Archive for July, 2008

The New Apartment Chronicles:: Chapter 1

Dear Landlords Posting on Craigslist::

Pico and Crenshaw is not “Hancock Park Adjacent.”

A studio is not a one bedroom.

A storage space does not equal a loft.

It is not an “$1800 move in special” if it costs $3000 to move in.

Please, stop fucking with me.

Faithfully,

Diet Coke

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The earth shook and my life got shaken up.

[First comes the earth shaking part]
As a Los Angeles native, one might think that I am adept at handling earthquakes. One would be wrong. When an earthquake strikes, I lose my cool. Today was no exception. While my building was creaking, I panicked, I asked my assistant to “please make it stop” [she didn’t] and I cowered in the corner like a fool. It took me a solid hour to regain my composure [actually, it is not clear I had composure to begin with]. The only bonus after today’s quake was the out pouring of love and affection from my peeps [with one notable exception]. Seriously, about a dozen people called, texted, and emailed. All to see if I was ok [I am]. I won’t lie, it made me feel special.
[Next comes the life shaken up part]
Shortly after the quake, my roommate informed me that she is moving back to Arizona [due to sickness, not quake]. For may reasons, her moving is a good thing. It turns out that having a roommate kind of sucks. When I moved into this house after living alone, my intention was to live with Evil Troll, my then best friend. We all know how that worked out. The girl who moved in after her, while good intentioned, is pretty much a total nuisance. But this also means that I have a very short period [31 days] to figure out what the hell I am going to do and where I am going to go myself. And if there is one thing that stresses me out more than earthquakes, it is moving.
In hopes of getting a little support, I called Fancy Shoes to share my news and my stress. About two minutes [maybe not even two minutes, actually] into my call, he started going on about how he thinks my bathroom is nicer than his, but his backyard is nicer than mine. And how his common space will be nicer than mine once he is done with his remodel. Huh? Wasn’t this call about me? And my stress? Yes, I do believe it was. So, I tried to redirect the convo, and instead learned about how he bought tickets to go on vacation…in 2009. Nothing about the conversation made me feel good. It did, however, make me want to get off the phone.
[and now something about milkshakes]
Growing increasingly agitated, I emailed my friend K. and declared that I needed a powwow, STAT. We met in the lobby of my building for milkshakes. I vented. I freaked out a little. Oh hell, I freaked out a lot. But still, no solutions for my problems.
[finally, fuck milkshakes, I need something stiff]
My friend then suggested happy hour. He knows me well.
[UPDATE: Post drinks]
Nope, still no solutions.  But feeling more ok with that.

Time Warner is the Devil.

I came home tonight to a non-working Internet. Usually, a few restarts and modem reboots later, I am back in business. [The act of unplugging my modem and then restarting it to make it work sooo reminds me of the old days when I’d blow into my Nintendo games to get them going. Times change…but not really all that much.] Tonight, my usual tactics did not work.

After about an hour [I turned my computer off to let it “rest,” which is absurd, because it is not even old!] and still no Internet access, it occurred to me that it was time for drastic measures. Tech support would need to be engaged. Frustration levels and blood pressure were sure to rise. Much time would be wasted. But problems would be solved! Order and Internet would be restored. Right? RIGHT??

I was optimistic.

Until I dialed the help number and heard the dreaded “we are experiencing unusually high call volumes.” Usually, this means “shit is fucked up.” But I needed my Internet. So I waited. And waited. And yes, waited some more. Finally, after twenty eight loooong minutes, George got on the phone. George was a very nice man, but he clearly had no idea how to solve my problem. Still, I was forced to go through his entire trouble shooting manual:: Restart computer, reboot modem, unplug modem, do a little dance, restart computer, etc. Finally, he gave up and promised to transfer me to an “Internet specialist.”

This of course, required yet another agonizing wait. Finally, a lady came on the phone. She, with all her vast training as an Internet specialist, told me to restart my computer. Again we went through the same old reboot/restart drill. Finally, an hour and half after I first called, I asked for a supervisor. The supervisor, while also an alleged Internet specialist, apparently only specializes in PCs. My Mac would require a special specialist, he informed me. And special specialists, of course, require long holds.

Another forty five minutes passed. Don came on and asked me what the problem was. I told him my Internet was not working. He told me to go the “start menu.” What the fuck find of Mac specialist would say such a thing, I thought. I have a Mac, I said. He then let me know that I would have to continue to wait while he checked out a few things [a.k.a – found a Mac trouble shooting guide because he has no idea what he was doing].

When he returned, he told me that the problem with my Internet was that there was a power outage that was affecting 2.4 million customer. Really, I said? Because my neighbor’s Time Warner Internet worked just fine [I am using it right now, in fact]. Don then told me that he is a level 3 specialist – the highest level one can get, the Delta Force of Internet specialists [the Delta Force bit is my interpretation].

And then…AND THEN. The son of a donkey’s behind hung up on me.

I wish upon Time Warner and that bastard Don years of parking tickets, gum on their shoe, slow Internet connections and receding hairlines.

UPDATED:: Seriously Creepy.

A reader of mine sent me an email today about a blog he came across that reminded him of mine. Know why? Cause some crazy psycho blogger is plagiarizing my posts!!!

Need proof?

