street life. He had negative things to say about all of them, mostly along the lines of how fucked up all these people were and what the hell was wrong with them? Mostly, I just find the crazies and kooks in Venice as a good source of entertainment. As long as they're not harassing me or bothering other people, what do I care if they're playing air guitar, clearly hopped up on some drug?

Not long after, we ran into my cousin riding his custom-built American Chopper beach cruiser. It was pretty cool, I was jealous. And of course, he was sporting some red, white and blue board shorts with "Red Sox" emblazoned on the ass. I haven't the slightest idea where he got them, but I wanted a pair immediately. I introduced him to James somewhat reluctantly, just picturing him on the phone with my aunt, telling her all about how he ran into me on the boardwalk hanging out with some homely English guy. (My family is all about the gossip. Especially when they think it's juicy - i.e., me hanging with boys.) I wanted to explain that I was beginning to think that James was nuts, but figured social decorum prevented me from doing so while James was still in my presence. Mike took off a few moments later to continue cruising down the boardwalk, leaving me alone with the weird Brit.

As we started walking further into the chaos that is the Venice boardwalk, James started telling me about some guy who got on the bus in West Hollywood wearing short shorts and a cropped tank top, talking with a lisp. Duh. West Hollywood is universally known to be the gay district. Of course you're going to have some flamboyant, Carson Kressly-type characters. What really got me was his tone of voice, like to be sitting near this guy would be worse than death. Um, hi? What? Are you actually voicing these opinions outloud or have I suddenly acquired the skill for hearing your inner dialogue? I asked him, "Do you really have a problem with gay people?" "God, yeah, they're disgusting. I hate them," he replied.

At this point, I'm staring at him in shock, thinking, "I really have got to be a bit more discriminating and selective when it comes to British kids in the future." I have a problem in that I tend to accept all foreign travelers, particularly those with an accent, as automatically being someone I should talk to. I don't know why - I would never make such a broad assumption about American travelers. I don't know if or something, but I am far too accepting of them. I'm never distrusting or suspicious of them - particular the Brits/Irish/Scottish. I just assume they must be cool, good people. Maybe because I want to believe that. I don't want to believe that they could suck. Plus, I've been really lucky in the past, meeting only v.cool people, so I've been a bit spoiled by James(Australia), et al. But obviously, I am wrong in thinking that all foreign travelers are created equally, because James is a prime example of an exception to this rule.

Then he started in about black people and their problems. At this point, I'm wishing I had magic powers, a la Harry Potter, and could apparate directly to the parking garage in Santa Monica without having to walk the 2 miles back with him.

After an excruciatingly long half-hour walk back along the bike path, I was ready to say, "Adios" and basically left him back on the Pier where I found him, saying, "Yeah, sorry I would drive you to the airport, but I don't know how to really get there because I live so far down in OC. (Blatant lie) Have a good flight!" I am hoping he got the hint and doesn't try to email or text me anymore (I must have received like 20 text messages from him this week, which is probably more than I have ever received in my entire life.) At that, I took off for the car, grateful to be going home to Huntington. Never have I been so grateful that I live in OC, far from Santa Monica. Ahhh HB, you are my savior.

There is one good thing that came out of this debacle and that's that after a few hours in the hot sun, I've got some nice tan lines from my tank top. I'm not quite at the "Holy shit, I'm black!" stage that I was back in Australia, but I'm getting pretty close. Thank you, afternoon swim sessions and long bike rides. Cancer, schmancer. I know, it's bad that I never apply sunblock, but I just don't think of it. The moisturizer that I slather on my face daily has some SPF, but that's about the only sun protection I'm getting. It's just not a habit for me, having never used it as a kid ever. Don't think my mom ever even bought sunblock during my entire childhood. That's probably why I used to get the "Were you adopted from a black family?" comments during the summers while growing up. I don't get quite that dark these days, but then again, I am not also outside from dawn to dusk running around during the summer months. Damn computer work, keeping me in the shade so my laptop doesn't melt in my lap.

I'm going to go listen to Jack Johnson's "In Between Dreams" now in order to soothe my frazzled mind. God, I love Jack Johnson. He can do no wrong - every single one of his CDs is fabulous. There's nothing better than taking a drive in the early morning as the sun is coming up and having a little Jack in the CD player, providing a soothing soundtrack. Ahhhh. Jack me boy, you are the perfect surfer/songwriter.

Harry Potter and the No Good, Very Bad Ending

2005-07-23T01:23:00.000-07:00

Don't worry - I'm not going to tell you what happens. I just want to say, "Nooooooo! It can't be true!!! No, no, no, no!"

I'm tempted to send a strongly worded letter to JK Rowling to tell her just what I think of her no good, very bad, horribly sad, terrible ending to Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Good god, I can only imagine how Book 7 will end. Sheesh. Hogwarts goes up in flames, with Harry and everyone else still inside? I haven't the foggiest idea where she's going with this.

To be honest, this is not my favorite of the series. It has its moments, but I feel like she is starting to slip a little in her story-telling. Like, she's writing the rest of the books because she has to, not because she wants to. Book 3 will remain my favorite (although the movie adaptation seriously disappointed. Sirius as the dog should have looked more like a Newfie, not a wolf. That's just one complaint I had. And don't get me started on the dementors.)

That's all. Just wanted to toss in my two cents as I finished reading the book last night at 2am. Damn you Harry Potter, disrupting my sleep.

Random Thoughts...by Jack Handy

2005-07-23T00:10:00.000-07:00

I don't really have much to say today, but I was struck by the urge to write. Probably because I am procrastinating. Yes, it is a Friday night and I am at home doing work. Mainly because I did very little this week - hey, when your roommate is a teacher and has the summers off, it's very difficult to get any work done during the day because there's always something way more exciting to do - like swimming, surfing or going to plays in Laguna Beach. I already cleaned the house tonite as a way of avoiding work. Reminds me of my college days during finals when instead of writing a 15-page paper on British literature, I would suddenly realize that the bathroom was in need of some serious scrubbing. My apartments were never so clean as they were during finals.

So here you go, some useless rambling.

Discovered that I can go swimming at the high school pool in Newport for a buck every afternoon. And it's a realllllly nice pool. Better than any public pool I've ever been in. Shit, it's better than some private pools I've spent my summers in. Plus, now I can say that I swim in Newport. At the Newport Harbor School, no less (fellow "OC" fans will understand that reference. No Ryan or Seth sightings. Then again, they're not fans of the water polo team so the pool is the least likely place for such a sighting. :) ). Ooh la la. Just kidding. It's just a nice change of pace from the gym - especially since it's an outdoor pool. No indoor YMCA pools for me where it stinks of chlorine and you never know what sort of fungus you might pick up from the locker room floor. My roomate's boyfriend, "Mr. Outdoors", is teaching her to swim there, so I just go along for the opportunity to splash around and attempt to stay afloat while swimming 40 laps or so. Good times, good times.

Tried bodyboarding today at the beach, too. Was pitiful and pathetic. This could be due to the lack of waves or just because I suck. Either way, I swallowed more salt water than is appetizing, but it was fun because this is the first time I've actually gone into the ocean since moving to California in February. Amazing, I know, but I'm much more of a pool girl than an ocean girl. I don't know why. I guess the salt water is a factor and the fact that you can't see the bottom because who knows what creepy crawly might be looking at my feet and thinking, "Mmm..midday snack!"

After my attempt at bodyboarding I realized that I'm not used to sucking at things and it bewilders me a bit. Let me explain - as a kid and all the way through high school, many things came fairly easy to me without a lot of effort. I was always one of the best on the soccer field, I picked up field hockey in an afternoon, I excelled at dance (you wouldn't think to look at me now, but I was a very good jazz and tap dancer for over 10 years, even competing on a dance team or whatever the hell it was, I can't quite remember as it was years and years ago) even without practicing (I can still hear my mother yelling at me now, "I pay how much for these lessons and you never even practice!" My philosophy was, "Why practice? I'm already the best in the class." Punk-ass brat.) and I was always one of the fastest runners on the playground - I used to love racing the boys and playing kickball. Sports came easily to me. Academics weren't much different, except for maybe math because logic and I just didn't get along. As for the rest of my high school subjects, I did the work - probably not as well as I could have if I actually spent some time on it, and ended up in the top 20 of my graduating class that was full of the most competitive people you have ever met. I shit you not, I thought someone might die by senior year by poison in the apple juice or something, my class took grade point averages that seriously.

Even in college, I managed to graduate with a really good GPA without doing a ton of work - or rather, doing the papers for class a couple hours before they were due. I was a professional procrastinator. I wrote my articles for the weekly school paper an hour before press time and still, they remained untouched without a need for editing by copyeditors and the like.

