Dear Louis-
May I call you Louis? I'm not sure how we're all supposed to be pronouncing your name. Is it Loo-is or Loo-ey? I prefer Loo-ey, so that is what I shall be calling you in my mind as I type you this note.
First of all, you're adorable. You are the perfect little chubby baby, and the fact that you are originally from New Orleans is going to get you lots of chicks when you get older. Also, your mom seems really nice, so you've got that going for you. You were born into this world with a loving family and, unfortunately, are now at the center of a nasty Hollywood divorce.
Your mother and father (?) obviously wanted you very much, as they've been trying to find you since four years before you were born. But during their search, Daddy got a little side tracked. You see, your Daddy is what some people would refer to as a "Bad Boy." This does not mean the same thing as when your mother says that to you after you knock over a vase with a whiffle ball. Daddy's nickname came from the fact that he has lots of tattoos and rides motorcycles. Your Daddy also had a few other "Mommies" before your Mommy. Your brother and sisters came from those other Mommies. Now, those other Mommies looked pretty similar. Both had blond hair, tattoos, and had "grown up" jobs where they made money for doing "grown up" things. Daddy seemed to like those physical traits (and careers) in the Mommies he dated. Until he met YOUR Mommy. Your Mommy is naturally beautiful, genuine, humble, and generous. She doesn't get into trouble with the police and is very good at her job (which is also a "grown up" job, but with actual acting involved. And more clothes.). When she met your Daddy, she thought he was a big scary man with all of his tattoos and bikes, but then they fell in love and got married.
Soon after they got married, they decided they wanted you. Being around your brother and sisters made Mommy want a baby of her own, so she began her long search. Along the way, Mommy kept making (real) movies and giving to charities, while Daddy worked at his famous bike shop and opened up a popular hamburger place. (Be very grateful that you've been born into such entrepreneurs, little one.)
At some point, Daddy realized that he missed Mommy because she was always away filming. So Daddy decided to find a Friend (Buddy). Let's save time and say FB. Daddy put out a search on his computer for an FB and a girl answered. Daddy was so lonely that he decided this girl would be his FB. Daddy realized that his FB had a "grown up" job just like the previous Mommies. He also saw that his FB had lots of tattoos - even some on her face. He didn't mind that she posed for "grown up" web sites, either. Daddy was just lonely and wanted some company. Daddy decided not to tell Mommy about his FB because he was afraid that Mommy would be mad.
When Mommy came home from her long movie shoots, Daddy would pretend not to have an FB. He would go to work and send grown up text messages to his FB, then go home and have dinner with Mommy. He still played the part of loving husband and father. Daddy and his FB were friends for a long time, and Mommy never knew.
Soon enough, you arrived, and everyone was happy. Before she found you, Mommy did a really good job in a movie and got nominated for lots of awards. Daddy went with her to all of the awards shows, and Mommy thanked him in her speeches. She even told the reporters how much she loved him and appreciated him. A few days after the awards shows, Daddy's FB called up a magazine and told them about her friendship with Daddy. When Mommy found out, she took you and moved out of Daddy's house. Mommy felt betrayed.
I know you don't understand all of this right now, dear child, but hopefully someday you will. Some people don't appreciate what they have when they are married; they're always looking for something better. Maybe they feel lonely, maybe they need attention, or maybe they're just bored. None of those things are a good excuse to hurt the person you are supposed to love more than anyone else in the world. You see, Daddy didn't see what he had in Mommy until it was too late. He decided to take the coward's way out and look outside the marriage instead of communicating his loneliness to Mommy. Daddy chose to lie, cheat, and ruin his family. Unfortunately, Daddy got caught. Unfortunately for him; because you, little one, will have a wonderful life with your Mommy.
And your Daddy? He has been in a hospital dealing with what he calls an addiction. Not a normal addiction, sweet boy. Not drugs or alcohol. Daddy is addicted to grown up things. He is addicted to Friend (Buddies). Daddy has lost his wife, his newborn baby, and the nation's respect. But Daddy has also done the one thing that may have saved him had he done it in the first place: He has screwed himself.
Love,
The World
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Popping My LA Cherry
When BIL and I first arrived in California, I was so tired/buzzed/out of it, I barely remember the airport. I do recall, however, getting off the plane in the land of hard bodies...and high tailing it directly to the nearest airport McDonald's. Classic. I was hoping to see some celebrities at LAX, but no such luck. I always see at least a few pictures in my FagMags (tm) of celebs at LAX each week, but no such luck that day. BIL and I had to wait a while for our hotel shuttle, but once we found it, it took us literally 45 seconds to get to our hotel.
We ended up spending the next two day holed up in our room. The only times we left were to smoke or travel down to the gift shop to get a sandwich. We started to get a bit concerned about how we were going to get to our apartment appointments on Monday. Thankfully, our mom came through and got us a great deal on a rental car. We picked it up on Sunday afternoon - an adorable little Suzuki. I fell in love.
Since the rental agreement was in my name, my mother requested that I be the only one to drive it. That was fine by me - I wanted to experience some of the crazy LA traffic I had heard so much about. Honestly? It wasn't that bad. The regular roads were completely fine - I had no assholes refusing to let me switch lanes or people cutting me off. The 405, which is the major expressway in the area, was crazy, but nothing I couldn't handle. The whole trip, we only got caught in slow traffic once, and that was supposedly during rush hour. It wasn't bad at all, and really quelled my fears about getting around LA. Everything is 30 minutes or less away - the airport, downtown Hollywood, North Hollywood, Santa Monica Pier...
