My husband said to me point blank that I'm way to stressed out. I decided to take action about it and found a local Buddhist meditation class offered at the Beverly Hills library. In theory, the distance from my work to the class should have taken about 30 minutes. In Los Angeles, you can kiss any hope of getting anywhere in a reasonable amount of time goodbye.
I commute an hour to an hour and a half to work each way. I need to take this class because there are times where I really think I'm going to lose my mind. More than once I've been stuck in traffic and I can actually feel my heart beating in my head. Thank GOD for the Howard Stern show because otherwise I'd be a raving lunatic. Nevertheless, Howard can not calm me down 100% of the time, and therefore I had high hopes that this class would teach me to go to a "happy place" and relieve some of my stress.
Class started at 7pm and I left work at 6:05pm on the dot. And lo and behold I got stuck in gridlock traffic. So there I am, feeling my blood pressure rise as my breathing becomes labored, because I'm stressed out that I won't make it on time to my de-stressing meditation class.
I ended up pulling into the library on two wheels, ran down two flights of steps, across a courtyard and up another flight of steps to get to the door. I missed it. It had already begun. Great, now I get to get back in the car and drive another hour home, SANS meditation. Sigh.
Good news is tonight I'm going to a definite stress reliever. I'm going to Slash's book signing at the Whiskey a Go Go. I've waited twenty years to meet this man and tonight is my night! I told Hubbie not to wait up in case I decide to run off with my first true love. Now I just have to figure out what to say.
Wish me luck!
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
I really don't have an excuse
Maybe I'm overwhelmed? Trying to blog about a two week vacation, a birthday and a Halloween outing is just too much for me right now. All I can say is, all three were fantastic good times.
Argentina is a beautiful country filled with real natural wonders. The food was much better than I could have imagined and my only regret is that we couldn't stay longer. We loaded our suitcases up with as much wine and dulce de leche as we could carry and have only touched one bottle of Malbec. Looking forward to another!
The highlight of my trip is still a toss up between hiking along Perito Moreno glacier and walking with penguins. Both took my breath away. Both made me so grateful I was one of few who would get to experience it. Although we were up by 7:00 a.m practically every morning, I consider it one of the best vacations I've had. Next one however will involve lots of laying around doing nothing.
Last Thursday was my birthday. The big 33. Eh, what did I expect right? I find I'm always a bit disappointed on my birthday. It's always anticlimactic somehow and I usually end up crying for no reason. It's just me and I have to accept it. All of my friends called me and Hubbie offered to take me to dinner. He brought home flowers and a HUGE bat balloon. (I love bats.) But I still had a case of the ho hums. That is until Hubbie dragged me out to our local watering hole, where we met up with some friends and had some drinks. I was glad I got out of the house, (besides going to work,) even if it was just for a cocktail or two.
One of these years I swear I'll get by without crying. It's been this way since High School. I'm always gripped with a terror of getting older. A fear that I'm wasting time and I should be something or be somewhere else by now. And worst of all, the whole facing death part. I know that sounds extreme for a 33 year old, but I've been thinking about death since a child. And with every year, it becomes more and more of a reality. When I think long and hard about it, I wonder if it's actually death, or old age that gives me the willies. Combination of both maybe?
MOVING ALONG.
The real excitement came Saturday night where, unbeknownst to me, Hubbie had rented a limo to shuttle all of our friends out for a Halloween night. We were all in costume and headed to a whiskey bar downtown. It's actually a really great place and I plan on going back again when it's not filled with holiday revelers. Check it out if you live in the hood.
I'm not gonna lie. Coming back to work blows wad. To go from the wild blue yonder to sitting at a desk for ten hours straight really stinks. It's going to take me some time to get used to it again. My attention span is all over the place and my motivation level is, well, zilch. Hope to get back in the swing of things before the holidays.
Geez, can you believe it's almost November???!!!!
Argentina is a beautiful country filled with real natural wonders. The food was much better than I could have imagined and my only regret is that we couldn't stay longer. We loaded our suitcases up with as much wine and dulce de leche as we could carry and have only touched one bottle of Malbec. Looking forward to another!
The highlight of my trip is still a toss up between hiking along Perito Moreno glacier and walking with penguins. Both took my breath away. Both made me so grateful I was one of few who would get to experience it. Although we were up by 7:00 a.m practically every morning, I consider it one of the best vacations I've had. Next one however will involve lots of laying around doing nothing.
Last Thursday was my birthday. The big 33. Eh, what did I expect right? I find I'm always a bit disappointed on my birthday. It's always anticlimactic somehow and I usually end up crying for no reason. It's just me and I have to accept it. All of my friends called me and Hubbie offered to take me to dinner. He brought home flowers and a HUGE bat balloon. (I love bats.) But I still had a case of the ho hums. That is until Hubbie dragged me out to our local watering hole, where we met up with some friends and had some drinks. I was glad I got out of the house, (besides going to work,) even if it was just for a cocktail or two.
One of these years I swear I'll get by without crying. It's been this way since High School. I'm always gripped with a terror of getting older. A fear that I'm wasting time and I should be something or be somewhere else by now. And worst of all, the whole facing death part. I know that sounds extreme for a 33 year old, but I've been thinking about death since a child. And with every year, it becomes more and more of a reality. When I think long and hard about it, I wonder if it's actually death, or old age that gives me the willies. Combination of both maybe?
MOVING ALONG.
The real excitement came Saturday night where, unbeknownst to me, Hubbie had rented a limo to shuttle all of our friends out for a Halloween night. We were all in costume and headed to a whiskey bar downtown. It's actually a really great place and I plan on going back again when it's not filled with holiday revelers. Check it out if you live in the hood.
I'm not gonna lie. Coming back to work blows wad. To go from the wild blue yonder to sitting at a desk for ten hours straight really stinks. It's going to take me some time to get used to it again. My attention span is all over the place and my motivation level is, well, zilch. Hope to get back in the swing of things before the holidays.
Geez, can you believe it's almost November???!!!!
Monday, October 22, 2007
I'm baaaaaack!!
Flights to and within Argentina: $1,000.00.
Various hotels, motels and cabins for two weeks: $1,500.00.
Van rental to explore the coast of Patagonia: $330.00.
Hiking along the side of a glacier, walking up to penguins, practically touching a whale, washing down a plate of Patagonian lamb with a glass of Malbec, experiencing the finest hotel in South America and spending 12 unforgettable days with close friends: PRICELESS.
We got home on Saturday afternoon. I'm still a bit jet-lagged but can't wait to post pictures. It was an adventure and a half. The food, sights, people, scenery and weather were all fantastic. I'm probably going to have to post in sections because it's too much to absorb at once.
Knowing me, food will be first, followed by the sights and then the goofy friend pics. Stay tuned. Just wanted to check in and let ya'll know I made it back.
Ciao!
Various hotels, motels and cabins for two weeks: $1,500.00.
Van rental to explore the coast of Patagonia: $330.00.
Hiking along the side of a glacier, walking up to penguins, practically touching a whale, washing down a plate of Patagonian lamb with a glass of Malbec, experiencing the finest hotel in South America and spending 12 unforgettable days with close friends: PRICELESS.
We got home on Saturday afternoon. I'm still a bit jet-lagged but can't wait to post pictures. It was an adventure and a half. The food, sights, people, scenery and weather were all fantastic. I'm probably going to have to post in sections because it's too much to absorb at once.
Knowing me, food will be first, followed by the sights and then the goofy friend pics. Stay tuned. Just wanted to check in and let ya'll know I made it back.
Ciao!
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Air Sick
The other night I had the anxiety attack I was expecting. Except it came six days too early. I hate to fly. Actually let me re-phrase that. I abhor flying. To the extent that I usually have to be drugged and drunk to take a one hour flight to visit my best friend in San Francisco. (Although, she no longer lives there; she's now a nomad in South America with her husband.) Which brings me to my point.
To fly one hour to San Francisco was a chore. To fly five hours to visit my in-laws is a nightmare. (Not to see them! Just the flight getting there.) The longest I've flown was to France, which was a five and a half hour flight to D.C with a layover, followed by a six and a half hour flight to Paris. It was hell.
This coming Saturday, I'm facing a four and a half hour flight to Atlanta with a layover, followed by an ELEVEN HOUR FLIGHT to Buenos Aires, Argentina. Yes, I know I signed up for this vacation with enthusiasm. Yes, I know I'm safer on a plane than in a car/bus/ train/ bike/ unicycle. Please, don't tell me the statistics. I know them and it doesn't help.
It's an irrational fear. So I decided mid-breakdown to analyze it and see what exactly was causing the panic. Here's what I figured out, after crying for what seemed like hours.
I'm claustrophobic. I'm afraid of heights. (I also might be a bit of a control freak.) These three issues I've had all my life. Ok, now that we have that down; what does a flight entail? Being cramped in a seat, (with no way to exit,) being at least THIRTY THOUSAND FEET OFF THE GROUND, and in the hand of a pilot who I've never met. (Who I haven't personally given a breathalyzer test.)
I made myself try and get to the bottom of it. I tried to talk myself out of the "attack" by recalling memories of flying to Texas every year as a kid to visit relatives. Most of the time I was alone and escorted only by the stewards. (When I was a kid your relative/friend/parent could drop you off AT THE GATE! And you would be greeted AT THE GATE by your relative/friend/parent.) In retrospect, that was really comforting to get off the plane and have your loved one waiting for you. But I digress.
What I realized in this state of panic was that flying combines my three internal fears- fear of heights, claustrophobia and loss of control. The latter, I need to work on the most. And I will work on all of them in the future. But for now, I need to get myself on this friggin' plane.
When Hubbie and I were honeymooning we went to Oahu and Maui. At the airport in Oahu, while we were ready to board our flight to Maui I had the same panic attack. I went to the bathroom and sobbed in the stall. I actually started to figure out a plan to take a boat, and meet Hubbie in Maui a few hours later. To say I reluctantly got on that plane is an understatement. Thank you zanax.
I was able to calm myself down the other night, but now I'm scared for Saturday morning. I need to get on this plane. In fact, I need to get on the three flights we have booked inside Argentina, without blubbering in the bathroom or considering a bus. I envy those who fly without fear. (Tuna Girl- how the hell does your husband do it????????!!!!!!)
I'm not sure why I'm even writing this except that I've always written down my fears. I've kept a diary since I was eight years old and I believe writing is cathartic- and therefore maybe I can purge the anxiety I feel now. Rather than in the bathroom stall at LAX.
