i came to the door after riding home from work today, and as i'm dragging nimbus up the stairs i notice a small black object between the screen and the door. i kneel down to pick it up and as soon as i see the crooked "hugo boss" lettering my heart kick flips, ollies and grinds. i spend the next hour racking my brains to figure out what kind of guardian goddess brought my wallet back to me with all parts intact, minus the cash. all cards have my phx address listed except for the l.a. public library card, but would someone really go through the trouble of calling the library to figure out my address? long story slightly shorter, my downstairs neighbors found the wallet and the landlord recognized me and dropped it off. looks like someone is getting a six pack thank you prezzie from a lezzie tomorrow.
the stork's gift came just in time to catch the tail end of pride, which was still in full swing on sunday night. the abby had a cirque de soleil theme with acrobats and wall to wall gays. i caught a glimps of gregg the trainer from work out and yelled his name. he turned around and searched my face, politely trying to recall where he knew me from. "oh... you don't know me. i just watch work out... a lot," i admitted. he gave me a hug and i moved on only to see mimi, jackie's ex from work out, dating a slightly less hot version jackie circa season 1 (back when she still had the shirt dykey hair). i'm getting low on psuedo celebs from work out that i can still run into, but i'm holding out for rebecca.
listening to: blanco by ana laan
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008
deadlanguage
i just shaved my legs. it had been six months, my longest relationship. hair holds emotional baggage and i'm feeling exhausted. my legs feel weird. but so fresh and so clean. hair cut to follow. it's been two.5 years since i've last had a trim, much less a cut. i thought about just shaving my head, but that's so second wave. tomorrow after work maybe? there's a boi in weho i'd like to visit--justin teal. i hope he's gentle; they usually are.
the museum of natural history hosted a rockin first friday finale last night. for the student rate of $6.50 (you can't even get a drink in this town for that cheap)indieheads from the greater usc region trecked to hear the stringings of the annuals and the mountain goats. while it wasn't really my type of musique, the museum vibe was genius. reconstructed dinasour bones and model bison provided fabulous accoustics, while robotic ankylosaurs strutted and mingled with the crowd. there was even a p.diddy inspired booze room of white&black decor. who knew the museum was so rico suave?
this, of course, came at the price of missing the dyke march. which i'll probably never forgive myself for. we feminists love marches. '
listening to dance dance dance by lykke li
the museum of natural history hosted a rockin first friday finale last night. for the student rate of $6.50 (you can't even get a drink in this town for that cheap)indieheads from the greater usc region trecked to hear the stringings of the annuals and the mountain goats. while it wasn't really my type of musique, the museum vibe was genius. reconstructed dinasour bones and model bison provided fabulous accoustics, while robotic ankylosaurs strutted and mingled with the crowd. there was even a p.diddy inspired booze room of white&black decor. who knew the museum was so rico suave?
this, of course, came at the price of missing the dyke march. which i'll probably never forgive myself for. we feminists love marches. '
listening to dance dance dance by lykke li
Sunday, June 1, 2008
WRNNG: this may ruin your opinion of M.CHO
margaret cho is most known for her self-proclaimed sluttyness, hilarious critiques of republicans, and, of course, her cameos in kelly's music videos. it's no secret that homegirl is genderblind and enjoys relationships with people of all shapes, colors, and genetalia. so it comes a quite the shocker to me to find out that bitch is hiding her male Significant Other whilst filming her new reality tv show. she's brought her SO to events, parties, and fundraisers and it's known that she's off the market to this lucky lucky man, so why is he renting a hotel room for the duration of the filming? sources tell me she doesnt want to lose her core "lesbian" audiance by flashing heterosexual priviledge in their faces. cause, of course, we lez-bots will only find her funny if she is single or dating a wommin. that's queird.
listening to: blanco by ana laan
listening to: blanco by ana laan
do womyn have to be naked to get into the getty, too?
only in la can a super and her tennant have a conversation that goes like this--
super: i'll take care of the bathroom next weekend
tennant: no, you said you would fix it today and you need to come today
super: yeah... well... you smoke marijuana in your room and i can smell it!
tennant: right, and i have a permit and thanks to h.r. 5843 you can't do anything about it.
and, what?!
the highlights from the getty
and "black out," (2004) a video by cathy begien where she sits in front of the camera, blindfolded, and retells the events of the evening as beers, cocktails and cigarettes are shoved into her hands while the scene unfolds around her.
with a view remnicent of new york's empire state building, the getty is rich in gardens, architecture and map guides. the trams provide the theme-park-like atmosphere and the gift shops, restaurants, and tours only add to the disney feeling. but if you can get past the smell of corn dogs, the five buildings packed with monets, renoirs and a special exhibit on "imaging christ" are america's version of the louvre.
