A Most Historic Affair

Got home yesterday evening from Chahhhhhelston. (That’s how Charleston sounds when pronounced by a Southerner) My friends Sarah, who was on my freshman hall and who I was virtually inseparable from for a good part of my college life at Wake, finally married Preston, her Charlestonian bf of like 8 years.

Given that the affair took place in Charleston, the wedding was big and southern in all its glory, beginning with the rehearsal dinner. It’s held at some sort of historical site, but thing is, damn near everything in Charleston is historical so that’s a mute point. Dix assured us that we were seated at the “fun table” and she did not let us down (thank you). We reunited with some lovely SigChi gentleman including Ben M, Puffy, and Carter who would become our late night reveling friends when all the Kappas peaced out at like 11pm (sorry Sophs are sweet and great but Strings will always be a better time). Memorable moments from dinner include:
· The history lesson: Yes, our dinner was kicked off with a speech about Charleston history so we knew how old the places we would visit for the weekend would be. It was actually v. cute and rather cool, but I have to mention how utterly traditional it is, would never find that outside the South.
· The cotton: Ben, who is as southern as they come, all pastels, seersucker, bowties, and floppy ‘do as well, who still lives in Winston-Salem which is the damn tobacco epicenter of the world, was moaning about the Southerness of the affair. He was particularly offended by the cotton that replaced flowers in the vases in the reception area.
· The champagne: Ben’s moaning aside, he did manage to nab us many extra bottles of champagne from the caterers, which while a grand idea at the time, I’m not so sure in retrospect that it was a good idea. But anyway.

We went out afterward and stayed out until I started to walk a thin line, verbally, and lose a bit of tact. I may or may not have been on the verge of making disparaging remarks to Shipper regarding some of the female attendees and to Donny regarding his notorious rep in college for being somewhat sketch. I was also pestering Carter to no end about getting me into a commercial or something (he’s an actor now…) and being a dreadful pain. At that point Fravs threw me into the cab, declaring, “Teen (my friends call me Linderteen, but I find this no reflection on my maturity), you are DONE!”

Slept until noon on Saturday and recovered with an Excedrin, a Coke (Classic, of course), and a Vitamin Water. After lunch and a wee bit of shopping it was like 2:30 and we had time for like ½ hour of lounging until it was time to prep for the evening. Once dressed and on the shuttle on the way to the church, Fravs made my night with a fantastic quote: “Oh, I forgot that we had to go to the wedding.” Hey motard, you came to Charleston FOR a WEDDING. When you boarded the shuttle did you actually forget about the religious ceremony which is essentially the reason you flew all the way from Boston? Anyway, I liked it.

The wedding was all of 20 minutes, but it was in every aspect lovely lovely, and Dix does make a stunning little bride. As for the reception hall, not gonna lie, we were dubious over the fun potential for the evening. They have this thing for heavy hors d’oeuvres v. meals at Southern weddings, which involves things like grit stations and ham biscuits. It is most tasty. But it does not involve assigned seating, which is an issue when you cannot find a place to sit down and it is 98 million degrees b/c you are in a “historic” 200 year old building, 400 people at your wedding, and it's hot as hell outside (I'm sorry, I've become very spoiled and cranky bout the weather in CA). But southerners graze they do not eat so this is how they do it, and I will admit that it's charming. So when we do find a place to sit down we survey the scene and what we’re noticing is no one is dancing, there is a couple holding a baby like two feet away from us. The baby was cute as a button, but babies don’t exactly scream “fun times tonight!”
Luckily there was plenty of schmoozy-schmoozing to be had as the great North-South (West?) divide meant for a lot of re-union-ish chatter and whatnot and at that the band which indeed kicked ass started to pick things up. By the time we departed the reception to hit up some bar which had a name involving a Tiger we were fully in revelry mode.

The center of entertainment for the remainder of the night became Missy: , a childhood friend of Sarah’s who held the role of resident crazy friend (I find that all wedding’s must involve at least one crazy friend who has a history and is somewhat unstable…this girl is a divorcee…I think she’s 26…) So anyway, she exits the church with like 2 giant centerpieces in her hands and starts distributing blossoms all around which end up in an amusing photo montage later, which I’m sure was appreciated by the bride and groom’s family.

She also requests some beers off the back of a truck which is the epitome of class (umm, I may have been involved in this...) And at the bar she reveals that she swings both ways after extensive petting of Erica’s hair and an eventual offer of a threesome to Donny and Erica (come on now, just like the crazy friend requirement, no wedding could be complete without an off-color sexual story).

We finally clear out, and my night ends with Ben telling me off b/c he cannot believe what I said about his girlfriend’s dress. Ok we shall backtrack. First of all, Ben was hitting (hard) on Frav on Fri night asking for a second chance (they hooked way back when in college). Fast forward to Sat night, I’m standing there with I can’t remember who, may have been Ship (who still pulls crazy hot chicks), who points out a girl across the dance floor as Ben’s girlfriend (excuse me?) who is crashing the wedding and then proceeds to trash her dress, which is too casual and generally unflattering. I nod in agreement, but I didn’t SAY anything about her dress. But of course…the other ingredient for a wedding is drama…so this had to happen, in a way, anyway. But thing is I most likely will not see Ben for at least another 5 year or something so…whatever.

In other news, it’s good to be back in LA where it does not feel like hell, literally, when you walk outside. Also, that girl in my office that wore sequins once? She’s doing it again today. Different top. Honey, no sequins in the office!!

For All the Lifeguards in Training

So I was at the beach sometime recently…and I saw a couple things that confused me so I just wanted to put them out there. If I were smarter I’d be able to make my observation in iambic pentameter and all that jazz (umm, TE, if you’re reading this, your poetry skills are crazy wicked good). Anyway, mine aren’t.

