heartbreak hotel March 30, 2009

You don’t know Hollywood until you’ve experienced the sparkle that is Thai Elvis. 

 

Last week I went to a work dinner at Palm’s Thai and found my one true love.  They say you don’t find love when you’re looking and sure enough, he found me.  There he stood shoveling panang curry and silken tofu at the bar with his jet black hair perfectly coiffed and gold rimmed shades glaring in my direction.  I tried to overlook the buttons on his polyester suit, which were coming oh so close to popping open, revealing a chest full of fur you wouldn’t otherwise expect.  He posed against the bar top, admiring his admirers, and owned the room like it was an obligation. 

 

After downing half the menu in about 10 minutes, he threw down his napkin and approached the stage ready to rock and roll.  The room was filled with bustling conversation, but slowly, one by one, each guest put down their chicken satay and focused their attention on stage.  He went through “All Shook Up,” “Love Me Tender” and “Blue Suede Shoes” without breaking a sweat and I just knew he was singing directly to me when he belted out “Hard Headed Woman.”  I swooned and wondered what it would be like to experience the real thing and not just his Thai cousin who migrated to Hollywood.  It was truly an experience.

 

I managed to pull myself together and sent a text message to a friend, knowing it would be hard to believe what I just witnessed had he not been there himself.  His response was, “did he sing ‘ruv me tender?’” and my laugh quickly snapped me back into reality.  Turns out Thai Elvis was singing to all the ladies and I, like many others in his path, fell for his charm. 

 

I feel like such a sucker.

the first pole dance March 19, 2009

You can thank my mom for this one.

spring is in the air March 19, 2009

I realize I haven’t posted in a while, but I can’t help it.  The minute we spring forward, I lose all sense of responsibility and I have a one-track mind headed straight for barbeques, bon fires, hammocks and banana bikes (not to be confused with banana hammocks, which make me cringe in the worst way). 

 

This entire week I’ve spent daydreaming, watching funny videos like this, this, and this at work with colleagues and jamming out to Mr. Wendal.  I’ve thought that maybe this is just what people do in March when they’re stuck inside and too old for spring break. 

 

Luckily, work hours are pretty flexible at my office and the earlier I come in, the sooner I can bounce.  I’m thinking I might grab a sleeping bag and cozy up under my desk tonight so I can get crankin’ tomorrow at 5am and be on the beach, Corona in hand, by mid-afternoon. 

 

This is what spring does to me.  At some point I’ll settle down and stop slacking, but I can’t promise you when - and I doubt it’ll happen before fall. 

 

Anyway, gotta run.  I smell coconut oil and I can faintly hear My Sharona playing down the hall.

hot dogs used in gun heist March 11, 2009

 

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/29615877/?GT1=43001

 

I’m pretty sure Danny Glover pulled this move in one of the Lethal Weapon films, so I give these burglars a negative ten points for originality and style.  I’d use the guns to hijack the hot dogs, not other way around.  Why would you want guns when you can have hot dogs?  Joey Chestnut can’t pack away 59.5 AK-47s. 

“i don’t pick subjects as much as they pick me” March 11, 2009

I’ve expressed my concerns about Girl Scout cookies and I know I’m not alone on this one.  In fact, I’m so not alone that I’ve seen eerily identical posts popping up all over the place.  But I read an article this morning (online) about the idea of online sales and the reasons against it, according to a select few.

 

Apparently it ticked off a bunch of parents who felt that it was unfair to take such an intelligent, productive, resourceful route to selling a ton of cookies.  One parent said that this creates the ability to “suck the opportunity from other girls.”  Might I add that this particular parent is a man who is still involved with Girl Scouts although his daughters are well into their TWENTIES.  When you’re old enough to drink, don’t you find it strange (and disturbing) that your dad is still lingering around little girls and candy?  It strikes me as a bit too white-van-with-blacked-out-windows-ish. 

 

I understand the chief concern of the Girl Scout organization to be the safety of their girls, but when you say something like “Girl Scout Cookie activities are designed to be face-to-face learning experiences” and then throw in some whack job parent of adults hanging around and being that face, I don’t like it. 

