Only in LA

Since I got a raise at work, I decided to treat myself to ... a diamond ring new car massage housekeeper. I'm still frugal, so I scoured Groupon for a deal, and found Handy. I scheduled a time for someone to come clean my house. Now I usually keep a fairly clean house, but between me, my female roommate and the three cats between us, I get tired of vacuuming. So it was either say fuckitall, or hire a specialist.

I chose the latter.

Well, right on the dot my cleaning lady Maureen rang the buzzer. First strange thing I noticed, she speaks perfect English. Then she arrives at my door, and the second surprise. She is GORGEOUS. No, I didn't accidentally order a stripper-maid, she was a regular maid. She wore shapeless baggy sweats, her hair was in an un-brushed ponytail, but she was just beautiful.

I showed her around and she got to work. Every so often she would ask me a question about something, and toward the end we were both in the same room and started chatting a bit. Lo and behold, my beautiful articulate housekeeper is also ... wait for it ... an actress and screenwriter. She went to school for screenwriting and journalism and has aspirations of acting.

In any other town in America your maid would be an undocumented worker from Mexico or the Philippines or Czech Republic, but not LA. In LA you get yet another wanna-be actress.

"I'm an actress." "Oh really? What restaurant?"

I suppose as far as flexible jobs go, would you rather sling food at assholes or clean up after one? More power to her. And next time I can't deal with vacuuming or get writers block, I know who to call.

Junk in the Trunk

I went out shopping today for shoes and came home with a little black dress. And no shoes. Whoops. I swear, I wasn't even going to go in the fitting room. And yet, there I was, with this cute little black thing draped over my arm that had leapt from the rack to my grabby little mitts. Everything happened so quickly that I didn't even look at the size. I only saw that it was Kenneth Cole and marked down to $40 from $128. And that it was so cute!

Well, as I'm ripping off my clothes in the fitting room wishing I wasn't wearing a sports bra, I happen to glance at the size. It is a 2.

Just so we're clear, these are the types of women that wear a size 2:

I usually wear a size 6, maybe a size 8 if it runs "smaller" in the booty. (What? I have junk in my trunk carried by my child-bearer hips) If it has more "generous" sizing, I might be able to squeeze myself into a 4. But a TWO???

I haven't worn a two since... since... well, since never! I went straight from kiddie sizes to sprouted hips in one fell swoop. I remember being in middle school and wishing I had the ruler shaped bodies of my schoolmates, thinking I was fat because my body curved out from my waist.  (Lord don't get me started on my 12 year old self's body image!)

Well, I had already stripped off my clothes so I figure, what the heck? It will be too small. I won't be able to get it over my now-loved hourglass shape (read: hip bones and booty and junk). I'll just try to get it on to see if I should even hunt and search for a bigger size. --there was only one on the rack, hence my quick snatch and run to the fitting room. I prepare to suck in the guts as far as they will go, think thin thoughts, step in and -- WHAT THE WHAT??? Praise stretchy fabric and it's smooth ride over my hide!

Always! Gawd, Marilyn, you're so smart. 

Ok, so it fits over my rump, surely the long sleeves are going to be way to short on my gangly arms. I pull the dress all the way up, zip up the back and... do mine eyes deceive me? Does this LBD actually fit?? I have to look at my reflection no less than four mirrors just to verify that I don't look like sausage being squeezed out of its casing.

BTW, don't google "sausage casing" unless you want to be grossed out.
I don't think I will be eating that again. ever. Berf.

Well, even if the four mirrors at the store lied, I came home and tried it on for the roomie, and she agreed that it fit! Wahoooooo!!!! (does happy dance)

Mama's got a new LBD! ...now if only I had somewhere to wear it...

Sleepless in Seattle

Actually, I was sleepless before Seattle. Specifically, the night before. Remember the cute boy I met in Vegas? He flew me out to see him... three weeks after. I was nervous, to say the least! How do you sleep when you are going to fly a thousand miles to see someone you met twice while drunk in a city that imbues inhibition, and you've only traded some flirty texts and a few phone calls since?

