Joining the rest of them.

Every holiday season Jane recieves a massive pile of holiday cards. Many of them are not cards but those letters that go on and on about how great life is in the family. And if it's not great - i.e., a divorce or something else equally un-good - then they make it sound like it's great anyway - i.e., no mention of the split: instead, "Margie is doing GREAT!!! She is dating up a STORM!! And they are all rich, handsome, and super duper awesome!! Great!"

So I decided to write one for us this year, b/c really, what else do I do in IN aside from shop, eat, and take up space at my parents' house? So if you're curious how we here at my house do holiday letters, indulge. If you want to read the only line I really like, then skip to the very end and read the paragraph about getting older:

Warm tidings from a very frigid climate!

Or at least frigid in the opinion of the writer of the first ever and very official Linderman holiday letter, who now lives in the warmth of LA and thus is unable to deal with Indiana winters. It has been a good year for Dick, Jane, and Spot as well as Dick, Jane, Sara, Greg, and Jack, and that, combined with the inspiration of years of fantastic letters from friends and family, has led to the sending of this letter.

All in our house will agree that the highlight of our year is the new bundle of joy that has taken up residence at 511 Cornwall Court: Mr. Jack Bauer, our beloved new golden retriever who since joining the family as a wee one in June has sprouted into a beautiful and very spirited 60 lb adult. Of note is the fact that Jack may be the only 60 lb golden retriever who sees himself as a 10 lb lapdog extraordinaire.

Jane, Jack’s fare caregiver, unfortunately discovered just how spirited Jack is in early October when he pulled her down on the hill. Physical therapy has been going well for her and she has graduated from crutches and is doing much better to the delight of the family. As we all know, she keeps the household running, so her speedy recovery is prayed for by us all.

Dick is taking up some of the slack but has been busy getting his new office in order. He moved North and is now just around the corner (close enough to come home for lunchtime each and every day) from Cornwall court. The office has been open for nearly a month now, and thanks to Jane’s keen eye, it looks fantastic. We hope that fake breasts continue to be in style and also hope that North-side woman value this chic accessory even more than their South-side counterparts.

Greg and I continue to thrive in LA, where fake breasts are of course valued more than ever. Greg has made dean’s list once again and will be graduating from USC’s School of Engineering this summer. Watching Top Gun 3 times a day for years on end has finally proven worthwhile, as Greg will most likely become the modern day Maverick (or perhaps Ice Man?) when he attends flight school and learns how to be a “naval aviator” in Pensacola this coming year. He is now taking orders for official-issue aviator sunglasses.

I too will graduate…again…this summer. You might know my school as the one that defeated those dastardly Trojans this winter, in what is the greatest upset in college football history, ever…or at least that is what I call it. I’ll be an official MBA. I will be leaving behind LA to pursue a career in brand management at Clorox in San Francisco, or, as Greg likes to call it (at least once/week), the most expensive city in the country, this fall. When I’m not creating the newest packaging sensations for bleach, I’ll be happy to do freelance consulting on your behalf for a very, very hefty sum. But I might offer you a special deal.

With many good things to celebrate, celebrate the Lindermans did to close out 2006, with a week in Cancun. Focal points of the week included testing the various angles of the chaise lounges to obtain optimal tanning positions and sampling the local cervezas and cocktails. Wow, it was exhausting.

We aren’t sure how another year has passed, but we prefer to think we haven’t aged at all. Except Greg, who aged 5 years to close the gap between him and his 26 year old girlfriend.

On that note, fair tidings to all and a most joyous New Years! We send you all good fortune, good health, and good spirits!

Much love,
Dick, Jane, Sara, and Greg

OH PS: random Mexico pic for you.

Fine, fine, we'll have the chowmein. (Post #100!)

I really don’t like minivans. I actually kind of hate them. They are by far the most unfashionable of all types of automobile and I care not if they are just great for soccer moms hauling around their soccer kids, I will never, ever, drive one. If my mom had ever tried to drive one (she was an SUV mom thank you) I think I would’ve stolen the keys or something. Sorry if I’ve offended… Listen, plz don’t take offense. It’s ridiculous to hate a car genre b/c it’s unfashionable anyway….yes…it is.

Anyway I just had my dislike renewed b/c on the way home this evening I was driving behind one and they had a tv inside playing something or other. And I swear it was incredibly distracting to me. I could barely pay attention to the ride b/c I was so preoccupied with trying to figure out what they were watching inside. Was it The Hills? And…was I on it???

Anyway, they sure are Midwest. Wanna know what else is Midwest, aside from the hideous, brutal, miserable cold of winter? Cheap drinks. I say amen. I had dinner tonight and ordered a (non-well) cocktail and it was $4.95. Let’s forget about the “0.95” aspect of that which is totally dumb and focus on the cheapness. That is unheard of in LA. Which sure is nice.

So what else do I have to say. Well it’s been…I think…10 days of pure unadulterated family time for me so far. I have seen more of Dick, Jane, and Greg and only D, J, and G than I ever thought imaginable. And we’re all still alive, which is good. But I will say this. I was due to lunch w/ my bf, Annie, this morning, at Patachou, where I order the lentil pate on sour dough w/ extra blue cheese horseradish spread like it’s a religion, as we do every time we come home. I came down for my coffee this morning and Jane is all, “I didn’t know you were having lunch w/ Annie and Mare this morning! Why didn’t you invite me?” That would be b/c I didn’t know we were having lunch w/ Mare and Jane either… Jane couldn’t make it, so it was just the three of us, but I was sure to give Annie a big, hearty, and sincere thank you for nearly giving me yet more time w/ my mother. I do love her, I do to death, but I need to change up my company. For my sanity.

After lunch I went to the gym w/ Jane, where, after my workout, I did something so Midwest girl, I hit up the tanning bed in winter. You see I have a lovely tan right now thanks to Cancun, but I’m most worried right now about losing it. I have a wedding on Saturday night and I am bound and determined to be the f’in tan girl at the wedding. No one is going to take that away from me, even if it means putting my real-sunned body under some fake-sun and walking away with the faint scent of cooking skin under my sweaty workout clothes and into the 30 degree cold. So take that you bitches, I WILL be the tan girl.

Final piece of news I have. In Cancun we ate ridiculous meals for dinner every night. I took down more steak, lobster, and seafood dripping in cream than I cared to see in a single span of a week. And our first night back in IN Jane cooked leg of lamb. I of all people am not one to turn down savory culinary treats, but last night, when Jane brought out the pepper steak and prepared to serve it up with scalloped potatoes, we put the kibosh on dinner and said no. No more red meat, cream, and starch all in one meal, nope, not going to happen.

So what ensued. We went to a 7pm of Pursuit of Happiness (pretty good). And then we left and everyone craved potstickers. And we did the most cliché modern Jew move: we totally stopped and picked up Chinese takeout at 9:30pm on Christmas day. We have resisted for so many years, but we finally succumbed. I can’t say I’m proud of it…but I will admit that it happened.

And I figured since we’ve already indulged in this one really big cliché, might as well indulge another: want to know what my project for tomorrow is? Writing a “holiday letter” for the Lindy family (Jane does New Years cards v. Xmas time cards). I like to think mine will not be as sappy and irritating as all those that pile in our kitchen every holiday season…but…let’s be real. If you’re going to go cliché I think you may as well go all out.

With love from IN: The end.

Don't worry about me, I'm doing just fine.

Greetings from my really big and marble-y hotel room in Cancun, where i'm sitting in my big huge white robe and super fluffy slippers. I am pretending that I have no Internet access on this vaca but that is kind of a lie as I do, but you do have to pay for it, so I'm capped to a couple hours. But anyone who writes me emails that deal with anything that I don't want to think about which is pretty much anything that relates to reality - as far as they are concerned I have no Internet.

But if having the Internet means I get to log on to blog and tell you kids how incredibly fabulously wonderfully great vaca is going for me, then it totally exists.

I guess the only drawback is that I really have nothing at all to write about. I could tell you about my daily routine, whereby I wake up at 10, go to the gym, work up a sweat, shower and change into my bikini, and spend the day reading and sunning. I could mention that it's puntuated by a salad at 2, a Dos Equis around 3, and a late afternoon mojito. I could describe my seating arrangements, which include your standard chaise as well as these chair things that are kind of built into the the pool so you can kind of sit in about 3 inches of water, just enough to keep you nice and cool.

Oh and I could offhandedly note that yesterday involved a deep tissue massage. I guess I do have one thing to say bout that. I typically go to a massage in undies, but yesterday feeling very tropical and free I went w/out as I guess that is what you're supposed to do anyway. So I think the masseuse sure did touch my ass a lot. I didn't feel violated really, but I might have if he had been unattractive. I don't know. Perhaps he was just very lower back centric, but I'm fairly certain he saw the majority of my butt. How do I feel about that? Unsure really, kind of unsure. A little bit unconcerned.

What else could I tell you? Well I guess I coudl show you with pictures, but that will have to wait until I'm back home. I know that you're really really excited about that and can't wait to see the photos. But until then it's time to climb into my really, really big bed and go to sleep b/c I have that hard day in front of me again tomorrow. I think I'll be parasailing too. Anyway, please don't be worrying about me down here in Mexico, as I'm doing just fine. Hugs and kisses around. The end.

Your next MTV reality star: Right Here.

It still gets me super confused when I have days like this. I was up at 9am this morning right? And now it’s 6pm. That’s a lot a lot of hours. Technically I should not have any issues with taking care of the few key tasks that I have to finish before I head to my crazy Cancun vaca tomorrow morning at f’in 5:30 – laundry, packing, some email shit, AMR (kill me). Instead, I brunched (Aly you are most def a domestic goddess and I’m in awe), I have mani/pedi’ed (hot pink thank you), I have shopped (bought a dress which was the object of my obsession and to avoid any further obsession I just bought it, sorry couldn’t help it, have absolutely no self-control). And now it’s like 6 and I want to take a nap and then go out but instead I have all this shit to do – so clearly I’m digging right in. it’s not like I’m blogging to procrastinate. Anyway I really really needed to update this b/c you know I don’t want to neglect it and stuff.

So anyway. I have a story.

The other day, I’m shopping on Robertson w/ Aly (that’s a double shout out for you dumpling!) and we see that something is being filmed. We go into Lisa Kline and we’re in there trying to figure out who the hell they’re shooting. And then I see her: Heidi, my favorite blond ambition(less) flake who spends her days tanning and her nights drinking in those gorgeous HWood Hills. She was having truly retarded conversations with some new girl who most likely is her new best friend that MTV went out and found for her. So anyway she’s totally all up on in the sales rack which is not cool b/c I can’t afford anything in that store if it’s not on the sale rack and then even then…I really can’t…so I’m trying to stay out of the way of the crew but apparently…I didn’t do such a hot job.

