Things

As promised I did a whole lot of nothing this weekend. It was lovely. And now we are once again back at Monday again tomorrow. Why do Saturday and Sunday go by so much quicker than Monday and Tuesday? What is that all about? Who knows.

I really have nothing to report as my life is pretty much a blur of work and work and work these past couple of weeks, so I don’t really know what I’m supposed to blog about. I did go see a show that was funny as hell, Avenue Q. If you ever get the chance to see the show as it travels around definitely go check it out. It is High-larious. It’s kinda like a completely inappropriate Sesame Street. Completely inappropriate. As in, yes, there are puppets and no, do not take the children. Some of the song titles were “It Sucks to Be Me”, “Everyone’s a Little Bit Racist”, “The Internet is For Porn” and “If You Were Gay”. Ha. It was awesome. And so so wrong. I don’t think we realize what a padded world we live in until you watch things that don’t make any effort to be politically correct.

And speaking of racist, I took this picture in the supermarket and I thought it was sorta funny. “Excuse me, do you have any Hispanics here?” “Aisle 15, right next to the Asians. You’ll have to go down a couple aisles for the French though.”

And because my friends have lives and are doing things besides working and attaching themselves to their couches when they aren’t working, here is a trailer for a short film a friend of mine is cutting together. It made me laugh, so I thought it might make you guys laugh as well.


I will try to have something noteworthy happen to me tomorrow, so that there will be things to blog about...

Hello Out There

My lord.

It’s been like a week since I’ve written. What have you people been doing to fill your days if not with the wonder that is my blog? No, don’t tell me, it’s probably better that you put that pain behind you.

As for me? You know that candle they speak of? The one that burns at both ends? Yeah. I’m on like my 10th candle. Burning them like crazy. I feel like I might be coming out of the other side, into a life that doesn’t involve so little sleep, so much work and a steady stream of Advil to help my aching carpel tunneled arm. But then again, every time you feel like things are calming down they have a way of picking back up again. But for this millisecond they fill a bit calmer. And I hope to extend this millisecond into my weekend, where I intend on doing absolutely nothing. It will be lovely.

Anywho, I’m sure there are things to update you on. But I’m sure I don’t feel like typing any more right now, because of that before mentioned arm pain. I will say that I work in a big building now and the management of that building held an ice cream social in the lobby this afternoon. And that is about the happiest I’ve been in a long time. Give me whip cream and sprinkles and I’m all set.

I will leave you with this:

The dog for August. Yeah. Seems my mother is a bit busy too, because she just dressed the damn dog. He was a patriot for like two months. I think he was afraid of what George W. might do if he changed out of the patriot costume and into this costume.

Mainly I think my mother was just really really hesitant to put a pimped out dog on her front porch. Every month I was like, “When do we get to the porn star?” And every month she’d just shake her head, because she was not looking forward to the porn star. Or the pimp. I’m not really sure what this costume is. I am sure that it is missing something though. See the curly hair under the hat? In my original design of this costume there was supposed to be some of that hair peeking out of the shirt as well, Fido showing off his chest hair. But mom didn’t understand my vision, “I just couldn’t do the chest hair, I couldn’t.”

She also couldn’t do this costume in the right month either, “I think this costume is supposed to be October, but I have the ladies coming over to my house for Bunco in October, and I just can’t have a porn star dog on my front porch when then come.”

Obviously these ladies don’t understand art.

Graduation

Nola graduated from Puppy Class tonight.

By the way, when exactly did my life become one in which I race out of work at 5, go pick up the dog at Doggie Day Care, then go to Puppy Class? Things have taken a weird turn.

Anywho, Nola probably shouldn't have graduated from Puppy Class because his mom has had a hell of a couple of weeks and has done nothing in the way of teaching him the things a puppy would need to know to graduate. But he's cute and the teacher likes him, so he got to pass. Kinda like high school, really.

Then the teacher gave us little graduation caps to put on them. And by put on them I mean wrestle on them... We weren't really able to get a clear shot because he was moving so much. I think part of him knew that he didn't deserve that hat, because he didn't do every single thing he was supposed to to pass. I think another part of him knew that the hat was annoying the hell out of him...

Here is a picture of what a good puppy looks like. Notice, no blurring.

First Day of School

Tomorrow is Nola's first day at Doggy Day Care. And my last day as a self-respecting human being.

