Holy crap, I haven't written anything in 2 years. Oops.

Sorry to my millions dozens five or so readers who I know eagerly await my next post on pins and needles. I've been busy. Doing what you ask? Oh, lots of stuff. Most importantly, this:







Yup, R and I finally tied the knot! It was awesome. It was literally exactly how I pictured it would be. AND I didn't trip over my gown and fall into the little stream I had to cross, or faint at the alter. I consider these things huge pluses.

Anyway, this summer I figured it was time to start writing again. Because it's time. Because I can. And most importantly, because I'm making several large changes in my life, and at least some of it should be documented, if only to laugh at later when some things work and some things fall apart spectacularly and without warning. Also, one of the changes I'm making involves being more open with people and trying not to care so much about what everyone thinks of me and my choices in life. What's more open than putting something on the internet?

Martha Stewart is a lying little bitch, and I have proof!!

That's it. Throw her in jail again. For her crimes against humanity...and my bedroom wall!

I admit, I used to be down with Martha. The past few weeks have found me paging through her magazine with friends, oohing and aahing over the lovely little delights that she schemes up, shows how to re-create, and then displays in stunning color all over Martha Stewart Living. I drooled when I saw her sticker collection. I thought "how handy!" when I saw her wedding page (for I am currently planning mine) and bookmarked the snot out of the decor section. I even thought, in a fit of self delusion, that I could do these things that Martha, dear Martha, has set in front of me.

And then I tried to do just that.

Fiance (R) and I are currently painting our new place, about to move in. The living room will be a sunny, custard yellow, the kitchen a light olive. But it was the bedroom that had me truly excited, for as we gazed at chip upon chip at Home Depot, hemming and hawing and biting our nails, I happened to lean down and spy the perfect color. It was a Martha Stewart Precious Metals chip, in a silvery blue. It was, without question, The Most Wonderful Hue On Earth. I snatched it up, and R responded with equal delight. We decided right then: we would choose this paint. We would paint with this paint. All of our friends would come over, see this color on the bedroom wall, and toss their hands up. "You win," they would cry. "You are clearly the superior paint-color-chooser. I will be forever depressed that I did not find this color first." At which point I would politely deny the awesome-ness of the color, and invite them back into the olive kitchen for sangria and homemade guacamole.

Fast forward to the paint counter, where R and I handed the paint mixer dude a small deck of paint chips. We patiently explained how much of each color we needed, and when we got to the Martha Stewart Precious Metals gem, he paused, inhaled, and said

"oooooooh".

But it wasn't the ooooh I was hoping for. It was more like "ooooh, there's a problem here". After asking, he explained that whatever color was underneath this paint would show up, no matter how many coats we put on. "Seriously," he continued, "You could spend like, a hundred dollars trying to cover one wall with six gallons of paint, and you'd still see the color beneath. This is just going to come out silver". Ok, we said, and picked out a blue to go underneath the color. He then continued to explain the finicky nature of this paint, and I went home with it all in my head, ready to conquer.

First, the endless taping and drop-clothing, because I spill and am a klutz (very un-Martha). Then, the painting of the blue, a nice slate color. Now the second blue coat. Now we wait at least four hours (but given my schedule this has all happened over about two weeks) before the Martha. Now we bust out the brush, the brush I spent 10 bucks on, because paint dude told me that Martha was a streaky bitch if you don't get a high quality brush, and we begin. Here comes the test patch in the corner of the room......

What. The. Hell.

Martha, you are lying to me. This is not a thin paint that shows the color below. This is a gaudy grey silver that is hell-bent on covering and destroying my pretty slate color. I see no blue beneath this. NONE. Wait a minute, where is that paint chip?


















Martha, this does not match. This is not even remotely close. This is terrible. Let's try a test patch somewhere else, like....my skin.



Oh, I can't see my skin anymore either. Look everyone, I'm the Tin Man. *sings to self* I'd be friends with the sparrows, and the boy who shoots the arrows if I only had a heeeaaaaaarrrrrt.....

Fiance immediately began suggesting alternative walls on which to use the metallic paint, all of which were too horrible to mention (Love you honey). The truth of the matter is, the color just plain sucks. And now for the damage:

Blue Paint: $40
"Precious" Metals paint: $40 (for one gallon)
Awesome but expensive paint brush: $10
Realizing that Martha Stewart is a terrible person who is tricking every woman in America for her own profit and amusement: Priceless.

