Monday, January 31, 2005

media update: January

Every month, I keep a comprehensive list of every book I've read and every movie I've seen. Asterisks denote something I particularly enjoyed or found especially worthy of my time; your mileage may vary.


1. The Kite Runner* by Khaled Hosseini: The powerful and moving story of an Afghani immigrant's return to his home country in an attempt to atone for the sins of his past. Thanks to Cruella the Nice for the great recommendation!

2. Twisted by Jonathan Kellerman: Better than The Conspiracy Club, but then again, the last crap I took was better than that waste of pulp. You can give this one a pass too unless you're exceptionally bored.

3. Life Expectancy* by Dean R. Koontz: I didn't have high hopes for this book after the crapfest that was The Taking, but he surprised me. It's about a man whose grandfather, before his birth, predicted that he would have five terrible days in his life...and he wasn't kidding. Sure, he occasionally uses florid metaphors at which Bulwer-Lytton would cringe, and the ending is a little too happy-crappy, but overall it's really entertaining. And yes, dammit, I cried.

4. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl: In preparation for the upcoming remake, which promises to be eighteen shades of awesome.


1. Bleachy-Haired Honky Bitch* by Hollis Gillespie: First of all, this is the greatest title ever. Second, I am convinced this is either my friend Susan or David Sedaris writing under a pen name.

2. The Secret Life of Lobsters by Trevor Corson: Who knew lobsters were so interesting?

3. He's Just Not That Into You* by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo: When I read the chapter saying that women should never ask guys out, I began thinking this book was an updated version of The Rules wrapped in feminist clothes, but for the most part, the advice in this is right on.

4. Pledged: The Secret Life of Sororities* by Alexandra Robbins: An incisive and disturbing look at the sorority system that pretty much confirmed everything I'd ever thought about them...and then some.


1. Love's Zephyr vols. 1-3 by Motoi Yoshida

2. Addicted to Curry vols. 2-3 by Funatsu Kozuki

3. Bleach* vols. 5-16 by Tite Kubo

4. Love Monster* vol. 5 by Riko Miyagi

5. Instant Teen: Just Add Nuts! vols. 1-2 by Haruka Fukushima: I know this sounds like a Barely Legal spinoff, but I swear this isn't porn.

6. Kneel Down and Kiss My Boots by Tori Maia

7. Kill Me Kiss Me vol. 4 by Young Yuu Lee

8. The Virgin Mary Is Watching by Nagasawa Satoru


1. Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle: Quite possibly the dumbest movie ever, but man, is it funny. I will never look at Neil Patrick Harris the same way again. "Llllllapdaaaance..."

2. Million Dollar Baby*: Not a lot I can say without ruining it, but holy crap. All I can say is that when Clint Eastwood finally defines that Gaelic phrase for Hilary Swank...oh, the bawling.

3. Open Water: Grim flick about a couple who get stranded in the middle of the ocean, and soon attract the attention of sharks. After it was over, G turned to me and said, "Let's not go diving." Me: "Let's not go diving twice!"

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

the Loose Slots Tour part 3

On Saturday morning, we all lazily rolled out of bed and began the laborious process of clearing our heads. Spock took off around 9AM, but we promised to call him before our big night so he could join in the festivities. It took a while to get ready, since three women + one bathroom = tight squeeze, but we were finally fit for public viewing and ready for some grub. We had breakfast at the café downstairs, and then K took off on her own while Susan and I strolled the Strip, stopping here and there to gamble and gawk. We got ice cream in Paris (pistachio for me, coffee with chocolate-covered coffee beans for her) and watched people laughing hysterically over the mime walking around teasing tourists.

“Boy, they’re really grooving on the mime,” Susan said.

I stared at her in awe. “That would be the best euphemism for masturbation ever. From now on, I shall refer to it as grooving on the mime.”

There’s a place on the Strip that rents luxury cars, and they had an Elvis impersonator, complete with spangled white jumpsuit and huge aviator glasses, standing by a red convertible. We knew we had to pose with him, so after a nice woman agreed to take a picture, we flanked him and he put his arms around us. “Put your heads on mah chest, little mamas,” he crooned, and we laughed and complied.

