liz in la

Meet Montgomery

This is Montgomery clift. He is an ivy. Which, like most of his leafy brethren I've never had particularly good luck with. I rescued him from the swedes. Those odd people with their penchant for modular furniture I feel should not be trusted with plantlife. $3 later I was headed out the door of ikea, responsible for yet another life.

It has become a tradition in my office to wish Montgomery good morning, praise him for new vegetation and say goodnight when we leave.

See? Crazy is contagious.

damn you Oprah

I’m leery of trying anything endorsed by Oprah since that whole House of Sand and Fog debacle.

Here’s how I know I differ from Oprah. When I read a tragic and depressing bit of literature I don’t recommend it to MILLIONS OF PEOPLE. No, I do not. In fact, I’d blog about it, warn the unsuspecting.  The way I see it, Oprah owes me around $500 in Xanax and Vodka costs.

I did, however, enjoy her t-shirt sheet recommendation. Those are cozy.

According to my spam emails, Oprah’s newest campaign is for the magical acai berry. So when I was perusing the refrigerated section of Walgreens and saw an Acai berry drink I thought, why not? It’s purple. I like drinking purple things, like grape vodka, for instance.

Twenty minutes later my entire body was one big itch. It started innocuously enough, a scratch on the ankle, a little itchy at the back of the neck and then the next thing I knew flaying my skin off with a deboning knife seemed the only logical, rational solution to my skin problem. The skin problem being that I’m covered in it and it all itched.

Thirty minutes later, covered in calomine lotion and near overdosed on benadryl, one thing became blindingly clear -- I’m hideously allergic to acai berries. Thanks Oprah!

one bad sexual encounter...where does this come from?!

I’ve mentioned my struggle with bitch tourettes. Bitch tourettes is an incurable and oft inappropriate truth telling. It can strike anywhere with anyone, any person really, cashier, policeman, boss or even an attractive man with whom I would potentially like to have naughty, naughty sex. These, for the most part, are nice people. Normal, going about their day, average, unsuspecting people. They don’t deserve it.

It’s as if I consciously look at them, and think to myself “how can I make this person unutterably uncomfortable? What is the MOST inappropriate thing someone could say right now? And what is the optimal voice level for maximum discomfort?” It’s as if I’ve leveled them in the sites of my malevolent gaze and decide to unleash wrath, rain down insults, skewer them with my judgments. When in fact, that is not me at all. The uninfected part of my brain wants to cuddle them, share French fries, drink cocoa whilst wrapped in blankets in comfortable cushioned seats on a veranda, perhaps pet puppies and make vegan chocolate pudding cake for them in my crockpot.

Instead, the bitch tourettes takes over my body, like a hapless marionette I say the following:

Attractive man at bar asks me my name…

I’m Liz. What’s your name?

Mark.

Liz & Mark. We have the whitest names in the history of white people. We’re one bad sexual encounter away from a white picket fence.

I said this. Just rolled off my tongue. Yes it did. But was I finished? Oh no. Because somewhere in the tourettes affected part of my brain, I KNEW there was more damage to be done here.

So you moved here a year ago? Why? Don’t say to be an actor.

What’s wrong with actors?

Oh God. They’re all self-involved, weight obsessed, under-educated people who need attention and validation from strangers.

Silence…

Oh God. You’re an actor aren’t you?

Yes.

I’m awesome. Now if I could only find a way to make money from this unholy gift.

things one should NOT say on dates

ME: "I’m going to continue to ask you questions. Because you should not be allowed to monologue. It’s bad."

Outcome: we made out

 -----

HIM: "If you weren’t an art director, what would you rather be doing?"

ME: "Married wealthy and living on a yacht."

Outcome: he asked for my number and bought another round

------

ME: "Those glasses are good, they make you look smarter than you actually are."

Outcome: asked for my number, bought me a drink

-----

HIM: "Evolution has been completely circumvented by civilization."

ME: "Yes, but I think it’s a good thing that we don’t leave the deformed and retarded babies out in the forest to die.  Now allowing them to breed, I don’t think that’s such a good idea."

Outcome: bought me dinner and asked me out again.

 ---------

Still, I think we can see this is a lesson in what not to say. 

add it to the list of undateables

This is just too good a conversation to go undocumented.

The scene: Labor Day BBQ

Our host mentioned that a couple male guests were running late due to the fact that they were dove hunting. All female guests either chocked or set their forks down, eyes wide with horror.

When the hapless hunter showed he was immediately questioned about his whereabouts.

You were really hunting doves?

Yes.

Do you take your shotgun to weddings, just in case?

They're not the white doves. They're brown.

Oh. So you're a racist dove killer.

because the world is an incubator of bacteria and viruses

As I child I had a great number of irrational fears-- heights, enclosed spaces, escalators and geese to name a few. I still dislike geese, but this rarely presents a problem in Los Angeles. I've outgrown all of these fears, save geese, but have developed a new one. I'm a bit of a germaphobe. This was pointed out to me this weekend along with the fact that when I'm drunk I tend to stand on one foot, much like a crane or a flamingo.

I do not share my drinks. Unless I'm tongue kissing the person and then I feel the damage is already done. I would rather not brush my teeth if someone else has used my toothbrush. Many people do not engage in casual sex because of emotional maturity and dignity. I do not engage in casual sex because I look at the man in question and ask myself, "Is he worth herpes?" And the answer is invariably "no". If I deem you are worth a potentially itchy and unpleasant venereal disease then you are indeed, special to me. I'm a romantic.