Everyone knows it, nobody says it...

Some days, I have to watch this after I get home from work, just to deal.


You all know it's true.

How To Drive Like An Angeleno

1. Figure out the most direct route to point B.

2. Consider traffic patterns and time of day. Check Sigalert. Abandon most efficient route, and find 2-3 alternative routes. You will probably use one on the way to point B and another on the way back.

3. Get a few good CDs to keep in your car, or hook up your ipod. Make sure you have a hands-free phone option for the drive.

4. Make sure your horn works.

5. Start driving. And talking on that phone.

6. On residential streets, drive in the middle until oncoming cars force you to pick sides. You will both be so touchy about the size of the road that one of you will have to pull over momentarily to let the other pass. The pull-over-and-wait person will usually be the person who has lived in LA the least amount of time, or the smaller car, or the person who has actually had a good day and doesn't really care.

7. Stop signs are somewhat optional. Also, the rule about who goes first at a four-way stop is not known by anyone. If you give someone their deserved right-of-way, you will have to wave them through. They will usually smile and wave in return.

8. The more expensive the car, the bigger the ego of the asshole driving it. Their overly aggressive driving will reflect this.

9. Any gap in the road will be filled with a car, whether they have the green light/right of way or not.

10. People will honk at you for being nice and letting someone through.

11. People will honk at you for being defensive and not letting someone through.

12. You may let one car through at any given traffic scenario. If you let in two cars, you are a pansy. More than two, and someone behind you may have a heart attack.

13. If you block an intersection, prepare to have your bumper taken off.

14. If one lane is clogged, people will veer into the open lane. They will not check to see if you are already driving in it.

15. Don't hit the bicyclists. Anyone who loves the Earth enough to ride a bike through rush hour deserves respect, and at least 4 feet of passing room.

16. If you want to change lanes, don't try to get ahead of the guy next to you. He/She will pace you or try to get ahead of you every time. Instead, signal and then drop back behind him/her. Usually there is more space there. Does it really matter if you end up 10 feet further away from the red light?

17. A good LA car game: One person counts Audis. Another counts Priuses. Another Lexuses, and another Mini-Coopers. Highest number when you reach your destination wins.

18. Who are you kidding? There's no one in the car with you. You can't play that game.

19. Stay off the 405. Just....seriously. Don't bother.

20. If you make it to point B and have to park on the street, read the damn signs about where to park. And don't be the jerk who hangs 3 feet into a driveway or blocks someone in so they only have 2 inches on either side. Not cool, man. Not cool.

A Burrito with a Message

This summer I had a lot of time on my hands. I was RIF'd (pink-slipped or laid off for non-LAUSDers who are tuning in). I was at a crossroads in my life, and the only two living creatures who were happy about this were my gigantic cats, who loved that I was home all the time as I had no job and no desire to spend any money. With a ton of time on my hands, I began cooking. I went on a health food kick, did a ton of research, and decided to be as much of a "whole foods" kind of person as I could be. I made my own vegan bread and crackers. I scoured nutritional labels, and then generally put it all back on the shelf and opted for unpackaged foods. Did I mention how much time I spent cooking? It was really a lot of time. I wondered if I'd be able to keep it up during the school year.

I'd have had a better chance of flying.

So a few weeks into the school year, I slunk down to the cafeteria with my high and mighty tail between my legs, seeking a vegetarian lunch from the school district that I don't trust. I was hoping that whatever they had wouldn't be too far off my new food rules. After handing over $2.50, I was presented with a tray containing a bean and cheese burrito, grapes, spinach salad, and milk.



To be fair, the food in the cafeteria does not always suck. Sometimes they have jicama, sometimes they have edamame. Sometimes they have two vegetarian options. Unfortunately, there's a flipside. Sometimes they don't have a veggie option, and I have to speak in very firm tones to whoever is trying to sell me chicken. I have actually yelled out "This is Los Angeles for crying out loud!" in my quest for a salad. Sometimes they run out of beverages. Sometimes they mix up the hamburgers with the veggie burgers. Sometimes they can't even give you a fork, though your lunch definitely requires one. So on this day that my burrito came to me, I was relieved to find myself equipped with a vegetarian, fork-free lunch.

