Long overdue update

Strange how when you encounter an old friend, you aren't sure where to start. Do you tell them about how school is going? Do you explain the ins and outs of dating various people? Do you rant about your anxiety surrounding your music, your dreams, your shoe collection and your finances? Most likely, you just crack a few light jokes and exchange witty remarks until the conversation finds itself. Eventually the most relevant topic will find it's way up to the surface, shimmying through the stops and pulls of uncertainty.
My friends are having babies. My friends are getting married. My friends are working as lawyers and chiropractors. My friends are getting dogs. My friends are successfully caring for houseplants.
This makes me throw my hands up in the air and think...how am I doing as an adult so far? I'm still in school. I'm working as a tutor. I'm living in my own place. I sometimes remember to do the dishes. I neglect my vacuum cleaner. It's these moments of evaluation and re-evaluation that reminds me that we are all on different paths. Talking to a friend at a party made me think about this whole having babies thing. I always felt bad that I never wanted my own baby. I have never once thought it would be fun to be pregnant. I'm really good at caring for babies that already exist but I've never thought it would be a wildly great idea to have one of my own forever and ever. He got divorced because he did not want to have a baby and his wife at the time did. His reasoning was that our global framework was falling apart and that he didn't want to bring a child into this world. I can't imagine how she must have felt if she had this mysterious urge to have a child that I hear about. Knowing that my body could bring forth life fills me with pride and dread. I don't want that power. I wonder why he told me about this, staring at me intently. I noticed that the top of his left ear was slightly square, that he had a pair of small moles on his neck. I wondered what he looked like as a baby.
There's never really any denoument to my musings. I wish I came to conclusions more often but I'm often left with question marks and the feeling that I've said what I need to say without necessarily getting anywhere.

Perfect.

Sometimes, perfect sneaks up on you. It can come after you've been circling the airport, after a day of fruitless job searches and traffic on the 405. It springs up out of nowhere and leaves you smiling with a snoozing Sean curled around you in that new familiar way.

Oh, the not really irony

Just when I started to feel like a grown up while grilling up some bratwurst for Sean and some Boca dogs for myself, I realized that Sean had plopped himself on the couch and was playing Super Mario Brothers. Not that I don't love the dulcet sounds of the Nintendo, but I did find it vaguely humorous that I was the barefoot girl in the kitchen to his video-game playing guy. He did appear to enjoy the bratwurst though as I found him passed out face first on my bed after eating dinner. I figured either he loved the food or I had killed him. Upon climbing into bed, I discovered it was the former.

The catch now is that I am waiting for him to call me, or im me, or text me because we are in the midst of an imbalance of free time. I have all the free time, he has none. This makes me want to contact him all the time because I can and I have the feeling that this is slightly irritating (ie obnoxious and stupid). Therefore, I am using my not so abundant patience to sit it out and let him call me even though I am DYING to know if he's coming over so I can figure out what to cook next. In the meantime, an ex I don't even like has imed me to tell me that he's hanging out with a girl I don't much like either.

He imed me, meaning I win at life.

When did I turn into such a girl? Vacation from school does strange things to my brain.

Duckfeet

I love my neighborhood. Right now, there are sparkly men in hotpants just marching their way down my street and I can hear singing and cheering from my window. Sure, I am in my room with soggy hair in a bathrobe after a post-work out shower, but it delights me that my neighborhood is swelling with gay pride...and bi pride...and trans pride. Pride for everyone!

This is a nice break from the media circus that erupted when Paris Hilton was released from jail and subsequently yanked back in by a pissed off judge. Doesn't everyone know that you don't go against a judge's orders? Come on, Sheriff Baca, even I knew that. Plus, after my 2 quarters of my masters program, if Paris is suicidally depressed, a stay in her own bed and a cupcake isn't gonna fix it (that's a big statement coming from a cupcake enthusiast). Mainly, my interest in this whole stupid debacle is that fact that I have been losing sleep due to the sound of helicopters buzzing around my neighborhood. Fine, I get it, Paris Hilton lives right up the street but that doesn't mean I want my walls to vibrate at 8am. I'm just glad she's back in jail so I can get some rest.

