Posts Tagged 'life lesson'

Strange memories.

Sometime around 9pm last night, I got a strong urge to go to the grocery store. I’d eaten the “Mexplosion” salad from Greenleaf for four days in a row. Don’t get me wrong, each of them were delicious, but they are also $14 dollars a pop [with a diet coke and tax] – and why the fuck should I pay $14!!!!! for a salad [which doesn’t even have any meat component]?   So anyhow, I am on my way to the grocery store and all of a sudden, soon as I pulled into the store parking lot, I am overcome with flashbacks to my second summer home from law school.

It was a Saturday [I was supposed to go to a pool party with a guy I was in lurve with back then] in the weee early morning when my friend S. called to tell me that her dad died. Which fact was totally fucking trippy because 1) she left the msg on my voice mail, which necessitated a very awkward call back from me, and 2) I had seen her dad like two days before, and he was totally fine. Seriously, TOTALLY FINE.

I picked up S. from her parents and we went to the parking lot above the grocery store and smoked a pack of cigarettes each. Then we went to CPK. I remember S. ordering a glass of wine, and how strange lunch was because sometimes we’d forget that her dad had just died and we’d start having fun, and it would just be a regular day out [except my lungs hurt like a mother effer from all the smoking] until all of a sudden S. would say something like “my dad is fucking dead” and I’d say something like “yeah” and then she’d say “what I am I supposed to do” and then I’d respond, “I’m sorry, I have no idea.” I may have also suggested more wine.

S.’s dad was the first dead body I had ever seen. And at his funeral, my mom told me that she wants all the flowers at her funeral to be peach and pink – which I promised her I would make happen. Even though in my mind it seemed unrealistic, since it is not like I can direct the funeral mourners to only send peach and pink flowers. Plus, I hate the color peach.

I hope S. is doing well these days. We still talk [she doesn’t live in Los Angeles] on occasion, and she says she is happy, but I never can tell.

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Fun with chemicals.

I have been undergoing a metamorphosis of sorts during this last month. For one, I have been productive.  HIGHLY productive.  I have been working out.  Almost daily, in fact.  Cooking!  [Seriously, Who the fuck am I??]  I am even attempting to sew a party dress for my firm’s super posh holiday party.  I fully expect to fail and be frantically overpaying for a so-so dress at the last minute.  But I want my own personal Project Runway moment, dangit.
To reward myself for this newly unveiled better version of me, I decided to treat myself to a fancy facial [you, know, because um, I will be saving lots of money by sewing my dress or something].  When I went online to search out the best place to go,  I happened upon a review for an at home chemical peel.  Whereas a salon peel is upwards of $400 American cash dollars [which is now, like 75% of what remains of my 401(k).  Fucking stock market]. The at home version was a mere $20 something dollars.  
Question::  What IDIOT would buy a chemical peel [emphasis on “chemical] on a website? 
Answer:: Diet Coke. 
It did occur to me that this could be a bad idea, but in my mind, the worst case scenario was that the peel would not work and I would be out $20 dollars.  Isn’t that what Starbucks charges for a latte these days?  Whatever.  I am a fucking MAVERICK.  I threw convention and good judgment to the wind and paypal’ed myself some chemicals to make my face peel.
What I did NOT count on, is that the peel would work.  Like, really work.  So much so that I am sitting in my office with my scarf wrapped around my head in a fruitless attempt to hide my better version of me’s newly acquired lizard face.  And in addition to looking alien, my face is so tight that blinking even hurts.  My face is actually fucking PEELING off.  Because I am an idiot and put a CHEMICAL I purchased form the Internet on it.  On purpose. 
All I know is, when all is said and done, this better have worked.
Lessons::
a)  Don’t be an idiot and do a chemical peel at home.
b)  If you MUST be an idiot [as I often find I must], take a week off so that you may hide your idiocy from the world.
Oh, after all the folderol
And hauling over coals stops
What did I learn

The economy can take my money, but not my friends.