super: i'll take care of the bathroom next weekend
tennant: no, you said you would fix it today and you need to come today
super: yeah... well... you smoke marijuana in your room and i can smell it!
tennant: right, and i have a permit and thanks to h.r. 5843 you can't do anything about it.
and, what?!
the highlights from the getty
and "black out," (2004) a video by cathy begien where she sits in front of the camera, blindfolded, and retells the events of the evening as beers, cocktails and cigarettes are shoved into her hands while the scene unfolds around her.
with a view remnicent of new york's empire state building, the getty is rich in gardens, architecture and map guides. the trams provide the theme-park-like atmosphere and the gift shops, restaurants, and tours only add to the disney feeling. but if you can get past the smell of corn dogs, the five buildings packed with monets, renoirs and a special exhibit on "imaging christ" are america's version of the louvre.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
it was the best of times, it was the worst of times (cali vrsn 2.0)
ATTN: i would like to apologize for the many numbers of you who got a random call from me at 1am. i was under the influence of celebritcholism
talk about salubrious evenings and regretful mornings, eh? well, last night we took aleksandra solomonor vrsn 2.0 out for her first breath of los angeles bar air. as soon as the big guys with overcompensating flashlights nod me in i see MIKA! okay, not the singer, but the newly-skinny gay from work out [most known for cussing deedee out during group therapy]. told him he looked great, shared a few laughs, and walked into swanky pants galore. "here," west hollywood's primo dyke club on thursday nights, was packed with a wide array of bull/power/baby/femme dykes. i met a beautiful boy in an argyle sweater vest, so, naturally, we ended up making out. NBD. the $8 vodkacrans kept pouring in, so i kept em shooting back. drunk and dancing, i saw a gorg older blonde in a blue striped tank top. then i got to talking with the dancer on stage and forgot about ms. blonde bombshell. but after the dancer's bf came over (officer jay from "the silverman programme"), my eyes drifted back to MS. JACKIE WARNER. i moved two feet over and felt the hot hot heat reverberating off her ultra-toned 'ceps as i touched her silky smoothe skin, "excuse me, are you jackie warner?" stupid intro, i know, but i had to be sure. although, i would count three years of bravo-stalking her preperation enough. i looked at her date to make sure i wasn't being super rude and couldnt understand why a wave of anger rushed through me. DAWN FUCKING DENBO. so dawn and her lover jackie agree to take a photo with me, this is versn 2.0, the orig was a bit blurrsville:
then they went back to intense bumping and grinding/making out. i'm not gonna lie, i may have been drooling. but, you would have too! [sidenote, i call my boss at ms. to tell her my awesome sighting, and she freaks because denbo is supposedly in the closet. she's only gay for pay. but unless she's a really good actor, jackie wasn't cutting her checks.]
as we're leaving the club, we see a huge group of people and an all-male ensemble of paparazzi. ever wonder why there are so few mamarazzis? no, it's a fucking meaningless job. so christina aguilara is leaving the club next door at the same time as we're leaving "hear." NUTS.
this morning i realized i lost my wallet and spent today search the streets of weho for it. the next time i hunt so persistantly in weho better be after a phone number. no luck. had to cancel my debit hards and make new accounts ughughugh and the worst of it was the aleksandra solomonor was in my hugo boss ripoff, which is forever lost to the streets of sin. anyone know a 21 yr old red?
listening to: i'll kill her by soko
talk about salubrious evenings and regretful mornings, eh? well, last night we took aleksandra solomonor vrsn 2.0 out for her first breath of los angeles bar air. as soon as the big guys with overcompensating flashlights nod me in i see MIKA! okay, not the singer, but the newly-skinny gay from work out [most known for cussing deedee out during group therapy]. told him he looked great, shared a few laughs, and walked into swanky pants galore. "here," west hollywood's primo dyke club on thursday nights, was packed with a wide array of bull/power/baby/femme dykes. i met a beautiful boy in an argyle sweater vest, so, naturally, we ended up making out. NBD. the $8 vodkacrans kept pouring in, so i kept em shooting back. drunk and dancing, i saw a gorg older blonde in a blue striped tank top. then i got to talking with the dancer on stage and forgot about ms. blonde bombshell. but after the dancer's bf came over (officer jay from "the silverman programme"), my eyes drifted back to MS. JACKIE WARNER. i moved two feet over and felt the hot hot heat reverberating off her ultra-toned 'ceps as i touched her silky smoothe skin, "excuse me, are you jackie warner?" stupid intro, i know, but i had to be sure. although, i would count three years of bravo-stalking her preperation enough. i looked at her date to make sure i wasn't being super rude and couldnt understand why a wave of anger rushed through me. DAWN FUCKING DENBO. so dawn and her lover jackie agree to take a photo with me, this is versn 2.0, the orig was a bit blurrsville:
then they went back to intense bumping and grinding/making out. i'm not gonna lie, i may have been drooling. but, you would have too! [sidenote, i call my boss at ms. to tell her my awesome sighting, and she freaks because denbo is supposedly in the closet. she's only gay for pay. but unless she's a really good actor, jackie wasn't cutting her checks.]
