Are You Living or Just Existing?

When Travelling Lightly Backfires

2011-12-02T20:05:00.001-08:00

Every time I fly, there is always one person in the airportsecurity line who doesn’t know what he/she is doing. There’s the, “What do youmean I have to take my shoes off?” girl and the, “Since when do I have to takeout my laptop out of the bag” guy and, my personal favorite, the woman whosays, “But that moisturizer is $100 a bottle! What do you mean I have to throwit out?!” Usually, I am the one stuck behind this person and get very irritatedat these ignorant and unobservant people and end up angry because their delaymeans I have to choose between my pre-boarding bathroom break or getting coffee.(You can guess which one wins.)

Well, the last time I flew, I was that person.

I usually don’t pack lightly, and when I fly Southwest, Idon’t really care. If I don’t have to pay a fee for a bag, who cares if I checkit? But, after all the times I’ve travelled with a large suitcase and then hadto battle on public transportation, I decided if I can fit it all into mycarry-on sized bag, I would do it. Then I thought about all the times I have apanic attack at baggage claim because my bags aren’t the first out, and Irealized if I can fit in all in the carry-on, then why the bother checking it?

I went out and bought a few “TSA Approved” size bottles formy shampoo and conditioner and came to terms with the fact I would have to usewhatever hairspray my cousin had at her place. I only brought the curling ironinstead of the usual hair dryer-flat iron-curling iron combo I typically takewith me everywhere. I cut down the amount of shoes from 6 pairs to just 3. I even pulled out all the liquids from my makeup bag andput them into the one quart Ziploc baggie. I thought I was so prepared.

Until I went through security and they had to open my bagbecause there were not only tweezers in my makeup bag but also scissors.

In all my careful planning, I hadn’t thought to take thestupid fracking tweezers out of my makeup bag. I honestly had forgotten aboutthe little travel scissors that I stuck in my makeup bag a few months ago whilefuriously cleaning my bathroom before a guest came over and realized how incredibly vain I am with all of my products and tools. I stood there, not arguing at all withthe TSA agents who are all looking at me like I’m crazy. I think most of the crazylooks were not because I had forgotten to take out these “weapons” from mybags, but because I wasn’t arguing. I was well aware that I had done and wasowning up to it. I even let them throw out my tweezers and scissors withoutprotest. The poor TSA didn’t know what to do with someone who was beingcooperative.

In the end, I got through security and made it to SanFrancisco. Not, however, without afew angry looks from the passengers who got stuck in security behind the dumbgirl who couldn’t remember that scissors and tweezers in a makeup bag makes youa possible terrorist instead of just a high maintenance woman didn’t think to check her makeupbag for heavy artillery. I did, however, make it in time for my pre-boardingbathroom visit AND coffee.

My Charlotte Woes Continue...

2011-10-21T17:41:00.000-07:00

I have said before how much I love pomegranates and, beingfall, they’re baaccck! Nothing makes me happier than walking through my localfarmer’s market and seeing those lovely red fruits at every stall! I bought twoand am already ready for more!

What got me even more excited was when, on a walk with myfriend Meaghan, I saw that an apartment building on my street had some of thesewonderful treats growing over the sidewalk.

I have been told before that it is not considered stealingif the fruit is hanging over the sidewalk, so, naturally, I reached up to pluckone and take it home with me. I was twisting the fruit to make sure it wasn’trotted or anything and there was huge spider covering the entire backside!

Needless to say there was some screaming and running downthe street on my part and lots of laughing and mocking on Meaghan’s part.

I believe it was karma for trying to take the fruit off ofsomeone else’s tree. I think I’ll stick to purchasing mine from the finefarmers who get rid of the spiders for me first.

I'm Checking in at Winterfell

2011-10-05T16:46:00.000-07:00

I know it has been quite some time since I have posted anything, but it isn't my fault. George R. R. Martin is to blame.

I started reading it about a month ago, after reading a postabout the awesomeness of the HBO series, AGame of Thrones. Since I am a bit financially challenged, I decided thatreading the book would have to be good enough. When I started reading thedescription and found out it was a series, I suddenly remembered someonerecommending it to me a few years ago, saying how much I would enjoy it. As I amnot normally a fan of fantasy or of medieval anything, I wasn’t originallyintrigued, hence the years of not bothering with it. If I hadn’t gotten therecommendation, I probably wouldn’t have picked up the books after seeing thefirst book consists of over 800 pages. But, when someone tells me thatsomething is good or that I’ll like it, I always give it a try.

I wasn’t expecting to get as involved in the story as muchas I have. I am torn between loving and hating almost every one of thecharacters. I’m not sure who I am supposed to like, respect, fear, or hate,which is why I see its brilliance. I have never been a fan of traditional goodguy/bad guy roles and therefore when I read something where, even though thereare protagonists and antagonists, I am much more drawn to those protagonistswith faults and antagonists who are not necessarily just evildoers.

All that being said, I am not incredibly frustrated becauseI cannot read anything else! I am usually someone who reads 3 or 4 books at atime, partially because I am a slave to my moods but also because I likeswitching between different genres and getting involved in different stories.With this series, however, I haven’t been able to put it down. It has been soengrossing, that even when I am reading something else, I begin to wonder whereTryion is and what Daenerys is doing. It is very frustrating.

So, in conclusion, if I don’t post for a while longer or ifwhen I do I write about khals and maegis and measters, don’t mind me. I’veonly got 3.5 more books to go.

A Little Fatherly Advice

2011-08-26T17:33:00.000-07:00

It never ceases to amaze me how much my dad taught me. Or how inappropriate some of these lessons were.

When I was growing up, I hardly ever stood up straight, to the great chagrin of both of my grandmothers.

“You’re a beautiful girl! If you would just stand up straight!” my mom’s mom, BJ, would say.

“If you don’t stand up straight, you’re going to end up with a hunch back!” my dad’s mom, Marybelle, would say.

“If you don’t sit up straight, you are going to end up with hair in your food and syrup in your hair,” Marybelle said over the breakfast table.

“Don’t hunch over your food like that, unless you want me to put it in a bowl on the floor and you can eat like a dog,” BJ would tell me over the dinner table.

“Kimberly, this dress was not made for shlumped shoulders!” Marybelle told me while making my Homecoming dress.

“Kimberly, I swear, I am never taking you shopping again if you don’t straighten up!” BJ told me in a fitting room at Fashion Island.

(I always knew I was in trouble when a family member called me “Kimberly”)

Despite all of this, I wouldn’t listen. As I’ve said before, I really never stood up to my full height unless I was on a basketball court or a softball field. Even to this day, I have trouble remembering to stand up to my full height and at a dinner table I still have to remind myself to plant my butt at the back of the chair and keep my shoulders back.

However, of all the advice everyone gave me about standing up straight, one piece of advice still pops into my head every time I catch myself slouching.

It didn’t come from my grandmothers or from any etiquette book or fashion magazine. I didn’t hear it from my mom or from a movie or television show.

It came from my dad. Here it is:

“Stand up straight and put your shoulders back. It’ll make your boobs look bigger.”

I don’t remember what age exactly he started saying it, but I do remember my grandmothers being appalled and mildly offended by it. He did not mean it as a serious comment or in some creepy, incestuous way. Like me, my dad would make a joke out of anything and it would usually be inappropriate.

Even though he was saying it as a joke, I knew that he meant not to slouch because it made me look like I was not confident and that I was unsure of myself. He might not have always been proud or self-assured, but he made sure I was proud of all that I have to offer the world.

Boobs included.

On a side note, last Halloween, when I wore the Elvira costume, this was the conversation we had as I left the house:

Dad: Make sure to stand up straight and put your shoulders back.

Me: Dad, I don’t think I need my boobs to look any bigger.

Dad: No, because if you don’t your boobs will fall out of that dress.

Sometimes, father does know best.

Karaoke Queen

2011-08-16T16:39:00.000-07:00

I have a new found appreciation for something I never thought I would enjoy: karaoke.

Oh yeah, you read that correctly. I thoroughly enjoy karaoke.

Here’s how it started: My friend Meaghan was turning 21. When I asked her what she wanted to do and she said KARAOKE! (Yes, with that amount of enthusiasm.) I organized a party and got everyone together, and while some things prevented me from being there all night, I made it just in time to do a lovely rendition of “Love is Battlefield.” And I realized something: I wasn’t completely hammered and it was still fun!!!!

So, a few weeks later, we went back to the karaoke bar and did some more songs. A few weeks after that, it was the eve of my 25-again birthday and we were at a small dive bar. Not only did I do a little Joan Jett “Do You Want to Touch” (Gwenyth Paltrow on Glee can suck it), but I did “Girls Girls Girls” with Meaghan and realized that I love watching my friends make fools of themselves singing. Or just watching strangers make fools of themselves.

Since then, I have become a regular at karaoke. I don’t know if it is my constant need for attention or my constant need to entertain everyone or if it is just my love of making a fool out of myself and then mocking everyone else that keeps me going, but no matter, I love it!

All that said, I feel that I should post some video evidence of myself doing some karaoke. While it may be embarrassing, if I am truly writing a blog about living versus existing, then I think everyone needs to see proof.

I may regret this later…

Or possibly right now...

Fyi, it takes a great deal of talent to dance around like that and not spill my drink. Can you tell I'm a professional?

Sorry, Charlotte, You're Not Welcome Here!

2011-08-12T00:04:00.001-07:00

As excited as I am to be living on my own, there is one thing that I am simply not ok with: spiders.

I was taught from a young age that spiders are not to be killed. My dad used to tell us you want spiders around because they catch and eat all the other bugs. So, if you see a spider, don’t kill it! That being said, I don’t particularly like spiders. I am not afraid of them, like I am of birds, but I don’t really appreciate that spiders can crawl up into my nose and burrow into my brain. I also don’t like how they will suddenly drop from the ceiling and chill right at eye level so when I walk into a room and run into it, I am suddenly doing an embarrassing dance to get the thing off me. I won’t lie, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets didn’t help a whole lot with my dislike either. As stereotypical and traditional as it is, Dad was always the one to get rid of spiders. I made a deal with him from a young age that if he would take them away, I would not kill them.

Therefore, when I was in my very own apartment where there is no Dad, I had a bit of a panic attack as I watched my first spider crawl out of my air conditioning vent.

It wasn’t a huge spider but it was definitely one capable of eating any other bug in its path. It crossed the entire wall above my bookcases and television set and settled into a corner. As I began drafting a letter to my landlord in my head,(Dear Tony, A big spider has moved in with me. While I appreciate all that spiders do in the way of keeping the bug population down, I do not feel like this new arrangement will work. Since my dad has passed away and can no longer help me get spiders out of the house, I have to concede and give the apartment to the spider. Best, Kimmi) the spider crawled a little closer to me and I had an enlightened moment:

I’ll trap it in a glass then take it outside.

It really was a perfect plan because the spider had moved closer to me and was now flat on the wall. I went to the kitchen and, after much speculation, decided to use a margarita glass. It had the widest mouth but it was shallow so there was very little chance I wouldn’t be able to get the spider out. I grabbed the old Ulta catalog and in just one try got the spider safely trapped in the glass!!!

With one hand under the catalog and one hand holding the stem of the margarita glass, I made it all the way to the door before I realized one thing: how do I open the door? Very carefully I balanced the margarita glass on the catalog and opened the door.

I got two steps from my door and lifted the glass. The spider took off so fast it made me jump and I ended up just throwing the catalog and running back into my apartment and locking the door behind me.

I’m not sure which is funnier: that I tried to save a spider and ended up getting freaked out and throwing it out onto our driveway and then locking it out or the picture of my landlord going to get into his car and seeing my Ulta catalog on the ground and wondering what the hell kind of tenant he has welcomed into his building.

On a side note, I saw another (or maybe the same?) spider in my shower a few days later. This time, I turned the water on and drowned the bastard. I figure since Dad is not around to take the spiders outside, my agreement to not kill them is null. Sorry, Dad.

Fire Alarm Fun

2011-08-10T21:37:00.000-07:00

For lack of a something better to write about I am piggybacking off of my last post. My cousin Lisa is to thanks for the inspiration, and she may be a little embarrassed that I’m sharing this, but well, that’s the price you pay for doing something embarrassing around me.

When I was in college, I lived across the Bay from Lisa and her husband, Derek (also know as my favorite cousin…but that’s another story). They had my sister and I over for dinner one night and Lisa was preparing a tuna casserole that was SUPER cheesy. (A huge plus in my book because, well, I love me some cheese.) We were drinking and playing pool and just hanging out while the casserole was in the oven.

All of a sudden, we smelled something burning. Naturally, Lisa opened the oven to check on the dish. Turns out, the casserole was a little bit too cheesy and the dish had bubbled over and there was cheese burning on the bottom of the oven. The whole apartment filled with smoke and even after opening all the windows, it was still like Backdraft in there. In a fit of possibly intoxicated genius, Derek opened the front door, clearing the smoke from the apartment into the hallway.

Where the fire alarm for the whole building was located.

Fun fact: when the fire alarm in an apartment building goes off, the fire department comes and the whole building has to evacuate.

Now, I thought this was hysterically funny at the time, but my dear cousin was mortified. So much so that she made me, the loud, outgoing, one, go downstairs and talk to the fire department and face the angry tenants. Why I went down is still beyond me…I blame it on the alcohol.

When I got to the lobby, there were about 15 people who all looked unhappy. I told the firemen where to go and they headed upstairs, along with the building manager. I told everyone the story and instead of laughing at how silly the whole thing was, they got more irritated. They said many things that were not very nice, but since I have always been a professional at dealing with irate people, everyone got over it by the time the firefighters came back down. Everyone was allowed to go back his or her respective home and all was right with the world.

Another fun fact: When a fire alarm in an apartment building goes off, the elevator is shut down. Therefore, when everyone was headed back up, I got many an angry glare from the same people I had just calmed down. If it had been my building I would have said, “Whatever fatties, it’s one less trip to the gym.” But things were going bad enough for my cousin already.

The best part however, was that on my way back up, I was attempting to apologize and one of two clearly single girls said, ”Hey it’s ok. We got the numbers of two of the firefighters.”

Fire alarm matchmaking. It’s all the rage.

(DISCLAIMER: I don’t recommend this method of matchmaking. It costs taxpayer money and really, the fireman thing is only good in fantasies or strip clubs. Otherwise they have strange hours and usually have hero complexes and…I could go on but you get my point.)

My New Roommate

2011-07-20T18:36:00.000-07:00

One of the things I was looking forward to most when I was moving into my new place was being able to cook whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. No more commentary from the living room about the amount of garlic I was using or how I was burning something, followed by “Oh that looks good. How come you don’t cook for me?” Not to mention the talks about the amount of wine I am drinking with dinner, and the subtle hints that I’m an alcoholic…but that’s another story.

So, after the big move and the Great Debate, I was ready to cook my very first breakfast for myself in my new place. It was going to be simple breakfast of eggs and bacon. I got the bacon going and was cracking the eggs when: BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Son of a bitch. The stupid smoke detector was going off. What kind of idiot puts a smoke detector right outside of the kitchen?, I though to myself.

Well, it got better after the third beep.

Woman’s voice: FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!

“What the fuck?!,” I said out loud to my apartment.

It continued for three cycles of BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Followed by a woman’s voice saying “FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!” until I managed to get Smoke Detector Sally to shut up, by which time my bacon was totally burned.

After a bit of investigation, I realized that it was my own fault for not turning on the fan above the stove. Of course she’s going to go off! The kitchen window was blowing the steam and smoke from the bacon directly at her!

So, with the oven fan on, I began again. Bacon was getting going and then, sure enough, BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!

I didn’t need coffee that morning because almost having a heart attack twice will really wake a person up.

After a few more attempts, I just let her go off. We have come to an understanding that I will cook on the back burner and she will only go off when I am by myself, never when company is over. That way, when I tell this story, all my friends think I’m nuts because I can’t get the talking smoke detector to go off.

Although, naming my smoke detector Smoke Detector Sally doesn’t help my case, does it?

Who Doesn't Love a New Nickname?

2011-07-13T12:30:00.000-07:00

I was recently on the set of my friend’s movie, happily being Gossip Girl #2 in the background of a restaurant scene. I had to get up at 6 am, dress up like I was going out on the town, and drive down to Hollywood. I looked like a reverse walk of shame.

While I was there, I got two new nicknames and I thought I should share them.

The scene was in a restaurant and I was sitting with my friend Meaghan (who had also gotten all gussied up for a reverse walk of shame). We were just supposed to sit there looking bitchy and hot. I hate to admit that we were a little too good at this. While they were lighting us, they had a little trouble. Turns out that in a movie starring primarily black people and sitting next to my half-black friend, I’m incredibly white. Actually, I’m just incredibly white in any situation. The lighting guys did their best to light us by sight and then looked at the monitors and one of them said, “Well, it looks like we need to take some of the light off of Lite Brite over there.” It took me a moment to realize that Lite Brite was me. I retorted with an observation that the reason we don’t see more diversity in the movies is because lighting all the different skin tones is too hard for the lighting people and they don't want to work that hard. Thank goodness they had a sense of humor.

After the lighting debacle, we went outside to eat breakfast. One of the actors, Bobby V, was behind me in line. He made the keen observation that I am incredibly tall, especially when you compare my 6’2” to his 5’3.” After his observation went unanswered, he continued by saying, “Damn girl, you so tall you like Tree Top.” (To which I almost replied, “So what does that make you? Tree Stump?” But I love my friend and he was directing and the last thing he needed was an actor being bitchy because I have a smart mouth. You’re welcome, Jason.) After that, everyone kept calling me Tree Top.

Cut to a few nights later when I’m signing up for karaoke. There was another Kim and even with Kimmi it can get confusing, so I decided to use a nickname. The karaoke host loved it and from here on out, I am known at Corner Bar in Burbank as Tree Top

Great Need Vs. Want Debate of 2011

2011-07-06T12:52:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me knows that I can logic my way out of a paper bag, especially when it comes to shopping. I can convince anyone that spending $100 on a new dress is totally worth it in 2.5 seconds flat. Does my logic make sense? Not always. But usually people get so annoyed with me that they just let me win to change the subject. Or they are left paralyzed in confusion, thus allowing me to make my purchases in silence. However, when it came to getting the things I needed for my apartment, I needed to make sure I didn’t get too carried away.

I was searching for mostly kitchen stuff. Plates, bowls, glasses, pots, pans, utensils, etc. As it turns out, the only things I owned for a kitchen were as follows: A popcorn maker, a French press, a coffee maker, a coffee grinder, a cocktail shaker, a collection of shot glasses, a set of margarita glasses complete with a pitcher and a salt plate, and a mug that says “The Bitch is Back.” (Purchased on my first adult trip to Vegas while Elton John was still there. The fact that it’s totally appropriate for my life right now is not lost on me…) However, unless I was planning on eating nothing but popcorn out of the bowl it is popped in while drinking margaritas shaken in the cocktail shaker followed by coffee in a “The Bitch is Back” mug, I needed a lot of stuff.

In addition to needing the essentials, I had a few essentials that were essential only to someone like me. I had been saving up for a very long time to live on my own. Free couch aside, I was not going to buy used pots and pans at a garage sale or get mismatching plates from the 99 Cents Store. I will not use glasses that are chipped or that don’t go together and I will not be content drinking wine out of my “Bitch is Back” mug. If I was going to make my own home, I was going to use my hard-earned money and do it how I see fit.

To keep me on track, enter my friend Meaghan. She suggesting that I make a list of needs and one of wants and then she would help me decide what really was a need. For everything on my “need” list, she made me come up with three good reasons and then she would be the final say of what was a need and what was a want and whether those “wants” were worth the money. Hence, the Great Need vs. Want Debate of 2011 began.

For example: A Crock-Pot? I could start something in the morning and then come home to a finished dinner. I can make large batches of soups and stews and then freeze them to have ready-made food for when I get home to late to really cook. I can make chili. (On a side note: Meaghan loves my chili and I knew I would win with that. I really should’ve gone to law school…) Needless to say, she let me get a Crock-Pot.

There were some items I wouldn’t budge on (Wine glasses and mortar and pestle.) and others that everyone insisted I needed (a blender…That I have used once in two months. Thanks guys) and some that were just plain shot down (Martini glasses…Apparently I’m not Frank Sinatra and am not encouraged to live like him…They are still on my list though.) Yet, the longest leg of the debate involved salt and pepper shakers. Every argument I had, Meaghan had a counter argument. This is a paraphrase of the argument that lasted about 30 minutes in an aisle in Target.

Me: I need them because I will need to put them on the table. What? I’m going to use the big container I buy salt and pepper in?

Meaghan: You don’t even have a table. Or room for a table.

Me: But I have the counter. And I’ll have stools.

Meaghan: Eventually. You’re not buying stools right now because you can’t find any that you like or are in your price range. So, therefore you don’t need shakers.

Me: But what about when people come over? What am I supposed to do?

Meaghan: Give them the containers they come in.

Me: No.

Meaghan: Actually, you can buy disposable shakers at the grocery store for a lot cheaper that these.

Me: Yes but what about the environment? I want something I can reuse.

Meaghan: So why not buy cloth napkins and extra dishtowels so you don’t have to use paper towels?

Me: Because washing all of that costs money. I don’t pay for water, so washing and reusing shakers is a cost efficient way for me to help the environment.

Meaghan: Yes, but why not just collect bottles and cans and then that would offset the cost of washing. Plus, then you can afford to continue to buy the disposable ones.

Me: But the disposable ones are so ugly.

Meaghan: Being pretty doesn’t mean it’s a need.

I eventually gave up, letting her know that I would buy some as soon as she wasn’t with me. But at dinner that night, I permanently borrowed some from the restaurant.

I would call that a happy compromise. (Except maybe for the restaurant…)

Age Ain't Nothing But a Number...That I'm Going to Choose

2011-06-04T12:02:00.000-07:00

My 25^th year was a rough one. In May, one of my good friends died in an awful car accident. In June, I quit my job at a newspaper and went back to Starbucks full time. In November, my dad passed away. In March, my best friend’s boyfriend passed away.

Not to say that good stuff didn’t happen, but for the most part, it was an awful year. Therefore, when it came time at the end of April for the big 2-6, I said I didn’t want to be 26. Not that I have anything against that number in general, but I don’t feel 26. Plus, I didn’t really get a chance to be 25 because I was too busy with all the funerals and job and soul searching. So, I decided that I wasn’t going to be 26. I was going to be 25-again.

As it turns out, when I tell people I am 25 again, they either get the joke and think I’m funny, or they think I am one of those sad women who think that my value is somehow tied to my age. Or they just think I’m crazy.

One person flat out told me I wasn’t allowed to do it. That it didn’t make sense and I can’t go back in time. I won’t say he got a little hot about it, but there may have been a bit of redness in the facial area. He said that I need to accept that everyone has years that aren’t as good as others and I just need to look forward to having many more amazing years ahead of me. Thanks Positive Paul, but this isn’t about being negative.

It’s like when you go to a restaurant for the first time. If you have a bad experience the first time, in order to truly judge it, you need to give it one more try. (Unless the first time ends in food poisoning. If it does, just don’t ever go back.) Sometimes just your server is bad or you order the wrong dish. But, if it’s still bad after the second try, the restaurant really is awful and you shouldn’t go back. It’s the same with age. I had a rough time with 25 the first time around, so I want to do it again to see if it was just a bad first run or if 25 just sucks in general.

When I told someone else this theory, they asked me why I didn’t just do 2010 over again. That’s because the whole world is run by a certain calendar and therefore I would need the whole world to agree to change back to 2010. Even with Facebook, I don’t think I could get the entire world to go with me on it. (Although it would be tempting to try) Plus, a few of the bad things happened in 2011, so it really isn’t fair to the first 4 months and 29 days of 2010.

So far, I have to say, 25-again has treated me well. I moved into a new apartment and I got a promotion, plus I have three weddings to attend. (And hopefully no funerals.) I’m not saying that it’s not going to be without it’s challenges and struggles, but I think 25-again will a good year. Like the blimp.

A Tale of a Free Sofa

2011-05-24T13:46:00.000-07:00

When my grandparents were moving from their three-bedroom house in Palm Desert to a much smaller apartment in Newport Beach, they had a ton of furniture to get rid of. Most of my cousins are already living on their own with husbands and kids (and the resources to purchase new furniture) or are just about to start college and have no use for a seven-foot tall armoire or glass dining table with a wicker bottom. (Yeah, wicker. For inside. I don’t know either...)

However, there was one granddaughter who would be moving out within a few months and probably would have some use for this lovely yet dated furniture: Me. Therefore, my grandmother called me everyday to ask me if I would be interested in (insert your choice of dated, worn, or just plain awful furniture here). I tried to explain to her numerous times that I would probably be moving into a very small place and her stuff would simply not fit. I kept that fact that I am not 80 and do not enjoy the “Palm Beach Retirement Community” style to myself.

After many mind numbing and repetitive conversations, one piece of furniture kept coming up. My grandparents had inherited some of the furniture with the house, including two sofas. Now, they are not the prettiest of sofas, but they are incredibly comfortable. Nice and wide so without the pillows, they work fantastically as a bed. With the pillows, they are plush enough to sit on for long periods of time, but not so soft that you get stuck in them. My grandma just could not bear to get rid of such quality pieces. After much debate, I told her I would take one of them("No Grandma, I will not need two sofas...Grandma I work at Starbucks and will probably be living on my own. I will not have some huge loft that two sofas would fit in."), but she had to store them with the rest of her stuff no one would take and she couldn’t bear to get rid of. I wasn’t moving out soon enough to be willing to store it at our house. She told me I had six months and that I would have to come get it when it was time. Thus a deal was struck.

Cut to eight months, two tragedies, and a promotion later, and I was finally ready to move out on my own. I rented a truck and drove down to Orange County to get my sofa. Which was much bigger than I remembered…and had twice as many pillows as I remembered….and was much yellower with more flowers that I remembered…

After lots of muscle and hard work, the sofa actually fits perfectly. It’s still yellow and covered in flowers, but it’s free so I can’t complain (too much). What’s really funny is that none of my friends think it’s as bad as I do. All agree, however, it is incredibly comfortable. And since it came from my grandparents, I don’t have the same fears I would have if I had bought a used sofa from another source. (You never know who sat naked on that sofa you bought on Craigslist or what those naked people did while on said sofa. Think about it.). Now if only I can get her to relinquish those reading chairs….

