the afflicted

A holiday with the flu is no holiday at all.

For the past few days I've been popping Dayquils and Tylenol Cold pills like candy (I could really go for some Jelly Bellies, come to think of it). I draft this blog on my phone as I lie in bed with the comforter pulled up to my chin, desperately wishing that my parents had wireless internet. I could then at least enjoy my Hulu queue while resting up in bed. Those who are shackled by ethernet cords may relate.

So my parents' house back East is where I am spending the holidays, as I suspect many Angelenos might. My days thus far have included sneezing and blubbering about, and cancelling various plans due to the pesky nature of this influenza. But I was able to catch up on a bit of television.
Top Chef: I have a new favorite character; his name is Fabio. The Italian accent and culturally infused self-deprecation provides adorable yet lighthearted moments of amusement.
Also ended up watching two hours of Dateline about two college girls whose identities were mistaken. Riveting stuff.
Diners, drive-ins and dives: quite possibly the most delectable show I enjoy on the Food Network. That Guy has a sweet job. There should be a World List of Sweet Jobs and How To Go About Getting Them.

Some of my initiatives for 2009:
1. Meet Diego Luna.
2. Find an intercambio whom looks like Diego Luna.
3. Get some writing done.
4. Get the hell out of credit card debt.
5. Make a pie from scratch.
6. Finish up 2008's remaining projects.
7. Take the Metro more. Drive less.
8. Keep more dark chocolate handy.

Waiting Games.

I somehow rise dark and early at 4:29 am, one minute before my alarm
goes off. I try not to think about the concept of cheating myself out of one more minute of sleep. I turn and pull up my comforter instead, closing my eyes.
The air is cool but still.

After a steely-speeding ride on the SuperShuttle, I check one bag for
fifteen bucks and wait for my rebooked flight, which is delayed (and
the only one available) to the city of brotherly love.
I wait at the gate after finding a seat. It has somehow gotten
progressively colder inside the airport as the morning wears on.
Bored, but mainly tired out of my mind, I spot a guy who looks a
little like Mark Wahlberg. He dons a green duffel bag and one of
those plaid wool jackets. Ugh. No guy should ever wear wool plaid
jackets. They repel me. And so do sweatpants with tapered legs. Any
pants with tapered legs; the damage is done. This means you, guy sitting across the way with the 24 hour fitness tee shirt on.
It was a mess - the flight was delayed two hours, overbooked, and they were making each passenger with a carry-on bag place their bag in the carry-on box display to be certain that it met airline space requirements. The line moved slower still; we stopped on the portable walkway from the gate to the plane - someone had gotten sick while boarding and the crew was now cleaning it up. I spotted Wanda Sykes on our flight - first class, of course.

I think I still have the flu.

That One Whom Kills Crullers. And Getting A Bit Nuts Over Here.

I feel diabetic today. I don't know what feeling diabetic truly entails, but I feel guilty, obese, and I have a headache. Yes, the return of the beached whale - onset of the holidays - or..something like that. Maybe the world collectively gets freaked out at the thought of the end of an entire YEAR OF LIFE that they retreat in a consuming panic and reach for comfort food for the better part of two months. (Isn't Halloween just the gateway holiday?)
Yesterday's buffet of delicious Indian food at lunch and after having no breakfast I had a lunch and a half and then some.

I just polished off an American bagel-sized French cruller doughnut. Just put it away.

Last night after work on the way to a mixer I really wanted a churro. So I had a churro. Dinner at home was skipped, opted for a tea with lemon and honey instead.
Oh yeah in the afternoon there were Jelly Belly beans and Mrs. Fields' nibbler cookies. The heartbreaker was that THE CHURRO WASN'T EVEN GOOD.

With the holiday hoopla anticipation building, I'm getting a bit nuts over here.

Yes, I am a bit freaked out that I will be freezing my arse off in the suburbs of Philly while I visit my family back East (UNDENIABLY the best decision I've made in awhile - long overdue time devoted to getting THE HELL OUT of town). But I'm working every day up until I fly out (vacation days are too valuable too waste).

OACUN, Dr. Suresh needs to learn how to FIGHT! It's just pathetic. I could fight better than whatever we've seen from him this season. And I'm a hulking 5'3" figure.

Also - now that I've only missed last week's episode of Heroes, I'm completely lost - and thus the flaws of not having self-contained episodes backfires. It's as if we were all at the same bar talking, but it was just so crowded and loud that only half the circle heard what a couple people were saying. So the other half just nodded on, and when they were able to hear the rest of the conversation continue, they have no idea what they were talking about. Have things really changed all that much? Everyone's running around, trying to catch Sylar. Yup, still Sylar. Details a bit muffled, but we could pull the gist of it.

Tomorrow's Friday, right? Well it feels like it should be.

COTW [crush-of-the-week]

Guys in the jeans-and-blazer jackets. Simple and delicious.

I'm a little tired.

I've begun nodding off at night- with the lamp still on and the contacts in. I've been so lethargic that I'm sure I've packed on five pounds in the past six days, physically feeling myself expand as I sit at my computer, motionless but for my eyes,fingers and wrist flicking over the mousepad. I'm so tired that I have not filled out the one paged form since I can't take the thought of the exerting task of writing old school - handwriting, ink to paper. Didn't have enough energy to hold up a pen. Quite tragic.
It has been four days.

At ease, soldier.

What a gloriously deliciously feeling it is to have family in town. A piece of home, of who you are, comfort, love, and for the first time in what feels like ages, I felt relaxed. Having a bit lighter of a load to bear when life decides to drop some knowledge on you is something I've always taken for granted before finishing school.

As if all these months and years of independence and fighting (for everything, it seems) have somehow left me a much more guarded person, I've realized. Is it a sign of defeat that I've accepted that everyone in SoCal is flaky and who cares at the end of the day, anyway? I could always pretend that it's something I didn't really want, it wasn't that important to me, so I can immediately lighten any possible disappointment anyone could possibly drop on me.
I feel that I have to have my guard up, so much second nature that it took just a short while of time with family to distinguish it. Protectiveness, I know, the kind of thing I've been grasping so tightly onto while setting to accomplish everything else.

The Great Escape

This past holiday got me not only shopping and thinking about the
things in life that I'm thankful for, but about the holiday.
Ushered in were new desires to get away and take a vacation - without
family and friends. Is this normal? I wonder. Family and friends
can be the premier sources of stress for adults, I reason with myself.
Where is all this coming from, anyway? Maybe what I'm truly wanting
is not to get away from the people in my life, but solely to get outta
town. L.A. Can get quite depressing, and all the networking and
industry competition and self-inflicted pressure can get stifling
under the smog-ridden air, and behind the superficial backdrop, and trendy
whims of Hollywood.

Can't we re-introduce those ideals of a simpler time? The days of skee
ball and old school Nintendo? From a world where there was no $4
cupcake and cell phones didn't ring at every step of the meeting up
process?

--


You know?

I Hate You With the Heat of 1000 Suns

Angelenos suffer from chronic dissatisfaction. Taking a cue from Woody Allen's Maria Elena, it's a phrase that struck a chord. Not just American, but Angeleno.

You are, in fact, an Angeleno. It doesn't matter if your election ballot, your ID, and your license plate are all out-of-state. If you know not to take the 101 to the 405 freeway, you've had multiple convos about how people from this town are "so flaky," or you've joined the Crackberrying set, you're an Angeleno. Don't kid yourself.

Yes, I'm feeling a bit sick of all the clichés. Maybe this feeling is all in the timing - the realization that another year has yet again floated on by. That, coupled with holiday stress, the auditing of those two worlds: one, in which you're a fiercely independent, rising star, making your way through the crowd. In another, you're the kid that everyone's waiting to have return 'home' to their family and stop that Hollywood career nonsense and hurry up and get married and settle down already. The one that everyone's waiting for to move back East to go to grad school. God knows your parents won't stop telling you anytime soon.

If you're not griping about how expensive it is to live on your own, you're ragging on how your roommates are the devil's spawn in the history of apartment living. Sure, people are shallow and traffic is merciless, but it's the city of celebrities, of all those fancy shmancy Hollywood spots that we've all come to avoid after being highlighted on The Hills.

As I blog this particular entry, I am slammed back into the all-too-familiar set of college roommate factions which engage upon the events preceding war.

What the fuck. I'm getting too old for this.

COTW
Spotted: Cute French guy that runs a cafe on Magnolia. As I perused the pastries he mentioned that he "makes everything fresh." A man with a silky accent. Whom also bakes. I'm sold.

Hibernating.

My weekend bristling with activity came to a halt when the onset of fatigue and exhaustion set in on Sunday afternoon. I was struggling to keep my eyes open. Decided to hightail it back to my place for a quick one-hour nap and then head back out - still had a concert to enjoy, and a party to attend. I then woke up, thirteen hours later, having slept threw a few phone calls and my alarm.

But what people don't know is, though it happens occasionally, it's kind of normal in my family. A few select relatives of mine are known to hibernate periodically. Conking out for 10, 12, 14 hours is the norm. Having a twenty degree temperature difference between the air in your room and the toasty cocoon of your comforter doesn't facilitate getting up in the morning.

Something carried over from the weekend. Even after the psycho-nap from Sunday, on Monday I found myself crawling into bed right after work, literally feeling myself physically melt into my bed - who knew this thing was sooo comfortable? Deliciously comfortable. I literally sighed with comfort.

Reminder to self: DO NOT toss remainder of a chicken soft taco in your trash can under your desk. Even if you ate most of it. There will still be olfactory pungency. I suppose when you're in a rush you don't end up making the most sound decisions. Painful regret.