Cuz on our way out they ask us to sign release forms cuz we were in a bunch of the background shots. Most awesome thing that happened to me all week. I’m totally watching The Hills next season (like I wasn’t going to anyway but whatever) and watching for my little moment of fame. Too bad I looked like ass, no makeup, hat on, huge bulky sweater, will most likely look like some random ugly girl wearing too much clothing and attempting to hide unwashed hair from the world. But I guess you have to take it as you can get it.

So now that I’ve told my story…I’m going to start packing my BIKINI b/c I’m going to the tropics and I cannot wait!!! Until then, mistletoe and eggnog and too much family time to you.

Once a victim, twice a victim

Don't you hate when you set personal rules for yourself and then they get in the way of stuff you really want to do? Like, I have a rule that I will NOT ever blog about my personal/intimate/dating life. I need to maintain some air of mystery... But then, I just exchanged/heard an awesome, awesome story, and I totally want to write it, but if I did, it would violate this rule. So, alas, I cannot do it. But know this: it will kill me softly, for at least another hour or two.

Anyway, so I think someone is out to get me. You may recall that a few weeks ago, I got f'in egged. Egg, all over the back of this one black jacket of mine. A jacket that I happened to wear again last night - it's back from the dry cleaner and all better. (Side note on the black jacket: it's a very fine gauge corduroy, but something about i t makes it looks really super soft I guess even though it's really not b/c people were touching it all night last night). So, I am at this party in SMon. The party was awesome as I got to eat a lot of freshly grilled meat with my hands, drink very fruit-packed sangria, and play flip cup on a kitchen counter top.

But then we leave and head to a bar, and I shit you not, I packed 10 people in the Honda. Safety first guys, safety first. Anyway, I am approaching my car and I see something all up on my driver side window. As I get closer, with my 9 passengers, I see that my car has been EGGED. I have been an egging victim twice in less than one month.

At first I thought, eerie coincidence, right? But the more I think about, the more I wonder if there is some deranged person out there that really has it out for me and is determined to make my life hell by coating my person and my vehicle with chicken placenta. All I can say is I guess if that is the worst it could get then I do have some level of safety.

Hmm. I am off to the car wash to de-egg. Stay safe and watch for flying white orbs!

Unbelievable

So for me, yesterday was a big day in the world of sports. It's really v. funny that I'm saying that, b/c if you know me...you know that the world of sports is generally a world I could care slightly more than less about. Only slightly. But yesterday I got all wrapped up in it, I think mostly b/c little Greggy and I have an intense rivalry of trojans (who suck) v. bruins (who are awesome) that threatens to rip our family in two. Not really. But I can't resist sounding dramatic.

Anyway, so it was the big game. We started drinking around 10:30 am and then somewhere between jello shot number 2 and tequilla shot number 1 and beer number 58 I got a ticket to the game for free. I went to the game w/ a bunch of friends and our plan was: tailgate - yes! game - no! Why pay like $60 to see your team get slaughterhous fived? But anyway you see I had much to drink and little else to do if I went home as I'd only fall asleep on my couch, so when the free ticket found its way into my palm I accepted.

And then what can only be described as the biggest upset in football history (at least that's what I call it) occurred, and UCLA won. It was mad exciting, and I cheered until my nodules were in full effect so I could not even talk by the end of the night. PS: that is me there, in the foto, with the fat arm and the the blue hat.

Oh can I say? The end was freaky. To prevent any field rushing they had mad cops out and security and muzzled dogs and tons of pepper spray canisters and even a gun thing. They did pepper spray us even though we were committing the heinous crime of stnading in the stands and cheering...I coughed. So that was that. A great historical momentous occasion.

And! The DDeacons won the ACC championship and are now headed to the Orange Bowl. I have not a clue where the bowl is and I still don't understand why it's such a big deal but I got more texts about that then about the UCLA game so I guess it's kind of a big deal...so...yay. Anyway, that concludes my sports notes for the night. I"m off to Houston's w/ my brother and his girlfriend who I think is becoming a permanent fixture in his life. I continue to work on getting over the fact that she is my age and has 5 years on him. I really am working hard...

Yep, last time I checked, I was stilll white.

So I was in Altadena (somewhere out by Pasadena…) today and btw since inquiring minds like to know (that is fun to say) I was there for my little internship thing, that’s where the offices are. So anyway I left around 6:30 and was supposedly going to hit like all this mad crazy traffic and I was starving so I was like f’ it, I am going to eat McDonald’s. Shut up, I don’t want to hear it.

Anyway. So I walk in, and near the back of the restaurant there is this table of like 6 or 8 black guys. And they see me, and they start pounding the table and chanting “White girl! White girl!” They just did it like 3 or 4 times, but wtf? Are you serious? I was not really offended nor did I feel particularly troubled, I was just really, really confused. I paused very briefly in my steps and gave them a look, but I don’t really know what the look even said, I think it was mainly…confusion, like I said. Cuz yes, I am a white girl, this is true. But I mean, what if was like, “Black guys! black guys!” Then what? Then they would’ve been all up in my grill and calling me a racist little bitch or something right? I don’t know. It was weird. And, Veeve asked logically, was this an area that is low on whities? But it’s f’in Pasadena, so no, it’s def not so far as I know. Very odd I think, very odd.

Not quite as odd as the movie called Wild Things about the men of the American Ballet Theatre that I watched at Greg’s last night…yes, I said that…he loves that movie…don’t ask why he and his fiancé own it, I’m not sure about that, but it’s f’in hilarious watching these silly men in tights talk about their careers in ballet. Anyway, I’m peacing out. Ta-ta, toodles, nightie-night.

It's Official.

It's officially cold in LA. I guess winter has arrived. I think it might be about 50 degrees. Hold on. Let me check. Ok I checked. Weather.com says it's 56 degrees here in San Mon, but I think it's about 50 inside my apt. where I sit writing a biz plan critique. It's so cold in here that I'm wearing socks and I NEVER wear socks. And it's so cold that my fingers can barely type. I know, I'm typing, but I swear, it's hard work.

This is me: I remember when in 7th grade, it got so cold one week in Indy that all the fuel in the diesel buses froze and we got the whole week off. There was no snow - it was just so f'in cold that we could not go to school. I think it was like 20 below zero or something.

And I survived.

And now here I sit, it's 56, and I'm like, "shit! it's f'in winter! I'm going to die!!"

I think I need to go make some soup. My teeth are chattering! Just thought I'd share.

Eggnog. Just, not so much nog.

Something happened last week that I meant to write about. It was a first-time experience for me, so I think it’s most necessary to record somewhere that it can be read about for years to come. So it’s Wed night, and I’m outside The Other Room in Venice, standing by the bouncer to get in. And then I hear this sound, like something is whizzing past my ear, and then it sounds like glass shattering or something, and I’m all confused.

It was an egg. An f’ing egg. Are you serious? Who the f eggs people? That is the most retarded, ridiculous, retarded, ridiculous, etc. etc. thing ever. I think that past the age of like 15 that is fully unacceptable. It was this low-riding yellow Honda thing. I don’t know. They were going so fast it was hard to tell. I guess they were aiming at the bouncer. B/c they were 15 and pissed cuz their fakes sucked and they couldn’t get in. Little bitches. So anyway, it got all in my hair which is nasty and all over the back of my jacket which was my favorite jacket. At least currently it’s my favorite. I’m sorry. I still just can’t believe I got egged.

Let’s end by transitioning onto a lighter topic. Of course I went shopping while home. That is all I’m good for when I’m home anyway, eating and shopping. So we’re at Saks and we’re in the young men’s dept cuz Greggy is trying on clothes, and Dick decides to try on some Seven jeans, which in itself is funny enough, and he did end up buying a pair, which is also very, very funny. But, funnier is the fact that he tried them on, and then came out and did this little model strut thing for like 5 feet through the dept. It was kind of heinously embarrassing I guess b/c here is my little dad making these ridiculous gestures and faces but it was unbelievably funny. So while I wanted to cringe, all I could do was giggle like the school girl that I am.

There I go. I’m laughing again. It was that funny. That really happened. You are laughing too, I know you are, I can sense it. It could only be better if you knew Dick b/c that’s really necessary for the visual. Ok, I’m out. Night!

Giant Gourds Abound

It’s sunny, it’s 60 degrees, and it’s Indiana at the end of November. That is awesome. Additionally, I got on an earlier flight last night, I had ten hours of sleep, and I just had a bacon omelet. And once I’m done drinking my coffee, I am taking Mista out for a walk. And then I apparently have to go demonstrate my football prowess as Dick has signed us up to play in the “Turkey Bowl” which is the football game that is apparently occurring today in our neighbors’ back yard. Guess the only issue there is that I have no football prowess. So aside from that minor issue, life is good, life is very good.

And it’s good to be home. Always nice to be back with Dick and Jane. And Jack (who is now about 50 lbs and no longer looks like a puppy, but he still thinks he’s about 30 lbs and climbs all over you, but luckily he’s the apple of my eye so I don’t really care). It takes usually less than a ½ hour at home to relearn that they are pretty kind weird and hence how I turned out the way I did.

Dick last night informed us that he was unable to find and download the UCLA fight song. Mind you he has the Trojan fight song downloaded. Which led Greggy and I to ask why he has this song and if he actually listens to it. He does. And that’s weird. Jane meanwhile has a giant gourd on the center of the living room coffee table. It’s pretty much retarded looking. I told her it’s weird. She said: “I don’t care. I like it. And anyway, I’m weird.” No denial here, that’s refreshing.

She then informed us that she plans to take holiday pictures of each of holding various props. Greggy will be holding an airplane in honor of his future Top-Gun-ness; Dick will be holding Jack as he’s the newest addition to the fam; Jane will be holding a crutch (she recently f’ed up her knee, kinda sad but a little funny); and I apparently will be holding a bottle of Clorox bleach in honor of the job. Coming soon to a mailbox near you. I’m envisioning facial expressions of the recipients right now, and they are…yes…here comes the w word…weird.

Oh, and Dick told a really bad joke this morning about shopping for husbands and wives (I’ll spare you the details). He announced before telling it that he hoped he didn’t mess up the punch line. That’s so me!

Well kids, coffee is done. I’m off to walk the pup. Hasta la vista and very merry Turkey Day to you all. Remember, Turkey in the Pan, Turkey in the Pan. Eat much! The end.

Turkey in the Pan...

Thanksgiving is almost here!!! Who's excited?? Me! Me! I am!! I love this holiday. All you have to do is eat. And then sleep. And then eat again. And then go to bed at like 9pm. How can you not like that? For the record, in elementary song we used to sing this song: "Turkey in the pan, pumpkin pie, turkey in the pan, hidee-hi...blah blah blah" The relevant part here is turkey in the pan, pumpkin pie, which my dear friend Bethy and I pretty much sing to one another year round, but specially at TGiving time when it's for real. Her hubby Keith has apparently caught the hang of our ditty and sings it too. So it's good stuff. So sometime if you're around ask me for the tune and I'll fill you in. That will never happen.

