Four jobs that I've had:
1. Pizza maker
2. Library page
3. Bookstore manager
4. Video store manager
Four movies that I could watch over and over:
1. Summer Stock
2. Concert for George
3. The Philadelphia Story
4. Cabaret
Four places I've lived:
1. Culver City, CA
2. Mar Vista, CA
3.
4. That's it!
Four TV shows I watch:
1. Top Chef
2. From Martha's Kitchen
3. Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip
4. One Punk Under God
Four places I've been on vacation:
1. Denver, CO
2. Paris, France
3. Seattle, Washington
4. Oregon Caves
Four websites I visit daily:
1. nytimes.com
2. latimes.com
3. hr.co.la.ca.us
4. thesuperficial.com
Four places I would rather be:
1. Somewhere I've never been before, with Patrick (Cancun, Hawaii, Greece)
2. In bed with a book, Patrick, and the cats
3. Getting a facial from Lili
4. In a hotel
Four of my favorite foods:
1. Corn
2. Garbanzos
3. Chocolate
4. Cheese
Four things I always carry with me:
1. Lip stuff
2. Hair thingy
3. Keys
4. Moisturizer
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Saturday, May 13, 2006
On the eve of our trip to Denver
We're packing, getting ready to go. Kevin came over and checked the place out, and I have to give his parents great big congratulations for raising such a polite boy.
I thought I'd update you all on the state of my yard. I mentioned a while back that I had trimmed a bush out front, and started spraying it regularly with water to combat the dreaded white flies that have been inhabiting it. I don't want to use any chemicals, and water seems to do the trick, but I have to keep doing it. A lot. Every day would be good. Anyway, I just want you all to know, that even though my part of town is very safe - keep your loppers inside! Write your name on them! Invest in lojack for your loppers, people, because if you leave them unattended for a few, oh, days, the motherfuckers will steal them.
Today, I decided that since we were going to have both our mothers in the car with us, that I should wash it, so early this morning I got up and did just that. And while I was out there, I sprayed the bush (actually, there are two bushes, but this story has suddenly gotten a little complicated; one bush will do for my purposes). And while I was out there, Patrick decided that it was a good time to introduce me to the electric power washer. So I also cleaned the cement walkway. Yes, I had a very fruitful morning.
Lunch with our moms was fun, though, we were late (not my fault for once). We picked up Patrick's mom in Venice, then we picked my mom up in Culver City, and headed to Hop Li, a fun little Chinese restaurant in West LA. After that, back to my parents' house to open presents, and then, home to lots of laundry and clearing off all the shows we taped this week so that we could start with a fresh slate tomorrow.
I thought I'd update you all on the state of my yard. I mentioned a while back that I had trimmed a bush out front, and started spraying it regularly with water to combat the dreaded white flies that have been inhabiting it. I don't want to use any chemicals, and water seems to do the trick, but I have to keep doing it. A lot. Every day would be good. Anyway, I just want you all to know, that even though my part of town is very safe - keep your loppers inside! Write your name on them! Invest in lojack for your loppers, people, because if you leave them unattended for a few, oh, days, the motherfuckers will steal them.
Today, I decided that since we were going to have both our mothers in the car with us, that I should wash it, so early this morning I got up and did just that. And while I was out there, I sprayed the bush (actually, there are two bushes, but this story has suddenly gotten a little complicated; one bush will do for my purposes). And while I was out there, Patrick decided that it was a good time to introduce me to the electric power washer. So I also cleaned the cement walkway. Yes, I had a very fruitful morning.
Lunch with our moms was fun, though, we were late (not my fault for once). We picked up Patrick's mom in Venice, then we picked my mom up in Culver City, and headed to Hop Li, a fun little Chinese restaurant in West LA. After that, back to my parents' house to open presents, and then, home to lots of laundry and clearing off all the shows we taped this week so that we could start with a fresh slate tomorrow.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Adventures in Shopping...
Yesterday I came this close to cussing out a young girl working at Victoria’s Secret. I had about 5 minutes to buy a new bra, but I had that feeling: I must do this now, and that feeling will not abide being told to wait.