I want to see Spring Awakening. Front row. Basically anything in the front row other than a comedy club.

There's a polyp growing on my eye. Okay, I cleaned it off. Wondering how commonly that happens.

I think somebody responding to my blog was just hitting on me. Blog-flirting. Well, that's new. Not the same as facebook wall-flirting.

It's almost Wednesday (and with the holiday) - make that this week's Friday. What I really want to do is escape - get away from it all...hmm. Delicioso food for thought.

Pre-Holiday Rut

I woke up for the nth time this week after falling asleep with my glasses on and the lights still on. As a result, my seven year old glasses are bent and now hang crookedly on my face. Hanging crookedly as I peer out from behind them, typing this blog and listening to classical music, trying to ignore the droning sound of my roommate taking a freaking twenty-five minute shower. Gotta find new glasses for that updated prescription...

Do you ever subconsciously make sabotaging moves toward your friendships? Don't answer that. I suppose that's what vacations taken solamente are for, should I be one of the lucky ones to afford it in the future. How to Alienate Everyone You Know. Ask this chick.

I've been getting a bit more relaxed with every day that I've lived in the Southland - but not to say that it's been a struggle. Well, not that I'm trying to adapt. Just trying to grow up and live while keeping the bigger picture in mind. In brief, just to chillax a bit more and not worry so much about those other things life keeps throwing at you. It's wasted time, worrying. Time and energy and life.

I wonder if I can fit in a pedicure this week. Those twenty minutes of pure relaxation, eyes closed, warm water-soaked feet, and, most importantly, massaging spa chairs that vibrate, roll, and send surging waves of relief to the knots that riddle my shoulders and all the way down my back. Okay, so it has been awhile since my last one.

So I take this day, to bite my tongue. I suppose I wouldn't be a writer unless I had something to say. Maybe best to save even more from the verbal expression and save it for the written.

Your family - well, the usual drill - they - i.e. your parents - don't need to know everything. And what they don't know - sometimes they just don't need to know.

Yup. Gonna go with that.

Maybe it's time for that solo vacation, however small a scale. Just take off for a couple days. Now there's some rich food for thought. Think of the possibilities.

I'm salivating already.

The Italian Job.

I kind of want a cookie. A really big, double-chocolate cookie. As I say this, I have just put away one crisp Fuji apple. But I'm still thinking about the cookie. Shedding the holiday weight from '07 is not going to be quite as effortless as I'd imagined. Especially during the pending holiday season of '08. Why aren't there any holiday treats, like steamed broccoli? Nope - pies and tarts and cupcakes and hot chocolate. Yum. Anything with dark chocolate - always a hit, really.

The Italian Job.
Some movies are even better the fourth or fifth time around.
Great casting - was watching The Italian Job again one evening. Scott Adsit ('Pete' from '30 Rock') played the actor in the car that Handsome Rob was stuck behind in traffic. Oscar Nunez ('Oscar' on 'The Office')was the security guard in the gated neighborhood that Steve (Edward Norton) was living in. How pleasantly surprising. Good job, Sheila Jaffe.

With Thanksgiving bringing in the slew of holidays next week, will reexamine life priorities and regroup for a bit of refreshment.

Also - in gastronomy...
I am a culinary genius. Throwing together a snack before salsa class, I toasted some slices of rustique bread and added some grilled veggies along with sundried tomatoes, swiss cheese, and smoked turkey. Who knew? Mini smoked turkey sandwiches with grilled veggies and sundried tomatoes? Delicioso, amigos, delicioso. You too, can be a connoisseur of the palate. Stop by your neighborhood Trader Joe's for more information.

Addiction, Three-Day Weekends, and Equilibrium

I should quit coffee cold turkey. I have traded the kiddie cartons of milk for mocha lattes. My sixth grade math teacher with the horrible coffee breath would be so proud. I have had two coffee drinks today to keep me going, a bowl of pasta for lunch (yes, the white flour kind). So...refined white flour, caffeine, and sugar.
My addiction has materialized so tomorrow, November 13th, I will go on without a cup o' joe.
Vamos a ver.

Three-Day Weekends.
Glorious. Truly and incredibly, glorious. I've forgotten what holidays feel like - what a day off feels like. It's nice to be reminded.
America, we need more holidays - sure, we're a younger country than others, but we have plenty to celebrate - let's throw in a few Festival Days, Bank Holidays, Let's Not Think About The Economy Day or National Day of Chillaxation?
But until then, will have to return to the task at hand...finding quick little great escapes from L.A. ...

Equilibrium
I feel like the Heroes story composition - I've traded one set of problems for a new one. Breaking even, 'a la Jerry in that one Seinfeld episode where he lost twenty bucks that Elaine threw out the window of his apartment building and then he found a twenty spot in his coat pocket.
i.e. the apartment and roommate living situation, the family bugging me to being surprisingly harmonious, the overcharged initiative sparking friend to the apathetic exhausted one.

BTW, Heroes is getting a critical beat-ing if you haven't noticed. We all know the numbers are down, but what are the writers thinking? Not from a media standpoint, but as a fan - the show's focus feels shattered, storylines convoluted, and characters, well, just plain acting out of character. Heroes, you're our breakout friend we met that was a hit at that party, a couple of parties, and all of a sudden, we have no idea who you are trying to be anymore, since, you have no idea who you are anymore. Take the tried-and-true advice to the core: just be yourself.

14 days until Thanksgiving weekend...

Someone's Neighbors

Meet someone's neighbor, let's call him Fred.
He's in his late 40s, got grey hair and a darker grey goatee-mustache-ish hair which comes to a point on his chin. Channels the wizard look, or sorcerer, or Dumbledore. Or more strongly reminds you of those wizards you see in photos that are on packages of wizard Halloween costumes. Fred rocks tattoos aplenty, and rides his hog when he's not yelling at his yapping dog to be quiet. He lives in the apartment downstairs from you.

Slightly awkward in terms of communication skills, he has darting eyes and usually dons a t-shirt and cargo shorts; you see him frequently around at home or with his hulking friend Biff, working out in the makeshift gym in the shared garage. It has quite a medley of workout equipment, surprisingly, in such a rusty looking space.
He has a girlfriend, let's call her Nicole. She's probably in her early 40s but you rarely see her around.
Sometimes you'll hear them talking, but very rarely. But there's always individual yelling at the dog to quiet down.

Post-Halloween Slug, Search for the Great Escapes

It feels like it's been awhile, so I don't expect too warm a reception from my three readers of this blog, things have been busy, sugar-laden, and rather unfocused, as may have been apparent in recent postings (and still lingering herein).

I did manage one for the successfully achieved nightlife books. I managed to make it to a friend's Halloween party, without a hitch. i.e. I didn't fall asleep after I got home, changed and showed up in costume, didn't leave after 20 minutes. Instead, ran into a bunch of familiar faces, and, indeed, had fun. Score one point for the candy monster.
Now just recovering from the weekend of costume partying, concert-going, and movie-watching...
It has also come to my attention in a violently traumatic experience that a certain pair of jeans no longer fit me. Let the workouts of need-to-drop-a-few-before-I-fly-back-East-and-see-family-for-the-holidays begin.

The Search for the Great Escapes of Los Angeles has begun...and so begins my favorite places in L.A. that are, essentially and ironically, the spaces that serve to help me get away from the city. I could begin my list here, but then, that's how best-kept secrets never keep their status...

It's already underway. Trust me on this one

Words, phrases and general social behaviors that should not be used. It's verbal pollution, y'all.

crapper. i.e. The economy is in the crapper.
What a coarse word for a coarsely described thought.

that's why. No, that's not a complete thought. I'm soooo sick of hearing this one. Just say 'yeah'. This has become the new 'like' of today's vernacular. Ne-yo and I are both sooo sick of it.

I love footage of people celebrating. So exciting. Euphoria is contagious. The commotion of people all smiles, jumping up and down, dancing, screaming out of excitement and positively-charged emotions. Who would have imagined ten years ago that Obama would be our nation's next President?

New day. Brand new.

Last weekend's damage.

In lieu of recent global economic downturn, I have decided to tabulate everything I spend money on for the month of November. Everything including tips, parking meter feedings, etc. Last weekend's damage? Let's see...

Ticket to HSM 3 - $13.50 plus $1 parking = $14.50
Dinner in BDB ('beautiful downtown Burbank')=$7.57
Ticket to Pride and Glory - $10.50.
Car wash plus tip =$12.
An iced coffee to go = $2.05
A cup of loose leaf tea = $2.25.
Shopping at Trader Joe's =$16.20
Albertson's run = $17.50
Total=$82.57

The Friday Anxiety.

Buenas tardes, otoño
It was a deliciously cool evening with the crisp of fall's arrival. Wish I could say this more often and hopefully, prontissimo. Sporadic and temperamental. Brisk and fresh.

Ooh baby, now we're talking.

and What the *@#?!
The unfortunate matter is that people are driving me nuts. These days, life seems to be going in that direction.

What do you do when friends and strangers alike start getting on your nerves? It's literally everybody. Your parents and your roommates aggravating you, that's a given, sure, but what about when you get out of your desolate Angeleno apartment, get away from the roommates and the clutter and the fact that you're the cleanest human being within that dwelling, only to find that your nearest-and-dearest are bugging you upon escaping said dwelling?

So I escape to my room in my apartment and shut the door behind me, hoping I'm lucky and no one will come knocking on this particular evening and let me shut the world out for a couple hours. Albeit, the crying baby and nastily-barking dog next door always seem to break the invisible veneer of peace.

Well you can't have everything.

