what a lady, what a night

Warning: long ass post

What a trip that was, Internet. Goodness. The ups. The downs. The unexpected heat. The shopping. The hotel (grrr). The amazing show I will tell you ALL about. The glorious streets of San Francisco which make me homesick for Europe, but which have a personality all their own.

Gard I love this city. 

Where do I start? Shall I maybe go chronologically? I guess I could. But that would make sense and we all know I avoid any kind of sense at all costs, unless of course we're talking about Sense and Sensibility and then I can lose myself in that kind of sense for hours and days. Wait. Where was I? Right. My trip to San Francisco. 

So last we talked, Internet, I was having a tiny love affair with my hotel. That love affair has ended. Finit Finito. It was a not a great lover. The kind that started off strong, but lost interest in pleasing me early on and made me do all the work. 

I slept so-so. It was a little loud, but that was expected in a Union Square hotel and I had brought my earplugs. The room was just too hot and, being San Francisco, there was no fan or ac to speak of. So I could not get comfortable. And I awoke with a headache and really craving a nice, scalding shower. 

Which was not to be.

My shower was cold. It got warmish for a bit, tepid at best. Misery. I know these buildings are old. I like that about them. I like that they have narrow stairs and creaky hallways. They have an old-world appeal that makes me all fuzzy in my heart. But there are certain amenities that I think any hotel should have (and I'm traveled enough to know that in the US, certain things should not be impossible). So, call me crazy, but I think a shower should get hot. 

Anyway, then I headed over to Embarcadero to see the brand new show, Peter Pan. Please don't ask me what I do for a living that sends me to San Francisco to see a play. I refuse to blog about work, except that I will say that doing things like that are the best part of my job. It's like when I discovered that people get paid to stay in hotels around the world and critique them. I mean, who does that? Who gets paid for such a cushy life? Point to note: if you'd like to hire me to review hotels, I'm game.

I have to take a moment to tell you about this show, because it is so fucking cool! Click the link above and check it out. It's a completely new show, taken straight from JM Barrie's story and it is a whole new theater experience, I can't even tell you. I think I've seen a lot of different kinds of theater, but nothing like this. My best description is this: a combination of theater in the round, CGI projected scenery, Cirque du Soleil, melodrama, and puppetry. The animals in the play were all puppets, handled by a voice actor/ puppeteer right there on stage, topped only by the crocodile that was manned by two men in a bicycle-like contraption. It was brilliant. There was flying and contemporary dance and an ingenious use of trapdoors on the stage. And the pirates all played instruments so all accompaniment for the few songs was done right there on stage. Oh and the talented Jonathan Hyde, of Jumanji, The Mummy, and The Queen played Captain Hook/ Mr. Darling and we has absolutely excellent. I truly, truly enjoyed it.

The tent. See that blue sky? Yes, this was in San Francisco in May. And yes, it was hot.

This show premiered in London and is making its US debut in San Francisco. If you're in the area, go. Go see it. I predict it will eventually hit all the major US cities, but only in the summer months. Did I mention it's in a tent? Oh, and parents of little ones? Don't buy front row seats. Trust.

After the show, I took the rest of my day to walk up Market from Embarcadero to Union Square taking pictures and enjoying being out on the city streets. Man alive do I love that city. Always, always reminds me of walking in Europe. Photos to come, but I didn't take my Holga because I didn't have room in my carry on and very much missed having it. I did a little shopping and made friends with a kid in a coffee shop who took pity on me and made me an iced green tea. Turns out he's from a little town down here in So Cal that I'm quite familiar with. Such a small world.

I grabbed something to eat at the airport and settled in at the bar in my hotel for happy hour until I needed to head to the airport. At which point I drank delicious Fat Tires (which proved too much for little ol' me) and chatted with other tourists while watching some random baseball game that I really don't give a shit about, but which seemed interesting with a beer in my hand.

Note: I cannot handle my alcohol. Nope, cannot. 
I feel like maybe I could when I was much younger, but suspect I just had less dignity then. 

So by the time I was en route (say it with a french accent, bitch) to the airport, I was telling the young and hip cabbie my entire life story and feeling a little woozy. But not to worry I held my head high and pulled off sobriety like a champ.