I called to make an appointment for him and the lady said, "Try to get here as early as possible, because he is a boy and he needs to establish dominance."

"Uh huh."

"We open at 6:30 a.m."

"Riiiiight."

Seriously, I don't care if my dog has a few adjusting problems if it means that I can sleep in longer. It's bad enough that I'm even taking him to this damn place, now I have to get up early so that he can establish his dominance? Screw that. He weighs 8 pounds, he's going to need a lot more than me getting up at dawn to help him with his dominance.

UPDATE:

I actually checked the doggy cam online as soon as I got to work.

I have issues.

Twelve

You’ve heard me talk about The Kid on here before. The Kid is my cousin Kate, who is turning 12 today. When she was born I was still in high school and had very little interest in the little ball of baby on the floor. I was a teenager, I had other things to do, you know. My aunt brought her over to my house and given the fact that my aunt hadn’t recently given birth, I asked what the baby was all about. “She’s my granddaughter.” “How long are you taking care of her?” “Just a little while.”

A little while turned into 12 years. And that little baby turned into a little adult. Right before my eyes. (Is it me, or is 12 years old a lot older than it used to be?)

You go through your days, you want them to matter, you want to feel like something you are doing might actually mean something beyond this 24 hours you are living. And I must say, you will be hard pressed to find a better way to spend those days than by being a part of a kid’s life. Those little days, those hours of games here, minutes of random conversation there, seconds of hugs and “I love you”s, they all add up to something.

Kate didn’t have a lot of people she could count on and I made a promise a long time ago that I would be one of those people. Of all the twists and turns my life has taken this last decade that promise has been one of the few consistencies. And I know for a fact that it has made me a better person. You look at the world differently when you’ve made a kid an important part of your life. Some things matter more, some things matter less. You make decisions differently when you know there is someone who is looking up to you. This isn’t exactly groundbreaking, but I don’t know if I would have learned a lot of things as early as I did if I didn’t have Kate in my life.

It seems weird to me that she is already 12, that the time has passed so quickly. But I look forward to it continuing to pass. I look forward to continuing to watch her grow into who she will ultimately be. People always say they have their favorite ages of kids, but I’ve never really had a favorite age. Whatever age she is right now is my favorite, because it’s just so much fun to watch her morph into a little person. I see kindness in her, and humor. And that’s all I really need. The kid has a good heart and the ability to be sarcastic. My work here is done.

In April Kate came out to New Orleans with my family and friends. She was the only kid in the group. I wondered how she would do, as manual labor isn’t the best way for a kid to spend her vacation. The first day she grabbed a shovel and started mixing cement next to a man more than double her size. She exhausted herself, but she didn’t complain (any more than the aching adults). Then the next day she was the first back to work before lunch was over, ready to hammer some nails. During down time she explored the neighborhood where we were working, moving slowly through the remains of dozens of families, a very privileged kid taking in what it means to lose everything.

A month or so later she spent three weeks in Africa with my aunt and some other people. (Are you jealous of the 12 years old’s travel schedule yet? I am.) During their trip they visited an orphanage, where Kate fell in love with all the kids.

This weekend she’s having a birthday party. (“I’m having the big one this year, with all the family and stuff, so that next year, when I’m 13, I don’t have to have adults, just my friends.” (Ahhhhh the teenage years)) On her invitation there is a picture of Kate holding a kid at the orphanage. Below that it reads, “Instead of gifts, please make a donation to the African orphanage we visited, together we can make a difference.” The invitation is on my fridge, it will stay there long after the party is over.

Don’t get me wrong, the kid isn’t perfect. But at the end of my days, when I’m wondering if they’ve mattered, all I need to do is look at that kid and I know. Thanks for letting me come along for the ride Miss Kate, nothing and no one has made me prouder.

I look forward to the rest of the trip.

Happy Birthday.

Radio

I haven’t had anything resembling a commute for quite some time. And let’s be honest here, I don’t have anything resembling a commute now. When there is no traffic it takes 6 minutes to get from my office to my house. When there is traffic it takes about 10 minutes.

But still.

That is 20 minutes more radio than I’m used to hearing in a day. When I work at home I usually have the Itunes going and listen to my million and one songs I have on my computer. Or I go over to that awesome 90's station and relive my pegged pants years.

But in the car I listen to the radio.

