You'll Like This Entry Cuz It's Short

This is not my story, but it’s my friend’s and I love it and I told her that I planned on sharing it. Anyway, a friend shares the other day that she received a text from a guy friend saying the following: “Just wanted to thank you for helping me take care of business this morning.” If you are unable to read between the lines, he masturbated to her.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about this – apparently he thought this was flattering, but let’s be honest, it’s a little creepy, maybe something we should keep to ourselves. So, food for thought: If this happened to you, would you be flattered or disgusted? Shortest entry ever!!! Off to brunch.

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day

This was one of my fav books when I was little. It’s about Alexander (surprise) and this really bad day he has. He gets gum in his hair, and I think his mom forgets to put dessert in his lunch or something. Stuff that is really bad, when you’re like 8 or something. I think I had my own version of a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day yesterday.

Started around 1 when I got a total bitch of a stomach ache. I thought maybe I had eaten bad meat in my salad. My tummy was in knots. But I didn’t want to ask to go home cuz it was my first week of work right?? That’s trivial, ok, but around 4:30, while printing out a document, my MS Word program decided to crash, and I lost my entire day of work. Sucks to lose work – sucks even more when what you were doing was doing competitive profiles for plumbing companies the whole day. So much for “autosave,” stupid piece of shit. Brett, Afty – you reading this?? Fix that shit!!! It was like I wasn’t even THERE on Friday, cuz on Monday I’m going ot have to do it ALL OVER AGAIN.

So I get in my car for a leisurely drive back up to LA. Took me 2.5 hours in traffic that moved approximately 15 mph – should’ve been going about 70. So that sucked. I was to meet friends for dinner over in Bev Hills around 8. I got home at 7:30. I shower/get ready in record time, and I’m out the door to be only 20 minutes late (hey, I let them know I’d be late). Now you see, I keep my key chain on a hook by the door. My car and house keys. You see where this is going don’t you. So my phone rings as I’m stepping out the door, distracts me, and I slam the door…w/out my keys. Didn’t even get to the phone in time anyway. Rings again a couple minutes late – check up on my progress to the restaurant, so I break the news that I’m an idiot and locked out of my house…and car…

Call the blg maintenance company, they lecture me that it’s my responsibility or something, so I hang up on them, and start calling locksmiths. It’s $79 to get a locksmith, you know that? This is about the time that I get pms-y even though I’m not pms-ing and I start to cry a bit. It’s also the time that a neighbor walks by and he probably thinks I’m something of a headcase. He’s nice though; brings over a stack of keys to see if any of them work (they don’t); tells me I’m welcome to come over and chill w/ his fam if I need to. Anyway, the locksmith comes. It takes him approximately 5 seconds to get into my house, and while he comes in to verify my credit card, it takes me over 5 minutes to get him out of my house b/c he’s very curious about some picture Veeve has on our fridge that appears to be a sculpture depicting a giant, fat baby, and Veeve and her friends are kissing the baby’s ass. Apparently it’s some famous Colombian sculptor or something.

I then get picked up to go out for a bit, so the night takes a turn for the better, but the real icing on the cake is that the next day I have a $47 parking ticket on my car cuz I had been parked slightly in the red zone (as I thought I’d be there for ½ hour and then forgot to move it…). So, hey, Alexander – really, spare me the details of your terrible, horrible, no good very bad day, b/c mine totally tops yours. No dessert in your lunch, really, did you need it anyway? And yes, I know that in the grand scheme, mine wasn’t that bad, but, I’m high-maintenance. The end.

What It's Like when Your Parents Are More Exciting than You

On Sunday morning, I enjoyed a delicious brunch and lovely company (miss you Aly!!) at Bread and Porridge, which is right next to Snug Harbor, to which the Veeve and I have been hopelessly devoted (I was working on regular status). But, now I think I might B&P better. Am I a traitor?

