Oxymorons & Hangovers

I'll never wear lipstick again

In my constant looping thought process and assessment of the life I'll be leading shortly, I realized 'new change' is an oxymoron. Here's how I got there:

• New apartment, in new hood, which requires new grocery store, pharmacy, twenty-four hour take-out joint, and dive bar, at least
• New school for Kiddo, three months prior to kindergarten (luckily the school will also be the post-kindergarten hang out spot - so it's not entirely like switching her school three times, just mostly like switching her school three times [someone please direct me toward the therapy this guilt will inevitably lead me])
• New route to work, school, Kiddo's school, all including freeway & traffic
• New bills

& finally?

• New job (& my wonderful boyfriend and I broke up - can't comment)

Yesterday I was offered a position/wage that I couldn't possibly turn down. More on this later, as I haven't told the people who most require this knowledge, ie, my manager and co-workers.

I moan a lot about not reading enough. It's a passion of mine, I have a feverish desire for books and I want to be in them, always. I'm just in motion (be it my pinwheeling arms trying to regain balance or A GRIP ON MY LIFE) and never have time to really dent the books I'm always reading. So I'm still buried in A Dirty Job by Christopher Moore. It was strange and unlikely to appeal to me at first (what with the paranormal, which seems up my dark and twisted alley but it's usually not) but I kept at it and I just love it. It's hilarious and offers constant descriptions of San Francisco. I'm a total sucker for deep city culture (achieved only by authors who live/have lived there, I'm convinced). A lot of Poppy Brite's stories take place in New Orleans (or Missing Mile, who's with me?!) but it was her series of Liquor, Prime, and Soul Kitchen that have gotten me obsessed with being a tourist in the remains of the French Quarter and stumbling along the narrow Bourbon St.

Point being: I read a lot today. And it was nice.

To preface the funniest line I read today or possibly ever, Charlie is the owner of an apartment building that Ms. Ling rents in, and his dogs are humping him: "Ms. Ling couldn't help but do a a quick appraisal of the monetary value of the slippery red dogwoods currently pummeling her landlord's oxford-cloth shirt like piston-driven leviathan lipsticks." The violent/hurl laugh result almost made a Diet Coke explosion.

Between three girls, two cars and one truck - we have to get from meeting point A to big, heavy TV pick-up point B, transport to truck, unload at new place, and return owners to correct vehicles. You're on the edge of your seat in anticipation for that outcome, I know. Calm down, seriously.

-Pretty Lush

Big kid now

New happenings, people. Exciting new prospects that will either make or break me. When you stifle your excitment for fear of disappointment, you really only reverse the plan... contributing energy to the idea or analyzing that what-ifs are just self-conscious ways of being excited. I've said this once today and I'll say it again: if that made any sense, we need to get together for a drink.

I'm going on the seventeenth hour of work with three hours of sleep showing their colors under my eyes. Every motion is languid and deliberate and painfully slow. This work day is underwater and it just needs to drown. I'm going straight to an award ceremony for my younger sister at her school. Ya know, on a night without Kiddo when I get to be twenty-three and irresponsible, I can't think of a better way to spend it. I don't acknowledge my sister enough. She's always been the baby sibling. We have ten years between us which was always too much to forge an actual friendship until now, when I'm feeling protective and proud and she's getting to be too independent and unique. How we're related is beyond me. I'd have killed at her age for an older sibling to take me the Whisky A Go Go to see rock bands er something, but when I did with her, all she said was, "It was alright." She's brilliant and creative and talented and growing into this stunning little thing - her skin absorbs sunlight beautifully, her hair is naturally highlighted with multiple shades of blonde and brown, her eyes are bright green and hazel and they freakin' sparkle. She's finally coming out of her shell and developing a sense of humor. This could have stemmed from the ceaseless taunting she's endured as the youngest, with the added note that my brother and I have a shared perverted, dry humor/constant banter. He can be a real asshole about it, but I just fuck with her. I called her yesterday and asked what she was doing. "Walking around the block with my friend."
"What?! You snuck cigarettes, didn't you?" (This couldn't be a further stretch from truth, the girl would have an aneurysm if she accidentally said damn.)
"Shut up. I did not."
"Is it drugs then? Are you experimenting? ARE BOYS THERE?"
"Yeah. The day before my big award ceremony, and I decide to take up pot. Yeah. Right."

Brady child's gettin' fiesty!

I have a major literary crush on an internet friend. Let's geek that up a little more shall we?! I really do - I want to consume everything she/he (ooh, you'll never know) has ever typed and be the first person to obtain brilliance through osmosis.

Did I mention that goddawful sunburn I endured at this year's Pride? Like satan kissed my shoulders. They're peeling and itching. I'm flaking as I walk, like a human snow globe. Don't come near me. You'll snag my epidermis.