Back in the day – I am talking way back [high school back!!]– I made a friend named Lili [name not changed because I didn’t think she would mind me openly discussing her awesomeness.  Lili, do you mind?  Too bad, if you do]
We started off on the wrong foot.  My 9th grade bestie hated Lili on account of a boy, and me being the independent, free-thinking woman that I am, decided that I too would hate Lili – because, you know – umm, just because [Kids!!].  The hatred had abated by the end of the year [although not before 9th grade bestie defaced Lili’s photo in my yearbook] but by that point, both Liliand I were comfortably enmeshed in our respective nerd circles and were not interested in friendship with outsiders.
It was not until our senior year of high school, and a painfully difficult Physics class that Lili and I became friends. One day we were awkwardly in the same lab group [disproving all of Newton’s theories incidentally*]  and the next we had deciding we would never again attend another lab [or much of the rest of High School, as it turned out], opting instead to attend pool parties. 
It just so happened that after high school, both of us headed to Western Massachusettes for college, which made it easier for us to continue what had started.
Over the course of the last fifteen years [FIFTEEN!!], Liliand I have been through some serious shit together.  High school prom for one!!! The death of parents and classmates.  Lili’s decision to defy logic and marry a guy she had known for all of like, two minutes [while we were still in college no less]**.  My constant boy/friend drama.  Thousand and thousands of miles between us.  I once even spilled an ENTIRE large coffee coolata from Dunkin’ Donuts in her car.  And still, here we are!
Lili has for a long time been, and will likely always remain in my top 5 of all time people I know.  But this past week, after having gotten to spend an entire week with her [she lives in Vermont, and I obviously, not in Vermont], it dawned on my just how damn much I miss her.  And she has not even left yet!!  And of course, missing Lili makes me think of all my other friends not in Los Angeles who I miss terribly.  And it all makes me very sad.  But it is an oddly happy sad.  Sure, some [most?] of my favorite peeps have left Los Angeles, but how lucky am I to have so many amazing people in my life?
Very lucky.  That is the answer. 
* but only because we were doing the lab wrong.  Whoops!
**  it worked out quite well.  She is super happily married. 

Weekend, in no particular order.

Sunday Afternoon:: Wearing an absolutely adorable, newly purchased dress, I found myself at a baby shower Sunday morning. There I was, sandwiched between a bevy of women who were just like me [or so an outsider might conclude] and yet, completely not like me at all. As they talked about rubbing butt cream on their babies’ behinds and how since baby was born, their marriages have been lacking in sex, I was thinking about how much I drank the night before, trying to recall if I did anything I need to apologize for, wondering whether the boy I was talking to was actually cute, etc.

As it dawned on my how different I was from Them, I started to freak out a bit. Maybe I should stop being so much like me and more like those women, I thought. Maybe I ought to date one of those guys my whole family is constantly trying to set me up with and get on the road to marriage and baby and sexless days and nights, I considered. Was I a bad person/friend for having at that moment written off the friend whose baby shower I was attending because I don’t much like baby people, I wondered.

But then I noticed there were cupcakes. And I felt okay again.

Friday night:: As I boarded an airplane at LAX , I was pleased to see several dozen people gathered around the television screens in an attempt to watch the presidential debate. It didn’t even bother me so much that several people were nodding disapprovingly every time Obama spoke. I was just happy that people actually seem to care about this election.

Later Friday Night::
Four hours, three new table friends, two tequila shots and one horribly played poker hand later, I was one hundred dollars poorer.

Saturday Afternoon:: Spent some quality time at the pool attempting to improve upon the tan I gained last weekend. Ended up with a slight burn. Lesson:: Don’t be greedy.

Sunday Night:: Mental order restored. I don’t want to be tied down with child. I want to bounding around Knott’s Scary Farm with my friends, reenacting seventh grade. Which is exactly what I was doing.