I'm not an obsessive hand washer. I am not an obsessive housekeeper. I do however, open bathroom doors with paper towels so as not to touch the doorknob. On airplanes I tuck my face into my shirt or sleeve to try to filter the airborne pestilence. I keep forgetting to buy one of those carbon air filters that you can hang around your neck. I'm not too proud to wear it. Believe me.

I do not drink out of plastic cups because they are porous and very likely leaching toxic chemicals into my body which would invariably lead to the death cancer.

At the grocery store today the cashier was wearing rubber gloves and blowing her nose, then holding the used tissue in one be-gloved hand as she scanned items and made change. I changed registers.

I glare at nose pickers. I glare at people who cough in restaurants.

But here's where I'm complicated, or hypocritical, I will share a joint that has been smoked by multiple people, often people I do not know. Granted, I try to limit the amount of surface area that touches my lips, yet... I see this is odd behavior.

In short, I still consider myself a well-adjusted individual. But God help me if I ever get stuck on an elevator with a goose who has a cold.

wounded gazelle

I ran the Nike 10k human race in downtown LA on Sunday night. My foot is stress fractured and I'd arrived home from Vegas hungover and sleep deprived just four hours earlier. My time was not awesome, but I ran all of those six miles.

Essentially, 10,000 white people converged on downtown LA, all dressed in the same shirt and all listening to ipods. Then we ran in a herd through the hood. At any point I could have stopped running and approached the hardworking entrepreneurs on sidewalks and steps and scored some street drugs. This is not a convenience available in my neighborhood. Unfortunately, I was not carrying any cash. I often fail to plan ahead.

Along the route were children sitting on stoops and climbing fences, their eyes wide with wonder at the herd of white folk running down their street in the middle of the night. I daresay it was surreal and spectacular.

At the end of the race we took off our headphones and were treated to a concert by Common and Kanye West. There were fireworks. It was an odd experience.

The highlight of the evening was when Trilby realized that the bag check line was about two hours long. She declined to play that game, cut directly to the front of the line, verbally subjugated the authority-less security guard and successfully retrieved our stuff. Was it fair? Of course not.

Am I proud? You have no idea.

my tivo is a gay republican

I just flipped off my television. Saluted it with my freakishly long middle finger.

I've long been mystified by my tivo's sentience in regards to the undirected recording of reruns of Will & Grace and Queer Eye. Clearly my tivo (Harvey) is gay. But I did not know he was also a Republican.

Tonight I got home to find my tivo mysteriously on PBS recording the Republican National Convention. And what did my horrified eyes behold but Judas himself, Lieberman, invoking the sacred name of Bill Clinton in favorable comparison with John McCain. Then theRepubicans clapped. The horror. The confusion. It will rain frogs any moment.

Mark my words.

not disappointed

I was lured to Vegas this weekend on the premise that they had an entire river of vodka. And loose men.
I was not disappointed. Friday night Em & I & an unnamed accomplice made the sin pilgrimage to Vegas.

Friday we got in really late so we just went right to sleep (right after I had three drinks, danced my ass off and sang the lyrics to girls just want to have fun at Nine Fine Irishmen) Free drinks scored: 4 Bedtime 4:30AM

Saturday we found a chapel, prayed to Jesus for a few hours, then split a milkshake and were in bed by 10PM. 

Ummmmm, no. I can't divulge too many details except to say that there was kissing and underwear models involved. Free drinks scored: 11 (I shared with my girls) Bedtime 5:20AM

Thank you Las Vegas. You are fabulous validation.

Dear Jesus,

I know we need to talk. But I'm giving you a few days to cool down.

Love,
Liz

I demand a DNA test

I love my Grandpa.

"I'm not doing so well," was how my Grandfather began our last conversation. I like that he's now acknowledged that he may well be out of time, therefore eschewing niceties like "hello". And in a stunning surprise he also skipped right over our typically lengthy discussion of rainfall, humidity and barometric pressure.

"You're old," I replied.

"Too old," he agreed. "I can't walk anymore."

"Are you drunk?"

"No, I don't drink," and here he chuckled a bit in acknowledgment of my desperate attempt at frivolity.

"I know you don't drink, I'm suggesting you should start. Can't hurt anything."

"Well, you're probably right."

"What you need is a mobility scooter, a bottle of vodka and a carton of cigarettes. I bet you could drive around town and not get pulled over."

"I already have a hoveround scooter," and here, in his voice, just a little, was subtle pride.

"Great. So all you need is the vodka and cigarettes."

--abrupt change of subject--

"They told me I had Parkinsons. Now they tell me I don't. I didn't much believe them when they told me I had it so I wasn't very surprised when they told me I didn't."

--abrupt change of subject--

"I don't much care for the neighbor's dog. He craps in my yard."

--abrupt change of subject--

"I don't like that Obama. He's a liar. And he's black. I don't trust those blacks. Except Tiger Woods. I'd vote for Tiger Woods. He's a good guy."

And then I hung up the phone and poured myself a big glass of potato juice. And pondered why 18 year olds can't drink, but they still let my 90 year old grandfather vote.