Now that I am on a brief break from school, I've been going on adventures. My favorite one lately was an early afternoon stop to the Treat Street roving Silverlake bakery. I had my very first praline and it was a-m-a-z-i-n-g. Check out their blog... Treat Street.

I've also realized that I have a few favorite homeless people in LA. This sounds strange and condescending at first but there are a few people that stick around in the same spots and become a part of the local scenery. For instance, I love the 80's acid-washed finger-in-a-light-socket-hair guy that is frequently on the payphone at La Cienega and Santa Monica Blvd. His leg scarves are hilarious and his outfits have become increasingly ridiculous. There is also the Roller-skating Dance Star on Robertson between 3rd and Burton Way. He is often found wearing lyrca with his hair in a ponytail and he shakes his booty to his boombox. Sometimes when he needs a change of pace, he skates in circles around the nearby gas station. What's not to love?

This is what I've been up to

Most adorable sleepysmile face...good lord. He even changes lightbulbs and smooshes spiders. Bestill my beating little cupcake heart.

Asterisks of enjoyment

*Played my first show with my amazing band and had the most fantastic time ever. Xylophone solo! Melodica solo! Banging out chords while people cheer!
*First therapy session for school. It went well but my god is it pricey It gives me hope that I am sane and that I will earn gobs of money for practicing therapy in the future which will get me over the psychological trauma of being a broke grad student with an entitlement issue.
*Started seeing a divorced man. This is a first.
*Got together with the ex from last spring. This is so not a first. We are made of awesome hilarity and awkwardness. He causes me so much joy and angst. Right now, we are in the joy zone so we're all good.
*Aborted dating a 6'5 guy because at first I felt like I was dating a tree. I later found out that he kissed like he was attempting to Hoover my face and that his manhood was smaller than some of my high heels.
*Drank absinthe for the first time. I only had two sips and felt like I was filled with the most amazing glowing goodness. A few friends had more and danced around the room then had no recollection of about half an hour of the evening.
*Got an acoustic guitar that smells vaguely like wine which makes me happy every time I play it. It makes me feel like Joni Mitchell for no good reason.

Angsty McStupidhead

The least palatable realizations come later in the evening, when I've had a good amount of time to stew alone. The revelation that I am in fact inessential to the lives of most, even those I care about, is deeply saddening and relieving all at once. There is nothing I can do to change this fact, which sets me into mild panic mode. There is nothing I can do about this, which instantly relaxes me. I cannot make him care about me. I can deal with it when he's calling me in the middle of the night. I can deal with it when he's messaging my dates online. I can deal with it when he's telling me I'm demanding. I can deal with it when he tells me he's busy. I can deal with it when he breaks my heart. I cannot deal with being ignored by him or by anyone else for that matter. The reason I want him to pay attention to me is because he's not, simple as that. It's vastly irritating that just when I think this stupidity is behind me then he appears and it's like just add water then *POOF* insta-lame-ass-drama. You know it's got to be lame with lame sauce because I am writing about it in my blog. It's not real angst unless it's on the internet.

Sasstacular!

No one is joining me in my friday night study party so I turned it into my friday night update my blog and futz around the house in an attempt to dodge homework party.
I found this clip and absolutely adored it. Who doesn't like snappy 8 year olds?

I'm a punk rocker, yes I am.

Band Practice is almost as good as Cupcakes

Everyone should join a band. It doesn't really matter if you have musical talent just trust me on this one and go for it. Sure, you may be the person playing the triangle but you are playing the triangle in order to help create a massive wall of sound that will temporarily engulf your very being. It's as good as eating cupcakes and I mean that. This isn't just the sleep deprivation talking.
Speaking of sleep deprivation, remind me to never ever book a show the night before a school day ever again. When I book a show the night before school, it apparently means that I will be going on an hour and a half late and thus getting little to no sleep before classes. This means that I will spend the first hour of class thinking about how I could potentially exit said class so I could sleep or how to discreetly sleep in class or how to kill myself becaue I'm not asleep. I will day dream about doing anything that involves sleep or making out because both of these things relax me. Talking about OCD while thinking about making out lends itself to great confusion.
Speaking of confusion, it's baffling when exes kiss you. Just when you thought it was safe to assume you were a rebound fling that inspired ongoing socially inept interactions, your assumptions are proven to make an ass out of you and....him. The whole situation is made tragically comical by the fact that you got multiple requests to sing the song that you wrote about your break up at the party he attended and so, with relative bemusement, you sang the lines "if this wasn't meant to be/then why do you keep kissing me" in front of him only to have him indeed kiss you. Is this irony or does my life just redefine sick humor? Don't try this at home, kids. Cape does not enable user to fly.