On Sunday night, we decided to check out the nightlife. We had a bit of trouble finding a place for my brother (BRO) to go, as he's only 19. Finally, we decided on a gay bar in West Hollywood - the one good thing about gay bars (besides their generous shots and fabulous music) is that they appreciate young gay boys and usually let them in. Without wrist bands, of course.
So we found this bar called Rage and decided to try it out. It was about a 25 minute drive from our hotel, in a really cute area near Wilshire Blvd (Reg. Bev. Wil.) and Rodeo Drive (baby). There was a whole row of cute gay bars along the street and the patios were great for people watching. Upon entering Rage, I could immediately see we would have fun. There were mostly naked boys dancing on the bars, and the Russian Hercules behind the bar knew how to work the girl customers so well, he had me questioning his sexuality by the time I ordered my first drink. BRO and BIL danced the night away, while I stood quietly in the shadows, getting danced on by small, drugged up, shirtless gay boys. The music was loud, the drinks were strong, and everyone was so friendly. It was the most fun I've ever had at a gay bar.
On Monday, we went to see apartments. I already spoke about that in the last blog, so I won't rehash the details again. At this point, we're still leaning towards the first building - we just can't decide what we want to sacrifice - living space or (some) privacy. We did have some AWESOME authentic Mexican at a place called Los Burritos. And the cute ladies that worked there were so nice - they even let us smoke illegaly on their patio. Twice.
BRO fell asleep early that night, so BIL and I decided to venture down to the hotel bar to have a few bevs. We met some nice people from London who were stuck there due to the freak volcanic ash cloud hovering over their area. But they were having a great time - they told us how they had rented a car and driven to Vegas the previous night, and when they ordered their drinks, they used free coupons. I wouldn't mind that situation at all.
Tuesday was supposed to be "let's make no plans and just explore LA" day, but of course it was overcast and rainy. I really wanted to see the Santa Monica Pier, and BRO and BIL were good sports and said we could go despite the weather conditions. When we arrived, it was still raining pretty hard. We took a few wet pictures, then wandered into a restaurant on the pier called Rusty's. We figured we'd wait out the rain for a bit, eat some lunch, and try again. Well, the food was DIS-gusting (for example, I ordered a side of mac and cheese...and it was Easy Mac. Honest to God, microwaveable Easy Mac. And they charged me $6.95 for it. And don't even get me started on the Cooter Soup.), but our plan worked. By the time we finished gagging our way through the meal, the rain had let up and the sun was peeking through. We went out and walked around a bit. We found a playground, and decided we wanted to swing. Of course, as soon as we got some height, it started raining again. We tried to be strong for a few minutes, but we were quickly beginning to look like drowned rats. So we gave up and went back to the hotel to relax for a bit before dinner.
After searching and making a few phone calls, we realized that a straight bar wasn't in the cards for BRO with his age. We decided to head back to the area Rage was in and grab some dinner, then go back to Rage if nowhere else would let BRO in. We found a really nice restaurant called Eleven down the street from Rage. (Rage should seriously pay me for all these free plugs.) The food was great and the atmosphere was really fun...the only thing is, we got our first taste of LA waiter/actors. They SUCK as waiters. I can only hope their acting skills are better, or it won't be long before Chet/Ashton/Tod/Grayson are on their way back to being John/Bill/Gary/Fred.
After dinner, we could tell that Eleven was turning into a club - they brought out the velvet ropes and the music turned from quiet background noise to ear splitting techno. Always a sure sign. We decided to check out what else was in the area, and ended up at Mickey's (another gay bar) a few doors down. It was really nice, with a huge wrap around bar inside, smaller bar outside, dance floor, faux fireplaces...and the obligatory shirtless bartenders and mostly naked dancer boys. We had a lot of fun at Mickey's, too, but unfortunately, the amount of food I had consumed at dinner sort of ruined the night for me. BRO and BIL were sweet about it, but I could tell they wanted to stay out when I decided I needed to go to bed a short time after arriving. For our last night, it was kind of a bust. But at least we tried a few different places. (Although I now have no sense of the heterosexual nightlife in LA...)
Wednesday morning, we got up early, took the rental car back, and boarded the plane for home. I missed LA almost immediately and truly cannot wait to get back there. Nothing against Buffalo, and of course I'll really miss my friends and family - I just can't wait for this new chapter in my life. I'm totally in love with LA. Now I just have to lose 20 pounds to feel comfortable...
xoxo
We ended up spending the next two day holed up in our room. The only times we left were to smoke or travel down to the gift shop to get a sandwich. We started to get a bit concerned about how we were going to get to our apartment appointments on Monday. Thankfully, our mom came through and got us a great deal on a rental car. We picked it up on Sunday afternoon - an adorable little Suzuki. I fell in love.
Since the rental agreement was in my name, my mother requested that I be the only one to drive it. That was fine by me - I wanted to experience some of the crazy LA traffic I had heard so much about. Honestly? It wasn't that bad. The regular roads were completely fine - I had no assholes refusing to let me switch lanes or people cutting me off. The 405, which is the major expressway in the area, was crazy, but nothing I couldn't handle. The whole trip, we only got caught in slow traffic once, and that was supposedly during rush hour. It wasn't bad at all, and really quelled my fears about getting around LA. Everything is 30 minutes or less away - the airport, downtown Hollywood, North Hollywood, Santa Monica Pier...
