Piece of Crap Morning

These last two days have been tough! Rehearsing late all week. Last night was a bear - I have to admit: I had a bad moment. Just frustrated and tired, no more than anybody else in the theater, and the actors have been doing this three times as long as I have. But there have been nightly changes to the sounds, which means the levels all have to be changed, and on the fly - the actors don't stop for me to make notes, so sometimes I make a mistake. It's not really a big deal, but I hate that feeling of not being able to do anything right. Luckily I got a few minutes to go outside and catch my breath. I'm sure there were some people in the theater who heard the other end of the conversation, but I'm not sure if anybody knew how upset I was; I know it's not personal and I didn't want to seem weak or discouraged. Though: I certainly felt that way.

Anyway, I slept in and was all set to go into work a little late, when:

On my way to work?

I got another speeding ticket.

I am sooooo pissed. In a different part of town, on a different street, even, and there I was, minding my own business, driving just as fast as everybody else, when I got pulled over. This cop wasn't messing around either: whoever told you tears work? That person lied. Maybe if I'd shown some cleavage AND cried... I don't know. I'll have to try that next time. But fuck! Another ticket!!!

Patrick wants me to fight it. So I may be spending some time at websites like this, seeing if it's a possibility. Anyway, after that I was pretty much jelly so I called in sick and went to the mall for some retail therapy. Also, I think I'm going to stop listening to music on the radio while I'm driving, and go back to non-stop NPR: I've never gotten a ticket listening to KPCC. Unfortunately I wasn't listening to a cool song this time - I think it was "Sweet Home Alabama." Maybe I can get Neil Young to pay my ticket...?

I am now the owner of some size 8 pants and a size 8 skirt.

Pretty fucking cool.

Shopping Trip

I am doing what I hate to do: two things at once.

I just got home from the theater, and I should go to bed, but I have to work on my bio for the program. I was told that I could do it in the morning but if my morning tomorrow (today?) is anything like my morning today (yesterday?), there will just be no time.

However, I'm having a hard time settling down to write it.

It's no big deal, it's not like I've had such an illustrious career that my bio should be anything more than 20 words: I've already found it quite easy to write these four paragraphs, and none of the facts in them (if there are facts; I don't even seem to know what day it is) existed until I typed them, just now. See? This one, here. And here! Ah, it's sooo easy to write stuff! So writing a lousy bio, when I already know the stuff that's hapened to me (I was there!), shouldn't be too hard. And yet: I struggle.

However, on top of not knowing the day, I thought it was an hour earlier than it actually is, which just adds to my confusion, and I drank about two gallons of diet coke at 8 p.m. And now? Now I am flying, a little. And sitting down and doing what I'm supposed to be doing seems really, really hard.

I know it's silly: there must be more caffeine in a chocolate bar than in a large diet coke (but I wouldn't know, I haven't eaten a whole chocolate bar in MONTHS); there you go.

See, I also wanted to write about my shopping trip, and the trip I took, therein, before I forget.

Today before going to the theater, I had about an hour to kill, so I went to J. Crew. I've been wanting to try on clothes and haven't really, since losing 11.8 pounds (though, tomorrow when I weigh in? I expect to have gained some of that back. More on that later). I discovered over the weekend that I could fit into some size 8 pants at the Gap, but I wasn't sure if that was just a fluke. Also, I wasn't thrilled with those pants - the Gap has a lot of crap out right now. Anyway: it's not a fluke. I pulled a bunch of 10s and none of them fit me. So: I can wear an 8!, and what does that mean? It means - my weight loss has had a concrete effect of the clothes I can wear, which, if you're not me, would've occurred to you already. But if you're me, you're not feeling skinny. You're looking in that badly lit mirror at your thighs, ass, and tummy, going, jesus, what a long way I have to go still.

See, what I don't understand is, how can I be that number and still look in the mirror and see the old me? The old 2-3 sizes bigger me? I mean, there's something really fucked up about that, and it bothers me.

It also bothered me that it took three people at J. Crew to find out that there were no size 8s in the pants I really wanted and would've dropped a ton of money on, just for the thrill of buying SIZE 8, and all the while, they were falling over themselves backwards to go put money in the meter of some other woman (some bling-laden SM blond thing)? Did you know that was even a service? They don't want you to have to leave the store to feed your meter in the People's Republic of Santa Monica, and I think that's pretty lame. Rich people have legs, let her feed their own goddamn meter. Or find free parking, as I did. Just a few blocks away, even. A good spot, and there was more than one, little Miss White-Jaguar-with-Pinstripes (she had to describe her car so the dude could put the money in the right meter).

Oh! and why no one-piece bathing suits, you morons at J. Crew? They have them online, and I do need a new one, but there is no fucking way in hell I'm trying on a two-piece. When I asked about it, the guy helping me (he was so "Dr Boogie" from Shear Genius) goes, "Huh. You're right. There are no one-piece bathing suits in the store." I was all, "That is sooo disappointing." I was already getting fed up with them; it didn't stop me from buying a sweater.

However, I digress.

In the interim of writing the last two paragraphs, my bio has been shot off to the guy who needed it, without his even noticing, I'm sure (nighty-night, Paul, hope you're feeling better). And Patrick is waiting for me to come to bed. I don't know where the point of this post has gone; it's tripped out the door and is waiting for me on the lawn, under the full moon.

G'night, you!

Memorial Day Weekend

It's been a quiet weekend.

Saturday, I don't remember what we did. I guess you'll have to see the post for that day... I slept in? Watched TV? Sunday I got my car washed finally and we worked on the kitchen a little, and decided we don't like the blue wall - Pat's going to repaint it red. Long story short, I don't get to chose the colors when we paint anymore (I'm too wishy-washy!). Fine with me, though, we'll have to wait and see how long that lasts. We only have one other room in the house to paint, and I've had the color chosen for that room for a loooong time. We also decided we don't like the bamboo blinds - they make the kitchen way too dark. So we're going to attempt to roll them up and return them to Home Depot. Yeah, I know: good luck with that one. At around 4:30 p.m. yesterday, we headed up to Culver City for a barbecue for our friend Chris's dad, Dick (not that Dick) in the park. It was a small party, but the people are very sweet, very interesting, and Dick tells really good stories. He was a scientist, and is really smart, but also likes music (rock and roll!). And Chris's wife Monica is a good cook! On the way home we stopped at Ikea and bought some bookshelves for the bedroom, so I can get the books out of my closet where they've been for about a year now. We also decided we like their wooden blinds a lot better than the ones we have, but we didn't buy them yet. Ikea is such a hit and miss proposition: sometimes I love the stuff we buy, but I am over having to put shit together myself. Not that the blinds require any assembly other than hanging them, I'm just saying.

Today, I spent the morning watching most of a "Deadliest Catch" marathon, while doing laundry. God, why do we have so much laundry!? I need a better system, i.e., I need to do it more often. I just got done practicing the ton of music I have for the next flute choir concert and my recital next Sunday, and now I'm getting ready to head off to Santa Monica for a rehearsal with City Garage.

All in all, it's been a really nice weekend. This week will be short work-wise (I'm also off this Friday), but busy with my other stuff: the show opens Friday, and I have a recital, so who knows how much blog-time I'm gonna have. See you when I see you, whoever "you" are!

Deadliest Catch

New favorite show - the Discovery Channel's "Deadliest Catch." I was home one day and caught this show, and (puns intended?) I was hooked instantly.

Those of you paying attention know that I like reading books about ships ("Mutiny on the Bounty," "Mutiny on the Globe" [OK, so I like books about mutinies, too], "Small Craft Advisory," etc.); this fascination is a bit ironic, as the only "ships" I've ever been on are the Catalina Express and the Jungle Cruise at Disneyland - "Watch out for that rhino!" hasn't prepared me for anything related to what you see on this show.