At this point, I must note my pride at the TSA workers in SFO (workers? officers? whatever, you know who I mean). You need to believe that I tell this story sans sarcasm of any kind. I am truly pleased. In front of me in the security line was a nice Sihk man and his two unruly boys (poor guy was trying his hardest to seem like a nice upstanding guy while keeping his boys from toppling over the bins and metal detectors). In this world we live in of post 9-11 paranoia, I know it's harder on men who look like him, that they have to work harder to appear innocent. Which pisses me off. Anyway, the TSA folks passed him through security with no incident and instead chose me for random screening. And I know you're scoffing right now, but I thought that was so cool! No racial profiling at SFO. Their random screening was indeed truly random (unless I'm on some watch list for my liberal-ass ravings), but when the white chick gets chosen for screening, there is finally some balance in the universe.

Seriously. And sure, it was a little inconvenient, but I had plenty of time thanks to young hip cabbie and I really didn't mind. I had nothing to hide. I fly so often that I never forget any kind of liquids in my bag, so screening completed, pat down done (though I think that TSA lady owes me a drink now), and I was on my way.

But that's where the fun ends, Internet. I was due to fly out at 9:30 last night, puting me home around 11 pm. Not an ideal flight, but oh well. But no, We didn't even board until close to 10, something about the toilet being out of order on the plane and they told us to pee first or hold it. We boarded. And then sat there for an hour. Something about the air conditioning and air pressurization (trust me, you want air pressure on a flight). They fixed that and we got in line for departure. And then we sat. And they took us back to the gate to deplane for our comfort (which was nice of them) about 11:30.

We were all cranky by this point. I was feeling so exhausted, sure the beer had been a mistake, and after the claustrophobic heat on the plane, a little woozy. Plus I had been sitting next to a guy who was shamelessly flirting with me, said he thanked his lucky stars I sat next to him (seriously, he said that) and I was trying to stay sane while fending off his advances (I think I made up a boyfriend) and try not to kill myself. They finally let us back on the plane, everything fixed.

But then we had to wait for more fuel.

Really. You can't make this shit up.

I think we took off a little after midnight. I didn't really sleep on the plane, though I tried, and when I did, I was treated to some lovely nightmares. May write some stories out of them. Oh! And I should mention that I hadn't checked luggage. I hate to check unless it's really necessary. But they decided because it was such a full flight that the carry on roller bags would have to stow under the plane (they didn't make us pay). So I had to wait another 15-20 minutes after landing to get my bag back. This is why I carry on. So I don't have to wait for checked luggage! Grrrrrr!

I think I got home a little before 2 am. So you can imagine what a fantastic mood I'm in today. It's not that bad, but I'm exhausted. And bound and determined to not do a damn thing. I needed to get a ton done today for my garage sale next Saturday, but I fear I may need to postpone. I just have so much stuff I still need to go through (books, desk, kitchen) and I won't have any time.

But I will be selling some furniture online if anyone is interested: kitchen table, fridge, bookshelf, desk, etc. Let me know and I'll give you first pick.

And of course it's about a thousand degrees today. I am so damn sick of Southern California. 

Love Song Sunday: Bright Smile

This is a song by my new lover, Josh Ritter. I heard Josh for the first time just last year on a compilation album a friend gave me as a gift and I fell instantly in love. Is that love at first sight? At first listen? Hrm. Anyway, I went home and downloaded his absolutely lovely music. So many songs of his do I just give my heart.

Can you have sex with a song? Is that possible? Someone make it so.

But I chose this particular song for one reason: it makes me cry. And I know why it brings the salt to my eyes. It really captures how I've been feeling lately. But it is a beautiful song nonetheless. Hopefully you'll love it too.

Up in the Air

Well, kids, I'm here in San Francisco and while the short journey was a little stressful, I'm so glad to be here. After a quick dinner, I'm cozy in my hotel room in Union Square (SO glad I brought my laptop) all ready to relax.

Point to note: I love hotel rooms. I love the cozy beds and the fluffy pillows and the little soaps. I especially love hotel rooms in San Francisco because they always have so much personality. My very fave hotel where I always stay when I come here The Hotel Union Square, a funky modern art-style hotel, was booked (NOOO!) so I'm staying somewhere new. And so far so good.

But most of all, I love the TV. Now, because I talk about my favorite TV shows quite a bit, you probably didn't know that I don't watch television. I don't, at least not on an actual TV. I watch it online, which means the range of shows I watch is very narrow. I don't pay for satellite or cable and the only time my rabbit ears get any use is every weekday at 7-7:30 pm when I watch Jeopardy with my dad. I think the last time I had cable was in like 2002 when I lived with my cousin who was in advertising at the time and wrote it off in her taxes. So watching TV and this whole range of channels (even if there is nothing on) is such a luxury of staying in a hotel.

