Twenty lives to live.

Okay! Jeez! I'll update! Man oh man.

Friday, 4/21 - Gina and I go separate ways and party with friends. She parties with Courtney, I party with some people from work. After 2 and a half dirty martinis for Gina, and about six glasses of wine for me, we somehow make it home at about 2:30 in the morning. Don't worry, we had a designated driver - Courtney was sober and drove Gina home and picked me up on the way.

Saturday, 4/22 - Scheduled Poppy reserve visit. Guests: Elizabeth & Nate, Lisa & Allyson, Gina & myself. Now, my friend Elizabeth at work promised there'd be poppies as far as the eye could see. We drove to Lancaster to the "Poppy Reserve," and there wasn't a poppy in sight. None. Turns out, poppies are pretty smart flowers and close upon themselves when it's cold, windy, or nighttime. Gina and I were nursing powerful hangovers and sporting flip flops for the 50 degree weather, and we wanted to see some damn poppies! The park ranger told us we could go about four miles down the road to see some poppies, so we went to what we called the Four Mile Away place. It was cold, it was insanely windy, but we did get to see some cool poppies.





I'm telling you: WINDY:



Elizabeth, who is a very cute wife of a very cute husband, and who insists on baking delicious cakes and pies once a week, has earned the nickname Cupcake. Cupcake wasn't so pleased when we kept teasing her about there being no poppies at the Poppy Reserve.



We managed to make it out of the day alive. Gina fell asleep at 7pm that night, and I stayed up, writing. Obviously not for my blog, but for actual money! Yay! Writing for money!

4/23 - Farmer's Market.

Truthfully, these pictures are from when we went to the Farmer's market a couple weeks ago, but whatever.





We also went to a meditation class on Sunday, which was really interesting, except all I kept thinking about was the fact that if I truly get rid of all of the negative energy in my soul, I will cease to be funny. I'd rather be miserable and funny than happy and boring. *shrug* I never said I was a Buddhist.

April 24th started one of the busiest weeks of my life at work, and that, coupled with the writing-for-money thing, has left me little to no "free time."

I have been meaning to post some pics of the dogs we've dog-sat over the past month. We stayed a week at Courtney's place with Sassy and Stanley:

Sassy:


Stanley:


It rained a lot that week, which Stanley did not approve of:


We also dog-sat a little malti-poo named Friday, who we spoiled just as much as their moms do. Friday is an interesting dog and had really interesting toys:

Here's Friday with a stuffed pug:


Here's Friday with a stuffed pig:


And here's Friday with her two weirdest toys, a baby doll and a dead Halloween hand:


Those one in the last photo are seriously her favorite toys. Those and a Cher doll that is kept upstairs in her moms' room.

As far as writing-for-money, I tend to get distracted while working, and I start to take pictures, like these two, taken while sitting at our kitchen table:






Tonight, Frank and Karen bring little Giovanni down for a visit. Then we have a wild party tomorrow night, followed hopefully by the Ashes and Snow exhibit on Sunday.

There you go. An update! I never promised it'd be cohesive...

Accountability

I remember learning in a psychology class about the tendency of the eldest child in a family to be an over-achiever, a perfectionist, a pleaser. If there is tension in the family, the eldest child will often do everything she can to ease the tension - sometimes, this attempt comes in the form of mediator. The eldest doesn't take sides... she solves the argument. Obviously, this can lead to conflicting thoughts and a lifelong tendency to steer clear of any escalated conflict. Nip it in the bud before there's even time to think about it. A pattern which seems to be emotionally more destructive is one where the eldest gets it into her head that if she's the best she can be, she will provide a necessary distraction to the crumbling of her family. So when she gets something less than an A, she finds other ways to excel. In this instance, she receives so much praise from everyone, no one is bothering to notice there's a problem anywhere. This will be good for her college entrance tests, but down the road, she'll quickly realize she can't solve everything by being good at something. This in turn will make her realize that being good at something might not matter as much as it used to, because who cares? No one's paying attention, and the rewards, if any, are not tangible enough to seek.

My family's interesting because there are essentially two oldest children. My sister Jessie was 9 when I started college. Once I started college, she effectively became the oldest. It's undeniable to anyone that knows Jessie and knows me that she and I have remarkably similar personalities. She's been a mediator her whole life. For whatever reason, Jessie deals with stress better than I ever have. She doesn't worry nearly as much as I do... she's much more calm. Still, she's not someone who will stand idly by while there's a problem. She's more strong-headed than I am, more inclined to argue her point, but when it comes down to it, she doesn't like when people aren't getting along, and she tries to fix it.

And of course, there is my sister Jackie, who is two years younger than Jessie. Her whole life, she has been this brilliant girl, consistently pulling good grades, always interested in learning. There's a contradiction in her life, however, which I imagine must be wholly tumultuous for her. As my mom puts it, she has a "wild streak." And there is no taming it. She's been a constant source of worry for me and my mom, and now for Jessie. She has so much potential, maybe more than Jessie and I combined, but she has no idea how to harness it. She's the one we've all been watching out for, the one we've all banded together to make sure she makes it into adulthood without getting herself into unnecessary trouble. This girl could change the world if she wanted to, and she needs guidance in making that opportunity a possibility.

There has been structural problems in my family for as long as I can remember. I know this is no different from any other family. My parents made the mistake of raising three really smart kids, kids that can only put up with so much bullshit that they dish. It's come to my attention that the structural problems are beyond repair, and that the house will surely fall. And now Jessie finds herself caught in the middle, playing the role of college student, sister, mediator, and now mother to our 17 year old sister. It's a role I played many times for the two of them while I was still living at home, but I had hoped Jessie would be spared that responsibility. Apparently not.

So now, the mediator lives across the country. But I still have the feeling that it's my responsibility to fix everything. Do I move back to Ohio for a year while Jackie finishes school? Unlikely. Do I move Jackie out here so she can finish school here? She'll never go for it. All I can do is make my voice heard, and for the first time, hand off the responsibility of fixing the problem to the only person who has ever been truly able to fix it: my mom.

Prodigal

I have a secret.

Well, it's not really a secret, since almost everyone that is close to me knows this about me. But it's largely a secret on this widely-read blog. And that secret is, I used to be super, super religious. And conservative, although I didn't really know what that meant when I touted myself as such. (Conservative in the literal sense of the word, not in the political sense.)

I attended The First Presbyterian Church in Hubbard, Ohio regularly from the time I was about six years old. In high school, I joined a youth group at a Pentecostal (evangelical) church. I was lucky enough to experience two very different denominations of Christianity. They gave me a good balance at the time.

When I stopped ignoring that fact that I'd been having feelings for girls for years, I stopped going to church. Presbyterians don't really shove anything down your throat other than love and respect for your neighbor, and for God. Pentecostals, on the other hand, are very quick to give you a reference list of things that are wrong: abortion, homosexuality, etc. Presbyterians spend a lot of time telling you what you CAN do to worship God: live a good life, volunteer, donate, be respectful, love. Pentecostals spend a lot of time telling you what you CANNOT do if you intend to worship God: no premarital sex, no homosexual feelings, no masturbation, etc, etc. Of course, I didn't realize the vast differences between the churches at the time. At the time, all I could think of was that I was gay, and being gay is wrong, and therefore, I'm not welcome at church. Any church.