No Need to Alert TLC....yet...

2011-05-21T13:24:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned last time, I moved. Not only did I move, but I moved out of my mom’s house. Therefore, a lot of purging was done and I discovered a little something about myself: I have hoarding tendencies.

Now, anyone who has ever watched Hoarders on TLC knows that the first excuse a hoarder will make is that there is value in trash. How many times have I watched someone say “Oh but I bought that with my dad 20 years ago and even though it has no use whatsoever and is damaged beyond repair, I need to keep it for sentimental value.” I sat there every time and nodded along when Callie Cleanup came over and ever-so gently explained how worthless said nostalgic items really were. Then, when it came time to go through all my shit, I wasn’t so much in agreement.

Not to say that I had to tunnel my way to my bed. I’m not that bad. But there was definitely some stuff that I couldn’t even figure out why I saved.

A broken Walkman? Not just broken, but it was as if I had stepped on it and then said, “Hey, maybe I’ll use the pieces for something else!” Guess what, I didn’t.

A white t-shirt with nothing on it that is clearly 3 sizes too small? I can’t even begin to figure out what the sentimental value of it was, because there were zero distinguishing marks on it. (And if anyone makes a joke about it was a “token,” it was a girl’s shirt and I’m straight.) (Also, if anyone needs an explanation about what a “token” is, message me.)

A pamphlet I got on my first trip to New York explaining how sinners will be punished in hell unless they repent? That’s just funny.

The king of the useless crap, however, was the drawer full of old bills. And I don’t mean from a few months ago. I found a bill from Verizon dating back to 2003. It was not a particularly special bill. There was no new terms or upgrades. No special coupons that never got used. Not even a handwritten note saying “THIS WAS PAID. ON…CALL IF THEY TRY TO CHARGE YOU DOUBLE.” (Oh yeah. That was worth a laugh.) Nothing. Just a whole drawer dedicated to old bills that no sane person would keep. Which possibly explains why I kept them….

That’s not to say I didn’t save some of the random crap. My Carebears pillowcase from when I was a kid. A dishcloth that I decorated with my grandma and sister that has some questionable artwork. A bunch of Dad’s t-shirts that are only good for sleeping because no one should see them. My old softball uniform. My old basketball uniform. All that stuff at least is good for the memories, even if it is useless and just takes up space.

All this being said, I am making a valiant effort to stop holding on to stuff that is only going to drive me nuts when it comes time to move again. Not that I’m going to move any time soon (I LOVE MY APARTMENT!!!), but when I do, I’d rather not find takeout menus from places I never ate at in Chicago. Collecting shot glasses from everywhere I’ve been is one thing, but takeout menus officially makes me a hoarder. (Although what does collection shot glasses say about me?)

A Long-Lost Love Rediscovered

2011-05-13T14:46:00.000-07:00

Boy has there been a lot going on! Obviously, since I haven’t written anything in two months, which I am very sorry for and will work very hard to make better! I have birthday stuff and moving stuff and work stuff and life stuff and more stuff than I even think I can write about! However, as I am a bit rusty, I am going to talk about an old love I had forgotten about and am now rediscovering.

What is this long-lost love? The Laundromat.

Oh yeah. You read that correctly. The Laundromat.

This love affair started many many years ago. My grandparents introduced us. They didn’t have a washer and dryer at their house for almost my entire life. So, every Thursday night, they would load the station wagon full of all the laundry from the week. Clothes, towels, sheets, blankets, everything. They would head to the Laundromat and proceed to take up an entire row of washers. Then, Grandpa would take me for ice cream at Baskin Robbins next door while Grandma did…well I have no idea what because I was too busy with my ice cream. After the clothes were done in the wash, we would separate out the ones that went in the dryer from the ones Grandma was going to take home to line-dry. After another hour or so, all the laundry would be dried and packed back into the car and we would head back to the house. It was never overly exciting or eventful, but somehow that two hours every week was one of my favorite times.

Back to the present. I went to the Laundromat for the first time in since my grandparents passed away. I had about 4 loads of laundry to do and while my new building has 1 washer and 1 dryer, I did not want to spend my entire day doing laundry. Not to mention the fact that there are 7 other apartments with people who may also need to use the machine, thus making it a gamble as to when I’ll actually get to start. So, if I go to the Laundromat, I not only can put all my loads in at once, I am sure to get to use the machines when I am ready without waiting or inconveniencing my neighbors by hoarding the machine all day. Plus, the Laundromat is on the corner so it’s not all that far away and it costs the same.

While I was there, I got a lot of reading done. I also got a phone call from my best friend, so we caught up. I’m sure if I brought my laptop, I could have gotten a few more posts done. But I’m not that cool.

Even with all of this, the main reason I love the Laundromat is the people.

I saw a girl who was guarding her purse like it held the winning envelopes for the Oscars while she strutted around in her heels. I saw a lady who was washing what I could only assume was all the white tablecloths in all of the world. There was a dad with his young daughter teaching her how to do laundry and then buying her Cheetos as a reward. A mom who made me wonder if her children were at home naked or if she just lives in a department store with an endless supply of clothes. A guy with 6 bags of laundry who, when one machine wasn’t working, proceeded to kick the poor thing like it was the machine’s fault he put in 2 bags and clearly overloaded it.

So, yes, it might be easier to just do laundry at my apartment building or even take it back to mom’s house and do it there for free. However, it would take 3 times longer and I wouldn’t get to participate in my favorite activity of people watching. And really, with all the entertainment I get from the Laundromat, what do I need cable for?

Goin' Out To Da Club...In a Mall?

2011-03-13T18:34:00.000-07:00

In case anyone was wondering how I spent my Friday night, I went to a club.

IN A MALL.

I was with a friend from out of town and she wanted to go over to the next county to hang out with her cousin. She was driving, so I really had no reason to say no. When they said we were going to a club, I was like, "Dancing is sorta my thing, so as long as there is good music, I’m there." We drove to another town (I had a bit of a tour of Ventura County that night) and as we are turning into the Westfield parking lot, I ask, “Is the club in the mall?” The way our driver answered “yes” like it was a totally normal thing was just the beginning.

Now, to anyone who doesn’t live in a big city (or even a medium sized one), perhaps this isn’t strange. But to those of us who live places where going to the mall means you are either shopping, loading up on junk food, or going to a movie (or doing all three), clubbing is not usually considered a mall activity. Sure, there might be a restaurant or lounge outside the mall where people go to unwind, but I have never in my life seen a CLUB in a MALL.

Not to say that it was all negative. There was ample free parking in the parking structure and there was not a line at the door. No cover was a pleasant surprise, but then I remembered that I was at a club in a mall, so if there had been a cover, I would have gone to a movie instead. (Oh yeah, club right across from the movie theater. Fantastic.) I was a little unnerved by the fact that they weren’t even half-heartedly checking purses for weapons, though. If only I knew, I would have brought my gun, my knife, and all my drugs and really partied. (Please recognize the sarcasm.) I had to remind myself that I was in suburbia, not Hollywood, therefore this place was not prepared for any problems. The steroid patrol that was their security was slightly comforting. Except they were all shorter than me and tattooed with possibly racist meanings (Me: I think that security guard has a swastika on his neck. Friend: Well maybe it's the Hindu one. Me: Ummm, a white guy, roided out. Somehow I doubt it.) However, the best part came when I went to the bar.

After asking for a Long Island (a go-to at a club. It’s like two drinks for the price of one), the bartender asks, “Do you want a small or a large?”

Wait, I have size options?! I can have a small or a large cocktail?! Where am I?! McDonalds with liquor? I then thought it might be like Vegas, where, yes, you can get a large, but it’s $20. Nope, it was $11 for 24 oz. To put it into perspective, that’s a VENTI-sized Long Island Iced Tea. In a club, $11 is a good price for a regular cocktail, let alone a large one. Needless to say, I was totally sold.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t sold on the rest of the club in the mall. In addition to the Justin Bieber hair (on more than one guy, plus what looked like a girl but may have been an overly effeminate man) and the outfits that even 1999 doesn’t want back, the DJ was horrible. I have heard my fair share of horrible DJs, but this one couldn’t pick a song, and when he did, it was not the actual song. He mixed it with another song that, for the most part, didn’t match. I’m sorry, but “Back that Ass Up” is already a good dance song. Adding a techno beat behind it completely ruins the song. And playing Journey is never ok, but when it is turned into a dance song with a beat that doesn't even remotely keep time with the lyrics, that's just failing. Miserably. There’s a reason he’s a DJ at a club in a mall. I think this might be what DJs would call “rock bottom.”

Although, much of the crowd seemed to be enjoying themselves, so I may be judging just a little too harshly.

But it might be that these poor people living in the sticks just don’t know any better, so they are blissfully enjoying their ignorance.

Doing Something Nice for the Children

2011-03-09T16:13:00.000-08:00

Anyone who knows me knows that I consider my time precious. Granted, I spend most of it either asleep or doing something most people would judge as wasteful, but in that respect, I agree with John Lenon, who said, “Time you enjoyed wasting, was not wasted.” In other words, it’s only wasted time if you didn’t have fun wasting it. And I have plenty of fun!

So where am I going with this?

I work at Starbucks and part of their whole mission is to be involved in the community. There are always projects going on and ways for us to help out, but I tend to either ignore these things, or just flat out not want to do them. I am not a tree-planter, house-painter, garden-hoer, or homeless-feeder. So, when my manager informed me that part of my development in moving up with the company was getting involved in my community, I got nervous.

What was I, a woman afraid of bugs and birds who calls transients “hobos” and would win the award for “Most Likely to Kill Someone Accidently with a Gardening Tool Because She is Incredibly Klutzy,” going to do in my community? I sat down with my manager and hashed out the things I could do and what I was actually willing to do. Aside from the manual labor and pretending like I don’t get uncomfortable around the homeless, there was one major category left: children.

Now, I’m not what most people would describe as “kid” person. This is mostly because I always have something sarcastic and judgmental to say when it comes to children, but really, I don’t mind them. So, after some thinking and very little organizing, one of my regulars mentioned that some of the teachers at her school needed some readers for “Read Across America,” an annual event that focuses on the importance of reading. I got a few of my fellow Starbucks partners together, we put on our finest pajamas (it was Pajama Day at school), and we headed off to read to some kids.

The first classroom I went to was first grade. I read a book called “Gerald McBoing Boing” (Yes, I am aware that the one book I picked up was the one that could easily be turned into a euphemism for something wildly inappropriate for children.) I don’t do voices, but since this book has a few sound effects, I had some fun with it. Afterwards, the teacher let the kids as me some questions, one of which was “I had a Dr. Suess pajama party last year?” I didn’t know what to say, so I just said “Oh that’s nice.”

The second classroom was kindergarten and, I have to say, they were adorable. They sat still through the story and, while that teacher wouldn’t let them ask questions, they did have a few things to say, such as “You’re pretty” and “You have nice hair.” It’s amazing how little kids know just what to say to make your day!

The other readers had a lot of fun too, reading to all ages from kindergarten through 3^rd grade. Some of them even got forms to go back and volunteer more often, while another offered to donate some books.

Overall, I have to say that taking an hour to read to some kids wasn’t the worst way for me to spend an hour. While I might not be volunteering on a daily basis, it was nice to go and do something that had very little benefit for me.

Plus, I managed not to curse or say anything inappropriate to the 5 and 6 year olds, so I would call that a success.

This is Why No One Walks in LA

2011-02-26T11:38:00.000-08:00

Just because I live in LA doesn’t mean I don’t take public transportation or walk anywhere. The best part about doing this is that I usually get a blog post out of it; one that hopefully will not bring the 5 people who actually read this to tears.

I decided to take the Metro down to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art for two reasons: 1. Parking is $10. Add that to the cost of getting in and the skyrocketing price of gas, and the $6 to ride the Metro looks pretty damn good. 2. I had no time limit, so therefore I’m going to let someone else stress out in Friday traffic while I listen to music and read on my Kindle.

The ride on the subway was pretty uneventful, other than the 2 kids getting pulled off the train for not buying a ticket (oh yeah, that “honor system” is really working LA.). When I got to Hollywood and Highland, I came out of the station bombarded by tents and tourists. I had completely forgotten that the Oscars are this Sunday and Hollywood Blvd. is shut down. Now, in order to get to the bus I need to take, I have to walk half a mile, through all the chaos that is Oscar week. (Trust me, it’s not as exciting when you not only live here, but when you have been part of the crew that sets all that crap up.)

On my walk, I was assailed by the Hollywood Blvd. regulars: Batman, Spiderman(who was climbing on scaffolding, much to the chagrin of the underpaid security guards), Darth Vader, and the guys trying to sell me maps to the stars. One of these guys decided that he would get fresh with me.

“Hey girl, can I roll my red carpet out for you?”

Now, I have this disease that doesn’t let me keep my mouth shut and keep walking when someone makes a very poor attempt at a double entendre, forcing me to make what I consider an even better one, albeit much more perverted.

“No thanks. I have my own.”

Art Imitating My Life a Little too Closely

2011-02-24T20:10:00.000-08:00

I have always been an “escapist” when it comes to TV. I watch because I don’t want to think about my life for a 30-minute period. I watch because I want to laugh when my life really isn’t that funny. I watch because sometimes I know that, for the most part, my life is incredibly different from the characters on the show.

Anyone who knows me knows that my favorite TV show on right now is How I Met Your Mother. It’s hysterical and all the actors are fun to watch and, honestly, my goal is to play, “Hi! Have you met Ted?” with one of my single friends. However, this season, they have taken a direction I am not exactly enjoying.

Let’s back up a little bit.

My favorite character on the show is Marshall. I think a lot of it has to do with his unfailing belief that he and Lily (his college sweetheart and wife) belong together (I have a soft spot for love stories. Don’t make a thing about it.). He is constantly striving to be a better man and follow his dreams, even if he has to take a few detours. Plus, he believes in the Sasquatch. This season, they really emphasized how close Marshall is with his father, which may have frustrated Lily, but it made me feel closer to his character. While I enjoy Barney’s antics and the constant embarrassment of Robin’s past, Marshall has always been the most endearing to watch.

I really was loving this season until the episode that aired January 3, when the writers and producers of my favorite show decided that art should imitate life. More specifically, by having art that I enjoy as a way to escape my life, imitate my life. At the end of “Bad Days,” Marshall finds out that his dad has died.

Ok, so I realize that the writers and producers of How I Met Your Mother were not specifically targeting me by having Marshall’s dad pass away. I also think that this is a great opportunity for Jason Segel (who I officially have a crush on… but that’s more Forgetting Sarah Marshall based) to show what he can do as an actor. It also gives the show something truly real to deal with beyond the struggles of love and marriage, which get done on every single sitcom. Additionally, there are humorous moments everywhere, even in death (as Jason, Alec, and Alexis, who sat out on the front porch with me while we were waiting for the funeral home the night my dad died, can attest to) and it is important for people to see that. However, that doesn’t make me any less annoyed.

After “Last Words,” which is an episode about Marshall’s dad’s last words to him and the whole group’s struggle to help him, it seemed that I would still be able to watch. Marshall’s life is so different from mine (he’s a lawyer trying to have a baby with his wife; I’m single, broke, and still living with my mother and fighting with several family members) But then one line from the episode aired last night brought all that to a halt.

“He won’t get to see how I turn out.”

My dad won’t get to see how I turn out. He was so proud of all I’ve done so far, and in my opinion, I haven’t really done much. How proud of me will he be in 20 years, when, hopefully, I’ve accomplished something? He won’t get to meet and scare the crap out of the next guy I date. He won’t get to tell me that the next pair of shoes I buy are kind of slutty. He won’t get see if I ever get out of Starbucks or eventually take over for Howard Schultz. He won’t walk me down the aisle or get to be a grandpa.

After about 30 minutes of crying, I got to thinking. All the people who have been a major part of your life will always be there, because they have helped put together the 3-D, complicated puzzle that ends up being you. So, while it might suck that these people are not in your life anymore, for whatever reason, they did something to change you into who you are now. Therefore, when those big moments happen, they are with you because they are a part of you.

So, while my dad might not be able to do all those things, he will in a way because he made me the person I am today, and no matter how hard it is for me to see now, his death will shape how the rest of my life goes. Every time I meet a guy, I will always have his influence in the back of my head. When I am working, no matter what I’m doing, I will always have his voice in my head, singing along to CCR: “Don’t let the man get you do what he done to me.” I will take everything he ever taught me, everything he ever showed me, and everything he wanted for me with me everywhere for the rest of my life. While it is definitely not the same thing as having him alongside me, it is something I will remind myself every time I think of all the things my dad won’t be alongside me to experience.

I’m still a little angry with How I Met Your Mother, though. I may have to defect to Big Bang Theory.

It's Always Sudden

2011-01-30T17:08:00.000-08:00

Two months ago, I was watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer with my dad before I went to the movies. It was “The Body,” the episode in which Buffy comes home to find her mom dead on the couch. The episode had always been one that brought tears to Dad’s eyes and whenever we caught it, we would watch in silence. Mom would always ruin it with commentary about how many times we must have seen it and each time, including this time, we would shush her because she didn’t understand the brilliance and realism of the episode.

Dad started watching Buffy with me during the second season. It was just the right mixture of horror, thriller, drama, violence and comedy. He eventually became even more obsessed with it than I did, even going as far as to Google certain producers because he saw their names attached to other things and wanted to make sure that it was the same producers. If you knew my dad, Googling something was a bit of an adventure, since typing a name might take an hour. He would recognize an actor who played a bit part in one episode and joke, “I have no life.” However, if anyone wanted to play “The Seven Degrees of Buffy,” he would slay any opponent.

There is one scene in this episode that always made our silence go from one of attention to one of genuine immersion and relation. The Scooby Gang is getting ready to head to the morgue. Willow keeps changing outfits, trying to figure out the most appropriate, panicking about what to wear. Tara, always the comforting and loving one, doing everything she can to help Willow. Xander is angry and trying to find anyone to exact some revenge upon, whether it’s a supernatural force or a wall. Anya, a 1,000 year old demon who has never had to deal with death on a personal level, is just trying to understand. By the end of the scene, they all calm down and realize their job is to get to the morgue and be there for Buffy. Dad always loved this scene and I always knew it had a lot to do with the different ways everyone deals with death. But, I also knew that someone, if not all of them, reminded him of himself when his parents passed away. I could relate to it somewhat, because I had lost my grandparents, whom I loved very much, but it wasn’t until later that night I truly lived it and understood why it resonated so much with him.

Because, suddenly in the middle of a movie, I got a call that my dad, the most important person in my life and the only person who could sing along with me to every song from “Once More with Feeling,” was dead.

That night and ever since then, the following speech has been stuck in my head. Joss Whedon, I just have to say thank you writing my response for every person who wonders how I’m doing.

"I don't understand! I don't understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean, I knew her, and then she's... there's just a body, and I don't understand why she just can't get back in it and not be dead anymore. It's stupid. It's mortal and stupid. And Xander's crying and not talking. And I was having fruit punch, and I thought, well, Joyce will never have any more fruit punch, ever. And she'll never have eggs or yawn or brush her hair. Not ever. And no one will explain to me why."

Unfortunately, the world does not stop when something like this happens, as evidenced by my continuing to write and update this blog. I will not stop going to work, stop hanging out with my friends. I will attend the 3 weddings I am invited to this year and I will celebrate happily. I will take Meg out for her 21st birthday and make sure she has one to remember. (Or possibly not. It is her 21st afterall!) I will pay my bills and drive my car and read books and I will continue living. I will, however, never understand and I will never stop missing him. On the other hand, I will always do everything knowing that Dad is with me, especially when I am singing along to “Rest in Peace.”

And if you don’t get that last reference, look it up. You’ll like it.

Your Booty Call Should Take Place in Private

2011-01-28T16:31:00.000-08:00

Everyday I am amazed at how private conversations are taking place in public. Here is what happened when I was leaving work yesterday.

There is a fire lane right outside of my Starbucks, where people park all the time. I understand the need to run in and grab coffee, but if you’re in that big of a hurry, you should probably just go to your destination and wait on the coffee. Or, if you’re just that lazy, you should probably just re-examine your life in general. Anyway, not the point…

So I was leaving yesterday and there was a guy parked in his car in the fire lane, facing away from the patio where several people were sitting. He had his window down, and was having a conversation about how this woman he is seeing is treating him like a “booty call” and he was tired of it. In the 3 minutes I stood there to listen to his conversation, he used “booty call” at least 5 times, and each time I wanted to tell him that she probably just didn’t want to have a relationship with a man in his 40s who uses the phrase “booty call.” He also described how even though he enjoyed having a “booty call” every now and then, he really liked this woman and he wished she wanted more. He also didn’t want to seem too insecure by saying anything to her about feeling like nothing more than a “booty call” and thought she might stop talking to him if he said anything. I’m going to assume that when he got quiet, the person he was talking to on the other line was giving her advice on the situation. Hopefully, that person was telling him that he was too old for this and to grow up. But possibly not.

I walked away laughing as pointedly as I could to ensure he knew I was listening to his conversation.

Now, before you get all “well you shouldn’t be eavesdropping and why are you being so judgmental,” I beg to you hear me out. First of all, this man was parked illegally and in my way. Anyone who is going to block the walkway on my way out of work is already subject to ridicule. Second, he had his window down and was making no attempt to be quiet about what he was saying. I talk loudly so I know how it feels to sometimes be louder than intended, but if I’m having a conversation about being a booty call, I’m going to be a little more conscious of my volume. Lastly, DON’T HAVE THE CONVERSATION WITH YOUR WINDOWS DOWN UNLESS YOU WANT PEOPLE TO OVERHEAR YOU. If you want people to overhear you, then you had better be ready for judgment and mocking.

So, let this be a warning to everyone, if you are going to have a conversation in any public place, I will mock you in my blog. Unless I’m feeling particularly ballsy and mock you to your face when you hang up.

(On a side note…as I was writing this Wilmer Valderrama walked in and was talking on one cell phone, had one in his hand and another on a holster on his hip. I don’t know why he needs to many phones, but at least he was only having a conversation about when his friend was going to get there…Now that’s the kind of conversation appropriate for public places! Way to go, Fez)

I Officially Hate Christmas, Part 3: Taking it All Down

2011-01-21T16:06:00.000-08:00

10 Reasons Putting Away the Christmas Decorations was Worse than Putting Them Up:

10.) Broken ornaments made Mom cry, even when it was only a few of the cheap, colored bulbs.

9.) Laughing hysterically at the fact that she was crying over broken colored bulbs and how funny “colored bulbs” are only made things worse.

8.) Climbing up on the old, unsafe ladder was not a good idea in the first place, but became an even worse one because it had been raining and the ground was not solid. Therefore, it sank about 3 inches with each climb, in addition to wobbling like a weeble.

7.) I don’t know how one of the strings of lights became wedged between two roof shingles, but getting it out of there was like an extreme sport. Yanking the damn lights off while on the old, unsafe ladder, was indeed, unsafe.

6.) While on the old, unsafe ladder, there was a preying mantis on the window screen, daring me to make a move so it could attack. I jumped off the ladder, missing the last 4 rungs. It can have the house...and some of my dignity.

5.) Nothing fit into the box it originally came out of, even with a significant amount of brute strength.

4.) Even though no new Christmas stuff was purchased, there seemed to be twice as many boxes as when I brought them down.

3.) Dragging the tree outside and then taking off the $11 stand was more work than putting the damn thing up.

2.) Tied to the roof on the way to the park for recycling, I prayed: “If the tree falls off, please let it be somewhere that will not hurt anyone and where there is no one around so I can just drive away.”

1.) After putting everything away, cleaning up, and getting dusty, sweaty and gross, but feeling overall accomplished for a job well done, I realized that the $11 Christmas tree stand was still on the front porch. I threw in the garage and hope it’s still there next year when someone else puts up the fucking decorations. I’m done.

OMG! It's SOOOOOOOO Cold...at Least According to my Clothing Choices...

2010-12-30T13:08:00.000-08:00

I feel a rant coming on….

I frequently complain about LA because there are a lot of things wrong with this place, namely, the people. I will be sitting in a café and hear people talking rather loudly about rather private things and then they will look at me like I’m the crazy one when I’m staring at the girl with the “strange itch.” I will be at work and have guys coming straight from the gym ordering a nonfat, 110 degree white mocha with extra whip. I won’t even get started on all the aspiring filmmakers and actors who tell me about all their projects like I actually care. Yes, it’s fantastic the you are working on the most amazing film ever and it is going to change your life, but when you tell me about it 5 seconds after I meet you, I officially want to smack you. (And would if LA weren’t all about lawsuits.)

However, the one thing that I can never understand is why people in LA insist on dressing like it’s snowing outside when it’s 51 degrees. Yes, that is kind of cold, however from what I have witnessed sitting in a café for 10 minutes and watching people walk in the door, you would think LA was the one having a blizzard right now.

(*Note to self: get stealthier with the camera phone so some of these descriptions can come with photographic evidence)

A mom with her baby strapped to her front. The baby has his head uncovered and appears to be wearing a light sweatshirt. The mom (or nanny or whatever) is wearing a beanie, a North Face jacket, Uggs with wool socks sticking out of the top and GLOVES. Her baby is barely covered and yet she looks like she’s ready to go for that 10 mile hike in the snow uphill our parents always told us. Hey lady, how about you take off a few of your layers and put them on your baby. Then maybe he (or she...I really can never tell) won’t be in therapy in 20 years talking about how his mom never cared enough to keep him warm.

A hipster-ish looking guy comes in with, again, GLOVES on. In addition, he is also wearing a scarf and hat and looks reminiscent of Where’s Waldo. His jacket is leather and has a sweatshirt underneath with the hood hanging out. Now, I’m not a guy, but from what I’ve heard, the bottom half is the one you want to make sure is warm. Although, perhaps the snugness of his skinny jeans keeps his family jewels nice and cozy.