So, Thing I Saw #1: Man Wearing Underwear. Not boxers dude, straight up tightie-whities. And he had gone swimming or at least just sweat through them so they were almost tightie-skinnies and it was seriously icky. Now mon petite frere told me he hates Santa Monica beach cuz it’s dirty and cited the one time he saw a homeless guy swimming in his tighties. That is excusable. You see, if you are homeless you most likely don’t have a very big wardrobe, and you need to swim, I respect that, so go for it. Now you, guy sitting next to me on beach in your underwear, you have no excuse. You were wearing Oakleys, had a full towel/umbrella/sun block/book spread and I note that your wife was well-attired in a proper if not somewhat stylish bandeau style bikini.

It reminds me of this one woman at the pool I used to lifeguard at who would wear a black strapless bra to lay out in all the time. It was a country club for heaven’s sake. Keep you skivvies in your clothes madam! You see, she thought no one would notice, but it was the little rosebud between her cups that called her out.

Now considering I just mentioned lifeguarding, this is a perfect segue to Thing I Saw #2: “Junior Lifeguards in Training.” What the f. I sit down, and there is this whole gaggle of like, little kids playing lifeguard practice, doing all that swimming and running around stuff, cuz you know they are Junior Beach Lifeguards in Training, just to clarify. Now these kids could not have been older than like 12. I say this with certainty, b/c both the boys and girls were still considerably shorter than me, and nowadays I’m pretty much outsized by kids by the time they are like, oh, 14. Anyway, I’m fairly certain you have to be at least 16 to guard. Does it take 4 years of practice to be a lifeguard? I would say, no.

If I were talking to these junior lifeguards in training, here’s the advice I’d give them:

1) Tanning – Know your shit. Pick your preferred brand of lotion, and be sure to have your higher spf treatment and your lower spf treatment. Experiment with lotions, oils, dry oils, spray formulas, etc. Remember that practice makes perfect and a lovely shade of bronze, that is even all around, takes a lot of hard hours in the sun.

2) Authority – Pretend like you totally have it. Get really good at telling kids to “Stop running!!” and “Get off the lane lines!!” Another good phrase to have in your vocab is “Hey, stop that!” as it comes in handy quite frequently. Also, develop a really good swagger to use when you walk out of the guard cage and up to your tower stand. Especially if you’re 5’2” and really look completely un-authoritative

3) The Whistle – Learn how to use it. This does not only apply to when you blow it for adult swim, but for how you use it as an accessory of the job. It’s very important that you’re really good at twirling it in very creative ways, and very quickly. I recommend that if you have a choice of color for the neck lanyard that you select red. Red screams “lifeguard.”

4) Kids – Generally a pain in the ass. They are the reason that when you’re sitting in the chair you can’t just gossip on your walky-talky with the other guards about that crazy in her black strapless bra but rather have to watch out for their lives. The important piece of advice here is to treat at least a handful of them very nicely so you can get yourself a little fan club. Michelle and Maddy were my two key members. They do things like grab you Diet Cokes and French fries from the snack bar and go search the entire Olympic-sized pool for your tiny little butterfly earring (dude they were hot when I was 16) when it falls out. They will even paint pen your whistle so your key accessory looks extra wicked cool.

5) Chair Strapping – Don’t ever do it. I got suckered into starting early once and restrapping the deck chairs. This involves using a hot air gun thing and melting rubber straps and then touching the burning things with your bare hands and pulling on them to stretch them until your back wants to give out. It’s very tiresome, very not glamorous, and generally atrocious. Abort! Abort! A worse job than when I worked at Best Friends Kennel and was a doggie play time associate.

Anyway, I need to go get a mani. I am leaving for a wedding tomorrow morning and must get myself physically prepared. Expect stories.

This Meal Subsidized by the Crazy Horse Too

So last night I came up to dinner to meet brother/Greggy and dad/Dick for dinner in Redondo beach (Dad wanted to be somewhere he could look at boats and water and nautical things like that). As I am riding w/ a sales guy in LA tomorrow and then leaving for a wedding on Friday, I requested to stay put in LA and work from home today, so I am presently sitting at my kitchen table under a fan in clothing that would in no way be work appropriate as it is 100 degrees in here. I suppose I could go somewhere else to work, but that would require putting on decent clothing and leaving my apt and I’m frankly much too lazy for that at present.

So here I am, sitting in my unmentionables and working off of two laptops cuz I can’t get my wireless in my work computer to work but need it to access the fantastic “deliverables” I’ve been creating and thinking, what is keeping me here? Why can’t I put on my swimmies and hit up the beach? I had to miss a tanning weekend last weekend and then will miss another this weekend and that is going to seriously put me behind on my color maintenance. Working from home as far as I’m concerned is a crock of shit. b/c you know that MTV will be on in the background (hey, it’s MUSIC television and I usually “rock out”** to my iPod at work anyway), you know that at some point I’ll need some sort of refreshment that can only be found at a place other than my apartment, you know that I’ll decide I must multi-task and throw some laundry in, you know that lunch will be at the beach, etc. But I swear, I’m doing my best, I really am. You know, my dad tried to convince me to play hooky and hit up the beach w/ them today. He said he’d write my boss a sick note. But I can’t!!! I’m so good!! I’m so conscientious! I must keep shouting these things at myself!!! I sound like KBeck!!!

