WWBJD: Real Life

Some days, nothing really has to change for you to see that your life sucks.  That you're never going to get what you want in life unless something changes, and nothing's going to change for a really long time.  Even if you've been promised it would.  Even if you deserve it.  Even if you have a very easy to implement way for it to change immediately.  Even if you have said as much multiple times, and not really gotten a good reason for why it's not changing in response.

I guess I didn't realize how much like my biological father I really am.  That I've constructed a world based entirely on my denial of reality.  That I actually kind of sort of believed this world was real.  That I really did forget the truths that I couldn't accept, couldn't face day in and day out.  But some days, they all hit you smack dab in the face, like the sliding glass door your dog thinks is open.  Bam, nose crunching, head smashing, on the floor knocked out.  Everyone's laughing, and you know you should be laughing too - if not for the fact that it hurts.

That's what I mean about nothing having to change.  The only real change is your own perspective.

So now, I'm sitting here, wondering how I can manage not to cry.  I have a book that I find thoroughly entertaining (I read books as a part of work - note: that's the part of work I like), and the 65 pages I have left to read could fill this little period of emotionally draining suckage. 

What would Bridget do?  Read the book or Cry?

I think she'd eat.  I'm going to track down some chocolate stat.

Update:  I hate it when I'm sad.  Sorry, guys.  But maybe someone will read this and know they aren't alone.

On Seasons

Weight:  Eleventy million pounds and counting...

Dear Weather Men:
What did you think Summer was going to be like?  Yes, I know some summers, most in fact, people die from heat exhaustion, dehydration, etc.  It IS a serious problem, and I agree that the heat index is definitely worth telling people about.  It's what some, not Newsweek but some, might call "news."  It very well might affect their preparedness and safety under such conditions and therefore save lives.

But when it's Winter, you talk about "The Blizzard of the Century."  When it's Spring, you talk about "the Rain that made Waterworld a reality."  When it's Summer, you talk about it being "really, really hot."  Shocker.  You act like Snow in a place like Boston is always "record-breaking," when in reality, that's just a place where it snows a lot.  People should know that.  Summer = heat.  Winter = cold.  Cold places = cold winters.  These are all just facts.

When I was a kid (a million years ago, I know), we didn't talk about the weather being "THE END OF THE WORLD!"  We just said "the high will be in the mid 80s" (which is what it is here in Sunny, Deadly Burbank, by the way), and left it at that.  It was called "summer."  It lasted about 3 months, and then we all moved into what we called "fall."

So, come on!  Let's have a little accountability here!  If at age 5, you knew to wear shorts in the summer and to put on sunscreen, how did that fact escape you later on?  If at age 7, you knew not listening to your mom about putting on your coat in the winter would give you a cold - otherwise known as "a much needed week off from school" - when did you forget it?  Was it in your drunken 20s?  Kill too many brain cells, did you? 

Sincerely,
California Girl who wants it to be hot enough to go to the beach.

PS - I was promised temps in the 100s this week.  You've only reached an 86.  86?  That's a B for you, weather.  I'm watching you.

PPS - Have theory that 9/11 is to blame for all this weather hype. Fear tactics, I tell you. I want no more of it!  That being said, please no one make this into a discussion about global warming...just let that opportunity slide this time.  I really would rather not politicize it with a party in mind.

How Sexy is Self-control?

Weight: argh.  x+18.  If you didn't suspect that from the Starbucks treat yesterday.

Has any guy in the history of the planet uttered the following:  "Oh, wow, she's so strict with her diet....it's so sexy..."

Answer:  NO!  They have not!  And you want to know why?  Because it's not sexy to be a "rule follower," even if the rules are eating sensible portions of healthy foods.

No!  In fact, boys buy girls boxes of chocolates, CHOCOLATES!  That's because they WANT you to give into temptation....live a little. 

Far more often, they'll utter the following:  "Mmm, how good is that milk shake?  How delicious is that chocolate chip cookie?  Can I split your brownie?  No, I can't?  Because you've already devoured the whole thing...scandalously hot..."

Now that's what I call sexy, dude.  So much for self-denying ritualistic torture of dieting.  Yeah, I will eat that cookie....mmm....and I'll LIKE it!

So, guess what, boys.  I'm about to be the JAMES DEAN of eating chocolates.  Totally hot.

*PS.  Boys, you'll just have to accept that with that giving-into-temptation lifestyle, we're going to be a little on the chubbier side.  You didn't want to hug a coat rack, did you?

Thanks, Starbucks

Weight:  x+17.  Nutella....100% nutella.

Today, I went to Starbucks to get a reduced-fat calorie-free treat that, in fact, has a zillion calories.  So, that's not a good thing to do if you're a girl keeping up the charade of being on a life-long diet. 

BUT!  I refused to get the iced grande chai latte I really did want to go with it.  The barista (not to be confused with barrister - the likes of Mark Darcy) asked if I was quote* "sure," and I admitted I was not - but that I wasn't going to get it anyway.  I do have SOME self-control, after all.

THEN!  He printed my receipt, stamped the back, and said "well, you can get a grande iced drink for $2 with this receipt if you wait 6 more minutes."

