everyone weigh in

Do we even need to go here?

Odd Occurances AND...

Mustang Sally...

There was a post there somewhere but i won't resurrect it. something about this guy compulsively cleaning his car for 20 minutes while parked under a jacaranda tree which does nothing but drip purple flowers... i thought, you should move your car guy if you don't want to have your car dirtied. wow. good post eh. i'm sorry i lost it.

sigh.

so it's warm out and i'm going to wander around the garden. we've got a few 6-packs to plant (i love beer trees) but they're not all grown up and ready yet. we've got another hummingbird nest and a mockingbird nest...

things i've done/need to do:

applied for one 10wk logging gig
looked for sandals fruitlessly (3 places)
did not find a new handsfree for phone
drove off despair (2x) mainly for phone, a dash for joblessness
develop film
sleep
wander around
more jobs?
finish book
start book
paint room
ate cereal
drank water
got dressed
woke up
currently: listening to radio, oddly enough again: redhotchilipeppers: UndertheBridge.
currently: barefoot, without sandals
currently: applying lip balm
...

cur·mud·geon

Pronunciation: (")k&r-'m&-j&n
Function: noun
Etymology: origin unknown
1 archaic: MISER
2: a crusty, ill-tempered, and usually old man
3: an indication of what i'll become when older

I was confronted with this more hostile side of my personality on Saturday. The scene: my window wide open. The clock ticking to 10:07pm. Mother and I sitting over a cup of tea and madelienes, a gentle breeze, the warm night air. SHATTERED, When a horrific noise wrenched our ears- the sound of a very loud, vibratiing base, rattling our windows- with a dj playing the latest dance,r/b and rap hits. The whirling red lights of hell piercing our eyes. A flock of birds gave cry and flew into the air away from this hellmouths sound. The earth shook. We looked at each other and knew what we had to do.

Call the police. Mom has the police station dispatch on speeddial, and knowing their response time would be in one hour we called without hesitation. We thought, dear God the colony's parents must be out of town- to license such debauchery. I looked over the fence to see the merry spawns of satan arrive one by one, the amps stacked high for no reason- all outside. I thought, I know we're in the ghetto. I know we're on the north side of the tracks. But why for the love of God and all that's holy does this party have to erupt out of nowhere and ruin our still, quiet evening. Why do people think that having a party outside at that decmial level in a sub-urban-area would be acceptable, besides the occassional rapid fire weapon? What made these demonic forces assemble and move in next door to wage their unholy war upon our gentle persons?

At 11, after a growing sense of foreboding I heard the sweet relief of the volume being notched down and breathed a momentary sigh of peace as I donned my bedcap and pulled the bedsheets about me. I thought, why God?, do they not think this an acceptable level- a sort of level that doesn't make your ears bleed or your teeth chatter. But then as I heard the dj say something about the 'cops' and not stopping I reached with my feebled hand toward the phone and dialed the police. As I hung up, knowing there would be no rest for another hour I began to curse Omar and his fucking birthday. Fucking Omar and his fucking Birthday. I began to dream of Molotov cocktails being hurtled into their backyard like flashing beacons of the resistance, of learning how to cut the power in peoples houses... to, to, to... and then the police came again- now stretching into the midnight hours, and then the dj said something about no-one being allowed to come or go- so do not call your friends, he said. And my eyes flashed in delirium as i tossed and turned stacking pillow upon pillow, wondering how to barracade the window and stop the sound- and my hand again reached for the phone. This time I yanked the covers from me and went to take some Benedryl and have a bite of hawaiin BBQ. The dispatch could hear the music from my kitchen, I bemoaned- they will-not-stop!And lo at 12:45 the police again came and people began to flee the party, hopping into my yard to avoid the police, and the girls screeching out into the street... they dispersed into the night and a peaceful sleep reigned at 1:30am. And I, champion of the neigborhood, to let not this place go into the ghetto gentle goodnight- but that we should rage, rage against the dying of the light.

so, seriously?

What is everyone doing this weekend, specifically Monday. I feel like we need to do...something? Suggestions, ideas?

xoxo,

Penelope the Socially Un-Coordinated

p.s. I'm broke.

every once in awhile

I take an okay picture.

The Wedding is OFF

dear guests and well-wishers of me, i regret to inform you that all my dreams are not coming true. that they are in fact being dashed upon the rocky shores of disillusion. further i will have to now ask for all the money back- i was going to give you, spend on you... like for socks and wall-paint, bcs i am now again in massive credit card debt and will not be able to pay it all off like I hoped. or go to nicaragua. people assure me that i may get another job and that it's probably better this way but we still have the inevitable fact that i no longer have a job and have to give the ring back and cancel all my to do lists. thank you all so much for your generosity and support... i'm sorry we had to go thru any of this. and if my ass-hole ex had been clearer in the beginning and not a two-faced liar i'm sure none of this wouldve happened to begin with. feel free to read an outline of the horrific and banal string of events that i'm sure will leave you horrifyingly confused. just as it did me.


The Job Description: We need an assistant whose going to be doing a whole bunch of different things. It's a made up position. We really had to fight the network on it because it doesn't fit into any of the usual production categories. You'll be helping us to write blogs, write letters, do photography of the final projects. Keep up promotional companies, maintain the production books, keep up with press...things that we would be doing but just don't have time. Are you okay with doing a whole bunch of different things? yes. I think that'll be fun and cool. I actually prefer to have a variety of activities. (on helping them) It's okay, i'm used to dealing with actors. - oh we're not that bad- you're not going to get us our coffee or anything. okay.(thank god i don't have to deal with actors.)

Week 1- They show up to work in their pajamas. We watch Judge Judy. We go for walks. Life is grand. They seem to be fun. I'm getting situated with everything. There's not much to do. They say something about adding people to my/space for promos. We go to Target and I watch them pick out make-up and facial cleansers. The first day I was late bcs of the license plate incident. I'm about 5 minutes late-2 of the 5 days. They say, we know there's not much to do but we want you to get acclimated and get comfortable with things so that when things start to get busy you'll know what's what.