At 4PM, we met up with K at the room, and took short naps before changing into our hottest duds. I started out wearing my dragon dress (a black silk floor-length dress printed with blue dragons and slit up the side), but for some reason it didn’t look right to me, and I thought it might be uberlame to show up at Imperial Palace looking like the hostess for Ming’s. Fortunately, I had brought a backup outfit, and I put it on: a pretty floral halter dress with a ruffly hem. K chose a sweater, black skirt, and her supersexy black stiletto-heeled bitch boots, and Susan went with a printed top with lace sleeves, jeans, and high-heeled boots. While we were getting around, we realized that the pirate show had started, and even though we couldn’t hear the dialogue (which was no loss, from what I understand), we could see the boat sinking and the fireworks from our window.

Worried about a potentially hostile reaction to Spock at Olympic Gardens (a notorious dual-level strip club that features female dancers on the ground floor and male dancers on the upper level), I decided to give them a call.

“Olympic Gardens, may I help you?”

“Uh, yes,” I began. “I’m not really sure how to phrase this without sounding insulting, but I’m coming to your establishment tonight with a group of gay, lesbian, and bisexual friends, and I just wanted to make sure they would be treated cordially.”

“Oh, of course, no problem. Women can go anywhere and get lapdances from anyone, although men who go upstairs, where the male dancers are, must be accompanied by a woman, and they cannot get lapdances from our male dancers.”

Crap…there went my gleeful visions of watching Spock get a lapdance…but at least I knew he’d be able to enjoy the eye candy.

Once we were all tarted up, we hopped into a cab and rode over to Imperial Palace. K accidentally gave the people in line for a cab a squirrel shot, but those boys weren’t complaining one bit! There was some confusion as to where everyone was meeting up, but once we got it settled, we had time to get dinner at the Seahouse. I had quite possibly the best filet mignon of my life, which was made even better by dipping it into béarnaise sauce. Oh yeah. I topped it off with crème brulee and a glass of red wine and was squirming around with delight. At one point, I picked up a fork from the table using only my cleavage, to the delight of K and Susan and the confused stares of our waiter.

After we finished eating, we sat in the lounge area and soon Luna, A, Supergirl, J, and TR showed up and we talked for a while. Unfortunately, Luna and A had to head back home, so we hugged them goodbye. We cabbed it over to Olympic Gardens, paid our $20 cover charge, and went inside. We found a table and sat down to watch the dancers ply their trade. Spock arrived about fifteen minutes later, and once he sat down we all ordered drinks.

“Oh my god,” I whispered, trying to get everyone’s attention without being too obvious. “Check it out.”

Surreptitiously, everyone turned to see what I was flicking my eyes at. A pretty young stripper was bending over a table while a man kneaded her ass as though preparing pizza dough, and she stared straight ahead chomping on her gum, looking for all the world as bored and complacent as a cow being milked. It was one of those things that was both funny and sad at the same time, like a clown falling into a combine. It finally became too depressing to watch any further, so we headed upstairs to where the boys were.

“Oooooweeee, girl!” Susan said. “Did you notice that guy staring at you when you walked past him?”

“In a good way or a bad way?” I asked.

“Oh, please. In a very good way.”

Beam! I knew I looked money with my cleavage and my legs and my hair in a chicly messy updo, but to get attention in a room full of half-naked women? Talk about an ego boost!

Upstairs was pretty much the exact opposite of downstairs; we had barely even walked in the doorway when two shirtless dancers came over and said hello. We grabbed a couch, and within seconds a dancer came over and asked if I wanted a lapdance. I politely declined, as he wasn’t my type, saying that I had just gotten there and wanted a chance to get my bearings. As soon as he walked away, I turned to talk to Susan, but our conversation was interrupted when someone put their hand on my shoulder. I turned around, thinking it was Spock, but imagine my surprise when I found a jockstrap-clad dingly-dangly at eye level.


“A little present for you, sweetie!” Spock shouted as the dancer began running his hands over my shoulders, then down to my sides and over my breasts. I shivered as he danced around me, touching and teasing me, and I immediately sat on my hands.

Must not touch...I have a fantastic boyfriend...I have a fantastic boyfriend...sweet Jesus I WANT TO TOUCH THE HEINIE!

I could resist no longer. I grabbed two handfuls of sweet cheek meat and moaned in ecstasy. I spanked him so hard my hand stung, and he said, “Yeah, baby, you like that, don’t you? I’ve been so naughty.”