I'm not trying to brag or be conceited. This is just the way my life has been. If I wanted something, I generally got it. Except for those Z. Cavarichi's back in 7th grade. My mom refused to buy us any brand names clothes, particularly those that cost a retarded amount of money such as $100 pants. If I wanted to buy a ridiculous I.O.U. sweatshirt, it had to come from my own money that I made with a paper route or from babysitting. But aside from material things(except at Christmas, where my parents tended to go overboard and to this day, still do), I generally got what I wanted without a lot of trouble or effort.

Sometimes I think that this is why I don't have a successful career as a writer - I haven't faced any hardships worth writing about. Think about some of the most well-known writers - they were drug addicts, alcoholics or just generally insane. Except for a minor bout with insanity, I just don't have those problems. Plus, when it comes to writing itself, I've never had a crazy hard time with it. I've never had to query an editor, I've never had to face a rejection letter. Oddly enough, all of my writing opportunities have literally landed in my lap. The school paper was a no-brainer. Once they found out I could string words together in a coherent fashion, it was fairly easy to figure that I'd be on staff until I graduated. During internships, editors asked if I wanted to try my hand at writing for various Globe sections. I didn't ask for the travel column that I was writing all last year - the editors approached me because someone had mentioned my name in passing and said I liked to write about travel.

Most people (fellow writers) would think, "Yeah, cry me a freakin' river. Quit your bitching." But this has proven to be detrimental to me in the long wrong. Now that I currently am not working for any publication, I'm at a loss - I don't think I even know how to properly write a query letter, nor would I have any idea what to write about. I'm plagued by fear. Although I came up with most of the ideas for the travel column (occasionally editors had a topic they wanted addressed, but usually it was my responsibility to brainstorm), I'm come up empty when it comes to thinking up things to write about to send to magazines or newspapers that I'd like to write for. I kid my mom that because my childhood was so unbelievably suburban that I've got no tales to tell. Parents who are still married - a stay-at-home mom who shuttled me and my siblings to practices, lessons and wherever else necessary; a dad who was always a coach of something - baseball, soccer, softball, you name it; living in a whitebread middle-class neighborhood where there was always someone to play with outside, where we spent summer days running about playing kickball, hide-and-seek or splashing in the pool; and a best friend of (now) 28 years living 3 houses down until graduation from high school - my life is not exactly the synopsis of a John Singleton or Spike Lee film.

So to find out that I really, realllly suck at something surprises me and frustrates me. Sure, there have been things that I might not have been great at, but I can't really think of anything that I've outright sucked at. Honestly. No matter how hard I try, I just can't seem to get the hang of surfing or bodyboarding. And I don't know why. I can swim - this was the first week I've been back in the pool after years and years, but I had little difficulty picking it back up again. I'll never give Ian Thorpe or Michael Phelps a run for their money in a race, but I can stay afloat and do laps. But this whole "balancing on a board while paddling furiously trying to catch a wave" thing just isn't my thing, apparently.

My roommate said she'd take me out next week and try to teach me. Who knows, maybe after a week I'll have a go at it and be good. I'll just have to keep you informed. I may decide to just become a surfer poser after this next week - wearing the gear (like I already do) and talking the lingo, but never going into the water on a board.

So those are my thoughts for tonite. I suppose work should have come first, since I need money to pay the rent, but when it's as mind-numbingly boring as my freelance data entry/summarizing restaurant reviews is, trust me when I say that it's not difficult to find more exciting things to do, including cleaning the entire first floor of our house. I was about two seconds from wetting paper towels and scrubbing the kitchen floor as we threw out the mop three days ago.

Tomorrow, tomorrow I'll get serious and do 10-12 hours. No really. With just one break to go kayaking with Sarah. And maybe swim at the pool. But that's it. After that, it's work time...

:)

This is getting ridiculous.

2005-07-21T10:37:00.000-07:00

I am really getting tired of waking up and going about my morning routine of checking email and friends' blogs to find out that London has been attacked. This is not funny anymore. Here on the West Coast, I get up late. By the time I drag my lazy ass out of bed, it's already evening in London, so I am quite far behind on what's been going on in the world.

Enough with the bombings. Why London? The Brits are fantastic. Leave them alone! This whole bombing of public transportation system thing is getting out of hand. If you want to really get the Brits attention, why would you go after the tube? Wouldn't it be more symbolic to topple Big Ben? I mean really. Not only are you terrorists assholes, but you're stupid assholes and we all know, those are the worst kind.

The religious fanatics behind these bombings who believe that the Western World is somehow evil because we don't cover our women in burkas and pray 18 times a day have got to get a reality check. Allah or whoever you believe in can't possibly preach that killing innocents in the name of Him/Her is right. You think you're going to heaven where hundreds of beautiful virgins are awaiting you? How fucking retarded ARE you? I wish I could be there when your spirit leaves your body and then realizes that there is in fact nothing waiting for you and you just blew yourself up for no reason except that you're an idiot and deserved to die anyways. Go crawl back into your caves with Osama and wait for death.

Ok, now that I got that out of my system, I feel a little better. I shall return to Harry Potter, where the evil things at least make some sense to me.

If you're going to San Fran-cisco...

2005-07-19T23:53:00.000-07:00

Hey hey hey! Back from San Fran and the stories, oh the stories. But I am tired and the new Harry Potter book is beckoning to me from my bedside table so I'll just give you a few tasters for the moment until I have a little more time to write in detail.

Number one - the job and work were actually pretty good. The second boss is a firm believer in "personal time", i.e. giving us breaks so we're not working 20 hour days. Can I get a Hallelujah? Hallelujah! Amen! Of course, when I go to Hawaii, he will have left (he's going the first half with the other new agent) and I will be with the other boss, who is not so much a believer in "time off." Sigh. Damnit. We had much more free time than in Atlanta and also, the work was a little less stressful this time around since I had more knowledge.

Number two - I love San Fran and all its wacky inhabitants. There are just freakshows everywhere you turn. God bless you San Fran and your city-life. It was just what I needed. Except for the bomb scare that closed one MUNI Station down as I arrived at it from the airport. A "suspicious package" was found, thereby forcing the police and fire department to shut down a radius of about 4 city blocks around the subway station. Hello, chaos. I don't know if they ever determined what this suspicious package was - perhaps some kid left his "Spongebob Squarepants" backpack behind and caused this transportation nightmare.

Number three - I had a very important breakthrough this weekend. I met an English lad named James (seriously, do people in England not name their sons anything else? I feel like half the guys I've met from England are called James) and did not fall in love with him. This James was the FIRST and ONLY English boy that I've ever met and was not attracted to AT ALL. Normally, if you're English, chances are I'll get on well with you. If you happen to be English AND a traveler, well stone me, I'll probably fall in love with you on sight.

Now, James was a very nice guy, quite funny and rather cheeky, but I just didn't feel that "oh, you are so hot and I love your accent" sort of thing that I always tend to do upon meeting a Brit boy. Heather can vouch for me on this, having traveled with me a number of times. I follow Brit boys around like a lost puppy. I lurrrve them. They haunt my dreams. And yet, here is this amusing young lad and I was certainly amused by him, that I felt no need to attempt to make out with in order to break my dry spell (both in general and specifically with the English - since in all my time in England and with all the cutie English boys I've met, I've never once kissed/hooked up with a Brit. Odd, I know, given my obsessions. But never once. They never fancy me, and I always love them.) Of course, James was also the complete opposite of my "type". He had a shaved head and was built like a rugby player. I like 'em tall and skinny, with metrosexual spiky hair. Plus, he had the stereotypical crap English teeth which I found somewhat hilarious because I've always thought it was something of a myth because I've never actually met a Brit in all my travels that had bad teeth. No, really. So a lot of the time we were speaking, I was really distracted by his teeth, which isn't very nice of me cuz it's not like my teeth are perfect since my parents wouldn't get me braces as a kid.

What was weird is that James was me. I mean, he was acting the way I normally act around the Brits and I was acting like the Brits. Total role reversal. I was just enjoying having someone to hang out with in the hostel and talk to and he was all up in my grill - texting me when I wasn't around, wanting to hang out all the time. Of course, he's been traveling for 15 months, so I am sure he was just happy to have someone to hang with that wasn't completely nuts. But he wants me to visit him in Manchester and all this. It was just such a change for me. Normally I'm the one pressing the Brits to stay in touch and acting like some first grader trying to bribe another kid with special markers so they'll be his friend. You know what I mean? I was just content to be friendly and I am pretty sure he thought maybe I would at least kiss him because he seemed quite surprised when after we returned from the bar, I went up to my room to go to bed and just said, "Ok, well, lat-ers! I'll see you tomorrow." He was all, "Oh...you're going to bed now? Um, ok. Well find me tomorrow morning. I want to hang out."