Anyway, after brunch, I spent a couple hours collecting all my business casual clothes (sons of bitches), biz casual shoes, and stuff necessary to transport my weekday life down South. I loaded up my car, and I am now an official resident of The OC. Not quite Newport, not quite Laguna Beach, but Laguna Niguel. Now, this place is a suburban heaven – but I have to note that what does unnerve me is its proximity to Mission Viejo – b/c that slut Casey on LB apparently has “Mission Viejo style” and that cannot be good. Did you SEE her prom dress???

Aside from that though, the digs are just fine. I am renting a furnished room and bathroom in a three bedroom townhouse. The complex is super nice, complete with a huge pool and hot tub, and I have a real yard. I also have access to a sweet kitchen (although was not sweet when all the high-tech appliances were beeping at me last night…), a fancy digital washing machine that does everything but talk to you, and wireless and cable. My mom called last night to check in on me – she asked what I was doing. I told her I was cooking dinner. Her response: “they let you use the kitchen?” No mom, I’m paying over $700 a month to be locked in my 9x9 bedroom.

Anyway, let’s talk about “they” – my surrogate/summer parents. Yes that is right. I am living with old people. The woman works at UC Irvine’s bschool and the guy is a retired colonel. They have three sons, 2 went to West Point and one went to AF Academy, who they talk about incessantly. Last night while chilling with them in the living room I listened to mom read emails from their sons out loud to dad. Good times. Actually, they are super nice – dad helped me bring my bags in yesterday and they invited me to dinner (I declined), but umm, it’s a little weird just hanging out with these people and being all up in their junk. I am waiting to wake up to bacon and eggs and invitation from mom to do my laundry. But I am not sure how she’d feel about washing my thongs… Speaking of which, not that there is anyone I’m hanging out with here, but what if a boy happens to spend the night? If you are reading this and have an opinion as to how you’d handle, plz let me know…

Yes, I am still writing. Trust me, I have nothing to do. Anyway. I moved down here to start my summer internship. I’m a product management intern at Black and Decker. No, not power tools – that division is in Baltimore – I’m on Price Pfister, they make faucets. They actually make quite a lot of sweet faucets. That might be one of my favorite aspects of the job. It’s cool to go hang out in the bathroom; they have like a different cool faucet at each sink. I was washing my hands in the kitchen today and I noticed a sign above the sink that asked you to call so and so at extension such and such if you have comments on the feel or operation of the handle/faucet. It’s an Engineering VP. Neat.

So yes, me, B&D. I’m clearly a girly girl, and I don’t hide it, so there’s some irony in my employment location. When I dressed this morning, I picked my favorite pants which are black with pink tuxedo stripes, my favorite heels which are these lovely suede and patent creations in a wine color, and this adorable Nanette Lepore top that is pink and has little butterflies on it. I started to feel like a total dumbass walking up to work this morning, at Black and Decker, wearing pink, pink and butterflies. But there was no turning back at the point. And men wouldn’t dare comment anyway.

Let me summarize what it’s like to be back at work, in two words: It blows. How did I ever put up with cubicle life for three years? The main issue is that I didn’t have my laptop yet, so I don’t really know what I did all day. I do know that my boss told me it was cool to head over to 24 Hour Fitness and get my gym membership. So I did that. I also got a name badge. Horrible picture. I also spent about an hour this morning trying to figure out what hell this guy that sits near me was laughing at every two seconds. I was over at the fax machine, and right by him, and almost asked him how he had so much fun at work. I finally discovered that his “laughing” is actually some sort of weird coughing/sniffing tic thing – so not only is he not really having fun, which would be fun for me, but he’s going to irritate me for the whole summer.

That’s really it. I’ll be analyzing the feasibility and providing recs on entering the light commercial and hospitality markets. I’m sure it will be super fun.

PS: final thought: how boring is my life down here. Post-work I got a haircut and ran a couple errands. Haircut: $17 from The HairCuttery. I told the woman that I was sick of overpriced haircuts and made her promise it'd be alright (it is). Came home and talked on the phone for a couple hours, ate dinner, took a walk. WAs home by 7. It's now 10, and I'm heading to bed to read a book, and my parents are still not home. Am I the coolest kid, or am I the coolest kid??