Moving on.

So, now that it's hitting me that I'm very possibly relocating to SF in the summer/fall, I am starting to realize how much/why I love LA. I think most of it is b/c it's so f'in weird. The people are all such personalities. Like you can't live here and be vanilla. Unless you're a b-school student. Then you can be totally vanilla maybe. But hey: we are super premium dark chocolate raspberry ribbon compared to your typical b-school. But anyway. I totally soaked this whole fact in the other day.

I was sitting at SBucks at Sunset and Barrington, reading my biz law text, drinking my fav bev of the holiday season, a gingerbread latte (2% milk, 2 pumps of syrup, whipped cream: yes please!!!) on Monday morning. And seriously, everyone is silly. Except me, of course. In line w/ me I have this guy who wears his sunglasses inside. And they are huge and have big green frames. And I see him every time I go there.

And sitting by me I have these two French guys. Unsure if they were lovers or whatnot. They are chain-smoking and oui-oui-oui-ing. And they have this dog. It's a lab/beagle mix. And at one point one of them leaves. And upon his return the other one gets all princessy and is like, "You can't just leave me with the dog you know!!" Even though he had to do shit w/ the dog. There was this chick wearing a juicy suit who kept running past my table, too. She was awesome. She was super loud. And she knew EVERYONE at SBucks. And when she passed the lab/beagle she'd be like, "You! You're a biter!" But the dog was totally NOT a biter.

And then there were two women carrying Barney's bags who both had dogs who stopped for a while to chill w/ the lab/beagle. And they had like a 10 minute conversation w/ the dog, including: "I'll be back in 20 minutes! We'll be right back to see you again!" I'm sure the Frenchies were thrilled.

And there was a biz-man who ran past two ladies and he knew them. Everyone knew everyone at this SBs, and clearly, none of them actually do anything for a living, so far as I can tell. It's like a whole town of crazies who are loaded and occupation-less.

Which is why in the end, I guess I have to move. B/c I may be crazy, but I have a job, I actually work. I'll never really fit in. Hmm. I think LA is the only place in America like that. What a weird place. Anyway, peace out. Turkey in the pan to you. Gobble gobble!

I Got a Job...and Other Weird Stuff

I just went to Bagel Nosh to get a sandwich. I asked for a toasted everything bagel and then was like, "Hold on, hold on" cuz it was taking me a moment to determine what I wanted or how to say it or something like that. But, while lost deep in bagel thought, the little guy behind the counter was like "You want turkey salad." And that was what I wanted. B/c I have ordered it before. But that was once or twice and the last time I ordered it was about 3 months ago. And the last time I was even at Bagel Nosh was well over a month ago. Is that weird? I say yes.

Also weird: was driving West on Sunset yesterday, stuck in traffic, of course, and was chatting on the phone. So I turn my head and this guy stuck in the traffic heading East (so it was impossible that I had cut him off or anything like that) looks at me really nastily and starts mimicking someone talking on a cell. And then he's giving me thumbs down and making these really rude, mean faces, and then he starts flicking me off. Really, this truly happened. I did absolutely nothing to this guy, and he was being a total ass. What the f.

Continuing with the weird theme: at dinner last night (Katsuya, amazing) we checked in and then waited nearly an hour for our table. We were going to check on it. My friends noted that when we checked in they actually wrote down a description of our party and it apparently said: "denim jacket and leggings." They wrote my outfit in to describe our party. Weird. Oh btw, they didn't really get the sake bomb concept so much there. So we just continually poured shots of sake into our glasses of beer (the sake cups weren't shot glasses so wouldn’t' fit into the glasses).

Why, you ask, were you drinking sake bombs? Because I was celebrating bitches. I got an f'ing job. can you believe that? I can't. I'm still in a bit of shock. Not only a job, a good job!! But, it's in San Fran. Don't know how I feel about that. It's really very cold and foggy up there. It's a big decision. But I have until end of Jan to decide. Anyway, weird!!! So, anyway, I need to go and keep working on the business plan that has thus far consumed all daylight hours in my weekend. It's kind of making me want to puke. But I won't, don't worry ok? The end.

DC: Not a Victim of the Rash of Violent Crime!

It’s been a while, no? Did you miss me? No? I bet you didn’t even realize I was gone. But I was!!!

I ventured back to DC last weekend. Everyone asks why. But really it was for no other reason than to go say hi. Do you know what? Traveling from LA to DC takes about 4 hours (tail winds) and traveling back takes nearly 6 (head winds). This means that I traveled about 10 hours to go say “hi.” DC friends: shit, I really must like you a lot. And my apologies for perhaps seeming like I was going to fall asleep in my porridge (I didn’t really eat porridge but I feel like if u were going to fall asleep in something it’d be porridge, so there you go) at times. But shit, 10 hours.

For the record, since I always like to post my airplane travel drama up here, no worries, this trip didn’t go by w/out some. On the way there: good drama!! Marched up to a boarding flight and hopped onto a direct flight (was supposed to connect through Chi town at 4am…a good idea…). Way back: bad drama. Flight was delayed over 2 hours. Was NOT happy.

Anyway, whatever. Can I say I did something over the weekend I’ve always wanted to do? Whenever I’m meeting someone and they find out I live in LA (and they don’t), and they’re like “what do you do?” I always want to fake them out and say I’m in “the industry.” So I was out to dinner w/ Mare and several of her friends in CVille, and they’re like, “So, Lindy, what do you do in LA?” I leaned forward a little dramatically and gave a nice pregnant pause and was like, “I’m an actress!” I gave them enough time to get a nice round of “reallys?” / “wows” and then was like “No! No. Ha. I’m in business school.” I think that’s a nice contrast. Truth be told, I actually have a whole other part prepped, about how I’m bartending at nights and on weekends, but I’ve scored some small bit parts, like extras spots in the OC and whatnot… Hey dude, I have to think of something when I’m swimming laps… Anyway, it was fun. Will have to do the full version sometime.

Anyway, here is the thing. I kind forgot how those southern boyz are the biggest group of clones ever. Seriously, EVER. Here’s the uniform: long shaggy hair. Baseball cap (distressed). Polo brand polo shirt (only in pink, light blue, light yellow, or light green). Or, alternatively, if it’s chilly, a striped Polo button down. Pants/shorts: can be khaki or perhaps madras. Or maybe embroidered animals. Or something equally UGGly. Belt: one of those QB whale-embroidered things. Shoes: Rainbow flops. It’s a very tight distribution if you plot it, and I don’t think it’s a normal distribution b/c I’m sure that more than 68% of the sample falls within 1 standard deviation of the mean. Stu: these boyz are all yours. I’m over them.

What else did I learn. I learned that my friends think I have an unnatural obsession for Jaleo Restaurant down by the MCI Center. Crazy thing is…I think they might be right… I don’t really care either way. I love my tapas, and I love them lots, and I love them particularly at Jaleo, washed down by copious amounts of white sangria (essentially Cava, strawberries, mint, and Liquor 43 – Fram: is that what it’s called???).

I want to also say that after hitting up my fav bar, Local 16, which is more crowded every time I visit it, I could not resist Pizza Mart. But I was in U Street, NOT Adams Morgan, and there was a Pizza Boli, not a Mart or Napoli, and they did NOT have single slices, only individual pizzas, and this massive massive man tried to pick me up for a one night stand. So I ate it anyway. And then I felt sick.

Anyway, it was 45 degrees and rainy on Sunday. It was a great reminder of why I moved to LA. But, DC friends: wish I could take you with me. Thanks for humoring my hankerings and welcoming me back to my little political hotbed. Bill: you get the award for most grown up. I’m very proud of you. The action figures have left the building!!! On that note, I’m closing up shop. The end.

You Must Really Smell Pretty Bad

Tonight, I went on a "food safari," and it was awesome. I will spare you a blatant advertisement for a business idea conceived by several friends, but if you live here or are coming in town to visit moi, then you just ask about this thing and I'll 'splain. Anyway, all you need to know right now is that I ventured over to Korea town/USCVille/Crenshaw Blvd (doesn't that sound all ominous, thank you rap artists?) this evening. I departed my humble abode at 6:30. Want to know what time I arrived? 8pm. PS: was supposed to arrive at 7...oopsies... Yes, I traveled 22 miles in 1.5 hours. Interstate driving. You know what that is?? A whole lot of suck. I made several phone calls. Frou, you got lucky b/c I was over the frustration by the time I talked to you. Leslyn...not so much lucky, more unlucky, I'm sure it wasn't pleasant.

Anyway, the eats were good. Can I share something disturbing though: when I picked up my car from the valet, it smelled like BO. How bad does one have to smell to ensure that he leaves his scent behind after sitting in a vehicle for maybe one minute? I dunno, perhaps he was totally chilling in the Accord...But no, I think that is unlikely and he just really, really smelled.

I also want to take this opportunity to reveal how happy I am that I'm not a lawyer, nor a law student. Biz law: I heart you, but that is really only due to my teacher who is this silly, plucky little woman who delights me to no end with her crazy sarcastic antics. But...anyway...I just finished my reading for the night, it was all about bankruptcy (all the chapters, you know, 11, 13, 12 for the farmers and fisherman, etc. etc.) and shit, it made my eyes glaze over. That is all I have to say about that. But it's cool; the reading essentially put me to sleep, so I should be sheep counting in no time. Ta-ta.

It's Late and My Arms Hurt

First off, let it be known, I want to be out right now, but I went out for Veeve's bday and around midnight everyone was like "i'm sleepy!" and hence the evening ended. But then I came home and made a few drunk-ish dials to E coast friends and now I find myself tired anyway so maybe this being home and getting ready for bed thing is a good idea anyway.

I want to say though: you who were out w/ me tonight: thank you so much for alerting me to the fact that you can see the decorated top of my tights sticking out from my skirt (did the whole skirt/tall boots/tights things this evening). I think that decoration is made for the eyes of yours truly only, and hence, I 50% chance likely look skanky, and there are many looks I go for, but this, this is not one of them. So, you suck.

That now covered, hmm, what has this weekend held in store? As usual, not work. I have golfed and surfed though. I got to try out my wetsuit this morning up in Ventura, and you know what? That shit keeps you W-A-R-M. I like to use the cap letters/hyphen thing when I REALLY want to emphasize something, so you KNOW I was warm out there. And, if you pee in your wetsuit, it keeps you even toastier!! Not that I would ever pee in my wetsuit, b/c that is gross... But, in case you were curious, I didn't do as much surfing as I did paddling. I paddled my ass off. By the time I left I was BEAT from all that arm motion. Sheesh!!!

