Greetings from the 1-3-7

Totally writing from my new house. Sitting on the floor as we have no furniture. It's funny. B/c in LA I was sleeping on the couch b/c I had no bed. But at least we had a couch I could sit on when we watched tv. Here, I'm sleeping in a bed (Eliz's), b/c there is no couch to sleep on. Or a tv to watch. Or, tables to eat off of. So that's kind of conundrum-ish right? But I guess that tomorrow our furniture is arriving so this is allllllll about to change.

It's also conundrum-ish, I might add, that our movers are coming on the 4th of July. It's like the birthday of America. And yet, no break for those moving men. If I were them, I'd revolt. But then again, I revolt frequently, at least frequently enough to develop nemeses, that's plural for nemesis, but actually I don't really have multiple, just one, recently developed - I just wanted to use the plural form as it's kind of more fun in ways I can't explain. BTW, if you're reading this there's an estimated 25-30% chance that you've heard about this development of my, I'll say it one more time, nemesis. I'll spare rehashing the story for the 83rd time (yes, I'm pretty much telling everyone simply b/c I can and b/c I want to), I just pretty much wanted to sneak in the fact that I have a nemesis somewhere on this blog.

So my apt is pretty much amazing. It's rather empty and barren right now save for Eliz's room as she's lived here a couple weeks, but that's soon to change. It's huge, and it's beautiful, and it's on the cutest little street ever. I'm in love with it and can't wait to start decorating.

As for the ride up here, it blew. Nothing but hot, barren, creepy desert and mountains that reminded me of The Hills Have Eyes. I was waiting for my car to break down and for mutant things to come out and try to eat my face. Or something. Not really. It was the middle of the day, but what harm does a little drama do? Thanks to those who entertained me via the Cingular/AT&T network. It kept me alive. Literally. I have like a 5 hour tolerance for driving alone and then I start to fall asleep and I had to go over 6 hours.

It would've been right at six hours except I got lost when I got into the city. This city is a rotten
mess down in the Southeast area. The streets don't damn connect or go through and you can't make left turns when you need to or right turns when you need to and it's all damn hills. Huge hills. Huge frightening hills. Do you know what I had to do? Call some kid that is friends w/ Eliz that I don't know and have him navigate me via his GPS system. Wow. I have this sinking feeling that I'm liable to get lost at least 103 more times in the next several months alone, and kids, I have a two year lease so I'm locked into this city for at least that long.

Anyhoo...so that is that. I just had to write from new locale. And, for the record, haters, it's like so not cold here. This evening weather is just slightly below LA's evening weather, and it was marvelously sunny when I drove in this evening. So, HA! I win.

I'm just looking at my pictures and wondering if it gets any classier

BSchool wedding number three last night. I’d like to extend a warm welcome to Clif and Wai Mei for selecting such excellent timing for their wedding as it made for a most wonderful au revoir celebration for all. Of course, I’m sure that this was the number one criteria for selecting a wedding date.

I think there would be several other thank yous in order from our friends to the couple:

--Jen Y would like to say thanks for the cute little place card holder deals. She was fortunately able to collect all 12. Congratulations.

--Sauj would probably give a hearty thanks for the lottery ticket as she won either another lottery ticket, or $23. Either way she won, so it’s a good deal. Then she snuck out the back door to go do some stuff with some people some where.

--Nate says thanks for the wine. He chugged, in all, I’d estimate somewhere b/t 37 and 42 glasses.

--SV says thanks a lot too. Not at all sarcastically.

--Me, personally, I say thank you for the In and Out burgers served late night. There is nothing like spending a day at the beach in a new bikini after eating a steak in addition to 2 entire In and Outs.

I’d like to say that my favorite part of weddings is the beautiful union, or the fact that you get to chill for hours with your friends. Maybe the dancing. Perhaps the open bar. Unfortunately, I frequently side with the food. The ceremony last night, which overlooked the ocean and was virtually perfect, was awesome. But my thoughts were mostly focused on the post-ceremony, pre-dinner hour that is dominated by cocktail foods. After several rounds of the best hors d’oeuvres bypassed us (including the mini crab cakes and lobster tacos), we strategically positioned ourselves at the front of the stairs so the waiters would have to pass us first. This only backfired when the waiters began to bypass us. Not joking. They seriously carried the tuna tartars through the bushes to avoid the likes of us.

It was ok in the end. We turned to conversation as entertainment as Tracy enlightened us with tales of weddings where bathmats mark the altar and a lone buck of KFC supports the reception.

At the evening’s end a bunch of us had a big old fashioned sleepover party at Ritu’s apt. There was drawing on people’s faces and I believe some puking, which clearly demonstrates maturity. Stu and I were delighted when the slumber party ended around 7:30am with the arrival of Ritu’s movers. Darling, thank you for the heads up. Kidding. Anything that gets me off of my couch and into a bed works for me.

Unfortunately, I think that I’m on the couch once again tonight. It’s ok though, I’m at least going to bed really, really tan thanks to beach day w/ the Veeve in Malibu today, which is more than I can say I’ll be doing when I go to bed in an actual bed in SF as a pasty little hippie chick. Just kidding. I’ll never turn hippie.

Anyway, I love weddings!!!!

Clif and Wai Mei: congrats J

I HATE SLEEPING ON THE COUCH

I desperately miss my bed.

I'm staring at my couch in contempt right now. I'm exhausted and about to go to sleep on it. But I hate it. I really, really miss my bed.

And, I might add, I'm stuck on some form of couch until July 5th. I'm just putting it out there so you know. And I'm not saying that I'd sleep in just anyone's bed, but I'm kind of saying, that I'd sleep in most forms of bed. Just, you know, so you know. Ok then. Good night.

My apt. is sad :(

11:27am. Movers have been hear nearly 2 hours doing their thing. And they be done. Just took the last of it, my bed frame, down the stairs. So now I'm trying to figure out where I'll be sleeping. It's looking like I'm on our couch for like 5 nights which really sux and is bad for my neck and back.
So then, if you're reading this and you want to give up your bed for me, I'll take it.

And thus the countdown begins. I have several days of fun in the sun left here and then on Sunday afternoon I'm heading north. It promises to be a miserable drive, too, considering that I have a wedding here on Sat night and thus will likely be all hung-over and sleepy for my drive. I will also likely be in sappy-mode starting to miss LA and my friends so if you have a heart call me on Sunday and keep me entertained during my drive ok?

You know what's funny? You may have noticed that I totally sold out. I put ads on my blog. Don't hate. But the funny thing. I guess they kind of put up ads that are semi-relevant to your content right? The first day, the first ad that popped up was for steel cut oats, which as you may know I steel-cut-apart b/c I think they're totally stupid. So then naturally they're advertising their stuff on my blog. Oh, the irony.

So anyway, the movers just left. It's all dusty in here now. I think all the moving kicked dust up and stuff. Anyway. Just remember to let me know if you have a bed for me. I'm out.

