liz in la

day 71: 2008 do not let me down

So long 2007! But before you go, just one last time, bite my ass.

In fairness it was not all bad. There was good stuff. I went skiing, traveled to Missouri, New York, Mexico and Vegas. I bought several pairs of really cute shoes. I fell in love, and then out of love, and then back in love and then back out of love. Which was exhausting.

I swam with dolphins. I got goosed by a dolphin. I snorkeled. I spoke bad Spanish. I tried to speak french to an Israeli dignitary. I did a lot of writing. I slid down a mountain on my ass with a snowboard attached to my feet. Not as fun or as easy as it may look. I further explored the depths of my burgeoning hypochondria. I opened up a retirement and investment account, bought two new digital cameras and maintained my January 2007 weight throughout. I did quite a bit of laughing and a little pie baking.

But I expect better from 2008.

Today I yelled at kids. I'm getting old. I live across the street from Iglesia Bautista (Baptist Church) and every time there is a service, which is frequently, there are two teenage boys who station themselves outside. They wear the skin tight skinny jeans, chucks and a skull & crossbones hoody. Yes, they wear the exact same clothes, both of them, each time. I suspect that their parents have given up on them hearing the good word and are settling for relative proximity to the good word, thereby dragging them to church in the car so that they may stand outside. They skateboard, sometimes, but mostly they just loiter and sit on people's cars. As they have never planted themselves on my car I've remained uninvolved, until today. They weren't on my car, but something deep inside instructed me that it was time to channel my father and yell at some kids.

"Is that your car?" I asked.

"No."

"THEN DO NOT SIT ON IT! You don't sit on people's cars! For the love of God, were you raised by wolves?!"

(Yes, I actually asked if they were reared by feral dogs.)

They were very apologetic and displaced themselves from the hood of the bmw very quickly. I went back inside and just stood in my living room, unsure what I should do to follow that up. My father would have took his pants off and sat on the couch.

And so highlights from the very last day of this year include:

shoe organization!
and me turning into my father.

day 70: CENSORED!!!

Author Laurie Perry recently expounded on her blog about the scandalous decline of decency in the public library system. Her G-rated book learnin' turned into an X-rated adventure when she happened upon a homeless man surfing porn on a library computer here in LA.

Fear not, Laurie Perry. Some places take things like nudity and foul language very seriously, even in the final days of 2007. I have it on very good authority, that should you find yourself in a public library in St. Joseph, Missouri, and also found yourself thinking, Hey, I wonder what that wacky, foul-mouthed Liz is up to, you would not be able to find out. Because my url is blocked. Apparently, I am just that foul and dangerous to the pure, unsullied mind.

But, before you pack your bags. Know this. 60% of the population of St. Joseph, Missouri believes that yoga is a subtle form of devil worship.

Laurie's adventure

day 69: smoosh thou not, thy fortuitous omens

Crocket Cricket has either died or moved. I am not sorry, as he was a vocal little bastard.

But then I came home and found a cricket, sitting on the wall above the tv. The cat, you ask? Napping. And either unbothered or unaware of the home invasion.

I grabbed my trusty kanga shoe, my preferred weapon against pest aggression. But as I raised it to strike the lethal blow I realized that killing good luck symbols may not be the most karmically prudent action. That, and it would leave a nasty cricket gut smear on the wall.

So, moments later armed with a footstool, plastic container and piece of paper I captured Kringle (I name everything if you hadn't noticed). Followed by a gentle relocation to the front porch.

And as a sign of his acknowledgment of my goodwill, Kringle Cricket fled far into the night and chirped until dawn outside someone else's bedroom window. I thought it very considerate.

And, thus, bad luck was averted. I expect Ed McMahon at any moment.

Kringle, released back into the wilderness of Santa Monica adjacent.

day 67 & 68: hard to reach itchy places

Hey everyone! Awesome news. Chinchilla coats are 50% off right now! That's right, you can pick one up for a mere $55,000.

Oh my. Did I miss the memo about it being 1982 again?

Em & I had a wild ass girls night out. Which included dinner at Astro Burger and a shopping trip to Target. It culminated in urine removal and getting a little tipsy from a wine cube. Which is a box of wine, from Target, Cabernet, $10. Go ahead and judge. It wasn't bad wine. The urine wasn't mine. Or Em's. It wasn't that kind of wild ass girls night.

While at Target I shared with Em the fantastic news about the Chinchilla coat sale. She wasn't interested and proceeded to tell me how anti-fur she is. I was standing in front of her, wearing this coat.

"That's not real?!"

"This? Nooooo."

