rather than run through the usual list of things i’m thankful for, which i’ve done countless times in the past, i figure it’s more useful for me (and entertaining for you) to run through a list of all the less-than-blessed things i’ve done this past year or two.
certainly i’ve committed no murders, save the occasional spider or cricket, but i’m hardly an exemplary humanitarian and i’m still ages from becoming the person i’d like to be (a retired superhuman). just kidding! i would totally be a philanthropist.
i must also confess that something inside me is convinced that my toe drama resulted from my being a lackluster jew this year – every year in fact. i don’t remember the last time i observed my culture’s holy days in any meaningful way. then for a giggle, i ridiculed the devout in my last blogging. and to top it off, i’ve lapsed from my once regular yoga practice, causing another blow to my “spirituality.” blasphemy to the bone!
so now i atone for my wretchedness:
• perhaps, maybe, probably a few times i’ve called in sick to work this past year i could have mustered up the strength to come in. not every time, though. and if you’re my boss, i totally was sick.
• i’ve been an L.A. flake aplenty – missing parties, screening phone calls, deleting emails and ignoring instant messages, often times very deliberately. most of the time, it’s just that i’m too wrapped up in my own dealings to be bothered, though there have been occasions when the people themselves are the bother.
• also bothersome was the length of Mo’s list for me when i told him about this entry. i guess i need to get better about taking care of his CDs and DVDs, like i do my own, putting my dishes into the dishwasher and apologizing when i’m wrong.
• juice likely has complaints of her own. having a yard in the back has made long walks through the neighborhood far less frequent. and i’m sure my fish hates me for almost killing him this year and not changing his water enough.
• i still use my expired student ID from grad school to get discounts on movie tickets and museum admissions.
• many, many blog-related regrets, none of which i care to link to lest they perpetuate my own personal embarrassment. but trust that i cringe aplenty when rereading past entries that highlight my bad writing and overblown ego, and contain overly intimate disclosures and the occasional grammatical or spelling error.
• to be filed under Megabitch Moments: i fancy myself much like the gentle stingray that swims through life wholly peacefully, only attacking when provoked. yet when i do attack, i will stab you in the heart. in recent times, a handful of people have tapped into this ire with their comments and actions, to which i’ve replied with a mighty verbal beatdown when i probably should have taken the high road instead. in no particular order, these people include: my sometimes critical parents, rude waitstaff, Mo on a bad day, an ex-boyfriend’s immature girlfriend, an overbearing coworker, unsavory car mechanics and a girl who tried to feed chocolate to my dog.
what a cunt i am! and how thoroughly déclassé to even use that word. i am going straight to hell. oh, wait a second, jews don’t believe in hell so i’m all set. phew.
truth is that i don’t regret all the happenings on this list (except the part about being a deadbeat dog mom). i do believe employees should use sick days as needed – that is what they are for – and i believe that, on occasion, people need to be told to “fuck off” when they are being ridiculous, myself included.
still, this list is rather mild when i consider the types of “sins” i committed in my early twenties when i partied nonstop and shot my mouth off for sport. i like to believe that my bitchiness is more purposeful nowadays, even ethical, succeeding where the passive high road fails. there are definitely things worth shouting about and bitchiness has its benefits.
i certainly don’t shout as much as i did before and in another 10 years – when i’m trying to get into movies under a senior discount – i hope to be shouting even less. guess this means that i’ve always been and always will be a bitch, but hopefully i’ll keep getting better at it.
happy thanksgiving, turkeys.
Friday, November 24, 2006
Friday, November 03, 2006
In the Streets, On the Stage
given that i take the same route to work at roughly the same time each morning, i tend to see the same people and cars lumbering through their own commute into downtown LA. it’s your standard blend of rat-racers – land rover girl who puts on her makeup while speeding, prius guy who reviews documents at every red light and, of course, the half-asleep but happy me in my cute jetta (new car excitement still hasn’t worn off). it can be a defensive commute: freeway-free, with constant stops and gos and buses trying to merge into your lane. the eight-mile journey each way should only take about 15 minutes, but averages 40.
i don’t mind it so much – unless i see him: the horrible, nutty him my bad luck often forces me to drive behind for several miles. he’s like a bible thumper on steroids, the christ crusader in the godvan. he always has the most agonizing christian music blasting from his car, poisoning the ears of the nice people waiting for the bus, some of whom roll their eyes when they see him passing.
his car, a minivan, is plastered with bumper stickers that love on jesus – tons of stickers, half in spanish, that cover not just the rear of his car, but also the sides and front where you can’t really tell what the original color of the car is (though i think it’s painted Resurrection White). stickers are your basic “jesus is king,” “lea la biblia,” doomsday doomsday crap, and a few attempts at, maybe wit, like, “In case of rapture, this car will be unmanned!!!!”
