It's one of those days.
My head hurts.
Its hotter than Hades outside.
Katrina really wreaked havoc on some beautiful places. The Red Cross is saying this is their largest relief effort EVAR. Its devastating to watch. What has been angering me are those folks that decided they were going to lag behind to "watch the water rise." What the samhill were they thinking?? Now these rescue workers have to risk their lives for these schmoes that DID NOT listen when they were told to evacuate. That just flips me out. Then there are those people that are using generators in their homes, which at any given moment, will explode due to the water and pressure. Great. Just what those places need...mini-explosions in a humid, buggy, sewage induced chaos. Icky. Sending good vibes to all of those folks AND kicking myself for never having gone there like I'd wanted.
Apparently, there are now pictures of Brad Pitt with Angelina's new kid, Zahara. Woo.
I did see "The Wedding Crashers" this past weekend. I can't decide what was funnier, that or the "The 40 year old Virgin." Wow. Where was Ben Stiller?? He wasn't in either...
Sigh. And with that, over and out.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Monday, August 29, 2005
All that Jazz...
So this past weekend, we celebrated the bro's birthday.
My wonderful SIL did all of the planning…I just had to show up.
Our evening began at a beautiful restaurant called, Dominick's. Dominick's is truly a hidden L.A. treasure. The restaurant itself is breathtaking. When you walk in, its got an old school Hollywood/Italian vibe with a very elegant, but not overdone bar. The lighting is clean in a bright way, without hurting your eyes. As you walk through, there are old pictures adorning the walls which continues the classic look.
But then, the real vision begins. The patio is stunning with brick walls draped with vines and potted flowers, greenery everywhere (an olive tree was right next to us) a glass ceiling, candles on all of the tables to keep the lighting intimate, a gorgeous bar and the most amazing fireplace, with candles strewn all over its mantle. When we first sat down, we were taking in the sights and were all annoyed because there was some sort of techno music playing, but within minutes, the music took a turn for the better, much to our glee.
The service was ridiculously great. There were people constantly watching over us the entire night, not in a pesky, "get out of my face" way, but in a way to make our dining experience even more splendid.
Speaking of splendid, the food was to die for. From the fresh out of oven loaf of Italian bread with the creamiest, yummiest butter to all of the side dishes my SIL and I ordered, to the chicken marsala the brother ordered, we ALL gave it a thumbs up. My SIL and I ordered their cheese plate that was filled with little servings of cheeses, nuts, dried veggies and toasted Italian bread with a hint of olive oil. It was scrumptious. And NOT too expensive at all. I highly recommend this place and think it would be an absolutely fabulous place to go around the holidays.
After we'd stuffed ourselves with a homemade biscotti platter with fresh berries and glob of something that tasted like whipped cream, amaretto and some other fabulous ingredients, the next arm of our evening began.
Our next stop was to the Catalina Bar and Grill. We hadn't eaten enough, so we thought we'd eat more…JUST kidding. Actually, the Catalina is a Hollywood jazz landmark, something I knew nothing about. Apparently, they used to be located in a location off of Caheunga, but moved to this much larger, great spot off of Sunset and Las Palmas. SIL had gotten tickets to see the Dave Weckyl band. Now, as a person that has seen her share of concerts, mini-concerts, bar bands, etc., I was not sure what to expect…especially since it was JAZZ.
The Catalina looked a little sketchy from the outside, but the inside had this hip, but not overly-hip flavor with a great lighting, a cool red background, tons of seating for dinner and/or drinks and a perfectly set stage.
The band came out. Dave Weckyl is the drummer and had a sax player, a keyboardist and bass player.
The music started and it was cool. People were sitting in their cheers, bobbing there heads, snapping their fingers, whooping. I was not sure what to do. I am used to mosh pits, or at least standing up and dancing about. I had no etiquette to the jazz scene, so I sat quietly, rubbernecking and watching. Then, all of a sudden, everyone would start clapping and whooping. I was not sure why, as the songs kept going, but when in Rome, I clapped too and looked excited.
This went on all night. I felt the same confusion I used to feel at Cubs games in Chicago. I went to the games to socialize and drink beer, but if I went with REAL baseball fans and they'd asked me "what the play was," my head would roll off as I was not sure. I had that similar feeling this past Saturday, but all in all, I truly enjoyed the evening, even if I was on the edge of my seat the whole night to keep up and learn. And could that man play the drums...woot!
When the band ended, my brother started to wax his knowledge of jazz, which left me completely dumbfounded, as I had NO idea my brother was such a huge fan or that he knew so many facts about the people and music of jazz. He said something so poetic about what jazz meant to him, but I can't write it as I am afraid someone else one day might steal his eloquent statement, so I will leave that one alone.
All in all, it was an A+ evening. Please check these places out. They are true gems.
Dominick's Restaurant, 8715 Beverly Blvd. West Hollywood, CA 90048
(310) 652-2335; www.dominicksrestaurant.com
Catalina Bar and Grill, 6725 W. Sunset Blvd, Los Angeles, 90028
(323) 466-2210; www.catalinajazzclub.com
My wonderful SIL did all of the planning…I just had to show up.
Our evening began at a beautiful restaurant called, Dominick's. Dominick's is truly a hidden L.A. treasure. The restaurant itself is breathtaking. When you walk in, its got an old school Hollywood/Italian vibe with a very elegant, but not overdone bar. The lighting is clean in a bright way, without hurting your eyes. As you walk through, there are old pictures adorning the walls which continues the classic look.
But then, the real vision begins. The patio is stunning with brick walls draped with vines and potted flowers, greenery everywhere (an olive tree was right next to us) a glass ceiling, candles on all of the tables to keep the lighting intimate, a gorgeous bar and the most amazing fireplace, with candles strewn all over its mantle. When we first sat down, we were taking in the sights and were all annoyed because there was some sort of techno music playing, but within minutes, the music took a turn for the better, much to our glee.
The service was ridiculously great. There were people constantly watching over us the entire night, not in a pesky, "get out of my face" way, but in a way to make our dining experience even more splendid.
Speaking of splendid, the food was to die for. From the fresh out of oven loaf of Italian bread with the creamiest, yummiest butter to all of the side dishes my SIL and I ordered, to the chicken marsala the brother ordered, we ALL gave it a thumbs up. My SIL and I ordered their cheese plate that was filled with little servings of cheeses, nuts, dried veggies and toasted Italian bread with a hint of olive oil. It was scrumptious. And NOT too expensive at all. I highly recommend this place and think it would be an absolutely fabulous place to go around the holidays.
After we'd stuffed ourselves with a homemade biscotti platter with fresh berries and glob of something that tasted like whipped cream, amaretto and some other fabulous ingredients, the next arm of our evening began.
Our next stop was to the Catalina Bar and Grill. We hadn't eaten enough, so we thought we'd eat more…JUST kidding. Actually, the Catalina is a Hollywood jazz landmark, something I knew nothing about. Apparently, they used to be located in a location off of Caheunga, but moved to this much larger, great spot off of Sunset and Las Palmas. SIL had gotten tickets to see the Dave Weckyl band. Now, as a person that has seen her share of concerts, mini-concerts, bar bands, etc., I was not sure what to expect…especially since it was JAZZ.
The Catalina looked a little sketchy from the outside, but the inside had this hip, but not overly-hip flavor with a great lighting, a cool red background, tons of seating for dinner and/or drinks and a perfectly set stage.
The band came out. Dave Weckyl is the drummer and had a sax player, a keyboardist and bass player.
The music started and it was cool. People were sitting in their cheers, bobbing there heads, snapping their fingers, whooping. I was not sure what to do. I am used to mosh pits, or at least standing up and dancing about. I had no etiquette to the jazz scene, so I sat quietly, rubbernecking and watching. Then, all of a sudden, everyone would start clapping and whooping. I was not sure why, as the songs kept going, but when in Rome, I clapped too and looked excited.
This went on all night. I felt the same confusion I used to feel at Cubs games in Chicago. I went to the games to socialize and drink beer, but if I went with REAL baseball fans and they'd asked me "what the play was," my head would roll off as I was not sure. I had that similar feeling this past Saturday, but all in all, I truly enjoyed the evening, even if I was on the edge of my seat the whole night to keep up and learn. And could that man play the drums...woot!
When the band ended, my brother started to wax his knowledge of jazz, which left me completely dumbfounded, as I had NO idea my brother was such a huge fan or that he knew so many facts about the people and music of jazz. He said something so poetic about what jazz meant to him, but I can't write it as I am afraid someone else one day might steal his eloquent statement, so I will leave that one alone.