Gahhhh!!! I'm getting on a plane!!! Gahhh!! It is landing in Seattle!!! GAHHHH THERE IS A GUY WAITING FOR ME!!!!! geez get a hold of yourself.

I don't know if it was the nip in the air (fucking Seattle!) or the copious amounts of booze I drank, but I warmed up to Todd* pretty quickly and the three days was spent laughing and having the best time. Plus I got to see Rachel the pig, Pike's flying fish, salmonell-ebol-hepatiti-gum-wall, a really big Needle, rode a ferris wheel (Bueller... Bueller... Bueller...) and went to a real actual not-fake speakeasy!

and it pretty much looked exactly like this

At said speakeasy, I ordered a drink called "director's choice" aka whatever the bartender wanted to make. I chose vodka and asked him to make it sassy! Well, let's just say it was more than hair whipped back and forth plus two snaps and a twist! Bowl'o'vodka with a dash of habanero. Yeehaw!

It was a whirlwind, and I didn't want it to stop blowing.  But that blustery gale swooped me up and plopped me smack dab back into reality.

Fine. I'll go back to my life. I'll date someone a thousand fucking miles away. I'll take six dates in three days and then no dates for weeks. I'll do whatever I want! (sticks out tongue and PPLBTHTHTHT!) I love being a grown up.

just call me Dorothy (Gale -- get it?)

*name changed to protect the not-so-innocent

Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose. And sometimes it rains.

Hoo-eee lawdy! Sometimes getting the heck outta dodge is just what you need to mix up your life a little bit! I just got back from Las Vegas with my bestie Claire, where we got thunderstorm-ed upon, partied it up, relaxed by the pool, threw money at the tables, and saw a show. Whew. I am tiiirrred. I need a vacation from my vacation!

Shortly before the trip I had figured out that I was going to ask for a raise at my job, but there was no timeframe on exactly when I was going to do this; I was just going to wait for the "right time."

This bird has good timing. 

The last day on the trip I got a really really random call to come in for an interview to work on a popular TV show, and it could be regular work. Huh.

And then, piece de resistance, I had met a new boy in Vegas! He's cute! He's successful! He's tall! ... and he lives in Seattle. Meh.

So now that I'm back, I have a timeline to asking for a raise (I got it!!) and I also went to the interview (and got that job too!!!)

And my new un-boyfriend has picked dates to fly me to Seattle!!!!!!!

BOOM

GRATITUDE

One week ago I was challenged by one of my oldest friends to publicly list on Facebook three things I was grateful for each day for a week.  What an amazing challenge. I may complain a lot, but I really do have so many wonderful things and people in my life.  Big realizations:

1. I am not my circumstances.  And, my circumstances are pretty good - uhm, hello? First world country? Yes please.

2. I have some truly amazing people in my life.

3. I really love wine.

What was wonderful is I was able to challenge some people who don't normally post mushy gushy motivational positive shit on their updates. I was also able to spread it to several different friend-groups.

So here's my challenge to you, dear reader, give it a go. List three things each day you are grateful for. And you can't list them in your head. You gotta facebook, insta, tweet, vine your gratefuls.  The good news is you can challenge others! Let's do this. Let's spread some goodness in this world.

Here are three images I found under the search "spread love."

Awwww...

Uhmm...

what the...

And just a final note... I found these images on Bing.  Yes, that's right, I said BING.com.  Wtf happened to Google search? It used to be that you could look at the pictures without being taken to the host website, and now, you can't preview the picture bigger than it's thumbnail, you click and it takes you to the site (whatever site that may be...) which might be a site you don't want to go to and sometimes the advertised picture isn't even there! What the hell is the world coming to that I would actively choose BING??? (sigh) Grateful Shmateful.

