The Lyrics of Life in LA

This week has definitely been different.
Like, different from any other week I have ever had.  And it's not just a feeling.  And it's not just because of the experiences.  It almost feels like, I walked through another set of doors.  
Some things are crazy easier.  Some things are still my own baggage and weighing me down.  

Things have definitely been ramping up to this feeling since January. but this week started with my meditation class in Laguna on Sunday.  The weather was simply stunning.  And as we expanded our minds, I could see many a sailboat out on the blue ocean expanding their views.  It sure felt like we were being smiled upon.

I have been meditating for several years now and this was one of the weirder experiences I have been through.  
If asked, I would have told you my body was going to burst open (not exactly good and not exactly bad) with all the electricity.  
There was a flickering fast light in the corner of my eyes, though they were shut.
I felt like I was asleep, though I was very aware of all going on around me auditorily.
As we all came back to, we all remarked how this felt completely different.  What wasn't different, was drinking wine and eating fruit out on the veranda watching the waves lap against the shore.  Peter Brady and I drove home discussing ideologies and philosophizing about this, that, the girl the gold watch and everything - ha.

I wasn't expecting this week to be any different than normal.

It has turned out to be a week where I can't ever go back to old ways of thinking.
In the best way.
It's like a light was turned on and things became clearer.  And it's like I became the universe's pet this week.

I have 3 photoshoots scheduled for this weekend, My hair goddess D called me for a highlight (to be a model for her class - champagne hair for hooch prices), my car repair which was supposed to be $350 was going to be possibly be half off, ended up being 100% off and now, one of my very good friends, with whom I also happen to work, got a fabulous new position.  I am deeply sad to see her go but I am thrilled beyond belief that the work she has put into changing her life is showing movement this week too.

I am learning a new editing program and photography and creativity projects are just flowing out of me non-stop.

My meditation coach also gave me the book "Tattoos of the Heart" by Father Greg Boyle about the priest who worked with inner city kids to create the Homeboy/Homegirl Industries.  In a surprise Wednesday email, Jazzy invited me to a gala honoring them  this Saturday!

I know it's been awhile since I have written. It would be a fool's errand to discuss all the wonderful, horrible and funny adventures that have occurred since we last had contact.  Suffice it to say, there have been amazing times.  My first return-blog entry isn't about something funny or horrible.  But a lot of the energy around me is definitely wonderful.

Recently, I accomplished something I had wanted to for a long time:  to sing with a live band for the first time at a party.  I am still in love with Peter Brady.  My friends: Mads, Jazzy, GC, Leigh, Anna, Zappy and Reb are still very much in my life and wreaking all kinds of fun havoc.  And creativity is still my religion.  My mom came into town for Easter and brought a whole new set of comedic moments back into my view.  Life is good.  Life is moving.  Life is zooming through me at warp speed.

So if there is still anyone there, I hope you come back along on this new warp speed ride with me.  

Los Angeles is ours!  Let's make this thing dance!

I don’t think I am squeamish. 
I think I am fucking squeamish. 
But I like it.  I like to be scared. 
To a point. 

I can’t watch many horror films or ... “Sweeny Todd”.
But for some reason the show "Dexter”  - I am not only fine with, 
but I actually look forward to when he captures the bad guy and chops him up.

It’s complicated.

That fear vs. thrill vs. throwing up - that’s the draw.  Kind of like dating. 

Which is probably why, as a constantly single but dating gal, I had always met my new beau in October.

What could be better than to meet someone new, when the air changes temperature,
the smells turn from bbqs to apples and cinnamon while I prepare to costume myself as a slutty cat for Halloween?

There is something so thrilling about those first moments of meeting someone new. 
The ups are very up and the lows are non-existent.  Your heart beats fast
and you blush and feel excited at the slightest gesture.

Kind of like when you walk into the other October accoutrement: the Haunted House.

I am quickly targeted as an easy mark in a haunted house because I can be easily scared. 
I squeal.  I squirm.  My friends think it’s funny. 
The monster/actors feel like they are doing their job and I…feel the adrenaline pumping. 
The good news and the bad news is that…the fright is over as soon as it begins. 

The good news and the bad news about the men I meet in October is that,
it is always over as soon as it begins.  
They inevitably prove themselves to be wrong for me; a casualty of the season, October road-kill, a bloody stump of a once-promising limb, a gory splatter of a…oh sorry, I got carried away by the squeamish analogies. 
The main point is that the short shelf life of the thrill means I never have to delve deeper into relationships. 
The break-up appears messy, but I have come to embrace the part where we uncomplicate things and pretend there
were no consequences anyway.

Last October, a friend of mine sort of set me up with a friend of hers (see?  I am not only an easy mark in haunted situations, I might was well carry a neon sign that says “single single”). 
My friend’s friend and I connected.  It was all very facebooky, but I won’t bore you with the back and forth email banter (just know it was adorable).

We went on our first date (nice), and then our second date (very nice).   
For our 3^rd date, he chose for us to go on:  The Haunted Hayride. 
It was the perfect set up. 
I would get to squeal and squirm right into his arms and he would protect me from the boogeyman, zombie-prom queen, mummy and axe murderer while riding along with other hauntees.

The reality was that although there were other couples, we were surrounded by several scared children.  One in fact, covered her face with her hoodie as the monsters grabbed at us in our cart and said with a whimper, "Grandma said there would be funny things on this ride...but I am about to get diarrhea." 

What that poor child didn’t know was she may have been in good company. 
That hay was quite moist, leaving me to wonder if I had actually peed on myself during the adventure or if I was sitting in that poor girl’s fear based bowel expression. 

Hopefully, it was just the foggy night air, but thankfully we will never know. 

