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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.