For real?

I just got an email from one of the djs over at Indie 103.1 informing me that they are going to play my song "Falling Down" on Head Trip within the upcoming weeks. After I stopped squealing (this took a good 5 minutes) I emailed back asking how to best promote this sort of thing. I also am utterly paranoid and was briefly convinced that the entire thing was the cruelest prank that anyone would ever pull, but that would mean that someone would have had to create an email that matched the name of the dj that I sent the cd to months ago, and would have selected one of my songs and found my email and....basically, it's far too elaborate and so I MUST HAVE BEEN CHOSEN TO BE ON THE RADIO SOON. More information pending as I haven't heard back yet regarding details and I've given myself a headache from being so freakin excited. My god I am a huge nerd.

I'm spontaneous and full of books

Mary and I are going to start a blog about Los Angeles. This is just an avenue for us to rant and rave in our joking serious manner about fashion atrocities and where to find good mac and cheese. I want it to be like a real life Go Fug Yourself, as that blog delights me to no end, mixed with some helpful hints from LA natives. We'd explain things such as the artful left turn on the almost red light and how to not act like an ass in the Grove parking lot (though this seems to be an inherent trait of the Grove parking lot, making people act like asses).
I'm really full of english toffee and cinnamon rolls and coffee after snacking with reckless abandon with Mary. I want to work out but I feel like I'm in a sugar coma and will likely not even want to eat dinner tonight. Sugar binges are fantastic things to have maybe once every few months, particularly when they are coupled with a good cup of iced coffee from Bob's (Bob's is so gonna be mentioned in our LA blog). Once my food settles I will hop on the elliptical. I just got myself all psyched up for working out by putting on my yoga pants...these pants never fail in making me feel like I am remotely in shape for some unknown psychological reason.
I'm finding a good free time/music/tutoring ratio. This was my first week not working during the day and I found myself slightly depressed, as I tend to get when I have more idle time than structured time. This means I need to structure my own time, which is antithetical to my lazy personality but it means I won't mope around the house staring at random objects indulging myself in self-pitying thoughts. Maybe I should get a white board and make a nerdy art project out of my schedule. When did it stop being cool to get gold stars when you finished a task? Star charts are the best.
I'm really excited that I got three new books. I ordered them from Amazon so I could experience the thrill of getting something in the mail and the anticipation of new reading material. I think I'll order a new dress online soon so I can get all excited about spring time. I love being easily amused because it's so rare that I am bored.

