Remember That Time...

We were walking down Hollywood Blvd, even though we never go there because I know how freaked out you get. But it seemed like a good idea at the time. The guy on the skateboard didn't know about your fears and whipped past us, wheels loud on the pavement. But I held you close, and could sense you by my side, so I didn't turn around to check on you because I felt your feet beside mine. I literally could feel you trembling in fear, but I tried to hurry through the busy streets hoping that we'd be at the next block soon. And I heard people screaming, but that's normal for Hollywood. And cars honking. And I turn and look and you have somehow escaped me and the footsteps behind mine were not yours at all, but Jack's instead. You have fled to the street, attempting to get to the other side where you may feel safer, and I see the car coming, and thinking back now I don't know if it was really going that slow or if, in an act of natural human masochism, my brain wanted me to remember every detail so that when I played the moment over and over again, I could forever picture it seamlessly. And in slow motion the car stops and you guys just stare at each other. I have no idea what I say then, but I am panicked. And you somehow make your way back to me, probably because I'm pulling you there with my words, but you are subdued, and odd, and I can't stop shaking. And when we make our way back home, you lay on the couch in peace and hopefully thankfulness, and when I attempt to hug you, you yell at me! And that's when I know that you know I wasn't looking behind me, and I totally feel like a terrible friend now.

Today has been better. I'm glad you're okay, and hope you understand, but you are never going to Hollywood Blvd again.

The Holy Grail

Matthew Perry walked by me last night. Looking hot, I may add! He was at the movies with some friends. The friend I was with has been to the movies 5 times since she's lived in LA, including last night. Three of those five? She's seen Mr. Perry. Lucky girl. After he left, she started talking about how funny it is she's seen him so much to which I promptly responded, "Rachel! Stop stealing my thunder!"

So officially, I've figured out what I do when I see someone I love. I freeze and go silent and concentrate on not passing out. The probability of me ever being able to actually speak words is so slim I wonder if I'll ever have the guts to say, "Good job in Numb", which is what I had been planning on saying when I finally crossed paths with Matthew.

My pup is sick but she's not acting like it except a few choice moments in which my heart falls to my feet. We're going to the vet tomorrow to figure out just what's going on. I'm pretty nervous about that actually. Moving on...

In the span of twenty four hours, I got two exciting job prospects placed in my "Maybe" column.

And, you know when you make coffee and it's all wrong, too watery or too strong or during the process of coffee-making, the filter was pushed inwards causing grounds to spill into the maker, and its so much that when you put in the creamer you can see the grounds floating? And you try to drink it anyway, but it's so bad you have to deprive your body of caffeine for a longer time, so you pour the coffee into the sink and frown as the too light or too dark coffee circles in the drain, (or more realistically, splashes down the pile of dirty dishes, going to a drain that you know is down there somewhere). And you vow to make it worth your while this time by making the best pot of coffee you have ever made, but when you finally get it all made, you taste it, and while it's a little better, it's not the best cup you've ever made, but you drink it anyway, because third times a charm doesn't apply to you when you need caffeine and don't want to waste anymore of your freshly ground coffee, and even though it doesn't taste just right, you smell it and need it, so you take it down with a grimace and vow that tomorrow, you will make the best pot of coffee you have ever made.

This is how I feel about most of my life right now.

On the subject of coffee, just wanted to let you know that while I still love my coffeemaker, the honeymoon is sooo over. Just not putting out the way it use to, you know? (That was just too easy.)

sophisticated technology that freaks me out

ugh. I just got off work. blimey. Long night with lots of "I don't even want to BE HERE" moments and even more, "can I tell my co-worker to eff off and still retain my work friendships?" moments. I really don't even want to get into it. Let's just say "ugh" and be done with it. ugh.

What I do want to get into is how Facebook has been freaking me out lately. Seriously. Have you guys ever checked out the ads they have on there? At first it was innocent enough, an ad for a movie coming to DVD that I had stated on my profile I liked. Easy enough. Then it got a little more strange when things I Googled started popping up. Still, I found an explanation. It can see what I Google. Freaky? Yes. Suspect? These days, no. I started seeing "Quit Smoking" ads and found that strange too. But I figured that it was a campaign for all young people.

