gee, thanks.

it's amazing how sometimes the smallest things can totally alter your mood. i literally had just changed my gchat status to say, "i'm having a dance party by myself at 9:50am on a Monday. perfect." but then my iTunes decided to pull Tom Petty's "Learning to Fly" out of the mix, and i was no longer amused.

thanks a lot, asshole.

Friday, i'm in love.

click for details


and RSVP, suckas!

I HEART ROSSMORE.

darlings, please check out the ultra-rad write up that Refinery 29 did on my girl Suzy LeQ and her amazing jewelry line, Rossmore.

love, love, love!

last published on August 6, 2009

ever since i can remember, interests have flown in and out, and back in and out of my life. much like the water cycle, after evaporation and condensation run their course, it's inevitably going to rain again. for example, when i was in third grade, i was really into horses - so much so that everyday at recess and lunch Kimmie McAllister and i would prance around on all fours and pretend that we actually were horses. then all of a sudden, one day after finishing my peanut butter and honey sandwich i decided i wanted to walk upright again, and alas, was no longer a horse. years later, i rekindled my love for the hoofed mammals, but seeing as i was older and wiser at this point, chose to ride one instead of be one. i was convinced that my calling in life was to be part of the equestrian community. every chance i could, i went riding - shit, i even went to horse camp (for lack of a better term) that summer. and then once school started again in the fall, horses were quickly replaced by other things like YM magazine, friendship bracelets, and boys.

the same revolving door policy does not apply to my personal relationships. my friends who are near and dear to me are in my world for a very specific reason: because i want them there. now don't get me wrong, i definitely have a list of people who i don't see often enough, or who have moved far, far away but at the end of the day, the space i set aside for them in my heart remains constant. fuck me over, and that's a different story... which leads me to past lovers, if you will.

when it comes to exes, i've never been one to "want to go to horse camp" after a relationship, romantic in nature, has run it's course. once i'm done, i'm done. sometimes i'm over it for a very specific, valid reason, and sometimes i simply "don't feel it" anymore. reasons aside, i'm not a friends with exes kind of gal. never have been. never will be? eh, this is a concept i'm currently having trouble with. for the first time, i'm experiencing an overwhelming urge to keep in contact with someone i've said "i love you" to, and actually meant it. why now? why him? these are questions i've been grappling with the past week or so, and honestly i'm not sure i'll ever fully be able to answer them. is this a sign of maturity? or a small bout of weakness? whatever it is, i'm not sure i like it very much. i have always been a person who makes a decision and feels good about it - this seems like a lose-lose to me. it's frightening, really. like when you finally admit to yourself that the person you're into could very well be into you, too. like when your parents sat you down and told you Christmas is a holiday invented by Hallmark so that they can sell limited edition holiday ornaments every year.

speaking of which, maybe i'll add a pony to my Christmas wishlist this year. at least some things never change.

sugar and spice and everything nice

last night Nikki and i were reliving the greatest (and not so greatest but in the best way possible) moments of her birthday party this past weekend, and we came to the conclusion that we have the greatest friends in the whole fucking world. now i know that everyone says that, but honestly, when i sit back and think about all of the people i have in my life i feel incredibly blessed and sometimes take for granted that not everyone has such an amazing circle of friends.

* warning *
this post is about to get ridiculously saccharine-laced.

sometimes in life you meet someone, and almost instantly you know this person was meant to be a part of your life because...

... this person not afraid to dance with you at shows like no one is watching, and would drop anything and everything for you in a time of need.


... when you're having a bad day, this person tells you it's "your day" and there is no one else in the world who you'd rather have be the plug to your socket.


... no matter how crazy the world makes you feel, this person makes you feel sane and loved unconditionally.


... whether you're in the mood to stir up some trouble, or need to vent after a crappy day, this person is only a speed dial call away.


... you share the same quirks and seemingly small but ever important likes and dislikes with this person, and certain things just don't feel right when they're not around.