Six.  More.  Minutes....  The very thing that I wanted which would have cost $3.66 had I not resisted earlier....and now they tell me I can save 45% on the very same thing if I wait 6 minutes.  Eek, resolve, stay with me.

If I make it through the day with the receipt remaining unused, not only will I have saved $2, but I will have saved 200 calories.  So, THANK YOU, Starbucks, for testing me!  I'm stronger for it!
...
...
...
Where's that blasted receipt, I really want a grande iced chai with non-fat milk, easy on the ice!

*I know I don't have to type "quote" if I actually use quotes, but I just like it.  Sue me.

HP 7.2: It all ended 7/15/2011

Burbank was quite crowded the night before Harry Potter 7.2 ifficially opened.  I had to park a million miles away from the theater so I could walk to the ticket box and buy tickets for the NEXT night's showing (because A) I'm too cheap to pay the extra $1 per ticket to order them online and B) I'm not THAT much of a freak to see it at midnight on Thursday night).

When I did go to see Harry Potter on Friday night, I got there an hour ahead of time and was made to wait outside in an unlit alley way (one floor up from this one) that circled the building in some kind of "emergency exit only" section of the theater that the cops should have busted.  It was, in a word, a scary place to be waiting.  Trapped between concrete walls, no light, the only other human beings around you dressed for Quidditch.  However, I soon realized that these were the least threatening teenagers on the face of the planet.  Much like snakes, I safely assumed they were more frightened of me than I was of them.  So I attempted to read my book by the light of my smart phone for the hour.

The logical question: was it worth it?  OF COURSE it was worth it!  It's Harry freaking Potter, the end of an era!  But I refuse to spoil anything for anyone.  So go see it yourselves!

So what, I've seen Harry Potter 7.2 twice already. How many times do you think THIS GUY saw it?

Adorableness!


Since I didn't get to go to New York, and since I had purchased tickets to see Harry Potter, I mean Daniel Radcliffe in How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying on Broadway, there was one extra ticket for my friend to take another friend with her.

And she chose an adorable little 9-year-old named Lillie who happens to love horses.  It was her first show, and she definitely convinced me that she enjoyed it with this Thank You note and self-drawn picture of her favorite part!  Not to mention a cute
Broadway T-shirt for my collection!  (Yes, I collect
Broadway Tees, what of it?)

Thank YOU, Lillie, for restoring my faith in mankind!

Carmageddon! It's upon us!

Weight:  legitimately forgot to weigh in, but last time was Sunday, and that was a very nice x+15.  Then, I proceeded to eat out a lot.  A lot, a lot.  Like my weight in bread, hummus and frozen yogurt.  So who knows.  I say this so that, should I post again tomorrow, I won't think "My GOODNESS, how could I have gained 5 pounds by RUNNING last night?"  That doesn't help my self-esteem very much at all.

Onto the subject at hand:  This weekend, the 405 is closing for the 10.2 miles between the 101 and the 10.
That means that "carmageddon" is only directly affecting those who travel from the 101 south on the 405 to the 10 (or the opposite route as well).  But in reality, it's affecting THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE!!! 

If you're not a - Los Angelean, Los Angelite, Los Angeleno? - Los Angeleno, this may not sound believable, but oh, it is.   I live a few miles east of the 405, and a few miles north of the 101, safely outside of the line of fire, right?  Answer:  WRONG, NO ONE IS SAFE FROM CARMAGEDDON!

*I've driven 11 miles and had it take 2 hours and 20 minutes.  I can and have run 11 miles faster than that.  (Circumstances: Hollywood & Highland was deemed "a crime scene" on 9/11/2008 due to a car accident killing a cab driver.)

*I've driven 6 miles to meet for dinner and had it take OVER an hour. (Circumstances:  I was stupid and forgot about the Griffith Park Holiday Lights Exhibit and should have taken alternate routes, but it was too late.  BUT as recently as last month on an average Friday night, it took me 50 minutes to do the same route - a route which should only take 20!  And even that doesn't make sense for 6 miles in most places!)

*Last night, I drove 5.6 miles, and it took me 55 minutes.  Yeah, that's right, 55 minutes.  It was a Tuesday.  Nothing special, just a Tuesday.  (And yes, I passed the Hollywood Bowl, but that part wasn't even bad - it was stupid Barham, folks who are in the know!)

You think you have seen bad traffic.  You have never seen anything that will top the feats of Los Angelenos.  And this weekend, this very weekend, we will top ourselves. 

I'm literally scared to walk my dog around our block this weekend.  I'm going to the grocery store to stock up on supplies.  Unless I know your middle name, I'm not going to share my dog's toast with you.  I have to protect us from the impending doom.  (Eek, I knew I should have bought a disaster kit when that infomercial was advertising them!)

In short, beware Carmageddon.  No one is safe...no one.

Lady Di would DIE!

Weight: x+16 - superb victory against a week of comfort foods and no time for exercise.  However, it does make me face up to the denial I unsuccessfully attempted to have on Monday.

