Awkwardly Social

I think most of my friends are out of town for the holidays.  The reason I say, “I think,” has a bit to do with me not keeping in touch with my friends enough to A. know if they’re still my friends, and B. know if they went out of town for the holidays.  I have become that girl.  It pains me a bit, but it also makes it easier to not leave the house and talk to people.  I’m a total weirdo and this week vacation is making me even weirdoier.

I know for sure Tara is out of town, because I’ve been feeding and cuddling her cats, Lola and Rico, for her.  Unless of course this is some kind of weird experiment to see if I will actually leave the house every day in order to fulfill my obligation while Tara watches me via hidden camera to see if I snoop inapropriately.  As yet, I have left the house every day to feed the little minxes and I have not snooped inapropriately, or at all, really.  Suffice is to say, I would still be in my pajamas and unwashed if Tara hadn’t left her cats in my care.

Another pair of friends is out of town and I’m feeding their koi fish.  I’m also not convinced it’s another clever ruse to see if I’ll drink (and then replace) their Mike’s Hard Lemonade.  (Which I totally did.  At 3pm.  Vacation is awesome!)

I don’t think we have plans yet for New Year’s Eve (or as I lovingly call it “Amateur Night”) and so far that’s OK with me.  I plan to pop the bottle of Veuve we got for our housewarming, and if I’m the only one drinking, well, more champagne for me.

I’m trying to think up a new resolution list, and wrap up this one.  I’m pretty sure I didn’t do too well, but my new thing is making sure I’m not sweating the unimportant - like for instance the fact that I have $2.00 in my checking account until next Friday.  Not sweating it, because I have gas in my car, liquor in my cabinet and food in the cupboard.

In case I don’t get here tomorrow, Happy New Year!

I got an e-mail the day before Christmas telling me that my old domain host thingy at, tkblaich.com, was set to expire if I didn’t get my ass over there and update my credit card. Merry Christmas to you, too, DinoHost!  It also said, if I didn’t want the domain web host package thingy anymore I could just answer that e-mail with an, “Eat shit and die,” response.  So I did.  But not before I saved the entries onto my hard drive.

I’m not sure why I decided to get rid of my namesake, but I figure, I’m not really using it for anything.  I’m just putting basic HTML lists over there, in an effort to keep my very weak web programming skills from atrophying.  I still own the domain until sometime in 2007, but I’m not sure that I’ll renew it then.  It seems kind of a silly waste of money.  So, instead, I’ve started the motions of getting Awkwardly Social a home that isn’t on typepad.  I’m not sure how much farther I can take that, seeing as I’m semi-retarded when it comes to programming (and determining the correct use of further and farther), but I would much rather my web presence be that of this blog, than my lame ass basic HTML page.  That probably doesn’t make sense now that I’m trying to explain it, but if you could crawl around my brain for a minute you’d understand, or die, or get drunk.

This is not a big deal, unless for some reason you get here via my tkblaich.com page, which if you do, it’s time you get over it.  Just let it go.  You’ll feel better.  I promise.

And if I get the notion, I’m going to check out wordpress and see how that whole debacle works, not only because it is F R E E, but also because it seems a bit more… I don’t know… free?

I guess what I’m trying to say is, nothing is really changing, except on the inside.  And that is really what counts, is it not?

I hope you had a safe and happy Christmas, and that your in-laws didn’t catch you drinking from your flask while masturbating to Elle Magazine in the guest bathroom.  Not that I know anyone who would do that.

Is it too early to start drinking?

Carol of the Bells is probably my favorite Christmas Song, partially because it’s a choral in the round and sung in a minor key, but also because there’s something so demonic about it that it makes me feel like I’m listening to the devil put on a little Christmas pageant.

When they sing, “On on they send, on without end, their joyful tone to every home.  Ding dong, ding dong,”  I get chills and think if there is a heaven, the angels are totally pissed of that the demons got all the good songs.

Merry Christmas and safe travels!

It would be impossible for me to summarize Louie’s dad’s birthday party without sounding like a total ass. So here goes!

I did my best not to curse in front of the kids, but seriously, when there is an expectation of dinner at 8:30pm, so you down 3 glasses of wine to soothe your nerves, and then dinner doesn’t come out until midnight, it’s hard not to say, “That kid is as cute as fuck.” And, “I’m trying really hard not to give a shit that there’s a break dancing competition going on right now, because if I do I’ll look like some asshole white girl who’s never seen someone breakdance in their Uncle’s living room before.” Or, “Is that a goddamned dashiki?”

