I look like a monkey... ...and my car smells like one too. Now I don't make it a habit to fling poo, but once in a while, I make the mistake of flinging poo. In my haze ridden smog, I mean, my smog ridden haze, or is it just a haze? You can never tell in LA. Anyhoo, after my usual, quick 4am jaunt with the canine unit, I was throwing her leash back in my car while forgetting I had her used poop bag in that same hand, thus, flinging poo in my car. Now, when I tell people my car smells like dog ass, I REALLY mean it smells like dog ass. And in the midst of cleaning said poo out of my car, I recalled that this wasn't the first time poo was flung in my presence, just the first time it was flung by me. There's an odd phenomenon with suburban property owners in LA, and their desire to create the perfect suburban environment. I've had a complaint about my front door being unattractive and that I'm going to bring property values down and bring in the "bad element" (sorry dear, I'm already here). And there are those that take immense pride in their homes. And while there's certainly nothing wrong with that, there is a point of taking it to an extreme. Not so long ago, while walking the pooch in the 'hood, during doggie rush hour (the after work crowd), one unfortunate man was walking his two dogs and one of them took a squat on someone's manicured lawn. Everyone's dog does it on someone's lawn, it's a fact of life: Dogs like to poop on lawns. But this time, this guy had run out of bags and was ill-prepared for multiple poop sessions. He left the lawn with his dogs, I believe, intending to find something in which to store the feces and dispose of it properly, but as he was walking away, the owner of the home's voice comes careening out and hits us in the gut like psycho stalker-banshee noise. She's hysterical and screaming at the dog owner as he's trying to explain, not getting a word in, knowing full well it's useless to argue. As he continues to leave so he can rectify the situation, the wild woman runs to the offending material and picks it up with her bare hands, does a Fernando Valenzuela wind-up (that's the last pitcher I remember. woo dodgers.), and hurls the mass at the man. I, and the other dog walkers in the vicinity could only sit with our mouths agape at the absurdity of the situation. If we intervene, will there be more feces flung? Should I fling my bag of poop at her? While the bile mass did not hit the man, but rather disperse erratically in the street, he was upset nonetheless. But what do you do when someone, not a monkey, flings poo at you? He looked at us for answers, but all we could do is shrug and blink. All the while the woman is screaming unitelligibly and we're pretty much ignoring her, because we're still processing the previous actions we had just witnessed. Finally, someone gave the man a bag and he cleaned up what he could and tried to apologize to the woman, who still had crap on her hands. And we all dispersed, afraid of what might happen should our dogs get the urge to do number two in her vicinity. Needless to say, I don't take that route anymore, and I doubt most of the witnesses and other participant from the fiasco does either. But it did teach me a valuable lesson: Revenge will just get shit on your hands.
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Wednesday, August 25, 2004
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...
Okay, just a long time ago, and a different kind of far away, but in LA nonetheless, I had a "summer fling" after my first year of college in San Francisco. I was back in LA, working for the summer. It wasn't a serious affair, we both worked there, he had just come to LA from the Midwest, a homegrown, goofy, average white boy, but fun. We had a good time. He had a motorcycle. I couldn't resist. After that summer, we didn't keep in touch really. I don't even remember if I called him at all. That's how serious it was. He used to see my mother a lot when she would eat at this restaurant that he worked at after he left the job we were at together, so he'd get updates from her. That's when I went through my ultra-"rebellious" phase. I got pierced in many places. I got many tattoos. I drank a lot [more], I took [more] drugs, I became a cigarette girl. In general, I was out of control. (What about the illicit sex and cheap affairs you ask? I was too high to be of much use, so I didn't get to indulge in that kind of behavior much. Just a sidenote.) Many years later, when I was with the ex and he with another woman, he went to SF for something and we got to hang out for a brief moment, then we fell out of touch again. No biggie. The summer semester is over, so I have a week and a half to look for some work, but I planned on doing absolutely nothing. Going to bed at midnight and waking up at 4:30 am for eight weeks takes some recovery time. Because my brain hurts too much to even read trash (ohmygod, another post to soon come: the trash I've been reading), I pretty much just sit and watch television. Tons and tons of television. One of those days, I turned the TV on at 9 am, didn't leave the couch until 11 pm. Stayed in my pajamas all day, ate things that came out of a box or out of the microwave. Can I just tell you how crappy daytime television is? But if there is no impetus to move your fat ass off the couch, you'll watch anything, and I've discovered there is a soap opera about vampires and vampire killers. Truly. I forgot which one, because I was flipping back and forth through all of them, so they have all amalgamated into one uber-drama that makes me want to never leave my house and socialize or have affairs with other people, because it's inevitable that they are going to stab you in the back or sleep with your best friend. That's what I learn from soap operas. And they shouldn't be called soap operas, because they make me feel dirty. But if it isn't soaps, it's talk shows or Jerry Springer-like shows, where just the act of watching, suddenly your living room smells of stale cigarettes and alcoholic sweat, and you have the urge to screw your furniture to the floor, and you think fiestaware is classy, and you decide to call it your "good china". But my mental and physical state would not let me do anything but watch television every day, so I tried to do the sensible thing and watch CNN and MSNBC like a good intellectual elitist. Right now, all NBC stations are showing the Olympics. So the Olympics was on MSNBC, and that, at the time, seemed preferable to depressing stuff, like the news. Then lo and behold, there he was: The summer fling, in Athens, competing for that coveted hunk of metal, that piece of jewelry that won't match with any outfit that I've ever seen. And all I could do was laugh and laugh. I called my mother and she started to laugh, then berated me for not keeping in touch with him, then realized if he were still with me, he would never have made it to the Olympics and we'd be on Jerry Springer, smelling of Wild Irish Rose and flinging Ikea furniture and eating off of paper plates because I had to sell my fiestaware to get diapers for the babies. Then I called a friend that was around when we were together and she laughed and laughed. But now that I think back on it, it's really not that funny, but it does show you that they'll let anyone play in the Olympics as long as you're not on drugs.
