Think Pink

Last night was supposed to be a not so late night.  But who can turn down sparkly firework thingies signaling the arrival of bottomless flutes of Veuve?  Not me!  It was a friend's birthday so I decided to see what the clubs are like in San Diego.  We went to Fluxx, and it was super duper uber fun.  Mainly because my friend is special and we got to dance on couches. (There was a tube in the middle of the dancefloor that had girls with sparkly bikins dancing in it.  I want a sparkly disco ball bikini.  And maybe a tube.)

I know you are rolling your eyes at me bragging about how cool I am.  And I was feeling relatively cool.  Until I didn't see a step.  And tripped and punched myself in the face with some guy's drink.  But at least I didn't fall like the lady who tripped right after I tripped.  And she went down hard.  And hit my shin!  And her face on something that must have been kind of hard.  But she was old and poorly dressed, so they gave her a bottle of water and shuffled her out of VIP.

I also learned a new move last night.  Not like that.  I pointed out a guy who had beautiful blonde curls and my friend said she knew who he was.  At one point he walked past us and she slowly ran her hand down the small of his back!  (It's okay, she has an adorable boyfriend who was standing next to us who knew she was doing it for me.  She has agreed to be my pimp, and she's doing a good job so far.) He turned around because he knew it was one of us who had touched him so intimately, but we just both turned and looked the other way.  So the next time you feel someone run their hand down your back in a crowded club, look for my pimp or me trying to act like we didn't just touch you.

Other fun stuff:  Ladyfingers writes just like Stephen King!  Hahahahahahahaha.  The only name that could have been better was that lady who wrote Twilight!  I made sure to let him know that King writes in a way that makes him very popular and accessible to many people - just like Dan Brown.  He is crushed that his style is so pedestrian and commercial.

Here are some fuschia-themed pics. [ Since it has been so dreary in CA (average July temp is supposed to be in the 80s, not the freaking 60s), I've been surrounding myself with fuschia.  Fuschia bedding, to be exact.]  I had to take pics of the magnum (which was too heavy to pour), and send it to My Gays and the amazing soul who introduced me to Veuve.  And drinking in general.  And doing it while wearing bikinis and high heels.  Oh yeah, and I also liked this blog because it had pretty things: notcot.com's Veuve stuff. 

And this is how I feel after having access to magnums of my favorite champagne:

That's my new dog!  Well, she belongs to my roomie (for now), but she loves me because I let her do this to the couch when my roommate is out of town.  She's bummed about the weather too, and is trying my fuschia thing.

And All the Little Come-ons...

They were all just run-ons
And when I think of your arms
I forget what street to turn on - I'm Afraid of Everything  by Braid

I spend a lot of time doing dishes out here in CA.  Mostly washing the French press.  Mostly because it is cold and overcast a lot.  Mostly because everyone here has to be cool and not use something easy like a Mr. Coffee.   You know, because French presses make SUCH a good cup of coffee.  Because it's made with the world's worst tasting water. Anyway, the windows are always open, and it just kind of makes me feel like singing all the time.  Which is unfortunate because I have an awful voice.  And I live on a street with lots of foot traffic.  So I'm scrubbing the godforsaken French press (which I swear makes weak coffee), and singing my favorite Braid song.  And then I'm thinking that a super hot guy should walk by and be like "Hey, I love that song!  And I'm creative and funny and passionate and neither bi-polar nor an addict and I have tons of indie cred and I can fix your truck and/or computer and cook and surf and fingerbang well.  Let's makeout and fall madly in love just like a Braid song but with less angst."

Except no one good walked by, and if they did, they would tell me that I'm not 20 years old and to grow the eff up and stop trying to star in a bad Gen X film.  But then I got a text saying that Bob Nanna from Braid was doing an in-store San Diego's coolest place to see and be scene M-Theory Music, (say hi to Rick when you're there - he's adorable, and much to my chagrin, strives to be the exact opposite of Jack Black's character in High Fidelity).  I decided to go, since I have yet to learn that the bands of my youth can never live up to my post-post punk/hardcore expectations (this means you, Dinosaur Jr.! I gave you two chances!!).  But not to worry, he put on a good show.  I just felt a little out of place because I don't have an iPhone and/or a fixie.  And there were a couple creepy guys who kept addressing Bob as BOB, but it was just awkward because you could tell they were trying in vain to force a rapport that would never happen, due to their obvious hero worship and the fact that they were saying his name way louder than necessary. 

BOB was gracious and took lots of requests, even though these weirdos kept asking for songs that he obviously didn't want to play.  And then it was silent and a meek girl in pigtails yelled out that she wanted to hear "I'm Afraid of Everything," which was quite a relief, because that's what I wanted to hear, but I'm not really the type to yell at requests in a room full of emo-back-when-emo-meant-something-but-I-still-hate-the-term emos.  BOB agreed to play it.  And then the fanboys continued calling out for the same songs that he already said he didn't want to play, so he played something else to appease them.  And then he played something else.  And then he mentioned that he'd play her request.  And then he played something else.  And then then he played something else.  And then it was over.  But that's okay, because he played a lot of old stuff that I liked, and had he played the song, it probably wouldn't have lived up to my expectations.  Here's an old performance of the song if you're curious.  He's a good songwriter, and I think the drummer kicks ass. 