Fun with numbers: my weekend in SDiego

I went down to SD just for the weekend to visit Liz, of delicious cookie fame, and as an added bonus Beebs was in town visiting her sister so Veeve and Freds drove up as well for one special Saturday night. Unrelated, Liz and I were discussing the James Frey novels yesterday, he’s that dude that got in trouble for exaggerating in his non-fiction works. Liz and I decided we could care less and in my opinion all he was doing was using a little hyperbole to spice things up and make a better story. B/c which gets more pity if I’m telling you how cold it is during a DC winter “Shit, it’s like 34 here!” Or: “Damn, it’s seriously negative one thousand degrees!” And which makes you hurry out to the curb faster when I’m coming to pick up you: me being 8 blocks away, or me being 1 block away? Right. You see now don’t you. Not that hyperbole has anything to do with SDiego. Anyway, so some numbers from the weekend:

10: Number of vodka rocks it would’ve taken me to get me to stay at Shout House, God-awful piano bar filled with smelly, overweight Red Sox fans for >20 minutes.

23ish: Number of men standing around the dance floor looking very creepy and not dancing at bar #2.

1: Number of certified pedophiles looking VERY creepy and not dancing at bar #2.

17: Number of times Veeve talked to herself about how fantastic it was to have her camera with her.

98: Number of pics Veeve took on Sat night.

2: Number of pics of Freds’ ass we have, after Fred mooned the Gaslamp District.

1: Number of times Freds lifted up my dress to expose my ass to the Gaslamp Distict.

13: Number of profanities that Freds’ lifting up my dress elicited from my mouth.

23: Number of times I tripped over said dress, my own dress.

2: Number of times a guy told me: “That’s a great dress. I’m NOT hitting on you. I just really like your dress.” Thanks for the honesty.

5: Number of girls we tried to fit into a rickshaw. Denied.

1 million: Number of times someone made fun of my voice in SDiego.

Only 1: Number of times Veeve got so mad at someone for making fun of my voice that she screamed at them about my nodules.

4: Number of disgusting jalepeno poppers I ate at the end of the evening.

65: Number of times Liz and I whined about missing Pizza Mart.

38: Number of times I said “what it is?” or “what it do?” I laughed every time. I’m still laughing. I’m laughing right now. What it do?

16: Number of numbers I did before I got bored of this game.

So then. I watched Goodfellas tonight. As Soprano’s is done and I needed some final Jason and Warren tv-watching time so that was our pick. On my way out we discussed what was going on this week. Pretty much nothing is going on. We discussed brunching one day. It must be later than 11 or so b/c that is about when I wake up these days but can’t start any later than noon b/c that would throw Warren off of his napping schedule.

That is pretty much pathetic.

Congratulations on Graduating...Again.

That's what the robe-people told a friend when she went to pick up her gown.

Anyway. Well there you have it. That is me there, in the MASTER'S robe. It's fancier than your avg Bachelor's robe. It has these wingy-style sleeves and stuff. Also got to wear a hood. That was neat I suppose. Want to know the history behind this photo? I apparently told Dick and Jane to wait for me in the audience section and that I'd come get them after the ceremony, but I forgot, I guess. So I headed up to the reception, held at my school, and went to drop off my robe b/c it sucked to wear. Then I waited for D&J to follow the huge mass of people to the reception. And I waited. Waited some more. Then I got a little nervous for them so I went back.

Jane was sitting shivering in her dress looking about to cry. Dick had run off to find me. He was up the Jaans (sp?) Steps with all the undergrads. Why the hell he went up there to find me, instead of following the entire MBA population, I have no idea. But I was in t-r-o-u-b-l-e. I had left Jane, she was almost in tears. I had removed my robe. Didn't I know they'd want a pic with me in my robe? Not a good scene. So eventually I found a kind classmate, who happens to be a 6 foot tall boy, and borrowed his costume, and dressed quickly for this lovely pic. And that, my dears, is the story of this pic.

The rest of the weekend, I served as a concierge, social director, and chauffeur. I feel bad saying it, but it was rather nice not having the little Greggy around. That trek out to south central really is unpleasant. We got to cut down our car time a bit w/out him around. Although the drive to my friend's parents' house in Encino, of Encino Man fame, kind of made up for that. BTW, I want to thank my friends for pointing out that they, too, are unable to hear me on the phone as I talk too quickly, and that I have no sense of direction and am prone to getting lost. You guys are really great friends. I'll be sure to hype up your faults to your parents next time we're all together.

I do have to say, I picked great restaurants for the weekend. Melisse and Cobra's both went over tremendously well. I have a question: when I'm really enjoying food, do I kind of make an orgasmic face where my eyes are half closed and almost roll back a bit? B/c I think my mom does. And it really concerned me. B/c we're related, you know, and you can pick up tendencies. Sort of reminds me about that time I emailed the FEMBA listserv about food v. sex. Anyway.

Now it's Monday. I woke up at 10, well really I woke up at 9 but as I had nothing to do, really, I stayed in bed another hour. I then looked through approximately 8 years of photos as I decided which albums will be moving to SF with me and which are headed home to Indy. I currently have accumulated 5 bags of clothing headed for Goodwill, and I have stack of shoes and bags covering my floor that will go as well. My calendar is empty save for the evenings which are blocked off for various dinners.

Well then, I'm off to run errands. I actually do need to start packing this place up :( If anyone has seen my past two years, please let them know I said hello, and that I wonder where they went so fast.

Never before have I needed 2 solid days of recovery.

So I got back from Vegas on what, Monday? Yes, Monday. And it’s now Thursday. And I think it’s safe to say that I am at last recovered. This past weekend was what we fondly refer to as Dis-O, where all the second years gather in Vegas to consume vast quantities of tasty drinks, gamble away the government loan money we still have remaining, shake our asses all over each other, and generally enjoy the desert sun. Since a weekend is a long time I’ll do this highlight style. So keep in mind that these highlights are purely my own and you may find them highlight-like at all. If you don’t like them I invite you to create and post your own set of highlights. Or just get over yourself.

Highlight #1 (O reveals disgusting information): Sat night was spent dining at Fix and then dancing at Caramel and Light at the Bellag in honor of XTina’s bach party + the fact that I met Sauj’s MIT friends who are pretty much awesome. I don’t know who is adopting who, but someone is adopting someone. Anyway. So at dinner a certain section mate’s sig-o sat beside me. Champagne apparently makes her talk about how great her honey’s ass is. She also discussed other assets. Use your imagination. I think I barely avoided throwing up in my mouth. I will never, ever let her drink champagne in my presence again.

Highlight #2 (worst pick-up line ever): Don’t ever say this to a girl: “I mean, not that we’re going to have sex, but, if we did have sex, I have this feeling that it’s pretty much amazing. I’m talking, you’d be moaning and screaming.” Wow, please, take me home. That was so classy. That’s what I love most about Vegas.