Here is a British man wanting to hang with me and I'm just going about my day as usual. Hello, breakthrough. I think I've discovered a way to get the boys to like me - apparently that whole "playing hard to get" thing is for real. From now on, I do not throw myself at the hottie English lads. I pretend like I don't give a shit and I just act normal around them. Perhaps then I will meet my future Hugh Grant. Normally I am so intimidated by their hotness and awesomeness that I act a fool. Like, Tom and James in Australia, I was so busy trying to be cool and impressive that I wasn't really myself. What's funny is that James #1 and I are really close friends now, 3 years after meeting in Oz. I think it's because I'm no longer drooling and trying to mate with him at every chance, so we're finally "real" friends and I'm not focused on the fact that "He's British! He's got a sexy accent!" anymore. He's just a normal (yet fantastically awesome) guy. I think once I get past the whole "You're British!" thing, I'm fairly fun to be around. That's perhaps why I never got with a Brit before. They're like a fantasy - the ones I've fancied anyways. If I just stopped putting them up on a pedastal, perhaps I'd realize they're just normal people and could hold an intelligent conversation with them, rather than bringing up "ha ha, I love your accent!" in every conversation. I act like a starstruck fan around her favorite movie star when I am around British men. Yes, I am mortifyingly dorky. I know. Pray for me. What is up with all my religious references today? Sheesh.

With SFO James, I was completely comfortable being myself because I wasn't feeling like I needed to impress him at all.I didn't really care all that much what he thought of me. Weird.

James is coming to LA at the end of the week. He wants me to come and hang for a day. I may do so - if for nothing than to make yet another British friend. Hey, he might have hot friends.

I also realized that I truly belong in the travel world. I have not made a single friend here in California that I didn't already know (besides my roommates, and really, I have to be friends with them at least somewhat otherwise our living situation would be slightly weird) and yet, I talked to more people in San Francisco than I have in six months in OC. I just feel completely comfortable around other travelers. Possibly because I have lots in common with them and partly because travelers are just very easy to talk to. You know generally what they will be like because, as a whole, travelers are a certain kind of person. I'm not talking about people going on resort vacations and stuff - but budget, hostel-dwelling travelers. There's something a bit off about the lot of us and that's probably why I love them (most of them, there's always a few exceptions to every rule) and have no problem getting on with them. James and I were discussing the "first conversation" that everyone has upon getting to a new hostel. Heather and I had conversed at length about it after Australia. You start with, "Hey, I'm so-and-so. So, where are you from, how long you been traveling for, where you been, where you going next?" It was like the same conversation you had with every new person you met, like some sort of twisted ritual. And yet, it was so easy to do. I don't generally talk to people in bars that I don't know. I feel weird doing it. But I'll talk at length to the girl sharing the hostel room about conditions in the Outback with no problem. I guess because with travel peeps, you can be who you want without fear of major repercussions because they don't know your history. They don't know about the idiot girl who's made an ass of herself in front of hot guys. They just know the person standing in front of them. It's so refreshing and so much fun.

So, Harry is calling to me and I must heed his call. I am so afraid I will be up until 3 am reading. I really don't want to do that since I must do actual work tomorrow and I am going to see a play in Laguna Beach and go swimming with my roommate. It's a busy day..

More details on the freaks and spectacles of San Francisco to come - one last teaser just for you Boston fans - I get on the tram to go up to the "curvy street" (Lombard street, you've seen it on postcards) and who do I end up sitting next to but a couple wearing a Pats visor and a Sox visor from the South Shore. As soon as the girl opened her mouth I could pinpoint where she was from probably within a 20 mile radius. Freakin' hilarious. What was even better is that I was wearing my "Wicked Pitchah #38" shirt (which nobody outside of New England really gets and understands why it's funny). It was like the Gods were sending me a sign. Bostonians are EVERYWHERE!! I met a girl from Northeastern in North Beach working at a cool little artsy store. How random is that? She apparently thinks we had a writing class together too. I'm not so sure about that, but hell, it was over 5 years ago - anything is possible.

So with that...I bid you Adios, Adieu and Cheers, mate!

I'm sorry, but you're not J-Lo.

2005-07-15T12:31:00.000-07:00

Dear Bronson,

Hi there. Just wanted to tell you first off - love the new look without the cornrows. Makes you look less like Kevin Federline and more like the cutie you really are. Now you've got all three of the attributes I look for in men - tall, thin and with good hair. Sure, you're married but that's just a minor detail.

Okay, now that we've got the pleasantries out of the way, let's get down to why I'm really writing you - this whole fascination you've got with becoming a rock star. Did a certain DHS graduate of 1994, Eric "I'm a drummer, therefore I am h-o-t" G. (I'll keep his last name anonymous so that angry baseball fans don't storm his house), have anything to do with your visions of Grammy nominations? Because although I am quite the fan of Eric as most of my high school friends know, perhaps he shouldn't be encouraging famous baseball players to pursue dreams that aren't related to baseball. I realize that you boys are good friends and you play nice together, but he is the musician, you are the baseball player. Neither one of you will ever be the other one, no matter how much you wish for a Freaky Friday sort of miracle.

Oh sure, it's fun to have girls throwing themselves at you while you rock out on stage, but I imagine that as a pitcher for the World Champion Red Sox, you probably already get lots of attention from the ladies. You're getting paid loads of cash to throw a little white ball, might it make more sense to focus on that job, rather than stay up late partying at the Avalon the night before you're scheduled to pitch against the hated Yankees? Have you not witnessed the backlash against Johnny "I'm everywhere you want me to be" Damon as he becomes the baseball equivalent of Ben Affleck? Unless I missed the memo, I don't think you're quite making as much money to play the guitar and sing. Don't start booking your world tour just yet. Don't get me wrong, your foray into the music world is much better than previous athletes who fancied themselves rock-and-rollers - Shaq, anyone? Just don't forget where your paychecks are coming from.

And honey, if it's affecting your game, even in the slightest, perhaps you should hold off on the rocking out until the post-season. Yes, people like J-Lo have successfully crossed over between the music and acting world, but you're not J-Lo. Athletes crossing into the music world is icky. It's weird, Bronson. It's weird! I don't want to see Manny doing Fergie's dance moves, nor would I enjoy watching Big Papi doing a Pete Townsend on the guitar. Actually, that's a lie - both of those would be pretty hilarious, but the entertainment value would come from laughing AT them. Not WITH them. You got me?

Hopefully I'll see in you Anaheim this August if I can convince work to let me go to Hawaii later. Until then....

Smooches,
Jill

Rice-a-roni, the San Francisco treat..

2005-07-14T23:33:00.000-07:00

This weekend, I'm heading north to San Fran for work. Well, two and a half days will be spent working and evaluating various hotel services. (God, I hope it's not a repeat of Atlanta - those 20 hour workdays were hell, especially when you figure the measly sum I was being paid.) Then Monday afternoon, I get to run wild around the city, as I asked to stay an extra day so I could explore on my own (staying in a hostel, of course. Those fancy hotels are way out of my budget.

So much to see, so little time. Can't wait. Need to visit my favorite West Coast bookstore - City Lights. I'm not even sure if Lawrence Ferlinghetti is a) alive and b) still owns the joint. For those of you who don't know, City Lights was a verrrry important bookstore for the Beat Generation, as it was the first to publish "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg when all others were banning the controversial poem. During my college years, I was somewhat obsessed with the Beats. Jack Kerouac was the only teacher for me. I even brought my copy of "On the Road" with me to England during my junior year abroad. Having it stuffed into my daypack while I trekked through Europe, worn and dog-eared with notes scribbled throughout (the book, not me - although some days it may have seemed otherwise), seemed like a fitting tribute, especially the day I went in search of Jim Morrison's grave at Pere LaChaise in Paris. Cliched, perhaps, but I was 21 and making my first real forays into travel. (A class trip to Spain in high school didn't quite qualify as a "real" journey.) Morrison had been a fan of the Beats and since I was also completely obsessed with The Doors at this time, it just made sense to have the two meet through me. I'm somewhat less obsessed these days, but City Lights remains an important landmark for me to revisit. I remember the last time I was in San Francisco over four years ago, I spent hours wandering the aisles and breathing in the scent of musty books and picturing the pow-wows that must have occurred during the '50s and '60s there. It certainly doesn't hurt that I'm a total bookstore nerd to begin with, but give me one with such a colorful history and I'm set for the day.