On Sunday night, we decided to check out the nightlife. We had a bit of trouble finding a place for my brother (BRO) to go, as he's only 19. Finally, we decided on a gay bar in West Hollywood - the one good thing about gay bars (besides their generous shots and fabulous music) is that they appreciate young gay boys and usually let them in. Without wrist bands, of course.
So we found this bar called Rage and decided to try it out. It was about a 25 minute drive from our hotel, in a really cute area near Wilshire Blvd (Reg. Bev. Wil.) and Rodeo Drive (baby). There was a whole row of cute gay bars along the street and the patios were great for people watching. Upon entering Rage, I could immediately see we would have fun. There were mostly naked boys dancing on the bars, and the Russian Hercules behind the bar knew how to work the girl customers so well, he had me questioning his sexuality by the time I ordered my first drink. BRO and BIL danced the night away, while I stood quietly in the shadows, getting danced on by small, drugged up, shirtless gay boys. The music was loud, the drinks were strong, and everyone was so friendly. It was the most fun I've ever had at a gay bar.
On Monday, we went to see apartments. I already spoke about that in the last blog, so I won't rehash the details again. At this point, we're still leaning towards the first building - we just can't decide what we want to sacrifice - living space or (some) privacy. We did have some AWESOME authentic Mexican at a place called Los Burritos. And the cute ladies that worked there were so nice - they even let us smoke illegaly on their patio. Twice.
BRO fell asleep early that night, so BIL and I decided to venture down to the hotel bar to have a few bevs. We met some nice people from London who were stuck there due to the freak volcanic ash cloud hovering over their area. But they were having a great time - they told us how they had rented a car and driven to Vegas the previous night, and when they ordered their drinks, they used free coupons. I wouldn't mind that situation at all.
Tuesday was supposed to be "let's make no plans and just explore LA" day, but of course it was overcast and rainy. I really wanted to see the Santa Monica Pier, and BRO and BIL were good sports and said we could go despite the weather conditions. When we arrived, it was still raining pretty hard. We took a few wet pictures, then wandered into a restaurant on the pier called Rusty's. We figured we'd wait out the rain for a bit, eat some lunch, and try again. Well, the food was DIS-gusting (for example, I ordered a side of mac and cheese...and it was Easy Mac. Honest to God, microwaveable Easy Mac. And they charged me $6.95 for it. And don't even get me started on the Cooter Soup.), but our plan worked. By the time we finished gagging our way through the meal, the rain had let up and the sun was peeking through. We went out and walked around a bit. We found a playground, and decided we wanted to swing. Of course, as soon as we got some height, it started raining again. We tried to be strong for a few minutes, but we were quickly beginning to look like drowned rats. So we gave up and went back to the hotel to relax for a bit before dinner.
After searching and making a few phone calls, we realized that a straight bar wasn't in the cards for BRO with his age. We decided to head back to the area Rage was in and grab some dinner, then go back to Rage if nowhere else would let BRO in. We found a really nice restaurant called Eleven down the street from Rage. (Rage should seriously pay me for all these free plugs.) The food was great and the atmosphere was really fun...the only thing is, we got our first taste of LA waiter/actors. They SUCK as waiters. I can only hope their acting skills are better, or it won't be long before Chet/Ashton/Tod/Grayson are on their way back to being John/Bill/Gary/Fred.
After dinner, we could tell that Eleven was turning into a club - they brought out the velvet ropes and the music turned from quiet background noise to ear splitting techno. Always a sure sign. We decided to check out what else was in the area, and ended up at Mickey's (another gay bar) a few doors down. It was really nice, with a huge wrap around bar inside, smaller bar outside, dance floor, faux fireplaces...and the obligatory shirtless bartenders and mostly naked dancer boys. We had a lot of fun at Mickey's, too, but unfortunately, the amount of food I had consumed at dinner sort of ruined the night for me. BRO and BIL were sweet about it, but I could tell they wanted to stay out when I decided I needed to go to bed a short time after arriving. For our last night, it was kind of a bust. But at least we tried a few different places. (Although I now have no sense of the heterosexual nightlife in LA...)
Wednesday morning, we got up early, took the rental car back, and boarded the plane for home. I missed LA almost immediately and truly cannot wait to get back there. Nothing against Buffalo, and of course I'll really miss my friends and family - I just can't wait for this new chapter in my life. I'm totally in love with LA. Now I just have to lose 20 pounds to feel comfortable...
xoxo
Thursday, April 22, 2010
I Love LA
I finally went to check out my new neighborhood this past week. Of course, I had to travel for 6 hours to do this, but it was so worth it. I truly cannot wait to move to LA.
The first day and a half, Max, BIL, and I didn't leave the hotel. We had no way of getting around and really didn't want to take a bus or cab. My mother ended up letting us put a rental car on her credit card, which was really nice of her as it made our trip so much better. And driving in LA is really not as difficult as one would think. I'm assuming we got a bit lucky because we never ran into any crazy stopped traffic. The 405 expressway (have to get used to not calling it a "thruway") was pretty intimidating, but not so bad once I got used to it. The road itself is the worst part - you can tell there hasn't been road work done in years. Bumpy and uneven, the road pulls your car back and forth and makes it difficult to slow down at times. But as long as you're paying attention, it's not so bad.
