I took a hundred photos today. I'm only posting three.

Good morning, Mama!

Dopey's back seat. That pizza? It's three days old.

(She's going to kill me.)

Homecoming: August 7, 2009

Back from left: JD, Andrew, George, Chris, Arthur

Front from left: Dori, Kev, Me, Kelsey

8/7/09

Late Night

And then there are these guys:

Best friends since childhood, the two I haven't lost track of. Seeing them again was like grabbing hold of a piece of my past, clutching it to my chest, burying my nose in old memories and breathing deep.

Like no time has past at all, we reunited and laughed and told stories and opened our hearts and still, despite all that has changed in our lives, they are my brothers.

(The gorgeous blonde on the right is Kevin's girlfriend. She's funny, smart, beautiful, wonderful. He's a lucky man, he is. And he knows it.)

8/5/09 - 8/6/09

A Thursday in The Valley

An all girls luncheon. The first one in nearly ten years.

We pretended to have a beach day in the jacuzzi

that I grew up pretending to be a mermaid in.

A hawk at rest. That morning, while practicing yoga in the yard,

I watched as he flew lazy circles in the sky.

Me, my childhood hero, his legacy.

In the bedroom I grew up in, we had a slumber party

that made me feel like I was sixteen again. In a good way.

8/6/09

Because August 5th was a big day

I spent Wednesday afternoon with my dear friend Michelle, but Wednesday night I had the privilege of joining my brother and his lovely wife, along with our parents, for his birthday dinner at a great little sushi joint in The Valley.

It's been bothering me that I haven't written anything in honor of my brother's birthday. I wrote a story for my dad's birthday this month, then I wrote a special post for George when his birthday rolled around. I've written birthday posts for Mike, Adam, even Jesus*. But nothing for Ty's birthday. And it's not because I value him any less, oh goodness no. He's one of the most important people in my life. It's because I feel shy.

Growing up, Ty was my idol. He'd walk into a room and I was instantly start-struck. He was so handsome and smart and kind. He protected me, spent time with me, taught me things. When I had something to say, he listened as if what I was saying was the most important thing in the world. He was a teenager and he would let me, his 6-year-old kid sister, hang out with him and his friends and they treated me like one of the gang. He made me feel like the most special kid in the entire Universe.

Ty protected me and took care of me. He fixed my toys when they broke, he stood up for me when I was made fun of. If I woke up from a nightmare, it wasn't my parents I went to for comfort, it was my brother. His room was my favorite room in the house, despite the fact that his room was full of things that would terrify most little girls. He had floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with things like snake shed and monkey skulls, live reptiles and taxidermied animals. But he had taken the time to teach me about what they were and where they came from, why they were beautiful. So instead of being afraid of these things, I loved them as much as he did.

Ty taught me the difference between spiders and daddy longlegs, he introduced me to pincer bugs and caterpillars, took me fishing and taught me the lyrics to his favorite Oingo Boingo songs, explained why Blondie was cooler than Madonna. He gave me my love of reptiles, dead things, Blue Grass and rodents. When Mike and I planned our wedding, we asked him to officiate because I couldn't think of anyone else in the world I wanted standing with us when Mike and I said our vows.

I adore my big brother, but he keeps his cards close to his chest and so I feel like I should too. Though many of my most treasured memories are of times I've spent with him, I'm too shy to tell him.

That's why I haven't written anything for his birthday. I worry it would make him feel awkward. I feel embarrassed. So instead I cross my fingers and hope he knows that even though I'm grown up and I don't need to knock on his door when I have a nightmare, he's still my hero.

8/5/09

*I'm lying. I haven't written anything for Jesus. But maybe I should.

Lunch with babes

Meet Michelle and Noah:

Michelle was one of my closest friends in high school, but because she was two grades above me, she was also my mentor. She's still a friend and mentor, she has given me career advice countless times, she's referred me to voice teachers and pianists, she's the reason I decided to focus on theatre in college, in fact, she was a big part of why I moved to New York. She has always inspired me and encouraged me. She cuts a path and I follow behind and a little to the left, tramping on my own weeds along the way.