Oh, and re: golf, I have a story about the demon ball from hell. You see, last time I played I had this Hogan 3 ball that I decided was bad luck and I stopped using it half way through the course, but held onto it. Then I kinda eschewed the idea of a bad luck ball when I played y-day, and I used it again. But then around hole #3 I totally sliced that baby, and the Hogan went onto a whole entire other green, but I was like, f it, screw that Hogan 3, I never want to see it again. But the thing is, it kept coming back. Like a few holes later I was going up to my ball, and I found mine, and Winnie was like "Oh, right here is that Hogan 3! You want it?" And before I could deny it, he tossed it at me and I caught it b/c it was coming my way, and the Hogan 3 was back w/ me again. But then I was like, "this thing is cursed!" so I tossed it away. But then at the end of the game, Garg who was playing behind w/ his fiance (b/c we got in trouble for playing 5s and had to split 3 and 2) was like, "hey Lindy, isn't this your Hogan?" and tossed the f'in Hogan at me AGAIN. I swear that ball really is cursed and I just can't get away from him!!! What a shit ball.

Ok, then. I think that is all I have to say about that. Oh, yes though, I did have some Fritto Misto tonight. And, I will say as I have before, long live Fritto Misto. That is some fantastic eats right there. The. End.

Sexy Time!!!

So, new experience last night. Went to one of those movie screenings in Westwood. Guess what movie, gohead gohead, guess guess guess. Borat! I've long been an admirer, it's no secret that I love him and love to imitate him even more. Even though there are those that say my Borat voice sounds like my Chinese voice sounds like my French voice etc. etc. But whatever none of my concern.

Anyway, so I got this green pass thingy from my friend Mike and took my friend Roberto w/ me, and I wish I could say it was like a date or something but in fact Roberto is married, so umm, no go there. Anyway not so much a date movie anyway. So let's chat about this. I don't want to spoil anything so I won't give anything away or whatnot, I'll just give some general observations:
1) 1/2 hour of Borat: I like!! >1/2 hour of Borat: It's a-nice.......NOT!
2) There is one scene in this movie that made me gag. No joke, I almost threw up in my mouth. After you see this film, would love to hear your reactions to this scene, and I won't tell you what it is cuz I bet you can figure it out.
3) No matter how many times Borat says something like "I like a the sex" or "please share my sister" or "sexy time" or "The US and A" it is funny. Shit just never gets old.
4) Americans are kind of shit heads.

Ok, whatever, I can't go on. I was at school for 13 hours today. I think I just might start sleeping there. Oh PS: I got an internship today! That is fun.

Your Personal Canvas? I Think NOT.

Who is that man in the mask? It's Jack Bauer of course. Dick and Jane, stellar job on the Halloween costume for the puppy. Really. Your creative juices are overflowing and the dog looks adorable. Umm, but, if you are really going to insist on a "bandit" costume (otherwise known as a strip of black fabric with some holes in it over one's eyes), can you please at least place the mask correctly?

Anyway, my car: is DIRTY. Some might say filthy. Whatever you want to call it, it has enough shitty LA grime on it to draw pictures in. I guess there are people out there that just can't help taking advantage of a golden opportunity like drawing pictures on someone's dirty vehicle, I mean, b/c wow, it is so exhilarating and fun. We're talking non-stop laughs.

So I noticed tonight that someone drew a hoo-ha, otherwise known as a penis, on my back window. Thanks for that, no really, thanks a million. For the record, it's a terrible penis drawing too. You can tell what it is, but it's practically abstract it's so terribly done. I'm disappointed in the artistic interpretation and hope for better next time.

In the mean time, I took a paper towel and some 409 to my window and the penis has left the honda. Hoo-rah. Anyway, right, just had to share. Happy Halloween kids!! Watch out for the old razor blade in the candy trick, alright? I don't want any injuries!

Naked Photo Hunt: I Heart You

Tonight I had a couple drinx to celebrate my friend Laura's birthday. We hit up a lovely undergrad bar where I became reacquainted with an old friend that I used to be totally tight with but hadn't seen in a while. She's kinda small, dark, very electric, I call her Photo Hunt.

She comes in many varieties, but the only one worth playing is the erotic version. And you get two options: you can play "hunks" or "babes." And don't question my sexuality, but out of the two, one sux, and the other doesn't, and the one that doesn't is the babes version. Have you played this? No? Did you read Highlights mag as a child? Yes? Do you remember the little hidden pictures page in every issue? Did it delight you? Do you crave an adult version? Enter naked photo hunt.

So this is it: you've got a split screen, with a scantily clad and typically unattractive women in a lurid pose in front of a really cheesy background, and there are subtle diffs b/t the two versions of the photo. And you ID the diffs. Pretty straightforward. But for some reason it provides hours and hours and hours of entertainment. Well at least it has in the past. Tonight I think I only did about 1/2 hour. And btw, it's a group game.

And hey - quick Q here - what was up w/ the guys being all afraid of the nudie women tonight? Seriously I bet you like nipples more than I do. Just a guess. Anyway, I'm making an effort to reduce the length of my entries these days. So, to help back that up I'll just end things here. But know this: naked photo hunt (erotic babes version): I heart you. And Laura L: shit, I think we memorialized you at Maloney's tonight with all "your" wins. Congrats.

Just Take a Look

http://www.philtube.com/?id=27

Friday Night in the Valley

On Friday night from 5 until midnight yes from 5 until midnight in the Valley yes the valley (you know like the source of valley girls) I was volunteering. I guess I was originally supposed to be a scharacter. We went to a meeting on Wed where they debriefed us. First they told us that they’d we’d be in “wardrobe and makeup” for 1.5 hours where they’d put the “blood and slime” on nice and thick. Then they said that fear and violence go together and that just to chill if a customer lashes out at you. So I wasn’t down with that, nor were several other of my girlfriends, so we turned the two-person concession stand into a 6-person concession stand and spent the night selling candy bars and light sticks (and kisses??) to teenaged boys dressed like members of Fallout Boy rolling on X and 12 year old girls wearing bandaids around their asses (but they were hard sells as they were all “on diets.”). Oh we also rode the gyroscope, jumped on the trampoline thingy (they operator told me I could go home “to my mom” and tell all about the flips I did…or didn’t do…ps I don’t live with my mom…). And did the haunted houses. And then I didn’t want to shut my eyes when I was washing the soap off my face in the shower that night.

So now it’s Sunday night and I started my HW around 4 and I still have much work left to do. But can I say something really mushy first? I had a bridal shower this afternoon and I just have to say how absolutely fabulous the guest of honor is if she’s reading this, b/c she truly is and she deserved every little bit of today’s mush-fest. Have fun with all your new undies dumpling!

No Limitations to Drunk Communications

Yesterday morning I woke up at 10am to get ready for a business-y lunch thing at Palomino. It really was a prime morning for wearing business casual and having inspirational discussion, considering that I had been a drink-swilling, three blind mouse ass the night before who ended her night at 3am w/ a Burrito from Benitos. But anyway, I sat down to rattle off a few emails before heading out and there was a message from Mark: "Ok, so what don't you get?" And it sounded kind of mean and I had no clue what he was talking about and I was like, "what the hell, I don't know, what are you talking about?" Wait, that was my internal monologue.

So then I looked at my away message and saw that it said "I just don't get it." But the thing is, I have no idea why I typed that or what it meant. I don't remember typing it either. All I could come up w/ is that in an inebriate state, I must have logged into Gmail at 3am and typed that away message...but I would still really like to know what I didn't get. Hmm. So, I told Mark. And he was like, "So, first drunk dialing, then drunk texting...and now you are leaving drunk away messages?" Yes. That is apparenlty what I've come to. I guess drunk MySpace messages will have to be next. Hmmm.

Foozeball Sux and Other Random Thoughts

I think I have been working all day long. No seriously. I had class, and then I read, and then I had a meeting, and then I debated biz law for a few hours w/ my lovely biz law group, and then I worked on some biz plan development. I don't think I've done so much school work in a single day all year, so that's quite an accomplishment I'd say.

But anyway, my "reading" after class was hampered by two things. One was Doempke, that force of nature, who spent nearly an hour on a couch in the student lounge harassing me, much of the harassment focused on him letting me know how small my boobs are. And, hey, I already know this. The second was f'in foozball. Did I spell that right? Did I ever mention I won the spelling bee in 8th grade? B/c I totally did. Stan called me a nerd for that today, but hey, no effort kids, I could just spell shit at age 13!

Anyway, yes, foozball. I was in the student lounge, as I mentioned, and pre-Doempke, I settled in on a couch, plugged into my iPod, grabbed my highlighter, and hit up the biz law text for some good old contract law. And then the racquet started when these two losedawgs started to play foozeball. Do you know how loud that stupid game is? It belongs in a bar. Or maybe, a game room. But not in the lounge! No! Not in the lounge. I figure the couches are in there for a reason: mostly so I can have a place to recline in comfort while reading. And it's really hard to concentrate when people are foozing. Anyway, I just wanted to bitch about that.

Last thought of the evening. I wore shorts with leggings today. Yes, I said that. Yes, I wore that. It tied together quite well actually. Black leggings, camo print (they are super cute I promise) shorts, white tank w/ black top over it. Cute. But I got at least 4 very obvi sidelong glances, mostly from guys. I don't get it. When I pull skirts w/ leggings no one sidelongs me. So why knock the shorts? The leggings keep my kneesies warm!

Finally: Sad sad news. The landlady vetoed my dog request. I told her it's ok cuz the Veeve already vetoed me anyway. Sigh. When will I get my Kirby?? Alright, I'm out on that. Night.

Well Hello Mr. Moan-y Pants.

Ok first of all I wondered if there was some sort of joke related to syrup or pumpkins at Starbucks. You see, I am out of coffee, and needed my fix this morning, so I hit up the 4Bucks (I know this joke is so old but I'm corny). I got a pumpkin latte b/c I L-O-V-E them (I also know their coffee sux but this drink is off the chain). And I placed my order: grande 2% pumpkin latte, light on the syrup. And the register guy said it out loud to his fellow barist-O and then they both laughed hysterically, at the light on the syrup part. Is this funny? Is this a joke? I don't get it.

Anyway, more importantly, I feel like I always take away these observations from yoga, but I can't help it, there are just lots of silly things and people in yoga that make me laugh and stuff. (oh ps, the instructor patted my hips and said good job honey at the end of the session while we were in resting position. that made my day. i'm not gonna lie). Anyway, so I go w/ a gay friend, and we're sitting there chilling before class, and this shirtless guy walks in, and he is H-O-T. He's a virtual adonnis. He's rapturous. You get it? And my friend is like, "Oh, now I totally see why you come to yoga here." And he sits like right in front and to the left of us, so we're all joking about falling off balance while staring at Mr. Hot Guy.