We went to look at apartments all day Monday. We saw five different apartments, all with varying pros and cons. The first two we saw were in the same complex. The only difference was the size and location of the bedrooms. The whole complex was absolutely gorgeous. Everything was brand new. Granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances, new carpeting...just really nice.
Apt 1.) This one had a decent sized living area, nice sized galley kitchen, and a hallway leading down to the bedrooms. The bedrooms were next to each other, which was something we didn't necessarily want. (Privacy and all that.) The "master" bedroom had a nice walk-in closet and a private, en suite bathroom. I would have my own bathroom, too, but it wasn't attached to my bedroom, which meant all guests would use my bedroom. That's not really a big deal to me at all, but it's something to think about. So this layout, while offering more living space, gave us slightly smaller bedrooms that were close together. Washer/dryer and dishwasher in each unit. Also, the building had an awesome gym and an Italian restaurant on the first floor. (Made for me, or what?)
Apt 1-2.) As I said, this was in the same complex, but offered a different layout. This one had a similar sized kitchen, but a smaller living area. The bedrooms were on either side of the apartment, giving us the privacy we desire. We would each have our own bathrooms off of our bedrooms, which is great for us individually, but when guests come over it would mean a trek through our bedrooms to use the toilet. I'm not sure how dedicated I can be to the task of constantly keeping my bedroom clean. The only thing with both apartments is that the bedrooms are pretty small. I expected as much, but when I finally saw them, I coudldn't really imagine anything more than my bed fitting. It's not that I have a lot of furniture, but I had imagined that at least my dresser and papasan chair would fit. But for how gorgeous these apartments were, I'd be willing to hang all of clothes. Even my underwear.
And can I just show you some exteriors of this complex to give you an idea of how in love we are?? Here's the rooftop deck:
And the exterior of the building:
Apt 2.) So the second location we went to was a bit different. Or a lot different. The guy who was supposed to show it to us was over a half hour late, and the girl who was moving out of the unit we were seeing apparently didn't mind that strangers would be judging her slovenly ways. You'll see what I mean in the pictures. This apartment also had two bedrooms, but one was actually up a flight of stairs, so it was almost like a small townhouse. The bedrooms were tiny, though, and the place was just yucky and obviously not well maintained. The guy kept bragging about a private "roof deck" above every apartment, but it was really just a small spot surrounded by tall adobe walls. Not worth the money, so we decided to take it off our list for good...but here are some pictures so you can agree with us:
;r>
Apt 3.) The third apartment was about a 10 minute drive away from the first two complexes in a neighborhood called Franklin Village. The area was gorgeous, but unecessarily far from where we wanted to be. We pretty much went to see it because we felt like it. We had no idea we'd like it so much. The funniest part is, the place is being completely gutted. Frankly, it looks like shit. The bedrooms are right next to eachother. There are really no amenities or any views to speak of. But we loved it. It reminds me of Melrose Place...only lime green. We're probably not going to take this place, just because there are too many cons, but that doesn't mean we won't make it work somehow if we still love it a month from now.
r>
</a>r>
Also, look what was right down the street...
Apt 4.) The fourth place we saw was absolutely gorgeous. Large bedrooms, fireplace, brand new kitchen, beautiful grounds...but it was the most expensive place we saw. The laundry room was coin operated and in the parking garage. The gym was tiny. The building manager was bitter. And it was sort of removed from everything, back in a neighborhood in Burbank. But it was so nice, we're keeping it on our list for now.
r>
>
As you can see, a touch choice. I'm pretty sure we're leaning towards Apartment 1. Which layout, I'm not entirely sure yet. Most likely the one with seperate bedrooms. But we're not counting out Apartments 3 or 4 completely yet.
I apologize if this wasn't very exciting - I wanted to get the pictures of the apartments up quickly. I'll write more fun LA stories later. For now, I leave you with my fam...
xoxo
The first day and a half, Max, BIL, and I didn't leave the hotel. We had no way of getting around and really didn't want to take a bus or cab. My mother ended up letting us put a rental car on her credit card, which was really nice of her as it made our trip so much better. And driving in LA is really not as difficult as one would think. I'm assuming we got a bit lucky because we never ran into any crazy stopped traffic. The 405 expressway (have to get used to not calling it a "thruway") was pretty intimidating, but not so bad once I got used to it. The road itself is the worst part - you can tell there hasn't been road work done in years. Bumpy and uneven, the road pulls your car back and forth and makes it difficult to slow down at times. But as long as you're paying attention, it's not so bad.
We went to look at apartments all day Monday. We saw five different apartments, all with varying pros and cons. The first two we saw were in the same complex. The only difference was the size and location of the bedrooms. The whole complex was absolutely gorgeous. Everything was brand new. Granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances, new carpeting...just really nice.