Ay, hombre, que debes hacer?
Poco hecho mi madre sabe que su hija sera la persona la mas limpia en cada situacion...

WOTW

sommelier. noun. a waiter in a restaurant who has charge of their wines and their service; a wine steward.

Going to add "research remote islands" to my To Do List.

Flattery, it seems, still works.

Most people feel, for the most part, ignored.

I was slightly flattered by the Visa credit card guy on the phone that was transferring my credit card balances. Ok, well it was unexpected, so maybe it struck more of a chord since it took me by surprise. After I asked my meticulous questions regarding charges, transaction fees, and interest rates (got my rate down to 7.99%, if you're dying to know) and the 0% interest window, the friendly male voice asked,"If you don't mind my asking, how old are you?"
At this point I was half-thinking that this may be another security question (albeit after all the business was discussed and set), but on the other hand, gut feeling that this was out of curiosity. Seems I was quite the inquisitive credit cardholder, and a couple of the questions I asked were not frequently mentioned.
Ah, flattery. Even though my dirty financial burdens were aired out to some customer service guy, he was impressed by the information I requested. Yep, still feeling flattered over here.

Now that I'm off of the phone, I am getting off of my computer, and getting out of my apartment...

Adding up the damage, and WOTW

Ravenous here. Ate the top of a banana nut muffin. Then remembered that I don't like pecans and the rest of it was cakey muffin with pecans.

Adding Up the Weekend Damage
Friday night. Went home. Continued with my season one Heroes refresher.
Saturday. Went shopping.
Bought some business cas threads. $100.
Had a coffee and a bad pretzel, $4.50.
Went out for drinks and munchies, plus parking. $23.
Sunday. Went out for lunch plus parking, $12.
Coffee, $2.70.
Movie and munchies, $22.00
Weekend total: $163.70

And still felt like I spent half of the weekend sleeping. Maybe next weekend I should give myself a $50 limit. Will see how that pans out.

WOTW

gaffe. noun. a social or diplomatic blunder.

maverick. noun. 1994 movie starring Mel Gibson and Jodie Foster. No wait...

I didn't get a bagel.

It's been busy, amigos. I didn't even get a bagel on Monday. Nope - I waltzed in after not having a free moment for 2 1/2 hours and by 10:00am all that was left was a few half-empty tubs of cream cheese.

But anyway...

The candy monster has been making moves.
Fade in. After much deliberation, the reluctant-to-nightlife Hollywood Assistant decides to attend one of the those fancy shmancy events via work.
SO...getting dressed up, not allowed to bring a guest, but still manages to show. (People know by know that getting dressed and showing up is 80% of the battle, right?) In the midst of the crowd, an attractive tall bookish type is spotted. She starts to make her way over. Then she glances and notices that attractive-tall-bookish (ATB) guy is talking to A-list actor from the show (that this premiere party is for), and has sort of a clustered group surrounding them due to ensuing attention. She waits a moment. Just as she's about to head over ATB guy is now talking to B-list actress from the show.

Okay, it's cool, whatever. The next free moment arrives. Friend (and now official wingwoman of the night) hands her a glass to exchange at the bar while ATB guy is there getting a drink. TCM makes her way, at the exact moment she steps in front of the bar to order her friend a drink, the bartender hands ATB guy his drink he turns around, and he's gone. First with the bagels, now with the ATB...?

Oh ye of little faith! TCM did make it over there, walked up to said stranger, and just started talking.

Fast forward to this morning. I spot the Noah's delivery guy leaving just as I get off the elevators. This time, I snag a round blueberry number, first round draft pick.

I wake up and somehow it's Monday again. The weekend went by in a haze. Had one of those 11-hour-snooze fests as a result of the previous week's heavy workload, as in work-dinner-get to bed asap! cycle.

Starting to think about taking a vacation. Either in September or December. Of 2009. You know, it's good to have something to look forward to.

Trying to remember the last vacation. Not a trip for visiting the folks back in middle America for the holidays, not the day trip to San Diego just a couple hours southbound. Let's see...I suppose I'll have to count that semester of study abroad back in undergrad...

The 10:30am cupcake. Also, Spicing Up Life - I mean Food...

It's 10:30 am on a Tuesday and I'm eating a cupcake. Vanilla, topped with vanilla frosting and round sprinkles. Not even a muffin, the thinly veiled cake disguised as breakfast. A straight-up cupcake.
Everybody needs a little sugar sometimes.

Mission To Spice Up Life - I mean Food, Continues...
Recently purchased:

Trader Joe's Red Hot Jalapeno Pepper Hot Sauce. This one's a trusty.

Trader Joe's Chili Pepper Hot Sauce.

Sriracha Hot Chili Sauce. Red bottle, white print, green top - you know the one. Why didn't I pick this one up before?

Cholula sauce.


The above hot sauces have been added to the stash in my (new) kitchen. Is there something major that I'm missing, people? Why has everything suddenly gone bland? If there's no spice, there's no point.

Necesito algo caliente.

More on this later, sugar. You too, spice.

DsOTW

Fashion Don'ts-of-the-Week:

Guys in horizontally-striped tank tops with contrast piping. Don't even think about it. Ugh. Just...ugh.

Guys in flip flops. Unlike women, men's feet are not aesthetic in any way and should be kept under wraps. Flip flops for men are in the same category as shorts.

Hawaiian shirts. Oldest fashion rule in the book - gets broken everyday in Sunny Socal and Sunny I-am-on-vacation Status. It's not cute. No - not even a little bit.

Loafers with no socks. (I would even rethink 'loafers' as a foot-covering article...) Seems too much of trying to say, "hey, I'm a yuppie, I'm educated and doing well for myself, but I like to get crazy sometimes and not wear socks." Killing me, loafers-with-no-socks. Killing. Me.

So we meet again, and the Case for the Selfishness of LA Transplants

It's been awhile.
But it's definitely good to have you back.

I am grateful for having a beautiful, sparkling, full, private bath! It feels like ages since I've had one.
Yes, faithful blog readers, I've moved! Finally!
I've upgraded to a bigger bedroom, massive closet, and private bathroom. I've slept in my new apartment without first spraying on some bug repellent.

It's really the little things in life.

There is this one barking dog outside my window...but don't worry, I'm happier here.

The Case for the Selfishness of LA Transplants

You could say that I pride myself in my independence. It's practically dripping in terms of my decisions, speech, criticism, etc. I'm not married and I don't have kids - it's a selfish time. I'm a twentysomething professional looking to move up and rock out.

I know there are many that fall into that category - moved from their hometown to the city of Los Angeles (or, in my case, "beautiful downtown Burbank" - really? "beautiful"? I'll save that for another entry), leaving family and friends and all securities behind, bracing for hell or highwater in the almighty pursuit of the Hollywood dream. That dream being starry-eyed actors, writers, directors, agents, producers, managers, all-around rock stars to grace the front page of something or get the golden recognition of their names in some rolling credits which would be sufficient to get some wordplay back home in Boonietown, Pennsylvania. Doesn't mean that disappointment burns any less when it hits the ambitious, smart, and empowered independent type.
But I digress.

As a transplant, you're the expat. In a city filled with expats. Your life is here, your family's, way - over- there. To date I've had four friends and one family member visit - out of three immediate family members. I've also lived in LA for three years. Three years! Yeah. I know.

What aggravates me is the fact that two of my immediate family members - my brother and my father - have not made any semblance of any real effort to visit me since I've moved 3,000 miles west. I've clocked in probably four to six visits to them in that time. That's right - struggling Assistant stuff - spending time and money to go see my family, because it's worth it to me. But they don't do the same for me.

They talk (and talk) about me visiting them the next time, "When are you coming home ?" (Is this even a valid reference anymore, seven years after I've lived with them?)

My response is usually along the lines of: "When are you visiting me? You have not visited me once in three years. It's your turn."
Brother/Father/Mother shameless defending said Brother & Father:(when it's not the usual "I have work, no one else can cover me..." it's): "You should come home. More people will be able to see you."
Me: "No. They won't. Everyone is working and they're not taking any days off while I'm in town. I'm the only one who's been visiting and yes, taking off days from work."
Brother/Father/Mother: "Come on, you can come home, you can always visit family."
My response: "Well, I guess I just don't want to anymore."
Brother/Father/Mother: "That's just selfish."
Brother/Father/Mother: "Well then, everyone else has been selfish for three years. I'm going to be selfish now. It's your turn to visit me."
Father's usual response (sounding distant): "Maybe (which we both know means nunca), sometime, when I've retired..."

Fucking A.

Even when the perfect opportunity presents itself - my brother's excessively large remaining amount of vacation days, my father's once-in-a-lifetime occurrence of not having to work for two whole days - still they do not visit me here. They can't get out of their own skin and horribly trapped comfort level of being in their own neighborhood, in their own comfort zone, where they have control of their surroundings and know all there is to know about town. I'm the baby of the family whose left everything, it would be nice to know that at least there is SOME interest in seeing the life that I'm living.

So, selfishness on two counts - them, for not flying out to LA to visit (not even a freaking weekend! Two days, hombre!); and me, for wanting them to come visit me. Seriously? Is it that selfish of me? Is that selfishness? If so, then, so be it. Call me the selfish monster. I stand unashamed.

The most upsetting is probably what most recently occurred - that, given the opportunity to travel and visit his only daughter, my father didn't take it.

Ouch. My father's and brother's indifference. Makes for a writer's creative fodder for motifs and characterizations, I suppose. Ah, the emotional baggage which defines an artist.

A much longer post than I anticipated. This is gonna be a heavy issue on my personality palate, huh?

No, I'm not planning on flying back East for the holidays.

