I Am Title-less and Tire-Some, OR, Less Tired, More Title!, OR, I Have Taken Too Much NyQuil

I got back early evening Monday from a weekend of wedding fun. I am waiting for the pictures to develop but here is a quick preview of the wedding locale, the beautiful Mt. Shasta Resort.

It’s funny how pristine the mountain looks compared to how messy the weekend was, but in a good way. So now I am exhausted to the point of delirium, and sick, and thus missed school today. And really I should be doing anything BUT blogging.

Still, I had to tell you comment worrywarts that I did change the sheets when I got home.

And that I only said the F word once and “hell” twice in front of the groom’s very nice and ranging-in-but-never-zero-piety relatives. And that I loved seeing all my girls and we giggled just like we used to.

And that I wore my sister‘s prom dress to the rehearsal dinner. The bride forgot to tell me I was invited, so I scavenged Penny’s closet in Redding. Hope that’s alright, Pen! Actually, I got way more compliments than I ever get when I wear items from my own closet. Hmmm.

Anyhoo, pics to come soon.

As soon as I stop hacking up a lung every five minutes. Class tomorrow is sure going to be fun! Whee!

Speaking of Exes

Penny and Gloria have both blogged about their exes recently. Which brought to mind mine. Well, that and the fact he is STAYING WITH ME. Weird!

But it has gone surprisingly OK. Allan is off now, watching his friend Barbie (yes, Barbie) play a gig in her punk rock band. And I am at home, supposed to be packing to go see the first of my high school friends, Tina, get married.

Instead, though, I am catching up on my blog reading, too keyed up from the nerves that come from seeing your ex-boyfriend for the first time in a few years. An ex-boyfried of three years, who I lived with for two of those. That’s a lot of proverbial water under the bridge.

There were only a couple of tense moments this evening. Mainly due to hurt between both of us as to why it ended. And I hate to say it (Capricorns KNOW EVERYTHING), but I think Allan is right. I think a lot of it was because I changed. I was only 23 when we first started dating. He was 29. And when I was 23, I thought I was an adult, fully formed, ready to take on marriage and everything else that follows. And I didn’t think any of that would change, so what did it matter that I was only 23?

Now that I’m 28, I still plan on getting married and settling down one day. But I’m a very different person than I was at 23. Not in big ways. But in little ways that add up. Ways that end a relationship you started when you were 23.

So I guess Allan was right.

But he’s having his just desserts, staying here while I’m gone. Mainly because he’s been threatening me to bring a harem back each night over the weekend and have them do all sorts of horrible things IN MY BED.

Remind me why I thought it was a good idea to have him stay here again? Oh yeah. To watch Fred & Ethel. Do it for the kids.

Random Celebrity Sightings

The past week has been a flurry of interviews, one big masochistic blur. Twelve interviews in 10 days. Three rejection letters already. (Hey Urs and Jen — do you like how I wrote out any numbers below 10, as well as 12, which started a sentence? I think of you two every time I make a conscious grammar decision.)

BUT. Since it’s totally boring (not to mention depressiing) to tell you about them all, instead I will regale you with tales of (semi-)celebrity sighting here in LA.

So on Wednesday night, Gloria and I headed to Theater of the New Ear, which rocked my socks off. Charlie Kaufman’s play within a play within a play…. was exactly what I needed to forget about a day of 20-minute exercises in verbal and aural circumcision.

AND. There was the added bonus of seeing the über-HOTT Josh Charles. I loved him as Knox Overstreet in Dead Poets Society. I loved him more as Bryan in Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead. And I nearly lost it in every episode of Sports Night.

