liz in la

day 161: about a million pictures of my cat

Retail therapy is the best therapy. I bought four new bikinis for my holiday and I did not burst into tears in the dressing room. AND there were fluorescent lights. Chalk one up for emotional stability.

Is this a bikini? Are you going somewhere? We need to talk.

 

day 160: stupid questions, honest answers

In a bout of post-holiday depression, I signed up for a three month online dating service. Stupid Christmas.

So as a consequence of that weak moment, about twice daily I am asked to answer some really, tragically retarded questions. As I REALLY no longer care, AT ALL I've begun answering them honestly. And now I will share with you.

How would you assess your verbal intimacy skills?
When Liz cares: Very comfortable expressing my thoughts and desires.
Liz honest: I very much enjoy dirty talk during the sex.

Realizing that labels are imperfect, do you consider yourself a dominant person in your personal life?
When Liz cares: I'm pretty flexible. I can take the lead or go along with a plan.
Liz honest: If you spank me during sex I will punch you in the mouth.

If I had a bad day, what is the first thing you would do for me?
When Liz cares: I'd feed you and distract you, make you laugh and forget about it.
Liz honest: I really don't like whiny people. Man up wimp.

If you had to characterize the end of most of your romantic relationships, they would be described as:
cares: Amicable, some things just don't work out.
honest: My last relationship was a 7 year, co-habitation. Nothing was set on fire, I consider that a positive outcome.

Which sort of date sounds like the most fun to you?
cares: I can have fun doing just about anything
honest: As long as there is alcohol and a healthy level of inebriation, sign me up.

If you were to spend a night at home what would you be most likely to do?
cares: Read, catch up with friends, contemplate the hiring of a housekeeper.
honest: vapo-rub my feet, write poisonous letters to the Presidents of major corporations and have a lengthy discussion with my cat about the the unflattering appearance of higher waistlines in jeans and pants.

Are you a passionate person?
cares: I am passionate on some topics, ambivalent towards others.
honest: Yes, I like sex.

How trusting are you?
cares: I am fairly trusting, it takes me some time to fully trust.
honest: If you cheat on me, I will break both your legs.

Which of the following marriage issues do you fear most?
cares: Growing apart, forgetting to talk to each other.
honest: Murder. If you get fat and bald and take to farting on the couch I may stab you repeatedly with a dull instrument, bludgeon you with the remote control, cut off your arm and then beat you to death with it.

How adventurous are you?
cares: I love to travel, try new food, new hobbies and meet new people.
honest: I will not have anal sex.

Which of the following things would you rather have lots of?
A) respect
B) money
C) fame
D) power

cares E) respect
honest E) Money. What a stupid question.  Are you serious?

day 159: gazing at my navel with new intensity

Dear tone deaf white man,

You are very white. You are singing very loud. Gospel music. You are a tone deaf, white man, singing very loudly to gospel music with ALL the windows of your Camry down. I think it’s cool that you’re being moved by the Holy Spirit and all, but could you do it in front of someone else’s house or with the windows up? Because your close, personal relationship with God is a noise nuisance and also, making me a little  jealous. I haven't had any sort of religious experience in a very, very long time.

I think that God, in creating man, somewhat overestimated his ability. -Oscar Wilde

"Do you think I should wear more red?"
"Do you think my car reflects my personality?"
"Do you think I should go out with him if my boyfriend wouldn't find out?"
"Do you think that I'm too honest?"

[internal dialogue: I have got to stop calling this girl back. No, I don't think you're too honest, I think you're too boring and also, possibly, retarded.] What I really said, was:

"I don't think honesty is your problem."

It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.  -Oscar Wilde

day 158: the internets are being disagreeable

My wireless router is staging an intervention. Thereby saving you from today's inane ramblings about my feelings and general lack of compassion for humanity.

We're going to have a sit down and hug it out. My wireless has one of the following: PMS, mommy issues or antisocial behavior disorder.

Or it just hates me and cannot bear to transmit even one more day of this nonsense.

day 157: I'm in my chair. Go screw.

I'm not cut out for ten hour days. I say really bad words.

Out loud.

And my decision making process gets a little unusual. As we learned yesterday, the logical conclusion to the equation Xanax + wine + frequent flyer miles = a first class ticket to a third world country.

I called my sister. While we were on the phone her husband called out asking her to let the dog out.

She replied, "I'M IN MY CHAIR!"

BEST EXCUSE EVER.

Tomorrow, I will take a page from my sister's book. When asked to do something I will simply reply, "Yeah, I'm in my chair."

Happy 25th Birthday little sister!

day 156: who vacations in Nicaragua?!

Um. Apparently me. Hi, I'm Liz and I'm going to be spending a week in Nicaragua on vacation. I'm not sure what my diagnosis is, but one symptom is lack of impulse control. Managua, Nicaragua. Say it, it rhymes and is about 70% of the reasoning behind why I thought this trip would be a good idea. The only other piece of information I have on the country is that it is South and I dimly remember some sort of bloody war-like confict. Hope they got that all figured out. Because I do not vacation in places where people shoot each other. That's where I live, so I enjoy a conflict-free, no shooting environment where I take holiday.

But let's begin at the beginning. I'm working really really hard. I have the equivalent of seven Steinway's hanging over my head, ready to drop and crush my stellar track record into about a million little pieces. So much so, that I broke down and cried in front of my boss yesterday. First time that's ever happened. As the panic and fear washed over me I felt strange wet things on my face. Dear Jesus, TEARS. I haven't cried since November. I try to keep the crying down to an annual event. As my brain registered that my face had  begun to leak, I'm thinking,

You are crying. At work. STOP! There is no crying at work.