A friend of mine survived a plane crash in the Bahamas. She not only survived, but saved an infant on board and kept her afloat in the water before they were rescued. She is able to get on a plane now. If she can, so can I. Right?
If anyone has any comforting words, I'd appreciate them. I know it seems silly but I need to hear anything you've got. In the meantime, I'm going to work on the 'control issue' I have. I know I'm embarking on an amazing journey, filled with glaciers and penguins and whales, OH MY! So the flights are worth it.
And I'll come home with amazing pictures too! =)
To fly one hour to San Francisco was a chore. To fly five hours to visit my in-laws is a nightmare. (Not to see them! Just the flight getting there.) The longest I've flown was to France, which was a five and a half hour flight to D.C with a layover, followed by a six and a half hour flight to Paris. It was hell.
This coming Saturday, I'm facing a four and a half hour flight to Atlanta with a layover, followed by an ELEVEN HOUR FLIGHT to Buenos Aires, Argentina. Yes, I know I signed up for this vacation with enthusiasm. Yes, I know I'm safer on a plane than in a car/bus/ train/ bike/ unicycle. Please, don't tell me the statistics. I know them and it doesn't help.
It's an irrational fear. So I decided mid-breakdown to analyze it and see what exactly was causing the panic. Here's what I figured out, after crying for what seemed like hours.
I'm claustrophobic. I'm afraid of heights. (I also might be a bit of a control freak.) These three issues I've had all my life. Ok, now that we have that down; what does a flight entail? Being cramped in a seat, (with no way to exit,) being at least THIRTY THOUSAND FEET OFF THE GROUND, and in the hand of a pilot who I've never met. (Who I haven't personally given a breathalyzer test.)
I made myself try and get to the bottom of it. I tried to talk myself out of the "attack" by recalling memories of flying to Texas every year as a kid to visit relatives. Most of the time I was alone and escorted only by the stewards. (When I was a kid your relative/friend/parent could drop you off AT THE GATE! And you would be greeted AT THE GATE by your relative/friend/parent.) In retrospect, that was really comforting to get off the plane and have your loved one waiting for you. But I digress.
What I realized in this state of panic was that flying combines my three internal fears- fear of heights, claustrophobia and loss of control. The latter, I need to work on the most. And I will work on all of them in the future. But for now, I need to get myself on this friggin' plane.
When Hubbie and I were honeymooning we went to Oahu and Maui. At the airport in Oahu, while we were ready to board our flight to Maui I had the same panic attack. I went to the bathroom and sobbed in the stall. I actually started to figure out a plan to take a boat, and meet Hubbie in Maui a few hours later. To say I reluctantly got on that plane is an understatement. Thank you zanax.
I was able to calm myself down the other night, but now I'm scared for Saturday morning. I need to get on this plane. In fact, I need to get on the three flights we have booked inside Argentina, without blubbering in the bathroom or considering a bus. I envy those who fly without fear. (Tuna Girl- how the hell does your husband do it????????!!!!!!)
I'm not sure why I'm even writing this except that I've always written down my fears. I've kept a diary since I was eight years old and I believe writing is cathartic- and therefore maybe I can purge the anxiety I feel now. Rather than in the bathroom stall at LAX.
A friend of mine survived a plane crash in the Bahamas. She not only survived, but saved an infant on board and kept her afloat in the water before they were rescued. She is able to get on a plane now. If she can, so can I. Right?
If anyone has any comforting words, I'd appreciate them. I know it seems silly but I need to hear anything you've got. In the meantime, I'm going to work on the 'control issue' I have. I know I'm embarking on an amazing journey, filled with glaciers and penguins and whales, OH MY! So the flights are worth it.
And I'll come home with amazing pictures too! =)
Thursday, September 27, 2007
I Miss My FRIEND
Back in 1999 I was the Casting Assistant on a TV show called Strip Poker. It was a game show for USA Network that was as sleazy as the title implies. My job basically was to recruit twenty-somethings to appear on a show that required them to disrobe every time they lost a hand. Just like the real Strip Poker that we all played in college, except without the booze.
In a nutshell as the Casting Assistant, I called people in and quizzed them on poker skills. Then I would ask them to strip provocatively, (in a freezing sound stage,) to see if they had the right "charisma" to appear on the show. (It was a nightmare.)
The show, I might add paid $1,000.00 TOPS. We're talking LOW-BUDGET. Desperate Actress Central!
Since there is no nudity allowed on USA Network, our wardrobe stylist would have to come up with elaborate slutty outfits for the ladies. She'd have to provide enough layers to guarantee our contestants wouldn't show anything obscene, yet still look "sexy and provocative" for the show to succeed. She hated her job.
(Wouldn't you?)
She went on to design handbags that doubled as dog carriers and made a fortune. (Typical L.A.)
The show lasted two seasons before it was canned. Anyway, getting to my point.
One day I was grazing the craft service table, cursing the fact that there was only one bagel left. And it was POPPY SEED. Uuuuugggggggghhhhhhh. In walks the cutest guy I'd seen in a long time. He was in and out in a matter of seconds.
Later in the day, as I'm fully immersed in work my friend Claudia comes up to me and says, "Sam! This is Thor, he's replacing me. I'm moving on to another show." He was dreamy. He was the same guy I saw briefly at the craft service table! Here was my chance!
What did I say you ask????
"Thor??? Your name is Thor!! LIKE, that's so rad. LIKE, the GOD OF THUNDER??? Right on!" As if he hadn't heard that before. Good job Valley Girl. (sigh.) I was twenty-four with a college education and yet somehow ridiculously reverted back to 8th grade conversation.
He said, "Yeah, my name is Thor." (You idiot. What's the matter with you?)
I was SMITTEN. Had a crush on him for the next three days. I was convinced I'd win him over, even after my stupid god-of-thunder comment. I turned on the charm, put on the moves and wore my cutest outfits. Then I found out he was gay.
I remember thinking to myself, "WHAT??? SERIOUSLY??? NO WAY!!!!!!"
THEN, it was obvious. THEN, we started to get to know each other. Then, we became close. I don't know why I didn't catch the gay-vibe right away and really, who cares.
Thor became the friend I needed. He was enough removed from my former life to have perspective, yet involved enough to know the truth. I know that sounds vague to those of you who are new readers but he'll understand.
New Year's Eve of 1999/2000 I went to a party with Thor and Jarin as my dates. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world; with not one, but TWO dates to a New Year's party. Yes they were gay, and it was pretty much guaranteed I wasn't going to be getting any action that night, but I was thrilled to have two hot guys by my side to ring in the millennium.
Thor, Jarin and I made a resolution to meet "the one" in the year 2000. Wouldn't you know it? Thor and I both met our partners in February.
Five years later Thor would be a groomsman in my wedding. (We debated whether he should be a bridesmaid or groomsman because TECHNICALLY he's on my side, but we both decided he'd be more comfortable in a suit than a strapless dress.)
Eight years later, despite him living in London, despite us only being able to talk occasionally, despite he and I being in completely different living situations, we're still close. We're still the same two people that hit it off immediately.
We talked last week for a while and it was a wake up call. I miss my friend. I'm sad he's in the UK and not here. When I was fired from my job he was the one to buy me too many apple martinis at the Cobalt Cafe. When I had no date for New Year's he stepped up. When I needed to be slapped into reality, he was there to guide me. I miss him. I miss working with him. I miss having a drink with him.
My mom misses him too. (My mom adopted Thor as her own years ago, so, I guess that might make us brother and sister by now.)
I miss my friend. But I'm glad the geographical distance hasn't changed who we are together.
I miss you, my friend.
In a nutshell as the Casting Assistant, I called people in and quizzed them on poker skills. Then I would ask them to strip provocatively, (in a freezing sound stage,) to see if they had the right "charisma" to appear on the show. (It was a nightmare.)
The show, I might add paid $1,000.00 TOPS. We're talking LOW-BUDGET. Desperate Actress Central!
Since there is no nudity allowed on USA Network, our wardrobe stylist would have to come up with elaborate slutty outfits for the ladies. She'd have to provide enough layers to guarantee our contestants wouldn't show anything obscene, yet still look "sexy and provocative" for the show to succeed. She hated her job.
(Wouldn't you?)
She went on to design handbags that doubled as dog carriers and made a fortune. (Typical L.A.)
The show lasted two seasons before it was canned. Anyway, getting to my point.
One day I was grazing the craft service table, cursing the fact that there was only one bagel left. And it was POPPY SEED. Uuuuugggggggghhhhhhh. In walks the cutest guy I'd seen in a long time. He was in and out in a matter of seconds.
Later in the day, as I'm fully immersed in work my friend Claudia comes up to me and says, "Sam! This is Thor, he's replacing me. I'm moving on to another show." He was dreamy. He was the same guy I saw briefly at the craft service table! Here was my chance!
What did I say you ask????
"Thor??? Your name is Thor!! LIKE, that's so rad. LIKE, the GOD OF THUNDER??? Right on!" As if he hadn't heard that before. Good job Valley Girl. (sigh.) I was twenty-four with a college education and yet somehow ridiculously reverted back to 8th grade conversation.
He said, "Yeah, my name is Thor." (You idiot. What's the matter with you?)
I was SMITTEN. Had a crush on him for the next three days. I was convinced I'd win him over, even after my stupid god-of-thunder comment. I turned on the charm, put on the moves and wore my cutest outfits. Then I found out he was gay.
I remember thinking to myself, "WHAT??? SERIOUSLY??? NO WAY!!!!!!"
THEN, it was obvious. THEN, we started to get to know each other. Then, we became close. I don't know why I didn't catch the gay-vibe right away and really, who cares.
Thor became the friend I needed. He was enough removed from my former life to have perspective, yet involved enough to know the truth. I know that sounds vague to those of you who are new readers but he'll understand.
New Year's Eve of 1999/2000 I went to a party with Thor and Jarin as my dates. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world; with not one, but TWO dates to a New Year's party. Yes they were gay, and it was pretty much guaranteed I wasn't going to be getting any action that night, but I was thrilled to have two hot guys by my side to ring in the millennium.
Thor, Jarin and I made a resolution to meet "the one" in the year 2000. Wouldn't you know it? Thor and I both met our partners in February.
Five years later Thor would be a groomsman in my wedding. (We debated whether he should be a bridesmaid or groomsman because TECHNICALLY he's on my side, but we both decided he'd be more comfortable in a suit than a strapless dress.)
Eight years later, despite him living in London, despite us only being able to talk occasionally, despite he and I being in completely different living situations, we're still close. We're still the same two people that hit it off immediately.