And there he was, standing nonchalantly outside Royce Hall with a buddy. Gloria hadn’t arrived yet, and I was doing a lap around the hall to find her. And there He was. AND I’m pretty sure he checked me out. Really! I swear. We totally made eye contact. And then I had to pretend like I hadn’t noticed that one of my high school, college and mid-twenties fantasy icons wasn’t STANDING IN LIVING, BREATHING FLESH before me and keep walking. And he had been facing me, but right as I passed he moved perpendicular to me so, ipso facto, he could check out the rear view. I swear! What other explanation could there be for his movements? I mean, he definitely couldn’t be making sure a crazed fan wasn’t about to try to snap his photo, or wondering if I was really wearing flip-flips (oh. yes. i was.) to THE THEATER. No. The only reasonable explanation is that he was checking me out. Dude! Res ipsa loquitur!

After my Knox Overstreet sighting, it was hard to concentrate on anyone else, even though I am the worst stare-er and eavesdropper ever, except maybe for Gloria, which I think is why we get along so well. But I did manage to spot Helen Hunt’s sister in Mad About You, Doogie Howser’s girlfriend Wanda, the infamous Randall Batinkoff, and Billy Zane, who was wearing a sharp grey pinstripe suit and is much less grandiose than I imagined, though still much taller than me.

If all this elbow-rubbing with C-listers (except Josh and Billy of course, kisses!) wasn’t enough, on Friday, there was Jason Biggs in the Sunset Strip Starbucks parking lot. He was leaving as I arrived, in a dark grey Audi A4, which surprised me. And impressed me if it means that he is more conservative with his money than say, Adrian Grenier, who I was in front of in line once at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf at the Beverly Center as he talked really loud to get attention.

So, phew! I know all you non-LA folks are totally blown away by all my sightings of people you vaguely remember! But people, after three rejection letters, my abiltiy to spot people listed 18th down in the credits all I’ve got to hold onto! A sad, sad, sad state of affairs.

Is It Legal To Discriminate against Dumbasses?

The dreaded goose egg did not materialize, thank goodness. So while I still showed up for my interviews with my normal fivehead, I did not look (too) deformed. So much for Laurie’s plan to pull the fear-of-seeming-discriminating card.

No, in my case, the only discriminating the firms will be doing is against dumbasses. Oh yes. Over my last eight interviews, I have managed to:

• Fall into two subtle traps laid for me (this I am not so worried about because who wants to work with people who are constantly trying to trick you?!)
• ALMOST fall over, AND only avoid falling over (slippery floors + no-traction heels + arms full of firm chotchkes + heavy conference door = DISASTER) by using the interviewer’s outstretched hand for balance, meaning that I held it WAY TOO LONG and he withdrew it so forcefully I know he thinks I WANT HIS BODY or better yet, I AM CRAZY.
• Sound arrogant
• Contract a bad case of verbal diarrhea (twice)
• Um, kind of forget the name of the firm I was talking to and have to check my handy-dandy website printout

But, lucky me, only FIVE MORE TO GO! Ugh. If I can just make it through without dying of shame I will be happy.

In other news, I have totally given up running. But I have come to terms with my destiny as a lazy bum and am OK with it.

Really, it’s who I am. Last May, my high school girlfriends and I went to Vegas.

And we’re all sitting around in the hotel room, getting ready to go out for the evening, and this love-fest of body talk ensues in which each girl’s body is matched to a type of athlete — one girl has a runner’s body, another a softball player, a dancer, a volleyball player. “What about me?” I ask, indignant.

Silence.

Sigh. So you see I was meant to be a sloth.

And, apparently, a dumbass.

The Big Goose Egg

It’s 10:15 on Wednesday night. Tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. I have my interview with one of the only big, sweatshop firms I have a chance with.

Five minutes ago I went to go empty the litter box and, because I am exhausted, totally banged my head on a shelf giving myself a nice big bump on one of my already prominent frontal protuberances.

My question.

Do I:

a) Stay up a couple extra hours icing my forehead in the hopes that the consequences of neither of the following two occasions reoccur:

• That time in third grade when I played center field (before I moved up to third base) on my softball team and I took one between the eyes that quickly drained to my face until I had two black eyes for weeks.
• That time in ninth grade when my normally gentle brother Jeff whacked me so hard I had a goose egg in the middle of my forehead so big it parted the waters of my hair-sprayed bangs.

b) Go to bed and hope for the best.