As I've gotten older, and have become more open to learning about other religions and other faiths, church has become a completely different experience for me. I guess you could say I've become more spiritual than religious. This has allowed my church-going experience to change from obligation to privilege. When I go to church now, I'm flooded with emotion; my spirituality washes over me. Everything about church makes me feel something, and usually I spend the first half of the service with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. This started happening after I'd been away from church for a long time, and went to the 1st Presbyterian Church of Hollywood for the first time on an Easter Sunday five years ago. Since then, church has always had this affect on me. Every time I'm in a church: for a wedding, for a baptism, for just a regular service. I'm consistently overwhelmed. I have had trouble explaining this. Was it simply nostalgia? Was I reminded of my life as a church-going kid? Or was it God, happy to have me back if only for an hour once a year?

Gina and I went to church on Easter this year, and I realized why I keep coming back to this faith that my intellectual mind tells me is so improbable. I realized why it's emotional for me. It's definitely part nostalgia, thinking about everything that Easter used to be: frilly dresses, white gloves, the Easter bunny, finding hidden Easter baskets, dyeing Easter eggs, going on Easter egg hunts. More likely, it's the memory of what it felt like to actually have a relationship with God. No matter how unhappy I was in school or home, I had a constant relationship with God, one where I trusted Him to steer me in the right direction, to keep me and my family safe. It's a very crude comparison to make, but it's like going back to an ex you know you're still in love with. It's an undeniable and familiar comfort, and it's overwhelming.

But above all of this, it's the recognition and remembrance that, at it's core, Christianity is a religion of love. There is nothing more important to the fundamental beliefs of a true Christian than love. This gets lost all too often in so many sects of Christianity, but this past Sunday, when I walked into that church, that's all I could feel was love. I didn't feel judged or exiled. Instead I felt welcomed and appreciated.

All of this led to a feeling of home that is sometimes hard to find in a city that never stops to let you breathe. And I think this is the purpose of all of the great religions, to give you a sense of love, a sense of self, a sense of perspective, and a sense of home.

Love

Text from Gina:

"I recorded Ellen for you today. Catherine Keener is on."

Visiting

Today's one of those days at work where I feel like I should be called a firefighter and not a producer. I came in to an inbox full of fires that needed extinguishing, and that never makes me happy.

Last night, we dropped Gina's friend Lisa off at LAX so she could make her trek back to Cleveland. She's been our treehouse guest for the past four or five days. She's a librarian and she's cool, which is a rare find.



On her first day here, we naturally took her to Hollywood Boulevard to see the stars on the sidewalk and the hustle and bustle of Downtown Hollywood. This area used to be rather ghetto, but since they've put the Kodak Theater in there to house the Oscars (and now the Emmys, I'm hearing), it's sort of turned into a Times Square sort of place. Very touristy, very busy, still a little ghetto, but rather safe. Among the great history you see at the corner of Hollywood and Highland, there's also a lot of consumerism: Gap, Banana Republic, American Eagle, Sephora, etc.

As we passed the Gap, Lisa quietly asked, "Um, can we go in there?"

We went in and as soon as we entered, Lisa exclaimed, "Look, that mannequin is copying me!!"



Lisa was happy to know her fashion sense was the standard at the Hollywood Gap.

One year later...

My friend Kim's son Kyle was born a year ago yesterday. Kyle's not just another friend's kid. I feel a strong connection with this boy because I witnessed him making his grand entrance onto the world's stage. I jumped at the chance to be in the delivery room when Kim asked. There were three of us in the delivery room cheering Kim on - Kim's husband Stewart, Kim's friend from college Lisa, and myself. I think to this day the three of us feel greatly responsible for coaching Kim through birth. Kyle was born a little after 3pm on a Sunday, right on time, with a wail and a shock of black hair:



This was definitely the coolest, most amazing experience of my life.

As kids tend to do, Kyle has grown. A lot. We celebrated his birthday this past weekend. I wish I could've snapped a good shot of his eyes, which are like little pools of oil, deep set in his fair, chubby little face.



He got a sandbox for his birthday. Here he is, workin' the shovel:



Happy Birthday, Kyle!! Now you can have peanut butter!

Quarantine.

I'm sick. Being sick is for chumps.

Road trip #5,617 to the Bay Area.

Gina and I dated long distance... for a long time. It was lame. But during that time, we were lucky (?) enough to master the route from Los Angeles to San Francisco and back. Now, we're happy that we're both in the same city, and it's great that we don't have to make that trip anymore by ourselves, but really, we're over that road trip. Like... for real.

To spice things up a bit this past trip up there, we rented a car. Truthfully, we needed a bigger car to transport her parents, who were visiting the bay area from Ohio, back with us to Los Angeles. I did the responsible thing and rented a full sized car. When we got to Enterprise, the gentleman with the one-size-too-large-suit and tousled hair said, "You know, we're running low on this sized car... I can upgrade you cheaply, if you're interested."

Gina and I looked at each other. "Let's see what you got," I said.

We ended up renting THIS, for $31.00 a day (normally no less than $70 a day).



This picture doesn't fully tell you how big this Xterra is. It's huge. Gina and I are such SUV haters, but we sure didn't hesitate when we saw this little hush puppy sitting in the parking lot waiting for us. My car, a Chevy Cavalier, gets about 350 miles per tank, highway driving. This car gets the same. The difference: my Cavalier has a 13 gallon tank. The Xterra has an 18 gallon tank. We didn't care. The car had 2800 miles on it, it was bigger than almost everything else on the road, and it had a V6 ENGINE. We were in heaven. Mostly because I looked at Gina and could picture her driving a car like that with our kids in the back seat fighting. It made me happy.

Okay, on to the important part of the trip.

Giovanni was born a month ago on March 2, 2006. You can see his pictures from then on my March 8th post, which I would link for you but the post doesn't have a unique link, which is just one more reason I need to learn HTML and design my own freakin' page. Anyway, here is the perfect little boy... warning to any of you who have a baby and are thinking about having another one (you know who you are): this post alone might get you pregnant:
















(Click on the photos to go to Flickr, where there are a few more.)

Giovanni's dad (Gina's brother) Frank lives in the bay area with his wife Karen. Also in town for this weekend was Gina's brother Brian. I got the three of them to stand next to each other as more crazy DNA evidence. Brian wouldn't smile, though... but if he had, you'd see he looks exactly like Gina:





On our last day there, we went to this incredible Farmer's Market that Frank and Karen used to take us to when I would visit. It's in Mountain View. They have samosas and cappuccino covered almonds. Can you ask for anything more? How about some big ass "organic" strawberries?



Or how about a cute girl to shove a whole one in her mouth?



I got both.

What are they thinking?!

Meredith Vieira as the new co-host of the Today show?! Are you fucking kidding me right now?

Hopefully her contract will prohibit her from speaking.

Dormir.

I'm someone that could go to bed at 9:30pm and not think twice. I would have no problem falling asleep, and I could sleep until the alarm rang in the morning, and I would still hate getting up. I love sleep. I love being warm, and I love my bed.

Through several scientific experiments, I realized I don't function well on this much sleep. It's too much. I have found that if I stay up until 11 or 11:30, I have a much easier time getting out of bed, and I'm tired for much less of the following day. I forget about this trick, though, because when 10:15 rolls around and I'm still awake, I start to crave my bed.

Last night, I decided to force myself to stay awake until 11, at the earliest. Meanwhile, Gina fell asleep at 8:30 on the couch, so I was left to my own devices. I cleaned. A lot. I mean... I only cleaned the kitchen, but since we haven't been there for basically two and a half weeks, and hadn't really cleaned it for a month, it really needed it. I woke Gina up and told her to go take a shower. She said okay, read a little bit, and a few minutes later, I looked at her and she was sleeping again. (She had to take her parents to the airport at 5:30 in the morning yesterday.) I continued cleaning, but once 9:30 hit, I could feel myself wanting to go to sleep. But no! I didn't. I finally cracked a current issue of The New Yorker - I'm only about two months behind.