Highlight #3 (I think I’m over strip clubs): Around 1:30 we were danced out and headed to the Crazy Horse II, which, no lies here, I’ve enjoyed before. There was actually much discussion in Vegas about how most women actually prefer to watch female strippers over male strippers. I guess it’s b/c men’s bodies can be hot but aren’t all that theoretically sexy to begin with and then when you put them in gross little man thongs and make them gyrate in ways that are essentially feminine they really aren’t sexy. Thank you Fins for enlightening me with this theory. I finally have a plausible explanation. At any rate, so I’m at the Crazy Horse. And I think it’s when I’m in the bathroom watching a gross stripper have a heart to heart with the gross bathroom attendant, or maybe when I see the worst boob job ever up on stage at one point, or maybe when I see what some me will welcome into their faces by women who smell mostly like Victoria’s Secret Sparkling Pear with a touch o’ vag that I realized that stripping is not all that I’d cracked it up to be. Time to give up on that career. Good thing I have something with bleach lined up. So anyway, we were about to leave when Sauj was dragged (and when I say dragged I mean literally, Brle) back in, and being nice, didn’t want to leave her, so followed. I ordered a RedBullV and lazily watched the boobies, and it hit me how badly I didn’t want to be there. According to Jason I turned incredibly cunty at that point and went home. And hence the epiphany: I guess I’m over strip clubs.

Highlight #4 (I recover from the SC through food): I arrived home shortly after 3. Last McDonald’s call at the Monte Carlo: 3. And I’m minutes late. I let them announce at least 10 times that they are C-L-O-S-E-D and then literally threw myself onto the counter and begged for food. Them: “Umm, again, we’re CLOSED.” Me: “No, oh no, you don’t understand. I think I might die tomorrow if you don’t give me food and it will be mostly your fault. Seriously I’m going to vomit everywhere if you don’t give me…those fries, those ones right there. And a sandwich?” Them: “We have one burger.” Me: “Yes, ok, great, one burger. And the fries.” [which are size massive super fat thighs large] I have a credit card.” Them: “WHAT? Credit card machine is closed.” Me: “I have $2.” Them: “No, you have $3.” Me: “I have $3.” Them: “Your food is $3. Miraculous. Goodbye.” The fries were gone within less than 3 min is my guess. Meliss was about to ask for some when I returned to the room but she was too late. I was one hungry lady.

Highlight #5 (ReHab in its entirety): I think we had 2 or 3 alarms set for the morning so we could wake up and grab chairs at ReHab. Someone new got angry every time a new alarm went off. I was trying to be the motivator. We rolled into Rehab by 10:30ish. Not a chair in sight. Shoulda listened, bitches. So I don’t know how to describe Rehab, but I think I have found my latest obsession.

If I lived the jet-set life, and I’m totally open to finding a rich husband who would allow me and encourage me to do so, then I totally would, then I would do Rehab like every single Sunday. It’s hot, it’s sunny, it’s a massive pool, and you get to dance in the pool with your drink in hand. I kissed a gay boy who’s incredibly hot and I won’t put his name on here but you might be able to guess if you use your best ESP powers, and I also danced in my swimsuit up on a pole. This was all caught on video which at the time I was very entertained by so I hammed it up. Now in retrospect I guess that will kill my political career. Which is ok, b/c you know, I have no political career, nor do I want one. Roberto was highly entertaining.

If I ever have to see him wearing that damn t-shirt again I might kill myself. Confirmations of fake breasts within the Ander community were made. Check. And Mark: I’m so glad to see that the water does not prevent you from twirling your dancing partners with wild abandon. You are most lucky that I didn’t puke club sandwich up all over you. Speaking of club sandwiches, so at one point I braked for lunch and upon returning was ridiculously cold. I guess I was having some sort of withdrawl from LIT’s. So I’m like “Aly! Let’s find a hot tub!” we find one and she’s all, “I really don’t think you want to go in that.” And I’m all, “yes, I totally do.” And she tells me, “No, Lindy, I really don’t think you do. There are definitely people having sex in that hot tub, right now, in front of us.” And you know what? She was right. So that about sums up Rehab.

Highlight #6 (Bouchon): Speaks for itself. Oysters and steak frites. Life does not get better.

Highlight #7 (Alexandra): I never know you could dance like that. Well done.

Highlight #8 (Mikey): Hey, there, friend. Are you sure you’re into dudes? B/c that attempted hand up skirts? And that dancing? Potentially says otherwise.

Highlight #9 (mystery escort): Some dude approached me on the dance floor. He knew my name. Asked me to come with me. Said he had to “take me to someone. Someone I’d left behind.” Took me up to the VIP area. The mystery guest was Kim, who I from this point onward will refer to as Captain Subtle, given that she is not subtle whatsoever, and my escort was her friend Dick, even though she prefers to call him David. Captain Subtle: I appreciate you interrupting my innocent makeout session not once (when you crammed a drink into my hand), but twice (when you screamed at me from 20 feet down the hall). I do heart you, you little twit.

Highlight #10 (insert stuff here): Aly, I love you. I am forever indebted to you for putting up with my shenanigans. Stan: go f’ yourself for not wanting to endure a lunch and hearing about “Lindy’s weekend in Vegas.”

Highlight #11 (glorious food): Pizza, poolside, at “Relax,” the Monday-sister of Rehab. Does a body good. Actually does parts of the body good. Some bad. Who cares. Oh. For the record. Hard Rock: when you say “relax,” I’m thinking quiet music played at a reasonable volume. Apparently you don’t. I guess you think that house played at a ridiculously gross volume is relaxing. I think more people agree with me than you, just you know, an FYO.

Highlight #12. No. Lowlight #12 (terrible food): J – I think the milkshake idea was yours. I blame you for my awful, dreadful stomach ache and take no personal account for my own actions.

Wow, well, I guess I’m all out of highlights. I’d really like one more b/c I prefer odd numbers to even numbers and thus hate ending on 12, but you can’t force it. Plus, I guess that 13 is an unlucky number so maybe I’m lucky after all. I am considering combining or losing a highlight to have 11, but that really isn’t happening. So then, I have spent the afternoon with my parents at the Design Center out on Melrose looking at fabrics and rugs and really that took a lot out of me. Even the Pinkberry I had can’t fix the damage done there. So I think I need an hour of rest before I return to their hotel to pick them out. So, don’t be cunty (except for you Jason b/c we all know it’s unavoidable for you), wish me a happy graduation, and the end.

Make it stop, please make it stop!!!

Yo bitches. So my left eye has been twitching since Santa Barbara last weekend. A whole week, my eye has been twitching. You can't see it, but I can feel it, and it's totally and completely annoying. It has twitched every this past week for like 3-4 minute intervals, at least 4 times daily. I can't tell you how much it pains me. I think I'm dying.

Apparently it's due to 1) lack of sleep, or 2) a potassium deficiency. I went out on Tuesday night and Wed night. And Thurs night, oh, and Friday. And Saturday. I think Veeve is going to kill me over the discrepancy b/t our current lifestyles. And I can't sleep in b/c even if I try those trash-diggers are really getting to me lately. I wake up at 7:30am typically, and then have to spend the rest of my morning hours sleeping (poorly) with a pillow over my head. I'm worried that I'm going to suffocate myself one of these days. I need to sleep with ear plugs. And a sleeping mask. In Kitson today I saw on that said "skinny bitch" on it. What do you think? Oh, ps, I saw a chick that was likely around 10 years old today in Kitson (and I think she was getting stuff bought for her, bleh, skinny bitch) and I think she had just gotten a rinoplasty. Considering Dick is a boob doctor, I know rino recovery when I see it. I'm pretty much an expert. Again, seriously, I so need to leave LA.