Sigh.

One of Louie’s cousins (who happens to be in 8th grade) and I had the same expression at one point - abject despair and complete boredom. Him because he’s in 8th Grade and it’s his family, me because I realized that dinner was going to stretch into a whole night event and I was seriously not medicated enough to take it. I was, however, thankful that there was no big time prayer and food blessing, as I believe there is nothing more uncomfortable than pretending to care what Jesus did to get that food on the table and how we thank him for his blessings, when I’m really thinking, “Thank you, Jesus for making sure there was wine here, even if it was White Zinfandel.”

Tonight, the other side of Louie’s family. The side that doesn’t believe in Jesus. Hopefully I can hold it together for this one.

There’s no way to sit in a corner trying not to yawn without actually looking like you’re a weird odd woman out who is sitting in the corner trying not to yawn.

At one point on our trip to New York, Louie and I found ourselves on an express train to 145th St. If you’ve never been to Manhattan on an express train to 145th St. you probably have no idea that the Upper West Side ceases to be UWS and begins to be Harlem.

As you’ve probably guessed after reading my entries, I am not good in crowds of people I don’t know. Now, the problem is with Louie’s family, I sort of know them. And while I like them and appreciate the lively camaraderie, I totally don’t feel like I belong. I love his cousins, who have been nothing but nice to me. His cousins kids are so adorable and at one point, the two year old, who had been completely independent of her mother (she had been dancing, chilling with her aunties and displaying zero signs that she is actually a two year old), had a piece of candy taken away from her by her father. It was midnight. Now, I know a certain former two year old that would have completely lost her shit if at midnight she had a piece of candy taken away from her, but not Chloe. Chloe started to cry, but one of her cousins (an 8 or 9 year old) picked her up and danced with her a little, and she stopped crying almost immediately and started to dance again. A more easy going baby, I’ve never seen. I hope if I ever have kids they will get that side of the families genes. There was absolutely no whining. None. There were about 10 kids there under the age of 14, and not one of them put up a fuss.

I’d like to mention some of the outfits, because I have never been to a family gathering where there was a dashiki, a pimp hat, a shirt/pants outfit with matching African print, a full UCLA sweatsuit, a Titanic shirt…

Yikes.  I have a lot to do in the next 24 hours.  Once Thursday afternoon rolls around I’m pretty much living on my own schedule for 10 days. (Aside from Louie’s Pop’s birthday and a Channukah dinner and a late lunch thingy in the Palisades on Christmas Day.)

I’ve sort of sidelined myself for the LA Marathon next year.  I just didn’t remember being so incredibly busy last year and while I’d like to place the blame squarely on Louie’s shoulders, it has more to do with me wanting to spend at least a little bit of quality time with my boyfriend.  I get home at 7pm, my runs take me until 8pm (or later depending on the distance and the length of the shower) and I just don’t have time to do any writing or cooking with that level of commitment being given to running.  Next year my focus is being put back on my writing.  I had a serious crisis of confidence a few months ago where I considered just dropping it and giving up.  It’s so funny, Allie looked me right in the face and said, “Well, you’re good at it, I don’t know why you would quit.”  (I’m tearing up thinking about it.)  And that was the tiny little something I really needed to hear and it helped me step away from the proverbial Cliff of Quit and refocus myself.  Anyway, I’m going to pick up running again this weekend, and try out a modest plan of 30 minutes 3 times a week.   I love the benefits of regular exercise and I do look and feel better when I get my ass off the couch on a regular basis, I just am trying to find my way to a routine that works for me and my relationship and my career.  If that means not being a marathoner, so be it.

I’m excited for the break as I have a huge stack of half-read books whose endings are calling out to me.  I have a fair amount of cooking I want to do, including cracking open the crock pot (I just re-read that and imagined it said crack pipe. heh.) my sister gave me for Christmas, and roasting a chicken (if I can get my hands on the right kind of pan… I always forget how many pans it takes to cook stuff).  And finally, I want to knock a few things off my 101 in 1001 list, like going to the MOCA (#41) and possibly finishing the crochet blanket (#71) that I started on the plane to my sister’s house last Christmas (damn, that was a long time ago), and maybe even writing a short story (#14).  I think at last count I was a quarter of the way through the list, which given the amount of travel and absolutely ludicrous things I put on there (#87 -Finish my novel?  How about ’start’ my novel), it seems like I’m getting some things accomplished.