All in all, it was an A+ evening. Please check these places out. They are true gems.
Dominick's Restaurant, 8715 Beverly Blvd. West Hollywood, CA 90048
(310) 652-2335; www.dominicksrestaurant.com
Catalina Bar and Grill, 6725 W. Sunset Blvd, Los Angeles, 90028
(323) 466-2210; www.catalinajazzclub.com
Friday, August 26, 2005
HOT HOT HOT
It's sweltering outside. I pity the fools that love this...its too much. On second thought, if I was not held up at work, I would be enjoying this heat properly...AT THE BEACH!
Have a fantastical weekend!
Have a fantastical weekend!
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Let's get animal... Animal..I want to get ANIMAL...
I love animals.
Growing up, we had a dog...for a day. After that, we had these bizarre-o pets. Let's see, frogs (Hermie, Herman, Frank and King), spiders (don't ask), grasshoppers (Goldie, Marcus and Copper) and fish. I had goldfish (Sunny, Goldie, Pepper and a slew of others). My brother, Bob, had oscars and piranhas (not at the same time). The oscars were pretty cool, but the piranhas were a real spectacle.
Bob had bought four of them. One died after about a week. Upon our full surgical inspection, he'd died from asphyxiation from a guppy head.
Now there were three. Of the three, one was much larger, making his SEEM like the bad-ass. The truth was, by the end of month two, there were only two. Seems like the two smaller ones had an appetite for Biggie-small...
After a year, there were two. They battled, they fought. We fed them small fish and watched in fascination as they tore the little critters apart. Then one day, one battled the other and bam, there was one.
The one left went from the size of a 50 cent piece to the size of a 1/2 a loaf of bread...wide, too with teeth you could see. The tank got too small and Bro Bob decided to give him up to his best friend who had the proper tank. His buddy lived at the top of our block. Bob put the fish in a garbage bag and into a bucket. Halfway up the street, "Cujo the Piranha" had managed to eat through the bag and was like his own horror movie. He lived with my brothers friend until they had their falling out...then his friend threw it in our pool. (just kidding. they are still friends and we did not have a pool).
Anyway.
After that, I had a parakeet named Sugar, whom at that point, was the smartest animal on the planet, until her untimely dive into water that suddenly made her ... slow. Gone were the days of calling her and her flying to me. I would call her, she'd fly halfway and land on someone else. Whatever.
Then there was Smokey. Ahhhh. Good ole Smokey. I received Smokey as a gift from my brother Bob and his then girlfriend, now wife, Colleen. Smokey lived to ripe old age of 21 and sadly, passed away last year. She was the sweetest cat and even to anti-cat folks, she was a love-bug. (BTW, this is NOT Smokey, just a replica.)
Smokey stayed with my parents when I moved out. Mostly because, she was used to their house and the company,etc.
When I moved to Chicago, I adopted Spike. Spike was a whole other ball of 10 inch wax. You see, he was my guardian cockatiel. A friend of mine had him, but ignored him and was essentially mean (my friend lived in a house with 6 guys that smoked, drank and had NO business owning a bird). I would visit him. He was withered and when he saw me, he would go crazy. took him. For six months, he did not look at me. One day, he turned around, crawled out of his cage, climbed to my shoulder and put his head against my cheek. After that, we were practically a couple.
Spike HATED men (except for my Dad). He wolf-called ALL day long at me and when any of my girlfriends would come over, he would wolf-call and be sassy. If my boyfriend, at that time, would come over, he would bang his head in seizure-like bangs against the bars of his cage. Sometimes, he would come full-throttle, claws first and think he was an eagle and try to poke my boyfriend's eyes out. Good bird.
When I moved, I had to give him up. It was a hard decision, but I had no idea what my life would be like, so I gave him to my friend M, who'd loved him the moment she'd laid eyes on him. Some months after moving, I got this picture via e-mail...it scares me to this day.
After a few years in L.A., I teetered with the idea of having a pet. A dog sounded SO awesome, and after spending time with KV's dogs and Bunnie's bevy of dogs, I wanted one so badly. But lo and behold, last February (2004), this beautiful, LARGE creature came crawling out of her cage and right into my heart.
Skye, aka, Miss Kitty was at a shelter in Sherman Oaks. I was just looking. There were cats everywhere. I was sneezing. They were crawling all over. I was getting hives. The ladies who ran the shelter saw me and KNEW I was a sucker. They tried to introduce me to every cat. I said no. I was fighting them off when they looked at each other with that "look" of, "oh yes, SHE'S the one," and said, "How about this girl." I looked into this cage and saw the BIGGEST cat I had seen to date and the furriest. I took one look and said, "no way." They KNEW I would be "the one" for this amazing creature. Just to make matters worse, they let her out so she could "bond" with me. But after I met her, I left. I ran out. I went to breakfast. Sat with the guy I was dating and could not erase her out of my head. I kept talking about her saying, "No. She's too furry. She's too big." But what clinched it for me was when he said, "Yes, YOU should NOT get that cat. You are just not responsible enough." Wha??? Nuff said.
I went back for a second look. The shelter ladies perked up and brought her out. I just could not justify between allergies and large-ness of kitty that I could take her in. They said, "How about fostering her." I said, "No." They put up such a good fight, that I walked out with her.
A week and half later, after being hissed at, clawed at and a myriad of other scary cat things, we bonded. The shelter called to say they'd found her the "perfect" home. I listened. I pondered. They said I had to give them an answer.
And I suppose, seeing she is still with me, the answer rang clear.
Growing up, we had a dog...for a day. After that, we had these bizarre-o pets. Let's see, frogs (Hermie, Herman, Frank and King), spiders (don't ask), grasshoppers (Goldie, Marcus and Copper) and fish. I had goldfish (Sunny, Goldie, Pepper and a slew of others). My brother, Bob, had oscars and piranhas (not at the same time). The oscars were pretty cool, but the piranhas were a real spectacle.
Bob had bought four of them. One died after about a week. Upon our full surgical inspection, he'd died from asphyxiation from a guppy head.
Now there were three. Of the three, one was much larger, making his SEEM like the bad-ass. The truth was, by the end of month two, there were only two. Seems like the two smaller ones had an appetite for Biggie-small...
After a year, there were two. They battled, they fought. We fed them small fish and watched in fascination as they tore the little critters apart. Then one day, one battled the other and bam, there was one.
The one left went from the size of a 50 cent piece to the size of a 1/2 a loaf of bread...wide, too with teeth you could see. The tank got too small and Bro Bob decided to give him up to his best friend who had the proper tank. His buddy lived at the top of our block. Bob put the fish in a garbage bag and into a bucket. Halfway up the street, "Cujo the Piranha" had managed to eat through the bag and was like his own horror movie. He lived with my brothers friend until they had their falling out...then his friend threw it in our pool. (just kidding. they are still friends and we did not have a pool).
Anyway.
After that, I had a parakeet named Sugar, whom at that point, was the smartest animal on the planet, until her untimely dive into water that suddenly made her ... slow. Gone were the days of calling her and her flying to me. I would call her, she'd fly halfway and land on someone else. Whatever.
Then there was Smokey. Ahhhh. Good ole Smokey. I received Smokey as a gift from my brother Bob and his then girlfriend, now wife, Colleen. Smokey lived to ripe old age of 21 and sadly, passed away last year. She was the sweetest cat and even to anti-cat folks, she was a love-bug. (BTW, this is NOT Smokey, just a replica.)
Smokey stayed with my parents when I moved out. Mostly because, she was used to their house and the company,etc.
When I moved to Chicago, I adopted Spike. Spike was a whole other ball of 10 inch wax. You see, he was my guardian cockatiel. A friend of mine had him, but ignored him and was essentially mean (my friend lived in a house with 6 guys that smoked, drank and had NO business owning a bird). I would visit him. He was withered and when he saw me, he would go crazy. took him. For six months, he did not look at me. One day, he turned around, crawled out of his cage, climbed to my shoulder and put his head against my cheek. After that, we were practically a couple.
Spike HATED men (except for my Dad). He wolf-called ALL day long at me and when any of my girlfriends would come over, he would wolf-call and be sassy. If my boyfriend, at that time, would come over, he would bang his head in seizure-like bangs against the bars of his cage. Sometimes, he would come full-throttle, claws first and think he was an eagle and try to poke my boyfriend's eyes out. Good bird.