Anyway, where were we. Oh yes, eye twitch. So aside from the lack of sleep, I also think I've not eaten a piece of fruit let alone a banana in about two weeks. Yep, I'm finishing up school in a reallllll healthy styl-o. So tonight folks, post-Sops/Entourage gathering, I'll be going home, sleeping my ass off, and then eating like 5 bananas tomorrow. I did actually buy the 5 bananas today.

In other grocery shopping news, I'm happy to announce that my favorite Gatorade flavor ever, Fierce Lime, which was sadly taken OFF the market years ago, is back on shelves. It's lighter in color and they now call it Lime Rain or something, but it's the same shit and I'm H-A-P-P-Y. Woo. Hoo.

BTW, what's up with name changes? Do you know T.I. changed his name to T.I.P.? Why the f' did he do that? Does that even make sense? T.I. was dumb anyway. Adding a P does nothing for the dude. I'll give him credit - Big Things Poppin is a kickin' track but really, the name change, not so much Poppin'. I am at Warren and Jason's ps. I think they just made fun of me. I'm not entirely sure why or how, but I think it happened. Bastards. Alright then. I'm out.

Awkward times three. Wow.

Guess what guess what! I never have celeb sightings. Well I do sometimes, but very rarely, and they usually suck anyway. Or when they're good, like Brucey W, I f them up by acting a fool.

Well, well, well. I had a good one today! Was at Polish, my nail salon of choice, getting the little guys painted pink, and in walked Kristin Davis, everyone's fav Sex and the City character (Charlotte). Yes, she is as pretty in person as she is on tv. She was also carrying the cutest little bag, it was a bright violet suede w/ a chain strap. I tried to see the designer but couldn't make it out. Her voice is quite distinctive, and this is coming from me, so mind you I KNOW distinctive voices. She kept her sunglasses on the whole time. This I find slightly off. I guess they have to do it for some reason or another...whatever...but sunglasses or not it totally does nothing to disguise her. In fact, it makes her stand out more.

But anyway. Before my sighting and after my yoga, I had awkward moment #3 of the weekend. I was just saying the other day how bad things come in threes, so thank G_d that was #3, but honestly, I feel cursed. The first was Thursday night. I won't go into the details, but rest assured, it was tremendously awkward. Awkward moment #2 was last night. It was cute. We both ignored each other for like 30 minutes. Finally I said hi. Response: "Oh, hey there!" Said in a way of surprise, like, oh, hey, didn't see you there! Really? We've been with our friends and within 10 feet of one another for the past 30 minutes, and I also noticed you eyeing me down earlier, but yes, sure, if you'd like to otherwise pretend you just now noticed my presence, you do that kiddo. As for #3, too much effort to go into that for now.

As for how I manage to create situations that eventually lead to awkwardness...well, I'm not sure how it reflects on me. I'd prefer just to ignore it and pretend it actually is not consequences to any actions I've done, but rather just some sort of bad luck or something. And that makes me feel better.

Our chance to relive elementary school talent shows. Except don't recall hangovers in those days.

Boy do I feel great today. Real super great. It was probably the whiskey, as I decided the other night while Karaoke-ing that sipping whiskey on the rocks would be my new drink. Could've also been the vodka sodas, or perhaps the beer, or I don't, the lemon drop shot that was more like 8 shots in one glass. Can't really pinpoint it, but when my phone rang at 10:30am and I got up to turn it off, stuff was spinning, namely, every little bit of stuff in my room.

So then when I got up and needed to eat, I thought, oh, I'm going to eat Taco Bell, b/c I've been craving it for like 3 weeks now. Don't worry, I ate it, so I got that craving out of my system and won't need it again for a while I'm guessing. Especially since after I ate it I kind of wanted to throw up everywhere. I am mostly full of good ideas today.

I think I'm recovered now, which is good given that it's 6pm and I've accomplished pretty much nothing at all this entire day. Oh Cabaret was last night. I believe that I blogged about Cabaret last year...which means I've been blogging for over a year, which is weird. Anyway. We did the whole Bollywood Dance thing again. Different costumes, different moves, same old deal. I think we messed up a lot. But, we did it with big happy smiles on our faces, and I personally enjoyed every minute of my bad dancing up there, so good times, good times.

I still find the entire concept of Cabaret just weird. My parents called this morning, they were very impressed I'm sure that their graduate student was rolling out of bed around 11:15am on a Friday, and I had to explain what last night was. Granted, I love Cabaret, but I think when I tell my friends and fam that I performed in what is essentially a talent show, at the age of 26, they probably get a little miffed. It just doesn't seem normal. But then again, I do live in a country where we, by choice, watch washed-up D-list celebs learn ballroom dancing, so...I don't know. Maybe it's really not so weird.

Whatever. All I know, is that I think that come next May, I'm going to be rather sad that I don't get to go to dance practices multiple times per week to ishka-iskha-turn-the-page-ishka-ishka-scoop-the-baby and wear a bindi and play dancer on a stage. I might just have to host my own talent show or something.

Well then, I promised myself I'd write at least two pages of my negotiations paper before dinner and, here we are, on the couch, and I'm definitely not writing about my abilities to negotiate. Nope, not at all. So I'll just go do that now.

I love it. Every minute of it.

So I’m watching The Simple Life, the new season, Paris and Nicole are at camp. I believe they are at fat camp. And I think they’re currently administering high colonics, which is gross. But I’m personally still stuck on one of the opening dialogues:

Nicole: So, do you love it?

Male Counselor? It?

Nicole: Yeah, it.

Male Counselor: I don’t know. Do you love it?

Nicole: Yeah, every minute of it.

What the f does that mean?? At first I thought she was talking about sex b/c she mostly talks about sex on every other Simple Life thing I’ve ever seen. But I don’t think that was it. So then I thought maybe she meant life. But I think that would be way beyond her mental capacities, too deep. So I’m just at a loss.

High colonics are over – they’re now showing the campers pooping while N&P watch them. I think I’d rather die than take a shit in front of complete strangers, let alone bitchy little whorey celeb strangers. But that’s just me.

Oh also, I watched The Texas Chainsaw Massacre last night w/ Warren and Winnie. Warren and I picked it cuz we like scary movies. Winnie kind of cried and winced throughout the movie. He was kind of a little bitch. I guess in a special sort of way it was cute. I winced too, but I slept fine.

But the thing is, last night I was cool, but tonight is slightly different. I’m doing laundry which involves going out to the laundry room by myself in the dark and also Veeve is still at work so I’m all alone, and I keep thinking whenever I turn around that I’m going to see some kind of crazy dude wearing someone else’s face and wielding a chain saw. Dude, creeeeeep-yyyy.