But then we discover he's a total moaner. Yoga: all about the deep breathing and stuff, this "ocean-sounding breath" or whatever. Ok, breathing, good, I like. But some people go totally over the edge and they are all like totally doing weird moany random breathing for a whole 1.5 hours and it's just weird, no other way to put it, it's just f'in weird. It's such a turn-off. By the end of class Mr. Hot Guy had dropped from like an 11 (on a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the lowest and 10 being the highest...this is the point at which anyone who took my biz plan class survey points out that we failed to use a good scale for our survey but thanks for taking it anyway if you did take it and guys please tell me you still think that $50 is worth something). anyway! I digressed! So, he dropped from an 11 to like a total 4. No shit.

So the lesson is: Don't be a total weird moany breather person in yoga b/c it's weird and scary. The end. Oh PS: I really really really still want that puppy but I need to convince the Veeve that he won't eat our shit and make messy. If you have any ideas or would like to submit a little essay of sorts to Veeve telling her how responsible I am, plz let me know.

Bun in the Oven

Reached a milestone in life tonight - discovered that one of my bf's is preggers, so this marks the first of my friends to become with child. Unbelievable. My friend Meliss was talking this weekend about how a friend was saying he's dating a girl that is 27, and Meliss was like, "27! That is old!" She then realized that she is in fact, herself, 27. She said she temporarily digressed in age and forgot how old she actually is. Or something like that. I don't know.

Point being, it's like that: you go along, feeling all young and stuff, and then something happens that snaps you back to reality and makes you realize how f'in old you actually are. Such as...finding out a friend is having a baby. And btw, Moe, we all love you, but I am really curious what it's going to be like around the Hood hood after you pop that thing out. You and motherhood, that is a crazy thing right there.

Anyway, one more note from my not-so-young self. At dinner the other night my friend Sauj and I were discussing blogs, and I decided to guest blog for her (she's quarter life crisis). Which I did. But I guess from now on I'll stick to my own blogging territory now that Tom has called me out. Tom, I am guessing you are not reading this anyhow, but you are dead to me, and you no longer rock.

Yo, Put Your Phone Away.

I just got home from school. Want to know what I spent my last 1/2 hour there doing? I was playing a mailbox drinking game. It's kind of complicated...but essentially...you had 10 seconds to put 3 fliers into three different mailboxes. You see, there are a lot of crazy names out there, like, Onkowidgjaja (did I spell that right????) and it's hard to find the boxes when you've been drinking wine. So then, if you got your fliers in the boxes in time, you won. If not, you lose. And you drink. Shit dawg, don't make fun of me, it was a first year game.

Anyway. Let's talk about this guy who sits near me in one of my classes. You see? I'm staying classy here, I'm not saying a name, not saying where he sits, not saying what class. I'm just telling the story. It's not really a story actually. It's just a fun fact. If that. Pretty much I just find this guy's habit really irritating and am thusly writing about it.

So let's see. It's class number 5 and this kid continues w/ the same weird habit. He has this Nokia phone, it's silver, it's a slider (kinda neat). And he plays with it like ALL CLASS. Plays with it is not the right word. He fondles it. Yes, he sits for 1.5 hours and fondles his silver phone. He slides the slide piece up and down, he stares at the picture, he wipes the face grease off the screen, he pulls the back off the phone, etc. etc. Whatever. I don't really care what he's doing to it, the fact of the matter is that for the entire 1.5 hours, the phone leaves his fingers for maybe 5 minutes. The other 85 minutes it's in his hands, being fondled. And it's weird. And for some reason it's incredibly distracting. Today I leaned over to my friend beside me (No! I will NOT tell you who!) and was like "Dude why does this guy always fondle his phone???")

There is no point at all to me telling you this; I just find it incredibly odd and more than a little irritating and wanted to bring it to your attention. So, I've accomplished that now. Since this is one thing I can say I accomplished today, I have no issues with going to bed. So, I am going to brush my teeth (b/c, Mark, I typically do brush my teeth) and go to bed. The end.

Might as Well Have Walked under a Ladder

Dick and Jane are in town this weekend for a little visit. Jane arrived yesterday, and we kicked off the visit rather uneventfully, with a bit of shopping and a lovely Houston’s dinner (if SV were here right now her eyes would light up and she’d be like “Now that I know Houston’s has no corkage fee I want to go there ALL the time!!!”…but, we didn’t bring a bottle, sorry dearie). Anyway.

So this morning I woke up by 8:30 so I could shower, breakfast, and get some errands run before the parents arrived chez moi at 11. I got dressed, etc. etc. and coffee, cell, purse in hand, stepped out around 9:30 thinking to myself, “Oh, it’s so lovely out today! Oh, I’m perfectly on time to get all my shit done! Oh, what a great, fantastic, perfect Santa Monica day!” Can you guess what happens now? Have you sensed lately that I have this huge massive dark cloud of bad luck that follows me around perpetually? No? So…the door slams…and yeah, for the 85th time, I realize I have locked myself out of the house…

I’m not panicking this time though. It’s so f’in ironic, it’s like my life is on repeat. And anyway it’s Friday the 13th. It in a way was almost kind of nice, like, I was getting my bad luck shit out of the way to make way for a good day. So, anyway, I first get a barrette out of my purse and break the metal into skinnier pieces. And I stick them into the lock. Because I was going to pick the lock. No, really, I was. See, I have watched them do it so many times that I figured I could do it too. But, surprisingly, I can’t. So then I first went around the back of the alley and stared around for several minutes for a ladder. B/c I was going to climb up and let myself into the sliding glass door. Part of me was like, “well, the glass door is shut and locked. But maybe I’ll just punch hole through it.” No ladder. Then I investigated the route to the balcony. B/c I was ready to scale the building and play SpideyMan. But it looked pretty much impossible.

So then I dialed everyone in Santa Monica to beg for a ride. I got Popoff. And contacted my property office. And got my keys. Oh shit! Did I mention the best part? While sitting on the steps outside my apartment, calling the property mgt office and explaining my situation, the very guy that witnessed my summer lock out happened to walk by again. He started laughing. He was like, “Umm, are you really locked out again??” I was sputtering stuff, like, “Yes! But it’s Friday the 13th! So, this basically HAD to happen! And I’m calm this time! See? No tears!! And, I have a plan this time!!” He laughed. At which point I was like, “So, I bet you think I’m really, really stupid don’t you??” He said no. I was like “well, if I were you, seeing me, I would think I was really, really dumb. But you know what? I’m not dumb! I’m actually pretty intelligent!!” He grinned, I think…he walked away.

Anyway, so by 10:30 I was back on track. And did get my shit done. Anyway, so that was a really awesome start to my day.

So…what else. We hit up the Getty Villa in Malibu. Awesome. A big collection of Roman and Greek artifacts (among the fabulous architecture). So my mom overheard a great quote – random old guy to security guy: “So, umm, where are all the ancient Chinese artifacts?” I also liked this quote from my mom. We’re standing by a case that has in it a solid gold chalice, circa ONE AD. Jane: “Wow, they just really don’t make things like they used to.” Used to being only 2005 years ago. Right.

After the Getty, and some Thai food, we went for a drive up into Malibu. On the way back Greggy suggested a drive through Topanga Canyon road, which according to my brother would spit us out onto Sunset or Calabasas or something like that since they aren’t related anyway but I let that slide. When I get on the road I note that I’ about on E. And the straight up hill drive didn’t really do so much for gas conservation. We about didn’t make it. I was pretty positive we were going to run out of gas. But we made it a 76 station. In Woodland Hills. Do you know where Woodland Hills is? Neither do I. But it was pretty shitty. All I know is that I bet when Cher went to that party in the valley where she got abducted and shit, it was probably in Woodland Hills or an adjacent area. Thanks for the scenic route, Greggy.

And the rest of the day was normal. Dinner at Brass Cap: food was excellent, service sucked. My favorite part of the meal. Dick (we were celebrating a belated birthday for him) at the end of the meal was like, “Umm, I have one request. Will you all sing happy birthday to me?” We were like, “you have to order some dessert!!” But he didn’t want any. He just insisted we sing. So we did, even though it was damn weird. And then he blew out…the candle on the table. Also weird. And very dark. But he said he made a wish. So that’s nice.

Now it’s 11 and it’s Friday night and I’m blogging and then I’m going to bed. That is just how cool I’ve become. So ta-ta, and good night. Hope your 13th didn’t yield any lock-outs. Oh, right, that only happens to me. Ok then, good night anyway.

Yay-ah!!!! (that's how Usher sings it)

I dropped my bag in the office of our Career Center Director this afternoon b/c I was too lazy to carry it up to B301 or wherever I was heading to.

I came back down around 6 and as I approached the office door I heard a phone going off...and the ringtone was "Yeah" by Usher. I was like, no way is that coming from the Director's office. Nope, no way. But it kept getting louder and I kept getting closer. And yeah, it was, it was definitley the "Yeah" by Usher ring tone on the phone of the Director of our Career Center.

I really don't have much beyond that to say. I think it rather speaks for itself.

It makes me wonder if I'll ever find permanent employment or if I'll just have to be a barista or something.

PS: I think I just printed like 4 copies of our "confidential" business plan outline (b/c you know you have to stamp "confidential" on anything related to your business plan or you may never get in front of a VC) to the computer lab. Was really confused as to why my HP wasn't spitting it out. But eventually the light bulb came on. So if you found that biz plan outline in the lab, know this: we OWN the Funky Uncle name, bitches, so don't even think about taking it.

Welcome to LA, Bitches. Check Your Ponytail.

Ok so I recently was looking through a box of old stuff when I was home in IN as Jane wanted to clean out my closet, and I came across some fun old stuff, including my formal itinerary from senior year. PS: these documented, well not really b/c they were made up, our sorority formal weekend. For curious minds, my senior year formal, around 11:30pm I showed up at the VFW with Moe Poe and we simultaneously asked in “high pitched breathy voices” – “where is everyone?” The formal was not held at VFW. I don’t get it.

Anyway, this weekend was a virtual reunion. Veeve and I entertained 5 Wakies plus Erin. In a throwback to our itinerary days, we decided that we must create one from this weekend. Umm, this might not be funny to you if you weren’t there…but…this is my blog…and I can write whatever I want…. Here we go. Let’s the set the scene beginning on Thursday night. So far only Fravs and her friend Amelia are in town. We spend the evening in Manhattan Beach. We’ll begin at the key juncture.

