Decorative Gourd Season

Ahhh the fall. It is a time during which we Americans celebrate Halloween and Thanksgiving. Turkeys, football, and cornucopias. The star of the cornucopia is the gourd. Throughout the years we have developed an obsession with gourds.

These awkwardly shaped veggies have made a move from our kitchen to seasonal decorations as well. In case you are unaware of the versatility of this magnificent food, please click here.

And you thought your awkward stage ended when you graduated high school.

I have been an awkward person all of my life. I am obnoxiously taller than most and I have a strange obsession with grammar.

For the most part, I am surrounded by others who are just as quirky as I. We spend our time discussing Ligers and how cool the Haka is. Over the years I have come to terms with this, and I let my freak flag wave in all it's glory.

The must have accesory for the Fall season...

This sh*t just got real

Registration is now open for.....

Oh yes. This marathon is going to make me it's bitch. With a landmark every mile, it has the potential to be awesome. It also has the potential for disaster. Knowing me, it will be the latter.

Just for shiggles....

By Anne Taintor

Sorry, I can't detach my emotions from my vagina.

 
Sometimes, no matter how old a man is, they still act like an 18 year old tool. These are actual e-mails between my friend and the biggest tool in the shed.

On Sun, Aug 21, 2011 at 11:03 AM, C wrote:
Hey G,

I've been thinking about the vague conversation we had about this woman who has come back into your life recently and I realized that as much as I wish I could detach my vagina from my emotions - I can't. And I don't feel very good about the situation we're in - amorphous as it is. I like you. But I know that this isn't going anywhere and you don't have feelings beyond a certain point for me. So, I propose we remain friends. I am just certain that things will become too confusing if we keep sleeping together. Please don't think twice about coming over and hanging out with L and K. I don't want there to be any tension. You're great and I think you should go after someone you love. Forgive me for saying all this in an email but somehow I think it would be all jumbled and incoherent by telephone. I hope to see you soon!

C

I'm a big kid now?

"When you turn 25, that's when you will really be grown up."

From the time I was young my mother has always used this age as a marker for everything. The age when it's appropriate to make any adult decisions. Now that my 25th birthday is glaring at me I am forced to look at those around me and see where they are in their lives.

My friends have all done well for themselves, pursuing what makes them happy. I cannot help but feel an overwhelming amount of discontent and sadness with what is going on in my life. Don't get me wrong, I am lucky to have a fantastic support system, a roof over my head, and a job. I always thought there would be more.

I think the hardest thing is that I thought I would have it all figured out by now, but I don't. My soul is pulling me into a thousand different directions and I cannot choose just one. I am a firm believer in taking charge of your life and making that change. I just don't know what to do.

Is everyone as lost as I am? Are they just better at hiding it?

Busta Rhymes lives up to his name

I always host one woman dance parties in my car. Oh yes, I am that person. Although many of the onlookers are probably staring in a jealous rage that they do not have sweet moves like I, there are a few that gawk at my music choice - rap. Being a white girl from the suburbs who likes loves rap puts into an elite group of people who appreciates inspired rhymes and a "sick beats".

So, I was cruising in my Jetta (wait is that another white girl stereotype I see?), bumpin' some sweet tunes and rocking out when the unmistakable verses of Busta Rhymes come onto the radio. Unfortunately, it was in a song by Chris Brown, the ultimate douchebag, but all I have to say, is after not hearing from Mr. Rhymes for many years, he's still got it. Check it out below (just skip to minute 1:28 to miss the tool).

Seriously, he is amazing.

Cinespia: the only time you can get excited about going to a cemetery

Recently I partook in a hipster's dream come true, Cinespia (it's really obscure, you've probably never heard of it). It's where you spend the evening with hundreds of your closest Angelenos watching a classic film at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. Whip out the skinny jeans and get a 6-pack of PBR and you are good to go!

I blame the MAN

Sorry I have been MIA, I am now officially a slave to the man. I promise there will be an update on everything that has been going on soon! Until then, here are some cute puppies.

Where were you?

There are moments that define generations. For years people have asked, "Where were you when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor?" or "Where were you when Kennedy was assassinated?" It is impossible not to ask these questions for the events changed the path of modern American history.

My generation bears a huge load, one that many have argued could tear the nation apart. We will be asked, "Where were you on September 11, 2001?" The answer is simple. I was getting ready to go to an early morning English class in my sophomore year of high school when my Mom turned on the radio and told me that this was important. I was in class when the towers came crashing down. At the time I didn't realize what a BIG FUCKING DEAL it was.

Cake Balls - or how many inappropriate jokes can you make in a weekend?