And, to wrap up, I’m viciously sunburned. I rode my bike down to Manhattan B yday for Newman’s bbq and roo-hoo’s friend’s Danny’s bbq. I wore my bikini top in an effort to disperse my Speedo tan lines and then kind of burnt up my back. oh for the record, I’m pretty sure I witnessed the wedding b/t one very drunk man and a blow-up goat dressed as a bride. Don’t have too much too say about that. That there, is about 2 burritos short of a fiesta.

Oh, break, I’m watching a show about tanning salons in LA. Reality show about a tanning salon. No joke. And this chick just brought in her 7 year old and spent $1300 on a tanning package for her little girl, b/c “last year she was pale in her school pictures. I want her to stand out this year.” I think I just threw up in my mouth. Perhaps a good thing I’m leaving this city.

So then, back to my own personal tan. Today after brunch I laid out chez KT. So that makes for two full days of tanning and one very tan slightly red little back and set of shoulders. Again, perhaps a good thing I’m leaving this city.

Chateau myButt

So my muscles are super super sore. I’m full on recovering from a massage. Swear to G_d I just wrote that. Rehana was in town for the weekend; we went to get some massages b/c the weather, as it always is when people fly across the damn country to visit me out here, was shitty, and there is little else in LA to do aside from shopping, eating, or…grooming…if it’s crappy out. So that is what we did. Anyway, this morning, I woke up with a crazy sore back that I didn’t have yesterday pre-massage. My face hurts. My skull hurts. Places where I didn’t even realize I had muscles, but sure enough recall getting rubbed out yesterday, are hurting.

Did you know that massages I guess break up all the lactic acid in your muscles that can cause knots, and that’s what makes it hurt afterward – all the lactic acid being released? Did you know? I didn’t. Now I do. I guess that’s why you’re supposed to drinks lots of water post-massage; to flush out all the toxins.

Well then. Getting to the point here. Last night we were forced to drive to HWood. KT and Eve (little Freddy) had driven over to the West side all weekend so we humored them and hit up the SSet Strip post dinner. We decided to go all out and do something totally HWood, as it was a long journey for a Monday night. Ended up at Chateau Marmont.

So it’s a well known fact that I read UsWeekly and all that shit from time to time with the “to” being a fairly brief time so I read it kinda somewhat often enough. And more importantly I am avid reader of thesuperficial.com, etc. etc. so I know my celeb gossip and as importantly, my celeb hotspots. Not that I ever see damn celebrities. This is only LA after all, where they ALL LIVE. Continuing on. So it’s known that the Chateau is this place where skanky red-head hoes like the infamous LLohan hang out on a frequent basis. I figure she’s fairly picky, at least when it comes to what she puts in her mouth versus her. Wow. I really did almost say that but I held back.

Therefore, I figured that the Chateau would be all neat and great and v. hot and stuff. Instead, it’s: 1) impossible to find the entrance as the hotel and the bar are in two diff buildings (I say weird); 2) frequented by a lot of not very hot people at least on Monday nights; 3) decked out in weird décor including stuffed peacocks, fake butterflies, and ancient looking red fabrics; 4) possessed of neglectful and cross-eyed (yes, actually, not metaphorically) bartenders; 5) smelly. Like what I’m not so sure, but I think it smells.

I don’t get it. I really don’t. What’s the hype all about kids? I had a late afternoon drink at The Wilshire yesterday as well, and I must say, that place is so way better. And it’s on the West Side. And has outdoor fireplaces. And open air. And pretty furniture. And lovely flora all around. What’s not to like? Why would celebs pick such weirdo places to be hotspots? I’m at a loss here. Ideas are welcome.

On that note, I’m going to go to bed. I will likely continue to ponder this question as I fall asleep. Hopefully you won’t, as in all honestly it’s not realllllly worth pondering, but someone has to do it.

no more pins, no more spray, and don't touch me

So there is a sidewalk store on Montana today; Roo just got into town so post bridal shower I met her and the Veeve down there in all that madness. I figured it’d be nearly impossible for me to walk down 10 blocks, double-sided, of racks of clothes, piles of shoes, and stacks of handbags without buying a single damn thing. But in fact it did happen, mostly b/c I am fairly certain that the majority of the stores took their good stuff, packed it into a warehouse somewhere in Ventura, and then pulled all the shit they have not been able to sell for the past decade and stuck it out for 50% off. Even Planet Blue was a total letdown pretty much cuz it was like a turkey carcass, all bones, no meat, picked clean. And so crowded that I wanted to vomit. I also discovered a variety of stores that I never realized even existed. They sell things like raincoats for chihuahuas and shell-covered turtles for your door steps. You know. The daily essentials. The practical things in life.

Anyway. So I pretty much made my modeling debut on Thursday night. Look #1: sexy librarian. Look #2: nothing in particular, but v. cute dress. I know that none of you are surprised that I was involved, given the fact that 5’2” stunners with ghetto-sized asses are constantly prancing the runways, but if you were, please wipe the shocked look off your face. It’s not flattering, and I know flattering.

But so part of the deal was that we got our hair and makeup done. They were going with a side ponytail theme. So I had this wave thing going on on top of my head, can really describe, and then we had the side pony teased up into a little rat’s nest that sat right there on my shoulder. It was apparently a real good match with my suit. Personally I do always opt for 4 cans of hairspray, 87 pointless bobby pins, and hooker-style teasing, all thrown together with a touch of 1983 when I am heading into corporate America. Go figure that my choice would be their choice.

So then the hair folks would lurk around the dressing areas and insist on touching you up with meant loading you with more hair lacquer. Or perhaps a dab of pomade. Mostly they just pissed me off. but I guess that’s good for the angry-faced model thing. Which I pull of spectacularly. Or not. Depends on how you look at.

Other fashion show highlights: I did an act w/ Mark and Meliss. We both slapped Mark. While practicing I was kicking ass in the slapping dept but onstage I was weak sauce while Meliss apparently slapped the bad hair off Mark. Not so much. Sorry guys. Love you Mark. So hard though that no one even noticed my slap. What a set-back in my life. What else. I didn’t eat anything really after lunch. So the after party was fantastic, nothing like tequila on an empty stomach. Oh, and, I slept until 12:30 yesterday. That was awesome.

Ok then, veeve says time to go. I’m out love you bye.

Tour de Stupid

I went to bed on Saturday night with what was possibly the worst headache of my life. You see, at midnight on Sat, I was hungover, actually significantly into my hangover, and usually I think I’m asleep by the time I hit that point of my hangover. But, there I was, awake, kind of like the walking dead, and I know I felt awful, and I’m kind of thinking I looked even worse. I don’t really know. I could barely keep my eyes open long enough to get a glimpse of myself given my severe tiredness.

Anyway so let’s see. Saturday morning I was awake by 8:30am and over at Kokkomonster’s by 9:15am for a mimosa. I was hurried out of Kokko’s less than 15 minutes later by a crazy raging bitch that lived next door. Granted, I was blocking her parking spot, but that is no reason to foam at the mouth while abusing the f* word at 9:30am on a Saturday. And granted, she lives next door to KokkoM who has been on a bender for maybe 8 months straight, throwing little soiress until 4:30am on weeknights, but again, no reason to be so terribly terribly offensively scarily crazy. I think she almost spit in my face.