as we're leaving the club, we see a huge group of people and an all-male ensemble of paparazzi. ever wonder why there are so few mamarazzis? no, it's a fucking meaningless job. so christina aguilara is leaving the club next door at the same time as we're leaving "hear." NUTS.
this morning i realized i lost my wallet and spent today search the streets of weho for it. the next time i hunt so persistantly in weho better be after a phone number. no luck. had to cancel my debit hards and make new accounts ughughugh and the worst of it was the aleksandra solomonor was in my hugo boss ripoff, which is forever lost to the streets of sin. anyone know a 21 yr old red?
listening to: i'll kill her by soko
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
humans need cages around their bodies--wombs, houses, coffins.
-xiaolu guo
twenty fragments of a ravenous youth
we were such a gossip mag today; my alice pieszecki heart fluttered. i learned the scoop on kate moennig's don't ask don't tell policy, who knew half the people who wrote for ms. also wrote for the advocate?
-xiaolu guo
twenty fragments of a ravenous youth
we were such a gossip mag today; my alice pieszecki heart fluttered. i learned the scoop on kate moennig's don't ask don't tell policy, who knew half the people who wrote for ms. also wrote for the advocate?
Sunday, May 25, 2008
sup, boo?
venice beach--a pigeon's dream.
"where's my man in the buldging superman speedo?"
"where's my top-heavy boo?"
homie taking bombp riffs outta his backpack, a 30-ensemble bongo clan, the hare krishnas, $4 sunglasses, what could be better?
street ball is nothing new to me. i mean, dykeball threw down a few times this semester, and i'm quite familiar with the pick-up lingo, but the crew we saw in venice beach beat out even our own tough bitches. in addition to great talent, accuracy, and communication, team a brought a secret weapon. shaq's #1 fan:
don't be fooled by the salt 'n pepper, dreds, homeboy was their anchor, their point, their godfather. his endurance was longer than the periods between britney's pregnancies.
this was pretty much the coolest thing i've ever experienced.
tonight we are going klubbin. watch out ladies, imma dress jess tonight ;)
listening to: new soul by yael naim
"where's my man in the buldging superman speedo?"
"where's my top-heavy boo?"
homie taking bombp riffs outta his backpack, a 30-ensemble bongo clan, the hare krishnas, $4 sunglasses, what could be better?
street ball is nothing new to me. i mean, dykeball threw down a few times this semester, and i'm quite familiar with the pick-up lingo, but the crew we saw in venice beach beat out even our own tough bitches. in addition to great talent, accuracy, and communication, team a brought a secret weapon. shaq's #1 fan:
don't be fooled by the salt 'n pepper, dreds, homeboy was their anchor, their point, their godfather. his endurance was longer than the periods between britney's pregnancies.
this was pretty much the coolest thing i've ever experienced.
tonight we are going klubbin. watch out ladies, imma dress jess tonight ;)
listening to: new soul by yael naim
Saturday, May 24, 2008
the nothing boys
uh huh her tickets sold out--INSERT FREAKOUT HERE
who knows a dyke who knows a dyke who knows a dyke who can get me in!?
i'm more of a free will girl myself, but there's something about los angeles that makes me consider determination. i mean, as far as fate goes, some things have just fallen into place reaaallly nicely. exhibit a:
i've been going back and forth on this vegetarian thing. not to say i've cheated, but mental resolve has gone from overflowing to depleted over the passed few days. yesterday was a good day for peta though, and all the thanks goes to jax. so mareine made this mistake, a ranch "chicken" wrap, and gabe taught me how to make a (organice vegan) cappuccino, so my lunch was super delish and gave me hope for not needing meat in my life. cause, i mean there's the health reasons. then there's the feminist reasons, including cost to womyn and animals. and then it just tastes really good. lucky that i had that before they sent me to bristol farms to get paper towels, because bristol farms had free samps--anyone who knows me knows my obsession with free samps--and they had chicken (without the quotation marks) pasta. i obstained. may have been the first time i turned down free samps.
ooohhhh, what? PRIDE?
