Oxymorons & Hangovers

Successful six & super Sunday

Kiddo’s birthday involved multiple party store trips, where I accidentally picked up some items for the upcoming Superbowl party and Valentine’s poker party. By the morning of, all that was left to do was pick up the balloons, game prizes and food. In some twisted scheme, Kiddo’s dad and I pulled off a successful sixth birthday party. I had pulled all but seven hairs from my head and for nothing. Kiddo’s BFF from school came. We’d been dying to meet him and it turns out his mom is just as cool as he is, and they live about fourteen steps from our front door. I sense play dates in the immediate future.

Kiddo’s dad and I got her a Wii so she can enhance and (rightfully) brag about her mad tennis and bowling skillz. We’ll move it to living room sometime this week and Ree and I will inevitably have all-night tournaments. I cannot WAIT to buy Game Party.

Cupcakes consumed, wishes made, balloons released… Some friends and cousins came back to the abode after we’d cleaned our mess at the park. I ordered the pathetic Penn/GSP nightmare and refuse to speak of it.

Sunday began with the almost-usual champagne brunch, where the staff is getting familiar with us not quite by name, but as the girls who need dangerous quantities of champagne, or the girls who put cheese on everything. Which is fair considering one of the employees is known to us as Cheese Guy. They’re a lovely crew and their tortilla soup is unrivaled. Kiddo did math problems in a new activity book because she’s a wonder child.

I’ve never been a professional sports fan unless by association with my dad’s love of the LA Kings and the fact that I accompanied my parents to numerous hockey games as a lad back when they held season tickets. Last year I discovered the Dodgers and, well, I’ve written off saying professional sports are not for me seeing how I yearn for baseball season with feverish passion. However I don’t have a football team. Though almost always an underdog fan, for my safety, I joined Team Steelers and donned an appropriate borrowed jersey.

That game fucking rocked. Ree and I hosted, which involved her running the BBQ and me drinking beer in the house and taking credit for appropriate football decked plates and napkins. I almost spit beer for that Doritos commercial with the crystal ball.

Superbowl preceded L Word, when my phone vibrated with Alice’s mass text to all regarding Shane and Jenny. I signed up for some weird text updates and was giddy excited when that one came through. Then Tara, where I blew up again with Diablo’s clever updates.

I think I love Sundays.

-Pretty Lush

PS: Here we go again, aaaaaaah shiiiiiiiiit!

This is how I spend my time

I’m in a good mood, I did not kill my dog yet, and I haven’t dreamt of a celebrity in two days. I’ve nothing more to give, so I leave you with better material than I could have churned out anyway.

Some of the best places I stumbled into this week:

Joe Rogan, on the war and the UFC’s efforts. (such a vague description on my part, but so fucking worth the read. Non-political.)

An old post by the SlackMistress (11/06), an ode to dive bars

Another older SlackMistress post (12/06), on baby’s first f-bomb

You're welcome.

Tales from the lesbian bar to come - wish me some tail.

-Pretty Lush

Shitter was full!

Nine-thirty, Monday morning... I'm still working out the kinks in my shoulders and getting yawn after yawn out of my system. Had I planned ahead (pssh) I would have taken these few workdays between Christmas and the new year off. Instead I'm trying to rejuvenate for a mere twenty-four hours of work, stretched out over three days, preceeding a four day weekend. *squeal*

[Pic is Kiddo and her gorgeous auntie/my sister] The holiday was above and beyond wonderful. I had expectations of Kiddo's delight, seeing some friends and family, hopefully a new book or two for myself, and a delicious dinner. This ended up being so much more. My friends, immediate and extended family really spoiled us with generosity and good times. Kiddo and I had a blast during my time off. We spent two nights at my parents' house where tradition has rarely played a role - but this year might have instilled a few new ideas. My siblings and I wrote clues for one another to find a couple of our gifts. My sister and I were laughing pretty uncontrollably over the ones we wrote for my brother including, 'If you took care of your BO problem, you would have found this already,' (taped to his deoderant) and, 'Look behind your favorite sister,' (in the hood of my sweater) which caused him to look between us both in horror. Mine were pretty difficult, like, 'Bump, set, spike,' (taped to my sister's volleyball) but because I know nothing of athletic lexicon I looked to my brother with raised eyebrows and he did an impression of each move. Overall, it spiked the usual unwrapping routine with laughs.

We also got together on Christmas Eve, post-last minute madness and had some wine, a roaring fire, and Christmas Vacation on DVD.