You know what someone needs to get on? I want all the details of moving to be taken care of in one phone call. I call you, you turn on my cable, internet, electricity and water. Switch my address on all my bills and subscriptions. And wait for the installers when they give an impossible window of 8-12 on a weekday. Why, so I can take off work for four hours, only for you to show up at 11:59? Pssh. Someone, patent, now. I will share beer upon completion and maybe heat up some frozen lasagna. I'm so frustrated. The little odds and ends are fraying as I drag them in my laziness.

Wah, right? I got this badass apartment and now I have DO things. Fuck off, I know. I'm off to get my big girl panties so I can DEAL WITH IT.

-Pretty Lush

From under the dust & cardboard

Spent most of the weekend moving. It hasn't yet become the arduous task it seems like, although my arms are a little sore. There's still a thrill to it. I did overflow the dishwasher by using a little dishsoap. I could have let it go on and had myself a bubble party in the new kitchen but I had other shit to take care of. My empty current room is depressing, especially the blank walls. I shudder to see so much white. The new place is looking more inhabitable as furniture progresses that direction. There's a dining set, computer desk, rocking chair with ottoman. My books came out of their boxes as soon as possible. If I can con a friend into rocking her stud-finding-laser-leveling McWonder toy on my walls, I'll have shelves shortly. If that thing vibrated, I'd want one in every color.

Could the UFC fights have gone any better? (Yes. Jardine could have won and Leben could have fought.)Penn and St. Pierre in the near future is an exciting prospect. While I kinda like GSP, my money is still on Penn, probably always. The Silva/Jardine fight was insane, watching Keith fall that fast was a little devastating. Seeing Ortiz lose his last UFC fight (and still somehow come off cocky) was all I needed to make the night right. And I have my hopes up for Pulver.

My Denver-bound friend Jennifer had a going away gathering at a sports bar this weekend. It was cool to hang with lush co-workers outside of the satellite office. Hopefully we got enough pictures in to assure we're not forgotten.

Speaking of pictures, I dug through a box that had been in storage for a couple of years and found a shoebox full of old pictures. You'd have thought it was buried treasure, I was so excited. All of Kiddo's first Christmas pictures, old pictures of friends and past relationships.. and I finally got to show Ree what I looked like in high school, when I was super thin and blonde. You'd never know it was me. My hair went from long blonde to short red to mid-length black over those few years. I think I'll scan some good ones soon.

-Pretty Lush

Post-lunch lethargy

Last night, Adam Richmond was kind of enough to put Ree and I down on his guest list for what turned out to be a very hilarious show at the Improv in Hollywood. We were stifling yawns when we got in and sipping languidly from cold beer bottles. In the showroom we switched to liquor and the comedians started taking the stage. We were fully awake and falling out of our chairs shortly after. During a cigarette break, Ree made subtle head motions and asked, "Dude. Is that Bud Bundy?" It was, in fact, David Faustino. And he is a very small guy. A full head shorter than me, I noted when we brushed past in the bar. Ree also ran into a dude from Big Brother, but you'll have to ask her about it. I've never seen that show.

I swear, I could be a stand-up spectator every night of the week. Especially when the server is buying the drink, as he did at the end of the night. Such a good soul.

Today was pay day but my monies were absorbed into the abyss of debt. Which is a shame because I thought I could budget for a tattoo this weekend. I was kidding myself. Perhaps in the next decade, I'll earn some scripty-scrawl on my forearms.

I just pounded a bag of gummi bears. What's with the after taste?

END, FRIDAY AFTERNOON. END. PUT YOURSELF AND THE REST OF THE SLAVES OUT OF THEIR MISERY AND COMMENCE NIGHT TIME HI-JINX. 'cept I'm packing more tonight so my 'jinx will all be covered by the abundance of bubble wrap I brought home from work.

Ew, go wash the lame off. You should really up your standards when it comes to reading blogs, friend.

-Pretty Lush

STORM WATCH, '08

Damn this antagonizing cursor. My brain was blended on puree in a kitchen labotomy experiment. I've nothing of interest to offer this blank page, so you can be on your way now.

Hmm. Oh! Awesome friend of friend (Ree's friend SHIRL!) got us these impressive field level tickets to the Dodger game the other night. That was an interesting time - winding our way through downtown LA on a hunt for our third party, soothing the stress of leaving my precious box (car) in the ghetto so we could avoid the forced sodomy that is parking rates at the stadium. There were some fantastic pictures taken of Russell Martin squatting, stretching, walking, batting, breathing. And some super silly ones of us. I hope they're en route to my e-mail address now. We had an R-rated instance in the bathroom involving Shirley and a strange hand-dryer, which caused quite the echoing laughter riot.