"this is los angeles, every girl in los angeles is as straight as the next cocktail"--jackie warner
listening to: i know by dionne farris
who knows a dyke who knows a dyke who knows a dyke who can get me in!?
i'm more of a free will girl myself, but there's something about los angeles that makes me consider determination. i mean, as far as fate goes, some things have just fallen into place reaaallly nicely. exhibit a:
i've been going back and forth on this vegetarian thing. not to say i've cheated, but mental resolve has gone from overflowing to depleted over the passed few days. yesterday was a good day for peta though, and all the thanks goes to jax. so mareine made this mistake, a ranch "chicken" wrap, and gabe taught me how to make a (organice vegan) cappuccino, so my lunch was super delish and gave me hope for not needing meat in my life. cause, i mean there's the health reasons. then there's the feminist reasons, including cost to womyn and animals. and then it just tastes really good. lucky that i had that before they sent me to bristol farms to get paper towels, because bristol farms had free samps--anyone who knows me knows my obsession with free samps--and they had chicken (without the quotation marks) pasta. i obstained. may have been the first time i turned down free samps.
ooohhhh, what? PRIDE?
"this is los angeles, every girl in los angeles is as straight as the next cocktail"--jackie warner
listening to: i know by dionne farris
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
it's official: i'm a bus rider
one of my roommate's profile pictures is of a girl looking a bones and when i asked this anthropology major about it, i got:
"idk, she's hot... and she's looking at bones!"
bitch went to harvard for undergrad, who knew?
today i reviewed itty bitty titty committee for ms. believe it or not, that was a life mission of mine.
true or fale: i'm a vegetarian now.
mmmhm. and good thing jess went grocery shopping with me, cause who knew chicken ramen wasn't veggie? pas moi. she kept me on track a couple times, to be honest, i guess the pepperoni on bagel bites counts as "meat" too.
so mon-wed i'm ruining my eyesight at ms. checking facts and killiing the rain forest with mandatory print jobs, and thurs-sun imma be at jaxvegancafe. but this thursday=beach day. and friday night is going to be my introduction to west hollywood. i think imma need to brush up on my pick up lines. i believe the last one i used in earnest was "I WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU." i don't think that's really la's style. i think i'll practice my disinterested look and txting.
jackie warner is a misogynist. on tonights ep i believe her line was, "i felt great. i had briana on my arm and i was in a good mood." great, i'm glad that arm candy did it for ya. this being said, i'm still willing to pay $40 for a group work out session on the wood floors that i've watched her beautiful sweat fall onto. my two fellow interns and i are equally obsessed with the blonde mogel, and we're willing to shell out the $$xx for a group session led by ms. jackie warner herself.
listening to: the girls by calvin harris
"idk, she's hot... and she's looking at bones!"
bitch went to harvard for undergrad, who knew?
today i reviewed itty bitty titty committee for ms. believe it or not, that was a life mission of mine.
true or fale: i'm a vegetarian now.
mmmhm. and good thing jess went grocery shopping with me, cause who knew chicken ramen wasn't veggie? pas moi. she kept me on track a couple times, to be honest, i guess the pepperoni on bagel bites counts as "meat" too.
so mon-wed i'm ruining my eyesight at ms. checking facts and killiing the rain forest with mandatory print jobs, and thurs-sun imma be at jaxvegancafe. but this thursday=beach day. and friday night is going to be my introduction to west hollywood. i think imma need to brush up on my pick up lines. i believe the last one i used in earnest was "I WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU." i don't think that's really la's style. i think i'll practice my disinterested look and txting.
jackie warner is a misogynist. on tonights ep i believe her line was, "i felt great. i had briana on my arm and i was in a good mood." great, i'm glad that arm candy did it for ya. this being said, i'm still willing to pay $40 for a group work out session on the wood floors that i've watched her beautiful sweat fall onto. my two fellow interns and i are equally obsessed with the blonde mogel, and we're willing to shell out the $$xx for a group session led by ms. jackie warner herself.
listening to: the girls by calvin harris
Monday, May 19, 2008
visual (ms.)representation
i'd like to start by apologizing for giving a false definition of "danube." while it's true, the word "danube" may refer to the famous river in eastern europe, i believe the restaurant "danube" actually means the following: the slow, hardly frequented craphole attractive only to first generation bulgarian seniors, age 60 and + who consistently tip $3, regardless if the bill is $10 or $60.
did i mention it was very modernly decorated?
last night, stoyan and i were working together when he asked me if i had a boyfriend. i told him i'm currently into girls (and trannies). thinking he was being open-minded, or something, he replied with, "that's cool. everyone has a choice." to which i wanted to say that i didn't think it was a matter of choice, but i figured that was a lot for our first night together. not to mention it was my first time coming out to coworkers not in a college setting.
this morning a total of four people came to the restaurant. i was not a happy slav.
good thing i got a new job, huh.
so jax is a vegan restaurant located just off santa monica blvd and westwood. it's about a 20 minute walk, maybe 10 min on nimbus? it's run by mrs. and mr. jewey2008. a fresh-faced, freckled, curley-haired girl and her beautiful bearded (queer?) brother run the joint, with about three or so extra pairs of hands. don, the brother, could rival samual beam for prettiest.beard.ever.