Spock yelled, “And she’s the shy one!”

After he finished tormenting me, the dancer kissed me on the cheek and then shook Spock’s hand and said something I didn’t catch. Spock replied, “It was as much for me as it was for her!” and the dancer winked and said, “I know.”

I bought a lapdance for K, and then one for Susan, and enjoyed watching their reactions. K slyly sent a dancer Supergirl’s way, and she shrieked, “No, don’t touch me, I’m a lesbian!” I was chuckling at her discomfort when I noticed Susan handing a twenty to a dancer and pointing at me.


I didn’t hold back this time. I touched every inch of him that wasn’t covered by thong. At one point, I was so wrapped up in it that I started sliding onto the floor, and he took this opportunity to bounce his balls against my forehead. Goodness! I felt like a tennis court. I could do nothing but scream as he teabagged me mercilessly.

Soon we were out of twenties, so we watched the stage dancers for a while before heading out. We made plans to meet up with the others for breakfast, and then walked through a dimly-lit parking lot to Spock’s car, stopping to admire the silver spray-painted Elvis on the side of a dumpster. I told Spock I had never seen the famous “Welcome to Las Vegas” sign, so he took us on a pilgrimage, and we dutifully oohed and aahed.

“On this trip, I have seen a transvestite, an Elvis impersonator, and the welcome sign,” I said solemnly. “My work here is done.”

Well, not quite. Once we got back to Treasure Island, we stopped at Isla and drank ourselves silly…literally. Because I didn’t want to keep getting up, I bought four bottles of Smirnoff Ice in a row and finished three of them off in fairly rapid succession.


I was halfway through the fourth bottle when they announced that they were closing, so I stuck the bottle in my cleavage and we sauntered out of the restaurant. A drunk man accosted us and slurred, “Iz my birthday, I wanna kiss!” So we all (Spock included!) kissed him, and then we got in the elevator with a man who was none too amused by my improvised bottle holder…humorless bastard!

Back in the room, we got ready for bed, and Susan was sitting on the toilet with the door open when I walked in. She talked to me while I brushed my teeth, and then she said, “My god, I actually peed in front of you, and I’m usually so pee-shy!”

“The pee barrier has been broken!” I crowed.

An impromptu slumber party ensued, and although we were all drunk and tired, we couldn’t stop talking and laughing. I made a comment that was far too politically incorrect to repeat here, and we were absolutely howling. I’m surprised security didn’t get called on our rowdy asses!

In the morning, we all got ready, and while K was showering, Suaan, Spock, and I went to get coffee at Starbucks. I was telling him more about G, and he said, “Honestly, in the twenty-odd years I’ve known you, I have never seen you so happy.”

“It sounds so goopy and sappy, but I feel like before I met him, I was just existing…and now I feel alive.”


Then we stopped in Bijoux Terner (“Everything $10!”) so I could grab the cool anime-styled watch I’d been eyeing, and in the gift store for cigarettes and shirts, and it was back to the room to retrieve K. We met up with TR, Supergirl, and J at Bally’s and had breakfast, turning a leftover sausage into a phallic work of art. Then it was tearful goodbyes and hugs, and then we returned to Treasure Island. At K’s car, I turned to Spock and we hugged fiercely. “I love you so much!” I burbled, and he said, “I love you too.” Then he hugged K and Susan goodbye, and we were off.

The ride home was pretty uneventful, aside from some great conversation and a stop at the Bun Boy for dinner. We were all in bed within maybe an hour of getting home, and I must say Susan is a fine woman to share one’s bed with, for she is absolutely silent and barely moves at all. In the morning, I managed to remain somewhat stoic when saying goodbye to her, but once she and K walked out the door, I allowed myself a few tears. She is truly an awesome woman---funny, sweet, whipsmart, and blessed with beauty inside and out---and I’m so glad to have had a chance to share my Vegas adventure with her, and with everyone else as well.

No doubt thanks to all the secondhand smoke, rich food, drinking, and lack of sleep, my immune system plummeted, and I am now suffering from the same crud plaguing everyone else around the office. My eyes are bloodshot, my nose is chapped, and my throat feels like someone took a melonballer to it and scraped away three layers of flesh and mucous membrane, leaving only raw nerves.

But you know what?

I’d do it all over again, and then some.