A man in a suit walks in. With a scarf. And an overcoat. And GLOVES. Again, it is not freezing. You are not going to get frostbite. What’s with all the damn gloves? And an overcoat? Seriously? He looks like Mr. Big in the last episode of Sex and the City when he is standing on the bridge in Paris with Carrie, only this guy’s coat is heavier. But I shouldn’t judge, maybe the AC in his office building is broken and therefore he needs all the extra layers of clothing in order to keep warm while doing whatever if it is that he does to be able to afford such a lovely coat.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s me. I do tend to get really hot really quickly and I do tend to be a tad judgmental. However, this is the city where girls wear short skirts and tank tops with Uggs, so I think it’s just LA.

I Officially Hate Christmas, Part 2: The Stupid Tree

2010-12-23T20:31:00.000-08:00

Oh Christmas tree…how I hate thee.

We got a tree from ABC because they give them out to the employees and, since my dad passed away, they saved one for my mom. One of my dad’s coworkers said it should be pretty easy to put up, all I had to do was saw a bit off the end and then just put the stand on and, boom, Christmas tree is up. Sounds easy enough.

I should have known better. Especially after the debacle with the damn lights.

First of all, the tree itself is about 8 feet tall, therefore very heavy and annoying. Trying to take it out of the bucket we had put it in was a total comedy. Then trying to saw off the end…well let’s just say I would have been at it all day if my friend Josh hadn’t come over. See, my dad doesn’t have a wood saw, only ones for metal, so Josh decided the easiest thing to do would be to take an axe to the end of the tree and then use a saw to just even it out. Imagine a black Brawny paper towel guy going after the end of a tied up Christmas tree and you have the image of my front lawn that morning. Possibly not the best way to get it done, but hey, it was faster than the alternative.

With the tree now evened out on the bottom and Josh successfully sweaty and feeling manly, we pull out the tree strand. That is metal. And has no instructions. And has pieces missing. And doesn’t actually fit together anymore because it’s from 1960 (or possibly older). And apparently is no longer legal because it is a fire hazard.

After about an hour and a lot of frustration, we gave up and Josh went home. I tried Chad to see if he knew how the hell to get this thing working, but, after realizing that my dad probably just nailed the Christmas tree to the stand itself, Chad told me to just buy a new stand.

You would think that a week before Christmas, tree stands would be pretty much everywhere. But if you think that, then you would be completely wrong. (Insert annoying game show buzzer noise here.)

I went to Target, where I was informed that they had sold out but would I be interested in a lovely fake tree instead? Let’s see: would I like to spend an exorbitant amount of money on a fake tree when I have a perfectly fine, real tree at home that I didn’t pay for? I think you know the answer, red shirt and khaki pant wearing jerkface.

At both Lowe’s and Home Depot it was the same story, only at those places I was merely laughed at because who the hell tries to buy a tree stand a week before Christmas? Oh yeah, the girl who just lost her dad and is now trying to make her mom feel better by putting up all the damn decorations. Keep laughing, smock-holes.

A Christmas tree lot was next on my list and guess what? They had stands! Only, the stands they had required a hole to be drilled into the bottom of the tree and I need a special bit and I should just bring the tree in and they will happily put the stand on for me. So now, instead of just putting a stand on a tree, I have to strap a Christmas tree to my car, drive it to the lot, and then strap it to the car again and drive it home? No thanks.

At this point, I’m beyond frustrated, I’m crying like a little kid who has just learned that there is no Santa, and I’m ready to just give up on the whole thing. I still had some Christmas cards to buy, so I decided to go to CVS, buy some cards, then go home and take out my frustration by doing what my dad did and just nailing the stupid tree to the stupid stand.

One of my other friends, Andrew, said that CVS might have some and, turns out, they had stands! And, since I’m an idiot and waited until the week before Christmas, it was only $11!!! Woo hoo!! Go me!!!

After that, getting the tree up was fairly easy. It is probably one of the nicest tress we have ever gotten from ABC, with no holes or missing branches. It may be a little crooked because when I was bringing it in the house, I may or may not have knocked the stand on the door frame and been too lazy to try to straighten it out, but at least it’s up and I even put the lights on it with no additional drama.

However, I refuse to do any more decorating, such as putting up wreaths or putting ornaments on the tree. The only dealings I would like to have with any of these things again is when I take them down and get to shove them back up in the attic until next year, when I can pay someone else to deal with them.

I Officially Hate Christmas, Part One: LIGHTS

2010-12-20T19:25:00.000-08:00

Note to self:

Hanging Christmas lights on the house sucks and you should never do it again. Here’s why:

~You will get covered in dust and dirt while bringing the boxes down from the attic. Said dust and dirt will make your contacts dry and irritating for the rest of day, thus making you dry and irritated for the rest of the day.

~You will take 10 minutes to figure out which lights should be used (traditional big bulbs, white icicle lights, colored icicle lights, or go all out and use all of them) and then spend the next 45 getting them all untangled from each other.

~You will waste 15 minutes fiddling with the ladder because it is old and probably not safe to climb on.

~You will get cut by rose bushes while climbing on the old, unsafe ladder and have dried blood on your leg for the rest of the day.

~You will almost fall more than once from the old, unsafe ladder because it is, indeed, old and unsafe.

~You will keep using the old, unsafe ladder because you are too lazy and cheap to go buy a new, safe one.

~You will realize, after all the lights have been strung, that you have no way to plug them in because you did not think about making sure you are able to plug them in before you starting putting them on the house.

~You will then have to climb back on the old, unsafe ladder, get cut by many more rose bushes, and nearly fall many more times in order to get the lights in the correct order to plug in.

~You will finally get them plugged in and walk away.

~Mom will come home, look at them and yell at you for getting on a ladder when no one else is home because you could have fallen and gotten hurt.

~You will argue back that you could have fallen and gotten hurt with her home and she wouldn’t have been able to do anything anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

~She will then look at the lights and say, “That’s not how your dad used to do them.”

~You will then slam a door and tell her she can do them herself next year.

~She will eventually say thank you.

~Finally, that night, when you turn on the lights, you will see that there is a foot long section that does not work. When you are retelling this story, everyone will ask you in disbelief, “You didn’t test them before you starting putting them up?” To which, after this year, you may no longer reply, “I’ve never done it before and I didn’t know you needed to test them before you put them up!”

Thanksgiving is More than Turkey...Sometimes...

2010-11-29T23:22:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving has always been one of my favorite holidays. Mostly because it is all about eating and, let’s be honest, if it involves consuming large quantities of food, I’m there! But, after looking back on the last few years, I think Thanksgiving has been the standout holiday.

I could go all the way back to my childhood when we would go to my Grandma Marybelle’s house and she would cook everything throughout the day while I played with my cousins in our refrigerator box that we pretended to be a house. Or how we could go to my Grandma BJ’s house and having to eat dessert on the step going into the living room with my cousins because we weren’t allowed to eat on the furniture like the grown-ups. But, I think some of my favorite memories are from the past four years.

My senior year at Berkeley, my Aunt Bev and Uncle John asked me to join them for Thanksgiving in Chicago. My cousin, Julia, was going to Northwestern and they were going to fly out and do dinner in her apartment. They would pay for my flight and I could stay with Julia and it would be my graduation present. Who am I to say no to that?! So, they booked me a flight from Oakland and I met them at Midway. It was so much fun to sit in the car for two hours in traffic and just chat and catch up with them! I know the traffic part doesn’t sound good, but we talked about so many different things and I had so much energy out of pure excitement, I couldn’t have asked for a better time. On Thanksgiving day, Aunt Bev cooked an AMAZING meal, and all she asked was that we stay out of her way. Then, before dinner, she and I went for a walk. We’ve done this for as long as I can remember, so even thought it was 27 degrees outside, it made me so happy to know that no matter how much changes, some traditions still remain intact. During dinner, the conversation went everywhere, from politics to life after college to explaining to Aunt Bev what “breaking the seal” means. Sitting there with all of them, I couldn’t have been more grateful to have them as my family members and to be spending my Thanksgiving with them.

The next year, I actually posted about it…so read it here (click on it..do it…) But the bottom line was it was the most fantastic dinner, a lot of fun and games, and we got a great surprise in the form of Lisa being pregnant.

Last year, I had a yen to travel again, so it was off to New York to spend the holiday with my sister-from-another-mister, Cierra. She and I have been friends since freshman year of high school and, after she moved, I will take any chance to go see her. Her mom offered to have it at her apartment and Cierra’s sister came with her dad and his wife, along with Cierra’s boyfriend and his parents. Add a co-worker of Cierra’s and we had a full house! The dinner was scrumptious and we went ice-skating after. I had never been ice-skating in my life, and there could not have been a better time to go! We went to the rink at Bryant Park, everyone rented some skates and we just got out there. Cierra helped me along and I got the hang of it. And I only fell once! I can’t say the same for everyone in our group, but I can say that we all had so much fun! I might not have been with my blood relatives that night, but I definitely consider them family. (Also, while in line to skate, I got on the phone with the family at home and, in what is scarily becoming a tradition, my cousin Cheryl informed me that she was pregnant with her second child. I’m not going to lie, I said a little prayer that I wouldn’t be the one next year.)

That brings us to this year. I was worried at first that I was going to do nothing, just work and not have turkey or family or anything. My grandparents moved into an apartment and no longer have the space to host one of the huge gatherings of years past, and everyone seemed to be going somewhere or doing something. My Aunt Bev mentioned once that they were going to San Francisco, but no formal invitation was made. Then, on my second visit to Grandma’s new pad, I found out that my cousin Lisa and her husband (my favorite cousin) Derek would be coming down. From there, I pretty much invited myself to come down as well and stay for a few days to hang out. Since I live with my parents, they are kind of a package deal, so they were coming as well. This would make it a small gathering, with only 7.25 of us. (The .25 being Lisa and Derek’s adorable 17-month-old son, Blake, the one Lisa, two years ago, announced she was pregnant with.)

Then, the most amazing thing happened. My friend Torrey and her husband (still weird that my friends have husbands…), Stephen, were going to be in town and wanted me to come with them to Knott’s Berry Farm. I haven’t been to Knott’s in a very long time and I was more enthusiastic about the hanging out than I was the amusement park. But, like the trooper I am, I went…and had a BLAST! The rides were pretty great and, even though a lot has changed since I was last there, the cute shops and crafts were still there and fun to look through. The best part was that, even though this wasn’t Thanksgiving, it gave me just one more thing to be thankful for.

On Thanksgiving, I did something incredibly typical: I forgot the main ingredient in the appetizer I was supposed to make. I literally got to Grandma’s, put my stuff down, and jumped back in the car to go buy mushrooms. After successfully getting the mushrooms and putting them in the oven in the oven, I headed with Lisa, Derek and Blake to the park to burn off some of Blake’s restless energy. I have to say, I admire the kid. He is not afraid of ANYTHING. The big slide? No problem. The ladder that he could fall through? Awesome (even though Mom and Dad stopped him.) The big kid swings? Bring it on (even though he had to sit on Mommy’s lap.) After getting back, we proceeded to consume massive quantities of food. Between my appetizers (stuffed mushrooms and 3 different kinds of cheese balls...super delicious if I do say myself) and the dinner itself, I was stuffed fuller than the turkey. As it should be. The best part came the next night, though, when I went out to dinner with my grandparents and Derek and Lisa. We ate at an Italian place my cousin Maddy suggested and it was one of the best meals I’ve ever had. (Sorry, Grandma) After that, we went back and I just hung out with Derek and Lisa.

Looking back at these last few years, it doesn’t seem like these Thanksgivings were eventful or dramatic. But, honestly, I feel like that is how the holidays should be. Spending time with family and the people you care about and making sure that the ones you aren't with know how thankful you are for them. It sounds so simple and boring, but if that is how I spend every holiday for the rest of my life, I couldn’t be happier.

Oh, and yes my prayer was answered. I did not have any special announcements to make this year.

The fruit I love laboring over...

2010-11-09T17:05:00.000-08:00

I love pomegranates. I didn’t always, but leave it to Berkeley to expand my horizons.

What I knew of pomegranates before living in my co-op was that it was a fruit that made juice that is delicious in martinis. However, my first fall in Berkeley, my taste was expanded. The kitchen manager ordered them and I took one look and said, “What the hell do you do with that?” My friend Angelica took it from me, cut just far enough to break the skin, and then ripped it open. I was amazed at how something that was all rough and tough on the outside could be so pretty on the inside. (Metaphor for my life, anyone?)

So, that night, while watching Law and Order SVU, I started picking all the seeds out. Angelica told me that you could eat the whole of the little seed, even though the white inside was a little tangy. I put them all in a container and saved them for the next day. I took the container to class and munched on them throughout the day. I couldn’t believe that I had tried something new and had found new love.

After moving home, I really couldn’t get pomegranates. They are a little too exotic for my usual supermarket and so I had to wait until the fall to find them anywhere. Then, when I did, it would be for a short time, not great quality and cost a lot of money. But I would still buy one, take it home, and take it apart while watching TV. For days afterwards, I would munch on these seeds.

Last night, I was at Henry’s, which is like a Whole Foods with Trader Joe’s prices. They had a whole bin of pomegranates that were not only inexpensive, but looked fantastic! So, I bought one. After dinner, I sat down in front of the TV, opened it up, and started seeding it. My mom said, as she always does, that it looked like a lot of work for very little fruit. I looked up, smiled, and said, “But when you love something and put work into it, just a little goes a long way.”

Happy Fall!

Everyone loves a slutty pumpkin...

2010-11-01T00:41:00.001-07:00

Halloween has never really been my thing. I might go to a party or get dressed up for work, but rarely do I put much effort in. Last year, I was Peggy Bundy, a costume I came up with the day of the party. The year before, I was working and dressed up as a bank robber because one of my co-workers was going to be a cop and we thought it would be funny. The year before that, I went to Santa Barbara and partied pretty hard, but my construction worker was neither inspired nor original.

This year, I really thought about it and, while I didn’t want to spend $100 on a costume to wear for one night to a house party, I didn’t want to just throw something together. After going to several Halloween stores and looking through tons of websites, it came down to two costumes. While the beer maid would have been a good (and very appropriate) choice, I didn’t really want to spend the night fetching my friend’s beers. So, I decided on Elvira.

I’m in no way a shy person. Nor am I uncomfortable with my body. However, when I got the dress and tried it on, I became both of those. I was not sure how I would keep my boobs in or if I would have the courage to actually leave my bedroom. The dress was more revealing that my bathing suite and the idea of people seeing me in it was pretty horrifying. To make sure that I would actually grow some balls and do it, I started telling everyone I met. I’m sure I annoyed several people, but if I hadn’t raised everyone’s expectations, then I probably would have copped out and done something lame instead, like a softball player. (Yes, that was my 5-minutes-before-work-costume for today, but at least I dressed up! And dressing up for work doesn’t count!)

So, after telling everyone I met and even having one of my friends tell a certain person I wouldn’t have told just in case I ended up looking more like a cow that the Mistress of the Dark, I had to put it on. Much like many of the things I don’t really want to do but force myself to, I kind of fell in love with it. My makeup wasn’t perfectly straight and the wig was kind of cheap and I didn’t have the fake eyelashes I needed, but this was one of the few moments where I looked at myself and went, “Wow.”

It wasn’t because my boobs were out or because the slit came so far up my entire leg was out. It was because I had done exactly what a person is supposed to do on Halloween: get dressed up and make yourself into another person. For one night, I was wearing something I would never dare wear again with makeup that was much too complicated to do regularly. And I had a blast! Everyone loved the costume, but best of all, I loved it! The party was a ton of fun and I have to say, it was one of my best Halloweens.

So, while I’m not a total Halloween convert (Just say no to haunted houses!!), I have to say this year, I definitely lived.

A Little Idle Chit Chat

2010-09-19T19:16:00.001-07:00

I am usually a pretty humble person. I don't like to brag about the things I'm good at (or the things I think I'm good at), therefore I tend to be incredibly self-deprecating. However, one of the things I am very good at is small talk. I can do this with just about any willing party, and God knows I'll try with the unwilling parties as well. Here is an example of the small talk I made with some of my regulars at Starbucks one lazy Sunday.

Wait...I should probably start by saying that they are both gay men, but not flamboyantly so. I say this because I did not know for certain that they were gay and my go-to chit-chat with men on Sundays in the fall is football....(In the winter, it's basketball, and in the spring, it's about how baseball has become too long and they need fewer games because the individual games actually mean nothing when you play 500.)

Ok go.

Me: So, any football viewings on the schedule today guys?

Hank: Is it football season?

Bob: (ignoring Hank) No, I'm not straight enough for that.

Me: (realizing they are gay and that, duh, football would not be on the schedule) Ooooh ok....

Awkward silence.

Me: So any antiquing on the schedule for today guys?

Bob and Hank, who I have discovered are incredibly cool, both laughed hysterically and, finally, when Bob could breath again:

Bob: No, I'm not that gay either. But you're definitely too quick for me.

Me: Why thank you. It's all the caffeine.

Happy Birthday, C!!!!

2010-09-07T12:46:00.001-07:00

I have to say, it takes a lot to be best friends with me. I don’t mean just friends, because I’m kind of awesome and fun and entertaining and a good listener and all that jazz, but to be best friends with me takes work. I am too loud for my own good. I say things that, while true, are not exactly the things you want to hear. I am demanding and incredibly opinionated. I can be a little too energetic and my brain sometimes goes off on tangents that don’t make sense to anyone but me and if you can follow along then more power to you but a lot of the time I can ‘t even keep track of where I’m going with something…I’m getting a little off topic because this was not supposed to be about me and all my quirks. Moving on…

There is one person who has been doing this job for almost 10 years now, and since today is her birthday, I thought I’d dedicate a little post to her. Much like I did with my Grandma’s birthday, this a little list I came up with about the things I love about Cierra, who sometimes makes me angrier than Chris Brown in a Lamborghini and crazier than any of the patients at McLean Hospital, but for whom I thank my lucky stars everyday to have in my life.

10. She lives in New York, so I always have a reason to go. Much like I had a reason to go to Philly when she was living there. Now all I need is for her to move around to all the major cities in the world so I’ll have a reason to visit, other than I just want to visit all the major cities in the world.

9. She is the only one of my friends that can keep up with me on the dance floor, even though I’m totally the better dancer.

8. I can talk sports with her and her eyes won’t glaze over. Although, she’s a Laker Lover and I’m a Laker Hater. It really makes for some quality arguments.

7. She never holds back with me. When I’m being stupid, she will tell me so. When I’m down, she’ll yell at me to get over it. When I’m being annoying, she will reach through the phone and smack me. (As of right now, it’s only verbally, but I’m sure that once the technology is developed, she will do it literally.)

6. She offers to ship all the books I buy and can’t fit in my suitcase when I come visit. She doesn’t tell me I bought too many or that I read too damn much. She fully supports my addiction, and usually asks me to send one or two back when I’m done.

5. I have never met anyone that can talk shit like she can. She’ll do it to your face, to your back, to your mama, to everyone about everything. Even if she has gotten a little nicer in her old age, she can still throw out an insult like a pro.

4. She didn’t go to college and always hated school, but she made her own way and is one of the smartest people I know. Even if she doesn’t act like it sometimes and I have to be the voice of reason. (Which will not always work in our favor.)

3. She believes in me. She has been saying for years how I’m going to do something great, so when I don’t believe her, she just gives me a verbal smacking that reminds me of how capable I am and that everything will work out. (I am just now realizing we have a bit of an abusive relationship, but that's ok. It works for us.)

2. She enjoys a good beer and likes going to Timmy Nolans when she comes out for a visit. ‘Nuff said.

1. She is the strongest person I’ve ever met. She has been through so much and has never let it get her down or ruin her. I know so many people who have been through things similar and have broken down or become terrible people. But Cierra still remains the amazing, smart, beautiful, kind, wonderful person I’ve know for the past decade.

So, I raise my glass to you, C. Happy Birthday and here’s to another decade of friendship. I love you.

(Ok, and because we can be a lot like Lucy and Ethel, here is a little video for you as well.)

My Agreement with Mother Nature

2010-09-02T19:12:00.000-07:00

I have never been one to love the outdoors, but just recently, I have come to an understanding with Mother Nature. I will stay on the marked paths and she will keep the larger, scarier creatures away from me.

Recently, I started hiking. I’m not talking about hiking like whole day affairs that involve packs and rock climbing and wildlife. I’m talking about short, paved or gravel paths with the wildlife well aware of the fact that humans are horrible and will harm them out of fear. Unlike true hikers, I do it because I am too broke (and cheap) to have a gym membership. However, I have found that a hike is one of my new favorite ways to workout.

It all started when I got bored running around my neighborhood and on the Chandler bike path. I was trying to think of another place that would be nice but not so secluded I’d be afraid to go myself. (Yes, I have fantasies of falling down the side of a mountain and no one finding me for weeks. Yes, I am aware this makes me slightly crazy.) I remembered my dad driving us around Lake Hollywood, aka the Hollywood Reservoir. I knew there was a path around it and I figured that if I needed to, I could just walk. Plus, it’s round so there is very little chance of me getting lost and ending up having to live off the wild until someone finds me or I find my way out. While this wasn’t technically hiking, it was outside and I realized something: Animals don’t like humans and, for the most part, will stay away from them. So, after running most of the way and just walking to enjoy the rest, I decided to look for some actual hiking trails.

Griffith Park seemed like the easiest place to start. I found a lot of writing about the Charlie Turner Trail, which leads from the Observatory up to Dante’s View, a cute little picnic area. The reviews all said that it was an easy hike and fairly short. I was pleased to see that they were correct. It’s a steady climb up, but not overwhelming. Plus, there was a ton of people out, so again, I didn’t feel like I was going to get lost and go missing. Dante’s View has a picnic area and I totally thought it would be a great spot to bring a book and just read. Although, it also made me think about who this Dante was and if this "view" of LA was really supposed to mean something...

After doing that one a few times, I decided to try out Runyon Canyon again. I’d done it once with my friend Ellen, but it was so strenuous that I didn’t think I would ever do it again. But, for some reason, I was in the mood for a real workout that day. Boy did I get it. There are these stairs that I like to call the “Stairs of Death” because unless you are in the best shape of your life, they will kill your muscles. They play tricks on you by making you thing you’re almost to the top, but NO, you’re not even close. However when you do finally make it up to the top, you feel incredibly accomplished and good about yourself.

I am usually a solitary hiker, but I did take my friends Jason and Meaghan out to the Charlie Turner Trail once. It was a lot of fun and it didn’t feel as long because we were talking most of the time. It’s always great to have someone to talk to when you’re out doing these things. Plus, the risk of falling down a hill and going missing is much lower. If I do fall down the hill and die, at least someone will be there to call the coroner.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’ve found a workout that I can actually keep up. When there are days I don’t feel like working out, it’s just a nice walk to get fresh air. When I want to really push myself, there are plenty of paths to make me regret wanting to push myself. As long as I don’t meet any scary creatures and the birds stay in the air where they belong, Mother Nature and I will be cool.

Living It Up! (In My Own Way)

2010-08-21T14:20:00.000-07:00

I was reading this article in the NY Times the other day, and it kind of made me realize something that I have been searching for throughout this blog: happiness is directly correlated to experiences, not material things. Also, what you’re “supposed” to be doing and where you’re “supposed” to be at certain points of your life, might not be what will actually make you happy.

Shocking, I know.

For a year, I was working so hard at two jobs and making money and gaining experience that would hopefully help me jumpstart my career. But guess what? I didn’t have time to spend the money the way I wanted to. I was tired all the time. And my experience has yet to jumpstart my career. (Maybe the jumper cables weren’t hooked up properly?) Then, after quitting the second job, going back to Starbucks full time, and quieting my mind about what I’m “supposed” to be doing, I starting noticing that I’m actually enjoying my life and, finally, living.

In the past 2 months since I quit the paper, I have done more things and had more time for friends than I’ve had in the past year. Sure, my schedule is different than most people, but somehow it works out that I can spend time with everyone. Sure, I don’t have as much money, but that is just making me appreciate all the free things the world has to offer.

When I was making more money, I also wasn’t saving as much. I would go shopping at least every other week, in search of something that would fulfill me and make me fell good about myself. Guess what? Buying a fantastic outfit but having no time to wear it out doesn’t make you feel any better. Now, I put away a little from each paycheck, pay off bills, then take what little is left and make the most of it. Now I have a reason to wear all the cute outfits I bought instead of putting that money into savings. (I’ve also realized that shopping for shopping’s sake doesn’t me have the best taste. Some of the things I bought are not as cute as I originally thought. Having “what was I thinking?” moments only a few months after buying something is NOT good…) As an added bonus, I cherish the things I buy a lot more than I used to and I'm actually doing research on stuff before blowing $150 just because I want it. (Btw...in the Nook vs. Kindle debate, the Nook is kind of kicking the Kindle's ass...I still can't bring myself to buy it though. Yet.)

I’m not saying that I am completely happy or that I don’t get frustrated or that I don’t still want to move out of my parents house or move to the Bay or NY or that I wouldn’t like to be making more money to buy myself the Brian Atwood Harrison Chain-Trimmed pumps ($1,050 at Saks, but sooo friggin hot), but honestly, if making more money and buying those pumps and having the fabulous apartment comes with being stressed, unhealthy and unhappy, then you can have it.

Don't worry, I'm still on a search for how to live out the rest of my life, so I'm not going to be giving up my blog any time soon. (Insert annoyingly cute emoticon here)

You Want to Sit at the Bar?!

2010-08-10T00:36:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me, knows that I love beer. I didn’t always, but thanks to Alec and the fabulous staff at Timmy Nolans, I have come around. I am wiling to try just about any beer now and I actually have clear favorites.

While I was hanging out with my grandparents, I was telling Grandpa about my new favorite, Downtown Brown from Lost Coast Brewery in Northern California. I discovered it like I typically do: sitting on a stool at Timmy Nolans. I wanted to try something new but I didn’t know what. I looked at the tap handles while Rocky, one of my fabulous beer professors, explained all the different kind of beers they have that I haven't already tried. One of the handles caught my eye. It was wood with a kind Picasso-esqe drawing of a man at a table with a beer and buildings in the background. I turn to Rocky and say, “I’ll take that one. I think the handle is pretty.”

