Awkwardly Social

I cut in front of Lorenz Tate at the accountant’s office yesterday. I was going to try and tell a funny story about it, but all I can think about is why the sunglasses inside? at your accountant’s office? I don’t know why it makes me angry. Sometimes I wear my sunglasses inside. But that’s usually only when I’m drunk. Maybe LT was drunk, but that seems inappropriate, drinking before an appointment with your accountant.

Wait a second, I just judged someone for drinking - I will pay for this! Now I will be forced to drink and act inappropriately! Curse you, me!

There is a Halloween candy out there, not unlike Candy Corn, that I have a slight problem with. It is the Pumpkin thingy. They don’t really have a catchy name, and since I had to leave the bag of them at home that I bought yesterday in a fit of menstrual sugar craving/self loathing because I was afraid of eating them all, I can’t tell you what they are actually called. I call them Sugar Pumpkins. Because, they are essentially all sugar, probably held together by guar gum. I guess I should call them Suguar Pumpkins, but that’s adding a whole new level to my retardedness.

Back to the problem - I love the first two that I eat. And then hate the next 20. Then usually the last 2 are delicious. Setting me up for 10 more. And in the end, I could have just eaten two. Not 34. Hence, I left the bag at home.

I don’t know if it was the reduced fat peanut butter/saltine cracker/diet cherry coke dinner I had last night or the sugar pumpkin gorge but I had a pain in my side that I was sure was a pumonary embolism. So sure in fact that it was a pulmonary embolism that I believed I knew what one of those would feel like having never once laid eyes on a diagnosis or read anything about it. I think I only know the term because of television doctors. Seeing as I’m refusing to look at the symptoms right now (which I’m guessing are nothing like the pain in my side last night) I still couldn’t tell you if I actually had a pulmonary embolism. My whole family is rolling their eyes right now and doing that little head shake thing that people do when they’re sort of annoyed but also amused by you. And I’ll fess up right now, I’m almost positive that it was nothing to do with my lungs, and everything to do with gas. I had gas. I’m fine now. Do what you will with that information, but I’m sick of being ashamed of my gas! Everyone has it! I had gas and my period. I can tell you right now I have never looked more sexy in your eyes. But let me tell you something, girls fart and bleed. If you don’t like to hear about it, read Penthouse. Those girls do not fart or bleed, but they do pee and put lollipops in their vaginas. I have seen it. Don’t ask me why.

Because while I am currently comfortable enough to talk about my problems with hypochondria, gas and menstruation, I cannot talk to you about the Penthouse magazine incident. And now I’m looking at my title again trying to think of a way to bring this back and the only thing I can think of to tie it all together is, if I were a porn star, Sugar Pumpkin would be my first choice for a name.

I’m getting sick of the “This is the new that” routine but I still use it. Sort of like when “not” was really popular. You know it’s out but you’ve been using it for so long that you don’t really know what else to do.

It’s kind of nerve wracking when you find out someone new is reading your blog (hi ladies!). Especially when you set out to tell a story, and they’ve already heard it. From you. On the blog. Since I’m actually pretty boring, I usually don’t have any other story to throw out there. There is no back up story. So people either have to pretend they haven’t just read what I’m talking about or sit and stare at me while I look at the ceiling thinking about how I should do more stuff or have a more exciting life.

I decided to think about my week differently. Monday is the new Wednesday. That way half the week is over and you can look forward to Wednesday. So actually the title up there is wrong but I’m too lazy to change it. Wednesday to Wednesday. It makes the weekend seem more valuable somehow. annnnndddd…. you’ve all just fallen asleep.

How about those Angels, eh? I have no idea what I’m talking about.

I hit the snooze button so fast this morning, Louie didn’t hear the first alarm. Sometimes I think that my snooze button hitting ability could be a super-power. Except that I’m not really sure who it’s benefiting besides me. If only there was a way to save lives by hitting the snooze button, I would be a National Hero. My costume would be hott. Short shorts, a t-shirt no bra, (both of which aren’t giving you the right picture I’m sure, you’d have to see it to understand how…awkward it looks) and morning breath. Hottt. I know you’re jealous you’ve never been saved by Snooze-Girl and her Wonder Clock.