Guess who's moving?

I smelled it today: autumn's a knockin'.

I closed the window of my room and crawled into bed under my cool blanket and realized that the smell of fall was already here. Love that smell. Could bathe myself in that smell. Bottle it up and sell it, Calvin, and you'll be reigning back on the lofty shelves of premier powerhouse fragrancehood.

Friendly face: Hi, how are you? What's new?
Me: I'm moving.
Friendly face: Congratulations!
Me: Thanks! Can't wait.

Excited to move? No. Excited to get out of the misery that's been my apartment? Si, claro. So I've finally secured an apartment and the roommate situation. Only time will truly tell of the harmony - things can only go so well in theoretical contexts.

But now the stress of moving this weekend is beginning to materialize.

I'm hungry. Man~ Should've ordered that third taco at lunch.

Don't-of-the-Week (DOTW)

Men in white shorts. (Honestly, I'd rather put men wearing shorts, because, shorts are not flattering in any way for the gents, and they should really only be seen on the beach or at the gym. Yup. NO exceptions.) Women in white shorts - well, it's non-discriminatory; no one should wear white shorts.

Clashing sock and shoe combos. Sneakers? White socks. Black shoes? Black socks. I cringe when I see the contrast of the foot-to-ankle attire.

It's August 27th, Everybody!

Come On, Everybody!

It's August 27th. End of August. Labor Day's around the bend. Quickly followed by Thanksgiving, Christmas, and a brand spankin' New Year. So, basically, 2009.

Birthdays and the turning over of the calendar just serve as a reminder of the various things in life I have yet to accomplish. In short, a look at the past, present, and the future. The feelings of self-doubt and utter failures briefly skim across the surface of the water sitting in your pond of realized potential.

I feel a bit stagnant.

This post does not feel complete, either.

Water!

I couldn't fall asleep last night.

The vivid image of my friend's eyelids fluttering closed while her eyes rolled back to the side of her head just before she collapsed in front of me kept flashing into my head.

A wave of panic and you go from a moment of leisure in a club to being gripped by fear.

No OD here. No alcohol, no roofie, no substance abuse whatsoever. Just plain lack of food and water. She was dehydrated and had only eaten a single meal that day, apparently.
But food. And water. The most primitive, essential human needs for survival.

Maybe the most disturbing thing about all this was the nonchalance with which she was already over it. Over the fact that she was unconscious for ten incredibly tortuous seconds, lying on the floor of The Mayan, her friend yelling her name, enveloped in complete surreality of what was happening. The feeling that a dear friend may not be taking care of herself is in the back of your brain, the warning signs, every subtle hint of a red-flagged piece of behavioral evidence suddenly rushes up to the surface of your brain all at once.

I can't stomach this kind of drama. It wasn't even that dramatic - makes sense on paper - 'she was dehydrated, so she fainted.'

But I can't sleep.

Drink tons of water, people. Forget Hollywood. Remember to eat. Multiple times a day.

Estoy enamorada...con una ciudad

Jueves.

Ooh, baby. The chemistry is undeniable - some old flames never die. What's keeping me going this morning and wouldn't be surprised if it kept me running through the end of Thursday's daily grind - is the anticipation of Woody Allen's new flick, Vicky Cristina Barcelona. What's the attraction, you say? Woody Allen's neurotic character-driven dialogue? No. Javier Bardem? No. ScarJo or Penelope Cruz fan? Not quite. La ciudad de Barcelona, hombre.

And, if the film highlights those highly trafficked areas of barça as the reviews have been claiming, I'll be riding a wave of nostalgia. Time can pass by, but that one neighborhood, that one street, will stay forever imprinted on my brain. The old dormant feelings start coming back.

If you have not lived abroad and completely fallen in love with a city, well, you wouldn't understand.

No hay palabras.

COTW

Sharp ties and button-down shirts under sweater vests. I must be on the preppie phase of the cycle.

Kettle corn from Popcornopolis at Citywalk. Crispy, sweet, and salty. Perfect. The pizza place was gross, but the soft pretzel was absolutely golden. Hits, 2, misses, 1.

Stinging Monday.

It is now Tuesday and I've concluded that there's nothing avoidable like the sting of a Monday. I like my job, my co-workers, my office, my three-mile drive to work, and my boss. Monday still effin' sucks. It's more the dread of the work week, and Monday is only the beginning. And work isn't bad, it's going well and yada yada yada. It's just Mondays. Incredibly sluggish and long and depressing and tiring.
Enter Monday night salsa classes. No, wait. Enter Rodrigo, the incredibly attractive salsa instructor.
Hello, Mondays. We meet again.

It's become essential that the priorities of planning activities and appointments arrive at the forefront within the midst of the daily hustle-and-bustle. Something to look forward to that helps you get through the rest of the day, the week, the year. Whatever it is, is much more monumental than you realize.

More on this post later. Gotta grab a bite before we check out this other salsa class.

You mean NORTH ? Protein Berry, and Tabasco! Claro!

"Where do you live?"
"Right above Sunset Blvd."
Really, above? So, does that mean you're, literally in a space that sits physically over the four lanes of traffic? Hmm, interesting. Or you mean you're under Hollywood Blvd.? Because, let's face it, if you're above one thing then you could also be under something else (this is a G rated statement).
Was everyone absent on that same day in third grade? Cardinal directions? Or in kindergarten with the Left and Right designations? North, South, East, West. No, you're not above Wilshire. I think you mean North. Let it catch on like wildfire like it was supposed to twenty-some years ago.

It's four o'clock in the afternoon. The wave of fatigue has enveloped me at this particular Monday moment. I dream of a smoothie. It is packed with strawberries and bananas and soymilk. I go downstairs only to remember that the cafe downstairs is closed by now. I walk back upstairs. Protein Berry has my name all over it right now. Three more hours until the opportunity presents itself. Woman cannot live on dark chocolate alone.

August 13, 2008
It's Wednesday. Turns out, I like going to work earlier. Less traffic, more parking available, and an earlier day. Still not a morning person.

Note to self: Do not toss empty containers of sesame salad dressing in the wastebasket under my desk. Pungent sweet-n-salty aroma will persist throughout the day.

Thursday, August 14, 2008
Breakfast sandwich: egg-cheese-bacon number on wheat toast. In the kitchen: ketchup? no. tabasco? no. NO Tabasco?!!

VENGA!

I begrudgingly finish my bland breakfast sandwich, but I dream of other condiments. Of the spicy, the tangy, the glorious. Mental note: Must bring personal spicy condiments to work.
At least tomorrow's Friday.

WOOOOOOOH!!! Yeah!!

Are there no happy renters in Los Angeles?

Recovering
Huge blow to the apartment search yesterday. I'm still recovering. I don't even know if I can fully express how stunned and disappointed and pissed I was (and still am) after waiting for my roommates who were twenty minutes late and finding that the apartment we were about to look at and literally steps away from had been rented out ten minutes earlier. I know.
Stunned. Upsetting. Still stunned and upset and disappointed. I could say crushed, deflated, crestfallen. I don't even know which to express anymore. I'm drained. Disappointment can be catastrophic to morale.

Revisiting the road of living by myself and paying a ridiculous amount of rent for that possibility.

Are there no happy renters in Los Angeles ?
I've already found that most people in the greater Los Angeles area, aren't truly happy with the apartment that they're living in. A quick look at apartmentratings.com (and chatting with any renter you know) quickly reveals the truth of the matter. Sloppy paint jobs, incompetent and unreliable management, and a slew of roommate issues to sort through or put up with until one leaves in lieu of life-changing events (marriage, profession, purchasing property, family events). Noisy pets, traffic, and gardeners, cantankerous neighbors, leaking water in adjacent alleys, pervasive aromas from nearby businesses.

And parking! You know how hard it is to find an apartment with parking?!

Breakaway. The Ideal Gentleman Continued.

I need a break from disappointment.

How much time have has been wasted by your flaky, self-absorbed Angeleno frenemies?
I want three years of my life back.

The Ideal Gentleman - continued...

Must be punctual! If you want to impress, you show up on the dot.

Must be clean.

Must not be swathed in cologne such that people in your surroundings are smothered. A faint scent is quite the COTW move.

Must use face wash. Seriously! How many men out there do not wash their faces with a legitimate skincare product? Not talking about bar soap, not talking about the body wash that's already in the shower. No, its not metro, not gay (are all guys in la-la land homophobic?). Its HYGIENE.

Cuts his hair!

Takes out the trash AND replaces with a new trash bag.

If he must be late, must have some sort justified occurrence to have been late. If I'm sitting at a table at a restaurant waiting for your trifling booty to get here, then it better not be for a stop at the florist's for yours truly. Time is more valuable than a few stems that'll die in three days. No triple-confirming with a slew of phone calls. Don't be sorry, be on time.

Why is it the hardest thing in L.A. to get people together in one place at the time they said they were going to be there?

Sigh.

My dream roommate & apartment posting. And new COTW!

Roommate Wanted
Professional twenty-something seeks roommate with similar status. Roommate must not be crazy, dirty, loud, an alcoholic, socially awkward, or an only child. Roommate must have experience living with other roommates. Must not be a moron. Must not have pets, children. Must not have "third-roommate" type boyfriend or girlfriend that stays overnight constantly.
Must-haves: Personality, courtesy, trustworthiness.

Pluses: Speaks additional languages, eats different ethnic foods (i.e. doesn't mind the smell of foods cooking in the kitchen), enjoys going out with friends but also enjoys relaxing at home. Avid watcher of The Office, Heroes, Project Runway, Mad Men, 30 Rock, or The Food Network. Enjoys movies and at least somewhat knowledgeable about pop culture.

