liz in la

TypePad: "you talkin' to me?"

I expressed dissatisfaction with TypePad's redesign a few days ago.

And then I noticed this...

right foot red

one bag Idaho potatoes, $1

I had a TON of work to get done. Logically, I decided to peel a bag of potatoes and make unfried french fries, instead.




Peel and cut Idaho potatoes. Rinse in a bowl to remove starch (I did it three times until the water in the bowl remains clear). Lay them flat on a towel to dry out. (I left them 15 minutes) Mix in a bowl to coat with olive oil, oregano, paprika, garlic salt and sea salt. Bake on cookie sheet for 35 minutes at 450.

TASTY.

I like to follow up truly crap food with exercise. In this case, yoga.  My warrior pose is formidable. You should have seen how I impressed all the non-competitive, anemic, vegan yogis with my ferocity.

The rest of class was just demoralizing. And so confusing. Not like twister. I miss twister. Twister was the yoga of my youth. No confusion, no consciousness, no form, no posture, just by any and all means necessary get your left hand on the RED CIRCLE. Sometime midway through the yoga class I commenced daydreaming about Matt Perkins from Sophomore English Lit, and his bong and the twister mat out on the lawn under a big full moon. The things we did on that twister mat... they don't make a spinny wheel with instructions like that. All this, while still staring longingly at my toes, far off in the distance, with some notion that I was meant to grasp them and use them to lever my leg behind my neck. Fascinating concept.

I wonder where Matt Perkins is now. If memory serves, he would have been very useful in aiding me into that pose.

Mmmmm. Left hand blue.

Dear TypePad, we noticed. Ever heard of BETA?

fancy pants blogging software, $9 a month

Type Pad recently redesigned their web based blog editing software. Whoever decided to do this should be fired. I know it's harsh, but you can't really assign a dollar value to the MINUTES I'VE LOST OFF THE END OF MY LIFE because of the STRESS.

I'm typing along, and no words are showing up on the screen. Finally, the letters catch up to my lightning fast 40wpm speed and somewhere about FOUR MINUTES AGO, I made a typo. So I go back to edit it, I select the miscreant letter and instead it selects the ENTIRE LINE OF COPY. And then deletes it.

This was mentioned by Emmmmms over at Quelle Erqsome. She addressed her frustrations in a much more calm, classy and sane manner. I aspire to be like her, but as I'm not, buckle up:

TOTAL FUCKING BULLSHIT. I cannot believe how poorly this functions. Was there no testing? They couldn't employ even one monkey of median intelligence to jump up and down on a fucking keyboard for a few moments, his salary paid in bananas?! It's like it was coded by retarded preschoolers, high on paste and they missed nap time.

TYPEPAD. Let's get on this people. Put down the donut, back away from World of Warcraft, pause the Princess Leah slave scene, straighten your pocket protector, reload your mechanical pencil and GET ON IT. This programming is embarassing.

Seriously, I can't be seen with you people in public. Ever again.

rainy laundry day with a curious cat

because it's Wednesday and I'm a bitch

carbonated fermented grape beverage at Fu's Palace, $8

Me to waitress: There is lipstick on the glass, and also, cork floaties in the wine.

her response: Nothing floating, just bubbles.

me: Ok. Ummmm. I suppose that this isn't lipstick?

her response: Yeah. That's lipstick.



She returned with a fresh glass and I was able to celebrate the spirit of alcoholism mid-day, mid-week, without bubbles, just as Jesus intended.

Lunch wine was necessary as I received a cc on an email that announced, AND I QUOTE, Liz doesn't understand the difference between Spanish and Portuguese.

Because I speak neither Spanish or Portuguese YOU FUCKTARD. Bring it in English bitch. Then we'll see who wins.

I am, perhaps, in need of another glass of wine.

OUCH! quit it.

violation with a loofah wielded by a naked Korean lady named Noh, $100

I am soft. In fact, I am THE soft. I had the top three layers of my epidermis scrubbed off yesterday at the Olympic Spa in Korea town. By a woman wearing black underpants. Yes, their work uniform is lingerie, black. I have never had a job with such a dress code (much to my family's relief). In fact, I have to wear pants, EVERY DAY. I question my choices.