it gets worse. he has this sizable wooden cross at the ready. it usually emerges when everyone is stopped at a red light where his is the first car in the line. his holy little paw will come out the driver’s side window, cross in hand. then he’ll up the volume on the bad christian rock, and begin jumping around in his seat, causing his car to rock, as if he’s being possessed or exorcized, head shaking from side to side with arm still outstretched. he’ll drive like that for several minutes, sometimes swerving.
it’s totally creepy. i hate driving behind and alongside him for fear that the cross will slip at a high speed and smash into my windshield. i also try to avoid eye contact, lest he reduce me to a pile of dust. sometimes i think of calling the cops on him. he must be breaking some law. at the very least i’d like to encourage him to commit suicide. people like that seem so excited about dying. i know i’m excited about his dying.
*****
i saw my beloved Brazilian Girls perform for the third time in about a year and a half ’cus they are the shit live. it was the night of halloween and i felt pretty beat, having seen The Roots perform the night before at the Avalon. i was dragging ass the whole night, but the show was good, though not the best i’ve seen them have. and then the most awesome thing i’ve ever seen happen at a show happened.
the band headed into their closer: their hit song “Pussy” with its chorus of “pussy, pussy, pussy, marijuana.” for added realism, they lit a joint on stage and smoked it amongst themselves before passing the roach into the crowd. well, that must have been some bomb chronic because they got mighty sloppy afterwards. the music became noticeably out of sync, with my lesbian fantasy girl Sabina, the stunning lead singer whose first language is not english, butchering the bit where she urges the crowd to sing along, mistakenly saying, “boys, repeat after me: i got a pussy and you want it!”
she tried to recover, saying something about “boys being pussies,” but with the rest of the band also high, the comedy of missteps kept compiling and killing the performance. the band seemed good natured enough about it, finally ending the spectacle with the bassist jumping into the drum set. rock ’n’ roll at its finest.
i don’t mind it so much – unless i see him: the horrible, nutty him my bad luck often forces me to drive behind for several miles. he’s like a bible thumper on steroids, the christ crusader in the godvan. he always has the most agonizing christian music blasting from his car, poisoning the ears of the nice people waiting for the bus, some of whom roll their eyes when they see him passing.
his car, a minivan, is plastered with bumper stickers that love on jesus – tons of stickers, half in spanish, that cover not just the rear of his car, but also the sides and front where you can’t really tell what the original color of the car is (though i think it’s painted Resurrection White). stickers are your basic “jesus is king,” “lea la biblia,” doomsday doomsday crap, and a few attempts at, maybe wit, like, “In case of rapture, this car will be unmanned!!!!”
it gets worse. he has this sizable wooden cross at the ready. it usually emerges when everyone is stopped at a red light where his is the first car in the line. his holy little paw will come out the driver’s side window, cross in hand. then he’ll up the volume on the bad christian rock, and begin jumping around in his seat, causing his car to rock, as if he’s being possessed or exorcized, head shaking from side to side with arm still outstretched. he’ll drive like that for several minutes, sometimes swerving.
it’s totally creepy. i hate driving behind and alongside him for fear that the cross will slip at a high speed and smash into my windshield. i also try to avoid eye contact, lest he reduce me to a pile of dust. sometimes i think of calling the cops on him. he must be breaking some law. at the very least i’d like to encourage him to commit suicide. people like that seem so excited about dying. i know i’m excited about his dying.
*****
i saw my beloved Brazilian Girls perform for the third time in about a year and a half ’cus they are the shit live. it was the night of halloween and i felt pretty beat, having seen The Roots perform the night before at the Avalon. i was dragging ass the whole night, but the show was good, though not the best i’ve seen them have. and then the most awesome thing i’ve ever seen happen at a show happened.
the band headed into their closer: their hit song “Pussy” with its chorus of “pussy, pussy, pussy, marijuana.” for added realism, they lit a joint on stage and smoked it amongst themselves before passing the roach into the crowd. well, that must have been some bomb chronic because they got mighty sloppy afterwards. the music became noticeably out of sync, with my lesbian fantasy girl Sabina, the stunning lead singer whose first language is not english, butchering the bit where she urges the crowd to sing along, mistakenly saying, “boys, repeat after me: i got a pussy and you want it!”
she tried to recover, saying something about “boys being pussies,” but with the rest of the band also high, the comedy of missteps kept compiling and killing the performance. the band seemed good natured enough about it, finally ending the spectacle with the bassist jumping into the drum set. rock ’n’ roll at its finest.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Stuff and Things
• since the big car purchase, my life has been consumed by this strange new concept called “budgeting.” i guess i didn’t know how good i had it pre-monthly car payment. plus, my car insurance has more than doubled from what i paid for the crapmobile. i fancy my fabulousity so it’s difficult for me to accept that i must downsize my bourgeois lifestyle. but having reliable wheels is a bigger must in los angeles so i’m more than happy to eat my car’s interior if times get really desperate. it’s leather and i eat beef, so it must be ok.