Michelle is the first of my high school friends to have a baby.

I met Noah in May of '08, when he was only a few weeks old. When I saw Mich this month, she told me that of everyone in her life, my reaction to meeting Noah was the best reaction of all. Mike and I had gone over to Michelle's for dinner and as soon as her husband opened the front door and I saw her with a baby in her arms, I burst out in loud, hysterical sobs.

I ugly cried.

Face contorted, snot pouring down into my mouth, the whole thing. I cried so hard I was practically screaming. The kind of crying where you can't catch your breath and so make horrible, terrible, choking, gasping sounds. Mich started laughing and Mike was completely stunned and Mich's husband, Tim, went and hid in the kitchen. Which is fair, because I was acting like a lunatic and he'd never met me, so for all he knew my head was about to explode all over his living room walls. He didn't want to get any blood on his sweater and I respect that.

I immediately excused myself, ducked into the bathroom, pulled myself together, washed my face, and tried again. I walked back into the living room, took one look at Michelle and Noah, and started sobbing again.

Why? It's hard to explain. It's just that she looked so beautiful. And Noah was so small and perfect. And the whole scene was so surreal and incredible and one of those moments when you know life is changed forever in a wonderful, miraculous, mind-blowing way. And also? I want a baby so bad I spend all my time watching live birthing videos on YouTube.

Let's pretend I did not just write that on the Internet.

So Michelle and Tim had me over for lunch on Wednesday, and this time I did not bawl like a madwoman. But when Mich asked Noah, "What sound does a snake make?" and he put his little tongue between his little teeth and went, "Ssssssssssss", I choked back tears. He's incredible. Even when he threw a temper tantrum my uterus did back flips. I just wanted to squeeze him and bury my face in his neck and eat him. I spent the whole afternoon with my hands over my mouth so that I would not lose control and bite into one of his scrumptious little thighs.

Mmmmmm. Babies.

8/5/09

Max the Dog

My friend B.J. (his last name is Serviss. I'm not joking.) has a dog named Max:

B.J. and his wife, Kat, adopted Max from a local adoption group. They were in love with him before he even came home and they made sure that he had all the accouterments he could possibly need to live a comfy, suburban life. They bought him a dog bed for every room of their house, installed a doggy door, bought plenty of toys and raw hides, got him a water fountain drinking bowl, even a food dish that automatically fills at 8 a.m. and 6 p.m. every day, so that no matter what they were up to, Max would always get fed on time.

About a week after they adopted him, B.J. and Max were out for a walk when a neighbor decided to use his leaf-blower. The sudden loud noise frightened Max and he reared back, pulling his head out of his collar. Before B.J. could grab him, Max ran off down the street. B.J. took off after him, calling frantically, but the dog was too fast. My friend watched, horrified, as Max darted across a heavily trafficked street, dodging cars. And after that? There was no sign of him at all.

B.J. ran back to his house and loaded his pockets with treats and squeaker toys, called in sick to work, then went out again to canvass his neighborhood. With his heart in his throat he walked the streets calling out to Max, begging him to come home. After more than three hours of fruitless searching, B.J. went home to make the dreaded 'Lost Dog' flier. As he sat down at his computer he heard Max's dog bowl ding, then the soft shuffle of kibble being dropped into the bowl. The realization that his sweet dog wouldn't be home to eat dinner was too much for him, and he burst into tears. Then he heard the doggy door slap shut. He held his breath. It must've been his imagination. But then - the familiar click-click of Max's nails on the kitchen tile. B.J. rushed into the kitchen and there was Max, snarfing down dinner. Damn dog knew it was time to be fed and didn't want to miss a meal.

B.J. Serviss, Kat, Me

P.S. Max wears a harness now.

8/4/09

LACMA

Papa played hookey from work on his birthday, Monday, August 3rd, to take me and Mama to LACMA* for the day. It was an especially special treat because we had spent the day before at The Getty Villa and LACMA is currently hosting Pompeii and the Roman Villa. I now know more about Roman Villa's than I could have ever hoped to know. But really? It was incredible. Even though there weren't any dead bodies.