Edit, May 27th: PICTURES!

Roomie Ree & I

    

I went to unload another car full of boxes at my new! place! last night and stopped in the local pub with some ladies. We thought the little bar would be a fantastic benefit to our new 'hood. While we decided on orders, I saw a sign for 'Jello Shot's' which is just infuriating. You cannot get possessive and plural-icious like that. It's incorrect, ugly and greedy. And THEN the bartender informs us that they only serve beer and wine. We took our business elsewhere and ordered Oatmeal Cookie shots. With an appropriate buzz, I finally moved my stuff in as it got dark. Our little place is so fucking cute. The girls did cartwheels around the living room and laid across the top of the bar.

Today the windows were measured for some coverings. It's all coming together. My room has one big, uncovered window. I'd offer up a view of the goods every morning but I don't want to come across as too polite or neighborly. That's when they come knockin' for sugar and laundry soap.

It's pouring outside with thunder to boot!

-Pretty Lush

Ow

As it turns out, my uncle's liver was donated/is in the process of being donated to another individual. It's amazing to me already, the things the human body does for itself. And for others as well? Fucking mind-blowing. I crouched behind a local liquor store, wavering in a celebratory state of drunk last Friday, hearing this news. My cousin's voice was enough to launch the anvil of reality into my skull, but that news somehow made me so happy. Since we can't move backwards, we need to see the good in the future, and damn if that didn't help.

Then I lost my wallet in the bar, and bought a drink for the girl that found it.

That was the night of all nights to accumulate blackmail on my co-workers. These ladies got toasted & frisky--one of my favorite combinations in a gal. But my lips are sealed, just in case.

Saturday morning, despite being able to sleep late and nurse my hangover, I responded optimistically to my alarm clock and set about getting ready for an Angel/Dodger game. Being that the two teams are close in proximity, Dodger fans are willing to travel to Anaheim and flood the stadium with their blue pride. Security was obviously beefed up, rightfully so. Two bad fights broke out in the beer garden. And it's like... dude, it's a game. Have a hot dog and enjoy yourself for fuck's sake. Ree and I left the stadium with a tower of plastic, Angels-decaled beer cups that light up. A cheap little display to please the easy and con them out of $9.50 a pop. And no, they won't just refill the one you already have. I asked. There's a pile of these in my backseat. (Super-Dodger-fan boyfriend, "What the fuck is this?!") Coincidentally, a co-worker that was driving by caught sight of the wavering tower in hand, and offered us a ride to our car.

With nothing better to do after the game in the blistering heat, we watched Happy Feet. And then went to dinner at the best fucking Japanese restaurant ever, where Ree proceeded to whisper to the waitress that it was my twenty-fourth birthday (no) and I was celebrated undeservingly. We had about a dozen people cheering us on for every sake bomb we did, pounding the table with delight to get the shot to fall off the chopsticks and into the Sapporo. And then they all helped sing for my non-birthday.

On Sunday, I stole Kiddo away from her dad and took her out to Long Beach Pride. If ever there was a place to people watch, it's Pride. Remembering to cover Kiddo in sunblock, I'm the one that came home with the burns. Today at work, every single person in passing has said, "Oooh, you got a lot of sun this weekend." Did I? Is it my dog-dick-red complexion? My perma-wince expression? NO SHIT I GOT SUN, BITCH. IT HURTS.

Off to one of two final exams for human sexuality.

-Pretty Lush

Today

Sometime today, the loss of my uncle will be final. Where we'd all clutched hope and anticipation, we now hold the novice concept of letting go unexpectedly. Too lose anyone, however close or distant physically or relationship-wise, is tragic. But that word doesn't do justice or even slightly compensate this situation. My uncle is too young, too well-liked, too loved by so fucking many, that the shock wave has been and will continue to be felt with the intensity of a blow to the stomach. I can only hope with all my fibers that he was able to hear during his last few days locked in a coma, when his family flooded his hospital room to talk with him. I hope he heard my dad's humor, my aunt's ceaseless adoration, and all of my cousins' infallible gratitude and love. He should know damn well how much he'll be missed.

Little diversity

Very recently my uncle suffered a massive heart attack. He's currently in a coma on the other side of the country. My dad has flown over to be with his sister (uncle's wife) for the time being. Everyone is waiting patiently for the time that his eyes do more than flutter, and he comes back to being his awesome self. Any and all positives vibes are appreciated.

Yesterday Jeff and I went to the park. I was bitching and moaning about the bugs - they're fucking everywhere - when I noticed over Jeff's shoulder, a man walking his French bulldog. I about lost my mind, retreated into my nine-year-old girl excitement and I think I even clapped. I'm still waiting on word of the adoption application, but I'm not too expectant of a yes. I found some other adoption agenices and some local breeders. I'll have my French one way or another, god dammit.