Viva Las Vegas, baby!

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

the Loose Slots Tour part 2

When the alarm went off on Friday morning, I groaned, pushed twenty pounds of cat off my hip, and stumbled into the bathroom. I was midstream when a thought occurred to me: I was not up early because of work, but because I was going to Vegas! Vegas Vegas Vegas! Halle-freakin’-lujah!

And lo, didst the journey begin.

One of the best things about road trips with good friends is that the conversations are so utterly engrossing. We talked about everything you can possibly imagine, from the mundane to the marvelous, from the scatological to the spiritual. I unbuttoned my jeans for comfort, leaned back, and belched...a resonant belch redolent of my McDonald’s breakfast.

“You don’t say!” Susan exclaimed. Then she belched too, a strange noise that sounded like one of those cans you turn over that emits a somewhat sickly moo.

We stopped in Baker for gas, and many jokes were made about the Bun Boy restaurant and its proximity to the Mad Greek. Then we went to a tacky little place that sold “alien jerky” and featured rubber aliens and a misshapen UFO out front. I bought a bag of jerky and a bottle of Wet Fart hot sauce as super-trashy souvenirs for G. (Hey, the label had a seagull pooping on a guy’s head; I figured it was a touching tribute to our second date.) Susan and I posed with the rubber aliens outside, and I yanked up my shirt and rested my boobs on its head, earning a long klaxon blast from a passing trucker.

Our next stop along the way was Primm Valley, and many jokes were made about the name. “Primm Valley? Fuck that!” I snorted, channeling Neil Patrick Harris. “Where’s Trimm Valley? I need some trim! Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaapdance.”

Once we got to Vegas, K dropped Susan and me off in front of Treasure Island and we went inside to check in while she parked the car. Because it would have cost us $60 extra to have three people in the room, we lied and said it was just us…which I would have felt guilty about if it were a small mom-and-pop kind of place, but hey, not like a fucking casino is going to miss $60. We got our cardkeys (tastefully decorated with a lingerie-clad woman advertising their new nightclub, Tangerine), met up with K, and went upstairs to our room, which was very nice (although sadly devoid of any tacky pirate trappings) and looked straight down on the moat. I went in the bathroom to check out the amenities and was very pleasantly surprised.

“Look at the toiletries!” I shrieked. “Oatmeal cookie soap…pomegranate lotion…this shit rules!”

We unpacked and took a brief nap before heading downstairs to scrounge up some grub. We went to a Mexican fusion place called Isla, and since I hate Mexican food (too many onions), I just got dessert: dulce de leche cupcakes stuffed with cinnamon-vanilla frosting. I was thrilled when they brought it over, for they had stuck a large cactus-shaped gingerbread cookie into a tiny mountain of fudge on the side of the plate, and I’m a sucker for presentation. They were muy delicioso too.

After eating, we walked over to Kahunaville, a tropical-themed bar with a little oxygen bar tucked into one corner. I had always wanted to try an oxygen bar, so I bellied up and plunked down my $6. After some slight hesitation, K and Susan did the same, and the hostess gave us the noseplug thingies. I selected the Fresh “flavor” (cranberry), and we all sat there and felt very very stupid.

“Is it working for you?” K whispered.

“Not really,” I said. “You, Sooz?"

“I don’t think mine is on,” she said, fiddling with the knobs.

I will say that my sinuses cleared up almost immediately, but maybe the noseplugs knocked something loose. It was an interesting experience, at any rate.

Because Spock had recently relocated to Vegas, and Luna and Supergirl20 happened to be in town, we made some phone calls and arranged to have them meet us. We sat at the bar and watched the bartenders flirt and act like Tom Cruise in Cocktail, flinging bottles around and tossing ice cubes into glasses held behind their backs. It took forever to get served, but once we did, we were happy, tipsy puppies. Spock arrived and I screamed and hugged him fiercely, and soon afterwards, Luna and her friend A showed up, along with Supergirl20 and her girlfriend J. We all talked for a while, and then went over to Imperial Palace for substandard Chinese food and superior conversation.

“Wanna go to the Fruit Loop?” Spock asked.

“Sure!” I said.


“What’s that?”