Some things I’ve noticed:

The Shane Company (Now You Have a Friend in the Diamond Business) needs to be firebombed. Seriously. This guy is on EVERY FRIGGIN STATION. Trying to convince every demographic that you need a diamond for pretty much every event in your life. “Did your sweetheart stub her toe today? Show her you care with one of our diamonds.” This guy has officially guaranteed that I will never in my lifetime buy a diamond from him. Now, to be honest, he’s not missing out on any business, as I don’t ever have any intention of buying a diamond in my lifetime, but still. I might go buy one somewhere else just to prove a point.

I would also like to firebomb Delilah. Delilah is a radio chick who is syndicated throughout the land. How do I know she is syndicated? Because I was lucky enough to hear her throughout my entire 10 week road trip across this great land. As if the middle of Nebraska didn’t have enough problems without this woman. Arrrgggg. She is so peaceful and loving and CONDESCENDING, she makes me want to hurt her.

I think I might have issues with overly calm sounding people. They 1) make me nervous 2) make me distrust their sincerity, 3) make me want to give them an IV of caffeine to speed their speech up a little bit and 4) they are usually full of crap.

The song below is the most annoying thing I’ve ever heard. It is on about 23453 times a day and everyone LOVES it. I know I’m behind on this, but I really think it’s better that way, because I don’t think I could have dealt with this song in my life for any more time than I've already endured. Listen to it until at least the chorus. That is where it gets poetic. Hold on, let me see if I can get you the lyrics.

When there’s sunshine, we’ll shine together
Told you I'll be here forever
Said I'll always be a friend
Took an oath I'ma stick it out till the end
Now that it's raining more than ever
Know that we'll still have each other
You can stand under my umbrella
You can stand under my umbrella
(Ella ella eh eh eh)
Under my umbrella
(Ella ella eh eh eh)
Under my umbrella
(Ella ella eh eh eh)
Under my umbrella
(Ella ella eh eh eh eh eh eh)

Please note the
(Ella ella eh eh eh eh eh eh)’s
My dear lord. It’s art, right here in front of you.



And just to prove that I’m not completely heartless, this song makes me cry every single time I hear it in the car:



It’s simple, and cheesy in some parts, but the “Laaaaay meee down” - that one line, gets me every time.

Peace.
(With a few firebombs)

Monday Already?

Geez. Only two days off? Who made up that rule? Someone needs to do something about that ASAP.

The guy living with me has a great schedule, one that I think should be implemented the world ‘round. He goes to work at noon on Monday and leaves at noon on Friday. They work extra hours during the week to make up for the lost hours at the beginning and middle of the week. Man, I could get used to a schedule like that.

I could get even more used to being independently wealthy though...

You know what’s funny, in a sort of alarming sort of way? Pretty much every day it is a struggle for me to remember where I parked my car in the morning. I park in a parking garage and every day after work I push a button and sorta hope that it’s actually the floor where I parked. I’m about 50% on accuracy. I can usually remember where I parked on the floor, so then it’s just a matter of going to all those floors and looking in the spot where my car should be, if it were to be on this floor.

This whole scenario does not bode well for my menopause years, is all I’m saying.

But if you think about it, it’s kinda amazing that we are always able to remember where we park. I mean, you’ve come out of concerts or sporting events and been one of thousands of people who parked their car, and yet you can remember where you parked your one car. I find that amazing. I don’t really know why.

But I do know that it’s much less amazing when you happened to be running late for your concert or sporting event and just parked and ran in, making no note of where you parked. Then afterwards you are like, “Uh oh.” And then it’s dark and so most of the cars look the same color. And your only real hope is wandering around pushing your alarm or unlock button, desperately hoping to see your little tail lights calling out to you in the distance, guiding you home.

Not that I’ve ever done that.

Not that I’ve ever stood in a parking garage with people, pushing a button while yelling, “Shhhh, listen for it, listen! There, do you hear? I think it’s up one level.” “No, that definitely came from a floor down.” “Maybe that was someone else’s alarm all together.”

I may just take a lot of public transportation once I reach menopause, it will save me a lot of effort.

Almost Friday

Ever.

So.

Tired.

Brain.

Not.

Functioning.

One.

Day.

Left.

Never.

Been.

So.

Happy.

To.

See.

Friday.

Peace.

Out.

I’m Still Alive

But I am very tired.

Who knew how tiring it was to work for a living? Hmmm.

It’s about 10:45 and I’m writing this cause I need to go to bed. What happened to my wild and crazy lifestyle of watching the sun come up on a regular basis? It has sadly gone away. So far away.

