I believe by now we have previously established that I am the world's biggest chicken shit. Seriously, if they were to measure it somehow scientifically I would measure off the charts. Why do I bring this up now? Because presently there are a lot of horror movies and they insist, INSIST, that the previews are shown at 11PM during my favorite sit com reruns. Why? Dear God, why? Is this solely to taunt in my chickendome? Is it to give me nightmares that Hilary Swank is going to come exorcise some biblical demon out of my apartment along side hills that somehow have eyes? Because that's what happens. When and if I am able to fall asleep it invades my dreams. And not in a normal way.
Case in point, 1997. I decided that I should, for some unknown reason, read the Exorcist. If you have seen the movie, imagine the same thing yet some how even more scary. I finished the book in 2 days the last night staying up until 4 AM to finish it. When I was done my heart was racing, my brow damp with sweat, and the knowledge that I was somehow going to be possessed by the devil. The logical thing was to take my mind off the fear. So I put in the most inocuous movie I owned, Saturday Night Fever. Inocuous except in my twisted little brain. Shortly after John Travolta's friend fell off the bridge I drifted off to sleep. It was there that the book combined with film to create a highly disturbing dream: that I was possessed by the spirit of John Travolta. All I remember was that I was forced to do the hustle for hours on end while wearing a white suit and woke up doing the point. It was at that point I stopped reading scary books.
This story truly dates back to my childhood. My grandma was something of a liberal caregiver. As such she let me watch The Exorist when I was 5. I think I stayed up for a week thereafter, I was the only kid in kindergarten with circles under her eyes. Not a pretty site. Her name was Reagan my name is Meghan, in my childhood brain it seemed logical that I was next.
And now that damn Hilary Swank commercial is on again. I am never falling asleep.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Friday, March 30, 2007
My Town is On Fire
In case you haven't heard there is a huge ass fire in LA currently burning up acres of land in Studio City and Universal City. I am fairly near there, but only near enough that I can look out my office windows and say "damn that's a lot of smoke", but not actually feel the heat. I have friends that aren't so lucky and are down the street from the fires. As I am paranoid in general, I am of course now determined that they are in danger and am encouraging them to quit their jobs if necessary and flee.
To add some irony to the day, my friend who works directly across the street from the fire received an email that his lot was not in danger and to stay in his building. The irony? The office that sent the message? They all left. Immediately after sending it. Fantastic.
There are many reasons I don't understand this town. One being that it's basically melting in a giant pool of flames and everyone is remarkably cool about it. They just keep on a'workin pretending they aren't flammable. (which reminds me of the mitch hedberg joke of "if you have two legs and are flammable, you are never blocking a fire exit", if you don't know who is he, for shame. The man is a genius). But honestly, I am shaking my head. A raging fire is eating up the Hollywood Hills as we speak and people are getting ready to roast marshmellows and not, oh say, run for their lives.
On a side note I put out a cake four hours ago and STILL it's untouched. Non sugar eating weirdos. Eat the cake! Run from fire! Two simple rules to live by.
To add some irony to the day, my friend who works directly across the street from the fire received an email that his lot was not in danger and to stay in his building. The irony? The office that sent the message? They all left. Immediately after sending it. Fantastic.
There are many reasons I don't understand this town. One being that it's basically melting in a giant pool of flames and everyone is remarkably cool about it. They just keep on a'workin pretending they aren't flammable. (which reminds me of the mitch hedberg joke of "if you have two legs and are flammable, you are never blocking a fire exit", if you don't know who is he, for shame. The man is a genius). But honestly, I am shaking my head. A raging fire is eating up the Hollywood Hills as we speak and people are getting ready to roast marshmellows and not, oh say, run for their lives.