Well, it turns out that the Fruit Loop is the gay area of Vegas, so we all clambered into cabs and went to a bar called the Free Zone. I knocked down several shots, all with colorful names like Adios Motherfucker and Burning Nipples, and started feeling very pleasant indeed. And lest you think the following statement was colored by the booze running rampant through my veins, I will point out that I did hang out with these people when I was cold-stone sober too, and they were all just fantastic. I already knew K and Spock were, of course, and I would have been shocked if Susan was anything less than a fabulously funny firecracker (which she is, and then some), but I had never read Luna or Supergirl20 before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect…and they were great, as were J and A. We watched a drag queen dressed as Gwen Stefani (but looking more like Hedwig) lipsynch to “What You Waiting For?”, ogled the shirtless “tooter boys”, tried to decide if one of the waitresses was a natural-born woman, and then K, Susan, and I danced for awhile.

Soon, though, we all began to feel the effects of too much booze and excitement, and it was time to go to bed. We made plans with the other girls, and then K, Susan, Spock, and I went back to Treasure Island, where we bunked down (K and Susan in one bed, Spock and me in the other) and I fell into a deep, dreamless, smoky sleep.

Monday, January 24, 2005

the ABCs of Las Vegas

I cannot write my full Vegas entry/entries as I would like, because I have to go to bed and lovingly fondle Susan's sweet, sweet can (joke), but here's a sneak preview.

A is for alien jerky
B is for Bun Boy
C is for cleavage
D is for driving 602 round-trip miles
E is for Elvis impersonators
F is for the fork trick
G is for giggling
H is for hos
I is for ice cubes
J is for jealousy
K is for Krispy Kremes
L is for lesbians
M is for $7.50 Midori sours
N is for not winning
O is for Olympia Gardens
P is for pimphand
Q is for quality friends
R is for Ren impressions
S is for Spock
T is for teabagging
U is for ultraviolet light
V is for vagina
W is for Wookie
X is for X-rated humor
Y is for yummy young'uns
Z is for zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

the Loose Slots Tour part 1

So I was sitting in my cube on Tuesday morning, fretting about not being able to greet Susan at LAX on Thursday. “Stupid AWA week,” I muttered to myself as I stapled a stack of papers with much more force than necessary.

But then I noticed P, one of the department managers, limping into his office, and my mood brightened considerably…for although T (the other department manager) had ixnayed my original request, it was P who had the final say, since he's my direct supervisor, and since he hadn’t been in the office for some time, I hadn’t gotten a chance to ask him. Figuring he might be loopy on the pain meds recently prescribed for him after hip surgery, and therefore more pliable, I sucked up my courage and walked into his office.

Green light!

I raced back to my cube to alert K, and we decided to keep the good news under wraps, so as to surprise Susan when I showed up at the airport.

The big day came, and after we parked, K said imperiously, “Walk behind me so we don’t look like we’re together.” She paused, grinned, and said, “I’ve always wanted to tell someone that.” I proceeded slowly, keeping at least ten paces behind her, and when we got inside, I made a beeline for the bathroom. When I emerged, I saw K hugging a petite curly-haired blonde, and I snuck up and prepared to grab a handful of sweet denim-clad ass when Susan whirled around and saw me.

“Hi!” she cried, giving me a big hug, and we all hopped around and squealed and twirled all girly.

The Hustler Superstore was first on our agenda. We giggled over Sphincterine towelettes and Cum Kleen personal wipes before flipping through racks of sexy lingerie. Then we went over to the sex toys aisle and alternated between “oohs” and “ews”.

But even horndogs have to eat, and we were all feeling a bit peckish, so we walked across the street and grabbed a quick lunch at Frankie’s Pizzeria, and then we took the scenic route through Malibu. At one point, when we were stopped at a light, Susan said, “Check out that tree!” So we looked over, and there was a huge tree covered with enormous thorns, and pendulous fruit hung from its branches. “It’s a ballsack tree!”

You know your houseguest is going to rock when she uses the phrase “ballsack”.

Then we saw some droopy plants, which I promptly dubbed cockti, and our botanical butcherings were complete.

We stopped at Neptune’s Net for surfer-watching and pictures, made a detour to Target for bottled water and travel-size toiletries, and then it was back to the Happy Ranch. Susan got the grand tour and loved up on Sneakers, and then she gave us cool presents (magnets, flashing rubber rings, body lotion, a candle, and a can of Flarp). We had dinner, chatted for a bit, and then went to a couple of local bars. At the last one, they had karaoke going, and a long-haired greaseball did a passable rendition of “Sunshine of Your Love”.

