Blog: It's Better Than Bad, It's Good

Why do I over share? Why have I always done that? Even before having this blog, a place where I consider it safe to share embarrassing, sad, shameful things about my past and present, I wasn't really a private person.

When I think about the people who read this blog, I feel as though you all know me very well. My friends who I know in "real life" are learning things about me that I wouldn't just bring up in day-to-day conversation, and I think it makes them feel closer to me. The people who read this that I've never met in person, most of whom I'll probably never meet in person, don't know the superficial things about me, like how I move my hands when I talk, how silly my laugh is when I think something is really funny, or how I have a tendency to playfully punch when I've been drinking...but they have a narrative of my life that is insanely personal, things that it would take much longer for them to find out if we had met in person.

I've always had a narrative of my life running through my head. It's almost as if I have written a million short, autobiographical stories throughout my life that I've just never, ya know, "written". I started this blog at the suggestion of C, my ex. He said I needed a creative outlet, and he was right. At the time, I was stagnant and scared of my future. What started as a place to write down those narratives, turned into something I just can't picture myself without. I wonder if C would have suggested I write, if he had known it would have been a catalyst to me breaking up with him and moving back to LA. Writing here gave me something to look forward to, as well as giving me my individuality back...something I think I lost in the five years we were together.

I want to be embarrassed about writing a blog, but I'm not. When someone mentions I'm a blogger, or that I have a blog, I may blush a little and say it's no big deal, but I'm secretly proud and I hope that person comes here and reads what I have to say. Perhaps I'm an attention whore, that's entirely possible (although I don't really think so)...it could be that I'm a show-off, and that I've convinced myself that I'm a good writer and want to prove it (that's more likely)...but I think I really just want people to know me, just as I would want to know them. These little stories about my past that I write, I know that everyone has them and that they're just as interesting as mine, if not more so. I want to hear them, I really do.

Since we can't sit in a dark bar and share stories over murky pints of beer, we write in our blogs, and hope that the people reading get a good idea of the person we used to be, the person we are, and the person we're trying to be. To me, blogging about your life, having the stories about your life out in the open for anyone to read, is almost like having proof that you exist. That the people you've encountered, the experiences you've had, and all the stupid, funny, embarrassing, heartbreaking things you've experienced in your life, have mattered.

I Live With Stupid ------>

Guess what?! I'm moving out of my three bedroom house in Silver Lake into a new place with Anh (and Curtis, the cutest kitten ever). In true nerd-fashion, we've started a blog dedicated to our search for a new place, and the adventures that are sure to follow.
Check it out:
www.ilivewithstupid.blogspot.com
(yeah, best fucking name ever)

Reactions To Death, Part III

I've tried to write this post about Megan Toughill three times, and it never comes out right. We were close friends throughout high school, but hadn't spoken at all since graduation. I found out about her death when, after googling her name, I came upon her big sister's website and that had a memorial to Megan.

I suppose it's because I'm a Gemini, or because I'm hyper aware of my surroundings at all times, or because I used to be so critical of myself that I would notice every little thing about others, but I remember so many insignificant details about Megan. Her black cheerleader skirt that she would wear with knee socks, converse, and a pink top with a print of that stupid cat with wearing a collar that was so popular in the late 90's. That time she chipped her tooth while trying to take a hit off my sister's glass bong. Sitting in the back seat of Brian Johnson's turquoise, beat-up Toyota on one of many record-buying trips to Vinyl Solution in Huntington Beach, smoking cigarettes and singing along to Circle Jerks and Descendents. All the skate-punks being madly in love with her, and her flippancy towards them. How much I envied her confidence. Her tyrant father. How often she'd say "dude".

She died when she was thrown out of her car onto the freeway while she was driving home, drunk, after a party. I know some of the details because, coincidentally, a friend of a friend was driving behind her, and pulled over to try to help her. He came home with her blood all over his clothes.

I have these fantasies of running into people I used to know and catching up with them...laughing about our pasts together...marveling at how much we've changed. She was always one of those people that I was confident I would have such an encounter with.

"you don't know what you want (it may take you years to find out)"

Before I met Carrie, I always thought of myself as the bad influence when it came to my friends. Yvette's first cigarette, Whitney ditching class, Barbara smoking weed with high school boys under the bridge of the dry riverbed...these things all happened because of my, if not pressure, than encouragement.