I woke Gina up again. "Do you want some tea?" She said yes, so I made us some tea. I placed it near her and woke her up; "Here's your tea."

I go back to the kitchen and continue reading. Then I decide I'm going to mess around with iPhoto on my computer, since all of you (read: KTP) are asking for new photos of our nephew Giovanni. I figured I'd finally put all of my pictures from my digital camera on to the computer, organize them, color correct them (as much as I know how to, which is hitting the "enhance" button on iPhoto), and then bring my computer to work and share them with you. It was great. I felt productive.

I looked back at Gina on the couch, and she had fallen back asleep, with her cup of tea sitting untouched.

"Gina!" I shouted. The couch is only about 7 feet from the kitchen table where I was sitting, so she jumped. "Get up and drink your tea, yo!" She started laughing, sat up, and sipped her tea.

I finally put my laptop away, changed into my pajamas, and forced Gina to get off the couch and take a shower. Poor kid, she just couldn't find the energy to do it, she was so tired. I went to bed proud of myself for making it to 11. I even read a little bit in bed! It was incredible!

This morning, it felt good to wake up. I was getting ready, putting all of my stuff together, right next to the computer so that I wouldn't forget it. I remembered my cowboy hat for Patrick. I remembered my bill for my subscription renewal for The New Yorker. However, I was halfway up Wilton Avenue before I realized I had forgotten the computer.

And in an instant, all of my productivity from the night before vanished.

I'll be asleep by 9:30 tonight, I'm sure of it.

Today's lesson.

Here's another fantasically amazing lesson for everyone:

Always hold people accountable, and let them know you're doing so. This is how you let them know: say something like, I trust your judgment in this matter. That way, it's implied that you think highly of this person, and if something goes wrong, you will be disappointed in them, and you will blame them.

Takes the blame off of you! It's a great party trick.

Today's lesson.

Here at It's Katie, everybody!, we think lifelong learning is mandatory. We think the human race should learn valuable lessons each and every day. We also think every lesson is valuable.

Therefore, we're introducing a new segment. Actually, this will be the first "segment" of any regularity in this space. The segment is, for now, called Today's Lesson. I hope to come up with something a little more interesting than this, but this does the trick nicely, I think.

Today's Lesson:

It's really just all around easier to be a bitch, especially when it comes to work. You have a job to do, you can't possibly please everyone, therefore, embrace your latent bitchiness and use it to make your life easier. You'll be better at your job! You might even get a fat raise, or at least a thumbs up from your colleagues!



Yay!

I guess there is a lesson in this for us all.

I think...

So um... I think lesbian comic Suzanne Westenhoefer is stalking me. First she shows up at Cedars when I'm getting my foot x-rayed three months ago. Then she shows up this morning at The Griddle Cafe. Man, I wish she could be more discreet. It's kind of embarrassing for both of us.

DNA

I've always been kind of fascinated with DNA - how kids can look JUST like their mom, or be a spitting image of their father, so much so that it looks like the other spouse wasn't even in the room when the kid was conceived. Most people tell me I look like my mom. In my face, I see things that are very much my mom's side of the family. Recently, I've realized I have the same shaped smile as my dad.

My sisters are significantly younger than me. Jessie is 19 and Jackie is 17. Still, when I go back to Ohio, my relatives oftentimes mistake me for Jackie. Enough so that they will say hi as if it hasn't been a full year since I'd seen them last. I take this as a compliment. I'm 27 years old and get mistaken for a 17 year old. I'm okay with that.

Whether or not we're spitting images of each other, my sisters and I look remarkably alike, especially as they are getting older. Jackie and I looked the exact same as kids... Jessie, not so much. But now... see for yourself.

This is me. This is my look that unenthusiastically says, "Oh, really." I got new glasses, by the way, so they're not crooked on my face anymore.



This is my sister Jessie, in the blue jacket, making virtually the same face, 2000 miles away:



Here's Jessie and Jackie, in a kind of outdated photo (Jessie's in the sunglasses):



Jackie and I from last summer:



Jackie and I, Christmas 2004:



Happy Friday, everyone. Enjoy your weekend. We're off to see Gioavnni! (And Gina's two brothers, and her mom and dad.)

Celebration.

Welcome home, Jill. I don't know you, or your family, but I am so incredibly glad you are safe.

For those of you who don't speak Spanish, El Compadre means "The Compadre."

Back in my Ohio days, my idea of Mexican food was Chi Chi's and Taco Bell. At Chi Chi's, I'd usually order a "pop" (soda, for the rest of you) just so I could get the complimentary chips and salsa. Or, if my mom had given me a little bit of money, I'd order a virgin daquiri (and get the complimentary chips and salsa). If was an especially special occasion, I'd actually order food, which was usually some sort of fried burrito... NO beans, please. No me gusta frijoles! The servers had no idea what I was talking about.

Even at Taco Bell, the most adventurous thing I'd order back then was a meximelt with no pico... which is essentially beef and melted cheese in a tortilla. (Still my favorite item at Taco Bell.)

My tastebuds were not prepared for the Mexican onslaught they endured once I moved to Los Angeles. One of the first places my first girlfriend took me was El Compadre, whose sign boasts "Authentic Mexican Family Restaurant," or something like that. She raved and raved about this place. My first order: the Vagabundo combo, which was a beef taco and a cheese enchilada with beans and rice. It was 6.95, and it came with rice and beans. Of course, I said, no me gusta frijoles! And they gave me all rice instead.

I was hesitant. It didn't taste like Chi Chi's. And why is this beef shredded? And the salsa, it's so HOT and not CHUNKY. And the chips, they're so thin and greasy! And there's so much of this red sauce on everything. And the taco... this taco shell is NOT what I'd buy at the grocery store. It's warped! And greasy! And WHITE CHEESE on a taco? What about yellow cheese?

I'm not sure I finished my dinner that night, but I'm sure I left drunk off the SIX DOLLAR MARGARITA! Six bucks for a drink! I was amazed. And broke.

When I started going to El Compadre, no one knew about it. There was never a wait. You could get a combo for $6.95. It's in West Hollywood, across from the Guitar Center, near some great Thai restaurants, but it was the best kept secret in LA, as far as I was concerned. I slowly started to like the restaurant more and more, and we quickly became semi-regulars. And I realized, THIS... THIS is Mexican food. And this is one of the first restaurants on Katie's Los Angeles Tour for friends that come visit.

Slowly, however, people started to find out about El Compadre. And today, if you get there after 8pm on ANY day of the week, you can expect to wait an hour. It's quite possibly the best Mexican restaurant in Los Angeles. My friend Wendy has a 4 year old and a 3 year old, and her and her husband and the kids go there every Friday night. They don't even call the restaurant by its proper name, instead referring to it as "Good Guacamole."

Last night, Rachel and I went there at 9pm and were warned we'd wait an hour. We know the whole the-tables-at-the-bar-are-first-come-first-served trick, so we only waited about 20 minutes. And as we were sitting there, we started talking about who we've seen there. You know, famous people. This is a popular game in LA... you're at a restaurant, you recall seeing someone famous at said restaurant, so you tell the story. She remembered seeing Lauren Graham there, I remembered seeing Christina Ricci. Just then, as if on cue, Billy Bob Thornton walked towards the exit with a bunch of friends. Twenty minutes later, Dwight Yoakam walked through in Billy Bob's steps, probably looking for him since they're friends. We also saw Gideon Yago from MTV.