“Oh, Cream always reminds me of getting baked in art school,” Susan said wistfully, stirring her vanilla Stoli and ginger ale. “Think he’d sing ‘The White Room’ if I asked nicely?”

“How could he resist you?”

So when he was finished, she got up and sidled over to his booth, putting her hand on his shoulder as she leaned in to tell him her request. He responded, and she smiled and walked off towards the bathroom as he gaped openly at her. K and I burst into laughter, and K said, “God, he was totally checking her out!”

“Can you blame him?”

When she returned, we told her about Cream Boy’s ogling, and her succinct response---delivered in a Ren voice---was “Seeeck!” After he sang her request, we clapped loudly, and then we decided it might be a good idea to take off, since we had to get up so early.

“You know he’s going to spank it thinking of you later,” K said.

“He’s going to imagine entangling his Vienna sausage fingers in your pretty curly hair and moaning, ‘Oh, my tired starling, suck my big fat bratwurst,” I snickered.

“You guys are so gross and horrible,” Susan said.


“I LOVE you!”

(to be continued)

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

like Andy Rooney with tits

...Big, succulent tits, I might add.

Anyway, boys and girls, I got some bitching to do, so grab yo’self your beverage of choice and sit down for a spell.


In general, I actually rather like rain. To me, there is nothing more comforting than sitting in bed reading a good book and listening to the rain beating against the windows.

The key words in the above sentence: sitting in bed, not sitting in a Chevy Cavalier on the 101 behind eighteen thousand other cars while Cal Trans fills in the potholes that have sent much more unfortunate drivers to the side of the road with flat tires and broken axles.

Other key words? Listening to the rain, not listening to the squeak of my windshield wipers (which desperately need replacement blades) and radio stations who think it’s clever to play rain-related songs. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard “Blame It On the Rain”, “Here Comes the Rain Again”, “Who Will Stop the Rain?”, and “No Rain” over the last week, well…I could replace my windshield wiper blades and those of everyone in my apartment complex (not that I would, aside from K, because we live with some real assholes).


When, pray tell, did “whoops!” and “uh-oh!” become acceptable substitutions for “excuse me”?


There is a woman who works in this building that I absolutely loathe. I refer to her as Petunia, after the cartoon pig, because that’s what she looks like: porcine in a disturbingly feminine way. She always wears six-inch stiletto heels and minces around doing nothing but talking to her friends and laughing in a manner that reminds me of gravel in a garbage disposal. Whenever she sees me, she gives me the nastiest stinkeye I’ve seen since Bimborella was still in town, and---like Bimborella---I have no idea what I’ve done to offend her.

Next week, when I work late, I’m going to throw the oil from a can of tuna fish on her seat. Enjoy the squishing sensations, you jizz Jacuzzi.


Practically every one of my coworkers takes personal calls during work. Okay, that’s fine; not like I never talk to Daddy-O when I should be putting together subrogation demands. But their friends/family members/nannies/doctors aren’t calling them on their work phones; they’re calling them on their cell phones. Even that wouldn’t be a big deal…IF THEY HAD NORMAL FUCKING RINGTONES! If I have to listen to one more tinny rendition of “When the Saints Come Marching In” or the theme from “Swan Lake” or “Ride of the Valkyries”, I will find the offender, wrest their cell phone from their hand, and shove it up their ass. I won’t even be nice enough to switch it to the vibration function, either.


It’s always been my personal policy that, when I make a bitch list, I must make a happy list of equal number…so here goes.

*You know that Ben and Jerry’s ice cream flavor that’s obviously supposed to be Almond Joy, but has a different name because they don’t want to pay for the rights? It’s called something like Chocolate-Chunk Coconut Vanilla Almond Orgasm, but don’t quote me on that. Anyway, I got my sample pack of fragrances from LuckyScent, and The Exact Friction of Stars smells just like that tastes. Buh-liss.

*The thunderstorm on Sunday morning made for a perfect backdrop for some sweet snoobling with G. I curled up in his arms and he fed me blueberry mini-muffins, and it was just wonderful.