Friday
12:10am: Time to dance. I place my clutch on the stage. Remark that I’ll be “keeping a close eye on it.”
12:20am: Because I've been keeping a close eye on it, my clutch is gone. Contents include camera, phone, keys, and full wallet with cash and 98 unneeded credit cards, etc.
12:21am: I tweak out.
12:22am: Fravel makes laps in the bushes and trash cans to locate purse. McBride and I make laps around club.
12:25am: I accuse a woman of stealing my purse. Almost get ass kicked.
12:30am: I give up hope. Stand drunk and forlorn outside shitty undergrad Manhattan Beach bar.
12:31am: McBride emerges outside holding my clutch, all contents in tact.
12:32am: I jump up and down, scream, hump McBride. All is well with world.
1:00am: We pass out in Manhattan Beach.
8:00am: Fravel wakes up and commence 8 hour hangover with first wretching session.
9:30am: Me, Fravel, McBride depart Manhattan to pick up Dixon at LAX.
9:33am: Umm, where is my car??
9:34am: They towed my car. Car is impounded in beautiful Torrance, CA and will cost $200 to reclaim.
9:35am: We collapse on street corner. Realize we’re stranded in Manhattan Beach. Realize we have no keys, no car, no ride, and will be at least 45 minutes late to pick up Dixon at LAX.
9:45am: I, after failed attempts to find friends to help out, hail cab.
9:55am: Fravel tires not to vom in shitty ass bumpy Taxi van en route to Santa Monica.
10:00am: Dixon arrives into LAX airport.
10:30am: Fravel passes out on my bed. McBride and I travel to LAX airport. Battle the 10:30am Friday traffic.
11:15am: Finally pick up Dixon, 1+ hours late.
11:30am: Arrive at impound lot. Pay $198 bill. Staff asks, “do you have your keys?” I respond affirmatively. Search purse for keys.
11:31am: I do not have car keys. I have no keys, for that matter.
11:50am: Me, McBride, and Dixon pass by LAX airport for 4th time on Friday afternoon.
12:30pm: Arrive at 848 18th street. Ring doorbell 18 times. No answer. I go around back and hollers “FRAVELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL” at top of lungs for 3 minutes before Fravel emerges from shower to let group into house.
2:00pm: Fravel, Dixon, McBride, and I arrive at restaurant in Venice Beach.
2:01pm: Fravel is still puking.
4:00pm: Jami arrives into LAX.
4:01pm: To pass time while Jami collects luggage, we take a photo shoot of the PT Cruiser in an Exxon parking lot.
4:20pm: Pick-up complete. Second visit to LAX of the day. Fifth drive by.
4:41pm: I tell friends for the third time that I “feel really bad” and will “just drive to get car at impound on my own.”
4:42pm: McBride reminds me yet again that I cannot go get her car without them driving me there.
5:15pm: PT Cruiser arrives at Impound Lot.
5:25pm: The little Honda emerges.
5:26pm: I discover parking ticket attached to windshield.
7:30pm: Me and Frou hit up 15th and Wilshire BOA ATM.
7:45pm: I pack going out purse. Discovers I left ATM card in ATM machine.
7:46pm: Fuck me.
7:47pm: RSVP for 3 Hollywood club lists. What the f is the point of these things?
7:48pm: “NO McBride, for the last time. We are not going to Old Man blah blah blah Check Your PonyTail Club in the parking lot of the 99 cent store.”
8:30pm: Time of dinner reservations at Los Feliz restaurant.
8:50pm: Time we arrive to restaurant.
8:51pm: Shit, the hostess man is really f’ing hot.
9:00pm: Wow, so is the bartender.
11:30pm: Lindy, Frou, Dix, Jami, McBride, Veeve get in line at LAX. Not the airport. The club.
11:31pm: Tickets distributed to group. $20 cover bypassed. This is relevant.

Saturday
12:00am: McBride is dismayed. “I don’t know what I expected. I guess I just thought that Lindsey Lohan would be standing line next to Paris Hilton.”
12:10am: Jami is exasperated. “Where are the f’in paparazzi??? I want to see some damn paparazzi!!!!”
12:15am: Dixon approaches club bouncer. “Excuse me sir, do you frequently hang out with famous people? Are they here tonight? If not, do you know where I might find them?”
1:30am: I request “Dontcha” by the PCD.
2:00am: Guess they are not going to play Dontcha.
10:15am: Arrive at Bread and Porridge.
10:30am: I express delight once again over the fact that we didn’t have to pay the $20 cover.
10:31am: Dixon: “What do you mean we didn’t pay cover?? I paid the cover!!!”
10:32am: Dixon feels stupid.
12:30pm: Liz and Erin arrive at our doorstep.
12:35pm: Liz calls me for the 5th time. She really has to pee.
12:45pm: We arrive to 848 18th.
1:00pm: Shopping.
3:50pm: Still shopping.
4:30pm: Happy hour and Sex and the City commences.
5:00pm: Danny calls. Swears he’s coming to dinner.
8:30pm: Dinner in Venice commences.
9:00pm: Fravel: “Now you can call Danny and assure him I’m not smoking shit.”
9:30pm: Little Brother Greggy and Little Brother Nicolas have shifted from discussing politics to discussing how to buy and sell piranhas.
9:31pm: Why am I sitting at this end of the table?
9:32pm: Other end of table overhears little brother conversations. Contemplates joining.
9:33pm: Other end of table returns to Fravel’s commentary on the current headband trend.
11:00pm: Arrive at Beechwood in Venice.

Sunday
12:00am: Me, explaining to some curious guys what it’s like to host 6 women: “It’s crazy. It’s nuts. Getting ready is a shit show. You should see our apartment. 8 pairs of shoes in one corner, and 28 pairs of underwear in another.
12:01am: Conversation stops. “Really, Lindy??? 28 pairs of underwear???”
12:30am: Commence photo taking session.
12:40am: Still taking pictures.
12:45am: Greggy: “If I see that camera take one more picture, I’m going to punch someone.”
12:55am: Fravel: “So, Greggy, do your friends all call you Greggy??”
1:15am: Commence drunk dialing session.
1:20am: I take bathroom break.
1:25am: “Jami, Cousin Adam?? Really??”
1:30am: Call to Bill. Erin grabs phone. Introduces Bill to “WHEEEEL OOOOOFFFFF FORTUNE!”
1:31am: I get phone back.
1:31.5am: “Would you like to buy a vowel?????????????” Erin, what the hell are you talking about.
1:33am: Last drunk of the night. To Danny. “Party of 12!!! Your table is now ready!!!!! Excuse me, party of 12!!! Time to be seated!!!!”
1:34am: Something that might make sense is included in voicemail.
1:34.5am: Erin steals phone again. “Excuse me sir!!! Would you like some fresh ground pepper??”
1:35am: Who invited Erin this weekend???
2:00am: Arrival at 848 18th street.
2:05am: Greggy: “I’m just going to crash here tonight. Don’t feel like driving back.”
2:10am: Sex and the City is on again.
2:11am: Greggy: “Umm, I think I’ll go home now.”
10:30am: Arrival at Toast.
11:45am: Third celebrity citing of the morning at Toast.
11:46am: Fravel remarks the importance of whispering around Jamie Lynn Sielger. Because if no one whispers around you, I guess you’re not really famous.
2:00pm: Squeal tires to for quick right turn off Sunset Blvd.
2:05pm: Purchase $10.75 map of the stars.
2:06pm: Veeve cringes in shame.
2:10pm: It’s Chuck Norris’ house!!!
2:15pm: It’s Brad Pitt’s house!!!! Which really looks a lot like Chuck Norris’ house!!

Let’s fast forward to the close of the weekend:

7:00pm: I depart w/ Fravel and Amelia for LAX airport.
7:40pm: Fravel and Amelia are in fact scheduled to depart on MONDAY night.
7:41pm: Really, Fravel??????????????

11:10pm: I can’t write any more.
11:11pm: I think I really am dying of the grippe.
11:12pm: The end!

Please Woman, Find a Better Name

Do you want to know what I now do on Tuesdays and Thursdays? Whatever the f I want to. I have class from 8-9:30, so pretty much, it's like I have no set schedule at all, b/c if I didn't have class I woulnd't be waking up until 9:30 or so anyway, right?

Mind you, this does not equal total free time given that I have over-committed myself to life at Anderson. Oh, on a side note, I'm not as over-committed as some - rumor has it that a classmate's wife had a baby over the summer, and they have named the boy Anderson. Supposedly he just likes the name...I don't buy that for a second. That is mad crazy.

Anyway, so yeah, I have meetings here and there and everywhere and I do have homework, but I'm fairly certain that I'll be able to have completely free three day weekends thanks to this schedule. But, given that it's the first week of class and assignments haven't picked up that much yet, other than a 2pm apt and a 6pm meeting, I've spent the day running errands, rollerblading, and emailing (work-related kind of emails, I swear I do have some value in life).

So, while getting dressed just now after my leisurely 4pm shower, I heard on the news that a celeb fitness instructor is bringing pilates to the masses, to people that cannot afford like $100/hour or some crazy shit like that. You know what she's calling this??? "Pilates in the Hood." Seriously, not a joke.

The concept is great, right? LOve it. But the name? You must be shitting me. Does anyone else find this insulting? It's like, ok, I live in the hood, I guess I know I live in the hood. But when I go to my local boys and girls club or whatever to work it out, do I need to be like, "Excuse me, miss, I'm hear for Pilates. Pilates in the Hood, that is. Because, you know, we live in the hood." Do I really need a reminder of my living conditions when I go to exercise? My yoga class is pretty much in a yuppy-ish area, but do I go to "Yoga in Yuppyvile?" I don't! Do you shop at the "Grocery in the Rich Part of Town?" No? Not surprised. So anyway, I think this is weird.

Two last things: Newman, do you see I've added your link??? Just for you babes!!! And...I know need to leave for a meeting in Brentwood. The prez (Bushy) has just landed in LA and is apparently (yes, I mean right now, at 5:15pm) en route up Sunset Blvd to his destination. I'm taking bets on how many hours it will take me to travel less than 10 miles in this town. Seriously, I am. Taking bets. The end.

Sometimes I Drop Shit

There are things that we all characteristically do when we’re drunk. Beth: drunk dialing that puts all other drunk dialing to shame. Freds: cabinet scavenger extraordinaire. Mibs: reveals alternate personalities. My little friend Meliss: sexual history comes out. Katie Reed: home karaoke system addict. WF Sig Pis: shirt tearing nightmares…apparently… Etc. etc. insert your own bad drunk habit here.

I unfortunately have an assortment of unflattering drunk behaviors. I readily admit that I become an out of control flirt who will hang on the nearest standing body (sorry if it’s been you, I really am). And I say really, really stupid shit. But the messiest and most irritating is my terrible drink dropping habit. I have no idea how many glasses/beer bottles I’ve shattered over the years, but it’s probably a lot, and people most likely don’t like cleaning up after me. And it’s Brett who’s bared the brunt – b/c my favorite bad drunk behavior was a combination of these bad drunk behaviors, where in a flirtatious effort I’d throw my beer-holding hands around his neck (hanging), and proceed to spill beer all down his back right before the bottle would full out slip out of my hands and onto the floor where it’d burst and splatter.