As many of you know (or have experienced) I freaking LOVE cooking. I find it to be the most relaxing thing and I spend my days watching the Food Network searching for new ways to enjoy my favorite thing - food. Now, I always want to pull a Paula Deen (when in doubt, add more butter and deep fry that shit) but my inability to buy a new wardrobe for an ever expanding waistline keeps me in check.

 Recently, Starbucks rolled out these new cake pops and they're a little piece of heaven. Super moist cake covered in chocolate and in bite size form tempts me every time. For a friend's birthday I decided to attempt to make these because let's face it, cake is so two years ago. It wasn't too difficult to find a step-by-step guide to making them, but when I returned from the market I realized I forgot one of the most important parts of the cake pops. I did not procure the lollipop sticks. Since I did not have time to go back to the store, I made an executive decision and renamed these gems cake balls. Oh yes, let the inappropriate jokes begin.

Ghosts of my dating past

When it comes to dating, everyone has a "type". Some girls like athletic men, some the altruistic ones, and others like ambitious men. My "type" does not fit into any of these categories. My good friends consistently are able to pinpoint my type, it is the douchebag (if unfamiliar with the term, please click here). Yes, the guy who you see at the bar with a smug look and tight abs has made me weak in the knees for years. Many of you will be able to see where such endeavors go, a brief romance with un-returned phone calls and yes, anger. In an effort to turn my luck with dating around, I consulted my friends. As I listened I thought, "It's really simple, the only thing all these men had in common was me." Clearly I was just picking the wrong guys. In an effort to amend my treacherous ways, I'm looking back at the ghosts of my dating past. Oh yes, it is good.

My first experience with dating and men happened in the seventh grade. Ah, middle school. I was not a popular kid and one day one of the “cool kids” asked me out. I was elated; this really cute popular kid liked me! Life was beautiful, but I soon realized it was a cruel joke, and two days later I was over it. Karma is a bitch. I recently saw him and it was a shocker. I consoled my 12 year old self with “yes awkwardly tall girl with untamable curly hair, by the time you are 24 you will have legs for days, have discovered hair product, and he will have a receding hairline.” Hah! Sweet victory and life's sweet revenge. Little did I know then that this experience would set the tone for my dating life - men who lack seriousness and commitment.  Maybe my attraction to these men started young or maybe it's my karma.

Fast forward to my sophomore year in high school, I began dating a guy who went to an all boys private high school. Um...can anyone say red flag?! But did I see it? No. I thought he was going to be my first boyfriend and I *sigh* was completely smitten. He was my first kiss and our mutual friends were dating. I was ready to ride off into the sunset. In reality, he was looking to get laid, a shock to my infatuated heart. It was like getting hit over the head with a ton of bricks. All men want is sex?! How can this be?! Why doesn’t he care about my feelings!! Boo-hoo!! Needless to say we had an explosive falling out involving him throwing out as many negative degrading things that he could; all of which I took to heart (oh my, what about that Catholic education?). Did I learn my lesson? Of course not! I merrily continued searching for more "hot" guys.

 

The most recent asshole I dated wasn’t your traditional “dude-bro”. Returning from Europe, I caved to my mother’s request that I try online dating. I met a guy, he treated me well, and we got along great. After a month and a half of dating I felt as though I was on the brink of a mature, adult relationship. This changed when I found out he was still on the hunt for other girls online. I like to call this guy peek-a-boo douche, I had to work to find out he was a shit head. He showed his true colors. I confronted him and ended it. He said he was afraid of hurting me - what a guy - and should have been more empathetic to my feelings. I told him not to confuse empathy with cowardice.

I have moved away from this "normal type”, and I am optimistic that I will find someone someday. Until then, I am enjoying my single life and relishing in the fact that I don’t have to feel guilty about accepting a free drink from an attractive gentleman.

My partner in surfing the interwebs

Oh yes, this looks like your average cute cuddly cat. WRONG. He is the master of annoyance, an attention grubbing whore that just happens to like to cuddle. I mostly do one handed surfing otherwise he will just lay atop my keyboard demanding attention.

Thoughts after game 1...

Dear Lakers,

In case you didn't know, the playoffs are going on. Please show up for game two.

Sincerely,

Your loyal fans




Image taken from here.

Sueños españoles

Anyone who has been abroad for a prolonged period of time knows how tough it can be. After the initial excitement of being in a new place wears off, the inevitable home sickness and culture shock set in and take some time to recover from. I had the chance of a lifetime, I was in Europe for two months. As romantic as that all sounds, there was no time to find true love on the back of a Vespa. In reality I spent most of my time lesson planning and stressing about getting a job. Before I knew it, I was stranded on the streets of Madrid at 5 AM with a bank card that wouldn't work (ah, but that is another story).

