On Saturday I had my improv show. It actually went better than I thought it would. However due to the extreme nerves I had I needed adult beverages afterward. Many adult beverages. It seems the city planners had thought this out as the block my improv theater is on goes like this:
Bar, Restaurant, Theater, CLOTHING SHOP, Bar, Bar
Guess which one I hit after drinking? That's right, the clothing shop. I wandered in thinking I would look at the pretty things and then go home. It was upon walking in that the shop girl walked up to me and asked if I would like some wine. Yes, yes I would. And this is how I ended up spending an hour of my life being dressed up like improv Barbie by a woman with giant fake implants (seriously, her headlights were on full force the entire time I was there. It was not cold).
I was twirled, I was pushed/tucked/pinned and had my hair twisted into brains and side buns to show me what would go with that particular dress. I was also given more wine. I was also called busty. Repeatedly. I don't know if you've had a moment like this, but it's AWKWARD. Imagine me, anonymous conservatively dressed (in normal life) blogger girl being thrown into a black silk dress that is cut to my navel. As I stand there wondering if I can simply just will my boobs to stay in the dress the badly implanted shop girl walks up, gently pats my right boob and screams 'she sure is busty, huh?' It was then that Texas realized his only job during this adventure was to keep his head down and not laugh. He barely made it.
After a grueling hour of clothes trying on I left having spent the GNP of a small nation. On three items. After sobering up I realized the folly of my ways. It was also then that Texas informed me that Sarah Silverman was in the dressing room next to me and that she kept poking her head out and giggling every time the shop girl called me busty. Which was roughly every 13 seconds.
Fun times.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Plague of Locusts
Dudes, today I woke up in a really good mood. That can only mean the end is near. For real, this week has kicked my ass up, down and sideways and yet this morning I was compelled to have a Journey dance party on the way to work. I even broke out the air guitar and that is rather difficult to do whilst driving but I pulled it off, dammit. Perhaps this amazing mood comes from the knowledge that tomorrow is my improv show and then after that I get a few blissful totally unscheduled weeks.
You do not understand how rare this is.
My schedule is generally filled for 3 to 5 years in advance. I used to love this. LOVE. I liked knowing where I would be, when and who with. At all times. As of late, well, it makes me want to stab things with something sharp. I want to be able to lay on my couch and watch really shitty TV without having to cancel on someone. To be able to just be, without obsessively checking my blackberry making sure I'm not late for one of my 8 nightly plans. Being as this summer will be the busiest of my young (cough, not really, cough) life I am already overwhelmed. As such the idea of 2! Full! Weeks! of a completely open calendar makes me feel giddy with excitement. I plan to sit around in my underpants. A LOT. And then I will descend straight into hell. Otherwise known as many repeat visits to LAX.
Until then I think drinking during the day is called for. And maybe running through some sprinklers.
You do not understand how rare this is.
My schedule is generally filled for 3 to 5 years in advance. I used to love this. LOVE. I liked knowing where I would be, when and who with. At all times. As of late, well, it makes me want to stab things with something sharp. I want to be able to lay on my couch and watch really shitty TV without having to cancel on someone. To be able to just be, without obsessively checking my blackberry making sure I'm not late for one of my 8 nightly plans. Being as this summer will be the busiest of my young (cough, not really, cough) life I am already overwhelmed. As such the idea of 2! Full! Weeks! of a completely open calendar makes me feel giddy with excitement. I plan to sit around in my underpants. A LOT. And then I will descend straight into hell. Otherwise known as many repeat visits to LAX.
Until then I think drinking during the day is called for. And maybe running through some sprinklers.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
An Open Letter
Dear LA,
What the fuck? No, seriously. What. The. Fuck. It's April. APRIL. Wherein it's supposed to rain to bring of the May flowers. It is not supposed to be the month where the whole state is relocated to the surface of the sun. You see not only is it uncomfortable and oh so fucking warm, but it brings out the crazies in large, large numbers.
