Thursday, January 29, 2009

An Easy Mistake

So, I am taking Korean classes. Let that sink in for a minute, I'll wait.

I am taking Korean as well, I do weird things with my time and/or life. I went in thinking that I could totally learn Korean. I am here to tell you I totally can't. Everyone else picked it up at lightening speed. When I got called on I for some reason developed a heavy southern accent and said 'I think you best go on to the next student.' (I'm awesome) After 3 hours of class I can say yo yo. It's pronounced 'yo yo'. Look at me go!

The reason I bring this up is twofold: one, so you can laugh at the idea of me trying to speak Korean and failing miserably and two, to warn you about an easy mistake to make if you are to ever visit Seoul. The word for crab is pronounced Kay. The word for dog? Also pronounced Kay. So the lesson for the day is if you ever decide to go to a Korean restaurant DO NOT ORDER CRAB. You may end up with Lassie.

In fact when the teacher showed us the flash card for dog and had us say Kay, she made a sad face and said 'this one we can't eat in America', then sighed.

Yep. This is totally my life.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Best Hostess Ever

Yesterday I had the girl's over as I had decided I didn't want to be anywhere near sober. I had a day that kicked my ass all over and needed a release. I talked a big game about how I wasn't going to be able to go into work on Wednesday, etc. Cut to 10PM and I am curled up in a ball, asleep on my couch. The beautiful part of being well, not sober, is that you think fun things like 'they won't notice' or 'It just feels better to have my eyes closed, I'm sure they'll understand that'. They in fact did notice. It's hard not to when the host of the evening is drooling on a pillow two feet away from everyone else.

I rule.

Monday, January 26, 2009

That Girl

I have officially become That Girl. You know the one. The one crying in public or at really inappropriate times. I know, I have good reason, but still, it's lame. Really, really lame. So lame I judge it.

Yesterday I went to dinner with Liz at the classiest of establishments: The Cheesecake Factory. While there a memory of Adam hit me like a bomb and there I went, tearing up. But, I stopped myself and here's why... I refuse to cry at the motherfucking Cheesecake Factory. I cried in a meeting in front of two CEOs, fine. I cried in front of my neighbors and I cried while cutting off 5 lanes of traffic. All well and good, whatever. But the Cheesecake Factory? Seriously? COME ON. That's just pushing it so far over the edge it can't be measured by modern science. In fact, if Adam had seen it he would have taken a drag off his cigarette, rolled his eyes and asked me if I was done being stupid yet. So I sucked it up, sat with my eyes closed for a good 5 minutes to ward off tears (I'm an excellent dinner companion) and then went back to my giant entree. Side note, waitresses at the Cheesecake Factory do not have a sense of humor or take pity on girls with teary eyes. The woman put a salad in front of me the size of a large toddler and I said 'excuse me, I think I ordered the large' (they can't all be winners) and she said 'they come in one size ma'am.' First of all, ew and second of all I got ma'amed. But at least I didn't full out cry, which honestly i think should award me the Congressional Medal of Honor.

On the plus side when I cried in front of my assistant he brought me a cookie.

Saturday, January 24, 2009


Yesterday morning I was driving to work when a big part of my world fell apart. Sera called me to tell me that my 31 year old best friend had died of a heart attack.

There are no words that can express how much I hurt right now so I am not going to try. All I can do is take a few days, curl up into myself and cry. In the next few weeks I'll board a plane to New York to say good bye to one of the most important people to ever walk into my life. I was honored and lucky to have known and loved him. I will miss him forever.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

Small World

Last week I had a date with a guy. I wasn't that excited about it and all day long debated canceling. I finally resolved myself to just going through with it as it was only one drink. On my way to my car the guy called and cancelled. AWESOME. Apparently he'd just come down with the flu. Total lie as he made no attempt to reschedule. I essentially did a jig to my car and drove home excited thinking I would never have to see this guy, mildly shocked at how relieved I felt.