I didn't bother taking any photos inside LACMA because my camera is terrible without a flash. And I get yelled at by museum security guards often enough without trying to use a flash. (I am always setting off the alarms for standing too close to the art work/artifact/etc. One time? One time I petted the mane of a sculpture of a lion at The Met, a sculpture made a billion years before Jesus. Mike made me keep my hands folded behind my back for the rest of the day. BUT IF THEY DON'T WANT YOU TO TOUCH IT, WHY DO THEY PUT IT RIGHT THERE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FLOOR?)

This is my mama** and me playing around in a Frosty-Friendly art installation by Choi Jeong-Hwa, called Happy, Happy. And it is aptly titled, because it sure made me feel good to be able to run around in it and touch all those wonderful, brightly colored plastic bins. I wish I'd taken a photo of the whole thing, it was quite incredible, and if you live in Los Angeles, I suggest you go check it out.

Just for kicks, here are photos I found when I google-imaged "Happy, Happy art at LACMA"

Happy, Happy

The artist and his work.

8/3/09

*Weren't expecting THAT were you?

**How gorgeous is my mother? A total knockout at 67 years young.

The Getty Villa and Mephistopheles

If you live in Los Angeles and you have not been to the Getty Villa in Malibu, you really ought to go. I'm not sure what it is, maybe it's that I'm lazy, or maybe it's because I have no soul, but I never really want to go to museums. I'm going to be perfectly honest here. I know that I should want to go to museums, but I'd actually rather sit at home with a good book, or a movie, or a cup of tea and someone I love to talk with. However, when I force myself to go along with those I love to museums and what not, I always end up having a wonderful time. The Getty Villa was no exception.

The Villa houses Greek and Roman antiquities, and it is built exactly, to scale, in perfect reproduction, like the Villa dei Papyri, which was partially excavated in Herculaneum, a city buried under ash when Mount Vesuvius erupted in AD 79. While much of the Getty Villa is reproduced work, many of the items are actual antiquities. And everything is stunning. J. Paul Getty built it to house his collection of antiquities, and because he wanted modern people to have the opportunity to spend time in, and understand, what an actual Roman Villa would have been like.

Detail on a fountain

A very small example of how the walls

in an ancient Roman villa would have been decorated.

An actual lily pad excavated from Herculaneum.

(Lie.)

The day was sunny and breezy and perfectly lovely. It helped that the company was so fantastic.

Most of the kids and all of the grand kids. (So far.)

Then, of course, no visit home would be complete without some snuggle time with my favorite reptile. Meet Mephistopheles:

If only he knew how much I miss him.

Oh! How unrequited love burns!

Mephistopheles was the very first gift ever given to me by my husband. Only at the time, he wasn't my husband, not even my boyfriend. It was the fall of 2000, and Mike knew I'd dreamt of having a pet ball python for years. When he gave me Meph, the snake could barely curl 'round my neck. Now? Now he's over five feet of gorgeous, scaly perfection. We could not figure out how to safely bring him across the country to New York, so we left him in the care of our very dear friend Cade. And Cade has taken wonderful care of him! And, hey! If you ever feel like taking a road trip across the country and bringing Meph along, I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE HIM BACK. (And I think Cade would love to give him back.)

Have you ever seen something so

gorgeous in your entire life?

8/2/09

Rancho Palos Verdes

This is where I begin to attempt to tell you all about my trip to California. I've been trying to figure out how I can write about this trip without being that person who invites friends over for dinner and then locks them in the den, shuts off the lights, and forces them to sit through the slideshow of their trip to the Grand Canyon, but I don't know how to manage that. And yet? I have to write something. My mom wanted to know why I needed to write something, she suggested I stick to The Now, but, um, what about Project 365+? I'd love to stick to The Now, really I would, but I took nearly 300 photos for Project 365+, and I've got to do something with them. Bare (bear) with me. I will try not to make you so bored that you want to shove hot forks of displeasure into your eyes.

