Today I woke up to a text message from my older sister. She rode the elevator with Senator McCain this morning. She then sends me an e-mail describing her awkward senate encounter. I wasn't sure which was funnier: the thick-aired elevator interaction, or the hilarity of Sarah seeing McCain and Hillary Clinton at her job, while I see Pamela Anderson at mine.
Wait...It just occurred to me that this sounds bad. DISCLAIMER: I am not a porn star. I work in Malibu, and Pam Anderson lives there, which is why I often seer her---just to clear that up.
Let me tell you about my most recent interactions with my funny clients. Last week, I was trying to help my 7th grade client understand fermentation. She didn't get it. We went over this over and over again. Finally, I came up with an analogy.
"Have you ever watched Paris Hilton's 'My new BFF'?"
She loves this show.
"Well, fermentation is like Paris Hilton. No oxygen is used, so Fermentation says to oxygen, 'Sorry, you're not cool enough to be my bff. TTYL!' While this is going on, energy is released. So just think about how Paris Hilton parties all the time, because she has so much energy. And what does Paris like to do the most? She likes to drink! So, during the whole fermentation process, alcohol is created. Got it?"
I am confident that my client is totally going to make an A. Now, a re quiz. I ask her what happens during the fermentation process.
"Um...fermentation gives off energy...And Paris likes to party!"
This confirms why I hated teaching and decided to pursue counseling. You can make analogies in the mental health field that you can apply to life and you aren't punished by a bad grade. The day that my client totally missed my point was the same day that I stepped in a pile of dog dookie. I walked around for half of my day wondering what that terrible sour stench was. I have extreme OCD when it comes to personal hygiene (i.e, I don't kiss boys who don't floss), so I knew that this aroma wasn't coming from me. Until I found it on my shoe.
On Monday, I was working with my third grade client. She was eating those long skinny pretzels that look like cigarettes. I started arranging some of my therapy tools for her, so I was distracted for about ten seconds. I look up and see that she has licked her pretzels and stuck them to her forehead in the shape of a "V." I ask her,
"Why do you have those pretzels on your forehead, honey?"
"I have angry eyebrows!"
Sheer genius. I love kids who think outside the bun...er..box. I would love to say that I am annoyed with all Malibu kids, but I'm not. I get irritated when I'm at Malibu High and I see kids walking around the library with their sunglasses on. I only get irritated because it doesn't make any sense to me, but I guess this is a double standard; because I most definitely bought some outrageous "booots widdda fuuuuur" a few weeks ago, and have been wearing them in the 72 degree weather. There is no difference between wearing sunglasses indoors and wearing snow boots at the beach. Anyway, I love these kids.
I do not, however, love some of the people I deal with at school. I am constantly having to adapt to the weird social norms. The other night, we had a sub come and teach our class, and she asked what time we get out of class. We get out at 9:45 PM. So of course, I tell her we get out at 9. She then says in a very sarcastic, loud, yankee way,
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw, how cuuuuuute."
Ah, the awful Sarah Palin pitch. I can't handle it. Let's discuss something.
1. This woman sunk down to my level of immaturity. This makes me realize that she has an external locus of control, which means that I can get under her skin. Score!
2. Why the EFF would you ask your class what time they get out when you know for damn sure what time you are supposed to get out? Idiot.
3. She was wearing spring apparel in November. Everyone knows you don't wear pastels in November. Also, she was definitely an autumn, so she shouldn't even own pastel clothing. Trash.
4. She went on and on about being a divorcee, single mother, had to put herself through school, blah, blah, blah. Wow, you have it so tough, lady. Maybe we can all pitch in and buy you a Porsche because your life is so freaking hard.
I hear enough sob stories on first dates. I am completely immune to feeling bad for people who clearly do NOT have problems talk like they have problems. We all need a shoulder to cry on, but shoot, there's a time and a place for all of that.
Maybe I'm dealing with my own issues of transference. I once sent an e-mail forward to my ex boyfriend's mom that included these pictures of fat men doing hilarious things. Dancing around, falling off of boats, etc. It was hysterical. I sent it to a bunch of people. The title of the e-mail was "Why women don't get married," or something to that effect. I never thought twice about it. This woman proceeds to call her son and ask all of these questions about why I would send an e-mail about why women don't get married, and why I am even dating him if I am not planning on getting married, and bla, bla, bla. Then she sends me an e-mail, in all caps, (misspellings included) that says,
"I GUESS YOUR NEVER GETTING MARRIED THAN."
What? I read this with sarcastic connotations. Who knows? She might have meant it literally. Anyway, I get really effing irritated when people use extremely sarcastic language. I can handle a little bit here and there, but only if it's carried off in a sanguine, Will Ferrel type of way. If it's presented like, "hey, I'm a pissed off and insecure person, and my passive-aggressive use of sarcasm is really just masking my anger," I just get annoyed. I guess it is what it is. The point is, I almost jumped out of my chair and slapped that substitute woman in her fat face. But I didn't.
I've started picking up on a lot of anger from people that I've gone out with (sorry for ending a sentence with a preposition). As soon as I tell them that I'm pursuing a career in psychotherapy, they unload all of this stuff on me. Maybe this is a good sign? The other day I talked to this guy about how he used to fight people in high school. Then I started noticing these anger patterns in his life. We all have them. It's interesting to see how we manifest them, though. They never go away. They just get shifted around. Good thing old home girl substitute teacher didn't say anything else to me. I might have had to threaten to shank her. Never underestimate the hood-rat-ness of a former Memphian.
I had a beach bonfire this past Saturday. It was awesome. Something about being cold at the beach is magical. That wonderful November smell and huddling around a beach fire with friends. I love L.A. I went to a high school in Redondo Beach the other day to help my teacher friend decorate her classroom. Disney was there with their camera crew filming a TV show. Something incredibly cool and weird is always going on in L.A., and I have become addicted.
I have about 30 things to do for homework, so I better get back to bid-nass. More ramblings later. Peace up, A-town down.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Friday, November 7, 2008
At Least Half of the Boys in L.A. are White Trash.
I had never considered myself a serial dater until one of my younger sister's friends accused me of being one. When I was younger, I maintained a relationship that lasted three years, and as dysfunctional as it was, I felt as if the endurance alone spoke volumes for my levels of commitment and loyalty. I learned, eventually, that long term does not equal healthy. After that ordeal, I jumped right into a 9 month relationship with a guy who was ten years older than me. This relationship should have been a simple rebound, but it turned into this dramatic "let's get married" type of thing that was completely ridiculous. This guy is the only one that I straight up have to lie about when people ask me if we dated because he was about as smart as a jellyfish and he was bonkers. I normally answer these did-you-date-so-and-so questions with a clueless, "Who?" and drop the subject.
Anyway, after the last guy that I dated, I decided that my pattern of failures might have to do with not really KNOWING the people well before I start dating them. It seems like we (we = people who date) always jump right into the boyfriend/girlfriend thing before establishing a friendship first. What a stupid idea. This is extremely common in Western culture. You meet someone, you go out on one of two dates, BAM! You're dating. You are officially the routine wedding date, funeral date, have your own section under his family's Christmas tree person. Scary stuff. After I realized that this is a really bad idea, I shifted my mindset and my pattern of behavior. I decided that I'm not going to proclaim on facebook that I am in relationship with anyone again until I actually get to know that person on a friend level first. I decided to actually invest some time in the foundation before I hurry on into the "Can you pick me up from the airport?" stage. Thoughts: isn't it stupid to be really good friends with a guy that you'd never date, but give a certain level of intimacy and call someone, whom you just met and hardly know, your boyfriend? This just isn't logical to me.
So, we are back at the serial dating thing. Since I've moved to L.A., I've been on lots of dates. I have not DATED anyone specifically; I've just gone out on dates with interesting people. I see nothing wrong with going to lunch or dinner with a guy to get to know them. It makes sense, right? You go out, share a meal, talk about stuff, and start building the foundation for a friendship. Why does this have to come with all of these weird expectations? Let me tell you about my most recent white trash experience and about how I am getting sorely burned out in my dealings with the opposite sex.
I met this guy last week at a club. Mistake number one. I am seeing this repetitive sequence of white trashiness with boys that I meet at clubs. My dad always says that I'll never meet good people in clubs. I am not a fan of blanket statements, but overall, he's probably got something there. So anyway, home boy seems like a nice person, so at the end of the night, I give him my number. He calls me a few days later and says that he'd like to take me to lunch on Friday. This seems like a good idea to me, because lunch is platonic. Lunch = safe. So we talk for a long while on the phone about various things. He tells me that he's a professional poker player. You've got to be effing kidding me. I have no problems being friends with a pro poker player, but I am in no way interested in dating one. I tell him that I am interested in being friends. He asks me some questions about my upbringing and family and all that and I answer his questions. He says, "I'll call you on Thursday so we can make plans." I say okay.
He calls me last night and repeats himself about forty times, recirculating everything that we'd discussed a few nights ago during our previous phone conversation. I dusted my entire house and windexed everything in my apartment because I was so bored. So then at the end of the conversation, our dialogue was as follows:
Poker Player: Maybe we should just do lunch on Sunday. I mean, there will be a lot of traffic tomorrow.... Ooooh wait. You go to church on Sundays, right?
Me: Yeah, plus I have plans for Sunday afternoon.
Poker Player: I just think that it will take me like half an hour to drive to your area of town, then there will be all this traffic, and if we have lunch... We're talking like, 3 hours of my time, here.
Me: If you don't want to take me to lunch, it's cool, dude. It's not a big deal.