Downtown Brown is a brown ale with a bit of sweetness to it, kind of caramelly. It’s not too heavy and there is not a whole lot of carbonation. Overall, it has enough flavors to keep me satisfied. Yes, I expect a beer to keep me satisfied from first sip to last drop. Is that too much to ask?

I was telling all of this to my Grandpa over dinner and he said, “Well I have to try it. They probably have it at that Yardhouse. That’s where the young guys go.” Why he added that on, but if that’s where the young guys go, I need to be there.

So, the next night, after we went to a movie, we went to the Yardhouse. If you have never been to the Yardhouse (it might just be Yardhouse, but I am not a frequent visitor, so I really don’t know), you should go. They have 100 beers on tap and the bartenders are pretty knowledgeable. Or at least ours was.

When we got there, Grandma walked up the hostess and asked for a table for 3, to which Grandpa replied, “BJ, let’s sit at the bar.”

Grandma whips her head around and says, disgusted, “You want to sit at the BAR?”

There was an awkward, staring moment between the two, so I turned to the hostess and said, “I guess we are going to sit at the bar.”

Grandma huffs off, horrified that we are actually going to sit at the bar and points out to Grandpa that he might not be able to get up onto the bar stools. He, in true Jack Brown fashion, shows her up by getting into the stool just fine. It might have taken him a few tries, but he did it.

The bartender barely gets over to us when Grandpa says, “Do you have Downtown Brown?”

The bartender, who clearly had a whole speech he was supposed to give us and is now thrown out of his comfort zone, “Umm..Yes? Downtown Brown, you said? Yes, yes, we have that.”

“Well that’s what I’ll have.”

Grandma orders a soda and then the three of them look at me, who has just started drooling over the possibilities. It must have been a full minute before I realized they were waiting on me, but I finally said I needed a minute to think about it.

The bartender comes back with Grandpa’s Downtown Brown and Grandma’s soda and waits for me to respond. I decide to go with a delicious stout called Old Rasputin and, in pure bliss, we enjoy our beers.

The best part, however, came when we got the bill. I had already intended to pay because I just spent 4 days at their house and it’s the polite thing to do when you’re a guest. We had ordered calamari as well, so I was expecting it to be a little expensive. When we got the bill and I looked at the total, I almost jumped for joy. Our beers were half off and so was the calamari! We had walked in after 10 p.m., during their reverse Happy Hour! Let me tell you, there is no better feeling in the world than going to pay for something and having it be half of what you expected.

Although, sitting at a bar, having beer with my grandparents "where the young guys go" might be a close second.

Adventures from Grandma's Closet

2010-08-09T13:08:00.000-07:00

So what does one do with 4 days off in August?

Go to the desert, of course.

My grandparents just sold their house, which is great because they have been trying to for over a year now. The problem? They have 3500 square feet worth of stuff that they now need to get into about 1500 square feet. (They don’t have a place yet, so please pray for them!) Therefore, I was assigned by my mom and aunts to help them get rid of stuff. Obviously, my mom and aunts don’t know me very well, otherwise they would know that I am a bit of a hoarder and would be of little help. But I tried.

I figured out who I get my penchant for shopping from. Grandma has enough clothes to open up a boutique, not that anyone would actually buy anything. The best pieces had to be 3 nylon tracksuits, in pastel pink, teal and blue, with tapered pants and, the best part, SHOULDER PADS. I wasn’t really old enough to know, but apparently, in the ‘80’s, people who weren’t linebackers would workout with shoulder pads.

Grandma tried to tell me that these were the fashions and I shouldn’t judge her. I assured her that I understood what the styles were, but why the hell had she kept them for so long?! She couldn’t give me an answer. Nor could she answer what year she had bought them in or when the last time she wore one of them was. She tried to blame her memory loss on old age, but I think it was from shame.

Once I was done with Grandma, I tried to work on Grandpa and his books. I now know who I get my book obsession from. He was worse than Grandma, though, because he just ignored me and told me to come help pull boxes down in the garage. In 110 degree heat. It was the most fun you could have without actually having any.

When I went back into the den to try to get rid of (read: steal) some of Grandpa’s books, Grandma was looking through photo albums. There were some on a high shelf, so of course I was given the task of pulling them down so she could go through them. Fyi, photo albums are HEAVY. However, once they were down, we started looking through them and it brought back a lot of memories. There were pictures from every embarrassing stage of my life, along with every embarrassing stage of my cousin’s, aunt’s and uncle’s lives. (To all my family members: you're welcome. I thought about scanning every horrible photo and putting it on Facebook, but I decided against it.) It was so much fun!

Then, I struck gold.

I was looking through an album from one of the many trips my grandparents took and I found a picture of Grandma in a row boat with a few other ladies, WEARING ONE OF THE TRACKSUITS. I looked at the outside of the album where Grandma had written the date.

“Hey Grandma, do you recognize this outfit?,” I said, pulling out the photo so she could take a closer look.

She knew where I was going with this but she played along. “Yes, isn’t that one of the suits we gave away yesterday?” Yes, she called them “suits.” Not “tracksuit” or “jogging suit,” but suit.

“Yes. Guess what year this picture is from?”

“I don’t know.” She looked a little nervous now.

“1989. Grandma, those tracksuits are old enough to go to a bar and order you a Perfect Manhattan.”

She then told me she thought Grandpa needed some more help in the garage and politely got rid of me.

I tried to steal the picture to scan, but for an 80-year-old, my grandma is pretty quick!

A Post of Awesomeness

2010-07-20T00:23:00.000-07:00

You’ve got your sunscreen, your beaches with bikini-clad babes, your poolside trashy novels, and your BBQs. Aaahhh…it must be summer.

I have actually had an action packed summer thus far and I have to admit, I’m damn glad to be working at Starbucks. If I was still working two jobs, or just working at an office from 9-5, I wouldn’t have done some of the awesome things I’ve been doing.

Let’s start with some traveling. (Ok one trip but still, one is better than none.)

I went up to San Francisco for my cousin’s son’s 1st birthday party, which to me was just an excuse to get to SF. Now, I know most people wouldn’t consider me the child’s birthday type, but it was a blast. They had it at a daycare center, so the kids could play and the parents and guests could socialize without worrying about the kids running off or something worse. Plus, I got to hang with my amazing cousin Lisa and her husband, my favorite cousin, Derek. (It’s a long story) I also got to see my VERY pregnant(and also amazing) cousin Cheryl and her husband, Mark, along with their 2-year-old son, Jack. It was awesome to get to spend time with these cousins because I looked up to both of them when I was growing up and I love the women they have become and continue to admire them both. As an added bonus, Derek’s brother, Tobe, and parents, Bruce and Ava (Eva? Lisa, correct me please) are pretty friggin’ extraordinary, so I got to play around with Bruce’s Kindle (I kind of want one…or a Nook…or some money to be able to afford it) and then have a debate with Bruce, Ava, Grandma and Grandpa vs. Me, Lisa, Derek, and Tobe about social networking and the Internet. It was so fantastic I can’t even put it into words. That was just Saturday!

On Sunday, I met my friend Nicola, who was visiting from England. Yeah, I have a friend who lives in England. How awesome is that? So we just grabbed some coffee and lunch and then walked around a lot. It’s amazing how the simplest things can be so perfect. I think meeting at the Ferry Building and then walking around the piers with the Bay Bridge as our backdrop had something to do with it. Then, I took MUNI (Oh, how I miss public transportation!!!!) to Golden Gate Park and waited for Lisa and Derek to finish at the Science Center. I grabbed an Its It (Reason number 9 billion that San Francisco is tremendous) from a cart and just sat down on a bench under some trees and read. Then, when Derek and Lisa were done, we went down under the bridge and took some pictures. I was so incredibly happy.

Now, the beach.

I love the beach. I grew up in So Cal and we used to go to the beach ALLLL the time. But here’s the crummy thing about the beach: you really can’t (read: shouldn’t) go alone. So, I have been dragging Meaghan and Jason. They are the perfect companions because we can talk and chat and gossip and then all just sit there reading magazines, writing, or just staring out, contemplating the vastness of the Pacific. On top of that, they are both kids and love to play in the water, so even though I don’t want to live in the water like Meaghan, I don’t have to brave it on my own. We’ve gone twice and I see many more outings in our future. Perhaps with an umbrella next time. I wonder if I can snag Grandma and Grandpa’s UCLA one we used to use every summer?

Next: the pool. (Specifically, Jason’s pool.)

I’ve gone twice to Jason’s pool and both times, it’s been lovely. There are plenty of lounge chairs and the water isn’t too chlorinated. It’s only 3 feet deep so it’s great for just floating around and chatting. There’s some shade, too, so if it’s hellishly hot, we can always find some cover. It’s also not too big or loud to where you can’t hear the person in the pool or the people sitting out. Today, we were out there for the entire afternoon and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Again, simple but perfect.

A Summer Staple: The 4th of July BBQ(Served up with some cheese)

I actually wasn’t planning on doing anything for the 4th because I was working. I figured I’d work then go home to some leftovers. But then I got an invite from Alec and Laura, and since I got of early, I decided to go. Had myself some hotdogs, chips, beer…you know all the healthy stuff. Then they started the fire and we had s’mores. I think the best was how musically inclined their friends are and we sang (I’m a little ashamed to say) “Party in the USA” around the campfire. Then, during the fireworks, they sang “The Star Spangled Banner.” It was super cheesy and hysterically funny, but at the same time kind of perfect for the moment.

Now this is living….

It's 2 m's and 2 i's. Get it right.

2010-07-15T00:53:00.001-07:00

I did a previous post on the 4 names I identify with (It's a link...go read it) and, upon re-reading it, I realized I skipped a very important part of my name: the spelling!

Most people don’t get to choose the spelling of their name. If your parents gave you a funky spelling, too bad, you’re stuck with it. But there are some of us who HAVE to be so unique that we create our own spellings. I am, of course, one of those people.

In the second grade, I was dubbed “Kimmie” and I spelled it the traditional, cutesy way with an “ie.” After maturing two whole years as Kimmie, I decided I wanted to try it out with a “y” instead. I liked they way I could make the “y” turn into a kind of underline when I was signing my name. I also liked how, if I felt like it, I could loop the “y” and make a happy face in the loop. I was in fourth grade. Don’t judge me too harshly.

Then, in seventh grade, on the first day of computer class, I was writing my name and decided I wanted something a little more exotic. Something a little more sophisticated. I still wanted to be “Kimmy” but I wanted to be a little something different. (I should have know there was something wrong with me then…) So, while I was making my nametag tent, I wrote “Kimmi.”

I thought it was so cool and unique and I wrote it EVERYWHERE. Everything I owned said “Kimmi” at least 5 times. I was a walking advertisement for myself. I also felt so cool when someone asked how to spell my name. “It’s Kimmi, with two m’s and two I’s.”

After many years, I have kept this spelling. I get people asking me a lot why I still go by Kimmi, and not Kim or Kimberly, because most 25 year olds don’t keep their childhood nicknames. But I do. What can I say? I’m unique.

Plus, then when Barney Stinson (played brilliantly by Neil Patrick Harris) makes the following statement, I can laugh a little bit harder than everyone else:

“Don’t even get me started on girls whose names should end in y, but instead end in i. Those girls are like roller coasters. You gotta wait in a long line but once you get up there you hold on for dear life and hope you don’t drop your keys.” –Barney Stinson, How I Me Your Mother “The Three Days Rule”

No truer words were ever spoken.

My Process (of Procrastination)

2010-07-12T21:32:00.000-07:00

When I am determined to update this blog, sometimes I can’t just sit and write what I want. This is how it went today.

Turn on laptop.

Open Word. Type for about 30 seconds and decide to check my Facebook.

Text Ben before checking Facebook to see if he wants to go to Timmy Nolans for a beer later tonight. He can’t because he already has plans.

Open Firefox and go to Facebook. Look through everyone’s photos and statuses. See a link to something interesting: Jesse Jackson said the Cavaliers coach has a “slave master mentality.”

Go to google to look up the rest of the statement. Laugh hysterically at Jesse Jackson’s interpretation of how a hurt coach/owner reacts when his favorite player ditches him for warmer climates.

Decide that Jesse Jackson is kind of a nutter. It’s like a break-up. Dan Gilbert is just in the anger stage of grief and needs to lash out. Leave the poor rich white man alone.

See something about Christina Millian and The Dream broke up. Spend 10 minutes looking for the “racy” photos that brought about this announcement. Decide they were not worth the 10 minutes I spent looking for them.

Realize that nothing I am looking at has any real value to the world and go back to find something a little less trashy.

Read about the shooting in Albuquerque. Text Iisha, who lives there, to make sure she wasn’t shot.

Remember that I’m going to the beach tomorrow and look up weather. Looks like the LA beaches are going to be too cold and realize that Huntington will be our best bet. Text Meaghan and Jason.

Computer alerts me I am working on reserve power and will need to connect to a power source within 15 minutes.

Plug in the computer and decide to read instead of writing anything. I’ll get to it after Iago convinces Othello Desdemona is cheating on him. Or possibly after I read this long article Ben posted on Inception, which I don’t really want to see.

Read article. I totally want to see it now.

Should write, but I’m definitely going to read some Shakespeare instead.

Kimmi-0
Procrastination-1

(Read on the previous post to see what came after I finally got down to business.)

Jury Duty Part 5: The Kid Rock Story

2010-07-12T21:25:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had a time when you can feel someone staring at you? Then, when you look up, he looks away awkwardly and blushes? Well that happened to me.

With Kid Rock.

Let’s back up. I was on a civil trial filed against Kid Rock for allegedly beating up some paps outside of a nightclub. Or allegedly egging on his posse to do so. Allegedly.

Anyway, he wasn’t in court most of the time. His lawyer claims it was because they wanted to minimize press coverage but I suspect the real reason had to be that Kid Rock is too big a rock star to actually show up to court. I know it was kind of a bogus lawsuit, but come on, dude, pretend like you care.

Finally, he shows up to court and it was, well, anti-climactic. There was one girl from TMZ that had been there throughout the trial, and 2 photographers. They interrupted another witness’s testimony in order to accommodate him, which bothered me because seemed like a cheap ploy to screw with the prosecution.

He is on the stand, totally indifferent to the questioning, making jokes and kind of being a jerk, so the prosecutor asks for a sidebar. After some not very covert whispering, the judge takes them into chambers. Kid Rock is still on the stand staring around the courtroom. The people in the gallery are talking quietly. The jury is pretending to go over their notes while really contemplating keeping that awesome doodle they made on the first day. Need I reiterate how BORING jury duty is?

I needed to get some water, so I lean forward and reach into my purse for my bottle. It takes me longer than it should because I have a penchant for large purses and therefore cannot find anything. As I’m searching, I feel someone eyes on me. Not sure if I am crazy and “feeling” strange things, I look up without sitting up. Instead of looking into a pair of eyes boring holes into my skull, I look at a pair of eyes boring holes into my BOOBS.

Yes, Kid Rock was looking down my shirt.

As soon as he realized I was looking up, he turned his head and started starring off into space. He got a little red but, thankfully, the lawyers and the judge came out and the trial continued.

I really can’t hold it against the guy. I wasn’t wearing something revealing, but let’s face it, no matter what I’m wearing, when I lean over, one can’t help but look. I could have held it against him for the rest of the trial, but I took an oath to render judgments only on the evidence presented to me and based on the instructions of the court. Unless the judge instructed me to render a verdict on him based on his being a pervert, it really didn’t pertain to the case.

I never did get my water, though. Bastard.

Jury Duty, Part 4: This is not a TV show.

2010-07-06T22:17:00.000-07:00

For some, Jury Duty is not a big deal. You have to call in, maybe go, and probably be done in a day or two. But we all know the kind of luck I have. My “hopefully only 2 days” turned into a 14 day trial. That’s 3 weeks in “business day” time. Or a whole lot of income lost. Or a whole of time spent sitting on my ass.

When we first walked in for jury selection, I thought I was for sure not going to get picked. It was a civil suit against Kid Rock for (allegedly) beating up some photographers outside a nightclub in 2006 or something. Correction: it was (allegedly) members of his posse. Allegedly. I thought, “Well all I have to do is tell them I work at a newspaper and I’m golden. They won’t want someone who works in the media on the jury. Plus, I’m smart. They will know that I will see through all the bull and they won’t want me. ”

I was wrong. Contrary to what everyone says, they didn’t want the simple, uneducated people with no opinions. They wanted the educated professionals who could think for themselves and make intelligent decisions. Son of a bitch. Every single person on the jury with me was smart and opinionated and willing to argue, not to mention at least 10 years older than me. (This made deliberations SUPER fun.)

Now, when you’re on a trial, it’s not like what you see on TV. It’s rarely exciting and it usually involves sitting around outside the courtroom while they go over motions and things like that. Then, when you’re actually in the box, there are still a lot of sidebars and "going into chambers." At least when you’re in the hallway, you can read. Not in The Box. You have to just sit and wait for them to come out of chambers. You can’t even make inappropriate jokes that have nothing to do with the trial to the jurors around you, otherwise you’ll get a stern scolding from the judge. (Ask me how I know.)

You might think that a trial involving Kid Rock was exciting. You’d be wrong. It was boring. There was a ton of testimony about things like where the sidewalk ends and the hotel begins, where the limo was parked, if you can see out of the windows of a limo("Well it was kind of dark and I mean, I had knocked back a few." I had no idea knocking back a few meant you went blind!), how cameras can be on a limo floor with no one seeing them, and why every single person had a different memory of the event. From 4 years ago. It was torture.

Deliberations in cases like this are much harder than criminal trials. They aren’t just “guilty or not guilty.” They are “did this person intend to harm this person” and “if that person did not intend to harm this person, did he still harm this person" and "was this person working under the assumed guidance of Kid Rock." It’s a lot of legal crap. Plus, when it comes down to deciding damages, how do you put a monetary value on “emotional distress”? It took us 3 days to finish everything and, by the end of it, we were all exhausted. I got elected foreperson (of friggin course) and, when, after reading the War and Peace length verdict, the judge said we had to come back the next day, I almost burst into tears. I had just spent three days playing mediator with a roomful of adults, some of whom were old enough to be my grandparents, and now I had to come back and play referee again???

When we came in the next day, the judge informed us that the “matter has been settled over lunch.” I was a mixture of indignation and liberation. I was finally free! But I just spent 14 days trying to solve this and they do it over LUNCH?! You’ve got to be kidding me! (Btw...we all agreed that the photographers had been beaten up and had their cameras stolen, but we had some trouble decided to what degree Kid Rock was actually involved. So we said that he should just pay the photographers medical bills and that's it. It took us 3 days to come to that and these guys figure it out over lunch. Bastards.)

A few days (and a whole lot of relaxing and not thinking) later, I went onto TMZ and found out that the photographers got $35,000. It wasn’t much, but it was more than we were willing to give them, so I got even angrier. They put me through 14 days of hell so they could see what we’d be willing to give them and then settle outside of court??? I wanted to track down the lawyers and slap both of them across the face. Or ask that they pay me for the 3 weeks of work I missed. Take your pick.

The trial wasn’t all bad. I did catch Kid Rock looking down my shirt when he was on the witness stand. But that’s another story….

Sometimes I'm not the one that says the funny things

2010-07-03T14:07:00.000-07:00

Every once in awhile, someone says something that is just plain hilarious. Maybe it’s not funny to everyone else, but it was pretty damn funny.

John is one of my co-workers. He just moved here from Florida and sometimes he says things that crack us all up. What he said last night, though, has to be my favorite.

John (attempting to write two cups): Hang on. My pen isn’t working.

Me (impatient, as usual): Just give me the cups. I think I can remember 2 Fraps that are exactly the same.

John: Oh yeah, cause you went to Berkeley. (turning to the customer) She went to Berkeley. I don’t really know what that means, but it sounds impressive.

Jury Duty, Part 3: Public Transpo & the "Honor System"

2010-06-29T14:18:00.000-07:00

So I know I’ve already written about the adventure of the Los Angeles subway on my way to jury duty, but I left out one very important thing: the honor system.

In every other place I’ve taken the subway or rail or whatever form of underground there is (such as the weird hybrid that is MUNI…but that’s another post to come), you purchase your ticket and then swipe it to get through the turnstile. Then, when you leave, you either have to swipe again or you just leave. There are many ways to do this, but not in LA. We have to be idiots about it.

The first day I took the metro to jury duty, I bought my ticket and then walked up to the “turnstile.” Only, there was no actual turnstile. It looked like they had put up the turnstile, but then taken out the gate and left the posts. Ticket in hand, I walked up and looked for a place to swipe. There was no place to swipe. There was a round circle on the front of one of the posts that said “TAP here” so I did. Only nothing happened. I stood there like an idiot for a good minute before I watched another passenger just walk straight through. I did the same, but felt I had missed something. I’ve never jumped a turnstile before, but somehow I felt as if that’s what I just did.

Sitting on the train, all I could think of is how dumb of a system this is! Why would I even buy a ticket if I can just walk through? I’m a fairly honest person (despite what people think) and I would do it because I believe that nothing is free and if you are supposed to pay for something you should, but at the same time, I was tempted to not buy a ticket anymore. If I can ride for free, then why wouldn’t I? Especially if other people weren’t paying. It’s not fair to me to pay for everyone else. I might believe that you should pay for things, but I don’t believe I should be paying for a bunch of strangers.

All of these thoughts were going through my head when I was buying my ticket the next day. I ended up paying the $1.25, but not without a lively debate in my head.

It’s a good thing I did, however.

When I got down to the platform and boarded the train, there was an announcement for everyone to have their tickets ready. “Sheriffs will be coming through to check for tickets.” I watched at least three people get up and walk out, only to be grabbed by sheriffs outside the train. I wanted to ask the sheriff a ton of questions when he got to me, but I refrained because he looked like he had enough work to do without me asking a bunch of questions. I watched as several people got pulled off the train and were written citations.

A quick Google search told me that the ticket can be up to $200 and you have to show up to court! Plus, the MTA loses about $5 million a year from fare evasion. There is a debate about whether or not the MTA should spend the money to put in the gates and have people swipe in order to get through. In my opinion, there is no debate. People are dishonest. Even an honest person like me (keep your sniggering to yourself please!) thought of being dishonest simply because the MTA had made it so easy. LA, come on. Why can’t you just look at systems that work and model your system after one of those? Why must you be different and naïve? (I did find out what TAP meant. "Transit Access Pass." Very clever MTA.)

I ended up paying every time I rode. It was not worth $200 and another wasted day in court just to save $1.25.

Although, I am a bit tempted to jump a turnstile next time I’m in NYC.

Breakin' Up is Hard to Do

2010-06-25T18:29:00.000-07:00

Here s the post everyone has been waiting for.

Only, you’re going to be very disappointed. (Sorry Lisa)

I was watching The Real Housewives of New York reunion (don’t judge…you have guilt pleasures too.) and Bethenny was asked about peeing on a pregnancy test stick on camera. She said that certain things she has no problem with being on camera but other things she keeps private. She said that there is a line and she decides where it is. They all signed up to have their lives shared with all of America, but there are some things off limits.

Why I quit my job as the newspaper is one of my things. (Sidebar...I quit my job at the newspaper and am back at Starbucks. Just an fyi)

It’s not peeing on a stick or anything, but for some reason, I don’t want to write about it and share it on a blog. It felt a little like a breakup, and even though there were no hard feelings on either side and it’s actually a really good and exciting thing, I’m not ready to share this story. Maybe I will be eventually but I’m not right now.

I will say again that there are NO hard feelings on either side and it is totally for the best. I am actually happier now than I have been in a really, really long time. I’m also really excited for all the changes I’m opening myself up to and I am hopeful they will all work out the way I want. But if they don’t, that’s ok too. It might sound cheesy, but I’m really excited for what’s to come.

Stay tuned.

Jury Duty Part 2: There's a subway in LA??!!

2010-06-16T15:24:00.000-07:00

While I was on jury duty, I had a ton of ideas for things to write about, but I never actually managed to. Thank goodness I wrote these ideas downs! That way, when I’m going through a notebook I had carried with me and happen upon some of my ideas, I have a post that is almost completely written for me! I’m nothing if not all about doing very little work.

One of the things that really stuck out to me was taking public transportation in Los Angeles(possibly for the first time ever…I seem to remember taking a bus with Grandma when I was a kid…maybe?). I have taken public transportation in NY and SF many times, but never in my hometown. It’s LA…we drive. Except that the drive into Downtown in rush hour traffic made me stress out so much that I would have convicted anyone just so I could get out before 3:30 and not have to come back the next day.

My friend Chad was actually the one who suggested it. He told me it was only $2.50 round trip and it would drop me off right at the courthouse. So, for the first time (possibly the last time…) I took Chad’s advice.

While the actual train was awesome(always on time, crowded on the way home but not unbearably so), I had one issue that I should have anticipated given the fact that it’s LA: parking.

“Park and Ride” stations. Sounds perfect right? The only problem is that there is not NEARLY enough parking for all the people taking the train! No actually there is, except that half the lot is for monthly parking. Which was NEVER even CLOSE to full. Rows and rows of open parking spots, all of which would be great for those of us who have to drive to the station because there is no bus anywhere near our residence. But NO. The MTA would rather leave those spots empty to early morning commuters in hope that people will pay a monthly fee.

I decided that maybe I should just buy a monthly pass. I knew the trial would take at least 14 days so, depending on how much it costs, a monthly pass might be worth it, if for no other reason than it would keep me from pulling my hair out looking for parking and then just end up parking in one of the monthly spots out of frustration and getting a $40 parking ticket. (Which I did.) But guess what? THE PARKING PASSES FOR THE NOHO STATION WERE SOLD OUT! WTF?! How can they be sold out when every single morning there are 5 rows with at least 40 spots each totally empty?! MTA, I would like an explanation, please.

In the end, the trial ended up lasting 15 days, 11 of which I took the subway. I might have been totally frustrated by the parking situation, but by the time I got to the courthouse, I was totally relaxed. I would read my book, listen to music or just people watch, which was probably the most interesting part about it. When you people watch in the car, you run the risk of crashing into the stopped car in front of you. (Which I haven’t done yet, but I feel like it might be one of those inevitabilities about living in LA, like fake boobs and spray tans.)