Also, I got TWO more scarves, which rocks my effing face right the fuck off.

What would a post be without a rant? Kiddo received a cupcake maker from my mom. She'd been begging for this and while I'd sworn off ever trying the dessert creations, I was pretty glad she got the damn thing because, oh my god, the glee. My mom and I unstrapped the thing from the twist ties used by the military but for sure, and pieced it together. A cupcake that takes thirty seconds to bake in the mircowave is already a questionable cupcake but we rolled with it. The frosting application (a simple push down motion pushes frosting from a syringe and the cupcake twirls for a 'swirled' look) is what the contraption is all about and can be described only by the Ashley-ism: EPIC FAIL. The 'swirl' was more of a 'pile in one spot, collapse, cry.'
My sister came and spent a night at my house and we decided to try the cupcake game again at Kiddo's insistence. We 'baked' the cupcake, and prepared the frosting applicator. I gave Kiddo the okay for the push down motion and wished for the best but the FUCKING SHIT FLEW EVERYWHERE. There was chocolate frosting on every flat surface including, not kidding, my dog's head.

I have had enough of this unseccuessful dessert apparatus which will soon find a home in the Dumpster behind the abode.

 

'nogged out Lucy, festive despite the bourbon hangover. 

So I'm looking into tree recycling programs for Orange County. (I encourage this! Help make mulch/be green/just fucking do it or mother Earth will cave in on herself because you didn't care.) I'm dreading the venture of taking down the lights, replacing the ornaments in the Christmas boxes and braving the spider infested garage.

Please relish and celebrate: Domesticity - Xtreme Edition. I fried chicken, baked a green bean casserole and steamed some vegetables last night for dinner. Cooking is so outside my box but I'm trying! Food-gasm like whoa. Kiddo wouldn't flippin' touch it until tempted by an ice cream sandwich. I really shouldn't use sugar bribes - I know - but I was exhausted on a Sunday night and it freakin' worked. That plate sparkled.

I was suckered into ordering the UFC fights on Saturday because the card was just too good to miss. I want to die when I see Griffin lose and I wasn't happy about Mir AT ALL. I think I have a crush on Noguiera. Just in case you needed confirmation in my strange attractions.

Definitely had a dream that I slept with Jeremy Piven last night. I just remembered it, in all of its delicious, graphic detail. Cheee-eeeese!

-Pretty Lush

Geek Speak

Please don't be any of these people. For real.

I had this horrible dream about someone I adore being murdered... and then waking up next to them and only believing they were alive if I could call their cell phone and it would ring, which led to painful tight hugs and waves of relief. Then I woke up. Like a nightmare within a dream. I am layered. 

Typepad is doing this auto-save as I type and while I appreciate the gesture it's slowing me down. Stop. Thanks.

My mood last night was between depressed and fatigued and pensive as I projected out way too far into my future and saw the bleak nothing looming there. Pleasant as it was to stew, I decided to occupy myself in the kitchen and made a fabulous chicken fettuccini alfredo. (Word says my noodle is spelled correctly. I disagree.) And then packed a lunch of leftovers for my roomie because doing something nice usually makes me feel a little less worthless.

My tattoo is healing painfully and the scabs are thick, making me stress about loosing color in my sheets. We'll see. She's pretty gross to look at right now. Lucy is constantly sniffing and if I look away for one second, she licks her. She's such a perv.

There were two naps in my weekend which rounds up to fabulous. I had no idea I lived with a news junkie in a time of crisis. I think Ree would have watched southern California burn in horror all day if I didn't force her to come have appetizers and beer with me for lunch on Saturday. In our blissful ignorance (read: food coma and karaoke bar daze) on Friday night, we had no idea the damn state was aflame. So far, none of my friends and relatives have been affected, but many others have. Thinking of emergency states like this is always distant but these fires are immediate. There's ash and smoke everywhere and the fires were burning along my old route to work, creeping toward my old job. The proximity lended the situation a horribly depressing reality. I couldn't think of a better way to get away from it than plain ol' ignorance. Unfortunately the bar turned on the local news after a while.

Kristine's birthday was a couple hours of debauchery and fun. Delicious food, fried rice in the shape of a penis, sake bombs, pictures, singing, dancing, crashing haphazard on the couch and hearing the birthday girl change into her birthday suit and get a present from her lovah if you know what I'm sayin'.

I was deeply saddened to see Couture lose his belt to that no-neck lumberjack on Saturday. I don't know what Randy was thinking going up against a Redwood but I really hope it's not the end of his champion days. I chewed my knuckles watching the repeated pounding he took after he hit the mat.
But Kenny Florian! Fuck yeah!