Poker Player: Honestly, I'm just very concerned about our differing cultures.
Me: Huh?
Poker Player: Your whole Southern thing. I just think we should talk on the phone more before we invest any time in hanging out.
Me: Southern thing? What?
(WTF is going on right now?)
Poker Player: Well, you're just really into your family and into being a Christian and going to church. And I just don't think we should invest any time in this until we talk on the phone more and find out whether or not it makes sense for us to go to lunch.
WARNING: WHITE TRASH, WHITE TRASH, WHITE TRASH, WHITE TRASH!
So, I tell him that I appreciate his honesty, and he says he'll call me on Sunday, and we hang up. I assure you that I will not be answering the phone if his white trash ass calls me on Sunday. First of all, I thought that it was very nice of me to accommodate him for lunch, because I have no intentions of dating a professional poker player. Hello, dumbass. I am in grad school. I don't have time to date people who don't have goals. Secondly, me being from the South has nothing to do with my Christian beliefs. Those aren't congruent. Thirdly, if a guy isn't going to drive and deal with traffic to take me to lunch, he is clearly selfish white trash, and I'm not interested. The end.
So, the whole point of this is to say that I meet a lot of boys who fit this mold. I am getting burned out on boys not opening my door when I'm about to get in the car. Guys, a lesson for you to learn is as follows: if a girl is about to get into your car, open her mother effing door. This applies to platonic friendships, too. You do it because it's courteous, not because you are proposing marriage. It seems like boys in LA are so concerned with their own selfish nonsense that they won't take five seconds to be courteous. My best guy friend called me about a week ago and asked me if I can see myself getting married and settling down in LA. I can see myself in LA forever, but because I meet so many untrained men, I really can't see myself getting married to someone from out here. I guess it's possible, but not probable. Plus, I meet a lot of nomads. These people come out here just to say they lived in LA for a season or two, but they plan to move back to grass roots America so they can actually buy a house and have a family. This is a noble idea, but I immediately write these guys off as prospectives, because I refuse to move to Omaha or Savannah or wherever the crap they plan to move to build their white bread lives, because that isn't what I want for my life.
Sigh. I guess I'm writing this to say that I am a big advocate of categorizing. People always get miffed about labels. It isn't right to judge a person completely by the label that you give them, and I understand that. BUT! I think that it makes sense to put people in different categories so you know the material with which you are working. I mean, if I meet a guy who says that he's a pro poker player, I automatically cast him in the friend lot. Or the white trash lot, apparently. If I meet a guy who opens my door and isn't complaining about traffic to pick me up, I put him in the prospectives category. If I meet a guy who says he's moving back to wherever after a short stent in L.A., he's in the friend zone. If I meet someone who has proper etiquette and a solid education, he's in the prospectives. Despite the category that the guy falls into, I am far from being ready to take on a romantic relationship. That's for dang sure. Are there are any guys in LA who have college degrees, real jobs, manners, and morals?
Anyway, after the last guy that I dated, I decided that my pattern of failures might have to do with not really KNOWING the people well before I start dating them. It seems like we (we = people who date) always jump right into the boyfriend/girlfriend thing before establishing a friendship first. What a stupid idea. This is extremely common in Western culture. You meet someone, you go out on one of two dates, BAM! You're dating. You are officially the routine wedding date, funeral date, have your own section under his family's Christmas tree person. Scary stuff. After I realized that this is a really bad idea, I shifted my mindset and my pattern of behavior. I decided that I'm not going to proclaim on facebook that I am in relationship with anyone again until I actually get to know that person on a friend level first. I decided to actually invest some time in the foundation before I hurry on into the "Can you pick me up from the airport?" stage. Thoughts: isn't it stupid to be really good friends with a guy that you'd never date, but give a certain level of intimacy and call someone, whom you just met and hardly know, your boyfriend? This just isn't logical to me.
So, we are back at the serial dating thing. Since I've moved to L.A., I've been on lots of dates. I have not DATED anyone specifically; I've just gone out on dates with interesting people. I see nothing wrong with going to lunch or dinner with a guy to get to know them. It makes sense, right? You go out, share a meal, talk about stuff, and start building the foundation for a friendship. Why does this have to come with all of these weird expectations? Let me tell you about my most recent white trash experience and about how I am getting sorely burned out in my dealings with the opposite sex.
I met this guy last week at a club. Mistake number one. I am seeing this repetitive sequence of white trashiness with boys that I meet at clubs. My dad always says that I'll never meet good people in clubs. I am not a fan of blanket statements, but overall, he's probably got something there. So anyway, home boy seems like a nice person, so at the end of the night, I give him my number. He calls me a few days later and says that he'd like to take me to lunch on Friday. This seems like a good idea to me, because lunch is platonic. Lunch = safe. So we talk for a long while on the phone about various things. He tells me that he's a professional poker player. You've got to be effing kidding me. I have no problems being friends with a pro poker player, but I am in no way interested in dating one. I tell him that I am interested in being friends. He asks me some questions about my upbringing and family and all that and I answer his questions. He says, "I'll call you on Thursday so we can make plans." I say okay.
He calls me last night and repeats himself about forty times, recirculating everything that we'd discussed a few nights ago during our previous phone conversation. I dusted my entire house and windexed everything in my apartment because I was so bored. So then at the end of the conversation, our dialogue was as follows:
Poker Player: Maybe we should just do lunch on Sunday. I mean, there will be a lot of traffic tomorrow.... Ooooh wait. You go to church on Sundays, right?
Me: Yeah, plus I have plans for Sunday afternoon.
Poker Player: I just think that it will take me like half an hour to drive to your area of town, then there will be all this traffic, and if we have lunch... We're talking like, 3 hours of my time, here.
Me: If you don't want to take me to lunch, it's cool, dude. It's not a big deal.
Poker Player: Honestly, I'm just very concerned about our differing cultures.
Me: Huh?
Poker Player: Your whole Southern thing. I just think we should talk on the phone more before we invest any time in hanging out.
Me: Southern thing? What?
(WTF is going on right now?)
Poker Player: Well, you're just really into your family and into being a Christian and going to church. And I just don't think we should invest any time in this until we talk on the phone more and find out whether or not it makes sense for us to go to lunch.
WARNING: WHITE TRASH, WHITE TRASH, WHITE TRASH, WHITE TRASH!
So, I tell him that I appreciate his honesty, and he says he'll call me on Sunday, and we hang up. I assure you that I will not be answering the phone if his white trash ass calls me on Sunday. First of all, I thought that it was very nice of me to accommodate him for lunch, because I have no intentions of dating a professional poker player. Hello, dumbass. I am in grad school. I don't have time to date people who don't have goals. Secondly, me being from the South has nothing to do with my Christian beliefs. Those aren't congruent. Thirdly, if a guy isn't going to drive and deal with traffic to take me to lunch, he is clearly selfish white trash, and I'm not interested. The end.
So, the whole point of this is to say that I meet a lot of boys who fit this mold. I am getting burned out on boys not opening my door when I'm about to get in the car. Guys, a lesson for you to learn is as follows: if a girl is about to get into your car, open her mother effing door. This applies to platonic friendships, too. You do it because it's courteous, not because you are proposing marriage. It seems like boys in LA are so concerned with their own selfish nonsense that they won't take five seconds to be courteous. My best guy friend called me about a week ago and asked me if I can see myself getting married and settling down in LA. I can see myself in LA forever, but because I meet so many untrained men, I really can't see myself getting married to someone from out here. I guess it's possible, but not probable. Plus, I meet a lot of nomads. These people come out here just to say they lived in LA for a season or two, but they plan to move back to grass roots America so they can actually buy a house and have a family. This is a noble idea, but I immediately write these guys off as prospectives, because I refuse to move to Omaha or Savannah or wherever the crap they plan to move to build their white bread lives, because that isn't what I want for my life.
Sigh. I guess I'm writing this to say that I am a big advocate of categorizing. People always get miffed about labels. It isn't right to judge a person completely by the label that you give them, and I understand that. BUT! I think that it makes sense to put people in different categories so you know the material with which you are working. I mean, if I meet a guy who says that he's a pro poker player, I automatically cast him in the friend lot. Or the white trash lot, apparently. If I meet a guy who opens my door and isn't complaining about traffic to pick me up, I put him in the prospectives category. If I meet a guy who says he's moving back to wherever after a short stent in L.A., he's in the friend zone. If I meet someone who has proper etiquette and a solid education, he's in the prospectives. Despite the category that the guy falls into, I am far from being ready to take on a romantic relationship. That's for dang sure. Are there are any guys in LA who have college degrees, real jobs, manners, and morals?
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Here's an overview of last weekend:
I don't even know where to begin. Halloween was always my favorite holiday until I experienced Mardi Gras, which is now my numero uno. Halloween is a very close second place. I love to dress up, I love to go to parties, and I love to see how other people express their creativity with their costumes. Ever since October 1st, people have asked me what my plans were for Halloween. I was invited to several different get-togethers in various areas of town. A party in Hollywood, the pier at Hermosa, house parties in the South Bay, yada yada yada. The consensus was that no matter what I wound up doing on Halloween night, the absolute MUST was to go to the "parade" in West Hollywood.
My dear friend Todd has been my tour guide since I met him about a month ago through his roommate. He's lived here for four years and he knows all of the hidden secrets and not-so-hidden tourist attractions in L.A. He's taken me for a few drives in the mountains and shown me some cool little places that a lot of people don't know about. This works out well, because he likes to be the tour guide, and I hate driving with a vengeance (especially in L.A.), so we make a good team of onlookers. Todd drove me to West Hollywood early- around 6 PM, and already, things were crazy.
