It really is a Hard Knock Life

26 02 2009

Sorry it has been a while all. The long and short of it is work is super busy and my computer officially died SO I can’t blog from home right now.

Boo whined about this last night. See, I am supposed to bring the computer into the apple store. This way they can tell me what ELSE went wrong and how much it is going to cost to fix. WHICH, btw, I refuse to pay since the dumb thing is just at its end anyway. Its time for a new computer. Well, I looked at him last night after saying, maybe this weekend, and realized – he has his own laptop. At home. Collecting dust. I mentinoed this and his eyes lit up. So, Im spared having to dea with my computer for another week.

There was an interesting event last night though, which is what I had to take a few minutes to share.

We were watching tv in our respective spots (meaning I was in bed reading and he was on the couch watching TV and making fun of me for not being able to hack it at night… Im so worn out at the end of the day). The windows were open to let in the cool winter breeze (HA! Yea you hate me) and we heard voices outside. Normally this isn’t cause for concern or interest since we ALWAYS hear people outside. Voices sometimes travel up to half a block away so we hear people on my street often. I don’t know why. At least we hear them if they are loud. The ones we haer normally are the building neighboring my apartment building – a small house we like to call the Shit House. (Why you ask? Because for SOME REASON every dog in the neighborhood refuses to shit ANYWHERE but these people’s front lawn. I would feel bad except for the fact that they are always leaving bulk garbage in their front lawn and they don’t call the pick-up so WE wind up having to – we being the neigborhood – and I haerd the man was really mean. So everyone has their dog shit on his lawn. Karmas a bitch, no?) Anyway, we could tell this was a bit farther than the Shit House cause it was kinda muffled and ignored it.

Then the voice got loud and we realized there was a real fight going on. Being busybodies Boo immediately turned off the volume and we strained to hear. We couldn’t and suddenly the yelling stopped so we resumed our activities. Within 5 minutes…

5 or 6 gun shots were fired. WOOOO! Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang. I mean gangsta style. My immediate reaction was “Do I call the cops!” Alex said no, just wait and in less than a minute cops were already on their way. I live iwthin blocks of the police precinct and you could hear them speeding down the street. I mean honestly, who throws heat 5 blocks away the GPD (glendale police department) who normally have nothing better to do than hand out parking tickets and moving violations. Shit, I’d be afraid to “eat doritos” in my apartment with open windows if I wasn’t in Cali – which btw, is voting to potentially make doritos 100% legal within the next 2 years. Yea. Its a hard knock life here in Glendale).

WELL of course alex is trying to hear whats up and I was running from the bed to the window like an over excited puppy going

“holy crap we can never walk the dog again”
“shut up fred, you’re not going out, shit on the floor from now on”
“hostage situation! hostage situation!”
“dude, someone lost a bet and couldn’t pay up”
“yo, its total hostage situation they’re using the blowhorn”

This is when boo started cracking up and told me to shut it and corrected me,

“you mean bullhorn. “

Minus 1 for lack of dexterity. (I also have a tendency to pronounce in-va-lids as in-valid which he thinks is a hoot. I don’t do that on purpose, I just pronouce what I see!).

After that we played with the dog a bit, I commented on how I’d have to pack heat when I walk the dog now and we went off to bed.

We’re we scared? Well I was AT FIRST but then the excitement took over. Which may be kinda horrible to say since, well, someone got shot. But it was hard not to get amped up when the cops started talking through the BULLhorn and all hell was breaking lose and the dog and I are running everywhere like the retards we are.  BUT I live on the third floor of a well secured building and the reality is Glendale is the 13th safest city in Cali or something along those lines. What happened was a freak occurance.


But i’ll still be packin heat next time I walk the dog. Can’t be too careful in my hood. Represent.


Happy Birthday Laura

11 02 2009

From all of us at WFB.