THEN, my friends, it gets really weird. So I ate at The Cheesecake Factory on Sunday night. This is the first time I believe I have ever typed "Cheesecake factory". Well yesterday, I'm playing a game of poker on Facebook, my new addiction, and there pops up an ad. For what? THE CHEESECAKE FACTORY. Which makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. After being reminded of my gluttonous dinner, I start THINKING about how I need to work out. And no joke, an ad for a personal trainer comes up. Now, what the eff is going on here? Is it reading my mind??? Can it access my financial records?!? I know that these ads are specifically geared towards me because of the previous examples. (They always have something to do with what I've typed/messaged about lately.) But these last ones just knocked me for a second. I hadn't told anyone about my dinner. I had told less people about how I was thinking about getting a personal trainer. Then I start thinking about all the other ads that have popped up and realized that Facebook knows more about me than my own mother!

And it has seemed to paint a portrait of me that freaks me out a bit. All my vices on the glaring surface of my computer. It has hit all my weak spots at one point or another. And I'm a little pissed actually that they haven't brought out any of my fun and exciting qualities! "Awesome kites!" "Sky diving lessons!" "Dog parks!" "Bikes!" "Books!" They have just seemed to harp a bit on my downfalls here and have put me in some category I don't want to be in. (If ads start popping up for Moo-Moos and Hoverrounds I tossing the damn computer out of the window.)

Freaks. me. out.

Oh! I have an even more horrifying thought! What if Facebook can gather enough information to hypothesis your date of death and starts advertising things one might need in order for such an event. Horror movie! Hello! Hand over that paycheck South Africa, (they love those low-budg horror flicks, or so I hear).

Oh! One more Hopper photo for you to snuggle with. This one is from Malibu this past Saturday. She was digging up our feet! Or as my mom likes to think - looking for my lost car key. Yes, lost car key. On the beach. On the far reaches of Los Angeles County. With a cell phone in my locked car. With the knowledge I had been playing in the water. I didn't find the key, (I fear it may be well on it's way to Japan by now), but I've realized the more I tell this story, the more anticlimatic it is. So for entertainments sake, let's just pretend my window wasn't cracked just so and I didn't have a valet key tucked in my console, and instead, Hopper, friend, and I were forced to camp out on the beach until we finally ran into a nice fellow carrying a slim jim who hot wired the car and sent us on our way. Yes, that would have been a better story. Oh! Picture!




Sleep time!

Wrinkles!

Back from the holidaze! Obviously, I guess. It's almost Feburary now! Okay, where to begin? Best new story in my arsenal? My LA dermatologist. If I ever doubted the reality of an image-obsessed Hollywood, well then doubt no more. So I go the the dermatologist expecting what I remember from other dermatologists I've visited. Lotions, a warning to use sensitive skin products, and maybe a critique of the skin products I use. Instead, I got a once over, a question of my age, (25), and then comes the blow. While I'm a spring chicken, my forehead has sprinted ahead and ages around 35 according to my derm. (I joked earlier that my forehead was inching towards a mid-life crisis and was going to be trying to buy a sports car soon.) Instead of speaking carefully and akowledging the insult, he spoke frankly and as if I shouldn't be surprised to hear this. It's the "lingo". Then, he told me he could fix it right up with botox. Yeah, no kidding. When I expressed my discontent with that suggestion, he said he could "paralyze my forehead so I wouldn't be able to scrunch it and could train myself to keep it flat".

Okay, so I had officially landed in Hollywood apparently. This makes me convinced more than ever that celebrities botox it right up. It was such a business as usual question. "So we could give you some botox and...". Anyway, I hope someone else gave him his Merecedes payment. Well nice to know I'm aging quite nicely. (I can't deny since that visit I've been lathering on the anti-wrinkle cream twice a day.)

I had a party last night and am putting off cleaning up. Sad that blog writing has become my most reliable procrastination device. What's up with all the rain SoCal??? I am done with it here. I've been spoiled! Bring back the weatherless, weather pronto!

The valet man at my work is teaching me Spanish, phrase at a time. He was very impressed I already knew "trabajo". He tried to teach me mi amore and then he winked. Starting to doubt his good intentions----

Oh! Have to post my favorite Hopper picture ever! This is her galavanting in Malibu on New Year's Day.