I haven’t been sleeping well because the pressure of delivering a quality Christmas gift to my  mother has been weighing on me.  I really hope she isn’t disappointed and I hope I haven’t failed by being my own editor.  I’m a terrible editor, as evidenced above.

I have no end for this dribble.  I feel like just switching off the light and leaving the room.

Click.

I had the opportunity to view the tragic mishap that some have said is “Triumphant and soaring,” (or something equally film critic lame) and I have to say in response, “Wake the fuck up, this movie was abysmal.”  Pursuit of Sappyness.  Pursuit of Dicksmackyness.   Pursuit of Irresponsiblyparentingness.  All suitable titles.

First of all, I will get it out of the way and go ahead and say that yes, Will Smith can act.  His son is adorable and hopefully won’t turn out terribly like some kind of Corey Feldman, because adorable kids in movies turn into trainwrecks 90% of the time.

Now, if you are a screenwriter and feel the need to put in voice over to explain something that’s going on that your average audience-talking dumbass viewer might miss, fine.  But putting lines in like, “This is the part of my life I like to call: Running,” while we see shots of Will Smith running, is shameful.  Even more shameful?  REPEATING THIS LAME ASS DEVICE THROUGHOUT THE FILM.

Secondly, Thandie Newton is a fine actress.  She has many shades of sad face.  She is not perfectly cast in this movie, but whatever.  My issue?  Making the woman who worked 6 months of double shifts for her shitty salesman husband the bad guy.  Obviously it is difficult in a movie about the “Soaring, triumphant rise of an everyman,” to give every side a voice, but maybe, just maybe, we could have a less shrieky performance from the woman who was seriously trying to keep her family from being thrown out on the street.  And who finally gave up when her shit-for-brains husband (who threw all their money away on an unresearched “business investment” for x-ray machines that zero doctors offices wanted) refused to step up for his family and take a job that paid actual money.

This movie is so terrible on other levels that it just boggles the mind.  The music made Allie and I want to hit each other, and since normally Allie and I don’t feel like punching each other, I’m guessing there were some bad choices made in the scoring session.

I love treacly movies.  I really do.  This one however was made by a Treacley Movie 2000 Sapinator, and should be avoided.

My friend Tara is casting for season two of HGTV’s Design Star.  If you are a designer, architect, or artist and are awesome plus a fame whore or know someone who is, go here.

Tara is very cool, so the show must be decent.  She has worked in reality tv for a while and this is one of the few times she’s said she actually likes the show she’s working on, so there’s that.  If you have any questions, I can forward them to Tara so let me know.

Quickly, before I rush off to scarf down latkes and wine, I thought I’d mention my current obsession.  And gloat about my 100% score on the California Driver’s License test.  I can’t believe I haven’t gloated yet.  So unlike me.

I put off getting my CA DL for 6 years.  Procrastination at its finest!  I am the winner of the procrastination prize!  I am the valedictorian of procrastination school!  All that time procrastinating left a huge pit of guilt and shame in my stomach, that now is full of pride and excitement.  I might get called to jury duty.  I can vote in an election!  Give me a ballot, I’m so ready to vote the shit out of it.  And this is slightly macabre, but the most exciting thing to me is - I might get in a car accident and killed and someone will get my gently (ha) used liver or kidney.  Or my not so perfect corneas.  Or my SKIN!  Or other ’tissue,’ like my ex-smoker lung tissue.  Hooray for organ donors!

Is it weird that I kind of want to donate my body to science when I die?  I want to be cremated anyway and since I’ll be dead I don’t really care if someone uses me to learn about anatomy.  Grey’s, I mean gross anatomy!  I guess it is weird, but I feel like medical students deserve a to get a body that isn’t so incredibly old and crotchety.  And why should the homeless Jane Does get to have all the med school fun?  I want to be dissected!  No really, I think it’s the biggest gift you can give.  I’m going to look into that.

So, 6 years and several aborted attempts at taking the test and you are looking at the finest driver California has to offer.  Eat it!