• work is slow lately. it’s standard cycle-of-business stuff that affects everyone, not just me. freelance work is also minimal. when things get this slow i’m prone to engaging in a bit of online shopping, but i can’t. see above.
• the toe has been healing beautifully (thank you for your prayers). though it’s not healing quickly enough, as i still cannot wear closed-toe shoes. the one time i attempted it, earlier this week, caused an intense discomfort that turned into throbbing pain by midday. this means no sneakers and, conversely, no gym, and no heels at work. i’m pretty much wearing the same pair of sandals night and day. they could use a good disinfecting.
• Mo turned 30 this month (and whined far less about it than i did). i was having such a great time at his birthday party that i forgot to take photos of it for posting. but rest assured it produced an admirable turnout of beautiful people who enjoyed themselves immensely and didn’t trash my house too horribly.
• halloween. bah-humbug. i’ve never really been one to stuff myself into uncomfortable costumes and put on rash-inducing makeup, even as a candy-craving kid. and now as an adult living in west hollywood, i scoff at the gaggle of cars and drag queens that congest my neighborhood each year for the parade.
• living room beautification is now complete. old furniture sold quickly on craigslist and was replaced by more comfortable seating and a larger coffee table; the walls were painted a fabulous Cabbage Green and then adorned with new art and shelving; i even updated my vacuum with a far superior one made especially for pet hair. it looks great.
• work is slow lately. it’s standard cycle-of-business stuff that affects everyone, not just me. freelance work is also minimal. when things get this slow i’m prone to engaging in a bit of online shopping, but i can’t. see above.
• the toe has been healing beautifully (thank you for your prayers). though it’s not healing quickly enough, as i still cannot wear closed-toe shoes. the one time i attempted it, earlier this week, caused an intense discomfort that turned into throbbing pain by midday. this means no sneakers and, conversely, no gym, and no heels at work. i’m pretty much wearing the same pair of sandals night and day. they could use a good disinfecting.
• Mo turned 30 this month (and whined far less about it than i did). i was having such a great time at his birthday party that i forgot to take photos of it for posting. but rest assured it produced an admirable turnout of beautiful people who enjoyed themselves immensely and didn’t trash my house too horribly.
• halloween. bah-humbug. i’ve never really been one to stuff myself into uncomfortable costumes and put on rash-inducing makeup, even as a candy-craving kid. and now as an adult living in west hollywood, i scoff at the gaggle of cars and drag queens that congest my neighborhood each year for the parade.
• living room beautification is now complete. old furniture sold quickly on craigslist and was replaced by more comfortable seating and a larger coffee table; the walls were painted a fabulous Cabbage Green and then adorned with new art and shelving; i even updated my vacuum with a far superior one made especially for pet hair. it looks great.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
The Road Ahead
i knew we were reaching the end of the metaphoric road. the signs were clear – reduced dependability, moodiness, dread at every interaction, the groans of discomfort that accompanied even the mildest request. each day together felt like it could be our last, saturated with the chronic anxiety: “will we make it? and what happens if we don’t?” i feared for the future, which exceedingly looked dim, hopeless and unavoidably real.
and at that final moment when the wheels stopped turning, i felt no sorrow. only a strange calm as i sat motionless and looking ahead, parked somewhere near fairfax and pico. sunday night, 10 p.m., hearing the death knell ring from afar. i put my forehead on the steering wheel and studied the dashboard, mileage: 165,955. i stepped outside and looked up at the sign: street sweeping monday morning. i would get a ticket.
Mo pulled up beside me in his ride, Juice wagging her happy tail in the backseat. i slide in back with my pup who cheers me with a face licking. “well?” he asks. “that hunk of shit is dead and i’m not dropping another penny on fixing it. they can tow it to the junkyard for all i care. i’m buying a new car tomorrow.”
and that’s what i did. i bought a car. this car. the very next day, i walked alone into a dealership after work, test-drove the car, spoke with the sales dudes, wrote a big check with an unsteady hand, and bang, i drove off in my new ride.
it’s a volkswagen jetta, in case you couldn’t tell. i went with a jetta because no one else in my generation drives one. actually, i chose it because it wasn’t a soulless, nondescript car like the civic or corolla, and american cars, of course, are uniformly out of the question.
but the truth is i had been researching the jetta for about a month and had pretty much decided it would be my next car. great reviews all around and cute to boot. i love me a good european engine and given that i couldn’t afford the luxury mercedes of my dreams, the still german and cozy jetta, which is small enough to park in hollywood and zippy enough to take to SF for the weekend, worked on every level.