Yes, I am a dork. I realize. Moving on.

Back to the stressful part of my trip. My plane was taking off late afternoon, so I left a smidge early so I could eat at the airport so I wouldn't land in Frisco a starving monster. Except nothing (NOTHING) was open at the airport. Not even fast food. One little shop was open that had sodas and candy. No trailmix or sandwiches or any other food I could cobble into some kind of meal. And maybe you're wondering why I didn't take my own food. Well, I didn't think I had to. Also, I'm traveling for work and my dinner would have been paid for. If one had been available. By the time I landed in the Bay, my head was screaming for FOOD! Confirms my life story: I love to travel, but I hate airports.

Someone invent teleportation already.

However, I was fortunate to see one of the most spectacular beginnings of a sunset on the Bay from the plane. It was gorgeous, light glittering on the water, setting the world on fire.

Then, as the plane taxied into the terminal, everyone pulling out their phones and letting their loved ones they'd landed safely, I felt a new wave of sadness. I felt a little like George Clooney in Up in the Air (not that I travel even nearly that much), but I do travel enough for it to be old hat and it's a very solitary life. I have no one to call when I land. No one that would really notice if I did or didn't arrive safely. Sure, my coworkers would notice eventually (especially since I'm here for work) and maybe my online peeps would wonder why I'd been offline. And my close friends would wonder after a week or so why I'd been out of contact. But do I have anyone wondering how I am? If I'd arrived and am safe? Not really, no.

How do I feel about that? Not sure. It's partly my fault, I guess. This is the life I lead. But then I also feel a little sad. Today it's a life of travel and work. But someday maybe I die in my apartment and my cats nibble on my corpse and no one notices until the neighbors smell me. Gross right?

It's also a lot warmer here than I'd anticipated and I admit, I'm disappointed. After 90 degrees in So Cal today, I was hoping for some chilly Frisco air. Maybe it will be cooler tomorrow. Let's hope.

Photo of the Day: Tipped Off

Another shot from last Saturday. I really am in love with this shot. Love the light saturation, love the bokeh, love the texture. Love it all. And silhouettes of palm trees are so part of what I will miss about Southern California when I leave. 

one order of cranky, hold the mayo

Ohmigod I'm exhausted! After last weekend and working all week and a day of schmoozing and clapping, I could nap for a year. But I won't be. I leave tomorrow for San Francisco. It's a quick trip for work and I come home late Sunday. I haven't even started packing yet. Blerg.

But I adore San Francisco. It's so lovely there. I'm sure the fog (even though it's supposed to be sunny, if chilly) will melt away any lingering stress. I need to it. I haven't slept well all week and my head is throbbing.

I had a little relapse last night. Took a bath. Played some Andrew Belle. And then promptly bawled my eyes out. And I had been doing so well.

Not that I want to complain, mind you (I do, I really, really do), but I can't help myself. I'm so tired that I can't hold the cranky in anymore. I feel lonely and beat down and I want someone to hold my face and tell me I'm perfect just the way I am.

Or maybe I just need a fabulous man who wears glitter and pleather to tell me I look fierce and take me dancing. Maybe San Fran will make it better after all. Or shopping. I could spend my savings in Union Square. I'd be broke, but I'd look fantastic.

On the upside, I'm making tilapia with a green olive tapenade for dinner and it is smelling fantastical. Now I really wish I had some alkeehol in my house so I could get the motivation to pack.

If someone would send a half-naked gorgeous single man who reads Proust and Faulkner to my hotel room in SF, I'd be your bee eff eff 4 evah! I'm not kidding. Yes, yes I am. No wait, no I'm not. Nope. Not kidding, Maybe I'm kidding. Maybe just a little. Nope, please send him. I'd like him on my bed when I arrive. That is all.


*I've got a Facebook page now! If you'd like to get blog updates (and select Twitters), come and click "like," puhleez. And tell yo friends! 

Photo of the Day: This is Not Trash

This was a student art project (that I couldn't resist photographing the hell out of) taking "trash," in this case, it looked like magazine pages, and making it art. I love the whole concept. But I also love the many angles this mobile provided. And as it was moving with the breeze, it was quite the challenge to shoot as well. Here are a couple more angles:

Photo of the Day: Cigarette

Took this last Saturday. No, this isn't me (yeesh, relatives, calm the fork down. I don't smoke anymore.), but it is a friend. I am so damn pleased over how this shot turned out. Love everything about it. The details, the textures, the smoke, the lighting. It's scrumptious. 

