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No. 6- A Partially True Story Continued

You live in one of those shoddy late 80’s peach stucco apartment complexes that looks like it barely survived the Earthquake of ’94. A prostitute eyes my car from under the street lamp as I wait for you.

I see you ascend from the barb-wired decorated front door and you look more beautiful than I even remember. You are wearing a light blue collard shirt that matches your eyes perfectly. Your blond hair is neatly tussled and I see a hint of five o’clock shadow on your rigid jaw line.
You jump in my car, smile, and I’m ready to drive anywhere with you.
Then you start talking. I didn’t remember you sounding so child-like before, but that’s ok. I’m sure you’re nervous.
“How was your day?” you ask.
“It was good. Busy. We’re in pre-production on a TV pilot for cable. A little stressful around the office. What about you?” I say in return.
“Well, I don’t have a job, so I spent the day looking for a job, played some video games, and took a nap.”
“Wow…that sounds wonderful. How long have you been (more…)
June 1, 2010 by
Writing

No. 6- A Partially True Story


God, you are beautiful.

“What kind of sandwich do you want?” the bitter, nonplussed Subway Restaurant employee keeps asking me, but I’m not listening. You are at the head of the line and all I’m focusing on is getting you to turn around and look at me.

“Ma’am, what do you want on your sandwich?”

I’m standing in a Subway Restaurant somewhere in the middle of Koreatown, Los Angeles and there you are and here am I and I’m not going to let you walk out of this building without noticing me.

“Oh, I’d like a tuna fish sandwich please. Lettuce and tomatoes, but probably no onions. My co-workers have put a strict ban on onions for me. They also told me that I had to order the tuna salad sandwich because they like the way I say, “salad”, I have a tendency to make my “a’s” exaggerated because I’m from Upstate NY.

Lauren, what are you doing? Stop talking!

“They also make fun of the way I say, “pants“. Paaaants.”

The employee is looking at me like I’m a huge asshole.

“And platter.”

Stop it.

“And squash.”

Oh my (more…)

June 1, 2010 by
Writing

Cary Grant is the Reason You Can’t Get Laid

Is your love life in shambles? Do you find yourself repeating the same mistakes over and over? Do you feel like you will never meet the right guy or girl, or when you do meet them, they don’t seem to want you? Well, put down that copy of “Men Are From Mars Women Are From Venus” that you never read anyways and listen to me very carefully; I have found the answer:
Your love life is in the shitter all because of Cary Grant.
Every man wants to be Cary Grant and every woman wants Cary Grant, but the truth is, Cary Grant doesn’t exist. He never existed. Cary Grant was even quoted as saying, “Yeah, that sweet ass mo-fo up on the big screen? He’s not real.” In real-life, Archibald Leach could be a real f’ing turd. His first wife claimed that he hit her and his fourth wife, Dyan Cannon, alleged that he would spank her during rows (that part doesn’t sound that bad).
Cary Grant was the perfect illusion of what a real man should be- dignified and diplomatic, impeccable manners, chiseled features, entertaining (more…)
May 28, 2010 by
Writing

54 Flavors of Choice Fatigue

In 2008, I left my career in the film business to suspend myself in the air. The bubble had burst, but I still stood there motionless. No longer wanting to work the industry I had loved since I was a little girl, I vehemently pulled my foundation up from Los Angeles, only to be left standing there with the roots in my hands, clueless as to where to start planting. The vastness of options before me left me ambivalent. I had a couple of near getaways, only to come crawling back to Los Angeles dismayed and disoriented. I spent the summer wandering aimlessly around my life. Until one day I decided to take control….
____________________
Towering before me amongst the big sky backdrop of Suburbia, Texas, stood a Super Wal-Mart and Super Target.

I needed toothpaste and undereye concealer- a necessity ever since 7th grade when classmates interpreted my dark circles as a deep love for crack cocaine. I typically would not shop at either place, but having been new to this neck of the woods, there was (more…)

May 27, 2010 by
Writing

Why You Frownin’, Baby?

While I work on climbing past my gigantic monolith of creative lackluster, I will lazily present to you some posts from my other blog, Baby Hipsters.

Also, please check out the wit and wisdom of The Hitch List, possibly one of my favorite blogs ever and a contributor on Baby Hipsters.
(Send me photos at hipsterbabies at gmail dot com!)

On his way to a date with a publishing assistant, Mike stopped at the local book store to pick up the Cliff Notes of Infinite Jest only to find that they don’t exist and that no employee or customer at the store could actually explain to him what the book was about.


“And this is my boyfriend, Slade, er, wait, are we officially dating now? Molly turns to Slade for confirmation, but only gets a blank stare in return. Molly backtracks her sentence, “This is the dude I’m sleeping with on the weekends after 11PM…”

After her boyfriend left her for their bike mechanic Atticus, and her trust fund ran out while in the middle of an impetuous pilgrimage to India, Yvette (more…)

May 26, 2010 by
Writing

…

Twenty-something lament.
I thought I pushed you out of a moving car on Route 10 somewhere near Lordsburg, New Mexico?
How did you drag your skanky, lumpy ass to Austin and find me?