Btw, Saturday was Tour de Strand. For the uninformed: an annual event that brings current students and alums together for over 13 miles of biking and drinking in no particular order. Apparently you can get arrested for BUIs which is a wonder to me b/c there were like 200 retards let loose on the streets of the SoCal beaches on beach cruisers, with stomachs devoid of any food except yeasty beery goodness, and shark attack buckets which are wicked, venomous buckets of red stuff that come with 4 straws but might be better served by 8 or perhaps 12, and we didn’t get arrested.

There is photographic evidence of the moment when I tipped off my bike and into the sand, there is photographic evidence of me smooching someone that I need not have been smooching. You will see none of these photos posted here, but rest assured that they exist, so I can never run for office as I may be accused of being unstraight, but I do assure you that I most definitely, most definitely, like boys. There was lots of other stuff too, but honestly, at this point, it’s mostly one giant messy swirl. I only see pics that other circulate to let myself that I was in good, or really terrible, depending on your perspective, company.

And at some point, I dropped my bike off and was driven to Redondo Beach. A few things happened here. I began to fall asleep in my food, I called that loser boy who lives in Redondo (have since deleted his number; promise!), and I realized in my sobering up state that I had never wanted to be in my bed so badly. So instead of waiting for Stu and crew to leave, I sought out a cab. But I realized it would be too $$ to get back home, so I went over to Doempke’s to sleep. But there I discovered about 15 jackasses singing karaoke. I am a lover of karaoke, I am, but shit, I think my opinion of this medium might be permanently damaged. I drowsed on the couch before getting Stu, my future roommate and pretty much the sweetest sweetie and punkin-iest punkin in the world, to drive down and get me. And then it was home, and bed, and Jack and Jill in the morning.

I just want to know who ever thought it was a good idea to ride bikes for 10+ miles while drunk in the hot sun. My tanlines, which are a complete mess, my ass, which was sore on Sunday, my head, which wanted to explode – they would all beg to differ with the intelligence of this idea. And yet, here we are, in grad school, coming up with such brilliant little voyages. I guess it’s our spirit of entrepreneurship. It’s like, we can bike…we can drink…but let’s do something novel, we’ll bike – we’ll drink – at the same time! For an entire day! From 9am until past 9pm! It’ll be brilliant! We’ll all risk life and limb and drive on two unprotected wheels in 4 lanes of traffic! With no helmets!

Genius. Anyway, I shall leave you with this. Listen to these bands: 1) The Higher; 2) Shiny Toy Guns

I Am Not for Parents

It’s been so long, hasn’t it? It really has. Lots has happened since the last entry. I reconnected with a friend from jr. high via mySpace (hey dude, she initiated, I only played along), I found a place to live in San Fran (it’s beautiful!!! Pay my rent!!), and today little greggy graduated from college. Which made me feel old. I suppose it also made his girlfriend feel old, seeing as she graduated from college back in ’02 when I did and got to reminisce about college graduation with me while she watched her boyfriend do it 5 years later. She’s awesome actually, but I just can’t seem to stop joking about the age gap. I get endless amounts of entertainment from harassing my brother about it. Which is ironic considering that I suppose it makes him somewhat of a badass to be dating a girl who’s so much older when he’s not even in the real world yet. But I’m easily entertained anyway, so whatever.

Anyway, was chatting with my friend J the other day. Here we have the transcript:

Jami: lindy! Guess what? You’re famous.

Me: oh really. Do tell.

Jami: so I was telling my mom about Liz’s cookies and when she googled the cookie chew she arrived at a blog. So she called me and was like "Jami, Liz’s website isn't very good because it doesn't come up on Google. Instead I ended up on this random blog of a girl in California. She’s 26 and was writing some funny stuff. She sure used the s- word a lot." To which I replied "that's LINDY!!”

me: oh! She thinks I cuss too much! That’s not good! Make sure she forgets my blog address and doesn’t read it. I am not for parents.

I like this exchange. First it’s funny that your stupid ramblings can become so widely accessible. It’s also fun that J’s mom knows what a blog it. It’s nice to know that she thinks I write some “funny stuff.” It’s a bit concerning that she thinks I use the s- word too much considering J is an old college friend and I’ve met her parents several times and stayed with them, and until now her mom probably thought I was really nice. I guess if she read some of my entries her opinion of me might become slightly sullied. Hence why I hope she forgets my blog address like my dad did after my stupid ass brother revealed it to him.

I’m also a bit concerned for Liz’s Web site. I’ll put it here again just so she gets a little more advertising http://www.thecookiechew.com/ . Because it’s true that the site does not pull when you type it into Google, even variations. It pulls my blog and her mySpace page. We need to do something to make sure that Liz’s site is getting to the top of the search when you try to find it!!! Very important. Put that on my to do list.

Anyway, that pretty much sums up my thoughts regarding this little exchange re: J’s mom reading a blog excerpt or two. I guess I say shit too much. Well, shit. What can you do?

Somewhere in LA...

…There is a crazy homeless dude, wearing a wet suit that is too short in the legs and generally too small, and he’s pretending to surf the dirt pavement that covers our city. Or, maybe, he’s wearing the wetsuit and sleeping on the surfboard. Maybe he’s humping the board. Who the f cares. It doesn’t really matter what the f he’s doing in the suit or with the board, b/c the important thing is that the board is MINE and the suit is MINE. Little shit.

So, story is, I’m dumb. I moved my board and suit down to my parking garage (which is covered but ungated) and stuck it in front of my vehicle where it’s pretty much hidden. And the only people in our alley are like, homeless people searching for cans, and what would they ever want with a surfboard? I mean, you can’t turn it into the recycling center for change you know?

May is my month to park in the spot (Veeve and I switch off) so I went out to park today, and my board, is gone. I screamed f*** like 98 times really super loud. I mean, when Dorothy wanted to get back to Kansas she just kept saying “there’s no place like home” and it worked. So I guess I figured “f***, f***, f***…” would maybe bring back my surfboard? Not so much.

Funny thing, the board was gone, the wetsuit was gone, yeah, but there was a tv sitting there in their place. Do you think that maybe the thief was actually trying to arrange some sort of barter deal? Like, ok, I’ll take the board, and the wetsuit…but she won’t care! I’ll leave her this tv…that I also stole…and everything will be cool…

I’m thinking maybe so. But I would’ve preferred that they warn me before doing so b/c this barter deal doesn’t really work for me considering that I don’t have any need for a tv. Barter deals usually are like a two-party arrangement you know? No one told this schizo dude who’s surfing the streets of SanMon on my board. I’m pissed. Did I mention that? Can you tell? I’m so pissed.

But I contemplated doing something about it. And I thought about calling the police, but then I wondered how I’d sound if I was like, “so, my surfboard and wetsuit got stolen.” “where was it? Oh, well, it was sitting in my garage.” “gated? No, not really, it’s just open on the ally.” I basically could’ve stored my board out in the middle of the street. So I guess I have nearly given up on the sport anyway and that I’m moving up north where it’s super f’in cold and the waves are super f’in big, I guess the need is kinda dwindling anyway. But it still sux a lot.