I saw The Bourne Whatever The Name Is this weekend and I decide that I think I want to be a hired killer for a living. It looks like a lot of fun. You don’t do much, just kinda lay around waiting for a call and then you’re off to do the killing. The cool part is that the killing usually takes place is really cool foreign countries. I’m sure they cover your travel expenses. It really looks like a cool job. I mean except for the whole having to kill people thing. But, I mean, if I get free airfare...

Nola has had a rough week as well, with his mother off trying to work for a living. My parents (who are done working for a living) have decided that they think that the dog should probably stay with them during the week and I can have him on the weekends. Who am I, Britney Spears? I can’t have custody of my own damn dog? Geez.

So Nola has been over at my parent’s house for most of the week. Today he was home all day and I about died of guilt. So I went to the local doggie daycare after work and picked up an application. I know it is ridiculous to pay someone for the privilege of having your dog sit in their house instead of your house, but still. At least I’ll know that he is with other dogs and not just sitting at home crying and trying to plot a way to eat my red couch.

The greatest thing about the doggie daycare is that they have video cameras that you can access online. Because paying to leave you dog at a daycare isn’t psychotic enough, they want to give you the opportunity to stalk your own pet on the internet. Good lord.

...

I suppose I should go to bed.

As that's what responsible people with jobs do.

I gotta start playing the lottery.

Final Friday

Tomorrow/Today is my last Friday of Freedom. It’s all so bittersweet. Today I had to meet friends for lunch at 11:30 and I was exhausted by the effort. I do look forward to Monday morning when I have to be to work at 8:30. I might be one of the first people to really fight for the Mexican siesta tradition here in America. I’m brown, I can pull it off as a fight for my heritage. I don’t see why only babies and retired people get to nap during the day, it doesn’t seem right.

Tonight was Puppy Class with the dog. Yet another week attempting to turn the dog into the perfect puppy. I think he might need more than one hour a week towards that effort. To be fair, he is overall a really good dog. He just has this teensy tiny little habit of not coming when I call him. I mean, he doesn’t do it all the time. Like when we are inside or at the dog park or in a backyard somewhere, he comes to me right when I call him. But when we are outside of my condo, with the whole world at his disposal, he doesn’t have much interest in the whole “come here” thing. He just looks up, thinks for a second, and then goes back to trying to find cat poop. And then I get mad. And I go after him. And then he thinks we are playing. And I am the opposite of playing. And by the time I do finally get him I am the opposite of happy. Which is probably why he doesn’t want to come to me in the first place actually - because when he finally gets to me I’m always in a really bad mood.

But other than that he’s just perfect.

And I need to know, is there anything cuter on this planet than a puppy class? Seriously. It’s like cute overload. I don’t even think a baby class (Do they have baby classes? They aren’t mobile, so they don’t need the “come here” lesson.) wouldn’t be as cute. Because babies cry and stuff. Puppies just play and jump around and generally love life and everything about it. Then when you have 10 puppies all together? Cute overload.

That is all I have to say for today. I’m in mourning for soon-to-be-gone sleeping patterns and can think of very little else. May they rest in peace. No pun intended.

Dogs

I don’t watch the news. It makes me angry. It depresses me. Plus, I used to work at a news station and I know that what is considered “news” really depends on how slow the day is. But I don’t want to be totally uninformed, so I try to get my headlines off of Yahoo. It’s amazing how informed you can be by simply logging on to Yahoo’s main page right before you go check your e-mail. All sorts of headlines await you there. And as you know, you don’t need to read much beyond the headline to get the news.

Because Yahoo is 24 hours a day they are sometimes hard-pressed to come up with things that are worthy of Top Story status. Sometimes there is just nothing going on. Take for instance the fact that the other day I logged on and saw a picture of Oprah. Next to her picture was a quote from her saying something like, “I felt like I’d been stabbed in the chest (maybe stomach (maybe heart (definitely torso area))).” When I saw that I thought, “Oh dear, Maya Angelou is dead! Or some other old fabulous black person. Maybe Sydney Poitier. Let me click and investigate further.”

Then when I clicked I was led to a story about Oprah’s damn dog dying. Seriously. This is how famous this woman is. Or how slow a news day it was. Can you think of anyone else on the PLANET that would get a headline on the front page of Yahoo because their DOG DIED? Please. This woman is really just living in her own world of fame and fortune and god-like status. “Publicist Person, my dog died. I’m going to need you to write up a press release. Possibly even release some pictures of me looking very sad.”