"It is real!! You're a vegetarian! You can't wear fur!"

"I wear a lot of things that I won't eat. Cotton, for example."

"You're a vegetarian!"

"You eat meat. You can't judge my fur until you stop eating meat."

"I won't eat another bite of beef if you stop wearing fur."

"What about chicken?"

"I eat chicken. Chickens are evil."

I must agree with Em that it is an odd thing. I too have been mailed the PETA propaganda with the horrible anal electrical probe images. It does strike me as rude. But this is VINTAGE fur. I bought this coat a few months ago and the coat was made in the 70's. I believe that after thirty years the karmic statute of limitations runs out. And tonight in LA it is a biting 48 degrees. Fur is warm. And soft.

FINE. I am a BAD VEGETARIAN. I said it. But please don't call me a hypocrite. I prefer that this be referred to as a serious case of cognitive dissonance. And while I'm confessing, here it is JEN (my yogi, librarian friend who is the annoyingly best vegetarian ever) I never read cheese labels for rennet. THERE. I SAID IT. Because I don't care. Parmesan cheese is GOOD. And if it contains a few microscopic bits of calf stomach, that is a compromise I am willing to make.

In all seriousness, rennet is disgusting, but it takes so very little that I probably ingest more meat from the spatula that the cook uses to flip my veggie burger, which is sizzling next to a big juicy steak.

From Wikipedia:
Dried and cleaned stomachs of young calves are sliced into small pieces and then put into saltwater or whey, together with some vinegar or wine to lower the pH of the solution. After some time, (overnight or several days) the solution is filtered. The crude rennet that remains in the filtered solution can then be used to coagulate milk. About 1 gram of this solution can normally coagulate 2000 to 4000 grams of milk.

Moral issues aside, I see no Chinchilla coat in my near future, because I have expendable income in the neighborhood of $20. Which I used to purchase my big gay cat a new cardboard toy. Which I liberally sprinkled with catnip. Hours and hours of enjoyment ensued, for Bartleby and then for me.

What? I have hard to reach itchy places, too.

day 66: naughty, naughty bunny

Sometimes I feel a lack of gratitude. I get sort of mopey. When this happens all I need to do is read the front page of the newspaper and then I am thankful for such things as:

• not being killed by a tiger
• not being attacked by a pack of wild dogs
• not being shot in the neck for being an uppity woman
• not being killed in a volcano-related plane crash
• not being disowned by my Grandfather for being a slut (little chance of this now during the sex fast)

And now I'm ever so much more cheerful.

And if CNN can't do the trick I take a little trip to snarfd.com, where I become grateful for:

• not being killed by a lap dance
• not having a monobrow a.k.a. unibrow
• not being attacked by a rabid pack of five year olds

And if all else fails, Jon Lajoie has yet to let me down. He sings and makes videos and is, simply, the remedy for a shitty mood. His video, Everyday Normal Guy goes like this:

My parents are really nice people, motherfucker
I like the show Grey's Anatomy, motherfucker
I get constipated about once a month, motherfucker

It's pure comedy. Don't forget to watch High as Fuck, too.

http://www.jonlajoie.com/video/

And if you still suffer from post-Christmas depression then watch this. Naughty Bunny.
Let's just say this rabbit is not being sexually appropriate in the classroom. And I am pretty sure that Panda has grounds for a lawsuit.

Now that you're feeling better, quickly go pour yourself a big glass of adult beverage, it will serve as a non-prescription mood stabilizer.

day 64 & 65: christmas survived

This is the greeting card message I got from my Auntie L:

I am enjoying your website. I hope it is helping you get through everything. You know I love you and am your biggest fan. You are so pretty, however, I think you are too thin and I worry about you.

Merry Christmas!

------------

And my Uncle called on Christmas Eve, apparently he heard the news because I had to calm him down. He said, and I quote:

I am gonna whoop his ass. [repeat 25 times]

It's good to be loved.

-------------

Trilby's daughter, at Christmas dinner:

"I want a chinchilla coat. [turning to her Uncle]  Can you shoot those for me?" He replied, "No, they're raised on farms."

"Oh, like dalmations?"

Yes, Cruella, JUST LIKE DALMATIONS.

Seasonal foliage.

IM ON UR TABLE. PET MY ASS.

Bartleby post-chicken binge. I expect for him to move sometime on Friday.

day 62 & 63: jack off to mozart

Listen to this, RIGHT NOW. http://www.katyperry.com/

3 WORDS: Ur So Gay. It plays when you load the page. And has the best lyrics ever.

I'm dark. Really dark. My humor is dark, my hair is dark and my outlook of late; dark.