Anyway, let’s talk about last night’s dinner. I first heard about dad and brother’s trip to Mammoth where they were fly fishing: my dad apparently caught twice as many fish as my brother. He also told me like 20 times. My brother claimed he brought it up around every 5 minutes when they were in Mammoth. I guess they’d be watching tv and out of the corner of his eye Greggy would see Dick making fly casting motions and laughing. When the waiter comes to take our order my dad starts asking about the “sandabs” (apparently little fishies that resemble small sole and are all over the north/central west coast…) and then explaining to the waiter how he’s out here visiting his kids and telling his life story. Have another martini dad. He proceeds later on to tell the waiter AGAIN that he’s out here visiting his kids and the waiter actually chimes in and finishes his story for him. So in case you’ve every wondered about me…there it is…this is the stock I come from…

My dad wanted me to recap the Bruce Willis story for him so I did, he really got a kick out of that… My brother personally thinks I’m a total motard. I then told dad that I’d also recently done the same intro with a rapper. He liked his too. I told him the story, and I had to include the location (strip club), but it’s ok b/c my dad is pretty chill. We agreed my mom would have a minor heart attack over the story. I guess she is one of those women that really hates strip clubs. My dad just concluded that they are a business and fact of life. Anyway he apparently has done implants on strippers, so essentially, strippers put food on my table and a roof over my head for many years of my life. I’ll leave you to think about that. The end.

**There’s this chick in my office that continually walks by and asks me if I’m “rocking out” whenever I have my headphones on. Who says that???

My Office Feels Like Junior High

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

A Trip to Idiot Island

I flatironed my hair this morning. This is at best a once/week occurrence. And all for what – for nothing, b/c the hair is up my friends. The AC on floor three (my floor) of our building is broken and it’s f’in 98 degrees in here just like the boy band. If you know me you know I already have a core body temp that threatens spontaneous combustion anyway, so this is really quite unbearable and I think I may faint. I am wilting. I am intensely unhappy and they can’t make me work in these conditions.

Anyway. While working is out of the question for the time being, I think I may be able to do stuff such as recap some weekend thoughts. Let’s start w/ Sunday night, Thievery Corporation concert at the Hollywood Bowl, joined by Flaming Lips and Os Mutantes (this trippy Brazilian Band). Great concert. I guess those crazy Lips were filming bits for some video they are making so they wanted it to be super special fantastic, as evidenced by them telling us to “Go Crazy” or “Go F** Nuts” before every song. That got old. Anyway, cuz of that, they passed all these glowsticks out to the audience so we’d do Nuts stuff like make big chains out of them or throw them in the air (ps that is dangerous!!!! I bet someone got their eye poked out!!). Or just wear them on various body parts.

You know I used to be able to fit one of those tubes around my waist when I was like 13? No joke. Why 13 you ask? B/c that brings me back to Bar/Bat Mitzvah days and no celebration was complete w/out glowsticks. B/t the ages of 12 and 13 Dick and Jane were fortunate enough to have immediate access to glowsticks 24/7, b/t for some reason it was cool to hold onto these things and maintain their glow by storing them in the freezer. So we had like tons of those things hidden in with the frozen spaghetti sauce and Schwan Man ice cream. Those were the days.

Oh can I mention a tee shirt I saw on some guy last night? It said: “Your village called. It wants its idiot back.” It was funny b/c the guy wearing it comes over to find his seat and then goes to his girlfriend, “Umm, I think are seats are actually over there” and points to somewhere pretty much all the way across and down…and the Bowl is big… Also reminded me of this one Sex and the City quote that I’m quite fond of (Mare, Mibs this one’s for you…and Mare…this quote can take the place of the lovely picture of you I received from Jami on Saturday night…): “Every day with my wife is like a trip to idiot island.” Don’t tell me you’re not laughing and that’s not funny, b/c it is.

In closing, while the weekend was good and included among other things a glorious as usual meal at Jiraffe and a lovely albeit very hot hike, the other highlight was my afternoon of retail therapy with my lovely brunch club ladies. I have to say that I think I found what could be the most perfect dress in the universe, not every kidding, along with these Marc Jacobs shoes that are simply divine and I smile just thinking about them. So, as I’m smiling right now I think I’ll attempt to do work or something but I don’t that will happen b/c I think I’m starting to sweat. Eww. I’d rather be on idiot island right now.

Energy for Sale

We are in the midst of an energy crisis right? I have a solution! All day at work I have felt like I’m running on 28 cups of coffee. I have energy like nothing you’ve ever seen. It’s insane. I don’t know why. I’m lying, I totally know what is going on with me, but I am not going to tell you. I bet that bugs you.

Anyway. So here’s what I’m thinking. I wonder if there is a way to take a human being who has too much energy for one’s good and hook them up to some kind of device that would turn that energy into energy that can run stuff, like your car or something. See, I think I could have something here. Also, what about people that suffer from extremely high internal body temperatures (like I do, especially at night). Can we use that heat to run stuff? I’m just thinking. B/c my energy would be super cheap. Right now I just want to get rid of it b/c it’s impossible to do work here at work with this going on and I might even make it free. Ok it’s 3:20 so I can now leave in one hour and 40 minutes.

Snakes Are Dumb.

Favorite headline of the day: “Python Gulps Queen-Size Electric Blanket.” Here’s the story if you’re interested - http://abcnews.go.com/US/wireStory?id=2212355 But…I have to tell you, there isn’t much too it beyond a python eating an electric blanket. Apparently he was eating his bunny rabbit dinner (L) and he confused where the bunny ended and the blanket began. Thing is, they really look pretty damn different. And don’t you think that when he got to the chord and electric box he though “hmm, this rabbit sure does have an odd texture. And he sure is crazy big and doesn’t really have any sort of flesh.” So I conclude that pythons must be pretty dumb. They are also snakes who give me the CREEPS.