***UPDATE***
apparently it is my dumb old computer that makes google image search shitty. I have an older version of Safari that can't be upgraded unless I upgrade my computer. Shitty computer. But I don't want to buy a new one, so... shitty old computer is my computer for now.

Ain't that a sexy beast? 

history lessons. also known as LIFE ISN'T FAIR.

Just to back-track a little bit and give you a brief history, nearly 11 months ago when I was in love and atwitter, my then-darling and I went to a timeshare presentation in order to get a free trip to Hawaii. He desperately wanted the free trip, as he has never been. It was three days and two nights, and they pick the flight, the accommodations, etc. So basically you have the chance of being dumped in Hawaii at 6PM Tuesday evening and leaving 6AM Thursday (yes it HAS to be tues - thurs) And yes, friends, that is ten hours of flying for possibly 36-48 hours of time in Hawaii. Not worth it in my book. But I was in LERRRRRVE, and so I went for it.

Now, to see the time share, you had to qualify. One of the things to qualify was to be over 30. That made only one of us qualify (me). So the trip is mine, technically... A VERY long story short, we called and emailed and courier pigeon and stalked them for a couple months before we were able to nail down the soonest possible date: Sept 2014. About a year away...

Cut to Jan 2014 - My sweet darling rips the rug out from under my feet and the heart from my chest and breaks up with me. So, I do what any woman would do. No, I don't key his car or start a smear campaign on Facebook (although the thoughts crossed my mind). I cancel the romantic getaway to Hawaii.  These free trips are very strict. You cannot change your travel partner, your dates, your anything once it has been set.  There is no way in H-E-DOUBLEHOCKEYSTICKS I am going on a romantic getaway to Hawaii by myself, and there is NO FUCKING WAY I am going on a romantic getaway to Hawaii with my got-a-new-girlfriend-within-three-weeks-ex-boyfriend.

Well, he emails me not too long ago asking about the trip.  "Were you planning on going? I am." uhmmm, WHAT?? Did you forget you dumped me and my trip to Hawaii?

Anyway, he got really hurt that I didn't consult with him before canceling "our" trip and wanted me to apologize for not asking him if it was ok for me to cancel the trip. Last I checked, you were MY plus-one. Secondly, how on earth did you imagine that conversation going???

him: Hey, you still planning on going to Hawaii? I am.

me: Yeah, I'm going.

him: Cool. Wanna share a taxi to the airport?

me: Sure. And since we're sharing a plane and a hotel room, why don't we join the mile-high club?  

or how about

him: You still planning on going? I am.

me: No, I think that might be awkward. You go ahead though. I was the injured party, but your narcissism trumps my broken heart. 

him: Cool, thanks. Want me to bring you back a lei?

or this

him: You going? I am.

me: No, I'm going.

him: No, I am.

me: NO, I AM.

him: NO, I'M THE ONE THAT WANTED IT MORE, IF YOU DON'T GIVE IT TO ME I'LL NEVER SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN AND CRY LIKE A LITTLE BABY.

Fucking idiot.  How did he ever think there would be an amiable outcome to a trip to Hawaii between exes? Here's a clue, there isn't. So take your $50 you paid for the taxes on the trip and go find yourself a timeshare presentation where you don't have to be at least 30, and get your own damn trip. You can even take your new girlfriend.

And I'll be here, Bitter Betty, party of one... so sexy. Maybe I should post this to my online dating profile...

mad props to the DMV (you saw that right, I said DMV)

What is a trip to the DMV? Typically, one imagines soul-less vaguely human-shaped blobs or something ala The Simpsons/Marge's sisters who could give a rat's ass about you, your life, or anything at all and day wasted waiting.

Patty and Selma

I had made an appointment, but was not hopeful. When I arrived I was greeted by a woman who looked like she didn't care who got what they came for or not. She barely waved her hand through the air (like some strange Queen's wave from an alternate universe) indicating that whomever was next should come to her counter while simultaneously pondering the meaning of life at the DMV (staring into space).  I walked up and handed her my paperwork. After a short and painless interview of why I was there, she gave me a number and told me to wait until I was called.