I’d like to think that I suffer from depression, but I don’t. I suffer from nothing remotely near that.
In fact, I suffer from nothing at all.
I. absolutely. do. not. suffer.

The only adversity I face is not having the emotional resources to handle becoming an adult.

Right now is one of those times.

And it’s at these times I think of Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” (and at no time do I think of The Dixie Chick’s “Landslide”):

“Oh mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I handle the changing ocean tide? Can I handle the seasons of my life?”

But then I wonder what the hell mirror she’s talking about? Is this the mirror that Stevie did lines of coke on to help her deal with the ocean tides? Cause if so, I don’t have a bunch of nose candy and gigantic metaphorical plates of glasses to help (more…)

May 25, 2010 by
Writing

Why Can’t We Be Ourselves Like We Were Yesterday


“Do you see that?”

I didn’t see it. I wasn’t even looking.
Jimmy quickly pulls the car off the PCH and into the moonlit parking lot overlooking Malibu.

“What the hell is that?”

My head feels like a lead weight against the seat belt holder. I haven’t taken my eyes off the road for the past hour.

“Lil, look.”

Jimmy’s long finger nail pushes into the bottom of my chin.

“Look,” he says softly in my ear.

The warm wind feels heavy on my eyelids and it is at this precise moment I recognize every muscle in my face.
Off in the distance looms an object with a greenish glow, hovering six inches off the dash board, hundreds of feet off of the horizon.

“What do you think that is?” Jimmy asks rhetorically.

Such aberrant occurrences in Los Angeles lost their credible intrigue decades ago.
Their mystique only finds a home in the ones searching for a symbol.
Maybe this was my sign.
I focus on the object and burn it’s memory onto the back of my eyelids.

This will come home with me tonight.

Jimmy pulls the car up the driveway. (more…)

May 14, 2010 by
Writing

I Need to Return Some Videotapes

My super charming, middle-aged best friend from Germany who once froze a dead cat because he didn’t want the owner to think it passed away so quickly on his watch so he was going to microwave it right before the she came back from vacation, thinks I’m ahead of the curve when it comes to the movie/music/art scenes.

That is a fallacy.
I only give the illusion that I am. Just like how many people think I’m tall because I’ve been wearing heels since I was 13 (like my grandmother, which practice recently got her in trouble on the treadmill where she fell and broke her wrist). I’m typically anywhere from 2-6 months behind the latest music/movies/books which is why this blog will never be on the cutting edge for knowledge thirsty hipsters. Unless you want to know anything about Pee-Wee Herman, then I’m super on the ball.
So, I’m SURE you’ve already seen this video below. I typically don’t post videos on my blog (unless it’s Pee-Wee Herman), but this one I just can’t resist. It sandwiches together (more…)

May 12, 2010 by
Writing

Mom, Don’t Read This One, OK?

I’ve always prided myself on being an extremely self-aware person (“self-aware”= narcissistic only child). However, I have extreme difficulty writing about matters close to my heart. Matters that make me feel sensations other than hungry, tired, or gassy.

The Queen of All Matters Of the Heart is my mother. A woman that I so closely resemble in appearance, manner, and ethic that it’s near impossible to find any objectivity when talking about this woman. She and I are the symbolic definition of the greatest “Awkward Family Photo“. The fact that no clothing synchronized photo of us running through a florous ravine exists is surprising and disappointing.

(not my Mother and I or anyone that I know or care to know)

Mom, this post may be addressed to you, but I was serious about you not reading it.
I know you’ll call me later after seeing this on Facebook and say, “I saw that you wrote a post about me….” and there will be an awkward moment of silence, then I’ll have to explain that it’s actually (more…)

May 6, 2010 by
Writing

Mannequin Babies

Mannequin babies like to go to work with Mommy wearing the same exact outfit.
Skippy is giving Mommy problems with his beret. He keeps wanting to take it off.
Mommy doesn’t understand why Skippy keeps taking off the wool beret.
Mommy is wearing the beret so Skippy has to wear it too.
The beret makes you look nice, Skippy!
Don’t take off the damn beret!


This kid is a real pain in the ass, Mommy thinks.
So what if it’s 102 degrees out?
The beret compliments the outfit!
The outfit will not be the same without the beret!
Mommy and Skippy have to match!


Smile for the camera, Skippy!
Look up!
Don’t touch the damn beret or we’re going back inside and we’re changing out of matching outfits.
You want that?
I didn’t think so.
Now smile.
SMILE!


Look in that window, Skippy.
See what happens to mannequin babies that talk back to Mommy?
They get placed in American Apparel windows and forced to wear lamé leggings.
You don’t want your bow tie taken away from you, do you?
DO YOU?

May 6, 2010 by