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Monday, August 23, 2004
Chunky Smoothie...
A contradiction in terms?
Sorry kids, computer's been in the dumps last week. Look for new posts in the upcoming days. Not today because I actually have some work that doesn't involve the corner of Hollywood and Vine. Woo Hoo for me!
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Sunday, August 08, 2004
Waffling, or Leggo my ego.
My end-of-the-semester stress and pre-menstrual lack of self esteem usually puts me in a self-deprecating funk. This, compounded by a recent conversation with an old girlfriend of mine discussing dating patterns made me think of my dating patterns, then I started to think about the ex's dating pattern, and now I'm curious about his new girlfriend. And I'm praying to GOD that she be drop dead gorgeous. And the best girlfriend EVER. While I'm happy that he has someone, it would make me overjoyed to know she was a supermodel a worldly. Because according to my friend, people tend to date others that are somewhat similar to the previous people they dated. And from what I've seen of the ex's exes, if this new one isn't that attractive, that makes me butt ugly also. But if this new one is smokin' hot, then there might be hope for me. And if she's "normal" and has some understanding of what's hip and socially acceptable, that would be a big plus, since the previous girls were all kind of brainy, sheltered, and socially awkward (probably because they weren't very pleasant looking, and yes, I know I'm going to hell). But since this new one is fresh off the boat from Mexico, I have little hope for that. (Hey, what's this handbasket doing here?) Well kids, so unless I get me a subscription to Vanity Fair and start going to all the clubs on Sunset, I think you just might see me on next season's "The Swan". But I guess that won't really help with the unhip thing, huh? Maybe people will think I'm cute and cool in Wisconsin.
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Sunday, August 01, 2004
It's official...
...I've become a man. I found myself sitting on the toilet with a sandwich in one hand, and a magazine in the other.
What was previously thought to be hooves and a tail growing out of me, are actually bunions and a penis.
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I used to be politically active. I was up to date with the issues, standing in the front lines for what I believed in. I was an idealist with hope for the future and a light in my eyes. Then, I began a long term relationship, and I forgot all of that idealism. I settled into complacency and nonconfrontation. I, in essence, just settled. I figured, if this is all there is, why should I fight the fight? I just want to be left alone. Now, I still want to be left alone, but no so much because I've settled for whatever, but because I'm tired and I don't care. The only fire in my belly is a result from some extra spicy Indian food, nothing a Rolaids can't help. Slowly though, I've been, not so much involved, but interested, in politics again. I can't say I'll be back on the streets, marching for my latest cause, but a smidgen of political activity has erupted in this curmudgeon's heart. So I've tried to keep up (as much as I can, since I'm still chemically dependent to school) with what's been going on during the campaigns, and the Democratic National Convention. At first, my mantra was, "Anybody but Bush". But the more I read, the more I think I kinda like Kerry. And yeah, Edwards is kinda dreamy in a weird stick up the ass kind of way. I think it might be the "I'm such a hick but everything's going to turn out right in a David Spade movie kind of way" accent. And yes, I said I was more inspired by what I've read, not what I've seen. This year's convention was so predictable and uninspiring, I was almost embarrassed. I thought the convention was supposed to be about what issues should be dealt with and what everyone plans to deal with. It felt like a big showcase for Kerry. A four day infomercial/campaign commercial, if you will. Maybe because there was only three hours of coverage on the networks (and I don't have cable at my place, I have to go to my mother or brother's house, which is no place to watch a convention), but did I miss the roll call? What I'm really excited about is Teresa. She kind of scares me. But it's almost like having Hillary back, if Hillary were a foreign drag queen. I like the chutzpah. There is sure to be scandal, and it's going to be all about her sons. And I bet ketchup will be involved somewhere in there. Okay, so I'm not really that excited. I'm just excited to have Bush out of there. And I think everyone learned their lesson and they won't be dumb enough to vote for Nader. And politics is so far away from science right now, and I need any kind of distraction. And being up to date about politics makes me feel smart. I have a friend in San Francisco (I used to have a huge crush on him and he used to think I was the spaciest person in our "group". Alas, he's married and breeding now, with another friend who thought I wasn't so sharp...sigh) who is undoubtedly the smartest person I know. Not that geeky, book smart, that can regurgitate a bunch of facts and theory and is socially awkward, but bona fide, can make clever comments and observations about any material, and it will be pithy and funny and littered with words I couldn't even begin to comprehend. I spoke to him recently, and he, of course, presented witty commentary and delightful banter about the state of the world today, which I, in turn, will spew out relentlessly to my more knowledgeable friends down here, so now they think I'm witty and delightful and in tune with the political and social state of things. Unfortunately, I cannot repeat them here, because the people who know both of us will know it was he who spoke those words because they know better than to believe I can be that clever and erudite and will rightfully accuse me of plagiarism. Okay, so maybe I'm not that smart, but hearing smart people talk politics make me feel at least on top of things.
