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!!!