Anyway, I don't know how I've missed this show, I guess it's been on for three seasons already, but it was an instant addition to the shows we tape. It's just incredibly exciting and interesting, and in no way, shape or form does it induce me to ever want to go on a crab boat, but it does endear those brave, strong men to me, and it makes me appreciate the danger they endure just so we can all eat some crab. It's pretty amazing, actually. I mean, I had no idea what was involved in catching crab, and the way the show is narrated (by the wonderful Mike Rowe from the show "Dirty Jobs," a show I really wanted to like but just couldn't get into week after week), and filmed: it's beautiful, nerve-racking, and as exciting as anything I've seen on television.

The Lengths Some People Will Go To Just So I'll Mention Them In My Blog...

[Redacted]

Remember my post the other day about Thom Yorke? "Black Swan" is working for me today.

Now I gotta go buy us a pizza. Happy Memorial Day weekend!

I forgot to add:

Once I went to bed last night, and put in my earplugs (earplugs have been making for better sleep than any over-the-counter and/or prescription medicine), I had a weird dream:

I was riding in a truck with my friend Denise. Denise used to work at Rizzoli in SM with me; she is smart, funny, sarcastic, and was really good at her job. She had a great sense of style: dyed red hair, bangs, tattoos: she looked like Jay Bakker's wife when their show was still on (this is one of those comments that I'm not sure the subject will know is a compliment. It is! Both Denise and Amanda possess a certain confidence in their own individual beauty that I could only dream of having myself. They're both strong and gorgeous. It's a compliment, Denise! Send me some pictures and I'll show the world!). Anyway, she and her husband moved to Bakersfield, and I've only seen them about three times in the last 6 years; her husband emails me occasionally with updates and news, but Denise is apparently afraid of the computer. Or just way too busy to waste her time on it; either way, we communicate via her husband, a very interesting man himself.

Anyway, so I'm riding in this pickup truck, and Denise is driving. I'm not sure, but I don't remember her driving a car, ever? I could be wrong. Anyway, the street we were on looked like Sawtelle Boulevard in West LA, where it goes under the freeway, near Pico. If that's the case, we were heading south on Sawtelle, minding our own business, talking in the pickup, when all of a sudden, a man in a big white Cadillac-type car (I've been having a lot of issues with white cars all of a sudden!) comes driving straight at us. He's driving the wrong way on our side of the street.

We hit and it's a major accident, but this is a dream, see, so everyone's OK. The cars are wrecked but we're fine. Denise and I are sitting in the truck with the windows down when the man, the driver of the other car (in my dream he looks a bit like this homeless guy Pat and I saw on our way to the Yard House; we commented at the time that he reminded us of Devandra Banhart), and he's pissed. And crazy. He comes up to my open window, and in his hand is a small wrench - it's doll-sized, it couldn't hurt a fly - and he throws it at us through my window. Denise and I realize that this is a bad situation, so I yell at her to roll up her window, while I roll up mine. And then the guy goes ballistic, hitting our truck with all these minute and diminutive tools: tiny hammers and nails and screwdrivers, he's pulling them out of his pocket or from his car: he's got a ton of teeny tiny little tools and screws.

So while he's hitting us with this barrage of small but pointy implements, we're just sitting in the car, cringing every time one of them strikes the windows - but nothing is hitting us. The car is protecting us, and we start laughing.

I haven't laughed in a dream in a long time! Nor have I spoken with Denise in ages; I just realized: I miss her. I have no idea what this dream means, but it was funny.

The Yard House

Last night, Patrick and I went to the Yard House for dinner and beer. There's one down on the water in LB, and it's a nice location, and he's been working so hard on the kitchen, it seemed like a good night to go out. Plus I haven't been home all week!

Anyway, I got the drinking started with a Harp, while we waited for our table. Once seated, Patrick caught up, drinking two Fat Tires while I ordered my second, a Paulaner (note: I haven't had Paulaner in ages and it was just as good as I remembered it). We did eat food, so don't think this was just a beer fest - I had the Hawaiian Poke Stack, which is totally delicious, and Patrick had something (I forget what his appetizer was; I didn't want any, so it was either not my thing or way too fattening). For dinner, I had a chicken Caesar salad and a Snakebite. I should've started with the Snakebite - it was a bit sweet. And Patrick had another Fat Tire, which took forever to come, and in the end, they graciously offered to take off our tab.

We walked around downtown a little, before heading home for two more beers each (I had a Guinness and one of those weird Trader Joe's beers we bought a while ago; Pat had a couple Fat Tires he had stashed in the fridge). And then we sat around the living and watched TV, me on the laptop. I guess I'm outlining our evening out and in because it's so unusual for us to drink so much, but it was a fun night, as tame as it must sound. I was fine, lying there on the couch, and didn't feel very much wasted until at about 1:30 and we decided to go to bed. Getting up was a bit of a challenge, and I had one moment in the hall where I was about -this- close to eating it.

Today he's finishing up (?) the kitchen, and I'm off for a facial and have been charged with going to Home Depot and purchasing the handles and hinges for the cabinet doors. I already see me having a hissy fit: I hate Home Depot! Oh, and I gotta get my car washed... and practice. No City Garage, no rehearsals until Monday: this is going to be a nice weekend spent doing the neverending laundry, cleaning the house, and maybe bringing in the kitchen appliances and doo dads we deem worthy of reentering our newly painted kitchen.

Most of This Story Is True But a Small Portion Is Bullshit

Tonight on my way home from work, I stopped at this new gas station I've been wanting to go to; it's on the way to the freeway, which I don't normally take, but I thought I'd try it out. I noticed it the morning of my minor traffic accident, remember? This particular gas station chain (yeah? gas stations are chains just like IHOP, right?) has somewhat cheaper prices than the others, and they don't charge you a fee to use your ATM card (sneaky!). However, I did have cash on me for a change, so going to this station wasn't absolutely necessary, but whatever: I was feeling a little adventurous.

OK.

So I pull into this gas station, situated on a corner, like most gas stations. There were only a few cars parked at the pumps, so I was glad it wasn't crowded, but then I realized that the pumps that were available were on the wrong side (my gas tank thing is on the left side of my car). So I pulled around the little gas station house and tried my luck on the other side.

Finally the woman in at that pump finished (took her FOREVER! Plus, she decided she needed to get a towel or something [diaper? underwear?] out of her trunk to clean off her hands, and man! I thought my trunk had a lot of crap in it! This woman had like six whole laundry bags of clothes crammed in there. It was a nice car, too, and I just didn't get it), and drove away. I noticed that she had been parked really close to the pump, so I took care to give myself plenty of room (and I took care to "pull to the forward pump" as instructed - why doesn't everyone do that! It's a courtesy, you assholes!), and went to pay for my gas.

When I came back out, I started gassing up my car, and I'm just standing there, minding my own business, when out of nowhere, this big white Toyota 4-Runner pulls by me on the right side of my car, ON THE SIDEWALK, practically hitting my car and the bus bench, and screeches to a stop at the other pump, behind me.

Out jumps this little Asian man, with a crazy half-pompadour, half-apeman hairdo - he was wearing lavender parachute pants the likes I have not seen since Joaquin Brown in the 7th grade (hey, Joaquin was cool) - and if looks could kill, that guy would be in jail, because my ass would be lying there, dead.

I stared right back at him and said, "Hey, man: nice pants."

Atoms for Peace

Today's favorite song is brought to you by the letter "F."

(Don't wait for that to make sense. It won't.)