It seems that the heat has caused people to lose what precious brain cells they have. Driving on a road and need to make a left hand turn? Why don't you go ahead and do that from the far right hand lane. Waiting behind me while I attempt to make a (legal) right hand turn but can't do so because there is a woman in a wheelchair crossing the intersection? Well, of course the logical response is to honk for 30 seconds straight then get out of your car ON WILSHIRE IN RUSH HOUR so I can see you more clearly while you are flipping me off. (Yes. That totally happened) Warm? Of course you are. Here, put on these 'shorts' which are 2 inches long and this GIANT PAIR OF UGGS as I assume you suffer from a common affliction in LA which we call 'warm body, feet of ice'.
LA, I could go on, but I can't because in doing so I inch ever so slightly closer to peeling off my skin and running through the streets. Also, it's crazy fucking warm at 9:30AM and typing is causing me to break into a sweat. So, listen Crazy Town, get your shit together or I swear to God I am headed to Alaska where I will stand in the woods and scream for 2 months and then hibernate.
You get no hugs or kisses until you chill out, then we'll discuss,
Me
What the fuck? No, seriously. What. The. Fuck. It's April. APRIL. Wherein it's supposed to rain to bring of the May flowers. It is not supposed to be the month where the whole state is relocated to the surface of the sun. You see not only is it uncomfortable and oh so fucking warm, but it brings out the crazies in large, large numbers.
It seems that the heat has caused people to lose what precious brain cells they have. Driving on a road and need to make a left hand turn? Why don't you go ahead and do that from the far right hand lane. Waiting behind me while I attempt to make a (legal) right hand turn but can't do so because there is a woman in a wheelchair crossing the intersection? Well, of course the logical response is to honk for 30 seconds straight then get out of your car ON WILSHIRE IN RUSH HOUR so I can see you more clearly while you are flipping me off. (Yes. That totally happened) Warm? Of course you are. Here, put on these 'shorts' which are 2 inches long and this GIANT PAIR OF UGGS as I assume you suffer from a common affliction in LA which we call 'warm body, feet of ice'.
LA, I could go on, but I can't because in doing so I inch ever so slightly closer to peeling off my skin and running through the streets. Also, it's crazy fucking warm at 9:30AM and typing is causing me to break into a sweat. So, listen Crazy Town, get your shit together or I swear to God I am headed to Alaska where I will stand in the woods and scream for 2 months and then hibernate.
You get no hugs or kisses until you chill out, then we'll discuss,
Me
Friday, April 17, 2009
Bonk
Last night I was lucky enough to see Eddie Izzard perform in a teeny tiny little venue. We were roughly 5th row I believe ergo he was 15 feet away. The many is an energy ball and performed for 2 straight hours. Thusly, today I am very sleepy as I got home at 1AM. It's a rough life, but someone's gotta do it, right?
Due to the fatigue I am going to spend today not thinking or doing constructive things. I will instead read the internet and focus all remaining energy on keeping my eyes open. So I will leave you with the following (paraphrased)bit from Eddie's act:
'Who came up with the word dyslexia? That's the stupidest name for that particular disorder that you could possibly imagine. No one with dyslexia can read or spell dyslexia. I think they should have named it bonk. B-O-N-K. Easy. I have bonk. The end.'
Due to the fatigue I am going to spend today not thinking or doing constructive things. I will instead read the internet and focus all remaining energy on keeping my eyes open. So I will leave you with the following (paraphrased)bit from Eddie's act:
'Who came up with the word dyslexia? That's the stupidest name for that particular disorder that you could possibly imagine. No one with dyslexia can read or spell dyslexia. I think they should have named it bonk. B-O-N-K. Easy. I have bonk. The end.'