... you have so much ridiculous fun with this person, and you both agree there are multiple times where you should have easily been dead in result of said fun.


... this person never fails to put a smile on your face and make you feel like an incredible human being simply because they are an incredible human being.


... 23 years of friendship is still at the top of this person's "important things" list despite the fact that your lives have gone in completely opposite directions.


... every time you're with this person you feel like you're 17 again, dancing at Tiger Heat - and you wouldn't have it any other way.


... no matter how busy you both are, this person always puts forth time and effort to see you, and when you finally do see each other it feels like no time has passed at all.


... everyone needs a giant in their life.


... you want to put this person in a little glass jar on your shelf because they are so darned cute.


... no one in the world aside from this person understands the importance of a taco as big as your head.


... your shared love for 90's music alone easily makes this person one of the most awesome people on earth.


... this person feels like your best friend from 2nd grade who always traded you their granola bar for your fruit roll-up.


ok, i'm making myself sick. i could go on, and on, and on... but i doubt you're even still reading this so i'll spare us both. in short, i freaking love my friends.

surprise, surprise.

i stumbled across my old livejournal account yesterday and spent a good hour or so reading over nonsense ramblings from my 21 year old self... for the most part, it helped me realize that i have in fact "grown up" over the past few years (thank goodness), but there were a few posts like this one that solidified the fact that some things will just never change:

December 29, 2004

rain, rain go away...

...and don't come again another day because its so fucking cold right now i can barely stand up straight. but i suppose i shouldn't really be complaining, right? i mean after all, compared to what's happening in southeast asia, a little rain is nothing. wrong. a little rain turns the city into complete fucking morons. do you know what made "headline news" this morning? the la river.

some of you may be thinking "we have an la river?" the answer is yes, folks. the most recognizable part of la river is a man-made concrete ditch section created mostly for runoff and rainy seasons such as the one we're experiencing - drainage purposes and what not. 99% of the year when it's 77 degrees and sunny the la river is simply half full of dirty fucking water, heroin needles, and dead prostitutes. "well bob, take a look at a shot of the la river this morning... it's a bit full today, huh?" yes you fucking moron it just rained five inches yesterday alone. of course it's "a bit full today". boo freaking hoo, a fucking tree fell over. there was a EARTHQUAKE/TSUNAMI half way across the world that took the lives of tens of thousands of innocent people... remember that? leave it fucking southern california to give more news coverage to the la river.

i just love me... because today i would have written a similar rant about all of this Michael Jackson bullshit in the midst of a budget crisis. please don't start with the "Michael was the King of Pop...", "Michael was a legend..." nonsense because i danced to Billie Jean just as many times as you did after the news hit. yes, MJ was a great entertainer but in no way does he warrant closing the ENTIRE freeway from Forest Lawn to Staples Center while his funeral procession passes. what ever happened to a good old fashioned police escort? everyone bitched about spending money on a Lakers parade, but all of a sudden it's ok to break the bank for a man who once made great music and then turned into a child molesting freak who named both of his sons Prince Michael?

i know, i know... he was acquitted. so was OJ.

everything happens for a reason? umm... hell yes.

despite the fact we had just seen each other within a 12 hour time period, Dani and i were feeling a bit of separation anxiety this morning so we decided that dinner was in order. after a lovely meal at La Grange next to the girl from Californication and her real-life parents, we're walking back to my car and i realize i don't have my keys. yes, i am fully aware that my purse is over stuffed with useless nonsense, but i knew they weren't in there.

feeling slightly panicked i had locked them in my car, we run over and press our faces on the driver's and passenger's side windows, respectively, only to find that not only did i leave my fucking keys in the ignition, but Dani left her door unlocked. so she opened the door, unlocked mine, i turned the key without so much as flinching, and we laughed the whole way home.