I'm reading Fluke by Christopher Moore and after a few chapters, I had no idea how long I could hold interest in people studying whales. And then part two came last night and I was reminded it's a Moore book. The weird came in. And I was happily turning pages for about an hour. I read so much more now than I have been in the past few months. It's about time I started in on my books again. It's a private joy; buying, reading, finishing, beginning. I still have a title I got for my birthday last February. I'm hoping to be down four more titles by the end of the year.

The office is making sense again. Pieces are coming together by way of loud drills and there's a vacuum running over the new carpet all day. It's a noisy venture but it's working toward gorgeous. I move stations today. The bamboo plant is relieved and showing no signs of wear. She's a hard-ass bitch.

-Pretty Lush

Dilemna and/or exhaustion

I'm sunk into the couch, sipping and sweating out a shitty Monday, to the tune of The Ultimate Fighter playing loud in the background. (Since they won't, may I stab Junie?) My calves are tight from about eight miles of treading in Converse for the Los Angeles AIDS Walk (10k plus ridiculously distanced parking). My cousin put together a small team and I'm really proud of her efforts. No matter how rough the walk, the high is unbeatable. The breast cancer walk prepared me because I'm not nearly as sore as I anticipated. Believe it or not, this Lush has more compassion than she knows what to do with. And Lucy was a fantastic sport, the little attention whore.

I took my sister to see Nick & Nora's Infinite Playlist. I felt poked in all my sore spots after that one. It was fantastic; mirroring so many of the aspects of my relationships in the past few years. I kind of adored it a lot.

Four years ago I stopped taking medication for depression. It took a while but finally the solid blocks on my creativity came loose. I'm a week and a half into a new perscription and layer by layer, the walls are going up again. Maybe I'm just tired. I fucking hope so. What's worse? Sealing an already clogged outlet or ending every day wishing you could tear your skin off?

I'm on a mission to rid the county of as many Yes on 8 signs as possible. I had no idea my neighbors were such bigots. It's infuriating. Matter of fact, pajamas and all, I'm going to get one I saw outside earlier. Goodnight.

-Pretty Lush

From under the dust & cardboard

Spent most of the weekend moving. It hasn't yet become the arduous task it seems like, although my arms are a little sore. There's still a thrill to it. I did overflow the dishwasher by using a little dishsoap. I could have let it go on and had myself a bubble party in the new kitchen but I had other shit to take care of. My empty current room is depressing, especially the blank walls. I shudder to see so much white. The new place is looking more inhabitable as furniture progresses that direction. There's a dining set, computer desk, rocking chair with ottoman. My books came out of their boxes as soon as possible. If I can con a friend into rocking her stud-finding-laser-leveling McWonder toy on my walls, I'll have shelves shortly. If that thing vibrated, I'd want one in every color.

Could the UFC fights have gone any better? (Yes. Jardine could have won and Leben could have fought.)Penn and St. Pierre in the near future is an exciting prospect. While I kinda like GSP, my money is still on Penn, probably always. The Silva/Jardine fight was insane, watching Keith fall that fast was a little devastating. Seeing Ortiz lose his last UFC fight (and still somehow come off cocky) was all I needed to make the night right. And I have my hopes up for Pulver.

My Denver-bound friend Jennifer had a going away gathering at a sports bar this weekend. It was cool to hang with lush co-workers outside of the satellite office. Hopefully we got enough pictures in to assure we're not forgotten.

Speaking of pictures, I dug through a box that had been in storage for a couple of years and found a shoebox full of old pictures. You'd have thought it was buried treasure, I was so excited. All of Kiddo's first Christmas pictures, old pictures of friends and past relationships.. and I finally got to show Ree what I looked like in high school, when I was super thin and blonde. You'd never know it was me. My hair went from long blonde to short red to mid-length black over those few years. I think I'll scan some good ones soon.

-Pretty Lush

Little diversity

Very recently my uncle suffered a massive heart attack. He's currently in a coma on the other side of the country. My dad has flown over to be with his sister (uncle's wife) for the time being. Everyone is waiting patiently for the time that his eyes do more than flutter, and he comes back to being his awesome self. Any and all positives vibes are appreciated.

Yesterday Jeff and I went to the park. I was bitching and moaning about the bugs - they're fucking everywhere - when I noticed over Jeff's shoulder, a man walking his French bulldog. I about lost my mind, retreated into my nine-year-old girl excitement and I think I even clapped. I'm still waiting on word of the adoption application, but I'm not too expectant of a yes. I found some other adoption agenices and some local breeders. I'll have my French one way or another, god dammit.