Can we talk faucets for a minute? Because don’t forget that they are pretty much my life this summer. So I’m the new product development meeting yesterday. We have three new lines hitting Lowes and Home Depot this year. Right now they only have code names. I’ll give you one: Pinstripes. But I can’t give you
the others cuz then I’d have to kill you. (why do people love saying that so much??) So anyway. We are talking about these new families, and one of our VPs is like, “So, are we ever going to give these series names? I mean, Pinstripes, we obviously aren’t using that – that’s a Kohler line.” So my boss explains that he has our Marketing/Comm group working on the naming, and the woman who heads that heads the group hands him this list of names for the faucets. I strain to try and read it but cannot. So the guy is like, “Where the hell did these come from? Skylar? Ashley? These are terrible.” And the woman gets all bent out of shape and defensive about her market research techniques and it’s really kind of funny, I’m kind of wanting to laugh. The thing is, how the hell do you name a faucet? It’s this hunk of metal that spouts water, even if it is pretty. Oh – sidenote – this woman, the naming head, she is wearing sequins in the office today. I don’t think that is acceptable.

My fav comment from this conversation, which sorry if you don’t find it funny, but you have to remember that I’ve become a huge faucet nerd, was when they were talking about this one faucet. They are passing around the model, and someone is like, “This looks like Parisa on Jenny Craig.” (They also talked at length about how it resembled a woman’s silhouette…and that was weird). Anyway, someone suggested calling it Jenny Craig. That would be funny, no? If you were doing some remodeling and your friends were like, “So, which faucet are you going with?” And you’re like, “The Jenny Craig.” And they’re like, “No I’m not asking about your diet you silly! The faucet!!” Ok. I’ll stop there. Anyway, what if they just named their faucets after their summer interns? If they can have an Ashley…why not a Sara?

Pair of Jacks + Random Gym Thoughts

First off, update on Jack Bauer, the dog, not the tv character. My parents went up the kennel and put dibs on the pups, which are due to arrive in the Linderman house in August. Dad narrowed down to two, sent the pics y-day; the one in his right hand is his fav (don’t you dare make fun of my Dad’s picture, ps). He titled the email “Pair of Jacks” and signed the email the “Puppymaster.” No one is laughing at this right now, but I am.

Anyway, so do you find that you encounter the weirdest people habits at the gym? Cuz I do. Went y-day to swim. Checked to make sure before going that it was NOT 24 Hour Aqua day, btw. So this old-ish guy who is wearing like 20 tons of cologne – I shit you not you could smell the cologne in the water – gets in the lane next to me. He stands in the water, just standing there, for like 10 minutes. And then he waits precisely for the moment that I am pushing off to push out, and he full out sprints. He edges me by a tiny bit at the wall. But mind you, I was at the tail end of 700 yards. So I’m like, hmm, he is pretty fast, is he trying to race me? No!! Who does that? But then I see that he slows down dramatically, like seriously. And then later on he pulls the race stunt again. Guys if you are a 50 year old man, I think you have serious issues if you are so intent on racing the young girl in the pool with you at your local 24 Hour Fitness. Join Masters or something. Leave me alone. Or…just be blunt and be like, “yo, let’s go.” No wait, don’t do that.

So then I go into the steam room. This old guy is standing up on one of the benches rapidly swinging his arms in and out. It’s gross, b/c he has no shirt on and he’s dripping w/ steam room sweat, so his body parts are all rubbing together making these icky noises that sound a lot like something that I am too much of a lady to write here. Then he lies down and starts doing ab exercises. And he’s breathing like major super heavy. He is grunting. Again…these noises… Then he moves onto other exercises that I honestly could not identify the purpose of, but by this time I felt like I was going to witness him blow his load so I upped and outed that steam room.

It only make me wonder…what weird stuff do I do at the gym? Because I’m sure I do something weird. You know what I think it is? I think I make really weird faces when I’m spinning, b/c I get so totally beat that most likely I show pain on my face. Anyway, one last tidbit about the gym. Now I have only swum at this pool one other time, like 3 weeks ago. And that other time, I was swimming w/ this woman, probably in her 60s or something, and she asked if I swam competitively (umm, like 30 years ago, and I’m slow as balls now). But anyway, she goes at one point, “wow, you are like a real swimmer! We don’t see too many of those around here!” It was cute. So I am getting in last night, and she remembered me…she was like, “oh, you are like the real swimmer!” Yes. I am starting to get it. I am real, and I do swim, thus making me a swimmer, thus making me a real swimmer. Anyway, we chatted it up for a minute or two after that, she is a cutie. Maybe we can hang out and talk about our weird gym quirks sometime.

Adventures in Cyberspace

What an age we live in. Did you know that you are most likely connected by like 2,365 degrees to me even if you don’t have the slightest clue who I am? You’ve got Friendster, you’ve got MySpace, you’ve got FaceBook, you’ve got LinkedIn, etc. Now I get LinkedIn cuz that is a “professional” site, but the others I’ve never really gotten. Umm, yes, I am on Friendster, mostly b/c it’s just one more Web site to look at, but aside from its ability to connect you to virtually everyone else in the world that you never want to talk to (or provide you an avenue for cyberstalking), I really don’t get what it’s all about. I always ask people. They don’t ever have good answers.

Anyway, we’ll say for simplicity’s sake that these crazy Internet things seems to promote virtual networking. So, in the spirit of virtual networking, I think it’s only fair for me to give some Web shout outs so you can introduce yourself (virtually of course) to some other people and have some new reading material. Now, my friend Sauj knows about 98 other people who blog. I don’t know why she knows so many bloggers. I personally don’t. But, I do know Sauj, and her blog is quite cyberlicious (how many times have I used the word cyber???): http://saujpauj.blogspot.com/

I also recently discovered, courtesy of adventures in cyberspace, that one of Mr. Splendapants good friends has a blog: http://www.siggypoopants.blogspot.com/ Check it out! I think that her blog’s name was actually inspired by my blog’s name. And, it appears, based on the first entry, that I am also the source of inspiration for her to begin blogging in the first place. They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Pinch my cheeks and call me flattered!

