Lucky Duck

I'm in Vegas right now with Mack, Kristin, Will, Sarah and Shannon... a hodgepodge of unemployed, graduates, students, managers and doctors of geography. Shannon and Sarah have presentations to do and since Kristin has something called "work" to go to, we've been trying to find minutes to cram in with all of them.

Last night Kristin made corn on the cob and homemade, to-die-for black bean burgers, and then Mack and I jetted out to get Shan from the airport. We dropped off her things at her hotel and decided to go to Circus Circus. This is Shan's first time in Vegas, so, of course, she needed to gamble a little bit.

She decided to play the slot machines while we waited for Mack in the bathroom, and poof! out rolled $2.50 on her first try. Not a lot, but enough of a percentage earnings to spark excitement.

Then we went to the craps table, and poof! there went our money to the lords of the casino. Mack went to get some cash out of the ATM while Shan and I settled in at a $5 blackjack table. Then she proceeded to double her winnings while I proceeded to lose all of my money thanks to cards with fours on them.

Mack told us it was time to go after we finished our beer, and Shannon was all like, "You guys go on. I'm gonna keep playing. I'll be fine."

All I can say is thank goodness hers is the only hotel on the strip without a casino in it. Because with her luck and bank roll strategy, she may just give up on geography and settle into doubling down for a living.

Represent.

Dear Venice,

I just took another stroll through your peculiar little streets and wanted to let you know how much I love you.

I once took one of those Jeep tours through Sedona with Kate, and the lady driving was from Michigan. When we asked her how she ended up doing Jeep tours in Arizona, she said that when she visited she felt like that piece of Earth was made for her. That's sort of how you feel to me.

Now that my days here are numbered, I'm realizing just how much I'm going to miss about you. I'm going to miss your hidden walk streets and their decorative doors. I'm going to miss watching the ducks and the little crabs in the Canals. I'm going to miss the beefy pit bulls and Leo the Flying Lion Pomeranian who struts around like he's somebody. I'm going to miss the chance alley encounters with the sweet smell of crack. I'm going to miss seeing Gandolf the White, an alleged former gynecologist, walking around with his staff and patriotic paraphernalia. I'm going to miss the old guy who's been learning to skate board in the middle of California and Electric ever since I moved in. I'm going to miss Abbot's Habit, the Townhouse, La Cabana, and Mao's Kitchen. I'm going to miss stealing nectarines in July from the house with the Ohio flag. I'm going to miss riding my bike through the middle of your main drag. I'm going to miss the girl who paints giant green creatures on the sidewalk. I'm going to miss your gentle homeless people. I'm going to miss finishing off my beer during a walk down the alley. I'm going to miss the Lantern house and the Gingerbread house and the Kitchy house and even our little ghetto house.
I'm going to miss your year-round flowers and the sweet smells that blanket your tall fences. I'm going to miss seeing your boardwalk come to life and watching it go back to sleep. I'm going to miss hearing the drums on Sunday nights drifting 7 blocks from the beach to keep time on my front stoop. I'm going to miss the understated letters that adorn your gateway. I'm going to miss the guys who makes a circle of popcorn for the birds and then does some sort of worship from the center of the ring. I'm going to miss the way you turn a predictable walk to the beach into a Hare Krishna festival with enormous floats and flower adorned pathways and free food for everyone. I'm going to miss your skateboarders and your rollerbladers and your Smart cars. I'm going to miss the posting of the Declaration of Independence hanging on the fences on the 4th of July. I'm going to miss the strange posters and stickers that show the extent of the quick wit and sharp sense of humor of your residents. I'm going to miss seeing if Nice Cream pushes Pinkberry out of our neighborhood.

Basically, I'm going to miss your weird little vibes and your weird little people. You are the best place I've ever called home.

Secret [Sexy] Service

Thursday I got laid off, Friday our apartment was listed for rent, and yesterday Mack had an interview at UC San Diego. So all that extra time for blogging, yeah, it goes away when you've got to rent your place, pack up your belongings, sucker loved ones into putting you up indefinitely and cheerlead someone through the agony of the med school application process.

It also doesn't help when you're left slack-jawed and drooling over the hotness of your husband in a suit and trying to snap out of boy-watching freakishness usually reserved for adolescents.


He really is the hottest guy in the gay bar. No question.

We are screwed.

For more thought provoking, listen to TED.

Trouble Makers Have More Fun

You know you're entirely too close to someone when they're farts are familiar to you. That's the way it is with Heather. I have been smelling this girl's colon for my entire life. And even though I know she comes with squirty toots that you can taste if you're in an enclosed space, I still would have her visit every single day if I could.

[In a complete coincidence, Mack just farted as I wrote this and then broke out with, "I'm bringing Heather back..." to the tune of Sexy Back. He gets it.]

That girl makes me laugh til I drool every time. She is a trouble magnet, and potentially regrettable things happen when she's around... not bad things, just potentially oopsie ones. Like this:
The first night she got here, we went out with my friend Gio, who shares my birthday and my delight in taking innocent yet incriminating photos that would be completely inappropriate without the forgiveness of Pabst Blue Ribbon. He was so much fun he drunk texted my mom, tinged Heather and my Facebook statuses/stati with naughtiness, and got to hold our purses the 11 times we peed in the alley.
He also got to take the above reference innocent yet incriminating photos.
On Saturday we woke up, went to breakfast at my favorite diner, and then headed to Abalone Cove to see if the tide pools my neighbor told me about actually existed. When Jen visited last year, we hiked around looking for these stinking tide pools and could not find them anywhere. Jen was in a sundress and heeled flipflops and was either going to cry or kill me if I did not get her out of that failed outing immediately. Well, this time, with accurate tide charts in hand, we made it. And it was freaking awesome!
We saw orange starfish, maroon starfish, baby starfish, teenage starfish, adult starfish, sea vaginas, hermit crabs, bright purple sea urchins and tons of birds. Enjoy this slideshow music compilation courtesy of $3 and Animoto.com, which I also love.