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Fun with Booze
On Friday night Liz, Texas and I went to a friend's birthday party. It was there that I ignored all rational suggestions to slow my roll and proceeded to down multiple martinis like they were Kool Aid. They are not Kool Aid. And this is how I ended up over the top, ridiculous drunk by 9PM on Friday. Cut to 3 hours later when we are all in a cab headed home after dinner (they wisely decided food would help me).
When inebriated I get friendly. I like to talk to strangers and ask about their lives. Side note, please remember I am deaf in one ear and when drunk it becomes harder to differentiate noises/voices/common words. Ergo, the conversation with the cab driver went like this:
Me: Hi! What's your name?
Him: (muttered)
Me: Abdul? That's a great name.
Him: (muttering louder)
Me: Oh. George. Abdul, George, whatever. I was close, right?
It was then that Liz and Texas turned bright red from holding in the laughter. You have never seen two people more actively concentrated on not exploding in all your life.
The next day I was so hung over my hair hurt. And that's when I realized that I am old. Very old. And deaf. Let's not forget deaf.
When inebriated I get friendly. I like to talk to strangers and ask about their lives. Side note, please remember I am deaf in one ear and when drunk it becomes harder to differentiate noises/voices/common words. Ergo, the conversation with the cab driver went like this:
Me: Hi! What's your name?
Him: (muttered)
Me: Abdul? That's a great name.
Him: (muttering louder)
Me: Oh. George. Abdul, George, whatever. I was close, right?
It was then that Liz and Texas turned bright red from holding in the laughter. You have never seen two people more actively concentrated on not exploding in all your life.
The next day I was so hung over my hair hurt. And that's when I realized that I am old. Very old. And deaf. Let's not forget deaf.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Fun With Sleep
Do not wake me up. Seriously. Just don't. I say this as a public service announcement. One of two things will happen:
1 - I won't be able to fall back asleep and I will spend the remainder of the time that I should have been sleeping gently kicking you and talking about how you suck at life.
2 - I will speak incoherently and loudly and then pass out again. It's at these times you will feel like you are sleeping next to an elderly and grumpy man who may have gone completely deaf.
Number 2 happened on Saturday. I woke to see Texas standing in the door way, on guard. I asked what was wrong wrong. And what I heard back was: There's someone breaking into the house. So I sat straight up and screamed 'WHAT???' and he turned around and said 'It's a skunk!' at which point I jumped out of bed and screamed at the top of my lungs: 'WHY IS THERE A SKUNK TRYING TO BREAK INTO YOUR HOUSE?' And then I went back to sleep.
Clearly, it was not a renegade skunk out to steal my jewels. It was a skunk who had been hit by a car in the dead of night right outside the front gate and graced us all with a parting gift of Horrible Funky Smell. It lasted until about 3PM. Thanks Easter!
1 - I won't be able to fall back asleep and I will spend the remainder of the time that I should have been sleeping gently kicking you and talking about how you suck at life.
2 - I will speak incoherently and loudly and then pass out again. It's at these times you will feel like you are sleeping next to an elderly and grumpy man who may have gone completely deaf.
Number 2 happened on Saturday. I woke to see Texas standing in the door way, on guard. I asked what was wrong wrong. And what I heard back was: There's someone breaking into the house. So I sat straight up and screamed 'WHAT???' and he turned around and said 'It's a skunk!' at which point I jumped out of bed and screamed at the top of my lungs: 'WHY IS THERE A SKUNK TRYING TO BREAK INTO YOUR HOUSE?' And then I went back to sleep.
Clearly, it was not a renegade skunk out to steal my jewels. It was a skunk who had been hit by a car in the dead of night right outside the front gate and graced us all with a parting gift of Horrible Funky Smell. It lasted until about 3PM. Thanks Easter!
Friday, April 10, 2009
Teeny Tiny Little Plane
I love my friends. I do. This? This will prove it.
I am getting on a teeny tiny wee smidgen of a little plane to go see two of them get married. Yeah. Wanna see how big?
I swear to God that is actual size. There are 26 seats. I can fit more people in my living room. AND MY LIVING ROOM DOESN'T FLY THROUGH THE AIR.