I've been listening to Thom Yorke's album, "The Eraser" all week. This is one of those albums I was sitting around, waiting for impatiently (the way I do all my waiting: arms crossed, tapping my foot), and then when it finally came out, I waited a LONG time before actually buying it.

And then when I did buy it, I got is used at Fingerprints. And then when I did buy it, I didn't dive right in - don't ask me why.

Anyway, so finally this week I'm really paying attention to ol' Thom's work on his album "The Eraser," and I have a new favorite song (see title of today's post).

I cannot think of a better song for me to be in love with right now: it's just perfect in every way. It's beautiful. It reminds me of Bjork's "Hyperballad" from her album "Post," maybe only because that was another song I was in love with forever, but whatever, I see the similarities: you don't have to see them! And it also reminds me of "Rich's Tearjerker," by Pat's band, Magnolia Thunderpussy - and I've been listening to it, nonstop, since Tuesday. Quite loud, I might add.

Anyway, here are the lyrics. Thom Yorke is kind of a genius, isn't he - I think he may be talking just to me right here. What do you think? No? Well.

Atoms for Peace

No more going to the dark side with your flying saucer eyes
No more falling down a wormhole that I have to pull you out

The wriggling, squiggling worm inside
Devours from the inside

No more talk about the old days
It's time for something great

I want you to get out
And make it work

So many lies
So many lies
So many lies
So feel the love come off of them
And take me in your arms

Peel all of your layers off
I want to eat your artichoke heart

No more leaky holes in your brain
And no false starts

I wanna get out
And make it work

So many lies
So many lies
So many lies
So feel the love come off of them
And take me in your arms

I wanna get out
And make it work

I want you to get out
And make it work

I'll be ok

So many lies
So many lies
So many lies
So feel the love come off of them
And take me in your arms

Whatever you do, don't get a speeding ticket in Downey, CA

Today I found out how much my speeding ticket will cost.

I should really go to bed rather than sharing this news with you, but whatever, I'm still a little excited from the really good rehearsal I had at the theater tonight. Still a lot of work to do, but I feel confident and not like a total dork - there truly is something to be said for doing something more than once.

Anyway, my ticket?

$312.

I couldn't believe it. It's the first speeding ticket I've gotten anywhere other than the freeway and PCH, so I had nothing to compare it to, but still. $312's gonna buy the Downey Police Department a whole lot of something.

Photo from Uncle Pauly's 33-1/3rd Birthday Bash

Normally I like to credit the photographer when I post photos taken by others, but I have no idea who shot this one. Oh, and I look nice and cross-eyed, don't I. I think it was Christian who shot this. He's the one who got me hooked on "Heroes"! Anyway, there's Paul in his full-on Uncle Pauly regalia (after this photo was taken, he added two fake leis and possibly some spittle to his outfit; you can't see in this picture, but he is also wearing what I think are blue-blocker sunglasses) on the left; a lovely woman named Lorraine on the right (she's a scientist; she told me she can't sing or do anything "creative," but when it comes to visualizing the fourth dimension, she's all set. I think that right there qualifies as "creative"), and her slightly insane but very nice husband Carl. His shirt must involve some kind of scientific fourth dimension-related properties, because the shine of that fabric cannot be natural. I think I heard the X-Files theme music when I hugged him goodnight. They both have some sort of exotic accent. I think they're spies. Maybe it's plutonium.

If it appears that Paul is listening quite intently to something I'm saying, don't be fooled: the volume at which karaoke is sung (and the backing tracks) is practically supersonic: I couldn't hear him and I'm pretty sure he couldn't hear me. In the rear right of the photo is David, manning (and quite manfully!) the karaoke machine. This is a guy who used to do his quarterly reports at the bookstore using a pencil, a ruler, and a big sheet of graph paper!

As for my camouflage pants, well, all I can say is, Culver City isn't the paradise it was when I was growing up. And, just for the record, normally I prefer to wear the collar of that jacket up, but somehow it flopped down. Yes, I was channeling 1984 in the top part of my clothing that night; I have no defense. I just wish my shirt had a little alligator on it. Pretend, will ya?

By the way, as this is one of the few moments that my presence with these people is caught on film (digital, whatever); I'm quite glad that it was this moment, where I'm holding a pussy bottle of Corona, that was immortalized. Hey, I really wanted a Harp, believe me. And yes, I did tell the bartender: "Keep your lime for somebody else." And then I tipped him a buck.

I need to spend more time in bars, don't I.

In other news, during this crazy weekend, at some point I managed to get myself weighed, and I am pleased and proud as hell to announce that I? I have lost 10 pounds!

Let's hear it for a skinnier me!

Tech rehearsal

Well, it was a long rehearsal, yesterday. Got home around 8:30, which totally screwed with my plans to practice. It occurred to me (yesterday. I'm not good at thinking ahead) that in the next two weeks, I'm going to be in rehearsal every night from 7:30 on. And I have a recital in two weeks. When the hell am I supposed to practice for that? My solo is really hard! And I'm doing two quartets, and they're not exactly easy, either. Even if I could get to Santa Monica early (and it all depends on traffic), there's no place to practice. Sometimes the director is at the theater early, but if she's there, it means she's working with the actors, and the last thing they need is me pounding away on the Martinu, metronome ticking out to the eighth note (let's not even think about the piccolo stuff I have to work on for flute choir!), while they try to work. That's just not an option. It's a small place, it's not like there's some unused room I could go make a bunch of racket.

I think what I'm gonna have to do is, drive down to SM, hopefully get there by 6:15, park someplace, and practice for 30 minutes in my car, then go grab something to eat... Oh, this is gonna be hard. It means that I have to get out of work on time, I have to get down there in 30 minutes (that in itself is going to be really difficult), and I have to find parking right away, and I have to not feel self-conscious about playing my flute in the car. Oh, yeah: there's that.

However! The show looks awesome. My friends are talented! My part in the booth seems totally doable. It's not 100% new to me anymore, and the whole process is pretty interesting. The production designer sits out in the theater during these tech rehearsal while the actors run through their scenes, figuring out their positions so that he can design the lights. I'm up in the booth, working the board. We wear these goofy headsets so that he can speak to me, I'm sure he could hear me grinding my teeth after awhile (it's what I do when I'm nervous. Nice huh. And did I mention it was a long rehearsal!?), but it made it way easier for him to tell me what to do: when everybody's in place, he directs me which lights to turn up and turn down and I record it onto the light board and note it on my script. Later he'll program in the fades, and the timing. I think I'm kind of in love with this theater: it's tiny, and not all sparkly and new, and it definitely has some rough edges, but finally I feel like I know the people, and that they're really glad I'm around. It's a nice place to be. And it gives me a chance to see my friends Bo, and David, and Paul: I miss hanging with them on a regular basis.

Well... starting tomorrow, Patrick is going to get started painting our kitchen, so I have to go help him empty the cabinets. Then I want a nap. It's been a long, busy weekend.

Happy Birthday, Paul!

Last night was my friend Paul's birthday party at the Scarlet Lady... it was fun. I sang "Stop Draggin' My Heart Around" again with David: he's my favorite duet partner. Guy can sing! I wasn't as terrible as I could've been. I didn't get home until about 1:45, and this morning? Up at 6.

I don't know what it is with these crazy early mornings I've been having lately. Maybe it's the beer: it affects my sleep. I think it's time to chill, even though I haven't been overdoing it (I only had two Coronas last night. I seem to remember the Scarlet Lady having Harp but whatever, they didn't last night).

Today's the tech rehearsal at City Garage. I'm leaving early to pick up my friend Bo; I hope I have time to take a nap sometime this morning. Patrick has to work, so he had to get up early, too. It's gray outside, and I'm feeling a bit like I spent the night in a bar.