And then I realized. Some stupid entertainment writer probably wrote some stupid article about how they saw Jennifer Aniston there or Adam Brody or Billy Corgan or whoever, and now, it's a hot spot. Also, margaritas are now between 7 and 9 dollars, depending on who takes your order. The same combo we used to order for $6.95 is now $8.95. And the service is starting to not be great. It makes me sad.

I'll still go, especially since the hot waitress knows me and calls me sweetie. Oh, and me gusta friijoles ahora.

I like it!

A List: Things I Used To Dislike But Now Enjoy Immensely, Or Am Starting To Enjoy

1. Avocado/Guacamole.

2. Seafood - this is the biggest surprise to even myself. Shrimp, mahi mahi, lobster, turbot = yummy.

3. Foreign cars.

4. Two very popular slang words for a woman's privates - one begins with a C, one begins with a P.

5. Beer.

6. Tofu.

7. Politics.

8. Medium to large sized dogs: specifically, labs and rotties.

9. The idea of marriage.

10. Running.

A List: Things I Used To Like But No Longer Enjoy

1. Lunchmeat, specifically turkey.

2. White bread (I enjoy white sandwich bread maybe once a year. This doesn't include Italian or French bread, which I still love. When it comes to sandwiches, though, I prefer wheat or rye.)

3. Chemical peanut butter: Skippy, Jiff, Peter Pan, etc.

4. Coffeemate flavored creamer.

5. Keeping my hair cut short.

6. Self-deprecation.

7. Myspace. (I don't hate it enough to stop using it... ha!)

8. Select people from my past.

9. The whole "starving artist" thing.

10. "Survivor."

A List: Things I've Always Hated And Probably Always Will.

1. Mustard.

2. Salmon.

3. The word "monies."

4. Sushi.

5. Lying.

6. Bugs.

7. Black licorice.

8. Summer blockbusters. (Admittedly, this is very much a generalization.)

9. Tequila shots.

10. Flesh eating viruses.

Finally... something that might actually inspire me to write a good short story. Some day.

Last night, Gina and I went to dinner with Patrick and his parents, who are visiting from Ohio. Patrick and Gina and I all went to Hubbard High School together. Patrick's father was Gina's confirmation teacher at St. Patrick's Catholic Church in Hubbard. Patrick's mother was a high school English teacher at Hubbard High for about 35 years, during which she had all three of us as students at one point or another. Incidentally, my mother was also a student of hers 32 years ago. Anyway, we were excited to have five Hubbard folks, chatting about the tiny town we call home.

Along with our dinner plans, we were committed to housesitting for Gina's friend Courtney who has two small dogs, one of which is a five month old puppy. Gina met Courtney, a cool spunky photography student at UCLA, while Gina was living with me in my old apartment... Courtney lives in the same building.

Before leaving for dinner, I double checked (as I often do) that I had everything I needed. One item on the checklist was and always is my wallet. I looked in my bag... I did not have it. Knowing full well I did not take it out of my bag after work, I figured I had left it at work, which meant a trip back to the valley to look for it before the night was out. This did not make me happy.

We left with only Gina's wallet, and I began thinking quickly. I called the office... luckily, someone was still working, and he was nice enough to go upstairs and check my desk for my wallet.

"It's not here."

I hated hearing those words.

We ate dinner, I tried to put it out of my mind. After dinner, we went back to our apartment, and I checked the whole apartment for the wallet. Nothing. I checked my car. Nothing. I checked my bag for the fifth time. Nothing. I drove to work at 9:30pm last night. Looked all around my desk. In every drawer. Nothing.

I had only two glimmers of hope: someone found it and turned it into the front desk. This was unlikely because our company is smallish and everyone pretty much knows everyone else, and if someone HAD found it, they would have put it in my desk. My other thought was that I may have left it at It's Coffee Time, even though I knew 100 percent that I did NOT take it there that morning. I was just trying to set my mind at ease, all the while unable to STOP mentally listing all of the things that were in the wallet: driver's license, insurance card, Costco card, credit cards, social security card, $30.00...

On my way home from work at 10:00pm, I called my old roommate to see if I could share her parking space, and to let her know I was going to be in the building for a week, puppy sitting. (Her parking space was full, so to add on to my crappy night, I had to find parking. In Hollywood. Boo.)

I parked the car and was extremely frustrated. I got to Courtney's and moped while Gina watched TV. Admittedly, the puppies cheered me up (I'll post pics next week). Gina also cheered me up, just by reminding me that the problem was fixable. Annoying, but fixable. I went to bed at 11pm, mainly so that I could stop thinking about it.

At 12:30am, my cell phone rang. I refused to get out of bed to get it, but Gina pointed out it might be an emergency. I went to get it and listened to the new voice mail. It was my roommate. She sounded really... weird.

"Hi... Katie... Um... Can you call me back?... I have something of yours. I have... your wallet." Then, to someone else, she said, "Yeah, uh huh, okay... thanks." Back to me. "Call me in the morning and you can come get it."

I called her right back. She had called me because she wanted to be on the phone with someone when she answered the door. Turns out, a guy came to her door smelling of alcohol, looking for "Kathy." Once she heard voices of neighbors in the hallway, she felt comfortable opening the door. He handed my wallet to her, telling her he found it, and he took some money out of it, and he apologized. He gave my roommate his address, saying that I should write to him if I wanted the money back, that he felt really bad that he took it and spent it, and he wished he could apologize to me in person.

My immediate thought was, how did this guy get this wallet from my OFFICE and why the hell did he bring it to Hollywood from the valley at 12:30am? Then I saw that his address was an address a few blocks away from where Gina and I live, and I realized it must've fallen out of my bag when I got out of the car after work yesterday.

Obviously, I'm not going to write to this guy asking for my money back, which I'm estimating was about $25, maybe $30 (he left three dollar bills in the wallet). He needs the money more than I do. It was just a weird set of Lynchian circumstances, and I still can't believe that the guy made it all the way across Hollywood to return a wallet.

I'm grateful, and humbled.

Swinger

Most of you know I'm from Ohio. Most of you also know that Ohio cost the Democrats the election in 2004. Ohio is what we call a "swing state." Basically, in elections, Ohio is an unpredictable bitch. She went red in the last 2 elections, but not by very much. And I think there's some crazy statistic that no president has ever won without winning Ohio. Tangentially, I blame this on the fact that Ohio is a mix between midwest and east coast... not quite in the middle of the country, and only six hours from the Atlantic Ocean.

A story out of Youngstown (which is the closest major city to where I grew up, and also the city where I went to college) was brought to my attention last night involving one of my favorite Democrats, Robert Hagan. I'm partial to him because I know him... I worked for his wife in the Youngstown State University Theater Department, and I also babysat his children on several occasions. He's a state senator who made an unsuccessful bid for governor a few years back.

Read the story here. Trust me, it's worth the click.

Irony?

I've been having a year long debate with myself over what irony really is. I gave up on asking Alanis to define it for me, because she sure as hell doesn't know. And I think I may have found a good example, right here on this very blog.

In my previous post, I aired what I see as some of my own inadequacies with my blog and my writing, in the form of a story where a friend inadvertently compared myself and another blogger. I mentioned how I don't like soliciting compliments from people.