Case Dismissed!!

Way back in March or sometime around there, I was pulled over on campus for what was essentially an illegal u-turn. True, for a split second I was technically moving in the wrong direction...but my ticket of "driving on the wrong side of a divided highway" was uber-ridiculous. And I googled the definition of divided highway to make sure.

Anway, I had to go to court like a month ago to put in my "not guilty" plea and pay my fine. Then today I finally had my little trial deal. I was all set to defend myself, grade A self-defense for sure. I was wearing a suit, and armed with several exhibits to submit into evidence (yes, I am huge huge dork):

• Giant poster depicting my actions with compelling points such as "NOT a divided highway" bulleted out
• Several photos of the intersection
  
• Print out containing definition of divided highway
  

But, the American court system being the giant piece of shit that it is, me moving my court date confused the hell out of them, so they didn't even have me on the roster. And, this most likely meant they never even told the cop about the date, so clearly he was a no show. Which meant, CASE DISMISSED!!! Sweet! And, i get my $$$ back :) Wha a swell day! And I have nothing to this weekend except dine out and hit the beach. Loving life. The end.

Umm, I Really Like Your Hat…

I have been to Vegas a grand total of 5 times in my life – and all trips have occurred since March 2005. Three of them have been since I’ve been out in LA, and each of those have been 24 hours trips. Go up for the night, sleep very little, and drive back very hung over the next day. Finals ended this week and I opted to celebrate by, of course, taking a 24 hour trip to Vegas. It was me and the boys - four guy friends, a unique dynamic…

Day started off at Harrah’s pool ($44/night? I say yes.). At check in I asked the desk guy, “how’s the pool?” His response: “Umm, it’s ok I guess. It’s not a resort pool. It’s the original pool. It’s…a pool though…” Most enthusiastic. Thanks. The pool, by Vegas standards, and mine, was ghe-tto. Small and shitty, and most un-hot. Mostly old people (we thought the woman laying next to us was dead for a while), a lot of people that I would prefer to see fully clothed v. in swimming attire, and a group of guys that looked both underage and extremely gay. Oh, one of them was wearing a hot pink Abercrombie bathing suit. He had this huge tag on his ass – you know, the paper kind – and it was driving me nuts. I finally had to tell him. So his friend yanked it off for me. He didn’t even say thank you, ass hole. But then I later realized it was still there…guess it wasn’t paper…guess that’s why he didn’t thank me.

Followed the pool day with a $ massage at the spa, which was heavenly. The masseuse complemented me on my ability to zone out so completely. Why thank you sir!! After a steam and a nice nap, we headed to Circus Circus, home to “families and degenerates,” for a fat steak dinner. The atmosphere was cool – typical dark wood manly steakhouse place, which nicely complemented our manly conversation which consisted mainly of movie quotes and references (how do men hold all that stuff in their brains) and lesbianism (does that topic ever get old for guys? def. not). The steaks were too charred on the outside.

We then hunted down some black jack tables. I say hunted down, b/c it was around midnight, prime gambling time, and we could NOT find playable tables. Circus Circus had like 2 BJ tables and they were all like single deck. Flamingo (you see we go for the cheap establishments) had lucky lady tables. Don’t know what that means really but it’s not normal BJ and it was annoying. On to Barbary Coast where we finally nabbed a $10 table where we stayed put for about 2 hours. Oh – also – this bizarro Vegas world where you can’t find normal black jack somewhat continued even here, cuz they dealt weird – not your face up BJ (which is fun cuz you get this nice sense of camaraderie as you cheer for e/o) but face down which makes it so solitary.