The monsters were pretty scary. We would be carting along in darkness. 

Then the truck would stop. 
Suddenly a light would turn on and next to your check would be some kind of gruesome ghoul making an “Argh argh
ack” monstery sound. 

Again, I was an easy mark.  Though to be honest, I think in general we were all pretty easy since we were collected in one place making us very scare-accessible. 

There was definitely a thrill in the fright.  A thrill of being terrified in front of my date.  And a thrill of escape when one of the monsters would go after someone else in our hayride, sparing me. 

My squeals had turned to actual screams and my head never stopped turning to make sure I wouldn’t be the foil yet again. 

Across from me was a woman who was too cool for school as she sat there among us. 

Every time, another scary character would emerge, she would just sit there, arms crossed, smiling smugly,
saying to her peers, “This doesn’t scare me a bit.  I can see them coming.” 
This is a woman I would never invite to a party. 
This is a woman who really overpaid for this ride. 
This is a woman deprived of the formula I seem to thrive on:  the attraction and the repulsion. 
She won’t be sitting in moist hay.  Her voice won’t have the strained chords of having screamed. 
She will leave exactly as she came.

I, on the other hand, would not.

During the ride, my date, laughingly hugged my head as I buried it into his shoulder.  We knew our roles.

We played them perfectly. 

When the ride was over, my date and I walked arm and arm, while my labored breath tried to resume a normal rhythm and my wobbly legs attempted to regain balance.

Would this guy be different?  Would he be another October casualty? 
By February, would I be eating my way to spring via multiple packs of 100-calorie cookies in one sitting?

That date led to another.  And another.  And another.  And a…nother.

I soon found I was in a (gasp)…relationship.

I didn’t know actual fright, until the moment I let him see how fast my dishes pile up before I would wash them.

Until we argued about the value of ELO’s music. (for the record...I value it, he doesn't).

Until I drunkenly asked him, “so what? Are we exclusive?” after telling my friends that I would never ask him.

Until I drunkenly said, “I love you”, when I swore to myself I would never say it first.

Until the first time I told him the reason I was busy on Monday nights was to watch "The Bachelorette."

And…he didn’t leave.

"The Bachelorette" is still a potential deal breaker for him but the last season just ended, soooo, so far so good.

The whole idea of being frightened on cue is a quaint pattern to adopt. 
So is the idea of trying to date someone during a particular month. 
A haunted hayride path is predictable. 
Life isn’t.

That woman on the ride with us who refused to get scared will always overpay because she always has the answers. 
What the hell was she doing on that ride?

I know what I was doing there. 

Besides possibly peeing in the hay, I was diving a little deeper into the darkness of October. 

It had nothing to do with monsters. 

Though it had everything to do with letting go of ghosts.

 
 

It was exciting to watch the lighting storm when it appeared over the hill.
But as we got closer, and realized that the lightning storm was something we were riding right through the middle of, my already tense tummy began to knot up.  At first I tried in vain to photograph it.  But my timing was off.

It was getting to me.

It was 12:30 am on a Friday night.

My 4 year old car's transmission had gone out (remember Blythe) on our way to the Grand Canyon the week before.
So I had to leave it in Flagstaff.  I had to leave it in Flagstaff so that the Flagstaff dealership could get a part shipped from...LA.

Armed with a rental for who knew how long, Peter Brady and I finished our Arizona vacation at my dad's (after seeing the magnificent Grand Canyon). 

It was a wonderful week.
And his wife Mimi suggested I contact the warranty for my car and see if they could pay for any of the hassle:  the rental, etc.  The transmission was covered so I was thankful for that.

So I returned to work in LA after the vacay, knowing full well, I needed to return to the Conservative state to retrieve my auto.

The rental was nice.  Peter Brady told me not to get too attached to it since we would eventually be back in my car.

We got the call. The car was ready. 
We had to be in Flagstaff between 9am and noon because those were the rental car place's hours on a Saturday.  And since they wouldn't rent me a car to only be dropped off in LA and that I needed to return to them directly, we were up against this crazy, awesome schedule.  Yipppepeee.

Friday after work, loaded with triple shots of whatever caffeinated beverages and Peter Brady downing two 5-hour energy drinks, we headed east. And north I guess. 

I played a lot of tunes to make sure I didn't fall asleep and leave PB alone at the wheel.  Those are my control issues.
At a certain point, you think, this isn't so bad:  beautiful road, America, music, lightning storm - workable.

Then a few hours later, you reach a different conclusion:  when will this m*ther F--in light show in the sky be over and why aren't we there yet. *cue whimper.

I was not aware, probably from never paying attention in any science-type classes, that we were safe from lightning in our car since the tires are rubber.

I might have been a bit less...shall we say, freaked the frick out.

We needed gas.

There were no towns.  But there was a huge vintage sign: GAS, just up ahead.

We pulled into the station.  Every other clueless motorist (our peers) did the same.

The man behind the register was missing several teeth and seemed a bit grumpy.  His pet chihuahua, blind in one eye, looked at me with the good eye, shaking underneath a snoopy blanket.

As the station filled up with new motorists and we all chatted about the storm with fear in our eyes, our gas station register man (who probably had a rifle or something under the counter - I would) realized he had a captive audience and proceeded to tell us about people he has known who have been struck by lightning.
I just needed change.
But he kept jabbering.
I didn't know what the proper ettiquette was for trying to interrupt him.
But after an acknowledging giggle, I just said, "Wow....sheesh... that's crazy.  I need change."
He glowered a bit at me.
What did I care.  It was 1 am and we still had 3 1/2 hours to go.  Figure out your ego stroking on someone else's watch.