Today I saw a great headline on Yahoo: Hollywood’s Pigeons to Get The Pill

I don’t know for sure, but isn’t there a war or something going on? You know, people dying and being blown up and slaughtered in the name of Jesus and freedom? Or something? I dunno. All I know is that you shouldn’t let your dog eat rubber balls and the pigeon poop problem in Hollywood warranted the attention of several people and committees and possibly even some scientists. Ahhhh, America.

Because I too am very famous, I will let you know that my dog still has a cone on his head and he is still not happy about it. He is less happy about the fact that I removed the cone for about an hour tonight and then had to put it back on. My friend, who is his vet, said that he was probably okay to be cone-free, so I took it off. But after a week of not being able to lick and bite wherever he wanted he went a little crazy. I feared that me may not stop until he had completely removed all of his private areas.

The saddest part of all is that when you walk a dog with a cone on his head people assume that the cone is because he is a biter. Then all of a sudden instead of, “Oooooohhhhhh, what a cute puppy!” I get, “.....” That “....” is accompanied by sideways glances that don’t quite make eye contact with the animal. My poor cute puppy has been branded a crazy biter. Which coincidently he became, this evening, when I removed the cone. The people giving him the sideways looks shouldn’t be worried, the worst that is going to happen is he might obsessively start biting his dinger off.

Put that on Yahoo.

The Countdown

So then.

In 7 days time I will be starting a new job. A Big Girl Job, I call it. One that requires me to show up at 8:30 in the morning and stay until 5 in the evening. And it requires me to spend those hours in a cubicle. Hmmmm.

Basically it’s a good job that is offering too much for me to pass it up. It’s a good opportunity to use my graphic design and marketing skills and a good opportunity to get even more graphic design and marketing skills.

I’m not really going to go into great detail about all of this, as this is the internets and it’s quite easy to find this blog if you were, say, a new employer.

I will say that I do believe my parents are the happiest of all about this job. My parents spent 30 years each working for the state/county. They enjoy a stable job. So far, I haven’t been a huge fan. I have been quite blessed these past few years to have been able to do whatever, whenever, wherever. I’ve traveled a lot, I’ve slept a lot, and yet I’ve still managed to pay my bills and even buy a condo. Despite the fact that I haven’t been homeless at all, parents aren’t terribly thrilled with the idea of freelance income. They like paychecks. And 401k’s.

My dad is so excited about me getting this job that you’d think I had won the friggin’ lottery. Tonight he planned a celebration dinner that included a limo ride and family members and great food. You see, it’s been hard on ol’ dad. I was supposed to be the kid that went to a great college, graduated with honors and entered the corporate food chain. But that just wasn’t my thing. Ever since I packed up my car and headed down to LA with no money or a place to live I think poor dad has had a little bit of an ulcer. Mom hasn’t been much better. They’ve shaken their heads and rolled their eyes more times than can really be counted. And so now I have the Big Girl Job and dad is popping champagne.

We’ll see how it all works out.

When I first connected with new employer it was in the AM hours. The guy called me and told me about the job and all it had to offer. I grabbed the first thing I could find near my bed (a magazine) and started jotting down notes on an ad.

It’s an ad that says “Eye Opening” on it. Does that mean something? Who knows. Please note that “PTO” (Paid Time Off) was one of the only things I thought worthy of putting a square around. I wonder if that is a bad sign....

In much more exciting news the other night after a concert thingy a few friends and I went in search of dessert. We walked into PF Changs (a trendy chain Chinese food restaurant here (is it other places too? Who knows)) and as the waiter started mixing the soy sauce on the table we said, “Uh, no, we aren’t going to need that. What we are going to need is the bottom four desserts on your menu.”

This is by far one of the best ideas I’ve ever been a part of. You know how you go to restaurants like this and you make yourself ill on the food, so you have no room for dessert? And they always have really pretty desserts, but you feel like you may vomit, so you pass. I highly recommend skipping the food and just ordering a gang of desserts. Much more enjoyable.

Life. Is in the little things.

Stuff

"So, let me get this straight. You take my balls and you leave me with this damn cone on my head? That seems like the worst deal ever." - Nola Dog

Here he is in happier times, pre-cone.