they've got lunch and dinner and juices and coffees and great wall coloring. and i feel like it would be a lot easier to trans into vegetarianism working at a veeg place. and i finally feel like i'm ready to give up meat, because this internal hypocrasy may be eating away at my stomach lining. although, i don't think the fish will ever go. the eel&cuc roll is just... too... good...
tonight i played fifth wheel with my roommate and hergirlfriend significant other and a dyke couple in north hollywood. although, to be fair, lulu and i did the most shacking up, and even though some people don't recognize beastiality... anyhoo, they've made it their mission to set me up, which is awkward enough for obvious reasons, not to mention everyone they know is 30. and, okay, i'm no ageist, but unless your name is julie schutten, i'm not interested grandma.
tomorrow is my first day at ms. i think i have to take four different bus routes to get there. looks like i'm setting out at 4am. let's be real, i've got a worse sense of direction than kappa alpha's cummulative gpa, and i just know i'm going to end up in the valley. or worse, east l.a. then i'm hanging out with the man that made me believe--in male bisexuality, that is. i met walter at camp chateaugay in new york last year and i instantly pinned him as a fudgepacking. but a summer of late nights and frontal pussy bump sincerely swayed me. i figured i'd never see him again, him being a free-lance actor in la, me being a porn star in flagstaff... it's hard to schedule those rendez-vous's. it's been about a year, and i'm ready for my camp reunion.
did i mention it was very modernly decorated?
last night, stoyan and i were working together when he asked me if i had a boyfriend. i told him i'm currently into girls (and trannies). thinking he was being open-minded, or something, he replied with, "that's cool. everyone has a choice." to which i wanted to say that i didn't think it was a matter of choice, but i figured that was a lot for our first night together. not to mention it was my first time coming out to coworkers not in a college setting.
this morning a total of four people came to the restaurant. i was not a happy slav.
good thing i got a new job, huh.
so jax is a vegan restaurant located just off santa monica blvd and westwood. it's about a 20 minute walk, maybe 10 min on nimbus? it's run by mrs. and mr. jewey2008. a fresh-faced, freckled, curley-haired girl and her beautiful bearded (queer?) brother run the joint, with about three or so extra pairs of hands. don, the brother, could rival samual beam for prettiest.beard.ever.
they've got lunch and dinner and juices and coffees and great wall coloring. and i feel like it would be a lot easier to trans into vegetarianism working at a veeg place. and i finally feel like i'm ready to give up meat, because this internal hypocrasy may be eating away at my stomach lining. although, i don't think the fish will ever go. the eel&cuc roll is just... too... good...
tonight i played fifth wheel with my roommate and her
tomorrow is my first day at ms. i think i have to take four different bus routes to get there. looks like i'm setting out at 4am. let's be real, i've got a worse sense of direction than kappa alpha's cummulative gpa, and i just know i'm going to end up in the valley. or worse, east l.a. then i'm hanging out with the man that made me believe--in male bisexuality, that is. i met walter at camp chateaugay in new york last year and i instantly pinned him as a fudgepacking. but a summer of late nights and frontal pussy bump sincerely swayed me. i figured i'd never see him again, him being a free-lance actor in la, me being a porn star in flagstaff... it's hard to schedule those rendez-vous's. it's been about a year, and i'm ready for my camp reunion.
Friday, May 16, 2008
day 2
the fourteen table restaurant is named after the largest river in europe, starting from the black forest in germany and flowing into the black sea, according to stanislaus. danube has a staff of eight, if you count rafi, the manager. but from what i've observed, his job is to sit at his friends' tables, eat their food, drink their wine (which is literally theirs, danube doesn't serve alcohol) and talk enthusiastically in bulgarian. two servers work each shift, along with a dishwasher, rafi, and the only cook who works every shift, rafi's mother. a womyn in her late fifties, rafi's mom cooks all the dishes from the doumas to the chopska. mmm and it's all fresh eggplants and zuccinis and homecooked. the bread is always served warm, fresh from the oven, and the tarator is a guest favorite.
i trained today and i start tomorrow. a sweaty job hunting day well repayed.
listening to: sing by annie lennox
i trained today and i start tomorrow. a sweaty job hunting day well repayed.