But he did bid me a nice good-bye, "don't fall asleep at the wheel and remember the half-melted face guy's story I told you about"
I nodded and waved thank you.

I wasn't going to be sleeping anytime soon.

So PB braved the lightning, braved my roadside pitstops, braved the rain, braved fatigue, braved my bitching at his swerving and braved a rest stop or two to be my excellent driver.

We finally rolled into Flagstaff at 4:30am.  We arrived at our campsite to find someone in the space we had reserved.
Luckily, there were several in the same area so we just parked and pulled out pillows and blankets and attempted sleep.
But I accidentally left the sunroof unshaded so my eyes fixated on the stars twinkling above me with the sky lighting up just a smidge with a provocation from dawn.

I awoke a few hours later when full on sun filled up the windows.  There was a little snack camper in the campgrounds run by volunteers.  The woman in the snack camper had a "the higher the hair, the higher to god" -hair do. Our breakfast was good. The coffee was weak but was perfect for the surroundings of trees, and old volunteers gossiping about whoever walked by. 
"I wonder if real camping people think having  a camp snack bar is cheating," I pondered.
PB sipping his coffee responded with, "real campers probably aren't camping here where there is Wi-Fi and cable"
"Touche" - how fancy of me to respond so proper-like in the forest.

I wish we were able to stay sleeping longer.  I wished we were able to stay camping longer.  I wished this were another vacation (not fraught with driving and car issues) so I could enjoy the hell out of Northern Arizona to see the Painted Desert and the Indian Burial Grounds and the Antelope Canyon.  Or even see the Grand Canyon again. Just the week before, PB and I awoke at 4am to watch the sun rise over the Grand Canyon.  It was mystical.  I wanted to see it again.  I wanted to explore.  But we had a lot of dealing with dealerships, rental car places, driving and not sleeping still ahead of us.

This was not a vacation.

But it was an adventure.

I got my car back and yes, I had to whisper to PB that I missed our rental.  But my girl did great with her new transmission purring us home.

We dined in Barstow among some cool people and tweakers.
We got excited about Route 66 for the umpteenth time.
And we laughed a lot.  And continued to caffeinate.

Back on the road again, it was closer to sunset as we started to see another lightning storm.
I started yelling out the window..."we already watched this movie, thanks anyway God"
PB just shook his head and laughed at me. 

Making it back to my apartment, we had been gone a total of 24 hours. 
Leaving at 8:30 Friday night and returning 8:30 Saturday night, we exhaled.  And felt like we had been on the lam.
Tired, and feeling like we had gotten away with something, we plopped down on the couch and had some wine.
And then I think I fell asleep standing up.
Maybe not.
But you are prone to exaggerations like that when you dodge your way through lightning storms and don't get struck but you meet a man who knew people who have.

Or maybe he was exaggerating too.

Only the one-eyed chihuahua knows for sure and he ain't talking.

PS - the Warranty people decided to reimburse me for the rental AND the gas!  All of a sudden, I had much fonder feelings towards the whole adventure.

It's not like I am new to road trips.

In fact, when I was 6 months old, my parents flew to Europe with me, bought a VW campmobile and drove for the next 6 months all over that continent visiting my mom's parents and then some.

All while I hung out in the back of the car, like it was my playpen. I am sure I was rolling around back there on the highways of Norway.

As I got older, every other summer, my mom would take my sister and me in that same camper and we would travel from LA up to Canada by way of Utah or Montana and Wyoming and come back south along the coast.

This would usually be a month-long trek with my mom, my sis and me, two dogs, no A/C and a lot of making up songs to pretend we were not boiling.

I think the no A/C drives is why my mom still has a ban on Vegas. I have driven across state lines with my friends as well.

And ever since my dad moved to Arizona 4 years ago, that trip has become my "alone time."

My sister is visiting from Germany with her husband and 3 kids. She has been up in Oregon the past 3 weeks and was headed to Phoenix to stay with my dad and his wife for a week.

I was going to join them and bring Peter Brady to meet the crazy crew. Peter Brady (PB) was worried.

"We should rent a car," he said, "No need to put those kind of miles on your car."
"Ha!" I laughed.

He had no idea that I had been doing this all my life. 5 1/2 hours in a car was nothing to me.

We bring tunes, some water, my car has A/C and had just been checked out ~ all would be great.

Blythe, CA, is the half-way point more or less between LA and Phoenix.
You get your gas, go to the restroom, buy some lunch, and you are on your way.

At least that was our plan.

We had just finished praising my car and commenting on how road-side California Call Boxes will probably start to be taken out considering everyone is mobile now. I was going 100 mph and passing trucks.
*Clunk*
The car did a weird pulling with the steering wheel.

"What was that?" I ask.
"I don't know. How is it driving?"
"Well, the speedometer is not moving."
"Well, now you have an excuse to tell the cops," PB says.

Laughter.

I am still driving fast, still passing trucks, but the rev is high and it's starting to sound angry.
My car indicates that we have 50 miles left in the gas tank.
I pull into the righthand lane. It starts to lurch forward and sputter.
I pull off by a call box.
The smell of burning something is a little concerning.
Is it oil? Is it a leaky hose? I JUST HAD THE CAR LOOKED AT!!!!!!!!
My hands are shaking.
The temperature is now 117 degrees and we are in the middle of nowhere...23 miles to Blythe.
I go to the Call Box. Old habits.
PB says to just call AAA instead.
Oh yeah.
My mind isn't working properly. Sweat starts to gather on anything skinlike.
I call AAA. It will be 45 minutes.