it was used, very gently, a 2005 edition with just 20,000 well-maintained miles, bought from enterprise, which sells its cars after renting them. inspected, certified, still under manufacturer warranty with roadside assistance, financed through my work’s credit union for a no-haggle price well below blue book.
i felt mighty proud of myself as i drove off the lot, my eyes slightly misty at the thought of my conquest (and upcoming monthly payments). i had driven into adulthood finally with this, my first real car purchase, after years of enduring my parents’ hand-me-downs. i thought of the dead saab, lonely in the junkyard after 16 years of service to my mom and then me. yeah, whatever, i bought a friggin car!
my chariot is semi-loaded – charcoal grey with a grey leather interior, 6-CD changer, dual airbags, lojack, power everything, automatic 4WD, 2.5L gasoline engine, 5 cylinders and a bunch of other technical things i can’t comprehend. (who the hell knows what “tiptronic” is?) but best of all, it still has new car smell, baby.
driving is brand new. i had a joker grin the entire drive to work this morning, smiling dumbly at other jetta owners. this is the first car i’ve had with a CD player and nice sound system. (Mo has taken to singing “mr. roboto” around me – just like in the commercial.) this is the first time i’m the one volunteering to drive. this is the first time i haven’t been worried about taking my car on a freeway. this is the first time i won’t mind sitting in LA traffic. this is the first time i'm taking the long way home.
and at that final moment when the wheels stopped turning, i felt no sorrow. only a strange calm as i sat motionless and looking ahead, parked somewhere near fairfax and pico. sunday night, 10 p.m., hearing the death knell ring from afar. i put my forehead on the steering wheel and studied the dashboard, mileage: 165,955. i stepped outside and looked up at the sign: street sweeping monday morning. i would get a ticket.
Mo pulled up beside me in his ride, Juice wagging her happy tail in the backseat. i slide in back with my pup who cheers me with a face licking. “well?” he asks. “that hunk of shit is dead and i’m not dropping another penny on fixing it. they can tow it to the junkyard for all i care. i’m buying a new car tomorrow.”
and that’s what i did. i bought a car. this car. the very next day, i walked alone into a dealership after work, test-drove the car, spoke with the sales dudes, wrote a big check with an unsteady hand, and bang, i drove off in my new ride.
it’s a volkswagen jetta, in case you couldn’t tell. i went with a jetta because no one else in my generation drives one. actually, i chose it because it wasn’t a soulless, nondescript car like the civic or corolla, and american cars, of course, are uniformly out of the question.
but the truth is i had been researching the jetta for about a month and had pretty much decided it would be my next car. great reviews all around and cute to boot. i love me a good european engine and given that i couldn’t afford the luxury mercedes of my dreams, the still german and cozy jetta, which is small enough to park in hollywood and zippy enough to take to SF for the weekend, worked on every level.
it was used, very gently, a 2005 edition with just 20,000 well-maintained miles, bought from enterprise, which sells its cars after renting them. inspected, certified, still under manufacturer warranty with roadside assistance, financed through my work’s credit union for a no-haggle price well below blue book.
i felt mighty proud of myself as i drove off the lot, my eyes slightly misty at the thought of my conquest (and upcoming monthly payments). i had driven into adulthood finally with this, my first real car purchase, after years of enduring my parents’ hand-me-downs. i thought of the dead saab, lonely in the junkyard after 16 years of service to my mom and then me. yeah, whatever, i bought a friggin car!
my chariot is semi-loaded – charcoal grey with a grey leather interior, 6-CD changer, dual airbags, lojack, power everything, automatic 4WD, 2.5L gasoline engine, 5 cylinders and a bunch of other technical things i can’t comprehend. (who the hell knows what “tiptronic” is?) but best of all, it still has new car smell, baby.
driving is brand new. i had a joker grin the entire drive to work this morning, smiling dumbly at other jetta owners. this is the first car i’ve had with a CD player and nice sound system. (Mo has taken to singing “mr. roboto” around me – just like in the commercial.) this is the first time i’m the one volunteering to drive. this is the first time i haven’t been worried about taking my car on a freeway. this is the first time i won’t mind sitting in LA traffic. this is the first time i'm taking the long way home.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
My Right Foot
having an ingrown toenail pretty much tops the list of ridiculous ailments. it’s one of those things that should be endured instead of admitted to, like an STD. it’s quite silly and i would have thought nothing of it if it didn’t hurt so damn bad. but it hurts really fucking bad, bad, bad and bad.
it’s like the hand of g-d is electrocuting me at the toe, flooding my entire nervous system with pain when even the smallest amount of pressure is applied to my toe. walking makes me very unhappy lately. it’s so difficult that i’ve thought of attaching a pillow to my mouth for biting.