The instructions say that I'm not supposed to let him jump on things. Which shouldn't be a problem at all with a 6 month old puppy who is half bird.

I'll just put his reading materials on the ground, so he can get to them.

--------------------
In other Random News:

I saw this bus today while I was driving and it kinda freaked me out. Can you see the eyes in the back? They are really detailed, they even have eye shadow. They look sad to me. It was rush hour, so I can see why they would be bummed.

--------------------

And Nola's Snippity Snip has nothing on my harrowing experience of the day.

I needed cash so I pulled into a gas station and went in. They didn't have an ATM, so I had to buy something. I grabbed some Twinkies and called it a day. Just now, as I was trying to keep my energy up for this blog post, I ripped open the Twinkies, took a bite, thought maybe something had gone terribly wrong at the Twinkie factory and then I looked at the package:

Banana #$!%&*%$!# Twinkies? This has got to fall under the WHHHHHHHHHYYYYYYYYY? Category. I mean, for the love of god. Stop. Candy makers, and general treat dispensers, please. Just stop. There is a reason your products have been around for 100 years. They are good. It's that simple. And sometimes it's okay for things to be simple. Why must the people at the candy bar companies constantly be sitting around trying to come up with new ways to package chocolate and carmel and tasty treats? Please. Stop.

And if you aren't going to stop what I need is packaging that makes it ridiculously clear that you are trying to get me to fall in love with a new product. Because one way to make your old product have a bad connotation in my head is by making me eat it when has unknowingly turned to banana flavor. I will be gun shy every time I see a Twinkie now. And that's no kind of life to lead. If we can't blindly eat Twinkies and know they will be good then I don't know if any of the rest is even worth it.

The Car

As requested, here are pics of the new car. It's actually an SUV, not a car. Which I didn't really know until I got home and did some comparison shopping online. (Is it bad that I comparison shopped AFTER I bought the car? Whatever.)

The moral of the story is: Take care of your puppies. Because you see, Nola got sick on Friday. Like "puking everything he's ever eaten in his natural life" sick. And so I felt bad leaving him alone when I went out all day on Saturday. So I took him over to my parents' house, so he could puke with family. Then on my way back to pick him up I went by the automall to "just look" at some cars. Riiight. 5:30 pm: "I'm on my way over to pick up the dog." 7:30 pm: "Where are you?" "Uh, I'm test driving a car." "Oh God."

So then.

Here is what happens when you have a sick puppy:

The car is pretty pimped out, cause why not? I've never bought a car before, so I thought I'd might as well go big. The biggest selling point of the car? See below:

It's blurry, because I took it while I was driving. But do you see what it is? A screen. That monitors my tire pressure. (The screen does other things too, but who really cares about them?) So when my tire pressure is screwy and might cause me to go spinning across the freeway (as has been known to happen to me) it will tell me so that I might remedy the situation before the situation becomes me ramming head on into the friggin center divide going 70 miles an hour.

You have no idea how much of a selling point this was. Seriously. I go into SF alot for theater stuff and to visit friends. EVERY SINGLE time I go I pull over at least once, if not twice, to check my tires. Because I'm that paranoid about them blowing up. As about 15 or so have done to me over the years. I also didn't like to drive long distances with kids in my car for fear they may get hurt when the next flat tire came my way. Basically I was scared of my own car.

But no more. Kids, adults, whoever, hop on in! Yay tire pressure monitors!

There are a lot of other cool things about the car, but really, the tire thing is the coolest to me.

Procrastination Station, Stop #754 - Nissan Dealer

This weekend I took procrastination to an all-time high.

I bought a car instead of doing my work.

Funny thing though, after I did that the worked flowed like crazy.

Cause really, what more could I do?

I really had done EVERYTHING except what I was supposed to do.

My new favorite t-shirt reads: "Procrastinators of the world UNITE!!......tomorrow"

That is all.

Procrastination Station, Stop #34 - Craigslist

Inspired by my discovery of the Adult Coloring Club (the non-competitive one) I decided to post some of the other wonderful activities there are to be found when looking around Craigslist. I’m currently on a deadline for a writing project. That is the explanation for why I’m instead perusing Craigslist. I’ve already done everything else I could possibly do (besides write of course) so now I’m moving on to Craigslist.