Apartment: Must have private room and bathroom, central air, walk-in closet, balcony, laundry on-site. Must not look depressing, outside or inside. Ugly carpeting must not be present.
Location: Burbank/Studio City/North Hollywood. Must take no longer than 10 minutes to get to work. Ideally close to decent eateries. Peace and quiet must be the norm in the neighborhood. Building must not be next door to any working business that has landscapers coming in like clockwork on Saturday mornings at 7:30am. No construction must be in progress within two blocks. No bugs, standing puddles of water, or streaming water from nearby locations must be present.

Required: Parking spot (covered, gated, and not tandem!) Also parking for guests must not be a hellish ordeal.

COTW
Okay, I know it's been awhile - but the potentials for COTW have been incredibly dry lately, which is why I haven't had any to blog about.

Diego Luna. Boyish and charming. Que delicioso. Saw Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights (yep, that's right) and who knew? Something about the cute ones that know how to salsa dance. Seriously not sure why I never noticed him onscreen before. Will have to watch Y Tu Mama Tambien again to see what I missed.

In Fashion: the black-and-whites. Black tie, black jacket, white button-down shirt. Bottoms: antique jeans or matching trousers. With a clean set of Pumas or Chucks. Simple, classic, yet comfortable and adds a splash of cas.

Two more signs that I should move.

1. I saw an ant in my closet.
2. Spider in the closet.

Moving is just effin' stressful. Apartment hunting, roommate hunting.

Added on 7/31/08:
3. I just killed a millipede-looking-creature in the kitchen.

Noticed that this is a mini-entry but I gotta go. The kitchen sink is leaking.

Ah, discomfort

Ladies and gentlemen, the Itch Festival has begun. I have been attacked. 14 mosquito bites within twenty-four hours. One of them is blowing up to the size of a ping pong ball. It's two days later, so they're all swelling up, itching like mad, and creating quite the irritation.
Where are these mosquitoes coming from? Must be happening in the middle of the night, because I just wake up with these wounds. There should at least have been an opportunity for me at retaliation to kill off these suckers. But while I'm sleeping - this must be the cowardliest of all militant strategies.

Why I get mercilessly attacked and no one else in the apartment does, I have no idea. Everything's clean, I've sprayed on bug repellent, and lit some citronella. Maybe it's my blood type...

I walk outside to my car in the morning, suspiciously eyeing the large, idle puddle of water with various rubbish floating in it. Ughh, standing water.

I gotta move.

No, YOU hold on.

Chick who answered the phone: Please hold...[music begins playing]
Music stops.
My other line rings.
Me: Oh -hold on one second-
I am on the other line for all of about two seconds and now I can see that the other woman who put me on hold has immediately dropped off.
Easy way to annoy others: Put other people on HOLD, but you yourself, won't hold.

My left index finger itches.

Taking the edge off. The blur.

What a hectic and red-eyed Monday. I'm feeling the need before lunch to do something later today to cushion the stressed brain and muscles from the day back to work from the weekend. Softening the blow. Hmm, I guess that's a bit harsh. Something to...take the edge off. Felt the need for it after Monday, Tuesday, and feeling another day this week will bring the same. I should find something quick other than projects to work on. Otherwise I may take to eating cheese. Exclusively.

My brain is drained. A red-eyed Tuesday. Managed to nosh on a bowl of cereal, fruit and yogurt, a banana, and the top of a muffin. And then was still hungry.
I do believe the days are blurring together. This morning I washed my face twice, I was so tired. Usually it's being half-asleep in the shower and either double shampooing or forgetting and going straight to the conditioner, but today the facewash did double duty. I feel a little - Ed Norton's character in Fight Club pre-Tyler Durden. Some people are just born not to be morning people.

I like to think of myself as an afternoon person.

LOTW

Eat, Pray, Love
From the Brazilian guy in Liz's party of new friends she's just met..."I can't dance, I can't play soccer..."
And she goes,"Maybe so. But I have a feeling you could play a very good Casanova.' Time stopped solid for a long, long moment then, as we looked at each other frankly, like, That was an interesting idea to lay on this table."

Firstly, oh shoot!. Secondly, what a deliciously sexy moment you've reminded me of. I kind of want to bust out the heels and the red dress.

If only I had a red dress...

It's the food.

Saturday morning. 7:30 a.m. Ah, now what will you do today?
1. Eat first!***
2. Hit the gym.
3. Take out trash/do laundry/Target run. That would bring me to 4 hours later..
4. Call several of the trusties for tonight's plans.

Yesterday's glorious Friday afternoon brought an earlier weekend. And pizza. It's the little things in life that make a world of difference. Well, maybe just the food. Yeah, it's the food.

It is then that I realized it has been over three years since I had a decent slice of pizza. Met up with fellow East Coasters Sara G. and BJG, after taking a whole freaking hour in traffic from Universal City to the BH. That Santa Monica Boulevard can be quite the biatch.

But good pizza and soda and all is well in the world. I also realized that I've become quite anti-social with juggling an online class, full-time work, hitting the gym, apartment/roommate hunting, and catching up on reading. All that and avoiding Hollywood takes an abundant chunk of your time. Switching priorities means something gets knocked down a few notches. Also, the overall ease of spirit.

Today - not sure the laundry will get done. But today, I choose to spend outside in peace. With something to eat.

Today. New pimple, apartment hunting, and Stop Interrupting!

Aren't we supposed to stop breaking out after high school?
I have a new pimple on the side of my mouth. The down side to this spot is that it hurts whenever it gets wiped with a napkin, or touches the side of a glass while sipping. Who knew the side of your mouth gets touched that often?
* * * * *
Okay, there's one thing in Hollywood that I like. Ah, live music. Sad when it takes you ages to remember the last time you had fun. Oh, working stiffs. Hollywood, 1. Not Hollywood, 100.

So I've joined the apartment-hunting club. Or the, I need-to-look-at-places-because-I'll be-homeless-in-five-minutes club.

I killed a roach last night.
It felt like a sign. Maybe it's God saying, "Yeah, you know what? You really should move. It's time - get on the stick!"
It's the whole poverty stricken stigma of finding a bug in your apartment. I wonder how many roaches the one that I've seen is representative of, the ones unseen behind our furniture and walls. I think I've killed at least a handful of spiders in the past year, and I've seen enough cobwebs to deck out the late Aaron Spelling's place in October.

Stop Interrupting!
I hate it when I find myself interrupting someone. Sure, you get bored hearing someone drone on or talk without letting others get a moment edgewise. But it's just so rude. It's the slightest but completely infuriating thing when someone ELSE interrupts YOU. Because when you interrupt someone, this is what you're really saying:
"'I believe what I am saying is more important than what you are saying.' And I can't find another way to see that than: 'I believe that I am more important than you.' And that must end." [Eat, Pray, Love]
So true, Liz Gilbert, so true.

COTW

the Christian Bale-looking guy at my neighborhood gym in Studio City.

tall, dark and handsome guys that came out of hiding at a certain Hotel Cafe show! Seriously, where have you been all this time?

The Woman That Does Not Text and LOTW

I no longer send or receive text messages on my cell phone. After changing my plan and identifying how much the cost of text messaging capabilities were adding up to each month, each year, well, you get the picture.

There's something about it that never sat well with me. Sending a few lines to your friend. You respond back. Three or four messages go back and forth. Something you could have solved in ten seconds of talking if you just hit SEND and talked to them. Revolutionary, I know. There's also something about it that makes me want to scream, "just grow a pair and call the person!" Especially when it's a guy - you can't be a man to at least call, really? It's rare even to get a voicemail message anymore. From anybody, it seems. You leave a voicemail message, and I'll be at your house baking chocolate chip cookies from scratch. You handwrite a letter and mail it to me, I'll be cooking a three-course dinner.

I don't accept text messaging as a valid method of communication. Not even a missed call. The wonderful 'Chocolate' cell phone, when it slides open, which can happen when I just toss it into my purse, will open and list 'Missed Call' when I've missed a call. And when it slides closed, it closes the status update and I don't ever see it again until I open the 'Missed Calls' option on the phone. But if you didn't leave a message anyway, it probably wasn't important. If you didn't need to let me know why you called, whatever.

But I've found that this perspective is not always the consensus.
"I called you last night, but you didn't call me back."
"Well, you didn't leave a message."
"Yeah, but you didn't call me back."
"Why didn't you leave a message?"
I suppose, then, we're both guilty. My argument, then, is that, instead of the occurrence of phone tag, if the initial caller had left a message, then, at least the other person would know what was up. Instead, the sad phone tag continues. All because no one left any messages. Text message tag. Missed call tag. Facebook wall-to-wall tag.

Add that to the flaky landscape of SoCal, and we're easily in Jadedville. Ah, flakiness. That's another blog in itself, which I'm sure will happen sooner or later.

So many ways we have to communicate with each other; we live in such a luxurious time. Perhaps it does save us time, perhaps it only further complicates our lives. Time being the essence of everything that's been on the brain lately. Yet I still can't prevent getting stuck on the freeway, spending precious minutes looking for parking, futile hours tossed in the wastebasket of the evils of Los Angeles. Moments that keep recurring in that I have bouts of, "why didn't I get a Mini Cooper? Then I could fit perfectly right...there."

But there's always something to want more of, better of, brand-spankin' newer of. But I digress.