*****************************

A family reunion of sorts, Mike and I spent our first two days home with his brother, sister-in-law and their children. We made sure to soak up as much culture and art as possible, spending hours at museums, galleries and concerts.

Or else I'm lying and we sat around visiting, eating, catching up, playing video games and completely relaxing. Either way? It was lovely.

The gorgeous guy on the left is Mike's clone, otherwise known as his nephew Alan. The gorgeous guy in the middle is nephew Chris. The hairy beast on the left is hippie Mike.

And here I am, holding on to him for dear life, thinking of ways I can trick him into stuffing me into his backpack so I can come along for the hike.

Also a lie. I was invited on this trip, he actually at one point kind of begged me to go (I may be exaggerating), and I was all, "Are there showers? Malls? Restaurants? I'M NOT GOING."

7/31/09

And his eyes were full of soul

When I was in college, I met this boy named Reynier. (Pronounced like ray-near.) He wore about a hundred friendship bracelets around each of his wrists, all frayed and faded, you could tell he'd been wearing them for years.  I always wondered: One from each of his friends? 

Reynier was beautiful. Soulful eyes, perfect skin, full lips, a little on the scrawny side, but still. I remember sitting with him at lunch - he was a vegetarian - talking about the difference between eating meat and eating vegetables. I'd be sitting there with my cheeseburger and he'd be eating a salad and he'd be saying, "Ugh. I just think meat is gross. It's all ... squishy. Vegetarian food is all vegetables; crunchy and fresh." 

And I'd argue, "Cake is vegetarian and squishy. Veggie burgers are vegetarian and squishy. Jell-O is vegetarian and squishy." 

"Jell-O has gelatin in it." 

"So?" 

"Gelatin is made from the hooves of dead horses." 

"..... WHAT?" 

"You didn't know that?" 

I haven't eaten Jell-O since.

Reynier was born and raised in New York City, a place I had never been to. I was born and raised in The Valley, my childhood home within walking distance of three malls. He didn't have a drivers license because he either walked or rode public transit everywhere he went - and no one thought he was weird, in New York. Even though I could have walked to any of the three malls near my home, I had a drivers license and a car because if I didn't? Everyone would have thought I was weird.

One day I was driving him to the supermarket and he said to me, "How many times have you been pulled over?" 

And I, thinking that he, being a public transit-using New Yorker, just thought that every L.A. driver got pulled over on a regular basis. And since I had never ever not once been pulled over, I thought that I would really impress him. Really boggle his mind. He'd have a new respect for me, a driver who had never been pulled over. "I've never been pulled over. Not once." Then I batted my eyelashes, to remind him how pretty I was.

"Really? That's weird. Because you drive like you're drunk."

Nowadays, Reynier is a Los Angelino and I am a New Yorker. Or on my way to becoming a New Yorker, at least. Once in a while one of us will catch the other one saying something on our respective blogs that is just outlandish and ridiculous, an all encompassing sterotypism of the city that the one is from and the other lives in. I'll say something like: "All New Yorker's are lazy! They have to have their groceries delivered!" 

And he'll respond, "I was born and raised in New York, you freak, and I never had my groceries delivered." 

And then he'll write on his blog, "Los Angelino's don't know how to drive in the rain!" 

And I'll respond, "Dude..... you're totally right." 

We've each left our homes, our families and our friends, and moved to the other's city to pursue our wild dreams. Reynier has worked tirelessly to push his directing career and make movies. Every time I hear from him he's writing, writing, writing, going to meetings, making pitches, shooting something. It's incredible. He's a powerhouse. I want some of him to rub off on me. And his hard work is paying off. Several years were spent on the film Replay, two of them on the festival circuit. Now, this multi-award-winning movie is available for your on-line viewing at www.stopchasingme.com. I highly recommend checking out the chronicles page, as soon as you're done watching the movie and telling your friends about it.

This short film is a thrill. The camera work is gorgeous, the editing is flawless, the score is stunning. And I can say I knew him when.