the nails on both my fingers and toes are something bionic – they grow super fast and stay super strong (an unfortunate contrast to my hair, which grows an inch each year and is damaged from years of processing). mom and sister also have these crazy growth nails, much to the envy of our brittle-nailed female relatives. the dang things are also sharp as hell, causing accidental scratches galore. i’ve always considered them my secret weapon in a catfight. they can really cut a bitch up.
point is that when the big toe on my right foot started to bother me on monday, it was just a negligible pinch at the corner. on tuesday, it became red and swollen. by wednesday it was throbbing and purple, and when i finally saw the doctor on thursday the fucker was black and crusty with puss and blood. gangrene seemed on the horizon. amputation would surely follow.
“wow, that’s really infected,” said the doc when i removed my band-aid to unveil my toe.
“it really hurts, doctor. please fix it. but whatever you do, don’t touch it!! please don’t touch it!!”
i was near hyperventilation as he put on his latex gloves and approached my toe to give it a squeeze. my foot began to jerk wildly. i held my leg down at the shin as he poked around to my chorus of “ow! ow! ow!”
“you’re going to need to see a specialist.” i got the feeling he was beginning to hate me and just wanted to make me someone else’s problem. i tried to toughen up, shake free of the crybaby i had (suddenly?) become.
“can you put me under to do your exam? you can remove the nail while i sleep and send me on my way.”
sadly, it wasn’t that simple. the swelling needed to subside before the open-toe surgery, scheduled for soon, which means i have to consume antibiotics for a few days before the specialist can remove the nail. doc sent me on my way with a 10-day supply of Keflex, some weak-ass painkillers and a cane.
being dehabilitated by an ingrown toenail is embarrassing enough, but the cane is the cherry on top of the shit sundae. it’s not even a cool wooden cane i could rock like a pimp, it’s an aluminum orthopedic cane with a foam handle built for grandpas.
problem is it helps; my gimpy, limpy ass needs it. for some authenticity i’ve decided to wrap my ankle in an ace bandage and tell people who ask that i fractured my foot rock climbing. to make matters worse, this is the week when all the painting has been going on in my living room, meaning the room is a minefield of paintbrushes, buckets, scattered trash and a big ladder, with all the furniture pushed together in the center. this leaves me cranky as hell, frustrated as fuck. it just makes me want to use the cane for pure evil.
but i can only use it on myself, as i’m the one to blame. it’s as though my body is poisoning itself with itself. perhaps it’s karmic retribution for not fasting on yom kippur this year, for not even taking the day off of work like a dutiful jew. maybe g-d is pissed at me.
i’m fucking sorry, Man.
it’s like the hand of g-d is electrocuting me at the toe, flooding my entire nervous system with pain when even the smallest amount of pressure is applied to my toe. walking makes me very unhappy lately. it’s so difficult that i’ve thought of attaching a pillow to my mouth for biting.
the nails on both my fingers and toes are something bionic – they grow super fast and stay super strong (an unfortunate contrast to my hair, which grows an inch each year and is damaged from years of processing). mom and sister also have these crazy growth nails, much to the envy of our brittle-nailed female relatives. the dang things are also sharp as hell, causing accidental scratches galore. i’ve always considered them my secret weapon in a catfight. they can really cut a bitch up.
point is that when the big toe on my right foot started to bother me on monday, it was just a negligible pinch at the corner. on tuesday, it became red and swollen. by wednesday it was throbbing and purple, and when i finally saw the doctor on thursday the fucker was black and crusty with puss and blood. gangrene seemed on the horizon. amputation would surely follow.
“wow, that’s really infected,” said the doc when i removed my band-aid to unveil my toe.
“it really hurts, doctor. please fix it. but whatever you do, don’t touch it!! please don’t touch it!!”
i was near hyperventilation as he put on his latex gloves and approached my toe to give it a squeeze. my foot began to jerk wildly. i held my leg down at the shin as he poked around to my chorus of “ow! ow! ow!”
“you’re going to need to see a specialist.” i got the feeling he was beginning to hate me and just wanted to make me someone else’s problem. i tried to toughen up, shake free of the crybaby i had (suddenly?) become.