Gambling done, time for other forms of entertainment: Crazy Horse Too. This was only my second visit to a strip club, and the other one I went to was much different. At the door they tell us it’s $20 to get in. I told them sorry, I’m a girl, there is no way I’m paying. It worked. I should try that tactic more often. Furthermore, I promptly announced to the boys that this girl would not be buying her own drinks at this fine establishment. That also worked. See? I do always get my way, SP. And I like it. So this place is super dark. Women in various states of undress – lots of thongs, a little school girl chick, a cop wearing assless chaps – I guess you can pretty much pick whatever you want. Actually, one of the strippers I was chatting up also confirmed that. Her choice was a swim suit, which was kind of dumb choice in my opinion, but I’m no stripper. The night was interesting for a few reasons. Let’s pick out some favorite fun facts and anecdotes:

§ Fun fact: Men are whores. If I so much hear my (future) husband mention strip clubz, I will promptly chain him to a tree.

§ Fun fact: The real action happens out on the floor in lap dance heaven. The stage is simply a way for the ladies to build their brand image. This is something really good to know if you’re ever contemplating stripping.

§ Favorite quote: I’m in the bathroom and BR attendant is loving me. She practically washed my hands for me. “Don’t mess up mama’s chrome! Let me get that faucet for you. Let me lotion put some lotion on your hands. Mama treat you right at the tittie bar!”

§ Highlight #1: L’il Jon sighting. Yep! L’il Jon, trailed by a full entourage, was at the Crazy Horse, in a little roped off portion back in the corner. I sauntered solo over to his body guard and asked if I could meet L’il Jon. He told me to come back in 10 minutes, so I did. He let me into the roped area and I strolled up to the King of Crunk and introduced myself. He asked how I was doing. I said, great, how are you? Great. Then it hit me: I had absolutely nothing to say to L’il Jon. Could’ve said something like, “Oh, I love your music!” but then he might’ve asked me, “oh what’s your fav song?” and honestly, I can’t name a single L’il Jon song. So I proceeded to make one of the dumbest comments ever: “Umm, I really like your hat…” Which was a goofy white side-tipped baseball hat. So then I started to fondle the brim of hat. And like lightening his bodyguard stepped in, grabbed my forearm, and goes “That is it! You are out of here!” before dragging me out of the area. What the f did he think I was going to do? Steal his hat? I don’t know, but am I smooth? Or am I smooth?? I don’t know, but, umm, I really like your hat…

§ Highlight #2: Thanks for the dance assholes. The boys decide that I must get a lap dance. I make sure that I drink an ample amount and then we start scanning for a girl for me. This one girl is pretty cute, I say. My good friend, Garg the gurgler champion cum-eater, goes over to chat with her I guess. Apparently, he was like, my friend would like a dance from you, and she goes, “where’s your friend?” he points me out, she looks over, and goes “yeah, I don’t really give dances to girls.” He tells me this and I throw a tantrum, as the glance over suggests that she may have turned ME down and not girls in general. Ridiculous? Check. typical? Check… Anyway. We find me a girl. She was cute I guess. I don’t know. It’s hard to concentrate when you’re having one of the most awkward moments of your life. She kind of hiked my dress up and then started doing that whole gyration thing. I was especially a fan of the boobs in my face. I turned my head sideways to avoid them but they were so damn big… I started to chat her up in an effort to relax myself, asked her for the best moves if I were to dance for my boyfriend. Her favorite move is apparently the nuzzling face in the lap…not sure of how I feel about that. we’ll say that I was ok with the dance being over when the song ended.

Anyway, that concluded the evening. Finally emerged into the sunlight just before 6am and got a bit of sleep before hitting up the Bellagio for buffet action (recommended for brunch…def not recommended for lunch…). So, all in all it was pretty much planet ridiculous the whole trip. I’m about to get into bed in preparation for my traffic court date in the morning…fun…

9 Hours at the El Rey

I don’t really know how, but I got commandeered into participating in Anderson Cabaret, which is essentially b-school’s answer to your third grade talent show. Except, the acts are lewd (hip hop dancing that involve some very suggestive boob touching), the commentary is lewd (“rusty trombones?”), and the audience is largely drunk. Umm, also, I told a lie. I do know how I got commandeered. A friend invited to do an Indian dance forwarded on the invite and I accepted b/c, hey, why not. So basically I volunteered, I wasn’t commandeered, but that’s all in the past.