Two days later I went to a meet up group for amateur photographers. We were planning on taking the subway around LA to get some shots of the city. As we were sitting and waiting for the rest of the group my friend nudged me and asked why this dude was staring at me. Yeah, internet, it was the dude. There he was, a whole two feet away, completely healthy and staring at me with the intensity of a thousand suns. I looked at him and smiled thinking it might cut through some of the awkward. It did not. For the remaining five hours he stood about one to two feet away, staring at me. On the subway? Staring at me. In MacArthur Park? Staring at me. You get the theme. Finally we were so creeped out we abandoned the group on the subway. When the weird dude realized we were still on the car, pulling away from the group, he stood outside the car, mouth agape, watching us go. My friend bet that I would receive an email from him with an hour. I haven't and am incredibly thankful. Methinks we wouldn't have worked out in the long run anyway what with me being (mildly) normal and him being Lurch.

And thus, my first truly unbearably awkward online dating story from Los Angeles. Rejoice!

Monday, January 19, 2009

The Girl Got Inked

Last weekend a friend of mine wanted to get a tattoo. Being an enabler I offered to go with her for moral support. On the way there I contemplated having an old tattoo of mine touched up. You see, I have a tramp stamp. And being as I got this in the late 90's it's a Kanji character. Thank God I didn't get the butterfly, but I came very, very close. I was 18 and living in New York. I had just discovered something and that something was vodka. My roommate came into our room on Valentine's Day, sobbing. It seems her boyfriend had broken up with her that morning right after sex. After hugging her and calming her down she started freaking out about being alone on V-day. I, thinking I was making a funny, funny joke to my very conservative roommate said 'let's get drunk and tattoo'd!' I thought she'd laugh and then go to breakfast with me. Instead her innocent eyes opened wide and she said 'yes please!' jumped up and hugged me. This is how I ended up with a tiny tattoo located on the small of my back. However, since we were broke college students we went to a shady place and my tattoo had faded into an unsightly gray over time. This lead to thinking about getting it touched up.

We walked into the shop and I asked about getting the old one done again. They informed me that the shop had a $100 minimum charge, so if I wanted to get it done again I should really consider getting another one so as to not waste money. And this is how I ended up getting another tattoo. I didn't think it through, it wasn't a long drawn out decision process about permanently changing my body, I just said 'ok, let's do another one then'. I am awesomely responsible.

To keep with the theme I got another Kanji symbol right above the other one. What can I say, I'm creative. Here's the deal, the last tattoo happened at a time when I was more 'plump' (read, 75 lbs heavier). Ergo, the spine was in no way a painful place to get inked. It was just a mildly annoying itch. Now that I have less, let's call it padding, well, it fucking hurt. A lot. Like a lot, a lot. And when he went over the old one? Holy mother of Christ, stop rubbing an open wound with steel wool. Beads of sweat formed on my brow and I contemplated cutting off my own hand to distract myself from the pain. Luckily I chose a tiny character so by the time I reached for the knife, he was done. He handed me my aftercare instructions and sent me on my way. And here's where the real story begins.

You see, for tattoos you need to lotion them every few hours for the first couple of days. The first day I totally forgot and drove to work as per usual. Once there I realized my mistake and rushed to the bathroom and the bottle of lotion kept in there. I had gotten in incredibly early that day so I figured no one was going to come in the bathroom. Crucial error. So there I am, bent at the waist, shirt pulled up around my shoulders, jeans unbuttoned and pulled down rubbing what can only be assumed is my ass when the head of a very important department for the whole company walked in. The look on her face can only be summed up as stunned and then very confused. She asked what I was doing and I rapidly tried to explain that I had gotten another tramp stamp. I also had a moment wherein I tried to decide what was most important, pull down my shirt or pull up my pants? Because I was wearing both sheer underpants and bra. I tried to do both at the same time but was epically unsuccessful. Let's just say she got an eyeful. And could pick me out of a line up without needing to see my face. She nodded and backed into a stall, clearly afraid of the half naked girl holding the bottle of lotion and trying to cover her boobs. I zipped up and bolted back to my office. We haven't been able to make eye contact since.

Good times. But at least my new tattoo is super cute.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Well, That's A First

So I got an email from an internet dude yesterday. Upon looking at his profile and his email I have literally no idea why he's contacting me. He is the first stereotypical LA douche bag to contact me yet. Start the parade!