When I moved, I had to give him up. It was a hard decision, but I had no idea what my life would be like, so I gave him to my friend M, who'd loved him the moment she'd laid eyes on him. Some months after moving, I got this picture via e-mail...it scares me to this day.
After a few years in L.A., I teetered with the idea of having a pet. A dog sounded SO awesome, and after spending time with KV's dogs and Bunnie's bevy of dogs, I wanted one so badly. But lo and behold, last February (2004), this beautiful, LARGE creature came crawling out of her cage and right into my heart.
Skye, aka, Miss Kitty was at a shelter in Sherman Oaks. I was just looking. There were cats everywhere. I was sneezing. They were crawling all over. I was getting hives. The ladies who ran the shelter saw me and KNEW I was a sucker. They tried to introduce me to every cat. I said no. I was fighting them off when they looked at each other with that "look" of, "oh yes, SHE'S the one," and said, "How about this girl." I looked into this cage and saw the BIGGEST cat I had seen to date and the furriest. I took one look and said, "no way." They KNEW I would be "the one" for this amazing creature. Just to make matters worse, they let her out so she could "bond" with me. But after I met her, I left. I ran out. I went to breakfast. Sat with the guy I was dating and could not erase her out of my head. I kept talking about her saying, "No. She's too furry. She's too big." But what clinched it for me was when he said, "Yes, YOU should NOT get that cat. You are just not responsible enough." Wha??? Nuff said.
I went back for a second look. The shelter ladies perked up and brought her out. I just could not justify between allergies and large-ness of kitty that I could take her in. They said, "How about fostering her." I said, "No." They put up such a good fight, that I walked out with her.
A week and half later, after being hissed at, clawed at and a myriad of other scary cat things, we bonded. The shelter called to say they'd found her the "perfect" home. I listened. I pondered. They said I had to give them an answer.
And I suppose, seeing she is still with me, the answer rang clear.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Here's to Big Brother...
Not THAT Big Brother, MY big brother.
Alas, another Virgo-ian birthday today. Today my brother is (koff) 4-5....that's right folks, my brother is 45. But as he would tell you, age means nothing and he means it. Forty-five....but don't let that fool you. My brother is the youngest looking person you will ever meet. He has the best skin (jerk!), is the most honest person you will ever meet, knows more about PIZZA than anyone on the planet, is chilled out in a very Zen-like kind of way and is really just an all-around cool cat.
Seeing that I am the youngest by a decade and a few, our relationship started off okay. My brother was NOTORIOUS for nicknaming me. I was, "Ooosh Da Koosh," "Lumpus Loweezy," and the one that stuck for MANY years, "Dooz." "Dooz," "Doozer," and "Doozy," became my second names for a long time. I even had it etched on my sweats, back in the day.
My bro was always the progressive one. He has always had that "GQ" thing happening in his own special way, has always been on the "up and up" and quite frankly, I owe some of my best musical choices to him. The 80's had some of the worst/best music and he went for the best. I thought he was SO cool when he drove my friend and I into Chicago, driving with the metal foot he had (and still has), while blaring "The Joshua Tree."
He and my sister took me to my first concert...Duran Duran. No kidding. I was the luckiest kid in the 6th grade, especially since he'd gotten me my first concert t-shirt, which started me on my downward, rock and roll spiral. I remember how I cried when he went to go see The Police during their "Synchronicity" tour. (I think I was a tad bit too young for that one.)
My brother was the kind of guy who managed to get me a Cabbage Patch Doll, during that raging time when people were shedding blood over those ugly-arce things. My brother got me a Swatch Watch when they were all the rage. He even took me on a shopping spree to Limited Express for a birthday, before it became corporate and when it was Uber-cool.
He lived in the city of Chicago and had some of the coolest places to dwell, knew some of the most interesting people and always encouraged me to see things just a "little" larger. He worked so hard toward his dreams (movies) and got very far, knowing NO ONE, but working it, nonetheless.
He got married to someone who, to this day, adds a whole other level of Zen and class to my family. They moved to L.A. shortly thereafter.
My first few years in L.A. were a little weird. I was kind of getting to know my brother again. I know him now. We both like to cook and eat. We both are big fans of Chicago. We both like to get things done...quickly and accurately. We both have a horrendous need for a particular strawberry whip cream cake you can only find in Chinatown. We both enjoy a good debate.
I feel so lucky to have such a good family tie and such a good friend...
Cheers to you, Bill...!
Alas, another Virgo-ian birthday today. Today my brother is (koff) 4-5....that's right folks, my brother is 45. But as he would tell you, age means nothing and he means it. Forty-five....but don't let that fool you. My brother is the youngest looking person you will ever meet. He has the best skin (jerk!), is the most honest person you will ever meet, knows more about PIZZA than anyone on the planet, is chilled out in a very Zen-like kind of way and is really just an all-around cool cat.
Seeing that I am the youngest by a decade and a few, our relationship started off okay. My brother was NOTORIOUS for nicknaming me. I was, "Ooosh Da Koosh," "Lumpus Loweezy," and the one that stuck for MANY years, "Dooz." "Dooz," "Doozer," and "Doozy," became my second names for a long time. I even had it etched on my sweats, back in the day.
My bro was always the progressive one. He has always had that "GQ" thing happening in his own special way, has always been on the "up and up" and quite frankly, I owe some of my best musical choices to him. The 80's had some of the worst/best music and he went for the best. I thought he was SO cool when he drove my friend and I into Chicago, driving with the metal foot he had (and still has), while blaring "The Joshua Tree."
He and my sister took me to my first concert...Duran Duran. No kidding. I was the luckiest kid in the 6th grade, especially since he'd gotten me my first concert t-shirt, which started me on my downward, rock and roll spiral. I remember how I cried when he went to go see The Police during their "Synchronicity" tour. (I think I was a tad bit too young for that one.)
My brother was the kind of guy who managed to get me a Cabbage Patch Doll, during that raging time when people were shedding blood over those ugly-arce things. My brother got me a Swatch Watch when they were all the rage. He even took me on a shopping spree to Limited Express for a birthday, before it became corporate and when it was Uber-cool.
He lived in the city of Chicago and had some of the coolest places to dwell, knew some of the most interesting people and always encouraged me to see things just a "little" larger. He worked so hard toward his dreams (movies) and got very far, knowing NO ONE, but working it, nonetheless.
He got married to someone who, to this day, adds a whole other level of Zen and class to my family. They moved to L.A. shortly thereafter.
My first few years in L.A. were a little weird. I was kind of getting to know my brother again. I know him now. We both like to cook and eat. We both are big fans of Chicago. We both like to get things done...quickly and accurately. We both have a horrendous need for a particular strawberry whip cream cake you can only find in Chinatown. We both enjoy a good debate.
I feel so lucky to have such a good family tie and such a good friend...
Cheers to you, Bill...!
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Random words of nothingness...
I don't have a whole lot to say today:
Today officially starts the sign Virgo.
I have not had coffee since August 13th!
My eyes are burning from allergies.
Don't forget, this weekend you can see MARS!
Courteney Love is NOT pregnant (thank goodness).
Tom Cruise look-a-likes are apparently stalking the Paramount Lot.
Work is slower than molasses. Then I have to ask myself, "how slow IS molasses?"
The world is going to end October 2. Brad and Jennifer are getting their divorce finalized that day....d-oh!
Oh, and MOST importantly? Today is the Bunnie's birthday! She's the BOMB in the most BOMB-SHELL way!!! Please feel free to peruse her amazingly clever website, "Valley Girl" (you can link to the right...to the right....to the right...)
P.S.
I can't get that song, "Don't funk with my heart" from the Black-eyed Peas out of my head...ACK!
Today officially starts the sign Virgo.
I have not had coffee since August 13th!
My eyes are burning from allergies.
Don't forget, this weekend you can see MARS!
Courteney Love is NOT pregnant (thank goodness).
Tom Cruise look-a-likes are apparently stalking the Paramount Lot.
Work is slower than molasses. Then I have to ask myself, "how slow IS molasses?"
The world is going to end October 2. Brad and Jennifer are getting their divorce finalized that day....d-oh!
Oh, and MOST importantly? Today is the Bunnie's birthday! She's the BOMB in the most BOMB-SHELL way!!! Please feel free to peruse her amazingly clever website, "Valley Girl" (you can link to the right...to the right....to the right...)
P.S.
I can't get that song, "Don't funk with my heart" from the Black-eyed Peas out of my head...ACK!