And then when I was leaving, I scraped the wall with my car!  I have never hit anything parking.  Ever!  I feel like such a loser/bad driver.  Also, Rick introduced me to BOB and I couldn't help but try for some witty banter.  BOB obliged, but I'm thinking it was a bit much.  I'm thinking the whole witty banter thing might be a bit much.  A guy friend advised that in light of the Grannypantygate, I should tone it down a bit, and just be cute until the unsuspecting fellow has already fallen madly in love, and then I can start to be myself.  But that's kinda unethical I think.  False advertising, if you will.  Personally, I love shittalkers, as long as they are funny and not mean.  Witty banter is a huge turn-on, and I don't think I should tone it down.  But I'm hanging out at record stores by myself in my 30s, so what the hell do I know?  I'm open to suggestions!

Here's a funny scene from High Fidelity.  And for those of you who don't know, Barry asks if the guy's daughter is in a coma b/c during the 80s, that song brought someone out of one. 

Finite Jest

I saw this pop up on facebook today - it's a site that tells you which famous writer you write like.  I just plugged in some stuff from here and prayed for a cool name to pop up.  I got David Foster Wallace!  Hahaha, Ladyfingers will be furious, as he worships the footnoted ground on which DFW walks.  I highly doubt the legitimacy of facebook apps., but it made me laugh just the same.  At least is wasn't Dr.Seuss.  Or Thomas Friedmann.  Or either of the Brontes.  Damn it, how do I make an umlaut?  (On a new computer that is giving me fits.)

Ladyfingers and I had a contest last year about who could have the most meaningful final class with their students.  Since he had seniors, and students who actually try at school, he kind of had the upper hand.  But, I had a lot of misfits who had actually started to read by the end of the year.  (I was really hoping to see how my most difficult student was affected, as he had revealed that my class was like therapy, even though we had a very rocky start where he had some sort of boundary-testing outburst every five minutes.) 

Ladyfingers decided to read DFW's commencement speech (probably 20 mins long?), because he loves to hear the sound of his own voice.  I opted for a Bukowski poem (uh, it was a tame one, and remember, these kids don't read so it's not like they will be corrupted) for two reasons:

1. I never got around to teaching poetry because trying to talk about poetry makes me uncomfortable.  Yes, this is one of my many teaching failures.  But, I also got them ready to write for (community) college, which is a decent tradeoff.
2. I found a clip of Bono reading it, which got me out of reading it aloud to a bunch of eye rollers.

I printed up copies of "Roll the Dice,"  passed them out, and then waited for the video to upload.  My school has one dial up connection, so things like this can take awhile.  Laptop crashed.  Then the projector had to be rebooted.  Then we had an effing fire drill!!!  We finally got back to class with three minutes left and things started to come together, but at this point they were just staring at the clock, which I could kind of understand.  The last thing they cared about was my goodbye message.  But I had spent a lot time putting this together, and I wasn't going to give up now.



The bell rang with about 5 seconds left in Bono's reading, and I made them sit and listen to it!   (I would have soooo hated me if I had me as a teacher.)  I told them to take the poem with them and to re-read it every now and then.  The difficult kid threw his in the trash as he walked out without saying goodbye. 

Of course, Ladyfinger's DFW reading was a smashing success, even though he'd broken his cardinal rule of never using a writer/book that you actually care about, because when the students tell you they hate it, you can't help but take it personally.  This year he read the speech again and his students blatantly yawned in his face; he contemplated jumping out the window.  I didn't even bother with a final "lesson." 

First, some shoes...

These are my new favorites.  I love the metal Gucci logo.  I fell in love with them when they came out in the spring, but they were too tall (5-inch heel), and too expensive.  On my way out of town, I decided to stop at Gucci and see if they had any left.  The salesgirl, was all, "Oh, you mean the ones that are on sale at 60% off right now?"  Uhm, YES!  I tried not to get excited, figuring they would never have them in my size, but they had one pair left in Vegas.  So these were waiting for me when I showed up in CA!  I have no idea what my new roomie thinks, nor do I care.  Okay, she thinks I'm a ridiculous whore and I care a little bit.

And these were the ones I had to leave behind.  They are a little fashion-forward, but they are exquisite.  And since they are Alexander McQueen's last collection, they are collector's items.  Like surfboards, they are functional art?  The salesman got all choked up when he talked about Alexander's unfortunate passing, so my friend kept bringing it up to make him cry. 

They have little skull zippers and they were so cute and were made of the softest leather.  But, I got three pairs of new heels for half of what these cost.  I win!  And now I need to find somewhere to wear these new shoes.