Week 2- I write really good letters to promotional companies. I write really good blogs. I feel, yes, this is great. I love doing this. I am still reluctant to add people to my space. I still can't quite manage to get there on time- still 5-8 minutes late on 2 of the 5 days. Am i late for anything? No. When I get to work do I sit down and immediately get to a stack of papers I have to do? No. We go to Ikea and walk around looking at furniture but don't buy anything. They give me Friday off to add people to my space and do internet research and to write 3-4 blogs. Having the weekend I don't do it till Sunday.

Week 3- the art department coordinator also starts- I am no longer helping them to write projects. Their office is now down the hall. I now have even less to do. Jobs given to me are things like, print labels and get that sticky stuff off the notebooks. I am a half hour late bcs of the rain. (Oh, that's okay. NO PROBLEM, they say) They ask me to do a Staples run (I'm not a PA. I think, why am I doing runs?) There are too many people in line. I leave early the next day and go to staples. The meeting where the notebooks will be handed out and not used was suppose to start anywhere from 11-12. it starts without warning at 11:08. the notebooks aren't ready. But the other producer isn't there till 12. I hurry to finish labeling the notebooks so they can hurry up and not be used. I sit in the meeting for 2 hours doing nothing. They send me to do something. I think the meeting is over. I have lunch at 330. I start diligently adding people to MySPACE. Knowing that I haven't been doing enough of it. Horace becomes an asshole. I think something is up... yes, johann i did see this coming.

4:50pm Thursday: (the last 10minutes of MurderSheWrote) they ask to have a 'word' with me. I bring in one of the notebooks- so luckily i have a prop to put all my energy into. It's orange. The rag i was wiping it down with was white.

(Mimi speaking) Okay, we don't think it's working out. We'd like to see if we could move you to a different department. (keep in mind i know exactly what they can afford and which positions are available) of course, it wouldn't be up to us (you mean, you as the executive producers??) that would be jo's call but we think she likes you. we really like you, we really do. We think you're great. Like art department. We think you're so strong creatively that you'd be better there. (nods from horace) You're just not a good assistant. I mean it's bred in some people and it's not in you. (says horace.) So today is going to be your last day. I mean, we'll pay you through the week. (thanks) I mean I know we wanted someone creative but... (more nods from horace)

Here come the charges:
Mimi-You didn't bring a notebook to ikea. (horace is especially appauled at this) You actually at one point said, Mimi, i think you should write that down. (uh, if she didn't i wouldve, really.)

Horace-You brought a book to work and had it on the desk, I mean when I worked I would NEVER! *Gasp* (apparently they have no appreciation of Trollope.) I mean i don't know if you were, well whatever, but still. And you do WAY too much personal stuff on the computer.

Mimi- Yah to be honest I think you're doing it too much to- I mean I know I told you could have the Tv or radio on BUT...

Mimi- I mean there were other red flags: You didn't add people to MySPace until Sunday. I was WATCHING. And that's really important. I asked you if you had the internet research and you didn't (I say, I have it on my computer- no answer). And I asked you to write 4 blogs and you wrote three. (I say, you told me to write 3-4.) Yes but when i say 3-4 i mean SIX! and you did the BARE MINIMUM. (okay Stan) And you went to Staples in the morning and not that night. (I did go. but i had to go back)

Horace- Well what if the same things were still wrong. Then what?!

Mimi: And all we had you do was complete these notebooks and they weren't even ready on time. (i did spend quite a bit of time getting the sticky stuff off the binding) I mean such a simple task and you didn't even get that done- Why weren't they ready. And really the straw that broke the camel's back for me was the notebooks. I mean you left the meeting. I can't believe you didn't come back. I had to answer for that, when they said, where'd your assistant go? I mean, we're the TOP. We're thee EXECUTIVE PRODUCERS. Like, where did you go? We have so much going on in our minds, like, we need someone who has our back and is going to be there for us. And get us our waters and make sure we're getting stuff done. You probably don't even know when our column is due. It's really important and you probably don't even know when it's due (I look at her steadily and I say: the 30th) (Silence. Crickets. Yah, way to hang yourself on that one.) Well and anyway you're always LATE.

Horace: Yah, I mean 30 minutes. 30 minutes late. (oh that time when it freakishly rained in LA and i was in traffic for an hour? oh, yah i guess that's true.)

Mimi: I mean to be honest we love you. WE THINK you're great. But you actually may be just TOO SMART for this job. You probably are TOO SMART for this job. So do you think you'd be interested in going into art department?

Uh... but well, given how you think of me...
Mimi: well lateness. Jo won't put up with lateness. so you can't be late. and you say you won't be late but you've been constantly LATE. . . but either way you'll here from us. (horace: from one of us)

me: okay so can you just cut me my check then and i'll go.

OH_ and i almost forgot to tell you the most horrible part. I was about to turn and leave their living room where Mimi had been sitting on the couch and turning to face me over it, where horace was leaning- just hating me and not saying anything... and then she got up and made me hug her. That's the most upsetting thing. I mean I wrote it just now and I almost teared up and vomited bile into my mouth. Aw, Okay we still LOVE YOU. As she comes toward me with a sweet sad smile. And then of course bcs Mimi hugged me Horace was forced to... and it was like a shive in my kidneys. I walked down the hall and the check had already been cut and folded in a half very tightly- with a crease down the middle. I didn't make eyecontact as I took everything off my desk, forgetting my frozen dinner in the fridge. . .and walking up the fucking steps and being blown away and sad and laughing. like this is FUCKING UNBELIEVABLE> i mean what the fuck is it about me and my 'luck' that makes things like this fucking inevitable.

Here's the thing- thru this entire accolade of charges my mouth was hanging open and my eyes were wide. I was slightly aghast and ready to get very emotional. But mainly amazed. I said all the usual things, like communication problem? Why didn't they say something the first week? Wasn't there anything positive? They did admit that the first week was good, there was one or 2 days in the 2nd week that was positive and then of course the third week--To which they said, you're just not an assistant and we had to give it a trial period. To which I said, but you've basically given me all these secret tests to which I failed. Well if you were an assistant you wouldn't have failed. That's what they said. I shook my head and said, basically i was on this path and you were on this one- I didn't know you wanted a producer's assistant/executive assistant- that wasn't the job title. That wasn't in the description. To which they barely acknowledged that they could've mislead me as to their intentions or to my position. I said, you hired me to take pictures, write blogs... to which they said, BUT BUT BUT... And you're always LATE. I said, do you really want to try and find another position for me because you're so utterly displeased with me. I don't get it. Like if I'd known that's what the position... blah blah blah.