We talked last week for a while and it was a wake up call. I miss my friend. I'm sad he's in the UK and not here. When I was fired from my job he was the one to buy me too many apple martinis at the Cobalt Cafe. When I had no date for New Year's he stepped up. When I needed to be slapped into reality, he was there to guide me. I miss him. I miss working with him. I miss having a drink with him.
My mom misses him too. (My mom adopted Thor as her own years ago, so, I guess that might make us brother and sister by now.)
I miss my friend. But I'm glad the geographical distance hasn't changed who we are together.
I miss you, my friend.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Two Years Ago Today
Two years ago today, I woke up in the bridal suite at the Bel Age and took a deep breath as I walked over to the window to check the weather. (Overcast. Uh oh.)
Two years ago today, I took a luxurious bubble bath while Sissy answered the barrage of phone calls coming in. I think at one point she was on a land line, cell phone and walkie talkie simultaneously. (Thank you Sissy.)
Two years ago today, all my bridesmaids showed up on time for their hair and makeup appointments in the sitting room, while I just tried to relax.
Two years ago today, I put on my wedding dress for the first time since the last alteration, looked in the mirror and noticed it was pressed wrong; and therefore way too long.
Two years ago today, I realized there wasn't sh*t I could do about it. I would step on the dress the entire night.
Two years ago today, I went down to meet you for pictures before the ceremony, and couldn't wait for you to see me in my dress.
Two years ago today, I was laughing at the booger hanging out of our flower girl's nose. Ironically the only wedding picture that hangs in our room is the one of me wiping her face with a kleenex.
Two years ago today, we were sent back up to our rooms to get ready for the ceremony. I swished about, sat down, tried not to get my dress wrinkled, chatted with the girls, had a few sips of champagne and waited for the word to head up to the rooftop.
Two years ago today, they called us up to the roof and all of a sudden I couldn't breathe. My corset was so tight I couldn't take a full breath in, and even if I could, the dizziness and vertigo wouldn't let any air into my lungs.
Two years ago today, I was petrified of walking down the aisle. All I saw was a sea of heads, with all eyes about to be on me. I was sure I was going to faint and made that very clear to my parents and coordinator.
Two years ago today, Sissy cursed herself for not packing smelling salts in her bridal emergency kit.
Two years ago today, I insisted I see you BEFORE walking down the aisle. You were the only face that could calm me down enough to put one foot in front of the other.
Two years ago today, you came over, gave me a hug and told me we could do it. That it would be over before I knew it.
Two years ago today, I walked down the aisle to Pachelbel's Canon in D, clutching my mom's hand in a death grip, with my eyes locked on yours. You helped me up the two steps to the alter and I took my first breath in what seemed like hours.
Two years ago today, in the middle of our wedding ceremony, I told you I thought I was going to faint. NOT knowing a microphone was in your tie and therefore the whole wedding party (and most of Los Angeles,) could hear me. That made a nice little addition to our wedding video didn't it?
Two years ago today, the Rabbi was finally done babbling and calling me Samanther, and pronounced us Husband and Wife.
Two years ago today, I was the happiest girl in the world. Not just because I could finally breathe, but because I knew I had just married the man of my dreams.
You can see it on my face.
Happy anniversary baby. I love you.
Love,
Little Bird.
Two years ago today, I took a luxurious bubble bath while Sissy answered the barrage of phone calls coming in. I think at one point she was on a land line, cell phone and walkie talkie simultaneously. (Thank you Sissy.)
Two years ago today, all my bridesmaids showed up on time for their hair and makeup appointments in the sitting room, while I just tried to relax.
Two years ago today, I put on my wedding dress for the first time since the last alteration, looked in the mirror and noticed it was pressed wrong; and therefore way too long.
Two years ago today, I realized there wasn't sh*t I could do about it. I would step on the dress the entire night.
Two years ago today, I went down to meet you for pictures before the ceremony, and couldn't wait for you to see me in my dress.
Two years ago today, I was laughing at the booger hanging out of our flower girl's nose. Ironically the only wedding picture that hangs in our room is the one of me wiping her face with a kleenex.
Two years ago today, we were sent back up to our rooms to get ready for the ceremony. I swished about, sat down, tried not to get my dress wrinkled, chatted with the girls, had a few sips of champagne and waited for the word to head up to the rooftop.
Two years ago today, they called us up to the roof and all of a sudden I couldn't breathe. My corset was so tight I couldn't take a full breath in, and even if I could, the dizziness and vertigo wouldn't let any air into my lungs.
Two years ago today, I was petrified of walking down the aisle. All I saw was a sea of heads, with all eyes about to be on me. I was sure I was going to faint and made that very clear to my parents and coordinator.
Two years ago today, Sissy cursed herself for not packing smelling salts in her bridal emergency kit.
Two years ago today, I insisted I see you BEFORE walking down the aisle. You were the only face that could calm me down enough to put one foot in front of the other.
Two years ago today, you came over, gave me a hug and told me we could do it. That it would be over before I knew it.
Two years ago today, I walked down the aisle to Pachelbel's Canon in D, clutching my mom's hand in a death grip, with my eyes locked on yours. You helped me up the two steps to the alter and I took my first breath in what seemed like hours.
Two years ago today, in the middle of our wedding ceremony, I told you I thought I was going to faint. NOT knowing a microphone was in your tie and therefore the whole wedding party (and most of Los Angeles,) could hear me. That made a nice little addition to our wedding video didn't it?
Two years ago today, the Rabbi was finally done babbling and calling me Samanther, and pronounced us Husband and Wife.
Two years ago today, I was the happiest girl in the world. Not just because I could finally breathe, but because I knew I had just married the man of my dreams.
You can see it on my face.
Happy anniversary baby. I love you.
Love,
Little Bird.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Your Little Baby Sister's Gonna Lose Her Mind
Intervention Lyrics
Going to see these guys tonight. I'm counting down the minutes. I've waited months for this. And to see them play at the Hollywood Bowl, well, it's almost too much to take.
Tomorrow I predict I will be emotionally spent, sleepy and possibly a tad hungover. It's ok though, I just have to work. =)
Saturday is Yom Kippur. And to repent for my sins I will be running around L.A like a madwoman, taking my boots to the cobbler, doing laundry, paying bills, filling prescriptions and then breaking the "fast" with my family. I'm glad I'll get to spend some time with them before we leave.
Monday is our two year anniversary. I'm thinking we should go to Electric Lotus, the site of our first date. That night Hubbie ordered the platter for two, which was more like four, and since I was so nervous I could barely eat. I took most of it home. After dinner we got in his car but couldn't decide what to do so we just sat and talked.
With the car running and the heater on.
For at least two hours.
When we finally left he was down a half a tank of gas.
When Hubbie dropped me off he didn't get out of the car to walk me to my door. So I kind of lingered in the car wondering how to say goodbye. Was I supposed to hug him across the seat? Peck on the cheek? Wave as I got out? No way!
As I recall it, I went to say goodnight with a kiss on the cheek(ish) and that turned into another hour of smooching. Hubbie recalls a much different scenario, saying I was STRADDLING him in the car. Um, sorry honey, that just didn't happen. First of all, I wouldn't have fit on top of you with the steering wheel behind me. Second, it's ME we're talking about, not Jenna Jameson. I wait til' the third date to straddle.
Despite our conflicting stories, we both agree that we really hit it off right away, and have been inseparable ever since. Seven and a half years later! Happy almost anniversary honey. I love you.
Monday, September 17, 2007
The Accidental Foodie
Saturday night Hubbie and I had tickets to see Dana Gould at the Imvprov. When I bought the tickets, the website suggested we arrive an hour and a half early to eat in their dining room and we'd get preferred seating. Since I love Dana Gould and have never been to the Improv, I told Hubbie that would be our plan. In fact, I actually said to him, "I mean, how bad could the food be? It's the Hollywood Improv!"
Bet you know where this post is going.
We arrived an hour and a half early, to be seated in an empty dining room. Apparently we were the only suckers that fell for the "dine with us" line. We each ordered a drink and opened the menu. Two whole pages of deep fried food. Fried calamari, fried chicken strips, fried buffalo wings, french fries, fried chicken sandwich, fried mozzarella sticks and fried Caesar salad. Ok I made the last one up but I swear the only items not deep fried on the menu were the double burger and two pasta dishes.
While we looked at the menu and looked at each other, an order came out and was served to a few people at the bar. It looked and smelled like cafeteria food. And not the good Clifton's kind, I mean the gross Hometown Buffet kind.
It was then I decided to make a break for it. I told Hubbie to suck down his drink and we'd eat across the street. From my chair I could see a restaurant with twinkle lights and open tables by the open windows. It was called Chocolat, and I wanted to go. Hubbie was reluctant. Nevertheless, he paid the tab for our drinks and after some mild attitude by the waiter, we excused ourselves and said we'd be back for the show.
Across the street we walk into Chocolat, which was virtually empty. I'd say four of the fifteen tables were filled and two of the empties were set for a large crowd. I look at Hubbie and wink, "hey, we're in luck! It's empty! See! It was a good idea to leave!"
"Table for two please" I say with a smile.
Two beady eyes glare back at me. "Do you have a reservation?"
"Er, no. Do we need one???"
"Sorry ma'am, we are all booked up for the night" says the host, looking out at the sea of open tables.
"I'm sorry? But you have nothing available? We'll eat fast! We have a show to catch across the street. We'll sit anywhere!" Now I'm sounding a little frantic.
He still denied us! What a jerk! I felt like I was in a Seinfeld episode. What did we do wrong? Did we snub him by just wandering in off the street? Were we not dressed properly? Did we look like dine n' ditchers??? This is Los Angeles for god's sake. The city where people go to Crustacean in sweats!
Beginning to doubt my decision to leave the deep fried palace, I convince Hubbie that if we just walk down Melrose, we're sure to bump into something. After all, Ago is just a few blocks down and so is Dolce. Immediately Hubbie refuses Dolce and says something about not wanting to put one more dollar in Ashton Kutcher's pocket. That, and the fact that the restaurant is filled with wannabes and drunk girls with fake boobs. It kinda puts you off your food.
So we keep walking. And walking, and walking. Hey, who's that guy walking toward us picking food out of his teeth? Oh my god! It's Dana Gould! Where did he eat? Why is he alone? Think he could get us into Chocolat???
Two blocks ahead we stumble into a brightly lit modern space with Japanese anime projected on screens above the sushi bar. It's called Kumo, and we were told it had just opened the night before. Which, as we all know, could spell catastrophe.