I couldn't say exactly when it was that I turned bad. It was somewhere around the halfway point of 7th grade, I believe. It wasn't any one instance, or any person that influenced me...I think I was just waiting for a moment to revolt against the shy, awkward person I was throughout elementary school. I had been rejected by the pretty, popular girls for so long, and had coveted their lives to an obsessive degree. I went from wanting those things (long hair, trendy clothes, hip parents) to outright rejecting them. And rejection, at least in a small suburb where everyone has known you as a timid dork for your entire adolescence, translates to full on rebellion.
This includes, but is not limited to:

• at-home body piercings
• homemade tattoos
• enthusiastically taking drugs that your peers wouldn't try for years (long after you had learned your lesson)
• engaging in elicit acts with older boys which would subsequently take you years to realize that you had been taken advantage of

While some of these things are fun and made you feel young and alive, the majority are things that, once you outgrow that phase, take you a long time to convince yourself that those mistakes don't define you as a person, and an even longer amount of time to stop being ashamed of the person you were.

Carrie was just one of the many damaged, colorful friends I had during my initial foray into rebellion at the tender age of 13, although she had a lack of empathy and a flippancy which I hadn't encountered before. While the majority of my 7th grade class were mostly familiar faces, faces I had known since kindergarten, Carrie was brand new. We became friends quickly (something so much easier to do when you're young) and before long would spend the majority of our time together.

Her family life was so weird, and to this day I'm curious about her story, one she kept very guarded and only gave me snippets of after we had smoked a joint or drank a couple stolen beers. Carrie and her little brother and baby sister were obviously of Hispanic descent; her dark skin, black hair, and pretty eyes that always had the look of expertly applied eyeliner (even though she didn't wear any) were evidence of that. But her parents...man, her parents were nuts. White, Christian, working middle class types from the Midwest...they were strict and secretive and didn't trust me immediately. Their mistrust wasn't something I resented though...I ran with it, and used it as an excuse to not feel guilt when Carrie and I would scale her roof, after her parents had gone to bed, to run wild in the safety and quietness of a suburban night, basking in our youth, which felt like it would last forever.

She had been adopted, and her biological parents...were dead? I think that was how it went. I remember snippets of the story she told me about her childhood in South America...having to flee the small town she lived in? something about a invasion? or an accident? I don't really remember. All I have in my memory are the scenarios I pictured as she told me the story, and they don't have a clear narrative...just the image of people running away.

She moved away as abruptly as she had arrived. It was a succession of events, each one adding fire to the last; suspended for smoking cigarettes at school (with me), caught out way past curfew (with older boys), drugs found in her backpack, a boy found in her bedroom, etc. I eventually learned my lesson, figured myself out, and subsequently straighten my life out. Maybe it's because of her traumatizing childhood, or her parents who just didn't understand how to raise a teenager, or possibly her powerlessness over the direction of her life due to outside forces, but I don't think she ever had a chance. She crosses my mind every now and then, and I always get a sinking feeling she didn't fare well in the long run.

I suspected it at the time, and now I know it to be fact; adolescence sucks. All the money in the world wouldn't convince me to go back to those unsteady years.

Tag...I'm It!!! (part 6)

See the rest of the questions here.

Three jobs I have had:

1. When I was 22 I worked as a lunch lady. Yeah, my title was a lot fancier, but that's basically what I was. It was one of the most fun jobs I've ever had. Every morning and afternoon I'd drive a few blocks to a larger school to pick up breakfast, then lunch. Then I'd go room to room passing out food and collecting money. It always got really rowdy when I came in.

The school was a small, alternative K-12 that was created for children who for whatever reason had a hard time in a normal school. There was a kid with Tourette's, a large number of kids with ADHD or who were bipolar...kids in gangs...living in foster or group homes...little kids with already-tough lives. It was hard for me at first. The school was very small so I had a lot of contact with the kids. It was the little kids that I got attached to. Besides a few bad eggs, most of the little ones were really sweet and had obviously been thrust into a world that they couldn't comprehend; uncaring parents, drug use, abandonment, misfiring synapses, etc.