Seriously though the dude claims to be 33. Unless he is aging in dog years, I call shenanigans. The gentleman is 40 if he's a day, and that's being very kind. He's an actor who is intensely body focused and states 4 separate times that he wants his woman toned and essentially eye candy. Because you know, unemployed actors (*cough* waiter *cough*) have very high standards. Now, I'm not by any means ugly but I am not eye candy, nor am I 'incredibly slender' as stated in his preferences. In fact he states he doesn't like women over a size 2. I haven't been a size 2 since conception. But he emailed me, complemented me on my profile and asked me how I like what I do for a living.

I hesitantly responded, but I figured, hey it would make a good story for the internet and well, I'm a giver. The next day I got a response that I in no way expected. He said, and I quote "That's great that you love your job. By the way, is your company hiring? Would love to send you my resume!"

Wow. Just wow. I know that in this economy people are trying inventive ways to get their foot in the proverbial door, but really? Color me amused.

I have yet to respond.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Another Entry in Which I Do Something Stupid

Sunday I went to the gym. This alone should signal the end of times or at the very least a plague of locusts, but I digress. So there I was on the elliptical jamming out to my iPod. I had just downloaded a bunch of new music, and since I am white, that music was old school rap. During the download process when given the chance between the radio version or the explicit version I always chose explicit because well, I like curse words, I know, you are shocked. However, I have mostly never heard the explicit versions of these songs. This is key.

So there I am, rocking out, volume all the way up when one of the songs that I had not yet listened to came on. And internet, I fell off the elliptical. Literally. I have apparently turned into an 80 year old woman who when confronted with super dirty, super unexpected lyrics just topples on over. Needless to say those around me giggled. They are far kinder than I as if I had seen me fall I would have pointed, laughed and possibly tried to high fiver the faller. Instead they giggled and tried not to make eye contact. I then gesticulated wildly trying to show everyone that I know how to make my feet go but I just had the lyric 'beat the puss up' shouted into my ears. I think I accurately conveyed this through mime. Or at least looked like a girl who had fallen off a piece of exercise equipment and then was flapping her arms like a 'special' flamingo. Toss up, really.

Monday, January 12, 2009

An Interesting Injury

On Saturday a friend and I decided to hit up the gun range. She nor I had ever shot guns in our life, but being from Texas and Arizona respectively figured it must be in our DNA somewhere. So, we hopped in my car and headed to...Inglewood. You know, the one from the rap songs and the national news.

It wasn't until we approached the gun range, blasting music that I said out loud, 'you know, we are two white girls in a Jetta, blasting Ne-Yo and driving through Inglewood in the dead of night... do you perhaps think this is dangerous?' The answer was, apparently, no. So into the gun range we went.

We approached the counter and this is a brief recap of what happened when he asked what kind of gun we wanted to shoot: 'well, we're girls. Delicate, etc. So we want one that goes Tink Tink instead of Bang Bang. You know, like a wee little one.' Thus, we were given a .22 and sent on our way. I don't know why I was somehow operating under the illusion that we would be shooting blanks so I was a bit taken aback when given a giant box of bullets. My brain is a special, special place that is decorated in pink and rainbows.

Once we got the gun loaded (and had the guy come show us, again, how to actually make it shoot because we couldn't figure it out) the fear set in. What the fuck am I doing standing with a .22 in Inglewood? How did my life come to this? Then I started shooting and all that fear went right away. In it's place came adrenaline mixed with something I like to call 'Motherfucking Power'. Dudes, shooting guns is AWESOME. I LOVE IT. I was walking around like a serious bad ass, swagger, the whole 9 yards. Then came the moment when my true colors shined on through and I became an idiot.

You see, to go to the gun range I figured I didn't have to dress up, so I threw on a pair of jeans and a v-neck shirt. This was my ultimate mistake. Apparently guns discard bullet casings, who knew, right? And those bullet casings are Very, Very Warm. It was one of these bullet casings that somehow flew straight up in the air, went right down the lovely v-neck I was wearing and got lodged in my bra.