Carved into a tree at said park:

Love Today

So I did.

Last night was one of productivity. There isn't enough I can do to prepare to move. The major weight on my shoulders is Kiddo's new school. I have to find it. And instead of panicking, I've taken to drinking a lot of Diet Coke and keeping a steady pace. Cleaning, organzing, packing, sorting, listing items/clothes on Ebay, scouring craigslist for necessaries... I canceled my gym membership after work. When Kiddo and I walked into the gym, I heard my name and was greeted by a very sweaty, very tall, very buff guy that intimidated me for a second before I realized he was my cousin. OH HAI. I went to three (!@#$) pet stores looking for feeder fish. I scrubbed Jack's (turtle) tank and let loose ten little grayish gold fish... within minutes, there were five. I prewarned Kiddo that there would be some death going on and she positively cheered him on. Erright then.

With my dad gone and my brother mostly not home, there's four females reigning the house. If we weren't synchronized before, we will be now (minus Kiddo). We all got into my mom's king sized bed and watched Spark of Insanity. Kiddo referenced her 'wife,' which had my sister asking,"You have a wife...?"
"No, Auntie! I'm not even married!"

I snuck off to watch The Ultimate Fighter and saw JEREMY GET HIS FACE KICKED OFF. I was seething over that turd (Jeremy jitsu? Oh, sit down) and couldn't have been happier to watch him flop around like a fish - totally depleated and ready to surrender before BAM KICK TO THE CHIN, LAID OUT SUCKER.

Ahem.

Also it was funny to watch Forrest yell until his voice were merely a girlish squeal.

There's a brilliant red daisy next to my bed from Jeffrey. It smells like happy.

My calendar is so full, giving the impression that I am busy and popular. In reality, I just overbook and am sort of well-liked by a few cool cats.

Tonight: view apartment, all finished with the repairs and looking all gorgeous and eager. Check out at least one school in the area for Kiddo. PFLAG meeting in Long Beach. Friday: satellite office meeting *hic*, Pride pre-party in Long Beach. Saturday: Angels vs. Dodgers @ Angel stadium, more Pride shenanigans. Sunday: steal Kiddo from Dad (approval pending) for Pride parade. And so much more in upcoming weeks, including! Joe! Rogan! Tickets!

-Pretty Lush

Fan-damn-ily

I'm so happy The Office has resumed new episodes. I finally caught the latest one on my DVR last night. My remote has been going out and I can only watch my shows when it isn't being a temperamental little cunt. I tried new batteries and beating it repeatedly but it doesn't seem to respond to blunt force and it's likely I'm only exacerbating whatever the problem is. Luckily yesterday, the remote dug me and worked for half the episode. And then stopped again and I was forced to watch the commercials because my fast forward ba-doop-ba-doop! feature was out. What a drag. (Certainly it's not just me and we are all but spoiled television viewers, no?)

Michael, sipping wine: "This has an oak-y afterbirth."
Jim: "Um, what was that?"

Yesterday was my dad's mom's birthday. Grandma celebrated some seventy-plus (me thinks?) years over an early (delicious) Italian dinner. I think Kiddo would have willingly sustained on the warm, seasoned bread served by the loaf. I could have easily slipped one of those loafs in her lunch bag today and she would be delighted. Kiddo and I shared some noodle-y delight and then went back to Grandma's for dessert, stopping in between to meet up with Boyfriend and drag him along. My two uncles in the room stated realistically how brave he was for coming to meet everyone. I agreed. It should be noted that he wasn't deterred even slightly by meeting real blood family members* and even thanked me for bringing him along. I don't think anyone is perfect, but he's a whole hell of a lot closer than I could ever hope to be.

*The majority of my 'family' is all non-blood. I have 'aunties' and 'uncles' and 'cousins' in abundance but they're all family friends dating back to faded river trip photos where everyone donned a Mullet and a Day-Glo neck strap attached to their sunglasses.