I looked for a seat, and saw that they were nearly all full. I sat in between a young woman who looked perturbed at life (as most teens are) and immersed in the music on her phone and on the other side two korean women chatting away about who knows what. I settled in for what I was sure would be a while, based on the number of people waiting.

Lo and behold, my number was called so quickly I barely had time to fill out the required form and update my facebook status.  The woman who filed the paperwork was fast, thorough, and smiled (!). I was almost sad to leave her to go wait in the picture line.

I jet over to the other side of the DMV to wait in the picture line, which was only about 5 or 6 people long. I got a little worried when the guy in front of me was tweaking and about an hour late for his next hit of whatever. He couldn't stand still, kept scrunching his shoulders up around his ears, looking around anxiously. He turned and smiled at me and said something unintelligible through about 50% missing and 50% rotting teeth.

He asks the people in front of him if they would mind if he went in front of them. They all took one look, and wisely let him ahead.  Things were going so smoothly! Almost too smoothly...

I get to the front of the line, and another lovely (!) DMV worker was sweetly taking pictures, complimenting people, and trying to make things go faster (!!!!!!).  She was the only one operating the cameras, and was attempting to make two of them go at the same time to get the line through faster. All was going so well when... oh no. Hourglass of death on the computer. My face broke the computer. And (according to darling DMV lady) was a really cute picture! Man!

She had to restart the computer, and then my file was vanished! Oh no! Would I have to go through the whole process again??? My heart sank. She handed my paperwork to another DMV'er who tried to fix things, then that woman had to hand it off to yet another DMV'er and my heart sank even lower... Just as my paper was going to float away not only into the ether of the DMV computer network but to the rows of neverending cubicles, my sweet Angel of the DMV photo-lady found my file on the restarted computer! Hurrah! The cute pic didn't save, so I had to take another one.  This one was not nearly as cute. The A/C wasn't exactly "working" in this area of the building so I was a little hot and bothered (read: sweaty) by this time, and am pretty sure slick tendrils of hair had plastered themselves to my face. This picture didn't break the computer however, probably because it was a bad picture. I think it is against DMV policy to have a good driver's license picture. Oh well, who cares? I was outta there IN LESS THAN ONE HOUR!!! So I gotta say, Mad Props to the Hollywood DMV for being efficient, nice, and providing free parking!!

This guy

Several friends told me I had to open my search a bit for some new manmeat, and actually join a 'pay' dating site. (sigh) FINE.

I've been on about three weeks now, and after the initial flurry emails and winks from being the new girl, I'm now down to searching and doing the winking myself.

Here's (nearly) every dude's profile:

Down to earth driven guy who loves being active, I love staying in and watching Game of Thrones and I love going out with friends. I love hiking, working out, and I love staying in and cuddling on the couch. I'm looking for a fun laid back girl, who loves to have fun and also loves to chill. She has to be fun, but also fun. We have fun together. She has to be laid back, but also exciting. I also want her to be gorgeous and pretty, but doesn't take long to get ready. And we have fun and are laid back together. 

In reality, he's overweight and ugly, and probably boring. OK, that last part about being boring, I don't know unless I meet you. But your profile is boring.

Until... this guy.

First of all, 41??? Bahahahahaha right, sure, uh-huh, buddy. Let me buy you some sunscreen, because obviously you have never used it. Like, ever. Secondly, you're looking for someone 18-27? Gross. You have kids. You could even have a kid that was 18 and it wouldn't be weird. And you're not even divorced. Berf.

I'm already sickened. But then I read your biography section.

Thanks for telling me what I like, buddy because as a little lady, I sure as hell didn't know on my own. We females don't have that many brain cells.

Just so we're clear, if I were to ever tell you "I won't sleep with you" it means if you were the last person on earth and the human race depended on us procreating, I would feel very sad that there would be no more people.