We have water so I am not too worried.  The fact that I am near a Call Box helped them find me perfectly, since I couldn't really make out the marker for the next exit but the Call Boxes have numbers and so it would be easy for the driver to find me. 
You know, besides being broken down on the side of the road.

I call my dad and tell him I will be a little late. He is worried and tells us to flag down a trucker if we need to.
I am thinking how glad I am PB is there lest I am some highway hitchhiking horror story.

My dad also tells us to keep dabbing our necks with a wet cloth. We do.

PB blocks me from the road as I try and do a roadside pee.  All this stress is making my usually small bladder, even more eager to go.

The tow truck comes 20 minutes early.

"What is our tow limit for free?" PB asks
"7 miles", Sal, our driver, says.
We are triple that distance away. Not like we have any choice.
Sal tells us there will be no charge though, since that is the direction he is heading.
What the-?
We are stoked.
He tells us we can stay in the car as he puts it on the flatbed truck.
What the-?
"Can't we sit in the cab with you?" I ask.
"There is no A/C in my truck either so you might as well just get comfortable in your own car. But put your seat belts on."
"Is there any garage we can take my car?" I ask.
Sal looks at his watch. It's 2:45pm on Saturday.
"All the garages have closed. And they won't open until Monday." 

Well, this wasn't the plan. He thinks for a minute and says, "Call this number. His name is Phillipe."
I call. Phillipe is open.
He will take our car.
Sal knows the way, being a local Blythian and also knowing Phillipe.
The part of Blythe you see from the freeway is actually the best part.
But we got the Behind the Scenes version. We are headed to no-man's land while still on top of the flatbed in my car.

PB and I create a song called "23 Miles from Blythe" It goes like this so far:

23 miles from Blythe, yeah
23 miles from Blythe
Don't know how long
I'll be singing this song
But I hope it's not the rest of my life.

While being driven into Tweeker-ville, PB and I were filming ourselves singing our new song and pretending we were in one of those old time movies where the driver isn't watching the road or even really steering but you can see the car is moving.

Sal drives us into someone's property where there are a few cars and a garage. 
Phillipe seems very nice and has three tweens hanging out in the garage with him. 
No one is sweating except for PB and me. 
We are sweating for the group considering our shirts are soaked through. 
"So much for looking fresh for your family," PB says.

In my head, I kept thinking how we would be in Phoenix that evening and whatever was wrong would be an easy fix.
But the odds weren't looking good. 
And anyway, how would we even get to a motel from Phillipe's?  We had no idea where we were.

He checked the hoses, checked the undercarriage and came to the conclusion that.... we were out of fuel.

He left to go get some while PB and I waited in the hot garage with one of the tweens.  Once Phillipe returned, his theory was proven correct.  He fed the car, the engine purred, the speedometer started working again and we paid him $ for the gas as well as his time.  He could have gouged us but didn't. I was very thankful.

Still shaky, we parted ways with the hot little garage and grabbed some lunch and filled the tank of gas. 
At the gas station, PB told the woman at the counter what had happened and she said her car had lied to her too and that the problem had been the Cluster Joint.

Something to check out when I get back to LA. 

We made it to Phoenix.  Saw the family.  And promptly went for a swim.

The vacation is going better than I could have imagined. Everyone is having a blast and getting along.

Zappy and Reb are watching my cat and spoiling her rotten.

PB and I are headed to the Grand Canyon on Wednesday. 
My car is running fine now, but just in case, we are filling the tank, bringing more water, some more food, and a guitar...because when you start writing a hit song, you want some music to go with it.

Coming to Itunes soon!

The bookend to my parent's trip from Europe way back when I was a baby, is that when they came back to America after traveling around, they drove from NY to LA. Their car broke down in AZ too and they had to be towed (with all of us in the car) without A/C a good 40 miles too.

I guess sometimes, you want to take your hands off the wheel and just watch the scenery pass you by...in 117 degrees heat. 

It's a dry heat, so it's fine.

I go to a lot of events.
I keep a busy dance card. Which is why I carry flip flops just in case I need to be comfortable whatever turn the night takes.

Some events aren't worth the shoe change.
And others, you build up, hoping it will make all your fun-hopes come true.

And then there are those nights where everything aligns perfectly and your expectations meet the reality and it's just pure magic.

And for these nights I am grateful.

I got an invitation from an old friend to go to the opening of Tim Burton's LACMA exhibit.

"WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE", I squealed.

Mads and Zappy played stylist and we ended up with a pretty green dress and some amazing golden Grecian high, wedged sandals.

Just a week before, my Swiss friend Catherine and her husband came to town. We had stopped by the Urban Lights at LACMA and I told her about the upcoming exhibit/party.

Catherine and I looked at the banners announcing the exhibit.
My tummy flipped with anticipation.

A week later, in my new frock, with new shoes, PB and I arrived at LACMA where we immediately saw G and J. We were waiting to be let in. Like well-dressed race horses waiting for that starting shot, we gabbed with anticipation. L and S showed up too right before they opened it for us.

Walking in the shoes was a little harder than I had planned (but knowing I had my secret comfort weapon in my bag, I tried to last as long as possible...which was not as long as Mads had hoped for me). We weren't supposed to take pics, but I kept at it, and made sure that the previous guard who had just reprimanded me was not in the next room. This was one of my faves:



It was interesting to see such an extensive collection of Burton's work as an artist, a filmmaker, a student, a doodler and as the icon himself.



My friend Tony Grillo (who had also recently come to town and made me realize how I miss him and his hilarious wife Tanya) and his company Flinch Studio had worked on the animation for Burton's Stainboy. There was a wall of those animated pieces and I whispered to PB that no matter what i did, I had to get some shots of that wall for Tony. And I did. I was very proud. Of Tony and myself for dodging yet another guard.





