Thursday, October 24, 2002

Every time I come to sit down at the blogstation lately, it's been for not good reasons. So if it's been quiet, it's because this isn't my style forum for bitching about the opposite sex or my parents who don't understand me. It's my forum for bitching about more mundane things that happen to be kind of funny in retrospect. or not.

In any case, the weather is beautiful, The Ring was mediocre, and Ingrid has escaped the past few weeks sans injury. The skatepark has of late been my savior, and I'm seeking some "quality escapism". C'est tout.

Monday, October 21, 2002

a new "most humiliating moment":

buying (sheepishly pushing across the counter and shrugging-style) the "cooking for yourself" cookbook at williams-sonoma.

Thursday, October 17, 2002

I broke my coffee maker this morning.

I woke up a little late, though not late enough that I couldn't have a little breakfast before traipsing off to the office. I lined a small bowl with baby spinach leaves and some mushrooms, dropped some sea salt and fresh black pepper in there, then cracked two eggs in there and stuck it in the oven that had been preheating while I was making my coffee.

15 minutes later, my baked eggs were ready and I went to pour myself some coffee, only to find that instead of the nice dark french roast i was expecting, there was a light brown liquid in its place.

Yes my dear friends, I put the coffee grounds in the water receptacle.

Wednesday, October 16, 2002

Well, my pad is very messy and there's whiskers on my chin
And I'm all hung up on music, and I always play to win
I ain't got no time for lovin' 'cause my time is all used up
Just sittin' 'round creatin' all that groovy kind of stuff

So last night, the behemoth advertising agency that I work for and our little cousin behemoth advertising agency went to see Nando Parrado speak. Nando was 19 years old when the plane carrying his rugby team and assorted family and friends crashed into the Andes during a flight from his home in Uruguay to Chile, where they were to play a match. An amazing story really, how these guys survived for 72 days in the Andes, especially when some of them had never even seen snow before. They had to break one of the biggest taboos to stay alive, but you know, you do what you gotta do. Hearing the whole story from the horses mouth makes me realize that eating their dead friends was one of the lesser sacrifices they had to make.

Now I know y'all are used to my reading my neuroses and bitching and whining and whatnot and I'm sure that'll return in time, but right now, I guess I'm just counting my blessings. I'm going to go watch my signed copy of "Alive" now. heh.

Monday, October 14, 2002

Oh yeah, you can comment now. Good idea, Heather #2. That's what we would call a Big Idea in advertising.

Which reminds me...

I was at Ralph's on La Brea the other day across the street from the hottie Trader Joe's (always hotties there), buying a greeting card for a birthday party. I was late of course and rushing through the express lane with my one item and neglected to put a divider after my card on the conveyor belt. This of course, caused the item belonging to the person behind me to continue, finally coming to rest on top of my birthday card.

I heard a quick gasp, saw a hand reach over to gingerly pluck her pink pregnancy test package off of my sad little card, and then hastily put behind a grocery item divider.

Oops. Sorry. Maybe NetEPT for this girl next time.

So, I watched Four Weddings and a Funeral yesterday. It's a romantic comedy as you probably well know and for whatever reason (I'm now afraid to ask why) people have been referencing it a lot lately. This of course drives me batty because I would like to think I'm pretty well-versed in popular culture references, highbrow, lowbrow, or anywhere in between. Unfortunately, this movie was probably released during a non-going-to-the-movies, especially not by myself period of my life, so These References were lost on me.

Anyway, thanks to Netflix., I was able to watch this movie without having to go to the video store, which would have necessitated some sort of other rental (something either highbrow or something at least masculine) to offset this not-very-manly choice, or barring that, at least some sort of excuse. You know the drill, buying a Sheryl Crow album (although I haven't), and then asking them if they have giftwrap, or "Well, I really don't want to watch this, my girlfriend wanted to see it, I hope she's not trying to tell me something, you think?".

Anyway, Netflix. I love it, I don't have to deal with lines, I can rent whatever the hell I want, no late charges, although if you're an idiot like me and you keep a movie for--oh, I don't know-- A YEAR, you may or may not come out ahead.