I go back through the days and to the exact pinpoint of every DAMNING INCIDENT and I think what would I have done differently? I guess I would've treated it all as "important" opposed to waiting for my actual job to begin. But the ultimate reality is that I wouldn't have taken the job. I don't apply for jobs like these precisely because of situations like these. I am not an ass-kisser. As Pen says, I don't play the game. I told them in the beginning that i was calm, and it didn't mean that I didn't care. That i was getting stuff done but i'm not frantic. I remember actually specifically saying this. I guess they weren't listening. SO back to the drawing board. I just have to think in the back of my mind that all of these traumas are leading to a bestseller or a breakdown. Like one of these days i'm just going to snap. How much I don't belong in that world or any job world for that matter and how much I really can't assimilate and how much the world is filled with people just like them_ who smile and laugh but inside are very very ugly. But here, let's hug. We still love you. And when you leave we're going to laugh and make caddy snide remarks- and roll your eyes and think oh my god, and she actually brought a book to work that one day. can you BUH-lieve that!

assorted habits to (gently) advise the baby against

1. Attempting to loosen or cut with one's teeth, such as knots, clothing tags, shrinkwrap.
2. Leaving one, two, but especially three car spaces between one's car and the one ahead at stop lights, for no good reason.
3. Majoring in the humanities.
4. Paying for a tan in any capacity, such as tanning bed time, spray tanning like in that store the kids are running on The Real World: Key West, and self-tanning lotions at the drugstore.
5. Making bad faces that will stick should a person clap you on the back, just in case that is actually true.

I expect no results, but will have said my piece.

FIRED!

more on THIS LATER...

Horace and Mimi

And so it begins...

You know how i said that thing about the thing being almost too good to be true. Wait, did I? well that thing that i've been doing for the last specified period of time- it's happened- the first occurance to what my gut has been telling me. oh wait, besides the constant close-minded anti-christian sentiment, granted mainly about fundamentalists, but still. Bit-chez. In the back of my mind behind all the love-fest is something dark and not nice. Mindgames. Gossip. Namecalling. Caddy gay-boys. What-have-you. Everyone has been all nice, and love, and sarcasm, relaxed, casual, sweet and welcoming. So today I take my 'MurderSheWrote' break and was on the phone-perhaps longer than work appropriate. But do keep in mind that for the last 3 days I've sat for hours at a time with nothing to do and that never seemed to bother them before. And if we're going to take JdgeJudy breaks then and have a problem w/me on the phone -then- someone is setting unclear boundaries. In walked Horace. (I caught previous, the back look as he walked down the hallway, that seemed to say, U-h, my god. Is she sssstill on the phon-.) He proceeds to come back with 'something', being as loud as possible as he wrenched open storage lids, moved the contents... after about 45 seconds of the racket I tell my friend I have to go. I say, Horace, do you need some help? He mutters, something about Mimi and Jo needing assistance- vaguely- which I know isn't true and then I say, well I can finish up that letter for you- he again mutters that, sure yah, i can start it... but that he's in no particular hurry about it and that he doesn't even know if i should send it... right. motivator. thanks. in the backofmymind i'm thinking- whatAhbitch. if i replay the event i turn to horace and say, Horace? Are we being passive aggressive? Do you have a problem with me being on the phone?... But do I say it? No. And thus is planted my first anti-horace trigger. And i'm sad about it, as i look into his dark and dreamy lashes... wishing in all that's positive that perhaps i'm reading too much into it.

The thing about these 2 beautiful people is, they're inherently self-absorbed. Which I get. You have to be. It's your show. Your image. Your money... and on and on. I said when interviewed that I was used to dealing with actors and they insisted at the time that they weren't THAT bad, but now I'm not so sure, and I don't blame them for sugar-coating it- but so it goes that behind the comradarie, and the fun and the 'playing' around is a very steep cliff with dark pointy things at the bottom. Because after all, people in this position won't let you 'be'... and must in everyway assert their alpha dog position- that you must sit, and stay, and roll-over and play dead- otherwise they'll feel that you're taking the job for granted, that you're milking the system... and on and on until you start counting down the calendar days thinking, it's not that bad. check by check. debt break by debt break. and then secretly hoping and fearing it's as finite as you'd thought- 10months, 11months- then freefall.

this was at 4:37. i then did 10 minutes of non-work, work. and the rest was sat staring into space, watching my bubbles burst- and figuring out a way to not believe in tinkerbell. it took all my energy to walk down the hall to say goodbye and up the steps to keep from thinking of all the ways in which i've ever been fired, and wondering if i'd walk away from something i thought i wanted so badly. Worst-case-scenario of- course.

give me an H

give me an A
give me an R
give me an
O
L
D
!

Go HAROLD! May you beat Tiffani, the so-called "changed one" (ha), to a tasty gourmet pulp tonight in the final Vegas-based "Top Chef" Showdown, and ultimately
reign supreme.

I love TV. Have I mentioned?

Oh, and I guess I'd like Taylor to win "AI," too. If I have to choose.

Villa Sorrento

My actual post will be about this quirky Italian restaurant but I wanted to segway briefly, and complain about the slight case of laryngitis I have- as diagnosed by WebMD and the Mayo clinic informational website. Remember when I almost came close to not dying with a bad case of the flu? Well it all started like a week ago with the compulsive clearing of the throat, and what seemed like a nest of phlegm in the back of my throat... I said, hark?! What is such a thing as this?! I wonder when this viral hap-flappery will dissipate. One can only hope it doesn't advance to the stage "consult physician."... ahem. sip tea. begin.