We found our way to the party. We met Crispin Glover, thanks to G. And PB walked up to Martin Landau and asked for a photo (which Landau politely declined). The drinks were flowing and Mads and Mr. Mads showed up with Jazzy and MT. It was my favorite time of night: drinking at dusk.

We mingled and our friend who had invited us, invited us to the after-party at the Chateau Marmont.

But before we all departed from this cocktail party, there was a surprise (to us) concert from Jane's Addiction.



We then headed to the Chateau where we saw our friends Phillip, Scott and Cherry Vanilla (upon whom I heaped praise for her book: "Lick Me", which I LOVED LOVED LOVED).

Johnny Depp was there and PB asked him for a photo. He said yes. I took it and were about to have PB take one of me with him but we were lucky to get that shot since several of his friends pulled him away (almost before we had taken that first shot).

PB and I talked with Jeffrey Jones for a long time.

We were all drinking the drink of the night: Espresso Martinis. Yummity yum yum yum.

I also got to meet Danny Elfman (yay) on his way out, thanks to Cherry.

Mads got a shot of her and Danny (she and Mr. Mads went up to him to take a pic but when she turned around to introduce her hubby to Danny, her man was nowhere around. So Danny's date took the photo of her and Danny).

The party was supposed to continue up in the room but it appeared to be winding down. So at quarter to 3am, we headed home (only to find out later via facebook photos that the party DID continue upstairs afterall...those espresso martinis will keep the party going).

Other than switching to flip flops early on, the night was even BETTER than I could have imagined.

Mads used to say that she would go to an opening of an envelope.
I have taken over her duties on that front, I think.

But when that envelope comes with a fabulous party filled with world renown artists, actors, writers, directors and fabulous people, it isn't such a bad gig.

If you can get it.

And once in awhile, I do...complete with flip flops and espresso martinis, thank you very much.

It was almost time to go home when I heard a scream coming from the direction of Anna's office.
It was followed by her running to my office.

"Wanna be on the Price is Right? I mean it's the Price is Right!!!! We are GONNA be on the Price is Right!"

Now to be fair, I am such a pop-culture junkie as well as an over-reactor and get-excited-er for things others find less than thrilling. So it was understandable that Anna would think I would have reacted in kind.

But I had never seen an entire episode of the Price is Right.

"Um....sure?" I shrugged.
"It's the Price is Right Bitches!!!!! What day do you want to go?"

Despite my lack of enthusiasm, Anna still carried the excitement for the both of us. She also encouraged me to bring Peter Brady.
So we picked our day.

And then I proceeded to watch episodes to try and figure out this national past time.

My office-mate heard the excitement and reacted exactly how I was expected to. She got tickets too. It was on her bucket list. It was on Anna's bucket list. And now...it was on mine too. I guess.

The days leading up to the show were around Memorial Day. I was a little nervous that I would get picked. Like when you do really well when you play Poker for the first time. I thought my lack of experience on the show would be EXACTLY why the universe would put me on it. And then I would make a fool of myself.

Anna invited more people to join us and had an artist from work draw a fabulous pic of Drew Carey to be silkscreened onto t-shirts we would wear.



We were sure to get on.
That was a hope and still a fear.

On the day of the show, PB, Anna and I waited in line on Fairfax. The couple in front of us was very odd. They seemed like they were a little retarded. Which would have made more sense. Turns out they were just strange. I thought at first that the man was gay and they were just friends. But it seemed that they were a couple from Florida. HOw long they had dated was anyone's guess but I don't think it had been long. They were in their 40's but truly acted like giddy 13 year olds. And not in that enviable way. More in that way that makes you initially think they are retarded (see comment above). At one point, he was blabbering about something for a good 45 minutes. Something about the government. She was clearly bored and was hoping to awaken him out of his psycho-intellectual blather by tickling him. Sometimes it worked. Others, she would give up and sit there bored with her chin resting on her hand which was resting on her knee. How do I know all this? Because that fateful line on Fairfax, unfortunately was how we were lined up for the next 6 hours.

The mom and daughter behind us were no better. They decided that it was best to stand RIGHT behind Anna and as she puts it "were happy to breathe down her neck." They never cracked a smile. They had faces for radio and were miserable gals who were perturbed by our attempts at levity throughout the day to alleviate the drudgery of the long long wait until we would be sitting the studio.

I went to the bathroom probably 20 times. Anna was sure I had a problem, but I told her that it was nerves and if I could...I would go the bathroom, lest I couldn't at some point. Note to myself if I do this again...I will have plenty of time to use the bathroom so no need to play rest-stop toilet.

At one point, we thought they were trying to assess our bubbly personalities when we decided to start the wave. Plenty of people engaged only to be told at the end to "BE QUIET! No yelling, no waves, no woot woots, no singing, no dancing." Apparently, THAT wasn't the time to assess our bubbly personalities. I think there were smirks on the faces of the DULLARDS behind us. Hard to tell since they showed a happy moment...even one at our expense.

Anna kept trying to sing the Price is Right theme song but kept accidentally singing the Family Feud. The man from the Florida couple would always correct her. "THAT is the Family Feud". We would laugh. But he wouldn't.

Our interviews went well. Anna said her job was as a back-up dancer for Brittany Spears and I told them I took pictures which the interviewer turned into me filming porn. To which I said to the guy writing it all down that it was Family porn. Oh yeah, we were showing them our bubbly personalities now. PB, Anna and I were sure to get picked. One of us anyway.

We were bubbly winners personified.

FINALLY we entered the studio. It was amazing to see the colors that I had seen so many times when I watched parts of the show. It was surreal. It was also much smaller than you would imagine.
The line didn't matter on how you were seated in the studio. For most people it didn't matter...