There was one little boy who became very attached to me. I bought him a copy of James and the Giant Peach, even though he said he hated reading. He lived in a group home, and didn't have many possessions. I inscribed the book with a little note, which I think is essential when giving a book as a gift. I wonder if he still has it.

2. My first job upon moving to Los Angeles was at a little clothing store on Melrose called Funky Diva (yeah). I was made the assistant manager despite my limited retail experience and zero experience managing people. Although the weekends were crazy-busy, the weekdays would pass slowly, sometimes with only one or two customers coming in the entire day. Luckily I worked with some really awesome girls. We would spend hours talking about our pasts, analyzing each other's current relationship drama (I was 18 so there was a lot of drama), trying on clothes, stealing clothes, and blasting music.

I worked there for eight months before I left for a better paying job. My feet hurt every day, due to my poor choice of footwear coupled with having to be on my feet for 8+ hours a day. I had an awesome wardrobe, though...and a couple close new girlfriends, none of whom I kept in touch with (I'm really bad at that, for some reason...but I'm working on it).

3. My first job upon moving back to Los Angeles after my 3 1/2 year stint in San Francisco was for a psychologist in Beverly Hills. This man, by far, was the craziest person I have ever met. His office was a tiny, two room affair, which I would often sit alone in for hours wondering what the hell I was supposed to do. I never, not in the three or so months I worked for him, had a clear concept of what my job was. I'm pretty sure he just liked having a young girl around in order to bolster his ego. And, my lord, he had an ego. He's the epitome of my reasons for not being interested in dating a Jewish guy. An overly confident, ego maniacal, sexist, oblivious, exhausting narcissist...that's what he was.

When I quit the first time, after the first few confusing weeks, he responded by offering me a $5 an hour raise, which I accepted. The second and last time I quit, after a couple months of more confusion, coupled with blatant and creepy sexual harassment, we got into a screaming match. I still get the creeps when I think about him.

what's the best/worst job you've ever had?

Kidz "R" Dumb

One of my favorite bloggers wrote about hers and her daughter's funny misunderstandings as children, and the subsequent comments made me laugh so hard that I thought I'd post mine here, and ask you to post yours in the comments:

• Up until I was about four years old I thought that, in the past, the entire world was in black and white (like in old movies) and that color hadn't been invented yet. To make matters worse, I thought color was invented while The Wizard of Oz was being filmed...right when Dorothy opened the door to her house when she landed in Oz. I can't believe I just admitted that.

• Before I could read, I thought the words that flashed on the screen during Wheel of Fortune that stated what category the winning answer was in ("phrase", "location", "person" etc.) was the actual answer. When I watched it with my family, I would get really angry when they wouldn't tell me what the answer was, and would repeat what category it was in, instead.

• Pretty much every kid my age who grew up in Orange County will say this, but there was a local commercial for a car dealership owned by a guy named Cal. His jingle was "Go see Cal, go see Cal, go see Cal", but I thought the song went "Pussy cow, pussy cow, pussy cow". Seriously, ask anyone from Orange County and they'll say they thought the same thing.

• I thought the old Nabisco jingle was actually sung as "Nothing's cool!", instead of "Na bis co!".

Okay, now you tell me yours.

Also, here's a picture of Elvis on a leash (he hated it), for no reason:

It's It

Cappuccino It's It...no sweeter three words have ever been spoken. Have you ever had an It's It? They're ice cream sandwiches made by a little company in Northern California, and mainly sold in the freezer cases of dingy liquor stores in San Francisco. Ice cream (vanilla, chocolate, mint, or cappuccino) is sandwiched between two frighteningly soft oatmeal cookies, then covered in a thin layer of chocolate. Although they are beyond yummy, I've long suspected that to those of us who love them, a large part of that love is based on nostalgia.

A text from Anh last week teasingly told me that he had found them sold by the box at a local grocery store (I was only slightly deterred that they only carried vanilla). Instead of going right away, though, I hesitated. You see, every time I took a peek into a coffin-shaped case of frozen treats in too-numerous-to-count dingy liquor stores around LA, I had hoped that I would find an It's It. That was the way it was supposed to be; I would glance down, expecting defeat, and there they would be! I would gasp audibly, and snap a picture with my camera phone to send to Micah (just as he had done while in San Francisco a few months back to tease me) before buying up the entire stock. It just didn't seem right to purposefully make the trek, and with every intention, buy an It's It.