SO. Onward to Villa Sorrento's. Where I began to wonder the sorts of things I was missing, the people I never get to see, bcs my existence is my own and not someone elses. It all began innocuously enough- Dad said, let's go to dinner. We've even been to this place before for lunch and dinner- I am usually unenthused, and it has always struck me as an odd place, quiet, carpeted, with stock Italian vistas painted and framed on the wall... an uninhabited piano in the middle of the room, a vacant and dark bar to the back, and if were lucky a group of old guy italians playing card games. Only one waiter and food that looks and tastes home cooked- which I think means no homaganized flair and it is perhaps because what I order is drenched in a butter sauce. mmm. and as a last touch a vat of dietcoke in those big pizza joint glasses. Now to preface, the rarity of this place: it is. These places do not exist in a certain perimeter of Los Angeles. I know, without a doubt- they exist elsewhere, but here they do not. Here this place would be considered a hole and it is, as it is not frequented by well dressed young up-and-comers, no matter how tasty the food- And also realizing this and the vast parking lot property behind the place, it is endangered- One day the owner will die or get an offer he can no longer refuse and sell out. Soon after the place will close, suddenly, with no notice and be mown down for an apartment complex. You will frown everytime you pass it by. You will tell your children what used to be there. You will complain about the density issues and the problem of finding good reasonably priced dining - with parking. And you will cry.

ON. this particular evening right between the vat of coke and the authentic italian salad with bruchetta and cantalope, an old man sat down at the piano. and thus began a navigation of odd characters- a thin man who sang romantic ballads, with brown hair to his shoulders like a victorian maestro, but a too sweet and tempered voice, the aged platinum blonde who could barely rein her stacatto saprano... and then the mafia crew who could be seen to be openly disparaging the other two-a guy who belonged with a pint on a warf, but as noted by sarah, his track pants and sneakers said otherwise, and the white suited character, and the western shirt wearer- but we came to soon to see that these guys knew what they were talking about - with their deep italian voices, loud enough to carry some old world room- shaking patrons out of their red-sauced stuper... toupes and all- we waited for them to sing again but only got a few treats before we'd finished the tiramasu, paid the bill and sat to be tortured by the waifed crooners. I waited patiently. We asked the waitress if this always occured. She said, yes. on sundays. always... I made a note of it, ticking perhaps a later time- as I think the better voices came more frequently later... And all during this select serenading I felt transported, as the saying goes, to a place and time- not all my own- so glad of it- it made me want to travel- but not bcs i was bored but bcs i realized that this is what other worlds hold when i deviate from my routine- and then i began to hope that places such as these won't be eaten up for chains and stock taste- and i got a whist of nostolgia for when i will say, when i was young...

lack-luster

another lackluster blogging stint. i'm aware at least, of my own failure. pen says i'm going thru a period of adjustment. and i have to agree- it's traumatic actually to have not worked for so long to suddenly be working everyday for a specified length of time. i'm throwing anti-workout tantrums. i'm impatient that my checks don't seem to be clearing... and that they're not coming fast enough- when i get home i try to do nothing. i'm dismayed that i actually scheduled to see a show the night of the Lost finale- my whole world is topsy-turvey. i can barely return emails or think of sarcastic things to say. how come i didn't even blog or scream that it took me an hour to get to work yesterday- bcs yes, in no traffic 15min, traffic 30min, rain = jackasses- 1hour. i have as yet to post thoughts like: cancer makes me sad. or that i covered the floor of our house with confetti... lets see other things-wait till later today when i post about this italian restaurant i went to- if i can only find the strength.

i want my mtv

hello and good morning. so here is years of slow labor, a green thumb and arm-wrestling my mom to get my way- right mom?! and this is only the early-mid spring garden. a week has passed and already the sunflowers have doubled in size and we've planted a heap of new things on the right mound- interesting? yes, it is. I know! although i would like to be done with all the maintenance, so i can sit and sit and do nothing but as it is i've assigned myself tasks- like: repot three ferns, rehang. reorganize pots on left side of kitchen door, put away extra pots, throw away trash, sweep, and and uh... finish sometime after everything has died. whatever, it's my lot i know. i'm obsessive and task oriented. what to do?

weekend food for thought

Hmmm. Maybe this is what was happening every time my computer died in school.

move over, Target

(But not too far.) I don't know how long this Old Time Pottery store has been in town, but oh my my. It's like, this giant warehouse-y type place with rows and rows and rows of fun things. It's like Home Goods on steroids, with a little bit of craft store thrown in. And some tiki torches, and a whole lot of pots. And, it's CHEAP.

Yesterday, on my first trip to OTP, I exercised an amazing show of Self-Restraint, and only purchased 3 candle holders for $1.99 each.

daytime:











lit up at night:










Also, fellow Pisces-fish Erin so sweetly fulfilled my lifelong dream of owning a garden gnome named Seymour. Seymour now resides in Herb Corner, along with munchkin friends Sid and Styles. Sid reads a book, while Styles, perhaps unfortunately, remains an integral part of a pinwheel.











And, while I'm at it, I suppose it's a good time to reveal the rest of the garden, which, so far, is growing. As a good garden should.



















Yay for gardens!

Next up at OTP: possible belated housewarming gift for brother, in form of metal pink flamingo planter. Mwahahahaha.

HolyCOw

Okay, they left me alone in the office. they got distracted by something flashy so theyre next door doing god-knows-what. they thought for a brief moment about doing a reality show about the life of 2 producers... and then i thought oh shˆ†, i'd be one of those background character people that either the audience loves or hates. i hope- love! kisses!xoxo. (god she's so obnoxious). tomorrow, bcs theyre overwhelmed they suggested i work from home... uh. okay. sure. not that i'd be doing anything but adding people to their myspace acct. right. free day! anyway yesterday we went on a field trip to the stage we're going to make our home, for like a year. i'm already thinking of decorating schemes and how sad i'll be if i don't get my way or a really comfortable chair. i have to share my office with the producers and hopefully i won't become snide and bitchy. they've already decided on powder blue bcs it's "soothing" with chocolate for accents... clearly our priorities are totally on decorating and not on contracts or the checks... or whether we can actually build the stage in time- oh crap i hear them. i have to go.

coloring contest

M and I aren't trying to be wishy-washy with the color changes. We hit 10,000 visitors, felt it occasion to make another change in facade, and thought originally we could only use the colors available on Blogger templates.