Everywhere we went there was a big array of feathers and sparkles and glitter. Everyone was androgynous. I saw some beautiful "women," and I also saw some big meaty hosses. People smelled delicious. Seriously. All of that glamorous eye candy and everyone smelled like designer cologne. It was insane. I got a picture with Elizabeth Taylor. She probably doesn't qualify in the "beautiful women" category, but this picture was hilarious enough to add.
The party was a flop. We showed up without my friend who invited us arriving yet, so we walked in without knowing ANYONE to be bombarded by a Heath-Ledger style Joker, who was already pretty plastered and kept obnoxiously laughing in our faces. There is nothing more disgusting than a thick Budweiser spray of germs in your face. Sick. My friend finally showed up with another of my girl friends and we all took a few pictures. Robin and I decided to leave and meet up with some other friends.
The thing is, when we got to my house to devise a plan, we didn't really want to fight the traffic, fight the crowds, risk getting hit by a drunk driver, or anything else, so we wound up just screwing around at my apartment and not really doing anything. We texted everyone we knew with no luck. We passed out like old ladies at 3 AM. Here we are during our self-portrait session:
The next day was when things got crazy. I woke up sort of early and tried to vacuum up all of my feathers from the night before. My dear friend Miss Bobbi came to visit because she was in L.A. running a race. A special shout out to Miss Bobbi for showing me how to upload pics on my Blog! What would I do without her? She actually got me started blogging. I always thought that blogging was for dorks, but now I'm addicted. I used to think grad school was for dorks, too, but here I am. Yikes. OK, moving on...
Bobbi and I started our "girls' weekend" (I put this in quotations not because we have had gender reassignment surgery, but because I feel like girls' weekends should include a big group of girls. There were only two of us, so I feel like it was a mini-girls' weekend, if such a thing exists) with a shopping trip to the mall. I never go to the mall, so this was fun, though I didn't buy anything. I spend so much money on gas/groceries/eating out that I rarely buy clothes or knick knacks. Next stop: Cabo Cantina, my favorite place in Venice. I always go here because the food and drinks are cheap and because it's right by the beach. Plus, everyone there is young and people are always friendly to each other. This is when things start to get crazy. First of all, some nutcase with an afro approaches Bobbi and asks her if she is Brazilian, because HE is from Brazil. He was actually cute. He had a gap in his front teeth like Madonna. My dad has a gap in his front teeth. I've always been a fan. I had one when I was a kid but it sort of grew together, I guess. Anyway, we got rid of this guy after he gave us this long history about his tattoos and how they were the names of his children and he built the set for Spiderman 3 and he told me I had the brightest eyes he'd ever seen. Not sure what that does to women in Brazil, but that doesn't make me want to give out my phone number. We politely were able to show him that we weren't interested and he walked away.
Next crazy person: we are approached by a guy in full Indian gear. I mean Native American. Whatever. He was wearing a full headdress, a loin cloth, body paint, and moccasins. He also looked like he was about 15 years old. The thing about Cabo is that you never have to leave your table. Crazy people just walk right up to you and start talking. So Mr. Geronimo invites us to a party. Then a lady walks by selling roses. She's always walking around selling roses. I get embarrassed by stuff like that. I don't really like a guy buying me a rose in public because it has this chick-flick connotation. I'm walking around with a rose? Seriously? That seems dumb. Anyway, so Cloud Dancing buys me a rose and then Bobbi and I ditch him and leave. She and I decide to walk around the pier and call some of our mutual friends to tell them that we're hanging out together in L.A.
Next, I see this homeless man. Now, I see homeless people all the time, but ever since I got yelled at by one when I first moved here, I have avoided them like the plague. I have been reading this book recently though. It's called "The Mole People," and it's about homeless people in NYC who live down in the subway tunnels. The book discloses their stories and how they became homeless, etc. It made me realize that these people have history and they get to this place for some reason or another. I looked at my stupid rose and decided that this man could probably use a little brightness in his day, so I gave it to him. He was thrilled. Here he is:
Anyone thinking of Napoleon Dynamite?
"I see you're drinking 1%. Is that ' cause you think you're fat? 'Cause you're not. You could be drinking whole if you wanted to."
Here's a pic of me and Bobbi pretending to be Hollywood socialites:
We met all kinds of interesting people. We met shoe designers for Aldo, professional poker players, people in business, people who did this and that. Of course, they could have all been lying. I make up fake names and stories sometimes when I go out. My sister and I went incognito as "Randy" and "Candy" this past summer.
We concluded the night at a VIP table with Clark Kent & company whom we had met at the beginning of the night. It was nice to end the evening there, because right before that, some stinky guy named Adam kept asking for my number, and his stinkiness was so awful that i kept walking away. Blaaah. The thought of his stench is still lingering in my mind. After being spoiled by the warm vanilla smell of West Hollywood the night before, Adam's man musk was far more abhorrent to me than it probably would have been another time.
As Miss Bobbi and I made our way out of the club, our feet were killing us, and we were stumbling down the street. Some crazy Argentinean guy talked to us for a while. We were also approached by Fred Flintstone who kept trying to lure us onto his party bus. He kept saying, "Let me give you a ride back to South Bay! I'll bring you back to your car tomorrow!" Yeah freaking right. Neither of us were drunk, so we didn't need a driver, and we weren't stupid enough to get on a stranger's bus. We were stupid enough, however, to get in a police car. More to follow on that.
1. Halloween.
I don't even know where to begin. Halloween was always my favorite holiday until I experienced Mardi Gras, which is now my numero uno. Halloween is a very close second place. I love to dress up, I love to go to parties, and I love to see how other people express their creativity with their costumes. Ever since October 1st, people have asked me what my plans were for Halloween. I was invited to several different get-togethers in various areas of town. A party in Hollywood, the pier at Hermosa, house parties in the South Bay, yada yada yada. The consensus was that no matter what I wound up doing on Halloween night, the absolute MUST was to go to the "parade" in West Hollywood.
2. West Hollywood.
My dear friend Todd has been my tour guide since I met him about a month ago through his roommate. He's lived here for four years and he knows all of the hidden secrets and not-so-hidden tourist attractions in L.A. He's taken me for a few drives in the mountains and shown me some cool little places that a lot of people don't know about. This works out well, because he likes to be the tour guide, and I hate driving with a vengeance (especially in L.A.), so we make a good team of onlookers. Todd drove me to West Hollywood early- around 6 PM, and already, things were crazy.
Everywhere we went there was a big array of feathers and sparkles and glitter. Everyone was androgynous. I saw some beautiful "women," and I also saw some big meaty hosses. People smelled delicious. Seriously. All of that glamorous eye candy and everyone smelled like designer cologne. It was insane. I got a picture with Elizabeth Taylor. She probably doesn't qualify in the "beautiful women" category, but this picture was hilarious enough to add.
3. House Party.
After mustering about all that we could in West Hollywood, Todd brought me home so I could prepare for my next stop: a house party. My friend Robin came over and we got all glammed up. I was supposed to be a flamingo. I had this grandiose idea in my mind that didn't really play out in real life. I made a long black and pink sparkly beak, but it made my face hot, so I never wore it. I just wore my pink feathery outfit and big fake eyelashes. I sort of looked like Madeline Kahn in "Blazing Saddles." Not really so scandalous, because all of my questionable parts were covered, but I walked around in high heels and feathers and sort of felt like I should be singing songs about needing a gentleman in a saloon.The party was a flop. We showed up without my friend who invited us arriving yet, so we walked in without knowing ANYONE to be bombarded by a Heath-Ledger style Joker, who was already pretty plastered and kept obnoxiously laughing in our faces. There is nothing more disgusting than a thick Budweiser spray of germs in your face. Sick. My friend finally showed up with another of my girl friends and we all took a few pictures. Robin and I decided to leave and meet up with some other friends.
The thing is, when we got to my house to devise a plan, we didn't really want to fight the traffic, fight the crowds, risk getting hit by a drunk driver, or anything else, so we wound up just screwing around at my apartment and not really doing anything. We texted everyone we knew with no luck. We passed out like old ladies at 3 AM. Here we are during our self-portrait session:
4. A Visit from Miss Bobbi.
The next day was when things got crazy. I woke up sort of early and tried to vacuum up all of my feathers from the night before. My dear friend Miss Bobbi came to visit because she was in L.A. running a race. A special shout out to Miss Bobbi for showing me how to upload pics on my Blog! What would I do without her? She actually got me started blogging. I always thought that blogging was for dorks, but now I'm addicted. I used to think grad school was for dorks, too, but here I am. Yikes. OK, moving on...
5. Cabo Cantina.
Bobbi and I started our "girls' weekend" (I put this in quotations not because we have had gender reassignment surgery, but because I feel like girls' weekends should include a big group of girls. There were only two of us, so I feel like it was a mini-girls' weekend, if such a thing exists) with a shopping trip to the mall. I never go to the mall, so this was fun, though I didn't buy anything. I spend so much money on gas/groceries/eating out that I rarely buy clothes or knick knacks. Next stop: Cabo Cantina, my favorite place in Venice. I always go here because the food and drinks are cheap and because it's right by the beach. Plus, everyone there is young and people are always friendly to each other. This is when things start to get crazy. First of all, some nutcase with an afro approaches Bobbi and asks her if she is Brazilian, because HE is from Brazil. He was actually cute. He had a gap in his front teeth like Madonna. My dad has a gap in his front teeth. I've always been a fan. I had one when I was a kid but it sort of grew together, I guess. Anyway, we got rid of this guy after he gave us this long history about his tattoos and how they were the names of his children and he built the set for Spiderman 3 and he told me I had the brightest eyes he'd ever seen. Not sure what that does to women in Brazil, but that doesn't make me want to give out my phone number. We politely were able to show him that we weren't interested and he walked away.