I was wrong at thinking it wouldn't be the same, though. As I crept towards the frozen foods isle, my heart plummeted at the thought that "maybe they'll be sold out". They weren't, though...and when I saw them, I gasped audibly and squealed from happiness. Later, after buying two boxes and calling Micah to come over, telling him I had a surprise for him (he gasped audibly when he saw them), we all sat eating them quietly in my bedroom. It was Prez's first It's It, and although he said they were good, I don't think he has the emotional ties to them that I do. Hopefully he'll stick around long enough to procure those ties.


What's your nostalgia-inducing foods?

Randoms

-I just turned in my first-ever paid writing piece. The compliment the editor sent me almost made me cry from happiness.

-While I was reading an email this morning I suddenly, out of nowhere, sneezed right into my cup of tea which I had been sipping. It sprayed all over my desk and on my face. It made me laugh.

-This Tuesday my Totally Awesome Drum Teacher will start teaching me the beats for 10 songs by one of my best friend's band. The goal is for me to play the drums for her shows, once she finishes her new album. I'm gonna be secretive for the time being and not reveal any more information...cause I'm awesome like that.

-I'm making deviled eggs tonight for a Lost Pot Luck. I'm excited.

-Do you like pictures of food? I like pictures of food. Here are pictures I've taken of food this week, for some reason:

Little Tokyo

In my mind, this is what every character in a Haruki Murakami book eats for lunch.

SO YUM!

Not Koreatown

Oh hell yes.

Not an "It's It", but close enough.

My new favorite food...pupusas.

Arty burger.

Jello!!!

My first Dodger Dog!

Not Food

Bought this in Little Tokyo. Tupperware and Engrish: two of my favorite things.

So gay. Also, why do I have the largest hands in the world? That's not an optical illusion, my hands are really that large.

Tag...I'm It!!! (part 5)

Read the first four questions here.

Five Places I Have Lived

1. I was born at Cedar Sinai in Los Angeles, and from there I was taken to my family's home in Van Nuys in a tiny house on Atoll Ave. I only lived there for the first three months of my life, so I don't really remember it. I have an idea of what the house and the neighborhood looked like, but I'm not sure if that's just my brain taking the things I've heard about the place over the years, and making it into something that actually existed.

2. I grew up in a three bedroom condo in Irvine, a suburb of Orange County, CA. Our house had been built, along with the rest of the planned community, sometime in the mid 70's. We had the same brown, shag carpeting throughout the house the entire time I lived there...about 16 years. In the laundry room there were marks on the door frame, charting the growth of my siblings and myself. We continued to mark our heights on our birthdays until we moved out. It became kind of a joke with us, although I think it also had something to do with nostalgia. The new owners, who bought the house after the bank foreclosed, painted over our timeline. I loved that house. I'd even move back to Orange County (gasp!) if it meant living in that house...maybe.

3. The first time I ever lived on my own was when I was 19. I had been living in Los Angeles with my mother and grandma since graduating high school and I had just received my worst heartbreak to date (which has yet to be surpassed, thankfully). A few of the girls I worked with at a vintage store in Santa Monica invited me to move in with them to a place on San Vicente Blvd. The place itself was bad enough; it had originally been a built for a business...upstairs was a large living room, a shabby kitchen, and six small rooms with ugly florescent lighting. Not one of the rooms had a closet, and there was only one and a half bathrooms to share between the six of us. Although the $325 per month rent was a bargain, I was unequipped to handle living with five girls all with varying degrees of crazy, and moved out after only three months. I've only kept in touch with one of the girls.


4. From the crazy-house, I moved into a two bedroom apartment in Hollywood with my friend Janet. She was a nice girl, and I'm sorry to say, I was kind of a shitty roommate. The building we moved into was a 10-story piece of crap, located in a sketchy neighborhood overlooking the 101 fwy. If you craned your neck just-so and peered out the filthy living room window, you could see the Hollywood sign.