FOUR THINGS THAT HAVE SUCKED IN THE PAST FOUR DAYS:
1. running into beau and the autistic giraffe while on a first date
2. being contacted by someone I know on my dating site. it appears he would like to date me. and that is odd. and wrong. and is leaving me unsure how to handle it. because he is my friend and one might have imagined he might have asked me out before a third party informed him we are allegedly compatible. when all other signs have pointed to the contrary.
3. deciding to break my sex fast. and not being able to. due to a, errrrr, malfunction. apparently, I am no longer allowed the sex. by the universe.
4. seeing Atonement. if you think this movie is good and left you in a better mood than prior to seeing it, then I highly recommend the prozac. because you have to be seriously, clinically, horribly depressed to think that was good. although, almost worth seeing for the green dress alone. it's a very good dress.

And now I will drink the vodka and have the fries. The last four days have set me back about a month in my recovery.

day 61: resuming rage

Project Rage has again taken priority and mission ANGER SWEATER now has sleeves.

This is definitely going to take more than one sweater. See yesterday for details.

day 60: I'll fucking give you El Conquistador

I'll fucking give you El Conquistador, but the rest of the city is mine.

Allow me to explain, I entered El Conquistador (Mexican restaurant, Silver Lake). "Sam" and I picked out a table, I sat and surveyed the restaurant. I always do this because my father was a paramedic and instilled in me the necessity of knowing all the exits and the location of the fire extinguisher. This is a first date, it's not looking good. My eyes scan the scene and who do they rest upon?

No, seriously. I need you to guess who might possibly be eating at the restaurant I go to on my very first date after the betrayal.

If you guessed that God hates me and it was the beau and his autistic giraffe, then you would be ABSOLUTELY CORRECT.

Allow me to recap, because I think that this is one of the few exceptions to the non-repeat rule.

THE BEAU AND THE GIRL HE CHEATED ON ME WITH WAS AT THE RESTAURANT THAT I WENT TO WITH  MY FIRST DATE AFTER THE BETRAYAL.

And I seriously, seriously, seriously need someone to explain this to me. I'm not kidding. I need answers. I need advice. I need to hear something resembling a rational explanation of why Jesus/God/Universe/Whatever would do something like this to me. Feel free to comment.

I COULDN'T MAKE THIS SHIT UP.

I haven't really divulged the extent of my relationship with the beau. I fell in love with him when I was 19 years old. We moved in with each other at 23. We moved out at 30. It's been nearly two years to the day of the initial split. I gave it another chance for three months this year, from August - October.

Tonight. First date. Restaurant. Beau. Retarded girl who I informed was cheating on both of us, STILL WITH HIM. Having dinner. LOOKING AT ME. BOTH STARING AT ME.

LA IS A CITY OF 5 MILLION PEOPLE. This means something. It must. I firmly believe that there are no coincidences, that everything happens for some reason or other. Perhaps I have a flawed belief system. So WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!

Trilby, who is truly one of the gifts of my life, talked to me tonight. We conjectured that maybe this run-in wasn't about me. Maybe this run-in was the Universe/God/Jesus/Whatever sending a message to the beau. I guess, but why, DEAR SWEET JESUS WHY, did I have to be involved? I woke up this morning feeling so strong and so totally on the path. Tonight, I actually broke down and fucking cried. I hate that. I really, really hate crying. It sucks and I fight it with all my power. I hadn't shed  a tear over that asshole since the day of the hostage exchange, day  13. I've shed no tears for 47 days!!!!

So, what did I do? I looked at dear, sweet Sam who donates to charity, holds doors for me and compliments me like I'm fucking Venus incarnate and I say, "WE HAVE TO LEAVE. RIGHT NOW." I grab my coat, my bag and stalk out. By the way, I have no idea how loudly I may have said that. My intuition says that it was LOUD. He follows, because he is really awesome. It's not going well, but not because he's wrong. He's cool and sweet and a gentleman. We walk down the sidewalk for awhile and I spew:

That wasn't an ex-boyfriend. That was an ex-fiancee. I am emotionally stable. But he and I lived together for seven years. And then we broke up and gave it another try. And then he cheated on me, with the girl he was sitting with. I'm horrified and terribly, terribly sorry that happened.

And then we stood in silence for a moment and then I burst out laughing. For those that do not know me personally, when I laugh even at marginally funny things it is loud. When I burst out laughing it is quite likely to cause structural damage to steel/concrete structures. GOD BLESS HIM, he laughed with me.