Next crazy person: we are approached by a guy in full Indian gear. I mean Native American. Whatever. He was wearing a full headdress, a loin cloth, body paint, and moccasins. He also looked like he was about 15 years old. The thing about Cabo is that you never have to leave your table. Crazy people just walk right up to you and start talking. So Mr. Geronimo invites us to a party. Then a lady walks by selling roses. She's always walking around selling roses. I get embarrassed by stuff like that. I don't really like a guy buying me a rose in public because it has this chick-flick connotation. I'm walking around with a rose? Seriously? That seems dumb. Anyway, so Cloud Dancing buys me a rose and then Bobbi and I ditch him and leave. She and I decide to walk around the pier and call some of our mutual friends to tell them that we're hanging out together in L.A.
Next, I see this homeless man. Now, I see homeless people all the time, but ever since I got yelled at by one when I first moved here, I have avoided them like the plague. I have been reading this book recently though. It's called "The Mole People," and it's about homeless people in NYC who live down in the subway tunnels. The book discloses their stories and how they became homeless, etc. It made me realize that these people have history and they get to this place for some reason or another. I looked at my stupid rose and decided that this man could probably use a little brightness in his day, so I gave it to him. He was thrilled. Here he is:
6. Next Stop: Hollywood.
It should be noted that I am not much of a go-outer these days. I love to go to a dive bar, eat some guacamole, watch a football game, go to the beach, etc. My life is stressful enough, so I like to enjoy the "chill" activities that L.A. has to offer. I don't really like all of the hype that comes with going to the clubs. I love to dance, but it isn't always worth dealing with the sleazy rich guys, lack of parking, feet-crippling high heels, bla bla bla. But, Miss Bobbi and I really wanted to go dance, so we got all hooched up and made our way to Hollywood.
7. Le Deux.
Le Deux is the big fancy-pants place that is very status-conscious, which is funny to me, because clubs in MEMPHIS have a lot more to offer, I think, but it's got a reputation, so we decided to make our way there. Parking sucked. We parked a few blocks away in a shady lot and somehow found our way in a big crowd of people. Clark Kent rallied us in and we made our way to the door. Some Boston Red Sox guy gave a little whisper to the bouncer, and just like that, we were inside. We danced with all kinds of people in costume. It was crazy. Then I became even more aware of how much guys are lacking in "game" these days. When someone offered to buy us drinks, and I said diet coke, this is what home boy replied:
"Why you gettin' diet coke? You think you's fat? You ain't fat. You's perfect. You ain't gotta drink no Diet Coke."
Anyone thinking of Napoleon Dynamite?
"I see you're drinking 1%. Is that ' cause you think you're fat? 'Cause you're not. You could be drinking whole if you wanted to."
Here's a pic of me and Bobbi pretending to be Hollywood socialites:
We met all kinds of interesting people. We met shoe designers for Aldo, professional poker players, people in business, people who did this and that. Of course, they could have all been lying. I make up fake names and stories sometimes when I go out. My sister and I went incognito as "Randy" and "Candy" this past summer.We concluded the night at a VIP table with Clark Kent & company whom we had met at the beginning of the night. It was nice to end the evening there, because right before that, some stinky guy named Adam kept asking for my number, and his stinkiness was so awful that i kept walking away. Blaaah. The thought of his stench is still lingering in my mind. After being spoiled by the warm vanilla smell of West Hollywood the night before, Adam's man musk was far more abhorrent to me than it probably would have been another time.
As Miss Bobbi and I made our way out of the club, our feet were killing us, and we were stumbling down the street. Some crazy Argentinean guy talked to us for a while. We were also approached by Fred Flintstone who kept trying to lure us onto his party bus. He kept saying, "Let me give you a ride back to South Bay! I'll bring you back to your car tomorrow!" Yeah freaking right. Neither of us were drunk, so we didn't need a driver, and we weren't stupid enough to get on a stranger's bus. We were stupid enough, however, to get in a police car. More to follow on that.
We were eventually approached by some crazy guy with an accent who called us v-words. Now, I know a lot of parents make it a requirement for their children to use medical terminology for their private parts instead of using nicknames, which is fine, I guess. I will still never be a fan of the v-word. So this white-trash foreigner says something about the v-word, and we were appalled. But then...
8. Credit Cards Save Us.
Just as we are telling home boy that he's white trash for saying the v-word in front of two ladies, we are saved by two guys dressed up like credit cards. These guys had the banter of the Mac vs. PC commercials. Hilarious. So they were wearing "American Distress" credit card outfits and they protected us from the creepers. They also accused me of looking like Jenny McCarthy. I have actually heard that on numerous occasions before, so I wasn't too offended.
9. The Cop Car.
As Bobbi and I parted ways with all of our fans, we were stumbling down the street in agony because of our shoes. I guess the cops thought that we were wasted because it would have been physically impossible to pass the straight-line test. So these cops pull up the curb and yell,
"Hey! Are you ladies all right? Do you need a ride?"
My paranoia made me word-vomit a bunch of shenanigans to the po-lice. We all know what Dr. Dre says about the po-lice.
"Are you guys serial killers dressed up like cops? Can we see some I.D.? Are you just trying to get us in the back seat of your car because we're hot mommas? Your job is to protect and serve, so if we get in that car, you better be gentlemanly and honor your motto!"
We got into the back of the po-lice car and they drove us to our car in the shady lot. It was awesome. I wish I had taken a pic.
10. Go Home, Crash, and Conclude Another Awesome Weekend in L.A.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
If your kid is hungry, take him to McDonald's- don't whip out your boob in the middle of Party City.
I took this Multicultural Counseling class last spring at The University of Memphis where I had to read a book called It's the Little Things: Everyday Interactions That Anger, Annoy, and Divide the Races. Now, this book pissed me off a great deal because there was a lot of racist stuff in it, but at the same time, I'm realizing just how much I got out of it, because I've thought of it several times since I read it. Also, it wasn't your typical text book full of stats, so I actually read the book as opposed to skimming the highlighted terms and reading the end-of-chapter summaries. One thing that the author touched on in this book was how white people do not discipline their kids. This made me mad, because my parents were so hard on me and my sisters that we have seizures at the sight of a wooden spoon (My mom used to carry a wooden spoon around in her purse and she'd beat the crap out of us with it when we were bad. Actually, this is a complete exaggeration. She never even really had to use it on me because I was always a good kid. She used it on my other sisters, though.). The point is, we were well behaved kids because my parents disciplined us and backed up their threats with action. There was never this "I'll give you a time-out when your daddy gets home" b.s. You know what I mean. Those moms who make these stupid threats and then they never follow through. Well, I can't relate.
I was in line at Party City the other day buying some accessories for my Halloween costume. First of all, the drive to Party City was a complete nightmare for various reasons. Construction kept traffic at a crawl, people were driving like nut cases, there was nowhere to park, etc. Upon my arrival, I see 600 people crammed into this Party City in the hood, and we were all pushing past each other trying to get the last vial of fake blood or the last pair of fishnet hose or what have you. So I'm standing in line with my TWO freaking items, and there are about 20 people in front of me. The line wrapped all the way to the back of the store. I'm standing there with a bunch of slutty hairdressers who are buying hooker apparel for their Halloween costumes and I'm listening them prank call their friends at the salon and asking them stupid questions like,
"Do you do men's butt waxing?"
It was stupid. Anyway, this lady comes up right behind me with her horrible 3-year-old-ish son and her screaming baby. If there's one thing that completely turns me off to the idea of procreation, it's a screaming baby. I have no feelings of sympathy. I just want to take a bottle of Paxil and put in some ear plugs. I just can't handle it. Drives me nuts. I have no mothering feelings when it comes to that high pitched wail. So this mom is a complete ding-dong head, and her horrible toddler from Hell is running all over the store, tearing plastic wrappers off of Halloween costumes and throwing them on the floor. She also put him in charge of pushing the basket. Way to go, Mom. Way to use your noodle. This little Hellian starts bumping me in the butt with the basket. The mom sweet talks to her little crap kid,
"Awwww, honey. Don't push the gir... Oops, I mean.. Lady, with the basket!"
She says this in a baby talk voice. That irritates the ever living crap out of me, too. I feel like people who talk down to their kids pretty much destine their kids to be complete idiots. If you talk to people like HUMAN BEINGS, you will get human behavior. If you talk to kids like little tard pockets, you will get stupid, tard pocket behavior. It's just common sense.
I just about turned around and ripped his obnoxious little head off, but I refrained.
Next thing you know, monster child grabs some M&M candy dispenser, and repeatedly YELLS at the top of his lungs,
"MOOOOOMMY! I WANT THIS!!! CAN I HAVE IT?! BUT I WANT IT! CAN I HAVE IT?"
So, mother with the IQ of an eggplant says to him,
"Is that what you want more than anything in the whoooooooole wide world, sweetheart?"
An emphatic "YES YES YES!" follows.
She puts it in the basket.
This lady needed to be euthanized.
So as the baby is screaming its head off, and I'm picking at my hangnails and biting the insides of my mouth to try and keep from punt kicking the psycho family out into the Party City parking lot, the lady proceeds to abandon her ragamuffin toddler alone with the basket, sits down on a Halloween display (I think a plastic tombstone), and PULLS OUT HER BOOB.