On May 30, 2008 I wrote about My Day. On July 15, 2008, crazy psycho blogger wrote about her day. Except her day is my day!!!

More proof??

Try this. And THIS [and all over her blog]. All mine!!!! [actually, she changes a few words here and there, usually for the worse.]

Is this some sort of wide spread internet phenomenon? I am so confused. Slightly flattered. And scared for my life.

JULY 28, 2008 UPDATE::  The blogger who was hijacking my content removed the offending posts from her blog and posted the following::

“pissed off another blog user recently by using some of their posts with a few details changed to fit myself. Thinking about it now, I’m not surprised she was pissed, when I found out someone had been doing it to my old blog (for 18 months before I found out!) I was pretty annoyed. Anyway, I deleted them. I didn’t really think it through, I just thought she had the most amazing style of writing and her humour really tickled me! Anyway, no harm intended, but all now deleted. I’m not even sure I know what came over me other than I feel like I’m turning in to a bit of a nutter recently what with all the crap that’s been happening!”

So on hand, I am glad that the thinks me to have most amazing style of writing … cause that is nice and flattering [and not that true, sadly for me].  And I applaud her taking responsibility for the error.  Lot’s of people do fucked up shit and then get mad at the person who calls them out on it.  On the other hand, really, didn’t think there was anything wrong with it??  Seems implausible.  But anyhow, it is over.  No more stealing by her and no more shit talking from me.

PWSD [Post Weekend Stress Disorder]

Things I learned this weekend.

I suffer from a little known disorder called Post Weekend Stress Disorder:: Symptoms include a weekend full of fun, relaxation and inebriation followed with inexplicable anxiety and sadness over going back to work on the following Monday. PWSD is at its worst between Sunday 8p and Monday 12p. Soon after, the anxiety fades, usually disappearing completely by Monday at 7p. There is no cure, except unemployment, which unfortunately, comes with its own set of ailments [including, but not limited to, Always Broke Virus and Multiple Creditors Calling.]

Chuck e Cheeses is a frightening place:: Seven year-old Diet Coke remembers The Cheese being all fun, game tickets, ski ball and delicious pizza. The reality of the situation is far more drab and distressing. While I anticipated the hordes of children, I did not anticipate noxious odor that shifted at random between moldy cheese, vomit and child. And the pizza – what a travesty! The only thing the joint seems to have going for it is that it seems unaffected by inflationary forces. For $5.99 a person, we got pizza, soda, cake AND game tokens!

I am in a very nostalgic mood:: On Friday, I attended the birthday party of one of my favorite people from my days with my Former Employer. During and after the party, I couldn’t help but miss my dear friend Teebs [who also works for my Former Employer] and think that had she not moved to New York, she’d have been there by my side and we’d have had a super blast [as opposed to the regular blast I had my myself]. She has been gone over a year now and I have yet to visit her. [Unacceptable.] Thinking about visiting Teebs in NY made me think of my own years in NYC, which in turn made me miss my NYC friends. And on down memory lane I continued, missing various people, places and things along the way.

Mariachi bands make every party better:: Seriously. When it doubt, hire a mariachi band.

Drugs are bad:: After having watched “Heidi Fleiss: The Would-Be Madam of Crystal”, which recently debuted on HBO, I can say unequivocally that drugs are bad.

I need to do a better job of appreciating my parents:: I often take my parents for granted, and tonight, I feel really guilty about it. My parents missed me so much this weekend that they came over to my house with my favorite home cooked meal and my dog. How sweet is that? I need to let them know more often how awesome they are and how much I appreciate them.

There is not enough time in the day:: I had about ten things I wanted to get done this weekend. I got none [ZERO!] of those things done. I may need some lessons in time management.

Hollindase Sauce is not good for hangovers:: Fancy Pants surprised me this morning with a stop by. I am not sure if he missed me or was just checking up on me, but it was nice to see him in either case. I was out cold on the couch [where I passed out the night before] when he rang. We walked down the street to a cute French breakfast when I made a horribly bad food decision in ordering Eggs Florentine. I don’t know if it was the egg, the sauce or just my general state of hangover, but my stomach has not quite yet recovered.

Parties are fun.

I have not yet quite recovered from last nights debaucheries, but tonight’s party [at Chuck e Cheeses!!!/Medusa Lounge] calls. And when a party calls, I generally answer.

I am slightly nervous about the evening ahead, as I am hanging with some friends I have not seen in a while, and one potential attendee has some probs with me. We shall see.

May the force be with me.

Will provide deets tomorrow.

Re:: Project Runway

Seriously, what the fuck happened? Is Bravo, in an attempt to tank the show before it moves to Lifetime, feeding the contestants qualudes? Did Lifetime actually pay half a BILLION [!!!!!] for this turkey? Does anyone [I am talking to you Suede] think it is ok to talk about them self in the third person? [It is not, by the way.]* Do we think Blayne is a meth head or a coke head? [I think meth.] Were the judges playing a joke on the collective PR watching universe when they acted like that whore-iffic monstrosity [pictured to the left] created by Stella was well done?

I am going to give it one more episode, but I think my love affair with PR may be over.

* Yes, smart ass, Diet Coke does speak in the third person on occasion.  But Diet Coke is an aluminum [my mom pronounces this as “all-ime-in-e-um” can] – normal rules do not apply.