Calgon, take me away.

i'm having one of those days. shit, i'm having one of those weeks. i have zero desire to do anything work related (hence a minimum of one Twitter update per hour, multiple Tumblr links, this mid-day blogging treat for you, etc.), and have an insatiable urge to spend every last penny that i don't have. eerily, i've just about convinced myself that it would be ok if i made the minimum payment on my Visa this month if it meant i was going to buy the Dolce Vita sandals i've had my eye on for a while. i have issues.

speaking of issues... my lovely co-worker Rachel decided it would be a good idea to send me a wonderful article about a bird in San Francisco that has decided to randomly attack people for no apparent reason as they walk down the street. just when i thought i couldn't possibly hate/fear birds any more than i did... thanks, Rach. you're the best!

but it could be worse. i could be this poor lady. the world is fucked up.

speaking of fucked up... i just bought the Dolce Vita sandals. i'm an idiot.

feeling all nostalgic, and shit.

thirty seconds ago i was reading a friend's blog, and all it made me realize is that i miss blogging. how lame is that? obviously it's not that lame because here you are reading this so clearly you miss me blogging, too. i mean, you just typed in this url knowing you were going to read 6+ month old posts. so who's the loser now, loser?

kidding. (kind of.)

so keep your eyes peeled. in the meantime, this can tide you over.

la-la-la-la-love

back in the saddle again

and to what horrifically fantastic topic do we owe my re-emergence into the blogosphere world? David Blaine. that's right, i said it. David freaking Blaine. let me explain...

this morning i rolled out of bed and successfully lugged my desk that just sold via Craigslist out of my room without giving myself a hernia. i put on a pot of coffee, and cracked open the old laptop to see what's going on in the world. the first headline that catches my eye reads, "Daredevil's stunt is a dud," with a subheadline stating, "The 'dive of death' finale to David Blaine's latest trick was a big letdown for some in the crowd." wait, WHAT? people were actually shocked that David Blaine is a huge crock of shit? oh the humanity...

i couldn't resist. i clicked on the article and proceeded to read the most idiotic waste of cyberspace ever imaginable. as reported by Yahoo "News", "I am totally unimpressed," Joshua Yoselowitz, a 31-year-old banker, told AFP. "I'd rather be at home. If his name hadn't been David Blaine I would never have come." darling Joshua Yoselowitz, you should be totally unimpressed by a douche bag whose previous claims to fame include sitting on a block of ice, locking himself in a plexiglass box, and being buried alive. the only thing involving David Blaine that could remotely impress me is if his hair managed to not catch on fire after some one threw a bag of flaming dog poop at his head. New York tabloid the Daily News passed its own verdict, saying: "Some folks are already saying the achievement should be marked with an asterisk." PEOPLE! do you even hear the words coming out of your own mouths? well, some other folks (ME) are saying the word "achievement" should be stricken from any sentence that is even referring to David Blaine.

it's comforting to know that at a time where our government is talking about a huge financial bailout to save our faltering economy some one, some where, is being paid to write about David Blaine. god bless America.

well it's a marvelous night for a Moondance:
THE PHENOMENON KNOWN AS APRIL 13, 2008

you know you're in for a fucking fantastic day when at 8:30am it's 75 degrees out and you already find yourself at the beach. Dave dug a hole, there was a naked, pregnant baby running around, and i met a little boy named Liam who apparently was a mute. Staci appropriately categorized him under "Silence of the Liam".

around 12:45pm i was making my way back to the beach for no less than the third time that day, this time with Joyce and two carafes of sangria in tow. after Joyce and i watched Jessie, Ian and Brett try to bring out the maximum amount of Mexican-ness in Dave by kicking around a Dodger blue soccer ball (* please see below for more Mex-tasticness), we polished off the sangria and headed straight to The Whaler for what else but more drinking. thanks to my pseudo-celebrity status, (at one point me, Nikki and Dani were such regulars that every time we even approached the bar there would be three Scooby Snacks waiting for us, minus the whip, of course) we skipped the waiting list and scored a table outside where we then proceeded to throw back pitcher after pitcher of Hefeweizen. except Brett. Brett is apparently too cool to drink the everyday man's wheat beer, but did redeem himself with many a pint of Stella. i've always been a fan of the Artois.