The Dart

2010-06-14T00:57:00.000-07:00

It has been a long time since I updated my blog. That's what happens when you work 2 jobs and barely have enough time to do your laundry, let alone write anything interesting or worth reading. (Not that anything I write is interesting or worth reading, but I try.) But, well, I now only have one job, so hopefully there will be a whole lot more where these came from. (The "only have one job" is going to be a different post.)

Now comes the all-important question: What do I write after having been absent for so many months? Do I write about why I only have one job now? Do I write about the fun phone calls I’ve had to deal with? Do I continue my Jury Duty story that I never did continue? Nope...I feel like this post is going to have to be something easy, much like the first workout after not exercising for a long time. (Yet another post idea…) So, I’m instead going to write about something very near and dear to my heart: the Dart.

The Dart is a 1974 Dodge Dart that is kind of a family heirloom. My grandparents on my dad’s side bought it brand new in 1974. Then, my Aunt Bev drove it out to CSUN for college. Then, my grandparents drove it for many more years before giving it to my dad to update their ride to a pimped out Oldsmobile station wagon(corduroy seats anyone?). My sister then had the pleasure of driving it, and then, it came to me. I drove it almost every single day of my senior year of high school. My dad took it back when I started college and needed something to make the long drive out to Pierce. He drives it everyday to work. Except when my car has trouble and I have to us it.

We don’t have money or jewels to pass down generations, but the Dart is totally priceless.

Now, looking at it, you wouldn’t think much of it. The blue paint has faded and the white canvas top is almost completely gone. The seats are cracked so the padding is showing and the dashboard is not in the greatest shape. In order to open the trunk, you need a screwdriver and a little bit of lock-picking talent. This is all before I mention how my dad keeps every water bottle from the past year in the front seat along with his passes from work, his Thomas Guide, jumper cables, and straws. Plus, the Christmas lights in the back seat he got from General Hospital. (Do we actually need more Christmas lights? No, but the prop department was throwing them out so I must take them!)

Driving it is, well, to put it nicely, an adventure. There is a whole ritual to getting it to start and then you have to keep your foot on the accelerator to keep it from dying. When you need to brake, you have to pump the brakes three times and pray that three times was enough. The heater has to be on at all times so it won’t overheat. Also, just recently, it started popping out of gear so sometimes you have to slow down and let it pop back in.

You’re probably wondering why I would consider this POS as special. (Or if I just really have a thing for living dangerously.)

Here’s the thing: The Dart has never failed me. Sure, it’s died while I was sitting at a red light, but it always starts up. I might be sweating by the time I get to my destination, but I always get there. My right leg might get a workout pumping the brakes, but I always manage to stop. Plus, when my car (which I love very much) has some trouble, as all cars do, the Dart is there to get me where I need to go.

Even more than its reliability, the Dart has memories. I remember being a kid and driving around with my grandparents to run errands and pretending the hump on the floor of the backseat was a wall that my sister was not allowed to cross. I remember when my mom stalled it and couldn’t get it started again because she flooded the engine and then yelled at me because I was laughing pretty hard. I remember piling the whole basketball team in it to go out to lunch, even though most of my teammates were not supposed to leave campus for lunch.

The Dart is way more than a car on its last legs. It’s a part of my history and my family’s history. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

However, I will be happy when my car is fixed.

Jury Duty. Part 1: Death and Karma

2010-02-27T17:11:00.000-08:00

Jury Duty is something that every American comes across and must deal with at some point in their lives. Much like death. And, much like death, there is really no good time for Jury Duty. Alos, much like death, you can’t predict when it will come around.

I, like pretty much everyone I’ve ever met, was not at all happy when I got the summons. So, I This way, I rationalized, I was able to get everything set so if I had to go in, it wouldn’t be too destructive. After calling in Saturday to see if I had to report Monday and discovering that I didn’t have to go to court, I thought I was in the clear. I was wrong.

Monday night, prior to a movie night outing with Jason, I called in. “You are required to report to Stanley Mask Courthouse at 7:30 a.m.” NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! Even though I had warned my job this might happen, it didn't make it any easier for them. Or me.

So at promptly 7:45 a.m., I walked into the Jurors Assembly Room to a woman explaining how to fill out the 8 questions needed in order to determine our eligibility and ability to be a juror. At promptly 8 a.m., I was falling asleep. On the plus side, I had come prepared with not 1 but 2 books.

During the two hours I was sitting around, I thought a lot about why Jury Duty sucks. First of all, you have to make arrangements with your work just in case you get called in. So, the whole time you’re doing it, it’s a big “IF” hanging over your head. “If” I get called in…”If” I get put on a trial…”If” I lie to try to get out of it and end up in jail for perjury…

Secondly, you get paid less than minimum wage for a system that your tax dollars are funding. If my tax dollars are going in toward this, then why am I not being compensated at least what I would be getting paid if I worked in one of the sweatshops a few blocks away.

Third, the whole process is completely screwed up. It is not a “jury of your peers” if you really think about it. (Now, this is going to sound racist, elitist, and every other “ist” that cause the politically correct to cringe, so I apologize ahead of time.) A jury of my peers would be naturally born Caucasian citizens with college degrees, two married parents, and an open, unbiased mind.

The longer I sat there, however, the more I thought about how I would feel if I were on trial and needed a jury. I would want people just like me on the jury. Not necessarily white and educated, but intelligent and open-minded. I woul”d want 12 “peers who could listen to both sides and see the evidence and make logical, informed, unemotional decisions based on that. I would also want people who understood that while this system is not beneficial in any way towards the jurors, it does allow every person in the US to get an opportunity to be part of the justice system, whether it’s actually serving on a trial or just making that phone call every night until dismissed.

I did get put on a trial and am currently serving. While I may complain about what a pain it is to get downtown and how the days are long and boring and how much money I’m losing by being out of work for 8-10 business days, I am glad I’m doing this. Mainly because my jury karma will be good so hopefully, much like death, I'll only have to go through it once.

Happy Birthday Grandma!!!

2010-01-30T15:05:00.000-08:00

In honor of my Grandma’s 80th birthday, here are the top 5 things she has taught me:

5. In order for a bed to be made properly, the flat sheet has to be tucked in all the way around. Otherwise, she will make you do it again.

4. Travel is essential to life. (and that the educational/historical stuff is just as important and fun as the actual fun stuff.)

3. Its ok to be two sized bigger on top than you are on the bottom.

2. A Perfect Manhattan is, in fact, Perfect.

1. Family is the strongest bond we have and we need to keep that bond strong, no matter how busy or crazy life gets.

Thank you for all you’ve given me. I am so lucky to have such a wonderful grandmother. I love you and Happy Birthday!

This is as close to a Thank You note as I'm ever going to get

2010-01-16T18:12:00.000-08:00

I am not a serious person.

Nor am I an emotional person.

However, in the past few days, I have been really reflecting and thinking and, well, feeling.

I look at what is going on in Haiti and I can’t help but feel incredibly sad for each and every person there, as well as every person here who has family or friends there. It is a country where there was so much turmoil before this huge earthquake, and now it is just in shambles. Food can’t be given out because of near-riots. Medical workers are being evacuated because of threats of violence. Rescue workers are not even able to get to the island because the airport and dock have been destroyed. Orphans are sleeping on the street because the orphanages are too dangerous to be in. Paperwork for these orphans is completely lost and, thus, these children don’t even exist. There is no clean water for people to drink. People are dying from diseases that we not only have cures for, but are what we consider minor. Mass graves are being built because there is nowhere to put these bodies and there is no way to find out who they are. People are missing, starving, and dying. It is so heartbreaking and, unfortunately, there is only so much we can do.

As I sit here, all I can do is be thankful for everything I have. I live in a country where our government is stable enough to live through natural disasters and tragedies. I have family and friends whom I love and who love me. I have 2 jobs that I complain a lot about but allow me the small luxuries in life. I have my health, and my life. I have never felt so grateful for everything I have. I find myself worrying less about the small annoyances and just being appreciative.

Thank you to every single member of my family and every single one of my friends for being so amazing. I know I make a lot of jokes and I complain a lot, but from the bottom of my heart, each and everyone of you means more to me than I could every express in words.

Thank you.

Empire State of Embarassment

2009-10-07T23:21:00.000-07:00

Since I have nothing interesting that is going on right now, I will share an embarrassing story. And yes, there is a point to why I am sharing this story.

It was my first trip to NY and, being from Los Angeles, I had never ridden public transportation before. Yes, people in LA really don’t take the bus unless they absolutely have to. Even then, they usually find someone else to give them a lift. Therefore, a subway turnstile is not something I had ever needed to conquer before.

I decided that best course of action was to just follow what everyone else it doing. It looked simple enough. Swipe your Metrocard(which I had already purchased on my very own, thank you very much!), proceed through to the train. Easy and painless.

Not for Kimmi.

It was a busy day so I knew that I had to move my ass. I walked quickly down the subway with the rest of crowd and pulled out my Metrocard to make sure that I was ready to go. I did not, however, check to make sure that my Metrocard was facing the right direction. So, when I got to the turnstile, I swiped my card like a true New Yorker and then ran directly into the turnstile, so hard that I almost went over it to the other side. (I wonder if that could be considered jumping the turnstile?) Not only did I have a bruise forming on my upper thigh(Yes, I am that tall), but I had angry, pissed off, loud businessmen yelling at me to get out of the way.

I managed to get my Metrocard turned around and get through the turnstile, but I will never forget how it felt to think that I was doing so well and to be knocked down to reality.

Now, what was the point of my sharing this little story? I have since developed a great love for public transportation and have not had an incident like this again. (At least not while sober) However, this Thanksgiving, there is a chance for a repeat. I have been living back in LA for almost 2 years and have not had to navigate public transportation in a long time. Basically, this is all a long winded way of saying that I am going to be in NY to spend Thanksgiving with my sister-from-another-mister! Now October just needs to hurry up and pass…

It's all Mervyn LeRoy's fault...

2009-09-25T17:24:00.000-07:00

I have had a somewhat irrational fear of birds for as long as I can remember. People always ask me where it comes from. Was I attacked by a bird when I was a kid? Did I watch The Birds too many times? I have never been able to pinpoint exactly where this phobia came from...until the other night.

I went to see The Wizard of Oz on the big screen, which was all kinds of awesome that I can't even begin to describe. I have seen this movie so many times that I could probably do the entire thing, word-for-word. I was sitting there and I was just like a child. I even managed to turn off my analytical brain so I wouldn't think about all the ways in which scenes could be viewed as offensive. It was great.

It came to the part in the enchanted forest, when the witch sends the winged monkeys to get Dorothy, and I felt the familiar sense of fear I feel every time I see a pigeon near me when I sit outside at a cafe. My heart rate goes up, my face gets hot, and I have a feeling that I should go the other way.

I couldn't believe it. My favorite movie of all time has caused one of my silliest phobias. The funniest part about it is that they weren't even birds!

Maybe now that I've figured out where this fear comes from, I'll be able to eat outside again without the fear of being attacked by crows who mistake me for a piece of bread and poke my eyeballs out.

Maybe not....

I get a little too much pleasure out of making other people uncomfortable...

2009-08-26T23:06:00.000-07:00

Every week at Starbucks, the tips get split among all the employees based on the number of hours you work, which isn't necessarily fair, but it makes things easier, and, let's face it, in a corporate business, it's not about what's fair. Moving on. Every week, the shift supervisor tries to buy as much of the small change (coins, $1, $5) for the safe so that people don't end up with 3 rolls of quarters, 2 rolls of dimes, 3 rolls of nickels, and 1 roll of pennies. However, there are always a ton of $1 bills. Therefore, some weeks, I will end up with $36 in singles.

Now, this is not a bad thing. It makes me feel like I have more money than I actually do and it makes my wallet look full. Also, it gives me the chance to make old ladies at the supermarket totally uncomfortable, and slightly offended.

I was in line, buying some basic stuff that added up to $25ish. The cashier is a girl I knew from high school and we joke around whenever I have to pay in all ones, usually making some obvious joke about my job as a stripper. This day, however, there was a woman who had to be at least 75 in line behind me and I caught her giving me a strange look when I pulled out all my ones. Normally, I wouldn't pay much attention to some old woman who is so interested in everyone else's business that she has to notice when the girl in front of her pulls out a bunch of $1 bills. But, for some reason, I just could not resist.

Cashier: So, good night huh?

Me: Yeah. You know, it's really the lap dances where I make the big money but, to be totally honest though, I have more fun on the pole. It really lets me be creative.

The woman LITERALLY inched backwards to get away from me. The cashier laughed so hard that people in the lines next to us turned to stare. I walked out with a big grin.

Thank god it was only $6...

2009-08-15T18:10:00.000-07:00

This whole week, I've been working full time at the paper, which means I've been waking up early and going to bed early. Therefore, I looked forward to sleeping in today. Guess what time I woke up? 7:30 a.m. I was so determined to sleep in, I just stayed in bed until 8:45, trying to will myself to go back to sleep. It didn't work.

I decided that since I was up so damn early on a Saturday, I would go see a movie I had been wanting to see for a week: Julie and Julia. The plus of going early on a Saturday? AMC does this thing where any movie is $6 before noon. It's pretty great if you’re broke. Or cheap. Or if you wake up early for no fucking reason on a Saturday morning.

I really wanted to see this is because I thought it looked like an interesting idea, combining two life stories of women living in two very different times with two very different lives. Plus, anything with Meryl Streep I will see because, well, it's Meryl Streep!

I don't want to say I was disappointed, because there was a lot about the film I really enjoyed. But, about half of it I thought was pretty disappointing. Want to guess which half?

Meryl Streep was amazing. She was natural and did a great job portraying Julia Child as a woman who struggled with a lot but was grateful for all the amazing things she did have. Julia Child is a true legend and no one other than another legend could have played her so well. Stanley Tucci was a great choice to play Paul Child and there was an intimacy between the two of them that made the scenes very real and wonderful. It wasn't necessarily passion or fire, but more like that of a couple that has been through a lot together and are truly in love and happy. I would have been so happy to see a movie about Julia Child with just the two of them.

If Nora Ephron(writer/director/ruiner of Bewitched) had any sense, she would have just made the movie about Julia Child and left it at that. But, can I really expect that from someone who completely messed up a chance to remake a classic? (If you haven’t seen Bewitched, don’t waste your time.)

Now, I really like Amy Adams. I think she is cute and full of energy and has a lot of potential. However, this was not a great role for her. I didn’t fall in love right away like I did when Streep came on the screen and the entire movie I kept waiting to really feel something positive for her, but I just couldn’t. In a nutshell, Julie Powell wanted to be a writer but no one would publish her book, so she just goes day to day feeling bad at her job until she decides to take on this enormous task of cooking her way through Julia Child’s cookbook and blogging about it. If felt that she just was a self-loathing pathetic character who is shown sitting inside an apartment writing instead of going out or doing, or hell, even cooking. Almost all the scenes are of Adams at a laptop with a voiceover of what she is writing. The best scene was when she has to boil lobster and that is just because Ephron actually showed it! As much as I love to read and write, making a movie where someone spends her time writing her blog is not entertaining.

Plus, when you look at the great relationship Paul and Julia Child had and the way that Tucci and Streep played these characters, you look at Adams and Chris Messina and feel like you are watching two high school actors playing their first romantic role. It’s so forced and you don’t really feel like they are in love or understand why they even got married. I looked up more about Julie Powell and found out that she had an affair shortly after this year of cooking was over, which made the distance between the two make a little bit of sense. However, since Ephron did not include this, the couple just did not work.

Like I said, I only paid $6, which is half of what AMC charges for a movie. Therefore, since I only truly enjoyed half of the movie, I think I got my money’s worth.

In lieu of an actual post...

2009-08-11T20:04:00.001-07:00

So, I'm too lazy to do an actual post so instead I'm doing one of those stupid things you get on Facebook...although this one I actually like... Plus I've added my priceless comments, so it's really a win-win!

Have you read more than 6 of these books? The BBC believes most people will have read only 6 of the 100 books here. How do your reading habits stack up?
Instructions: Copy this into your NOTES. Look at the list and put a 'Yes' after those you have read. Tag other book nerds. Tag me as well so i can see your responses!"

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen - Y (This was the first Jane Austen I read. Molly made me. My arm is still sore from the twisting she did. Although, I've totally converted.)
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien -Y (I know...I'm a big nerd)
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte -Y
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling - Y (Duh...)
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee - Y (Once again, I say Duh...any kind who went to high school in America has read this)

6 The Bible - (Sorta. I've read it in parts, but never as a whole. Plus, I didn't get into the Bible as Literature course I had wanted to when I was at Cal. Apparently I wasn't the only person who wanted to critically analyze the Bible.)
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte - Y (I read this when I was 12 and didn't get most of it. Then I read it again when I was 16 and enjoyed it. Then I read it for a class and fell totally in love.)
8 1984 - George Orwell - Y
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman - N
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens - Y (I hate Dickens. HATE.)

11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott - Y (I wish I could tell you how many times I've read this but there is no numerical value large enough)
12 Tess of the D’Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy - N
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller - Y
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare - Y (Yeah, even Titus Andronicus.)
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier - N

16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien - Y (Once again, I display my Dork Card proudly!)
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulk - N
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger - Y (I actually didn't get it until I was in college...)
19 The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger - N (Should I?)
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot - N

21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell -Y (My dad made me.)
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald -Y (I know it's kind of cheesy with obvious symbolism, but I still love it)
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens - N (Once again, I hate Dickens.)
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy - N (Not that I haven't tried...)
25 The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams - Y (This one does not get my Dork Card approval.)

26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh -N
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky - Y (For a class. I would not have read it by choice.)
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck - Y
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll - Y (If you think the movie is a druggie's dream, read the book.)
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame - Y

31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy - Y (Do I make up points I lost from War and Peace)
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens - N (For the 3rd time, HATE Dickens!)
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis - Y (I actually haven't read all of them, but I have read the majority of it, so I count it as a yes.)
34 Emma - Jane Austen - Y (SO funny...I never knew...)
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen - N (Not yet...It's on my list!)

36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis - Y (Duh...)
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hossein -N (Once again, I say, Should I?)
38 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres - N
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden - Y
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne - Y

41 Animal Farm - George Orwell - Y
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown - Y (Yes, and I would like my 4 hours back please. Dan Brown is everything wrong with writing, cuz he's TERRIBLE.)
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez - Y
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving - N
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins - N

46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery - Y (My sister used to have the whole series and I would swipe them when she wasn't looking.)
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy - N
48 The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood - N
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding - Y (I still get all teary when I think about Piggy)
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan - Y (I would recommend this to everyone. It's like SVU without all the overt evil.)

51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel - N ( I tried and failed)
52 Dune - Frank Herbert - N
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons - N
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen - Y (My second attempt at Jane Austen. I loved the movie too...)
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth - N

56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon - N
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens - Y (Still, nuthin but hate for you Chuck)
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley - N
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night - Mark Haddon - N
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez - Y

61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck - Y (And there is totally a guy who works at another Starbucks that we have dubbed Lenny...you can imagine why!)
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov - Y (Beautiful. And creepy...)
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt - N
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold - Y
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas - Y

66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac - Y (Ramble much?)
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy - N
68 Bridget Jones’s Diary - Helen Fielding - Y (I'm not proud of this fact...)
69 Midnight’s Children - Salman Rushdie - N
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville - Y (You kind of have to...)

71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens - Y (For someone who hates Dickens, I really have read a lot of his work..)
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker - Y
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett - Y (One of the first books where I had seen the movie first and then read the book.)
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson - N
75 Ulysses - James Joyce - Y (Unfortunately.)

76 The Inferno - Dante - Y (Not only have I read it, but I have several analytical papers on it.)
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome - N
78 Germinal - Emile Zola - N
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray -Y
80 Possession - AS Byatt - N

81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens - Y (Ok, this one I actually liked)
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell - N
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker - Y (Hello, only one of my favorite books)
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro - N
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert - N

86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry - N
87 Charlotte’s Web - EB White -Y (How has anyone NOT read this book??????)
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom - Y(Once again, I'm not proud.)
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - Y (and I'm totally excited for the movie!!!)
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton - N

91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad - Y (This and The Waste Land duked it out for the bane of my English major existence...)
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery - Y
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks - N
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams - N
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole - N

96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute - Y
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas - Y
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare - Y (Again, I say duuuuuhhhhh)
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Y
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo - N (Nor do I want to...)

Grand total: 51 1/2 (The half is the Bible)

BBC...I say I proved you WRONG. Although, I was an English major so I guess I cheated.

Where the hell have you been????

2009-08-07T15:46:00.000-07:00

I know....I know....I haven't posted in forever. Here's why:

I have 2 jobs now.

Yeah, you read it correctly. In these troubled times where people are lucky to have one job, I have 2. There's been accusations that I am hoarding all the jobs for myself, but nothing's been proven. Yet.

Job #1 is still Starbucks, where I now work almost every night. They started doing this thing called "optimal scheduling" which means that you have the same shifts every week. It's easier for the managers because then, instead of having to come up with a new schedule ever week, all they have to do is switch people around to accommodate time off requests.(Not that my new store manager actually pays attention to such things....But that's another story.) It sucks for everyone else, though, because then you are stuck working with the exact same people every week, so if you work with someone you don't like or with, say, someone who moves at a snail's pace and then moves even slower when you point out how slowly he works, you're stuck with that person until he requests a day off. However, I no longer have to wake up at 4 am to be at work, so I'm totally fine with all of this.

Job #2 is working at a newspaper, where I was originally doing an internship. I was an editorial intern, but now I am working as an administrative assistant part time. Yup, I have the big fancy title that almost all 20-somethings have. It's a nice way of saying "I answer the phones and am just paying my dues until I can get the job I really want or find something that pays better." I don't mind it too much, though, because I am getting to learn about the business side of newspapers, which I wish I could say was interesting, but it's not. The more I work at the paper, the more I realize that newspapers are just for advertising. That's where the money comes from and it really isn't about the news or the stories. But, if it weren't for the money, then no one would ever get the news. I guess it's just a vicious circle, much like everything else in life!

So, you ask, how do I have any free time? Well, I totally do...not at all. When I do have free time, I have to spend it catching up on all the stuff I don't have time to do, like laundry. It's amazing how quickly someone with a million clothes can end up with nothing to wear. But, some of it is my own fault, since I kind of pack up my free time, so much so that I can no longer call it "free" time.

I'll start from my last post, which was about 3 weeks ago.

My sister came down from Sacramento, so I spent the time I wasn't working hanging out with her. By "hanging out" I mean driving her around to see her friends. I think it's revenge for when we were younger and she had to drive me around. But it's ok, we had some good sister-time, like going to a movie-in-the-park and eating delicious corn and BBQ.

The next weekend, I was off on Friday and Saturday, so I went to see my grandparents. Going to their house is always fun because we just sit around and talk and catch up. We went to see The Ugly Truth, which kind of horrified me at first because I had read that it was a raunch-com. But, it was more of a raunchy chick flick. And the raunchiness wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, so there was really no awkwardness with my Grandma after. On Saturday, my grandma and I had lunch with her sister, my Aunt Peggy, aka me in 60 years. No joke. She is loud and inappropriate and doesn't hold anything back, which I LOVE! The first time she met me as an adult, it was at my cousin Cheryl's wedding and I was wearing a particularly low-cut blue dress, so naturally my boobs were the prominent accessory. Before the ceremony started, she turned to my Uncle Greg and said, "Who's the slut in the blue dress?" Therefore, everytime I go to my grandparents' house, we try to get together with Aunt Peggy, if for no other reason than she's entertaining!

Then last weekend, well, that was just chock full of fun! Saturday was Alec's birthday, and, naturally, we ended up at Timmy Nolan's. I will spare Alec's dignity and keep the antics of the evening to myself, but needless to say, we had a good time.

Sunday was Torrey's wedding reception, basically the wedding minus the boring ceremony part. (I'm sorry, but let's be honest, the ceremony is boring. It can be lovely and moving, but whatever. I'm here for he party.) Torrey and Stephen got married in Hawaii, so my broke-ass, in addition to many other broke-asses, could not attend. Therefore, her parents threw them a reception here in Burbank so we could all celebrate their new togetherness. It was soooo much fun. Richard Blade was the DJ (If you don't know who Richard Blade is, then you didn't grow up in LA.) We all just danced and ate and drank. Then, that night, 6 of us went bowling and I got to show off how awful I am at bowling. I mean it. I'm terrible.

So, there you have it. I will do my best to update more often mainly because it drives me nuts not writing. I wish I had a better excuse other than "I'm busy" but the whole point of this blog is to write about living, so sometimes the "living" gets in the way of the blogging.

This is a Harry Potter Post (I'm sorry)

2009-07-17T16:39:00.001-07:00

Yes, I am one of millions of people who read and love the Harry Potter series.

Yes, I am also one of millions who loves the Harry Potter movies.

I'm sorry. But I just can't help it.

I didn't actually start reading the books until after I watched the first movie on HBO with my friend Kasandra. I knew what it was and I knew that it was this huge series of kid's books, but I was a little old for it, so I had never actually read it. Well, she had and she insisted that I would LOVE the books and they were all amazing.

Begrudgingly, I borrowed her copy of the first book and read it. Despite that it was written for children, I thought it was written really well. It had interesting characters and a great plot. I'm not that into science fiction or fantasy, but for some reason, the first book caught my interest. So I bought the second and read it.

Then I bought the third and read it.

Then, I bought the fourth and read it.

Then, I went with Kasandra to reserve my copy of the fifth and I have been a fan ever since. I know that I'm a little too old for it, but to be honest, that's half the fun! Sometimes I need something that reminds me that there is a lot of fun in the world and all I have to do is let myself find it.

I really think JK Rowling did a great job with the series. Not only do the kids develop and grow up, but the writing actually grows with them. The books do not all read like children's books, but instead, well, grow up. Granted, they are not Ayn Rand, but there are subtle complexities that anyone can appreciate.

Now, the movies.