Well, that's it for now! Just work, work, cough, work. That's been my life lately. I got an air date for my episode I'm editing and when it gets closer, I'll share! Woo!

Woe!

So as a good friend of mine keeps saying--karma owes me big. I've had a kinda hectic couple of weeks. Between trying to scrounge up enough money to register my car in California before my 30-day grace period is up, and trying to play peacemaker in my home between the two dogs, who think they are both dominent, things have been a little stressful lately.

As far as the car thing goes, little did I know when I was buying my car in NC, that when I brought it into California less than a year after purchase, I would have to pay sales tax on it, which roughly estimated is 1000% percent. I've had thirty days to get the sixteen hundred dollars together, and all was going well until the tooth incident of 2007.

The two dogs in our house have been fighting pretty frequently. It's been stressing me out enough, but It all came to a head on this past Saturday night. Several things were unusual about this fight. I was outside and the two dogs were hanging in my roommates room. Usually when the fights occur, we are both present and it seems to be a fight over attention or food or something. But I hear the tell-tale yells from my roommate who is friutlessly trying to seperate the transformed beasts. I come in and rush to help. We hadn't done much research on the matter, so we were still grabbing their collars trying to seperate them. Wrong move, I now know. As I grabbed Hopper's collar and started pulling her towards me, the collar snapped flying back into my face, breaking off a large piece of my bottom tooth.

I was horrified, but kept my cool, (well as far as the tooth thing goes), until we had sucessfully broken up the fight. Immediately afterwards, I broke down, having enough of the fights and suffering the trumatic loss of a large piece of tooth. It was painful and had me just at a loss at how something like that could happen. I saved my tooth and after some good pep talks and sympathy pains from friends, we set out to Walgreens where I could get something for the pain, and/or, discomfort.

Once again, this financial burden increased two-fold. How in the world could I afford to get this fixed when I have a hefty bill to pay for my car, that coincidentially is due this week. I called some emergency dentist, not having a dentist in the area, who offered to call me in some painkillers and said he could see me first thing on Monday. I passed on the painkillers, and stuck to Tylenol, but counted down the hours until I could find some relief. The Tylenol worked pretty good, but the whiskey worked a little better. On Saturday night, with the dogs locked up for the night, I sat back and through a straw drank some whiskey that eased the pain quite nicely. I just wish that in my gum-numbing fun I would have realized just how painful it would be to brush my teeth. But no, not then. It felt fine and I brushed, carefully, but still with enough fervor to have me up at six am on Sunday crying for my mommy.

Monday came and I went to see the dentist. He was able to glue to portion I had broken off back on, but not without shooting me full of novicane first. (Little did I know, you aren't supposed to drink coffee on mornings before you visit the dentist in which you are going to be numbed. Now you know.) Five shots later, I was finally numb enough for them to start work. It went off without a hitch, and after expressing my financial concerns, they gave me a discount that although made thing easier to handle, still took enough out of my account to not have enough to pay my bill at the DMV.

Long story short, I got some help from the parents, which at this point in my life, is a little humbling, but much appreciated. And today, finally, on the day that marks the end of my grace-period, I can go and register my car.

So everything seemed to work out, as things usually do. Now I'm just trying to find a way to keep the peace with the dogs. I've been absolutely horrified about another fight, and have started to keep the dogs seperate almost every moment I am home. I have to get some sort of advice from some dog professionals about how to handle this correctly. If you have any advice, please share. I'm at a loss right now, so scared to even attempt any methods of defusing a situation, not even wanting to let them get close enough to each other to try.

But, other than that, things are just great! Heh! I perhaps had a quarter-life crisis last night, in the startling realization that all the women editors I know are single and without children, and that one of the assistants I work with is way older than I thought. Her solace was no help, "Time flies!", "I still feel like I'm twenty," "It was only yesterday---"

Whew. So lots going on right now. My computer battery is dying and I'm about to go to the DMV to take care of this pesky robbery thing that I feel I am a victim of. But I was just checking in and sharing my latest with you fine folks.

Aliens in America review to come!

I Love Dogs!