Monday, August 22, 2005
Stupid (stoopit) people...
Sigh.
This will be one of several posts, I gather, since the world is filled with the above-captioned, bane's of my existence.
The beginning of my lunch hour today was okay. I was excited. In fact, the word was "psyched." You see, I have slacked off from taking my high energy, gut-wrenching spin classes at lunch, due to the parking issues here at work. Today I decided, since I'd eaten enough to feed a small village this weekend, that I NEEDED to go. There was NO WAY I could talk myself out of it, so I had PSYCHED myself out to get there.
I snuck out of work early (ssh), hoping to get to the gym, do some weights, do my class and get showered, shined and arrive back at work in enough time.
Everything was working out. I snuck out. Arrived at the gym. Ran to the locker room. Had freshly washed gym clothing. Started to change and BAM. The realization hit me...I'd forgotten my workout shoes. F***.
I started cursing myself but then became quite Zen. Since I had flip-flops on, I realized I could still do the weights. I did the weights. It took all of 17 minutes.
When I left the gym, I thought about it. I really need a new pair of running shoes and since I had PLENTY of time, I decided to go and get a new pair.
Since I can't function in a mall setting, I decided to go to a sporting goods store that usually has great deals, at least the one I'd known a few years back when I lived in the Valley. BIG MISTAKE.
This store is well-known around town, but THIS particular location...SUCKS.
First off, the parking is in the back of the store, the doorway IN is in the front. That's already enough to push me off a bridge.
When I arrived inside, there were SALE signs everywhere, which of course, made me believe I would find the sure thing. But wait, there were four looooong tables of "sale" shoes, but they were scattered like a rummage sale. No mind. I am hardly upset about shopping or working for shopping. As I approached, there were boxes strewn about. When a box of shoes looked like something I might like, I'd open it to find a missing shoe. Or a mismatched shoe. Or the wrong size on the box. Or the complete wrong shoe in the wrong box. In essence, it was ALL wrong.
I decided that maybe I should just look at the regular old shoes that were on the wall. That would have been fine, only there were shoes missing. Some shoes were not marked with a price. I finally found a pair that I thought I might like. They were worth the hassle.
I asked the only person that looked remotely reliable if he worked there. He shook his head no. Hmmm. I went to the front desk where this little mouse of a woman was standing. I asked if there was someone that could assist me. She quietly said, "you have to ask someone in the shoe department." Right. Okay. "Um, right, okay. There is no one that looks remotely shoe-person-like in that department." The once mousey lady picks up the store CB and SCREAMS, " A CUSTOMER NEEDS ASSISTANCE IN THE SHOE DEPARTMENT."
Much like the Keebler elves, a small group comes darting out of the back room wearing their whites shirts, black pants and flat-lined, "deer in the headlights" looks. I walk over and calmly ask if I can have said shoe in my size. Wide-eyed he says, "Um, no, we are out of those."
Grrrr.
I walk to put the shoe back and look at other shoes. Of course, they are the ones with no price. When I turn to ask more questions about said shoes, there is no one around again.
I then opted to go a section called, "Women's clearance shoes." I thought, F*** it. If I don't find the perfect pair, I will grab a pair that can get me through until the sure things are found. Again, every box was mismatched, mismarked, etc. I then found this really nice pair of shoes. A little pricier than I'd anticipated. I put them on and they felt amazing. I walked around. I jumped. I did a cartwheel (not really). It was great.
Out of nowhere, Salesman from Hell comes over to tell me that those are "men's" shoes. I ask how he knows. He said he saw me take them from the "men's" section. I said, "no, actually, these came from right here" as I pointed to said woman's rack. He then scoffed and said, "oh, THOSE are in the wrong section."
At this point, I did not really care. I would have bought those. They were fine. But he TOOK them from me. Out of my hands.
I finally staggered to one more rack. Tried on a pair of shoes. I liked them, they were fine, whatever. I brought them up to the counter. I was third in line. The man being rung up was buying weights...and FLIRTING with the different cashier. Flirting to a point that when they tried to lift the weights for her to find the price, they were giddy, giggling and WASTING my time.
I threw the shoes back onto the rack, did a 10-point hair flip and called it a day.
I was 15 minutes late to work.
This will be one of several posts, I gather, since the world is filled with the above-captioned, bane's of my existence.
The beginning of my lunch hour today was okay. I was excited. In fact, the word was "psyched." You see, I have slacked off from taking my high energy, gut-wrenching spin classes at lunch, due to the parking issues here at work. Today I decided, since I'd eaten enough to feed a small village this weekend, that I NEEDED to go. There was NO WAY I could talk myself out of it, so I had PSYCHED myself out to get there.
I snuck out of work early (ssh), hoping to get to the gym, do some weights, do my class and get showered, shined and arrive back at work in enough time.
Everything was working out. I snuck out. Arrived at the gym. Ran to the locker room. Had freshly washed gym clothing. Started to change and BAM. The realization hit me...I'd forgotten my workout shoes. F***.
I started cursing myself but then became quite Zen. Since I had flip-flops on, I realized I could still do the weights. I did the weights. It took all of 17 minutes.
When I left the gym, I thought about it. I really need a new pair of running shoes and since I had PLENTY of time, I decided to go and get a new pair.
Since I can't function in a mall setting, I decided to go to a sporting goods store that usually has great deals, at least the one I'd known a few years back when I lived in the Valley. BIG MISTAKE.
This store is well-known around town, but THIS particular location...SUCKS.
First off, the parking is in the back of the store, the doorway IN is in the front. That's already enough to push me off a bridge.
When I arrived inside, there were SALE signs everywhere, which of course, made me believe I would find the sure thing. But wait, there were four looooong tables of "sale" shoes, but they were scattered like a rummage sale. No mind. I am hardly upset about shopping or working for shopping. As I approached, there were boxes strewn about. When a box of shoes looked like something I might like, I'd open it to find a missing shoe. Or a mismatched shoe. Or the wrong size on the box. Or the complete wrong shoe in the wrong box. In essence, it was ALL wrong.
I decided that maybe I should just look at the regular old shoes that were on the wall. That would have been fine, only there were shoes missing. Some shoes were not marked with a price. I finally found a pair that I thought I might like. They were worth the hassle.
I asked the only person that looked remotely reliable if he worked there. He shook his head no. Hmmm. I went to the front desk where this little mouse of a woman was standing. I asked if there was someone that could assist me. She quietly said, "you have to ask someone in the shoe department." Right. Okay. "Um, right, okay. There is no one that looks remotely shoe-person-like in that department." The once mousey lady picks up the store CB and SCREAMS, " A CUSTOMER NEEDS ASSISTANCE IN THE SHOE DEPARTMENT."
Much like the Keebler elves, a small group comes darting out of the back room wearing their whites shirts, black pants and flat-lined, "deer in the headlights" looks. I walk over and calmly ask if I can have said shoe in my size. Wide-eyed he says, "Um, no, we are out of those."
Grrrr.
I walk to put the shoe back and look at other shoes. Of course, they are the ones with no price. When I turn to ask more questions about said shoes, there is no one around again.
I then opted to go a section called, "Women's clearance shoes." I thought, F*** it. If I don't find the perfect pair, I will grab a pair that can get me through until the sure things are found. Again, every box was mismatched, mismarked, etc. I then found this really nice pair of shoes. A little pricier than I'd anticipated. I put them on and they felt amazing. I walked around. I jumped. I did a cartwheel (not really). It was great.
Out of nowhere, Salesman from Hell comes over to tell me that those are "men's" shoes. I ask how he knows. He said he saw me take them from the "men's" section. I said, "no, actually, these came from right here" as I pointed to said woman's rack. He then scoffed and said, "oh, THOSE are in the wrong section."
At this point, I did not really care. I would have bought those. They were fine. But he TOOK them from me. Out of my hands.
I finally staggered to one more rack. Tried on a pair of shoes. I liked them, they were fine, whatever. I brought them up to the counter. I was third in line. The man being rung up was buying weights...and FLIRTING with the different cashier. Flirting to a point that when they tried to lift the weights for her to find the price, they were giddy, giggling and WASTING my time.
I threw the shoes back onto the rack, did a 10-point hair flip and called it a day.
I was 15 minutes late to work.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Hollywood Blonde
Last night I tripped and fell into a vat of beer. Lemme explain.