Setting Things Straight

I wasn't going to seriously blog about this. I was going to write some snarky ass posts, laugh at myself, feel better, and be done with it. But my one mistake was underestimating the concern and sympathy of you, Internet. Who knew you were all hugs and rainbows? Who knew? You guys have been so overwhelmingly sweet. Lard love ya.

So yeah, I had a little heartbreak. I did. This past weekend. And I'm licking my wounds. It's all over with Love Interest. Which is unbelievably sad for me. So sad pour moi.

But I feel the need to come to the defense of Love Interest (though I guess I have to think of a new moniker for him now. maybe past Love Interest #547. heh.). But I want to state for the record that he doesn't deserve any scorn (and I know you all mean well and you're just being nice to me).

He was just that, my love interest. We weren't a couple yet, though I'd certainly hoped we would be at some point, but that's not how it worked out. And I'm sure he has his reasons. If I had my way, only my reasons would exist and all would be right in my little world. But I can't dwell on that, because ultimately I was just being my authentic self and I can't control anything beyond that.

But, you guys, he is a good guy. Possibly the nicest guy I've ever dated. And I really liked him a lot. So of course it hurts to see him go, but he was perfectly kind to me and sweet and I appreciate the way he ended things. Which, in a way, makes it even harder because I don't have any anger to fall back on. It's easy (though painful) when a guy is a douche, because then you can just let your anger at him help you move on. So moving on will be a little more challenging than I've experienced in the past.

But the pain here is the situation, not the man. I need to make that absolutely clear. It sucks that something I was so hopeful for and excited about ended. It sucks. Sucks! And my faith in the possibility of love is shaken. The older I get and the more relationships I have, the less I think it exists. I'm wounded. And bruised. And bruises take a while to heal. So I'm just trying to be kind to myself and let this process run its course. But I know that I'll be fine eventually. I always am. I'm a tough girl.

But he is a good man. Someone I still care very much about and want to be happy. And if that happiness doesn't include me, as much as that hurts, so be it. Hopefully we really will remain friends, because as cliche as that sounds, I hate to lose someone I value simply because it didn't work out romantically.

That is all I wanted to say, I appreciate the support and the laughs and my growing readership more than you'll know. You guys are pure awesome sauce! I love your comments like moths love flames, which end up killing those moths. Which is a weird simile now that I think about it. I don't want to die. I just want to love you guys and your comments. And am I still talking? Someone shut me up already.

Long story short: Internet + Crazy Lady + your comments = Love

*whew*

bite me I'm single

So my post about the Heartbreak Diet yesterday got the most hits I've ever had on my blog in one day. Ever. Pretty sure it's because I had the word diet in the title. Bet they were disappointed, huh?

Anyway, my appetite is coming back and I'm on to the next stage of snark (there are 5 stages of snark. look it up): cynical rationalization.

So on that note, I present you with the 20 ways I am not an utter and complete loser for being single forevers:

1. ice cream and popcorn for dinner, starbursts for lunch, and no judgement
2. 2 annoying, high maintenance, trouble maker cats that only I love
3. 6 hours straight of Mad Men
4. no stubble burn or embarrassing hickeys 
5. I get to be all Alvin Ailey in my living room and nobody gives a fuck (except my poor neighbors)
6. anonymous dirty sex with my vibrator (I don't even use a condom)
7. 5 words: middle of the bed, bitch
8. secret love affairs with Mr. Darcy, Don Draper, Christina Yang, Neil Patrick Harris (who is straight just for me) and the entire cast of Glee (including Artie)
9. snoozing 10 times just because I can
10. someday I'll get to be that eccentric single old lady with huge hats and overalls who steals books from the library and names all my plants (save the date!)
11. being on time everywhere 
12. fidelity is never an issue
13. 2 words: naked karaoke
14. never having to buy anniversary presents
15. 3 words: cheez-its in bed
16. no compromising on anything
17. wanting to spend 2 hours with Matt Damon or Johnny Depp IS a good reason to watch a so-so movie
18. watching Hulu while checking the Facecrack while texting while eating ungodly amounts of Kettle Chips is a perfectly acceptable way to spend an evening
19. Never having to shave my legs except on bikini and dress days (and sometimes even then)
20. I want to play on the jungle gym and I want to do it in a dress. why should I have to choose? (okay, so that's cryptic, whatevers)

Lose Weight Fast with the Heartbreak Diet!