In this instance it turned out to be great. Hot and cold dishes, full bar, signature drinks, beautiful leather chairs and friendly service. Since it was our first visit and the waitress was still unfamiliar with the entire menu, we just went with our gut. (Ha ha. Get it? Two points for the corny pun.)
The waitress explained the dishes on the menu were only two or three bites big; somewhat like Spanish tapas. She also said they come out fast, so order a couple at a time and eat til you're full. I was so upset I was caught without my camera. Hubbie was thrilled. He gets really embarrassed when I take pictures of food.
We started with yellowtail sashimi, spicy tuna stuffed jalapenos and ahi tuna w/ fried sweet potato. Then we ordered some warm dishes. Baked miso cod, seared scallops and truffle mashed potatoes. Mmmmmmmm. So much better than mozzarella sticks. I washed my meal down with a Grey Goose martini served perfectly cold and salty. We probably could have stopped there but went ahead and ordered a crab and lobster roll, which at $24.00 was a bit of a splurge but oh, so tasty!
With tip and my drink our tab came to about $150.00. Not exactly a bargain. But with fantastic service, ambiance and food in that location, not too bad. I imagine once the word spreads we won't be able to just walk in on a Saturday night. Especially since I just found out it's owned by Mike Ovitz, of CAA fame.
With our bellies full of fish we had a great time watching Dana Gould. Here's a clip of him if you want a giggle.
Bet you know where this post is going.
We arrived an hour and a half early, to be seated in an empty dining room. Apparently we were the only suckers that fell for the "dine with us" line. We each ordered a drink and opened the menu. Two whole pages of deep fried food. Fried calamari, fried chicken strips, fried buffalo wings, french fries, fried chicken sandwich, fried mozzarella sticks and fried Caesar salad. Ok I made the last one up but I swear the only items not deep fried on the menu were the double burger and two pasta dishes.
While we looked at the menu and looked at each other, an order came out and was served to a few people at the bar. It looked and smelled like cafeteria food. And not the good Clifton's kind, I mean the gross Hometown Buffet kind.
It was then I decided to make a break for it. I told Hubbie to suck down his drink and we'd eat across the street. From my chair I could see a restaurant with twinkle lights and open tables by the open windows. It was called Chocolat, and I wanted to go. Hubbie was reluctant. Nevertheless, he paid the tab for our drinks and after some mild attitude by the waiter, we excused ourselves and said we'd be back for the show.
Across the street we walk into Chocolat, which was virtually empty. I'd say four of the fifteen tables were filled and two of the empties were set for a large crowd. I look at Hubbie and wink, "hey, we're in luck! It's empty! See! It was a good idea to leave!"
"Table for two please" I say with a smile.
Two beady eyes glare back at me. "Do you have a reservation?"
"Er, no. Do we need one???"
"Sorry ma'am, we are all booked up for the night" says the host, looking out at the sea of open tables.
"I'm sorry? But you have nothing available? We'll eat fast! We have a show to catch across the street. We'll sit anywhere!" Now I'm sounding a little frantic.
He still denied us! What a jerk! I felt like I was in a Seinfeld episode. What did we do wrong? Did we snub him by just wandering in off the street? Were we not dressed properly? Did we look like dine n' ditchers??? This is Los Angeles for god's sake. The city where people go to Crustacean in sweats!
Beginning to doubt my decision to leave the deep fried palace, I convince Hubbie that if we just walk down Melrose, we're sure to bump into something. After all, Ago is just a few blocks down and so is Dolce. Immediately Hubbie refuses Dolce and says something about not wanting to put one more dollar in Ashton Kutcher's pocket. That, and the fact that the restaurant is filled with wannabes and drunk girls with fake boobs. It kinda puts you off your food.
So we keep walking. And walking, and walking. Hey, who's that guy walking toward us picking food out of his teeth? Oh my god! It's Dana Gould! Where did he eat? Why is he alone? Think he could get us into Chocolat???
Two blocks ahead we stumble into a brightly lit modern space with Japanese anime projected on screens above the sushi bar. It's called Kumo, and we were told it had just opened the night before. Which, as we all know, could spell catastrophe.
In this instance it turned out to be great. Hot and cold dishes, full bar, signature drinks, beautiful leather chairs and friendly service. Since it was our first visit and the waitress was still unfamiliar with the entire menu, we just went with our gut. (Ha ha. Get it? Two points for the corny pun.)
The waitress explained the dishes on the menu were only two or three bites big; somewhat like Spanish tapas. She also said they come out fast, so order a couple at a time and eat til you're full. I was so upset I was caught without my camera. Hubbie was thrilled. He gets really embarrassed when I take pictures of food.
We started with yellowtail sashimi, spicy tuna stuffed jalapenos and ahi tuna w/ fried sweet potato. Then we ordered some warm dishes. Baked miso cod, seared scallops and truffle mashed potatoes. Mmmmmmmm. So much better than mozzarella sticks. I washed my meal down with a Grey Goose martini served perfectly cold and salty. We probably could have stopped there but went ahead and ordered a crab and lobster roll, which at $24.00 was a bit of a splurge but oh, so tasty!
With tip and my drink our tab came to about $150.00. Not exactly a bargain. But with fantastic service, ambiance and food in that location, not too bad. I imagine once the word spreads we won't be able to just walk in on a Saturday night. Especially since I just found out it's owned by Mike Ovitz, of CAA fame.
With our bellies full of fish we had a great time watching Dana Gould. Here's a clip of him if you want a giggle.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
IMPORTANT!
From the AP, By ERICA BULMAN, Associated Press Writer:
The most common type of gorilla is now "critically endangered," one step away from global extinction, according to the 2007 Red List of Threatened Species released Wednesday by the World Conservation Union. The Ebola virus is depleting Western Gorilla populations to a point where it might become impossible for them to recover. Commercial hunting, civil unrest and habitat loss due to logging and forest clearance for palm oil plantations are compounding the problem, said the Swiss-based group known by its acronym IUCN. "Great apes are our closest living relatives and very special creatures," Russ Mittermeier, head of IUCN's Primate Specialist Group, told The Associated Press. "We could fit all the remaining great apes in the world into two or three large football stadiums. There just aren't very many left."
I can't describe how upsetting this is to me. I can't even read the whole article because I keep crying. Check out this site and please do what you can to save the gorillas. I'm sorry I had to jump on my soapbox again but this is really important. Please donate what you can and spread the word. Gorillas are amazing creatures and very much like us. It's our responsibility to make sure they thrive.
The Dian Fossey Gorilla Fund
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
This Week So Far...
Well, it's only Tuesday but I have news, news, news! For one, my company, (more specifically the owner and lead Director of my company,) won an EMMY for Outstanding Directing for the AMEX/ Ellen Degeneres spots. Yay!
You've seen them I'm sure. The ones with all the animals as her coworkers. And the one where I was faxed the woodpecker's contract. You haven't had a giggle until you see what a woodpecker's day rate is.
He came in holding the statue and let us all ogle it before thanking each one of us for our participation in the win. Then he set the statue on the Production Manager's desk for the rest of the day. (For those of you who work in production, you know the UPM has pretty much the hardest job next to... well, no one in my opinion.)
This is what it looks like!
In other work-related news, Mr. Feesh, my savior at the office, has got new digs! I bought him a new tank and gravel! "Well we're movin' on up, mooooooovin on up..."
He's got a swingin' new bachelor pad to swim in and it looks very DWELL if you don't mind me saying. I put in his favorite "tree" and his very first "plant" and tomorrow will add the new shell I bought for him to get some privacy. (He is quite the ladies man.)
Here's Feesh's new crib, sans the shell.
The more I look at this, the more I realize I need help in the ole' photo department. I take the worst pictures of him!
Speaking of crappy pictures, this week has been filled with culinary adventures. But I can't quite capture yuminess on film. Trust me when I say I made two knock-out meals this week, and again, it's only Tuesday!
Our friends "the Moneys" just returned from Rome and Florence, and Callie brought me some spices to make my own marinara sauce. I was a bit intimidated since the directions read a little something like this:
Fry up bacon.
Add spices and saute for 5 minutes.
Add tomatoes and sauce.
A far cry from the very detailed recipes I'm used to on Epicurious and Foodnetwork. How many tomatoes? Canned or fresh? Is the sauce separate? What else do I add and for how long do I cook it?
But this little Italian girl ended up making a DELICIOUS sauce with perfect consistency and flavor. I sauteed up some prosciutto, (since I didn't have pancetta and I'm sure the recipe didn't mean Oscar Meyer bacon,) and added the spices. Then I added a large can of diced tomatoes, a small can of tomato sauce, about a tablespoon of tomato paste, salt and just let it simmer. Then I seasoned according to taste. A little sugar here, a little oregano there. Some chili flakes because Hubbie likes it spicy. It turned out fantastic and I felt like I made my Italian grandmother proud.
Here's what my first attempt at homemade sauce looked like:
Tonight I made my famous turkey burgers. Despite what my mother would say, turkey burgers can be superb. Sometimes even better that regular hamburgers. And healthier! Even though this isn't a food blog, I'm just so damned impressed with this recipe I've concocted, I thought I'd share it with you valued readers. It couldn't be easier AND it's Weight Watchers friendly.
1 lb - 1.25 lb of ground turkey breast
3-4 roasted red peppers packed in oil, diced
1 pkg of non-fat feta cheese (Feel free to use regular if you're not on a diet like me.)
1 tbs of lemon pepper (More if you like. I use a lot.)
Salt & pepper to taste. (Sea salt is best.)
Mix together all the ingredients and divide into four burgers. Spray a non-stick pan with Pam, (or if you're not on a diet and can afford the calories bitches, use olive oil.) Fry the burgers about 4-5 minutes a side, ensuring they are done by pressing the spatula on the center. Should be firm. Nobody likes undercooked turkey. Nobody likes a visit to the ER either.
Serve burgers with your choice of condiments. The usual suspects: lettuce, tomato, pickle and mayo are good but feel free to be adventurous. Chopped Spanish olives or some capers instead of pickle is tasty as well. For those of you starving, ahem, I mean dieting like me....... you can use a WonderLight bun and fat free mayo, making the burger only 7 points. Without mayo, 6! (But I loves me some mayo so I'll take the extra point thank you very much.)
Here's a picture of what my burger looked like:
Again, sorry for the craptastic picture. I'm working on it. I'm thinking I'll be adding a few more foodie things to the blog so feel free to add your two cents. Recipes, suggestions etc.