Found a hostel in Union Square that appears to be fairly decent. Hoping it won't be filled with dodgy characters or have pimps and hos outside the front door, but given it's proximity to the Tenderloin district, I can't be sure. It IS a YHA hostel, so it should be okay. I'll be sure to report back on Tuesday when I return to SoCal. It will be a busy, busy day on Monday and Tuesday morning as I try to cram in venturing to North Beach, Pier 39, the Ansel Adams Gallery and perhaps a glimpse of the Haight-Ashbury, formerly known as the place for revolutionists and hippies, but now more likely to be home to GAP kids and Starbucks junkies. Sigh. The irony of a huge GAP store on the corner of Haight and Ashbury is not lost on me. The first time I saw it, I gave a little shriek of dismay, if I remember correctly.

I also found out today that my next work trip will be to Hawaii in August. While I am thrilled to go to Maui and Waikiki (an area of the globe I haven't visited before), I was also a little disappointed because it's at a very inconvenient time. You see, I have a ticket to the Sox/Angels game on Aug. 18, courtesy of Sarah and her buttload of tickets for the BU Alumni. Now, the trip is scheduled for August 10-28. Before you jump and up down and squeal, "Wow, you're so lucky to go to Hawaii for so long AND get paid!" let me finish. As a newbie, I do not get to go the entire time. The crazy Swedish girl I traveled with in Atlanta (who will also be with me in San Fran) will be there the whole time, as she is a veteran and can handle such a long trip. The bosses are dividing up the trip for 2 other agents - ie, me and another newbie. One agent will go Aug 10-17, the other 17-28. I was very happy to hear that, figuring I could go the first part and not miss out on seeing my beloved Sox play the only time they are in Orange County this season.

Alas, after confirming those dates, I realized that on August 13, I have to take a certification test in order to become a substitute teacher here in Orange County. My thoughts were, why not become a sub so when I'm not travelling, at least I'm out of the house. It pays surprisingly well and plus, I'd be done by early afternoon, leaving ample time for writing, freelance work or just plain nothing as I am more apt to do. This was something of a dilemma....the certification...or the Red Sox? I know plenty of Bostonians who would have no problem deciding, figuring it must be an omen that I should not go into substitute teaching.

Alas, I need an actual job outside of the house before I become a complete nutter and this is the last test they offer before the hiring begins and apparently most districts only hire subs at the beginning of the year and without the certification, you can't work here in California. Damn bureaucracy. I was a sub at my high school right after college graduation without having any qualifications. Sure, it was a nightmare because I kept getting stuck at the middle school where I had babysat half the 8th graders as children or they had attended the summer camp I worked at during college. I had no authority whatsoever. Those kids were the spawn of Satan.

One other disappointment for me if I went for the 10-17 time frame was that I wouldn't be able to tack on a few extra days at the end (and we're not allowed to go early for some reason) for my own personal enjoyment of Hawaii, since I'd be rushing back to catch good ole Orlando Cabrera reunite with his former teammates. And if I am going all the way to Hawaii to suffer for my job, I want to at least have a couple days to enjoy it.

Reluctantly, I emailed the boss and said, "Hi, yes, I am sorry, but I totally forgot I had to take a test on the 13th. I thought it was the 9th and only now when I checked the website just to make sure did I find out I was under the wrong impression. Again, I am sorry. I am not normally this flaky. Unfortunately, the test is more important than the Sox game (Editor's note - this is a blatant lie, but I can't tell him that and say, 'Oh, no thanks, no Hawaii for me at all, there's a game on' lest I want to continue this job in the future). So could you change my schedule to the 17th-28th?"

Sigh. He is aware of how important this game was to me, as I made it perfectly clear in the interview that I had nothing going on in my life that would make me unavailable for travel, save for one sunny evening in August when the Red Sox came to town. And they were completely fine with it. When he first approached me about Hawaii, he said that he might tweak the dates a little depending on the other agent's schedule after I told him I'd take the first half, but if they realllllly needed me, I supposed I could skip the game and go the second half. Oh please, oh please, let him allow me to go on the 19th. Then I can take my test on the 13th, go to the Pageant of the Masters on the 17th AND the Sox game on the 18th. God, if you're listening, I promise to stop watching reruns of Buffy for an entire week if you'll do this for me.

I was happy about going later for one reason and that was I would be able to stay a few extra days which would slightly make up for the bummer of missing Manny, Big Papi and the rest of the Idiots. That is...until I remembered one little fact. I would only be able to add two extra days because I have to be back in LA by the early a.m. on the 31st in order to....

*dramatic pause*

be at the taping of "The Price is Right"! Oh yeah! Mr. Bob Barker, I'm coming for you, baby! My roommate got tickets for herself and her friends (and me) and we're going all out. Declaring our love for Bob on our t-shirts, we're hoping to pimp one of us out so that Bob wants us to "come on down!" and win a car. Or a lovely kitchen set or something. My cousin won a car on it years ago. Darling little Geo that he promptly sold lest someone question his manhood if they saw him driving it. Not that I blame him. His philosophy is that the goofier and crazier you act, the more likely you get on. I've got all the crazy in the world stored up for Mr. Barker. I'm almost guaranteed!

So, that is my dilemma for today. Sure, I get to go to Hawaii, but really the dates are just not all that convenient. Yes, yes, I should shut my piehole and just be happy that I get to go at all, but c'mon, you know me better than that. And for the price they're paying me for the amount of work I actually have to do (see: blog on Atlanta), I'm more than allowed to complain. Trust me. Fingers crossed, I'm hoping that I get to go on the 19th. I won't be upset about only getting two days to enjoy the Hawaiian sun if that happens - hell, I'll even go home on the original date if I have to. They go to Hawaii all the time, I'm sure there will be another opportunity for me to learn to surf at Pipeline. (Ha ha, kidding. I would die if I tried to surf at Pipeline.)

Go shorty, it's ya birfday....

2005-07-13T00:18:00.000-07:00

"Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday dear meeeeee, Happy Birthday to me."

That's me, singing to myself because don't nobody know that it's my birfday here in da OC. Ah well. 28 is no big deal. I'm old. I think around 23 or 24 I started to realize that the passing years were no longer cause for huge celebrations. 2 more years until the big 3-0. That's my self-made deadline to have written a book or something of equal length (rather than just silly travel columns, unless those silly travel columns are being published by National Geographic, Conde Naste or even Cosmo). I'll keep ya updated. If I am still in SoCal come Fall, I'm planning to start substitute teaching at the public schools so that I get a break from boring computer work and get out of the house, thereby giving me more time to take a much-needed writing course up in Santa Monica once a week for 4 months and hopefully get the ass-kicking I need to start writing mas.

Had a cool ass day today because roommate and I went kayaking in the Huntington Harbours with her friend Alex so's we could check out the huge-ass mansions overlooking the waters with their ginormous boats tethered to the docks. Un-freakin-believable. I want to live like that one day. Forget living in Laguna Beach, "The Real OC" (or so MTV would have you believe), HH is the place to be, bitches! I am just dying to know what these people do for a living that they have all this disposable income to spend on ridonkulous houses and yachts and how do I get a piece of it?!

That's my birthday wish! Hells yeah!

30 miles later..

2005-07-11T18:27:00.000-07:00

Days like yesterday remind me why I do actually like living in Southern California. I tossed my bike in the trunk (I have a bike rack, but it's like rocket science trying to put that thing together and I don't want to risk losing my bike somewhere on the 405 freeway) and headed to Hermosa Beach. From there, I rode my bike all the way up to Marina del Rey and back - all along the coast. It was a beautiful day, people were out on the beach playing volleyball and a pleasant breeze kept me cool as I pedaled furiously to get my heart rate up.

30 miles later, I was back at my car, exhausted but satisfied at the way I had spent my afternoon. Hermosa Beach is like a non-stop party with people crowding into the bars along the Main Street Pier. I definitely have to go back there some night in hopes of actually meeting some people close to my age who aren't Newport rich kids. (Not that there is anything wrong with Newport rich kids, I just find that I don't have a lot in common with them.)

It's been well over a week since Vegas. I haven't been inspired to share the stories. Course, nothing too exciting really happened. Since I don't feel like going into some detailed story, I'll just give you a quick rundown.

Friday night, I got a call from Sarah telling me to come by at 7:30 pm and we'd leave from her house. As I left my house at 7 pm, I get a call from Mike, calling from Sarah's phone, telling me that they were running late and might not be at her house til after 8 pm. Sarah gets on the phone and tells me to just pop over to their friend's house, where they are just visiting.

I show up and the two of them are definitely a few in the bag, if you know what I mean. :)

10:30 pm comes and goes and I'm wondering just when we'd be heading to Vegas. The new plan is that we'd go at 5 am the next morning, since neither Sarah or Mike were capable of driving. At this point, I realize that because of my current sleeping schedule, I'd be awake until after 2am anyways, so I offer to drive us to Sin City. They agree and we get on the rode at 11 pm....