I had a large bedroom with a mattress on the floor, and a mural of multicolor squares which I had painted on the wall. The building was so damaged from an earthquake that if you stood on one side of my bedroom across from someone else you'd be taller than them...then if you switched places you'd be shorter than them, all fun-house like.

Our upstairs neighbor had a penchant for blasting techno at 8 in the morning, every morning. I had a retail job at the time, and tended to stay out late, so being woken up at 8 a.m. to the sound of drum and bass was more than I could handle. I snapped one morning and took a broom and started banging the end of the handle on the ceiling. The music stopped and we screamed expletives at each other for a bit (I hadn't had much sleep that night). I heard his front door slam and footsteps down the hallway stairs, followed by a knock at my door. I grabbed a large knife from the kitchen, which I clutched in my shaky hand while I opened the door. An older gentleman was standing there with an apologetic look on his face, which wasn't what I was expecting. He told me that it was his son who played the "godforsaken" techno and who I had gotten in an argument with, and that he was sorry. I thanked him and did my best to hide the knife, which I was embarrassed about having in the first place, behind my back. I moved out a month or so later.


5. C (my ex) is the first and only boyfriend I've ever lived with. When we met he was living in a house in Panorama City, which is in the armpit known as the San Fernando Valley. The house had belonged to his step grandmother until she was carted away to live the last remaining years of her life suffering from Alzheimer's in a hospice.

The house was a two bedroom cottage built during the post-war boom, back when developers barred nonwhites from purchasing homes in the area. I never liked being alone in that house as it was spooky, and had the odor of someone slowly going insane and losing their grip on reality. There were two playrooms in the large backyard, built to look like little cottages. They had been built for C's step mom when she was a child, but over time had turned into a place to store junk and for large spiders to lurk. I hated looking into the backyard at night, and would do my best to avoid doing so. It sounds like I hated that place, but I really didn't...I actually loved it and it holds many nice memories for me.

Bad Luck

Ammond was the first boyfriend I remember my mom having after my parents divorced. She wanted to have the house painted, and he came recommended by her coworker. They were having an intimate relationship before the living room was done. By the time he was finished with the bedrooms, he had firmly planted himself in our lives. We all loved him. He was younger than my mom, probably around 40, and he was a cowboy from some small town in Texas. He was patient with us kids, even though we were obnoxious. My mom was happy around him, but I don't think he lived up to her ideal of what a man was supposed to be (she's always had a pipe-dream of being a trophy wife). He moved back to Texas to be with his two young boys, and we never heard from him again. I still remember the sound of his voice, and his southern drawl...I was fascinated with it.

She met Bob through some singles function at our temple...or someone from our temple set them up, I don't know. He had two kids that were younger than us, and that was the first time I ever experienced what being a big sister would have been like. Bob was incredibly uptight...the definition of anal retentive. He was an avid runner, and my mother became one, too. She and I would wake up at 6 a.m. on a Saturday or Sunday, and meet Bob at one 5k or another. We'd all run together in the beginning of the race, then I'd fall behind and meet them after. He bought her a nice pair of running shoes for her birthday one year. I can't remember why they broke up. I think he didn't want to get married or something. I was never very fond of him anyway, and I didn't like how controlling he was towards my mother.

I don't remember where she met Phil, but on their first date they were held up at gun point in the parking lot where they had just eaten dinner. He told my mom he was wealthy, and not long after that first date, they were engaged. She would gaze at the giant diamond ring he had given her all the time. I remember how often she would Windex it and, being a mouthy teen at that point, how often I would make fun of her for it. None of us liked him, and we didn't hide that fact. She didn't want him to know that she smoked weed with us, but when he walked into our bedroom and we were smoking out of a three foot bong, she knew she couldn't scold us for fear of us revealing her secret. He said that once they were married, we would all move to a big house in Scottsdale, Arizona...but before that could happen, she found out that he had spent what little money he actually had on that diamond ring, and was now flat broke. To her credit, she gave him the ring back. As much as I didn't like him, I felt bad that my mother didn't get what she so badly wanted.

Fabella was her personal trainer at the gym by her work. He was black and insanely muscular. He still lived with his mother, but my mom lived with her mother, too. They dated for almost a year before she told him a very personal secret about herself, one that took a lot of courage to tell him...he dumped her for it.

