liz in la

day 40: just like fucking magic

Day 40, the same amount of time Noah spent on the ark, and in homage to this benchmark, it rained. Rained and rained and rained.

Which leads me to Liz's remedial driving lessons for a rainy day

The pedal on the right is the gas, it propels the car forward. Forward is the direction you are looking UNLESS YOUR HEAD IS UP YOUR ASS. You can still use this pedal in the rain, even if your windshield wipers are on. Which leads  me to: TURN YOUR GODDAMN WINDSHIELD WIPERS ON. Those are the blade-like attachments that automatically squeegee the water off your windshield. I know, it's just like fucking magic.

Additionally, feel free to use the pedal on the left, which makes the car slow. Use your discretion, but when you must use the brake (which is again, the pedal on the left that slows the car) do it gently. Press down slowly. This is important, because if you crush your foot down on the brake on slick pavement the car will not react as it usually does. Not at all. It will begin to slide, wheels locked, veering uncontrollably into oncoming lanes of traffic. If you are stupid enough to do this, then you really deserve to be hit by oncoming traffic. Likely the people who hit you will also deserve it, but if you live in LA one of those cars may contain me and I DO NOT DESERVE IT. So remember, slow, steady pressure you retards.

Sometimes, in extreme conditions, IT RAINS WHEN IT IS DARK. I know. That's total bullshit. But here's the thing, turning your brights on so that you can better see blinds all of those coming towards you. Follow me here, people who are only slightly more intelligent than the average house cat are barreling towards you at 60 mph. YOU WANT THEM TO BE ABLE TO SEE.

Before you cut me off, which I have accepted that you will do, repeatedly, please use your blinker. Blinkers are little flashing lights that indicate to the other drivers, yes actually, there are OTHER PEOPLE ON THE ROAD, that you are about to careen in a new direction. The use of your blinker warns me that you are an asshole and thus warned, I can take proper precaution. It also lets me know that you know that you're an asshole. Which I dig.

Last thing, when traffic is at a standstill on the freeway ALL LANES SUCK. There is no magic lane that does not suck. It does not matter if you make 52 lane changes in gridlock, you will not go anywhere faster. In fact, YOU FUCKTARD, you are only making things worse.

Well, I feel better anyway.

The norovirus has been completely defeated and left me with a flatter, tauter all-be-it sore tummy. Vomiting is the new thirty second ab workout.

 

Hmmm. I just read this again. I may be a little angry, a bit tense. I suppose it is possible that perhaps, just maybe, I need to get laid.

day 39: vive la resistance!

My immune system finally got organized. The macrophage and T cells rose up, with one voice and decimated the norovirus colony, who was in the middle of their third manifesto rewrite, something about decentralizing motor function controls and outsourcing the tasks to extremities. It was a populist movement to overthrow my brain, to be sold on the premise of greater efficiency and equality for all my 2000 parts.

While it was a victory, I think we can see that heavy casualties were incurred. I have to question what took the T cells so long. Do they need more resources? Excel spreadsheets, better communication networks? Do they lack leadership? We need to sit down and devise a new plan. I'm willing to buy the purell, Immune System, what are you willing to do?

While on the phone with Raina I had a resurgence of nausea. At first I blamed slacker macrophages but then I realized it had nothing to do with norovirus and everything to do with her intimate accounts of orgasms. New love is a wonderful thing and I'm really quite happy for her. Even if it does cause me to throw up in my mouth.

Which leads me to issue this edict. I'm not having the sex. So people, get out there and use my share. There is no sense in it going to waste. Go forth and fornicate, copulate and have the mad passion. Do it for me.

my sister sent these to me. Thanks sis! I loves me a good motivational poster parody.

day 38: feral, angry and ill-educated

I think I'm an emerging hypochondriac. Who can I blame this on? To my knowledge, neither my parents nor grandparents exhibited this special neurosis. Of course, they didn't have access to webmd's symptom checker. This site is the gateway drug for borderline hypochondria.