The New Apartment Chronicles:: Chapter 5

I am moving [tomorrow, officially]. But sadly, not to Silverlake. Instead, I am moving in with the Senior Cokes [my parents]. Overall, this is depressing. Because 1) moving is depressing [and for some reason, causes me major mental trauma], and 2) living with ones parents after the age of 18 is depressing [and as of Friday, I will be 11 years past 18. Fuck. That is also depressing. Maybe more depressing than living with my parents.]
In an effort to find the silver lining, here are the pros and cons to living with Senior Cokes for the month of September::
Con:: Living with my parents is definitely going to hinder my social life. And by “hinder,” I mean a practically annihilate.
Pro:: Maybe this will be good for me or something. A forced detox/hiatus? A reason to go to the gym maybe? Plan some weekend getaways??
Pro:: It is only for a month!!
Con:: A whole fucking month!!
Pro:: I will save money.
Con:: I have to move twice instead of once and I must pay for storage. [which, btw, is kind of expensiveR than I thought].
Pro:: Parental food making and laundry skills at my disposal.
Con:: Constant parental supervision at their disposal.
Pro:: I will have lots of quality time with Maxine the Dog. [best. dog. ever!]
Con:: I will have lots of quality time with the Senior Cokes.
Pro:: I will be blocks from the beach and with pool.
Con:: I don’t go to the beach, ever. And despite my constant moaning about wanting a pool, I probs won’t use it.
Con:: I still have to find a place.
Con:: I am living with my parents.
Con:: I am living with my parents.
Con:: I am living with my parents.
Pro:: I am not homeless (or dead, or legless, or witless, or a witness against the mob, etc. etc.)
Life lesson:: Living with one’s parents is better than being homeless, but worse than not living with one’s parents.
Actually, it just occurred to me that I am actually more depressed about aging than the whole living fiasco. But then it also occurred to me that the only way to stop aging is to be dead. Which brings me to…
Life Lesson #2:: Getting old sucks, but dying young sucks more. And both dying young and aging suck worse than living with the Senior Cokes.
So anyhow, I will shut up now and stop being schizophrenic.

Overheard at my backyard BBQ

I hosted a BBQ this weekend for friends, family and a few randoms. One such random, a woman I will call Jane Doe Crazy told the following dating/female insanity tale::
Jane dated a guy on an off for some two years. During the course of these years, she broke up with him AT LEAST TEN TIMES!!! [Note:: After four break-up’s, perhaps one should stick a fork in it. Rule to live by.] She likened her ex-boyfriend to a booger that she simply could not flick off her finger. After their last break-up, she decided that the best thing for her to do to end the cycle was to find him a new gal. [Note:: The best way to end the cycle is to just end the fucking cycle already! Perhaps easier said than done…but by break-up five or six or seven or eight…grow some self restraint Ladies!!!].
Jane then did what no self-respecting ex-girlfriend would do:: She posted a Craigslist ad on behalf of her ex asking the Ladies of the Interwebs to take him off her hands. She read us this ad, and it was just about as batshit as you could expect…and loooong. She mostly touts the ex’s good qualities [bedroom skills, well-endowed, kind, sweet, gentle and generous (these qualities all seem somehow related)] but then filled in the rest with non-veiled jabs about all the ways in which her ex failed her [he is a big democrat – apparently this is a really bad thing].
At this point I am thinking:: What the eff? This chick clearly is in luurve with the her ex still. This will end badly.
It turned out, one lonely Lady of the Interwebs saw this ad and was intrigued. What’s more, Jane’s boyfriend was intrigued back. So Jane’s ex ended up going out on a date with the woman Jane found him via an angry CL revenge ad.
Oh, but wait! It gets better!!!
Several weeks pass, and Jane and her ex are not back together. Jane decided at this point that she must return his stuff at once! [Note:: Ladies, if you have dated a guy for a longish period of time, you can totally keep the “stuff”. You’ve earned it. Also, said “stuff” can not under ANY CIRCUMSTANCE be used as an excuse to see the ex.] She packs up his junk and heads over to his place unannounced. Upon her arrival, she reports that she hears “the giggling of some vapid girl” and so she leaves his stuff on the doorstep and heads home. [Note:: OMG, Ladies, do NOT leave “stuff” on doorway and head home unless this was discussed ahead of time. So creepy. And also, if the “stuff” is so unimportant that it can be left on a Los Angeles doorstep, just throw/gift the shit away and move on.]
THEN – as if this isn’t bad enough – Jane remembered that her ex had some of her stuff that she. had. to. get. back. or. else. So what does she do? What any completely unreasonable semi-stalking ex-girlfriend would do:: she uses the key she still has of his to go to his house the following morning to retrieve her stuff…without telling him of course.
The following morning’s trespass revealed that Jane’s ex had a new woman in his life – and in his bed. And not just any woman, it was THE Lady of the Interwebs that Jane had found for him on craigslist. Upon making this discovery, Jane reported that she said “I really wish you two the best of luck,” tossed ex’s key at the Lady of the Interwebs and said “here, he will probably want you to have this,” laughed, finished retrieving her very. important. stuff. and then left.
The most astonishing part of all is that my fellow listeners seemed to think that this fiasco meant that ex is an ass, the Lady of the Interwebs a whore/bitch, and is Jane hilarious.
But really??!?! WTF. Jane’s ex is well within the Diet Coke Dating Rules to be dating someone else post break-up, never mind someone that Jane practically forced on him. Plus, the Lady of the Interwebs is not a bitch/whore merely for dating a man that once dated Jane!! I mean, gosh, she is just looking for love like the rest of us [granted, maybe in more unconventional places] AND AND AND, Jane used a key she ought not have kept to break into her ex’s house! How is this funny? If one of my ex’s came into my house unannounced to collect some possessions, I would call the po-po. And finally, why post an ad for an ex if you don’t want to the ex to date someone else??!?!?! HELLOOO?????
Lesson Learned:: If you ever come up with a cockamamie plan to get at your ex, remember:: STOP! NO!! DON’T DO IT!! THAT IS A BAD BAD BAD IDEA!!!  Because if you don’t, you will recount your cringe inducing tale to strangers at a BBQ and folks will think you are is nuts.
I leave you with a random awesome song:: Wild Sweet Orange – Ten Dead Dogs