The irony is that in doing so, in the telling of this story, I have solicited compliments; reassurances, if you will. This was unintentional. While I enjoy compliments as much as the next person, I apologize to my vast sea of readers* for unintentionally "seeking out" validation. In the same breath, I thank those of you who have said nice things to me about my blog and my writing, and I appreciate every comment every person leaves on here, nice or otherwise.

This, my friends, is irony. I think.



*This, however, is sarcasm.

You'd think I never even bought a digital camera.

I had wild fantasies that once I bought a digital camera, my blog would be full of amazing pictures. I carry my little camera with me everywhere, waiting for the perfect photo op to arise. Alas... not only is my blog severely lacking fun pictures, I'm not even updating it.

For the record, I keep this blog because it's the only way I'll write with any frequency or regularity. Notice, I haven't updated since last Friday.

I'm thinking about pretending like I have a baby, because really, that's when the humor starts. I thought it was just me who loved reading the mommy blogs, but I've experienced two instances in the past month of people who share my view. One is my friend Amy, who is celebrating her 26th birthday today - HAPPY FREAKING BIRTHDAY AMY. On her blog... you know, the secret one she didn't tell me about for months... she posted an entry about this very thing. I'd link it, but she has since deleted it. She talked about how she wanted to have a baby just so she could blog about it.

And then, last night, we played Euchre with Lisa and Allyson (one of our two favorite lesbian couples). I think Lisa has a consistent dialogue going through her head, because she'll often start talking about something no one else is talking about, in a way that makes you believe that you were talking about it and you just don't remember. Out of the blue, she said, "I read Chara's blog, too." We weren't talking about Chara (cool mom of 2), blogging, or even writing. She continued; "Her blog is really funny."

I never like to make anyone feel uncomfortable, and I'm not a fan of soliciting compliments, so I nodded. Another person would have said, "OH, so mine's NOT??" But I know Chara's a better writer than I, and indeed, it could be argued her blog is funnier than mine, so I simply agreed.

Of course, Lisa caught herself, and couldn't manage to find her way out: "I mean, yours is funny too..."

I tried to throw her a rope by saying, "No, Chara is a great writer."

She tried to sympathize with me: "It's just that she actually has funny things to write about."

I could do nothing but agree. And mentally plot out the quickest way for me to get pregnant.

And so on.

There are some things you just have to get used to when you move to Los Angeles. And here they are, in no particular order.

1. When people say, "It's so clear out today!" they're not referring to cloud cover, but rather to smog cover. The difference in the look of the city on a normal day versus the day after it rains is mind boggling. Truly.

2. There are a lot of unfortunate, crazy people in the world. And some of those people are homeless. The others are actors.

3. Fifty degrees, indeed, is really, really cold.

4. People aren't always sincere.

5. The traffic is really, really, truly awful. It's no joke.

I've been pretty lucky with number five. I've always had jobs where I'm going against traffic, so I never have more than a half hour commute. Somone threw a wrench into this glory the past three nights... a 12 mile drive, which as mentioned in the sentence before this one, normally takes 30 minutes has taken me over an hour the past three nights. And for no reason. There are no accidents. There's no construction. It seems as though the population of Los Angeles has literally doubled overnight.

What do I do to combat traffic related stress? I take pictures. While I'm driving. To share with you.

This is on the 101 freeway, where I usually average 55-60mph on the way home.





Still a good four exits from where I need to be...


This is my exit! Yay!



This is my exit ramp. Boo.



I sat on the exit ramp for a little under 10 minutes, so I had time to take these:





The pictures are not perfect on account of it being nighttime, which really makes the flash sort of useless (I hate the flash anyway), and I'm actually inching along in my car during a lot of them. But you get the idea.

Suckfest.

Here's where I remember why I used to love television.

When Survivor first premiered, I didn't understand the premise. I was on the phone with Rachel and she said, "Yeah, it's this show where they leave people on this island and see who survives." In my mind, that meant that, literally, if you made it off the island alive, you won. That was CRAZY to me, and I refused to watch it. I finally tuned in about the sixth episode of the first season, realized it wasn't life or death, and became addicted. (I'm happy to report I've recovered from my Survivor addiction and no longer watch the show.)

My point is, I should have taken that idea and run with it. Island. Survival of the fittest. Death. What does this all add up to?

L O S T.

Gina and I have been meaning to watch this show since she moved here six months ago. We've been meaning to get it on DVD, watch the whole first season, and then catch up on the second season. We kept forgetting about it, until Gina found out Michelle Rodriguez is a cast member. Then it became priority.

Here is a timeline of our weekend:

Friday

5:30am - I wake up for a shoot in Newport Beach.

4:30pm - Text from Gina: "Do you know Michelle Rodriguez is on Lost?"

4:35pm - Text to Gina: "No I didn't... do you want to rent that tonight?"

4:35pm - Text from Gina: "YES PLEASE."

7:30pm - Phone call to Larchmont Blockbuster: "Do you have the 1st season of Lost on DVD? All but the last disc? Great."

7:45pm - We check out discs one and two, each with four episodes. Total: $10.00

8:00pm-12:00am - We watch the first five episodes. We're hooked.

12:00am - I go to bed, after being up since 5:30.

Saturday

12:00am-3:30am - Gina finishes the second three episodes and comes to bed.

9:15am - I wake up. I start watching to catch up with Gina.

12:00pm - We return to Larchmont Blockbuster and rent dics three, four, and five. (Six was checked out) $15.00

12:30pm - 9:15pm - We watch nine episodes. They're about 42 minutes a piece. I leave to go out.

Sunday

1:00am - I come home, Gina's still watching. She won't turn it off, I don't want to see anything I've missed, so I leave, take a nap in my car, and come back upstairs about 1:45. She's finished all of the discs.

2:00am - We go to bed.

9:30am - 2:00pm - We run errands: farmer's market, grocery shopping, and a quest to find the last disc at a Blockbuster. No one has it. I call Rachel. She's burned it, we can borrow it. We pick it up at 2.

2:00pm - 6:45pm - We go home, I catch up and watch the remaining episodes.

6:45pm - We put Rachel's disc six in. It doesn't work.

6:50pm - I hook up a different DVD player, hoping that'll work. It doesn't.

7:15pm - We buy the first season of Lost on DVD at Target for $51.99 + tax, which brings our grand total of money spent on this show to nearly $80.00.

7:45pm - 12:00am - We watch the remaning four episodes, the last of which is an hour and a half long.

Monday

12:00am - 1:00am - We watch the L Word, which was a really dramatic episode but seemed like sitcom after Lost.

11:30am - I find out I can download ALL OF THE SECOND SEASON (so far) from iTunes. I download the premiere, but hold off on the other ones because Rachel promises she can hook me up.

7:00pm - Gina comes home sick. I give her Advil, a massage, and tell her she should sleep.

9:00pm - Gina's still not awake, and I can't wait any longer. I watch the season premiere on my laptop.

Gina ended up sleeping straight through until morning, and finally, the 26 hours of creepy TV caught up with me and I had a horrible nightmare. And still, all I can do is think about when Rachel will have the rest of season 2 to give me on DVD. I'm hoping for Thursday.

Upon further inspection...

