Confession

Friday, May 30, 2008
Current mood: fabulous

I did something today that I've never done in my entire life! Me, "anti-chick flick Christine" went to see a chick flick...and shed a tear! I went to see Sex And The City today during the middle of the day. My logic was that the theater would be pretty empty because normal people are at work at 3:45 on a Friday, right? WRONG. When I got in line, there were signs plastered on the box office windows stating that a few of the evening shows were already sold out (thanks to Fandango I presume.) The 3:45 on a Friday crowd consists mostly of geriatrics & retirees. And much to my dismay, the little old man in front of me (think beige Mr. Rogers type button up sweater, Rockports and a hearing aid) asked for 2 tickets for Sex And The City! Wow! Has he ever even seen the show? I mean, it comes on way past old folks bedtime right? Maybe he watched it on the east coast feed? *shrugs* So, I got my ticket and rushed into the theater because the movie was about to start. And I don't frequent chick flicks so the crowd looked exactly how I imagined it would...groups of girlfriends laughing and giggling and sharing Twizzlers & Jujube's (do they still make those?) One of the girls in front of me was on her Blackberry making reservations for drinks for her group after the movie. I'm sure then they'll all sit around and sip martinis & talk about their lives sans the incredible wardrobes and fabulous apartments. There was so much estrogen in that theater I think it may have messed up my cycle. Seriously. And the previews! Oh God the previews. Saaaaaaappy chick flick previews. Some old "you complete me" type love story sappy shit. I had to giggle. It was so stereotypical! The chicks were eating it up. That stuff is a fairy tale y'all! Maybe that's why so many of us are single. Another blog for another day. Anywho, after the sappy previews, the lights started to lower and the applause began. Oh dear...

I'm girlie, and I'm a girlie girl and I'm even sappy....but I'm not a chick flick girl. I'm an enigma, I know. But Sex And The City is the exception to that rule. The Manolos! Andre Leon Talley! The Dior! The Lacroix! The Vuitton! The Fendi! Man oh man, it was a feast for my eyes. You know, that damn Patricia Field almost drove me into the poor house I tells ya. I was a Dior whore because of her. In college we had to create a magazine for a project in some class and my magazine was called "Diorella". And I got an A, thank you very much! I learned what a Fendi Baguette was because of Carrie Bradshaw. And the Dior Saddle. And Christian Louboutins! And I just HAD to have a Gucci walker! And Mirakami Vuitton! I remember being glued to the television every Sunday night for years and years taking mental notes and learning the art of mixing couture with vintage (while sipping a special pink martini that I'd start concocting just as The Soprano's credits were rolling.) Good times...So yeah, due to the fact that I haven't eaten solids in 4 days (mixed with the Al Green "How Do You Mend A Broken Heart" that was playing) I welled up damnit! In my right eye. And that shit overflowed. But it was just the right eye so it doesn't count as crying! I can't believe I welled up at a chick flick. I just had 2 teeth pulled on that side and I think I have an infection in that ear so I'm pretty sure things aren't working well over there including my tear ducts. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. And my allergies must've been acting up the night of the series finale 4 years ago too.

<-------not allergic to anything

But no one ever reads my blogs so this shall continue to remain a secret...

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Office

Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Current mood:resilient

So, today started off like any other day. Woke up, hit snooze one too many times. Dragged my ass into the bathroom to make myself presentable for work, and walked out the door 10 minutes after I should’ve been sitting at my desk. I got to work at about 20 after 8:00, sat my stuff down, and started my normal morning ritual. Checking emails, checking Myspace, sipping on my soy chai, etc. At about 8:30 I get a call from our little HR lady saying to come by her office. So, I headed over and my supervisor was sitting in there. I’m like "oh shit...I’m about to get it for being late." Nope. Well, I did get it though. As in LAID OFF. UGGGGHHHHH! So, yeah...my boring job is officially over. Due to the recession and the way the economy is going right now I am jobless. They were careful to point out that it had nothing to do with my job performance and that I’m eligible for rehire. I allowed myself to feel sorry for myself for about 30 minutes. But I’ve been on the phone making calls & trynna make it happen for the past 2 hrs. I’ll be alright. But fuuuuuuuuuuck! WHY couldn’t they have told me this shit at 5:00 yesterday???Rat bastards...Off to the gym I go.