For the several weeks several pro Indian dancers (who are in fact Indo and classically trained in Indo dance) taught about 20 v. un-pro and mostly un-Indo dancers how to do Bollywood shimmies. We were really, really bad at the beginning but got progressively better, and by game night we were set to go.

We were decked out in full Indian attire. The outfits were beautiful but hellish, can’t lie. The theater was about 200 degrees. I’m not even exaggerating. The dressing rooms were about 300 degrees. Not lying. The skirts were long and weighed like 20 pounds. The tops were midriff-baring and tight as all hell – it took a lot of strength to strap that sucker around my rib cage and I also discovered that I apparently have massive upper arms in comparison to Indian chicks. Luckily we got to drape a little wrappy deal around our tops to cover our midriffs, another addition to make us even hotter in the 400 degree heat.

Let’s also talk about the dressing rooms (b/c 10 chicks putting on these costumes as well as 28 bangles, full makeup and bindis – bindis – so fun! So fun! Means a lot time in the dressing rooms). Although “big” acts such as G-Love perform at this theater…the dressing rooms have seen better days. They smelled like something b/t wet dog, BO, and really stale beer (think frat house, but much worse), and I’m sorry, but all I could think of when I saw those couches was cum stains. Sorry, that was graphic, but necessary. The dressing rooms were nasty. Note that this was simply a fun fact.

We were the last act of the night (before the bands came on), the finale if you will. I have to say we were pretty much super awesome. Of course I didn’t make it through completely flawlessly b/c I’m really just not that coordinated and if you know me then you know that, but it was damn fun. I never knew how much I liked Indian dancing…or performing…Fravel, the drama queen you have instilled in me is coming out in more ways that I know… I am going to be running da basanti through my head for a long time, and I can’t wait for Cabaret next year cuz we are definitely doing an encore performance. The end.

I Really Am Not this Materialistic

I caught wind of something I’ve never heard of before last week: a makeup warehouse sale. Deal is, I’m told over email, that you show up to this randoid place in North Hollywood and you have access to a vast amount of Stila makeup at seriously discounted prices. I’ll be honest, I’m a total makeup whore, I have eye shadows in every color of the rainbow and I am not afraid to experiment when I go out at night…or go to class… This was pretty much a dream for me.

Which is why I woke up at 8am on a SATURDAY morning to drive out to this place and then stood in line in the sweltering heat for like 2 hours (ok it was about 15 minutes) to enter into this heavenly place. And oh it was heavenly. This warehouse contained endless rows of boxes and crates packed with every product that Stila makes for like 20% of what it normally costs. $15 eye shadows: $3. $18 lip glosses: $4. Full set of brushes: $20. I was drooling. I think I was. And I know that my heart rate increased when I walked in. I think I was on the verge of…you know…I’m just kidding. It wasn’t that awesome.

So I started shopping. I had one bag when I walked in and w/in 5 minutes I was finding a clerk for another bag. I stopped at the shadows and threw in like 15 diff colors. 10 glosses. 6 candles. 3 gift sets. Perfume. Lotion. Sets of eye pencils. Pots of stuff I couldn’t even identify. Just throwing it in, no sense of the total in my bags. At the end I had to do a clean up but still managed to spend a ghastly amount of $$$ on makeup that nearly doubled my makeup collection (and believe me it was already plenty big) and was completely unnecessary. When I got home I had obligations (brunch…the beach…) and couldn’t play until later in the day – and when I did, it was sheer bliss. I also applied so much makeup when I played that I seriously looked like a hooker before I showered it off. But anyway.

Oh wait, before I close – I need to mention that I got lost coming home. I had to have my friend Bill, who was visiting from out of town and waiting for me at my apt for brunch, MapQuest my location for me so I could get home. Damn the 101, damn the 110, damn the 134, and damn those f’ed up interchanges that make zero sense. And bless Bill.

And to close, thank you to my totally un-girly friend that informed of this wonderful makeup warehouse thing. If you’re reading this, you’re the bestest – and I know you’re now cringing over the mushiness J