The drive was fairly uneventful, save for the one hour in traffic going no more than 10 miles an hour because apparently everyone driving to Vegas are a bunch of rubberneckers, slowing down to see the many, many breakdowns. We finally pulled into the condo around 3:30 in the morning and went straight to bed.

The next few days were spent running from air-conditioned casino to air-conditioned casino. With temperatures of at least 110 degrees during the day, it was a sweat-fest. As Mike said, "I've got swamp ass." Me, too, Mike. Me, too. Saturday night we went to a Weezer/Red Hot Chili Peppers show that was played outside in a field. Once the sun went down and the temperature dropped to 95 degrees, it was not too bad to be outside. Sure, the wind was warm and we were still sweaty but at least they had a relief tent where you could get water and walk under sprinklers to cool off. And what a cross-section of Americana this audience was. Women with '80s hairstyles, cut-off jean shorts and fanny packs, goth girls and boys, punks, hippies, rednecks, frat boys, you name it. It was a little bit of everything. The acrid smell of weed wafted through the field most of the night as audience members liberally toked up. It turned out to be a pretty fun evening. I didn't think I'd like the music as much as I did.

Sunday we gambled a little - I donated 10 dollars worth of quarters to the slots. Mike donated a hundred or so dollars to the craps table. By the time we got back to the condo, we were ready to go party. But after showering and watching a movie, the three of us were so tired that we ended up falling asleep. So much for Vegas-style fsu-ing. The heat will do that to you. I do not recommend going to Vegas during the summer. How anyone lives there, I have no idea. I have no desire to ever live in a desert community, that's for sure. Even the pool water was like taking a bath, it was so warm. But I suppose I'll take tepid pool water over no pool at all.

Monday was more gambling, wandering about and waiting two hours for the fireworks that never happened. All the staff members in Vegas assured us that the fireworks would be going off and they would be spectacular, because every casino was set to have their own display going off at the same time - mainly because it is Vegas' 100th anniversary this year. Hmm...4 fountain displays at the Bellagio later, we were still waiting. Alas. Never happened.

Played the slots with Sarah as we were about to leave and ended up getting 20 dollars. Woohoo, got my 10 bucks back from the day before and gained an additional 10 bucks. Works for me.

Drove back Tuesday morning, very happy to be back near the ocean and cooler temperatures. Ahh, California breezes. Such a lovely thing. So no crazy stories to share. The only men that hit on me were either punk ass black teenagers or big burly black men who looked like football players. Again...no idea why that is. Lotsa hot European-looking men around, but none of them wanted to talk to me. It's depressing and irritating to say the least. All I want is a cute English guy - is that too much to ask?!?!? Or Australian. Either one. Gah! I'll be stalking the Aussies in a couple weeks when the U.S. Open of Surfing comes to the shores of Huntington. Can't wait for that. Mmm, mmm, mmm...hot surfer boys. Yum!

Movies, movies, movies.

2005-07-10T00:14:00.000-07:00

I've been on a real movie kick lately. I'm not sure why. I guess it's because there are a gazillion movies I want to see and I never get around to seeing them in the theaters - partly because I get distracted easily and partly because the idea of dropping 10 bucks to go see a film seems silly.

So I made a list the other night of the many, many movies I intend to rent - "Bride and Prejudice", "Undertow", "The Machinist", "Vera Wang" and "The Jacket" just to name a few. I'd intended to see "The Machinist" in theaters because I'm the biggest Christian Bale fan there is and I will sit through the crappiest movies for him - and trust me, there have been a number of them - "Laurel Canyon" anyone? I think he is, by far, one of the most talented actors out there, but some of the roles he chooses...they're just plain weird. Case in point, "Velvet Goldmine."

I'm a big fan of indie and weird movies, as you might be able to tell. Tend to eschew the typical blockbuster movies, unless someone else happens to rent them or I get a free movie pass. Figured that since most of my list revolves around movies that not many people have heard of or wanted to see, I shouldn't have a problem renting them at the local Blockbuster.

Lo and behold, I was in for a surprise when I got there and found both "Undertow" and "Bride and Prejudice" out of stock (and there was more than one copy of each out, just in case you were wondering). What's this? The OC has people who are interested in more than just surfing, sun and smoking weed? Amazing!

I ended up renting "The Machinist" and "The Jacket". Both very bizarre and oddly compelling movies. I highly recommend "The Jacket" because I thought it was extremely well done and the story was unlike anything else I'd seen recently. Plus, Adrian Brody is fantastic in it. Keira Knightly's gained my respect with her portrayal of one strung-out, messed-up brunette. I almost didn't recognize and she did a great job with the accent - deep and American.

As for "The Machinist"...man, I almost couldn't watch it. Not because it was a terrible movie, but seeing Christian Bale at 121 pounds was almost too much for me to handle. He was just a walking corpse. And he normally is such a beautiful man - have you seen "American Psycho"? Good god. Crap movie, but worth sitting through just to see him naked. Whoo boy. Anyway, so "Machinist" begins with him almost naked, bones visible through his skin, his face gaunt and pale. It's disgusting, really. Fifteen minutes into it, I wasn't sure I could watch until the end. I was interested in the story, intrigued by what was going on (even though I was rather confused until the end) but the visuals...eeeks. You see him lying in bed with a hooker and his ribs are protruding. Oh, I can't even think about it. I might have to go shell out 10 bucks to see Batman just to get the image of his skeletal figure out of my mind. At least I know in Batman he looks more like Patrick Bateman("American Pyscho") than Trevor Reznick (his Machinist character).

Can't say that he's not serious about his craft, that's for sure. Don't know many male actors who would drop over 60 pounds for a role. He's over 6 feet tall - just think about that for a moment. 6 feet tall and 121 pounds. And then he gained it all back plus more in order to play Batman. Sheesh. Rene Zellweger only had to deal with 30 or so pounds in her Bridget Jones escapades and I originally thought that was nuts. Christian Bale moves into the number one spot in that respects.

So check them out if you're bored and don't want to watch some inane movie like "The Pacifier" or something along those lines....

Oh Robbie...we love you!

2005-07-09T18:55:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here watching a replay of last week's Live8 concerts on MTV and Robbie Williams is performing in Hyde Park. I don't understand why he never caught on here in the States. He is one of the most fantastic performers out there - if you've ever seen him perform, you know what I'm talking about. He's absolutely hilarious. I don't think American audiences quite get that when he's acting like an arrogant ass on stage, strutting his stuff, that he's just being cheeky and having fun with it - he's not taking himself seriously. Oh sure, maybe he is a little bit of an arrogant ass in real life, but at least he doesn't proclaim to be an "Artist" (notice the capitalization) like Madonna or some other musicians I can think of. They drive me crazy. You're a musician, you're not God! But I'm getting off topic here..

I caught one of his shows in Boston back in 1999. I don't remember a time when I've had so much fun at a concert. Course, I was surrounded by people of accents the entire time (since there were maybe 3 other Americans in the audience) and it was a very intimite show at the Paradise. My British friends were quite jealous that I got to see him for free (it was during my co-op at the Globe and the music critic scored two tickets for me) and with only a couple hundred other people since he generally sells out arenas and stadiums around Europe.

Oh man, he just kissed some random old lady in the audience while singing "Angels" (a song that Jessica Simpson should be stoned for trying to remake, might I add). He's got the entire audience singing along in Hyde Park. How can you not love him? Robbie, I LOVE YOU! COME BACK TO AMERICA!!! We promise to love you this time!

Oooh, ooh, The Who are on now. Man, I would have given my left arm to be in London last Saturday. Ok, maybe not my arm, I need that hand in order to write and type. I suppose I'd have given up my left boob. That might look funny, though, now that I think about it. Ok, I'd have given up both. The "girls" are nothing compared to being in Hyde Park surrounded by hundreds of thousands of Brits and hearing some of the best bands in the world. Sigh. I never get to do anything fun...

An eerie sense of deja vu

2005-07-07T11:45:00.000-07:00

I woke up at 11am this morning (pacific time, that is. and yes, I am a lazy ass). I was up late last night doing work and watching Craig Ferguson, my new favorite talk show host and future Scottish husband.

I turn on the computer, see that I have a number of emails and go, "Weee! Yay, people love me." I become confused as I read email after email asking if I've heard from my London friends. "Yeah, a couple days ago, why does everyone care?" I think to myself. I mean, I know everyone is aware that I am the biggest Anglophile that ever lived and my life revolves around London, the British and everything in between, but this is just weird.

Then I get an email from Amy saying, "How are your London peeps? I hope everyone you know over there is okay. Fucking scary shit, man..." and I start to get really concerned. What the hell have I missed while having a lie in? I turn to my trusty Boston.com and my stomach drops as I read "40 killed, 700 injured in four London explosions."