Oh, wait, I did, didn't I.

Anyway, I think Paul had a nice birthday. He's a good guy and deserves a good life.

Go get 'em, Pauly!

You'd Prefer an Astronaut

This is an old album I've had kicking around my car for awhile. The band's name is "Hum." Patrick bought it for me in, I don't know, 1995. We liked it but there is a certain same-ness to the songs (that's not necessarily bad)... we stopped listening to it after awhile.

And then one day I was watching a re-run of Beverly Hills, 90210, and David Silver was listening to this CD... and I had to laugh. I mean, me and David Silver have zero things in common - he was such a put-on. In real life I don't know anybody like him. I mean, that haircut, those weird dance moves...! The MC Hammer pants!

Anyway, there's one track, that got some airplay, I guess (but I never heard it on the radio), called "Stars," and I really like this one - I was just listening to it. Amazon's clip is pretty minimal, I'm not sure they picked the most dynamic part of the song...?

RDO

God, today is supposed to be my day off, and I got up at 7. What the hell is up with that?

Am still feeling the after-effects of all that beer. Is that nuts, or what? I also haven't eaten anything since lunch, yesterday. That could be the problem.

Anyway, got up and started doing some laundry. This house is a mess, too. And I have to shower and get dressed and go to a Weight Watchers meeting. And I want to buy some hangers, and maybe some new sheets. See how exciting my life is?

Starting tomorrow, everything's gonna be different for about two weeks. Tomorrow is the first tech rehearsal at City Garage, and I'm doing the lights. It's a lot of work, but their shows are always totally worth it. After that, I'm off Sunday, and then we have two weeks of running the show before it opens. It means every work night, for two weeks, I won't be getting home until at least 11 p.m., or maybe even later. Which would be fine, if I went right to bed, but I never do. I stay up, eat something, talk to Patrick about the day/night, maybe take a shower, check my email, then go to bed: it's rough getting up on time for work the next day.

And I have to think about how this is going to affect my flute practicing... I have a recital on June 3 and a concert on June 21; for both I'm playing some hard stuff. So. That's another thing I want to do today. Might even break out my piccolo: I'm playing it quite a bit in the flute choir concert (if you were in Culver City last night you might've heard me...? Didn't I mention it's LOUD?), but haven't practiced it in a long time. Dora and Puma definitely don't like it; I'm sure Franny will freak. I might go into the garage. One thing I won't be doing is long tones. I don't have any earplugs.

Anyway, I guess I'd better get to work on the house and the laundry. I've been doing half-assed laundry lately: washing it, but not putting it away, and I'm sick of it. Gotta be better at it.

Maybe will go have a bowl of cereal. More later.

Flute Choir!

Tonight in flute choir, we busted out even more pieces. This is going to be a very long concert, but I'm really excited about it. I think I mentioned we're doing all our favorites from the past... We're still figuring out what we're going to play, so in rehearsal, we're not playing everything full-on yet.

For instance, we didn't do Blue Train at all, and that's my favorite. And we just figured out who was playing what on the William Tell (I'm on piccolo, of course). And passed out some more music. I want to get to work on these things.

One thing about my cheap-ass piccolo: it's very loud. I don't play it very much anymore, so it's also not very in tune. Or I should say, I'm not very in tune. It's got some weird notes. The William Tell is very dramatic with lots of high notes: fun for me, but I get a little self-conscious. I'm so loud. It sounds good, but wow, it's gotta be perfect. And I want it to go FAST. OK, so this is a boring post. But: I was really excited in flute choir today.

Work was kinda rough. I didn't feel very good: stomach problems. Let's just leave it at that? And then being off yesterday, I was behind on everything. I had about 900 emails. My boss asked me to lunch, so we went to Chili's. It was okay: I've only been there once or twice, a long time ago. Anyway, while we ate (I had chicken fajitas. Good, but I felt awful after, and I didn't even eat it all), she told me about some opportunities that might be coming my way. That made me feel good. She notices that I work hard. She thinks I could do more than just be a secretary, and she wants me to do more stuff.

After that I came home for a minute, and tried to calm my stomach down, then hopped on the freeway to class. I wasn't late, for a change. Listened to Radiohead all the way up there; I love those guys.

Patrick went to Cozy's in Van Nuys, and saw his friend Art's band, "The Acid Blues." Now he's home, eating a sandwich, and I am exactly in the same spot I've been in for 2 hours.

Tomorrow. I just want to sleep in. I woke up at 4 this morning: totally wide awake. It was actually nice, but now I'm tired.

Going to bed!

Oh My God: I'm Buzzed

Fat Tire beer is so good.

This is my first full-on buzzed post. I'm feeling a bit silly. Isn't that the way it works? I almost want a cigarette. Almost. Almost, almost, almost.

Something...

Anyway, let's see. It's been a terrific day, mellow. I didn't start drinking until about an hour ago.

Have been listening to Devo on Pandora Online Radio (seriously: you gotta check into this. It's cooler than I am making it seem).

Took the day off: sinus headache. Meant to do more today, but it turned out that I could only manage to accomplish the following:

1. Napping
2. Blogging
3. Full-on sleeping
4. Chatting (never did it before, can you believe it? It was fun)
5. Watching "Work Out" on Bravo: the reunion show. Those people are pretty much uninteresting. Won't watch next season. Doug was the light on that show, and he died. Sad.
6. I didn't break out the beer until my workday would've ended, so being at home, looking out the window, listening to "are you experienced" by Devo: cool.
7. Did I mention I was buzzed?

UPDATE:

Okay so three beers in? I am happpppppyyyyyyy.

UPDATE NO. 2

And four beers in? Much better. Fat Tire = Heaven

...

Friday night, I'm going to my friend Paul's birthday party, after my flute lesson. I don't know, he's turning, like, 33. He's young & pretty. Maybe I can talk David (my old boss) into singing "Stop Draggin' My Heart Around" with me, again.

OH, God, I want a cigarette.

Nope, gonna totally resist.

Translator

I've had this song in my head for awhile (click on the title)... Patrick and I heard it on the radio and I had forgotten all about it until now. Great song, and I love the lyrics.

"Everywhere That I'm Not," by Translator

I thought I saw you.
Out on the avenue.
But I guess, it was just someone
Who looked a lot like I remember you do.
'Cause I thought I heard your voice.
In a bar, making a choice.
But no, it was just someone
Who sounded a lot like I remember you do.

'Cause that's impossible, that's im...
That's impossible, that's imposs...
That's impossible, that's impossible.

'Cause you're in New York, but I'm not.
You're in Tokyo, but I'm not.
You're in Nova Scotia, but I'm not.
Yeah, you're everywhere that I'm not.
Yeah, you're everywhere that I'm not.
I'm not, I'm not, I'm not.

I thought I felt your touch.
In my car on my clutch [OK, these are not good lyrics, but the song works]
But I guess, it was just someone
Who felt a lot like I remember you do.

Two-fers

Another item on my blog that first appeared at Julie's. Yep: I'm a copy-cat through and through.