but i digress...

after losing one soldier and playing musical sunglasses, we went through more rounds of the "damn it needs a better name and more defined rules but for now i'll just call it the letter game" than i can remember. we did, however, in our drunken state, manage to come up with the brilliant of addition of the comma followed by explanation/justification feature. for example, on the letter "w" my twisted mind brought out "what what, as in can i get a." this new feature made me feel much better about myself due to the fact that the only word that started with a "w" that i could think of at the time was "what." so proud to be an English major...

cut to Jessie and i giggling together as we sat on the railing of the Venice Pier. don't fret, i'm not attempting to leave out embarrassing anecdotes or important information - i just don't remember much in between fighting with the waitress over how many pitchers she charged us for to frolicking down the pier maniacally. but yes, we some how thought it would be a good idea to jump off the Venice Pier, which Jessie and i successfully did. Ian however, bless his soul, had a bit more difficulty with the task. he made the jump, kicked his feet twice toward the direction of the beach, and then decided he couldn't make the swim back. at the time i was legitimately frightened for his safety. my concern actually caused me to feel the need to jump in yet a second time to save his life, but thankfully Brett did the honors and dragged Ian back to the safety of the shore. one of the onlookers must have called the cops and/or lifeguard because before we knew it there were trucks with sirens on the beach in front of us. luckily they just made sure we were ok, offered us towels, then drove off on their merry way.

looking back at the whole situation in hindsight, i sincerely wish i had taken a pictures of Ian clutching to the pier's pylon because the whole scene was pure magic. both arms and legs hugging the post, the priceless look on his face, the people standing on the pier who had gathered, wathcing everything unfold... i could have made a photo montage to the late 90's Third Eye Blind song, "Jumper" reminiscent to something straight out of a made for tv movie. i love you, Ian, but i wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend.

Monday morning found me with a cheesy grin painted across my face as i recapped the madness that was Sunday night (comma, as in "Oh What A" - copyright Jessie Reder) in my head. all and all, i had a great weekend. i was with my friends, we shared a banana, had some laughs... no one drowned. what more could a girl ask for? well, there is just one thing. in the words of Van Morrison, can i just have one more Moondance with you, my love?

some much needed clothes-ure

before you read this, please remind yourself that i am as far from racist as one can possibly come, but there are certain things (race not withstanding) that i just can't stand. butter on white rice, umbrellas sans rain, you get the idea. having said that, picture this, if you will: the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the children are laughing, and there are Mexicans were swimming with clothes on. all i can say is why? why, why, why...

Joyce wisely reminded me of the fact that i am the proud owner of Ask A Mexican by Gustavo Arellano, so this morning i grabbed it off my bookshelf and furiously began searching for the answer to my burning question... why do Mexicans swim with clothes on? his answer:

According to a 2003 study by the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development, 24 percent of Mexico's population is overweight. That's the second highest obesity rate in the world following - wait for it - los Estados Unitos! Unlike gabachos, Mexicans respect the public when it comes to flashing our flabby chichis, pompis and cerveza guts - so when we're out near the pool or by the beach we cover up. it ain't Catholicism, machismo, or an homage to our swim across the Rio Grande. It's good manner.

not exactly what i was hoping for. in fact, it's almost a cop out. then how does he account for the pleasantly large girl we saw yesterday in the wet wife beater? at one point i had almost convinced myself that she wasn't wearing a bra. she may as well have been topless...

highly unsatisfied, i launched an internet search of my own and have come up with what i believe to be a more tangible answer: long pants can be used as flotation devices.