SO many things wrong with the apartment. The space in which you come home to, should not be a source of stress in your life. It's your home, my goodness. As I type this, I sit in the second floor apartment on a barstool. The oscillating plastic fan that my roommate assembled is blowing and providing the comfort in this 98 degree day (and still hot evening) along with a cold glass of water. The water pressure in the sink is still shot. The neighbors downstairs are blasting the bass on their stereo, which means they're probably banging each other. This morning, albeit a holiday morning, was not without the sanitation employees loudly taking the contents of the dumpsters of a certain studio's loading area, via monstrous trash truck. They're doing their jobs, but whenever it happens it is not without a complete and utter sense of wrongdoing that I hear the racket at such early morning hours. The small dog downstairs is yapping. I haven't washed my car in over a month since the street parking is prone to early morning sprinklers so I don't see the point. The garage, which may or may not be blocked by delivery trucks, other residents' cars, takes more hassle to open and close than to be worth the wasted minutes of life.

I just don't understand it. All these snags that keep coming up in life that serve up obstacles everywhere I turn. Like life is consistently trying to make things harder than it is. Things that make it harder to relax, things that some people never face but I find myself facing and trying not to dwell on them, trying not to become stone-cold with resentment. The struggles of starving artists, of big dreamers, of diligent assistants that have the burning passion of ambition and artistry, of success and love and getting somewhere bigger than their own small towns and humble beginnings that nobody in this town seems to talk about.

I breathe a few sighs, I'm sweating because it's still hot up here. I'm sure my make-up looks great under stress.

Today I feel old.

Lines-of-the-Week

Jason Mraz,www.freshnessfactorfivethousand.blogspot.com :
"The road is long and seamless. Even over water. And though the tar is paved in blood of the last animals on earth, it is also a path paved in love & light, where every direction is just a roundabout way home." My heart, my heart.

Flipping Out's Jeff Lewis, on Zoila, his housekeeper, asking for the weekend of her birthday off.
Jeff: "Who's gonna do my laundry? Who's gonna cook my breakfast? (beat) She's so selfish." Oh Bravo, how you make me laugh so.

Obsession, What Happened in the Kitchen, and Have Some Class, Beyotch

Being in my apartment is just too depressing.

It's early evening and still light out. I find myself in the same cafe that offered solace yesterday. As it gets darker I notice that I've managed to snag a seat at the only table which has a burnt-out light bulb hanging overhead. every other table that is located near an outlet is taken, and its pretty full. Love. Ah. Ly.

Whilst trying not to think about my apartment...
[www.webster.com]
obsession. noun. 1: a persistent disturbing preoccupation with an often unreasonable idea or feeling; broadly : compelling motivation 2: something that causes an obsession.
It's the apartment hunting on the brain, which I don't have any time to be doing, but that's the thing about fixation.
No water pressure in the bathroom sink for three sporadic days.

What Happened in the Kitchen
I replace the coffee filter in the machine, add the coffee, and it starts brewing. I return a few minutes later and push the button to dispense coffee into the cup. I let go of the button. The coffee continues dispensing into the 12-cup carafe.

Have Some Class, Beyotch
About those blazingly insecure assistants in the biz that are all too prevalent and the unfortunate and devil-spawned bosses that perpetuate the abrasive bitchiness...
Don't forget that life is incredibly short to be wasting so much time and energy.

Me: Hello...just wanted to check if that meeting happened already.
Insecure Assistant: What meeting?
Me: the one between...[insert names].
Beyotch (I.A.) : When was it?
Me: That's why I'm calling. To check if it happened - would have been within the last couple weeks.
Beyotch: I need a date. Maybe you should check your information and call back when you're ready.
Me: No. That's why I'm calling - to find out which date it was, if it's already taken place.
Beyotch: Well, I don't know.
Me: Well can you -
Beyotch: 'Bye.
Click.

So..can you ask your boss, you incompetent moron? Have some class, beyotch.

It's a teeny tiny town, and karma does not forget.

The cloud that hangs over a certain second floor apartment

It's depressingly hot in my apartment. The kind of hot where the ceiling fans I've turned on and the windows I've opened up provide insufficient comfort for the second floor dwelling which has been my miserable home for the past ten and half months. It's not as unbearable as it was last weekend, with the air just horribly sweltering and the air breaking a hundred degrees before mid-day.

No, it's the kind where it's more subtle, not disgusting as you first walk in, but gradually you feel incredibly tired and lie down, proceed to take a nap, then wake up because it's hot and the only thing sucking the energy out of you is this discomfort which stealthily hangs its cloudy head over your second floor apartment.

I wash off my makeup using the water from the shower since next to NO FREAKING WATER is coming out of the bathroom sink. It's always something. With no make-up on, I grab my books and my laptop and seek refuge in a nearby coffeehouse across the street. As I walk down the steps and onto the sidewalk, instantly my body feels comfort, the cooler 79 degrees a world away from the cloudy karma of the space I've just left.

When you can't relax at home, it leaves you ill at ease. Pretty much all the time, but basically whenever you head back to your apartment, whenever you're there, well you get the picture. It makes for the crap festival that your mood is experiencing, which, if unresolved, unappeased, and unrelenting, may result in that huge prick at the coffeehouse with that gaping chip in their shoulder.

So I'm sitting here, at this coffeehouse (thank God for coffeehouses), checking apartment listings and venting off about the living space that is my apartment, steaming at the current state of things, trying to figure out how quickly and easily does a person's attitude change. There are so many circumstances that come into play. And to single one out would not identify a single overriding catalyst to these things. Man, the circumstances which can change a person.

Sometimes you just have to get out of your apartment.

Another Bleak Hollywood Story & My Mom's Famous One-Liners

I should not go out. I just shouldn't go out. The hassle is not worth it, so just so you know, friends, I will NOT be joining you at your next outing in freaking Hollywood. Nothing personal.

Let me recount the horrible story that filled one ugly Friday night of my life.
It's 10:40pm on a hot June night in Hollywood. I circle past Ritual for my friend's birthday bash, in search of scarce street parking. I finally pull into the lot on Cahuenga Blvd., and quickly U-turn out when I learn the damage would be $20. If people only knew how hard-earned my twenty dollars were. SO, on to parking a few blocks away for a much lighter sum.

The crowd waiting outside the club is already about a hundred deep, the door guy who looks like he's had a few drinks is letting people in only in handfuls at a time. One woman walks around with a guest list on a clipboard, checking people in. After 20 minutes of waiting, waiting for the guy, watching the door guy accept cash from guys and him letting them in with their friends, I finally get past the gate and he slips me a small blue ticket. I get carded by the bouncer and then proceed to the entrance. I hand the woman at the counter my ticket and she says, "Fifteen dollars, please."

Me: What? It's supposed to be comp - I'm on the guest list for the birthday party.
Woman at Counter: This ticket is for discounted cover. Check with the girl with the list.
I turn around, go back to the girl with the clipboard.

Me: Excuse me, I'm on the guest list for the (my friend's name) birthday party.
Clipboard Girl: What promoter is she under?
Me: I'm not sure - she didn't tell me about a promoter. My friend's name is ---.
Clipboard Girl looks through her list again. She says: I don't have her down, I need to know her promoter.
Me: She said to check in under her name though.

Clipboard Girl does another quick look at her list, shrugs as if to go, 'whatever', and then hands me a big blue ticket. I thank her then walk back over to the other line (the smaller line outside after getting past the crowd waiting outside), get carded again, then practically shove the blue ticket at the Counter Girl. She takes it, and says, "enjoy your night," or something along those lines.
It's now about 11:30pm. I wonder how much of my time I've wasted tonight that I'll never get back.

I walk through the main hallway and to the right there are reserved lounge areas and a dance floor in the middle, with two bars lining the walls. I walk back and forth, then round the bar towards the front. No one familiar yet. I proceed back to the hallway and find the outdoor patio where there are tables, another bar, and the cig-toting clubhoppers. I weave my way through, looking around, walking back to the indoor section adjacent to it, then back to the patio, and then decide to head back to the other side through the hallway.

It's pretty crowded, so I'm tapping people on the shoulder here and there. Just as I step forward to squeeze past the two girls smoking on my left and a handful of guys on my right, one of the girls on my left takes a puff of her cig and lowers her arm. Inches away from getting the back of my left arm burned from the sizzling end of a cigarette butt, I quickly jerk my arm away to dodge the fiery weapon.

My arm does not end up swinging mid-air, however. It lands on - not a table, a column, or plant. A houseplant would have been better. No, my dodging of a lit cigarette had landed on some guy's booty. Horrified, I realize what just happened, and this guy whirls around with his other guy friends and faces me. At this point I have both hands up in the air, palms out.

Me:"I am so sorry. I totally didn't mean to do that - I'm so sorry. I was just about to bump into this girl's cigarette - I'm so sorry, so sorry."

He doesn't say a word, he's just smiling, slightly shocked. I'm completely stunned and, with nothing more to say other than profusely apologizing, I turn and leave him and his speechless friends.

After about 20-30 minutes circling the club, I realize that I don't recognize anyone from my friend's birthday party. A few calls later and we realize that I'm in the wrong freaking club. There's apparently another club right next door to where I was supposed to be. But I wasn't where my friend thought I was. I leave the club, walk outside and turn right. A few blocks down the hill. Started walking west for a couple blocks on Sunset Blvd., and lo and behold, I am finaLLy at the right place.

It's still hot out and I'm sweating in my dress and jacket. The guy at the door says I'll have to wait. And yes I am there solamente. Also: there is no one else outside but me and the two bouncers when he says this. Him in his haughtiness and his two haughty friends in dark suits and smug earpieces standing in front of Social like its nobody's business. Then he proceeds to let 50 other scantily-clad people in before me, while I'm standing there. Wasting. Wasting precious minutes of my time while the guy wasn't letting me in to this club where my friend was having her birthday party and I was on her guest list. I whirl around and head back towards my car, a few blocks away, dialing my birthday pal to let her know that I had to book. I tried, but partying mood was long gone and no night is worth this much hassle.