So needless to say, John, I apologize, but I may show up drunk to your wedding. You see, the sheer amount of booze and Xanax that will make it possible for me to get on said teeny, tiny, wee, little plane will take roughly 2 to 4 weeks to burn off. Ergo, I will be ever so slightly out of it at the wedding and for the entire month of May/June. In fact, I may start drinking now in preparation. Seriously. The idea of getting on said midget plane makes me want to vomit and then run around in small circles screaming. And I still have a month to go. Fun times for me and my loved ones. Well, specifically Texas as he will be seated next to me and may need to get his arm replaced after I claw it off mid flight in a drunken panic.
Am I an awesome girlfriend or what?
I am getting on a teeny tiny wee smidgen of a little plane to go see two of them get married. Yeah. Wanna see how big?
I swear to God that is actual size. There are 26 seats. I can fit more people in my living room. AND MY LIVING ROOM DOESN'T FLY THROUGH THE AIR.
So needless to say, John, I apologize, but I may show up drunk to your wedding. You see, the sheer amount of booze and Xanax that will make it possible for me to get on said teeny, tiny, wee, little plane will take roughly 2 to 4 weeks to burn off. Ergo, I will be ever so slightly out of it at the wedding and for the entire month of May/June. In fact, I may start drinking now in preparation. Seriously. The idea of getting on said midget plane makes me want to vomit and then run around in small circles screaming. And I still have a month to go. Fun times for me and my loved ones. Well, specifically Texas as he will be seated next to me and may need to get his arm replaced after I claw it off mid flight in a drunken panic.
Am I an awesome girlfriend or what?
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Testing, 1, 2, 3
So, I didn't die and am not trapped under a pile of rubble made mostly of vodka bottles. I've just been well, out of words. It happens randomly to me when I am just utterly and completely burnt out, and it's been that way for the last week. I've just been kind of sitting places, staring at people and confused when they expect me to answer back verbally. So instead I gesticulate wildly with my arms and hope that will distract them.
Also, dear Lord with the busy. I apparently had never met myself and didn't expect to be so exhausted after all the traveling and the not being in the home and the traveling. Did I mention the traveling? Because I did a lot of it. I like to travel, I really and truly do. However, I do not like it all back to back. I like my couch, a lot. It comes with a remote to a thing I call the DVR and there are cats there. I have missed it with all the not being at home and thusly for the last week have attempted to make a permanent indentation with my ass. Hey, we all have hobbies, don't judge.
Yesterday however, I broke out of my wordless, half awake living. What did this? What could cause me to shake off the stupor and jump up and down with glee? Shoes. Pretty, Parisian, expensive shoes. If this doesn't prove that I have ovaries, nothing will. You see, I have never been a shopper which brought great sadness to my mother (her Indian name would have been She Who Shops Continuously). I didn't get retail therapy and would have chosen vodka or hell, a piece of gum over a day at the mall. Well, that has changed. Especially since I discovered Christian Louboutin shoes at a remarkable discount. Sure, I may have to live without electricity for a month or two but these shoes? These shoes are worth it. I was literally high yesterday and would answer any question with the word 'shoes'. Seriously. You want butter on your bagel, miss? Shoes. Is this your car? Shoes! It went on and on and eventually shook me out of the haze I had been living in. So, in short, I am back, I am broke and I have badass footwear.
Also, dear Lord with the busy. I apparently had never met myself and didn't expect to be so exhausted after all the traveling and the not being in the home and the traveling. Did I mention the traveling? Because I did a lot of it. I like to travel, I really and truly do. However, I do not like it all back to back. I like my couch, a lot. It comes with a remote to a thing I call the DVR and there are cats there. I have missed it with all the not being at home and thusly for the last week have attempted to make a permanent indentation with my ass. Hey, we all have hobbies, don't judge.