Happy reading friends.

You Just Can't Shut Me Up...Please Pay My Bills

You know those irritating TMobile commercials where you listen to randomers blabber about stuff and then at the end Catherine Zeta Jones tells you to “go ahead, talk it out!”?? Well, hey Catherine, F you, b/c I have gone ahead, I have talked it out. And I can’t afford this habit.

I am v. good about never going over my minutes. And then last month my cell bill was double what it usually is, and this month it was quadruple what it normally is, and no, for once, I’m not speaking in hyperbole. The people I talk to the most, my parents and this other person as of late, are Cingular so they are free. So who am I talking to? I don’t know. I just printed out my TWENTY-SEVEN page phone bill and am going to try to figure it out. I am also abusing the old text message. The problem w/ those things are that if you send one, you are bound to receive one, and if you receive, you are bound to send. So one turns into 2 and then before you know it you are over your allotment. And every text I ever send is usually really stupid anyway. So, if you are reading this, and I text with you, please don’t text me back anymore. Or just stop texting me. And calling me. And don’t pick up when I call.** In fact I think I think I’ll just become a hermit. Which is sad, b/c I just got a new Bluetooth headset for my phone (had to give in b/c my earbud thing always fell out b/c I guess my ears are misshapen) and I won’t even be able to use it if I become a hermit…

You know what though? Let’s continue w/ the irony. Along with my sick phone bill, I just got the bills for my 5 vocal therapy sessions. They apparently were $450 a piece (don’t worry guys they are covered by insurance, although I do have to pay all my deductible, which bites) but anyway. You see, it’s funny: The girl w/ the big phone bill is the one going to vocal therapy sessions b/c she has abused her vocal chords. Do you see the irony? Do you get it?? I don’t think my vocal therapist would approve. She would take my phone probably, and send me off to be a hermit that sits around blowing bubbles through an oversized straw into a cup of water, counting in sets of three, and repeating “Me, My, Money.” (Umm, if you are utterly confused and have no clue what I’m talking about, these are things I had to do in vocal therapy to help readjust my speaking voice as I “suffer” from “nodules” on my vocal chords: http://www.asha.org/public/speech/disorders/nodules_polyps.htm

And shit. I know what you are thinking right now. “She writes too much too.” I do. It’s true. Veeve and Roo basically told me over the weekend that you just can’t shut me up. I guess you can’t. The end.

**Please don’t stop texting/calling me!! That would be sad.

So, Do You Come Here Often?

All in all this was a fairly fantastic weekend here in LA. Rehana/Rafiki/Rohypnol finally came out from Boston to visit, and it’s always delightful to see old friends. It’s also nice when old friends introduce you to new friends, especially ones that are staying at the Ritz and don’t mind if you come crash at your pool for the entire day as they work on tanning off their hangovers. Famous last words on Friday included our assurance that we’d be taking it easy. Easy turned into a bottle of wine before dinner, three bottles at dinner, and a trip to Beechwood for lots more drinks. I think that Danny Number 2 and BobDickBrian would agree that we did not take it easy on Friday and Danny Number 1 is now afraid to see us on a night when are going out hard.

Anyway, after a day of tanning we went to Venice for a stroll and a snack – and I pet my first parrot. He was this little blue guy and Roo totally thought he was going to bite my finger off, but he just wanted to shake hands. I swear, the bird really did you give you his little claw thing to shake. Adorable.

Parrots are great, but we saw much more interesting things at the BHills Four Seasons bar last night. Aly informed us that it’s a place mostly frequented by hookers and old man, and I’m going to agree. The bar was packed and they make a mean mojito, but I have never seen so many old, unattractive and eerily unattached men in an LA bar, ever. And there were def hookdawgs. I’m pretty sure we came this close to witnessing public sex at this bar (and to note, I bet you this chick does like to do it in movie theaters). We were also very close to playing a game whereby I would pose as a callgirl just to see how much cash we could pull in, but I was not ballsy enough to try to play callgirl anyway.

What I did do…was more embarrassing. So, Bruce Willis walks in. He’s chilling at the bar, alone, standing right next to all of us. For like ever. And he looked so lonely, like he really needed some company, and I just wanted to help him out. And of course I was being egged on. Aly told me that I’m her courageous friend and that my dress was awesome and I should just go for it. Sean told me I should just walk up to him and grab his crotch. We plotted about what to say for a while and I finally just walked up to him. I learned that I’m a total retard and I lose all poise, wit, and intelligence when I try to talk to celebs (as I now have made an ass out of myself in front of both L’il Jon and Brucey).

So I walk up. “Hey, just wanted to come say hello.” Bruce extends hand, I shake, “I’m Sara.” (he doesn’t give me his name, guess he though I knew it). “My friends all wanted to come and say hello, but I was the only one willing to do it.” Bruce, w/ wry smile: “So, they sent you.” Me: “Yep, I guess they did.” Me: “So, do you come here a lot?” Bruce, probably thinking, wow, that is an original thing to say, “No, not really.” Me: “Hmm, yeah, it’s a pretty crazy scene,” (Who SAYS shit like this? Was I having an out of body experience????) Bruce: “Yeah.” Me: “Ok, then, have a great night.” Bruce “Sure.” (i.e., get the fuck out of my face idiot girl).