You've seen them I'm sure. The ones with all the animals as her coworkers. And the one where I was faxed the woodpecker's contract. You haven't had a giggle until you see what a woodpecker's day rate is.
He came in holding the statue and let us all ogle it before thanking each one of us for our participation in the win. Then he set the statue on the Production Manager's desk for the rest of the day. (For those of you who work in production, you know the UPM has pretty much the hardest job next to... well, no one in my opinion.)
This is what it looks like!
In other work-related news, Mr. Feesh, my savior at the office, has got new digs! I bought him a new tank and gravel! "Well we're movin' on up, mooooooovin on up..."He's got a swingin' new bachelor pad to swim in and it looks very DWELL if you don't mind me saying. I put in his favorite "tree" and his very first "plant" and tomorrow will add the new shell I bought for him to get some privacy. (He is quite the ladies man.)
Here's Feesh's new crib, sans the shell.
The more I look at this, the more I realize I need help in the ole' photo department. I take the worst pictures of him! Speaking of crappy pictures, this week has been filled with culinary adventures. But I can't quite capture yuminess on film. Trust me when I say I made two knock-out meals this week, and again, it's only Tuesday!
Our friends "the Moneys" just returned from Rome and Florence, and Callie brought me some spices to make my own marinara sauce. I was a bit intimidated since the directions read a little something like this:
Fry up bacon.
Add spices and saute for 5 minutes.
Add tomatoes and sauce.
A far cry from the very detailed recipes I'm used to on Epicurious and Foodnetwork. How many tomatoes? Canned or fresh? Is the sauce separate? What else do I add and for how long do I cook it?
But this little Italian girl ended up making a DELICIOUS sauce with perfect consistency and flavor. I sauteed up some prosciutto, (since I didn't have pancetta and I'm sure the recipe didn't mean Oscar Meyer bacon,) and added the spices. Then I added a large can of diced tomatoes, a small can of tomato sauce, about a tablespoon of tomato paste, salt and just let it simmer. Then I seasoned according to taste. A little sugar here, a little oregano there. Some chili flakes because Hubbie likes it spicy. It turned out fantastic and I felt like I made my Italian grandmother proud.
Here's what my first attempt at homemade sauce looked like:
Tonight I made my famous turkey burgers. Despite what my mother would say, turkey burgers can be superb. Sometimes even better that regular hamburgers. And healthier! Even though this isn't a food blog, I'm just so damned impressed with this recipe I've concocted, I thought I'd share it with you valued readers. It couldn't be easier AND it's Weight Watchers friendly.
1 lb - 1.25 lb of ground turkey breast
3-4 roasted red peppers packed in oil, diced
1 pkg of non-fat feta cheese (Feel free to use regular if you're not on a diet like me.)
1 tbs of lemon pepper (More if you like. I use a lot.)
Salt & pepper to taste. (Sea salt is best.)
Mix together all the ingredients and divide into four burgers. Spray a non-stick pan with Pam, (or if you're not on a diet and can afford the calories bitches, use olive oil.) Fry the burgers about 4-5 minutes a side, ensuring they are done by pressing the spatula on the center. Should be firm. Nobody likes undercooked turkey. Nobody likes a visit to the ER either.
Serve burgers with your choice of condiments. The usual suspects: lettuce, tomato, pickle and mayo are good but feel free to be adventurous. Chopped Spanish olives or some capers instead of pickle is tasty as well. For those of you starving, ahem, I mean dieting like me....... you can use a WonderLight bun and fat free mayo, making the burger only 7 points. Without mayo, 6! (But I loves me some mayo so I'll take the extra point thank you very much.)
Here's a picture of what my burger looked like:
Again, sorry for the craptastic picture. I'm working on it. I'm thinking I'll be adding a few more foodie things to the blog so feel free to add your two cents. Recipes, suggestions etc.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Ok, finally have a sec....
So, we attended a wedding last weekend in Minnesota. Farmington, Minnesota to be exact. Alex and Hubbie have been friends since High School so it was a mandatory function.
For once it wasn't a wedding that I was in.
In fact, it was a group I was entirely unfamiliar with.
We arrived Minneapolis an hour and a half late! Just enough time to grab our bags, grab our rental car, and speed through the corn fields to Mt. Olivet Christian Retreat Center; which was the location of all the wedding festivities. I pull in, let Hubbie out to run to the rehearsal and go to the front desk to check us in.
The basket of bug spray next to the six foot cross should have clued me in to what kind of weekend we were in for, but I ignored it and got our keys from the clerk. I pulled the car around, managed to lug all of our bags into the "dorm" and unlocked the door to our room.
No TELEVISON. No PHONE. No CELL PHONE SERVICE.
NO ALCOHOL ALLOWED ON "PREMISES".
Ahem. Alrighty then.
I unpack and take a shower in DEET bug spray, put on my dress for the rehearsal dinner and leave the "dorm" to find the others. I realize when I step outside that my friend Jeanie, (who's from Minnesota,) wasn't kidding about the state bird being the mosquito. Holy *%^& !!!
I met up with the wedding party and we had a lovely bbq dinner. Lit a bonfire, shared travel stories, inquired how we were all related etc. etc. etc. Then it was time for bed, (according to the group,) at 8:00pm.
Ummmmmm ok. Hubbie and I hop in the batmobile and head to the nearest liquor store, (15 miles, two bunnies and a squirrel away,) for a bottle of wine and some snacks.
Come back to the dorm with Doritos and Argentinean wine and we read, eat, drink, talk, read, drink, sleep. Hubbie has to be up at 8:00am for pictures. FUN FOR HIM!
The wedding ceremony was held on a beautiful green lawn, about a fifteen minute hike from the dorms. Seeing as I had only packed heels, (I'm from Los Angeles give me a break,) I end up wearing my leopard print flats that I wore on the plane. Not the best hiking shoes but they did the job.
The ceremony was romantic, inspiring and very Christian. In fact, part of the ceremony asked that the congregation take communion. Which I did. I didn't think twice about it. My dad was Catholic and I really don't see the harm in observing a tradition. Apparently my mom thought I was being sacrilegious.
Really?
I'm a Jew and I wouldn't be offended if a Christian was asked to hold the Torah, or recite a prayer. Her point was that by taking communion, you are accepting the body and blood of Christ. I guess I looked at it as a ritual that I could partake in, but I would never want to offend anyone of faith. In fact, the opposite!
So anyway, I took communion but didn't cross myself. Hubbie made a joke that the wafer would crackle and pop like PopRocks candy when I took it. Nothing of the sort happened. No lightning either. This Jew is down with the Lutherans.
After the ceremony we had a long brunch and reception filled with French and Norwegian dances. Lots of love and laughter. But no booze. Only Perrier and lemonade. And coffee. (Sigh.)
Saturday night we headed to the big city, (Minneapolis,) to take a tour through a sculpture garden and have cocktails. We had a great time getting to know the rest of the guests and having COCKTAILS!
Sunday Hubbie and I headed to the world famous Minnesota State Fair! We ate savory crepes, pork chops on a stick, deep fried CHEESE CURDS and a root beer float. For all of you who have never experienced the deep fried CHEESE CURD, it is quite the delicacy. Almost like fried mozzarella but with more chewiness. DEEEELISSHHH.
The best part of the day was going in the "butterfly tent" for some one on one action. We paid $3.00 to walk in a tent with thousands of butterflies of all different species to just enjoy, watch and even let them land on you if they chose. A few took a liking to Hubbie and I.
It was amazing. Such beautiful creatures. Everyone in the tent was mesmerized.
Including me- this one didn't want to leave me! (Please ignore the eye booger.)
Unfortunately, we had a plane to catch and had to leave the lovely fair and the beautiful state of Minnesota. Two days just wasn't enough. My grandma was born in St. Paul, and all I've ever heard about the state is that "IT'S COLLLLLLLDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!" My grandma literally walked uphill in the snow to school.
Eh, OK. I get it. It gets cold. But this weekend was lovely.
We get to the airport and as usual, Hubbie would like to smoke up until they're boarding. So our ritual for air travel is I go through security solo, while he smokes, and he meets me at the nearest bar. Just so happens, the bar nearest to our gate is empty, except for Matt Sorum. (Former drummer of The Cult and Guns N' Roses, current drummer of Velvet Revolver.)
Who I've met before through my hairdresser.
He looks over to me while on he's on the phone with Slash, (who I MAY HAVE.... in my teen years.... wallpapered my bedroom with pictures of....., ) and smiles.
When he hangs up we (he) realizes our connection and we start chatting. Then my phone rings- it's Hubbie.
"Yeah, I'm in the bar. As usual. Yes, the one closest to the gate. Yes. Ok, you'll find me!!! Bye!"
Hubbie walks in the bar....
"Hubbie, this is Matt. Matt this is Hubbie."
"Hey man, ................... OH, oh, hey man" =)
The three of us had a great chat before our flight. Matt could not be a nicer guy and was as sincere and sweet as he looks. It's not often one runs into a rock star in the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport, and to run into Matt Sorum, who is interesting and engaging and all the things you wish a rock star would be when you bug them in an airport bar..... well, ............it was just awesome.
Flight home was uneventful. Sat between a pilot, a priest and a girl reading a bible. I felt pretty safe.
Labor Day Monday we spent at my parents house with friends and partied til' the sun came down. It was also a send off for my best friend and her husband on their "around the world in a year" trip. Step-dad makes the best BBQ and margaritas in the state. Ya'll wish you were there.
So many laughs.
I wish Jen & Tom a safe, inspiring trip that will last a lifetime. I love you both.
Also, best wishes to the newlyweds. Thanks for the opportunity for this Valley Girl to get out of the city and see where her grandma grew up. We had a blast.
For once it wasn't a wedding that I was in.
In fact, it was a group I was entirely unfamiliar with.
We arrived Minneapolis an hour and a half late! Just enough time to grab our bags, grab our rental car, and speed through the corn fields to Mt. Olivet Christian Retreat Center; which was the location of all the wedding festivities. I pull in, let Hubbie out to run to the rehearsal and go to the front desk to check us in.
The basket of bug spray next to the six foot cross should have clued me in to what kind of weekend we were in for, but I ignored it and got our keys from the clerk. I pulled the car around, managed to lug all of our bags into the "dorm" and unlocked the door to our room.
No TELEVISON. No PHONE. No CELL PHONE SERVICE.
NO ALCOHOL ALLOWED ON "PREMISES".
Ahem. Alrighty then.