Consilio et animis, Reynier.

Mustang Smelly

Sometimes when something goes wrong, like when my bathroom ceiling collapses on me while I'm in the shower, or when cockroaches are climbing the walls of the hallways in my apartment building, or when it's 20 degrees for the eightieth day in a row, I get really frustrated and I think to myself, THIS WOULD NEVER HAPPEN IN LOS ANGELES. But the fact is that things go wrong wherever we live and sometimes it helps to remember that life is never perfect anywhere.

When Los Angeles was home, there was a brief period of time during which Mike owned two cars. He had purchased a truck to replace his red Mustang convertible (which he wanted to replace because while a red Mustang convertible seemed like a good idea when we bought it, it really just drained us of money and caused lots of near brain explosions) and until he sold the Mustang, he had both to deal with. Before he sold her (we called the Mustang Ginger and so she was a 'her') he spent several days washing her and waxing her, he shampooed her carpets and oiled her leather interior, he detailed that car like a car has never been detailed. She was absolutely gorgeous when he was done, so gorgeous that I wanted to go for a ride right then and there but he would not drive her. He wanted her to stay pristine while he was showing her. And so Ginger sat alone, perfect and un-touched, in front of our sunny little bungalow.

A few days later I came home from work to a very, very unhappy husband. In the middle of the night, someone had broken into the truck and stolen all of Michael's tools and all of his work equipment. Several thousand dollars worth of equipment. And then they had stolen the spare clicker to the Mustang, which he'd thought would be safe in the truck's glove compartment. Not the keys, mind you. The keys were in our house. Just the clicker that unlocked the doors. The good news was that Ginger was still parked right where we'd left her. The bad news was that someone had made her their party lounge for the night. Burger King food wrappers littered her interior. An over-turned cup of soda was stuck to the drivers seat, dried coca-cola sticky on the leather. Cigarette butts and used matches overflowed from the ashtray and littered the carpet. The leather seats were pocked with burn marks. A ratty, filthy blanket was draped across the front passenger seat and the seat was pushed all the way back so someone could sleep on it comfortably. The battery was dead, apparently because they'd left the inside lights on all night. And the crowning achievement? The icing on the filthy cake? The back seat carpets were soaked in urine.

Do you know what I said when Mike showed me the ruined car? I said: THIS WOULD NEVER HAPPEN IN THE VALLEY.

Rich Bitch

One lovely morning in the Spring of 2006, Valentine and I were out for our morning walk when a girl driving a silver Lexus SUV pulled up next to me on the street. She was about my age, salon-pefect hair, teeth so white and straight they couldn't be natural, acrylic french tips, fake tits, the whole deal. She was laughing as she rolled down her tinted window, the scent of some nauseating but probably absurdly expensive perfume wafting out, and then she yelled at me, "Don't forget to pick up your dog shit!" Perhaps she is trying to do her civil duty by reminding me to curb my dog, I thought. But could she not see that I was, in fact, holding a bag full of dog shit? In the hand closest to her car? A car which costs more money than I earn in a year? Was it not perfectly clear that my dog was being curbed? The look on her face was smug, self-satisfied, better-than-thou. And when I noticed her friends, four perfect carbon-copies seated around her, giggling behind their acrylic nails and Tiffany bracelets, I realized, they don't care if I pick up after my dog. They're yelling at me because they find it amusing. They're laughing at me, not with me. They remind me of those hateful cheerleader girls from high school who would come up to me, their glossy lips pinched into nasty little smiles, and say things like, "Cute sweater. Where'd you get it? Target?" and then skip off, giggling with their identical bleached blonde friends.

So I laughed and yelled back, "No fucking problem!" and threw my open bag of dog shit at her perfectly detailed and sparkling gas guzzler. Horror crossed her face as the reeking brown mass slammed into the side of her car and dribbled towards her shimmering, thousand dollar rims. AND I FELT SO MUCH BETTER.

That Time I Partied Backwards.

These kids are my BFF's. For cereals., originally uploaded by Pretty Poo Eater.