Death by Vanity.

I narrowly escaped death last night.
My story begins the day before yesterday [also known as Tuesday]. I was feeling a little [a lot] fat after having eaten a boat load of french fries with Gorgonzola dipping sauce [sweet Jesus, so good]. I decided, in a rare fit of clarity, that rather than continuing to try ever more absurd and counter-intuitive diets to lose ten pounds [Dr. Kerendian for lipotropics, FRS for I don’t know what, Dr. Johnson for some “up day down day” crapola, etc.] I was going to try something new. Something sensible. Sensible being a concept that is definitely underutilized in my life.
I skipped out of work early and moseyed on over to a Weight Watchers meeting in the miracle mile area. And people, I loved the meeting [even though I know this makes me kind of a dork]. Hilarious talk-y middle-aged over-weight Jewish ladies and sassy gay men galore. So much fun! I laughed, I felt inspired, and I felt embarrassed for myself for laughing and feeling inspired. I even, at one point [only for a second!], turned into one of those head nodding in agreencewith the speaker people that I make fun of. At the end, I resolved that by golly, I am going to lose the weight! And I am going to do it by my birthday. In reality, not likely as my birthday is in a few week, but a gal can dream.
Yesterday, my first official Weight Watcher’s (hereinafter “WaWa”) day was brutal. I ate all of my “points” allowances by lunch and was pretty much staving the rest of the day. Turns out a burrito for lunch was a bad call. Damn you and your burrito hating ways, WaWa.
Wanting to make the rest of week less painful, I went on a shopping excursion at the crazy Pavilion’s on Vine after Project Runway. [Project Runway, btw, still blows. And Pavilion’s remains crazy.] Among my many purchases were a half-dozen eggs.
The Master Egg Plan:: 1) Hard-boil egg. 2) Eat egg (sans yolk) for breakfast, breakfast being the most important meal and all. Good plan indeed!
When I got home, I got the water boiling, plopped in the egg and then headed over to the couch for some Olympics watching action. And then? I slept. And I slept. And I continued to sleep until I heard a loud bang. Convinced that someone had broken into my house, I grabbed the only weapon within range [a fork – certain to induce much fear in the heart of any breaker-inner] and started towards the noise. I will be damned if I am going down without a fight! I probed around a bit and found nothing. So I went back to my bedroom [with a knife this time]. My adrenalin was still pumping from my earlier scare, so I was unable to get back to sleep. Thank goodness, because a few minutes later, I smelled something. And not just any old smell, oh no! I smelled FIRE!
Only then did I remember the damn egg. Luckily, by the time I got to the kitchen things were still salvageable. The bottom of the pot had started to catch fire, but it was contained. The bang, it turned out, was the egg exploding in a billion little pieces all over the floors, wall and ceiling [which I have yet to address].
Point is, I almost fucking died people! All because of a hard boiled egg and my desire to be thin.
Lesson learned:: Stay fat and live.