“can you put me under to do your exam? you can remove the nail while i sleep and send me on my way.”
sadly, it wasn’t that simple. the swelling needed to subside before the open-toe surgery, scheduled for soon, which means i have to consume antibiotics for a few days before the specialist can remove the nail. doc sent me on my way with a 10-day supply of Keflex, some weak-ass painkillers and a cane.
being dehabilitated by an ingrown toenail is embarrassing enough, but the cane is the cherry on top of the shit sundae. it’s not even a cool wooden cane i could rock like a pimp, it’s an aluminum orthopedic cane with a foam handle built for grandpas.
problem is it helps; my gimpy, limpy ass needs it. for some authenticity i’ve decided to wrap my ankle in an ace bandage and tell people who ask that i fractured my foot rock climbing. to make matters worse, this is the week when all the painting has been going on in my living room, meaning the room is a minefield of paintbrushes, buckets, scattered trash and a big ladder, with all the furniture pushed together in the center. this leaves me cranky as hell, frustrated as fuck. it just makes me want to use the cane for pure evil.
but i can only use it on myself, as i’m the one to blame. it’s as though my body is poisoning itself with itself. perhaps it’s karmic retribution for not fasting on yom kippur this year, for not even taking the day off of work like a dutiful jew. maybe g-d is pissed at me.
i’m fucking sorry, Man.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
Zsa Zsa
the fall didn’t creep in this year as it usually does in los angeles. it seemed to just land in the center of the city and chill everything nearby. its reach (finally) extended to my abode, where i had been summoning it with an autumn jig while looking lovingly at my jackets. in a snap, the temperature turned, and the heavy blanket for the bed emerged. the top sheet alone would no longer do.
this is the best season, methinks. winter is also a good one, and with fall as its precursor, the upcoming half-year is tops. granted, “seasonal weather” in los angeles is pretty wannabe. the leaves don’t change colors too dramatically, rain is minimal, snow is impossible, and dips into the 40s are infrequent. still, it’s a nice reminder of time’s passage.
my passage of time has lately been centered around home improvements, with my living room undergoing the greatest facelift. newer, better, more beautiful furniture is on its way -- once i buy some -- and the walls will enjoy a little blush on their cheeks, which are currently painted a blinding shade of Hospital White (plus scuff marks). beyond that, i’m reorganizing my closet and compiling a wish list of other repairs to be made, items to be bought. it’s getting lengthy.
there’s also been an outbreak of Relationship Weight Gain in my household. the indiscriminate eating has got to stop, as mexican dinners at midnight do not a svelte figure make. even the dog has gotten tubby. it’s nice to nest, but even the coldest L.A. winter cannot justify this amount of padding. Mo is developing a case of Ethiopian Belly (skinny guy with a protruding belly), Juice looks like a hairy pork chop, and i’m outgrowing my clothes. to repair ourselves, we’ve increased the activity as the calorie intake has decreased (kinda). we walk now, all three of us, wherever we can walk to. oh, the excitement.
odd news: Zsa Zsa Gabor called me -- and bitch didn’t leave a message. the blinking light on my answering machine only recorded a hangup after the tone. when i scrolled the caller ID on my phone, it was her name and a 310 number, i shit you not.
otherwise, i managed to check out the Banksy show the other weekend -- phenomenal. i also managed to almost murder my new Betta fish, Butch, by leaving him in L.A.’s finest tap water for about five minutes while i cleaned his bowl. it was a procedural snafu, entirely my fault, and i thought nothing of it until he started acting sick and sluggish a few weeks later. i hauled ass to Petco and consulted a fish specialist who told me my error was tantamount to leaving a newborn baby in a room saturated with secondhand smoke for five minutes. she looked about ready to call the authorities to place Butch in foster care, maybe at her house, but instead she handed me a liquid blend of antibiotics with tea tree oil, complete with disapproving glare.
five days later Butch seems better. but i still feel a touch guilty, with this sick fish and overweight dog. i’ve vowed to improve my pet parenting skills and will definitely name my next fish Zsa Zsa.
this is the best season, methinks. winter is also a good one, and with fall as its precursor, the upcoming half-year is tops. granted, “seasonal weather” in los angeles is pretty wannabe. the leaves don’t change colors too dramatically, rain is minimal, snow is impossible, and dips into the 40s are infrequent. still, it’s a nice reminder of time’s passage.
my passage of time has lately been centered around home improvements, with my living room undergoing the greatest facelift. newer, better, more beautiful furniture is on its way -- once i buy some -- and the walls will enjoy a little blush on their cheeks, which are currently painted a blinding shade of Hospital White (plus scuff marks). beyond that, i’m reorganizing my closet and compiling a wish list of other repairs to be made, items to be bought. it’s getting lengthy.
there’s also been an outbreak of Relationship Weight Gain in my household. the indiscriminate eating has got to stop, as mexican dinners at midnight do not a svelte figure make. even the dog has gotten tubby. it’s nice to nest, but even the coldest L.A. winter cannot justify this amount of padding. Mo is developing a case of Ethiopian Belly (skinny guy with a protruding belly), Juice looks like a hairy pork chop, and i’m outgrowing my clothes. to repair ourselves, we’ve increased the activity as the calorie intake has decreased (kinda). we walk now, all three of us, wherever we can walk to. oh, the excitement.