When I recount the convo to my friends I think they cringed. My favorite reaction personally, is I’m walking to the bathroom and I get a text. It’s from Rehana, it says “Sara just asked Bruce Willis Do You Come Here Often?” I told the motard that she indeed sent the text TO ME. Here is a note though, do you know that talking to Bruce Willis is really intimidating? It is. He’s really not easy to talk to, and he does not want to talk to you. Oh, btw, that little guy from Oceans 11 and Varsity Blues soon joined BW. Should’ve talked to him instead. Bet he would’ve been nicer. Oh well.

So that is pretty much my weekend story. I also had an extended chat w/ some old guy who was not cute by any standards, but hey dude, drinks at the 4 Seasons are $20 so I’m happy to exchange a chat for a bev. And the guy called me La Contessa although I’m still trying to figure out why and asked me if when I’m with my friends I feel like I’m different than them (for the record, umm, no, I don’t), and I’m also still trying to figure out what the hell that meant as well. Anyway, my Vitamin Water is done, and yoga starts in 20 minutes, so I’m out the door. I will say that I’m a little sad the paparazzi didn’t pop up and take a pic of me and Brucey so that I could get my pic in US Weekly, but this gives me some aspirations in life. The End.

My Personal Hell

I just got stood up for the second time in two days. Luckily it’s not really a blow to the self esteem cuz I didn’t get stood up for date, just a business call, but that’s pretty bad anyway because it leaves me with nothing to do.

Anyway, so last night I had my panties in a bundle for quite some time over a gym-related situation. I went to the gym prepared to swim, I didn’t bring any gym clothes save for swim stuff so I was pretty much married to the pool for the evening. I noticed when I was checking in that “24 Hour Aqua” was scheduled from 5:30 to 6:30 and it was nearly 5:15. I asked the guys if the pool would still be open and they said Aqua uses the whole pool…I asked if it was all old women…they didn’t hesitate in their affirmative response.

I suited up and was about 4 laps in before I was stopped dead in my strokes by this really fat woman. And then I realized all the lane lines were gone, and the pool was actually filled with fat woman. I’m sorry if you’re offended, but there is no other way to describe the scene. Unless you want to add that it was fat women in really heinous swim suits (note to staff: it’s not “old” women that take the class)*. I asked the women if they would keep a lane open for swimming, but they said that the instructor is really strict about that. They invited me to join them, said it’s a real workout. Yes, clearly, I can see that it also provides fantastic physical results.

The instructor arrives. It’s an effeminate Asian man bearing an effeminate looking boom box (PS: his music mix was just fantastic. You could barely hear it, but when you did it was playing something completely unexpected…his “mix” transitioned from early 90s techno, to Slim Shady, to Sinatra, to Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard. Scientifically crafted for water aerobics I guess.). I ask if he can keep just one lane open. He gives me a Meryl Streep-esque look a la DWP and informs me that he needs the entire pool for his class. Yes, let’s take a minute to think about why you might need the entire pool. And, side note, btw. I am thinking, if I’m really large, do I want to voluntarily put on my swimsuit? I don’t think that I do. So why are all the biggest women in this gym the ones putting on the least amount of clothing? Just a question.

So anyway, it’s 5:30, and I am meeting a friend (Mr. K Kent) in Newport for dinner at 7:30, and I really don’t see what else to do…where am I going to go? I’m in my suit…I have this time…nothing else to do…I am taking water aerobics. What to say about this class. We play with little foam weights and do QB little things, prancing from one end of the pool to the other, swinging our arms around, treading a little bit, kicking against the wall (PS: I’m 99.99% positive that during the kick session I was the only one who actually made a splash…). We were punching our arms, scissoring our legs, I don’t know. I am fairly certain that I didn’t even come close to breathing hard. The only thing I gained was an exercise in anger management, b/c I had a lot of frustration brewing inside, as I fumed over my stolen workout.

Later on at dinner I was telling Kelly about my little water adventure. He likened it to the time he took group swim lessons to improve his strokes, which required him to participate in the public pool’s group lap sessions. Now I won’t go into specifics, but he was a bit harsher in his descriptions of the other swimmers, which I think may have involved associations with certain marine animals, say, manatees.

Alright now. I am done. Lesson learned: always check the schedule for 24 Hour Aqua before packing up your gym bag. I can let this episode go now and move on. On a closing note, and completely unrelated, I really think I want to get a puppy. Veeve you reading this? There is something we need to talk about…

*Disclaimer: I do actually think it’s fantastic that these women were there, as they were actually getting out there and being healthy. I am just temporarily bitter that my workout was squashed by this lame class.

Umm, Yeah, I Guess I Do Enjoy That

I had just fallen asleep last night when my phone woke me up. It was Mr. Splenda. I berated him for waking me up, then we chatted for a few minutes, I told him how I’d gone running that night and gotten lost (I was running around this lake and it got dark out and I missed my turn off back to the road and I was out alone running past cobwebs and bats and it was quite unpleasant and not a little creepy, but I sure did run a lot, so that’s good…).

Then he asked me, “Do you enjoy making fun of me?” I guessed that he had been reading my blog and saw the entry where I…made fun of him. Of course he was not upset, but he did threaten to make comments on the blog so if any rude comments get posted that take jabs at me, umm, just ignore them. I mean seriously, the guy can’t tell when his milk goes bad.

Does this count as another entry making fun of you Splendapants?

Jack Bauer, that Furry Little Bugger

My doggy passed away this past winter. Jakey was our second golden retriever and indeed a great dog. Dick and Jane swore they would never again own another pup, but of course they soon will. Who would Jane talk to in the morning if they didn’t? So they went scouting and have been waiting for several months now for the lil guy to be born. Several weeks ago the litter bearing their soon to be new arrival was born, and by mid-August the Linderman house will once again have a furry little bundle running around it. Check out the pics of these silly little guys.