listening to: sing by annie lennox
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Mmmmmm
what a magnificant, fantastic, marvelous kathygriffenic day. it was one of those days where the momentary blemishes lead to clear complexion in a surprising and oil-free way. so i get to the airport around 9am today and i'm sitting in a really really overcramped terminal, i felt like i was at a free access clinic. there were babies crying, and constant noise over the pa and homegirl next to me kept blowing her nose and sneezing. so i'm squashed between curley q and sneezey from snow white and i decide it's the perfect time to crack open "queer in america" (i mean i figured since my mom already saw the book, i might as well read it. which, let me tell you, the part i read was mediocore at best. but, to be fair, it was written in '93 and queer culture has come a real long way since then). anyhoo, bout four pages in, curley q (maybe 28? def late 20s/early 30s lookin chap) goes, "hey i read that book," and with the excitement of a baby gay i exlaime, "really!?" ::sneer:: "ha, no." all right. so i put my ipod in but sometime later lady with her hair pulled back tighter than jackie warner's fabulous abs announces we're going to be delayed for 45 min. curley takes this as initiative for conversation, and after his queer sneer i was a tough bitch to crack. but he got me quick, "so what do you define as feminism?" and thus we began my thirty minute high. i felt like cq was the perfect typical liberal american male archetype: interested but hesitant, confused but openminded. what started out with, "i just feel like it's a bunch of womyn hating on white guys," ended with, "wow i never knew it included so many things, can you email me a list of books you suggest?" end scene.
cut to 12:30 and we've landed in beautiful socal. i hop a flyaway to westwood, within 2 miles of final destination, about a 45 minute drive for only 4 dollars. bargain of the week, huh? just two miles left, simple enough. figure i'll call a cab to pick up me and 150 lbs of lugg. LA taxi cab liars tell me it'll take a mere 10 minutes. perf. 10 minutes go buy, 20, 30, 40, 50--all right. i got dis. i roll my american tourister over to the corner of x and y and figure i'll flag down a yellow submarine. within 15 minutes of back sweat three taxis drive by, all filled with passangers. apparently, my exhasperation struck a cord with mr. night-in-shining-volkswagon-bug. so, i have to admit, i was a little sktech balled. but a hungarian yoga instructor in his late fifties in an eco-friendly car, come on! and that accent, it just dripped polite non-rapist. he took me right to my little green bean appartment, just in time to meet my roommate!
anne was real cordial on the phone and in her emails. i had even sneaked a peak in her room last time i visited la and she had peace flags and a green ninja turtles hat. that spells good peoples to me. but nothing prepared me for such an exquisite delight! homie answered the door in a beige t- with an unbutton button-up plaid number, nose ring, er, stud, and a bandana. either she was my people, or she just played dress-up really well. it only took 30 seconds of small talk to get to the goods.
me: so are you going to be home later tonight?
anne: actually i'll going to a rally because today the california supreme court--
me: passed same-sex marriage!
and then we shared the look. not to mention she has a motorcycle and her gf works at the gay and lesbian center. it's like the gay version of the brady bunch. did i hit the roommate jackpot or what!
anne leaves for class and i unpack like a madwomyn and then sweep and swiffer the floors (who am i??). then i check my grades, rocked this semester, and called my mom for probably the fifth time today. i'm just about to take a shower when anne texts me and tells me her paper is going to take longer than she thought and rally was a no-go. enter bumsville.
BUT NOT FOR LONG.
so i decide to take a walk to the local VONS (cali version of safeway?) and on the way stop by a few places to ask if they are hiring. i've learned that there are three thrift stores between the green bean and vons, and none of them are hiring. and if you were wondering about the persian, thai, and japanese restaurants within those 8 blocks, negative as well. then, it was as if santa monica blvd melted away and it was just me and gene de chene. no, silly, not the french soldier but the independently owned used bookstore! books pour over the squished bookshelves, ceiling to floor, with piles of excess lit stacked at the foot of the shelves, created a perfect state of mild chaos. the isles are so narrow that one person cannot possibly get through a row if another person is already standing there, leaving you completely embraced in literature. there's no need to think about this one. i head straight for samatha, the self-made high school drop out who loves books more than men (well, i mean, that's not exactly a tough call).
me: hi, are you looking to hire?
sam: what's your name? want some grapes?
in the hour that sam and i spent kickin the shit (is that the right idiom?) never once did we mention past history, gpa, criminal history--nothing. we stuck to capetalism, local independent businesses, her mother and mine. we talked about eachother's energies. it was all very arousing. if hired, i would help her update the womyn's studies and gay&lez sections. dream.come.tru. so i find out tomorrow if she can spare me the hours, local bookstores aren't exactly rolling in it these days (RIP aradia). fingers crossed.
and to top it off, i caught both k.griffen and j.warner on bravo tonight. goddess bless a cable package that makes sense. (who picks espn over bravo!?)
listening to: are you that somebody by the gossip
cut to 12:30 and we've landed in beautiful socal. i hop a flyaway to westwood, within 2 miles of final destination, about a 45 minute drive for only 4 dollars. bargain of the week, huh? just two miles left, simple enough. figure i'll call a cab to pick up me and 150 lbs of lugg. LA taxi cab liars tell me it'll take a mere 10 minutes. perf. 10 minutes go buy, 20, 30, 40, 50--all right. i got dis. i roll my american tourister over to the corner of x and y and figure i'll flag down a yellow submarine. within 15 minutes of back sweat three taxis drive by, all filled with passangers. apparently, my exhasperation struck a cord with mr. night-in-shining-volkswagon-bug. so, i have to admit, i was a little sktech balled. but a hungarian yoga instructor in his late fifties in an eco-friendly car, come on! and that accent, it just dripped polite non-rapist. he took me right to my little green bean appartment, just in time to meet my roommate!