 

This same guy has evidently argued that online sales create an unfair advantage to those in rural areas who don’t have computers or access to the internet.  Here’s a thought:  it’s 2009.  You can buy cars and groceries online.  You can find jobs online and you can meet husbands/wives-to-be online.  You can see what your friends are doing every 15 minutes, check the weather and find out who, today, is the lucky girl that the current Bachelor has decided he’s in love with.  I’m pretty sure even rural areas in North Carolina, Mr. Markie, have libraries, which no doubt provide access to the internet.  So the only reason you’re not online is because that’s your choice. 

 

In fact, these girls are encouraged to learn internet savviness and earn “Computer Smarts” and “CyberGirl Scout” badges, so I think it’s slightly backwards to then tell them that online sales are off limits.    

 

Sometimes I feel like Andy Rooney minus the uni-bush scrolling across my forehead.

 

On a lighter note, this weekend I strolled into the farmer’s market and found those sweet little green jewels perched at their tables (sans creepy older men) wearing those funny brown yarmulkes over their braided pigtails and finally stocked up.  Had I been given the opportunity to order online, though. . .

i’ve been lied to. March 6, 2009

This whole time I’ve been sick, I managed to drink about 15 Gatorades, Snapples and Arizona teas a day, resulting in an absurd stack of empty bottles I set aside to recycle.  I haven’t seen many homeless people in Santa Monica yet, but if they do exist, one’s about to hit the jackpot. 

 

Prior to this near-death experience I’ve enjoyed the past week, I wasn’t much of a Snapple fan but it gave me an excuse to try the unnecessary amount of flavors they’ve come up with.  I say “unnecessary” because for the most part, each one of them tastes exactly the same (though, my recent lack of taste might allude to that statement).  But obviously the flavors weren’t what kept feeding my recent Snapple addiction, it was the bottle caps. 

 

When you’re sick, it doesn’t take much to create excitement.  Like the ability to actually smell the soup you’re forcing down your mug.  Or the realization that tonight you just might not have to sleep with your mouth wide open.  Or the power to get up off of the couch without spending 15 minutes mentally bitching about it first. 

 

So it’s understandable that the unpredictable (and fairly useless) facts underneath the Snapple bottle caps have added a little spark to my days – sad, I know.  But I’ve learned that in a year, the average person walks four miles making their bed.  I now know that children grow faster in the spring and that flamingos are pink because they eat shrimp.  Snapple taught me that a duck’s quack doesn’t echo and that the average woman consumes six pounds of lipstick in her lifetime.  Unsurprisingly, since it relates to my own memory, I was also reminded that a goldfish’s attention span is three seconds.  That one I knew so I was a little cocky for a minute or two. 

 

But I finally returned to work today (sigh) and as I cracked open yet another cranberry raspberry diet Snapple, I was speechless when a colleague told me that not every “real fact” on the Snapple bottle caps are true.  Forgive me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t “real fact” mean it’s a REAL FACT? 

 

I felt like I was cheated on.  Like I had been manipulated by big box marketing or controlled by Snapple’s evil empire.  I immediately remembered that strange red headed woman that used to be on all of the Snapple commercials and thought about sending her hate mail.

 

I’m done with Snapple and their lies.

 

Absolutely not will I go to the Snapple website to figure out which facts are “real facts” and which are real shams.  And no, I will not fall prey to whatever new BS flavor comes from “the best stuff on Earth.”  Yeah, I’m a little bitter, so what?  I’d really like to know if a sneeze travels out of your nose at 100 mph.  But I guess I won’t be finding out anytime soon, thankyouverymuch. 

drained March 4, 2009

I’m sick.  Whichever one of you keep sticking pins and needles in your little Emily Rose voodoo doll, please stop.  I’m miserable.