Shame on me for never telling you all about my trip home to Los Angeles this past May. I'm a naughty blogger.

It was a really wonderful trip home, though really too short. Poompy and I got to spend time with my friend Mich and her husband and their 8 week old baby. (He won't admit it, but Poompy totally got all weepy-eyed when he held the infant in his arms.) We spent lots of time in our jammies visiting with my mama. We broke bread with friends and family multiple times. We stopped by our beautiful Hollywood bungalow and visited with our old neighbors. We took a road trip to Huntington Beach with Dopey to spend more time with family. We spent an afternoon on the Santa Monica Pier with more family. I went horse-back riding with my neice and nephew while Poompy ate at our favorite sushi place with his big brother. (After which Poompy gloated for hours about how awesome the sushi was and how NY sushi "sucks major balls" in comparison.) But I think the very best story of all comes from our second night in town, when my best fried Dopey threw us The Most Awesome Welcome To LA Party EVER.

Dopey had planned this rad party for us and she'd sent out invitations to all our friends and I was super excited about it. So excited about it that the first thing I did when I arrived at Dopey's house to help her prepare for the party was pass out on the pavement next to her pool. Why? Who knows. My brother suggested that perhaps I shouldn't have started drinking so early in the day, but what does he know? Anyway, the next thing I did was spend a couple of hours stretched across Dopey's bed, holding my stomach and groaning. About forty minutes before guests were supposed to start arriving, Poompy managed to convince me that it would be a good idea to stick my finger down my throat. I won't go into the gory details except to tell you all about how you can tell someone really loves you when they sit on the floor in the bathroom holding your hair and rubbing your back while you wretch and sob and say things like: "blaaaaagh*wretch*gag* I'm dying! *sob*bleeegh*gag* I think I'm dying please *wretch* make it stop! *gag*blegh* I don't want to die! *wretch*sob*gag*" Throwing up is gross. And it sucks. And it is NOT dignified. Certainly not when I do it.

I barely had time to brush my teeth before the guests started arriving and by then, well I just felt so much better that I drank two gin martini's and spent the rest of the night dancing on Dopey's coffee table before getting completely sober and driving home while working on next years taxes. I know how to have a good time, you know?

Playing catch up.

I have so much to tell you! I mean, I never told you how totally rad The Bangkok Five music video shoot was. I never told you all about the awesome book I was reading that I'm done reading now. I never told you how excited I am about my upcoming visit home. I never told you about how I signed with a new agent. I never told you about my job interview at a House of Domination. And I never told you that I booked a flight to Seattle for this upcoming September! See? SEE? SEE HOW MUCH STUFF I HAVEN'T TOLD YOU???

Where should I begin? Perhaps at the beginning?

~I signed with an agent. On April 8th. He's rad, I'm super excited, I WANT TO GET AN ACTING JOB NOW SO PLEASE CAN I START GOING ON AUDITIONS? *breathe* I know, I have to be patient. These things take time, blah blah, it's hard to still be excited that I have an agent when I HAVEN'T BEEN ON AN AUDITION YET. 

~The Bangkok Five shoot was fantastic. I was surrounded by a group of wonderful people and it was just awesome to be working with artists who were genuinely concerned about the artistic aspect of the project. I feel like I have a bazillion stories to tell about the three day shoot, but if I tell it here, this post will take you an hour to read, so I'll save it for a rainy day. But I do want to say this one thing: Whenever I belched, the entire crew erupted in laughter and applause and then a belching contest would ensue. I always won. It might have been the highlight of my year.

~I'm going home to visit my family and friends and I will be there in just four days. I am very excited. It will be sunny and warm and I will spend at least one whole day at the beach. I will go shopping with Dopey and lounge around drinking tea with my Mama and my Marta and I will have coffee conversations with my Papa and I will have long lunches with my brother and his beautiful wife. I will drink wine and indulge in deep heart-to-hearts with Pucci. I will revel in the joys of a party Dopey is throwing just for me and Poompy. I will bond with my niece and nephews. I will see dear dear friends I haven't seen in a year. It will be wonderful and, I'm certain, far too short.