I feel like my day was ripped from the pages of a screwball comedy. I've had the pleasure and privilege to take care of three dogs today. Not by choice, mind you, by default. At least if I had known what I was getting into, I could have mentally prepared. Alas, I haven't been this mad at a dog(s) since Hopper ate my Liz Phair CD. I cried extraordinarily large, hot, white tears.


Our three stars:

Hopper-You know her. She's my little lady.

Cillian-My roommates little lady.

Stanley-My roommate's friend's puppy in which she was taking care of this weekend.

The set-up:

Roommate unexpectedly had to go elsewhere for the evening last night and much of the day today. Leaving me with default doggy duty.



My day began as the sun rose and woke little Stanley up. It was about six am. He decided that it was time to chew my headband, a hole in my carpet, and then wake his friends. Hopper, being well-trained to not rise before me, held her position on my bed, but Cillian was up and ready to play. When I refused to open my door, and let loose the herd to run rampidly through the house, no doubt waking my downstairs neighbors and thoroughly pissing them off, they revolted against me. All jumping on my bed, BARKING, AT ME, to wake up.

Barking. Enter my new pet peeve. Newly discovered. Barking, incessantly that is, dogs. Dogs that bark at every noise they hear, and that won't stop with a simple "Shut up!" Multiple dogs doing this may be a cause of death for me in the future. I nearly climbed out my window right then and there. Luckily, for your entertainment pleasure, I decided against it.

Not so luckily, these dogs were up. Up and not going back to sleep with any traditional methods of persuasion. Tranquilizers weren't at my disposal. Stanley, being an un-housetrained puppy, had to immediately be taken out. He's nearly eight months so I'm not exactly sure why he's not completely housetrained. But he's not, and he doesn't seem to care when you rub his face in his mistakes.

So I rolled out of bed with probably a picturesque face and an attitude that even coffee wouldn't fix. The second I got off the bed, the dogs were running around in circles and bounding all over the place, surely waking the neighbors, despite my best efforts.

Walking three dogs is hard enough. When they all want to go in different directions and love twisting up in each other's leashes, it's far worse. Stanley thought it was a good idea to pee on Hopper while she was peeing and Cillian saw a squirrel. I silently pleaded for my roommates timely return. Some how I made it through the morning, which is actually pretty long when you wake up at six. I had to seperate the dogs quite a bit in the early hours, still trying to keep the pretense of quiet.

By ten, when I hear the downstairs people mulling around, I let them be the wild animals they had wanted to be. What do they do? Sleep! Of course! By this time I had three cups of coffee pumping through my veins so no sleep for me.

Stanley then proceeds to poop in the den and pee in my room. Lovely. This is right after me taking them out again, mind you. And on this trip, instead of actually going to the bathroom, (obviously), Stanley thought it was a good idea to chase at a frou-frou dog of a not-so-friendly neighbor. When we get back in, he goes for my sunglasses, actually in the process of chomping down on them, and I yell at him louder than I've yelled at any other living thing ever. He smiled at me a wagged his tail. Infuriating.

At lunch, I take the dogs in the car to get some well-deserved lunch, (for me). Here, they were surprisingly well-behaved. Looking back, perhaps I should have just driven around all day.

Home again, Cillian, in the hopes that every car passing by was her mother returning home, found it important to bark as loudly as possible in case roommate was to miss the turn. She also found her release of energy in taunting Hopper all day, trying to get her to fight. Which with Stanley's presence, these two fighting is not an anomaly.

By nightfall, with roommate still not back, I knew I had to take the dogs out again. Courageously, I leashed them up and went where few have gone before. (I'm an exaggerator by nature.) The highlight of this walk was, beside the comically twisted leashes throughout and the three near trips of yours truly, was when Stanley's leash got stuck, somehow, inside of Hopper's collar. While I was trying to keep the dogs still long enough to untangle, Cillian decides now is a perfect time to finally get a snap in on Hopper. While my head is right by Hopper's face, she starts trying to bait Hopper into a fight. When I yank her leash, Hopper yelps and I realize I have yanked the wrong leash. At this point, what can you do but tredge on and go home and drink at beer at 7 o'clock on a Sunday evening? Nothing. So with choas around me, I sat here, where I am still, trying to ignore the loud barks and bounding dogs throughout the house.

I'm officially taking myself off doggy duty. Come hell or low water.