2 names you go by:
Irene
Variations on "Beansie"

2 parts of your heritage:
Mexican
American
("Tahitian" has been rumored but never proven)

2 things that scare you:
Spiders
Getting old

2 of your everyday essentials:
Diet Coke
Checking my email

2 things you are wearing right now:
V-neck black sweater (I have about 10 of them - !)
Tie-dye socks

2 of your favorite bands or musical artists (at the moment):
Devo
Wall of Voodoo

2 favorite songs (at the moment):
"Boys Don't Cry," by the Cure is playing on FM94.9... a perfect song
"My Curse," by the Afghan Whigs

2 things you want in a relationship (other than real love):
Attention (wait, is that one of the things one isn't supposed to say out loud?)
Laughter

2 truths:
I like to exaggerate
I can get obsessed with things to a degree that's probably not very healthy

2 physical things that appeal to you (in the opposite sex):
Mouth, lips
Forearms

2 of your favorite hobbies:
Reading
Playing the flute

2 things you want really badly:
A vacation
To feel comfortable (and look good) in a swimsuit; not necessarily a bikini, but sure, why not?

2 places you want to go on vacation:
New York
Europe
(OK, there are way more places:
Greece
Italy
Spain
Iceland
Canada
Nantucket...)

2 things you want to do before you die:
Drive a race car
Write something other than this blog and email

2 ways that you are stereotypically a dude/chick:
Totally ruled by my emotions
I have to take a shower every day (I don't know. This is a weird question.)

2 things you are thinking about right now:
Um... OK, the clean version:

Getting my car washed (no, that's not a euphemism)
Practicing my flute

2 stores you shop at:
J Crew online
Borders

Jump!

I get up and nothing gets me down!

(By the way, that's a limited edition Magnolia Thunderpussy t-shirt... Stewart, if you want one, we've got one just for you... well, this one, in fact. Click here for more info.)

More pictures here.

Louise's Flowers

My co-worker Louise received these flowers from her boyfriend. Aren't they beautiful?

Giving It a Rest

Even I find crazy a bit tiring.

(I'll just say: I'm listening to my "Klark Kent" station at Pandora, and they're playing a band called "Federation X." I think I heard some specially adapted kinetic klarinet; I think I'm in love!)

...

Busy weekend. Mothers Day was a 2-day holiday for us this year; we spent Saturday with my mother-in-law and my husband's family. It was very nice to all be together, especially with my niece and nephew. They're growing up so fast! We had lunch, and then went back to my mother-in-law's house for cake and ice cream. Patrick brought over the Wii, which the kids love, and we all played a few games. Fun, but tiring!

Sunday, we went to our godson's First Communion. We don't see him or his parents often enough, and then having to go to church, feeling that guilt: it was a hard morning! Because there were so many people in the church, the priest asked that everyone in the house go up for either a blessing or communion; he didn't want anyone staying behind in the pews, because I guess it makes it too hard for people to get in or out (it's a small church).

I haven't been up to the altar in a Catholic church for communion in about a hundred years. It was a bit traumatizing. Of course we had the option of being blessed, which I accepted, but it was weird.

I got to church with a willful attitude - I'm not one of you: I don't have to do what you do - these rules aren't for me! I can stand or sit when I want to, I don't have to kneel. Suckers!

I mean, I haven't been "Catholic" since I was nine, and I haven't really been to church without someone dragging me my whole life... I don't want to talk about God here. It's personal. I have my own ideas. And I know that when I say I felt weird getting blessed most people are going to jump to the conclusion that I am guilty or feel guilty for something. Maybe I am, maybe I do, and maybe I'm not, and maybe I don't.

Um, just: no more church for me for awhile, that's all [did I tell you my mother gave me her copy of "A Purpose Driven Life," or whatever it's called? It's been kicking around in the backseat of my car, unread, for about three months. Not sure what to do about yet. "Thanks but no thanks" doesn't work with my mom, and I don't want to hurt her].

Anyway, after that, we headed over to our friends' house for brunch and visiting, and then we had a bunch of errands to run before going to my mom and dad's house for her mom's day celebration.

It was a nice day, a good weekend, and I had a good time, but I feel like I was never home this weekend, and got nothing done. I had to get up early today so that I could get to work early to get ready for some training our department was doing. My boss was in charge of organizing it, but she was out of town at a conference last week, so working with her e-mailed instructions, my own common sense (luckily I had some this week: it may not seem like it from these posts, but I do have a brain) and with the three members of her staff presenting the material, we were able to get everything set up. We did it at the local Marriott, and they were super-nice, helpful (the AV guy who helped set up the projector and the screen was really great; his name was Tim! Thanks!), and well-organized. I was worried because I had 60 people sign up before I cut it off (and there was plenty whining about that, believe you me); but of course 10 people didn't show up, so that made it easier. I was really worried it would be crowded and hard for 60 people to absorb the material, but it went really well.

After that, I just felt wiped out. I had lunch at Kaiser - the cafeteria is just as good as it was at my old job (same company runs the two cafeterias), and as usual, my only complaint is: no wheat bun for my turkey burger. I just don't get it. I had a huge salad, and a diet coke.

Oh, that reminds me.

Everybody in my family is giving up sodas. My sister, my brother, my other brother's boyfriend: they're all cutting out soda. Diet and regular. It's a bit scary. I've been thinking about it, and have even made plans to not buy more "once we run out of it" but we've gone to Sam's Club twice since I thought that the first time, and both times we stocked up.

Diet Coke. It's a fucking drug.

"County on down!"

Countdown To The Police!

(Click on the link above! I know I will!)

What cracks me up about my last post is the very first sentence:

"Look, if I were to come into, say, hugging distance of Stewart Copeland (and I know there's not much chance of that happening; this is a hypothetical situation), I just want to state for the record that I know that there's a fine line between enthusiasm and assaulting someone."

I mean, I could've just stopped writing, right there, because it doesn't get much funnier than this: "Hugging" distance? What exactly is that? Less than 100 yards? Less than 100 feet? Will I run? Are you picturing the slo-mo replay of me dashing down the 5,000 stairs from my - seriously: nosebleed - seat in Dodger Stadium? By the time I got to the stage, AS IF THAT WERE EVEN POSSIBLE, I would probably have about 10 security guards all over me. I mean, I know I'm a dreamer, but a runner? Hell no.

To even use the word "assault" - It's like me saying, "Look, I know I'm a tad bit crazy. But you can understand, can't you? Give me a break, OK?"

And then I wrote these magical words:

"I know there's not much of a chance..." As if - as if there's a teeny, tiny, eensy weensy chance of anything remotely related to my meeting Stewart Copeland could ever happen! OK, so maybe I'll meet a lookalike. Or maybe, when they're playing "Message In a Bottle," I'll hit all the accents on the right beats while I'm air drumming [generally I don't air drum in public; why do you think I got the windows tinted on my car? Beer at Dodger Stadium will probably be $100 a glass; chances are I'm going to be stone-cold sober that night, with my little heart beating, driving Patrick insane. He might leave me that night: look for me, on the side of the road, trying to bum a ride home, because I will probably push each and every one of that wonderful man's buttons that night. Psycho Wife will be on the prowl, I can assure you]: I have a shot at that happening.

All I know is, I gotta get working on my "Copeland is God" t-shirt. Time is tick-tick-ticking away!

Countydown to THE POLICE at Dodger Stadium

Follows are several scenarios of what could possibly happen when I go see the Police, next month. Holy shit! Next month!

Look, if I were to come into, say, hugging distance of Stewart Copeland (and I know there's not much chance of that happening; this is a hypothetical situation), I just want to state for the record that I know that there's a fine line between enthusiasm and assaulting someone.

I get that.

I understand that the artists don't necessarily want to be in physical contact with their fans. I just can't promise that I'll be cool. I will try to be cool. But I have a feeling that I'm going to be very excited, and even from nine miles away (approximately how far our seats are from the field), I will be imagining that Stewart will Know I am there (just, please, don't fuck up, Stewart. It would be very bad for my marriage for you to play less than brilliantly. I'm serious), and maybe come up and talk to us. And invite us to his home, or something.

Yeah.