No joke.
Yanked that thing right out of its holster.
Now, where I come from, if women are in an emergency situation for breast feeding, they at least have a little nursing blanket or something to keep themselves polite and private.
This lady had her baby all up on her teet while her toddler ran wild. In front of everyone. This was NOT okay.
All of a sudden I remembered that line about how white people don't discipline their kids. It made sense to me. I wanted to beat the living daylights out of this complete white trash mother, her horrible toddler, and then I wanted to set fire to Party City. And this is why I need anger management.
So, moving right along.
The other day I went to Trader Joe's because I was having ice cream withdrawal. They didn't have ice cream. They had soy cream. Are you effing kidding me? I bought it because I was desperate enough. It tastes like sawdust and chocolate sprinkles. I'm trying to get used to it. I've been doing cardio for an hour a day every day, so I seem to justify the late night pizza binges and dates with Ben & Jerry. I have to stop this, though. Blah. Just because I have a regular exercise routine doesn't mean that I can eat burritos at 1 AM.
I also had another "L.A." experience when i cashed in a free coupon for "Hollywood Tans." I go to this ridiculously state-of-the-art tanning salon where I had to have my fingerprint scanned in order to "ensure that I am the only person with access to my tans." What the crap? People steal tans? That is retarded. I am not quite vain or rich enough to invest in tanning, but midterms gave me a nice 8th grade spread of zits, so I figured I'd use my free week to clear up. I look like the "Before" picture in a "Proactiv" commercial. That will change soon though, as I bake my ovaries into oblivion.
I went to the 99 cent store the other day to buy some basic stupid stuff. There was this man there who was absolutely livid that his cashier charged him an extra dollar for one of his cleaning products. He started out nicely annoyed, which was okay. Then he proceeded to yell at her and talk to her like she was retarded because she was Asian and clearly didn't speak English well and she had no idea how to clear up the mistake. IT WAS ONE FREAKING DOLLAR. I know that our economy sucks, but shoot. Is it worth having a massive coronary at the dollar store over one dollar? Is it worth assaulting a woman who barely speaks English over A DOLLAR?! People out here are nuts. Our dollar is worth like negative cents now, anyway. I wanted to give him a dollar just to shut the crap up.
I had my own crazy 99-cent-store-man experience the other day. I'm just more subdued when I get pissed off. I had to wait at the doctor's office at LMU for an hour past my appointment. I was pissed. The thing is, if you show up 10 minutes late for your apt., you get charged 25 bucks. Instead of yelling at them, though, I just wrote them a comment card that said:
"My time is just as valuable as yours. If you're going to charge me 25 bucks if I'm late, the least you can do is give me 25 bucks for being a freaking hour late." That irritates the crap out of me. Punctuality is a big thing in my world. It probably shouldn't be, but it is.
Last night my friend Robin and I had an incredibly weird night. We met a bunch of crazy people and wound up hanging out with a small clan of ultimate fighter heavyweight boxer men. They were a-holes. We ditched 'em after about 10 minutes. They were these huge, bulging, incredible hulk-esque guys. In my Lifespan Human Development class that I took last fall, I remember our professor telling us that early maturing males are often more aggressive, more prone to be bullies, etc. These guys seemed like they all went through puberty at like age seven. I think that will be one of my new official screening questions for boys who want to take me out. If they went through puberty before the age of 18, I'll just tell them I'm busy.
I was in line at Party City the other day buying some accessories for my Halloween costume. First of all, the drive to Party City was a complete nightmare for various reasons. Construction kept traffic at a crawl, people were driving like nut cases, there was nowhere to park, etc. Upon my arrival, I see 600 people crammed into this Party City in the hood, and we were all pushing past each other trying to get the last vial of fake blood or the last pair of fishnet hose or what have you. So I'm standing in line with my TWO freaking items, and there are about 20 people in front of me. The line wrapped all the way to the back of the store. I'm standing there with a bunch of slutty hairdressers who are buying hooker apparel for their Halloween costumes and I'm listening them prank call their friends at the salon and asking them stupid questions like,
"Do you do men's butt waxing?"
It was stupid. Anyway, this lady comes up right behind me with her horrible 3-year-old-ish son and her screaming baby. If there's one thing that completely turns me off to the idea of procreation, it's a screaming baby. I have no feelings of sympathy. I just want to take a bottle of Paxil and put in some ear plugs. I just can't handle it. Drives me nuts. I have no mothering feelings when it comes to that high pitched wail. So this mom is a complete ding-dong head, and her horrible toddler from Hell is running all over the store, tearing plastic wrappers off of Halloween costumes and throwing them on the floor. She also put him in charge of pushing the basket. Way to go, Mom. Way to use your noodle. This little Hellian starts bumping me in the butt with the basket. The mom sweet talks to her little crap kid,
"Awwww, honey. Don't push the gir... Oops, I mean.. Lady, with the basket!"
She says this in a baby talk voice. That irritates the ever living crap out of me, too. I feel like people who talk down to their kids pretty much destine their kids to be complete idiots. If you talk to people like HUMAN BEINGS, you will get human behavior. If you talk to kids like little tard pockets, you will get stupid, tard pocket behavior. It's just common sense.
I just about turned around and ripped his obnoxious little head off, but I refrained.
Next thing you know, monster child grabs some M&M candy dispenser, and repeatedly YELLS at the top of his lungs,
"MOOOOOMMY! I WANT THIS!!! CAN I HAVE IT?! BUT I WANT IT! CAN I HAVE IT?"
So, mother with the IQ of an eggplant says to him,
"Is that what you want more than anything in the whoooooooole wide world, sweetheart?"
An emphatic "YES YES YES!" follows.
She puts it in the basket.
This lady needed to be euthanized.
So as the baby is screaming its head off, and I'm picking at my hangnails and biting the insides of my mouth to try and keep from punt kicking the psycho family out into the Party City parking lot, the lady proceeds to abandon her ragamuffin toddler alone with the basket, sits down on a Halloween display (I think a plastic tombstone), and PULLS OUT HER BOOB.
No joke.
Yanked that thing right out of its holster.
Now, where I come from, if women are in an emergency situation for breast feeding, they at least have a little nursing blanket or something to keep themselves polite and private.
This lady had her baby all up on her teet while her toddler ran wild. In front of everyone. This was NOT okay.
All of a sudden I remembered that line about how white people don't discipline their kids. It made sense to me. I wanted to beat the living daylights out of this complete white trash mother, her horrible toddler, and then I wanted to set fire to Party City. And this is why I need anger management.
So, moving right along.
The other day I went to Trader Joe's because I was having ice cream withdrawal. They didn't have ice cream. They had soy cream. Are you effing kidding me? I bought it because I was desperate enough. It tastes like sawdust and chocolate sprinkles. I'm trying to get used to it. I've been doing cardio for an hour a day every day, so I seem to justify the late night pizza binges and dates with Ben & Jerry. I have to stop this, though. Blah. Just because I have a regular exercise routine doesn't mean that I can eat burritos at 1 AM.
I also had another "L.A." experience when i cashed in a free coupon for "Hollywood Tans." I go to this ridiculously state-of-the-art tanning salon where I had to have my fingerprint scanned in order to "ensure that I am the only person with access to my tans." What the crap? People steal tans? That is retarded. I am not quite vain or rich enough to invest in tanning, but midterms gave me a nice 8th grade spread of zits, so I figured I'd use my free week to clear up. I look like the "Before" picture in a "Proactiv" commercial. That will change soon though, as I bake my ovaries into oblivion.
I went to the 99 cent store the other day to buy some basic stupid stuff. There was this man there who was absolutely livid that his cashier charged him an extra dollar for one of his cleaning products. He started out nicely annoyed, which was okay. Then he proceeded to yell at her and talk to her like she was retarded because she was Asian and clearly didn't speak English well and she had no idea how to clear up the mistake. IT WAS ONE FREAKING DOLLAR. I know that our economy sucks, but shoot. Is it worth having a massive coronary at the dollar store over one dollar? Is it worth assaulting a woman who barely speaks English over A DOLLAR?! People out here are nuts. Our dollar is worth like negative cents now, anyway. I wanted to give him a dollar just to shut the crap up.
I had my own crazy 99-cent-store-man experience the other day. I'm just more subdued when I get pissed off. I had to wait at the doctor's office at LMU for an hour past my appointment. I was pissed. The thing is, if you show up 10 minutes late for your apt., you get charged 25 bucks. Instead of yelling at them, though, I just wrote them a comment card that said:
"My time is just as valuable as yours. If you're going to charge me 25 bucks if I'm late, the least you can do is give me 25 bucks for being a freaking hour late." That irritates the crap out of me. Punctuality is a big thing in my world. It probably shouldn't be, but it is.
Last night my friend Robin and I had an incredibly weird night. We met a bunch of crazy people and wound up hanging out with a small clan of ultimate fighter heavyweight boxer men. They were a-holes. We ditched 'em after about 10 minutes. They were these huge, bulging, incredible hulk-esque guys. In my Lifespan Human Development class that I took last fall, I remember our professor telling us that early maturing males are often more aggressive, more prone to be bullies, etc. These guys seemed like they all went through puberty at like age seven. I think that will be one of my new official screening questions for boys who want to take me out. If they went through puberty before the age of 18, I'll just tell them I'm busy.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Night Hikes and Punkin Beths
Right now I'm cat sitting my friend Tiffany's kitty while she is in Vegas (While Tiff is in Vegas. The cat is not in Vegas.). Tiff invited me to go to Vegas with her and her friends this week. When I was younger, I never pictured myself morphing into a person who would pass up Vegas for academics, but I had to decline because I really can't miss class unless I am dealing with a life or death situation. I am an official geek. Who would have thought? I never saw it coming, that's for sure. Side note: Tiffany is a girl who adopted me after I moved to L.A. and didn't have many friends yet. I told her,
"Tiffany, you are so welcoming and kind. You always invite me to hang out with you. You remind me of someone from the South."