Want To Get Skinny Fast?

Life can be unfair when it comes to doling out physical genetics. Some people, it seems, get all the luck. But not you! You try to do the right thing, try to eat right and follow through on that exercise plan, but you get busy and life takes over. You’re not too happy with your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

And now summer has arrived. So what do you do to lose weight? Whatever it is, if you want to look good, you’d better do it quick. But there’s a secret to losing weight effectively. It’s all in how you view the task at hand. You need to get rejected.

Great Way To Lose Pounds!

Tip #1: Get started today. No sense in lamenting what has already occurred. You are what you are. It is what it is. The weight is stuck on you until you do something about it. Get rejected today. Works every time!

Tip #2: Get heartbroken. It doesn't matter how severe. From rejection by some fugly at the bar to a small heartshake to the breakup of a long-term relationship or even divorce, rejection is proven to shed pounds fast. Heartbreak = loss of appetite and loss of appetite = you can be the thin you you've always wanted.

Tip #3: You may have to get drastic. It's not easy to get rejected sometimes, but this is a lifestyle, not a diet. If you're single, find a douchebag and get all clingy. If you're taken, do what you have to to get your ass to the curb (warning: breaking HIS heart severely may come with consequences, so stick with being annoying, not cruel.).

Stop Struggling With Your weight!

Tip #4: If you're not hurt enough, you may be tempted to eat. So really delve into your pain. Don't wash your hair, stay in bed all day, and cry as much as possible. And don't forget to rehash every minute of every conversation and catalogue all of your flaws. If you must eat something, try an M&M or a Starburst instead. All these activities are proven to suppress appetite. And no appetite means less calories and less calories mean you lose weight!

Tip #5: Don’t compare yourself to success stories. You aren't Sandra Bullock. You don't have a team of people to berate you or paparrazzi to humiliate you into not eating. You know what works best for you and it's up to you to make it happen. Many people choose a breakup buddy, but choose this person wisely. If he or she encourages you to eat your feelings, they are not supporting your weight loss goals.



Bottom line? Weight loss is intensely personal. It’s not easy. It doesn’t happen by accident. You must treat your efforts with commitment and focus. Without an investment on your part, these 5 fast weight loss tips will not create the kind of result you’re hoping for. But with a good commitment and consistent effort, you will be well on your way to a better, slimmer, less fat body.



Still need convincing? With just a little heartshake, you too can look like me:

*Results not typical. Not for those who eat their feelings. If you eat when upset, you are likely to gain weight and never meet a man again. And no one likes the fatties. 

**Not actually starving myself. I don't want any calls from my friends trying to get me to eat. 

***Good lord, it's just a blog. It's not that serious. Laugh a little, losers.

****Totally took like 50% of this from an actual weight loss ad. Jeebus I lobe Ahmereeca!

Love Song Sunday: Imaginary Love

I don't have much to say this Sunday. Feeling a little tattered and torn and so the best solution for that is a little Rufus Wainwright and a little imaginary love.

He's so right, so poignant. Every kind of love is an imaginary love.

And to quote my friend, it's really too bad Rufus doesn't prefer the lady bits.

YAYbia!

What a day. What a day. Long ass day that wouldn't end. Did I mention that Love Interest is coming to visit tomorrow? To-morrow? The day on the morrow? Yeah, so today was long and tedious and even though I had much to do (and I did do it), I didn't want to do any of it. Blerg.

Highlights of my day:

• Comparing tongue tricks. Turns out I have a more than moderately talented tongue. Go me!
• Hypothesizing what ridiculous tattoo Schmuck Schmucky pants might have across his back, including photos of famous figures and his own face, or some combination thereof.
• Finding out someone I thought was elusive and cagey is, in fact, friendly and eager to help only hadn't been given the right tools to do so. I did so. It was full of the awesome sauce.
• Going home. (Yes, that can be a highlight! Shut up!)

So yeah, Love Interest gets here in the morning and so I doubt I'll be finding any time to post over the next couple of days. I may take some breaths to tweet, so follow me if you want any sordid details.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with some Clitter (thanks to Toy With Me for introducing me to the absolute joy that is this video):



No, I will not be clittering my vajajay for Love Interest. Lack of planning and a fear of glitter poisoning aside, I'm just not quite that sparkly of a girl. At least not since 1999 anyway.

Besides, my hooha does not need clitter to be full of awesome sauce. And this post totes just got incredibly dirty.