I went to the gym after work. I took my torturous, painful, needling bastard of a class. (I do love it. It's just the HARDEST class EVAR!) I used to teach this kind of stuff, so I try to be a strong woman and do it with grace and ease...but what's going through my head are swear words and visions of burgers, beers and nachos.
Moving on.
I left the gym, sweaty, a little angry and bored since I have no radio in my car (that's another story). I went down my phone list in my cell to see who I could possibly call. Sigh. I was pretty talked out. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Neighbor Friend. Neighbor Friend is finally feeling better after her (ulp) appendectomy she'd had 1 1/2 weeks ago. We were talking and as we spoke, I heard her little voice say, "I need a beer."
Mmm, beer. She asks if I have any. Nope. So I say, "Tell you what..I will stop and pick up a six pack. No worries. See you in a bit."
I go to Gelsons (which has one of the BEST salad bars EVER) to pick out some brewskis. While it COULD take hours, I am taken by a box that says, "Hollywood Blonde." Its pretty. Its sassy. Its SO Hollywood. Its on sale.
I get home and wait for Neighbor Friend to come over. She arrives and we start drinking the Hollywood Blonde Beer. Within our first beer, we decide its not only a great tasting beer, but its stronger than hell. The bottles are amazingly cool as is the six-pack box. We kill the six pack. And then...I have a brilliant thought.
A-Man is on his way to my house from a baseball game. I call him. "A-man," I say, "Could you PLEASE pick up some beer for me and Neighbor Friend." And then there was howling and laughter from Neighbor Friend and I. Maniacal laughter.
Being the kind and wonderful soul A-Man is, he asks what kind. I tell him that I would LOVE a Hollywood Blonde, but Sam Adams is just as groovy.
As we awaited our beers, we started listening to "Belle and Sebastian," which I've decided are just amazingly cool.
He arrives. A-man had not only brought himself a six-pack...but he brought the girls a 12 pack...because we REALLY needed it.
Too make a long story short, fun was had by all.
This morning...not so fun. I was not too perky. My apartment looked like a frat house. See what happens when I go to Chicago?? I was there over a month ago and I think I am still broken.
P.S.
When it comes to assorted nuts, I go for the big ones, which usually keep themselves near the surface (the peanuts usually sink...!!) Silly Wabbit!
I went to the gym after work. I took my torturous, painful, needling bastard of a class. (I do love it. It's just the HARDEST class EVAR!) I used to teach this kind of stuff, so I try to be a strong woman and do it with grace and ease...but what's going through my head are swear words and visions of burgers, beers and nachos.
Moving on.
I left the gym, sweaty, a little angry and bored since I have no radio in my car (that's another story). I went down my phone list in my cell to see who I could possibly call. Sigh. I was pretty talked out. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Neighbor Friend. Neighbor Friend is finally feeling better after her (ulp) appendectomy she'd had 1 1/2 weeks ago. We were talking and as we spoke, I heard her little voice say, "I need a beer."
Mmm, beer. She asks if I have any. Nope. So I say, "Tell you what..I will stop and pick up a six pack. No worries. See you in a bit."
I go to Gelsons (which has one of the BEST salad bars EVER) to pick out some brewskis. While it COULD take hours, I am taken by a box that says, "Hollywood Blonde." Its pretty. Its sassy. Its SO Hollywood. Its on sale.
I get home and wait for Neighbor Friend to come over. She arrives and we start drinking the Hollywood Blonde Beer. Within our first beer, we decide its not only a great tasting beer, but its stronger than hell. The bottles are amazingly cool as is the six-pack box. We kill the six pack. And then...I have a brilliant thought.
A-Man is on his way to my house from a baseball game. I call him. "A-man," I say, "Could you PLEASE pick up some beer for me and Neighbor Friend." And then there was howling and laughter from Neighbor Friend and I. Maniacal laughter.
Being the kind and wonderful soul A-Man is, he asks what kind. I tell him that I would LOVE a Hollywood Blonde, but Sam Adams is just as groovy.
As we awaited our beers, we started listening to "Belle and Sebastian," which I've decided are just amazingly cool.
He arrives. A-man had not only brought himself a six-pack...but he brought the girls a 12 pack...because we REALLY needed it.
Too make a long story short, fun was had by all.
This morning...not so fun. I was not too perky. My apartment looked like a frat house. See what happens when I go to Chicago?? I was there over a month ago and I think I am still broken.
P.S.
When it comes to assorted nuts, I go for the big ones, which usually keep themselves near the surface (the peanuts usually sink...!!) Silly Wabbit!
Thursday, August 18, 2005
LAME-O
I gave up coffee this past Monday. I was becoming an addicted, writhing, coffee-ridden mess. Since I said goodbye to joe, I have been completely lethargic, slightly (and I mean, slightly) crabby and woozy. I realized this past weekend that I was drinking too much coffee (among other things) and when I over-do something, its time to give it a break.
So today's post will be lame.
Its about parking.
Anyone who lives in a bigger city can understand the pain, the vial moments and the swear words that parking can bring. When I lived in Lincoln Park, finding a parking spot that I could park my ZUM car at was like finding a pot of gold. Sometimes it would entail playing, "bumper tag," in which case, you parallel park and bump your bumper to MAKE your car fit (that's what bumpers are for!) I lived near the Lincoln Park Zoo, which gave SO much free street parking, but also meant dealing with driving for what seemed like, miles and miles to find a spot. And God forbid if it was cold...brrrrr.
When you are in one of the most over-populated cities in the country, having a parking space at home (as I do) is like winning the lottery. Weeknights, weekends, and most of the time thereafter, unless you have a garage, parking can be quite the nightmare.
My case in point today is about the parking at my work. You see, there was never a problem before. I work for a LARGE corporation. Our parking garage is about 6 stories and can hold ginormous amounts of vehicles. This past summer, a new company herded themselves into our building, causing a stir in the old convenient patterns that once were.
Gone were the days of zooming in late for work. Getting back late from lunch stopped being any fun. And in general, leaving AT ALL just plain sucks. Now you either circle the ENTIRE lot (which from top to bottom can take at least 15 minutes) or you must give yourself and your tin can to...the valet.
I personally have never given it up to the valet. I just can't. I have enough issues with privacy without giving my car (whether I like my car or not) to strangers. (I also am scarred from that part in "Ferris Buellers Day Off" when those valet guys take off in Cameron's father's car... Puh-lease, I am NOT saying my car is even close to that ride...I am babbling).
Today we received a notice that says our already ridiculous parking problem is getting worse...apparently, the owners of this building are taking away a HUGE-ASS chunk of our already precious and scarce parking space. Even the VP's (getting out my violin) will be affected as their now specialized parking is being taken away to park with our lame-asses. We were also told it might be a good idea to come in earlier as we will basically be fighting for our spots.
GREAT TACTICS.
My co-workers and I are angry. How can we enjoy our days here, knowing that we must get in early, CANNOT leave and if we do, we are giving up our freedom? Knowing the horrendous stories of our valets (and in their defense, they are prolly paid minimum wage), NO ONE wants to give it up to them.
Way to make disgruntled employees.
Grrrrr.
So today's post will be lame.
Its about parking.
Anyone who lives in a bigger city can understand the pain, the vial moments and the swear words that parking can bring. When I lived in Lincoln Park, finding a parking spot that I could park my ZUM car at was like finding a pot of gold. Sometimes it would entail playing, "bumper tag," in which case, you parallel park and bump your bumper to MAKE your car fit (that's what bumpers are for!) I lived near the Lincoln Park Zoo, which gave SO much free street parking, but also meant dealing with driving for what seemed like, miles and miles to find a spot. And God forbid if it was cold...brrrrr.
When you are in one of the most over-populated cities in the country, having a parking space at home (as I do) is like winning the lottery. Weeknights, weekends, and most of the time thereafter, unless you have a garage, parking can be quite the nightmare.
My case in point today is about the parking at my work. You see, there was never a problem before. I work for a LARGE corporation. Our parking garage is about 6 stories and can hold ginormous amounts of vehicles. This past summer, a new company herded themselves into our building, causing a stir in the old convenient patterns that once were.
Gone were the days of zooming in late for work. Getting back late from lunch stopped being any fun. And in general, leaving AT ALL just plain sucks. Now you either circle the ENTIRE lot (which from top to bottom can take at least 15 minutes) or you must give yourself and your tin can to...the valet.
I personally have never given it up to the valet. I just can't. I have enough issues with privacy without giving my car (whether I like my car or not) to strangers. (I also am scarred from that part in "Ferris Buellers Day Off" when those valet guys take off in Cameron's father's car... Puh-lease, I am NOT saying my car is even close to that ride...I am babbling).