Let me tell you Mr. Rape Culture Embodied, you are part (and in fact, perhaps even the spokesperson) of the "freakishly large percentage of loser guys," which is why you hear "I won't sleep with you" so often. You are an affront to women everywhere.

Tell me, did you write your profile as a "how to" for men or to try to attract women? I can see why you prey on younger girls. You are looking for women that don't know any better than to allow themselves to be manipulated by a misogynistic asshole looking to set a poor example for his children.

All I can say is, no wonder you are separated, and I hope that your wife gets those divorce papers signed soon.

nail job

This weekend I'm going to participate in my fourth year at the charity event Yoga for Hope. It benefits the City of Hope Hospital, which is a bastion for research, recovery and treatment for a variety of diseases including cancer, AIDS, diabetes, and other life threatening diseases.

I got invited the first year by my bestie Claire, a breast cancer survivor and the keynote speaker the first year. I had such an amazing experience that when Claire then took on chairing the event, I continued to attend. Her fundraising group's color is blue, so I figured I would commemorate the weekend with blue toes and fingernails.

This is a big 'ole heap of exposition just so I can tell you about my experience in the nail salon tonight....

Wellllll, the person doing my toes was a dude. I really really try not to be judgemental about dudes working in the nail salons. I have had some seriously good mani/pedi's from men.  However. I was really editing in my head, trying not to be worried about how my toes would look.

First, he was wearing a mask. Not uncommon in a nail salon. They inhale so many fumes, it can be really really toxic.

But this was no ordinary mask. First, it was much more rigid, like the ones men sometimes wear in constructions sites.

And he had taken an industrial sized piece of elastic and stapled it to the sides of the mask about six times on each side with which to strap the mask to his head. Then, he had also stapled a ziploc baggie to the inside. And oh yes, it was Ziploc, you can tell by the red/blue seal that was folded over the edge of the mask.

Then, there was his manicure toolbox. It was a super-size of the regular one that the ladies usually have. His cotton was stored in a large container that used to hold bungee cords from home depot. How do I know? I have that container of bungees in the trunk of my car. His emory board was easily the size of a ruler.

I'm pretty sure instead of using the regular cuticle cutters he used some needle-nosed pliers. And when it came time to paint, his giant man-paws were holding the little paintbrush like it was a very tiny pencil, but then instead of even paint strokes, he was making these little stabby motions toward my toenails. I was a little worried, to say the least.

stab, stab, stab.

stab, stab, stab.

He was just so... stabby.

The end result was pretty OK. The lady who did my hands did give my feet a very close stare-down and seemed to deem them satisfactory after only a minor touch up. Overall, not the best pedicure I've ever had. But Bear-Paw-Magee did the best he could with his giant mitts.

I mean, if you had grabbers like that, could you do this?

I think I need a new horse

I recently posted that I am "back in the saddle" of dating, and it is completely disappointing that it is the same crap that I dealt with the last time I did online dating.

No, overweight, troll-like 56 year old, I do not want to go out with you.  

No, dude who lives in Indiana (probably with his wife and kids) I don't want to get to know you better. 

No, guy who is more than 10 years my junior, I don't think we will have anything in common. 

Where is the guy who lives reasonably close to me (duuuude. all the hot guys live near the beach, about 45 minutes or an hour drive away from me. I don't do long distance), is reasonably hot (99.9% of the guys on this site are bfug), is reasonably tall, (as in over 5'11") and has a reasonable amount of brain cells floating around in his noggin (shall we say... more than two)?

If you know of anyone who fits these criteria, PLEASE, PRETTY PLEASE email me or facebook me or twitter me or write a comment here or send me a fucking courier pigeon.

Or I'll just adopt a few more cats and be done with it.

I already have two... it wouldn't take much. 

the masochist's diet plan

For those of you who are looking to lose a few pounds and don't mind a little torture, have I got the diet plan for you! I lost four pounds in 24 hours! All you have to do is eat some spoiled, pooped on, e-coli, salmonella food!!