*It’s actually been sunny all day. When 9:30 rolled around, I was jumping around HangDog’s cube like a dog tugging its leash down from the doorknob, squealing “Wanna walk? Let’s go walk! Come on, let’s walk!” Of course, sunny does not automatically equal warm, but it was still nice to get outside and enjoy the fresh air.

*Viva Las Vegas, baby.

Thursday, January 06, 2005

pour me some Haterade, baby

I don’t generally consider myself a cruel person, but I watched the video of Ashlee Simpson getting booed at the Orange Bowl, and a cool spring of schadenfreude welled up in my parched soul, and lo, didst I laugh.

A tip o' the lid to [cream] for inspiring the remainder of this entry.

Feeling: Very very hungry.

Thinking: About G. We're having a double date (how retro!) with his best friend and his wife. I'm a bit nervous; even though I've met them before, I had alcohol to lubricate my shy-gear, and was much more outgoing than I ordinarily would be. I'm sure it will be fine, though.

Hoping: That this zit on my cheek goes away soon.

Wishing: I could get the song from the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory trailer out of my head.

Craving: A Subway 6" sub on white with ham, mustard, and pickles. And a Coke. And a bag of Lay's salt and vinegar potato chips.

Fuming: About how the department secretary always puts stuff in my inbox and writes "Please record!!!" on it, as though I am a child that constantly must be told what to do.

Planning: To do laundry tonight. Envy my glamorous existence!

Hating: The department secretary.

Wondering: Why dogs kick their leg when you scratch their tummies.

Reading: Bleachy-Haired Honky Bitch by Hollis Gillespie.

Listening: To "T'en Va Pas" by Elsa. I must find more songs by this woman toute suite.

Lusting: After Sawyer from "Lost". I want to lick syrup from his navel.

Faking: Work.

Monday, January 03, 2005

the year that was: 2004

JANUARY: Met up with my brother in Palm Desert and communed with the naked mole rats. Came home and found that we had a new, “temporary” roommate in the form of an enormous tabby cat named Sneakers. Was introduced to my new favorite restaurant, a chic little boite called Café Fiore, home of the Milky Way martini. Became obsessed with Ron Jeremy thanks to “The Surreal Life”.

FEBRUARY: I got moved from paper claims to electronic claims, which pissed me off until I realized that I was getting a paper cut per week as opposed to a paper cut per hour. Saw two particularly depressing movies in a row (Monster and House of Sand and Fog); required medication. Sneakers became a permanent resident of the Happy Ranch after an adoption fell through and K and I realized how much we loved having a fat kitty roaming around the place like a fur-covered tank. Got hit on by an older man at the Hustler Superstore. Watched the Oscars; rejoiced over the Lord of the Rings sweep, even though my LOTR obsession had waned a bit.

MARCH: Daddy-O asked me to go see The Passion of the Christ as a favor; reluctantly complied. Had a minor meltdown over an unexpected fly in the ointment of my life. Bought myself a diamond ring. Went to Little Tokyo and got sunburned. Read eight books and saw four movies. Became obsessed with The Postal Service.

APRIL: I drove down to Corona to meet up with Daddy-O, who was there on business, and had a heart attack when people tried to get into my hotel room at 2AM. Spazzed out on my poor brother when he asked to borrow $500 and was sick at heart about it for days. Ripped one of my favorite skirts. Found out that my department was going to be closed down in about 2 years, and unless I wanted to move to Tennessee, Florida, Alabama, or Illinois, I was going to be job hunting. Got to see John Connolly again, which ruled muchly, especially when he said, “A familiar face! You’re [name very, very close to my real one], right?” The power went out in our neighborhood several times. Read ten books and saw three movies.

Man, in retrospect, aside from seeing my dad and John Connolly again, April really sucked. Screw you, April!

MAY: Got a jury duty notice. Got horribly drunk. Had a hysterical phone conversation with Spock. Became briefly obsessed with Weinerschnitzel. My brother came out for an event held by his university, and we hiked with a Nazi eighteen miles uphill in 250 degree heat to see…a rock. Was mildly placated by the mechanical horse outside Andersen’s Split Pea Soup. Read thirteen books and saw five movies. Discovered Tommy February6. Saw the worst movie of all time.