Today we received a notice that says our already ridiculous parking problem is getting worse...apparently, the owners of this building are taking away a HUGE-ASS chunk of our already precious and scarce parking space. Even the VP's (getting out my violin) will be affected as their now specialized parking is being taken away to park with our lame-asses. We were also told it might be a good idea to come in earlier as we will basically be fighting for our spots.
GREAT TACTICS.
My co-workers and I are angry. How can we enjoy our days here, knowing that we must get in early, CANNOT leave and if we do, we are giving up our freedom? Knowing the horrendous stories of our valets (and in their defense, they are prolly paid minimum wage), NO ONE wants to give it up to them.
Way to make disgruntled employees.
Grrrrr.
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Happy Hump Day and
I am just LAZY today.
Do I Remember...
1. When John F. Kennedy was shot (Nov. 22, 1963) Gosh no. I was not even thought of yet ... (almost ten years in the making), but I have seen enough footage to feel like I could have been a part of it.
2. When Mt. St. Helens blew (May 18, 1980) Vaguely. I think I was in 3rd or 4th grade. My teacher had some of the soot in a prescription bottle (hmmm), which I thought was so cool.
3. When the space shuttle Challenger exploded (January 28, 1986) I was sitting in my English class in 8th grade. My old friend, L, was sitting next to me. Our teacher, who was a TOTAL whack-job, pulled a TV into the room. We were all in complete and utter shock. Then to pass time, she and I started making really dark jokes. It was my generations first REAL disaster that would have effected us (or at least in the Midwest). A grade school was put up, just a year after the disaster, in Christa McAuliffe's (the teacher on board) honor right down the street from where I grew up.
4. When the 7.1 earthquake hit San Francisco (October 17, 1989) Don't quite remember. I do believe I'd said "WHY would anyone live in a place where an earthquake could occur." Um, yea. Famous last words. The aftermath was frightening to watch, that's for sure.
5. When the Berlin Wall fell (November 9, 1989) I was amazed...and also intrigued. Not to mention, Pink Floyd put on a concert there and I watched it on MTV. It was surreal..."tear down the wall..."
6. When the Gulf War began (January 16, 1991) Oh yes. I was sitting with my old high school friends...we'd been the kids (slackers) that had not gone to college right away. We typically hung out and watched "90210" and the "Simpsons" while we drank our underage booze and played poker. The news broke that we were at war. Suddenly, my guy friends got really quiet and all of us girls said we'd marry them to keep them safe. We were scared sh**less to say the least and started to discussing what COULD happen. I guess those were our first "adult" moments.
7. When OJ Simpson was chased in his White Bronco (June 17, 1994)
I was working at the gym. We had a little black and white TV that I brought to the front desk. We watched in anger and in awe as OJ was chased. We were in awe of the people that held signs saying, "SAVE JUICE" and were completely on edge (because let's face it, if you were innocent, why would you be running??). I was obsessed with watching that trial.
8. When the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City was bombed (April 19, 1995) Definitely. I remember flipping the news on and thinking "What the hell happened?" The aftermath of that was just chilling.
9. When Princess Di was killed (August 31, 1997) Oh, yes. It'd just happened. I was living in the city. My friend called me really early and said, "I know you are interested in these things...did you put the news on?" I flipped on the news and every station had been pre-empted to show photo montages and to discuss what happened.
10. When Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold opened fire on their classmates at Columbine High School (April 20, 1999) I was at work. The head of the company told us to come watch...we ran to our conference room and watched the terror that had occurred.
11. When Bush was first announced President (November 7, 2000) Well, I'd only been in California for a few weeks and my friends here were VERY political and all hated Bush. I already had hated Bush, but was usually surrounded by Bush advocates. I think my mother was the only person I knew that'd voted for him.
12. When the 6.8 earthquake hit Nisqually, WA (February 28, 2001) God, this is awful. I don't remember at all!
13. When terrorists destroyed the World Trade Center (September 11, 2001) Of course. It was 6:30 PST. I had just woken up and in typical form, flipped on my news program. I was half asleep as I watched the live footage of the first building. At first, I thought it was in another country. Then I realized it was New York. Seconds later, #2 had gone down. I was petrified and in shock. Then I was really upset as my sister was supposed to have flown around that time. (she lives in NJ and no, she was fine, thank goodness). I called my friends and family to see if everyone was okay. Some friends down the street called. We all got together and discussed how we thought the world was about to change...we were right.
* * *
Do I Remember...
1. When John F. Kennedy was shot (Nov. 22, 1963) Gosh no. I was not even thought of yet ... (almost ten years in the making), but I have seen enough footage to feel like I could have been a part of it.
2. When Mt. St. Helens blew (May 18, 1980) Vaguely. I think I was in 3rd or 4th grade. My teacher had some of the soot in a prescription bottle (hmmm), which I thought was so cool.
3. When the space shuttle Challenger exploded (January 28, 1986) I was sitting in my English class in 8th grade. My old friend, L, was sitting next to me. Our teacher, who was a TOTAL whack-job, pulled a TV into the room. We were all in complete and utter shock. Then to pass time, she and I started making really dark jokes. It was my generations first REAL disaster that would have effected us (or at least in the Midwest). A grade school was put up, just a year after the disaster, in Christa McAuliffe's (the teacher on board) honor right down the street from where I grew up.
4. When the 7.1 earthquake hit San Francisco (October 17, 1989) Don't quite remember. I do believe I'd said "WHY would anyone live in a place where an earthquake could occur." Um, yea. Famous last words. The aftermath was frightening to watch, that's for sure.
5. When the Berlin Wall fell (November 9, 1989) I was amazed...and also intrigued. Not to mention, Pink Floyd put on a concert there and I watched it on MTV. It was surreal..."tear down the wall..."
6. When the Gulf War began (January 16, 1991) Oh yes. I was sitting with my old high school friends...we'd been the kids (slackers) that had not gone to college right away. We typically hung out and watched "90210" and the "Simpsons" while we drank our underage booze and played poker. The news broke that we were at war. Suddenly, my guy friends got really quiet and all of us girls said we'd marry them to keep them safe. We were scared sh**less to say the least and started to discussing what COULD happen. I guess those were our first "adult" moments.
7. When OJ Simpson was chased in his White Bronco (June 17, 1994)
I was working at the gym. We had a little black and white TV that I brought to the front desk. We watched in anger and in awe as OJ was chased. We were in awe of the people that held signs saying, "SAVE JUICE" and were completely on edge (because let's face it, if you were innocent, why would you be running??). I was obsessed with watching that trial.
8. When the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City was bombed (April 19, 1995) Definitely. I remember flipping the news on and thinking "What the hell happened?" The aftermath of that was just chilling.
9. When Princess Di was killed (August 31, 1997) Oh, yes. It'd just happened. I was living in the city. My friend called me really early and said, "I know you are interested in these things...did you put the news on?" I flipped on the news and every station had been pre-empted to show photo montages and to discuss what happened.
10. When Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold opened fire on their classmates at Columbine High School (April 20, 1999) I was at work. The head of the company told us to come watch...we ran to our conference room and watched the terror that had occurred.
11. When Bush was first announced President (November 7, 2000) Well, I'd only been in California for a few weeks and my friends here were VERY political and all hated Bush. I already had hated Bush, but was usually surrounded by Bush advocates. I think my mother was the only person I knew that'd voted for him.
12. When the 6.8 earthquake hit Nisqually, WA (February 28, 2001) God, this is awful. I don't remember at all!
13. When terrorists destroyed the World Trade Center (September 11, 2001) Of course. It was 6:30 PST. I had just woken up and in typical form, flipped on my news program. I was half asleep as I watched the live footage of the first building. At first, I thought it was in another country. Then I realized it was New York. Seconds later, #2 had gone down. I was petrified and in shock. Then I was really upset as my sister was supposed to have flown around that time. (she lives in NJ and no, she was fine, thank goodness). I called my friends and family to see if everyone was okay. Some friends down the street called. We all got together and discussed how we thought the world was about to change...we were right.
* * *
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
My visitor last night...
I have pretty much lived on my own since I was 19, with the exception of a few live-in beau's here and there, a stint with my friends who I'd lived with when first moving to L.A., a few friends staying with me and now, my ever-loving and nippy cat. I have dealt with weird water situations (try taking a shower in the middle of a sub-zero winter when the water comes out...in chunks), drunk/brawling neighbors, three fires in my apartment (one being a lowly, Charlie Brown Xmas tree) and many other fun issues. One thing that is NOT my forte', nor has it ever been, are bugs.