On a side note I put out a cake four hours ago and STILL it's untouched. Non sugar eating weirdos. Eat the cake! Run from fire! Two simple rules to live by.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
100% Geek 100% of the Time
As I have mentioned before I treat my cats like my children as I have a small little life. They also think they are people and so it's reciprocated. They also think I am a giant pillow. This morning I woke up because not only could I not move but I could not feel either of my arms. One cat was stretched out on me, all along me. Like I was a hammock of sorts, with his little head digging directly into my rib cage. The other was stretched out along my arm. The other arm? I was sleeping on it. After I shook them off of me my alarm clock went off. That's when I realized my arms were both dead asleep and therefore completely useless. I tried to fling my arms across my body, it was a no go, they were simply piles of rubber. I started to panic not only because in my half asleep mind I had decided I would never regain control of my limbs and have to live without arms but also because I have one of those alarm clocks that starts off soft and then gets ridiculously loud. It was, by now, waking people four towns over. So there I am, two dead arms, trying to twist them somehow up to turn off the alarm. It didn't work. I finally pulled a MacGyver and turned it off with my chin. This was an excellent way to start my day. I rule.
Last night was my last cake decorating class, which was sad. Not only because I don't have an excuse to eat icing once a week, but because again, I am all skill and grace. The last cake we made was supposed to look like a basket full of flowers. We learned how to make roses and then she let us start decorating. Rose number one complete, so pretty. I went to delicately put it on the cake and it slide off the rose nail and directly into my lap. Bullseye. Oh, and the icing was florescent pink, so my jeans now have a certain spot on the crotch that is kinda noticeable. I move on. Second rose fell off the knife and onto the floor. The third, I think had knowledge of the fate that laid before it i.e. crotch or floor, so it basically disintegrated. My instructor said she had never seen anything like it. I'm a special case. So finally I made one that made it to my cake, and then gave up. So my "basket full of flowers" is a basket with a single flower and me standing in the background doing jazz hands.
On to the I Hate LA portion of the blog that has become protocol. Last week in my class we decorated cupcakes. Being as I didn't want 12 elaborately decorated cupcakes sitting in my house I took them to work. I walked around offering them to people and it was as though I had offered to kill their children and pour some acid on them. The looks of disgust followed quickly by a hissed "I don't eat sugar" were enough to break a girl's heart. My boss' assistant finally took one. Throughout the day I saw her staring at it, visibly drooling. About once an hour she would break down, reach out a trembling finger, and take a small swipe of icing. She closed her eyes and savored it. She got through about half the frosting before she threw the rest of the cupcake away and told me she was going to have to do an extra couple of miles on the treadmill. Seriously? No...seriously? She consumed maybe an extra 50 calories but I may as well have brought Armaggedon into her home. Ergo, my fake basket cake is currently sitting in my refrigerator because I just can't see it turned away. I miss people who eat. I won't go as far to say I miss the Midwest, but at least I know they would have taken the cake and actually enjoyed it.
Good times people, good times.
Last night was my last cake decorating class, which was sad. Not only because I don't have an excuse to eat icing once a week, but because again, I am all skill and grace. The last cake we made was supposed to look like a basket full of flowers. We learned how to make roses and then she let us start decorating. Rose number one complete, so pretty. I went to delicately put it on the cake and it slide off the rose nail and directly into my lap. Bullseye. Oh, and the icing was florescent pink, so my jeans now have a certain spot on the crotch that is kinda noticeable. I move on. Second rose fell off the knife and onto the floor. The third, I think had knowledge of the fate that laid before it i.e. crotch or floor, so it basically disintegrated. My instructor said she had never seen anything like it. I'm a special case. So finally I made one that made it to my cake, and then gave up. So my "basket full of flowers" is a basket with a single flower and me standing in the background doing jazz hands.
On to the I Hate LA portion of the blog that has become protocol. Last week in my class we decorated cupcakes. Being as I didn't want 12 elaborately decorated cupcakes sitting in my house I took them to work. I walked around offering them to people and it was as though I had offered to kill their children and pour some acid on them. The looks of disgust followed quickly by a hissed "I don't eat sugar" were enough to break a girl's heart. My boss' assistant finally took one. Throughout the day I saw her staring at it, visibly drooling. About once an hour she would break down, reach out a trembling finger, and take a small swipe of icing. She closed her eyes and savored it. She got through about half the frosting before she threw the rest of the cupcake away and told me she was going to have to do an extra couple of miles on the treadmill. Seriously? No...seriously? She consumed maybe an extra 50 calories but I may as well have brought Armaggedon into her home. Ergo, my fake basket cake is currently sitting in my refrigerator because I just can't see it turned away. I miss people who eat. I won't go as far to say I miss the Midwest, but at least I know they would have taken the cake and actually enjoyed it.
