Awkwardly Social

As you may (or may not, depending on how you read the site) have noticed, there’s a new Tamara photo up over there. Louie took that one on our way to a Christmas party. I look like I’m about to get up to some serious mischief. But as it turns out, I always try to look that way in photos.

I’m severly un-photogenic. There’s the big problem of my skin (hate) and my wrinkles (fucking cigarettes prematurely aging me!) and usually I have either huge bags under my eyes or dark circles or both! So I’ve found my pose. I’m sticking to it. I hope it doesn’t make you think I just fed your children a whole bunch of sugar and caffeine right before I’m about to return them to your care. Or that I’m hiding weed in my underpants. Actually, that would look more like this.

This is part of a whole series of photos I have that I’ve taken of myself. I usually try to take them when I’m feeling pretty. Or, as it appears in this photo, when it’s 10:47am and I’m hiding weed in my panties and the pot brownies were delicious, thanks for asking. I used to think it was weird that I took photos of myself. Then I met Sarah and she told me she does the same thing, and I realized, not only is the internet for porn*, but it’s also for meeting people who do weird things like you. So you don’t feel so all alone.

*I’m not sure why I asterisked this. It seems like I had something to say about the internet being for porn. But I’m not sure what exactly I was going to say. Maybe I was worried that people wouldn’t click on Sarah’s page because they think it’s porn. It’s not. She’s wholesome. I know, I’ve had many drinks with her.

I bought a 12 pack o’ eggs. Normally I just get 6 because I feel less bad about letting 6 eggs rot than 12. As it so happens, my Gelson’s does not stock 6 packs of organic eggs, and since I’m on a kick (ever since reading that Mad Cowboy book, and now Silent Spring, I’m turning into a straight up hippie) I decided to go full doze rather than buy non-organic eggs.

Here’s the thing. I like eggs. I liked them poached, hard boiled, on toast, in toast (have you seen V for Vendetta? Like that), I like omelettes, I like egg salad… I like eggs pretty much any way you break them. (mmm… eggs in cake! cookie dough! muffins!) I am not skilled at making eggs. I want to know how to poach them. I want to know how long it takes to hard boil them. I am too lazy to look it up right now. Also, I think eggs taste better when someone else makes them for you. And is butter required? And milk? And why am I thinking I need vinegar to poach eggs? Why is it so hard to keep my kitchen stocked? When will I be grown up enough to not only have vodka and lemonade in my fridge? When will the stock items out weigh the liquor? (soon, if my liver has anything to say about it). How long before the eggs go bad?

Anybody know the answers to these questions?

One of my favorite things about three day weekends is the ability to take in a matinee. I decided to go to An Inconvenient Truth (aka, The Day After Tomorrow is Today). The critics are really taken by the film and I have to admit, I was too. I’m not sure if people will go to see it, because it’s described as a filmed lecture on Global Warming, given by Al Gore. When I heard it was a speech by Al Gore I was a little concerned. The man has a somniferous affect on me. But since I’m in an activist mood I decided to go and see if I fell asleep.

I didn’t. I encourage you to see the movie. I encourage you to go into not thinking of Al Gore as a politician (although he does try and remind you a few times that he was once almost the leader of the free world) and think of him as the best science teacher you ever had.

Global warming isn’t a partisan issue. It shouldn’t be viewed as one. (Dad, I think you’ll like it, it has a lot of weather maps…. and I know how you like weather.)

I love how when I sit down to write, I have all these self imposed rituals that really serve as aids in delaying the inevitable.

1. Make coffee.
2. Read a little bit from the research materials.
3. Get a cup of freshly made coffee.
4. Make a little breakfast to save the lining of tummy.
5. Get another cup of coffee.
6. Check e-mail.
7. Check other e-mail account.
8. Check the first e-mail account to see if anyone has written in the time that it took to check the other account.
9. Hurray! Someone wrote an e-mail.
10. Respond to e-mail.
11. Check the other e-mail account.
12. Check first e-mail account to see if they responded.
13. Pick some music.
14. Look at the iTunes library for music you’ve never listened to.
15. Finding it strange that you haven’t listened to the Buena Vista Social Club in 2 years, check iPod to see if it’s true.
16. Charge iPod.
17. Look at your top 25 most listened to songs.
18. Realize with horror that Britney Spears occupies 4 of the top 10 most listened to songs.
19. Attempt to rectify said horror by listening to a Chopin piece 48 times.
20. Realize you’re supposed to be writing.
21. Look at the time.
22. Take a nap.

I’m so skilled at this procrastination thing, I should get an advanced degree in it.

I managed to get Cats really drunk at her barbeque yesterday. Cats is usually the one that has to take care of the rest of us. She just doesn’t get drunk. It became sort of my mission to change that. All I had to do was bring a gigantic bottle of vodka and some pink lemonade. When we ran out of lemonade, someone made Crystal Lite. Cats had small dainty plastic cocktail glasses out. And we went ahead and got the ‘big girl’ cups out. You know the big plastic cups that hold a lot more alcohol? Yeah. Those.

Do you know the really huge bottle of Grey Goose? We managed to empty one of those. I think Cats and I each had a third, and the rest of the party drank the rest. Needless to say, I was feeling a little rough this morning.