Tiffany's response:
"I am from the South! I'm from San Diego!"
Anyway, Roxy the cat and I have been hanging out at my place for the past day, and I'm not exactly "The Creepy Cat Lady," but I sure have like having this cat purr and cuddle with me when I sleep. I told my sisters that I can probably hold off on having a boyfriend for a couple of years if I can invest in a pet. Last week when I was taking midterms, I got pretty down for the first time since I've moved here. Between my midterms and my raging PMS and insomniac sleep cycle, I was in a pretty crappy mood- but the weekend made up for it- and then Roxy the cat was delivered and has been keeping me company, which has been nice.
My favorite thing about L.A. is that there is always something to do. I felt like in Memphis, I was limited to going to Beale Street and consuming calories through beverages or BBQ. I am not going to be completely critical, because in the summer, there are a lot of fun things to do in Memphis--- i.e., Redbirds games, Jerry's Sno Cones, the Summer Drive-in, the zoo, etc. But out here, there are endless options.
My friends Neely, Christina, and I all went for a night hike at Temescal Canyon on Saturday night. Those of you who know me know that I don't "do" the whole "get grungy with nature" thing. I'd rather have a cocktail by a swimming pool. I'm not really a snob, I just don't like to sweat. I have started going to the gym every day though, so I guess I'm used to it. Anyway, this hike was awesome. It was pitch black, so we had to use our flashlights while we stumbled through the trail and brush up the mountain. We got to a point where we overlooked the city. What a view! We could see the ferris wheel on the Santa Monica Pier all lit up and tiny. It was incredible. I got a better view the night beforehand, though, so I'll touch on that...
On Friday I hung out with my Manhattan Beach friends. We carved pumpkins. I haven't carved a pumpkin in a long time. The whole process was fun. We got some tumpkins (as my friend Cayce called them) at Trader Joe's, carved them, put tea lights in them, and watched them glow. It made me think of being a little kid. Then we got a complete crap movie through amazon.com or something-- pretty much a garage-mixed horror flick. We wanted to play up the Halloween theme, but it sort of fell flat with "Hell's Gate 11:11." Regardless, it was a blast. At one point during the night, my friend drove us to Palos Verdes to catch the L.A. view at night time. The night was crisp and clear, so the view was amazing. We saw 12 airplanes in the air flying into LAX. You could see lights for miles and miles. I felt like I was at the make out point on "The Wonder Years." I've never been able to see anything like that because the places I've lived have been flat.
So I was freaking out about my grades on my midterms and I made all A's. How typical for me to have a nervous breakdown over nothing. One of my profs had me read my essays to our class because they were so wicked. She even pulled me aside after class and told me how well I did on the test. What the eff? I really thought I bombed it. Thank God He gave me a nice hope chest full of adjectives in my head. If I hadn't been able to fluff up my sentences, I'm not sure that I would have done so well. I'm telling you, I feel like God is the only reason I have any success whatsoever.
Last night my friend took me to a Clippers game. I was supposed to go to dinner with a guy who flaked on me and my friend was supposed to take a friend-girl who flaked on him, so after class we were "date"less. We went to this game at the Staples Center downtown where the Lakers play. It was a blast. We lost, but that's neither here nor there. I also found out that my buddy, who's in two of my classes, shares my faith. That's always cool to find out. I meet a lot of Catholic people, because I attend a Catholic institution, but I don't meet many people who claim their faiths as Christian and can separate their faith from their religion. My buddy explained it as this: "Christian is the noun. Catholic's just the adjective." Cool point of view. Anyway, after the game, we got burritos from some 24 hour Mexican place- and though I consumed more calories than Michael Phelps yesterday, the whole day was awesome.
Unfortunately, I now have to go take a TB test. I'm not a big fan of getting my skin pricked for a stupid reason. I clearly do not have TB (it isn't 1816, foks), so I deem this as unnecessary, but I have to have this for working in LAUSD.
"Tiffany, you are so welcoming and kind. You always invite me to hang out with you. You remind me of someone from the South."
Tiffany's response:
"I am from the South! I'm from San Diego!"
Anyway, Roxy the cat and I have been hanging out at my place for the past day, and I'm not exactly "The Creepy Cat Lady," but I sure have like having this cat purr and cuddle with me when I sleep. I told my sisters that I can probably hold off on having a boyfriend for a couple of years if I can invest in a pet. Last week when I was taking midterms, I got pretty down for the first time since I've moved here. Between my midterms and my raging PMS and insomniac sleep cycle, I was in a pretty crappy mood- but the weekend made up for it- and then Roxy the cat was delivered and has been keeping me company, which has been nice.
My favorite thing about L.A. is that there is always something to do. I felt like in Memphis, I was limited to going to Beale Street and consuming calories through beverages or BBQ. I am not going to be completely critical, because in the summer, there are a lot of fun things to do in Memphis--- i.e., Redbirds games, Jerry's Sno Cones, the Summer Drive-in, the zoo, etc. But out here, there are endless options.
My friends Neely, Christina, and I all went for a night hike at Temescal Canyon on Saturday night. Those of you who know me know that I don't "do" the whole "get grungy with nature" thing. I'd rather have a cocktail by a swimming pool. I'm not really a snob, I just don't like to sweat. I have started going to the gym every day though, so I guess I'm used to it. Anyway, this hike was awesome. It was pitch black, so we had to use our flashlights while we stumbled through the trail and brush up the mountain. We got to a point where we overlooked the city. What a view! We could see the ferris wheel on the Santa Monica Pier all lit up and tiny. It was incredible. I got a better view the night beforehand, though, so I'll touch on that...
On Friday I hung out with my Manhattan Beach friends. We carved pumpkins. I haven't carved a pumpkin in a long time. The whole process was fun. We got some tumpkins (as my friend Cayce called them) at Trader Joe's, carved them, put tea lights in them, and watched them glow. It made me think of being a little kid. Then we got a complete crap movie through amazon.com or something-- pretty much a garage-mixed horror flick. We wanted to play up the Halloween theme, but it sort of fell flat with "Hell's Gate 11:11." Regardless, it was a blast. At one point during the night, my friend drove us to Palos Verdes to catch the L.A. view at night time. The night was crisp and clear, so the view was amazing. We saw 12 airplanes in the air flying into LAX. You could see lights for miles and miles. I felt like I was at the make out point on "The Wonder Years." I've never been able to see anything like that because the places I've lived have been flat.
So I was freaking out about my grades on my midterms and I made all A's. How typical for me to have a nervous breakdown over nothing. One of my profs had me read my essays to our class because they were so wicked. She even pulled me aside after class and told me how well I did on the test. What the eff? I really thought I bombed it. Thank God He gave me a nice hope chest full of adjectives in my head. If I hadn't been able to fluff up my sentences, I'm not sure that I would have done so well. I'm telling you, I feel like God is the only reason I have any success whatsoever.
Last night my friend took me to a Clippers game. I was supposed to go to dinner with a guy who flaked on me and my friend was supposed to take a friend-girl who flaked on him, so after class we were "date"less. We went to this game at the Staples Center downtown where the Lakers play. It was a blast. We lost, but that's neither here nor there. I also found out that my buddy, who's in two of my classes, shares my faith. That's always cool to find out. I meet a lot of Catholic people, because I attend a Catholic institution, but I don't meet many people who claim their faiths as Christian and can separate their faith from their religion. My buddy explained it as this: "Christian is the noun. Catholic's just the adjective." Cool point of view. Anyway, after the game, we got burritos from some 24 hour Mexican place- and though I consumed more calories than Michael Phelps yesterday, the whole day was awesome.
Unfortunately, I now have to go take a TB test. I'm not a big fan of getting my skin pricked for a stupid reason. I clearly do not have TB (it isn't 1816, foks), so I deem this as unnecessary, but I have to have this for working in LAUSD.
Friday, October 17, 2008
No, no, no. His dad is famous.
There's this obnoxious fly scooting all over the place in front of my computer screen and I can't seem to catch his butt to squish him. Maybe I'll pull out some chop sticks and Karate Kid his ass. Probably not, though.
Funny story about one of my little Malibugers. My sweet little third grader is always talking about this obnoxious kid in her class named Paris. Upon finding out that this kid is a boy, I couldn't help but picture this little Peter Pan in the front row sprinkling glitter all over his desk. When I think of Paris, of course I think of that stupid blonde-haired hoe, so I never consider it as a boy's name. Anyway, my little client is always talking about how much she hates Paris- how he pulls her hood over her head whenever she's in class, she's moved desks because he's so annoying, how he stores his sandwich inside of his desk instead of keeping it in his lunchbox like a NORMAL kid, etc. Anyway, being someone who is often studying kids with various disorders/abuse backgrounds/disabilities, I've become hyper sensitive to external and internal factors. In essence, this means that I no longer hear that "Paris is an obnoxious kid." I hear "there are attention-seeking behaviors here that might be symptoms of a greater problem." Now, I don't go around diagnosing everyone that I meet, nor do I jump to conclusions and assume that everyone I know has some sort of presenting issue, but I try to cut people a lot more slack than I did prior to studying the DSM-IV. My response to my little girl was,
"You know, honey...Your mom and dad love you SO much. Your dad just made you your beautiful Halloween costume... Your mom just brought you a glass of water. That's because they LOVE you. Maybe Paris isn't as fortunate at you. Not all kids have such wonderful families. So maybe the reason he acts out is because he isn't happy."