odd news: Zsa Zsa Gabor called me -- and bitch didn’t leave a message. the blinking light on my answering machine only recorded a hangup after the tone. when i scrolled the caller ID on my phone, it was her name and a 310 number, i shit you not.
otherwise, i managed to check out the Banksy show the other weekend -- phenomenal. i also managed to almost murder my new Betta fish, Butch, by leaving him in L.A.’s finest tap water for about five minutes while i cleaned his bowl. it was a procedural snafu, entirely my fault, and i thought nothing of it until he started acting sick and sluggish a few weeks later. i hauled ass to Petco and consulted a fish specialist who told me my error was tantamount to leaving a newborn baby in a room saturated with secondhand smoke for five minutes. she looked about ready to call the authorities to place Butch in foster care, maybe at her house, but instead she handed me a liquid blend of antibiotics with tea tree oil, complete with disapproving glare.
five days later Butch seems better. but i still feel a touch guilty, with this sick fish and overweight dog. i’ve vowed to improve my pet parenting skills and will definitely name my next fish Zsa Zsa.
Friday, September 08, 2006
The Laborious Apple
twas quite glorious. i loved my long Labor Day weekend this year, which i protracted into four full days in new york city, where i caught up with my west coasters turned east coasters, staying mainly with my best friend and his boyfriend in Manhattan, in the heart of Soho, Little Italy to be exact, in the smallest apartment i’ve ever seen, with just four feet of kitchen space and the fridge in the living room. but since they’re gay, the apartment was well decorated, with a perfect balance of style and whimsy, as evidenced by the gaggle of rubber duckies perched in the bathroom, which i found too cute.
new york was still splendidly itself – whatever that means. to me, it means that life in new york is still twice as hard and three times as expensive as it should be. to me, it means the entire city still smells like ass, particularly the subway. each time i exited the labyrinth that is the new york city subway system, now in existence for 100-plus years, i wanted to loofah the muck off of my hands and face immediately. that cavernous underground reminded me of an ant farm-cum-germ factory, with us passengers as the ants and the germs.
no misunderstanding: i am not a new york hater (nor am i a lover). i think the secret to living in new york is loving new york. i understand the romanticism and intrigue of the city and immensely enjoy my visits there. but as a nearly native west coaster who will defend los angeles until her last breath, i will confess that i don’t fully get it.
i don’t get the big deal with the five boroughs, or what it means to be from long island, or the appeal of the hamptons, or why new jersey is the armpit of america, or why bostonians hate new yorkers. the idea of blue blood and JAPpiness is anathema to me. visiting the east coast, with its oppressive summertime humidity and strangely small states, only strengthens my love for california. and i don’t even surf.
not that i didn’t have a brilliant time during this visit, catching up with many of the fantastic friends i saw during the last go-round: jon-david, allison, nick, cesar, zahra and als. (no john john this time, but hopefully next time.) the food was also worth beholding – oysters on the half shell, sardines wrapped in grape leaves, Portuguese bacalhau, a Tunisian omelet -- with plenty of wine to wash it down. it rained only on saturday, prompting an afternoon viewing of “Little Miss Sunshine” that did much to chase the clouds away.
i did a bit of shopping as well, though most of my time was spent socializing with my peeps, sharing and hearing stories, and marveling at how negligible time and distance are in the face of solid friendship. they played the most congenial hosts and i relished every second of their company. i hope to make my visits annual from this point forward.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Full
that’s what the lately days have felt like. but it’s a rare kind of full (and busy) that isn’t overwhelming. it’s providing just the right amount of activity to keep me engaged yet frazzle free, productive but relaxed. despite the bizzy, i’m still managing to squeeze in afterwork naps and lazy nights of lounging on the couch.
work is the greatest perp of all, of course, with project deadlines looming and minutiae that needs knocking out. freelance work arrives with the moonlight, almost nightly, with me juggling the red pen and frying pan, as i edit and cook, edit and cook, with Mo nearby minding the chopping block. the boy refuses the garlic press and instead minces by hand. we eat well, perhaps too well and often too late in the evening, prompting me to drag my chub to the gym during office lunch hours, where i run the treadmill. ok, jog.
weekends call for playtime with the puppy, who, each day, breaks the world cuteness record she set the day before. i know i’m being objective when i say she’s flawless (except for her bum hips). and that claim was corroborated recently when a random driver pulled our way to inquire about her breed, leaving surprised to hear that a mutt could be so damn stunning. he wanted as pretty a dog for himself apparently, but her hots are the jackpot of a genetic lottery that can’t be replicated. as dude pulled away, Mo asked me whether i was jealous of my dog being a traffic-stopping beauty. au contraire, i’m quite proud –- and living vicariously.