Oh ho ho, such is not the case. You can take your template and make whatever pretty colors you want, using ColorMatch 5k. And so, while the blue was nice, this is what we'll be for awhile. (We think.)

xoxo,
Pen and M

everyone wants a dwight schrute bookmark

Now if only I could figure out where to buy the bobblehead.

But how much do I love the 1-spot at Target? Check out my new bookmarks, purchased for, that's right, $1. You put any picture in them that you want.

back, and blue: TOO

@dave and busters in arcadia- a game 'palace' for ad-ults. drinks anyone?!

friend joanna who captures the slightly giddy feeling of playing fighter pilot games.
who me? yes, i am a ticket whore- i was able to purchase a paddleball game, a flower rainbow beaded curtain and in addition as party favors: my guests walked away with a rice cooker and a wine bottle opener.
friend kerry, who you know, captures the quintessential exuberance of the moment.

i need to bring out my big camera more opposed to my camera phone so i could take a pic of the good looking bartender or my score on skiball... but alas. i'm all wiped out. i shouldve posted sooner and when i can, i will master posting from work! and how much do i love them- they got me a cake that actually said my name on it and sung me happy birthday. it's been a very fabulous weekend. this could not be a better introduction into 30. cards. birthday dinners and drinks. yea! and no pics of the beach as my phone camera died as i went to take a pic of my 'passion' iced tea. there was a background of 54 surfers dotting the blue-scape with black suits and white boards. the surf was low but they all seemed to be enjoying their communal rights. i sat out on the jetty and waited to be entertained- contemplating that if i'd taken a picture it wouldn't do it justice, with the ocean gushing over the rocks, and the mess of muscles or the formation of pelicans flying overhead... but maybe.

next up, i swear, pics of the yard and if i can quite describe my work place, i will!

back, and blue

I'm just now catching up on all my favorite DVR'd shows (and blogs!) after being out of town and/or entertaining over oh, I don't know, the past week and a half. My house has never been so clean, and the fridge is full of leftovers, and may I say--ahhh, big sigh of relief. It was a great time, preparing for and pulling off KG's Baptism on Mother's Day, but also a wee bit exhausting. Completely worth it, though--look at that face.

All righty, so it's a smidge untimely, but Top Chef Reunion: Garrrrrr. It was at least as good as the PR2 Reunion, if not even more volatile. Tiffani pretty much made an ass of herself; though I'm intensely curious about her statement of not wanting to be anyone's monkey shortly after exiting the set, and it's true these things are quite staged, she still continued to suck on her shoelaces over and over again. Shut up, Tiffani! For your own sake, geez.

She's not the new asshat, though. Oh no. The New Asshat in Town Award officially must be taken from Stephen,

who actually proved himself quite human (possibly even likable??) during the reunion, and bestowed upon...

Kenneth Lee.

What a jackass. Eliminated in the first ep of Top Chef, the abrasive Irishmen certainly irritated everyone involved in the show, and didn't cook that great to boot, and so was eliminated right away. And I'm all for presenting a certain side of oneself to the camera and creating a character, even a villainous one, if that's what you want to do. It's just TV. However, I don't really think this guy is that smart. He just seems...vile. He laughs rudely and loudly when things aren't funny, he pushes buttons--he's just plain mean. But not in an entertaining way. And if he can't even cook great, what good is it. Hence, asshat.

And now, to the rest of the shows...

dear mendacious,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!



we love you!!!
xoxoxoxoxo,
penelope
k.lo
bender
j.lo & bailey (not pictured)

have a fantastic day, and eat lotsa cake. may we suggest...

standoff

One day the old man next door, Henry, woke up with very, very long legs. He decided it would be a good day to trim the hedges. And the black dog, Bender, she did not like that very much, and so decided to speak her mind.

work2

so okay- TGIF right? bcs working coupled with being social means that I: miss my favorite shows which thankfully are all reaching their finales. I don't get to spend time in the garden. I don't play with the dogs. I don't read or watch my dvd selections. I don't aimlessly search the net even though there's nothing else to be searched. I don't contemplate my existence. I don't think about that list of projects I want to do. or which friends are ignoring me, email, life-in-crisis,etc.

Tomorrow is my 30th. Maybe I'll document my happy beach adventure. Still not knowing what the night holds... humm. man no time to blog either. pictures need to be taken, people need to be maligned. so little time.

alright that thing they call work i must actually get ready for- here's an FTA (from the archives) and i plan to blog for "real" soon.

work.is.time.

consuming.mustescape.mustmakeittoweekend.

laundry, plant organization, pile of paper on desk (smallish,containing not more than 5-7 papers), play with neglected animals, write, read trollope novel, contemplate weekend activities, look up Hanso website from Lost, seriously- start sewing projects... something. anything. realize hunger, itch in left eye, half-dressed, needing top, lunch to be packed, time... late. late. late. go.go.go.

Just call me Betty C.

Go ahead and make fun, but I can't help but find the following recipe a-mazing. Apparently you can store this on your counter like, forever, to have on hand whenever you're in the mood for a homemade pie? We're crediting Grandma on this one.

Pie Crust Mix

6 cups flour
1 tbsp salt
2 1/3 cups Crisco

Measure out dry ingredients, cut in Crisco. Store in Tupperware. When ready to make a pie, use 1 1/2 cups of mix + 3 tbsp (cold!) water.

In other baking news, look out. Apparently it's not just a mean trick anymore. It's a crime.