Carved into a tree at said park:

Love Today

So I did.

Last night was one of productivity. There isn't enough I can do to prepare to move. The major weight on my shoulders is Kiddo's new school. I have to find it. And instead of panicking, I've taken to drinking a lot of Diet Coke and keeping a steady pace. Cleaning, organzing, packing, sorting, listing items/clothes on Ebay, scouring craigslist for necessaries... I canceled my gym membership after work. When Kiddo and I walked into the gym, I heard my name and was greeted by a very sweaty, very tall, very buff guy that intimidated me for a second before I realized he was my cousin. OH HAI. I went to three (!@#$) pet stores looking for feeder fish. I scrubbed Jack's (turtle) tank and let loose ten little grayish gold fish... within minutes, there were five. I prewarned Kiddo that there would be some death going on and she positively cheered him on. Erright then.

With my dad gone and my brother mostly not home, there's four females reigning the house. If we weren't synchronized before, we will be now (minus Kiddo). We all got into my mom's king sized bed and watched Spark of Insanity. Kiddo referenced her 'wife,' which had my sister asking,"You have a wife...?"
"No, Auntie! I'm not even married!"

I snuck off to watch The Ultimate Fighter and saw JEREMY GET HIS FACE KICKED OFF. I was seething over that turd (Jeremy jitsu? Oh, sit down) and couldn't have been happier to watch him flop around like a fish - totally depleated and ready to surrender before BAM KICK TO THE CHIN, LAID OUT SUCKER.

Ahem.

Also it was funny to watch Forrest yell until his voice were merely a girlish squeal.

There's a brilliant red daisy next to my bed from Jeffrey. It smells like happy.

My calendar is so full, giving the impression that I am busy and popular. In reality, I just overbook and am sort of well-liked by a few cool cats.

Tonight: view apartment, all finished with the repairs and looking all gorgeous and eager. Check out at least one school in the area for Kiddo. PFLAG meeting in Long Beach. Friday: satellite office meeting *hic*, Pride pre-party in Long Beach. Saturday: Angels vs. Dodgers @ Angel stadium, more Pride shenanigans. Sunday: steal Kiddo from Dad (approval pending) for Pride parade. And so much more in upcoming weeks, including! Joe! Rogan! Tickets!

-Pretty Lush

Overheard #18

"I am not showing cleavage."

"Of course that depends which end you're talking about."

"...I'm not showing butt crack either."

Salud, Ma!

For mother's day, I went wine tasting with my Ma, Ree, and her ma. Montage (add your own soundtrack): Driiiiive, CHEERS!, laugh, drink, eat, drink, laugh, drink, music, hug. My phone blew up with happy day texts, some more heartfelt than others that triggered the waterworks up in me noggin. It was the absolute perfect day.
I was the recepient of lots&lots of purple daisies and 10k kisses because my boyfriend likes me. Cheeeese. <3

My aunt (Ma's best friend from high school) threw herself a luau on Saturday night for her birthday. There were palm trees and gaping tiki faces on every flat surface, Mai Tais, and lots of appropriate food. I brought Kiddo, having stolen her away from her weekend with dad. She's a stud in a lei, I must say. There was a ukelele serenade around the fire, beer pong and one fist fight.

Today I registered for an online art class for the summer semester. The on campus classes are almost all four days a week and even for a month, that's just impossible. Having someone else pick up, tend to, feed, bathe and kiss Kiddo goodnight for the majority of the week? I'm adamant about this witto-itto degree, but really. I have priorities. So I'm giving online a whirl. I hear it's easy but some of us are resistant to change and frankly, find it difficult to rely on computers for anything remotely important. Mine WILL crap on me, you mark my words.

Tonight is sex class and our guest speakers are from Condom Revolution. Likely to be free lube and condom samples and many a dumb question, as per usual agenda. Recall that Kim and I have elected to vote the dumbfucks off the island, per se. Something regarding a stupid question came up last week and Kim said, "Hey, at least you're still on the island." Which only we got... and still, probably, only her and I will laugh...  but I like to alienate my dear readers whenever possible. I think we have friends sneaking in for the lecture. Sex toys and masterbation tips... and I get school credit. Someone is getting ripped off.

Conversation last week at dinner:
Cousin: My ex boyfriend is a wanker, somethin' or other, his last name is Lamb.
Me: Lamb? Like--
Cousin: --yeah, like baaaah.
Friend who shall remain nameless: I thought only sheeps baaah?

I almost threw up in my margarita from laughter.

mmmm, margarita...

-Pretty Lush