I treat these as a seperate entity becasue they have to change so much to make it translateable for the screen. If, after every movie, I compared them to the book, I would drive myself nuts. Plus, I would never enjoy the movies and it would be pointless to spend the money to see it. But, so far I have yet to be disappointed.

I think they did an amazing job at casting. Everyone, from Harry all the way down to the guys who play Crabbe and Goyle (the kid who plays Crabbe just plead guilty to growing pot. Just an interesting side note.), is cast exactly how I imagine it when I read the books. Alan Rickman as Snape is probably my favorite.

The effects and the acting can be a bit, to be perfectly honest, bad at times, but I really think they make an effort to stay true to the book, even if that means some things have to be cut out. It might be frustrating, but overall, I think they have done a great job so far.

So yeah, I'm a nerd. I like to go to the midnight showing the day it comes out because I get to see all the big fans who dress up and I can cheer without distrubing everyone. It's ok, though. I enjoy it and, at this point, I am not ashamed to admit it! (Although, up til now, I never wrote a blog about it. I am a nerd, aren't I?)

Don't you ever stop readin'?

2009-07-05T16:38:00.001-07:00

It has been a really long time since I have written about what I'm reading, so, since I feel like writing something but don't really have much to write about, I figure I might as well write about the books I'm trying to get through right now.

Outliers: The Story of Success by Malcolm Gladwell. This is one of those books that got such great reviews from so many people, I finally caved and picked it up. It had nothing to do with the fact that it was on sale at Target. So far, I'm only about 70 pages in, but it really is interesting. He is talking about how the correlation between the month kids are born and their likihood at being successful hockey players. It is all very interesting, but I'm also finding it hard to read more than 20 pages at a time because I end up thinking too hard about it and losing focus. We'll see how it goes.

Eat, Pray, Love. Elizabeth Gilbert. My friend Cierra talked me into this one. She actually didn't talk me into it so much as insisted that I read it. Plus, I found it at the dollar book store. Anyone else sensing a pattern?

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I'm seeing it at midnight next Tuesday! I can't wait!

Bad Girls Go Everywhere: The Life of Helen Gurley Brown, Jennifer Scanlon. Helen Gurley Brown is a bestselling author and was the editor of Cosmo for 30 years and is overlooked as a great feminist. I read the review for this book in the NY Times Book Review one Sunday and, rare thing for me to buy hardcovers, too. I am about halfway through and I really find her when a book I'm interested in reading gets a good review from the Times, I go buy it. It's a very fascinating. Jennifer Scanlon has a tendency to be redundant, but overall it is written well and interestingly.

Slumberland. Paul Beatty. So one of the things I miss the most about working at Barnes and Noble are little things called Advanced Reader Copies. The publishers send these out to authors and bookstores to get feedback on the book. When the book actually comes out, they take quotes from this feedback and put it on the cover to try to intice you to buy. Well, once again at my trusted dollar bookstore, I found an ARC of this novel. It is not even out in paperback yet, so it was a major score for me. (Have I mentioned I hate hardcovers?) I read Beatty's White Boy Shuffle in my contemporary African American Lit class and fell in love with him. He writes very lyrically and I think the way he infers rather than tells with his satirical style is brilliant. This is about a DJ's quest for the "perfect beat," which leads him to West Berlin. I think the writing is beautiful, but I'm not quite sure about the plot yet. I just need to keep reading.

Now, here's my dillemma: I can't read fast enough! I want to finish all of these books because I have about 108 other books I want to read, not to mention the fact that I haven't even read the NY Time Books section yet today, which means there will be another 100 books I want to read.

This is just another reason I need to start waking up earlier.

Just because I get lost doesn't mean I don't enjoy it...

2009-07-03T01:53:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I went up north for my good friend Molly's Welcome Home soiree. You know me, if there is a party involving a good friend and wine country then I’m so there. I hopped on a plane, rented a car, and headed up to Sonoma.

And promptly got lost.

I had no troubles getting from the Oakland Airport to the 101 and then on to the 37 and the 121. Then, when the signs said “121/12 to Sonoma/Napa” I decided this must be the “slight right” Google Maps was talking about. Not so much. (Sidebar: Yes, I know I’m from SoCal because I put “the” in front of the highway/freeway numbers. Thanks for pointing that out, Molly.)

I started noticing that there weren’t any street signs, at least not any that were visible from the highway. After about 2 miles I decided I was going the wrong way and turned around on one of these small roads. It turns out that these “roads” were actually DRIVEWAYS to wineries. No wonder I couldn’t see the street signs. They weren’t actually streets.

Once I got back to the correct highway, I found the “slight right” Google Maps was talking about and took that. Now, the street actually looked like streets and there were houses that I could see. But then I got nervous that I had passed the street I was looking for and called Molly.

“So..I’m like 99% sure I’m lost. I just passed Petaluma Road but I think I missed…”

“Kimmi. You just haven’t gone far enough.”

As soon as I hung up with her, I saw a car pulling out of one of these streets, and sure enough, that was the one I was looking for. Which I realized as I was passing it. I turned around and got onto the correct street and found Molly’s house really easily after that. I’m sure it was all my navigational instincts that told me which house was the correct one. It had nothing to do with the Cal decals on each one of the cars in the driveway.

This got me to thinking. Why is it that when I am in a city like LA or San Francisco, I feel more comfortable, even when I am lost much worse than I was in a small town like Sonoma?

I always hear people talk about how independent they are in “the City,” but if you think about it, they are actually incredibly dependent. In San Francisco, driving along the Embarcadero, there are 100 signs telling you where Fisherman’s Wharf, the Bay Bridge, the Golden Gate Bridge, and Exposition Park are. There are even signs with “alternate routes” to the 80. Even outside of the tourist-heavy areas, there are a ton of signs pointing you in the right direction. In Sonoma, there were no signs like this. There were a few signs advertising delicious wine, but, for the most part, I was on my own.

So what’s my point? I don’t really know. I just think it’s so interesting that I rely so much on signs pointing me in the right direction when I’m at home or in SF, but when I get outside, I have to rely on my own sense of direction. Although, when I do get lost, I am then able to find my way much easier the next time.

Journeys are not what it's all about

2009-07-01T15:26:00.000-07:00

You know that saying “It’s not the destination, it’s the journey”? Well, in my opinion, that’s bull. I hate the “journey” part of traveling. I hate the airport and I hate flying.

My hate for the airport is not necessarily for the “hassle” as much as it is the reasons behind the hassle and the idiots who don’t get it. You have to put all your belongings on display for some stranger to X-ray and then, if you’re lucky, another stranger will then make you open your bag and display all your stuff for the rest of the travelers as well. Then, once you get past the humiliation of walking through a public facility with no shoes on, you must pay $3 for a burnt, tasteless cup of coffee. Plain coffee. It’s another $2 for cream and sugar. All of this “hassle” because a small percentage of people decided they needed to fly planes into buildings to make their point. Or because a few people decided that blowing up a plane with liquid explosives would be a good idea. Thanks.

Then, the other source of the hassle is the fact that people can’t seem to comprehend that 3 oz in a clear plastic bag means 3 oz in a clear plastic bag. Not a big bottle of shaving cream shoved underneath all the stuff in your already too large carry on bag. And yes, ma’am, you do need to take your shoes off. Just do it and stop complaining.

Overall, the “hassle” at the airport is something that is manageable. I hate it, but I handle it.

The act of flying is the other part of the “journey” that I am not in love with. Somehow the idea of being 36,000 feet above the ground is not comforting or exciting. Plus, the seats are so close together that your either have to get really comfortable touching the person next to you for the duration, or you have to fidget like the lady in the hemorrhoid cream commercials in order to avoid physical contact.

Then there’s landing. Racing toward cement at hundreds of miles per hour with only a few small wheels to save you from slamming into the asphalt.

Even with all of these fears and concerns and discomforts, I still do it. I know that, in order to reach my destination, I have to put of all of this scary, uncomfortable and stressful stuff in order to get to where I’m going.

One more way I annoy all the people that hang out with me...

2009-06-13T19:46:00.000-07:00

The other night, I went to see The Taking of Pelham 123 with my friend Ricky. The movie was pretty freakin' awesome and I have to say, John Travolta is the best bad guy ever. When the movie ended, Ricky got up to leave and I didn't.

"What? You're not ready to go?"

"I sit through the credits."

"Haha...what you think there is going to be something at the end?" When I don't move, he gets very awkward and looks around at the rest of the moviegoers filing out of the theater. "You were serious?"

"Yeah I was. I can meet you outside if you'd like."

He then gave me the look that many people do. Bewildered and annoyed.

So here's the thing. I know a lot of people who work in the entertainment industry. And not just actors or directors but teamsters, set dressers, grips, and even caterers and assistants. All of these people get their names in the credits, but 90% of people that go to movies don't bother to sit there and see the name of the guy who drove the truck or the assistant the assistant of Denzel Washington. These are the people who make less than a sixth of what everyone else is making and they are doing the worst job possible and getting no respect for it.

Therefore, at the end of a movie, it is all I can do to spend an extra five minutes to watch the credits and see the name of the guy who picks up the poo of John Travolta's dog. Even if they get no respect from anyone else, they have mine while I watch the names go up to the top of the screen.

I will always be a Zack Morris kind of girl...

2009-06-09T22:29:00.000-07:00

In the 10th grade, my Pre-Cal teacher, Mr. Peebles, issued us a challenge. We had all completely bombed a test and, since tests were 90 percent of our grade, he decided to offer up a chance to get some extra credit. The rules were simple: come up with a question about Saved by the Bell that he could not answer. Only questions having to do within the realm of the show were acceptable, therefore no bullshit questions like “What was the name of the actor who played the nerd Screech took Tori Spelling away from?” (Jeffrey Asch). Being the competitive person that I am, I decided that I didn’t want to win for the extra credit. I wanted to crush Peebles.

Peebles was one of those teachers who taught you by forcing you to grow up and take responsibility for the work you did. Or don’t do, as was the case with me. He was also a bit of a jerk who knew which buttons to push in order to make you work, but somehow keep you motivated instead of making you want to quit. He could joke around with you and insult you and yet, you came out of it feeling like you were smarter. However, I don’t like cocky people, so my goal was to make sure I brought him down off of his high horse.

I grew up watching Saved By the Bell. The only reason I would wake up before 10 on a Saturday morning was to watch. (Ok, maybe I also got up to watch Power Rangers. Whatever…Tommy was hot….and still is based on the images I found on Google…) So, when Peebles brought up the challenge, I reached into the farthest corners of my brain to pull up that useless knowledge taking up space I should have been using for Pre-Cal.

We had one class period to come up with our question. We were not allowed to check the Internet or go home and do research on our stash of videos. With 20 minutes left in class, we all started asking our questions. As he worked his way around the room, I realized that there really wasn’t any question Peebles couldn’t answer.

Who were the original cast members? (Zack, Mr. Belding, Lisa, Screech)
Where did they live when the show originally started? (INdianappolis, Indiana) What was the name of the all girl group Lisa, Kelly and Jessie formed? (Hot Sundae)
What was the name of Tori Spelling’s character? (Violet Bickerstaff)

None of these even made Peebles hesitate. I was the last one to go and I smiled my most vicious smile. “What was the name of Jessie’s stepbrother?”

Pause.

“Umm…Hang on.” He was sweating. “I know this.” More sweat and now a bit of a nervous shake. “I….don’t…know?” Yeah. I stumped him.

Here’s the problem though: I also stumped myself. He never said anything about having to actually know the answer! I left class feeling horrible. I had done the impossible in stumping the self-proclaimed King of Saved By the Bell trivia, but I had lost on a non-verbalized technicality.

Two classes later, it was still bugging me. I was in Spanish and should have been focusing on how to conjugate verbs, but all I could think about was the name of Jessie’s brother. I was deep in thought when the door opened. I was Peebles. He didn’t say anything, just walked up to the white board, wrote “Eric” and walked back out. Needless to say, I still wasn’t focusing on the correct conjugation of “trabajar.”

Now, almost 10 years later, I am back to thinking about this story. Why? Jimmy Fallon is trying to get the class back together. Only two more cast members need to confirm and those of us who are Bayside Tigers at heart will have our dreams come true. Now if only Jimmy Fallon would reunite the original Power Rangers…plus Tommy.

How House became a Home...

2009-06-07T19:54:00.000-07:00

For some reason, I’m really good at enjoying shows that have been on for a long time or are about to go off the air. I didn’t start watching Sex and the City until it was off the air. I didn’t get into Gilmore Girls until the last season. I didn't even start watching That 70’s Show regularly until Donna went blond. So, now I am of course into House.

The first few times I watched House I did not enjoy it. I thought House was a jerk no one could ever like. He put everyone down and is rude and mean and has a drug problem. He might be brilliant but I didn’t find that enough of a reason to watch. I remember thinking that glorifying someone like this is a bad idea. The only reason I was able to get through those first three episodes was, to be completely honest, Omar Epps. Shocking right?

Then, of course, USA started airing the repeats. Normally I wouldn’t watch the show that is taking away the airtime of my favorite show to watch in syndication. (SVU) But, I was bored and sometimes House can be funny. (“Yeah, I’ve been training for Pants Off Dance Off.” Anything with a Pants Off Dance Off reference is good by me.) (If you don’t know what Pants Off Dance Off is, Google it. Your life will never be the same. Whole different blog…) I slowly realized that House, while an expert in misanthropy, is actually the most honest character on television. Anyone who knows me knows that I enjoy nothing more than brutal honesty.

Yes, there are times when I think he goes too far and when I don’t actually believe any human being could be that mean or break that many rules. But there are also times when he gives in and becomes human and that what makes it brilliant. TV shows are entertaining because of the unpredictable, and no matter how well I can correctly guess how the plot of an episode will go, I have yet to guess how House’s character will react and the direction he will take. It keeps me watching and hoping that he’ll one day get out of his misery and hoping that he never will.

Which is why I bought the first four seasons at Target in the past two weeks. Best money I’ve spent in a long time.

A little picky is fine...High maintenance is not

2009-05-30T15:29:00.000-07:00

It takes a lot for me to find someone truly high maintenance. I am used to people being uber picky about how they want their drinks, but every once in awhile, I get a customer who makes me glad that I only have to deal with them at work. If I had to hang out with these people, I'd probably be in jail for murder.

The other morning, this guy came in. He was wearing a nice striped button down with navy slacks and really didn't have any of the tell-tale markers of a high maintenance person (Bluetooth headseat, executive notebook, very large purse with three different agendas, and pretty much anyone who, at 5 am, looks like they've been up for 2 hours to put themselves together). Then he orderd, and it was a whole new level of fastidiousness.

"I'd like, in a paper cup, a Venti Coffee Frap." Pause to make sure I got that he wanted his cold drink in a paper cup. I kept to myself the fact that if you put a Frap in a paper cup, the cup will become soggy and leak all over his perfectly-pressed pants. (Yes, after his first sentence I started noticing all the little things that made him picky. He didn't keep cash in a wallet but kept it in a money clip. All of them were new bills. God forbid there's a wrinkle in that 20.)

"With no Whip." Pretty normal for, well, everyone in LA. Not too annoying.

"With an add shot blended in." Pretty normal for anytime before 10 am. Again, not too annoying, but getting there.

"With one and a half scoops of tall ice." Shit. Just when he only borded on picky, he became high maintenance.

I know what you're thinking. How come with just one line he became high maintenance? Well, here's the thing. If I have to walk over to the bar and read the instructions to the person making the drinks, your bitchass is high maintenance. Demanding, picky, stubborn, controlling; all of these are understandable, but just plain high maintenance is not. You're holding up everyone else and you are making my job a lot tougher than it needs to be. Not to mention the fact that you're getting shit you don't need in a very complicated way and it makes you look like a complete fool.

So, the next time you are in Starbucks or at a restaurant, think about what you're ordering. If it involves changing more than two things, don't get it. You probably don't need that decaf, half soy, half nonfat, 190 degree, no foam, one pump mocha, one pump cinnamon dulce, no whip latte. Save your money for something imporant. Like shoes.

Reason number 898,974 that proves people are idiots...

2009-05-14T19:43:00.000-07:00

Guy in line to Bianca, who is at the register: Tell me about your Shaken Iced Tea.

Bianca: Sure. What would you like to know?

Guy: Is it iced?

Bianca: (Without smiling or showing any sign of her assessment of what an idiot this guy was) Umm...yeah....

I let out a snort that I tried to cover up as a cough and the girl with the guy in line just went "HA!" The guy didn't get it.

What I really wanted to say: No, dipshit, it's called Iced Tea because we enjoy fooling customers and then answering dumb questions to waste our time and frustrate our employees.

By the way, anyone who told you "There's no such thing as a stupid question" is someone who asks stupid questions and you should never take advice from them.

Why Living in LA Sometimes Doesn't Suck

2009-05-07T17:51:00.000-07:00

There are very few things that are truly cool about my dad being a teamster for ABC(i.e. one of the guys in the trucks who drives all the shit needed for the show from one place to the set) (AKA, that asshole who just cut you off when you were getting on the freeway because he's bigger and stronger than you. You know you've seen him). Honestly, the production of a TV show is REALLY boring and tedious, followed by about 20 minutes of actual action. It involves sitting around waiting to do your part on the show, whether it's decorate the set, set up the lights, or do the actual performing/directing/acting, and then waiting some more to do the next part of your job. Trust me, even if you are a tourist and someone takes you backstage to see your fave show, you're getting the put-your-best-face-on-and-make-it-look-interesting version of how it all actually works.

That being said, one of the best things about my dad being a teamster is that he works on Jimmy Kimmel Live sometimes, and therefore knows everyone that works there, including the security guards. Therefore, when someone I really want to see is going to be performing, I can not only get in to see the show, I can get in to see the sound check.(And they don't say anything about my expired ID) (Did I forget to mention that I sometimes work as a teamster? My bad) Well yesterday, one of my favorite groups was performing. You may have heard of them...The Black Eyed Peas. (Insert envy here.)

The best thing about seeing the sound checks is getting to see what the performers are really like. Not the "performance" part of the person, but the "professional" part of the person. When I saw Maroon 5 do their sound check, it was more entertaining than the actual show because they were just jamming, playing everything from Metallica to the Beatles. They were all having a good time and seemed like a cohesive group. Usher was the most professional person I've ever seen. He was insitent on doing all the choreography and making sure that everyone was singing on pitch and that the drums weren't too loud. Jay-Z was scary because there were "security" guys on the roof guns. BEP was a different story.

Not to say they didn't get along, but you could see that Will.I.Am is kind of a diva, Fergie was, well, confused and had obviously not rehersed much, Taboo couldn't say focused for more than 2 seconds and apl.de.ap was a bit, um, out of place. (The backup dancers, who had been going over the routine before the band came on stage, looked like they'd been doing it for years, even though 2 of them had just learned it.) Will was running around and saying hi to everyone and not doing any of the choreography, instead choosing make inappropriate hand gestures with his mic. And yes, I laughed at each one. Fergie just looked baffled. She couldn't get all the moves and couldn't remember the lyrics a few time through. Taboo kept looking around and talking to anyone within a foot of him. I can't tell you how many times the manager had to yell "Tab!" during the sound check to get him back into place. Apl kept bouncing from working on the choreography to leaning on one of the giant blow up robots, to messing with his mic and, my favorite, standing there like the kid at a party who doesn't really know where to go so stares at the ground instead.

Through all of this, they still put on a good show. "Boom Boom Pow" wasn't as good as I thought it would be, but I think it's becuase this was their first time performing it and they, obviously, didn't go over it enough. They did a few of their other songs and that's when it was really entertaining. They looked like they knew what they were doing and were really into it, making the crowd get into it.

I did catch a quick glimpse of Fergie when she was walking back from the stage and I got a nod and a smile. She is MUCH prettier in person. Being the professional that I am, I refused to turn into a screaming fan so I just smiled at her and tried not to tell her she looked like the alien version of Princess Leia with those wierd green things on her ears.

Offense sells tickets; defense wins games

2009-05-04T00:21:00.000-07:00

With the NBA playoffs well underway and the WNBA season coming up (Ashley Paris in LA...I can't wait to see how she does!) I got to thinking today about all the reasons basketball is my favorite sport. I came up with a lot. The most important one seems, to me, pretty basic: it’s completely fair.

First of all, if one team scores, the other gets the chance to retaliate instantly. There aren’t three more outs to wait for or 100 more yards to get through to even the score. It's your five against a theirs. If you can’t score the next time down, it’s on you. The other team might have played awesome defense, but just the same, you get the chance to go down to the other end and play defense just as well.

Secondly, it’s FAST! I’ve seen teams come back from a 20-point deficit in just 5 minutes. Or execute a last-second-timeout drawn up play in only 5 seconds. There is so much going on that it’s very hard to get bored. Even at a blowout game, there are a few minutes when the underdog starts to comeback and you think the game might even get interesting.

Finally, it’s not all about being the biggest or the best; it’s about heart. Well, ok, having true talent does make it a lot easier. However, there are plenty of times when The Best are brought down by those who just wanted it more and worked harder for it. I will never forget when I played against a team who had beat us at home 100-28. (That’s not a typo. We lost by 72 points. At home. It SUCKED) But, when we went into their house, we didn’t have anything to lose. So, we came out and kept them from scoring the first 5 minutes of the game and, even though we lost in the end, we only lost by 15. The fans did that annoying thing where they stand until their team scores and I have to say, it felt good to see that half their fans sat down before they scored. Those are the best games to watch and the best games to play. (And it’s always fun to walk by the smaller gym during the men’s game and see the other team running lines.)

Now, I’m not trying to say that other sports aren’t as fair. But, if you take away all of the other factors (excuses), at the end of the day all you need is a ball, a basket, and an opponent, even if that opponent is just you.

A Birthday Story with a Hobo Twist

2009-04-30T12:45:00.000-07:00

There is really small Mexican restaurant in Silver Lake that my dad found and that we all thoroughly enjoy now, so, when my mom asked where I would like to go to dinner for my b-day, I said “Casita Del Campo.”

We went and the food was delicious and the margaritas strong, as usual. I ate too much and felt a little sick and tired afterward, which is the true way to know you’ve had a great meal.

On the way home, there is weird turn you have to make in order to go underneath a bridge to get to the freeway. Sitting on the divider of the strange turn was a homeless man. Not a rare sight in Los Angeles, but he had a sign that said, “Why Lie? I want a beer!”

I kept watching him while looking for a few dollar bills to give him and I realize he’s working ON A LAPTOP!! Then, he picks up a PDA and sets it down next to the laptop. Most normal people would this was wholly unacceptable because what the hell kind of homeless person has a laptop and a PDA (and a cell phone, as l later found out). Not me. I thought it was great!

As we make the turn I say, “Dad, let’s go the liquor store and buy him a beer and bring it to him and take a picture with him for my birthday!” To my surprise, my dad pulls over at the next liquor store! We make my mom go buy the beer and she walks out with a tall can of MGD. “It was only $2.25 for the 24 ounce can, so I figured that’s what I should get.”

We pull back around and pull up across the street. I look up and say, “Umm…Dad. There is no crosswalk…How do we get over there?”

“We run like hell.” I’m in heels mind you.

We sprint across the street and come up to the guy. I hand him the beer and say, “I liked your sign so much that I went and bought you a beer. But you can only have it if you take a picture with me.” He laughed, picked up his sign and posed for the picture.

But the best part is when he starts to ask me what I do for a living and go on about how he’s doing his “paperwork for the Oval Office” and that people call him “Number 52” because “52 is the number of everything.” 52 cards in a deck, 52 weeks in a year, something about Jesus was the number 52. I don’t really know.

Dad and I go sprinting back across the street and hop into the car, where Mom is giggling and calling us crazy. Dad pulls through the 76 station to make an illegal U-turn and who should be on the other side but about 6 of Glendale’s finest! They were too busy having their powwow to notice the red car with the three people laughing hysterically.

Now that’s the way you should spend your b-day. Doing something illegal, stupid and kind of offensive with your parents. Classic.

Top Ten Ways to Prevent Something Gross From Being Done to Your Drink

2009-04-28T22:19:00.000-07:00

I was at work today and, as usual, I’ve decided that I completely agree with House. People are idiots. So, in order to help all of you not be so damn stupid, I am going to list all the common idiotic behaviors and tell you what you should do instead.

1. It’s so damn simple. BE NICE!!!! I’m not saying you need to listen to your barista tell you her life story, but when she says, “How are you today?” don’t just look at her like she’s inconveniencing you. Say, “I’m good. I”ll have a….” So simple.

2. It’s perfectly fine to have a complicated drink. What’s not ok is to have a complicated drink that you don’t tell the person at the register. I can’t tell you how many times a day people will order something basic, a latte let’s say, and then walk over to the bar and say “Oh, can I have that decaf? With nonfat milk? And no foam? With only one shot?” In my head, I say, “ You dumb bitch. No, you’re getting regular with heavy cream and extra foam” but out loud, I say, “Sure, no problem.” Because I have to.

3. On those same lines, do not have a super complicated drink and then quiz the barista about it. “Is it nonfat? No foam? Decaf?” Yes, you stupid fuck. I just called all that out and now you’re asking me to repeat it again? Pay attention the first time and then you won’t have to worry about it.

4. Another so simple one: PAY ATTENTION. Names are put on cups for a reason, so DO NOT WALK UP THE BAR AFTER “BOB” HAS BEEN CALLED OUT AND ASK “IS THAT MY DRINK?” IF YOUR NAME IS STEPHANIE. No, it’s not your drink. Yes, sometimes the names are misheard, but usually it is easy to figure out that, whoops, “Bob” should have been “Rob.” If your name wasn’t put on your cup, then pay attention to the drink the barista calls out.

5. The next is know what you order and NEVER walk up and say “Is this mine?” I HAVE NO FRACKING CLUE IF THAT IS YOURS BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU ORDERED. Instead, say, “Is this my nonfat latte?”

6. Ok, I know that we screw up drinks. Remember that everyone is human and, sometimes, we have been up since 4 a.m. and are suffering from sleep deficiency. The proper way to handle this is to say, “Excuse me, but I asked for 2 extra pumps and this doesn’t taste right.” Say it very nicely without attitude and be understanding about it. You have every right to be angry that your drink wasn’t made correctly the first time, but the more angry you get at us, the more fucked up that drink will be. Just because you’re staring at me watching make your drink doesn’t mean I don’t know how to screw with it. Not that I ever would. Hypothetically.