To the Employed

Wow. So this may be the best job ever except when I worked for my director- who i sort of view as a surrogate brother, so you can't really compare. But the last 2 days I've really been their third, lesser used, brain. Yesterday we watched JudgeJudy and DrPhil and I got invited along to take the dogs for a walk. I learned about their birthdays and their ages... Okay, so who is 'they'... why the producer/talents of the show about that catch phrase about juice and creativity..on the Do//It//Y... and so far it's a very good time. Although on my first day I smacked into a jeep cherokee and was 10+minutes late to work. It was more ridiculous than it sounds but it still points to me being a jackass and yes, totally incompetent. Brain failure (which ironically enough i was spelling: failier, failor. yes, i am special.) Anyway it totally distresses me. So we're working out of the producers house and I had to park on this steep side street and on the descent i was pulling too close to this guys bumper and as my car is a small ton lead weight, i decided to tap the accelorator in order to avoid his bumper, unfortunately for me i had not placed the car in DRIVE but was still in REVERSE. WTF. (Dumbass). I floor it and go bashing into his car, wrenching off his license plate, scratching up my car- along with 2 deep dimple, bolt marks... and as I wait all day for some angry call to come I see on the way home the 'For Sale' sign on the back of the car. The next day i notice it is moved a space up and still no call has come. So i wonder and wait for my beratement. Bad girl. Bad person. I am going to take all the money in your piggybank. You are a bad stupid girl driver. You do not deserve a license. So I called the producer and said, hey yah, um I'm "parking"... I'll be right there, I say. And the rest of the day progressed merrily along...

Which reminds me about my fortune and it reads: You will have gold pieces by the bushel. It makes me laugh everytime I see it- in all its biblical proportions- bushels... birds... the root of evil. so, besides...

The only trick now will be how to slip the personal time into this intense work environment- a little email checking, phone message looking... but alas it will not be the same as hours of free time to do what I please and get paid for it. And there's no wandering around the office. I may work for my keep and become weary and long for the weekend, but we'll see. I can only imagine that the next 10months will be the most fantastic ever- and thank you guys for your well wishes! I will try to stay non-injured, employed and in a positive mind frame in order to accomplish all said goals... and of course am going to take mental note of all entertaining anecdotes to relate to you- my beautiful blog people.

Blogs to come: judgement, photoalbums and uh...

tree!

I'm totally feeling some kind of Blogger's Guilt these past few days not posting--and when there's sooo much to say about ANTM's evil Jade! And to ponder whether BJ and Tyler will win the Amazing Race! And to do a little happy dance that Crazy Shane finally got the steel-toed boot off of Survivor! Clearly I'm being entirely too social. More soon, more soon, I promise. In the meantime, I give the yard's new tree, a gift from the in-laws for K.Lo. (Originally to be a house warming gift for A.Lo and J.Lo, but I digress...)

Japanese Weeping Cherry: reddish fall foliage, pink spring blossoms!

Ah Glorious Weekend

Hello Beautiful People.

Twas a lovely weekend. An actual weekend. Couched like bookends upon the week. Resplendint. After strolling thru the valley yesterday I came home today and celebrate siete? de mayo in style. And with some grilled carne asada and daquaris i've toasted in Spring... and am actually musing about other social things I might do later in the month- like attempt to throw a party? or... ? something? It might be too social for me. I think the last one I threw was 2 years ago. That's about right. It takes me that long to gear up- some sort of post traumatic stress something from somewhere. Any suggestions about possible scenarios...

Otherwise tomorrow i start the job that may very well last 10months and pay off my quite substantial credit card debt! and 2 private loans! yea! and fund my trip to nicaragua and allow me to buy purple paint and get a manicure and be fiscally responsible... and um other stuff. oh shit man it's ENDLESS... sort of. but such a promising beginning. i got a fortune cookie to end all fortune cookies last sunday that said i would get gold coins in bushels... or something. i'll have to show you later bcs the idea of going thru bushels to get gold might not work for me. so the phrasing is very important! more on the new job soon.
starting at 9am...monday...the 8th...

xo. M.

People!

Please people do not ever email something like this to people EVER. frickin CATHY!

spent 2 horrible hours at the tb doctor
bad news, dilemma
will call to explain later

Under the Wire

Ah well. what am i to do. Today is my last day at this film company- where i've been doing office assistant reception stuff. I think my favorite part of this job is just observing all the politics. people dynamics. what not. like just now someguy started talking firmly to another guy talking firmly in the lobby about ruining the film and not getting a final cut and the air became a bit tense but the minute anyone else walked by it was all smiles and hi! The days go by fast with all the phone answering and internet surfing. i have very rarely reached a slumped over position in my chair saying, god won't it end. although that's probably bcs i'm aware of it's finite nature. there is something fundamentally wrong with waking up at 730 to get to work early-ish before 9 to leave by 6! to not get home before 7. Bam. there goes the entire day. it's wretched. and if i have to go somewhere after then it's just figuring out a way to cross the also heinous traffic. wow. i'm seething inwardly, my chest is tightening. i have to take a deep breath. back, back in the deep dark box you go. everything is --- sun... shine! put on your happy face!

now normally i wouldve blogged about work a lot more but i've not been subjected to humiliating tasks or mundanity and there is no office joe to ponder about and i'm just under the radar that no one can really yell at or fire me no matter how "incompetent" I'm being or how slow i am to order coffee and not recognize the presidents voice. plus I can use whatever kitchen i want too- and only on one day did a few nasty people call and wonder why i existed just to not be able to help them. but i got to pull the, well i've only been here a few days so... even though they didn't buy it. how has it been 3wks- a total of 9 days.

Just now: "why doesn't anyone want to take responsibility for tracking prints." Other guy: blah blah something. This guy, "It's fucking ridiculous is what it is." Blah, blah something something.

But if you're still with me, let's talk about the boys. bcs the girls here are few and inbetween and most of them are far away from me and are older, crazier and so not cool. this one being sounds like risabel- just hangs up on me if i can't help her without so much as a thank you then calls in yesterday and tells me to tell her boss that she's not coming in. right. i'll do your dirty work. and then there's this girl, short for incorporated, that says inappropriate things about jesus and niggaz and has the air of someone who is pissed off about where she now finds herself. i understand, a lot of people are pissed off in this place. but right the boys: jesus' beloved is a bit of an asshole. not to me- mind you- but to this other guy who seems to be picked on and derided by all the boys bcs he has a hot silly girlfriend and bcs he seems too eager or restless or whyever boys bcm picked on by other boys. he also doesn't like sports which doesn't help this boy bcs the beloved loves them and so does the VP and the producers asst and incorporated, and the HR guy and about 3 other boys who talk about sports/ESPN (which are on in our office) with the corporate "we" and "our team" and "they will" and "are you crazy?!" bcs they're going all the way this year and your team sucks! so there! so the boy is left to study his GRE testbook and ponder film making or theory while an occassional condescending remark is thrown his way like: it's not your concern. don't worry about it. just go do your job. (as the smirks and eyerolls continue after his departure)

the beloved however has had it with this place and is seeking his fortune elsewhere and the priceless phrase "if i'm still doing this when I'm 30..." passed his poutty philadelphia lips i could not help but spread a wide grin at such a careless but truthful statement. Yes, beloved, yes, go seek your dreams. Otherwise I have nothing to say to this surly personage except once i said, "do you know anything about nuclear reactors?" and he smiled.