What makes this even THAT MUCH BETTER is Ethel. Ethel, who loves to bat things off their perches — earrings, water glasses, wine glasses FULL OF RED wine, my reading assignments. Bat them off and then either sleep on them or steal them away somewhere. Because Ethel has batted my concealer off into the dark underbelly of my apartment, never to be seen again.

I foresee an angry, black-eyed trip to Rite-Aid in the morning.

Kisses, Fred & Ethel!

In Between Days

So in between all the hurricane coverage and law school and such I have actually done some stuff! Fun stuff! Just so this blog doesn’t become too maudlin, here’s a recap:

I hung out with my sister Penny and her roommate Rachel and met Rachel’s dog Lucy who is the cutest ever and WILL NOT BE DETERRED from licking your face. Even when she just drug in something unsavory from the apartment complex lawn that we shall never speak of again.

I also met Rachel’s shower curtain, whom I like to call “Mademoiselle La Petite Va-va-voom.” The pink maribou? The ribbons? Those are REAL, people, REAL!

On Thurday I went to drinks with the inimitable Gloria. We battled the odd, no-discernible-order seating system at Father’s Office. Really, you just have to hover in wait for a table. And let me tell you, there is a fine line between polite hovering and VULTURE and this woman, she crossed it:

So of course we photographed her. The only suitable revenge. But the wait for the burgers was worth it, I thought. You can read more about the evening here.

And Friday I met Dagny and her friend Shrew for a thoroughly enjoyable late lunch at Library Alehouse, where topics ranged from cats to deabeat boyfriends to dogs to the hurricane and then back to pets again. We have our priorities straight.

Sunday (we won’t talk about Saturday; it consisted only of news coverage and real estate finance, blech) I headed over to Laurie’s for the emergency planning session with her and Shannon and Karman. I hadn’t seen Laurie in OVER THREE WEEKS which is some kind of tear in the space-time continuum, so I was happy to see she was alive and relatively happy given the fact that her faith in our government to protect its people had been shattered.

Then it was onto the King Tut exhibit at LACMA. Where I reaffirmed my belief that the audio tour, while interesting, totally interferes with a crowd’s ability to move normally through an exhibit. And also, when did it get kosher to have an exhibit on ancient artifacts without mentioning the poor schlubs who had to produce them? Still, in general the exhibit was awesome. I came away amazed at so much ingenuity so early in our history.

Phew! And that, aside from two stressful summer job interviews and a buttload of reading, brings us up to date!

Waiting for Godot

Sorry I have not written in so long. Every spare internet second I have had has been spent refreshing CNN.com and NYTimes.com for news on my southern brethren.

I have been waiting, waiting for the news that everyone is safe, that the cavalry has arrived and has removed the people to their salvation. But that is not the news I see. No. Still more waiting, waiting. And dying.

Still more politicians saying thank you to so-and-so governor and so-and-so public official and still nothing. A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

I am thankful that my family in Louisiana is safe. I am thankful my school is doing its part. And I am thankful that millions of Americans are reaching into their pockets and hearts to help.

But in between the thanks comes anger. The anger shared by Kanye West and New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin.

And then comes the fear.

So I am doing what I can. I am donating as much as a poor student can spare.

And I am sure as hell not counting on the feds to do anything for me when the Big One hits LA. I am building an emergency kit (thanks, Mom, for the Target card — you did not think it would be spent on batteries, a first-aid kit and bottled water, did you?). I am making sure I have enough supplies for Fred & Ethel. And tomorrow morning Laurie, Shannon and Karman and I are planning our survival strategy.

Maybe this all sounds a little overwrought, a little crazy. But I owe it to Fred & Ethel and to my family to be prepared. And so do you! No part of the U.S. is immune from earthquakes, tornadoes, hurricanes and floods. Get yourself a cute little first-aid kit and flashlights ready. It’s fun! You can make lists! And cross stuff off!

Don’t wait for Godot. He’s not coming. And if he does, he’ll just make you sleep in a barn.