My client says,
"Oh no, no no. That's not it. His dad is famous."
I say,
"Oh really? What's his dad do?"
My client,
"Well... I can't remember... But his last name is Brosnan."
Rachel:
"Pierce Brosnan?"
Client:
"YEAH! That's it!"
So apparently, other kids in the Malibu school system happen to think that 007's kid is a little twerp. Now, I have never met little Paris, so he might be fine. Or he might just be a typical 3rd grade boy. I constantly tell my client that sometimes third grade boys will pick on third grade girls because they actually like them but aren't sure how to show it. The point is, these are the people that I work with, and I always get a kick out of it.
I also think that it is funny that to some people, if you have a famous dad, you clearly do not have problems at home.
Last night my friend came over and made my whole week better. Midterms have made me moderately depressed. My friend and I watched "Napoleon Dynamite," and after that, I laughed so hard that I forgot about how much my week sucked. I have missed my family a lot recently. It's critical to have close friends when everything else you know is packed up in a cardboard box in an attic 2000 miles away.
I have felt a little bit overwhelmed and defiant this past week, like I sure as hell can keep up with the rest of the smarty pantses out here, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to prove it to you that I can--- but that attitude has made me tired really quickly. I also got a little note from one of my profs yesterday that told me to "watch it with the humor when discussing such serious topics." Though I understand the point for making sure that humor is used appropriately, I can tell you that I was absolutely careful and tasteful in my application during a presentation that I gave last week. This whole Catholic thing is still pretty foreign to me. My mom told me about the mean nuns that her family dealt with growing up in South Louisiana. The whole smack-your-knuckles-raw-with-a-yard-stick thing. I just thought that was old school. Let me tell you, it's not. Catholics are still pretty disciplined people. They are super stoic. I don't want to make a blanket statement and say that they are ALL like this, but I am seeing it more and more as time goes on. I think it's good to be disciplined and know when to be reverant. HOWEVER.... My theory is this:
John 10:10 - “I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.” -Jesus
Ok, if my Jesus came to bring me abundant life, then I don't understand why people think we should walk around with such a sense of "seriousness--" making life routine, clock worked, and structured to the point that all we have is traditional and schedule. Being a Christian is the biggest thing in my life. So, if Jesus came here so that I might have an abundant life, and He came to bring me freedom, then dad gummit, I'm going to live that, which means I will still be funny in my presentations. But try not to offend the priests and nuns. Life is short. I want to spend it laughing.
So how about this election? I am so burned out on seeing these idiots on TV. I'm burned out on the whole she-bang. I've always hated the news. Especially those programs where people get on TV and yell over each other and you can't understand what any one person is saying. That drives me nuts. It sounds like a bunch of mumbo jumbo. So here we are with this life-changing election right around the corner, and people keep hollering at each other and making claims about who's right and who's wrong. Well, I understand the whole democrat thing, though I am not a democrat. We have all of these social problems and ordeals with poor people and bla bla bla. Then there's the whole republican thing, where moral issues are concerned. I think that the republicans and democrats need to have a baby. This party can be called the republicrat party. It will be just like going to Piccadilly Cafeteria. I will pick all of the nice things about each party and put them onto my tray. I will leave the crappy things in their prospective hot plates under their heat lamps. Welcome to the Republicrat party. Our icon is a Pomeranian.
Funny story about one of my little Malibugers. My sweet little third grader is always talking about this obnoxious kid in her class named Paris. Upon finding out that this kid is a boy, I couldn't help but picture this little Peter Pan in the front row sprinkling glitter all over his desk. When I think of Paris, of course I think of that stupid blonde-haired hoe, so I never consider it as a boy's name. Anyway, my little client is always talking about how much she hates Paris- how he pulls her hood over her head whenever she's in class, she's moved desks because he's so annoying, how he stores his sandwich inside of his desk instead of keeping it in his lunchbox like a NORMAL kid, etc. Anyway, being someone who is often studying kids with various disorders/abuse backgrounds/disabilities, I've become hyper sensitive to external and internal factors. In essence, this means that I no longer hear that "Paris is an obnoxious kid." I hear "there are attention-seeking behaviors here that might be symptoms of a greater problem." Now, I don't go around diagnosing everyone that I meet, nor do I jump to conclusions and assume that everyone I know has some sort of presenting issue, but I try to cut people a lot more slack than I did prior to studying the DSM-IV. My response to my little girl was,
"You know, honey...Your mom and dad love you SO much. Your dad just made you your beautiful Halloween costume... Your mom just brought you a glass of water. That's because they LOVE you. Maybe Paris isn't as fortunate at you. Not all kids have such wonderful families. So maybe the reason he acts out is because he isn't happy."
My client says,
"Oh no, no no. That's not it. His dad is famous."
I say,
"Oh really? What's his dad do?"
My client,
"Well... I can't remember... But his last name is Brosnan."
Rachel:
"Pierce Brosnan?"
Client:
"YEAH! That's it!"
So apparently, other kids in the Malibu school system happen to think that 007's kid is a little twerp. Now, I have never met little Paris, so he might be fine. Or he might just be a typical 3rd grade boy. I constantly tell my client that sometimes third grade boys will pick on third grade girls because they actually like them but aren't sure how to show it. The point is, these are the people that I work with, and I always get a kick out of it.
I also think that it is funny that to some people, if you have a famous dad, you clearly do not have problems at home.
Last night my friend came over and made my whole week better. Midterms have made me moderately depressed. My friend and I watched "Napoleon Dynamite," and after that, I laughed so hard that I forgot about how much my week sucked. I have missed my family a lot recently. It's critical to have close friends when everything else you know is packed up in a cardboard box in an attic 2000 miles away.
I have felt a little bit overwhelmed and defiant this past week, like I sure as hell can keep up with the rest of the smarty pantses out here, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to prove it to you that I can--- but that attitude has made me tired really quickly. I also got a little note from one of my profs yesterday that told me to "watch it with the humor when discussing such serious topics." Though I understand the point for making sure that humor is used appropriately, I can tell you that I was absolutely careful and tasteful in my application during a presentation that I gave last week. This whole Catholic thing is still pretty foreign to me. My mom told me about the mean nuns that her family dealt with growing up in South Louisiana. The whole smack-your-knuckles-raw-with-a-yard-stick thing. I just thought that was old school. Let me tell you, it's not. Catholics are still pretty disciplined people. They are super stoic. I don't want to make a blanket statement and say that they are ALL like this, but I am seeing it more and more as time goes on. I think it's good to be disciplined and know when to be reverant. HOWEVER.... My theory is this:
John 10:10 - “I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.” -Jesus
Ok, if my Jesus came to bring me abundant life, then I don't understand why people think we should walk around with such a sense of "seriousness--" making life routine, clock worked, and structured to the point that all we have is traditional and schedule. Being a Christian is the biggest thing in my life. So, if Jesus came here so that I might have an abundant life, and He came to bring me freedom, then dad gummit, I'm going to live that, which means I will still be funny in my presentations. But try not to offend the priests and nuns. Life is short. I want to spend it laughing.
So how about this election? I am so burned out on seeing these idiots on TV. I'm burned out on the whole she-bang. I've always hated the news. Especially those programs where people get on TV and yell over each other and you can't understand what any one person is saying. That drives me nuts. It sounds like a bunch of mumbo jumbo. So here we are with this life-changing election right around the corner, and people keep hollering at each other and making claims about who's right and who's wrong. Well, I understand the whole democrat thing, though I am not a democrat. We have all of these social problems and ordeals with poor people and bla bla bla. Then there's the whole republican thing, where moral issues are concerned. I think that the republicans and democrats need to have a baby. This party can be called the republicrat party. It will be just like going to Piccadilly Cafeteria. I will pick all of the nice things about each party and put them onto my tray. I will leave the crappy things in their prospective hot plates under their heat lamps. Welcome to the Republicrat party. Our icon is a Pomeranian.
Monday, October 13, 2008
My butt is flat because my midterm just kicked it.
I just took the worst test ever. I have no idea how I did on it. The study guide was completely unrelated to the test. I'm depressed. I ate some cookie dough and watched "South Park" when I first got home. I don't feel any better.
Onto more interesting topics...
I was in Malibu today working with one of my kids. There were ashes flying all through the air because all of California was on fire or something. I wish you could have seen these kids running through the campus with their shirts pulled over their mouths and noses. I live in a methane-infested apartment complex and have never thought twice about how my kids will be born with hooves. These little barbies were flipping out about getting cancer. Not sure if this is a geographical or child-rearing thing, but I thought it was funny and weird. My parents grew up tearing asbestos siding off of their houses while drawing pictures on the pavement with it. Ah, the ongoing nature vs. nurture issue.
I had a great weekend. I didn't feel like I had to put myself under house arrest to study because I go to the gym every day and review my notes. Every effing day. Too bad it didn't pay off on this test I just took. Well, maybe it did. Who knows. To hell with catastrophic thinking. Anyway, I went out with one of my guy friends and a bunch of his buddies on Friday and had a blast. Woke up the next morning and went to mentor orientation not feeling too coherent. Then I had to have my picture taken so my mentee would know what I look like before we start meeting. Wish I had known that prior to rolling out of bed with the previous night's makeup on and feeling like my head was made out of concrete. Anyway, Saturday night I went to my best L.A. friend's party by the beach and had a flipping blast. Crashed some rocket scientist parties and acted a fool. Went to church Sunday morning wearing my party clothes from the night before and stole someone's nasty drink at Starbucks on accident. I was waiting patiently for my non-fat, non-flavor whatever the crap I got, and somehow I walked out with some froo-froo girly drink. I drank it 'cause I needed the caffeine but it sure made me grouchy to have to drink something so sugary. It irritates me when they don't write names on the cups. Grrr.