I typed in my symptoms and they gave me diagnoses ranging from dengue fever to drug overdose. I've ruled those out, as I'm relatively certain I have not been bitten by an African mosquito or mainlining heroin. Although I hear that creates a pleasant sensation, all-be-it short lived (the heroin, not the mosquito). I would like to experience a pleasant sensation again, short lived or not.

Mumps, have been vaccinated. Flu, generally no vomiting associated with influenza and here, here there is vomiting. Toxoplasmosis (food poisoning), haven't prayed for death yet, so I'm not sick enough to have that. It's a norovirus.

I found a picture of norovirus taken with an electron microscope. I am dissatisfied. They look so benign. Where are their pitchforks? Their weapons, banners, armies? For the havoc they are reaking on my body, I know this cannot be a picture of MY NOROVIRUS. This is a picture of domesticated norovirus. Mine are feral, lean, hungry, ill-educated and pissed off. Mine has just written a manifesto and is raging through my systems forcing my organs to read it and then recite an oath to the new regime, ferociously governed by FERAL ANGRY NOROVIRUS. He's also disenfranchised because he's an immigrant to these parts, introduced after a long journey from his homeland (inside one of the evil LA nose pickers, no doubt). Likely he was shunned, even attacked by my immune system, but not repelled. And now he's out for revenge. It's payback time.

I need to go add "hysteria"  "dementia" and "paranoia" to my list of symptoms.

day 37: send sprite

I've been smote and am posting this from the bathroom floor. Stomach virus, thou art evil. Was the migraine the harbinger or unrelated? Can I correlate one evil pain as the ominous sign for the next?!

Damn. I blame all the holiday cheer I've been artificially manufacturing. It's poisoned me. My body cannot manufacture cheer without dire consequences. I should have known better. But I did get my Chanukah designs approved today. But at what cost?

It's the damned nose pickers. Everywhere I went this weekend I saw people picking their nose, in public. I am not a germaphobe. I think a little dirt is a healthy thing. I distrust anti-bacterial soap, in light of my current situation I may need to rethink that. Stupid nose pickers. One of those disgusting virus carriers picked their nose and then touched something that I touched. I'm buying stock in purell. Humans are purveyors of filth and disease. We're all second graders, wandering around the world sneezing on stuff. Gross.

If there is an upside, sex, or the lack thereof, really not an issue. I'm sweaty, pale and my face is all scrunched up. Sexy. Come and get it boys. Who doesn't love a green girl with nausea and stomach cramps?

And I think I'm vitamin C deficient. I guess I need to start drinking daiquiris or mixing my vodka with orange juice.

5 minute break here, the mere thought of vodka caused my stomach to pirouette like a drunken ballerina.

I knew I was going to pay for honking at that nun.
Pray for me and send Sprite.

day 36: mal a la tete

Mal a la tete is french, literally translated: bad head. I have a bad head, which in America we call a migraine which is the evil bitch mother of all headaches. OUOCH.

day 35: velcro let me down

I spent some time with a tree today. Maybe I should revisit that whole therapy idea. But isn't it a wonderful tree? I love all the little leaves growing sporadically from the trunk. It's the sort of place I would imagine gnomes live, if I imagined such things.

I went for a walk in the park. It was empty and peaceful. LA has a largely season-less climate, but today felt happily fall-like.

These leaves were so vibrantly red and perfect. Nature is messy. It reminded me how much I need to vacuum.

In an effort to redeem myself from the intense slothfulness of yesterday, I rode my bicycle on errands, went for a walk in the park, did the dishes and folded the clothes (which were washed two weeks ago - hey, I'm not on a schedule here.)

I'm a kinder, gentler person on a bicycle. I had not one psychotic episode and I pedaled around for two hours, which is ample exposure time.

And I wore my favorite shoes all day. I had a pair of these in the first grade. However, my first grade roos had Velcro instead of zippers. How amazing was Velcro in the early 80's? I never really imagined that I would ever have a pair of shoes with laces. Therefore, I declined to learn how to tie my shoelaces. Which, unlike trig, was a skill that you really do need in real life. (I learned how to tie my shoes in the second grade, everyone relax.)