But guess who we were sandwiched between in one row? Guess.

It was awful. Because the Dullards were on the end. If I were to get picked, how would I get out. Mama Dullard was not about to move. And not only was she not about to move, but she tried to move her fat leg into my personal space. It was the opposite of footsies. It was all out foot war.

Drew Carey was funny as hell and really great as host. But there was an agreed feeling among us that he was phoning it in OR trying to get let out of his contract. The best stuff he said was during commercial breaks when he riffed with the audience.

By the end of the show when it was clear NONE our group was getting picked, I changed my tune and had wished that I had been at least given a chance. There were a few dummies up there so even if I had flopped, I would still have been able to redeem myself.

The girl that we had noticed earlier in the day, got picked and ended up winning everything. She had come there from Texas by herself. All her friends had blown her off. That will show them! We were happy for her.

The filming of the show was only about an hour and 40 minutes. The rest had been the long wait in line.

When we were finally free, were talked openly about the freaks we had been surrounded by as we headed to the Farmer's Market.

Our parting gift was some moisturizer and face scrub.
I wonder if the Dullards used theirs.
I wonder if kooky couple broke up when they returned to Orlando.

I am no stranger to being a contestant on game shows...even ones I don't know the rules for.
It's true.
And even though it was a LONG day, filled with bizarro energy, I would ALMOST want to go back on the show JUST to try it again.

Maybe next time, I will leave with more than moisturizer and my custom-made t-shirt.

But if I never go back, they are pretty nice mementos.

It's no turtle wax but you know, nothing really is.

At Tripod's birthday party, right before we heard the news of Bin Laden's death, Sagi, Zappy and Mads, Peter Brady and I were discussing how wonderful it is to live in LA.
Of course, that is pretty easy to do since we were drinking on a balcony in Santa Monica with a view of the Pacific and the smell of rosemary chicken on the grill at sunset. Upon hearing the news, we all gathered around the TV and were stunned into gasps an "oh my god"s. I didn't think it was possible, in this time of "over it" and jadedness to be stunned anymore with a feeling of community.


But there it was.

But this post isn't about Bin Laden. It's about how I love LA.

I am from here.

And then I moved to Portland Oregon for many years.

Whenever I would come back to LA to visit Leigh, I would feel that energy that I loved of enjoying the hell out of this city, whether it was taking a yoga class in Venice or eating mesquite grilled Mexican food under heat lamps, I needed to get back here.

I love Portland! It's a freaking awesome city.
But LA is my home.

I have a co-worker who really dislikes it here. She has lived in NY and has idealism about living in Europe.

I have lived in Europe. And I too, have those idealistic tendencies.
Europe rocks. But her point is that LA has no culture. No depth. Nothing of interest.
To which I said "thphphpppppppp" [raspberry sound].

LA has a bounty of all those things. I have told her this too. To no avail.

I hope that she at least goes to some cool happy hours or art events or has the chance to speak to an aging starlet or an iconic movie-maker before she leaves here and maligns this city. Though...I do know that everyone has their own interpretation of this place and I shan't take that away from anyone.
Even if it's completely wrong - ha ha : )

PB and I went to the Brewery Art Walk to peruse the different lofts while checking out art.







It was fun...and hot. The Brewery is the largest work/live art space collective in the world. Many of the residents go to Burning Man every year. Some don't and are artists just for the sake of being so without the parties. Some folks who live there are more business minded. Those lofts had the raging A/C which was very needed on that day.
There was one space which had a fishbowl on the ceiling and a hot tub in the corner. It was hypercool and was the kind of place you would love to party.

After several hours of taking all the culture in, we started to head out. Walking back to our car, we resembled folks at the end of a camping trip...happy, but tired and ready for a shower.

-----------------

The news that Prince was coming to town for a 21 night residency was good news. But as much as I would like to see one of the best performers still doing concerts, my budget doesn't allow for Ticketmaster/Live Nation/Big concert venue prices. Ah...but Prince had our backs. 85% of all the tickets are $25.00!
Now there was nothing stopping me!

The mood in the Forum was one of joy and partying. Smells of weed, beer and perfume co-mingled with people donning their purple and red. Aside from the bathroom lines which wrapped around the lobby, it was a seamless show of getting in, parking (though that was $25 too - but someone's gotta make a buck I guess), our seats, and enjoying. I also brought my camera in and got some great shots of the star with Sheila E and Chaka Khan.





It was a fabulous night! PB and I headed over to Swingers after the show to recap what we had just seen and the fill our bellies since we had been dancing all evening.

-----------------------

A friend of mine, Jon, whom I have met at several parties, is the mastermind of turning regular prints into 3-D versions. The Brain Factory, his company, has worked with Tim Burton for his MoMa opening.
Jon has been working with Taschen to make their "Big Book of Breasts" into 3-D.



The book release party was held in Beverly Hills at the Taschen bookstore and there were celebrities, free-flowing alcohol served by women clad in fishnets, garters and bustiers and there was lots of cleavage. Which brought out lots of men. One wall on the upstairs patio was filled with night blooming jasmine and between everyone holding the book up to their own bodies for a laugh, we took in the sweet smell around us.



Deep Roy, whom I met at the same parties I met Jon, was there and chatting it up with us when a group of giddy female fans approached him to have their pic taken with him. Naturally he obliged. They swooned and we marveled at how that man is the mack daddy and he is also super sweet and super fun.



