Archive for March, 2008

The day the music died. In Silverlake. At a bar.

The Silverlake Hipster contingent likes their juke music, as I discovered on a recent trip to 4100 Bar, which is probably one of my top 5 east side bars.

Certain Someone and I descended upon 4100 Bar at around 9:30 after dinner at Malo down the street. First off let me say, I do not recommend Malo. Any Mexican Restaurant that makes you pay for salsa is not ok. This is the kind of trend that will result in McDonald’s charging for straws or Taco Bell for sporks (aka – end of the world).

When we first got to 4100 Bar, the place was pretty empty, allowing us to cozy up to two bar stools right by the vaunted Juke Box. Immediately, Certain Someone started demanding I procure dollar dollar bills to start playing some music. Having quit my job at the strip club, I was fresh out. When we tried to get some change for a five from the bar back, we were informed the box had run amok, playing tunes at will – ignoring the wishes of its paying clientele. As the place started to fill up, LITERALLY 30 people walked up to the Juke to try to put their money in (some actually did) and were crushed to learn that it was broken.

All through the bar, there was malcontent, snickering and suspicion over the lack of musical styling. Just as we had all lost faith – reconciled ourselves to an evening of silence followed up by 30 second bits of random songs followed by more silence – the doors swung open. A light shone in. And entered – the Juke Box Man. He whipped out a box of magical tools, and before I could say Hoe Gardin three times, the music was back.

And all was good in Silverlake again.

Back on the Juice.

I blogged a while ago about my experimentation with FRS Healthy Energy products and about how they generally tasted like crap. I started using the product after hearing some trust worthy endorsements and learning that FRS offered a free two week sample pack. While their products don’t taste that great – unless you are into fake orange/lime flavor with a funny aftertaste, they are pretty good at providing energy. Since I have been taking them I don’t feel that afternoon post-lunch slump that had become my existence.

Since I had run out of the free goods, and the not-free stuff is kind of overpriced, I had decided to shelve the notion of taking FRS Health Energy products forever – or at least until their next promotion. Then, just as I had given up, I got an email from them offering me 30% off my next order. I still resisted. THEN, I got a second email offering $100 worth of free products if I re-uped my order.

The coupon/gift hook was too much for me to handle. So I placed my order.

There are two points to this story. First, my Free Radical Scavenger order is on its way. Five boxes of their antioxidant health drink, two bags of antioxidant health chews and one orange concentrate. Second, and more important, it seems FRS is like then men in my life. It comes in a tidy little box. It starts off being mostly bad. Just when I come to accept the bad and focus on the upside, it runs out on me. I feel sad for a bit, and then forgot about it. And just then, at that VERY moment, it reasserts itself into my life. Typically, havoc ensues.

And speaking of the men in my life…

1. Certain Someone:: still awesome.
2. T/S, Shit Fuck Face:: still an asshole.
3. The Philosopher/Aristotle Boy:: briefly regained his status as The Philosopher by sending a bevy of nice messeges but then promptly lost said elevated status by returning to blowing me off.

My favorite trader joe became the scene of my worst nightmare.

Maybe not my worst nightmare, but pretty damn bad.

Imagine me, the Trader Joe hoarder that I am, just having finished loading eight (yes, really) boxes of Lentils Madras into my basket. I had just reached for two bottles of organic ketchup when who moseys on by but Shit Fuck Face from dating nightmares past. And he was at MY Trader Joe.

Normally, my instinct* in such a situation is either 1) flee from subject, 2) feign ignorance and pretend not to have seen subject, or if drunk, 3) confront and make out with subject.** In this instance, I went with a 1/2 combo. Flee the isle and ignore having seen subject. Subject, however, ignored the rules of engagement to followed me. Subject further wanted to pose the most absurd inquiry EVER:: “Why didn’t you call me?”

My next instinct was to squeeze the hell out of the tubes of ketchup in my hands and squirt organicy tomatoey sugary goodness all over him. But then I thought of how the Ketchup deserved better and instead said:: “Sorry, I got really busy” and walked away.

I was so distracted on my way out that I forgot to grab a bag of my favorite delicious cheesy poofs. =(

*and thereby the proper instinct.

** Option 3 is not recommended.

Confused.

Confusion seems to be pretty much the only thing I am feeling these days. I spent all day at work slaving over a filing that needed to be made – which filing was of course due yesterday. The partner who assigned me the wretched task assured me that the whole process would take no longer than three hours. Diet Coke, he said emphatically, you will be done in time for lunch. Fast forward eight hours later and there I sat, in the same seat, still not done. And still not having had eaten lunch. Feeling utterly confused.