Just finished Newsweek's article about Lady Di at 50 (her facebook page, iPhone, tweets, etc).  Wowza.  What a creepy article.  Truly mystifying that they called that news.  I felt like I was reading Vanity Fair at best. 

However, it's worth noting that Lady Di's top favorite movie on her facebook page was, of course, Bridget Jones's Diary.

In general, I tend to be liberal leaning, but the whole freaking magazine was actually so unabashedly liberal, fake (like the Di article), and un-newsworthy that I have to question my subscription. Not to mention a really strange chart on page 71. (If you read it, you probably know the one I'm talking about.)

In other news, I guess Prince William and Princess Kate will be here in California this weekend.  Who cares.  All that really means to me is there might be some really bad traffic.

"Happy Colonial Rebellion Day!"

Weight: x + 0.  Have decided that having no scale handy is quite freeing!  Who's to say I have NOT reached my goal weight?  Let me have my moment of denial.

The first year I studied abroad at Oxford, we arrived on July 4th.  Our RA was a Brit, and he proudly (with a bit of a drunken slur) wished us all "Happy Colonial Rebellion Day!" followed shortly after with "To the Jesus College Pub!"* 

I've always loved that idea - that Brits would call our Independence Day "Colonial Rebellion Day."  I've since learned this is not universally acknowledged, but I hope it infects all of the UK so that one day, every Brit will wish passers-by a "happy colonial rebellion day" on July 4th.  Maybe in response, we could plan an Evander Holyfield / Mike Tyson level match-off for their so-called "Boxing Day."

*I should confess that I was a monstrous prude that year.  I wasn't quite 21 yet, and I refused to drink a sip of any alcoholic beverage until I properly turned 21 and was US-legally allowed to partake.  This cost me wine tasting in France when I was 18, not to mention a summer of being the least comfortable American at Oxford.  I don't know how anyone could stand me, honestly.  It is with this explanation that I confess I didn't at all like the drunken slur or "To the Jesus College Pub" follow-up (how dare you name a bar after our Savior?), at least not at the time my new RA said it.  I was an RA at home, and I would *never* have done that, clutching pearls.  Someone should have really just punched me in the face.

Please Don't Ask Me About My Vacation

Weight: x + one zillion pounds... though I'm just guessing as could not locate scale.  The extra zillion is all compliments of necessary comfort foods.

Truly one of the worst vacations in the history of vacations.  I got off the first flight of my vacation to find out that my father-figure Jeff's mother was in the hospital and that he had arranged for my aunt and uncle to pick me up from the airport.  I asked to be dropped off at the hospital, and I found Jeff with his family.  Things weren't looking good.  I got home around 11pm that night and tried to sleep with limited to no real success.  (This would soon become the theme for the week.)

I spent the next day at the hospital until the family decided it was time to move her to the hospice.  Oh, did I mention it's the same hospice where my mom and grandfather died?  Yeah. 

So we went to the hospice.  That night, Jeff wanted to stay at my house, but when we got there, the power was out (thanks, storm), so we went to his mother's (creepy) house where I got to sleep in a room with some kind of strange discarded hospital bed that resembles a torture device, at least it certainly does when you wake up and are disoriented.

I dropped any idea of going to New York as I love the heck out of Jeff and would rather be miserable with him than worry about him from afar.  So, especially don't ask me about New York: I did not go.

Tuesday, I noticed my left eye turning pink, and I thought "wha?  pink eye?  really?"  I was scared to death that I was single-handedly going to be responsible for spreading pink-eye through the hospice - not a place for people with strong immune systems.  Not to mention Jeff's family!  How would that look at the funeral?  "Oh poor thing, have you been crying?"  "No, I just have pink-eye."  Jeff told me I was crazy for suspecting it was anything other than eye irritation, then he later changed his mind.  He apparently just didn't want me to leave him to go to the doctor's office.

Wednesday, I went to the doctor's office.  Sorry, Jeff, I'm not contaminating you knowingly!  I didn't have pink-eye.  (See references to being a wee bit of a hypochondriac.)

We spent the whole week in the hospice.  Those are places where every day just gets worse.  (Pray to die in your sleep, quietly and peacefully, at the ripe old age of 105.)  Each day, you realize that your nerves are progressively becoming completely shot, and the calm you manage to hold together in the room erupts when you get home, resulting in crying and screaming fits.  You pray that you will have the strength to just not contact people you care about so as not to fly off the handle over nothing and hurt the relationships.  It can be a very lonely time.

Today, I woke up at 5:45am, and I swear, whether anyone will ever know for sure or not, something in the cosmos woke me up.  When I arrived at the hospice, things had certainly gotten worse, and I just knew that I hadn't imagined the feeling that morning.  We all gathered around Jeff's mom, and her soul was released on her journey to heaven this afternoon.  A trip to the funeral home later, the funeral was set for Sunday afternoon. 

I leave Monday afternoon.  I plan on making the 24 hours between those two events the most wonderful vacation ever.  I have no idea how, but don't doubt me.  I will channel my inner Bridget, through which there's no time limit on fun.  I will do this.  For Bridget Jones!  (Cheers!)

Still, the moral of the story:  Please don't ask me about my vacation.