Climb every mountain, scale every firewall

Today is my last day at the old interwebs company. Apparently, I did my job so well that I thought of too many ideas for our programmers and I have proven myself to be too intelligent for content management. Who cares how intelligent I am? I need the money. Damn me and my big brain and my big mouth for showing off at every unwitting turn. This is my first time getting fired from a job because I was too smart for my own good. At least my boss bought some Red Bull for me because he kept drinking mine from the fridge. That's my consolation prize for losing my 2 day a week brain-free job...a 4 pack of Red Bull with one missing.
I'll miss spending time with my coworkers, who come up with such gems as "we are from the tribe suckacock" and "mobgolians: we can scale any fire wall." I'm listening to Eli laugh his dirty old man from Brooklyn laugh as he listens to streaming comedy online and Steve is grumbling about how our phone site isn't working and randomly giggling, Clint is stoic as usual and Sheiva is now asking a question about a comment she designed. Soon I'll leave here for the last time and relinquish my ideal parking spot for my Saturday tutoring lessons.
I want a boyfriend to take up my remaining free time and give me back massages. Mainly, I just want someone to give me back massages, preferably while exchanging witty commentary. I met two interesting guys this weekend and given my luck, they are probably carrying on a torrid hipster writer affair with each other and only talked to me for their own deranged amusement. Aside from having delusional fantasies like the one above and the desire for back massages, I am actually rather happy being single for the first time since I've been back in LA. Prior to now, I wasn't driving myself crazy with activities like I am now so I felt the need to make boys my activity. Now, I have my music, a new band, school and tutoring. I'm excited to be losing this job simply to gain sleep.
On an unrelated note, I am very proud of myself for clearing up that entire brake light ticket incident in court yesterday. I managed to dodge more than $1000 in bail and fines by pointing out that I had a piece of paper that said that the violations on my ticket had been cleared. IN AUGUST OF LAST YEAR. Who doesn't love Kafka-esque experiences...and ellipses...and self conscious writing styles...

High Sugar Content

Anyone who knows me well (or at all) knows my passion for dessert. Come on, I named my BLOG after my favorite dessert. I am a huge sucker for sugar. this comes directly from my mother, who is the only person I have ever known to surpass me in her quest for tasty sugary goodness. Witness, last night...
My mom was over at my apartment and about to leave when we decided to take out the recycling. She noticed a big white box in my fridge and asked if we should take it down. To my horror, I realized that I'd entirely forgotten an entire slice of pecan pie from Thanksgiving. Being that the pie was now several months old, I was afraid to open the box. My mom, brave soul, that she is, couldn't wait to see it. We peered in and surprisingly, it looked like ordinary pecan pie. There was no mold, no weird smell, nothing. Just preternaturally preserved pie.
"Honey, will you get me a spoon?" was my mother's request.
I shot my mom a look of horror and then watched as she chiseled away at the caramelized exterior of the slice, revealing the mysteriously still gooey filling.
She managed to scoop out a bite and put it in her mouth as I watched with rapt attention. She chewed it for a bit and didn't fall over dead.
"You should really try some," she said, "It's still really good...it tastes just like it did at Thanksgiving!"
After I prodded it with my spoon for a bit to prove it wasn't showing signs of life, I tried one of the pecans on top. It DID taste normal and just as good as it had months ago. I passed the spoon back to my mom and she ate the majority of the slice as we tried to figure out what on earth could preserve it for that long. I had another few bites but really left the major work to my mom, who was much more gung ho about the pie and apparently has no fear of food poisoning.
The empty pie tin is now soaking in my sink before I return it to Sweet Lady Janes from whence it came in November. I'm not sure which will be more surprising to them...the return of the errant pie tin or the shocking shelf life of their pie...or perhaps the insanity that would inspire not one but TWO people to eat the pie that time forgot.