Anyway, in case I can't control myself, it's pretty much a given that any one of the following scenarios could occur (it's a choose your own adventure!):

A: I throw myself on stage and start singing "Does Everyone Stare" and get arrested for assault while loudly proclaiming my undying love for Stewart. Look at me, Stewart! I love you! Okay, well then I guess I need to find my own way home, huh.

B: Stewart feels sorry for the little geek (me), posts my bail, and takes me to a romantic spot for coffee. He looks into my big brown slightly skewed eyes, and falls in love. Desperately and passionately in love, both our gray hair turns back blond or brown, respectively.

C. Stewart feels sorry for the little geek (me), posts my bail, and takes me to a romantic spot for coffee (which I don't drink. At this point I should probably be drinking something much stronger. Like bleach), and falls in love with the little geek (still me), and then Patrick, heartbroken and bitter, divorces me.

D. Stewart is so old and brittle [I hope he can take a joke], that when I "hug" (read: assault) him, he breaks an arm. Forced to drop out of the long-awaited reunion tour, he fights one last balls-out fight with Sting. 25 years of bitterness and jealousy explode. Sting kicks him out of the band for good, and doesn't even give him the name of his physical therapist. Sting and Andy hold an open audition to find a replacement drummer. Patrick auditions and gets the gig.

E. Wait. I can't think of anything better than the last part of D.

Inspirational Songs...?

I've actually been thinking about this topic for awhile now, and then Julie beat me to it on her blog. These songs may be a bit weird, way old, and/or crappy, but in certain situations, they work for me. So with no further ado, here are my top 6 inspirational songs:

6. The Greatest Love of All, by Whitney Houston
This was the featured song at the very first Leadership Camp I attended. I think I was in the 7th grade. Our fearless leaders were this crackpot lady named Joni and her trusty "hypnotist" sidekick, Andy, and for six years I'd ride a bus way up into the Angeles forest so I could buy every word these two nutballs had to say about life, living your dreams, and being "you." I want to say that I was a bit skeptical from the start, but that would be a lie. I thought that I just wasn't doing whatever it is they said we should do right, and that's why I wasn't more popular. This song inspires me to show the world the beauty I have inside. Screw the children.

5. If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out, by Cat Stevens
I just watched Harold and Maude again on TV the other day... it's the first time I've seen it since I was a kid. I love this movie, and I love the hippie-dippy sweetness of this song. It reminds me of what my flute teacher says in my lessons, when I'm learning a new piece and I'm playing all trepidatiously, not making much of a statement. She'll say, "What are you waiting for? Make some music now."

4. Dig, by Incubus
Ah, a song from this century. I don't know, I think all songs with a tambourine are inspirational.

3. Nobody's Fault But Mine, by Led Zeppelin
I just love this song, but other than the title, and when Robert sings those words during the song, these lyrics make absolutely no sense. I mean, it's total nonsense, but when I listen to this song (and this album: Presence is, in my opinion, their best stuff. I know I'm alone in this), it makes me want to, I don't know, ask the devil how to roll the log tonight. What the fuck does that mean?

2. Fly By Night, by Rush
The original geek rock. These guys took all the Ayn Rand-J.R.R. Tolkien-Robert Heinlein-creepy sci fi stuff they could and somehow wrote these crazy songs that almost never fail to fascinate me. There is definitely something compelling about the idea of changing your life just 'cause you said you would. And I love the sextuplet on the drums after ..."Change my life again!" (or is that just two triplets? I'm confused.) The only bad thing about this song is, I got a ticket once while I was listening to Rush on the 10 freeway (right before PCH). So? These guys inspire me to speed.

1. Ride Like the Wind, by Christopher Cross
When I was a kid, I rode my bike everywhere. And there was another kid in the neighborhood who took much enjoyment from torturing me. On my bike and off: he was a jerk. Anyway, he would chase me on my bike, and I, being deathly afraid of him and his gangster brothers, would take off as fast as I could, on my bike.

"Ride Like the Wind" was my song. If I need that extra push? This song fits the bill.

I told Patrick about this once, and ever since, whenever we happen to hear it on the radio or are playing around being goofy, he will hit me with his Michael McDonald imitation ("such a long way to go!")... He made me pee in my pants once with this imitation: it's that good.

BONUS SONG:
My somewhat crappy high school marching band's drum cadence. We always had good drummers, and all six years I marched, they used the same cadence. I have no idea if it was a good cadence; it's the only one I've ever heard, practically (yeah, we heard the other bands' cadences at parades and football games, but ours was the only one that stuck). Anyway, if you see me out walking (which I hate... walking for exercise has to be the dullest thing, ever), and I seem to be keeping a pretty steady beat: this is why. It really keeps me moving along. In the 9th grade they added a tri-tom section, and I don't know why I'm telling you this, suddenly I feel like the world's biggest nerd, ever.

Devandra Banhart / Rejoicing in the Hands

Patrick and I bought this CD a while ago... maybe in early 2006, I don't remember. This week I've been listening to it exclusively in the car. It's beautiful stuff: I know people always try to say, "It's like such and such," and then they name two disparate artists, and that's supposed to give you some idea of what this person sounds like. To me, it's like if Captain Beefheart, Cat Stevens, and Jeff Buckley had a baby: this guy would be that (miracle) baby. More after I listen some more: I have flute choir and that's always a good opportunity to really hear stuff in the car. If you click on the title of today's post, you should get taken to a link where you can hear a snippet of my favorite song, the title track of this album, which came out in '04.

Over the weekend, I learned that I scored in Band 1 for all those secretary tests I took way back in January, and that was really exciting, because I wasn't sure how I did. But then while I was on my way in to work Monday, all jazzed about that, I was involved in a little tiny fender bender on my way to work. Nothing serious, totally didn't damage my car at all, and I don't think the other car was hurt, either. The other guy was very nice, and it was, all in all, a very pleasant experience, except for the cars-hitting-cars part. Am still waiting to hear from the insurance company about how much it's going to cost and everything.

Anyway, that took a little bit of the edge off of my test scores! However, my boss was very quick to get right on putting into motion my raise and promotion, and so come next payday, I will be officially, a Senior Secretary II. Very exciting. Except...

As happy as I am to get the raise and promotion, I think I'm feeling a bit let down. I mean, I did really well on the test, and there ain't no Band higher than Band 1, but... Secretary?

I'm a secretary?

I mean... I've been working my butt off at this new job. It's a zoo. The other secretary has her hands full, and we're both basically juggling as fast as we can. Keeping track of my own work plus everyone else's - I'm busy, man. And tired. I love my new 9/80 schedule, but I have no vacation time, no sick time (I used most of it up last year, going to the doctor with my mother. I'm not saying I wish I hadn't done that, I'm just saying: there's no more elective leave for me for awhile), and that's a huge bummer.

So. I'm a secretary. A Senior Secretary II. OK, then.

I'm going to the flute convention in August, which should be fun, but the flute convention is never relaxing. It's like 18 hours a day of stuff, running here and there. And - Patrick isn't going. We're looking into taking a weekend off in July, but we haven't scheduled anything yet. And I don't know. I'm just feeling a bit blah.

Next week, I will be working at City Garage again, doing the lights. For some reason I'm more nervous than I was last time. I guess I did a good job? I seriously need to go there with more confidence than this, and knowing that isn't making me feel any more confidence. I'm a bit worried: last time I worked the lights, for those two weeks of rehearsals, my job was way more laid back, and being tired for two weeks wasn't a big deal. Now I just can't afford to be spacey at work, and I'm worried. I mean, my work is not brain surgery: please don't think I'm trying to sound all important. But I know what I require to do a good job, and enough sleep is number one on the list.