7. PICK UP YOUR SHIT. There are trash cans all over the place, so rather than leaving your empty cups and newspapers on the table, drop them in the trash can on your way out. Your mom doesn’t work here and won't pick up after you. I ain't your mama either, so I will hate you for the rest of the time you come to my store if you don't pick up after yourself. This also goes for spilling sugar on the condiment bar and not cleaning it up or dropping something on the ground and leaving.

8. TURN THE VOLUME OF YOUR CONVERSATION DOWN. I’m telling you, if I hear one more conversation about whether or not that girl's boobs are real or that you have some sort of rash on your “hidden areas and aren’t sure which guy” you got it from, I’m going to give my opinion. (Yes, both of those have been real conversations I overheard.)

9. DO NOT MOCK, CLOWN, HATE ON, OR TALK SHIT ABOUT THE PERSON SERVING YOU FOOD. Especially when she can hear you. It makes an already thankless job even worse and it is what causes bad customer service. If you go everywhere and everyone treats you badly, it’s not them. It’s you.

10. DO NOT COMMENT ON THE PRICES OR HOW LONG THE LINE IS. We cannot control the prices, so don’t complain to me. I agree that it’s expensive but you’re choosing to spend $5 on a drink, so just accept it and move on. Same with the line. If you walk in and there are 10 people in front of you, realize that there is going to be wait. You’re choosing to get in line and wait for a drink, so if you don’t wanna wait, go to 7-11.

That’s it. It’s simple and easy to have a good experience. Then, when someone is truly rude to you and you have done nothing, you can do what I do: make a scene.

Books, sunshine, writers and lectures: what more could I ask for?

2009-04-25T21:20:00.000-07:00

It’s Saturday and a beautiful, clear 75 degrees outside. So what do I do?

Go to the LA Times Festival of Books of course!

I had planned on going for quite sometime, mainly because, well, it’s a festival of BOOKS! But then I found out that there would be a lot of great writers and publishers there, so I got even more excited.

It was held at UCLA and, even though I’ve been to UCLA more times than I can tell you, I realized today that I had never really seen it. The buildings are beautiful and, although the campus is huge, it was easy to get around and find my way. (Plus, there were no major hills, like at the better UC up north) It was the perfect venue to hold a festival like this and it made me miss school a lot.

The first panel I went to was called “Fiction: the Re-imagination of a Life.” Now, I’m not a fiction writer. I wouldn’t say that I suck at writing fiction, but I could name a few who would. But I am always curious to learn new and interesting ways to write, so this seemed like a great place to start. The panelists were people I had never heard of, but am now interested in reading. They brought up a lot of good points about character and theme and I got a few ideas for some fiction I might one day actually sit down and write.

Then I did the less intellectual part of my journey. I went to see Alyssa Milano talk about her new book. I wasn’t going to but I caught the end of the speaker before her (Winnie Cooper from The Wonder Years!) and a seat opened up so I sat and listened to her. I’ve always been pretty indifferent to her, but today I realized just how cool she is. Her book is about baseball and how it helped her form a relationship with her dad, which is something I can totally relate to. She was very entertaining and interesting and, even though I considered this the less stimulating of my journeys today, I felt like maybe I should go buy her book.

The next panel I went to was a discussion with Ray Bradbury. Yes, as in Fahrenheit 451. (!!!!!) I was very excited, even though I had to choose between him and Gore Vidal. To tell the truth, it was kind of boring. It was more of an interview than a discussion and it was crowded and hot in the auditorium. Plus I had a man next to me who obviously thought that sporting sandals and socks while wearing no deodorant is an appropriate thing to do in public. But, how many people can say they got to hear Ray Bradbury speak for free? Well, probably about 500 because that’s how many the auditorium held.

The last panel I went to was called “Publishing: the Big Picture” and it was very interesting. They talked about how the problem isn’t really that Americans don’t read, it’s that they don’t buy books. They also talked about how the main reason people don’t read is because there is so much to read and people are overwhelmed by choice. It really made me think because, for me, when I walk into a bookstore and see all the choices, it exhilarates me. I love that there is so much to read and that there are endless possibilities. But, I do understand how hard it can be to have to choose when there are a million options.

I didn’t end up buying anything because I got turned off by the amount of people crammed into the little booths. I did, however, write down some presses to look up and a few authors to google. I had a great day there and am glad I went.

I also thought about how happy I am to be the kind of person that can go do something like this without needing someone to be with me. I know a lot of people who wouldn’t see it as fun or would think it was pointless, even scary.

But honestly, I do kind of wish someone would have gone with me, because there was tremendous mocking potential. I didn’t know you could still buy Hammer pants and Keds, but boy-o-boy was I wrong!

Just keep your mouth shut until you get in the car and are on the freeway!

2009-04-20T21:32:00.000-07:00

I have discovered somewhere that is incredibly dangerous. It is a place that is a comfort for most and even a safe haven, but for me, it is a place to be feared and avoided at all costs.

WalMart.

I didn’t grow up with a WalMart down the street, so I have never really found a need to go there. I have Target, which is just as good. Not to say that I have never been in a WalMart before in my life, but this weekend I got the true WalMart experience. And IT FREAKED ME OUT!

My sister got a new apartment and we were shopping for stuff like bookcases and trash cans and pretty much the necessities. We went to Ikea and then decided to head to WalMart right next door to see if they had the other stuff we needed.

We walk in and I am instantly overwhelmed. There is so much stuff! To my left, the produce aisle. To my right, the lingerie section. In front of me, all the morally appropriate CDs I could ever ask for. Behind me, the poor greeter to whom I said, “Holy shit, this is white trash heaven!” I’m surprised I didn’t get a riffle pulled on me by some of the guys who no doubt had them in the back of their raised pickups.

As we are walking through, we can’t find anything! It takes three times as long to find things as it would in a supermarket or a drugstore or even in Ikea! Plus, there were about 200 workers but, because if it's gargantuan size, you couldn’t find a single person to help you! Crazy!

Now, I understand why WalMart is potentially so fabulous: convenience and price. You can find a new outfit, accessorize it, do your grocery shopping, get an eye exam and a physical, fill your prescriptions, have your hair and nails done all to have a wonderful dinner at Blimpie with a little ice cream from the frozen food section, while your tires are getting rotated. All for under $50. Why go anywhere else when everything you need is right there?

Oh yeah, maybe because “convenience” is not always convenient. Or pleasant.

There is so much stuff that it is hard to find even one thing. I would rather go 10 places that specialize in what I am looking for and I can go in, get it done and leave, rather than spending 20 minutes wandering around looking for stuff or being horrified by the hairstyles people are getting in the “salon" and wondering if the potato salad really is any cheaper than the stuff at Safeway. (I didn’t know that “feathering” was still even taught in beauty school.)

I think that the cherry on top, however, was that when we were walking out, there was a very large family walking in front of us. (I mean "large" both in numbers and actual size. But, let's be honest, who am I to comment on "largeness"?) The mom had bleach blond hair with long, airbrushed acrylic nails, a spaghetti strap tank top with her bra hanging out, cutoff shorts and flip flops. The dad was wearing flip flops, cutoffs, a beater and his sunglasses on his head. Then, there were 8 kids around them, in addition to a baby in the cart and a 2ish-year-old in the mom’s arms. The little boys all had faux hawks and the little girls all had fake tattoos. The contents of the cart are what truly solidified their white trash standing: beer right next to the diapers. There was also three times as much beer as there were diapers. I started laughing rather loudly and the woman turned around to stare at the crazy woman who is guffawing to herself. I had to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t blurt out “Spending quality family time at the WalMart huh? Are the kids going to help you drink the beer and change the diapers of the other kids while your husband gets the little girls real tattoos to match their fake ones?”

WalMart is a dangerous place for me.

It was only supposed to be a simple trip to San Diego

2009-04-10T20:01:00.000-07:00

It started innocently enough. Go down to San Diego for Lisa’s baby shower, then have dinner with Iisha, then go home. I should know better than to expect that anything will be as uncomplicated as it appears to be.

Here’s the thing. My car had a small coolant leak that my dad thought he had fixed. Fixed as in “it’ll get you there and back but I don’t know how much longer it’ll hold after that.” So we figured we were fine.

We got down there in pretty good time and I had a great time. Let me rephrase. I had as great of a time as one can have at a baby shower with a bunch of people one does not know. I spent a lot of time with my cousin Maddy and I got to see pretty much all of my family, so I really have no complaints.

I left to go out to dinner with Iisha. We hardly get to see each other, so I was very excited. She chose Cheesecake Factory and honestly, who am I to argue? We get there and, well, shocker of shockers, it’s packed! We decide to head back towards her house because it probably won’t be as busy and it might even be cheaper, which is always a plus.

As we are driving on the freeway, I notice that the temperature gauge starting to climb. I think that I need to get off, but being the queen of procrastination, I keep going until I have no other choice but to get off. We pull into a Burger King parking lot, where a ton of steam comes out of the engine. It was enough steam to keep a sauna going for quite awhile.

I, of course, call my dad and inform him that his quick-fix blew up in my face. Almost literally. As he tries to figure out a way to get the car home, I call my grandma and tell her that someone needs to come pick me up. Here’s what the conversation sounded like:

ME: Hey Grandma, are Derek and Lisa still there?
GRANDMA: Why? What happened?
ME: My car broke down and I need someone to come pick me and Iisha up.
GRANDMA: YOUR CAR BROKE DOWN? WHAT? ARE YOU OK?
ME: Yeah Grandma, we’re cool. But I need someone to come pick us up. Dad is trying to figure out a way to get the car home.
GRANDMA: Why don’t you just call AAA?
ME: I don’t have AAA
GRANDMA: YOU DON’T HAV AAA? WHY ON EARTH DON’T YOU HAVE AAA?
ME: Because you don’t love me enough to pay for it. Can I please just speak to Derek? Or Lisa? Or Mark? Or Cheryl?
GRANDMA: Well Grandpa will come get you. Hang on give Mike directions. (Like I said, my WHOLE family was there) MIKE, KIMMI’S CAR BROKE DOWN AND SHE DOESN’T HAVE AAA AND NEEDS SOMEONE TO PICK HER UP….NO SHE DOESN’T HAVE AAA….I DON’T KNOW WHY…NOW COLLEEN (my mother) DON’T WORRY SHE’S FINE…YES COLLEEN WE WILL EAT EVENTUALLY…Ok honey, here’s your Uncle Mike.

Ten minutes later, my phone rings

GRANDMA: Derek and Lisa are coming to get you and Grandpa’s coming too because he has his AAA card and I might come too to make sure you’re ok and your mom is hungry so she might come so she can get something from Burger King and…
Me: GRANDMA…THE ENTIRE FAMILY CANNOT COME TO PICK ME UP. I HAVE MY FRIEND WITH ME AND WE ALL NEED TO FIT IN THE CAR. JUST SEND DEREK AND LISA.
Grandma: Well…Grandpa has to come because he has the card…ok…the three of them are leaving now.

After a lot of phone calls and texts to Alec, who was working at AAA at the time, we finally found a way to get my car back to LA and get Iisha home. (Thanks fave cousin!) The catch: I have to drive up to LA in the tow truck. By myself. With some random guy. (Ok, so technically not by myself, but you get it.) Now, I hadn’t even thought of this, but, of course, my Grandma had.

GRANDMA: Are you sure she’s going to be ok riding all alone with a truck driver back to LA? Aren’t you worried about her?
DAD: No BJ, I’m more worried about the tow truck driver having to drive up to LA with Kimmi. She’ll be fine.

Oh yeah. It was fabulous. (BTW…My mom finally got food because Derek and Lisa are the Dynamic Duo. Thanks for the concern, Mom.)

I love LA...sorta...

2009-04-03T23:37:00.000-07:00

The funny thing about living in LA is the amount of things we see that, in an other city, would be totally ridiculous. Or insane. Or just plain weird.

For example, size DD boobs and long blond hair on a woman who weighs 100 pounds walks down the street in skinny jeans and sky-high heels. In any other city in America, she would illicit stares of envy, jealousy or anger from women. Men would pretend not to stare, but as soon as they thought no one was looking, they would sneak a peak at her peaks. The women would talk about unhealthy she must be to be so skinny or how much her feet must hurt from wearing those shoes. The men wouldn’t talk about her, they would simply think about her later that night, if you catch my drift. However, in LA, the men would only glance at the woman because there would be another one looking just like her coming from the other direction. The woman wouldn’t talk about how unhealthy she looked, but would instead ask where she had “them” done or about how “hard” they look. No one would think Barbie looked strange or unreal. Ridiculous.

In any other city, sitting at a red light watching people run across the street would not seem at all odd. Yet, here, those people you see running across the street are not running to catch a bus or because they are late. In fact, these people are carrying three different kinds of cameras, including telephoto lenses. These people are sprinting across the street at full speed with total disregard for the lights or their safety in order to get a picture of a person society deems newsworthy. By getting that great picture, they can make thousands of dollars. Thousands of dollars for taking a picture of someone who does nothing of note but do drugs, drink, party and illustrate how money and neglect can truly fuck you up. These paps are sprinting to get a picture of nothing more than a woman shopping with her boyfriend. Insane.

Then there’s the characters on Hollywood Blvd. When I say “characters,” I mean literally. Any day, you can walk down to Graumen’s Chinese Theater and be hoodwinked into paying to take a photo with a crack-head dressed up as Spiderman. These people, many of them homeless or out-of-work “actors,” dress up like the characters from movies, whether it’s Spiderman, Batman, Wonder Woman or even Captain Jack Sparrow. The best part, however, isn’t that you can get your picture taken with them. It’s that you might be there to see a fight between Darth Vadar and Superman. Or you might catch Chewbacca sexually assaulting Marilyn Monroe and then get to testify in the pending trial. Anywhere else, these people would be either arrested or committed. Hey, they don’t call it “Hollyweird” for nothing.

I know that I am always the first person to say how fake LA is and how intellectually numbing this city can be, but, truthfully, all of these absurdities are what make this city fascinating. You never really know what is going to happen or who that person really is. “Barbie” might be the next Jenna Jameson, enabling you to tell people how you saw her with her clothes on. Those paps might get the photo of Brad and Angelina pre-Aniston breakup, making you a witness to a huge piece of pop culture history. Finally, those costumes characters are a part of the reason tourists still come to Hollywood and are helping tourism stay alive.

In the end, these eccentricities are what make up the unique culture of Los Angeles. No matter how much I complain about LA, it does have some interesting assets that I have grown to love.

I went on vh1 and got the love of my perfect man! (and an STD)

2009-03-23T23:21:00.000-07:00

"Reality TV" is an oxymoron. I don't care how much everyone wants to say it's not, it is. In the same way that you are always watching what you say around your boss, if there is a camera in your face, there are certain things you wouldn't normally do or say. Therefore, it's not real. Ever.

That said, I do sometimes enjoy these shows. They are funny and are usually like watching a car crash: no matter how hard you try, you just can't look away! I really enjoy the ones where they are competing for a prize, like on ANTM or Project Runway, or just The Real World where drama always happens. I'm even kind of enjoying Tough Love (a new vh1 series) because, unlike other vh1 series, this one is not about 15 girls all vying for the prize of one man. It's about these girls finding in themselves that they are worth love, and even though it is cheesy and stupid, there is some good to it.

Now, the shows that I absolutely cannot stand anymore are all the ones where a bunch of guys/girls fight for the "love" of one person. The Bachelor/Bachelorette, Flavor of Love, Rock of Love, For the Love of Ray J, Joe Millionaire, Shot at Love, etc. I won't lie; I have watched and sometimes enjoyed these shows. But the more I think about it, the more I am truly disgusted by it.

Here's the concept: (I'm using a male example because, let's be honest, these are more common. Women are more willing to do stupid shit for "love") A guy is tired of playing the field and wants to find "true love." Somewhere between 10 and 20 women are then moved into a house and proceed to compete for this ONE guy's love. They go on various "dates" and constantly try to break down the credibility of the other girls in order to win this ONE guy's "heart." In the end, one girl gets the “love” of her Prince Charming.

Here's the problem: You go on this show to fall in love with the same man. Then that man goes on various "dates" with these other women and, once again let's be real, probably has sex with them. So, if there are 20 women on the show and he has "sexual relations" with even half of these women, that's 10 women in the course of six weeks that he has had sex with. And I'm not including you. Then, at the end, it's just you and one other girl and he chooses you! Happiness ensues. You're thinking, "Finally! I get to spend some real time together! We are in love and everything is going to be great and wonderful and we are going to be together forever!" The end.

Or not.

Sure, you're going to be able to spend a lot of time together. At the free clinic. Because you know his ass did not use protection with all these girls and now you both got somethin' that you don't want to go to your regular doctor about. That's real.

Sure, you're in love. With the person he played for the cameras. What happens when the cameras aren't around? Who the hell is this guy? Is he different when cameras aren't around? Yes, he is different. He's no longer getting paid to do slutty things with you, therefore he's going to go back to doing slutty things with the other girls that weren't hot enough to make it on the show. Or, he's going to go back to the girlfriend he was going on reality TV to support because he's washed up and can't make any money otherwise. Yeah, it's true.

Now, I know that this is all for entertainment value, but come on! There is entertainment, and then there is stupidity. I can’t even watch them for entertainment value anymore because I just feel pity for the people on there. Half of them will go back to being nobodies and will be worse off than they were before the show started. It ‘s sad.

That said, all of you are going to continue watching because you’re entertained by it. That’s fine, but the next time you watch, just remember the old saying: When you have sex with someone, you’re sleeping with every single person they’ve ever slept with. And if you’re on Rock of Love, you’re also sleeping next to her on the bus.

Ok, sometimes work doesn't totally suck...

2009-03-20T16:21:00.001-07:00

I know that I talk a lot of shit about my job. There are, of course, a lot of things I hate about it. But, every once in awhile, I talk to someone that makes me remember that my job isn't as bad as I like to say it is.

First of all, I have to mention Mike. Mike is a writer who, before he abandoned us for the fabulous life in San Francisco, would come in everyday for his triple Venti Skinny Vanilla Latte. He's an uber-cool guy that I would always complain to when I'd had a particularly annoying customer or if someone had something stupid. We actually exchanged info when he moved so we could keep in touch. I'm glad we did because now I can enjoy his musings on his fave San Francisco coffee shop!

One of our "weekend regulars" is this guy who sits on the patio and plays his guitar. He only gets a cup of coffee, but he always pays for it and doesn't try to scam us out of cups or milk or anything. He just parks himself on the patio for a few hours and plays his guitar. He doesn't do it for any money, he just plays because he likes it. He always comes in and asks about me and my life and what's new, and he usually likes to add something about how much he likes tall girls, which makes me a little uncomfortable because he's old enough to be my grandfather, but that's ok. He also defends us when someone is rude or inconsiderate and he has some great stories to share. His music isn't too bad, either.

Then there's Chyna. Yeah, Chyna as in the wrestler turned reality TV star turned addict who then went back to reality TV. She lives in the area and works out at the gym across the street. She is probably one of the sweetest people I've ever met. She is super chatty with me and always remembers our conversations. When I was studying for the LSAT she would, without fail, ask me how it was going. She gets either a mocha with soy or a caramel macchiato with soy and, apparently, will ask for me if she doesn't see me. She might not be the best role model, but by getting to know her just a little bit, I'm rooting for her to pull through and gain success.

It's people like these that really make me appreciate working in customer service. Every time I see one of them, I'm reminded that if I were working in any other profession, I wouldn't meet such interesting characters, and we all know that the characters are the ones that make life interesting!

Ok, if I only have $20 to last me the week, should I save it for gas or should I get the cute top?

2009-03-07T22:20:00.000-08:00

Don’t you hate it when the things you think you’ll love, you actually end up hating? Ok, maybe not hating, but really not enjoying as much as you had thought you would?

I went to see Confessions of a Shopaholic with my mom recently and, even thought the clothes were great, I wasn’t very happy with it. Actually, I was rather frustrated.

For those who live under a rock, here’s the deal: Rebecca Bloomwood is a journalist who can’t control her spending habits. She buys things she doesn’t need with money she doesn’t have, thus leaving her in debt. She loses her job and, after embellishing her resume a bit, she finds a new one at a financial magazine. Needless to say, hilarity ensues while she finds success at the same time drowning in debt.

I’ll start off with the good: the clothes! Patricia Field, as per usual, does a fabulous job of styling Isla Fisher’s Rebecca Bloomwood. She puts together outrageous things that no one in real life could wear, but somehow work so brilliantly on screen. My personal favorite had to be the white suit worn with a huge blue anchor pendant necklace. It was a really simple suit that, without the necklace, would have looked almost practical. But, add this huge chest-covering necklace, and you get a sense of a woman who is extravagant and stands out.

Another thing I did like about this film was its star, Isla Fisher. I don’t know much about her, so I can’t say I was going in expecting anything. She was funny and charming, even if I wasn’t that fond of the character or the story. I am interested to see what else she does down the line.

Now, on to why I didn’t like this film.

I pride myself on being logical and financially conscious. I might not be "savvy," but I do know what I spend and why I spend it. I don’t go shopping when I don’t have money and I don’t buy things to make me feel better or more complete. I might not know anything about investing or IRAs, but I know that if I don’t have enough money to pay for a new pair of shoes, I shouldn’t buy them. (Unless they are super-cute and on sale, in which case, I remind myself that credit cards were invented for such occasions. But even then, I have to really be in love, and since I’m a commitment-phobe, it’s kind of a long process.)

Anyway, I knew going in that this was a movie about a woman who couldn’t control her spending. She can’t stop herself from buying crap she doesn’t need and gets herself into all sorts of predicaments due to her debt. But, I really didn’t think about how it would make me feel. She uses labels and worthless items to validate who she is. No matter how entertaining the movie was, I couldn’t believe her total lack of self-control and how frustrating it was for me to watch. I just wanted to shake her!!! Even though she eventually grows and realizes what she has been doing, it didn’t seem to me like she had really changed. She ends up with a man who could totally support her shopping habit, therefore making the need to change unnecessary. Plus, he's her boss, so it's not like she has an issue with job security.

I had started reading the book before I went to see it, but have since stopped. The same issue that I had with film—of her not truly changing—I’m sure I’m going to have with the book. Especially since it’s a series. I understand that this is a common problem with people in America and that’s why the series is so popular, but when I’m being entertained, I rarely want something realistic. Hence the reason I watch The City.

(A little footnote: John Salley plays a former NRebbBA basketball star who attends “Shopaholics Anonymous" with Rebecca. When he came on the screen, I was the only one that laughed. No one else had any idea who he was, and, consequentially, turned and looked at me like I was crazy. Which made me laugh even harder.)

Neither Barbies nor Tattoos are Evil...Please Calm Down

2009-03-05T23:51:00.000-08:00

I don’t know which is worse: The fact that Mattel has released a Tattoo Barbie or that a West Virginia politician is trying to ban the sale of Barbies completely.

I’ll start with “Totally Stylin’ Tattoos Barbie."(Known on some blogs as "Tramp Stamp Barbie")

So the doll comes with “tattoos” for both you and your doll. You put them on with a “tattoo gun” (basically a purple water gun) and they are temporary and come off with a little soap and water. You can put tattoos anywhere on her and then share her with your friends!

I can’t say that I’m really surprised. Barbie has always gone with the trends and tattoos have become pretty damn trendy. The issue that I have, though, is that Mattel is claiming this doll will give kids a chance to be creative and express themselves. You know what, when I was growing up, I did have a Tattoo Barbie. It was the doll that I took a marker to and drew on. Then, when that got boring or I covered her completely in marker and had no other place to put any more of my gorgeous drawings, I would put stickers on her. Sometimes, I would even cut off all her hair and give her cool tats on her head. I didn’t need a special kit to express my creativity and I think that NOT having a kit forced me to be more creative. There is nothing wrong with having a Tattoo Barbie, but don’t market it as a way for kids to express their creativity. These dolls are just a way for Mattel to sell you more crap you don’t need for twice the price.

Not that I’m against Barbie or Mattel. I had Barbies growing up and I loved them. I don’t think that she should be banned.

In West Virginia, Jeff Eldridge, a DEMOCRAT (yeah, a Democrat—apparently not all Democrats are as liberal as some like to think. Unless he's a male feminist, which is a whole other issue...), has proposed House Bill 2918 that states (according to the West Virginia Legislature Web site): “It shall be unlawful in the state to sell 'Barbie' dolls and other similar dolls that promote or influence girls to place an undue importance on physical beauty to the detriment of their intellectual and emotional development.”

I’ll pause for this to sink in.

Here’s the thing. We all know that Barbie is not someone that little girls should aspire to look like. That said, think about all the great things Barbie has done in her 50 years of "life."How many careers has she had? How many different personas has she taken on? Plus, to Mattel’s credit, she has evolved with the times. In 1959, the only career Barbie had was Teenage Fashion Model, but in 2004, she was a Presidential Candidate. If Hilary Clinton looked like Barbie do you think Jeff Eldridge would call her a “detriment” to the “intellectual and emotional development” of young girls? Actually, I think that if Hilary looked like Barbie, we'd definitely have a female prez right now.

If parents would do their jobs, this wouldn’t be an issue. All a mother has to do is teach her daughter that different types of bodies, faces, hair color, height, skin color, eye color, noses, lips, etc. are all beautiful and that she shouldn’t strive to look like anyone else but herself. Explain to her that she is the most beautiful when she is herself and to never let anyone tell her differently. Period.

Now, if we’re going to ban a doll, it should be Ken. Talk about making being a “detriment” to “emotional development.” How many women do you know who still think Ken is the “perfect man”? I was personally more of a Brad* girl myself ☺ Although, GI Joe can come invade my territory any day.

(*for those who don't know, "Brad" was Ken's black friend introduced in 1969)

Just because I enjoy romantic movies doesn't mean I want them to happen im my life...