FYI, my other Netflix rental was Chungking Express, AND btw, woo-hoo, I made it a whole day without writing about my car.

Aw man, I was all set to write about yard sales in my neighborhood this morning (that would be Monday), and dooce beat me to it. Not that I had a yard sale or anything, but whatever. Anyway, my thoughts on the subject (in condensed form) are there. Bugger!

Friday, October 11, 2002

Ok, some explanation: I named Ingrid right around the time when I was trying to decide where our relationship was going. It had been a good 3+ year relationship and it was time to either stop renting (leasing) her and move on to another svelte euro (german? another swede?) or to settle down with my (still) dream date.

smoovebert: what time and how much? (i'm embarassingly broke)
skampgirl: i'm embarassingly broke too.
smoovebert: how does this happen? fuck.
smoovebert: it's because i decided to settle down with ingrid instead of just renting her
skampgirl: oh that's right.
skampgirl: she's your julia roberts in pretty woman.

aye. she is.

No seriously though, I need to move. I woke up this morning at 5:45 to hear a loud neighbor (think Megan Baltimore's "Mike") yapping on the phone. 5:45! "Yo, dawg, what's up, I can't believe you're calling me, yo!" And that was a very excited "I can't believe" rather than a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-calling-me-at-this-hour "I can't believe". I can't believe that guy's such a dork.

Repeated "shhhhh!"-ing, "Shut Up"-ing, and finally a plaintive "Please be quiet." from my neighbor (not "sings-better-than-me" girl, but "has loud sex" girl) and I finally shut that fucker up, but that's the perils of apartment living, yo. Maybe I need to stop off at Party House Liquors on the way home.

Thursday, October 10, 2002

it would be nice if you wouldn't make fun of me for naming my car.

I want to move. Pretty badly, actually. Why? Funny you should ask.
- Ingrid. There's no parking at my apartment building, so she is getting scraped up repeatedly by people who can't parallel park for shit and is no longer looking as pretty and sweet as she used to when I first brought her home. Not only that, I always have to consider the possibility that I may not find parking if I leave. So I basically I never go to the grocery store, and my diet of late has consisted of the few things in my immediate vicinity: Canter's, Nova Express, House of Thai Taste, Damiano's, Benito's Tacos, Max's, and Subway. And of course, Yummy, the new Pink Dot competitor.
- I think there is the remote possibility that the bathroom may collapse at any moment into the apartment downstairs. The whole floor in the bathroom is super warped, no doubt a side-effect from the amazing water pressure that the shower pumps out. Too bad I can't transfer some of that pressure to the toilet, which has NO pressure, meaning clogsville. All that water damage probably means that I'm slowly dying from mold poisoning too.
- While I'm on the subject of the apartment downstairs, let me mention the girl that lives there. I've never met this girl, much less seen her, but I can hear her sing and play guitar, and she is so much better than me that I have almost completely given up on playing and singing in my apartment. The few times that I do is usually preceeded by me crawling around on the floor making sure she's not home to hear me and laugh, or maybe i just get too drunk to care, which as you can well imagine, makes me suck even more.
- My commute sucks. It takes me something like 40 minutes to get to work, most of which is spent getting to the freeway. I hate Fairfax.

It's EXPENSIVE. Ok, maybe not THAT expensive, but more than I should be paying for a shitty one-bedroom with no parking and a toilet that won't flush anything bigger than a cigar without choking.

Wednesday, October 09, 2002

well looky here. i spent almost a whole day installing movable type on my web server. i'd imagine that if your'e reading this, you could have probably done that in your sleep (or know someone who could), but hey, i'm sorry, it took me forever. i'm good at the "making pretty" part of things, not the "making work" part of things, sorry. that's why we have programmer types that wear glasses and all that. bleh.

so it took me forever just because i wanted to make more work for myself and more importantly, save the $20 installation.

$20 is $20. still, why am i still using blogger? maybe it was because it was a challenge. you know us aries. whew!

Tuesday, October 08, 2002

Whoa, like a new blog and everything! Get out of town! No way! Woooooooooooooooooooohooo.