I promised when I gave birth to this blog that I wouldn't become one of those neglecting mothers that never updates her shit.
Oh, well.
You know, sometimes a girl gets the plague and can't think straight. Sometimes she has so many last-minute deadlines thrust upon her that she can't even take sick days when she has the plague. Sometimes she has to travel for work for a week just as she's starting to recover from the plague. And when these things happen, it can suck up a lot of time, and result in a sorely neglected blog.
Should this ever happen again, fret not! I might not be here to spoil you with my snappy witticisms and the occasional off-color joke, but I know where you can find lots of bloggy entertainment. And since I haven't yet figured out how to get these links plugged into my sidebar (dirty?), I'm just going to list them here:
So Wrong Ago
Little Lost Robot (who blogged on his cross-country move, no less)
mAc's Lost
Highwaygirl
I have more friends with fun blogs, but those will get you through the day. Enjoy!
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Monday, January 24, 2005
"A guest. Hello Daaaahhling!"
Guess who I'm quoting in today's headline? Give up? Why, my new Talking Edna Doll, dahling! She is ever so fabulous, and has all kinds of wise witticisms for every occasion, such as, "Now remember, dahling, luck favors the prepared," and "If you repress you depress, dahling. To impress you must express!" I'm debating whether I want to bring her to work with me so I can have her on hand to rip on my co-workers clothing with me, or if that will far too distracting and I'll just never get any work done.
What's that you say? I'm almost 30 and far too old to play with toys? Nonsense. First of all, me? Too old to play? Perish the thought. It will never happen. Second, it's not just a toy, it's a joyful reminder of one of my favorite movies, not only of 2004, but possibly ever. Third, and most important, Edna? Is fabulous, dahling.
What's that you say? I'm almost 30 and far too old to play with toys? Nonsense. First of all, me? Too old to play? Perish the thought. It will never happen. Second, it's not just a toy, it's a joyful reminder of one of my favorite movies, not only of 2004, but possibly ever. Third, and most important, Edna? Is fabulous, dahling.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
4. Remove self from pointless mailing lists
As you may recall from an earlier post, I am planning a wedding with my fiance to take place in May. I used to scour every imaginable resource - websites, magazines, Martha Stewart encyclopedias - for ideas and checklists to make sure I had everything organized. Until, that is, these supposed resources started to freak me right the hell out. Shortly after, I realized that these "helpful resources" are all part of a RACKET designed solely for the purpose of separating me and my beloved from all kinds of hard-earned cash and stressing me out.
And also? They're often stupid. For example, this came in my inbox this evening:
Dinah, with X weeks to go, don't forget to:
1. Match your veil to your hairstyle.
2. Find your wedding fragrance.
3. Keep your weight goals on track.
Except I'm not wearing a stupid veil, my fiance only likes the one fragrance I wear and thinks the rest smell like bug spray, and mind your own damn business, you evil email in league with the devil that is the weight-loss industry!
In fact, I need to call my friend Erica (also getting married) and make sure she's not freaking out either. She just went to a bridal show. Oh, the horror.
I could write a more thoughtful, in-depth essay on this whole wedding-planning racket and perhaps someday I will. But for now I'm satisfied just to post a little "take that! nyah!" in response to the email, and move forward knowing that the venue is booked, the cake & flowers are taken care of, the save the dates are out.... and anyone who says we ain't organized can cram it with walnuts. Just as long as the walnuts are tastefully served in a personalized tin with a lovely ribbon on it.
And also? They're often stupid. For example, this came in my inbox this evening:
Dinah, with X weeks to go, don't forget to:
1. Match your veil to your hairstyle.
2. Find your wedding fragrance.
3. Keep your weight goals on track.
Except I'm not wearing a stupid veil, my fiance only likes the one fragrance I wear and thinks the rest smell like bug spray, and mind your own damn business, you evil email in league with the devil that is the weight-loss industry!
In fact, I need to call my friend Erica (also getting married) and make sure she's not freaking out either. She just went to a bridal show. Oh, the horror.
I could write a more thoughtful, in-depth essay on this whole wedding-planning racket and perhaps someday I will. But for now I'm satisfied just to post a little "take that! nyah!" in response to the email, and move forward knowing that the venue is booked, the cake & flowers are taken care of, the save the dates are out.... and anyone who says we ain't organized can cram it with walnuts. Just as long as the walnuts are tastefully served in a personalized tin with a lovely ribbon on it.
Monday, January 10, 2005
The skies are charcoal gray
It's a dreary downtown day. Gold stars for the cool kids who know where that's from.
The rain in LA has gotten a little out of control, and I like the rain. I'm not one of these Angelinos that gets ferociously pissed when it rains, like God is spitting on me from the heavens and going "neener neener neener, you got wee-eet." And boy, do people get pissed. After all, this is a town not only filled with people who moved here because they are weather wimps who can no longer stand a bone-chilling breeze below 65 degrees, but it's also filled with the people who expect things to happen a certain way by a certain time or there's hell to pay. You know the ones. "What do you mean I can't get McGriddles after 10:30? Don't you know who I am? Get me a manager!"