Apt 1.) This one had a decent sized living area, nice sized galley kitchen, and a hallway leading down to the bedrooms. The bedrooms were next to each other, which was something we didn't necessarily want. (Privacy and all that.) The "master" bedroom had a nice walk-in closet and a private, en suite bathroom. I would have my own bathroom, too, but it wasn't attached to my bedroom, which meant all guests would use my bedroom. That's not really a big deal to me at all, but it's something to think about. So this layout, while offering more living space, gave us slightly smaller bedrooms that were close together. Washer/dryer and dishwasher in each unit. Also, the building had an awesome gym and an Italian restaurant on the first floor. (Made for me, or what?)
Apt 1-2.) As I said, this was in the same complex, but offered a different layout. This one had a similar sized kitchen, but a smaller living area. The bedrooms were on either side of the apartment, giving us the privacy we desire. We would each have our own bathrooms off of our bedrooms, which is great for us individually, but when guests come over it would mean a trek through our bedrooms to use the toilet. I'm not sure how dedicated I can be to the task of constantly keeping my bedroom clean. The only thing with both apartments is that the bedrooms are pretty small. I expected as much, but when I finally saw them, I coudldn't really imagine anything more than my bed fitting. It's not that I have a lot of furniture, but I had imagined that at least my dresser and papasan chair would fit. But for how gorgeous these apartments were, I'd be willing to hang all of clothes. Even my underwear.
And can I just show you some exteriors of this complex to give you an idea of how in love we are?? Here's the rooftop deck:
And the exterior of the building:
Apt 2.) So the second location we went to was a bit different. Or a lot different. The guy who was supposed to show it to us was over a half hour late, and the girl who was moving out of the unit we were seeing apparently didn't mind that strangers would be judging her slovenly ways. You'll see what I mean in the pictures. This apartment also had two bedrooms, but one was actually up a flight of stairs, so it was almost like a small townhouse. The bedrooms were tiny, though, and the place was just yucky and obviously not well maintained. The guy kept bragging about a private "roof deck" above every apartment, but it was really just a small spot surrounded by tall adobe walls. Not worth the money, so we decided to take it off our list for good...but here are some pictures so you can agree with us:
;
Apt 3.) The third apartment was about a 10 minute drive away from the first two complexes in a neighborhood called Franklin Village. The area was gorgeous, but unecessarily far from where we wanted to be. We pretty much went to see it because we felt like it. We had no idea we'd like it so much. The funniest part is, the place is being completely gutted. Frankly, it looks like shit. The bedrooms are right next to eachother. There are really no amenities or any views to speak of. But we loved it. It reminds me of Melrose Place...only lime green. We're probably not going to take this place, just because there are too many cons, but that doesn't mean we won't make it work somehow if we still love it a month from now.
r>
</a>
Also, look what was right down the street...
Apt 4.) The fourth place we saw was absolutely gorgeous. Large bedrooms, fireplace, brand new kitchen, beautiful grounds...but it was the most expensive place we saw. The laundry room was coin operated and in the parking garage. The gym was tiny. The building manager was bitter. And it was sort of removed from everything, back in a neighborhood in Burbank. But it was so nice, we're keeping it on our list for now.
>
As you can see, a touch choice. I'm pretty sure we're leaning towards Apartment 1. Which layout, I'm not entirely sure yet. Most likely the one with seperate bedrooms. But we're not counting out Apartments 3 or 4 completely yet.
I apologize if this wasn't very exciting - I wanted to get the pictures of the apartments up quickly. I'll write more fun LA stories later. For now, I leave you with my fam...
xoxo
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Mouth-Breathers
People are really starting to annoy me. Day after day, it seems like everyone around me has been given a list of my biggest pet peeves and they’re just checking each one off. Allow me to give you an example.
There’s this new woman who works in my office – she doesn’t work with our program, but I still share an office with her. First of all, she mumbles to herself. I can usually ignore this, as I often wear headphones at work. But it’s not just the usual mumbling. It’s weird mumbling. Her computer keeps freezing, and she’ll just sit there and say “Uh oh. Oh no. Ooohh. Um. Uuum. My computer. My compuuuter.” NO JOKE. And then her boss, Kate, will have to come out, annoyed as hell, and say, “What now, Judy?” (This woman’s name isn’t actually Judy, but she looks like a Judy, so I’m naming her Judy in this blog, ok?) And Judy will be sitting there pounding Control-Alt-Delete over and over again until Kate has to yell at her to stop. She’s done this 3 times now, all in the past two weeks. She’s probably 45, and apparently can’t retain much information if she has to be told not to do something more than once in a two week span.
Judy also laughs too loud, and for too long. Kate will say something that maybe requires a polite chuckle, but Judy will draw out her laugh for a good 30 seconds. I just sit here on the other side of the cubicle, cringing and covering my face. Even worse, sometimes she’ll laugh so long that I’ll think it’s over, only to hear the sharp intake of breath a minute later, letting everyone know that she had laughed for so long that she had literally run out of breath and had to suck in another one to keep the laugh track going. This happened earlier today, when she got a phone call that confused her. The following is what happened:
Judy: “Uhh. Umm. Hmm. That was weird.”
Kate (exasperated sigh): “What happened?”
Judy: “Oh, that guy. He said (so-and-so)’s voicemail wasn’t picking up. Weird. That’s SO weird. Hmm.” (Side note: It’s not that weird.)
Kate: “Ok, well he probably dialed the wrong number.”
Judy: “Oh. OH. Uuuhhhhhuhuhhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhhhhh……………” (That’s how she laughs.)
Full minute of silence, then:
(sucks in big breath) “uuuhuhuhuhuhuh.”