Conclusion: I'm too old for this and life is too short.

Upside: I got into a club where I wasn't on the guest list and it was gratis. This for an anti-Hollywood nightlife chica, is surprising.

Downside: Wasted time and energy completely outweighs upside.

My Mom's Famous One-Liners
The scene: My mom and I getting ready to go out for breakfast. I've finished getting dressed and putting my make-up on. My mom gets up to go. My mom gives me a quick once-over.
Mom: Aren't you gonna put any make-up on?

And while we're hanging out..
My mom spots my pointy-toed black heels. She quietly examines them.
Mom: Where'd you get those wicked-y witch shoes?

Oh, Omma.

Fleeting Faces and Behold, the Dog Days of Summer are Here

Lately what's been on the brain are faces. Fleeting images of the faces of people I have met, befriended, and eventually parted ways with.

Faces of the people that used to be essential to my life for who I was at the time.

It truly is a gift - the many gatherings, large and small, casual and intimate, that you share with people.

My mother's recent visit to L.A., for one. A lot of great moments and outings packed into a single long weekend. An entire day at the Huntington Library's botanical gardens. But also a couple of the best moments were probably when we were just sitting together, enjoying the weather over a couple cups of good coffee. There's something gloriously delicious about not being rushed and in that moment having all the time in the world.

Time truly moves faster than anything else. How weird that I realize how incredibly precious time is only ex post facto.

Hello, Dog Days
100 degrees and a next-to-useless air conditioner. I gotta move. The heat in the desert of SoCal is enough to suck the energy right out of you. Do people expect to do anything productive when they're sweating it out?

Chocolate-Covered Strawberries and Things of That Nature

The lunch dilemma has now seeped into all other meals - food can rapidly become boring.

Yes, the struggling assistant's budget allows for some limitations - but also the push to be more creative in terms of taste, research, and selection. It's even the small touches that make the monumental differences - not the full-on, three-course meal, but the tasty little details.

In steps Baker's dipping chocolate. I notice the jar at my neighborhood Albertson's. I proceed to the produce aisle - I have never bought Baker's dipping chocolate, or any chocolate that wasn't in the form of individually wrapped confection or semi-sweet chocolate chip. At a loss for something new, I picked it up - I remember that the strawberries at TJ's I had bought was one of those freakishly large-sized berries. Perfect for covering with chocolate.

Wow - I can't believe I just spent an entire paragraph talking about chocolate-covered strawberries. I suppose it really is the simple things in life that is enough to keep me content. Suficiente, supongo, suficiente.

Naturally Born Brooding and Reviving Lunch

Some people are naturally high on life. You know him. All smiles, always positive, well-liked, upbeat, Mr. Sunshine whom is high on life aLL the time. Makes you sick sometimes.

I have concluded early on in life that I am one to sit back and brood. The brooding type. Yup, that's me. Not Miss Peppy, but the one behind her. Way back over there. Almost - yeah, the one sitting outside by the tree by herself. Usually reading a book or scribbling some notes down. Right there. Okay, a bit exaggerated, but the fundamental is the same. If you're glancing over at me, and it's when we're not talking, I'm not reading or watching TV, but seem quietly lost in thought? That's when I'm probably brooding.

Wake Up, Lunch

Lunch has officially gotten boring. The adult's recess, the lunch hour has transitioned discreetly from something that I used to look forward to, hungrily anticipating which culinary fare I would choose for my precious sixty minutes.

And thus catalyzed today's lunch to a local Indian restaurant a stone's throw from the office. Some sauces to choose from, some distinct curry flavors to each dish, and I'm pleasantly surprised. Give a girl some options and you can call it a day. What a difference lunch can make.

Now I'll have to see about dessert...

Tuesday Mondays

Well hello there, morning bagels.
So the department I've been hitting the grindstone at these days has a weekly order of morning bagels on Mondays a few minutes before 8:00am, like clockwork. Due to the Memorial Day holiday, I was surprised to find the two dozen doughy delivery sitting in the kitchen on this Tuesday morning.
Yes, the weekend still felt too short.
Yes, we were all reminded of the fact that we need to take a real vacation and get out of town and just effin' relax.
And so it went this Tuesday morning, which very much felt like a regular ol' Monday with the stress of the work week beginning again and hitting the snooze button a few times too many and finally rushing off to work.

Fast forward to the afternoon slump..consciously decided to go Thai for some flavor and, of course, the fiery chili pepper sauce. Something kind of unappetizing while eating when presented with time constrained rigmaroles instead of hunger.

Flashing back to this morning's ingested penalties..I downed the morning's bagel. On this particular occasion, went for the jalapeno reduced fat shmear on the plain bagel half, and the reduced fat plain shmear on the cheese bagel half. And there goes my carb allotment for the year.

In conclusion, the beached whale that came in after lunch when you were expecting the Assistant that came in to work this morning, well, I'm considering other options.

I think I'm done with eating until next week.

Hello, begrudging trip to BTF. Time to get that elliptical going.

Ah, malnourishment

Human cannot live on nonfat vanilla lattes alone.
Noshing on 4 o'clock chocolates in the afternoon at work.
Feeling low energy and just drained. Drained, on a cellular level. Okay, I exaggerate.

My shoulders are killing me. Knots which have only begun to build up a few months ago seem to be lodged in there. And that crick in my lower back from sitting in a chair for the better part of the day that begs to be twisted until cracked.

It is definitely a menu del dia kind of day; I am famished.

It is a curious thing, the milestone. The graduation, the wedding, the birthday. Ah yes, your birthday. That annual marker which catalyzes a slew of emotionally charged evaluations of your past, present, and future. Those things I want to do with this little life of mine - will have to remember to get back to doing them.

COTW: Milo Ventimiglia. What's his 'skincare regime'? He's dashing. Yes, dashing, you heard right.

Hello, Hump Day

I am not now, nor have I ever been, a morning person.

This strange and select group of early risers will be the life of the party post-retirement age I'm sure, with those crazy four o'clock in the evening dinners and waking up with Matt, Al, Ann, and Meredith.

I've realized that this morning is one where I'm half-absorbed in soporific clouds. My head is practically droning with the soundtrack of slumber. Also where I showed up at work 25 minutes early. Hello, long lunch.

Gym Tales and other tidbits

Feeling a bit malnourished this morning. Had a hearty dinner. Definitely dehydrated since I got up. It's 10:02 and I've had a few sips of vending machine coffee and one apple cereal bar. Appetite is low and I've misplaced my Burt's Bees chapstick. That's when you KNOW things have been hectic in my life. Guess I'll have to whip out the bottle of Centrum tomorrow. What are other people's red flags?

I dreamt one night that one of my childhood friends was leaving town and leaving me her dog. But a brief reality check would say that I'm the one who left town of family and friends and all things familiar.

Gym Tales...

Chris Evans or someone who looks strikingly similar goes to my gym.

Remember how I cited seeing call girls here? This time a curious spectacle was seeing a middle-aged woman blow-drying her hair in the women's restroom at my neighborhood public library. Ok - different locale, but a bit odd when in different context.

Rockin' the temp pool still. In other news, having a cooked meal has fallen off the list of priorities of late. BUT I've underestimated the power of the early morning workouts. Struggling since I'm not a morning person.

It's exhausting going against the natural order of things.

Notes to self

After this past week, and a weekend diet consisting of soup, tea, vitaminwater, and the occasional slices of chocolate cake, here's my latest blog entry:

1. Do not toss banana peels in wastebasket under my desk - it will be the banana-smelling cubicle aLL day.
2. Making healthy decisions on a daily basis is noble. Just remember that all bets are off once Girl Scout cookie season has begun. (Sidenote: WHY ARE SOME COOKIE SERVINGS FOR ONLY ONE COOKIE?!)

On Completely Unrelated Notes...
1. I think a call girl goes to my gym. She was wearing a denim skirt with knee-high boots and a light jacket. Her top was this fishnet-type-thing in which her sparkly gold bra was completely exposed. She wore dark sunglasses that she didn't take off the entire time she was primping in front of the mirror.
2. One of the cattle-called eligible bachelorettes from Millionaire Matchmaker also goes to my gym. The one that Patti called "trashy." If you must know, she was dressed pretty much to the same effect as she was on the episode that aired. (And when will there be millionaire women getting matched up, hmm?)

What I Did This Weekend1. Had my first Mel's Drive-In experience. They've got some life-altering chicken noodle soup there. Mmmm..homemade soup.
2. Got sick.
3. Bought juice/medicine/soup/vitaminwater.
4. Slept the day away and missed arts day and a birthday outing on Saturday.
5. Sucked it up and participated in gospel-song-contest-hoopla. Didn’t stay energized enough to see where my team placed, though.
6. Drank my weight in green-tea-with-lemon-and-honey elixir.
7. Slept for ten hours on Sunday night.
8. Felt better. Which pretty much brings us to Monday.

More to add onto this entry...

Reflections, Paulo Coelho, and GQ

Again - ding dong, the strike is dead. Everyone's slowly emerging from their 'cautious optimism,' that things are gradually picking up.

So just some personal thoughts, since they're on the brain. The agony of career-debating and related quarterlife questions and those all-important 'transitional' periods in life continues.