It must be this crazy insane heat wave we've been having. The last few nights, it's been impossible to sleep. And then there are the spiders.

Our neighbors are remodeling their house next door. They started in February. Mostly it hasn't affected us: they work only on the house during the day, during the week, and the mess is mostly staying in their yard. But Patrick has been seeing huge black widow-esque spiders outside, and that's got me a little freaked out. I'm not a spider fan. I mean, yeah, daddy long-legs: they're OK. And I like that spiders eat other bugs. But there have been a few moments, lying in bed, unable to sleep, when thoughts of the spiders and other creepy-crawly inhabitants of the ripped apart house next door get a bit... too creepy.

Patrick is the world's biggest lover of animals, and usually he refuses to kill anything, including spiders: he catches them and lets them go when they're in the house, scaring me. But seeing as I'm a little overly freaked out about this, he has agreed to kill any bad spider he sees.

Isn't that amazing? It's like asking Hiro to kill Sylar to save Ando, isn't it? Only, minus the time travel and shit.

El Tepeyac

Busy weekend! Today I went back to work for a couple of hours. Managed to work on some projects I've been avoiding, and to make sense of what I have to get done this week. I'm re-doing some forms, and I've been using Adobe Designer kind of blindly: I can do some things but I feel like I'm totally making it up as I go along, and that I'm missing out on something. I know there's more to it, and I need training. That's one of the biggest things I've got to work on. I'm making a ton of new forms for our department, and while I think I have good innate design sense, I really wish I *knew* what I was doing.

Oh, and one of my boss's staff people: someone who reports directly to her? On Friday, this person left an "assignment" in my in-box. For me. Not only was it an assignment, but a crazy one at that. I read their instructions and looked at what was given to me for a long time, and I just couldn't figure it out. Besides the fact that my head was about to explode: the only person who can give me an assignment is my boss. If her people want me to do stuff, they gotta ask her first. It's just not cool to be giving me stuff to do as an assignment. They can ask me to do stuff and I will always say yes, but it has to be with the understanding that my boss knows about it. Because I do not work for her people. Oh, and to top it all off, this person ripped off the assignment sheet I use when I do assignments for my boss to people like this! My beautifully crafted assignment sheet: bastardized like a cheap knock off Coach bag.

Yes, my assignment sheet is lovely. Don't go making your own cheap-ass version of it and then giving me your WORK to do. Sheesh!

Anyway, after I got home, I practiced for a little while (the flute choir's next concert is going to be a retrospective of our past 20 years, so we're playing all stuff we've played at past concerts. One of them is this totally awesome piece called "Blue Train." Last time we played it, I was on piccolo, and the flute one part was covered by these two powerhouse flutists we had at the time. This year I'm playing flute one with my favorite high school flutist, this young kid named Greg. I like playing with him, because he's totally mellow in person, but he really goes for it when he's playing. Nothing seems to intimidate him. He plays so well, he makes me want to be better. It's a good feeling. We have a lot of work to do! It's a tough piece, but I love it: really cool. Needs work!), and then we went to dinner at El Tepayac again.

This is our second trip out there, and it doesn't disappoint. We've been looking for a good Mexican place: our favorite place in Culver City, Cora's, moved locations and changed completely (gone is the home-y atmosphere and free guacamole we used to enjoy so much [my parents used to eat there almost every Friday night; they knew us and we thought they liked us]! The last few times I've eaten there, the food was so-so and expensive, and the service was rotten). We haven't found a Mexican place in LB that lives up to the old Cora's. But I think El Tepayac is pretty darn good. Portions are a bit too big (even the regular plates, not just the Hollenbeck burrito!), but the flavors are dead on. Tonight Patrick had enchiladas with two eggs - I was totally jealous, but my taco and enchilada (no eggs) was really yummy.

Oh, and one more thing about my friend Greg from flute choir: last week, when we were getting ready to work on "Blue Train" (by the way, our version is composed by a Japanese person named R. Hirose; it's not a flute choir arrangement of the John Coltrane song with the same name!), when I went over to stand with him, I asked him something... I forget what, but it was a yes or no question. He answered me with "Yes, ma'am."

I said, hey man, don't call me "ma'am!

He goes, "Oh, does it make you feel old?" (I know this exchange makes him look like a smarty-pants and me like a stoner, but for real, this is how it went. And he's not a smart-ass, he's a good kid.)

And I said, "No! [Of course it does.] Just don't do it!" We laughed about it, and were setting up the music, and a few minutes passed. And I was looking at the music, which has some divisi parts in it, and since I was on the right, it's a given that I would be playing the top line and he would be playing the bottom (and turning the pages!) but I wasn't sure if he knew that. This is his first stint in flute choir. So I said, "Wait a second. If I let you call me 'ma'am' does that mean I get to tell you what to do?"

And he goes, with a big smile on his cute little face, "Sure."

Kids can be fun. It makes me remember how ancient and old and decrepit someone my age seemed to me when I was his age; but I don't feel ancient or decrepit. I feel just the same way I did when I was 16, for the most part, with possibly a better haircut.

Ah: food!

Test Results!

Remember way back in January when I mentioned taking some tests for work? Finally got my results today.

I did good. Hopefully will be seeing some sort of pay raise in my future!

We spent the afternoon with my parents and some friends of theirs, watching the Mayweather-de la Hoya fight. My dad is a huge fight fan, but he's so mellow. He never gets excited or says too much, but you know he's paying really close attention.

It was fun, and a more exciting fight than the sports announcers would've had you believe.

I went in to work for about 2-1/2 hours today... had a bunch of stuff on my desk, and just knowing that I would go in on Monday with more stuff on top of that stuff to do was really weighing on me. I hate feeling behind. It's always nice to be in the office alone. I really like it. I had 94.9 playing on the Internet, and I banged out a lot of stuff. Have more to do, though, so will probably put in another couple of hours tomorrow.

Now, I gotta go get on the trampoline. I ate a lot at my parents' house...

(Irene's) Honda (In-Car) Concert Series

Like most people, I drive around with a ton of CDs in my car. Well, I drive around with a ton of crap in my car, but yeah, most of that crap = CDs.

Since I haven't been reading anything, and therefore have no books to highlight in some kind of monthly recap (a la the old "Weekly Recap," only less, ah, frequent), I thought it might be interesting to write about some of the music I listen to while driving around town.

Last night I mentioned that I'd been listening to the Kinks. I've had their album, Lola versus Powerman and the Moneygoround, for a while now, but I don't listen to it that often. I love Ray Davies' voice! I was talking to a friend of mine, awhile ago, about how many female singers he listens to, and with possibly three exceptions, I mostly prefer a man's voice. I haven't figured out why, though (oh, and those three exceptions? PJ Harvey, Joan Armatrading, and - wait for it - Celine Dion. I know, there are probably better female singers out there, but they're the ones I like*. What can I say?). Anyway, so I'm glad I've been listening to the Kinks, and this album is a really good one.

Tonight on my way to and from my flute lesson, I listened to the Afghan Whigs' 1965. The whole album is really good, but it's not my favorite of theirs. I'm sure I've told this story many times before: Patrick, in 1994 or so, gave me a copy of their album Gentlemen, and ever since then, they definitely rate on my top ten list of favorite bands. I'm not sure why: their music is dark and the lyrics are often referred to, in reviews, as "self-loathing," and while I'm not sure how much the lyrics are a reflection on Greg Dulli, the lead singer and I think main songwriter, I don't think he and I would understand each other in person. His music, however, I totally get. I mean, it's a totally different world of secrets, lies, secret love - he uses the word "fuck" not as an expletive like darn's more emphatic cousin, but as the actual down and dirty act - and he doesn't write about good women (therefore in his songs, women are mostly skanks and users). Maybe he doesn't know any? There's a lot of blame and bad behavior, drug use, and meaningless sex in his songs, and that stuff has been mostly absent in my life (thankfully! I mean it!). But I don't think you have to share the actual experiences to understand the story, and these guys tell a good story. Now, I read in a review that I've never been able to find again that "Greg Dulli has the worst voice in rock and roll" (my memory may have changed the wording of that quote, but I swear I read that sentiment somewhere), but I totally disagree. I love his voice, too.

