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.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, June 08, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
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?
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?
Monday, April 14, 2008
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:
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!
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!
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