Really, Judy? Was it THAT funny?
Also, she brings in rather fragrant lunch choices every day and eats them at her desk. I can handle the oniony, meaty, moldy cheese, garlicky stench emanating from her side of the desk most days. What I cannot handle, however, is the way she eats. Lip smacking, tongue mashing, dramatic swallowing, cud chewing annoyance for a full hour. Sorry, I’m trying to concentrate over here. I really don’t want to hear your tongue pushing food around your teeth. After she’s done stirring macaroni and cheese in her mouth for all to hear, she’ll announce that she’s going to the bathroom and shuffle out of the room, dragging the heels of her moccasins all the way down the hallway. Listen- and this goes for everyone- life isn’t that rough. Pick up your feet when you walk, ya bums.
How do people not realize how awkward they’re being? I’m aware of when I’m being awkward. I make myself uncomfortable a lot, actually. I know when I’m talking or laughing too loud, often even acknowledging it to others around me. The worst thing for me is when I’m on a roll with some good jokes, making everyone laugh, and then ruin it by saying something dumb. And then no one says anything for a few seconds and I can just hear the last few words of what I said echoing over and over in my head, as I get more and more embarrassed. Sometimes I think I should be more like George Costanza in that one Seinfeld episode where he keeps leaving the room after a really good one-liner. I always forget that Seinfeld gave us some of the best life lessons for awkward situations. Like how to find out if your girlfriend’s boobs are fake or which girls’ names rhyme with parts of the female anatomy. (“Mulva?”)
My own stupidity aside, most of this boils down to manners and an awareness of those around you. When I’m in my office, I’m as quiet as a slug. (Not a mouse. I’ve never particularly cared for that saying, as I don’t think mice are all that quiet. They scurry, dig, and squeak. Now slugs, they’re quiet.) I actually feel bad when I type for long periods of time because I have an extremely old keyboard and it’s really loud. I listen to music quietly on my headphones; I’ve even taken them out and held them away from my ears to make sure Kate and Judy couldn’t hear the music at all. I’m not saying I’m more polite than the population. I’m just saying that I have manners and respect for other people. You won’t hear me randomly breaking into song in the middle of a workday for all to hear. (That was the girl Judy replaced.) I don’t slam drawers or file cabinets, and I sure as hell don’t hum or whistle. Seriously, has anyone ever whistled and had someone say, “That sounds awesome! Keep doing it!” That has never happened, ever. So knock it off.
Oh, and Judys of the world, one more thing, and this is a big one: If you need to blow your nose, please blow your nose. The constant sniffing and snorting is like Chinese water torture, and I know for a fact that you have a full box of tissues right on your desk. Mouth-breathing is not an attractive quality and let’s just say that with this, plus all of the other things I’ve mentioned, you’ve pretty much guaranteed yourself a spot on the “Don’t cc her for the office happy hour” list.
Let this be a lesson to all of you office workers out there. Stupidity, incessant awkwardness, chewing with your mouth open, and mouth-breathing don’t make you any friends. (And if you’re going to eat lunch at your desk, perhaps bring something that won’t stink the office up for 4 hours, like a salad.)
Take those yummy nuggets of wisdom and chew on them for a bit.
There’s this new woman who works in my office – she doesn’t work with our program, but I still share an office with her. First of all, she mumbles to herself. I can usually ignore this, as I often wear headphones at work. But it’s not just the usual mumbling. It’s weird mumbling. Her computer keeps freezing, and she’ll just sit there and say “Uh oh. Oh no. Ooohh. Um. Uuum. My computer. My compuuuter.” NO JOKE. And then her boss, Kate, will have to come out, annoyed as hell, and say, “What now, Judy?” (This woman’s name isn’t actually Judy, but she looks like a Judy, so I’m naming her Judy in this blog, ok?) And Judy will be sitting there pounding Control-Alt-Delete over and over again until Kate has to yell at her to stop. She’s done this 3 times now, all in the past two weeks. She’s probably 45, and apparently can’t retain much information if she has to be told not to do something more than once in a two week span.
Judy also laughs too loud, and for too long. Kate will say something that maybe requires a polite chuckle, but Judy will draw out her laugh for a good 30 seconds. I just sit here on the other side of the cubicle, cringing and covering my face. Even worse, sometimes she’ll laugh so long that I’ll think it’s over, only to hear the sharp intake of breath a minute later, letting everyone know that she had laughed for so long that she had literally run out of breath and had to suck in another one to keep the laugh track going. This happened earlier today, when she got a phone call that confused her. The following is what happened:
Judy: “Uhh. Umm. Hmm. That was weird.”
Kate (exasperated sigh): “What happened?”
Judy: “Oh, that guy. He said (so-and-so)’s voicemail wasn’t picking up. Weird. That’s SO weird. Hmm.” (Side note: It’s not that weird.)
Kate: “Ok, well he probably dialed the wrong number.”
Judy: “Oh. OH. Uuuhhhhhuhuhhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhhhhh……………” (That’s how she laughs.)
Full minute of silence, then:
(sucks in big breath) “uuuhuhuhuhuhuh.”
Really, Judy? Was it THAT funny?