And this is how I flashed a gun range in Inglewood.

The arm flailing and bra pulling off was legendary. In fact I am sure the security camera footage is on its way to YouTube as we speak. Essentially I set the gun down gently (apparently even when being seared I have respect for firearms), pulled my bra away from my skin and screamed 'motherfucker! that hurts!' and then exposed my boobs. Well, at least the left one. I know this because it was the dude's on my left hand side that clapped and then couldn't look me in the eye. Good times.

Once I had dislodged the bullet I put my bra back on and finished up my round, then held my head high, walked on out and drove the hell out of Inglewood. On the plus side I now have the most bad ass injury of all time: a burn mark IN MY CLEAVAGE in the exact shape of a bullet. Oh yeah, that's how I roll.

Oh and boys? Be warned. I shoot to kill.

Friday, January 09, 2009


Apparently there was an earthquake in LA last night. I found out about it this morning and was rather stunned. As we learned from the last earthquake in Los Angeles I don't deal with the earth moving all willy nilly. Generally I hide, cry, hug cats, etc. This time? I didn't feel a damn thing. This may have been because I was out in a bar and on my second glass of wine. The moral of this story? If you live in Southern California you should just drink more, then natural disasters are merely amusing news blurbs and not something you need to concern yourself with. Consider this my public service for 2009. Man, it was good to get that over with early.

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

Thanks, I'll Pass

So the bad speller contacted me again. Apparently me going silent for 3 days was taken as playing hard to get. The solution? To text me with 'I want to cook you dinner and film a fake beer commercial with you'. Um...thanks? But no? Because I don't want my head to end up in a freezer?

I contend he's probably not a serial killer but the potential for non wanted touching is very high. A note to all dudes out there trying to woo ladies from the internet: offering to cook for me before we've even spoken on the phone is creepy. Very creepy. And the potential for roofies is very high.

I declined. Back to the drawing board.

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Gather Your Loved Ones...

Because dudes, apocalypse time. I had a good date. He looked like his picture. He was charming. He bought me french fries and helped me put on my coat. What. The. Fuck. Sure, he was easily 2 inches shorter than he claimed, but whatever. We're going out again. I'm sure it's then I'll find out that he's really not employed and his sexy accent is fake. It's a matter of time.

Ok, off to answer emails on my datin' site. You know, like the one without any introduction that says 'you're hot, let's hang out'. He clearly knows the way to a woman's heart.

Side note - Chuck, the comment on my last post made me do a spit take. Well done sir, well done.

Monday, January 05, 2009

And So It Begins

Got a text from an internet dude. In it he spelled the word jealous like this: gelous.

Not ok, dude. Not ok. The worst part? He had to manually enter that word and his phone probably tried to correct him. And he ignored it. I have thus far chosen not to respond. I think I've made the correct choice.

Sunday, January 04, 2009

Here We Go Again...

Apparently I am a masochist. Or just easily amused. This weekend? I signed up for some online dating fun. Yeah. I did.

I have actually been doing this for the last 3 months but through one of those sites that makes you answer multiple choice questions first as apparently I really need to know what someone's idea of adventure is, in a very generic way, and that will determine my soul mate. This site, which I will refer to only as 'the one with the scary christian dude', was not for me. I did not like the question song and dance.

I have decided that this year I will do things that are fun, things that scared me previously and things I have been talking about but haven't done. Thusly I have resolved to: do more improv shows, shoot a gun, ride on a motorcycle, take kick boxing classes and date some more dudes from the internet. The last one scares me most of all to be honest, it's a lot of effort, a lot of wasted lip gloss and inevitably some stories that will make others cringe. However, I've decided it's worth the risk. It could be fun, right? And I think above all else, I deserve some fucking fun. I am tired of having my heart broken after I fall for guys who are all shades of wrong, so instead I will date all shades of guys. I went in to it deciding that I would say yes to the first person who asked me out as long as it didn't look likely that I would end up with my head in a freezer at the end of the night. And I did. So on Monday I am meeting random internet dude for drinks.

Buckle up, it's going to be a bumpy ride.