No, no, nonononononono! An eerie sense of deja vu comes over me. When 9/11 occurred, I had the day off from working at good ole Council Travel so I slept in til about 11am...I woke up only when I heard my sister and brother come busting through the front door, talking about how they can't believe this is happening. I immediately assumed it was a massive school shooting. In the days of Columbine and all the other school shootings, I think it was a logical assumption. Imagine my dismay and surprise when I found out, no, no school shooting, instead New York was under attack.

Today I had a very similar reaction - a sick feeling in my gut as I immediately turned on CNN and thought of my friend James, who I had just talked to via IM 2 days ago. I also thought of Tom. Although Tom and I have not spoken since our falling out concerning the Tsunami tragedy and I swore our friendship was over, I can't help but feel panicked, hoping to god that he is in Cornwall surfing his brains out and not back in London. I know James' morning commute, having visited him and gone with him to work and I also know he usually goes into work late, except that he'd been going in early all week to make up for being on vacation. He normally takes the bus and I am pretty sure his bus goes nowhere near Tavistock Square (where they are reporting that is where the bus bomb went off) but he lives near King's Cross. Needless to say, I ran to 7-11 to get an international calling card and have been trying in vain to call him but all the phone lines are busy. I even tried calling Tom, figuring that even if he still hates me, I need to know he is okay.

This is a horrible way to live. They've been talking about New Yorkers on CNN all morning, how some people are scared to take the subway and others are going about their normal days, saying that this is just the way of life these days. That's just not right.

I will never understand people who want to blow up innocent people in the name of God or Allah or whatever freakish obsession they have. I have no patience for religious fanaticism. There is something terribly wrong with them.

Sometime later this week, when my hands stop shaking in anger and fear, I will write of Vegas and the tales of absurd. For now, it just doesn't seem appropriate.

Vegas, baby!

2005-06-30T21:29:00.000-07:00

Sarah, Mike and I are heading to Vegas tomorrow for the long weekend. As a Vegas virgin, I am looking forward to this, even with the news that the temperature will be soaring over 100 degrees everyday that we are there. Woohoo!

Although I know the motto is "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas", fear not because I will share any stories of the wacky, absurd and ridiculous with you, my faithful readers. Sarah scored some free tickets to the Weezer/Red Hot Chili Peppers concert on Saturday night. I'm not exactly a fan of either, but who am I to turn down free anything? Especially in Vegas, where nothing is free. I won't be gambling, save for maybe 20 bucks I bring specifically to donate to the slots, so hopefully I'll run into some luck with the Wheel of Fortune slot. Fingers crossed, anyway.

We leave tomorrow night, barring any unforseen catastrophes such as a pile-up on the freeway or me running into Adam Brody or Ben McKenzie (Seth Cohen and Ryan Atwood for those of you not in the know) on the beach in HB. Mmm...Adam and Ben...mmmm...that would be a good catastrophe in case you weren't sure.

I'll see ya all on the flip side - which, in this case, will be sometime on Tuesday or Wednesday. I have no idea when we're actually coming back. If I get married while there, I fully expect wedding gifts in the form of Target and Old Navy giftcards to find their way into my mailbox. :)

Mmm..yummy fried goodness.

2005-06-27T19:26:00.000-07:00

I had my first official experience with a California original this afternoon - a big ole "Hotdog on a Stick."

This wonderfully fried snack is basically a hotdog dipped in batter and then deep fried, on a stick as the name implies. If I could make the Homer Simpson noise that he makes after saying, "Mmm..beer...", I would right about now. I know it sounds fairly disgusting and I ordered one with a little hesitation since I'm not even a huge fan of hotdogs (unless I'm in New York and then I have to eat one from the street vendors...I know, I know, it defies logic all around since god only knows what's in those and how long that water's been standing in the vendor's cart but I perfer not to think about when you can get lunch for a buck), but man oh man was it good. So good.

I'm not sure if this is the same thing as a corndog as I've never had one of those, but perhaps it is. There is just something so sinfully right about a fried batter coating around a juicy dog (turkey dog, might I add - it's slightly less gross than a regular one) smothered in mustard and ketchup. I can't believe it took me this long to try one - these little Hotdog on a Stick joints are everywhere, much like Carl's Jr and In-N-Out Burger. Here I thought California was the land of vegetarians and healthy eaters. I was so wrong, deliciously so. I almost feel like visiting Dairy Queen again, but I will resist. The trainers at the gym might cut off an arm or something if they knew I was eating this way. :)

I'm still fuming

2005-06-26T01:05:00.000-07:00

I just had to make one more comment - how I wish Boston had the climate and general landscape of the OC because if it did, I never would have left. People here are far too concerned with their looks and man, oh man, they are a bunch of idiots. I am torn between wanting to surround myself with intellectually stimulating/capable of holding a normal conversation that doesn't revolve around plastic surgery or Louis Vitton bags people and wanting to live in an area where the weather is perfection and I can live a block from the ocean where major surf competitions happen. I wish a place existed where all of these things could be combined, but I guess you can't have everything in life so I need to sort out my priorities. I didn't want to be an East Coast snob, but what can you do. I admit it. I am an East Coast (and Northern East Coast to be exact) snob. But I really, realllllly hate winter. So I'm torn for the moment. Unsure of where the future will lead me. But all I know is that the vapidness of this area of the country pains me on a daily basis. I didn't want to stereotype Southern California, but there is a reason the stereotype exists. Perhaps in Northern California it is a different situation. But as it stands, SoCal is full of vapid, flaky, vain people. It's a shame, really, because it is one of the most scenic areas of the country with the most perfect weather you could ever want. Someone once told me, "If you don't like California, move out of OC." I'm beginning to see their point. Maybe Santa Monica or an area around there would be better. At least Santa Monica is more city-like than HB and with a major college (UCLA) in the neighborhood, perhaps I could satisfy my need for intellectuals. We shall see....

Ok, time to go read some more. I bought 3 books at Costco today and I have been devouring them. I tried in vain to save them for later, but much like a bag of candies I try to "hide" from myself so I don't eat them all, I just kept going back for more. If you get a chance, check out some of Laurie Notaro's books - I laugh myself into a frenzy reading her collections of columns. If you're not a fan of childish potty humor, you may not find them as hysterical as I do, but I recommend reading them nevertheless. I defy any woman to not find her stories relatable. She makes me laugh outloud and I curse the fact that she wrote these stories before I had a chance to.

WTF?

2005-06-26T00:06:00.000-07:00

Just a simple question really - why do some people suck so much? Let me share this little gem for your consideration. Earlier this evening, my roommate and I walked down to Main Street in Huntington to get ice cream at the Dairy Queen. Oh yes, we're living it up on a Saturday night. Whatever. I spent last night in Hollywood at a play and she had been working all day - we're allowed to be social outcasts on the weekend if we really want. Anyway, after meandering about downtown watching a bunch of drunken college students act like, well, drunken college students, we headed back for home. Main Street is really only fun if you're plastered enough so that the irritating OC kids are suddenly no longer irritating. Love the OC but not so much the actual people who live here. A couple blocks away lies an apartment complex we had always been slightly curious about. It looks like a bunch of studios/one-bedrooms and there is a pool in the middle of the courtyard. It's not a gated community in the strictest sense since the doors are never shut.

So in our quest for amusement, I decide I want to take a peek around since no one seems to be outside by the pool. We walk in cautiously, not sure if we're about to be tossed out by some renta-cop drunk with power patrolling the area. As we enter the courtyard, we notice a couple guys on the upper balcony drinking beers. We don't say anything as we're just kind of nosing about, pretending like we're looking for someone. One of the guys shouts, "Come on in!"

I smile and say, "We're just looking around."

Drunk Guy says "Well, there are no vacancies. None at all."

I'm thinking he's just joking and say, "Oh, that's too bad."

DG says something I don't catch. My roommate says, "Jill, let's just go."

I'm confused and say, "Sorry, what?"

DG replies, "Yah, there aren't any vacancies unless you're a buck-twenty and five eight."

It takes a second for me to realize what he said and I'm like, "Uh, what? There are no vacancies for anyone who doesn't weigh 120 pounds and is 5'8"?"

DG snidely remarks, "Yeah, and I think you're over the limit."

At this point, I'm so taken aback by his comments that Roommate and I take off, me muttering to myself and making loud comments about how it must be tough to not get any chicks when you're that ugly and need Viagra just to get it up. (And he was ugly. Overweight and slightly balding. He was no Brad Pitt.) As we walk down the street, I become more and more irritated by his comments because WTF? Who says shit like that and I'm sorry, but did we say anything to you in the first place? And since when did it become okay for you to say something like that to someone you don't know? I realize I am not a supermodel and I'm okay with that. Supermodels are rare and intriguing creatures who exist only in the pages of magazines. 5'8" and 120 pounds? Yeah, maybe if I was a heroin addict. Even Roommate said, "I'm 5'8" and I don't weigh 120. I weigh 150." And she is a skinny, skinnnnny girl. I'm still amazed that she weighs 150. She looks like a pencil. But that's besides the point.