I unpack and take a shower in DEET bug spray, put on my dress for the rehearsal dinner and leave the "dorm" to find the others. I realize when I step outside that my friend Jeanie, (who's from Minnesota,) wasn't kidding about the state bird being the mosquito. Holy *%^& !!!
I met up with the wedding party and we had a lovely bbq dinner. Lit a bonfire, shared travel stories, inquired how we were all related etc. etc. etc. Then it was time for bed, (according to the group,) at 8:00pm.
Ummmmmm ok. Hubbie and I hop in the batmobile and head to the nearest liquor store, (15 miles, two bunnies and a squirrel away,) for a bottle of wine and some snacks.
Come back to the dorm with Doritos and Argentinean wine and we read, eat, drink, talk, read, drink, sleep. Hubbie has to be up at 8:00am for pictures. FUN FOR HIM!
The wedding ceremony was held on a beautiful green lawn, about a fifteen minute hike from the dorms. Seeing as I had only packed heels, (I'm from Los Angeles give me a break,) I end up wearing my leopard print flats that I wore on the plane. Not the best hiking shoes but they did the job.
The ceremony was romantic, inspiring and very Christian. In fact, part of the ceremony asked that the congregation take communion. Which I did. I didn't think twice about it. My dad was Catholic and I really don't see the harm in observing a tradition. Apparently my mom thought I was being sacrilegious.
Really?
I'm a Jew and I wouldn't be offended if a Christian was asked to hold the Torah, or recite a prayer. Her point was that by taking communion, you are accepting the body and blood of Christ. I guess I looked at it as a ritual that I could partake in, but I would never want to offend anyone of faith. In fact, the opposite!
So anyway, I took communion but didn't cross myself. Hubbie made a joke that the wafer would crackle and pop like PopRocks candy when I took it. Nothing of the sort happened. No lightning either. This Jew is down with the Lutherans.
After the ceremony we had a long brunch and reception filled with French and Norwegian dances. Lots of love and laughter. But no booze. Only Perrier and lemonade. And coffee. (Sigh.)
Saturday night we headed to the big city, (Minneapolis,) to take a tour through a sculpture garden and have cocktails. We had a great time getting to know the rest of the guests and having COCKTAILS!
Sunday Hubbie and I headed to the world famous Minnesota State Fair! We ate savory crepes, pork chops on a stick, deep fried CHEESE CURDS and a root beer float. For all of you who have never experienced the deep fried CHEESE CURD, it is quite the delicacy. Almost like fried mozzarella but with more chewiness. DEEEELISSHHH.
The best part of the day was going in the "butterfly tent" for some one on one action. We paid $3.00 to walk in a tent with thousands of butterflies of all different species to just enjoy, watch and even let them land on you if they chose. A few took a liking to Hubbie and I.
It was amazing. Such beautiful creatures. Everyone in the tent was mesmerized.
Including me- this one didn't want to leave me! (Please ignore the eye booger.)
Unfortunately, we had a plane to catch and had to leave the lovely fair and the beautiful state of Minnesota. Two days just wasn't enough. My grandma was born in St. Paul, and all I've ever heard about the state is that "IT'S COLLLLLLLDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!" My grandma literally walked uphill in the snow to school.
Eh, OK. I get it. It gets cold. But this weekend was lovely.
We get to the airport and as usual, Hubbie would like to smoke up until they're boarding. So our ritual for air travel is I go through security solo, while he smokes, and he meets me at the nearest bar. Just so happens, the bar nearest to our gate is empty, except for Matt Sorum. (Former drummer of The Cult and Guns N' Roses, current drummer of Velvet Revolver.)
Who I've met before through my hairdresser.
He looks over to me while on he's on the phone with Slash, (who I MAY HAVE.... in my teen years.... wallpapered my bedroom with pictures of....., ) and smiles.
When he hangs up we (he) realizes our connection and we start chatting. Then my phone rings- it's Hubbie.
"Yeah, I'm in the bar. As usual. Yes, the one closest to the gate. Yes. Ok, you'll find me!!! Bye!"
Hubbie walks in the bar....
"Hubbie, this is Matt. Matt this is Hubbie."
"Hey man, ................... OH, oh, hey man" =)
The three of us had a great chat before our flight. Matt could not be a nicer guy and was as sincere and sweet as he looks. It's not often one runs into a rock star in the Minneapolis/St. Paul airport, and to run into Matt Sorum, who is interesting and engaging and all the things you wish a rock star would be when you bug them in an airport bar..... well, ............it was just awesome.
Flight home was uneventful. Sat between a pilot, a priest and a girl reading a bible. I felt pretty safe.
Labor Day Monday we spent at my parents house with friends and partied til' the sun came down. It was also a send off for my best friend and her husband on their "around the world in a year" trip. Step-dad makes the best BBQ and margaritas in the state. Ya'll wish you were there.
So many laughs.
I wish Jen & Tom a safe, inspiring trip that will last a lifetime. I love you both.
Also, best wishes to the newlyweds. Thanks for the opportunity for this Valley Girl to get out of the city and see where her grandma grew up. We had a blast.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
So much to say, no time to write it
Work is nuts.
Went to wedding in Minnesota last weekend.
At a Christian retreat.
Expect post about that later.
Best friend left for South America Tuesday night.
Didn't actually arrive until today due to two flight delays and a motel stay in Panama.
Speaking of which, I leave for Argentina in exactly one month.
Holy shit.
Peace out.
Went to wedding in Minnesota last weekend.
At a Christian retreat.
Expect post about that later.
Best friend left for South America Tuesday night.
Didn't actually arrive until today due to two flight delays and a motel stay in Panama.
Speaking of which, I leave for Argentina in exactly one month.
Holy shit.
Peace out.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
This is just so perfect!
| Your Personality Is Like Acid |
 A bit wacky, you're very difficult to predict. One moment you're in your own little happy universe... And the next, you're on a bad trip to your own personal hell! |
So appropriate. However, I've never had a bad trip on acid. When others were seeing Satan and wondering if the trip would EVER END, I always had a big fat smile on my face and enjoyed every minute. I remember laughing til tears rolled down my face, seeing dancing mariachis on the ceiling, and my personal favorite, being outside and FEELING nature. You haven't lived til you've watched the waves roll onto the beach on acid. (Well that's a bit of an exaggeration but it really is cool!)
Now, I did have a minor freak out the time I decided I could drive down Highway 5, in the rain, after a Dead show, in the middle of the night, on a two lane road. FRYING. In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best decision to get behind the wheel. I'll never forget my friend Susan, (who never took drugs,) whispering, "Umm, sweetie? I think you need to speed up."
I was going thirty five miles an hour on an interstate highway. Whoops! We ended up pulling off somewhere near the Oregon/California border. I recall going to an IHOP type restaurant where I ordered hot chocolate and tried to pull my shit together. I think Susan had a full breakfast with the works and I was kind of grossed out. As anyone who has done acid can attest, food is the last thing you want to see. Well, that and a mirror.
Oh the stupid decisions you make when you're 19. Today I think twice before driving on a half a zanax.
I guess the point of this post is NOT that it's ok to take hallucinogens and drive. Not at all. But I don't regret ever having taken them. In fact, I have some pretty beautiful memories tied to acid. Some great laughs, revelations, sights, songs and love. (I know, the deadhead in me is coming out. Someone cue the Hair Soundtrack.)
I could never do them again, but I'm glad I have the memories. Peace!
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Funky little rhyme about a b*tch or two
Today I listened to Eazy-E's "Eazy-Duz-It" album for the first time in, oh I don't know....... FIFTEEN YEARS. I double click on the first song, "Still Talkin' " and found myself astonished that I still knew every word. Sitting at at my desk I was instantly transported back to High School. I sang along to the entire song, word for word, OUT LOUD.
Can you imagine a more pathetic scene? A thirty something career woman sitting at her computer singing, "Tell yo' momma to get off of my tip, I have no time to give her my d*ck."
Sigh. I can't believe I listened to this stuff growing up. What a poseur. I was driving around in a white convertible rabbit with a perm wearing Keds, listening to a rapper describe killing gang members, selling drugs and screwing hookers. Ummmmm, kinda lame in retrospect.
But I do love this album. And I love the memories it brings back. In fact, I once saw Eazy E. My friends and I ran into him at Jerry's Deli on Ventura of all places. There Eazy was, with his possee at a Jewish deli in the valley. My friends and I screamed and cooed and giggled all the way back to the car. I dropped my keys on the way out and he actually picked them up and handed them to me. Eazy was actually a nice guy!
I wonder how much street cred he lost with Dre when he ordered matzo ball soup and a knish?
Thursday, August 09, 2007
My Week In A Nutshell
Hubbie and I had a conversation last weekend where he called me a pessimist. Really? Am I? Maybe I am. I like to think of myself as a realist. I believe in logic, science, proof, experience. But reading the last few posts, I dunno, am I a pessimist?
This week blows. Maybe I'm in a funk.
I started this blog hoping to write my experiences with witty posts that the reader can relate to; or at least leave the reader laughing. Or pensive. Or in agreement!
What I'm finding is that I've lately been writing to vent. And so, here goes. Another vent.
I'm annoyed a lot of the time. I've been so irritable lately. Life in general is just taking it's toll. I wish I had the energy to make this post witty in some way but really I just have to get this crap off my chest.
I have anxiety. A lot. I have all these thoughts of where I'm supposed to be, where I should have made better decisions, where I should have put my foot down. And these thoughts haunt me. And carrying all these feelings, I found a box of "memories" in my parents garage last weekend.
I found the music box my grandfather gave me that plays Sunrise Sunset. I found a short story I wrote in 4th grade that, (in my humble opinion,) was pretty damn good. I found pictures of a more innocent time. I found letters from my dad. And that pushed me over the edge.
I thought I'd come to a peaceful place 12 years after his suicide. But apparently the therapy and two rehabs haven't cured me of the aching pain that surfaces when I really think about him. And I wonder if it will ever go away.
The letters I found were written to me when I went on a six week trip around the U.S with a group of teens. I was fourteen. My relationship with him at that point was that of your typical teenager, but somewhat different. I lived with my mom and step-dad. I spent every other weekend with him and his new wife. I guess I always admired him, because he was my dad, but it was different than my other friends.
When he wore Converse shoes to my Bat Mitzvah AND Sweet 16, I was embarrassed. In a sense. I wanted to fit in. I wanted my parents to look like my friends parents. But he didn't. He had long hair. He wore black. He wore jeans every day. Now, I love that about him. But I didn't realize how cool that was then. And I hate myself for ever thinking he was weird.