 

To be continued when I can stay awake for longer than 15 minutes at a time and actually eat (or smell) something worth writing about. . .

googlicious February 27, 2009

 

I do my best to keep up with technology but I’ll admit a few things – I’m not on Facebook, I’m scared of iPhones and I don’t understand Tweeter.  There are very few people (probably one that I can think of) who I’d care to be updated on that frequently and to be completely honest, if I were to start “tweeting” or whatever, I can’t imagine having something that exciting happen to write about everyday, let alone every hour or every 15 minutes.  My life just isn’t that interesting all the time, but if you’d like to know what my bowling average is frame by frame tonight, let me know. 

 

Anyway, I do find pleasure in occasionally using technology to my advantage, like in the sense that I can see what you people are searching for on Google to get to my blog.  The search terms are interesting, sometimes making me question what I write about and sometimes making me question the idea of restraining orders.  For the most part though, I find them fairly entertaining.  Here are my favorites, in no particular order:

 

• three teens on mr softie ice cream truck
• emily rose and usa pilot – It’s true.  I have a thing for Sully.
• dog ate rose petals
• the emily rose cocktail bourbon – Awesome.  If this drink actually exists, please tell me.
• emily traitor
• navy beans & pork hocks
• candy bacon – Sounds delicious.
• emily delaurentis rose
• broken wrist
• delicious and emily and rose – Yes, and yes.
• i dated a food critic
• carb count Courvoisier
• the exercising of emily rose
• morgan freeman glove at the grammy’s – My real favorite.
• samuel l jackson’s gloved hand at grammy
• emily rose, florida state – Creepy, who are you out there looking for me?
• when i make ham and bean soup my booth I – And that’s it.  They just stopped right there.

from FL to Chi-town to NY to LA. . . February 25, 2009

Some things I’ve just come to accept living in Los Angeles, aside from all the yogis and their hippie water bottles:

 

50% of Angelenos are vegan and another 40% are in AA.  That leaves me with 10% for dinner and/or happy hour.

 

In a couple months I’ll turn 26 years old and I’m pretty sure I’m going to ask for a bicycle for my birthday.  I live at the beach and feel like this on the inside:

  

All movies are now films.  And every single person you come into contact with has an expert opinion on these films, from the direction to the costume design.  They’re all critics and according to each of them, they’re always right.

  

Ahhnold Schwarzenegger will never be the same. 

just me and the pickle lady February 24, 2009

I called my mom the other day and it came as no surprise that she was out and about tooling around in the middle of nowhere central Florida.  She’s a sucker for thrift stores and antiques and loves to tell me about all of the little gems she finds across town.  (I use the word “town” very liberally – think of the teeny tiniest little countryside built on a bunch of lakes.  One grocery store and I’m pretty sure a single sheriff.  Very cute and very Southern.)  She’ll read off a grocery list of her latest finds, always followed by, “and guess how much?!?!?!?”  A brief pause usually follows, I give my best guess and nine times out of ten she responds with an answer somewhere between $4.00 and $9.00.  Occasionally she’ll splurge, but my mom can usually find anything for a steal and whether you need it or not, you now have two.  It’s her claim to fame and it gives her a bigger high than a nitrous oxide mask.

 

So anyway, I call my mom and ask what she was looking for on this particular bargain hunt.  “A pickle jar,” she says.

 

“I’ve been looking for a cute little pickle jar and I want something old fashioned.”  I was a little surprised, but thought that was awesome because never in a million years could I imagine my mom pickling away her own cukes.  I started to picture her wearing a fancy apron and singing along to The Sound of Music while she frolicked around the kitchen plucking cardamom, mustard seed and vinegar from the shelves.  At some point she stops to peer out the window towards the lake and a blue jay lands on the windowsill. 

 

“Wow, look at you.  Making your own pickles.  You go girl.”

 

Then very quickly she said with a laugh, “Oh hell no.  You know I don’t care about all of that stuff.  I just don’t want to keep lookin’ at the Vlassic jar in my fridge.  I’d rather put my pickles in somethin’ a little prettier.”

 

Clearly, Mom got the antique gene that I avoid like the plague and my passion for cooking skipped over her generation completely.

 

Love ya, Mama.  Even though you’re crazy.