I asked my Dad the other day what they plan to name him. Verdict is in and they are calling him Jack. I thought this was in homage to Jake. You know, cuz Jake, Jack, pretty similar.

No, it’s not. Dick and Jane are obsessed w/ that damn show 24, and they are actually naming their new puppy after Jack Bauer. I am kind of embarrassed, kind of amused, obvi not embarrassed enough to not post it to the Internet.

Completely Helpless

There is a man in my life, who will remain nameless, who frequently needs advice related to extremely mundane topics. Like, I’ll get a call asking, “I made this chicken on Monday night. Do you think I can still eat it?” I don’t know dude, is it slimy? Does it reek? No? Then…eat it. Or, “This milk is stamped July 5th. It’s the 7th, but it still seems fine. Do you think I can drink it?” Umm, taste it…sour? No? Drink it…

Got this email today. Title: Important question: Is Splenda bad for you?
“I ask because we have free drinks in the office (soda, juices, milk, etc.). One of the options is a bunch of different flavors of carbonated water (lemon-lime, black raspberry, kiwi strawberry, etc.). Anyway, it's only 5 calories because it's made with Splenda. I'm drinking like 2 or 3 of these things a day Because it makes me feel like I'm drinking something with caffeine in it, but I don't know if Splenda is bad?”

My response: Title: Important question: Are You Retarded?
I won’t write my response, but essentially, 1) Why would you think I am some sort of expert on the health effects of Splenda? And 2) Do you have access to Google? Oh and how about three – why does Splenda make you feel like you’re drinking something caffeinated anyway?

Men simply are not resourceful. I get lost, I ask for directions. You get lost, you have this pride and you will waste ½ hour driving around aimlessly to save it. I want to know if my milk is sour, I give it a little taste. You have to call someone to get their advice. I grab the butt pocket on your jeans and rip a little hole in them (oops) you think it’s the end of the world. I take them to a tailor and get them fixed. “They can do that???!!!” Yes, you can sew things that rip back together with thread and needle!!!

Without women would men still be living in caves, eating berries and leaves and stuff?

You Cannot Be Serious

The other day, while relaxing in the sun at Pacific Beach (amidst frolicking 18 year olds sporting heinous full body tattoos, keg-standers, horse shoes, blasting head banger music, and in general, frat boys), I listened to my friend Erin tell Meghann (summer intern at Harrah’s) that she thinks casinos are next in line after big tobacco and fast food to be sued by obsessive-compulsive people who f* up their lives due to their lack of self-control. No, Erin, you were off. Next in line to be sued are stars, by normal people who look like them, who must endure cases of mistaken identity…You are confused, right? This sounds completely retarded, right? No kiddies, think again. Check this out: “Man says he's tired of being mistaken for MJ” -
http://msn.foxsports.com/nba/story/5766288?FSO1&ATT=HMA
This is seriously the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever read. Or at least it’s up there.

Let’s talk about other ridiculous things. I was bitching about World Cup the other day b/c I’m so sick of hearing about it. I was ready for it to end. Then I caught the last hour or so of the France/Italy game, and now I’m sad it’s over. Yes, I am no sports-watcher, this is true. And soccer I could generally care less about, but I think I’m reconsidering and may become a devoted fan. I LOVE LOVE LOVE how dramatic these (btw very very hot) soccer men are – how they get nudged and then roll to the ground and tumble like 20 times to get a yellow card pulled. It’s awesome. Specifically, it was the head-butt that got me. Who does that??? I can’t believe that guy ended his soccer career by head-butting a guy. I bet you he gets assassinated by some crazy French dude. Mozzarella!!!!

Final ridiculous things include Meg and Warren’s house in paradise across from the seals (can I move in?), the guy I met in a bar on Saturday night who I think hit on at least 25 women and made out w/ approximately ½ of them (although this is no where near Frederick getting her skirt pulled all the way up by a guy in a bar in the Hamptons), me getting hair dye on my face so it looks like I have a birthmark now on my cheek (I called L’Oreal, it does come out but I guess I have to wash my face for like three hours or something), and going to dinner w/ my surrogate dad last night. He offered to take me. Best date I’ve had in months. Only date I’ve had in months? Yes. That too. Anyway, wow, old men don’t really talk much…I sure had to pull weight during that convo…

Alright, this pretty much concludes my thoughts for now. So, the end.

I Need This!

Yes, I am blogging at work, it's true. Don't tell anyone ok? Anyway, I think eveyone has peaced out of this place to go to happy hour. I thought happy hour would not be a good pre-San-Diego-drive option, so instead I'm here...blogging...

But anyway. So I found a link to this story (thank you sauj) about these phones that are coming out (LG brand) that have a breathalizer built into them. I guess you are supposed to test your sobriety before getting behind the wheel although I highly doubt they will really stop anyone.

But...the BEST feature is this deal:
The LP4100 also allows users to set up the phone so on certain nights and after a certain time they do not call certain people in their phone book. Think ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend.
If you have a blood alcohol level over .08, the phone will not let you dial that person. So it not only promotes sobriety, but chastity — and probably your dignity, as well.

I can be a pretty pathetic drunk dialer. It's true that I relatively recenlty had a 16 minute conversation with a certain boy and then had no recollection of what I actually said the next day. I don't really think I said good things, just a guess. If I had had him programmed into my phone, I wouldn't have needed to completely remove his number from my phone to avoid any more dumb moves. Umm, I could also just not be a stupid girl (err, woman) but that is not really an option here... Someone keep me alerted as to when this phone will hit the US market!!