but my real heart is attached to the young presidential bear who serves this chaotic den of thieves. he always has a sad look in his eye of abject misery. i say something like, staving off the apocalypse? and he says, "no more so when they were trying to fire me yesterday." poor boy. as he stacks bottled water on the table he says, "yes you know, because this job is so meaningful and important to my life." i say, "aren't we all plotting our escape?" he smiles.

and then another overheard snippet: "I'm not giving so and so (the guy with the movie about the flower) more money. I already gave them 4 million. I'm not giving them anymore." blahblahblah etc etc.

so with that i kick up my feet. drink my bottled water and read the trades. variety, hollywood reporter- see if there's anything i care about happening in the world- and just today spotting a friend in the mag and knowing i'm in a different world indeed.

The Sort of Friend

I've often wondered where I fit in friendships. What role do I play. What do I fulfill. Sometimes all too aware of what I can't- either by distance or by disposition. I don't live next door. No, I won't go clubbing with you. Movies are expensive. Is this a good movie? Are you really sure? When. What time? I don't want to drive down there... (although in my defense my parched waters make me protective of my indulgences) Can't you get us 'comps?' Is that an LA thing? Comps. (Complimentary)... Someone must know someone so i can get in for free. No? Then I'm gonna go watch cable. Support the arts? Are you kidding- on my salary? Everyone I know is doing a show.

This Monday I went to see a friend that I've developed a comfortable pattern with. Perhaps a little too. I am her craft/creative/art/smart/bigword saying/cash-strapped/often jobless and in need of a TAB friend. I come over: we bike ride, we go for lunch, we watch tv (usually all day), we make ... whatever. I get invited to her holiday parties, I often see her family for a quilt show, an occassional lunch or dinner- and very rarely will she invite me to shop, to a bar, show or an outing with her other friends. That's the key, and thus I am containered. She is busy. She is scheduled. And I reside in a special place like summer and hiatus. It is not necessarily an unfavorable place to be. Because hanging out is a beautiful thing.

She and I were friends in highschool- and into college I heard from her once in a very blue moon. She was not in a good place- mostly. I always sent her Christmas cards. Into gradschool I heard somewhat more of her and now the last three years I've been back we've renewed and developed a friendship. But more likely I'm a close cousin to her entire clan. Her mom and dad know me. And I'm that fond recalling of a summer day a long time ago- She is one of the k-12 friends. I call her by her school name- which has morphed into another variation of the reigning queen of england. I know her brother and sisters. And I think they all fairly like me. Usually I pull people into my family but I rarely get to experience the otherside. I think this takes a particular kind of trust. I knew something was up when one of my friends of 10+ years never invited me around- either I was freakish or her family was. It's a potential powderkeg. I might say something. They might say something. And I often wonder what kind of friend is it better to be? Safe or site-specific.

QofE is, shall we say, guarded- to put it mildly. So I don't often pry and she's not what I would call loquacious. So months might pass before I discern her state of mind or the current events of her life- her loves, her out of loves, her frustrations and pains, biopsies (everything and all quietly sealed away.) From me? I don't know. With her I tend not to be paranoid, usually, but what can I say. So slowly I'm getting to know her- this girl I've known my whole life but somewhere developed into someone similar to the person I knew with day to day habits and experiences I know nothing about.

So came the weekend. Sunday night. She was on my side of the hill- and in LA this is very important. And this is probably why I don't see her more often. Impenetrable traffic. So she said, I'll come get you. I have to stop by the hospital (they don't know what's wrong) to see my niece. Then I'll bring you back Tuesday morning. Saving money on gas? (like $30 only paying for 9.3 gallons?!) Sure I said. Then, Do you want me to go up with you? Ya. Cool (and in the elevator) oh hey- when I get old pull the plug okay? I say. I hate hospitals, she says. Then we get to the door. I hear her say, M is here. M is here?! (enthusiastically) Yah, yah, she can come in. I look thru the little window to see QofE's 2 sisters, and the step-dad. I don't know entirely if the niece sang out her approval but I couldn't at this point refuse to enter- due to awkwardness, mortification or my utter avoidance of illness.

The 21year old niece doesn't look well- not deathbed ill, but definitely not well. Everyone seemed to be tenuously busying themselves with talk, cake, jokes about hospitals and wall colors, while their eyes were rimmed with something else. I hid myself behind a chair and tried to be inconspicuous. Sort of looking at the niece when she talked. Not addressing her but talking to her aunts, joining in on the occassional joke- because what the hell was I going to say? Nice to meet you. Feel better. Let me take the time to point out what everyone is trying to keep you from, and undo all this song and dance. It all seemed rather trite and lame when she was biting with frustration at the morphine making her nose itch or not being able to change positions and feeling unattractive, with tubes running out of everywhere. Make yourself invisible, that's what I tried. So then QofE and I find out that her sister was in the hospital once for a tubal pregnancy- wait she says, you 2 said it was for a cyst- I wasn't going to be able to keep it anyway, the aunt says. Oh, QofE says. Oh my god I think.

On the way out I ask the step-dad what's wrong and he tells me what he is mentally able to tell me. I say, I'll pray for her. Then a moment later, what breaks him: I say, that sucks. He says, Yes. Yes it does suck. And he walks away. The sister I know better says, Goodbye. It was good to see you. And on the freeway I ask QofE, Um- really- I hope it was okay that i was here, tell her I hope she feels better. What's wrong again? Well everything she has is just symptomatic of something... it could be cancer. She's been sick and fatigued for a month. And here I thought I was visiting the marginally ill, but I'd slipped in with QofE like a pillow, as a part of the family, into something very serious- a type of friend that she can take to the hospital and to the home that she shares with someone that she no longer loves. And I am depressed with her into a sadness that empathy brings- and then we sleep and have breakfast and go for a bikeride.