according to ehow.com, you can literally turn long pants into a personal flotation device. simply take your pants off in the water, and tie a knot in each leg. (tip: zip up the fly if there is one.) while treading water, grab onto the waist band with each hand and throw the pants back over your head. quickly swing the waist band forward into the water, trapping a large air bubble inside. then, firmly close the waist band with your hands and slip a pant leg on either side of your face. the trapped air won’t escape, and you will have something to float with. good to know. thanks, ehow.com!

only in Beverly Hills

i've been at my new job for just over a month now and i must say that being in Beverly Hills every day is nothing at all how Brenda Walsh and Kelly Taylor made it out to be. i don't get to hang out at the Peach Pit with Dylan and David after school every day. hell, i've never even been to the Peach Pit After Dark.

how ever i have been compiling a list of observations that i feel the need to share with you.

1. you can use a credit card to put time on a parking meter.
2. on any given day, at any given time you can see tween girls walking around in dresses that were clearly meant to be worn to their 8th grade graduation dance, but also served as their "let's go shopping for the day" dress, as well.
3. bike cops cruise on BMW's
4. Santa Monica Boulevard between Crescent and Roxbury is a wind tunnel no matter what the temperature is
5. "pedestrians have the right of way" does not apply, especially if there is a walk signal
6. you can't walk down Rodeo without some idiot from Omaha asking you to take their picture in front of a street sign
7. people actually wait in line at Sprinkles for a fucking cupcake (go down the street to Crumbs, they're better)

so in the words of Rivers Cuomo, the truth is, i don't stand a chance. it's something that you're born into. and i just don't belong.

worst day of the year

i was lying in bed contemplating whether or not i'd get out of bed to blog about the fact that my internal alarm clock is really starting to piss me off. i open my eyes every morning between 6:30am and 6:45am without aid from an electronic device. most of you are probably wondering why i find this to be a problem seeing that i never hear the daunting tones of an alarm clock... well i'll tell you why. I DON'T NEED TO WAKE UP UNTIL 8:00AM. my new job allows me the flexibility of waltzing through the office door no later than 10:00am, so i don't leave the house until 9:22am. waking up before 7:00am is no longer necessary. when will my body understand?!! hopefully next week... maybe never.

but i digress.

this morning i woke up and looked at my wall clock that read 6:42am. i'm impeccable - even on a Sunday. i stretched, rinsed my face off, and put the coffee on all before i caught sight of a digital clock which housed the real time of (now) 8:03am. daylight savings is the worst. just the feeling of losing an hour kills me. i hate losing at Boggle, how do you think i feel about losing precious time? ugh, i won't get started for your sake.

the dollar sale awaits me... at least something in my life remains constant.

guess who's back, back, back?

Saturday night marked the end of my alcohol/substance strike as i daringly broke my way back onto the scene with (drumroll please) a beer and a cigarette. yes, after supporting my own period of prohibition i broke the streak with a beer and a cigarette and i don't even smoke. but when push comes to shove it feels nice not to have the social stigma of being "that girl" when every one else is ordering drinks from the cocktail waitress. and now when i receive my half dozen or so text messages that say "can you be our DD tonight?" every Friday i can casually reply, "sorry. gone drinkin'."

you, me and Old Greg makes three.

last night Dani introduced me the fascination known as "Old Greg", and while i resisted him at first, i now can't stop watching this fucking video. so here. i'm going to make you watch it, too.



and be warned, last night after my first viewing i went as far as having dreams about Old Greg. for some reason me, Dani, Katy Q. and Old Greg were in this parlor style dressing room and i had the most kick ass dress you've ever seen in your life on, but Old Greg was not a fan. he said he hated the dress and made me cry. i need help. or maybe i just need to watch Old Greg a few more times. do you love me? do you think you could ever love me?

in another news, someone took a shit in the parking lot at my work today. no joke. one of the girls in the Call Center comes up to my desk and says, "Ummm... there's poop in the parking lot" to which i replied, "exCUSE me?" sure enough, i went outside and there was a legitimate dookie in between two cars. fucking sick. i need a new job.