So when it rains, and it's miserable, and they can't control it and they can't even fire their assistants over it... What can I say, the mere thought just makes me kind of happy. 'Cause I'm mean like that.
I like the rain. It's the only time this town smells a notch better than BO with a side of urine, pollution and ASS, and it's the only thing that can cut through the heavy brown cloud of pollution that lays over this city like stinky blanket.
Driving in the rain bites, however. The drivers suck and the roads are worse. My car was actually swallowed whole by a pothole this morning. I'm pretty sure I saw Jimmy Hoffa in the swirling abyss that was the puddle on 3rd Ave before it relinquished its watery grip and spit me back on the road, my poor tires much worse for the wear.
I don't have much else to add today. What can I say, the creative well has run dry. There's a little boy trapped at the bottom and Lassie traded in her heroism for heroin, and damn. That's just sad.
Speaking of heroin, I have discovered that I am extremely naive when it comes to drug use in Los Angeles. Case in point: I went to a party on Saturday night, hung out with some of my favorite people in this town, and made nice with other guests at the party. The next day I was chatting on the phone with one of my favorite people, breaking down the evening and dishing the dirt--"Did you hear?" "Well, I never!" (except more cunty)--I mentioned that I'd made friends with this guy. Let's call him Chewbacca.
Me: "Yeah, I was chatting with Chewbacca and he seemed pretty nice. We were thinking of getting together to play poker sometime."
Her: "Except that probably won't happen. He's a flake and a total fuckwit."
Me: "Really? But he seemed pretty nice."
Her: "Yeah. He's actually a dick and a cokehead. I make it a point not to hang out with him."
Me: "No shit."
Her: "Oh yeah. And the first time I ever met him, he threw up in his hands."
Me: "Ew!"
Sometimes I feel like I may as well have shown up to this town in a blue & white checkered dress with blonde pigtails and the belief that the greasy fat man at the bus station really did want to make me a star, for all the savvy I have. As long as it remains refreshing and not at all dumb and annoying, however, I think I'm fine to leave that savvy where it is. Plus, I didn't have to witness someone barfing into their hands to earn it and, baby, that is fine with me.
The rain in LA has gotten a little out of control, and I like the rain. I'm not one of these Angelinos that gets ferociously pissed when it rains, like God is spitting on me from the heavens and going "neener neener neener, you got wee-eet." And boy, do people get pissed. After all, this is a town not only filled with people who moved here because they are weather wimps who can no longer stand a bone-chilling breeze below 65 degrees, but it's also filled with the people who expect things to happen a certain way by a certain time or there's hell to pay. You know the ones. "What do you mean I can't get McGriddles after 10:30? Don't you know who I am? Get me a manager!"
So when it rains, and it's miserable, and they can't control it and they can't even fire their assistants over it... What can I say, the mere thought just makes me kind of happy. 'Cause I'm mean like that.
I like the rain. It's the only time this town smells a notch better than BO with a side of urine, pollution and ASS, and it's the only thing that can cut through the heavy brown cloud of pollution that lays over this city like stinky blanket.
Driving in the rain bites, however. The drivers suck and the roads are worse. My car was actually swallowed whole by a pothole this morning. I'm pretty sure I saw Jimmy Hoffa in the swirling abyss that was the puddle on 3rd Ave before it relinquished its watery grip and spit me back on the road, my poor tires much worse for the wear.
I don't have much else to add today. What can I say, the creative well has run dry. There's a little boy trapped at the bottom and Lassie traded in her heroism for heroin, and damn. That's just sad.
Speaking of heroin, I have discovered that I am extremely naive when it comes to drug use in Los Angeles. Case in point: I went to a party on Saturday night, hung out with some of my favorite people in this town, and made nice with other guests at the party. The next day I was chatting on the phone with one of my favorite people, breaking down the evening and dishing the dirt--"Did you hear?" "Well, I never!" (except more cunty)--I mentioned that I'd made friends with this guy. Let's call him Chewbacca.
Me: "Yeah, I was chatting with Chewbacca and he seemed pretty nice. We were thinking of getting together to play poker sometime."
Her: "Except that probably won't happen. He's a flake and a total fuckwit."
Me: "Really? But he seemed pretty nice."
Her: "Yeah. He's actually a dick and a cokehead. I make it a point not to hang out with him."
Me: "No shit."
Her: "Oh yeah. And the first time I ever met him, he threw up in his hands."
Me: "Ew!"
Sometimes I feel like I may as well have shown up to this town in a blue & white checkered dress with blonde pigtails and the belief that the greasy fat man at the bus station really did want to make me a star, for all the savvy I have. As long as it remains refreshing and not at all dumb and annoying, however, I think I'm fine to leave that savvy where it is. Plus, I didn't have to witness someone barfing into their hands to earn it and, baby, that is fine with me.
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