anne was real cordial on the phone and in her emails. i had even sneaked a peak in her room last time i visited la and she had peace flags and a green ninja turtles hat. that spells good peoples to me. but nothing prepared me for such an exquisite delight! homie answered the door in a beige t- with an unbutton button-up plaid number, nose ring, er, stud, and a bandana. either she was my people, or she just played dress-up really well. it only took 30 seconds of small talk to get to the goods.
me: so are you going to be home later tonight?
anne: actually i'll going to a rally because today the california supreme court--
me: passed same-sex marriage!
and then we shared the look. not to mention she has a motorcycle and her gf works at the gay and lesbian center. it's like the gay version of the brady bunch. did i hit the roommate jackpot or what!
anne leaves for class and i unpack like a madwomyn and then sweep and swiffer the floors (who am i??). then i check my grades, rocked this semester, and called my mom for probably the fifth time today. i'm just about to take a shower when anne texts me and tells me her paper is going to take longer than she thought and rally was a no-go. enter bumsville.
BUT NOT FOR LONG.
so i decide to take a walk to the local VONS (cali version of safeway?) and on the way stop by a few places to ask if they are hiring. i've learned that there are three thrift stores between the green bean and vons, and none of them are hiring. and if you were wondering about the persian, thai, and japanese restaurants within those 8 blocks, negative as well. then, it was as if santa monica blvd melted away and it was just me and gene de chene. no, silly, not the french soldier but the independently owned used bookstore! books pour over the squished bookshelves, ceiling to floor, with piles of excess lit stacked at the foot of the shelves, created a perfect state of mild chaos. the isles are so narrow that one person cannot possibly get through a row if another person is already standing there, leaving you completely embraced in literature. there's no need to think about this one. i head straight for samatha, the self-made high school drop out who loves books more than men (well, i mean, that's not exactly a tough call).
me: hi, are you looking to hire?
sam: what's your name? want some grapes?
in the hour that sam and i spent kickin the shit (is that the right idiom?) never once did we mention past history, gpa, criminal history--nothing. we stuck to capetalism, local independent businesses, her mother and mine. we talked about eachother's energies. it was all very arousing. if hired, i would help her update the womyn's studies and gay&lez sections. dream.come.tru. so i find out tomorrow if she can spare me the hours, local bookstores aren't exactly rolling in it these days (RIP aradia). fingers crossed.
and to top it off, i caught both k.griffen and j.warner on bravo tonight. goddess bless a cable package that makes sense. (who picks espn over bravo!?)
listening to: are you that somebody by the gossip
Saturday, May 10, 2008
where does the good go?
i'm going to paint a picture right now. not with paintburshes and oils, but with words. let's journey. i've got santogold sarenading me via eye-pod and the sun making me sweat through a double am. app. layer. toby is stopping at every bush to leave a lil note and it's probably 500 degrees. we're trotting along at a fairly reasonable speed (i mean, beagles aren't exactly weimaraner's cousins) when tobs brings us to a halt to do what i assume is some confidential detective work, i.e. sniffing already-marked territory. i hear a flap of wings (wings flapping, if you will) and i look down. two tiny frantic bird legs are kicking at a pathetic speed while gray poof wiggles all around toby's death-locked jaw. my voice is hoarse screaming "leave it," the command my father supposedly taught him to drop shoes, socks, and bras. guess he could have used a few extra lessions. i call my dad, at work, in tears, yelling what was probably a completely incomprehensible sentence in half english/half russian, and slamming the phone shut. taking the problem into my own hands, literally, i try to pry his slobbering vault to no avail. i hear him chew. crunch. VOMZ. he spits out a wad of feathers and claws, catches his breath, and is just about to retake polly the pigeon back into his desolate trap when i yank at his leash with all my defeated will and somehow pull him away from the dead. its was heartbreaking. really, a lot.
and he got the silent treatment for the rest of the night.
listening to: the ting tings-that's not my name
and he got the silent treatment for the rest of the night.
listening to: the ting tings-that's not my name
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
bonjour mes amis
i read this really good quote in this really not so good book titled, "the last of her kind," and it goes like this:
women are mostly water
you mean: the earth is mostly water
you mean: the earth is mostly women
its been on my mind for days. i'm 64 pages in, and i don't particularly find anything exceptional about the novel up until this point but i'm thinking, "maybe it's like life of pi?" i mean, let's be real, that book didn't pick up till 100 pages in. i don't know about you, but i don't even remember anything about the book before the boat crashed. anyway, so i'm thinking, i'll give it another 30 or so pages until i return it back to aswi like it was never checked out without filling out the paperwork, but then two consecutive instances let me know author sigrid nunez and i have no future together.