I actually woke up really happy three days in a row. For no good reason. Usually to obtain that level of joy I have purchased plane tickets to Mexico or Europe. I didn't wake up so happy today, but I attribute that to the neighbors dog waking me up with all the barking. I hate the barking. I think I'm doing well. Occasionally I find myself at turns feeling depressed and homicidal, but not at the same time. I'm telling myself "Liz, this is part of the process. Breathe through it. It's normal and healthy."

Which is probably why this is so foreign. Never, in my life, have I self-described any aspect of my existence as either normal or healthy. Jesus, I need a martini.

Dear Jesus,
I don't need help with the martini. But if you have any extra sense of well-being or even ebullient joy, I'd take some of that. Whatever you can spare.

Love,
Liz

day 34: and now with bonus day Saturday

I was unprepared for a four day weekend. I hear other people lament a lack of time. If only there were more hours in the day... etc. I am decidedly not one of those people. Today I discovered deeper depths of laziness. It is a near super power, Liz: now with new sloth-like abilities!

I took two naps, got dressed, bought two books and then resumed my station on the couch. My crochet project has obtained more scarf-like properties, oh, and I fed myself. Very productive day. The cat has done nothing but nap since I introduced turkey into his diet. He yawns, stretches and then stumbles to the fridge where he makes a sort of engine rumbling noise and then glares at me, as if to say, "I know it are in the fridge. Turkey, woman, I NEED THE TURKEY!" He is cracked out on the turkey.

In other news, gravity has begun to reverse itself. This must be true because the scale said I weighed 124 this morning. That's down two pounds from my pre-Thanksgiving weigh-in. There is no explanation for this other than the reverse of gravity and the impending collapse of the solar system.

With this in mind, go hug someone and cash out your IRA.

day 33: chilled

It's cold and  windy and the stars are visible tonight. Not all of them, but enough to remind me that they are there. You can't really see stars in LA, I think that's ironic.

I saw Love in the Time of Cholera tonight. I suppose it's a great love story. It left me unmoved and more aware than ever that fairy tale love is just that, a fairy tale. I saw many couples tonight and didn't feel envy.

One picture book couple, he tall, she stylish and blonde, sat side-by-side at the wine bar. Their eyes wandered around the room, looking for something that amused them, something that they might discuss. They spoke little, so I can assume that their search was unsuccessful. When they left he helped her on with her coat and then followed her out, walking ten feet behind.

An older man, successful by his shoes, and a much younger woman sat together. It is entirely possible I was projecting and not seeing the truth, but I had the strongest sense that she had decided upon him. He was the man she could settle for. They didn't laugh, but he talked the whole time and she nodded, rarely interjecting one or two words that were meant to express how much she agreed with everything he was saying. He touched her frequently. I did not see her reach out for him one time.

I've been both of these women at one time or another. What struck me was the inherent loneliness of both their situations. I don't have anyone now, but I'm not lonely. I don't want something that I have to pretend at, pretend to be loving, pretend to be listening, pretend to believe that it is anything other than what it is--a desperate remedy for being alone.

It's cold outside, and in my past I've longed to be back in those flawed, unfulfilling loves. To have strong arms wrapped around you on a cold night, even if the words that body speaks are lies or the work those arms do seems unimportant and pathetic.

I am alone. And right now, that is a good thing. I think when I can look at a couple and not sense dissatisfaction, distraction or outright despair, maybe then I'll think about jumping back on the carousel.

This next carousel ride, I will try very hard to climb onto a horse or a carriage instead of a donkey.

day 32: bringing the thanks

Thanksgiving. Is there a more perfect holiday? Is there a more American holiday? The objective is to eat and drink so much that by the end of the day you are reduced to a moaning, drooling mass of flesh, too blissed out on sugar and alcohol to move while simultaneously nursing intense stomach pains from over-indulgence.

I hit two feasts today and I may never eat again. EVER.

Feast 1: At Trilby's a carrot souffle burst into flames in the oven. It was then known as the carrot souffle flambe. Once the charred top layer was scraped away it was decidedly delicious. Ten minutes after it was rescued from the oven it was still piping hot, which many commented on. I'm like, uhhh yeah, it was ON FIRE.