Tearing Up

I apologize for my lengthy absense of late- I've been 'social'. The malaise of February quite worn away, not that the gloom of 'what to do' for my bday isn't looming. I went to see the Tempest, spent the weekend gardening, bowling, bikeriding, monday with a friend... and today stretches before me, like a very tough taffy. And while one day I will incorporate this story into my California Epic I will impart it to you now free of charge as I'm not a money-agent-non/blog-whore.

I had an uncle who used to give me the coolest things ever- 2 costume jewelry pieces, which were consequently thrashed by this hard worn youth- But I saved them, mostly intact. By degrees I got less destructive and when, by dumpster diving, my costume jewelry collection increased I took care to bag and tag all the pieces and mark what was missing on each. And I've taken to wearing them now bcs you know, why not? But whenever I run across these 2 slightly mangled pieces I wish I'd taken just a little more care...

Now as you know we're all about the gardening and I hope one day to recover all the lost barbie shoes, necklaces and diamond earrings lost in the grass of my childhood, though I never have bcs mom won't let me replace the grass; so I am, reflexive or not, always looking for odd bits when I turn over the soil- things i've found: a bullet, lots of old broken glass, a minature army raft, a soldier, marbles-- and these were always on specific excavations. But a few mornings ago, while looking for sacrifices (grubs) to the mockingbirds (gods) I found one of the jems of the bracelet my uncle gave to me. Missing since at least 1991. I turned over the soil a couple times and up on the surface appeared this shiny triangle beauty, face up and waiting for me. 15 or so years later.

Why I'm glad it's May 2, 2006

I hardly blogged at all last summer, and recently I ran across one of the very few journal entries I wrote during that time, so as Blog Penance, I thought I'd share. The scene: 2 1/2 months into working at VZW, almost 2 months into pregnancy, and (apparently) pretty freaking miserable. Luckily, I've managed to block most of it out. But geeeeez. The entry smacks of melodrama, and (almost) makes me want to laugh, but on the other hand, it really was kind of awful at the time. Anywho...


June 20, 2005 - Monday

One day shy of 8 weeks. Puking status: on the verge but not quite legitmate. Spent M - F last week throwing up every day. So-called medicine for nausea doesn't stay down. B6-laced vitamins give temporary energy boost, Wednesday, Thursday, then Friday feels like a Monday again. This weekend's discovered quasi-cure: sitting outside in the recliner stadium chair for a mo. Deep breaths, perfect temperature, windchimes in breeze. Remember hard what it feels like to be "summer." Lawn mowers and fresh tomatoes from the garden. Bare feet and herb gardens. It works for a little while.

Personality feel like acid. I've become a "sulker," a ball of negative vibes. Think about work timeline: in the grand scheme, there's not much longer to go [I planned on working until around December and getting the fug out]. Six months, plus a little. Four or so more weeks until Trimester 2 [and supposedly the end of morning sickness, but it wasn't, at least not right away]. Your baby is healthy, be grateful. The girl next to you at work is experiencing pre-term labor at just over 6 months, with contractions 22 minutes apart. If they fall under 20, she'll have to leave for the doctor. She has 3 kinds of cancer and rolls Chinese chimes in her hand.

We're not allowed to ask [our supervisors] questions anymore, like it matters, since I'll still be wrong. We look to each other, fudge our way through the phone calls. Even when I'm surly, I'm pretty sure I sound pleasant. I feel the sarcasm pushing through: "Thank you for calling Verizon Wireless," and I mean that. [Heh.] I'm guilty because I don't keep up enough with emails anymore. I need to remember to breathe. I read Harry Potter book 3, then 2, then 1 until book 6 comes out on July 15th. It makes me happy, there's one thing. [Good lord.] A real distraction. TV doesn't do it [well there you go--clearly this was dire straits], nor do the good things. The house. We have to start packing.

Our office appeared on the 6 o'clock news like a nightmare: there was the the third floor, home of Customer Service. I thought about my old job and wonder how I could pay the bills if I went back. It was the only reason I left. I make what I want for dinner, big bowls of pasta, and can only eat falf. I worry my friends won't love me because I'm distracted [oh geez]. Whatever happened to me? Promise not to lose your personality, not long-term... [Blah blah blah.] I'm playing the Morning Sickness Card. [Blah blah.] I'm wrapping my head around the guppy baby and pondering crib patterns and nursery paints.

I'm having a circular conversation with a man on the phone, it's half an hour long and we've each repeated our sentences 15 times - is this the 4th or 5th circle of hell and how do you tell the difference?


And then I [blah] and [wah] a little more. Whew!

And all right, by the end it does make me laugh. Have I mentioned how much I hated that job?

Happy Tuesday.

8th & Ocean: An Ode of Questioning, Doubt

oh, 8th & Ocean
that show on MTV
i'm at a loss for answering
why do i watch you?

America's Next Top Model
ANTM
(but not "America's Next Top Best Friend"
ANTBF
to quote the Evil Jade)
you aren't.

while less staged
(I suppose)
and less of a game
(sort of)
about the world of modeling
you lack the
how you say
whimsy?
personality?
the...
je ne sai quoi
and the Jays!
Miss Jay
and Jay Manuel
of ANTM.

perhaps i shouldn't compare

apples and oranges
or
two different boxes of rocks.

what, then, do you offer?
pretty girls
chiseled men
exTREME close-ups
on faces
the twins Kelly and Sabrina
Britt, the preacher's daughter
one wants a boob job
the other does not
and the last
she cries a lot
about her boobs.

it's all about boobs, it seems.

then there's Vinci
he's rude and always late
but he's Italian,
which seems to make it okay.

and Irene,
the freaky manager
kind of like
Joan Rivers with long hair.

there's a certain vapidity in all their eyes
they don't say much
and there's a bunch of other characters
we never hear much about.

and they get drunk sometimes
and live together
date each other
make lunch together
but The Real World
this is not.

so
why
do I waste the space
on my DVR?

it's in Miami,
so
I think
maybe I just miss
Nip/Tuck.