Crooked Horizons

I made it all the way to CA safely.  And then I slipped and fell on the bathroom floor after my first shower.  But I was expecting something to go wrong, so my ninja-like reflexes kept me from breaking any bones.  And now I'm waiting for UPS to deliver a bunch of clothes that I have no room for. 

The house is adorable, my roommate is super-cool, and there is a great yellow lab who shall remain in my good graces as long as she doesn't eat my shoes.

I am a little concerned because there are no heat vents in my room. 

Here's my yard with the boards that are finless because I can't find the screws for their fins.  (I'm not riding the shortboard yet.) And I also took some pics from Summer Solstice vball last night. 

I apologize for my absence!

I have been busy finishing school and packing up my life to move cross-country.  Everything has been going wrong, so I'll have plenty to bitch about on here once I'm settled.  Will try to update from the road, but technology has it in for me. 

I had to repack four times, in a heat index of 105 degrees.  Now I have the following 8.5 years of stuff crammed into my RAV4:

2 heavy longboards

1 shortboard

1 fish

1 heavy stupid beach cruiser

1 longass skateboard that I've avoided since I ate sh#t on it

3 heavy stupid paintings

70 amazing shoes

20 cute cocktail dresses

150 books stashed randomly in open spaces

3 wetsuits

1 blogger who is f#&king tired

1 Mom who is probably going to chain herself to my tailpipe if I try to leave

Mo' 'Mos

Again, don't expect a good title anytime soon.  And I'm sure you can see where this blog is headed.  Right into the gutter.  But it's a pool gutter.  And it's on a roof.  And it's two pools.  And one had a staircase through it.

This weekend started off with me going to bed on Friday night at about 8 o'clock.  It was either that, or go to some outside (sweaty) bar where people wear Guy Harvey shirts and sip Bud while listening to the shitty sounds of Jimmy Buffett.  Of course no one around here wanted to wear fancy shoes and make fun of other people for trying to be fancy, so staying in was really my only option.  Then I got up early on Sat. and started preparing for the shoe sale at Neimans.  I was hoping that Shoe Guy would come through.  At first I was a little pissed at Shoe Guy because he was supposed to set aside my snakeskin d'Orsay Manolos.  (I can't believe that they actually went on sale!  I would post a pic but there aren't any online for some reason?)  He was also supposed to set aside my Alexander McQueen works of art, but he didn't.  But, if all goes as planned, I will be getting a sensible pair of Louboutins and a super hot pair of Manolos at about 75% off.  Of course, nothing goes as planned - esp. when I'm trying to be sneaky - so we shall see.

I also felt kinda bad b/c Shoe Guy wanted a hug before I left, and I was wearing a sundress, so I got deoderant on his black suit.  But I didn't want to draw attention to the fact that I did something gross, so I just let it go.  But then I felt bad about him walking around with Shower Clean Degree all over his shoulder (he's short!).  Hopefully one of his coworkers pointed it out to him. 

I got home and realized that even though MGC was in Napa, my favorite super devious fun Gay had just moved into a new condo in Fort Lauderdale.  So I threw six pairs of heels and as many bikinis into a bag and headed down to where the bois are.  (Stop!)  We went to swanky bars and I wore a lot of polka dot dresses.  Super Devious Fun Gay (SDFG) had a rooftop pool, so we did some daytime drinking and made friends with the building gossip.  We also took a lot of pics of ourselves.  We decided to buy a raft (awesome) and Rose's Pomengranate mix (awesomer) to mix with vodka.   The high fructose corn syrupy goodness inspired all sorts of booty tooching/tilted head drunk perma grin shenanigans.  Here is me managing to do both, while almost rolling off the raft. 

Then we went to more fancy bars and the next day we decided to go to a fancy rooftop pool bar.  So fun!  The crowd was kinda cheesy, but after a few RBVs we started talking to all the people who we'd previously been making fun of.  And I'm sure the feeling was mutual, since as soon as I lied/bribed our way into prime sunbathing real estate, we pulled out the heels and camera and started making fools of ourselves.  Then, when we were packing our stuff to leave SDFG turned into a klepto and made me steal a fancy towel and some random Polo shirt that'd been left alone for five hours.  Then SDFG said I couldn't keep the towel, but I could have the shirt??  But he wasn't sober enough to hide the towel all the way under his bed, so I stole it back, and left him the shirt.  I figure he can get another, right?   I tried to speak Spanish for a few hours in order to sober up.  I feel sorry for those people.  And then I started my long drive home at about 11:30.  Yeah, that would mean four hours of sleep for me.  If I hadn't consumed 5 cans of Red Bull.

I realized that I forgot to eat lunch and dinner, so I grabbed a bag of Doritos (I don't even smoke pot) at the gas station and promptly dumped them all over the floor of my car.  I was so hungry and in a rush that I started eating the ones on top.  And maybe some from the middle of the pile.  Don't act like you've never been there!