I find myself really missing Spain, which is funny because there were a lot of times that I was miserable there. Lacking the resources to return, I am living vicariously through my pictures. So, here are some memories and stories from my times en España :)

One of my first experiences with tapas in Sevilla was this awesome thing called chorizo al infierno. I just thought it would be spicy chorizo, but no they lit it on fire and it was up to you to extinguish it. It was amazing.

Spain, being super Catholic, has massive processions to celebrate someone's passage into sainthood. It's really impressive, but as one Sevillana put it "Oh there was another procession last night?"

It is impossible to get a decent café con leche here. All the baristas are afraid of making it "too strong" and they can never get the espresso to steamed milk ratio right, but I keep looking. I also met some amazingly awesome people from all over the world. I keep in contact with most of them (some of you may be reading this, miss you XOXO) and hope I will continue the connection for years to come.

So I guess the question remains: Will I go back? The answer is...

Sure one day I will return, but there are other places I want to see (and attempt to man fish). For now, here are some more pictures of the beauty that is España.

And just a few of my favorites from Portugal:

1. A woman feeding a pigeon.

 2. Rico, the cat on a leash!

Staying at the Standard, you fancy huh? And a few tips for the ladies.

Downtown Los Angeles is one of my favorite areas. Recently, I stayed at the Standard, a famous hotel located in the heart of this neighborhood. Here's what happened:

I stayed here with a good friend after attending a Lakers game and enjoying a few too many martinis. At a hefty $200 a night, it is still cheaper than a DUI. We got to our room and giddly looked at the glass wall of the bathroom and made our way to the awesome rooftop bar. With drinks at $10 a pop, we luckily met some fine gentlemen by the elevator who were more than happy to splurge on us. Tip #1: Ladies, don't look desperate, just start a conversation.

After making our way up to the bar and getting our drinks we had the obligatory conversation with the two gentlemen. They were really nice, but we were bored. As luck would have it the area we were hanging out in was closing for the evening and we "got separated". We began searching for new guys, but unfortunately we attracted the creepers. We tried to shake them, but they were following us like sad puppy dogs. Then they even had the audacity to try to invite themselves to our room. Tip #2: Be a bitch when you need to. Using carefully chosen words I told them to go away.

 Then the greatest threat to our diets set in...the drunk munchies. We dined on a cheeseburger, mac and cheese, and a banana split. Room service + the Standard= feeling very fancy. Downside: freaking expensive. Tip #3: Find someone to pay for it.

Overall, it was a really fun experience in a downtown hotel.

Education Starved Children in Africa

Hello!!! I am very happy to have my dear friend Chelsea guest blogging. Here is her perspective on the piece:


"I was in the thick of a political theory course. I was not in my right mind. My life consisted of too much studying and not enough contact with the outside world. When I rediscovered this lengthy paragraph in an obscure file on my laptop I almost wished I could be in school again. Oh, perspective, you little bitch."

 


 There are days when I find myself sitting in front of this very computer shaking my head in disbelief. I cannot understand how so much time can be spent, so much energy invested, and so many pleasures sacrificed all in the name of education.

Today is one of those days.

I am up to my earlobes in reading and studying, so I try to think about the things that make this all bearable. This is harder than it sounds.

Of course, the famous "they" have said that all hard work pays off in the end. Yet, whoever 'they' were did not talk to college students going into obscene amounts of debt simply to become functioning, and hopefully, contributing members of society.

Yes, I am embittered and cynical.

However, I am not lacking perspective. When all grumbling and whining is done, I am all too aware that somewhere, several somewheres actually, there are people that would kill or die to be in my shoes. I am currently engaged in a process that will give me more power than some can ever know. I am getting an education.

I am a vast receptacle of both useful and esoteric knowledge. I do not know everything. In the grand scheme, I know very little. However, I still know more than most, and my life is still new and there is time for more.

On a daily basis, I take an innumerable amount of things for granted. What once were gifts and treasures to appreciate and respect, have become commonplace commodities and conveniences.

Add education to the list.

I have somewhere in my mind come to believe that education is yet another due owed to me. Perhaps it should be, but it is not. Education must be paid for in money, in time, and in effort. This is the “there are education starved children in Africa” argument that our mother’s might espouse during dinner table discrepancies about following through.

Perhaps, someday in the future, far, far away from now, the somewhat embittered and more than a little cynical individuals who will encompass the so called, Educated Elite will do the world a favor and make it less complicated and better for those who come after them, not just here, but everywhere.

This gives me hope and pushes me to do my homework.

Image taken from here 
Cartoon taken from this really awesome blog over here.

Put a flower in your hair

I am very excited to be heading to San Francisco this weekend to visit a good friend. I hope you all have a great weekend :]

Image taken from: Google Images

Blind dates also known as matchmaking FAIL.