Anyway. Again. That sucked. But, if you do happen to be out in LA, and you see some dude dressed to surf and it look slightly suspect, please give a shout.

Little Mucus Monsters

I have yet another miserable piece of shit cold. Since moving to LA, I think I average like one brutal cold every 1.5-2 months, and to me, that seems like a really high level of frequency, don’t you agree? I feel like the mucus monster on the Mucinex commercials moved into my lungs and then invited his family of 19 from Brooklyn to come stay with him for a couple weeks. And like 2 days into the party, they were like, oh, let’s call our folks from Jersey and see if they want to chill too. So then they called up their family in the Garden State and invited them to rent out the flat about them, otherwise known as my sinuses. Bunch of jerks. And, I’m taking Mucinex, for the record, and it hasn’t kicked them out asap like it does in the commercials. Advertising. So misleading. Kind of like steel-cut oats.

So aside from Mucinex, I’m taking about 13 other drugs. When I get sick, and by sick I mean get a bad cold, my bathroom starts to look like the bathroom of someone who’s dying. Or maybe, like Anna Nicole’s bathroom pre-OD. Or perhaps LLohan’s. Either way. It’s a mess. I have about 3 kinds of cough drops, several nasal decongestants, a couple chest decongestants, a few allergy medications, some cough syrups, various ointments and rubs like Vicks and Vaseline to free up my breathing and soothe my poor, chaffed nosed, and a giant box of Depends. All of that is true save for the Depends.

I wonder if all these drugs are actually doing any good though. I think when I take them at night, the sheer amount of chemicals I’m ingesting sends me into a sleep so deep that I really don’t know if I’m making anything better or not. Could be worse for all I know. And then I question my feeling slightly better during the day and how it relates to the drugs v. how it relates to just being up and getting stuff moving around inside my breathing passages. Can’t ever really be sure.

Anyway, no one cares about my stupid cold or all the drugs I’m taking, that’s my likely guess. But since I have a corporate valuation midterm tomorrow and my motivation to study is like null and void since I don’t ever study really anymore and I rather prefer to keep it that way, I thought I’d write about it anyway b/c there is no one here to stop me, only me stopping myself from working by wasting time writing about my…cold. But I think I’ve run out of things to say about it so I guess this means unless I switch topics all together I’m done. And since I’m too lazy to even think of another topic, I truly am done. I hope you don’t catch what I have, it’s brutal. And I’ve only got Brooklyn and Jersey; I bet the Bronx or maybe Harlem or perhaps Boston muc-i are even worse! On that note, au revoir. I think I need to go re-medicate.

Steel-Cut Oats??? Really??

So after staring at the leopard print underwear sticking way out above the waistband of the gross guy who smelled like onions all during yoga, I got into my car and listened to a rap song that was exclusively about lip gloss. Catchy, extended jingle for Bonnie Bell Lipsmackers? Not so much. It is honestly an entire song where a girl is singing about how her “lip gloss is poppin’.” Dead. Serious. You can check out the video for this phat and by phat I mean totally and completely reprehensible song here: http://www.kovideo.net/music/video/Lil-Mama---Lip-Gloss/831.html

So both those things were great.

Anyway.

This morning I was making b-fast and noticed a pot on the stove. Took the lid off. It was a pot full of oatmeal that had apparently been sitting there since last night. I was like “yo Veeve, do you know there has been a pot of cooked oatmeal sitting on the stove all night?” Yes, she did. You see, it was “steel-cut” oatmeal and apparently it cooks so slowly (although 20-30 minutes in my book doesn’t qualify really as that long of a time period) that they advise you to cook it overnight if you feel so inclined.

I think this is weird, the whole “steel-cut oatmeal” thing. I first heard about it while walking w/ my friend Ritu on the Promenade, as we’d agreed to be shot for some bullshit weird-ass local tv show thing on “cool people in cool places in Santa Monica.” Mind you I’m not really that cool and we were on the Promenade and hence they could not have been cool places really, so anyway, you’ll never see that show thing.

But I digress. So Ritu is talking about eating brunch at Le Pain Quotidien and saying how they have great steel-cut oatmeal. Whatever I say, oatmeal, is oatmeal. But since then, I’ve noticed it on brunch menus all over town. All over CA for that matter. And on every single one of them, they are charging like $9/bowl b/c the oats are “steel-cut.” I mean come on dude, we’re talking about oats. What does it even mean to be cut by steel? What does one normally cut oats with? Anyone? Anyone? How can you possibly justify charging $9 for a bowl of dusty oaty things that turn into a bowl of clumpy oat things when you add water?

I think it’s a big, giant, steel-cut conspiracy! Anyway, I’m done with that. Just don’t forget I warned you about this conspiracy ok?

Big boobs? Nope. Pretty face? Uh-uh. It's bacon and pearls honey.

You know what’s going to be awesome? The Affiliates cruise. Way super awesome. Who loves you KK?

Anyway. Today I fell down in yoga. I didn’t fall a little, I fell a lot. Like on my hands, on my knees. It wasn’t my fault. Granted, I am the girl who ran into a trash can while stone sober on spring break. But this fall was unavoidable. For the second time in one week Rudy insisted on approaching me in half moon and “opening” me up. This means he grabs your hip and pulls your hips all stacked on top of one another as far as you can stack them. I am guessing you have no idea what the hell I’m talking about but that’s ok. Anyway then you have to transition poses and usually I do it just fine, granted I’m a little shaky but who’s not when they’re on one leg. But when someone is adjusting you they totally throw you off balance and then your equilibrium is destroyed and then you’re f’ed. And you fall. And it's not funny! But then Rudy explains how typically do fall when he spots them cuz he's over-extending you and then you smile a little and feel slightly better. Phew.

So in other news. I have a casual observation. Guess what accessory I am going to try and incorporate into my outfits as frequently as possible from this point onward: pearls. “Old-fashioned!,” you say. “Ridiculous!,” you claim. But conversation piece? I say yes.

The other night was NA Food Fest and I was pent up inside the dreary halls of school tallying scores for the biz plan comp, and nach I was all dressed up. My preferred biz casz outfit is solid black. So slimming! So sheik! And so it’s my new thing of choice. Anyway, so I rocked all black with two long strands of white pearls to set it off. it’s a very good look I recommend it. Anyway so attired as such, I hit the bars when I realized from hell I mean school. Of course I was dressed all wrong. I was like all Ms. Happy Hour but it was midnight u know?

But all night long guys commented: “Love the pearls!” “Wow, lindy, you’re so Jackie O today.” “Hey there, Connecticut.” “You look all NY.” “Nice peals. So east coast. In a good way.” Etc. etc. Those pearls got me two free Grey Goose and sodas. Thank you pearls! Oh and I must back up. Even before hitting the bars, one of the old white VC men judging the comp complimented my pearls; said his wife would just LOVE them.

Anyway, so that’s fun. Do u think that it’s the whole pearl necklace thing? I was wondering about that. Like do guys just like pearls b/c they think about you know that thing? I am hoping not b/c that is so juvenile and really just so gauche and pearls are not about gauche, guys! But hey, whatever.