Now let's talk about the presentation, shall we?

The salad is in a little plastic thingie with a lid. By salad I mean it is a handful of spinach leaves. The grapes are in a bag. My burrito is in a bag. And the milk? Oh yes people, the milk is in fact also in a bag. Not a stand-up Capri Sun type bag. A plastic bag that wobbles around the tray with no hope of staying upright on its own. The cafeteria people offered me a cup for the milk, but with the amount of trash generated by this one lunch, I feel like enough of a jerk and refuse the cup. I set my tray down and begin to eat.

Verdict on the salad: Spinach is actually fresh.

Verdict on the grapes: They are almost expired, and quite mushy.

Verdict on the milk: I feel like an idiot drinking this thing. Many bad jokes come to mind.


My burrito is talking to me.

The burrito is boasting a label that it's a "Baja California Burrito". I certainly hope someone closer than Baja made this thing. Also on the label is a round orange dot, with the words "Say No To Drugs!" printed on it.

Why is my burrito telling me not to do drugs? Is my burrito a reformed junkie? Has my burrito done some hard time, and is now coming to do some preventive public speaking? And honestly, does anyone think that some kid is going to read the label on the burrito and have a crazy life-altering revelation? "Well, I was going to go home and do some ecstasy, but this little piece of plastic said not to. I think I'm going to listen and become a model citizen".

The burrito tasted passable. I already say no to drugs, so the message is lost on me. On the whole, the meal will keep me going until I get home for the evening.

Where I will promptly start cooking again.

Mitten Threads -- Days Six and Seven

The last two days I was in MI were fairly low key. I had spent five days running around almost every second, on a roller coaster of emotions as I saw friends, missed others, interviewed for jobs over the phone, and generally tried to cram in all the fun I possibly could...you know how exhausting that is. Sometime in those two days, I did manage to get back up to MSU and had a random run-in with my friend K, and we had lunch together. This was wonderful because I really thought that everyone I knew from MSU had left town. God knows all us 20-somethings are abandoning the state like the financially unstable rats we are. Anyway, the last two days were filled with odds and ends, and lots of relaxing got done.

Here are some pictures from those two days, and probably some others from other times that I loved, but couldn't work into other posts. Enjoy!




































All in all, a very good vacation.

Happy

Driving down Sunset is always a bit surreal for me.

The first time I did it, I couldn't get over it. I was driving My Car down Sunset Boulevard. You know, that street that everyone in the world knows about, that's littered with Hollywood history? Yeah, that one. Sunset, as in "My apartment is a block off Sunset" or later when I moved, "My apartment is five blocks off of Sunset". Yup. Crazy.

So, I coasted down this famous street again, and this time contended with a bus on one side and a crazy-aggressive bicyclist on the other, who had his own lane but kept weaving into mine just to prove a point I guess. I was just trying to get my dirty car to the dollar car wash at Sunset and Descanso. Upon arriving there, I slid into a bay, pulled quarters out of my pocket, and proceeded to spray down my Prius. It slowly turned from dusty brown back into the blue it was supposed to be. When the last soap bubble had been rinsed away, I replaced the hose, and heard "Excuse me?" just as I was doing so.


I turned to find a 20-something guy in a silver pickup truck calling out to me. Being from LA, I scanned the interior of his car as I approached, looking for other people, weapons, or anything wierd. He was alone. His hands were on the wheel. I stepped up, and rested my hands lightly in the windowsill.

"Can you tell me how to get to West Hollywood?" Out-of-towner. Backwoods accent. Slightly nervous, but determined.

"Sure," I began. "The easiest way is to take Sunset or Hollywood that way-"

"I'm on Sunset."

"Yes, you are. But you're going the wrong way. You want to flip around and just follow it down, but it'll take 25-30 minutes, just so you know."

Out-of-town stared back quizzically. "So I go this way?" he asked, pointing in the wrong direction. I corrected him, then asked where he was trying to go. "Well, uh, ummmm...." out-of-town trailed off. I hoped he was here to visit friends, and not to escape some situation back home. We made sure one last time that he was clear on the way to go, then he thanked me and pulled away. I got back into my dripping car, and pulled out. I saw him (this time headed the right way) at the intersection, and waved as I turned left.

I'm glad that I finally know where I'm going.