Thank God my boss loves me and is filled with the mercy and understanding.

To recap. I cried at work and now I get to go on vacation. Not my proudest moment, but a significant indicator of my ever mounting stress level taking a toll on my precious, delicate sanity. (The remnants thereof.)

Corn Islands, here I come. I'm not joking. I'm spending a week on the CORN Islands to recapture my wayward grasp on reality. Where pretty pretty hotel rooms are $40 a night, the water is clear and blue and filled with pirate ship wreckage and where I will single-handedly decimate all of Nicaragua's strategic rum reserve.

I only have to survive 21 more days.

And it just occurred to me that this vacation will probably require shots.

Saturday Night Live used to be really good, remember Jack Handy?

Before you judge another person, walk a mile in their shoes. Because then you will be a mile away... and have their shoes.

day 155: just like you, but with slightly more rage

A few weeks back my landlord hit my parked car in my driveway, thus, I was on my way to the repair shop this morning to drop it off for a few days of cosmetic surgery. Enterprise was scheduled and confirmed to pick me up there. They did not. I had to call them. They picked me up but did not have a car ready for me. At the 45 minute mark I announced the following to the waiting room:

I'm becoming unhappy. In fact, I may be very near disgruntled. Can anyone fix this?

Enterprise, they'll pick you up. Just don't expect anything else.

Ten minutes later I was driving off the lot in a go-cart. My ass is intimately familiar with every pothole from West LA to West Hollywood. It's like a golf cart, with a radio. And the turning radius? I've seen evidence of glaciers turning more sharply than this car. The seat does not adjust up or down, therefore my forehead is in uncomfortable proximity to the roof, obscuring things like TRAFFIC LIGHTS. And blind spots, oh hell yes it came equipped with them. Oh, and power steering, apparently that was an option, an option that Enterprise didn't feel I need. Pontiac G5. DUMBEST. CAR. EVER.

So tomorrow I will call 21st Century, the insurance company paying for my go-cart, and tell them that I would like something just a little closer to what I normally drive. They will give it to me, because I will call them every hour on the hour all day until they give me what I want. I already have my post-lunch call scripted:

Hi, me again. So I just ate tofurkey on a baguette, with bean sprouts and hummus. It was quite yummy. Would you like me to tell you what I had for dessert or would you rather just upgrade my car? I'm thinking power steering and an actual suspension. No? Well then I look forward to talking to you in an hour. Perhaps we can discuss the details of my afternoon bowel movement.

day 154: happy resurrection! stop throwing eggs!

I was invited to an Easter dinner. I had that uncomfortable moment, after I said, "Oh that's so nice. I can't make it."

The invitation issuer stood staring at me, one eyebrow raised quizzically, body language screaming, OH REALLY. Why is that?

Put on the spot like that, I lied, of  course. Other plans, dinner with a friend. What I should have went with was the truth,

"Yeah, I don't so much believe in the resurrection of Christ as our personal Lord & Savior and holy interlocutor to God. And I'm all set on Easter candy, but thanks. You have a happy resurrection day, though!"

What I really did this Easter was teach my cat yoga:

He has cat pose down.

Lion pose.

I have no idea.

153: regal & ridiculous, at the same time

I hung some more crap on my walls, because that gets it off my floor. I was on a roll, but managed to stop myself before I nailed this months copy of RealSimple to my bedroom door. Fucking Real Simple. Sure I could save every toilet paper and paper towel spool for a year and then glue them together to fashion a bed frame. AWESOME IDEA. Simply stupid.

And in my free time I adore removing tough mildew stains with baking soda and a toothbrush.

Went out with the girls to dinner. I will remember Lacanda Veneta for two reasons.

1. the ladies toilet is very very far down. Floor adjacent. It's pretty cool how quickly the brain can spew thoughts. In the midst of my downward descent, derriere to the wind, I thought, "Crap. Was the toilet here? Or am I about to hit the floor?"

2. roll up in a handicapped cab. It's a mini-van with a ramp. There is no other way to exit said cab, save the use of the ramp. It makes you feel regal and ridiculous all at the same time.

day 152: gnocchi sapped my will to live

You know what's relaxing after a long hard week at work? Making gnocchi from scratch. By the time Trilby and I had baked the potatoes, skinned them, grated them, and mooshed them together to make the dough we were DONE. So DONE. As in, where the fuck is the Thai menu, my your arm looks plump & tasty, DONE.

We persevered, and in the face of the actual gnocchi making, dents, fork ridges the whole bit, we were loudly shouting at each other, accusations of whose big idea this had been anyway were finally toned down by the liberal application of vodka.

Confronted by a mountain of dough Trilby complained bitterly for the first few minutes, but then, as I suspected, her perfection gene fought its way through the alcohol haze and took hold of her like demonic possession. She wasn't just shaping gnocchi, drunk in her kitchen on a Friday night. Now she was forming THE WORLD'S MOST PERFECTLY SHAPED GNOCCHI EVER. All complaining ceased as she pushed herself closer and closer the goal of THE PERFECT GNOCCHI.

The evening ended with gnocchi in my eyebrows, gnocchi in Trilby's hair and a liberal sprinkling of gnocchi on the floor. Oh, and four hours later, it was super tasty.