I think that I sent the right message when I abruptly left. I hope it came across clearly: You disgust me so deeply that I could not possibly sit here, in the same room with you. You are wrong, evil, pathetic and morally bankrupt. You have no integrity. Nothing approaching human qualities and I believe you to be toxic and evil. You have issues and I cannot be troubled by them anymore.

That is quite a lot for a fleeing back to say, yet I hope at least a portion of it came across. I can't help but wonder what it might have felt like to punch him or throw a drink in his face. Yet, I believe that I once again took the high road. I only wish that I'd taken a little more time in the taking of it. You know, slowly putting on my coat, casually explaining to Sam that we needed to leave, laughing a bit and then casually strolling out. Damn, I wish that was the way I'd handled it.

It is now time for me to go indulge in magical, modern pharmaceuticals for the purpose of aiding my sleep.

But just one more question, WHY?! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THE UNIVERSE, WHY?

p.s. Hey Beau, Fuck You.

day 59: resume hell, interview purgatory

Letter to Job Applicants:

Before I started reviewing resumes and conducting interviews myself, I was a bit clueless about the interview process. Not nearly as clueless as some of the boneheaded people I've come across. As a public service I would like to submit the following resume suggestions in the form of DO NOT:

• list your high school counselor or parole officer as a reference
• refer employers to your myspace page as a source of contact information
• refer to your myspace page as a writing sample
• refer to your myspace page friends list as "references"
• refer to your myspace page as a design sample
• in summary, NO REFERRING TO YOUR MYSPACE PAGE
• as a rule, tell a cute pet anecdote in your cover letter
• misspell your own name
• misspell my name
• apply for a position that is not even in the same field as your skill set
• unless you are Hemingway reincarnated, include an "objective" bit, as it almost always makes you sound like a dork. I.E. I have a passionate love for computer data input. If you must, then be honest, try something like this: I want a position that will fulfill my desire to pay my mortgage.
• list the reasons why you left your last job. Specifically if these include INS issues, being fired or entering rehab.
• for the love of God, allow your resume to ooze onto a second page. One page is all the brain-numbing information that one reasonably intelligent human can handle.
• use the font comic sans
• use a cursive font
• send your resume out as an excel spreadsheet
• list your salary requirements. There's a reason why you negotiate and listing it on your resume tips your hand. BE THOU NOT SO DUMB.
• forget to include your phone number
• list your medical conditions under a mysterious section call "MISSILEANEOUS"
• list your interest of hobbies, i.e. fly fishing and doing body shots

And if you actually manage to put together a coherent resume that lands you an interview please also keep these tips in mind, also in the form of DO NOT:

• wear leather studded dog collars and bracelets
• wear flip-flops. Exposed, hairy toes are not a good idea.
• wear a hat adorned with any of the following: naked women, singing trout, any slogan or quote containing a curse word
• forget to bathe
• fart
• burp
• complain about heartburn, indigestion, parking, traffic, inflation, the president, or your spouse
• be late
• be early
• tell me your religion. Because I cannot respond, as that is illegal. So I do not want to know that you are a gray witch, because there is really no such thing as a true white witch in the Wiccan Religion. Because no one is without sin. And naked worship is called "moon clad". STOP!
• complain about your last boss
• complain about your asshole co-workers
• explain that you require every other Friday afternoon off because you have a standing nail appointment
• tell me that you're nervous. I'm not your Mom. Pull yourself together, for the love of christ.
• tell me a funny, funny joke. Particularly, if it is sexual in nature. I LOVE THOSE. That does not make me uncomfortable AT ALL.
• bare your teeth. It frightens me.
• pick your ear.
• pick your nose.
• scratch yourself excessively. My company does not offer the benefit of flea dips.
• forget to leave. It makes me uncomfortable when I shake your hand, thank you, say goodbye and you just stand there expectantly. This isn't the doctors office. No one gets a sucker. And if there were any suckers, THEY WOULD ALL BE MINE.
• cover your open sore with a band-aid. I'm so serious here. I don't care if it is at the very end of your nose, cover that shit up.
• ask me if I meditate. Seriously, go ahead and ask.
• ask me if I like jazz.
• ask me my sign.
• ask me out on a date.
• ask me for a dollar. (For the meter, but still, NO.)
• ask me for my cell number.
• ask me anything of a personal nature. Ask me about 401K, vacation, lunch room, workers comp, first aid kit locations, and where the copy machine is, but nothing personal.
• make fun of my clothes. (Had a girl do this. Explained to her that not only was I not going to hire her, but that I fundamentally disliked her on a personal level.)

That's a start. Happy job hunting!