This shit’s finally caught up with me. The other night at the 80s party, I surely made a fabulous first impression on the first years (scratch that part, they were all drunk anyway and most likely paid no notice) when I dropped a beer and it quickly broke into 98 pieces. A few of them scratched a friend on the foot (sorry!) and one of them totally bit me in the ankle. I didn’t feel any pain…nope…but I looked down and stared, confused, as blood started dripping down my leg and filling up my stylish pink heels. It was super yucky. Doempke steered me to safety, and got it cleaned up, and then wrapped it in like 90 feet of gauze. I was briefly a spectacle. Then I for once made a smart decision and let Sauj take me home.

I’d like to think that I’d learn some kind of lesson here. You know, like, shit, dropping beer bottles can be dangerous! I should stop doing that! Maybe I should swear off alcohol! But I don’t really see that happening so I’m going to say it b/c it’d be a waste of words anyway. I could also use this an opportunity to warn my friends. Be like, hey, when I start getting drunk don’t come w/into 2 feet of me b/c I might drop a glass and it could cut you. But I won't do that either b/c I wouldn’t have any friends w/in 2 feet of me and to be honest that is pretty boring and why bother going out if you’re going to do that? I don’t know maybe I’ll start taping my glasses/bottles to my hands so I don’t drop them. But that just poses issues to going to the bathroom or using wild hand gestures when I’m trying to emphasize a point. So that’s also an issue.

So I guess I’ll do nothing at all. The cut is healing nicely anyway. Well then on that note…the end I guess. Tomorrow is the first day of school you know! I need to go prepare for that and whatnot. Get my “trapper keeper” in order and all that good stuff. Happy Yom Kippur to all!!!

Things You Want but Can't Have

So today has been fun. It was arts and crafts day. I made pretty posters and played with scissors and construction paper to create the WBC Bulletin Board, it’s pretty spiffy. And then tonight I’m playing dress up, Flashdance style. Oh it’s good to be back in school, doing all sorts of mature things. Yep, I sure do feel grown up.

And since I’m so grown up now, I feel like it’s time to start thinking about buying my first car. (if you’re curious, my Accord was my 18th birthday present). For me, there are two stipulations attached to this car purchase: 1) The car purchase will coincide with graduation time as a present to myself, and 2) This car WILL be a convertible, yes, it will.

So, while I was home, I went test driving cars w/ Greggy. Actually I only drove one, the new VW Eos. It’s a hard top convertible and it’s damn near the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m not really a huge car person, but it was some kind of fun driving that thing. So so so so cute, and the roof goes up/down in like 20 seconds flat. But don’t try doing it in traffic when you’re moving…word to the wise…I don’t think it was so much designed for that…and it does hinder your vision…

Anyway, I’m basically in love with the car. And after the test drive I was like that is it!!! I am buying that car!! In less than one year!!! And I’m all giddy, b/c I’m happily thinking how it’s cheaper than the other cars that I had been considering (the Saab convertible, the Volvo convertible).

But now it’s kind of hitting home that I’m pretty much financially retarded. I really don’t know how on earth I thought I could’ve ever afforded either the Saab or the Volvo, let alone the WV, considering I’ll be graduating with huge loans to pay off and most likely not a banker’s salary. I talked about the car w/ Jaime and Sean and they were both like do you realize you will have like $500 car payments for a car at that price point? And you know, I really didn’t.

I don’t really know what I thought they’d be, I didn’t actually think about purchasing the car… I just thought about owning the car. You know, putting the sweet ass top down as I pull out on Montana, driving around in it with the wind blowing through my hair, heated seat toasting my buns, JTimbo bringing sexy back on my satellite radio, my passenger adjusting the lumbar support to suit his/her needs.

But now…it’s sinking in…I can continue to fantasize about this car, but I think I may have to hold onto the Accord for like another 10 years. Perhaps just until it like stops moving. Unless someone out there wants to buy me a car, perhaps? Anyone? I hear crickets. Oh well.

Well then, I’ll leave the car purchase thing for now. It’s time to go put on my play clothes anyway.

America F'in West

I’ve joked about this place before, but this time it’s for real – seriously – I think I just visited Idiot Island. I could’ve sworn it was the Indianapolis “International” Airport, but no, I must’ve been wrong, it must’ve been Idiot Island. Mare, Mibs, it truly exists, it does.

My travel day (I’m finally heading back to LA, I feel like I’ve been going for like a year, but it’s only been two weeks) has been hell on wheels. Hell in a handbasket. I of course started it all by myself. I showed up plenty early for my flight, checked in, my parents left…and then I realized that I left my laptop behind… Not in the car, at my house, 30 minutes (going fast) away. Dick and Jane are lucky for me amazingly wonderful and awesome, thank you Mom for going 65 in a 30 and other such moves.

Laptop in hand, I proceed through security. I want to ask btw, who wears 4 inch wedge sandals that wrap three times around the ankle to the airport? And take like 2 minutes a shoe to put on? I’ll tell you. It’s me. I’m dumb. Anyway, I run down to my gate, guess what, not even boarding yet (it was like 20 minutes past boarding time). Mechanical problems. It quickly becomes apparent, by the long line at the desk, that the plane is not being repaired anytime soon, or soonish, or like, ever.

I want to ask a quick question: how on earth does an airline put a plane at a gate, without even bothering to make sure that the plane works? Do you think fireman show up at burning buildings without knowing if their hoses are in working condition? Do you think a surgeon shows up to operate without ensuring that his instruments are in order? Does a consultant ever walk into a client presentation without proofing his deck? I think not. I say no.

So anyway. I get in line. Oh btw, I’m sitting on the plane waiting for takeoff right now. So I’m still in a really bitchy mood. I haven’t smiled in like an hour. I think I’ve tried in fact to see if the term “dagger eyes” holds any literal meaning (I don’t think it does). Oh, ok, so then. I tried calling the airline (America West btw) while I’m in line b/c it’s so f’in slow, but they can’t do anything b/c the gate agents haven’t bothered to change the status. So, when I get up there, this woman, I can’t remember her name, so I’ll call her Ms. Dumbest Woman I’ve Ever Met, takes 5 years to book me on a flight on American. She can’t do a damn thing herself. If you checked the entry in Webster’s for “incompetent” I shit you not you’d find a pic of Ms. Dumbest Woman I’ve Ever Met. Anyway, Ms. DWIEM (very close to “dim…” kind of…coincidence?) With the aid of other dumb woman they book me. First I have to go down to the baggage carousel and reclaim my 80 pounds of luggage. Then I have to go to the complete opposite end of the airport and recheck into American.

I do this. I get down there. The guy is like, “well, they didn’t really book you. I mean, they booked you, but they didn’t complete the transaction correctly. So…” I don’t know what they really did, but they didn’t actually book me. So for doing absolutely nothing constructive, they sure did make me walk a long way, and they sure did take their sweet ass time. I still haven’t taken off, btw.

Anyway, the guy calls the America West counter. Gets off. He’s like, “Oh, umm, so it doesn’t matter. They said to just go back. I guess your original plane is now leaving.” Awesome. I am so happy now. Really, I am so happy that I get to take my 80 pounds of luggage back across the damn airport so I can re-check into the flight and then go through security again. I march up to the America West counter and kind of just start blabbering. Blabbering angry style. It might be said that my voice was elevated. It’s possible I was yelling. I might have been slightly mean. I might have apologized. Anyway, I got my second boarding pass for the same flight and returned to security. The guy who looks at your ticket was like, “um, haven’t you already been through?” “Yes. I have.” He asked why I was back. I told him not to ask.

I tried to sneak through security w/out taking off my shoes. Didn’t work.

The beautiful thing is I’m sure I would’ve made my connection had I been on the American flight, but this America West was supposed to leave at 5:30, and it’s 7 and I’m still on the ground and I believe I had an hour layover…so I’ll let you do the math there.

The thing that probably pissed me off the most are how people were all like so f’in nice to Ms. DWIEM when they boarded. Like, “Oh, gosh, you sure have had a long night!” You know what I would’ve liked to say? I would’ve like to tell her how f’in stupid she is. Or perhaps, "f you." Or maybe, "Hey! you! go to hell!" But, I didn't.

Well, glorious. It’s now 7:15 and I’m still sitting here on the damn ground. And I’m getting hungry now. But we all know planes don’t serve food anymore unless you want to like pay for it and I swear I will never actually purchase food from an airplane given that it tastes like shit.

Ok. I have to put this away now. We may actually be leaving. Then again maybe we won’t. Who knows. Did I mention that my bags got lost by the airlines last weekend going from Boston to Buffalo? b/c they did. Airlines suck.

PS: I’m in the air now. Watching The Sentinel. Ever seen that? It’s like one of those presidential movies. And BTW, I’m drinking a bloody mary. Past tense actually. I already drank it. And, for the record, I NEVER drink on planes. I lie. I have, once, on my way to Whistler last year. And that was only to take the edge off sitting next to, well, I won’t write who I was sitting next to here, but you would’ve had a bloody mary, too. Ok then. I’m now going to write my “reorientation” memo. That’s right. For like 9 hours on Friday I’ll be at school talking about what I did for my summer vacation. Am I 26? Or, am I 6?

Lamb + Quail Equals...

At dinner tonight, my brother ordered this dish which consisted of some sort of lamb chop paired with a cut of quail wrapped in bacon.

This dish was called the "Leathers and Feathers." I am not kidding. Neither the waiter nor any member of my family could keep a straight face when uttering the terrible, terrible, dreadful name of this dish.

Honestly. Leathers and Feathers. Really.

Wine Wednesday!!!

I am listening to The Fray album. I think someone told me they just got it and would do a little lend, but you see, I’m crazy anxious about music and if there is something I need to hear like RIGHT NOW then I need to hear it like RIGHT NOW and I cannot wait, cannot bear it. So I bought it. I like. Even though currently I’m listening to the “How to Save a Live” title track now for like the 5th time in a row. But it alone is worth it. I swear.

Anyway. So this typing is hard. I’ve hard like 3 glasses of wine to drink. Cuz you know what tonight was??? It was “wine Wednesday!!!!!!!!” My mom sent me out to run errands pre-dinner, which involved a series of impossible returns that break all return policies. Such as going to American Eagle and getting an adjustment with a coupon on stuff she bought a month ago. I flirted lots and mission accomplished. Seriously. The guy is like “we don’t do this, blah blah blah,” and I’m like “you totally do, really you’ve done it before.” That was a lie. I’ve never tried. Anyway, he did it. At one point when he’s denying stuff he looks at me and I give him some really good puppy dog eyes, and then…he points his finger at me…and he goes, “No!” Was he telling me, like, no puppy dog eyes??? I think he was. He was cute though.

So…I get home eventually and I walk into our kitchen where my mom is with some neighbor ladies and they all like scream and go crazy when walk in. It was my Beyonce moment or some shit. Not I’m kidding. It wasn’t really that dramatic. But anyway, they were like, “Its Wine Wednesday!!!!!!” They were all worked up. I think they were on like glass number 3. So I joined in. I like these women. For IN women, they are nice and liberal and not totally born-again. So that was fun. They stayed for a while. My mom had to get them out eventually cuz she was concentrating on her briskets. It’s nearly Rosh Hashanah you know. Time for the Jewish New Year.