blame it on my lying, cheating heart

i feel dirty and ashamed - but not as ashamed as i should be. i just purchased a Rick DiPietro shirt from nhl.com. ask me how i feel when i wear it under my Kings jersey when they face off against the Islanders on Thursday... yikes.

those who know me best are aware i have the inane ability to fall in and out of love in a matter of minutes, so don't be shocked when i tell you i'm selling a DiPietro shirt on eBay that is in "Worn-Like New" condition, but for the time being the boy is hot. yes, he is the only goalie to be drafted first overall and yes, i know he's worth $67.5MM thanks to the 15 year contract he inked in 2006 and i'd only be lying to myself if i said i wasn't impressed. the deal sealer, how ever, was learning that DP is a bit of a smart ass. he was mic'd up during yesterday's All Star game and not only can he stop a puck, but he can crack a joke just as easily.

so until the flame dies, if anyone has any sort of connections hook a girl up. after all, all's fair in love and war until he says "i do", right?

sick and phone-less

i spent the entire weekend laying in bed, feeling as if death was knocking on my front door. if that weren't enough in itself, i foolishly left my cell phone on my desk at work under a pile of papers and found myself cut off from the world. sounds awful, right? truth be told, i enjoyed it.

i got more sleep in the last three nights than i have in the last three weeks put together. normally paranoid and anxious without my phone, i felt free and not obligated. so if i neglected to answer your call/text and have not yet informed you that i was sans cell, i was sans cell.

i can always count on you for a laugh

let's not lie, this past week has been rough to say the least. i've been fighting some sort of sickness (a.k.a. the devil) and it has yet to give up it's awful plot to overtake my insides. my dad's car got broken into while he was out of town. work is no fun. it's raining, cold, and depressing outside. and to top things off i'm refraining from substance abuse so i can't even turn to a bottle for comfort. (though last night Dave and i rationalized that smoking weed is ok.) (whoa, double parenthesis action - i just re-read the statement about turning to a bottle and it just sounds worse than intended. there is no need for an intervention. i am ok.)

luckily, when all is said and done at the end of the day i still have my ridiculous sense of humor and a slew of things that can make me smile just by thinking of them. among the things that can tickle my fancy:

pictures
they say a picture is worth a thousand words - i say a picture is worth a thousand laughs. i love looking at pictures. old pictures, new pictures, digital photos, hard copy prints - i don't care. putting myself back in that exact moment in time helps me remember all i have to be grateful for. my friends, my family, the places i've been, the parties i've had... plus you almost forget about the present even if it's only for a second. i've been print happy lately and have been ordering from QOOP left and right. next stop, Aaron Brothers for their 1 cent frame sale. i'm getting giddy already.

American Gladiators
who doesn't love grown adults that go by obscure names and wear ridiculous costumes battling it out against other grown adults whose main goal is to crash through a giant wall of giant foam blocks? because i do. possibly even better than the show itself is coming up with new Gladiator names and/or events. last night i came up with some of my best ones yet, spitting out names such as "Injection" and "Cracy" (pronounced kray-see, and clearly a Mexican gladiator).

text messaging
i've always been a fan of texting but in recent weeks my appreciation for the text message has been heightened. for example, the other night i asked Jason to text me when he got home because it was mildly late, we had been drinking all day, and i didn't really want him driving in the first place. he did. but i was on the phone with Dani when i got it, so i neglected to read it right away. clearly Jason grew impatient and wanted to make sure i would write him back so he sent a follow up text that simply said "respond". i don't know why that made me laugh so hard, but it did and now if people don't respond to my text messages in what i consider to be a timely manner i use Jason's "respond" tactic.

after going over all that, i guess my week/life isn't really all that bad. and i didn't even touch on the great "bodega" debate... but don't you worry your pretty little head. i will.