JUNE: Ran out of gas coming back from LAX. Overheard the neighbors upstairs having loud, raucous sex; was traumatized. Met up with Spock, who was in town for his niece’s graduation, and had a typically hysterical time. Bought new bedding and almost gave myself a hernia flipping the mattress. Injured my toe and was prescribed Vicodin; schemed to mildly injure other parts of my body as well. Read seven books and saw four movies.

JULY: Turned 33. K and I went to Vegas, where we stayed at the Golden Spike (aka the Shitty Stick), met up with our online friend KC, watched a man set his wang on fire, and got stinking drunk. I also got manhandled by a cop, though not in the fun way. I’m sure more happened, but I can’t remember because I lost all of my July entries (and many more) to that friggin' hacker. Eat a plate of dicks, hacker!

AUGUST: Got drunker than I have ever been in my life, left Georgia racing stripes on the side of K’s car, and woke up in the nastiest hotel room imaginable. Thanks to various people being complete and total asshats to my poor dear roommate, I was kept very busy constructing elaborate voodoo dolls; stock in straight pins went through the roof. Had my first date in over a year with a nice but somewhat annoying child psychologist. Fortunately, this was soon followed by my first date with G, and then by my second date with G. I knew he’d be a keeper when I laughed over a seagull crapping on his head at the Santa Barbara Pier and he didn’t get mad at me.

SEPTEMBER: K and I drove up to Sacramento to meet up with several online friends. Snacks were devoured, drinks were imbibed, dish was…er…dished. Not even a day after the party ended, our friend Jane gave birth to the beautiful Claudia. Went to G’s place for the first time and was awed by Mr. Trippy and the jungle room. Silent Hill 4 ate my soul. Went on a date with Otaku Boy and didn’t stop thinking about G the entire time, at which point I knew I was Officially Whipped and swore off dating anyone else. Bought a laptop. Read eight books and saw seven movies.

OCTOBER: B-kun came out for a visit, during which we had the best fucking ice cream in the history of the world, worshipped the swan shoes, destroyed the Malibu library’s bathroom, traipsed through Muir Woods, took a ride around Morro Bay, and sicced the Mormons on Ass Taco. G kicked my ass at Super Puzzle Fighter, bought me a drink served in a ceramic geisha, and just generally rocked my world. The ATM ate my card. Read ten books and saw six movies.

NOVEMBER: Despite my fervent prayers, my Kerry shirt, and the ballots of myself and just about everyone I know, Bush got four more years…dammit. G took me to Hollywood to see The Incredibles at the El Capitan Theater. Got pulled over for a rolling stop and, thanks to the power of my pro-police air freshener, drove away with a warning. Went to Santa Monica with G and rode the Ferris wheel. Hang Dog had a seizure at work, which was one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever seen, but fortunately he’s okay. Had a fun, albeit untraditional, Thanksgiving that consisted of KFC, a 40 of Smirnoff Ice, and a matinee of Sideways. Read ten books and saw five movies.

DECEMBER (and the very beginning of January): Got a nasty bladder infection. Went to the Getty with G. Had a pap smear, which hurt like the proverbial motherfucker. Went out with K and got drunk; fended off the advances of men by claiming I was on parole. K and I went to The Gig on Melrose Avenue to see a friend of hers perform. Spent Christmas weekend with G and did nothing but sleep, eat, and watch TV...bliss! He also gave me one of the best presents of my life in the form of a t-shirt that said "Evil monkey beaters shall get no yen from me, thank you very much." Read eight books and saw three movies. Cried when saying goodbye to V, one of my favorite coworkers, who moved to Florida. Spent New Year’s Eve with G and his friends, all of whom I liked immensely. Drank mass quantities of liquor and woke up on New Year’s Day with little felt socks covering every one of my teeth; vomited profusely and actually told the humming refrigerator to shut up because it was making my headache worse. Made a mushy comment to G and he said, “Aw, that’s just the roofies talking, honey.” He suggested we go to Little Tokyo on Sunday; astounded and delighted, I happily agreed. I bought $50 worth of stationery and magazines and $25 worth of junk food, including Matthew’s Best Hit TV Soda (the Japanese show featured in Lost in Translation), which had the most marvelous Peter Max-styled art on the bottle. We had lunch at a little ramen shop and then walked back to his car, hand in hand.

Saturday, January 01, 2005

Testing, testing, one two three...

Is this thing on?