Why I Dislike Other Bloggers

10 02 2009

I have no problem saying this. I am a bitch and a diva. I live above my means, because, well, I’m still learning how not to. I pay in excess of 100 dollars on haircuts that I could PROBABLY get for cheaper somewhere else. But I don’t trust anyone with scissors who doesn’t deam themselves good enough to charge at LEAST 65 a cut. Im spoiled like that.


I’m told over and over by my guy that I need to work on my dexterity. Im a klutz who drops things left and right and who has been self-banned from certain places because of my path of destruction.  Don’t tell Pretty Princess and Punky Pirate Castle Emporium that I accidentally broke the head off of a decorative toy placed out around Christmas time. Due to my often unavoidable clumsiness, I have become a pro at “positioning,” and unless you picked up that poor glittery turtle, you would NEVER know it was beheaded in a violent match of “OOOOOO SPARKLY!” (Break it, Buy it obviously does not apply to me because, well, I would eventually have trouble paying my rent).


Although not sparkly - I also have a penchant for dog calendars.

Although not sparkly - I also have a penchant for dog calendars.


I’m told, over and over again, by friends, family and significant others that I talk to much. I over explain things. I go way too deep into detail. “Seriously, dude, just get to the point,” is a phrase so commonly heard in my world that, at this point, I shrug it off and pshaw with a  wave of my hand, before continuing on with my…way….too…drawn….out….version….of…the…squirrel….that….ate….a…nut.


So what does a person, who enjoys self indulgence, is a little bit self-centered, loves talking and adores attention do? Duh. She blogs.


Rather than jump out the door during lunch hour to go demolish a restaurant and flood it with my spilled water and iced-tea cups (BTW. It’s ICED Tea. Not Ice Tea. The tea is ICED… GEEZ), I jump on the computer and peruse my favorite sites. I go in order. Least favorite to favorite, and if I have inspiration or time, I jump on my own last to amuse you all with the awesomeness that is me and my mundane, yet strangely exciting and glamorous life. (I promise, I ink everything up a bit. No one wants to read about how I woke up, put on make-up, cleaned up some dog shit and then sat at my desk all day writing code. WOOOOO. Now isn’t that an exciting life).


The point of this is I leave a trail of comments where I go and one blog, in particular, I can’t seem to stop reading, no matter how annoying I find the writer and how shrilly I think the readers are. Oh yes. You can hear the shrill in many of their comments.


Personally I find a bit of obligation to write for the 5 people who follow me. Or the 100 and 95 of you just don’t comment. Those numbers are WELL BELOW extraordinary, with new blogs popping up and thousands of hits a day. I do this for myself (ummmm, hello, remember, all about the self centered indulgence and what do I love better than a bunch of pages about ME!) and for the few of you who cry out when it gets slow. Wow, I can’t get through a thought without a tangent. Back to the point. These whiney followers of an unmentioned (view from this chair) blog freak out whenever there is a bad critique.


Critiquer: Normally I really enjoy this blog but lately it feels like it’s a bit monotomous….




Critiquer: Woah….


Blogger: Yea, so here is the deal, my whole life, like, does not revolve around this blog and I don’t owe any of you anything and whine whine and I had a break down and im moving and life sucks and im single and thgis is for me and this drama is happening and my life is so chaotic and unique and blah blah blah blah


I stop reading most of the comments at that point. Partially because, really, I don’t care that much. At this point I say things just to rile these kids up. (Uhm, these “kids” whose ages seem to range between 15 and 30… you can guess who are the most vocal…NOPE! Not the teens). Partially because I’m laughing so hard at how personally people seem to take things. Seriously? The best writer ever? Then I’m assuming there is a book deal in the process because we just can’t get enough of the vivascious and luscious stares the heroine gives the hero as he caresses her… woah… censored!


And the other thing that always throws me is how dramatic other bloggers lives seem to be. Either a blog is something someone is doing for the fun of it. Such as this super awesome post it blog: Stickies (

). And some are extremely witty and either make it big or don’t, but either way, have a great following of funny and intelligent people (,,…). OR the blog is the small attempt of someone attempting to escape their mundane lives because they, falsely, believe, they could be the next Pulitzer prize winner.


