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...
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
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.
Everybody needs a little sugar sometimes.
Mission To Spice Up Life - I mean Food, Continues...
Recently purchased:
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.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
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.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
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.
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.
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