At one point I ate a cold hamburger with no bun, with my hands, slathered in BBQ sauce. I’m not sure what people were thinking about my ridiculous feast, but I’m sure none of them minded because I have a sneaking suspicion I wasn’t the drunkest girl at the party.

The good news, I didn’t fall down. I did manage to drop a bottle of conditioner on my foot and cry a little bit about it. But I didn’t fall down.

I think the PMS is at a peak right now, because I totally gave a security guard some guff today. I rolled my eyes. Told him to stop being rude. And made him repeat everything he said. Boy was he having a bad day, then he had to deal with me. And I can be a right proper snot. I’ve had YEARS of customer service under my belt, so I know when someone is being a shit to me. And this guy? Was being such a shit that I’m half tempted to write a super nasty letter to his supervisors. I have nothing against the ‘appearance of high security’ in the towers around Los Angeles. I’m sure it makes people who work there feel ’safer’ to have 3 security guards in the lobby. But honestly, if someone wants to blow your shit up, I’d guess that they’re going to do it, whether or not you’re smiling. So, do the rest of us a fucking favor and lighten the fuck up, is all I’m saying. I am positive that that guy being a total dick in a fake uniform (with no gun) was all about him trying to exercise power over me (especially since I know the general type of person who works security… remember I’ve been around the fucking block) and nothing about him trying to keep the building safe.

I will say, his compatriot in the freight elevator (my co-worker did not have to use the frieght elevator…) was awesome, and did his best to make my superiorly fucked up foul mood better. In fact, if I were to write that complaint letter, I would mention how he managed to do the same job without being a total and complete asshole.

I’m so happy this weekend is three days long. And going to be devoted almost entirely to drinking and eating.

God, now I’m fuming again about that guy. I just wanted to punch him in his tiny penis.

Dennis Hastert. Dude, unfortunately whenever they say his name, I picture the awesome (insurance shiller) Dennis Haysbert.

Hastert.

Haysbert.

Very different. One an old, fat, white Republican. The other a young, hot black actor. (OK, young is kind of pushing it, and come to think of it, so is hot.) The other a sort of not old, good looking African American actor. So when they started talking about the weird shit going on with Hastert, I picture Haysbert and I think, “Wow, I didn’t know he was a Republican, he seems so… normal in the insurance shilling commercials.” Then I realize I’m an idiot.

If you guys only knew how many times a day I thought that. (The idiot part.) Boy. It would fill up a very complicated spreadsheet. With several columns.

Other things going on in my head are the jealous rages that I (so far) am managing to suppress. Thank goodness, because awesome things are happening for almost all of my friends. Great jobs, houses with pools, meetings with famous people who can make them famous. Making me the sad girl who doesn’t have anything great happening to her. (aside from the louie thing, but honestly, that just makes me feel like a dumb anti-feminist throw-back to the 50s. Someone get me a martini and a ‘mommies little helper’). I think you’d be jealous too, but… you’re better than me, so maybe not.

What I forgot to mention this morning, was that while I consider the last two days to be really busy, if I actually listed what I did, you’d think I was lame. Because one of the readers of this blog was at both things, and she’s thinking, wow, Tamara is lame. But she’s a WASP so she’ll never tell me that. Wait. Maybe she’s Catholic? hmm…

Dr. Pepper appears to be on the “add more shit to your soda” band wagon. Their current attempt at creating more drinkers, is totally working. Berries and Cream tastes like awesome.

I think I wanted to tell you something else, but I can’t imagine it was anything good.

Someone might be getting a house with a pool. Not me, but someone. I hope they do.

I had to write something so that last post wasn’t just hanging out there like some kind of weird bad joke. Like, “Haha, I have AIDS!” Then she never wrote again.

Louie is a planner. He likes making plans. I kind of like making plans, but almost always, I flake on those plans. Not Louie. He’s a planner, and a follow through-er. We had plans on Friday. We kept the plans. I had a great time. Plans on Monday. Kept the plans! Plans last night, done.

He gives me the opportunity to flake on plans but usually it’s with a face, like, I’m going, have fun sitting at home with your flakey self. Basically his Jewish upbringing of pure guilt has given him tools I cannot combat against. WASPs don’t know how to deal with. At least, in my experience we don’t. Maybe there is a representative from my people who does and maybe they’ll read this blog and call me an idiot. But since they’re a WASP, they’ll totally do it behind my back. And it will never get to me. And I won’t have to care about it.

I almost wrote, “have a great weekend.” That’s how crazy the last two days have been. I had a full week of activities crammed into two nights.

I need some sleep.

this morning is promising to wreak serious revenge on me. like, monday style super revenge. revenge with a side of headache, hangover, too much el cholo. also, it’s raining. in may. in LA. I don’t think you know how that signals the apocalypse. know how i know you’re not reacting properly? because you’re still reading this, not running into the streets (bathed with blood) and trying to hop on the next pentacostal on their rapturey way out of here.

one thing happened this weekend that normally i would totally talk about, because, my body is a fun house of bacteria and i like to let you all know about it. but this morning i’m refraining, because it is still attacking me. and when i’m being attacked i feel like keeping my cards close to me. besides, there’s nothing funny about a yeast infection. fuck. i knew i wasn’t going to be able to keep that a secret. well, now you know.