I really should’ve been off to my flute class, but they were right there, and I thought I could do it quickly. So I dashed in (can you picture me, dashing?), and headed for the section I know works for me consistently, and there, in the back of the store, I was ambushed by Junior Bra Fitter, Esmeralda (not her real name; I don’t actually know her real name, because she never told me). Esmeralda was Hispanic, about 4’11”, probably about 23 years old (at the most), and had kind of a panicked look on her face. Maybe it was her first day. She asked me if I was finding everything OK, and I said yes. She asked if I knew what size I was looking for, and I, in my distracted, bra-buying frenzy, said no. That prompted her to ask me if I would like a fitting (probably hoping that I would refuse); I seem to remember that she prefaced "fitting” with something like “professional,” or “super-duper.” She looked nervous, and I took pity on her, even though I was pretty sure what size I wanted.
Esmeralda got out her tape measure, and measured me. I was wearing a cardigan, about a size too big, and a crappy, lumpy, old stretched out bra from of all places, Target - it was not a good day for my bosom. I know they have some weird system for taking your measurements, and then they have to perform a complex mathematical equation in their heads before they can state authoritatively what size you are, but that tiny Mexican measured me and then says, “I think you’re a 38 double-D.”
OK, so I know I’ve probably gained about 5 pounds in the last couple weeks, but I have not ballooned up to double-D size. Was she even looking at me when she said that? I may be five inches taller than you, but that should make it easier for you to figure out that these are not double Ds! I mean, come on, they're at eye level, honey.
I stayed calm, though. I refrained from slapping her pudgy face. I said, “Are you sure?” She may have heard panic (or a threat) in my voice, because she called over her co-worker, Jen (her real name), a tall, blond, regal-looking girl wearing nude-colored stockings with her clunky-heeled black shoes (Jen, Jen, Jen!). Jen re-measured me, instructed Esmeralda (not for the first time, I fear) on the how-tos of bra fittings, and pronounced me a size… whatever size I knew I needed 10 minutes ago.
When I was in the fitting room, Jen brought me another style to try – the newest Angel Bra. I was satisfied with my first selection, and had no intention of buying a second bra on this trip, but I tried it on anyway. I have rather average boobs, but the Angels bra, I swear, gave them a weird, oval shape, like this: (________)(________), rather than like this, (__)(__).
And this, my friends, is why this will be my last trip to Victoria's Secret for bras.
I really should’ve been off to my flute class, but they were right there, and I thought I could do it quickly. So I dashed in (can you picture me, dashing?), and headed for the section I know works for me consistently, and there, in the back of the store, I was ambushed by Junior Bra Fitter, Esmeralda (not her real name; I don’t actually know her real name, because she never told me). Esmeralda was Hispanic, about 4’11”, probably about 23 years old (at the most), and had kind of a panicked look on her face. Maybe it was her first day. She asked me if I was finding everything OK, and I said yes. She asked if I knew what size I was looking for, and I, in my distracted, bra-buying frenzy, said no. That prompted her to ask me if I would like a fitting (probably hoping that I would refuse); I seem to remember that she prefaced "fitting” with something like “professional,” or “super-duper.” She looked nervous, and I took pity on her, even though I was pretty sure what size I wanted.
Esmeralda got out her tape measure, and measured me. I was wearing a cardigan, about a size too big, and a crappy, lumpy, old stretched out bra from of all places, Target - it was not a good day for my bosom. I know they have some weird system for taking your measurements, and then they have to perform a complex mathematical equation in their heads before they can state authoritatively what size you are, but that tiny Mexican measured me and then says, “I think you’re a 38 double-D.”
OK, so I know I’ve probably gained about 5 pounds in the last couple weeks, but I have not ballooned up to double-D size. Was she even looking at me when she said that? I may be five inches taller than you, but that should make it easier for you to figure out that these are not double Ds! I mean, come on, they're at eye level, honey.
I stayed calm, though. I refrained from slapping her pudgy face. I said, “Are you sure?” She may have heard panic (or a threat) in my voice, because she called over her co-worker, Jen (her real name), a tall, blond, regal-looking girl wearing nude-colored stockings with her clunky-heeled black shoes (Jen, Jen, Jen!). Jen re-measured me, instructed Esmeralda (not for the first time, I fear) on the how-tos of bra fittings, and pronounced me a size… whatever size I knew I needed 10 minutes ago.
When I was in the fitting room, Jen brought me another style to try – the newest Angel Bra. I was satisfied with my first selection, and had no intention of buying a second bra on this trip, but I tried it on anyway. I have rather average boobs, but the Angels bra, I swear, gave them a weird, oval shape, like this: (________)(________), rather than like this, (__)(__).
And this, my friends, is why this will be my last trip to Victoria's Secret for bras.
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