Photo of the Day: Profile of a Rose

One of the absolutely, insanely gawgeous roses at The Farm. This one was particularly spectacular and I took like 10 shots of it. Don't you love the shades of pink and orange blending so softly? *sigh* I may become a rose lover after all.

Life List update

 I have been working on my Life List and I have some new editions.

A few of you gave kind words that 34 was a very ambitious list for one of my age and I was content to stop at 34 and add more as the years progressed. However, my much younger friend Claud sent me her list which is MUCH longer than 34 and then I felt like I had to step up my game. Because no way is a sweet little 23 year old gonna top me. Nope, no way. That said, her list was full of the awesome sauce so I stole a few ideas and changed them to suit me.

Soooo (drum roll please) here are more items. More to come and I'll keep you updated as I go. I think I want to get the list to 50 for now.

1. Learn how to make sushi
2. Have sex in a public place
3. Learn how to play poker properly (I get the gist, okay, but I get confused with the betting part)
4. Learn how to pole dance (and then do it, maybe not in public though)
5. Spend a night (or more) on a private island
6. Take my girlfriends to a spa for a weekend and pay for the entire trip
7. Pet a tiger. Seriously. I so want to do this.
8. Go snorkling again (yeah, I went in Costa Rica, but it wasn't great. and I didn't get to snorkle in Hawaii. so this makes it on the list)
9. Wax my hooha into some crazy Hollywood-type pattern just for scuz
10. Learn how to play a video game (Okay, don't laugh, but I wasn't allowed to play ANY video games as a child. My mom was crazy, whatever. Shut up. So I have no talent for it and am subsequently terrified I'll make a fool of myself or kill my character so many times that I will never be allowed to play again. Isn't that how it works?)

Photo of the Day: Tentacles and Red Vines

As I mentioned before, Corgan (Corey and Morgan) moved in together last weekend and I helped them each move from their respective homes (me and their army of friends) and into their new place: The Casa (photos from The Casa soon, hopefully). 

Corey's old home was The Farm. It is safe to say that many of us loved The Farm (though I'm sure The Casa will be filled with much love) and as we were packing up Corey's garage boxes full of dust and spiderwebs (I don't think he'd opened those boxes since he moved in), I got a little nostalgic. 

There are many gorgeous plants growing at The Farm, including the one above. Here's another angle:

I have no idea what this is and I'm sure someone will let me know. I'd like to think it's a Red Vines plant. It's really too bad The Farm didn't have a Good n Plenty plant. I really like those.

Anyway, I'll be dedicating the next however long it takes to photos of plants and flowers at The Farm. Hope you find them as awesome as I do. 

I blog therefore I am

Why do I blog? That question seems to be thrown at me lately. From friends, from you, Internet, from the universe, from my soul. Why do I blog?

I blog because I can. Because I'm a writer. Because the words spew forth and I must send them into the Internetverse where they lose their potency (I'm very Foucault). Sometimes I blog because my heart is aching and I must take that pain and excise it into words. It's analgesic in the form of non-fiction. Sometimes I blog out of boredom or happiness or in an effort to share my art. But mostly I blog to be funny. I find the world insanely hilarious. The tiniest and mundane and painful things are uproariously funny to me and I must share that laughter with those of you who dare to laugh with me.

It's funny, I suppose, how the universe works.

A dear friend of mine expressed to me yesterday her concern that I maybe was writing about her relationship in my blog (which, I sometimes do, but always in a straightforward way so there is no confusion and certainly sans judgement). And I very poorly tried to explain that I wasn't (to be fair, she'd caught me off guard), but I don't think I made myself clear (another reason I blog: I'm much better in writing than in person). And I'm worried her feelings are still a little sore. Maybe because I can be so caustic and snarky in my blog, it's not clear what a softy I am. I stayed awake most of last night worried I'd hurt feelings.

But the fact of the matter is, I would never, ever passive aggressively try to jab at my friends through my blog. I would never assume to hint about something serious through my blog, not something serious about someone else anyway (but my life is fair game). And if something about my friends bothered me, I certainly would never assume to change their behavior through my blog, or in any way, for that matter. It's none of my damn business. My blog is not a tactic or a device or a weapon to control the world at my whim. I would never assume that.

I wasn't even going to write about this. I was going to shove it down to the place of my psyche that causes headaches and nausea and spew it out at therapy (because that's healthy). But I read one of the most insightful blogs this morning at No Points for Style and it was so appropriate for this situation I felt so totally moved to write. I couldn't help myself. It just happened. Like when you hear music and instinctively bob your head, that's how much I needed to write. Let me quote:

"Yeah, well, when it comes to storytelling, all the facts are in the eye of the beholder and in the words of the storyteller."