Some people choose to live a life of modesty and dignity. Those have not been my choices. A fact driven home when I found myself face up, nekkid, and being rigorously scrubbed in a public room filled with upwards of 30 other women. The only saving grace? They too, nekkid.

After Noh (Yes, Noh) had scoured me until I was shiny pink and tingly, she gruffly directed me to go take a shower and come back. I returned, where she patted me down for wayward granules of sea salt. Patted me down, naked and dripping wet. In my life I've been more comfortable. Then she eyed me wearily and sent me back to the showers like a recalcitrant child. She found grit behind my hair. So embarrassing.

In seriousness, it was awkward, but an awkward that I look forward to repeating in the near future.

At the end Velma and I sprawled on the heated floor, covered ourselves with blankets and lamented the need to ever leave the naked place of the brutal Koreans.

happy & nauseated, at the same time

because I've always had a thing for bards, $9.99

Mason Jennings. New album. In the Ever. So much happiness available on iTunes.

It makes me so happy. Sure, a lot of his songs are sappy, love ballads. Of course they make me want to throw up in my mouth a little bit. But when Mason Jennings makes you vomit, it's like heaving honey and Xanax, rather than something disgusting, like regurgitated bacon or broccoli.




liquid lunch, $16.50

Not enough vodka to make much of a difference, but on principle I believe that the spirit of alcoholism must be fostered mid-week.


EXCITING NEW DEVELOPMENT
Today my iPhone stopped asking me if WTF was a typo. So much so in fact, that when I accidentally typed wrf, not only did it CORRECT it, but it CAPITALIZED it. Yeah, that's right. My phone totally gets me.

My brother-in-law sent this to me today. I nearly fell off my couch. And if this man really exists, he's getting mailed a batch of lemon squares. And a pair of panties. He's just that awesome.


This is why women should not take men shopping against their will.

After I retired, my wife insisted that I accompany her on her trips to Walmart. Unfortunately, like most men, I found shopping boring and preferred to get in and get out. Equally unfortunately, my wife is like most women - - she loved to browse. Yesterday my dear wife received the following letter from the local Wal-Mart.


Dear Mrs. Samsel,


Over the past six months, your husband has been causing quite a commotion in our store. We cannot tolerate this behavior and have been forced to ban both of you from the store. Our complaints against Mr.Samsel are listed below and are documented by our video surveillance cameras.

1. June 15: Took 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in people's carts when they weren't looking.

2 . July 2 : Set all the alarm clocks in Housewares to go off at 5-minute intervals.

3. July 7: Made a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to the women's restroom.

4. July 19: Walked up to an employee and told her in an official voice, 'Code 3 in Housewares. Get on it right away.'

5. August 4: Went to the Service Desk and tried to put a bag of M&M's on layaway.

6. August 14: Moved a 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.

7. August 15: Set up a tent in the camping department and told other shoppers he'd invite them in if they would bring pillows and blankets from the bedding department.

8. August 23: When a clerk asked if they could help him he began crying and screamed, 'Why can't you people just leave me alone?'

9. September 4: Looked right into the security camera and used it as a mirror while he picked his nose.

10. September 10: While handling guns in the hunting department, he asked t he clerk where the antidepressants were.

11. October 3: Darted around the store suspiciously while loudly humming the 'Mission Impossible' theme.

12. October 6: In the auto department, he practiced his 'Madonna look' by using different sizes of funnels.

13. October 18: Hid in a clothing rack and when people browsed through, yelled 'PICK ME! PICK ME!'

14. October 21: When an announcement came over the loud speaker, he assumed a fetal position and screamed 'OH NO! IT'S THOSE VOICES AGAIN!'

And last, but not least.

15. October 23: Went into a fitting room, shut the door, waited awhile, then yelled very loudly, 'Hey! There's no toilet paper in here!'


Regards, Tom Richards Walmart Manager

lemony peace offering, $5.51

"Hey! I heard you were moving to Toronto," says a co-worker to one of my office mates.

"Uh, no. Pittsburgh actually."