Also, she brings in rather fragrant lunch choices every day and eats them at her desk. I can handle the oniony, meaty, moldy cheese, garlicky stench emanating from her side of the desk most days. What I cannot handle, however, is the way she eats. Lip smacking, tongue mashing, dramatic swallowing, cud chewing annoyance for a full hour. Sorry, I’m trying to concentrate over here. I really don’t want to hear your tongue pushing food around your teeth. After she’s done stirring macaroni and cheese in her mouth for all to hear, she’ll announce that she’s going to the bathroom and shuffle out of the room, dragging the heels of her moccasins all the way down the hallway. Listen- and this goes for everyone- life isn’t that rough. Pick up your feet when you walk, ya bums.
How do people not realize how awkward they’re being? I’m aware of when I’m being awkward. I make myself uncomfortable a lot, actually. I know when I’m talking or laughing too loud, often even acknowledging it to others around me. The worst thing for me is when I’m on a roll with some good jokes, making everyone laugh, and then ruin it by saying something dumb. And then no one says anything for a few seconds and I can just hear the last few words of what I said echoing over and over in my head, as I get more and more embarrassed. Sometimes I think I should be more like George Costanza in that one Seinfeld episode where he keeps leaving the room after a really good one-liner. I always forget that Seinfeld gave us some of the best life lessons for awkward situations. Like how to find out if your girlfriend’s boobs are fake or which girls’ names rhyme with parts of the female anatomy. (“Mulva?”)
My own stupidity aside, most of this boils down to manners and an awareness of those around you. When I’m in my office, I’m as quiet as a slug. (Not a mouse. I’ve never particularly cared for that saying, as I don’t think mice are all that quiet. They scurry, dig, and squeak. Now slugs, they’re quiet.) I actually feel bad when I type for long periods of time because I have an extremely old keyboard and it’s really loud. I listen to music quietly on my headphones; I’ve even taken them out and held them away from my ears to make sure Kate and Judy couldn’t hear the music at all. I’m not saying I’m more polite than the population. I’m just saying that I have manners and respect for other people. You won’t hear me randomly breaking into song in the middle of a workday for all to hear. (That was the girl Judy replaced.) I don’t slam drawers or file cabinets, and I sure as hell don’t hum or whistle. Seriously, has anyone ever whistled and had someone say, “That sounds awesome! Keep doing it!” That has never happened, ever. So knock it off.
Oh, and Judys of the world, one more thing, and this is a big one: If you need to blow your nose, please blow your nose. The constant sniffing and snorting is like Chinese water torture, and I know for a fact that you have a full box of tissues right on your desk. Mouth-breathing is not an attractive quality and let’s just say that with this, plus all of the other things I’ve mentioned, you’ve pretty much guaranteed yourself a spot on the “Don’t cc her for the office happy hour” list.
Let this be a lesson to all of you office workers out there. Stupidity, incessant awkwardness, chewing with your mouth open, and mouth-breathing don’t make you any friends. (And if you’re going to eat lunch at your desk, perhaps bring something that won’t stink the office up for 4 hours, like a salad.)
Take those yummy nuggets of wisdom and chew on them for a bit.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
A Room With No Windows
My life has been oddly devoid of windows lately. At work, there are no windows to speak of. It mostly feels like I'm in a basement or bomb shelter. Although my office is plenty spacious, it can still be claustrophobic at times. To combat these feelings, I make sure to go outside for plenty of cigarette breaks.
I'm living at my mother's house again. I've been here almost a week now and it's going well, save for the lack of privacy and freedom. But oddly enough, my bedroom only has one small window, which actually looks into the front room. I have no sunshine, no cool breeze. I live in a house that has a beach in the backyard, yet the room I sleep in has no real window. I'm not sure why I find this so funny, but I do.
Don't get me wrong, it's great for weekend mornings when I want to sleep until 1:00 without having annoying sunshine wash over my face at the crack of dawn. In the afternoons, it takes on the qualities of a cave. But it's cozy. And there's cable.
It was strange and bittersweet moving out of my apartment last week. Everything happened so fast, I'm not sure I've really processed what happened. The move went pretty smoothly - I arrived at my mother's later that day, weighed down with sadness bordering on despair, to find that my step-father had set up my entire room for me. That guy can be a big loud boar most times, but he really does have a good heart. I almost hugged him. Almost.
As much as I love my family, it's quite an adjustment spending all day, every day with them. I feel bad when they want me to watch tv with them every night, but I need my alone time. I've come to cherish my insomnia, as it's time just for me. Now please don't misunderstand - it's completely great getting to spend so much time with my mom and brother. And getting to know and understand my soon-to-be brother-in-law better has been lovely. (There were a lot of hyphens in that sentence.) But I'm an adult and I've lived alone for 2 1/2 years...so suddenly living with 3 guys, 3 dogs, and a cat is definitely a change. Thankfully, everyone's been really understanding of my needs, so there have been no problems. But it's only been a week, so I won't be too optimistic. I can be quite a pill to live with at times.
As for developments with the apartment situation, I'm still figuring that out. The brother-in-law has a lawyer friend who is trying to help me. My favorite part is that my Amish Landlord (AL) keeps upping the amount of money I supposedly owe him. It went from the $1200 I actually now owe, to $4200, to now over $5000. He was trying to say I have paid nothing since October. Right before I moved out, I got a new letter from his lawyer saying I haven't paid since January of 2009. The whole thing is laughable, really. Since I know I don't owe them that much money, are they implying that I paid, only to steal it back from them? I mean, what do they think I do? Sneak down to the office at night, cat burglar style? Cut the glass, climb in, locate a safe, and crack it open? (I'd use a stethoscope to hear the combination first, of course. I've always wanted to do that.) You're totally right, AL. I've been keeping my spoils in a Swiss bank account since January 2009. At this point, I'm a thousand-aire. Go trim your dangly sideburns and creepy, out-of-control beard.