She's been with John for quite a while now, maybe two years. He was her boss at the real estate company she worked at. He's tall and painfully thin, with dark circles under his eyes...yet he's attractive in a weird way. They go on trips to vineyards together, and she brought him to my grandma's birthday party this year. I don't think he has any plans to marry her though, but I don't think she has any plans on ending things with him...or the energy to date someone new.

Tag...I'm It!!! (part 4)

Well, I've gone and done it. With the help of Miss Alie Ward, I've snagged my very first paid writing job. Not long from now, Alie and I will toast my good fortune over BYO bottles of wine and delicious vegetarian fare at Elf, when I take her out to a "OMG, thank you!!!" dinner...but I'm getting ahead of myself. Lately I've been doing quite a few guest-posts for various blogs and websites. It's been so much fun, and only takes me an hour or two to write up something I'm really proud of...but this assignment?, this is way different. This is the conversation Alie and I had yesterday while I was having a bit of a freak-out over the whole thing, after I received the email detailing the project:


Me: This is like a real...like, well...I can't use curse words in it, ya know??? This isn't some blog entry about things I hate or my childhood! Adults will be reading this!!! It isn't something I can just whip up and be all "Georgia" about!! It's like a real-life, ya know...a real, um...

Alie: It's an "article", Georgia. Is that what you're trying to say? It's what we call an "article".

Me: Yeah!!! Oh my god, I have to write an "article".


I'm sure I'll do a great job, I'm confident I will. But in the mean time, I'm scared and excited. Anyway...If you know any amazing places to eat or fun things to do in Anaheim (not Disney related), please let me know.

On to "Tag...I'm It"

Five Bad Habits

1. I'm a huge procrastinator, and it drives me fucking crazy. Case-in-point: today I need to finish two projects for work, start researching Anaheim and plan a Sunday trip there, write something for a This Recording project, and I started this post this morning and still haven't finished it. Instead, I've caught up on a bunch of blogs, and read the archives of my new blog obsessions, Awkwardly Social, Confessions of a College Call Girl, and Waiter Rant for an embarrassing amount of time...I've also checked my email about two dozen times.

2. Making excuses not to do things. A couple examples:

the logical me: I really need to practice the drums

the excuse maker: What the hell for? It's not like you're in a band.

the logical me: I really shouldn't eat that [mini kit kat, bag of mint Milanos, second half of a corned beef on rye, etc].

the excuse maker: Curves are sexy! Besides...you've been meaning to go to yoga...I'm sure you'll go tonight.

the logical me: I need to go to yoga!

the excuse maker: Curves are sexy! You'll go this weekend...I'm sure of it. Plus a nap would be so nice right now.

3. I make up crazy scenarios in my head and kinda just run with them. Whether it be someone I love dying, being dumped, or even good things happening...they affect me emotionally, and it's really not healthy. It's also why I'm an insomniac...or I'm an insomniac because of it, I'm really not sure. Anxiety is fun!

4. I always forget to take my vitamins.

5. I don't wear a helmet when I ride my bike.

Please Don't Make Me Think Today

Check out my review of festival foods from Coachella over at los anjealous:
Festival Food!!!

Tag...I'm It!!! (part 3)

-If someone can tell me why people keep coming to my blog from the Wikipedia entry for "Kumis", I would appreciate it. Weird shit, Dudes.

-Coachella was pretty much totally awesome. I'm going to post about it once I upload the pictures...I was way to tired to do it last night.

and now onto the 3rd question of "Tag...I'm It"

Five snacks I enjoy:

1.

+

2.

3.

4.

5.

Tag...I'm It (part 2)

Five things on my ‘to do’ list today

This is a good one for me to tackle today because I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed. After Alie and I decided that we would go to Coachella (a big, three day music festival located in the desert, a couple hours outside of LA) despite the fact that we didn't have tickets, a place to stay, or any plans otherwise, I got the news that I was the lucky recipient of a 3 day pass w/ VIP. This is totally awesome, and I'm insanely excited...but there's so much to do!!!