I’m shutting up now.

I haven’t had my computer on in over a week. I left my power plugging in thingy at Tara’s house and have been too lazy to pick it up. Also, it gives me a good excuse to not do anything typey. I finally dragged my lazy ass over to Tara’s last night to retrieve said power plugging in thingy and Tara being out of wine, and me being a drunk, decided spur of the moment to go to a wine tasting.

Silver Lake Wine has a tasting every Monday, Slursday and Sunday. That’s three glasses of wine and all the cheese and salami you can shove into your face between the hours of 5 and 9pm. The downside - You have to deal with other people shoving cheese and salami into their faces. I never realized how angry it made me when people ate the brie but left the rind. I don’t know why it bothered me so much, to see them digging their way into the brie going deeper and deeper leaving a long sliver of rind in their wake. Every little flick of the tiny knife as dug out the gooey and skirted the chewey made me mad. They left it laying there on the cheese plate, like a sad little reminder that brie wears clothes and most people like it naked. The poor brie. God, people! Eat the rind! It’s good for you. Last night I was wondering about dumb kids who won’t eat bread crust. Probably because ‘crust’ is the worst name for anything you’re trying to get your kid to eat, I guess next to ‘rind’. And I think my mom once told me all the nutrients were in the crust. Which is crazy. How could that be possible? And why would that convince me to eat the crust? And why was I anti-crust? The crust is the best part! Maybe she was talking about apples. I shouldn’t drink on weeknights.

Which segues not so nicely into Desperate Housewives. um. I don’t know, you tell me, is this show worth my time?

Which segues more nicely into TWoP. What’s up with their selection of shows to recap? I’m not getting it. I mean, they’re recapping the freshly cancelled “Head Cases” but not “Grey’s Anatomy”? Can anyone explain that? Also, the forums over there… oof. Which is not really a comment on their forums, but more a comment on the people who spend a lot of time in forums. Which is I guess me being snobby. Which is not at all surprising to most of you.

Which leads to no actual segue but my need to say that in this article about Chad Michael Murray and Sophia Bush separating, the only surprising thing I read was that Brooke Davis is Student Council President. Um. When did she decide to get involved in school politics? Wait. I vaguely remember that. It’s like I never even watched that show.

I can only imagine how I look right now - My foot resting uncomfortably in my mouth. Especially since my foot hasn’t looked worse, ever. I have a HUGE blood blister that is partially covered by a real blister and a callous. Yeah. So not only am I bitch who says the wrong things, the foot that I have to put in my mouth is disgusting. I guess I deserve it.

They sort of got it wrong when they said, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” They should have said, “Even if you’re trying to be nice, you probably won’t sound that way, so don’t say it.”

With Lost and Threshold and Supernatural and Surface and Invasion (which I haven’t watched yet, but come on… it must be scary), I’m starting to believe my TiVo is going to get haunted. It was bad enough when my TiVo thought I would like CSI (the most disgusting show on television next to ER) and recorded it all the time and then I thought TiVo might be on to something. TiVo likes CSI, why can’t I? TiVo was WRONG! TiVo was punished for recording maggot show. Punished by making it DONK DONK DONK seventeen thousand times with the red thumbs down. How do people watch that? guh.

Now I’ve been recording all these scary TV shows and I think TiVo is going to get the wrong idea and start recording scary movies for me. As a favor. TiVo doesn’t know that if The Shining or IT or The RING (I just shuddered) show up in my Now Playing List, TiVo will be punished. I don’t know how yet, but I imagine my neighbors are going to call TPS (that’s TiVo Protective Services) because I’m Donking my TiVo all through the night. (That makes it sound dirty, when really, donking your TiVo is like putting your child’s hand on a hot stove and holding it there. On purpose. Which I would never do. To a child. But to my TiVo. That’s another story.)