I'm going to LA next week with my brother and brother-in-law (BIL). We spent last Saturday scoping out apartments online and found a few really nice looking ones, so BIL is making appointments for us to go see a few while we're out there. I'm so excited to finally see where I'll be living in three months. It had better be good or Life. Will. SUCK.
In other news:
-Jim Carrey and Jenny McCarthy broke up yesterday. I'm so upset about this, you'd think I knew them.
-Kate Gosselin on DTWS is the biggest joke to ever come out of that show. And they've had Donny Osmond.
-I get teary eyed every time I see a promo for Lost because I already miss it.
-Kim Kardashian and Reggie Bush broke up again. In other news, I'm sick of the Kardashians.
-Jesse James entered sex rehab last week. I think I may pretend to have a sex addiction just to see what goes on in those rehab centers. "Ok, today, we're going to work on not thinking about boobs." Are there 12 steps to this program? Do they hold hands and pray together, or would that be like waving a beer under someone's nose at an AA meeting? Do they have sponsors they can call when they feel like relapsing? "Sponsor? Hey, it's Jesse. Listen, I have a boner right now, and I reaaaaally want to put it somewhere. Help." I must research this...
<3 <3
I'm living at my mother's house again. I've been here almost a week now and it's going well, save for the lack of privacy and freedom. But oddly enough, my bedroom only has one small window, which actually looks into the front room. I have no sunshine, no cool breeze. I live in a house that has a beach in the backyard, yet the room I sleep in has no real window. I'm not sure why I find this so funny, but I do.
Don't get me wrong, it's great for weekend mornings when I want to sleep until 1:00 without having annoying sunshine wash over my face at the crack of dawn. In the afternoons, it takes on the qualities of a cave. But it's cozy. And there's cable.
It was strange and bittersweet moving out of my apartment last week. Everything happened so fast, I'm not sure I've really processed what happened. The move went pretty smoothly - I arrived at my mother's later that day, weighed down with sadness bordering on despair, to find that my step-father had set up my entire room for me. That guy can be a big loud boar most times, but he really does have a good heart. I almost hugged him. Almost.
As much as I love my family, it's quite an adjustment spending all day, every day with them. I feel bad when they want me to watch tv with them every night, but I need my alone time. I've come to cherish my insomnia, as it's time just for me. Now please don't misunderstand - it's completely great getting to spend so much time with my mom and brother. And getting to know and understand my soon-to-be brother-in-law better has been lovely. (There were a lot of hyphens in that sentence.) But I'm an adult and I've lived alone for 2 1/2 years...so suddenly living with 3 guys, 3 dogs, and a cat is definitely a change. Thankfully, everyone's been really understanding of my needs, so there have been no problems. But it's only been a week, so I won't be too optimistic. I can be quite a pill to live with at times.
As for developments with the apartment situation, I'm still figuring that out. The brother-in-law has a lawyer friend who is trying to help me. My favorite part is that my Amish Landlord (AL) keeps upping the amount of money I supposedly owe him. It went from the $1200 I actually now owe, to $4200, to now over $5000. He was trying to say I have paid nothing since October. Right before I moved out, I got a new letter from his lawyer saying I haven't paid since January of 2009. The whole thing is laughable, really. Since I know I don't owe them that much money, are they implying that I paid, only to steal it back from them? I mean, what do they think I do? Sneak down to the office at night, cat burglar style? Cut the glass, climb in, locate a safe, and crack it open? (I'd use a stethoscope to hear the combination first, of course. I've always wanted to do that.) You're totally right, AL. I've been keeping my spoils in a Swiss bank account since January 2009. At this point, I'm a thousand-aire. Go trim your dangly sideburns and creepy, out-of-control beard.
I'm going to LA next week with my brother and brother-in-law (BIL). We spent last Saturday scoping out apartments online and found a few really nice looking ones, so BIL is making appointments for us to go see a few while we're out there. I'm so excited to finally see where I'll be living in three months. It had better be good or Life. Will. SUCK.
In other news:
-Jim Carrey and Jenny McCarthy broke up yesterday. I'm so upset about this, you'd think I knew them.
-Kate Gosselin on DTWS is the biggest joke to ever come out of that show. And they've had Donny Osmond.
-I get teary eyed every time I see a promo for Lost because I already miss it.
-Kim Kardashian and Reggie Bush broke up again. In other news, I'm sick of the Kardashians.
-Jesse James entered sex rehab last week. I think I may pretend to have a sex addiction just to see what goes on in those rehab centers. "Ok, today, we're going to work on not thinking about boobs." Are there 12 steps to this program? Do they hold hands and pray together, or would that be like waving a beer under someone's nose at an AA meeting? Do they have sponsors they can call when they feel like relapsing? "Sponsor? Hey, it's Jesse. Listen, I have a boner right now, and I reaaaaally want to put it somewhere. Help." I must research this...
<3 <3
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