And that's how I feel entirely. I write about little things that bug me or that I find amusing and I multiply them outrageously for comedic intent. I do. The world as I see it has endless mocking opportunity and I take advantage of that. Ridiculous people and situations are all blog fodder. As is my life. This is my life and therefore I give myself the freedom to flay my personal insecurities and foibles and emotions and scars up for devouring by the Internet. And, to quote No Points for Style again:

"We can't tell our own stories without telling bits and parts of other people’s stories, but be clear: the truth belongs to the storyteller."


My truth is snarky. And biting. And acerbic. It is. And so maybe it's hard to see where I draw my ethical line. It's my story and I tell it in a certain style and so to spare my friendships and relationships, I try to avoid flaying up their lives as much as possible. I may mention a friend's name in conjunction with a story to give it context, for sure. And I'd like to think the stories I tell about my friends are complimentary. My friends are a part of my life and I would not be able to tell my stories fully if I left them out. It wouldn't be the truth. But while I welcome you, Internet, to laugh with me, at me, after me, beside me, whatever, it would be wrong of me to invite you to laugh at my friends.
 
And so, dear friend, if you are reading this (which you'd better, biotch) please know this is my way of telling the truth. We're not perfect and we both get on each other's nerves sometimes. Sometimes you make me throw up a little (But I promise to tell you right then. You can even check my breath.). But I would never use my blog as a weapon against you or try to manipulate you through my writing or offer up your life for my comedic gains. When I want to do that, I'll just link to your blog and let you make fun of yourself, as it's supposed to be.

Because laughing is what it's all about.

Love Song Sunday: Oh My Stars

This lazy Love Song Sunday I have for you a little delicious morsel of Andrew Belle. In truth, I love most of his songs and it was hard to pick just one. But this song is simple and sweet and full of the things that make my heart flutter like longing and hope. It's about desire, pure desire, made of complicatedness and raw emotion.

Besides, I just love this video. I do tend to love the live sessions (over produced music videos or even huge concert footage) and this one is perfectly intimate. You really get what's important: the music.

What's more, isn't Andrew Belle completely adorable? I bet he's a good cuddler. mmmmhmmm.

Public Service Announcement

Baby talk. Women who talk the baby talk to their boyfriends and husbands make me die a little inside. Every time I hear a woman make goo goo sounds to a grown man I want to slap her so hard her botox squirts out. But that scares me that the back splash might hit me and freeze my face. Which is...you know,,,terrifying. The kind of thing that happens in an episode of the Twilight Zone.

"I ca moo ma fae. Is fro-en. Hel me." 

"Well, you shouldn't have struck that alien pincushion. Everyone knows that's dangerous. What were you thinking?"

"I couln stan da ba-ay tal!"

Ladies, why are you making the baby talk? WHY? It's heinous. It is. You should not be talking baby talk with a grown ass man. Why? Because he is a grown ass man and he deserves to be spoken to like a grown ass man. (Is ass man starting to sound funny to anyone else?)

Look, I get the temptation. Maybe you want an infant (fuck, do I know) and your man seems to fill some of that space in your life. But I have news for you: THAT IS WRONG. Wrong. He is not your infant. No. No he is not.

If you really and truly must make the baby talk, get a pet. The more cute and cuddly the better. Might I suggest a hedgehog?

Or a bunny?

Or perhaps a pile of puppies and kittens?

Your boyfriend needs to be spared the baby talk. Trust me. Even if he acts like he likes it, I guarantee you he does not. He is LYING. 

It is no longer acceptable to call him pookie or snookums or cuddlebear. He is NOT a cuddlebear. He is your boyfriend. THIS is a cuddlebear:

No. Wait. No, that's not a cuddlebear either. No that is a very angry real live bear. Who wants to eat you. He's angry because you made the baby talk.

Don't squinch your face up and make googely eyes. And for the love of god don't pinch his fucking cheeks (unless we're talking ass cheeks, then by all means, squeeze away). 


Let's review. 


Baby:

Grown ass fine man:

Baby:

Grown half naked man:

Baby (dressed as a flamingo):

Grown man:

(Okay, that last one was a trick question, but that was to make sure you were paying attention.)

I think we're done here. I think I made my point. Men, you're welcome. Women, consider yourselves warned. 