Today while I was exiting the grocery store/Starbuck's parking lot in Malibu, some crazy, burned out, tan 40-some-odd year old man approached me and said "WAIT! YOU FORGOT SOMETHING!" Me, being the naive and somewhat tard-pocket person that I am, said "What is it?" because I was afraid I'd forgotten my wallet. Anyway, he gave me his card, and said, "You caught my attention in there. I wanted to meet you." Uh. Okay. Then I told him I had to go because I was meeting my client. He asked what I did and I said I worked with LD kids. WHY, RACHEL?! WHY DO YOU ALWAYS TALK TO CRAZY PEOPLE WHEN THEY FIT THE SERIAL RAPIST PROFILE?!?! I always give too much information. I'm my mother's clone. Then he starts going on and on about how I have "such good energy" and I am "so patient" and then he said, "You are a really kind hearted person." Right, dude. Since you know all about me. Then he tells me he's a surf instructor. I might have admired this when I was fourteen. I'm not going out with anybody again unless they have a real career. I'm sick of wasting my time. Don't get me started. He tells me to look at his card when I get in my car. I look at it, and on the back it says "There was just something about you. Aloha. 420. Mike." But I think he spelled "there" like "their," or something stupid like that (the card is out in my car), because immediately I judged his misspelling by him being a pothead. Probably not correlated, but whatever. These people and their weird ass fascination with "energy." I hear people tell me ALL THE TIME that I exude "good energy." What the crap does that even mean? In Memphis I make people want to take naps. In LA I give them good energy. I don't get it. And why do people always talk to me about drugs? 420. Really? I don't feel like I fit the druggie bill. My neighbor started talking to me all about drugs the other day. I DON'T DO DRUGS, PEOPLE! I barely even take Advil. I would rather suck it up and deal with the pain than have medicine head.
So by this point I have like 30 cards from a bunch of creepy Californian men and I'm trying do decide if I should:
A. Get them laminated and make a dress out of them,
B. Start a bonfire on the beach,
or
C. Be California green and recycle.
Men out here are so freaking weird. I got a card last week from some guy who was driving through my boss's neighborhood and asked me for directions as to how to exit the premises. There's only one main street. Surely he could have come up with a more creative pickup line. I was turned off by the baby seat in the back of his car.
Yesterday I ate delicious sushi after hanging out at the beach. I also ate pancakes after church at a guy's house whom I met on Saturday during the great rocket scientist party of oh ate. Something about living by myself has made me extremely social. I think I spend enough time alone to really appreciate other people when I'm with them. Things to ponder. I just recognized that I made two references to food in this paragraph. I am not that into food. I am no snob when it comes to caloric consumption. I think I like food because of the "sharing a meal" aspect. I enjoy the relational dynamics of eating with other people. I don't really care about the food part.
So I hung out with new friends yesterday and had a lot of fun- HOWEVER COMMA--- there was this completely obnoxious girl with us whom I almost stabbed about four times. I hate obnoxious people. Well, I take that back. I actually love most obnoxious people. I hate self-centered, bratty, high maintenance, stupid people. This girl was super loud, kept saying the same stupid stuff over and over again, was very flirty, and kept rubbing all over every guy around her. She also kept making crude comments. I am the queen of crude comments, but I always pair them with humor. She was just plain gross. Not a big fan of attention-seeking hoes who make crass comments trying to get men all riled up. Especially when these girls are dense and have nothing to contribute to society other than their reproductive organs. Depressing.
People who think they are soooo hot irritate me. I mean, looks only last until you're in your 30's (if you're lucky), then you have to rely on other assets. Blah. Stupid women. Hate 'em.
Well, I guess I better get back to my note cards so I don't flunk out of grad school to become a go go dancer. Wish me luck. One midterm down, two to go...
Onto more interesting topics...
I was in Malibu today working with one of my kids. There were ashes flying all through the air because all of California was on fire or something. I wish you could have seen these kids running through the campus with their shirts pulled over their mouths and noses. I live in a methane-infested apartment complex and have never thought twice about how my kids will be born with hooves. These little barbies were flipping out about getting cancer. Not sure if this is a geographical or child-rearing thing, but I thought it was funny and weird. My parents grew up tearing asbestos siding off of their houses while drawing pictures on the pavement with it. Ah, the ongoing nature vs. nurture issue.
I had a great weekend. I didn't feel like I had to put myself under house arrest to study because I go to the gym every day and review my notes. Every effing day. Too bad it didn't pay off on this test I just took. Well, maybe it did. Who knows. To hell with catastrophic thinking. Anyway, I went out with one of my guy friends and a bunch of his buddies on Friday and had a blast. Woke up the next morning and went to mentor orientation not feeling too coherent. Then I had to have my picture taken so my mentee would know what I look like before we start meeting. Wish I had known that prior to rolling out of bed with the previous night's makeup on and feeling like my head was made out of concrete. Anyway, Saturday night I went to my best L.A. friend's party by the beach and had a flipping blast. Crashed some rocket scientist parties and acted a fool. Went to church Sunday morning wearing my party clothes from the night before and stole someone's nasty drink at Starbucks on accident. I was waiting patiently for my non-fat, non-flavor whatever the crap I got, and somehow I walked out with some froo-froo girly drink. I drank it 'cause I needed the caffeine but it sure made me grouchy to have to drink something so sugary. It irritates me when they don't write names on the cups. Grrr.
Today while I was exiting the grocery store/Starbuck's parking lot in Malibu, some crazy, burned out, tan 40-some-odd year old man approached me and said "WAIT! YOU FORGOT SOMETHING!" Me, being the naive and somewhat tard-pocket person that I am, said "What is it?" because I was afraid I'd forgotten my wallet. Anyway, he gave me his card, and said, "You caught my attention in there. I wanted to meet you." Uh. Okay. Then I told him I had to go because I was meeting my client. He asked what I did and I said I worked with LD kids. WHY, RACHEL?! WHY DO YOU ALWAYS TALK TO CRAZY PEOPLE WHEN THEY FIT THE SERIAL RAPIST PROFILE?!?! I always give too much information. I'm my mother's clone. Then he starts going on and on about how I have "such good energy" and I am "so patient" and then he said, "You are a really kind hearted person." Right, dude. Since you know all about me. Then he tells me he's a surf instructor. I might have admired this when I was fourteen. I'm not going out with anybody again unless they have a real career. I'm sick of wasting my time. Don't get me started. He tells me to look at his card when I get in my car. I look at it, and on the back it says "There was just something about you. Aloha. 420. Mike." But I think he spelled "there" like "their," or something stupid like that (the card is out in my car), because immediately I judged his misspelling by him being a pothead. Probably not correlated, but whatever. These people and their weird ass fascination with "energy." I hear people tell me ALL THE TIME that I exude "good energy." What the crap does that even mean? In Memphis I make people want to take naps. In LA I give them good energy. I don't get it. And why do people always talk to me about drugs? 420. Really? I don't feel like I fit the druggie bill. My neighbor started talking to me all about drugs the other day. I DON'T DO DRUGS, PEOPLE! I barely even take Advil. I would rather suck it up and deal with the pain than have medicine head.
So by this point I have like 30 cards from a bunch of creepy Californian men and I'm trying do decide if I should:
A. Get them laminated and make a dress out of them,
B. Start a bonfire on the beach,
or
C. Be California green and recycle.
Men out here are so freaking weird. I got a card last week from some guy who was driving through my boss's neighborhood and asked me for directions as to how to exit the premises. There's only one main street. Surely he could have come up with a more creative pickup line. I was turned off by the baby seat in the back of his car.
Yesterday I ate delicious sushi after hanging out at the beach. I also ate pancakes after church at a guy's house whom I met on Saturday during the great rocket scientist party of oh ate. Something about living by myself has made me extremely social. I think I spend enough time alone to really appreciate other people when I'm with them. Things to ponder. I just recognized that I made two references to food in this paragraph. I am not that into food. I am no snob when it comes to caloric consumption. I think I like food because of the "sharing a meal" aspect. I enjoy the relational dynamics of eating with other people. I don't really care about the food part.
So I hung out with new friends yesterday and had a lot of fun- HOWEVER COMMA--- there was this completely obnoxious girl with us whom I almost stabbed about four times. I hate obnoxious people. Well, I take that back. I actually love most obnoxious people. I hate self-centered, bratty, high maintenance, stupid people. This girl was super loud, kept saying the same stupid stuff over and over again, was very flirty, and kept rubbing all over every guy around her. She also kept making crude comments. I am the queen of crude comments, but I always pair them with humor. She was just plain gross. Not a big fan of attention-seeking hoes who make crass comments trying to get men all riled up. Especially when these girls are dense and have nothing to contribute to society other than their reproductive organs. Depressing.
People who think they are soooo hot irritate me. I mean, looks only last until you're in your 30's (if you're lucky), then you have to rely on other assets. Blah. Stupid women. Hate 'em.
Well, I guess I better get back to my note cards so I don't flunk out of grad school to become a go go dancer. Wish me luck. One midterm down, two to go...
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