Remember how my service light came on? I went to a mechanic across the street from where I work and left my car there for the day so good old Ralph could check her out. I went to pick her up at the end of the day and he gave me the following estimate:

ELECTRONIC IGNITION (MINOR) - Tune - (Includes: Check compression. Clean or replace spark plugs an air cleaner. Inspect and/or replace distributor cap and rotor. Inspect ignition cables. Adjust ignition timing and idle speed.)
Total: $119.00

(Additional time) - Where cruise control interferes.
Add: $25.50

(Combination) FUEL FILTER - Remove and replace.
Total: $17.00

SPARK PLUG WIRE SET - Remove and replace - Includes: Test wires.
Total: $59.50

Total parts: $148.07
Total labor: $221.00
Tax: $12.22

Total: $381.29

He also wrote in pen: Engine oil and filter; Transmission service.

This information was based on what my manual says needs to be done after a certain mileage. That is, he couldn't find anything wrong with the car, so he just told me what I should do. First of all, I don't have cruise control. Secondly, about 2 weeks ago, I got an oil change and my transmission serviced. Apparently he couldn't pick up on any of that by "checking out" my car.

Upon a further inspection of the car by me and Gina (mostly Gina), we realized the what was causing the service light to come on. Turns out, the estimate should have looked like this:

Passenger side headlight needs replaced.
Cost: Less than $30.00.

Why I Don't Trust Ticketmaster

The subject line of their latest email to me:

"Don't miss Cats."

Finally

My little Canon Sure Shot 35mm camera broke a few weeks ago. I turned it in to a camera shop Monday the 27th, and they promised they'd call within a week to tell me how much it'd be to fix it. In the young fella's words, "It can be definitely fixed, it's just a matter of whether or not it's worth it." Yeah. The camera's about two years old, and the damn latch on the film door broke.

Usually, I'd be okay waiting for my camera to be fixed, but on March 2, they still hadn't looked at it, and on that same day, Gina's brother and his wife had a baby. We decided we'd leave the next day to go see the new little boy. And me without a camera. Can you imagine?

So what do I do? The only practical thing there is to do. I go to Target on my lunch break on Friday and buy a little Canon Power Shot A520. You are now witnessing me moving into the digital age, dear readers, as this is my very first digital camera. I'm still partial to film, and I'll get my film camera fixed if it's not too expensive, but boy howdy do I love this new little camera. It hasn't left my side since Friday.

Now that I have that out of the way, I'd like to discuss some stuff. And of course, I have visual aides. Yessss.

First and foremost, after three adorable nieces, Gina finally has a nephew! His name is Giovanni Paolo. As my friend Wendy said when she heard the name, Viva la Roma!

Here he is, looking all pink and rosy thanks to the soft focus feature on my lovely little camera:



Gina kept calling me Uncle Katie, but the truth is, if anyone's the uncle, it's Gina. Giovanni can't really figure it out, though...



On our way home, we hit a huge rain storm:





A day after we got back, following several weeks of me cautiously talking about how well my car has been behaving, I was greeted to this:



GRRR.

In other news, I went out to dinner last night with some friends at The Abbey, which is a gay boy hot spot in West Hollywood. Whenever my group of friends and I see a girl who is most likely gay, or a group of most likely gay girls, we always say, "Ladies!" or we carry it further: "Ladies, please! We can work it out!" as though passing lesbians are like dogs and we're on their turf, and they're about to attack. We laugh quite a bit about this. So you can imagine our reaction when the bill came to our table last night and this is what it looked like:



And finally, one of my favorite things about our apartment is our view. Here is the view from our window:



Unfortunately, if you look to the right, this is also a view:



Hollywood, everybody!

Thing I'm working on: figuring out how to put a Flickr badge in a decent place on my blog. Every time I try to put it on here, it's all riding up on my text, ruining my life.

Commute

It's raining in LA today, something we're not really "accustomed to." My commute time was doubled this morning, which gave me some time to take these shots on my camera phone.

I promise... I'm going to buy a digital camera soon and quit subjecting you to these grainy pictures...

Here's the 101/170 interchange... there are normally very few cars on the road heading north, and I'm able to go a cool 70mph. Today I went 30mph.



Here's the intersection of Magnolia and Colfax, flooded:



And this is looking west on Magnolia... there's a rainbow there... can you see it? I promise it's there...

I always wanted a treehouse!

A fun game for me and Gina, and most of my similar-minded friends, is to spout lies for humor's sake. For instance, after a very large meal, Gina will often say, "Boy, am I hungry." Or, when playing blackjack and dealt a five and a seven, "I love twelve!"

Gina and I share a studio apartment. People, it is small. It's cozy, and we both really love it, but it's small. We have an incredible view of the Hollywood sign and Griffith Park and really all of the Hollywood hills from our window. There's also a beautiful tree with flowers (hyacinth? jasmine? we don't know) right outside the windows by our bed, so I often compare our little abode to a treehouse. It makes it seem like we're an exclusive club, eternally planning out ways to spy on our little siblings. It's us against the world!

Two days ago, I was in the kitchen cooking, and I was quickly running out of space, and my frustration was mounting. I could feel myself tensing up, panicking. So finally, I said:

"Man, there is so much space in here!"

"I know, right?"

"Like seriously, I don't know what to do with all of this counter space we have!"

"Yeah, I know! I was going to go buy some appliances to fill it up, but then I realized I had too much money."

Mama Mia

As most of you know, I'm a big fan of Dooce. It's the five year anniversary of her blog, and for the first time in probably two years, she opened up a comments board on her blog. She wanted to know about moms... moms who stay at home, moms who work, which is better, which each person prefers.

Apparently, Heather (Dooce) gets a lot of slack for staying at home. These folks argue she's slapping the feminist movement in the face by wasting her college education on being a stay at home mom. This, of course, made me revisit my own definition of feminism.

Here, in my comment on her page, you'll see what I came up with:


Hi Heather-

Congratulations on being able to make it work. You are living out my dream. Staying at home, raising a great kid, and writing. For money! It's perfect.

My mom was very much forced into every situation she found herself in. At age 20, she moved to Los Angeles to be an actress, was here six weeks and found out she was pregnant with me, and moved back home to Ohio and married my dad. My dad had a good job for a 26 year old, and she was able to stay home for a while, but eventually, she went back to work part time. She would take me with her when she went in the morning to clean this local bar. I would run around the dance floor, sometimes offering my help, other times just exploring. She and I would have the run of the place.

She continued working part time jobs - housekeeper, receptionist at a ritzy country club, accounts receivable/payable at various businesses. She was always home when I got home from school, until I was about 13. At this point, she'd had 2 more children... my sisters were 5 and 3 when she went back to work full time, and I babysat. Every day after school. Every day in the summer. Until I graduated high school. Today, my sisters feel more like my own children than they do my siblings.

If I could change anything for my mom, I would have had her go to college. She's been unhappy with her work her whole life. She's hated every job she's ever had. However, she would've been unhappy staying at home her whole life as well. I wish she could have gone to college, so that if she wanted to work, she could work at a place she loved. And if she wanted to stay home, it would have been an informed decision, not something she was forced into doing.

I'm a firm believer that the most important thing for a child when it comes to this is to see happy parents. If a mother is stuck at home with her kids (meaning, she doesn't want to be there), the kids are going to sense that. If a mother has a job she loves, and can find the energy and brain space to devote a lot of time to her children, the children are going to see a happy, fulfilled parent. It's most important for YOU to be happy with YOURSELF, to be fulfilled in whatever you're doing, because THAT is what Leta will learn from you.

Personally, I would love to be able to stay home with my children (when I have them). Unfortunately, it doesn't seem likely. Living in Los Angeles, working in cable reality television, being gay (unable to reap any benefits of marriage - so far), and partnered with a beautiful social worker, I'm sure we will both have to work. However, we both enjoy our jobs, and we both love children... so I think we'll make it work and we'll find a way to raise some cool kids.