Los Angeles, like any place, has its faults, its flaws, its douchebaggery, its small-mindeness, and if you really hate the place, you could talk about its superficiality and vapidness. And yes, we tend to bulldoze iconic landmarks and there is a sense of agenda-driven narcissism. And yes, we do have flimsy, spiritual gobblyguck (of which I am actually a fan) that is good for NYers to poke fun at.

But we also got some pretty cool shit to do. LA does have culture. Its own brand. We have music and art and history AND we make movies about that music, art and history that the world watches so...there's that.
Plus, it's hard to complain when you are surrounded by amazing weather.

That's what I would tell my co-worker before she leaves this place.

Because no matter what anyone says, Randy Newman's annoying voice aside, I do love LA.
I LOVE IT!
I LOVE IT!
I LOVE IT!
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

As my girlfriends and I were wont to do, we used to talk about who we would end up with.
This usually happened on the heels of a break-up or a failed mini-relationship, since many of the dudes we dated were duds.
So we would fantasize about what we needed, wanted and hoped for.

The main thing that always came up for me was that he needed to be as cool as my cool friends.
My friends are the kind of people who are up for mini-adventures.
We get in the car and explore. And have fun doing so.

The guy I ended up with would have to be the same.
Tall order since most PEOPLE you come into contact with aren't THAT spontaneous or adventurous (no matter what they would put in a dating or facebook profile).

I was happy enough meeting Peter Brady because he was nice, talented, thoughtful and chill. Not to mention, handsome.
But what I didn't count on and what has become one of my favorite things about him is that that not only does he get along with my entourage, he also loves loves loves the adventures like they do. Like I do.

I haven't blogged in awhile and for that I apologize.
I will share just a portion through captions and photos of what we have been finding in our own back yard. In fact, this weekend, Mads and Mr. Mads are joining us.

The more I find, the more I find (aw yeah, that is a sentence you will want to pen). The more I meet people who are living in kind, they tell me about stuff, and so on and so on and so on.

I had always wanted to go to Santa Anita for brunch but just never really found the time.
What I did find on some weird google search was Clocker's Corner. A little cafe in the stands at Santa Anita which closes at 10am. You get there early, eat without breaking your pocketbook and sit in vintage stands while eating. Breakfast is good and unbelievably inexpensive (oatmeal for $2 and omelets and scrambles for no more than $5 or $6), and all you can eat for $9.95, I think, all while watching the jockeys workout the horses and seeing the locals and regulars gather in conversation. Drinking my coffee while hearing hoofsteps as the fog hung over the Arcadia lushness, well, I was pretty set. Plus, admission and parking are free...and everyone welcomes you like you are who they were waiting for.





Until breakfast closed down and we were swiftly ushered out. Just as suddenly as we had been the celebrated, we became the non-gambling, post-breakfast riff-raff to whom many of the doors and halls (which only an hour or two had been opened for us), were now closed.
It didn't matter. Our bellies were full and we weren't finished with that part of town.

We headed to the Langham (formerly the Ritz)



Which was a nice place to visit AND would be a nice place to live.

After a few more various Pasadena park stops and a visit to my relatives in South Pasadena, we were pooped.

April 1st, which is known for fools, found us at the Short Stop for a pub night created by Lara and Katie. It was hot. The Dodgers had just beat the Giants (sorry Sharon) and there was a cop checkpoint right in front of the Echo Park (Greg Dulli owned) bar so the crowds were bonkers. Fools? yeah, we were surrounded but we didn't mind and may have even been labeled as such too.
It was a great night of catching up with friends and drinking a lot of vodka sodas. I love that Peter Brady was down for the party as well - he can hold his own in conversation and looks pretty cute doing it.

The thing about this group of people is that they are all so cool: music people, writer people, tv exec people, interesting people who love love love to have fun.





As Peter Brady and I were leaving the bar, we got a call from Anna at 1:45 - "Homie, where you at?"
That led into a frolicking time at Fred 62 with Anna, her date, PB and me trying to figure out how it got to be 3:30am "so suddenly".

Another weekend, PB and I headed out to the beach to C&O and then the Venice pier where we both played shutterbug and took amazing night ocean shots.
That was the night of the crazy "lunar something" (full moon really close to the earth) but the clouds blocked out any stupendous view of the moon so we focused on the waves. We then headed to K-town to do private-room karaoke where we wrecked our voices for 2 hours of straight singing. After exploring some courtyard K-town after-hour-ness, we headed home with sore throats and the smell of beach in our hair...and smiling.

Last week, my friend Evren's band EVIL MARIA, played the Hotel Cafe. It was sweet to see them perform live again.


It was a vinyl release party as well and Evren personalized ours for us.



Peter Brady, Mads, Jazzy and I took it all in like the fans and rock-star-behaviored people we are.





After the show, we all headed to Kitchen 24 and took over a small booth as if we all fit.
Awesome pancakes, awesome company, awesome night!

Friday came and I knew that Peter Brady would love to see the Brook Lee Catastrophe (Jazzy turned us on to them, thankfully).
So PB and I took the subway into Hollywood to see this terrific band (still don't know why they aren't more known yet). The crowd was small but that didn't stop the BLC from playing full throttle (minus one band member whose wife was having a baby) following their stint at Indie1031.com that afternoon.



Great show and hanging out with the band afterward on Hollywood Blvd was a blast.
Not only are these guys talented but they are so freaking nice.
I volunteered Mads and me to do their next music video. They agreed. I will hold them to that (just in case they were just trying to be polite)- heh heh. Either way, if you get a chance to see them, you should. You can thank me later.

After we split from them, Peter Brady, Jazzy and I headed to the 101 for a late night breakfast. We took goofy pics of each other, wondered if they crazy-haired older guy at the next table was famous and downed our food. Happiness is a late night breakfast at the 101. Or Swingers. Or Kitchen 24. Or Fred 62..uh oh...I smell a theme in my life. Maybe that is why the weight is not coming off like I want.