Feast 2: Em is a wholesome looking Connecticut type whom you expect will at some point bake you a pie. She doesn't disappoint. Three words, pumpkin creme brulee. She also sent me home with some dark meat. I'm a vegetarian, but Bartleby is not. I gave him a piece of the turkey and he displayed such joy and feral abandon that I was mesmerized for the five minutes it took him to devour it. As excited as he was, he is first and foremost a gay cat, so he devours delicately.

I contribute with pumpkin pies that I actually bake myself and then top with Skor bars. There are few things more delicious (pumpkin creme brulee definitely being one of them). Thinking I was still going to be ahead of the grocery store stampede I made it to the store by 2PM yesterday. Holy Mary Mother of God. Growing up I heard about the bread lines in Russia, I'm pretty sure the Russians were more cheerful in the bread lines than the Angelenos were at Ralph's yesterday.

First off, the parking lot was gridlocked. I'm stuck in a knot of cars and the guy behind me starts honking. "I KNOW YOU AREN'T HONKING AT ME. I WILL GET OUT OF THIS CAR AND BEAT YOU WITH MY PHONE."  I was on the phone at the time with one of my designers. I think she fears me.

Forty-five minutes, two cans of pureed pumpkin and a quart of whipping cream later I head back to my car. A woman is waiting for my spot, blinker on. I put my groceries in the trunk, get in the car and as I'm putting the key in the ignition SHE HONKS AT ME. I'm not a dawdler. I don't have a five minute car ritual. I'm not timing myself for efficiency, but I too have places to go. As I backed out of the spot, I smiled, flipped her off and wished her a Happy Thanksgiving.

I know, the flipping off was something I was working on. I think the problem is that when I got my car washed they removed my sticky note from the dash, the one that was there to remind me not to flip people off. I need to replace that.

Currently, me and my gay cat are crashed out on the couch, nearly comatose. Apparently, tryptophan has the same effect on cats and humans. Bartleby is sprawled out on his back with one paw across his distended belly. I think that looks like an excellent idea. I will be in this position until further notice.

day 31: my Grandpa really needs me to find a nice boy and buy a boat

So, I broke the break-up to Grandpa today. He's 88 and he handles these things even more poorly than I do.

One year ago, "How's the lawyer? Doesn't he have a boat?"

"No Grandpa, he likes to camp. I don't camp. We decided it was an irreconcilable difference." Which was the furthest reason from the real reason. The lawyer was a terrible kisser, a tongue diver. And he felt it necessary to divulge his complete sexual history over dinner and then stared expectantly at me. I said, "Pass the salt." He didn't let it go. I suddenly felt like the dinner was less of a date than that I had been unwittingly subpoenaed.

"I need to know your sexual history before we have sex." Presumptive. I replied, "Neither one of us has that kind of time." He didn't laugh. Oddly, he never called again. Thankfully I got out of there before I had to sign a privacy agreement, leaving me free to blog about it now. I'm certain had I allowed that to continue, a pre-nuptial agreement would have been drafted outlining the minimum amount of sex required and most likely, acceptable parameters for my weight. Deviation being grounds for divorce. These things exist, do not scoff.

A few months later, Grandpa asks, "How's the engineer? Doesn't he have a boat?"

"He moved for his job." Which was true, but again, not the truth of the matter. The engineer was perfect. Handsome, intelligent, ambitious, completely house-broken, kind -- Captain Perfect. I'm still trying to figure out why this one didn't work for me. I guess I'm just not cut out for perfection.

A few months back, when I told him that I was seeing the beau again, his relief was palpable across 1500 miles. Which was why I've put off telling him for a month. Today when he asked what happened, I said, "Grandpa, he really messed up. For the last time. It's okay. I'm better off without him." I hope that gave him some comfort.

I just don't know how much more heartache my Grandpa can take.

By the way, Northwest Missouri is cold, it's sleeting and in the low twenties. But not too windy.