I rushed out of work to meet up with the Philosopher for dinner/drinks. Shortly after my previous post about the confusion he was causing by toying with me, he made the best decision any man can make. He asked me out. Our meeting started out with the usual pleasantries – “hello, how are you, where you from, who you be with” etc, etc, blahpity-blah. As our blood alcohol levels rose, so too did the fun quotient of our conversation. By the time we were three glasses of wine deep, I had already convinced him to flash his very silly yet endearing tattoo (to the extent a tattoo can be endearing) and a sort of truth or dare (minus the dare) banter was exchanged. We covered religion (he has none), drug use (he does none),

and a few other things (that I don’t recall). It was fun. And, alas, it was confusing.
Which confusion begets further confusion – because why should a fun date be a source of confusion? Probably because of the underlying confusion I feel about Certain Someone. He and I had exchanged several emails yesterday trying to come to a mutual understanding about what the hell was going on between us. And I thought that we had. But then instead we spent the better part of the time since then not communicating at all, or being mad/sad/confused at each other.
Will I ever reach an age or a place in my life where things just make sense and I know what to do and how to handle situations?
I am starting to doubt it.

Someone totally hated on my blog today. This person started off in such a way that it seemed like they were giving me a compliment. Like, “Hey, your blog totally sucks but that other shit you write is pretty good.” Then when I gave this person a chance to take it back, such person reaffirmed their belief that my blog sucks (and suggested that I know as much) and further extrapolated that if this person read my blog, but did not know me in real life, this person would assume I am crazy. After said person was done insulting me, this person asked that we just pretend the whole conversation never happened.

Four things came to mind when all this happened::

1:: I don’t like when people give me an insult gift wrapped in a compliment.

2:: I don’t like when people give me unsolicited negative feedback.

3:: If someone thinks that I seem crazy after reading my blog, this person likely also thinks I am crazy in real life. And maybe I am, because I don’t think that what I write here is all that different than what I would say/do/think in person. Sure, this blog only reflects a very selective sampling of my life, but still, it is me. And frankly, I like it. And I think it is funny. And if others don’t and want to get all judgmental on it, they should just stick to reading my reviews instead.

4:: I am being immature and posting this because my feelings are hurt.

I get by with a little help.

Words are flying out like
endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass
They slip away across the universe

I had agreed several weeks ago to join a few of my closest friends to go see a Beatles cover band known as the Fab 4. I like the Beatles as much as the next person. Assuming the next person is a passive Beatles “fan.” And further assuming that “fan” means having their number one hits records and being able to sing along to the chorus of their songs on the radio. But interest in going to see a bunch of forty something year old men PRETEND to be the Beatles? Not so much. Still I agreed to go, mostly just because my friends are awesome and I like to hang out with them. Well, that and promises of alcohol.

When we arrived at the show, I was less than enthused. First of all, the venue was this wacky supper club type place called the “Canyon Club.” Think pirates of the Caribbean meets an opium den. And if that wasn’t bad enough – and trust me, it was pretty effing bad – the place is in Augora Hills, which it turns out is one of those far away places that need not be visited. Ever.

When the show started, my morale plummeted even further. As I watched four men prance around the stage in bowl cut wigs signing Can’t Buy Me Love the thought “what the hell am I doing here?” ran through my mind quite a few times. But then, somewhere between Hard Days Night and Yesterday, something changed. Probably, it had a lot to do with the fact that I was two vodka and soda’s deep. More so, though, I think it was just the infectious (in a good way) nature of Beatles songs. You basically have to be a terrorist or a vegan not to like them. Once I got past the absurdity of watching a band pretend to be another band, fake accents and all, I could almost imagine that I was hearing the Beatles live, or at could understand what it must have been like to have had that opportunity.

Pretty awesome I imagine.

And I can’t lie, when they played With a Little Help From my Friends, I got a little choked up. I’ve been talking a lot about Evil Troll and how awful a person she turned out to be. But what I should be talking about is my true and dear friends who are so wonderful and who I really love. And who really do help me get by. So to all of those friends, near and far, (most of whom who will never read this because they don’t know that it exists and the two that will read it) – thank you.

And finally, I am very curious how it must be to be the fake Ringo in a fake Beatles band.

Aristotle Boy Strikes Back.

[Enter star wars theme music.]

My life, and my love life in particular, is destined to be complicated.* Thusly, just as I had given up hope [literally, the last oz. of hope drained out of me two seconds before the following took place], AB email me.

DAH DAH DAH!!!

His email read as following (in a Diet Coke style nutshell): Hi, I was thinking about you. I just wanted you to know that. But because I want to keep you guessing about whether I am interested or not, I am not going to ask you out or otherwise engage you. I am instead going to say “talk to you soon” and make you exist another week in agony. Because that is how I roll. Philosopher style. Joop.**

Anyhow, the good of it is that I am not getting the total blow off, which makes my fragile (not really) ego feel better. The bad of it is…I was sooo (kind of) over it. And now I am back under it.

Also, things are further complicated by the fact that I have been spending some quality time (read, he spent the night) with Certain Someone. Nothing naughty happened. But still, it is confusing because I like spending time with him.

Calgon, take me away!

* Yes, I do know that is because I make it so.

** Joop is a word that I am going to single handedly bring into existence. I it is meant to be a jestful*** combination of bye, later, over and out, woot, hoot, yup and [WORD YOU LIKE] all rolled up into one. It is awesome. Trust me.

*** Don’t know if “jestful” is a word. Let’s just pretend.