My Pop, one of my very favorite human beings, put on some old home videos of us grandkids running around the backyard in the house he still lives in. My cousins and I were all once so cute and innocent. (Don't say, 'What happened?') My one cousin singing monotone preschool songs and another splashing in the background puddles. Falling out of wagons and fighting over tricycles. I laughed so hard at our interactions and the clothes, my god, the clothes. When the camera would pan over to my mom with her loooong, natural (gasp!) colored hair and her even loooonger acrylic nails and huge glasses, the room would erupt in laughter. It seemed all but one of my dad's many brothers sported some form of a Mullet. My aunts wore hair that tested the laws of gravity. Everyone in their high-top Reeboks with the Velcro straps. It really was a riot to see the style anachronisms on the screen and the up-to-date version on the couch. Seeing all of this and the pride in my Pop, possibly stemming more from figuring out to get these ancient VHS videos onto DVDs than from having such a cool family, made me really appreciate my blood relatives. Though few (as I've cut ties with the child molesters, alcoholics, and pathological liars) and far between (stretching to the east coast) I have some kickass relatives and it's my Pop that always seems to remind me.

BUSY BUSY: Tonight is a game at Dodger stadium (Russssssss Martiiiiiiiiin); tomorrow is a Dub Scouts show that I'll go to with my non-girlfriend girl friend Ree; Friday is a lunch date with an old co-worker and another Dub Scouts show that night; Saturday is the UFC fight (St. Pierre vs. Serra -- I think I want Serra to win) a-freakin'-nother Dub Scouts show (being a supportive girlfriend to a musician is exhausting) followed by a Meet Me at the Pub show in Santa Monica; Sunday morning I'll have to interrupt the weekend with Dad to steal Kiddo away for her BFF's birthday party, and then there's a comedy show that night with Ree.

It seems like when two people at work are out sick, everything on their desk becomes a RED HOT URGENT RUSH situation. I just can't be bothered to show any sense of urgency and have been going about their work with a calm aura and not taking the stairs two-at-a-time to deliver shit. This cannot be said of others. Trust me, there's plenty of time in the day. We are anything but bogged down. Eesh.

-Pretty Lush

PS: I mentioned Mullets within the family twice in this post. I think I've made my ethnicity clear.

Ultimate Reality Show

Of all the shit television, there is one reality show that I will follow with wide eyes, every season. A couple of years ago, I was completely opposed to this brutal, barbaric seeming 'sport.' (You're talkin' about someone who cannot watch staged fighting in movies, no matter how many times I reassure myself it's not real.) I was living with my old boyfriend at the time of the first season and he pressured me into following a single episode of The Ultimate Fighter. It was all it took.

Fast forward to a couple seasons later, the premiere episode was on Spike TV this last Wednesday but I finally watched it on my DVR last night. Dana White's (UFC president) new concept for weeding out the pussies that will bail out for whatever reason (his biggest peeve as you see him get more and more angry on every season as it inevitably happens) was to bring in thirty-two fighters instead of sixteen. Within forty-eight hours, they fight their way onto the show. Winner of two five minute rounds stays, loser goes home. I was only able to see a couple fights because my DVR didn't record the whole episode (*shakes fist*) but I know my brother recorded the full one, so I'll be finishing it up tonight.

Dana White: "Ready fuckers?"

My favorite UFC fighter is Forrest Griffin - who is coaching one team of eight fighters. The other coach, Quinton 'Rampage' Jackson, will be fighting Forrest at the end of show to defend the title he took from Chuck Liddell. (I will be a rowdy screaming fangirl for this. In fact, lemme get this out now: GO FORREST!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *ahem*) Here, Griffin talks about the first two days on the show.

I had Kiddo reciting the names of the coaches and every time any bald guy came on, she asked, "Is that Dana?" Mini-superfan in training. My Wednesdays just got so much better.

I just had Chef Boyardee for lunch, because I'm six.

The work load is still in tact and stating one simple fact: job security. No one is dumb enough to take this over. Hell, no one is smart enough to take it over. I don't think any one person could do my various tasks. It would take a multitude of people to figure out a lot of it. And although not everyone is on board, I'm likeable.

Last night I trekked a few miles in the wrong direction of my destination (woe is the lady on the road that can never just get from point A to point B) before landing a front row parking spot outside a snazzy little bar, where my co-worker and I saddled up on the stools and made conversation for upwards of two hours. It's scary how much more in common we have than I ever realized. This either makes me really cool or her really lame. But likely, we're both just cool. My opinion is the only one that counts at O & H, didn't you know?

Some online rentals arrived in the mail last night, so I was able to start watching Disk 1 of Strangers with Candy, an old Comedy Central show starring Stephen Colbert and Amy Sedaris. I think it's obvious why I rented it.

This weekend! Dia De Los Muertos art and music festival, UFC fights, co-worker's end of summer party& good friend Brian's birthday. Kiddo is with her dad, so I may even take a nap. Imagine!