Once we reach our house, I'm pretty pissed off - partly by his ignorant comments, but more so that I didn't have a quick-witted comeback. There was a time in my youth when I would not have walked away so easily. I would have stayed and had it out with such a jackass, verbally abusing him until I was completely satisfied. I don't know if my brain just isn't as quick in my "old" age, but I'm sitting here thinking I so should have said something along the lines of "Yeah, well I wouldn't want to live in a complex filled with small-dicked men anyways" or "I wouldn't want to live here anyway - you could fit three of these shithole apartments into my entire house and still have room left over, you dumb drunken ass."

I don't understand why some guys are such jerks. I mean, what exactly makes someone say something like that? That's probably one of the rudest things I've ever had someone say to me. Obviously he has no dick and since he's sitting at home on a Saturday night with a bunch of dudes, I shouldn't take his comments to heart but I can't help but think there is something seriously wrong in the world today when strangers feel the urge to say ignorant and mean things to random people. I can see if I was somehow provoking him, taunting him about his small penis and lack of manhood upon entering the complex, but we didn't say a thing to Drunk Guy and for all he knew, we could have been coming there to see a friend who lived in the building.

Even hours later, I am still pissed off about this. It's guys like that who make me have a general distrust in the male species. I remember when Laura and I used to go for our Midnight runs in college and guys felt compelled to make comments about my boobs nightly. I was always amazed thinking, "Where do you get off even talking to me, nevermind making a comment about my boobs when you don't even know me?" What compels these asses to open their mouths and make such remarks? Is there a guy guidebook that I'm not aware of that makes guys think they're entitled to be rude and obnoxious to women they don't know? Since college, I have very rarely trusted or believed anything that comes from a guy's mouth - even if they are attempting to be positive and complimentary. I've been programmed to distrust them, assuming that they're only saying nice things in order to either a) set me up and then laugh at me for believing them or b) they're just flat-out lying because they want something. It's a shame because I know there have been at least two guys who I think have genuinely liked me and liked the way I looked, but I was never able to fully believe them at the time because I felt like they were dating me because they were just biding their time until something better came along. Kind of like, "Well, I'd rather have sex with the ugly, chubby chick than no chick at all" mentality.

So my advice to men - don't be jackasses. Don't say things to strange women that you wouldn't want said to your mother or your sister. Informing a woman that she is fat or ugly is unacceptable, no matter what the situation. I don't go up to men I don't know and tell them, "Gawd, you're hideous" for no apparent reason. As a general rule, women don't do that. Sure, there are always exceptions, but at least we're more likely to talk about you behind your back then to your face. Don't talk about women's boobs as they walk past. Making lewd and disgusting comments about our bodies does not make us want to stop and chat with you - is there some sort of genetic defect in the male brain that makes them think, "If I talk about that chick's tits, she's going to want to sleep with me?" I have never understood that - for all the men who have ever said something about my "rack" as I walked past and then giggled childishly and slapped fives with their buddies, I ask - "Are you completely retarded?" What makes you think this is a good way to get my attention? If anything, I'd like to simply belt you in the face. Sure, maybe you think in your twisted male mind that because you're "complimenting" (and I use the term loosely..."nice tits" isn't exactly a charming compliment) my figure I should want to talk to you and succumb to your manly wiles. Um, no, I don't think so.

Like your mother used to say, "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." I truly believe the world would be a better place if people would just follow that simple code of behavior.

Link for my article

2005-06-22T21:05:00.000-07:00

Hey kiddies,

Here's the link for the column I wrote that got picked up by USA Today. How spiffy, no? Too bad they're not offering me a weekly/monthly column so I can become the next Carrie Bradshaw (but in the travel world, instead of writing about sex or my lack thereof).

Voila..here it is. Enjoy!

check it out...

2005-06-22T11:14:00.000-07:00

Just got an email from my editor who informed me that USA Today is picking up my column on the OC for publication in tomorrow's paper (or online? I'm not exactly sure which. Maybe both.) So that's pretty cool - a nice little thing considering my editors told me this week that they have to drop the column entirely from the website since they are trying to focus on more "staff" written pieces rather than freelancers. D'oh. My days as an illustrious travel columnist have suddenly come to an end. Eh, it was a good year-long run.

Tomorrow I'll put up the link...this column was actually a decent one, even for having been written the day of...

Shut up!

2005-06-20T16:36:00.000-07:00

You guys! I can not believe this at all...I am as shocked as you will be, but today I went back to the gym (after about a 4 week hiatus - hey, I was in Atlanta for 10 days and then I've been bed-ridden with the flu or whatever the hell it was for the past week so I wasn't being a total slacker). Anyway, I was just about to walk in the door when I saw my trainer outside and she comes running over to me, exclaiming, "Where have you been?! I was just about to call you!" I sheepishly put my head down and was like, "I've been sick..." She was like, "Oh, I figured you were traveling." And I laughed and said, "Actually, I was traveling, too. I was in Atlanta for almost 2 weeks and then I got really sick last week. Decided it was time for me to come back and work out."

At this point I'm thinking, "Man, they are tough at this gym...notice you're missing and they want to call your house? Sheesh."

Then Kim hugs me and says, "I wanted to tell you - you won the free membership from the fitness challenge!"

I was like, "Whaaa? NO WAY!"

She was like, "Yep, your photo is up on the wall. I was hoping I'd catch you before you saw it and wondered why your picture was there with all your stats."

At this point I'm thinking, "Stats? Oh dear god."

Yes, dear readers. Not only is the before and after picture of me up there in all its glory, but also my stats for before and after. Yikes. I mean, my "after" stats are not so impressive, I don't want skinny gym girls knowing I weigh 185 pounds (189 on the stats sheet, since that was from about a month ago).

So I went over to the wall of "shame" and checked it out. Two other people also won the year-long free membership, so I checked out their stats. They were both smaller than me (err) although by looking at their pictures, I wouldn't have thought so cuz the one guy had a major beer gut. And the girl was like 15 pounds lighter than me, but I didn't think she looker smaller than me. I think maybe I have selective eyesight. I only see what I want to see. But I lost the most weight and inches so that's all that mattered to me. I never would have thought that my results were the best out of everyone 'cuz they weren't that impressive (6 pounds and I forget-how-many-inches- I'll look on my stats sheet tomorrow and let you know - in 21 days.

Apparently eating nothing but rich food in Atlanta with little exercise did not hurt me, either. I stepped on the scale, prepared for a ego-bruising number, but it was even less than what it was before I left. Who woulda thought? Apparently the bacon and eggs/filet mignon diet is not a bad one - maybe there is something to be said about the Atkins diet. Course, I've returned to my welfare diet of supermarket carbs (mainly because I rarely cook meat and also because I'm a cheap-ass who would prefer to spend little money and carbs costs less...).

At least I don't have to pay for the gym for the next year, though. (For the next year as long as I live in Huntington Beach, that is - if I move, I lose the membership unless I want to commute to this particular Gold's Gym. Sigh. Eh, whatev, at least I'm saving the moola for now.)

How can we miss you?

2005-06-19T23:08:00.000-07:00

Oh Tom, if we promise to miss you, would you please, please just go away? I don't know about anyone else, but I don't think I can quite handle anymore Tom "No, I'm not gay" Cruise. Enough already! You're more irritating than Ben "I'm anywhere there's a photo op" Affleck. For chrissakes, it was just water, Tom. It's not like Ashton jumped out and told everyone he was behind your engagement to Katie. (Side note: please oh please, let this just be a "Punk'd" prank gone on too long. Please? It's all too icky to really consider.)

A public service announcement...

2005-06-14T23:12:00.000-07:00

To my fellow airline passengers,

Hi there. Remember me? The girl squished into the seat next to you while you unsuccessfully try to cram in every piece of luggage you own under your seat, my seat and the neighbor's seat, as well as the already overflowing overhead compartment? Yeah, that's right - I'm the one who was snarling at you at 7:30 am on the flight to Atlanta while you jabbered away on your cell phone until the absolute last second and the attendants told you to please turn off all electronic devices.

I've just got a few words of wisdom for you. I'd appreciate if you'd follow along in an orderly fashion, saving questions for the end.