The restaurant told me I was the sexiest

Being a tutor, I often find myself in the homes of the fantastically wealthy and delusional. Though wealth and insanity are not intrinsically linked, it appears that extreme wealth drastically increases one's chance of being insane. This is likely due to the fact having that much money gives people the ability to alter their reality and thus live in their very own version, which is drastically different from the world that most of us dub real. By definition, this would make them psychotic which isn't usually far from the truth.
I was tutoring last night in Bel Air with a child that I shall call Spoiled Unintentional Humor Boy. See, I actually like this kid because within 10 minutes of our first lesson, he asked if he could study money in college so he could inherit his dad's business. Sure, he may only be 10, but at least the kid has aspirations to earn more money than anyone could ever need on top of a trust fund and perpetuate his status as the rich and pampered. He also informed me that the plastic psychic at a restaurant told him that without a doubt, he was the sexiest, and that explains why the girls in his class all have crushes on him. He has a crush on just one though, because he's "not a player." I informed him that he wasn't a player because he was 10. Details.
After my lesson with him, his mother came in the room with an exotic parrot on her shoulder named Ruby. She then asked if I would like to have Ruby on my shoulder and I thought hey, why not, the worst that could happen is that I lose an eye. After having Ruby comfortably perched on my shoulder for a few minutes, I felt a light peck on my cheek.
"Oh, she's hungry!" saud Ruby's owner.
Well, ok, that makes sense, birds get hungry. I asked for a piece of bread and tore off a chunk to give to Ruby.
"You have to chew it first a little bit" my student's mother suggested.
Ok, chewing I can do. I went to take the now soggy and smashed piece of bread out of my mouth when the mom stoppped me by saying,
"Just hold it out on your tongue, she'll take it from you. She's very gentle and it's a great experience."
I'm not sure what types of experiences this woman had had in the past but birds pecking masticated food off her tongue was apparently high on her list of things to do. I was caught between being rude (keeping the bread to myself) or being weird (feeding a bird with my tongue). I decided to compromise and held the bread between my teeth, praying for the best.
Ruby sweetly took the soaked bread with his beak and went to work on it, still happily perched upon my shoulder. Her owner beamed at me and told me that she enjoyed having such a bonding experience with her pet.
This is the kind of thing that really wealthy people do...they ask their child's tutor to feed their parrot with her tongue. This is the sort of thing that no reasonable person would ask but hey, if you are wealthy enough to own an exotic bird and have the time to train it to eat out of your mouth, this sort of request seems entirely normal. I have another lesson with this kid tonight and I pray that Ruby stays in her cage. There are certain things I like in my mouth and a parrot beak isn't one of them.

Don't ever go away from here

Being alone in the office makes me want to dance and sing and cartwheel across the drab floor to Now It's Overhead. I'd be my own indie circus and spectacle for no one to see but these walls would know. These strange white walls with their ugly paintings and scattered straps bolted to the wall, they've been around for each business that has passed through, each set of clacking keyboards, each phone call to Mr. So and So. The tin of Christmas popcorn is still sitting in the kitchen and I want to throw it over my head like confetti. I wonder if we ever grow up and if we do, what it feels like.

The return of the lazy blogette

Sitting at work feels rather futile. I'm being paid to cruise around the internet and think of things that other people would enjoy seeing on the internet. We don't have enough programmers in the office to possibly create all of my inane ideas (like a fortune cookie widget) nd so my hours get cut to two days of doing...the same thing I do at home when I'm not practicing or doing homework. The difference is that at work, I vocalize my weird ideas that people would enjoy instead of say, staring at the wall and thinking about them to my heart's content.
Things the internet needs more of in my opinion:
*Music filter - you put in the kind of music you like and it filters your friend requests on myspace to weed out that morons who email you with their heinous songs and expect you to love them
*John Krasinski - like Zack Braff, but not an idiot. He has yet to make a movie that panders to faux indie hipsters and so I like him better. Plus, he's tall, so as my friend Jake pointed out, if we had babies they'd average out to normal size. I should totally say this to him if we ever meet. I should also tell him about my dream that involved him and a flame thrower.
*People who love me - based on statistical research (ie pure self serving extrapolation) there should be people on the internet who love me. These people should read my journal and buy my songs like there is no tomorrow because I'm that amazing.
*Fortune cookie messages- seriously. I am going to make my company make these things. Don't say I didn't warn you.
In good news, I have ben actively picking up new tutoring clients. In bad news, one of them has already called me 3 times today and only wants to pay me $20 an hour. Things could be worse. It could be like the family that didn't pay me for 4 months. I should stop bitching about families not paying me exhorbitant amounts of money but it makes me angry that I worked for $21 an hour for *unspecified tutoring company* and they in fact charged $130 an hour. $130??! And I saw $21??? NOT COOL.
I've decided that I want a nerdy boyfriend again. I keep meeting these awesome guys by complete accident and then not following up really or writing them and then not hearing back or you know...hiding my face in a book when they are trying to talk to me at a coffee shop. I want someone to cater to my random thoughts and desire for snuggling in cold weather, who will make fun of me while worshipping the ground I walk on. I'm going through a bratty phase and frankly I want someone to indulge me so I can be level headed while working and going to school.
Ok internet, I think this is your cue to bring me John Krasinski. Now.