It is these Pulitzer wannabes who seem to be in a constant flow of drama. What I want to know is – how? Why? Is anyones life REALLY that consumed by drama? And I don’t mean your run of the mill “Im down because I was just dumped,” “My In-laws are psychotic,” or “I want to bash my husbands head-in.” No. People who live these lives understand, Lifes a dick… you either suck it, fuck it, or indulge in lesbianism and get as far away from said penis as you can. Whatever your oceans motion, you realize, while your life in itself is unique, your problems aren’t, and you vent and move on and focus on positives. Why? Because you are normal. You don’t go online and tell a throng of unknown interneters in internetland certain issues. I mean. Yea. We all have a friend or two, or five who we know soley in cyberland who we find we can easily vent to, because, they are kinda unbiased. They care as much as you do. Or is this just me. Wait… really… Am I the only loser who lives the double life of internet and real world? Oh…. Uhm…. Hmmm…


But we vent, and we moan about our lives (except me because, obviously, its so incredibly fabulous…. I’m telling you, picking up a steaming pile of dog crap is more invigorating than that first cup of coffee. Warm shower over walking the dog in the cold and nuzzling it’s remains? I’ll take the nuzzling) and we move on.


Bloggers, at least the ones I have a distaste for, seem to take their life issues to a whole other level. Their mother didn’t just have a bad day, or, worse, have an altercation at work. No no. It’s a whole new story about how they are having a total mental break down and please feel bad for me because I have such a shitty life and now I need a lawyer because this is just way too intense. Note: If a situation is so bad that you need a lawyer for it? Don’t go onto your fictional blog to ask someone if they know one. This is one of those “real life” issues that cyber world can’t fix. Vent about it? Maybe… But actually think you will find a lawyer from one of your whiney readers? Naw.



So to my readers, the bloggers and readers of my beloved blogs: I appreciate you. Thank you for not being whiney little snots. Thank you for having, sometimes hilarious, life dramas but understanding life is just life. Thank you for having a sense of humor. Thank you for following my (god awful) rants. Thank you for laughing at my little comments and my attempts at snark and wit.


Now get off your asses and go enjoy a [relatively] drama free existence. And remember. The yellow pages are for finding lawyers, not your blog.

Three Weddings and a Funeral OR Meet the Fockers

6 02 2009

I’m almost starting to feel like a fictional character the way my life has been as of late. I have a relatively glamorous job (compared to other occupations at least) and I’m in a new big city, learning the ropes and living the life.

I’m making friends as I go – mostly at work or at the gym. Which is new to me since most of the friends I had back in Miami were people I either met in college or have known forever. Only one friend was a work buddy and I didn’t work with him anymore so he wasn’t so much an excoworker anymore as oneo f my favorite people.

I live across the street from a church. Its kinda cool since it’s pretty and for whatever reason makes me feel safe. I mean. Who puts a church in a bad neighborhood. OK nevermind. There are probably a lot. Especially in LA or NY. But I do live in the 13th safest city in California. The irony though is I live on South Central. HA! Word homies.

Sorry. So. The church. It is a mostly Armenian church. They do their Sunday mass all day or whatever it is you gentiles do on Sunday. BUT the church is always hoppin. Why? Because there is ALWAYS a funeral or wedding going on. It’s the main Armenian church in ny neighborhood, which happens to be… YES! The Armenia Central. The city I live in (mind you I live in Glendale, NOT actually in LA but it is part of LA county so same thing) has the second highest density of Armenians in the world. At least that is what boo tells me (who is part Armenian, but more Persian… mmmmm my Persian rug!).

Last Saturday, when my parents finally came to visit (best weekend ever!) there happened to be… ready? Three Weddings and a Funeral. I couldn’t stop thinking of my favorite line in the movie

“You are my North, my South, my East, my West. You are my working week and my Sunday Rest.”