The house I grew up in was infested with spiders. It seemed like everytime I moved something, a spider would scamper across it. I let the Daddy Long-legs go, but it was those furry, jumping, sometimes biting, Wolf ones that became my foe. I became a well-known spider murderer, Scrubbing Bubbles being my weapon of choice. It was never enough to chase a spider with a tissue as my experience showed, they did not always die and sometimes climbed up your arm. It was not enough to step on them, as I'd learned, sometimes, they'd live and climb up your pant leg. So instead, I would spray them until there was no movement. At least they were clean.
As I got a little older, I grew to appreciate spiders and realized if it were not for the spider family, there would probably be a slew of other problems, so now, we are friends and have made total peace.
Living in Chicago was a whole other ball of wax. It is a city afterall, and even the cleanest cities have (UGH)...roaches.
My experience in my amazing little Lincoln Park studio pad was not too bad. I think I had seen three in my five years of living there. One time, it happened while I was in the shower. What I thought was a trickle of water running down the inside of my shower curtain, turned out to be something that I screamed at, swore at and later scalded for at least a half hour. I, of course, would tell my building manager that I'd seen fifty, but still, it was never a huge problem. I did KNOW of people not to far away from that pad that had problems or the big bad word: infestations.
Having been in L.A., I have not really had any major problems, especially in my present apartment, which everyone knows, I really do consider a cozy home.
Last night, my cozy home was taken over by a bug the size of my index finger.
I was out walking, which I often do after work. I was shopping on Melrose after my walk, buying some goods, TOTALLY enjoying myself and not at all worried about a possible visitor.
When I got home, it was darker than I'd thought (its getting darker now :( ) When I opened the front door, Kitty Cat was meowing as she does but there was something more "warning-filled" in her meow. When I hit the lights, she pranced to her food dish and made all sorts of weird sounds. I just thought she wanted her food. Looks like the little monster did, too.
As I approached her dish, I saw something skitter and immediately jumped back. As I moved 1/2 an inch closer, I'd seen enough. There was a two inch monster on my cat's water fountain. And not only was it mounted there, but upon seeing me, it crawled to the top to display itself, much to my horror. And then, its tenticles started waving at me.
I panicked. I had the cat in my arms, started to sweat, shake and cry a little. We ran into the hallway as I thought things out. I called one of my friends in a panic, who of course, was not home. I thought of every person who could help me, but I knew they all were too far away. I then called my neighbors.
My neighbors rock. Girl and guy, lived in Chicago for 4 years before moving here. We met under the stress of having are cars broken into. Friends forever.
When I called, she was immediately laughing and saying, "kill it." Now, I am NOT over-dramatic (okay, sometimes), but I live in a logical head. There was NO way for me to kill it. I kept talking and walked back inside. She kept saying to kill it. I said, "its HUGE." I was now sincerely starting to weep. I was embarrassed but then the little monster MOVED...off of the fountain, onto the floor, under the cord. It could see me and I could see it and I was now in full panic mode.
Neighbor girl just had her appendix out and was belly laughing, and I felt bad. I asked if her bf was home and to PLEASE send him over. After about 8 minutes of this banter, I heard their door open.
They walked in to see me in a sweaty, weepy, awe-struck state. They were laughing until they saw it. Her first words were, "holy shit."
Neighbor guy, my new hero, walked over to it, shook his head with strategy and nailed the monster...not once, not twice but THREE times. And with that third time, I saw a leg fly.
He picked it up with napkin and we looked at it, completely wide-eyed in terror. It was as big as a large grasshopper, gross, with wings, tenticles and a smirk on its face. When one of us breathed, I thought it was still alive and screamed.
Later, my landlord came by, after I'd called moaning and groaning. My landlord had the audacity to pick it up and laugh as he shook it in my face. Bastard.
After he left, my brother called and explained to me that this type of roach is NOT an infestation type, but a flying type that probably got in thru my screen, as I'd left it open for my walk.
Whatever the case may be, I sprayed Raid, dropped Boric acid (groovy, man) and slept in a fly net last night.
UPDATE: My friend found this. Here it is... http://www.pca.state.mn.us/kids/c-october.html.
The house I grew up in was infested with spiders. It seemed like everytime I moved something, a spider would scamper across it. I let the Daddy Long-legs go, but it was those furry, jumping, sometimes biting, Wolf ones that became my foe. I became a well-known spider murderer, Scrubbing Bubbles being my weapon of choice. It was never enough to chase a spider with a tissue as my experience showed, they did not always die and sometimes climbed up your arm. It was not enough to step on them, as I'd learned, sometimes, they'd live and climb up your pant leg. So instead, I would spray them until there was no movement. At least they were clean.
As I got a little older, I grew to appreciate spiders and realized if it were not for the spider family, there would probably be a slew of other problems, so now, we are friends and have made total peace.
Living in Chicago was a whole other ball of wax. It is a city afterall, and even the cleanest cities have (UGH)...roaches.
My experience in my amazing little Lincoln Park studio pad was not too bad. I think I had seen three in my five years of living there. One time, it happened while I was in the shower. What I thought was a trickle of water running down the inside of my shower curtain, turned out to be something that I screamed at, swore at and later scalded for at least a half hour. I, of course, would tell my building manager that I'd seen fifty, but still, it was never a huge problem. I did KNOW of people not to far away from that pad that had problems or the big bad word: infestations.
Having been in L.A., I have not really had any major problems, especially in my present apartment, which everyone knows, I really do consider a cozy home.
Last night, my cozy home was taken over by a bug the size of my index finger.
I was out walking, which I often do after work. I was shopping on Melrose after my walk, buying some goods, TOTALLY enjoying myself and not at all worried about a possible visitor.
When I got home, it was darker than I'd thought (its getting darker now :( ) When I opened the front door, Kitty Cat was meowing as she does but there was something more "warning-filled" in her meow. When I hit the lights, she pranced to her food dish and made all sorts of weird sounds. I just thought she wanted her food. Looks like the little monster did, too.
As I approached her dish, I saw something skitter and immediately jumped back. As I moved 1/2 an inch closer, I'd seen enough. There was a two inch monster on my cat's water fountain. And not only was it mounted there, but upon seeing me, it crawled to the top to display itself, much to my horror. And then, its tenticles started waving at me.
I panicked. I had the cat in my arms, started to sweat, shake and cry a little. We ran into the hallway as I thought things out. I called one of my friends in a panic, who of course, was not home. I thought of every person who could help me, but I knew they all were too far away. I then called my neighbors.
My neighbors rock. Girl and guy, lived in Chicago for 4 years before moving here. We met under the stress of having are cars broken into. Friends forever.
When I called, she was immediately laughing and saying, "kill it." Now, I am NOT over-dramatic (okay, sometimes), but I live in a logical head. There was NO way for me to kill it. I kept talking and walked back inside. She kept saying to kill it. I said, "its HUGE." I was now sincerely starting to weep. I was embarrassed but then the little monster MOVED...off of the fountain, onto the floor, under the cord. It could see me and I could see it and I was now in full panic mode.
Neighbor girl just had her appendix out and was belly laughing, and I felt bad. I asked if her bf was home and to PLEASE send him over. After about 8 minutes of this banter, I heard their door open.
They walked in to see me in a sweaty, weepy, awe-struck state. They were laughing until they saw it. Her first words were, "holy shit."
Neighbor guy, my new hero, walked over to it, shook his head with strategy and nailed the monster...not once, not twice but THREE times. And with that third time, I saw a leg fly.
He picked it up with napkin and we looked at it, completely wide-eyed in terror. It was as big as a large grasshopper, gross, with wings, tenticles and a smirk on its face. When one of us breathed, I thought it was still alive and screamed.
Later, my landlord came by, after I'd called moaning and groaning. My landlord had the audacity to pick it up and laugh as he shook it in my face. Bastard.
After he left, my brother called and explained to me that this type of roach is NOT an infestation type, but a flying type that probably got in thru my screen, as I'd left it open for my walk.
Whatever the case may be, I sprayed Raid, dropped Boric acid (groovy, man) and slept in a fly net last night.