Steen & Jea's Excellent Adventure

Monday, March 31, 2008
Current mood:hyphy

Recap: Ms. Swan "you only get-a one-a free cookie."
Letting G take us all the way to BFE
Demetria hooking it UP!
Scrapers & Thizzing
Sinus blocking cologne
Salty Margaritas
My elevator not having a 6th floor
Joe...he doesn’t take requests, he sells pianos.
G’s shower shots to both of our heads
’From Elegant to Elephant" (fatter than a muh-fukka!)
"Mama used to say ’don’t you rush the ghetto!’"
Using your hand or sleeve when you sneeze
"Grown-Up"
"Lady Boy"
Going to ’shoe jail’ at the airport after setting off the ’too sexy’ wand (the old brotha agreed...Jea is hiding WMD’s.)
Cookies that I smuggled in my pocket...and the Milanos, Pirates Booty, 18’’ pizza, medium cheese pizza, tiramisu, salad and wings that followed.
Me trying coffee & Jamba Juice and STILL being stopped up!
Wallet getting left in the room...
G’s music review, causing us to do 30 and catch EVERY yellow light
"Ass" and "Titties"
"602" was the SPOT!
Joanne’s right across the street!
"CAKE" and his mixed friend "Marble"
Jea's Madagascar jacket.
What it do! (What it DON’T do!)
H.A.M. having all that carry-on and nothing to wash his ass with!
Y can get in to all the illest weddings in his uniform!
Partying like rockstars!
Waking up at 2 a.m. and thinking we accidentally bought adult flicks
Y sending Jea a picture of a cat (your turn!)
"What do you call a mermaid in a koi pond? The other woman."
Our girl Erin & our boy Juan @ Goosecross (aka J.G.!)
Taking bets on who looked like they’d close the bathroom door!
G’s suitcase was bigger than ours...but missing ALL of the essentials.
"Black Man & Asian Lady" & sexy chocolate at the flea market (I don’t want fleas!)
And the man with the purple toe.
Arguing with Tanisha over squirrels ("That is NOT a squirrel, cuz this dude said it was a Chipmunk and squirrels have fluffy brown tails.")
Discovering that you’re Ovo-Intolerant (PRICELESS!)

A Horny Manuel

Sunday, March 16, 2008
Current mood: tired

Why am I up blogging at 3:00 am? I’ll tell you why. Because I broke one of my rules. If you know me, I typically turn my phone to silent by 10:30 every night. I don’t want any late night bad news calls waking me, or random people with the wrong number calling. Once my sleep is interrupted it’s very difficult for me to return. So, last night I fell asleep with my phone on vibrate and, in all places, under my pillow. I fell asleep, looking forward to the possibility of sleeping 10 hours if I wanted. Ah, an uninterrupted slumber. Snoring away all the week’s stress and strain (half-wit coworkers, looney Myspace stalkers, fucking reverend’s, etc.) and waking up late Saturday morning refreshed and rejuvenated, just in time for my pedicure. But, alas my dreams (literally) came to a halt when I received a 2:00 am phone call. I woke up startled, heart beating fast, not knowing what the hell was going on. I looked up at he television that was still playing to see a serial killer in an orange jumpsuit being interviewed on MSNBC (I don’t like to watch sleep friendly programs before bed. I’ve gotta work on that.) My phone vibrated again and I looked at the caller ID to see a (323) number. My sweetie doesn’t live in (323) so whoever this is better be in serious peril. I mumbled "hello" and the person hung up! So, I called right back. You woke me AND hung up on me? Naw son...

Caller: (high pitched Spanish accent) "Hello?"

Me: "Who is this?"