*berf*

The only thing I can pinpoint that might have caused my unexpected weight loss was a bagel and cream cheese. It tasted fine. Maybe a fly pooped on it. Maybe the lady didn't wash her hands. Maybe I touched a door handle with bad germs. Whatever it was, a few hours later I was shopping for my boss in Target and all of a sudden that awful feeling came over me...

Uh oh...

So I'm in the seasonal area, and I can barely stand up without seeing stars. I have to sit down. Oh dear. I sit and wait, concentrating on breathing, for an employee to come by and ask where the bathroom was. "oh it is just on the complete other side of the store about as far away from here as possible - might as well be on the moon!" Greeaaaat.

I stumble about one aisle at a time, pausing only to keep myself from passing out. I finally make it to the bathroom... and it is being cleaned. Seriously.

Anyway, the bad news, I couldn't leave that Target for about an hour and had to stop twice on the way home. The good news is after about 24 hours I was good as new, and about four pounds lighter.

So next time you need to fit into those skinny jeans or wear a swimsuit tomorrow, just eat some tainted turkey, curdled cream cheese, spoiled salami, or gross gouda!

Who needs Weight Watchers!?

back in the saddle. yee-haw.

What does a girl do to get over the ex-boyfriend blues? Reactivates her online dating profile. (largest sigh possible)

...DOUBLE SIGH...

So. It's been one day and two emails from guys I wouldn't even dream of dating have already emailed me! I feel so popular. And as I was scrolling through the pictures of guys using the app's equivalent of "hot or not" --

-- you can swipe through people's pix, rating them on a 1-5 star level. *slides into black hole and disappears for hours*

The thing is, there are so many fugly people that the average ones start to look not so bad. It is kind of the same effect as beer goggles except you're home alone, sober, swiping at your phone.

So how does one meet guys these days? I don't want to spend every weekend at the bar. You spend way too much money, get a beer belly, and lose half of the next morning to a hangover. I don't love dating online - you have to sift through all the ones that you are not compatible with/not attracted to/are only looking for sex/have mommy issues/etc.  And even once you find one or two dudes that you might deign spend time with, most of the time the spark just isn't there. The older I get, the more my dating pool dries to a puddle.

Anybody have any attractive, available, sane guy friends? That make me laugh? That are at least 5'11"?That have a good job/business, are interested in getting married, don't have kids, don't have any weird hangups, likes my cats, likes to travel, can cook, has friends, and might want to take me out????? Kthx.

that's Madam PRINCESS to you

Well, finally I have ARRIVED. Bakersfield has crowned their queen and it is ME!!! 

When I arrived at work today and walked into the room where I teach, smack dab right where I usually preside over the minions was this:

uhm HELLO??? yes please.

seems so natural, doesn't it?

I suppose if I have to suffer through a hellish drive and then dealing with peasants, at least I am finally being treated like the royalty I am.


If you lowly servants need anything, I'll be reconnecting with my humble roots and my miniscule bank account. Ta-ta!

Disappointment, served cold.

So now that I'm one of those annoying people that counts calories, I look at things like serving size, grams of protein, and sodium percentages.  So why do so many of them make no sense?

First, the ones that make sense. One glass of wine, one serving. Yes, I still drink some wine, just not every night by the bottle. Wow that makes me sound like an alcoholic. I swear I'm not. Protesting doesn't make it sound any better, does it...

And a serving size that somewhat makes sense, Lindor truffles. Serving size, three truffles.

I could eat just three truffles. In fact, with some restraint, I could even just eat one or two. I am so saintly.

But then we get to pickle spears.  Serving size... 3/4 of a spear. Who on earth eats 3/4th of a pickle spear?

And don't even get me started on Girl Scout cookies.  You mean to tell me that a serving isn't one full sleeve of Thin Mints?? Preposterous.

Proof of their addictive qualities

FOUR COOKIES? That's it??? What? Who in their right mind can stop after only FOUR???? (sigh) the things I do to fit into my jeans...