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baton twirlers!
Reply to: comm-372082078@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-07-12, 6:25AM PDT

looking to (re)connect with other baton twirlers that used to twirl competitively. I mostly want to practice my rolls and learn some new ones! Maybe we can teach each other a thing or two. This is for Sacramento and for twirlers who are 18 or older or have twirled baton competively.


This just cracks me up. But the weird thing is I’ve actually seen a whole group of baton twirlers at the park on more than one occasion. A big group too. Just twirling away. There were jugglers there too. They entertained me so. But this is still a random ass posting. I love that they are specifying that the twirlers need to be 18 years or older. I imagine a man hanging out with kids asking them to twirl his baton might not go over so well.


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French Conversation Group
Reply to: comm-371565954@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-07-11, 12:32PM PDT

I'm looking for people in the Grass Valley/Nevada City area who want to get together and practice speaking French! I'm moving to a french speaking country in a couple of months and need to brush up on my conversational skills. Email me if you are interested, and we can organize something.


This just seems funny to me because you are posting to have people get together with you and just talk. I can’t imagine what they would talk about. I guess it wouldn’t matter, as long as it was French, but still. I just imagine the people getting together and then just kinda looking at each other blankly, with absolutely nothing to say to each other, in French or any other language.


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Self Help Group
Reply to: comm-376420892@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-07-18, 1:19AM PDT

Question 1: Did you ever read a self-help book before?
Question 2: Do you want to meet people like you?

Call (916) 925-2545.

Hubbard Dianetics Foundation
1010 Hurley Way, Suite 505
Sacramento, CA 95825


Doesn’t the phrase “Self-Help Group” seem sort of contradictory? You’re either getting help from a group or you’re getting help from yourself. You can’t have it both ways. Also, I love that the Scientologists are trying to get people off of Craigslist. Man, if that ain’t a religion worth looking into I just don’t know what is. And the Questions. They are so specific and really narrow down the people who could respond. And by narrow down I mean, keep it as wide open as possible to get as many people as possible to sign up for their crazy pod-tastic religion.


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Nude Yoga Monday & Wednesday Evenings for Men
Reply to: comm-375092811@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-07-16, 10:10AM PDT

If you've ever thought about trying a yoga class but were looking for one that was more focused on men, then this might be the class for you.

We're a fun group of guys that enjoy being nude, practicing yoga and developing a sense of community.

Classes are Monday and Wednesday evenings.

For all of the details, please e-mail us.


There are just too many things to comment on here. “We're a fun group of guys that enjoy being nude, practicing yoga and developing a sense of community.” I think that they will be developing something, I do not know if it’s a sense of community. Also, have you ever done yoga? Have you ever thought while doing yoga, “Geez, you know what would make this weird contortion of my body even MORE enjoyable? If I were naked. Yes. And if everyone around me were naked too. Because yoga is all about being zen-like and nothing would make me more zen than seeing that dude across from me in a naked downward dog.”

I’m Back

I’ve made it back to the northern part of the great state of California. I am ever so happy to be back. The southern part of the state has traffic that makes me what to kill people. This is an unfortunate way to spend a few days. I did get to see some old friends though, which made the traffic worth it. The fact that I actually endured the traffic to go see them is a really good indication of how much I actually like them. There are not many people on the planet that would be worth tackling the 405 freeway. You know what else makes LA worth it? Chin Chin. The Chinese-y restaurant that only exists in LA and Los Vegas. It’s Chinese food in the way that Taco Bell is Mexican food. And that way is awesome. I wonder if carrying 15 pounds of chinese chicken salad on a plane would set off any security alarms. It might be worth testing out.

The script I went down to La La Land to write is coming along nicely. I need to get it done by the end of this week, so I imagine it will be coming along even nicely-er towards the end of this week. I signed a confidentiality thingy, so I can’t tell you what the movie is about, but god I hope it actually gets made so that you can all watch it. It is RAN-dom. It always entertains me how every person in LA has a movie idea. And every 20th person actually has a little money to try to shoot their movie idea. In other cities people look into things like investments, maybe real estate. In LA if you have some extra cash you make a movie. It’s just what you do. Ha.

In the Not All People Are Complete Asses Department today I have a great story that will warm your heart. When I arrived at the airport there was a huge group of people waiting in the welcome area holding a sign the said, “Welcome Home”. I didn’t recognize any of the people so I figured they might be there to greet someone else besides me. Whatever. As I looked around the group it was pretty obvious that the large group was waiting for their soldiers to come down that escalator. One little girl was holding a sign that said, “Welcome Home Daddy.” I just about died right there. I grabbed my camera out of my pocket to take a picture of this scene but could never quite get a shot that didn’t involve me blatantly standing in front of the group, making their moment into a photo op, so I just put the camera in my back pocket on the off-chance that the group of soldiers came in while I was there. Then I realized that that was inappropriate and so I moved on to my cab and went home.