UPDATE: My friend found this. Here it is... http://www.pca.state.mn.us/kids/c-october.html.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Cedars
There are people that carry tons of fears and phobias with them. I am not one of them, but I definitely have a reasonable-sized phobia of hospitals. I believe I spent too much time visiting people there as a kid (I am the youngest in a large family, after all), watched WAY too many horror movies growing up and really, rather than having the blissful idea that hospitals are filled with miracles and life, I believe they are places people die. (And I want to have my own children in a pool...that's another story...)
In the past few weeks, I have had to go to Cedars-Sinai twice. Cedars is well-known all over the U.S., mostly because, it is usually the depository for "stars" who o.d., get hurt, get sick or pass on... I went there myself in the out-patient facitily for a little surgery a few years back. It was fine. No paparazzi. I suck.
Moving on.
I was really blown away about the lack of security in the hospital. I was there two Saturdays ago to visit my SIL. She was in for a surgical procedure (she's fine, btw) and I was dressed like a dirty street urchin. I was carrying numerous bags, was in my dirty sweats (not on purpose, they became dirty from my fall during a hike) and all in all, I would have stopped me if I worked there. Not a ONE person even flinched at my arrival. No one looked twice at the fact that I was lost in the hallways. No one noted that I had bags of "stuff" and was rubber-necking. When I arrived at my SIL's room, I parked myself outside of it, as her neighbor told me she was "up and about." I roamed around, bags and flowers in hand, looking for her. I never found her. I sincerely sat outside of her room at a computer for the hospital, no less...for an hour. I noted that all of the rooms, not very large in size, were frequented by not one, not two, not even three, but 10-12 guests. The woman across the way was sincerely having a party in her room. She sat, ashen and ill with her scrubs on, while the folks visting carried on like they were at a Superbowl party.
Eventually, a nurse came to my SIL's room, and much to my chagrin, I found that my SIL had been in there the ENTIRE time, asleep. That's another story...
I went again last night to visit my NF. She'd gone in on an emergency, but again (whew!) she's fine. Once again, I found it odd that walking through the front door...there was no sign-in, no guards, no one to say, "where are you going" or "who are you?" We got up to visit her in no time (same ward, almost near SIL's room...odd) and found that same strange, party-room vibe.
Maybe I am just old-school, but "back in the day" I recall having to sign-in when you walked into a hospital or at least the floor, patients only being allowed 2-3 guests at a time and if you were caught wandering (obviously, I DID want to see where the morgue was!!!), you were escorted back to the waiting area.
I guess I find it odd that I have to sign in at the dentist, the doctor, why even the car places when you bring your car in, but I can wander the halls of Cedars.
Have a great weekend~
P.S. I don't know if my hair keeps getting big and its causing me to have late 80's, early 90's flashbacks, but I CANNOT get two songs out of my head. "I remember you" from Skid Row and "Fly to the Angels" from Slaughter. YIKES. I think getting out of town this weekend is going to do me worlds of good!
In the past few weeks, I have had to go to Cedars-Sinai twice. Cedars is well-known all over the U.S., mostly because, it is usually the depository for "stars" who o.d., get hurt, get sick or pass on... I went there myself in the out-patient facitily for a little surgery a few years back. It was fine. No paparazzi. I suck.
Moving on.
I was really blown away about the lack of security in the hospital. I was there two Saturdays ago to visit my SIL. She was in for a surgical procedure (she's fine, btw) and I was dressed like a dirty street urchin. I was carrying numerous bags, was in my dirty sweats (not on purpose, they became dirty from my fall during a hike) and all in all, I would have stopped me if I worked there. Not a ONE person even flinched at my arrival. No one looked twice at the fact that I was lost in the hallways. No one noted that I had bags of "stuff" and was rubber-necking. When I arrived at my SIL's room, I parked myself outside of it, as her neighbor told me she was "up and about." I roamed around, bags and flowers in hand, looking for her. I never found her. I sincerely sat outside of her room at a computer for the hospital, no less...for an hour. I noted that all of the rooms, not very large in size, were frequented by not one, not two, not even three, but 10-12 guests. The woman across the way was sincerely having a party in her room. She sat, ashen and ill with her scrubs on, while the folks visting carried on like they were at a Superbowl party.
Eventually, a nurse came to my SIL's room, and much to my chagrin, I found that my SIL had been in there the ENTIRE time, asleep. That's another story...
I went again last night to visit my NF. She'd gone in on an emergency, but again (whew!) she's fine. Once again, I found it odd that walking through the front door...there was no sign-in, no guards, no one to say, "where are you going" or "who are you?" We got up to visit her in no time (same ward, almost near SIL's room...odd) and found that same strange, party-room vibe.
Maybe I am just old-school, but "back in the day" I recall having to sign-in when you walked into a hospital or at least the floor, patients only being allowed 2-3 guests at a time and if you were caught wandering (obviously, I DID want to see where the morgue was!!!), you were escorted back to the waiting area.
I guess I find it odd that I have to sign in at the dentist, the doctor, why even the car places when you bring your car in, but I can wander the halls of Cedars.
Have a great weekend~
P.S. I don't know if my hair keeps getting big and its causing me to have late 80's, early 90's flashbacks, but I CANNOT get two songs out of my head. "I remember you" from Skid Row and "Fly to the Angels" from Slaughter. YIKES. I think getting out of town this weekend is going to do me worlds of good!
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Strange stuff
While in the midst of Hollywood, I am always happy to know that my roots are the Midwest, corn-fed ones (sometimes is DOES make me miserable, but...)
Reading about Courtney Love, for example, just makes me sad...for her poor kid. It's not enough that publicly, her father (Kurt Cobain) was an icon, a drug addict AND a suicide victim, but now the Bean must deal with her mother's high profile addiction problems and embarrassing public behavior. Either the Bean will end up some high-profiled clean and bright kid (which is my hope) or she'll end up on Springer.
On that same note, I was just on www.awfulplasticsurgery.com where they showed a VERY tight and pickled Hunter Tylo. Who IS Hunter Tylo? Apparently, she is some big soap star. I only knew of her from occasionally perusing Soap Digest but then, a few years back, she'd written a book about her youngest child's journey with cancer of the eye, or something tragic like that. The REAL tragedy was the entire book was about Hunter Tylo's rise to fame, her impending marriage with Michael (??) Tylo and basically, that they are BOTH fabulous. That she is SO fabulous. That being a soap star, rich and married to another soap star is fabulous. Oh yes, and she had a sick kid. ICK. For all intents and purposes, the book read like "the Enquirer" ....PURE RUBBISH.
Why do these people insist on pulling their poor spoiled brats into their world of drugs, plastics, rises and falls, etc??
Having read Tatum O'Neal's book this year, I was dumbfounded at the amount of BS she'd had to put up with. Even if half of that stuff was made up (which is what her father, Ryan O'Neal and her ex-husband, tennis great, John McEnroe claimed), I still think even shreds of what she wrote would be enough to toss even the strongest person over the edge.
Sigh. Again. My upbringing was hardly a bug-free picnic, but at least I knew I belonged SOMEWHERE.
Reading about Courtney Love, for example, just makes me sad...for her poor kid. It's not enough that publicly, her father (Kurt Cobain) was an icon, a drug addict AND a suicide victim, but now the Bean must deal with her mother's high profile addiction problems and embarrassing public behavior. Either the Bean will end up some high-profiled clean and bright kid (which is my hope) or she'll end up on Springer.
On that same note, I was just on www.awfulplasticsurgery.com where they showed a VERY tight and pickled Hunter Tylo. Who IS Hunter Tylo? Apparently, she is some big soap star. I only knew of her from occasionally perusing Soap Digest but then, a few years back, she'd written a book about her youngest child's journey with cancer of the eye, or something tragic like that. The REAL tragedy was the entire book was about Hunter Tylo's rise to fame, her impending marriage with Michael (??) Tylo and basically, that they are BOTH fabulous. That she is SO fabulous. That being a soap star, rich and married to another soap star is fabulous. Oh yes, and she had a sick kid. ICK. For all intents and purposes, the book read like "the Enquirer" ....PURE RUBBISH.
Why do these people insist on pulling their poor spoiled brats into their world of drugs, plastics, rises and falls, etc??
Having read Tatum O'Neal's book this year, I was dumbfounded at the amount of BS she'd had to put up with. Even if half of that stuff was made up (which is what her father, Ryan O'Neal and her ex-husband, tennis great, John McEnroe claimed), I still think even shreds of what she wrote would be enough to toss even the strongest person over the edge.
Sigh. Again. My upbringing was hardly a bug-free picnic, but at least I knew I belonged SOMEWHERE.
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