That weekend was also pretty similar to “Meet the Fockers.” You know how the female antagonist in that movie comes from a slightly uptight family who follows the rules and is prim and proper, while Ben Stiller comes from the crazy jewish family who has no problem talking about sex and treats people they meet like their new best friends? Well switch the genders around and you have my family and Boos.

Since the majority of the people who follow my life through this blog are already married (read 3 out of 2), you haven’t had the pleasure of the “meet the parents” day in a while.

This is also the first time I have introduced a boyfriend to my parents in over 5 years. While they knew I dated people here and there, I just never saw it as important for them to meet. Which is a huge sign that those other guys were NOT the one. I dated one guy for TWO YEARS and he never met my family. I met his, but that was also because he lived next-door to them and they snuck over one day to meet me when he wasn’t home. I was wearing his boxers, smoking a ciggerette, with no bra on. They are church going people. AWKWARD!!!!.

So, poor boo, who isn’t uptight, but is definitely not as laid back about certain things as my family and I are, got the full-frontal experience. I mean – my dad saved his number and started calling him within two days of knowing him and my mother kept tipping the bottle and assaulting him (seriously, she hits when you disagree with her). To those who know my parents well find their behaviour not only hilarious but endearing. They are who they are and everyone loves them. Poor Boo.

I still have not heard the end of his imitation of my father calling him.

The good news is everyone got along really well. Boo spent the whole weekend with me and my parents, which he did NOT have to do and my parents enjoyed his company and, in parental fashion, are happy that I am (for the most part) Happy.

We spent the weekend going out for delicious meals, taking the dog out on excursions, cooking, laughing, drinking – and they furnished the new pad! WOOOO. I think Boo is mor excited about that then I am, but its been super awesome having a living room.

So that’s my life for now. I will hopefully have something more interesting to write (and a bit more time to write it) in the near future.

BTW, have you ever noticed? The first rule in fiction is not to write about your life because the reality is, its not as interesting to other people as it is to you. Except, I sit here droning about how boring my life is and I’m told it seems the opposite to outsiders… and then my favorite memoirist, Jen Lancaster, has made millions documenting her life.

But then again, she is a snarky bitch with the wittiest combacks ever. Passive-Aggressive? Check. A marriage that I dream about? (They exchange snarky comments but you can feel the love and they have amazing communication with each other and love each other for who they are) Check. Hilarious adventures. CHECK.

I can’t stop whoring her out enough. Please go check out Bitter is the New Black; Bright Lights, Big Ass; and the one I am reading now: Such a Pretty Fat (or why pie is not the answer).


You can blame CLO

3 02 2009

I was planning on writing a new post for the day. In fact, I already have it titled. It is a pretty witty title as well (and we all know my desire to be as witty as possible).

However, upon reading her suggestions for websites I’ve become thouroughly absorbed in “”

So. Yea. No new post for you guys today. Please feel free to visit one of the many wonderful sites CLO suggested in a comment (I believe in the last post) and entertain yourselves there for now.

I might also suggest Although I have submitted quite a few “postcards” none have been selected.

Since the reality is I am relatively narcissistic and think my world is hilarious (don’t let the low self esteem and shyness fool you, I crack myself up regularly) I’ll share my attempts with you.

Attempt #1
Backstory: Laying in bed with my mother a week before I moved to LA. She’s scratching my arm and giving me a hand massage.

Mom: Remember when you were a baby and you would get sick and you couldn’t fall asleep unless I rubbed your hand or back.
Me: mmhmmmm
Mom: When I go, will you tell everyone I give the best hand-jobs
Me: I think that’s more of something that dad can attest to, not me
(I got smacked for that one….)

I’ll have to find the second attempt later. I really just want to go read PAN.

Have a great day. I’ll post later. Or tomorrow. Sometime soon before the post itself leaves my head.


PS – I don’t know who you are but thank you to the 10,000+ website visits I have received. This isn’t THAT interesting so that fact that people seemingly continue to visit this makes me actually want to post. Eventually.