Good times people, good times.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Nights Like These
Sunday night and I should be winding down, watching my favorite reality show and preparing for a day in the office. I don't think that's possible at this time though. I have too much wine in my system and too many thoughts waiting.
Tonight started out innocuous enough. A friend and I went shopping and intended to see a movie. After browsing one shop and seeing one of the world's super models up close (who knew she shopped in the Gap? oh and not fair, the woman glows without make up) we realized we were hungry. We headed off to a lounge in the open air mall for a quick bite. The quick bite quickly turned into 3 appetizers and a total of 8 glasses of wine, 4 a piece. During the five hours we spent in the lounge we discussed everything. It's days like this, where the mood is light, that you end up touching on areas that are dark. From her brother's and my father's deaths, looming questions and stupid gossip, I feel like we covered everything topic. And now my mind is going 90 miles an hour with no signs of stopping. Stuff I didn't know existed was brought up and dissected.
I think it's time to curl up and try to sort some things out. Maybe by the time I wake up I will have some answers. Even if I don't, I think I may be ok with that. At least I know now that the questions exist. Oy, too heavy for a Sunday, at least I know that.
A lighter post to come soon, you have my word. Girl Scout honor.
Tonight started out innocuous enough. A friend and I went shopping and intended to see a movie. After browsing one shop and seeing one of the world's super models up close (who knew she shopped in the Gap? oh and not fair, the woman glows without make up) we realized we were hungry. We headed off to a lounge in the open air mall for a quick bite. The quick bite quickly turned into 3 appetizers and a total of 8 glasses of wine, 4 a piece. During the five hours we spent in the lounge we discussed everything. It's days like this, where the mood is light, that you end up touching on areas that are dark. From her brother's and my father's deaths, looming questions and stupid gossip, I feel like we covered everything topic. And now my mind is going 90 miles an hour with no signs of stopping. Stuff I didn't know existed was brought up and dissected.
I think it's time to curl up and try to sort some things out. Maybe by the time I wake up I will have some answers. Even if I don't, I think I may be ok with that. At least I know now that the questions exist. Oy, too heavy for a Sunday, at least I know that.
A lighter post to come soon, you have my word. Girl Scout honor.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Giant Pile of Suck
That's life as of late. A giant pile of suck. Have you ever had one of those times where you just want to put all of your stuff in a wheelbarrow, head off to the mountains and just live alone a la Jerimiah Johnson? Except with cats? Nope...just me? Gotcha. Well as of now that is my back up plan. Except instead of wheelbarrow substitute gas guzzeling SUV. I am about thisclose to having a breakdown and pulling a Britney. I would have done it a few days ago except I really like my hair and don't want lips tattooed on my wrist. Le sigh. As my mom says this too shall pass, and it passes much more quickly with a glass of cheap wine and a box of Peeps for dinner. I love those little sugary fuckers.
Back to what I was going to originally post about, grocery shopping in LA. In LA people don't go to grocery stores to actually buy food. They go to be seen. They wander around chatting on their cellphones holding a little basket with a single apple in it. If you dare put actual food in your own basket you get stared at, open mouthed. I once trailed a person to see if she actually put anything in her cart. In the 30 to 45 minutes I was in the store she put cheese in her cart, took it out, debatted over apples but didn't buy any and finally decided on a 6 pack of diet coke. She did however have a very in depth conversation about how she needs a new agent because this one just doens't realize her potential.
I went to the grocery store on Sunday night thinking this would be the ideal time to avoid the done up masses. I was wrong. I walked in wearing ripped jeans, a hoodie that is holding itself together out of sheer will and a side pony. It looked like the cast of America's Next Top Model had exploded all over my local Ralph's. This is in no way an exaggeration. In line I stood between two models. Not models like hey, that's a nice looking girl, she could do some catalogue work for Sears, but models as in, hey, didn't I see you in the Victoria Secrets ad the other day? It's enough to give a girl a complex. Especially when they are only buying lettuce, sa single carrot and diet water. I was however loaded up on Cap'n Crunch (the peanut butter kind) and mac and cheese. Oh yeah, I had lettuce too, but that's mearly a side dish to my "i still have a cold and therefore and hosting Carb A Palooza" dinner.