In case you were wondering, that kind of sums up my day. I also did a little power walking w/ Jane in the morning, and another day of tennis w/ AC Slater. Slater wants me to go watch him DJ on Sat night. I think I just might. What an existence I lead. Now it’s nearly time for Laguna Beach, and note that I indeed missed last week’s episode so I have a double-header to hit up tonight. Oh. I did make plans to go out on Friday night. But they have been subsequently foiled. Jane was NOT happy about that b/c my brother and cousins will be there. But thing is I was planning on going out at 10 and I know the elders will be going to bed by 10:30.

So here is the really sad thing. I’m 26. Twenty f’in 6. I could be married. I could have kids. I don’t, I don’t, it’s true, but I could. And that’s important. B/c I’m 26, I could be married w/ kids, and my mom is like, “you can’t go out Friday night,” and I’m like “oh, ok then, right.” Linderteen is taking on a whole new meaning man. And I don’t know if I like it…

Def. a Mojito

I’m mixing things up a bit, writing from yet another location. I’m in Tahiti, enjoying a Mai-Tai. Indy was boring me. I’m lying. I’m actually in Boston and that’s the truth. Frou is showering and I’m writing.

And – btw – to those of you in the know – I’m safe and sound and no bodily harm has come to me yet, just in case you worried about any close encounters of the third kind. That’s what they say, right? Third kind? Isn’t that an expression? I think it refers to extraterrestrial stuff, which of course I’m not talking about, but whatever.

Anyway, so of course I’ve done some shopping since arriving. Went down to Newbury Street yesterday and tooled around for some time. The weekend wouldn’t have been a weekend without the purchase of a new bag. But I won’t describe it b/c I know that you honestly don’t really care what it looks like or what I purchased for that matter, but you know what is funny is that we went to all these stores where they have live DJs spinning. I don’t so much get that. Do I need house shit blaring while I’m trying on the hottest white jeans ever? I was in Puma trying on a jacket when I turned to Brett (whose clothing taste, btw, continues to spiral into the oblivions of ultra-trendy-urban-male – and PS: I snapped a picture after a brief wrestling session of the manpris and boy are they silly) and told him that I definitely am getting old, b/c the music was really pissing me off. Then we left. BTW: I’m on a quest for a hat. Like a daytime hat. What do you think? I am going to find one today I think.

Oh, I have BIG news too. It’s actually quite lucky that I came this weekend and talked a certain NY friend to come in and chill w/ us, b/c I got to be one of the first to hear of a pending…engagement!!!!!! And it so happens that I am madly in love w/ the soon to be fiancé of my friend (no I mean not like that like I’m not going to try to seduce him or something, he’s just wicked awesome). And how romantic is this: the guy this weekend is flying to my friend’s hometown to ask permission from her parents. He tried to lie and say he was going on a biz trip, but he sux at lying I guess. I’m swooning right now. I am. Swooning.

So other than that it’s been a lot of the typical were we recount stories of yesteryear, such as the time I mistakenly flashed two male friends and was completely oblivious to that fact. Or, the time when we were in Miami and hired a fake stripper. No joke. He was not actually a real stripper. So that was funny.

And some new stories, such as the fact that some shithead at biz school calls Roo long island tea. She doesn’t like it. For the record, she’d much rather be a cosmo or a vodka soda. Personally I’d like to be a mojito. Not only b/c it’s tasty and fun, but b/c it has all that green mint in it, and you know I love green. This is kind of a fun game. Although I guess for some people it’s so obvi and for some it’s kinda hard. But I guess if I have any sucky classes this coming quarter it’s a new game to play to pass time.

Good Come!!!

Wow, so not that I’ve ever been that exciting, cuz I’m not, but this Indy trip really does not do much for the excitement meter in this kid’s life. And what this means is, I have a lot of time on my hands, and my friends for the most part have moved away or gotten married over the past couple years so no longer are the trips to the bars in Broadripple that regular…so despite my earlier entry indicating that I might be an irregular blogger…well…let’s just withdraw that statement…cuz…I guess it was a lie or something.

It also means that my blogs might be disappointing. Cuz you’re all expecting stories about getting vomited on at the club and hanging tough w/ Mr. Die Hard, and I’m all like, “so, I made this really delish summer vegetable salad tonight…”

So on that note, let me tell you some things about being home.

First, a Jack Bauer update, of course. Last night I went to puppy school. We learned some good stuff, such as the “come” command. And you can guess what this means. Or maybe you can’t. It means that I now have to hear “Good Come!” like every five minutes. Seriously, “good come!” And I know you’re thinking the exact same thing I’m thinking right now so don’t even act like you’re not. You SO want to try this line out…in the spirit of the fortune cookie…in bed…

Let’s see, what else. Well, today I had a tennis lesson w/ Jane and her teacher, Slater. Yep, the pro’s name is Slater. He divies his time b/t tennis and djing. He rather kicks your ass at the lesson too and makes you run like a fiend. My hand was too sweaty for my racquet and I needed one of those absorb grips so he let me use his racquet and he took mine. And I think he was kind of disgusted by how sweaty the grip on my racquet was, but, whatever, I’m a sweater. Not like the kind you wear. But more importantly, I want to discuss the phenomenon of the Carmel Housewife, I cap’ed it cuz it’s almost like an official title. These well-groomed, well-kept women spend the majority of their time playing tennis. We walk into the Carmel Racquet Club around 1:30 and it’s filled, totally filled, like all 20 courts there, with small instructional groups of women. Wearing really sweet little tennis outfits. And they’re all pretty good. But then again they should be as it’s pretty much their key hobby. Should I ever move back to Carmel, and become a Carmel Housewife, I am really going to have to work on my tennis, b/c without tennis, there really is…nothing…And I must admit, it kind of weirds me out, it really does.

Other than tennis, I will report that I did, like, nothing. I did go to the orthodontist – my bottom teeth are moving around just a little and driving me crazy so I want a new retainer – which meant I had to get impressions, and those things make me gag something fierce, and I almost booted. You know, I have actually thrown up on my orthodontist? And my dentist too.

I also went grocery shopping to make that salad for dinner thought. Which made for an interesting dinner, b/c it contained among other things, edamame, and Dick does NOT eat edamame. He doesn’t really eat veggies. He’s kind of five. I think we spent at least 10 minutes at dinner picking on my dad for not eating his vegetables. He also drinks too much Diet Coke and doesn’t drink enough water. You know, apparently he actually had a prescription written by his doctor to drink more water? I’m not shitting you. Totally happened.

The veggie convo was right after we talked about penile implants. Cuz I started drilling my dad about various implants. You do pec implants?? (had to ask for the hair guy) No. You do butt implants? No. You do calf implants? No. Umm…do you…do…penile implants?? NO. But I guess my mom was answering the phones at my dad’s office one day and she had this convo: “I was calling about getting my wife some boobies. Does the doctor do boobies?” Mom: “yes, he does breast enhancement surgery.” Guy: “Cool. So um, does he do, you know, like, man stuff?” Mom: “Umm, man stuff? You will have to be more specific sir.” Man: “You know! Like, man stuff!!” Mom: (clearly just totally being a pain in the ass): “No, I’m sorry, I do not know. What exactly are you asking?” I think this went on for a bit before the guy finally spit out the words. And NO, again, my dad does NOT do penile implants. Then my mom went off about how in LA everyone gets penile implants. Is this true? And how does my mom know? She likes to make stuff up. It’s part of her charm.

If You Really Wanna See Something, Get the Broom...

In a money saving effort I booked myself home on a flight through Phoenix, which departed at 4am LA time and finally got me into Indy a little after 2:30am IN time. My mom LOVED picking me up. Seriously she did. I’m just glad she skipped the Lunesta before taking to the crowded streets of North side Indianapolis.

Anyway, on the drive home she asked if I wanted to stop and grab some water or something. You know, it’s like almost 3am now. I was like, “umm, no, I think I can wait for some H2O till we get home…” And she’s like, “well, you can’t go into the kitchen to get water. Your dad has an early case and I don’t want to wake up Jack. So we’ll be going through the front door.” (not the garage which takes you through the kitchen and past the little devil dog) But then she’s like, “Unless, you want to play with him if he wakes up.” So I say “sure, yeah, I’ll play with little Jack-y.” And then she pulls the ultimate Jane move, which I’ve never understood, whereby she suggests something, you agree to it, then she rescinds her offer and is like, “oh, I was just kidding. You can’t do that.” It’s like the 2001 job market at my house every single day. If something Jane says sounds like it’s too good to be true and will be snatched away one second later…well then, it was too good an offer, and it will be snatched away. She’s like f’in Accenture.

Anyway, in the couple weeks it’s been since I’ve last seen him, Jack has learned some new tricks. You see, he’s not an old dog. He’s a new dog. So he can learn those new tricks. He now understands sit. And every time you tell him to sit, you have to say, “Good sit!!” And when he bites, you say, “Leave it!” And his potties are getting better. And yes, when he potties, you HAVE to say, “Good potty!!!” Think of what that must do for your self esteem. I’m trying to imagine what life would be like if every time I sat down on our couch Veeve was like, “Good sit Lindy!” Or whenever I came out of the bathroom she was like, “Good potty!” You know though, that’d be pretty weird. I guess. Yeah, slightly odd for sure.

My favorite Jack-related line so far though was we’re playing with him, and my mom is like, “you should seem him do his tail games.” (I guess he likes to chase his tail around and shit) But then she goes, “But if you really wanna see something, you have to get the broom out!” He likes to chase the broom around, I saw it, it’s silly. But that sounds really filthy, doesn’t it?

Jack aside, I want to announce that I got my Nicole Richie haircut, and I L-O-V-E it. Yes, as has been pointed out, I do live in LA, a style mecca, and I did get my hair chopped in Indy, but the fact is that my mom’s hairdresser, Emmet, works magic with scissors and has actually been mentioned in US Weekly for his line of styling products which have landed in swag bags. Yes, I am validating a little here. Seriously though he’s awesome and I totally trusted him to chop off EIGHT inches of my hair. Eight. Yes, it was scary. Anyway, it’s super super fun. I took pics to post but I really hate the pics so you’ll just have to see the real deal.

Oh, and his gay lover works at the salon too. We have the same conversation every time I go in there. He starts telling me all the plastic surgery he’s going to have Dick do on him. Today he was talking about getting the muscles in his chin tightened up. Then he asked if dad does pec implants. I honesty don’t know if he does. But, ewww. Oh, the lover was also fascinated and devastated by my vocal nodules. He found them very disturbing. He was so disturbed by them that I think I’m now more disturbed by them. He’s a character that gay lover man, sure is.

Ok, well, the weather blows to death here. I’m gonna go…get the broom out…