As for my daughters, I just want them to always have an option to make themselves happy.

Feminism isn't dropping your kids off at daycare and pursuing a high-paying career. Feminism is being proud of being a woman, recognizing what you want, no matter what it is, and finding a way to get it.

So says me.

Remember when...

A few weeks back, I had lunch with my friend Chara. The subject of blogs came up, and Chara informed me that I, along with her current unemployment/stay-at-home-mom status, inspired her to start a blog of her very own. Every time a friend of mine starts a blog, I realize quickly that just about everyone is a better writer than I am, and maybe I should stop encouraging people to start blogs and effectively "steal my thunder." Then I remember: I have no thunder to begin with. Blog away.

Anyway, Chara was referencing my blog, and said, "Yeah, I read Katie’s blog, but every entry is about how drunk she was the night before, or how she went to this party or on that roadtrip." I wasn’t sure if I should be A) happy that she’s reading my blog, because she’s a great writer and a smart girl and I respect her opinion, or B) really offended and thereby revoking my friendship card with her. My blog isn’t all about drinking, nor do I lead a life of extravagance, where at the drop of a hat I will travel all over the land for a good time. Hrmph.

Having said that…

This weekend started innocently enough. A night at Girl Bar in Los Angeles, with Justine and Gina. We drank (for free…long story), we danced (a little), we had a lot of fun. Justine warned me she’d have to call it a night rather early because she was going to Vegas to see her mom the next day.

Then we started talking about Vegas… then we started talking about how I wanted to go to Girl Bar in Vegas the last time we were there, but instead wound up going to Rain in the Desert at the Palms with a bunch of hot straight girls… then Justine said: "I have an idea! You and Gina should come to Vegas tomorrow. You can stay with me at my mom’s, you can gamble during the day and we can go to Girl Bar at night!"

Now, this conversation came on the heels of a very disturbing email I received from my friend Chrissie last week, involving discussion that the Imperial Palace might be torn down at any time. The IP, as we call it, is our most favorite of all casinos, mainly because of their Dealertainers pit, where Ricky Martin will deal you black jacks, Dolly Parton will charm you with her southern drawl, and Bette Midler will shake her breasts over the table at each deal for good luck.

In my mind, the choice was rather simple. So I said, "If you can convince Gina to go to Vegas, I’m in."

Trying to convince Gina to go to Vegas is like trying to convince a Labrador Retriever to play fetch. It’s a sure thing.

We found ourselves in the car at 4pm on Saturday, full of Sharkeez fish tacos and a little bit of beer, on our way to Las Vegas. After getting stuck in traffic three times, Gina managed to get us there by 8:30. Nothing like going 105 miles an hour in the middle lane. We arrived, chatted it up with Justine’s mom, dropped off our stuff, and headed out in Justine’s car. We were at Girl Bar by 10:30, on the guest list, thankyouverymuch. We enjoyed the sights (the dancer looked like Kate Beckinsale!), and we drank our share (2 for 1 until 11… direct quote: "So, we should each buy one now and down it and then buy another before 11?" Justine, everybody. I feel somewhat responsible for this alcohol loving girl). We did a few obligatory drunken strolls through the nearest hotel (Aladdin), and we drove home and went to bed around 2:30.

The next day, Gina and I braved the strip and went to the Imperial Palace. And for the first time EVER, I left Vegas ahead. Not only was I head in gambling, but I was up on the weekend. I won a whole $50. I spent $30 in gas and $20 on food. Basically, a free trip. To Vegas. To the IP. With two of my favorite people. And we were home in time for The L Word.

On the way home, I was thinking Chara might be right. Maybe my life is a little crazy. Maybe I do go out a lot. Maybe I have one too many stories that start with, "I was sooo drunk…" And then I remembered: that’s what life is about. My plan for this long weekend was to do nothing. Relax. Watch movies. Sleep. I had a blast doing everything but that. I did something that will make for a great story in a few months or a few years. Or at least a great "Remember when..."

And really, I can’t ask for anything else.

Now you know.

1. I’m afraid of clowns.
2. This dates back to my childhood, when I had recurring dreams about clowns who lived at a store in the Campbell, Ohio area. The store was called Bargain Port, and it was a port of bargains. And scary, mean clowns.
3. I’m convinced my mom took me to the doctor for these recurring dreams. She insists she did not.
4. I fear weakness in myself.
5. I’m always afraid I’m not as smart as I make myself out to be.
6. I write much better than I speak.
7. I love it when my pillow is cold on my cheek.
8. I actually enjoy having freckles.
9. I was only grounded once in my whole life, and it only lasted about an hour.
10. I received only one detention, in middle school, for responding to the question, "Can I borrow a nickel?" with a "Yes," when the lights were out in the cafeteria. When the lights are out in the cafeteria, you’re not allowed to talk. I still think this was ridiculous.
11. I’m excited to turn 30.
12. I have had a lot of new-friend crushes.
13. I am not confident in myself about 80 percent of the time.
14. I play it off like I’m confident 98 percent of the time.
15. My shoe size is 8 and a half. It was10 in middle school.
16. I’ve never been outside North America.
17. I live 2 1/2 hours from Mexico and have never been there.
18. I don’t have a passport.
19. I have average credit. Not good, not terrible. Average.
20. I got a 29 on my ACT the first and only time I took it. I’m still proud of this.
21. Had I gotten a 30 on my ACT, I would have gone to college for free.
22. I owe $15,000 in student loans.
23. I still think I should’ve taken the ACT one more time.
24. I was in four spelling bees, and never won any of them.
25. The words I missed were, in order, starting with fourth grade: gymnasium, embroidery, grievance, and parallel.
26. I love spelling.
27. Since September 11, 2001, I’ve had 9 dreams involving planes crashing.
28. Five of these dreams occurred in the first six months after 9/11.
29. I have lived in Los Angeles for five years, seven months, 1 week, and 1 day.
30. I started reading when I was four.
31. I started kindergarten when I was four.
32. I’m happiest when I’m writing, or talking about writing.
33. I talk about writing way more than I actually write.
34. I buy, on average, about a book a month.
35. I read, on average, about a book every three months.
36. I’d like to read two books a month.
37. I hate reading electronics instructions, because I think it’s more fun to figure it out on my own.
38. My mom is convinced my second grade teacher is hugely responsible for all of my successes in my life.
39. My mom made it a point to make sure both of my sisters had the same second grade teacher as I did.
40. Neither of my parents went to college.
41. I’m the only grandchild so far on my mom’s side to graduate from a 4-year university.
42. I’m the second grandchild on my dad’s side to graduate from a 4-year university.
43. Out of all of my cousins, I’m the only one who moved away.
44. I live farther from Ohio than any of my other relatives.
45. My closest relative is my cousin who lives in Vacaville, CA. That’s about a seven-hour drive from Los Angeles. She moved there last year, and I’ve seen her once since then.
46. I haven’t had Thanksgiving dinner with my family since 1999.
47. I’ve never been molested.
48. I’ve never been physically abused.
49. I think I’m lucky.
50. I’ve never been in a fistfight.
51. I never skipped a class in high school without my mom’s permission.
52. I had my first alcoholic beverage when I was 19.
53. I didn’t like coffee until I moved to LA when I was 21.
54. I love coffee now.
55. I’ve had a series of celebrity obsessions. The major two have been Julia Roberts and Angelina Jolie. Julia Roberts made me realize I wanted to work in Hollywood. Angelina Jolie made me realize I’m gay. It’s weird, but it’s worked.
56. My favorite song is "Two Step," by Dave Matthews Band.
57. My favorite color is blue.
58. I majored in Theater in college.
59. I was 3 classes away from a double major in Psychology.
60. I lived away from home for only 9 months while I was in college. It was my junior year, and I rented a house with two friends. It was a three bedroom, 2 story house, with a basement and an attic, a huge front porch, and a nice front and back yard. It also had a driveway and a garage. We each paid $150 a month to live in this house.
61. I get jealous easily, for reasons I know aren’t valid.
62. I consciously work every single day on my jealousy issues.
63. My favorite book is "Catcher in the Rye," which I first read when I was 20 years old. I’ve read it three times.
64. When I was younger, I wanted to be the following things, at different times: animator, astronaut, teacher, Shakespeare scholar, actor, scientist (to discover the cure for AIDS), marine biologist, veterinarian.
65. I hate math.
66. I got straight As in Calculus my senior year.
67. I’m a terrible liar.
68. I’m a democrat.
69. I’m pro-choice, but not pro-abortion.
70. I’m against capital punishment, but think Scott Peterson and Alejandro Avila, the guy who killed Samantha Runyan, should be executed.
71. I like wearing glasses.
72. I have a very skewed vision of marriage and am generally not for the institution. I think gays should be allowed to marry, but I don’t know that I’ll ever marry. Still, I’m envious of people who get to have all of that.
73. My parents are probably going to get divorced soon. I can’t believe they’re still married.
74. My dad is a recovering alcoholic. Well, he was. He’s since started drinking again. This infuriates me more than I can possibly describe.
75. My mom and dad got married because my mom was pregnant with me.
76. I’m blessed with fairly healthy skin.
77. I’ve never broken a bone.
78. I want to learn how to play the guitar.
79. I want to learn Spanish.
80. I have not seen even one episode of the any of the following shows: Lost, Beverly Hills 90210, Melrose Place, Sopranos, 24.
81. I love to sleep.
82. I believe in God.
83. I hate guns.
84. I consider myself adaptable to different situations.
85. I hate mustard.
86. I read a lot of news.
87. I love learning.
88. I love Trivial Pursuit.
89. My feet are happiest when they’re freshly pedicured.
90. I rarely wear makeup.
91. I do not own a digital camera.
92. I don’t like to arrive to a movie theater after the previews have started.
93. I don’t trust the President of my country.
94. Popcorn gives me a stomachache.
95. I’m allergic off-brand Band-Aids.
96. I still like sleepovers.
97. I’m envious of how close my 2 sisters are with each other.
98. I Google people from high school.
99. I don’t like when people spit.
100. I’m good at keeping secrets.