first, there's a rape scene, which, on its own is not innately a red flag; however, this one is so passe it's abrassive. i felt like my media over-fried sensories were not even given a chance to prove their empathy because as soon as it happened it was forgotten. it's still a rape scene. you still have to be careful the way you tell the story and i think it was written by a woman who has never been raped nor has had experience with people who have been raped.
next, and perhaps even more baffling, nunez introduces "sasha," a radical who wears a sickle and hammer charm bracelet. what's more, sasha isn't even her real name! her real name is jenny/heather/amanda/whatever but she picked up sasha somewhere along the way. i just don't like other people with my name. or other red heads. i get this alpha red, alpha sasha name complex. it's NBD.
another thing that really chaffes my behind, lately, is this conversation (read: argument) i am having with a friend of mine. okay, so, i don't know if you've heard of eight belles but she is a kentucky derby race horse who was about to finish in second place when she tragically fell going 9,000 mph, or something, and fractured her two front ankles. Then i guess some horse medics came with horse killer injections and put her down, right on the track. NYT article: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/04/sports/othersports/04derby.html?hp#
So friend X argues thatputting her down (i hate euphemisms...) killing her--right on the track, mind you--was the most humane thing to do because ankle fractures are real painful and when she recovers she would just be put to race again.
okay, but, i don't think any human, if giving the option between a body cast and eventually a wheelchair or death, would chose the latter. all animals have an undeniable essential will to live and just because something is painful doesn't mean the correct option is to give up. also, who gets to decide what is to live and what is to die? it's just really queird logic. but, i don't know, maybe the horse should go to horsey heaven and let its giant over-muscled over-worn body get some rest. i mean, my bones are brittle and i'm not 200x over the recommended muscle mass for my frame. i bruise easy, too. but that's unrelated. in a way, this may have been a good thing for the kentucky derby itself. think of all those delusional upper-class white tom and susan families bringing little thomas jnr and sallie mae to their first horse race. at least it showed them the actual cruelty of horse races instead of the glitz 'n glammer of dry martinis and jessica simpson.
listening to: one more hour by sleater-kinney
women are mostly water
you mean: the earth is mostly water
you mean: the earth is mostly women
its been on my mind for days. i'm 64 pages in, and i don't particularly find anything exceptional about the novel up until this point but i'm thinking, "maybe it's like life of pi?" i mean, let's be real, that book didn't pick up till 100 pages in. i don't know about you, but i don't even remember anything about the book before the boat crashed. anyway, so i'm thinking, i'll give it another 30 or so pages until i return it back to aswi like it was never checked out without filling out the paperwork, but then two consecutive instances let me know author sigrid nunez and i have no future together.
first, there's a rape scene, which, on its own is not innately a red flag; however, this one is so passe it's abrassive. i felt like my media over-fried sensories were not even given a chance to prove their empathy because as soon as it happened it was forgotten. it's still a rape scene. you still have to be careful the way you tell the story and i think it was written by a woman who has never been raped nor has had experience with people who have been raped.
next, and perhaps even more baffling, nunez introduces "sasha," a radical who wears a sickle and hammer charm bracelet. what's more, sasha isn't even her real name! her real name is jenny/heather/amanda/whatever but she picked up sasha somewhere along the way. i just don't like other people with my name. or other red heads. i get this alpha red, alpha sasha name complex. it's NBD.
another thing that really chaffes my behind, lately, is this conversation (read: argument) i am having with a friend of mine. okay, so, i don't know if you've heard of eight belles but she is a kentucky derby race horse who was about to finish in second place when she tragically fell going 9,000 mph, or something, and fractured her two front ankles. Then i guess some horse medics came with horse killer injections and put her down, right on the track. NYT article: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/04/sports/othersports/04derby.html?hp#
So friend X argues that
okay, but, i don't think any human, if giving the option between a body cast and eventually a wheelchair or death, would chose the latter. all animals have an undeniable essential will to live and just because something is painful doesn't mean the correct option is to give up. also, who gets to decide what is to live and what is to die? it's just really queird logic. but, i don't know, maybe the horse should go to horsey heaven and let its giant over-muscled over-worn body get some rest. i mean, my bones are brittle and i'm not 200x over the recommended muscle mass for my frame. i bruise easy, too. but that's unrelated. in a way, this may have been a good thing for the kentucky derby itself. think of all those delusional upper-class white tom and susan families bringing little thomas jnr and sallie mae to their first horse race. at least it showed them the actual cruelty of horse races instead of the glitz 'n glammer of dry martinis and jessica simpson.
listening to: one more hour by sleater-kinney
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