I remember he'd sleep in late the weekends I spent with him. Due to his late recording schedule and, honestly, his alcoholism.
He was a musician. When I was in high school listening to Guns N' Roses and Nirvana, he made me a tape of Jimi Hendrix. It changed my life. Why didn't I recognize how great he was then, and get to know him as a person then? I just wrote it off as a cool tape.
When I was in college I was so self-absorbed that to call any of my parents was a chore. By then my dad and the woman he married were divorced, but I still had a relationship with her. I had all these obligatory calls to make. Grandma, Mom, Dad, Step-mom. It became tiresome since all I wanted to do was hang out with my friends.
My dad called me one week in August of 95. Asked me if he could come up to Santa Barbara the following weekend to visit me. I said no, I had my friend's birthday party and we were going to celebrate all weekend. (Code- we were going to do drugs, drink and stay up all night.) I told him he could come up another time.
Cut to two weeks later when I had the visit from Martha. (See previous post.)
Why did I do that? Will I always carry this guilt? Will I always miss him with this intensity? Will I always beat myself for not spending that one weekend with him? Why didn't I see it coming?
Could I have done something?
I know that all of this baggage I carry affects who I am today. Does it make me a pessimist? Does it make me bitter? Does it make me less spiritual? I think so. But I don't want to carry this sadness anymore. I have this bag of regret I carry around.
I miss him terribly. But even if he was here- would it make my day to day life better? My job that stresses me out. My longing for a home of my own instead of a tiny apartment? My longing/incredible fear of having a child of my own? Do I compartmentalize my sadness from this tragedy and use it as an excuse to escape?
Even the things I think I want- I question. Do I want the responsibility of a house? Do I want the responsibility of a child? I'm just getting used to the responsibility of a husband. I know I'm a selfish person. I am working on changing that. But it's hard.
It's the reason I read blogs like tunagirl and anchorednomad. I'm so glad I've joined this community so I can see what real family life is like.... day to day. They've inspired me to pull my sh*t together. I want to be a better person- a more patient person. A less selfish person. It will be a struggle but I'm ready to let go of my resentments and work on myself.
For now I have to work on taking this anger out on others. I'm scared to death, but I want to be a good mom, wife, friend, daughter and granddaughter. I have the best husband a girl could ask for; so I'm on my way. He gets me like no other.
Through all the sorrow, he's there for me. And I vow to be a better, more tolerant person. I won't make the same mistake twice. I will appreciate every day he is here with me, and love him with everything I have.
This week blows. Maybe I'm in a funk.
I started this blog hoping to write my experiences with witty posts that the reader can relate to; or at least leave the reader laughing. Or pensive. Or in agreement!
What I'm finding is that I've lately been writing to vent. And so, here goes. Another vent.
I'm annoyed a lot of the time. I've been so irritable lately. Life in general is just taking it's toll. I wish I had the energy to make this post witty in some way but really I just have to get this crap off my chest.
I have anxiety. A lot. I have all these thoughts of where I'm supposed to be, where I should have made better decisions, where I should have put my foot down. And these thoughts haunt me. And carrying all these feelings, I found a box of "memories" in my parents garage last weekend.
I found the music box my grandfather gave me that plays Sunrise Sunset. I found a short story I wrote in 4th grade that, (in my humble opinion,) was pretty damn good. I found pictures of a more innocent time. I found letters from my dad. And that pushed me over the edge.
I thought I'd come to a peaceful place 12 years after his suicide. But apparently the therapy and two rehabs haven't cured me of the aching pain that surfaces when I really think about him. And I wonder if it will ever go away.
The letters I found were written to me when I went on a six week trip around the U.S with a group of teens. I was fourteen. My relationship with him at that point was that of your typical teenager, but somewhat different. I lived with my mom and step-dad. I spent every other weekend with him and his new wife. I guess I always admired him, because he was my dad, but it was different than my other friends.
When he wore Converse shoes to my Bat Mitzvah AND Sweet 16, I was embarrassed. In a sense. I wanted to fit in. I wanted my parents to look like my friends parents. But he didn't. He had long hair. He wore black. He wore jeans every day. Now, I love that about him. But I didn't realize how cool that was then. And I hate myself for ever thinking he was weird.
I remember he'd sleep in late the weekends I spent with him. Due to his late recording schedule and, honestly, his alcoholism.
He was a musician. When I was in high school listening to Guns N' Roses and Nirvana, he made me a tape of Jimi Hendrix. It changed my life. Why didn't I recognize how great he was then, and get to know him as a person then? I just wrote it off as a cool tape.
When I was in college I was so self-absorbed that to call any of my parents was a chore. By then my dad and the woman he married were divorced, but I still had a relationship with her. I had all these obligatory calls to make. Grandma, Mom, Dad, Step-mom. It became tiresome since all I wanted to do was hang out with my friends.
My dad called me one week in August of 95. Asked me if he could come up to Santa Barbara the following weekend to visit me. I said no, I had my friend's birthday party and we were going to celebrate all weekend. (Code- we were going to do drugs, drink and stay up all night.) I told him he could come up another time.
Cut to two weeks later when I had the visit from Martha. (See previous post.)
Why did I do that? Will I always carry this guilt? Will I always miss him with this intensity? Will I always beat myself for not spending that one weekend with him? Why didn't I see it coming?
Could I have done something?
I know that all of this baggage I carry affects who I am today. Does it make me a pessimist? Does it make me bitter? Does it make me less spiritual? I think so. But I don't want to carry this sadness anymore. I have this bag of regret I carry around.
I miss him terribly. But even if he was here- would it make my day to day life better? My job that stresses me out. My longing for a home of my own instead of a tiny apartment? My longing/incredible fear of having a child of my own? Do I compartmentalize my sadness from this tragedy and use it as an excuse to escape?
Even the things I think I want- I question. Do I want the responsibility of a house? Do I want the responsibility of a child? I'm just getting used to the responsibility of a husband. I know I'm a selfish person. I am working on changing that. But it's hard.
It's the reason I read blogs like tunagirl and anchorednomad. I'm so glad I've joined this community so I can see what real family life is like.... day to day. They've inspired me to pull my sh*t together. I want to be a better person- a more patient person. A less selfish person. It will be a struggle but I'm ready to let go of my resentments and work on myself.
For now I have to work on taking this anger out on others. I'm scared to death, but I want to be a good mom, wife, friend, daughter and granddaughter. I have the best husband a girl could ask for; so I'm on my way. He gets me like no other.
Through all the sorrow, he's there for me. And I vow to be a better, more tolerant person. I won't make the same mistake twice. I will appreciate every day he is here with me, and love him with everything I have.
Monday, July 30, 2007
An Open Letter to Urban Outfitters
You know, we go back a long while. All the way back to the days where my grandma took me "back to school" shopping and I had to convince her all the kids in high school wanted to look like this.
Ok, maybe it was just me and my grungy/hippie/stoner/(clearly cool) friends but whatever.
Point is, we've had a relationship a long time. You were there through my college years when I clearly could NOT afford you but somehow made it work on my few trips down from Santa Barbara. You were there when I got my first "real job" and ran to your newly opened doors on Melrose, only to become a little nauseous by your new ridiculous prices- which forced me to supplement my wardrobe at Aardvarks and Buffalo Exchange.
But I was still loyal. That is, until you started blaring music so horrid........ that to shop in your store for a mere 30 minutes, left me twitching and buzzing like a raver after a candy-flipping party.
And that's when we temporarily parted ways. I just couldn't take one more day of walking between your tightly packed racks of cheaply-made-fade-after-one-wash-good-luck-wearing-it-more-than-twice garments. On my new, meager Receptionist salary, I just couldn't continue seeing you as often as we once did.
I thought you'd understand. I thought neither of us were bitter. So Ok, I didn't call you for five years. So????? I came back to your new location on Ventura Blvd. I was excited by the familiar smell of overly-priced pomegranate scented candles. I was tickled by the racks of jeans in every different cut, style and wash. I was worked into a frenzy by your hook of dyed ladies slips which I can never find in my size.
So I spent $315.00 in one spree. Makes up for lost time, no?
In that spree I put an $18.00 silver/gold chain necklace with a bird charm. When I unpacked my goods last night it wasn't there. I looked and looked, turned the bag upside down, and nothing. (OH COME-ON!!!)
Today I called you. I know it was awkward, but that's what happens when you don't speak for FIVE YEARS. I explained to you how you let me down, ONCE AGAIN. You told me this never happens and the loss is probably my fault. (Not a chance.)
After an uncomfortable exchange you told me my only option is to drive back with my receipt, (2o miles out of my way,) and hope that you are still carrying the same chain. Really???? You can't credit my card? You can't email me a credit? I now have to set aside time to drive all the way back to your location, which I just HAPPENED to stumble into after all these years because, I HAPPENED to be in the neighborhood???????
I guess we have to just accept each other for who we are. I guess we might need some more time apart to appreciate our quirks. But for now, we're officially on a break. I will be back this weekend to retrieve my necklace, but you can be sure I won't be calling you for a long while.
So there.
Ok, maybe it was just me and my grungy/hippie/stoner/(clearly cool) friends but whatever.
Point is, we've had a relationship a long time. You were there through my college years when I clearly could NOT afford you but somehow made it work on my few trips down from Santa Barbara. You were there when I got my first "real job" and ran to your newly opened doors on Melrose, only to become a little nauseous by your new ridiculous prices- which forced me to supplement my wardrobe at Aardvarks and Buffalo Exchange.
But I was still loyal. That is, until you started blaring music so horrid........ that to shop in your store for a mere 30 minutes, left me twitching and buzzing like a raver after a candy-flipping party.
And that's when we temporarily parted ways. I just couldn't take one more day of walking between your tightly packed racks of cheaply-made-fade-after-one-wash-good-luck-wearing-it-more-than-twice garments. On my new, meager Receptionist salary, I just couldn't continue seeing you as often as we once did.
I thought you'd understand. I thought neither of us were bitter. So Ok, I didn't call you for five years. So????? I came back to your new location on Ventura Blvd. I was excited by the familiar smell of overly-priced pomegranate scented candles. I was tickled by the racks of jeans in every different cut, style and wash. I was worked into a frenzy by your hook of dyed ladies slips which I can never find in my size.
So I spent $315.00 in one spree. Makes up for lost time, no?