1. Find a cheap rental car, book it, and figure out the best way to pick it up tomorrow morning and drop it off Sunday night. Try to figure out a reasonable way to fit a pedicure in there somewhere.

2. Upload all the pictures on my camera to make room for all the photos I'm going to take for 1) a "scenes from coachella" post for this blog and, 2) a "what I ate at Coachella" post for losanjealous.com

3. Organize a bunch of crap including, but not limited to:

• what I'm going to wear/pack - The first thing anyone says, when I mention I'm going to Coachella for the very first time, is "It's sooooo fucking hot". Being that it's in the desert, I expect that, and I love the heat, but I'm guessing this won't be the kind of heat I love. I think short-shorts and little dresses are in order.


• what bands I want to see - To be honest, I won't be all that bummed if I miss the majority of the bands, as that's not really what I'm going for. I won't be upset if I miss Prince, but there are a few other bands that I'd like to at least attempt to see; Tegan & Sara, Portishead, Stephen Malkmus, Man Man, The Bird & The Bee, My Morning Jacket...that's about it, although Hot Chip and Raconteurs would probably be fun, too. I'm more than bummed that The Bees cancelled, as that was one of the main reasons I wanted to go in the first place. Oh well.

4. Get to Pho Siam by 5:15 tonight. Take off all my clothes and lay face down under a light sheet. Get brutally massaged for an hour by two tiny Thai woman. Hell. Yes.

5. Practically jump out of my skin with excitement until 10 pm rolls around. Get cozy on the couch with Elvis and Prez. Watch LOST. Have mind blown (hopefully).

see part 1 of "Tag...I'm It" here.

Grilled Cheese and Booze

Check back tomorrow for the second installment of "Tag...I'm It".

For now, check out my Grilled Cheese Invitational Coverage over at Los Anjealous.com (which got linked by the LA Times blog and la.eater.com!!!)

Also, if you want to read about why I think it's best to be a little drunk in the beginning of a relationship, go to This Recording.

Tag...I'm It!!!

The lovely girls at Polka Dots & Hiccups (they're my age, and I would kinda die a little inside if anyone called me "lady", so I'm calling them "girls") tagged me for my very first time! We all know, at this point, that I'm not one to turn down a chance to talk about myself, so I was very excited to tackle this. Thing is, I also can't seem to give a short, to-the-point answer to any question, so the first question (out of 5) ended up being an entire story. So is it fair if I answer these in segments? Yes? Good.

What was I doing ten years ago?

Eesh...I was about to graduate from high school, and I was terribly relieved to finally be ending my nightmarish public education run. It felt surreal that I wouldn't have to see the same faces day after day, year after year, ever again (the majority of which I haven't).

I was working after school and on the weekends in a little stationary and gift shop in the shopping center by my house. It was boring, but I got to sit at the counter and read books for hours on end, which made me deliriously happy. I read all of Kurt Vonnegut's books in the 8 months I worked there. I would close the shop everyday for 10 minutes or so, enough time to grab a chocolate dipped peanut butter cookie from the candy store next door, and a cherry coke from the grocery store across the way (my teeth hurt just writing that sentence).

I lived with my mom, sister, brother, my brother's dog Kujo, my cat Whiskers, and my sister's cat Fred in a three bedroom apartment, as the condo we had spent the majority of our lives in had to be handed over to the bank the previous year. We were more roommates than family, although I have good memories of the majority of that time.

My sister and I shared the master bedroom and bathroom, which we decorated with our contrasting personal tastes (my Dead Kennedy's poster in the bathroom, her duck-phone that quacked instead of rung on the nightstand between the beds), as well as a smattering of tchotchkes left over from childhood.

I think if I had realized then, as I do now, that that time in our lives would mark the last period of us being together as a family after almost a two decades of being a close unit, dysfunctional in our own special way (a way that would be foreign to outsiders, which made it that much more special), I would have treasured it more. I find it so odd that these people, who were at any given time my closest allies, biggest enemies, most trusted confidants, and constant companions are now people that I speak to maybe once a month (in my brother's case), and whom I open up to less than I do with my coworkers.