I will leave you with final observation about men. If you want them to love you lots, don’t just wear pearls, wear pearls while serving them bacon. You will have them wrapped around your fingers. I had fancy (well fancy in the food at least b/c we all know that my dishes don’t match, my crystal is for shit, and I have no dining room table) grown up dinner party #2 last night (and hello of course it went swimmingly), and the hors d’ouvres, a special recipe a la Jane, involved bacon, and for the rest of the night all I heard about was how everything would’ve been better had it contained bacon as well. I think had I served my strawberry shortcakes w/ bacon they would’ve been happily consumed. And that is like eating a blueberry bagel with sun-dried tomato cream cheese. Gross. Who does that?

A most torrid affair. Or something like that.

The following story has absolutely nothing to do with me. It's about a totally fictional character. But I'm going to tell it in third person just so it flows more naturally. Ok whatever I'm totally lying. This story is 100% from me, about me, starring me, etc. etc. It's my damn story. And it breaks all of my rules as it's completley linked to my personal life and furthermore, it casts me in a terribly negative light by association. But the thing is, it's so utterly ridiculous, I just can't help it. In fact, it happened a week ago, and I have told it in bits and pieces to friends since then, but it was not until tonight w/ Stu, the V, and Aly v. fine that I at last told it in full detail, to the bitter end, and it just felt so good, that I have to do it again.

I guess I have to start at the beginning right? Well I don't really. I mean really I can do whatever the f I want. But it helps if i provide some context. Here u are: Months ago, I go to a bar. I meet a boy. He's hot. A little sketch, maybe, but he's hot, so whatever. Let's move forward several months. I still have motivation to text/call said hot guy. He' still sketch. In fact, he's fully useless. But again, still hot, and that's all that matters, no?

So this all terminates at last Tuesday night. I'm at dinner, receive a text, and I end up driving down to Redondo Beach. Do you know how taxing that is? He gives shitty directions so I get lost. If you know me you know that I HATE getting lost cuz it totally stresses me out, makes me feel stupid, and then I get all sweaty-palms nervous and freak and my blood pressure goes up. So getting lost in my opinion really is not even healthy. Keep that in mind. Oh for the record I gave up a perfectly good TNDC with my friendsies for this trip down south.

Anyway, I eventually arrive at said guy's house. It's a shit hole. No wait, it's just a hole. But if I took a shit in it, it would then be a shit hole. I am almost afraid of parking in the lot, and I think my face looks like I just smelled a pile of vomit as I climb the stairs. The house is frat house from hell. It smells. I don't do smelly places, let alone places with empty vodka bottles hanging out on the random ass ping-pong table surfaces. I guess this is kid's friends house where kid is living temporarily.

After my tour, which includes more smelly places and stinky things including a bedroom that needs to be disinfected for a year solid until it's fit to live in and said kid's "bed" which I shit you not is a giant bean bag chair, I collapse...on said bean bag chair. What really do I say? I have driven myself to this place voluntarily. So I begin my line of questioning. This kid lives with an older couple in a house that is actually quite nice. Why no more? B/c the couple had a baby and he wanted to give them privacy. That was 1+ months ago. So you're still here why? Are you like one of those Christians who wears the shirts made out of hair and you're killing yourself softly in repentance for the sins you've committed? B/c living in this house has to be the equivalent.

So let me give you more vital stats on this kid:
--He live in this shithole temporarily b/c his normal house is rented from...his boss.
--He lives with...his boss.
--He wants to quit his job...so living w/ boss is awkward.
--His job is...I don't really know. Something to do with soccer. And leagues.
--He's in school part time.
--He's in...college...working on his bachelor's...at age 26.
--He's in...junior college. At age 26.
--He has no job prospects.
--He has no car.
--Because it's at his grandmother.
--Because she paid it out of impoundment after his DUI.

And here I sit. On a beanbag chair. With a 26 year old fairly unemployable jr. college non-grad who really has no house, and no car.

I look at myself. I'm in Michael Kors heels. I'm freshly manicured. I have been employed for over 5 months even though I have yet to graduate...from grad school. And I'm dying to hook up, with, this guy?

Thing is, this is only the cake. The icing comes when after some odd behavior prompts me to inquire if he has a girlfriend. Five minutes of prodding and it comes out that he has something. Not exactly a girlfriend, but a something.

So again. I'm here 20+ miles from home at 1am on a beanbag chair with a 26 year old unemployable jr. college non-grad who has no house and no car. Oh wait! He does have a girlfriend though. So at least he's got that going for him. It just doesn't so much go for me. So I did what I had to do and after a brief stare down I removed myself from the beanbag chair, and the scary house, and headed for greener and less stinky pastures. That is where the story ends.

Ok then. So...maybe...I sound rather like a snotty bitch in this entry. And for that I cross myself, and I'm not even Christian so I don't even cross myself but I'm doing it metaphorically b/c we Jews don't really have an equivalent. We do fast one day a year though. And I feel a liiiiiiiiiiitle bad for this excessive snarkiness, but, yo, dude had a girlfriend.

I got drunk w/ my mom.

In the airport this morning I saw this shirt:

Haikus are easy

But sometimes they don’t make sense

Refrigerator

Funny!

Anyway, so I woke up with a slight hangover this morning. Guess Jane and I threw back a few too many last night. We ate at the Slanted Door which was amazingly delicious (thanks for recs friends!) and our meal necessitated many drinks. A cocktail while we waited. A bottle of white to go w/ our oysters. Then a glass of red in between finishing the bottle to complement our beef and lamb. Then a glass of wine back at the hotel bar.

Seriously. Who gets hung over from hanging out with their mom? And if I felt hung over, I must have been moderately tipsy, and if I was moderately tipsy, then Jane must have been hammered. So that gave me something to laugh despite the fact that as my town car (I was big pimping you see as my shuttle was 10 minutes late and I was on the verge of missing my flight) lurched through San Fran traffic my oysters were sliding and my shaking beef was shaking in my delicate little stomach. Vo-mit. Oh but I didn’t, don’t worry.

Anyway, so over the weekend I picked up a third roommate. Stu and I were joined by our friends Nikki and Elizabeth on Friday, and we opted to join forces w/ Eliz. We figure we can get more for our money going three bedroom style. Regardless of which of the 27 million different neighborhoods that all pretty much look the same to me that we end up living in.

Looks like I’ll be going back up in 2 weeks on a mission w/ my ladies to find a place and sign a lease. I have one thing I can tell you about my future place: I plan to paint my bedroom pink. Yep, pink. Not like nasty pepto pink, something very soft, pale. I have it all planned out – a pale pink beadspread, lots of bright, fun pillows in corals and golds. This…is what I devote my mind space to. The color of the bedroom I won’t have for another few months. But it’s more fun than thinking about, say, how to do the scoring for the biz plan comp I’m co-chair of. That, is not so much fun.

So then, as my mom is no longer with me, there will be no craziness for me this evening. It’s now time for me to return to Law and Order. It’s very hard to multi-task with such a distractingly good show on in the background. I’m out.