Cut to yesterday when I realized that my purse (where my camera usually resides) was unusually light. I looked in the purse and noticed my camera was gone. I did a quick mental timeline of the last time I’d seen the camera. Crap. It must have fallen out of my back pocket in the cab. (Coincidently these are the same pants that my Blackberry fell out of before it splashed into the damn toilet. Perhaps the back pocket of these pants is not the safest of storage compartments for my electronics, ya think?) I was none too happy that I’d lost my camera, but I moved on and figured I’d get a new one later this week.

Then today when I was paying for some food I remembered that the nice Cab Man had given me a receipt for my cab fare. On that receipt was his number. I called the number and asked Cab Man if perhaps he had found a camera in his cab, “Yes, yes, your camera, I have here. I wanted to bring to you, but you live in big complex and I didn’t drop you off at your door, so I do not know where you live. I have it here.” How awesome is that? And even more awesome is the fact that the next person in the cab after me is the one who actually found the camera and they are the one that gave it to Cab Man. Two people could have stolen my camera and two people decided to give it back to me. Awwww. People aren’t all complete asses! Yay people!

I had to pick the roommate up at the airport tonight, so I went by Cab Man’s Cab Area at the airport and he gave me the camera. And I gave him a hug. I think we were both surprised by that. I’m not a big hugger on the whole, but I was so touched that this man had been so kind. It was an awkward hug in which Cab Man thought I was going to shake his hand and then realized I was going to hug him and then didn’t really know how to hug me and almost hit me with his forehead. It was a great hug. And totally reminded me that there are some nice people out there.

Oh and Welcome Home Soldiers. If you didn’t already have so many waiting for you, I would have given you a hug too.

Remember When

So there's not much to report from La La Land. The only thing I've really made a note of is the fact that I may have some sort of brain problem. I lived down here for two years or so. I think. And I think it was about 5 or 6 years ago that I was here. Maybe 7. And I can't remember a damn thing about this place. I have no idea how to get anywhere. Now granted, LA is huge and spread out like crazy. But still, you'd think some things would ring some bells. I spent 20 minutes today trying to find the 405 freeway. Lots of U-turns. And cussing. And making phone calls:

"Okay, do I go 405 north or south to get to you?"
"North"
Ten minutes later, "Okay, 101 north or south?"
"Jesus, don't you remember how to get to Laurel Canyon?"
"I don't remember anything. I don't have to use the information and therefore it has left my brain. Kinda like everything I learned in high school."

It just seems weird, shouldn't I remember some things?

Well, I guess I remember SOME things. Today my old roommate and I went by the first place we lived when we moved down here. When the two of us met we were both working at the same TV station in Chico, which is up north. One day I asked if he ever thought of moving down to LA. He said yes. So we packed up our two cars and drove down. No money, no jobs, no place to live. Ahhhh to be young and completely insane.

We crashed with a friend for a little while, then we found an apartment. In the ghetto. So so ghetto. We went by it today and sure enough, it's still in the ghetto. We went inside (Through the front door that still has that call box thing outside as if it's a secure building. The front door was still propped open like it was the whole time we lived there. Classy.) We took the elevator up and it is still the slowest moving elevator of all time. I've gone 40 floors in the time it takes this thing to creak up three tiny floors. We tried to get up on the roof, but the fire escapes have been locked since we lived there. Which is a bummer.

When we lived there we'd go up on the roof and drink Coronas and watch the freeway traffic. Because that was the view, the freeway. And not even like the freeway in the distance. No. The freeway right next to the apartments. Awesome. One thing that we always found weird, the roof had walls on it. As if they started to make a fourth floor and then all of a sudden they gave up. The walls have doorways and everything. Weird. But yet, kinda fitting.

So today we went back to our ghetto apartment and we laughed at how we moved in there with a couch, a weight bench, two beds and a TV (always a TV). Add in the Coronas and we were had everything you could need.

Ahhhh to be young and completely insane.

LA

There are too many people in L.A..

They are all on the road.

All the time.

That is all.