Sunday, Peter Brady and I headed to Nick's Cafe in Elysian Park (there's that theme again). They ONLY take cash there but their food is the bomb and I almost hate to tell you all about it lest it gets more crowded since it's a place you want to keep as a secret gem all on your own. But I am a giver.

Our waitress, Julie, had every table cracking up with her smart ass ways.
When the guy at the next table asked for an extra menu, she said, "Sharing is caring, what is wrong with you?" to the laughter and delight of said guy, his table and all the surrounding patrons.



It was off to the Police Academy (anyone remember the opening credits of "Charlie's Angels" where he "found 3 little girls and took them away from all that"?) in Elysian Park. There was a fabled rock garden I just had to see.
The guard at the gate acted as our docent and gave us a personalized tour complete with history and facts about this half privately owned, half LAPD owned property. The building was built in the 30's and has a film noir feel to it. Especially the diner which was closed but is open to the public during the week.
And then we got to the rock garden. cue angel choir "AHHHHH" music.
It was perty.
The guy who designed it also designed the Jungle Cruise at Disneyland and the waterfall at Clifton's downtown.
Peter Brady is from Hawaii. I have never been. But I imagined this is how it would be.





But then, over the hill, after the steps, I remembered that we were in still in LA.
And that, by the way, was not a bad realization. Hollywood sign, downtown skyline, Dodger stadium, the THINK BLUE sign...all within our eyesight.






I used to call these adventures being a tourist in my own back yard, but now I think I have to maybe make a book about these growing experiences, because I tell you, there is a lot to do in this city. And I don't see it stopping any time soon.
I have always ALWAYS been blessed and lucky to have some of the best people to explore these places with.
Now that luck is continuing.

After all those nights I proclaimed that I would have a cool ass boyfriend who was as cool as my cool ass girlfriends, I hit the jackpot. He is also my activity buddy in all things LA.

He loves exploring and spontaneity as much as I do and as god is my witness...(cue dramatic Busby Berkley style movie music) these adventures will continue in classic Kirsten self-deprecating style (and not be so longly written - I swear).

And even though I won't be at the Forum tonight watching Prince like all my friends (soooo jealous), you can bet I will be trying to find something to entertain you all with.

Until the next time, stay pretty, LA.
And we will try and do the same.

As soon as the calendar flips the page to February, you can usually hear me screaming, "It's my birthday month, BITCHES!" or something of that nature.

But for some reason, I haven't been shouting that. Not sure why.

Maybe it's because there have been a lot of little nasty details to work out (one such piece of mail even causing me to sigh (read: yell) out loud to my cat "I hate being an adult").

No sympathy from her as she swished her tail and blinked her blue cross-eyes at me to the tune of FEED ME.

Don't get me wrong, for the most part, things have been hopping, fabulous and social.

First, Reb and I came up with a dinner group called "The $10.00 Dinner Gourmet" which is where we the eaters, pay her, the chef, $10.00 for a multi-course meal that supersedes what you could find in many restaurants around town.
Of course, Reb took it to a whole new level of awesomeness, which only made more work for her.
See, when I say "we" came up with the idea, I mean I told her it would be a good idea and she went with it.
But we get to enjoy the fruit of her labors and it has been amazing.




For Valentine's Day, I took Peter Brady to Lucha Vavoom! Mexican wrestling, burlesque and comedy among other drinking fans at the Mayan downtown can't be beat for a fabulous time. Unless we were ringside which we weren't but there's always next time...and there will be a next time.

His Valentine's gift to me was a beautiful floral arrangement he asked Jazzy to create.
The two of them planned an elaborate vase full of happiness for me.
Red roses, pink roses, tea leaves, blond peacock feathers, and a vase wrapped in sheet music from one of my favorite romantic songs.

Swoon!

Mads also had an amazing brunch slash lunch slash early dinner party at her house to honor her dad's and SC's birthdays. It was one of those afternoons you see pics of in a catalog and hope your life is like that a little.
Good people, good food, LOTS of wine and weather that can't be beat.

There was a delicious fondue party which ended my no-carb run.
I don't regret it though.
Cheese, chocolate, pomegranate tequila and lots of fun people...If all those are wrong...I don't want to be right.
But I probably shouldn't have scarfed down so many cookies and eaten a loaf of bread. But shoulda woulda coulda. I promised myself I wouldn't "SHOULD" on myself.
(Spoken like the mantra of a backsliding carb addict).

In between all the festivities, I have been making sure that I am up to date on doctor's appts, dentist appts and all other kind of appts that make you feel responsible and shit.

But that is the way it is when you realize your birthday month signifies you are getting older.
Which I guess in a way it does but this gal will never succumb to such pedestrian thinking.

I am in love. I am surrounded by friends and family.
The $$ is coming (I am still on hold with the universe about that one but I am positive it's coming).
And I figured out a new way to wear my curly hair so that it looks pretty and not frizzy.

Oh and my orthodic inserts in my shoes have totally cured the tendonitis.
What?
That's not old-people talk. It's not.

Now if I were talking about how I STILL had tendonitis and wanted to talk about the weather and I offered you a werther's original from my linty pockets, well then that would be a different story.

This month signifies my youth. Not my age. Maybe it took writing it all out to you guys to make me remember that. I knew I loved you guys.

And for my birthday, I am cramming as many people that will fit into a dive bar in Burbank for some karaoke. Can anyone say BLACK VELVET????

9 more days people! 9 Days!!!!!!!

It's my BIRTHDAY WEEK, BITCHES!!!!!