In that spree I put an $18.00 silver/gold chain necklace with a bird charm. When I unpacked my goods last night it wasn't there. I looked and looked, turned the bag upside down, and nothing. (OH COME-ON!!!)
Today I called you. I know it was awkward, but that's what happens when you don't speak for FIVE YEARS. I explained to you how you let me down, ONCE AGAIN. You told me this never happens and the loss is probably my fault. (Not a chance.)
After an uncomfortable exchange you told me my only option is to drive back with my receipt, (2o miles out of my way,) and hope that you are still carrying the same chain. Really???? You can't credit my card? You can't email me a credit? I now have to set aside time to drive all the way back to your location, which I just HAPPENED to stumble into after all these years because, I HAPPENED to be in the neighborhood???????
I guess we have to just accept each other for who we are. I guess we might need some more time apart to appreciate our quirks. But for now, we're officially on a break. I will be back this weekend to retrieve my necklace, but you can be sure I won't be calling you for a long while.
So there.
Friday, July 27, 2007
5 Things I Won't Let Ruin My Weekend
#5. We didn't get the house. It's gonna be another Christmas in our 550 sq. foot apartment with a shrub for a tree and Ambient Fire on the television.
#4. We have to be at our accountant's office at the ungodly hour of 9:00 AM on Saturday. Which means I have to be up at 7:30 AM along with the paperboys and homeless people collecting cans.
#3. Because of reason #4 I can't go out and tie one on with my friends tonight to wash off the week. No one can handle being hungover in their accountant's office. Not even me.
#2. I have to return a pair of shoes to Nordstrom at The Grove. I'll probably go after the accountant appointment. Which means after I get the fabulous news that I'll probably have to file an amended return and owe the government a gabillion dollars, I then have to dodge fifty thousand teenagers with designer bags and even more mommies with strollers the size of cadillacs just to get into the mall. (Run on sentence anyone?) Don't get me wrong, I love The Grove, just not on a Saturday afternoon when every person in Los Angeles heads over there.
#1. I still haven't made a hair appointment because I'm trying to conserve dough right now, so I'm still walking around with three obvious grey hairs AND roots. Two more weeks and I'm going to have to start wearing a schmata on my head like Britney.
I am however looking forward to reading more of The Kite Runner. I finally picked it up last night and was so engrossed I fell asleep with it on my chest.
Happy Friday ya'll.
#4. We have to be at our accountant's office at the ungodly hour of 9:00 AM on Saturday. Which means I have to be up at 7:30 AM along with the paperboys and homeless people collecting cans.
#3. Because of reason #4 I can't go out and tie one on with my friends tonight to wash off the week. No one can handle being hungover in their accountant's office. Not even me.
#2. I have to return a pair of shoes to Nordstrom at The Grove. I'll probably go after the accountant appointment. Which means after I get the fabulous news that I'll probably have to file an amended return and owe the government a gabillion dollars, I then have to dodge fifty thousand teenagers with designer bags and even more mommies with strollers the size of cadillacs just to get into the mall. (Run on sentence anyone?) Don't get me wrong, I love The Grove, just not on a Saturday afternoon when every person in Los Angeles heads over there.
#1. I still haven't made a hair appointment because I'm trying to conserve dough right now, so I'm still walking around with three obvious grey hairs AND roots. Two more weeks and I'm going to have to start wearing a schmata on my head like Britney.
I am however looking forward to reading more of The Kite Runner. I finally picked it up last night and was so engrossed I fell asleep with it on my chest.
Happy Friday ya'll.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Redskins
After watching this video I think I could become a Redskins fan. Even though their name couldn't possibly be more politically incorrect, unless there's an NFL team I don't know about called the Black Sambos.
Football is the only sport I can stand to watch on TV. (Besides gymnastics and cheerleading, which are in fact sports, but just not in the same way.) Baseball puts me to sleep. Basketball they score too often to get excited. Soccer they don't score enough to care. Football is the perfect contact sport that keeps the viewer constantly entertained.
And it's a perfect excuse to drink beer on a Sunday morning.
When does the season start again?
Football is the only sport I can stand to watch on TV. (Besides gymnastics and cheerleading, which are in fact sports, but just not in the same way.) Baseball puts me to sleep. Basketball they score too often to get excited. Soccer they don't score enough to care. Football is the perfect contact sport that keeps the viewer constantly entertained.
And it's a perfect excuse to drink beer on a Sunday morning.
When does the season start again?
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
And Now We Wait
We submitted an offer today on another house. It's in a better neighborhood than the last and is about 300 square feet bigger. However, we offered WAY under asking price. They say it's a buyer's market. We shall see.
We spent all day Sunday house hunting and doing laundry at my parents house. Pathetically, it's like I'm still in college. I go home to do my laundry because I just can't bear sitting in a laundromat. If and when we own a house I think I'll still be a lazy laundry doer, but at least when it piles up to the ceiling, I can take it in shifts to my own laundry room and sip wine while it dries. God help my future children. I can just see me saying, "Are you sure that's dirty? You only wore it to one soccer practice!"
Work is finally starting to pick up. June was as lively as a retirement home where Kevorkian makes rounds. Now the advertisers are starting to shoot their fall campaigns. My favorite commercial right now is this:
My company didn't do it, but it's a great spot. And a great Flaming Lips song.
Lindsay Lohan was arrested this morning on suspicion of DUI and cocaine possession. Does anyone care? I didn't think so. So why is it the top story of every single news broadcast? What is going on in our society that Paris and Lindsay are the leading stories and not how many soldiers have been wounded or killed in the last week? I live in Los Angeles, and know a lot of people in the "industry". I've heard stories that would make your head spin but luckily I haven't had to deal with anything too severe.
Well unless you count the time one of my directors got the hiccups in the middle of a Campbell's Soup commercial and we had to stop shooting for an hour and fifteen minutes, the length of time it took him to finally get rid of them. Everyone on the set was running up to him with their own "cure," including the wardrobe lady who asked him to cluck like a chicken.
Or the director I worked for who refused to continue shooting until some diet peach Snapple was brought to the set. Apparently craft service had every flavor BUT that. I was sent to the nearest store to pick some up and when I returned, (covered in sweat,) the director ripped it from my hands and said, "OK, now let's continue folks. We don't have all day here!"
My personal favorite showbiz (working) memory was on the set of a commercial starring Ed O'Neill. I was a lowly Production Assistant at the time and we were shooting on the back lot at Universal Studios. I got a call over my walkie that said, "We need a PA to go pick up Ed. He's lost somewhere around New York." (For those of you unfamiliar with Universal's lot, there's a large section devoted to just NYC streets where exterior shots are filmed.)
The funny part of this was, we weren't shooting ANYWHERE NEAR "New York" and since I was brand spanking new working on sets, I really didn't know my way around either. So guess who they ask to fetch Ed? Moi.
I take off running, (like any good PA) looking for Al Bundy in New York City. It took me about fifteen minutes and I found him, wandering like a lost puppy, scratching his head and looking really panicked. When I got to him I told him who I was and that I was the one assigned to guide him back to set. I apologized and told him that it was quite possible we'd get lost on the way back too since I had only worked at Universal twice. He could not have been nicer and kept thanking me for "rescuing" him. What a sweetheart.
If only they could all be that nice. And directors wouldn't throw their production designers in the trash can. Or throw punches. And wardrobe designers wouldn't throw hangers at their assitants. And executive producers wouldn't throw phone books at their secretaries. (All true stories.) If they could all be like Ed O'Neill on that fateful day where I rescued him from the barren streets of Manhattan, this would be a much nicer industry.
A girl can hope can't she?
We spent all day Sunday house hunting and doing laundry at my parents house. Pathetically, it's like I'm still in college. I go home to do my laundry because I just can't bear sitting in a laundromat. If and when we own a house I think I'll still be a lazy laundry doer, but at least when it piles up to the ceiling, I can take it in shifts to my own laundry room and sip wine while it dries. God help my future children. I can just see me saying, "Are you sure that's dirty? You only wore it to one soccer practice!"
Work is finally starting to pick up. June was as lively as a retirement home where Kevorkian makes rounds. Now the advertisers are starting to shoot their fall campaigns. My favorite commercial right now is this:
My company didn't do it, but it's a great spot. And a great Flaming Lips song.
Lindsay Lohan was arrested this morning on suspicion of DUI and cocaine possession. Does anyone care? I didn't think so. So why is it the top story of every single news broadcast? What is going on in our society that Paris and Lindsay are the leading stories and not how many soldiers have been wounded or killed in the last week? I live in Los Angeles, and know a lot of people in the "industry". I've heard stories that would make your head spin but luckily I haven't had to deal with anything too severe.
Well unless you count the time one of my directors got the hiccups in the middle of a Campbell's Soup commercial and we had to stop shooting for an hour and fifteen minutes, the length of time it took him to finally get rid of them. Everyone on the set was running up to him with their own "cure," including the wardrobe lady who asked him to cluck like a chicken.
Or the director I worked for who refused to continue shooting until some diet peach Snapple was brought to the set. Apparently craft service had every flavor BUT that. I was sent to the nearest store to pick some up and when I returned, (covered in sweat,) the director ripped it from my hands and said, "OK, now let's continue folks. We don't have all day here!"
My personal favorite showbiz (working) memory was on the set of a commercial starring Ed O'Neill. I was a lowly Production Assistant at the time and we were shooting on the back lot at Universal Studios. I got a call over my walkie that said, "We need a PA to go pick up Ed. He's lost somewhere around New York." (For those of you unfamiliar with Universal's lot, there's a large section devoted to just NYC streets where exterior shots are filmed.)
The funny part of this was, we weren't shooting ANYWHERE NEAR "New York" and since I was brand spanking new working on sets, I really didn't know my way around either. So guess who they ask to fetch Ed? Moi.
I take off running, (like any good PA) looking for Al Bundy in New York City. It took me about fifteen minutes and I found him, wandering like a lost puppy, scratching his head and looking really panicked. When I got to him I told him who I was and that I was the one assigned to guide him back to set. I apologized and told him that it was quite possible we'd get lost on the way back too since I had only worked at Universal twice. He could not have been nicer and kept thanking me for "rescuing" him. What a sweetheart.
If only they could all be that nice. And directors wouldn't throw their production designers in the trash can. Or throw punches. And wardrobe designers wouldn't throw hangers at their assitants. And executive producers wouldn't throw phone books at their secretaries. (All true stories.) If they could all be like Ed O'Neill on that fateful day where I rescued him from the barren streets of Manhattan, this would be a much nicer industry.
A girl can hope can't she?
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