Yesterday however, I broke out of my wordless, half awake living. What did this? What could cause me to shake off the stupor and jump up and down with glee? Shoes. Pretty, Parisian, expensive shoes. If this doesn't prove that I have ovaries, nothing will. You see, I have never been a shopper which brought great sadness to my mother (her Indian name would have been She Who Shops Continuously). I didn't get retail therapy and would have chosen vodka or hell, a piece of gum over a day at the mall. Well, that has changed. Especially since I discovered Christian Louboutin shoes at a remarkable discount. Sure, I may have to live without electricity for a month or two but these shoes? These shoes are worth it. I was literally high yesterday and would answer any question with the word 'shoes'. Seriously. You want butter on your bagel, miss? Shoes. Is this your car? Shoes! It went on and on and eventually shook me out of the haze I had been living in. So, in short, I am back, I am broke and I have badass footwear.
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
An Up and Down Kind of Day
Yesterday was all over the place in the worst and best ways possible. Let's start bad shall we?
The Bad
I got into work and checked Facebook and what should before my wondering eyes should a appear? A picture of my best friend in his casket. It seems someone, someone who will one day find my fist rushing towards their face very quickly, not only took pictures at the wake but then posted them on the internet AND TAGGED MY DECEASED FRIEND IN HIS CASKET. That all caps there? That denotes my rage. So. Much. Rage. I freaked out and promptly rushed to the bathroom where I vomited. I then plotted ways to find the poster and to hurt them, a lot, physically and mentally. Luckily Sera and Liz (I'm lucky to have them)stepped up and found a way to get the picture removed. It wasn't just the insane and total violation of my friends rights that floored me, but I had intentionally not gone to the viewing as that's not how I wanted to remember him. But, this person made that choice for me. It's just so many shades of wrong my brain can't fully process it yet. Just know there is one really pissed of blond in LA and people should probably steer clear for a day or so. Until that blond gets to the gym and takes out the rage on the punching bag.
(And breathe)
The Good
The cancer ear is not cancer after all! The results came in last night and it seems the original diagnosis was wrong. So I get to keep what's left of the skin on my ear. Rejoice! And then, not 2 minutes after I got that news a package from my mom arrived. You may not know this, but I like presents. Especially when they are unexpected. And especially when they are followed by crappy reality TV and a night in.
So, yes, yesterday sucked and then was good. And I didn't hit anyone in the face (yet) which I think deserves some kind of cash reward. Or a minion, I could go for one of those.
The Bad
I got into work and checked Facebook and what should before my wondering eyes should a appear? A picture of my best friend in his casket. It seems someone, someone who will one day find my fist rushing towards their face very quickly, not only took pictures at the wake but then posted them on the internet AND TAGGED MY DECEASED FRIEND IN HIS CASKET. That all caps there? That denotes my rage. So. Much. Rage. I freaked out and promptly rushed to the bathroom where I vomited. I then plotted ways to find the poster and to hurt them, a lot, physically and mentally. Luckily Sera and Liz (I'm lucky to have them)stepped up and found a way to get the picture removed. It wasn't just the insane and total violation of my friends rights that floored me, but I had intentionally not gone to the viewing as that's not how I wanted to remember him. But, this person made that choice for me. It's just so many shades of wrong my brain can't fully process it yet. Just know there is one really pissed of blond in LA and people should probably steer clear for a day or so. Until that blond gets to the gym and takes out the rage on the punching bag.
(And breathe)
The Good
The cancer ear is not cancer after all! The results came in last night and it seems the original diagnosis was wrong. So I get to keep what's left of the skin on my ear. Rejoice! And then, not 2 minutes after I got that news a package from my mom arrived. You may not know this, but I like presents. Especially when they are unexpected. And especially when they are followed by crappy reality TV and a night in.
So, yes, yesterday sucked and then was good. And I didn't hit anyone in the face (yet) which I think deserves some kind of cash reward. Or a minion, I could go for one of those.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