Anyway, tonight's songs, from "1965," that I really enjoyed were:

Citi Soleil
Neglekted

Check 'em out.

I won't be able to write anything about listening to "Gentlemen" because my copy (#2) broke the other day when I was trying to get it out of the CD case. Yeah, I busted it. I was probably driving and trying to pay attention to the traffic instead of waiting for a safer moment. Well, better the CD than me, right?

*I'm not saying I don't like other women singers, I just can't count. Please add Annie Lennox, Amy Ray and Emily Saliers, the incomparable Chrissie Hynde, Abby Travis, Bjork! of course Bjork, how could I leave her off the original three? Well, because that would make it "four." There's also Annabella Lwin, Dale Bozzio... But seriously: I don't listen to these amazing chicks that often. But when I do? I wish I could sing like them all.

I'm Not Dumb But I Can't Understand...

Ten (More?) Weird Things About Me

Julie has spoken, and I must comply with her request... So here are ten more oddly uninteresting things. About me. What, is this my blog, or yours? If you think about it, pretty much every entry contains at least one weird thing about me, but anyway, here are some more.

I'm going to reverse-order this list... for no reason other than I feel like it. It doesn't really matter, as I'm going to be writing this down in the order they occur to me. Yes, much forethought is involved in these posts, haven't you figured that out yet?

10. Tonight on the way home from Flute Choir (there was a LOT of traffic), I taught myself most of the lyrics of the song "Lola," by the Kinks. Tomorrow I'll try to get past, "It's a mixed up, [something] up shook up world except for Lola..."

And so? The title of this post should be making sense right about now.

9. For someone who doesn't wear makeup, I sure spend a lot of money on facials and skin products. I have to admit, I love getting facials not so much for the science involved (and this month's allergic reaction doesn't make me feel like being adventurous again any time soon), but for the way it makes me feel: pampered, relaxed, and petted.

8. I often awaken in the morning with a song in my head... Usually the song is something really annoying. Sometimes it's the same song more than one day in a row. For the last two days, the song has been the theme to Patrick's favorite TV show: Saul of the Mole Men. I know just a few entries ago I posted that I "hated" this show, but in that magic way he has, Patrick has somehow managed to make me enjoy it. There's just something about that guy that makes me like what he likes. Don't tell him, though.

7. I once had a dream about kissing Kevin, from the "Kevin and Bean Show" on KROQ. Kevin is so not my type.

6. I call myself a "reader," but in the last few months, I haven't read one new book. This is a major deal, because normally, I'm almost always reading something, and while I usually accept my slacker label, this is really starting to bother me. I've been in bookstores, and I even have some books to read, but I've just been uninspired to read anything. It's scaring me, a little.

5. I love TV shows about bridges, dams, floodgates, pyramids, super-huge buildings or machines, oil rigs, machines that tunnel under the sea, how stuff is made, the Panama Canal, cruise ships (how they work and how they're fitted out, not "The Love Boat").

4. This week's episode of "Heroes" made me cry.

3. I have more hair on my arms than Patrick does.

2. My favorite ice cream flavor is "Double Chocolate Malted Crunch" from Thrifty. Yeah, they dropped the "Double" like 25 years ago, but I still use it. It reminds me of going for ice cream after school with SF and Joanna Lux, of being a kid again, before they remodeled the old Thrifty in Culver City, which is now Toys R Us) where you could wander for hours, browsing the cheap jewelry section and the aisle where they had all the weird over-the-counter medications and home remedies. This is from back in the days when kids under a certain age had to have a little ID card in order to go into Toys R Us without an adult, and SF had her brother's card, which I would borrow. His name could be short for Charlene. Or Charlotte. I think Joanna had her own card. Anyway, after getting our ice cream we'd browse Toys R Us, or go roller skating in the park. Damn. I really want to be nine again. Those were the days.

[I felt a little weird using Joanna's real last name... She moved away after the third grade, and I never saw her again. She was one of those kids who were oddly glamorous - at nine, she just seemed smarter, prettier, and more worldly than any of my other friends, and way more than me. I remember the silver-dollar pancakes her mother made us for breakfast the morning after I spent the night - OK, so maybe it's more my own, at age nine, reality of having never been anywhere yet, than her possessing some super-human level of worldliness, but still: she was cool. Wow, I haven't thought about Joanna in a hundred years... I just googled her, and found her name attached to some online magazine called "Ink Blot." I wonder if it's the same girl? I remember it this way: I got double chocolate malted crunch, I think SF would usually get mint & chip, and Joanna liked rainbow sherbet.

Wouldn't it be crazy if I were right about that?]

1. With a few exceptions (Bugs Bunny, OLD Disney), I hate cartoons.

Still Allergically Reactioning

Argh! It's been four days and while my eyes and face look way better than I did on Friday (think ET with a sunburn), I've been really self-conscious about it. Over the weekend, I avoided taking off my sunglasses, and even wore a hat when we went to the LA Times Festival of Books. Sunday I just stayed in, missing our friend David's 40th birthday party. I just felt too alien and ugly to mingle with people. Monday at work, I was very much embarrassed by my new "bad" skin, and I stayed in my seat as much as possible. I guess I could live with the redness, but the bags under my eyes are pretty hideous.

After work today I dropped in at the place I bought the products I'd been using, and my aesthetician (a sweet girl who could probably sell me a used baked potato <-- that's a weird example, isn't it) and the owner both checked me out. Embarrassing. But they both agreed I'm having an allergic reaction (the owner swore I'm only the "second person in 27 years to react like that!"), and with no problem whatsoever, exchanged all the products for Dermalogica stuff. They also reiterated what the doctor said, and that a) there should be no permanent scarring, and b) it should all be a dim memory in 7-10 days. The owner also suggested that I soak a soft cloth washcloth in good ol' vitamin D milk and apply that to my face. We have no milk and I don't feel like going to the market, so I won't be trying it tonight, but that seems like one of those home remedies to sock away in the old mental filing cabinet. As if I have a mental filing cabinet! Or if I do, mine has an invisible door where the rats sneak in and steal my stuff and move shit around, because I can remember hardly anything.

And On To New Topics...

Yesterday, Patrick bought me a mini-trampoline! It's called a rebounder (that was the rejected title of today's post: Irene On the Rebound-er), and I love it. We have it right in the middle of our living room, in front of the TV, and I've been jumping on it happily about five minutes every day. "Every day" = for two days, yeah, yeah. I know five minutes sounds like nothing, but that's some serious exercise for little miss couch potato (hey, I've mentioned potatoes twice in this post. Could someone be craving starches?), and it's a LOT of fun. The instruction manual includes some suggested maneuvers ("Ski Pole" is one of them), but I'm not ready for that yet. Merely jumping up and down and trying to breathe at the same time is enough maneuver for me.

I think I'll go eat something, let my food digest, and then jump some more while I watch last night's "Heroes." I almost watched it while it was on last night, but I've gotten so used to fastforwarding through the commercials, I couldn't stand to sit there. I did see enough to catch a glimpse of Future Hiro, and I LOVE him in 2012! Cute! He looks like Patrick!