~I purchased tickets for me and Poompy to go to Seattle to visit my grandmother and all my aunts and uncles and cousins and I am so excited. Poompy has never been to Seattle and it is one of my favoritest places ever. I am really looking forward to seeing family I haven't seen in (gasp) seven years, but I'm mostly excited to meet my new cousin-who-isn't-yet-finished-being-made-but-should-be-ready-for-his/her-world-premiere-somewhere-around-July-22-and-in-the-meantime-is-currently-residing-in-the-uterus-of-my-beloved-and-beautiful-and-brilliant-cousin-Angie. The trip wouldn't be possible if my Auntie Anne and Cousin Angie hadn't offered up their spare beds. I am forever grateful to the both of them.

~I got called for a job interview at a House of Domination.

Do you ever just like to waste time goofing around on Craigslist? I sure do. My favorite things to read are the 'm4w' and 'w4m' sections because I think they're just hilarious. Especially when those freaks include naked-y pictures of themselves. (It is a personal favorite past time of mine to look at people's self-proclaimed Sexy Pics and point and laugh hysterically.) I also occasionally like to read the 'Rant and Rave' posts. I don't read the 'Pets' postings because they make me cry. Once in a while I check out 'ETC Jobs' because those can be pretty funny, too. Last week there was an 'ETC Job' posting for a Dominatrix at a House of Domination (No experience necessary!) Too funny. I couldn't resist emailing. I had this fantasy of going in for a job interview and watching a training session just for the story I could write about it afterwards. AND THEY TOTALLY EMAILED BACK TO SET UP AN INTERVIEW! And then.... and then.....

I lost my nerve.

See, I think that if I was a real writer, I'd call and set up an interview. But, try as I might, I just can't bring myself to do it. I talk a big game, but I'm really just a kitten. Not even. I'm a teensy mouse.

~I read this incredible book. Everupme I love must read it. It's called In Defense of Food and it is written by Michael Pollan who just might be my new hero. It is such an incredible book that I am not going to write about it right now because you've been reading this post for so long that you're probably just skimming by now and when I decide to write about In Defense of Food I want your complete and utter undivided attention. So check back later for details.

Love you, miss you, sorry I've left you hanging for so long, I know it just kills you not to know every sordid detail of my sad little life on a daily basis so I promise I will try really hard to write more often.

Smooches.

Los Angeles Tourists:

Stay the hell off the freeways during commuter times! I think that it is great that you are here, really I do. Everyone should see L.A. at some point. Hollywood Boulevard, Sunset Strip, Disneyland...well...that is Anaheim, but oh well. It is all great, I know. And I understand that you want to "get a head start" and "take advantage of the day". But if you don't know where you are going, Please, for the love of all good things, don't get on that freeway until at least 10:00 AM. We Los Angeleans KNOW where we are going. We know what lane to be in at all times. We know exactly where our exits are. We know what the traffic should be doing at every minute of the day. You, you tourist, DON'T. I understand that in every other part of this country (except Texas) 65 mph might be considered a bit faster than the norm. DEAL WITH IT. If you cut me off again going a cool 50, I will hunt you down and slash the tires of your compact rental car. If you signal left and jolt into the right lane in front of me again, I will stop you fast and rip you out of that driver's seat. This one I don't understand at all; rental car or not, isn't the turn indicator a standard down=left, up=right? MORON.

OH! And one for the spammers who insist on replying to posts: stop peddling your shit on my blog. I don't need to meet some 90 year old psycho who claims he is 26, asks me for coffee, then they find pieces of me scattered througout the Hollywood Hills. Also, it is pretty damn obvious that I don't know you when you offer me, a very small 85 pound person, weight-loss advice. I've got enough of that to share. THANK YOU VERY MUCH!

I am sorry, I don't know what has come over me. My brain is fried from this heat. I will be happier tomorrow. I promise. Don't go away! I really can be a very positive, happy person. You'll see.