Caller: (in a high pitched Spanish accent) "Manuel?" (it sounded like a question)

Me: (mumbles) "Fucking Manuel." (hangs up)

So, now I’m awake, upset because my slumber has been disturbed by a horny high-pitched Manuel in the (323). Doesn’t this bastard have anyone he can bootycall in his own damn area code?! I got up to use the bathroom, irritated and startled. By now my phone is on silent like it should’ve been before I went to sleep. I went to plug the phone into the charger & noticed that I had a new voicemail. It was from my horny little Hispanic friend. I’m thinking "this will be rich. I’ve got to listen to this."

Voice Message: "My bad, I dialed the wrong number. Christine, this is Bondi. But damn, when you called back I was, you know...I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble or nothing. I don’t know what your situation is, but I accidentally called your number by mistake. This is my new cell phone number. But, uh anyway if you don’t remember who I am that’s cool too. But, uh you know...just be easy sweetie, it’s not that serious over a phone call out of the blue at 2:00 in the morning. You don’t need to go that hard. So just relax, everything’s ok. I hope everything’s ok with you. Um, seems like you’re stressed out about a lot, but whatever. Take care of yourself."

Oooooh, child! You know I called this fool back ready to give him the ’fuck you reverend" treatment. Um, and why the fake accent homeboy? See, last November (the 1st weekend of November to be exact) I went out with a girlfriend of mine to Garden of Eden (a club in L.A.) I’d had a couple of drinks and was feeling festive. I started chatting with this dude (about what I can’t remember...I just said I’d had a few drinks!) and I gave him my number. Dude called me like the next day. (Isn’t there like a phone number grace period or something?) I didn’t answer. He called again the day after that. I didn’t answer. And he proceeded to blow up my spot. So, even if I wanted to talk to him, I didn’t want to anymore. Too desperado! Over the next few weeks he calls...and calls...and calls. I talked to my bff about the excessiveness. My complaint was about them either ignoring you or blowing you up, and wanting a happy medium. Me personally, if I happen to meet someone out & we exchange numbers I will call them once...maybe twice. But if they don’t answer or call back I give up. If they want to link, they know where to find me. I’m not sweating a stranger (even though I was looking FIYA that night, so I kinda understand. LOL!) The day before Thanksgiving he called me from his job. And again from his cell. I actually answered this time. This was the 1st time we’d talked since the night we met. It was brief, I was cordial. It was Thanksgiving...I was on my way to South Coast Plaza to do a little pre-holiday shopping so I was feeling nice. Maybe this gave him false hope, because on Thanksgiving, he called me twice. And sent me a text. Called me at late as 10 something that night. Mind you, each time he calls he leaves a voicemail. Over the holidays he called a handful of times, each time still leaving voicemail. So, fast forward to this morning. I saw this dude once in my life 4 months ago. He has a new phone and my number somehow made the transfer? Why are you accidentally calling someone you met ONCE 4 months ago AT 2:00 IN THE MORNING?! And when you get a sleepy, groggy voice you think I’m stressed out?! How about just apologizing for waking me. Better yet, how about NOT CALLING ME! I sent him a text since his new voicemail box isn’t set up saying "stressed out about a lot? u woke me @ 2am. please delete my number. thx."

Yo, fellas. There are certain rules about late night calls. You can not invite yourself into late night callville. You have to be invited. Anything past 10:00 without prior consent is unacceptable. (This has been a Public Service Announcement.) If this fool calls me back EVER, sweddagawd he’s getting it. Please pray for him y’all. In my world, NO ONE is exempt from getting cussed out. Equal opportunity up in here!

His number is (323) 401-9587. Feel free to call him anytime in your best faux foreign accent.

Bloody Hell!