I hope TiVo doesn’t get the wrong idea. I’m doing it for it’s own good. It hurts me more than it hurts TiVo.

Listen. I know I overreact. A lot. Especially when it comes to the way women are portrayed in the media.

But this story has a link that made my blood boil. Scroll down just a bit and you’ll see a section with ’slideshows’. I am going to write those bitches a letter.

How do you call women who have made money in the billions Working Girls? Excuse me? I’m sorry. ‘Working girl’ is something you call a prostitute, not a billionaire woman who has made her fortune through, I don’t know, actually working. It’s intended to be a joke. I’m sure the billionaire boys club finds it a laugh riot that there are actually women who have to work to make their billions.

“Oh look at that working girl. What a whore!”

Fucktards.

Things I don’t like to read about but do anyway because I’m a sick fuck.

On the way home from work I was listening to NPR and they kept breaking in with coverage on a JetBlue plane that was going to be making an emergency landing at LAX. Because the nose gear hadn’t retracted. And the wheel was sideways. Uh. Yeah. I was sooooo glad I wasn’t on that plane.

Allie said she immediately thought of me, I am usually a HUGE basket case when I have to fly or when I hear of inflight disasters. Terror in the skies, if you will.

I immediately wondered why the newsmen sounded so disappointed that the plane didn’t explode into a ball of flames. They were like, “Oh. It’s on fire! No. Actually. It’s fine. So… we’re back to our regularly scheduled news program.”

I wonder how many shades of freaked the fuck out I would have been if I was sitting on that plane. The worst part, JetBlue has DirecTV. THEY WERE WATCHING THEIR PLANE FLY AROUND! Welcome to your death, it’s on the news.

I think I need to crack open my “Culture of Fear” book tonight. I also think the newsmen should take a gander at it.

I must have done something shitty recently because my Karma reached balance this morning when I unknowingly stepped in a pile of dog shit, tracked it into my car, into my office and then smooshed it into the carpet beneath my desk.

I knew I should have stayed in bed this morning.

Hey LA! CLEAN UP AFTER YOUR DAMNED DOG! I’m walking here!

Yesterday I got an IM from Allie - she’s too busy for the likes of the blog - saying that she was awakened last night by the sounds of sexual screaming in the alley. Apparently one of our neighbors was doing it real drrrty and had the windows open so we all could hear how dirty her boyfriend was. Now. This is awkward because we know most of our neighbors quite well. We had a little conference about who it could be and decided it was the guy we thought was gay because his brother moved out and a ‘friend’ moved in. He must have heard us talking about his gay-lover roommate and wanted to ‘clear the air’ so to speak about his sexuality. That, or, he and his lady were shit-faced and wanted to wake the whole neighborhood. Fortunately I slept quite well through the yowls of our neighbor. Had I awakened there would have been a “Can you Shut. THE FUCK. UP!?” Yelled through the window.

I was awakened last night by Thunder. I was all snuggled in my bed. The power hadn’t gone off, and it was quite a show. It seems we rarely get those in LA, and whenever I say that people argue with me. People always argue with me about LA. I’m finally realizing that the longer you live in LA the more vociferously you defend it. It’s like having a little sister that you find really annoying and occasionally you hit and lock in a closet and put fake spiders in their bed, but if someone picks on your little sister you beat the shit out of them. That’s what living in LA is like. I woke up about every half hour, content that the power hadn’t gone off and that the storm was still storming, when I remembered how depressed I got last year when it never stopped raining and how I got leaked on at work and how I never had dry feet (I wear flip-flops even in winter) and how I vowed to buy a raincoat, but still haven’t, how traffic slows to a standstill when it rains. GAH! Stop raining! Shut up LA! Seriously, it’s only September! We have so far to go! I have to go give my little sister and Indian burn. Stupid LA.