More fun with Google... and a little Yahoo.

I visited Sitemeter today, which I like to visit every few weeks to see who is reading this and how they're getting here. My friend Jeremy often posts on his website about what search strings are brining up his website. I figure I'd share some search strings that are bringing up my website.

Someone found my website by going to Google and typing in "faux hawk women." My site was on the 2nd page of the results.

Probably my favorite string: someone found my site by going to Google and typing in "Being funny in conversations."

And lastly, someone went to Yahoo and typed in "Jessica Smith's breasts" and "Laguna Beach," and two sites came up. Mine, and Jeremy's. Mine was first. This might upset Jeremy, who likes to think of his site as the Unofficial Site of Jessica Smith's breasts.

Then again, who uses Yahoo to search anymore?

Quotes 2/10

The following quotes have made me laugh in the last 24 hours. Those which are left un-attributed have been left that way to protect the innocent.

"Thanks for the 'non-solution.'" (air quotes used here)

"I'd rather blow a horse."

"I pretty much have toothpaste around my mouth... at all times."

"Oh my gosh, it's so cold in here, I have mosquito titties all over my arms!"

And finally, one from TV last night:

"Wherever you go, around every corner you turn, I'll be waiting... nude." (Jack on Will and Grace)

I'm not *really* talking about work, right?

I am not a fan of talking about work outside of work, and especially on my blog, but I had a conversation with my field producer yesterday that she keeps replaying, and I think it accurately portrays our working relationship.

Me: You want the good news or the bad news?

Field Producer: The bad news.

Me: The bad news is, I forgot to get a release from this guy for the shoot this weekend.

FP: Okay. What's the good news?

Me: The good news is, if the guy has a problem with the release, you'll talk him into signing it.

I later discussed with my friend Lisa how my producer could sell snow to an Eskimo, and Lisa agreed but one-upped me: "She could talk a dog off of a meat truck."

The real good news: I got the release signed. The guy was totally cool about it.

Wherein I realize the need to have the option of categorizing my entries.

I've been keeping a blog for about a year and a half, and I still haven't managed to figure out a way to organize my entries. I'd love to have a system where I could tell my blog to file this entry under this and that entry under that. Alas, I don't know anything about anything, and therefore I'm forced to sift through this blog and my older one, looking for an entry about Target that I know that I wrote, although I can't remember when and I can't remember about what specifically... and now I've just given up and decided to write without linking this previous entry.

So here goes.

I'm not sure why I thought it was a good idea to go to Target late Saturday morning after a drinking spree which started at 6:30pm on Friday and ended with me unable to sleep Friday night. Everyone thought putting a Target at Santa Monica and La Brea was such a good idea. It'll be so convenient!

It's not.

Sure, it's close, but everyone that goes there is in a hurry to finish shopping before the one hour of free parking elapses, and therefore, this street corner has become one of the most violent in the city. Okay, that's an exaggeration.

At least four times someone in a hurry bumped into me without saying "excuse me." As soon as I got there, I went to get a cart. Naturally, six other people needed one exactly at the same time as me, and they had no problem cutting in front of me to get one. Finally, I forced my way in, and I was pulling my cart out, a woman was trying to pull one out right next to me. Of course they got stuck, and the lady would not stop. Finally, I stopped. And THEN she stopped. I glared at her. "GO AHEAD." She pulled her cart out and smiled. I did NOT return the smile, thank you very much.

I commence my shopping experience, and I begin looking for a silverware separator. Where would this be located? Probably in the flatware section. Probably in the section with all the utensils and such, right? I looked for maybe 15 minutes for silverware separators, and finally, I asked a clerk.

"Where can I find silverware separators?"

"Oh, they're in the back of the store with Pets and Chemicals."

Pets and Chemicals?

This is the moment where I flash back to the movie Better Off Dead, when Lane (John Cusack) is at dinner at Ricky's house, Ricky being the fat kid from Head of the Class, and Ricky's mom says that Ricky and Monique (the cute French foreign exchange student) are learning the International Language of Love. Lane points first at Ricky, then at Monique.

"Him? And her? That makes sense."

I'm TRYING to be tolerant with you, public, but you make it so easy to hate you. You're pushy when it's not necessary. You're rude and inconsiderate.

I can't really pass blame onto anyone, because I'm the dumbass who went there on a Saturday to Pick Up A Few Things... and nothing that I even NEEDED. It was just a few random things for the apartment. I realized this when I had the following conversation with my friend Wendy:

"You went to Target on a Saturday? What did you need?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Oh my god. I just went to Target on a Saturday and I didn't even need to go. What's the matter with me?"

Items purchased: silverware separator, 2 loofahs, vitamins for Wendy, birthday card for co-worker.

Items considered: microwave.

Items searched for and not found: chalkboard eraser (for Wendy's daughter).

I have to say, the pain of the day was eased when I got to go home and separate the silverware into the new separator. I like organizing things. What can I say?