So, Friday was the end of a weird, long, exhausting week. Without going into too many details, I had a mini-meltdown Friday evening. I've been feeling kinda...not myself for a few weeks now. I can't quite put my finger on it. It's like, my energy is messed up. Not just my physical energy levels (I was asleep by 6:30 a few nights ago, and up til 4:00 this morning so go figure) but my ENERGY energy. Like right now, I feel...weird. Like I'm in a cloud or bubble or something. I'm starting a 4 day fast ASAP.Anyway, so back to Friday. I was headed to L.A. to a screening of La Vie en Rose with C and traffic was comical. I mean, it took me like 10 minutes to go a mile. I had about 25 more miles to go and about 40 minutes to get there so you do the math. Needless to say, I hopped off the freeway and headed back home. I stopped by my moms for a bit and ended up hanging out there for about 2 hrs watching Def Comedy Jam and hanging with her, boo-boo and his dad. The visit actually helped my mood. Anyway, I rushed home meet a girlfriend and we headed to one of our new fave watering holes. And water we did! The place was packed and there were 2 bartenders. Apparently all of the bartenders were fired like a week ago. This place is a trip. By the end of the night, the bartenders, bouncers, everyone is FAAAADED! Who knows what "office politics" caused the owner to fire all of his seasoned bartenders, but I digress. So, he hired this scallywag of a sea creature with no bartending experience (but she had quite a rack on her, so go figure.) I mean, come on chick! Spend a few hours on webtender.com and brush up! She didn't know the ingredients of ANYTHING ('water with lemon? what's in that?') Ok, I'm exaggerating a little (moi?) but you get it. It made for an adventure every time we went to order a drink (because seasoned bartender was swamped, so we were forced to go to scallywag!) Scally, we'll call her, had to keep asking Seasoned "what's in a Purple Hooter?" "how do you make an Oatmeal Cookie" I mean, basic bar shit that you'd know just from hanging out in a bar. And by the looks of it, she's no stranger to bars if you catch my drift. So, we had a few shots, had a few laughs, talked quite a bit of shit per usual. We had this running joke that evening. Apparently quite a few people didn't check weather.com before stepping out. One girl had on a thin cotton halter top, an obscenely short denim skirt (like so short, if you drop something, fuck it. It's a loss.) and some little platform sandals that were made out of straw or wicker or something. So the joke was that Summer called and wants it's outfit back. So, my girlfriend and I were in the bathroom bantering back & forth and were keeping each other in stitches. "Hey, I just got off the phone with Summer. She said she wants her skirt back. She's sending Winter to pick it up." And others began joining in. Catty drunk bathroom banter. Good times, good times. It was effing hilarity though. I felt like we'd been there for a long time but in reality it was only about 2 1/2 hours. We headed home, I got dropped off, thanked my friend for a lovely evening and I ran my happy ass up the stairs. Struggled with the lock for a few seconds, got in, slammed the door (I think) and then...I felt like something jumped up and bit me. I mean, it was like FIRE no lie. And I look down at my finger and see this bullshit:



Are you kidding me right now? I mean COME ON dude. Who the hell snatches THEIR ENTIRE NAIL off closing a door?! Answer: ME, that's who. Ugh, alcohol + open wound = bloody mess. It hurt SO bad. I just laughed. (Is that shock?) I mean, actual laughter, like I was cracking up. It hurt so bad that I laughed?! I've cried from pain, felt faint from pain, puked from pain, but never laughed. Lord help this child...Anyway, I'm having to make special accommodations for my gimpy finger now. It's an important finger too. It's not like its a pinky (you don't even need to use your pinky when you drink tea!) This is the finger I use to give directions. I use this finger to dial the phone, to apply lip balm. I think it's probably my favorite finger. And now it's out of commission. Damnit...that's what I get for talking shit.

Pissed!

So, I came outside this morning to find this fuckery:



YES, some assholes STOLE the wheels off my car last night in front of my house. They were kind enough to leave my car on milk crates, and left me the bolts and a nifty little camouflage flashlight. Happy New Year!

Women Are ANIMALS!