Random Thoughts of a Crazy Lady

When you Facebook stalk your cousin's ex-fiance and his new(er) wife, you come to the conclusion that he's pretty much a loser and your cousin did, in fact, do the right thing by breaking things off with the douche (not that you had any doubt, but this confirms it). And you lose any and all guilt over leaving him that very mean note you duck taped to his passed out, drunk face back in 2002 when he took your parking spot, which in Hollywood, is a very, very serious offense. Kinda wish that had done the trick and scared him off back then. It would have saved my cousin like 5 years of grief.

A very well-respected citizen of my community and someone I had thought very highly of was arrested recently for something truly awful. I have no idea how to reconcile the person I know and like and respect with this person he's accused of being. Breaks my heart.

One week! Love Interest will be here in one week. To see me. I have many things planned. Some of them even outside of my bed. Aren't you proud of me? (hi, Dad!)

I am in sticker shock by how much it costs to move. Do you know how much? Much more than it costs to feed a starving child in Somalia for 10 years (roughly. I rounded.), I tell ya what. May have to reassess just how much of my shit I need to sell to make this happen.

I am helping my two friends Corgan move tomorrow. I need to find them appropriate housewarming gifts. I have an idea of what to buy The Corey (but have no clue how to buy certain sporting goods), but am at a loss for Morgan. Help!

Promised pictures of the flowers that grow on the tall beanstalky looking plants near my house. Et voila:

Photo of the Day: A Strong Profile

This is my Hobbes. My Hobbit. The Hobbers. Mr. Hobbella He is quite a big boy, as you can probably see here. He's not necessarily a fat cat, he is huge everywhere. He has a big ass head too. But he's the sweetest thing on the planet. Hobbes sometimes reminds me of Harry and the Hendersons. All bulk and no bite. He's scared of everything and wouldn't even know how to bite. 

He's quite the model too. He'll hold still for shots and not try to pose too much (we all know that's tres gauche) so he's easier to photograph than my other cat. Plus isn't he just so photogenic? He's so pretty. I mean handsome. Yeah, handsome. 

Chicks who do it for me

The time has come, Internet, for me to come out with it.

Hot girls.

Girls who are hot to me.

This post should hopefully in some way make up for the posts about sex and vibrators and babies and gynecologists and my uterus for my poor, scared male readers. Hot chicks. Dudes dig that shit, right?

I'm going to spend a nanosecond on my sexuality for a second and then move on, mmmmk? My friends know I don't like labels for this kind of thing. Everyone exists on some kind of scale. So I don't label; it's too restrictive. Very few women actually "do it" for me. I've dated women before, but I'm more interested in men. There has to be a rare combination of intrigue, attractiveness, and brilliance that is hard to describe for me to be attracted to the female of the species.

But I'll def kick back with the boys and check out the hotties. Good times. Good times.

On that note, here are some famousy ladies who I wouldn't kick outta bed:

Parminder Nagra

If you didn't see Bend It Like Beckham, you were clearly born after 2002 or were maybe doing hard drugs at the time. I have had a monster crush on Parminder since then. She is HOT. Sporty. And that British accent is irresistible.

Zooey Deschanel

Yeah, she's like the "it" girl now, but I've had a crush on this little lady for ever. Do I want to be her or just make out with her? Not sure. 

Rebecca Hall

I haven't seen Rebecca in anything other than Vikki Christina Barcelona, but she was totally intriguing and gorgeous in that. Love her. She's so earthy.

Jayma Mays

Loved Jayma since Heroes. Now that she's on Glee, I'm done for. Jayma is adorable on by her little lonesome, but her character Emma? ADORABLE. Two words: Bambie eyes. 'Nuf said. 

Zoe Saldana

Zoe Saldana is kickass and I've had the crush since Center Stage (dancer girls, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout). And she's all famous now because of Star Trek, but I've always thought she was hotness. Girl is spicy. 

Lucy Liu

Two scenes: Charlie's Angles "ooooooh Baracuda." And Kill Bill Volume One, the sword fight in the snow. Hot hot hot. 

Christina Hendricks as Joan Holloway

Clearly I've saved the best for last. It's hard to believe this is a real woman. And I'm less crushing on Christina Hendricks herself as much as her character Joan on Mad Men. Joan is HACHAHA HOT. She is brilliant and gorgeous and shazam. I'll admit, I'm a little intimidated by her incredibly huge boobs though. I'm like a ten year old boy in comparison. Hrm, maybe she'd like that. 

Who are your chick crushes?