2009-03-04T09:51:00.001-08:00

So I was thinking after my last post that people are going to get the wrong impression. I'm really not as cynical about love as I may seem. I think that being in love and loving someone is great! But, I don't want someone to "complete" me. (ahem, Jerry McGuire) I also don't want to fall in love with someone and wait years and go through countless other relationships before we finally get it together (insert pretty much any romantic movie here). I also don't find DYING overlly romantic, thus any Nicholas Sparks based-on-the-book movie is not for me. (I'll explain The Notebook) This isn't to say that I don't love romantic movies just like any other woman. I just don't necessarily want some of this to happen in my life.

So, you're asking yourself right now, what are Kimmi's favorite romantic movies? Well, you're in luck! Here's a list of them for you! (In no particular order...but if you think about it, subliminally there might be a significance. Nothing is every truly unintentional)

Love Actually
*I know that it might be a little cliche to have the first movie on my list, but there are so many plots that it's like watching a bunch of movies at once. I love Liam Neeson and his son and, even though I'm not a huge Hugh Grant fan, I loved the story with him and the "chubby" girl. As Adam from work said, "That's they way you bring together a ton of big stars and keep it entertaining" (If you haven't seen He's Just Not That Into You, don't. It wasn't bad, but it's definitely not worth your 10 bucks.)

Pretty Woman
All you have to do is read any discription of this movie to know why I love it. A hooker gets taken in by a wealthy businessman, who falls in love with her. Come on! That's awesome! Plus, it's Julia Roberts and Richard Gere. You can't go wrong

10 Thing I Hate About YOu
This is where my love affair with Heath Ledger started. I know this isn't really a "romantic" movie, but it's funny and you get to see a cynical, independent woman fall in love with a guy that can keep up with her. I like to ignore the fact that she is going off to Sarah Lawerence and they probably didn't last very long.

The Notebook
Ok, there is a formula that every single Nicholas Sparks story has. Two people from "different sides of the tracks" fall in love, have an epic romance, and then one of them dies. A Walk to Remember, Message in a Bottle, Nights in Rodanthe, the list could go on. He has been very successful with this formula and has never strayed away from it. I kind of hate him for this. However, The Notebook is different. The book sticks to the formula, but the movie doesn't. Yes, they are from different sides of the tracks, but they live their life and then die together. They might not have had an easy life, but it was a good life. I hate to admit it, but this one is really good.

The Way We Were
How can you not love this move? Barbara and Robert. Heartache. Love. Laughter. Communism. Seriously, it doesn't get better than that. Plus, even though they break up and she sees him with his simple wife, she looks happy and remains herself. I really love it.

There are, of course, more of these that I love. But honestly, these are ones that I can watch over and over again and never get tired of. Although, I need to update a few to DVD because I've pretty much worn out the VHS!

I'm not really a water sport kinda person, but....

2009-03-01T16:10:00.001-08:00

I was watching Gilmore Girls the other night and there is a scene in one of the episodes between Lorelai and Emily (her mom) right after Lorelai has told Emily that she and Christopher are getting a divorce. (If you don't watch Gilmore Girls or have never seen the 7th season, then just keep reading.) Emily is upset because Richard (Lorelai's dad) has had a heart attack and now Emily must take care of a lot of the family business that Richard always took care of. She tells Lorelai that marriage is like being in a canoe and she feels that Richard has dropped his paddle and now she must do it herself, but can't, and now they are just going in circles. Then, Emily tells Lorelai that she, Lorelai, is in a kayak and can steer herself. In a nutshell, she is independent and can survive on her own.

I wanna be in a kayak.

I have never really liked the idea of being dependent on anyone else. It's not just the cynical side of me coming out, but my true need to do it on my own. I hate asking for help and will put it off until the very last second. I've always been that way. I like to solve my own problems and not put them onto other people. I don't know why, but it's always been that way. I don't like to feel I should rely on anyone else, because, inevitably, they will drop their paddle and we will just move in circles. This is probably why I am so averse to the idea of getting married.

I'm not saying I don't believe in marriage because I acutally think marriage is a great thing. If not for all the legal reasons, than to always have someone there for you when you need them and having someone who supports you and encourages you, etc. It's a great concept, but honestly, I think I need to come first. Not to say that I'll never get married, but it just won't be anytime soon.

I know a lot of my friends want to be in relationships and get married, but not me. I want to succeed on my own before I worry about succeeding with someone else. If I can't support myself and find my own way in the world, how would I ever be happy? I know that I have a long way to go before I'm happy with myself and my life, so why would I want to go through this process with someone else to worry about?

Maybe, eventually, I'll be ready for one of those two-person kayaks. That way, if my partner drops his paddle, I don't have to worry.

Holy crap, I'm growing up...

2009-02-28T22:25:00.000-08:00

My cousin Cheryl has a baby. My cousin Lisa is pregnant. Ed got married. Iisha has her Master's. Beckie is going to be a doctor soon. Molly is in Spain. C is in New York. People call me Kimberly. Now, the real proof that I am getting older, I am planning my first Bachelorette Party. Is it sad that I'm more excited about this than I am about...well anything?

Here's the story: My good friend Torrey is getting married, but she's doing it in Hawaii. Unfortunately, in my current financial state, I am not able to make it to the wedding. I really can't even begin to say how sad I am that I can't make it happen, but, my other friend and I have decided that since we can't make the big shindig to celebrate her nuptials, we might as well throw her the best "exiting the single world" party ever! Although we haven’t gotten beyond the “we are going to plan you a bachelorette party!” phase, I’m sure it’s going to fun.

The thing is, it’s made me really think about how old I’m getting. I mean, not “old” in the Denny’s-early-bird-special kind of way, but in the my-friends-and-family-are-getting-married-and-having-kids-and-working-real-jobs-following-their-dreams kind of way. I have friends that are going to med school and have gotten their Master’s and are making money. Not necessarily great money, but anything beyond minimum wage is a step up.

I pay bills. I go to bars. I have friends in different cities, states and even countries. I drink coffee. A lot. I do and have all of these things that, five years ago, I considered only grownups to have or do. Now, thinking about it, it’s really strange. Although, I wouldn’t really consider myself a grownup. I still enjoy cartoons and the color pink and, come on, what’s more fun than coloring?

*So, as a little update: I was on the phone with Cierra earlier and we realized that we have been friends for 10 years. If that doesn't give me the "Holy shit, I'm getting older feeling" then I don't know what will....

I would like to thank Hugh Jackman for being hot and Queen Latifah for being awesome

2009-02-22T21:17:00.000-08:00

Here are my Oscar random thoughts (most of them as they happened)

Hugh Jackman is possibly the perfect man. One minute, he’s signing and dancing. Then he’s engaging in witty (or not so witty but still funny) banter. Next, I see a trailer of him ripping someone to shreds with no shirt on. Perfection.

The people who made the “made in my garage” sets for the opening should have let the dancing kids make it. It would have been better.

Anne Hathaway went from being the best dressed on the red carpet to wearing a HIDEOUS costume. Come on. Give her something a little better than that.

Goldie Hawn is what I hope to look like at her age. Or Angelica Huston.

Whoopi Goldberg will never stop being funny to me. And Ghost was a great movie.

Poor Amy Adams bawling in the front row before the award was even announced. Now girl, you’re gonna ruin that beautifully done make up. But at least you lost so Meryl can let you borrow her compact.

Molly or Angelica, I need a translation on what Penelope Cruz said.

I really need to see Slumdog Millionaire. And read the book.

Wow. Someone who wrote a movie about politics and won went up and made a political speech. Shocking.

Jack Black is a jackass but still funny. And Jennifer Aniston did a great ob of trying not to look at Brad and Angelina. Hmm…Jennifer is in white and Angelina is in black. Wow, symbolism is a bitch!

Duh, Pixar/Disney is gonna win. Who else can create a film about a robot that doesn’t speak and make everyone go “Awww…how cute is he?”

Where do you see animated shorts? How do they get nominated for Oscars? I don’t get it…But I would love some insight!

Sarah Jessica Parker presenting for makeup and costumes. Shocking.

A movie with Elizabethan costumes won. Once again, shocking.

I really hate Beyonce.
And Vanessa Hudgens.
And Zac Efron.
But I love Amanda Seyfried. And the number was pretty cute too. Damn you all.

Where is Javier Bardem?!

I had no idea that Buffy had an Oscar winner on it! Granted he was only on like 2 episodes, but still! Hmm…Maybe I need to see Cabaret.

Cuba is pretty funny. But he’s starting to look a little old. Or thin. Or something.

I can’t believe that Robert Downey Jr. was nominated. It must have been a slow year for supporting actors.

Why don’t I ever go see the documentaries? They always look so interesting.

Is it bad that I saw more of the action films than anything else? Or that I could name more of the actors in them?

Will Smith is fine. Jada, you are one lucky bitch
.
Dark Knight was badass.

I really need to see Slumdog.

I thought for sure Eddie Murphy would try to do something funny. Alas, I was wrong.

How old is Jerry Lewis?

I hate Zac Efron. Even more because he got to stand with Alicia Keys. Who looks so amazing in that mauve dress. (Sidenote from later: Further proof that Alicia Keys is awesome: Her heel was broken throughout that whole presentation. You go girl!)

Ok, I get it. Slumdog is really awesome. Can anything else win? Please? Wall-E?

Apparently not.

Queen Latifah is one classy broad. And talented too. That blue dress is fabulous. I love that she can pull off a fishtail gown without looking silly.

Ok, so I’ve decided that I can never see Slumdog. It is now so hyped up that if I see it, it will only disappoint me. Therefore, I will not be seeing it. Really, who remembers the winners at the Oscars? It’s all about the fashion anyway.

Ron Howard was robbed. Next time, I say he wears his baseball hat.

Sofia Loren looks DAMN good for a 70 year old woman. And Halle Berry looks fabulous for a new mom. Nicole Kidman is proof that tall girls aren’t always gawky and uncomfortable.

If you haven’t seen The Reader, do so. Then you will understand why Kate Winslet truly deserved the award. If you disagree, suck it.

Oh, Bobby DeNiro, you slay me. I think you should be English because then you can be introduced like Sir Ben Kingsley. I wish they had a camera backstage to show if Adrian Brody sexually assaulted Halle Berry again.

I really need to see Milk.

So overall, I that it was a good show. It had a lot of emotion, a lot of drama, and some really entertaining elements. I don’t think it was as surprising as they were making it out to be, but getting some of the best actors in the business to appear is, of course, always great to see. I’m really glad that Kate Winslet and Heath Ledger won because they are the only two I actually cared about.

Now, I’m going to get all of that seriousness out of me by watching something stupid. It’s between Bring It On and Footloose. How will I choose?!

Back after a break....

2009-02-19T16:13:00.000-08:00

Geez. It's been awhile since I've posted. I would feel bad if I wasn't so busy. I got this internship that has been taking up quite a bit of my time, so I have totally fallen behind on my blog. I know I shouldn't fall behind like this, but having two jobs is really tough! Haha...moving on...

Didn't your mother ever teach you to use your words not your fists? (Or some other form of a "deadly weapon")

2009-02-10T01:09:00.000-08:00

I’m not going to pretend like I know everything that is going on because I don’t. I, just like everyone else, only knows what EVERY SINGLE NEW STATION, SITE, OUTLET, WHATEVER is reporting. Chris Brown “assaulted” Rihanna with a “deadly weapon.” Way to live up to the stereotype, dumbass.

Even if the charges end up being dropped, the fact that she had to go to the police in first place is suspect. Something had to happen for her to go the police and even if he never gets convicted and it ends up being just another argument that the media blew way out of proportion, she still needed to go to the police and the police found enough plausibility in her story to bring charges against him. He will always be known as just another hip-hop artist who beat up his girlfriend.

I will say this, though. He gets mad props for turning himself in instead of going to the Grammys or running. By turning himself in, it shows a level maturity and a bit of remorse for what he did. I can respect that, even if I think there is never an excuse for beating another human being.

On the up side, I am really glad that Rihanna went to the police. There are a lot of women who let violence against them go unnoticed. By seeing someone like Rihanna step forward against a man that everyone has watched grow up and who many love as if they knew him personally, I hope that many more women will find the strength they need to get out of harmful relationships.

You and your truck need to go find a field somewhere and leave the rest of us alone...

2009-02-07T17:13:00.000-08:00

Someone explain this to me, because I just don't get it.

I was at Target today, which I knew was a bad idea. Saturday afternoon at Target? Come on. But anyway, I'm driving out to leave and this big ass truck is coming at me. Literally, coming at me. The guy driving had no idea that he was taking up the ENTIRE lane. I thought that maybe he just didn't know that anyone was driving by him, because who doesn't catch themselves driving down the middle of an empty parking lot lane every once in awhile? But he wasn't getting over so I started to get nervous and, after getting over as far as I could, I honked. The guy got mad at me, like how dare I try to drive down the same lane as he is. He gets over just enough for me to be 2 inches from the parked cars on the right and about 1 inch from his truck. He tried to shout obscenities at me, but we all know that I'm great at shit talking, so I won. Plus I'm louder than anyone in the world, so the whole parking lot heard me when I yelled, "You redneck fuckhead! If you're gonna drive a big, white trash truck, at least have the decency to know how to drive it when you're outside the trailer park!" The girl in the passenger seat laughed out loud, which turned the guy's anger from me onto her. I love it.

But seriously though, why do people buy these huge trucks and then not know how to drive them? Taking up a whole lane in a parking lot is completely unacceptable. Then, when they park, they take up two spots when one will suffice because they have no idea the true size of their vehicle. I would really love for someone to explain to me why you spend thousands of dollars on something you won't be bothered to learn to drive?

I guess it's just one of those things I will never understand...

Stupid people should have their tubes tied...

2009-02-06T15:28:00.000-08:00

I have decided that I am going to have children eventually. Shocking right?

This decision came to me last night, when I realized that the idiotic pregnant woman who came into work was going to be raising a child to grow up and be idiotic and have more idiotic children. I realized that was the problem.

Smart, successful women, the ones that should be having kids and raising them to be smart and successful, are the ones that have stopped having children. I know a lot of women who have great careers, yet they don't want to have children because of these fabulous careers. If these women would embrace the motherhood gene and have kids, then maybe the people I serve at Starbucks will be able to tell the difference between a cup of coffee and a white mocha.

Therefore, in order to help make the world a smarter place. But this won't be for many, many, many, many years. (There were a lot of other manys but I refrained.)

It's my own physical comedy routine...

2009-02-02T23:55:00.000-08:00

So I was at the supermarket today and I did something I haven’t done in quite awhile: I ran into something because I was checking out a hot guy.

He was walking in right when I checked out, so the whole walk to the door was me watching him. He walked up to the deli counter and stood there looking at the case while I thought about how nice it would be to be that meat because that means that he would be checking me out. He was black, about my height, well built, and very good looking. Usually, when I see someone like this, I’m far enough away so that when I make a fool of myself, I’m the only one who notices. Oh, but not today.

As I was walking out the door, I had to turn my head almost completely around in order to continue my stare and, well, I slammed my right shoulder into the doorframe, only missing slamming my head by about an inch. Yeah, there was a loud expletive that came out of my mouth. Yeah, it hurt like hell. And, OOOOOH yeah, he saw. And laughed. It was such a sexy laugh, my pain went away.

Until I got to my car.

What's in a name?

2009-01-29T22:47:00.000-08:00

Working at Starbucks, I have to write a lot of names on a lot of cups. I can’t tell you how many times people get upset when I write “Megan” instead of “Meaghan” or can’t call out “Rajhamenanae” (Yeah, that was an actual name. I wrote it down on my hand in marker so I would remember it for this exact reason.) Getting snapped at or made fun of out of frustration is really annoying, but I can totally understand. Our names are a huge part of our identity, so having someone disregard the spelling or pronunciation can feel like someone is just disregarding you. My advice? Identify with many different names.

I have 4 names that I go by, the first being the name my parents gave me at birth, Kimberly. The credit goes completely to my mom, who got to name me since my dad got to name my older sister. (Shelby, like after the car. On the up side, Sissy, he could have named you Caroll. You are so not a Caroll.) My mom decided on Kimberly because it was the name of one of her favorite characters from Days of Our Lives. Anyone who wonders about my flair for the dramatic, there’s your answer. The only people that call me Kimberly are my parents when they are angry/annoyed/frustrated with me, my brother-not-in-law Joey, bill
collectors/telemarketers, and Ernesto at work. I have no idea why he uses my full name, but I think it’s kinda funny.

The next one is Kimmi. How I got to Kimmi is long story, but basically, in the 2nd grade, there were 3 Kimberlys. One of us got to be Kimberly, one got to be Kim, and I became Kimmi. I don’t know whatever happened to Kimberly, but Kim and I are still friends to this day.

The third name I go by is Kim. Mostly, I use this one at Starbucks and other places where they need my name for something. If I say “Kimmi,” inevitably it comes out as something different. Kammie, Kally, Kayley, and Kelly most often. The only person that really calls me Kim is Cierra, and she’s been doing it ever since she met me. Sometimes she’ll call me Kimmi and it sounds weird.

The fourth is Queen Kimmi. Obviously, no one calls me that in my day-to-day routine, but it’s still a part of me. I got it because when I was working at Cold Stone the whole “Princess” trend was in full swing. There were princess bags, tees, necklaces, pillows, name tags, and everything else you could possible put it on to express that you were a princess. One of the girls I worked with wore a princess pin on her hat and I mocked her endlessly. One day, she very maturely responded to one of my taunts, “You’re just jealous because you’re not a princess.” I stopped, turned, and said, “You’re right. Why would I want to be a princess when I can be the mother fuckin’ queen?” About two weeks later, got promoted and she made me a name tag that said Queen Kimmi. I’ve gone by it ever since.

So which one do I prefer? It doesn’t matter. I’m Kimmi to most people, Kimberly to others, Kim on rare occasions, and Queen Kimmi always.

January done, February bring it on!

2009-01-29T22:02:00.000-08:00

So it’s been a month since I started with my resolutions, which was the original amount of time I had set to reach these goals, so, naturally, it’s a time for an update!

First on the list is updating my blog. While I haven’t been updating as often as I said I would, I do feel like I’ve been doing a great job. I might not be sticking to my resolution absolutely, but I’m ok with that. Really, who wants to read my blog everyday? Other than certain family members…I have found that just the idea of updating everyday has got me thinking more about what I want to write about and it challenges me. And everyone knows I like a challenge.

Second was to quit complaining about work so much. I haven’t completely failed this one, but I do think that I haven’t done as well as I could have. I don’t complain as much to other people, but I find myself bitching in my head a lot more. Some may call it talking to myself. The problem with this, however, is that I’m still spending a lot of energy complaining about a job that I won’t have forever. I should just see it as a short chapter in my life and push all the negative thoughts out of my head. Although, I guess not complaining openly to anyone who will listen is a step in itself.

On the subject of energy, I guess I’ll talk about my daily walks around the block. Much like updating my blog, this resolution has evolved a bit. The whole point of this one was to get myself exercising a little bit each day, so that even if I can’t do a full workout in, I can do something. Plus, a little fresh air is good for me to. (Well, as fresh as the air in the Valley can get.) But, I find myself doing other forms of exercising more. I've never been much for walking, but dancing around in my room to my iPod? So much more fun. Plus, it burns a lot more calories than walking around the block.

So that brings me to making one meal a day at home. I think I have stuck closest to this one. I have been making a real effort to make stuff at home more often, which is making me even more conscious of what I’m eating when I’m not at home. My stomach can’t even take some of the things it used to, simply because it’s not used to it any more, especially fast food. I felt sick all night at work the other night from having greasy pizza, which I used to eat all the time. I guess that’s a really great sign! But I won’t give up my In-N-Out. Ever.

The last resolution I made was to read the front section of the newspaper everyday. (It was brought to my attention that calling it the “front page” implied that I was only reading the front page. Whatever.) Truthfully, I haven’t been doing this. Instead, I’ve been reading the WHOLE ENTIRE NEWSPAPER! Even the political crap that’s boring and I hate. I read the whole thing everyday, and even if I don’t have the time, I read all the stories online, even on multiple news sites. I check them every time I go online. SF Chronicle, LA Times, NY Times, USA Today, and Yahoo! News. I’ve also been watching CNN, Headline News, and Fox News Network almost religiously. Unless, Greta Van Strokemouth, er, Susteren or Bill O’Racisist, I mean, O’Reilly are on, in which case I have to turn off the TV. The trouble is, I’m horrified by a lot of what I read, especially in the Bay Area. A lesbian gets gang raped and a guy gets shot by BART cops all in the same week. But that’s a whole other issue…The up side though is that now every time a kid walks into work with one of those Obama Hope shirts, I can really embarrass him by asking if he knows the artist’s name that created that image. I have yet to find one who does.

So now what? Do I give up, having found success? Nope. Instead, I stick with these and come up with more ways to improve myself this month.

Here’s the list:

1. Get up by 9 everyday. No matter what.
2. Keep my room neat. Jeliz, by the end of this, you’ll be able to walk in my room without attempting to fold clothes or shut drawers.
3. Follow more world news. I’ve got the US, California, and Los Angeles covered, so it’s onto the world.
4. Write more. Not necessarily to post, but just write more in general.
I’ll let you know in 2 weeks how it’s going!

I'll start in the year 2023...

2009-01-23T21:02:00.000-08:00

So the other day I wrote about big girls who won’t accept their weight, and, by extension, themselves. Well then I got to thinking. Some of these women won’t accept their weight because they have high hopes of being the next Star Jones. Which is fine. If a person wants to lose weight, I am all for it, no matter what his or her motives are. However, more times than not, these same people don’t do shit about it.

They talk and talk about how they want to lose weight and how hard they are going to work to reach their “goal size.” I’ve seen it a million times and every time it’s the same: I’ll start on Monday. Wait. Monday I have a big meeting and am going to need some comfort food. Ok Tuesday. No, I have so-and-so’s dinner party. Wednesday. Yeah Wednesday is perfect. Except that on Thursday I have dinner at my boyfriend's parent's house and it would be rude to not eat the food his mom cooks. And Friday I have a wedding to go to. Ok, next week. And the cycle continues. Then, instead of going on a diet or starting a regular workout routine, she will either do it for a day or she will put it off until everyone forgets about it.

Here’s the thing: If you want to lose weight, you have to actually do something about it. It doesn’t magically come off. Unless you get some disease that doesn’t allow you to eat for weeks, then you can’t lose it by sitting around. So shut the fuck up and get up and do something. Either accept the way you look or shut your mouth, go for a run, and eat an apple instead of a bag of chips.

This brings me to my next point: Oprah. Don’t get me wrong, I love Oprah. She’s powerful and smart and entertaining, but damn if she doesn’t get on my last nerve with her whole weight gain issue. She’s been up and down for years. Every time she loses the weight, it becomes a major news story about how strong she is or how great it is that she has the discipline to do it. Then, when she gains it all back, it becomes even bigger news. Every single station has a 10 minute segment chronicling the "issue" and every critic has something to say about it. It’s always negative. No one ever admits that maybe, at 200 pounds, Oprah still looks damn good. She might not be able to wear belly-baring shirts, but honestly, her face looks healthier and younger when she has a few extra pounds on her. Plus, I think she is more outgoing and confident when she weighs more. But, for some reason, she thinks it’s best to keep losing a ton of weight, only to gain it back. If she would just pick a weight, whether it’s 150 pounds or 200 pounds, I think she would be a lot healthier. She would also be a much stronger role model.

So, whether you are like Oprah or the silly girls who can’t get themselves started or even one of those women who can’t just accept the way they look, it all breaks down to finding out who you are inside and letting that show on the outside. I had embrace many years ago that I am not perfect, inside or out. There will always be things for me to work on and challenges I have to face. It’s all a part of being human. But, it’s not about facing the challenges; it’s about stepping up and conquering them. If you’re weight is your challenge, then conquer it, don’t just talk about it.

I might be big, but I think it's hot...

2009-01-21T15:46:00.000-08:00

I was in Macy’s the other day, shopping in the “women’s” section (because “plus size” is so low class) and I overheard these two girls talking. They were both about my age and one of them was, well, um, on the large size of plus size. The other looked like she could still fit comfortably in youth sized clothes. Anyway, Plus Size keeps picking things up and making a face and putting them back while Size -3 picks up stuff and says, “This would be so cute on you!” and Plus Size makes a face so Size -3 puts it back. Finally, Plus Size finds a great electric blue wrap dress, that would, in my opinion, look fantastic with her blonde hair and fair skin, and she asks Size -3, “Do you think I would look fat in this?” I snorted so loudly to keep myself from laughing that they both looked up.

Her friend, ignoring me, replies, “I think it would look great on you. The color is great and you could wear it with a pair of tights and pumps or boots. I say try it on.”

Plus Size looks at it one more time, puts it back on the rack, and says, “I’ll think about it. Let’s go walk around a little bit.” I just shake my head and walk over to see if they had that dress in my size. (They didn't, I was a little sad, especially because it was marked down from $250 to $60!)

Now, I know it was mean of me to laugh when a fat girl asks if something will make her look fat, but come on. The dress won’t make you look fat, honey. The fact that you’re fat will make you look fat, no matter what you put on. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. I would have told her that if she had asked me. (Although, props to Size -3 for her tact and encouragement.) Here’s the thing. If you aren’t willing to embrace your body, no matter what size it is, then you will never be able to shop happily, which means you’re missing out on one of the most enjoyable activities of our society.

I see this a lot with plus size women. They are so hung up with making themselves look thinner that they miss out on looking good. They will wear over sized shirts, baggy pants, shapeless dresses, or, on the other end of the spectrum, tops 3 sizes too small, skirts let their ass hang out, and jeans that create the ultimate faux pas, the muffin top. All of these “styles” are worn with the intention of looking thinner, which makes them not only look larger, but sloppy also.

The problem is the idea that is burned into our brains everyday: thinner equals better. I’m not saying that being thin is bad, but why am I going to judge what I think about myself based on someone else’s standards? I can wear clothes just as well, if not better, than every other woman on the planet, so I refuse to look in the mirror and think of ways I could look thinner. I am never going to be small. If I spent my whole life obsessing over that, I would never be happy. So, instead, I shop at stores that carry plus sizes, buy things that fit, and accessorize accordingly. I love the way I look and if other people don’t, then they can just look somewhere else. And if all women embraced this, maybe Queen Latifah wouldn't be the only Über successful plus size woman in the media.