Just Thinking

Some random thoughts. So, first – names of people in my office. There is this one woman named Pixie Wick. How many times do you think she has been called Pixie Sticks? That would get really old. There is another woman named Lady. I don’t really have anything to say about that, but really, her name is Lady. That is worse than Coco. And, to continue this tangent, speaking of Lady, I was in a meeting this morning (me and about 10 guys) and I was referred to as a girl. Seriously, I am no girl, I am def a woman at the ripe age of 25. And last office thought…a fellow intern asked me if I’m on MySpace at lunch today (no, I’m not). But I did say I was on Friendster. And then I realized that I had a link to my blog on Friendster. So I flipped out that someone might look me up on Friendster, then go to my blog, and then I may write about coworkers and get in trouble, so I quickly logged into Friendster at work just to avoid any run-ins. Phew. How much do I over-analyze?

Final thought of the day. Veeve went on a date last night w/ some kid she met at her recent conference of Neurosciency people. I guess he’s quite hot and pretty much perfect, and as she thinks he’s def too hot to actually be a good guy, she refers to him as trouble. This makes me laugh. Then she can say stuff like “I Love Trouble.”

Eau de Jami

On Sunday night, just after leaving dinner, I received a call from my friend Erin, previously from DC now a San Diego resident. Apparently she was in town to help her brother settle his new apartment and have a 24 hour reunion with some college friends. She was supposed to stay w/ her brother that night, but he failed to have furniture for her to sleep on, and her other option was staying with his girlfriend Coco’s parents for the night. I guess that Coco has somewhat atrocious parents, and one dinner at their v. exclusive beach club was all she could handle. Again, her name is Coco.

Anyway, so Erin spent the night. The next morning, before my third brunch of the weekend, Erin, Veeve, and I were discussing Erin’s friend Lauren who I knew in DC. I guess Lauren finally broke up with her boyfriend Jim, who Erin could never stand, but the real kicker is that during their last weeks of turmoil he started to hit heavily on our friend Jami. Jami is a good friend of Veeve and mine from Wake, and the thing about her is that she attracts men like flies to honey.

Now, Jami is great – she is pretty, she has a great personality, she’s wicked smart – and she does have amazing boobs. But we have a lot of friends that fit this description (as flat as I am, I do have a lot of girlfriends with very large breasts).

Erin, Veeve, and I started to talk about something, and it’s not the first time our friends have discussed this – what exactly is it about Jami that makes the men flock to her? Seriously, in school, she was NEVER w/out a man, in DC I had several friends fall for her, it just happens all the time, and I don’t care what you boys will say, it cannot just be her bodacious ta-tas. I think that is has to be pheromones. And I think that I could seriously make a lot of $$$ if I could figure out how to reproduce and bottle Jami J pheromones, and call it Eau de Jami, or Essence of Jami, or something like that. I’ve been saying lately that I don’t think I’m cut out for a standard office job and that I really need to own my business, and I think I might have an idea. Now, how to go operational…Food for thought.

Sloppy and Classy All in the Same Weekend

I’m a quick learner guys; instead of leaving at 5pm again this past Friday I left at 7 and made it back in 1 hour 15 minutes, which was a much better deal than last week’s 2.5 hours. And I had plenty of time to get dressed and ready for Friday night dinner at The Buffalo Club, planned a la Danny, who insisted that the hour wait for our table even though we had reservations would be well worth it. It wasn’t; my halibut that arrived around 11:15 pm was less than delightful, but the night was almost worth it just cuz I got to see a couple things that I feel only happen in LA.

One would be the $38 per person food minimum noted on the menu. This does not include drinks. Mind you many of the entrees don’t meet that minimum. Anyway, so our bill was pretty huge. We had pretty mediocre service and it was pretty disappointing, but when some of us bitched to one another about it, someone, I forget who, pointed out that they didn’t charge us for the appetizers. Oh really? Maybe that’s b/c we didn’t order them – they we part of the Buffalo Club “taking care of us.”

So aside for paying a lot for very only decent food, people in LA also apparently like to eat their pricey meals while watching go-go girls gyrate on the speakers over by the dance area. I can hear it now… “My, the béarnaise on this filet is delightfully prepared. Hey, check out the ass on that chick in the hooker outfit!”

To compensate for our hunger, we drank too much. I was two martinis and one glass of champagne in by the time my meal arrived, but by that point I had lost interest in food, so I picked at my fish and then concentrated on drinking more. We danced a lot, someone may have let someone else flirt quite overtly with them only to avoid paying attention to someone else (who is that childish?), and then we went back to an apt where several of our friends live to drink more. I pretty much passed out on the couch upon arrival only to awake confused the next morning, which is too bad, b/c apparently Eric and Victor got into a little fight which sounded somewhat amusing. Meredith walked home barefoot to her apt. (from West LA over to Brentwood…) in an effort to sober up the next morning. Personally, after brunching (ps I brunched on Sat, Sun, and Monday, which I think is the sign of a great weekend), I hit up yoga, where 10 minutes into it, the heat and movement got to me and I interrupted my “practice” to throw up.

Don’t worry, I made up for the immaturity by being extra mature at my friend Aly’s wedding on Saturday night. This wedding was amazing. Granted, “Anal” Aly (don’t worry, she asked us to call her that) is known as thus for a reason, so we were not surprised by the immaculate sense of detail, but from start to finish it was a perfect affair. The bride was beautiful, and both bride and groom smiled like goofballs the entire night. My only complaint was the lack of some nice hot Jewish boys for dancing with. Luckily the marketing girls all came into town with their dancing shoes on, so I guess that compensated.

The weekend has now ended, and to close, I just have one question. Why the f are there no fireworks in neither Manhattan nor Hermosa Beaches? That was a really bummer. I got some great beach time, I enjoyed my fourth, but I sure did miss my celestial artwork.

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