After spending much of the past couple of weeks, I mean months (MONTHS!), interviewing, temping, actually cooking at home, contemplating other jobs (and less lofty aspirations), and becoming buddy-buddy with sites Defamer and 100 Days in Bed, I've had some time on my hands. To blog. To reflect. To reevaluate everything I've ever known in life. Fun, I know.

Consider other industries, possibilities, American coastal cities. I would have to say my greatest success is having survived the last several months of my own life. (Take that, cookie-cutter job interviewers!) A roller coaster of emotion, these twentysomething years. Considering all those years I've spent studying, writing, showing up prepared.

So I'm widening my horizons. My passion is film and television, my creative juice is good writing. The tools that I use and search for are wit, thoughtfulness, and brutal honesty. But it is possible that life will lead me to other places - my life in the grand scheme of things, is just one life. Wow - am I just another hack? Okay, I'll just go wherever God takes me. The only problem with having a Judy Blume moment when it's not as a kid, is that it's not as easily dismissed. Oh, character building experiences of your twenties. If only I could somehow include the aforementioned on my resume...

"We who fight for our dream suffer far more when it doesn't work out, because we cannot fall back on the old excuse: 'Oh, well, I didn't really want it anyway.' We do want it and know that we have staked everything on it and that the path of the personal calling is not easier than any other path, except that our whole heart is in this journey." Oh, Paulo Coelho. Do you have any idea what you've done?

COTW

This week, it's whatever Cecil Donahue was having when writing about job interviews in GQ's February 2008 issue.

Loser-paged Saturday nights, Words People Keep Throwing Around, and 'I Drink Your Milkshake'

It's official. I'm having a bona fide loser Saturday night. It's 10:01p.m. Somehow the weekend is half gone without me making any major plans for the night. How incredibly unexciting. And it's not that I feel like a loser for being home on a Saturday night, it's more of the fact that I'm at home, BORED OUT OF MY FREAKING MIND, on this particular night. It's at least an hour and a half until SNL, and I just don't feel like being home. The kind where you call me at home and I'm not there. 'A la Seinfeld.
Ughh. There were sooo many things I was supposed to accomplish. If only I needed sleep occasionally...
Believe it or not, George isn't at home, where could I be? I could be out or watching TV...

Words People Keep Throwing Around

blasé (adjective) 1. apathetic to pleasure or excitement as a result of excessive indulgence or excitement: world-weary. 2. sophisticated; worldly-wise. 3. unconcerned.

bona fide (adjective). 1. made in good faith without fraud or deceit. 2. made in earnest intent; sincere. 3. neither specious nor counterfeit; genuine.

credenza (noun) 1. credence. 2. a sideboard, buffet, or bookcase patterned after a Renaissance; especially one without legs.

credence (noun) 1.a. a mental acceptance as true or real 1.b. credibility. 2. credentials. 3. a Renaissance sideboard used chiefly for valuable plate. 4. a small table where the bread and wine rest before consecration.

impetus (noun) 1.a. a driving force; impulse. 1.b. stimulation or encouragement resulting in increased activity.

incumbent (noun) 1. the holder of an office or ecclesiastical benefice. 2. one that occupies a particular position or place.

formidable (adjective) 1. causing fear, dread, or apprehension. 2. having qualities discourage approach or attack. 3. intending to inspire awe or wonder; impressive.

SNL's 'I Drink Your Milkshake' - sketch from 2/23/08 Ep.

And in television, Words I Thought I Knew, and Klutziness

Late Night with Conan O'Brien. Ep. 2524, February 7th, 2008. Conan gives an unscripted tour of the studio. Oh, Conan. How you make me laugh so.

This Weekend:

The first SNL post-strike, hosted by Tina Fey with musical guest Carrie Underwood.

The under-hyped Oscars on Sunday. At least there's Jon Stewart to look forward to.

Words I Thought I Knew

casbah(noun). A North African castle or fortress.

purveyor (noun). One that supplies (as provisions) usually as a matter of business.

bistro (noun). Yes I know we all pretend we know it - but what really constitutes a bistro? there's a few: 1. a small or unpretentious (a-hem) restaurant. 2a. a small bar or tavern. b. a nightclub.

gluten (noun). Sounds kinda gross. a tenacious elastic protein substance especially of wheat flour that gives cohesiveness to dough. Great. Just do whatever it takes to make the carb, um, the carb.

MSG (noun). 1. master sergeant. 2. monosodium glutamate. Sometimes it does more than just enhance flavor. Attention: do not click on the following link if you don't want to hear the Debbie Downer info regarding the substance.
About MSG

In acts of klutziness news...
I bumped my arm into the bathroom cabinet. Since it was within the first five minutes away from REM, I suppose that's why it took me four inches of the cabinet door scratching into my arm for me to notice. I noticed a moment later the clotted line of blood. Gah, blood - I've nearly forgotten what I'm supposed to do - Neosporin it, rubbing alcohol, rinse with soap and water? Which bandage should I use for a scratch that's four freaking inches long?

Also, in career-related news..
Been temping. Still running low on the potential-for-job-that-I-am-genuinely-interested-in factor.

Happy Single's Awareness Day, Everybody

COTW

Guys that can make decent small talk. Hey, starting the convo is half the battle. I shouldn't be the only making the effort at eliminating those awkward pauses.

ROTW

Guys in flip flops. The flip flop is not a shoe that men should be seen in unless they're at the beach.

Adventure Boys
Also: When's Elijah Wood going to reprise his status as one of the Leading Adventure Boys of the silver screen? I mean, he's in a pretty exclusive club with Shia Labeouf, Hayden Christensen, and... ok, maybe more like Adventure Boy Trio. Perhaps these boys are in Phase 2 already. Maybe there should be more eyes on the upcoming recruits: Noah Gray-Cabey, Freddie Highmore, Aaron Yoo...more on this later.

On a completely unrelated note: if Step Up 2's trailers stopped playing that horribly adhesive song maybe I won't keep hearing the lyrics "with the fur, with the fur" in my head.

Questions an interviewer should not ask (and the answers I'd like to give them)

Honestly. They cross the line in terms of legality and, well, some are just plain trite.

Where do you see yourself in ten years? Hopefully as someone who doesn't ask such hackneyed questions.
How thick is your skin? Why do you ask? I mean, how unprofessional and condescending is the work environment you provide?
How old are you? That's illegal to ask. And also, hah, you never ask a woman her age.
What's your ethnicity? Other. Yeah - you've got to be kidding me.
Can you come in tomorrow for a second interview? It would be from 9 to 5. No, its not paid training, its just a long interview. No - I refuse to give up an entire day of my life to train with your company and not get paid for it because you call it an 'interview.' My time is much more valuable than that.
Why should we hire you? I think the question is really, why should I work for your company?
Actually, I don't know why she can't keep an assistant. What do you think makes you a good assistant? Why would I want to work for someone who can't even keep an assistant?

Ding dong, the strike is dead. So I've heard. Corresponding updates pending.

Movies and TV shows that make me hungry.

Hunger for certain foods. Or specific food-and-beverage venues.
Chocolat.
Waitress. I still haven't satisfied this so House of Pies has been on the brain for days.
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
It Could Happen To You.
When Harry Met Sally. We'll all have what she's having.
Before Sunset. How can any European cafe not be romantic?
Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Dead. That footage of Julia Childs and that chocolate cake.
Out of Sight. I still haven't tried bourbon. But I still want to. And I don't drink.
Rocket Science. Sometimes, a big ol' slice of pizza is all you need.

Pushing Daisies. Visually tasty, too.
Seinfeld. Various eps. There's the one about the babka and the black-and-white cookie. Big salad. Drake's coffee cakes. Entenmann's. Junior mints. Snapple? No, thanks, I'm good. I could go on, but those are the first ones that come to mind.

And On A Completely Unrelated Note

Surprisingly, I really do like Life of Ryan. First off, it's sad that he's more articulate and has better communication skills than most guys. But all the more props to the kid - he actually TALKS to his family and friends.

And to Rob Dyrdek upon seeing him throw his furniture out of the house. You people are crazy. Honestly.

In response to seeing MTV's promos for That's Amore! This make me sick. Were there any females consulted before you cut this together? I for one, do NOT plan on tuning in to the show.

Crimes, Lines, and Guest Stars

Guilty of crimes against humanity

People who have the inability to listen. ATD in kindergarten, were we?

People who can't keep things in confidence.

People who insult your intelligence.

Whoever put "coffee" in the official job description. How do you live with yourself? No, really. How do you sleep at night?

People I can't talk to about pop culture. You kill me.

Lines that steal.

"Shower shorts. For the man who has nothing to hide... but still wants to - J.D., Scrubs, 'My Screw-Up.'

"Does he have a return policy?" Simon Fuller, American Idol. In response to the audition from the girl who credited her voice as given from God. Caustic, yet hi-larious.

"I saw a cow." Lost. I'm not sure which character since I'm not a loyal viewer. Anyone want to save me the trouble? Also since when was Ken Leung on Lost and why didn't anyone tell me? He had me at Sucker Free City.

Guest stars and such
On another note, Ugly Betty haunchos, please bring back John Cho! One of my fave guest stars of the season that I wish there was more of. But did anyone see that Gabrielle Union recurring role coming? Seriously.
And all us VM fans are anxiously awaiting Kristen Bell's stint to expand upon her recurring role on Heroes and voicing Gossip Girl. Jerry Seinfeld and Conan O'Brien on 30 Rock another highlight.

Other guest stars I'm dying to see...Lauren Graham, Dane Cook, Seth Green, Drew Barrymore, Darryl 'Chill' Mitchell, Jason Mraz, Kal Penn, Janeane Garofalo, David Spade, Diego Luna, P. Diddy, Conan O'Brien (again).