"Oh. Are you sure?"

later in the day

"I just heard you were moving to Saskatchewan," proclaims yet another co-worker.

"Uh, no. Pittsburgh actually."

"Oh. Well, okay then."

and once more....

"I just heard you were moving to Anchorage."

"Uh, no. Pittsburgh actually."

"Huh, well that's not what I heard."

Then my about-to-be-departed office mate says aloud, to the office in general, "Where are these people getting this information?"

And that would be from me.

This turned out be a way funnier little joke than I could ever have imagined. The reactions to finding out that he wasn't actually moving to the place that they thought he was (because they'd been grievously misinformed by me) ranged from disbelief, to confusion to a little frustrated, perhaps even aggravation adjacent, to the point where they began to argue with him. About where he was moving. AND WAS HE SURE?

Therefore, I bought eggs, butter and lemons and baked up some lemon squares, which I will give to my co-worker, along with my confession.

Man I'm going to miss that guy when he moves to Parsippany.

buying crap I don't need since 1978

Elizabeth Arden Visible Difference Refining Moisture Cream, $14.50

Costco is a bad place, filled with bad people. Bad people obsessed with their right to station themselves in the center of aisles while strategically positioning their Kia sized carts to block traffic from either direction.

That said, the reason I go to Costco is to buy fancy potions, in this case a classy two-pack of moisturizer for $29. This sells everywhere else for $54 (for one).

I.KNOW.

And it smells delicious.

I ask myself certain questions when engaging in capitalism. Questions like: can I use this while consuming vodka? I don't think Elizabeth Arden would take issue with that. Is this bad for the environment? Glass, totally recyclable. Is it a good deal? Let me hear you yell Hallelujah.

And the last question... Do I need it? Probably not.

Long ago Oprah had a skin anti-aging specialist on her show. They touted the episode for weeks, drawing me in with the question, "What is the single most important secret to looking young and staying young? Wednesday on Oprah."

What could it be?! Sheep dung? Tibetan blessed spring water? Native bananas that grow only in the Ivory Coast, on the North side of a salt water lake, plucked precisely on the full moon and then mashed into a paste and chanted over by a Shaman?!

Sunscreen. Oprah says sunscreen. So everyday for the past ten years I slather on an spf 85, just in case. I know most make-up includes spf 15, but really, if it is really the SINGLE MOST IMPORTANT THING then that means 85 is like 5 and a half times better than 15.

Think about.

bad at tennis - excellent at capitalism

raspberry margarita the size of my head, $22
Mariosol's is a restaurant located at the very end of the Santa Monica pier. It is a truly magical place, and one that serves cranium portioned tasty frozen tequila treats.

And no, I did not share.

By this part of the drink I was googling the national anthem of Mexico, so I could give proper respect to Bob's heritage. Also, by this part of the drink, I had named him Bob.

So long Bob. Thanks for the laughs.

fancy box for poo, $120
I was contemplating my big gay show cat the other day. He was engaged in his hygiene routine with laudable attention to detail. It occurred to me that he has very few pleasures in life, what with not having balls and being illiterate. What he does enjoy is a good wallow in a cat box, as evidence when I go on vacation. (Otherwise he uses the actual toilet, but cannot flush.)

Before the last of the cat litter is poured in the box he is digging a hole and making a poo. He's covering the poo up before the dust has settled. He does this whether or not he actually needs to. The strain is comical and somewhat worrisome. Hence, I identified the cat box as one source of joy that I could give Bartleby.

Now keep in mind, I don't futz with poo. Hence a diligent foray into cat feces disposal research ensued. Yes, it was that sort of week. I allowed myself to be led on by the cat genie, which is a sort of stand alone kitty toilet, but after much measurement, with various measuring devices, they all came back saying the same damn thing - won't fit. There was some grieving, but I got back on the horse and found the Lucky Litter Scoop Free Self-Cleaning Litter box.

They had me at "self-cleaning". The box doesn't smell apparently because of fancy, sci-fi poo-dehydrating technology. Additionally, the "cartridges" which are boxes of magical blue litter, need only be replaced once a month. Pull box out, put new box in. I touch the litter box once a month. The end.