Next time I head to buy some paper towels I will make sure I am in a black tie dress and a full face of make up. Maybe then I'll blend.
Back to what I was going to originally post about, grocery shopping in LA. In LA people don't go to grocery stores to actually buy food. They go to be seen. They wander around chatting on their cellphones holding a little basket with a single apple in it. If you dare put actual food in your own basket you get stared at, open mouthed. I once trailed a person to see if she actually put anything in her cart. In the 30 to 45 minutes I was in the store she put cheese in her cart, took it out, debatted over apples but didn't buy any and finally decided on a 6 pack of diet coke. She did however have a very in depth conversation about how she needs a new agent because this one just doens't realize her potential.
I went to the grocery store on Sunday night thinking this would be the ideal time to avoid the done up masses. I was wrong. I walked in wearing ripped jeans, a hoodie that is holding itself together out of sheer will and a side pony. It looked like the cast of America's Next Top Model had exploded all over my local Ralph's. This is in no way an exaggeration. In line I stood between two models. Not models like hey, that's a nice looking girl, she could do some catalogue work for Sears, but models as in, hey, didn't I see you in the Victoria Secrets ad the other day? It's enough to give a girl a complex. Especially when they are only buying lettuce, sa single carrot and diet water. I was however loaded up on Cap'n Crunch (the peanut butter kind) and mac and cheese. Oh yeah, I had lettuce too, but that's mearly a side dish to my "i still have a cold and therefore and hosting Carb A Palooza" dinner.
Next time I head to buy some paper towels I will make sure I am in a black tie dress and a full face of make up. Maybe then I'll blend.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Warm and Fuzzy
This morning I was gently rocked awake to the sound of my cat vommiting at the foot of my bed. He loves his mommy.
While I do in fact love my cats and treat them more like children than animals, I do not enjoy the piles of vomit they leave for me as presents. Especially at 6:30 in the morning. Could he have not coordinated with my alarm clock? Of course not. I am just grateful that it was at the foot of my bed and not actually on my bed. Or me. Both of those have happened previously and I am hoping to not relive those experiences ever again.
Last night with the aid of serious amounts of DayQuil I was able to make it to my first cake class, for the first hour at least. After the first hour thinks get reallllll hazy like and I had to excuse myself. Behold...my first cake. As you can see I am a very mature artist and culinary technician.
Oh and to the anon comment who said that I get ill more than any person you have ever met....I know, if it were the 1800's I would have died long ago. I am a delicate flower.
While I do in fact love my cats and treat them more like children than animals, I do not enjoy the piles of vomit they leave for me as presents. Especially at 6:30 in the morning. Could he have not coordinated with my alarm clock? Of course not. I am just grateful that it was at the foot of my bed and not actually on my bed. Or me. Both of those have happened previously and I am hoping to not relive those experiences ever again.
Last night with the aid of serious amounts of DayQuil I was able to make it to my first cake class, for the first hour at least. After the first hour thinks get reallllll hazy like and I had to excuse myself. Behold...my first cake. As you can see I am a very mature artist and culinary technician.
Oh and to the anon comment who said that I get ill more than any person you have ever met....I know, if it were the 1800's I would have died long ago. I am a delicate flower.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
The Martian Flu
I am sick, cough cough. Instead of sleeping all day and getting better I am basically just working from home. I am fielding calls and answering emails. Apparently for my company "sick day" means, a day we take from your allotment but still expect you to work. The second I turn off the BlackBerry my home phone rings. For this I shake my fist, weakly.
I truly have nothing interesting to say, it's sad really. Unless of course you want to hear about the America's Next Top Model and Top Chef marathons I have watched this week. It's very exciting I assure you.
I had plans for the weekend but I think I have cancelled them all by now. Instead I will stay inside, bemoan my state and possibly clean. I am officially my mother and upon this realization really need a drink. Wine totally mixes with DayQuil, right?
I truly have nothing interesting to say, it's sad really. Unless of course you want to hear about the America's Next Top Model and Top Chef marathons I have watched this week. It's very exciting I assure you.
I had plans for the weekend but I think I have cancelled them all by now. Instead I will stay inside, bemoan my state and possibly clean. I am officially my mother and upon this realization really need a drink. Wine totally mixes with DayQuil, right?
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