I just returned from the launch of Roberto Cavalli's line for H & M. It was NUCKING FUTS! I've had the launch marked on my calendar for at least 6 months. I mean, like in my work Outlook with a reminder. And in my phone (just like when Louboutin came to OC on 10/13.) And on my wall calendar (I'm old school…I still buy those.) I moved jobs 3 months ago, added it to the new Outlook. Woke up Tuesday morning in a cold sweat because I dreamt that I missed the launch. It was THAT effing serious. And I've had my eye on one particular item. It's this gorgeous flowing chiffon leopard-print gown. I could picture myself in it. I'd walk into an event wearing that dress and angels would start singing (*cue fans & smoke machine*). Just kidding…but I wanted that dress pretty effing bad.

I planned my attack. I called around to H & M stores yesterday to find out who was carrying the line and what time they'd open today. I discovered that there was only ONE effing store in all of O.C. carrying the line. And it's this little tiny store at South Coast Plaza just across from Bloomies. Already I'm mentally prepared to bumrush that spot with my cat-like reflexes, grabbing dresses and high stepping broads like the dude on the Heisman Trophy, just before doing a tuck and roll & landing on my feet in line. But alas, my dreams were crushed at 10:38 a.m. this morning. The store opened at 10:00. People had been in line since 4:00 am!!!! As I pulled up in the parking lot, I saw women coming out of the mall with bags & bags...and bags. NEVER a good sign.

When I practically power-walked into the mall & when I entered H & M it was a madhouse. The only clothing left was that on the mannequins (which, BTW was not for sale!!!!!!!!!!) !!!!! Sorry, needed more exclamation marks for that one. Women were clutching piles of dresses, scarves, jeans, bras, jewelry ANYTHING Cavalli, not giving a damn about sizes or anything. One lady was guarding a pile of Cavalli in a corner. She looked like she might be able to throw down so I didn't test her. So here I am with a few other late birds (AKA "folks with jobs") stuck with nothing. My first instinct was to turn around and leave but I'd waited so long for this day I thought I'd stick it out in the "Go Back" line.

The "Go Back" line is comprised of people who are waiting for others to go in and try on Cavalli and if the clothes don't fit, they go back to the floor. I mean, desperation times 50! I can't remember when I last felt so desperate and pitiful. I'm waiting in a line hoping that someone will try something on, not like it, and it would also happen to be something that I'd want…and that fits me. But I waited, and waited…and waited. No one tried on shit! Well, one chick was trying on a zebra print mini that some French lady had been STALKING around the store. She stood watch outside of her dressing room a said in her French accent "If theese do not feeet her, she give to meee!" Then Frenchie proceeds to bump my purse about 20 times while peeking around the corner trying to see if the girl was coming out of the dressing room. I finally had to tell her to back up off me. Another chick was trying on practically the entire line (including my leopard dress! Argh! Didn't even look cute on her! Flat booty heffa!) but she held on to everything. With her pussified husband in tow (who was going around with the things that she didn't want, but instead of sending them to go backs was using them to bargain with others in the store.) Yes, HE was exchanging things with other women. "I'll give you this jacket for that dress." I heard him say that. Like Strangé said "Puuuuuuuss-puuuuuss-puuuuuuss!"

After waiting in the GBL for about 20 minutes, I saw from across the sea of bad hair extensions and even worse breast implants a sight to behold. A guy carrying a big black crate full of…Cavalli leggings! I told my new little go back line friend to stay put, hold my spot and I'd go score us some leggings. I got to the tables just as he was dumping out the container and managed to have my pick of sizes. And then…a stampede of women rushed me! I almost lost my life y'all! But I made it out unscathed and with 5 pair of Cavalli leggings. Yay! I took 2 pair back to my little GBL friend and kept 2 for myself. I was going to toss the 5th pair to the lions when I saw another pitiful soul with empty hands (*cue violin*) and gave them to her instead. A little fashion "pay it forward", right? I got right in line to purchase my tights and a girl in front of me gave me a pair of black, white and grey leopard print jeans (score!) So happy now! I didn't get my "angels singing" dress, but I did come out of it with something. Here's the dress. Tell this wouldn't be BANGIN' on Ms. Fox.

This is the 2nd time this week Roberto broke my heart. See this 5" stiletto???!!! 

Sigh…