lots of long walks have abounded: to the Whole Foods on the corner, the liquor store on the other corner, and elsewhere through the neighborhood, often to the video store for rentals of “The Joe Schmo Show” and “Everything is Illuminated” (both must-sees). concert viewing has also been plentiful, with extra-ticket invites to see Devotchka, courtesy of Chad, and Manu Chau, courtesy of Juan.
been socializing up a storm via parties and dinners and hangouts and club nights and bar hops. yet still, i’m behind on returning phone calls, replying to emails and scheduling visits. good thing i recently procured wireless DSL in the home and a cheaper cell phone plan to aid my social pursuits.
and the tree in front of my porch is dropping overripe figs on the walkway, attracting a grip of flies that flurry around the entrance to my house and zoom inside when the door is ajar. bless her gorgeous self for trying, but Juice is no cat and sucks at flycatching, convinced though she is that her mouth is a powerful venus flytrap.
beyond that, i’m grossly content and wishing that the fall would arrive.
work is the greatest perp of all, of course, with project deadlines looming and minutiae that needs knocking out. freelance work arrives with the moonlight, almost nightly, with me juggling the red pen and frying pan, as i edit and cook, edit and cook, with Mo nearby minding the chopping block. the boy refuses the garlic press and instead minces by hand. we eat well, perhaps too well and often too late in the evening, prompting me to drag my chub to the gym during office lunch hours, where i run the treadmill. ok, jog.
weekends call for playtime with the puppy, who, each day, breaks the world cuteness record she set the day before. i know i’m being objective when i say she’s flawless (except for her bum hips). and that claim was corroborated recently when a random driver pulled our way to inquire about her breed, leaving surprised to hear that a mutt could be so damn stunning. he wanted as pretty a dog for himself apparently, but her hots are the jackpot of a genetic lottery that can’t be replicated. as dude pulled away, Mo asked me whether i was jealous of my dog being a traffic-stopping beauty. au contraire, i’m quite proud –- and living vicariously.
lots of long walks have abounded: to the Whole Foods on the corner, the liquor store on the other corner, and elsewhere through the neighborhood, often to the video store for rentals of “The Joe Schmo Show” and “Everything is Illuminated” (both must-sees). concert viewing has also been plentiful, with extra-ticket invites to see Devotchka, courtesy of Chad, and Manu Chau, courtesy of Juan.
been socializing up a storm via parties and dinners and hangouts and club nights and bar hops. yet still, i’m behind on returning phone calls, replying to emails and scheduling visits. good thing i recently procured wireless DSL in the home and a cheaper cell phone plan to aid my social pursuits.
and the tree in front of my porch is dropping overripe figs on the walkway, attracting a grip of flies that flurry around the entrance to my house and zoom inside when the door is ajar. bless her gorgeous self for trying, but Juice is no cat and sucks at flycatching, convinced though she is that her mouth is a powerful venus flytrap.
beyond that, i’m grossly content and wishing that the fall would arrive.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
On Blahging
it's been quite the effort to blog lately. probably because everything else this side of life has been relatively effortless and i'm prone to using this space for soppy lamentations on life and love. though now that i've actually said that aloud by posting it on the internets, i'm sure Mo and i will break up and i'll be laid off and then struck by lightning. all of this will happen on the same day. then i'll rush home to blog about it.
but really, it's just standard bloggers' block, i suppose, happens to all us hacks. school kids get a summer vacation and even TV shows take a summer hiatus. i felt entitled to a break, having grown tired of crafting my life's sitcom for this blog. it began to feel like a chore, akin to clipping my toenails. so instead, i decided to roll out summer programming full of reruns, photos, flashbacks and punchy lists predicated on hindsight. it was partially therapeutic, but mostly lazy (though i like the idea of ongoing series, so perhaps more of those will appear).
fear not, as the break from the break is nigh, motherfuckers! my battery is buzzing again, however slight its din. weekly blogging will resume in september, i hope, and this season's lineup will feature fabulous storylines and special guest stars and new and improved photo essays. it'll rate off the charts!
or maybe not. we'll see.
but really, it's just standard bloggers' block, i suppose, happens to all us hacks. school kids get a summer vacation and even TV shows take a summer hiatus. i felt entitled to a break, having grown tired of crafting my life's sitcom for this blog. it began to feel like a chore, akin to clipping my toenails. so instead, i decided to roll out summer programming full of reruns, photos, flashbacks and punchy lists predicated on hindsight. it was partially therapeutic, but mostly lazy (though i like the idea of ongoing series, so perhaps more of those will appear).
fear not, as the break from the break is nigh, motherfuckers! my battery is buzzing again, however slight its din. weekly blogging will resume in september, i hope, and this season's lineup will feature fabulous storylines and special guest stars and new and improved photo essays. it'll rate off the charts!
or maybe not. we'll see.
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