#1 - Please, do everyone a favor and make sure to wear deodorant when you're going to be crammed into a small area with dozens of other people, with only compressed air circulating for hours on end. I understand that showering may get the shaft when you're getting up at 4:45 am to catch a shuttle bus to the airport. Really, I do. I happen to be one of those people who wants to get every last moment of sleep I can before rolling out of bed, fully clothed and ready to be out the door after a quick brushing of the teeth. But, please, please, PLEASE, do not forgo the 5 seconds it takes to apply some deodorant. I thank you. Your fellow passengers will thank me. There is nothing worse than discovering that the person sitting next to you for the next 6 hours is severely lacking in the hygiene department and the ventilation system is on the brink while the plane taxis for an extra half hour before take-off.

#2 - For the love of God, check your bags. Don't try to convince me that your guitar, purse puppy and suitcase the size of Gary Coleman can fit under the seats. The space under my seat is mine. ALL MIIIINE. On the way to Atlanta, some fool had her little Chihuahua or some equally undog-like dog with her, but because she had already stuffed her suitcase and God knows what else under her own seat, I was forced to put all of my stuff in the overhead compartment and listen to the dog crying and whining for the duration of the flight. If you must insist on bringing your dog, then you lose out on being able to carry-on anything else. Tough patooties for you. There is nothing more irritating than those people (and you know who you are) who hold up a line of frustrated passengers because they can't quite stuff their oversized bag into the tiny compartments. Just check the bag already!

#3 - Ooh, this one is an important one. With many airlines cutting their meal services and even snack services, obviously passengers are going to want to bring their own food. I have no problem with that. I was pretty distressed when I took a Jet Blue flight back in February from Boston to LA without realizing there would be no food service and I was starving halfway through the flight. So I've smartened up, packing a sandwich, apple and crackers on all other flights since then. I take offense, however, to those of you (again, you know who you are) who insist on bringing the smelliest cuisine you can find onto the plane. Did you not read #1 regarding people with bad hygiene in confined places? The same theory applies here. While I certainly don't want you to starve, I really don't want to smell your tuna sandwich breath invading my space for the next 4 hours. I don't generally ever want to smell your tuna or other seafood items as it is, but when confined to a tiny-ass airplane seat with no escape, I can think of nothing worse than being forced to breathe in someone else's stinky breath. Hold the garlic, people. Fruits and vegetables won't kill you, I promise.

#4 - Just a small reminder - I realize plane seats have gotten smaller and smaller, all while Americans (and other countries' inhabitants) have gotten larger and larger. But that's not my fault. I'm not the airline. Keep your arms on your side. Just because I might be smaller than you does not mean you can take up extra room. Don't think I won't give you a sharp elbow as I see your arm slowly inching towards my armrest. You've got your own armrest. Use it.

With that, I take my leave of you. Any questions? You, there in the back, pipe down. I'm not taking questions from you. So for now, ponder these three key points of etiquette for your next flight. We'll tackle more issues throughout the summer as I undoubtedly discover more annoying habits of the people sitting next to me on various flights...Just remember, I'll be watching you!

Hugs and kisses,
Jill

Earthquakes, tsunamis, oh my!

2005-06-14T22:52:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning I experienced my first earthquake. Woke up to the bed shaking, shot glasses clinking together on my bookshelf and the house swaying. At first I couldn't remember where I was, thinking I was back in Somerville and wondering why the hell my bed was shaking. The people who lived upstairs from me in Somerville were always rearranging furniture and doing some sort of ritualistic dancing that shook the floor/ceiling. Then I remembered, "Wait a sec, I'm in California, this is an earthquake!"

I still didn't get out of bed. I just lay there, feeling the bed shake like one of those massage beds in a cheap motel. Not that I've ever been to a cheap motel with a quarter-fed bed, but I'm just saying. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to get out of bed or what. So after about 30 seconds, the shaking stopped and I went back to sleep. I'm such a Californian now. Later on in the day, my roommate said she woke up and thought, "Is this a big one, do I have to get out of bed? Nah, I'm going back to sleep."

And then tonight, I was feeling crappy, so I went to bed at like 7:30 pm. About 9-ish, I woke up and heard my roommate and her boyfriend talking downstairs about tsunamis. Moments later, I heard her bounding upstairs and knocking on my door. "Jill, do you know we're in the middle of a tsunami warning?"

I was thinking I was still dreaming because it just seemed too strange. Turns out there had been another earthquake up near Crescent City and Eureka, CA which is nowhere near Huntington Beach. However, because it occured out at sea, they issued a tsunami warning for the entire Western Coast. Chrissy was wondering if we were supposed to start driving inland since we only live about a block from the ocean. We joked that we should get out the kayak and surfboards so that we can start paddling when the water starts heading towards us. They cancelled the tsunami warning sometime around 10 pm. Oddly, I wasn't even all that concerned. Possibly because I'm doped up on cold medicine - damn those old people on the airplane being all sickly and giving me their germs. Also possibly because the idea of a tsunami happening here just seems surreal and I can't get my head around it so I just figure I'll ignore it. Eh.

So if you hear of any earthquakes happening in the LA area and then don't hear from me for a few weeks, send out the search party to rescue me from my second story bedroom near the ocean.....

My editor is going to kill me.

2005-06-13T15:02:00.000-07:00

But this is important blogging.

So, seriously people. Not guilty? On all 10 counts? Ehhh...I don't know about that. The man has some serious issues. I can see both sides of the argument - ie, the conspiracy theory that people are just out to get money from him, yada yada. But at the same time...if these accusations keep coming...it makes me think, could it be that there is a possible kernel of truth hidden in this dysfunctional bag o' popcorn?

My roommate's dad is a police officer in Santa Maria and if MJ had been convicted, Kate's dad was to drive one of the SUVs away from the courthouse as they all sped off, serving as a decoy for the fans and papparazzi who undoubtedly would have been chasing the prosecutor down the street looking for blood and a Pulitzer-prize winning photograph. She is happy that no one will be hunting down her father, although like me, feels cheated by this verdict.

Ok, now I really have to get back to the column. It's not going to write itself, you know. Even with all this newfangled technology.

Christian Bale

2005-06-13T13:21:00.000-07:00

If Christian Bale ever divorces his wife, I want to be next in line to become Mrs. Christian Bale. I lurrrve him. Just felt like mentioning that. With all the TomKat hoopla, poor ole Christian is not getting his due for finally appearing in a commercial movie (course, I actually prefer him in the indie-type films because then I feel like he is just for me). Although I'm not a fan of the Batman series, I may have to fork over 10 bucks to see him in a pair of black tights. He is, by far, my favorite actor. And it certainly doesn't hurt that he is, in my humble opinion, the hottest man alive.

Swoon. Sigh. Ahh.

On a slightly related, but un-related note, I love Kate Winslet. She is my favorite actress. She is so beautiful and so talented. What can I say...if you're from the UK, chances are I love you.

Oh and..

2005-06-13T13:19:00.000-07:00

I just finally saw the "Queer Eye : Red Sox Edition" last night and Oh.My.God. Kevin Millar proclaiming, "I'm gay!" has to be one of the best things I've seen on television in a long time.

Brilliant.

Hello kiddies.

2005-06-13T12:53:00.000-07:00

Hey there, sorry I've been so MIA.

At the mo', I'm furiously writing a column that is due in a measly 2 hours to my editors and of course...I waited until this morning to start writing it. I figure, if procrastination worked for me all throughout college, why change now?

But I do have many things to write about concerning the ATL and how "men of flava" flock to me like the paparazzi on Linsday Lohan. Seriously. If I only felt about them the way they do about me, I'd pack my bags and move to Atlanta where I could have a harem (is that the right word? Or does that only apply to a man with a lot of women?) of chocolate men. Alas, I believe people are a product of their environment and my white-bread childhood has led me down a road to where I obsess over tall, gangly white boys who have absolutely no interest in a girl who has womanly curves (back in the day, before I added an entire luggage set to my "junk in the trunk", I had more of a regular "womanly" figure without too much excess). I did have an experience with a young mocha-man with fantastic dreads back in college, however, he turned out to be a raving lunatic and thus, soured me on the situation for the near future (hey, I'm Greek, I can hold a grudge like nobody's business).

So I have to share those highly amusing stories sometime soon. As well as my public service announcement to my fellow airplane passengers. Oh, and there is also the incident from the bar the other night when a girl threw a cup of beer on another girl and ended up soaking Sarah, Mike and I in the process. So uncalled for. These OC girls have no idea how to fight. You don't throw a beer and then bolt. Stay and duke it out fer chrissakes.

Suffice to say, I think I am finally feeling more like "myself" these days. I actually WANT to write. I just haven't had much time, in between bar fights and fending off marriage proposals in the South. So I will continue to write snarky blogs concerning other people very, very soon. Cuz that's how I make myself feel better about me. :)