That summer, eager to leave the city we had come to know as well as we knew each other, my mom and I moved to Los Angeles, my sister moved with her boyfriend to Santa Barbara, and my brother joined the Marines. A couple months later, since all his ties to Irvine had left, my dad followed me to Los Angeles. I miss it sometimes...not Irvine, but my life ten years ago. Although right now is pretty damn good, too.

Alright...I tag Anh because he has an interesting story, and he's probably the only one who would do this. And also Becky, in honor of her very first blog!

scenes from my weekend

Apparently, I'm an ugly girl from the Midwest

Check out my first bacon wrapped hot dog experience over at losanjealous.com
Someone left a mean comment that's since been deleted. It wasn't a comment about the post, or about my writing, it was a comment about me personally, and I'm trying not to let it get to me. Although I've had a couple snarky and pervy comments here, no one has ever been straight-out "mean" (which I really appreciate, and know is rare).

Anyway, I'll be here this weekend:


Fuck. Yes.

My Sister Is Far Away

My big sister has been to some really interesting places, for long periods of time, all on Sony's budget. She's a photographer, you see, and she's had assignments in places like Prague (for The Chronicles of Narnia), New York (for Spiderman), she's even been on a window-washing cart on the top of the tallest building in Los Angeles. See:

That's her in the middle.

Right now she's in New Zealand, one of the most isolated places on earth. This trip isn't for work, though. This is her first actual vacation in years. She's there, alone, for over a week...and I'm a little worried about her. She's an independent person, as well as tough and smart, so I don't think she'll do anything stupid...but it's a big world, and things happen. I'm excited for her too, though. I've experienced the excitement of being alone in a foreign city...it's thrilling, and I think everyone needs to try it sometime in their life. She's lonely though, which is something I've also experienced in a foreign city...the last place you want to suddenly realize you're lonely is oceans away from everyone you know and love.
Here's her latest update:

Day 1
1. 4hr. bus ride to Rotorua.
2. Geo-thermal lake-spa to unwind.
3. Hungi = traditional Maori buffet and cultural performance (not at all exploitative) with Phil, the 57-year-old married dude from Australia who offered to drive me around Rotorua the next day and then back to Auckland. When I declined, he admired my independent spirit but cautioned it could eventually impede me from meeting "mr. right". Thank you, "doctor" phil.

Day 2
1. Gondola ride, seafood buffet (I'm a total sucker for a good buffet, I have no idea why), and LUGE RIDES!!!
2. BUNGY JUMPING!!! I never thought I would do this and probably never will again, but at least my stubborn-ass can say I did it!
3. Jameson on the rocks x2 at a local Irish bar to "settle my nerves" as the bartender put it when I told her what I had just done. She also cautioned me about being out alone at night even in a quiet lake-town. I'm sure my parents would appreciate her advice even though she didn't warn me about jellyfish like they both did...
4. Impulse souvenir shopping
5. 1/2 bottle of "clearskin" pinot noir, take-away pizza and a quick mishap with some balsamic vinaigrette and my leather earth-boots.
6. Back to the geo-thermal spa pools with a live reggae band overheard from across the lake, as recommended by the adventure-tour-bus-driver.

Don't waste your time being lonely, Lee. You'll regret not enjoying yourself when you aren't lonely anymore, whenever that may be.

*She even has an IMDB page, which I just discovered while trying to remember what movies she's worked on!

Randoms

Let's play "did you know?"...

-I hate the sound of wind chimes.

-People who clap when they laugh annoy me.

-I've been using the same brand of eyeliner since I was 13.

-I haven't had my natural hair color since I was 13.

-I've had my nose pierced three times. Once was at the county fair. The second time I did it myself at a friends house. The third time my mom broke down and took me to get it professionally done. This is all before I was 14.

-I had a cat for 20 years named Whiskers. I found her as a kitten when I was five. She was put to sleep three years ago while lying on my lap.

-I took tap dancing lessons for about five years in elementary school.

-I fell while roller skating about three years ago and landed hard on my tail bone. It hurts pretty much everyday.

-I once dropped a microwave on my toe.

-I've never met a stray cat I didn't like.

-I have an obsession with tupperware, and glass pitchers and measuring cups.

-I think there's a difference between people who say "see you soon" and "see you later"...I just haven't figured out what that difference is yet.

-I think poorly of people who kick animals off the bed for their own comfort.