            I think I have been on more first dates than the average person has in their lifetime. I have been set up, asked out, slipped digits, and cat called. The one thing I learned, there is no replacement for chivalry. My childhood expectations of a knight sweeping me off my feet was shattered long ago and replaced with the glimmer of hope that just maybe a date would pay for dinner (fancy, huh?). These days, most of my friends are in happy stable relationships skipping merrily along the golden pathway toward wedded bliss. I remain content in my single-hood, but as usual people continue to have a gnawing desire to set me up or reassure me that my “other half” is out there. Apparently they are more worried about it than I am; besides nothing is sexier than an unemployed college grad that lives with their parents. 

          Whoever decided that setting up their friends on blind dates is a good idea should be punished by having to sit through the uncomfortable event. A coworker arranged my first venture to the blind dating world because “he is tall and [I am] tall.” Clearly we were meant to be. I begrudgingly accepted the offer and went in as optimistically as possible. Who knows, he could be the next Kobe Bryant. I arrived at the theater and spot him immediately, at 6’7” he doesn’t blend in. He is standing by a pillar trying look casual, but achieving a level of awkwardness that would make any World of Warcraft master proud. He was cute enough, but could not carry a conversation. I tried to shake it off as nerves, but there was something else. Then it hit me, he was one of the video game addicts who sat at home on Friday nights arranging their action figures and drinking Mountain Dew Code Red; as in this is his first day ever. Realizing this, I tried to make the best of it, but his comic book obsession (amplified by the fact we were seeing Sin City) left me begging for a way out. He kinda reminded me of a younger version of these guys:

  

         One clever excuse and an uncomfortable hug later I was back to the safety of my car drafting the scathing text message to be sent to my coworker for failing at being Cupid. When Mr. Wrong realized my disinterest, after dozens of unsolicited texts left unanswered, he approached our matchmaker and demanded, “I WANT TO KNOW WHY!” Apparently he thought that our height made us compatible, and I never heard from him again.

Sometimes you just really want awesome things....

Like this

I think it would just add to any cover letter that I attach to a resume. Don't you think it will lead to more interviews? Couldn't hurt right?!

Question of the day

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be and why??

Image taken from: Google Images

I wish I could deal with this in my thirties....

      There are many benefits to the fact that my parents were older when they had children - they were established as people, making them selfless in the upbringing of my sister and myself. As I got older inevitably my parents did as well, and this past year has been a tumultuous health year for my family.

      At the age of twenty-three, when my mother was going in for brain surgery, she said to me in French, "If I die I want this, that, and the other done." These sort of pre-surgery thoughts are tough for everyone, but at twenty-three I didn't have the maturity to deal with it. Luckily, my mother survived. Score: us-1 death-0. The thing that struck me while she went through months of recovery was how inhospitable the hospitals are - even if they share the same root word. They are not conducive to healing, the room my arbor loving mom was in didn't have a window. I am not a fan.

     Last night we had to go back, and I was reminded again why I hate being there. The hurry up and wait game is exhausting. There are people everywhere, but no one to help you. I know that life is fleeting and one day I will have to bury my parents, but is it so much to ask the almighty Flying Spaghetti Monster to put it off for ten more years?!

Photo from: Google Images

Los Angeles and the men who act like women

“I love Los Angeles. I love Hollywood. They’re beautiful. Everybody’s plastic, but I love plastic. I want to be plastic.” Andy Warhol’s attitude is something I have become accustomed to from growing up in Los Angeles. The perception of the average LA native is that we’re all narcissistic, shallow assholes with superiority complexes. This stereotype is not completely baseless. It seems as though the harshest critics of this beautiful city are the ones who “want to be plastic”. The transplants (those who move to LA from other areas) that seek the Hollywood look and “acceptance” perpetuates this image. I find men who come here, spend copious amounts of time at the gym, cut out all complex carbs (yes, it is very masculine for you to admit that you don’t eat pasta because you think it will make you fat), worry more about which black polo to wear (sorry to burst your bubble, they all look the same), and spend more time on their hair than I do (do you have unruly curls to tame? I didn’t think so). So who is really perpetuating this image? I am in no way saying that every Angeleno transplant is going to turn into a self absorbed douchebag nor am I say that all natives are saints; the question is when the men become effeminate how are the women supposed to act?

Anyone who has dated in the past 5-10 years knows that the game has changed. As a young girl I believed that a man would chase after me and would love me for who I was. What a load of crap that has turned out to be. Although gender norms of male dominance and female submission are continually instilled in young people through peers, family, religion, and the media what are women to do when men change the terms for the dominate role? These issues are not applicable to all men and all relationships, but I know that my friends and I have experienced the reversal one way or another. I am here to share my experiences and guide my fellow ladies in how to find a man in LA who breaks the mold, watch out for Mr. Douchebag, and what to do in case you get the jerk (eek!).