We also discovered squirters. Some of you may know squirters as something else, but all we knew was that as we were walking around the tide pools trying not to step on sea urchins, some things would periodically squirt water at us. We channeled our inner scientists and named them after one of Mark Carrothers' old girlfriends. Would you be surprised that it was Heather's idea? Naaah.

Sunday was basically as perfectly lazy as it should have been. We walked up to Venice Beach, laid in the grass, read books, took photos of Sadie playing outside, took medicine for our aching calves, went to sushi for dinner, and vegged like the champion vacationers we are.

She left on Monday morning, and even with daylight savings time, it's been a little less sunny without Heather's spontaneity and easy laugh. She is good for the soul. And the devil inside.

Meeting Minutes

11:17 Boss suggests we take a walk to get a muffin.
11:18 Boss and I talk about how cute his kid is.
11:23 Boss orders a banana nut muffin.
11:24 Boss and I sit at bistro table outside of cafe next to a vibrant window box.
11:25 I drop the "I thought about it and..." bomb. With the words comes a huge internal sigh of relief. Feel very grateful for the supportive conversations with mom and mother-in-law this weekend. Boss shakes his head knowingly, surprises me with how easy he's making this, wins my favor and sincere appreciation.
11:36 I say thank you. Boss says thank you. We get up.
11:37 Walk back to the office feeling 100 pounds lighter and realize I STILL don't have a firm answer or absolute resolution.
11:41 Weight settles back onto my shoulders. Dammit Joan...

Okay, Teen Years, end already.

I break out every month when I'm about to get my period, and looking at the mirror this morning I realized that only ONE WEEK PER MONTH am I my normal self. The other weeks, I am, in order:

• bloated with retarded size boobs
• bitchy with pimples and a need to clean and eat ice cream
  
• having cramps and experiencing the joy of menstruation

Mack especially loves this phase I'm in right now because it means he'll be called an asshole for enjoying himself. Asshole.

Tweetle Lee Dee Doo

I like Twitter. And not necessarily the product as much as the branding.

The product is a little like Facebook status updates but through a different site so there's nothing too unique about it besides the fact that I can follow people without their mandatory approval.

But what's really fun about Twitter is the cuteness of it all. I like the colors and the logo font and the little birds they use (I normally don't like birds because I don't trust their hollow bones, so me liking their birds means they are doing birds well).

Even when the site craps out, I still like Twitter. Because even in crappy times, Twitter is still cute. Which is more than I can say for me.

I dunno... just cool stuff

I've had a few "extra" minutes at work to spend perusing the internet and here are some things I've found that I like.

I Found Your Camera

This satisfies the voyeur in me but is also a great public service. How many times have I left my camera in a cab or at a party only to lose all evidence that the hangover I'm feeling is from me having a memorable time and not from me being stupid? Okay, never, because my camera is more important than my wallet (certainly more valuable). But for the rest of you, now when you lose your camera, there is hope that you'll get it back. And if you're like me and don't or haven't lost your camera, you get to snoop on the private lives of strangers in the name of "helping them." Win, win.

List of the Day

There are no rules for this blog other than to make a list of something each day. On some days, it's The 10 Most Special "Very Special" TV Episodes Of The Day, and on other days, it's an Engrish Roundup, but every day it's funny and makes me jealous because, dammit, my lists are never this good.

Book Inscriptions

I love a book inscription. I think I got this from my mom, who always signs the books she gives me with words that put the actual book to shame, and now whenever I get a book for someone, I try to write on the inside of it. And if someone gives me a book, I usually insist they write a message on it. I also like to use photos or receipts or other little life trinkets as bookmarks while I'm reading them and then store them in books when I'm done. Liz does that too, because when she lent me Love in the Time of Cholera, I used her enclosed bookmark. Just another little personal touch and something to send the imagination over a cliff.

Unnecessary Quotes

Look. I studied journalism in college. I work as an editor. I used to get excited in the 7th grade about diagramming sentences. I watch Cops because I like feeling superior to idiots. Unnecessary Quotes feeds that part of me, alright!

Please Enjoy

A couple years ago a guy I work with stumbled across this site, and when he sent me the link, I read it as Plea Seen Joy. Not only do I stop by this guy's site periodically to get design or branding inspiration, but I also check in to see what incredible DIY social commentary project he's crafted. Be sure to check out the projects if you're feeling like you want to give your vandalism a clever purpose.

JR ART

Surprise! I like photography! I first started following whoever this JR is when he was doing a project called Face 2 Face. He took photos of Israelis in certain occupations (bakers, lawyers, tailors, etc) and then took photos of Palestinians in those same occupations, and then he hung larger than life versions of the photos of the Israelis version and the Palestinian version next to each other in both countries. The goal was to get these people to go, "Hey, they're not that different from me." Since then he's gone all over the world, capturing humanity and putting our similarities front and center, simultaneously showcasing beauty and disgust at the same time and making us ask how can we do this to each other? (Be sure to click on the English version in the top left, unless you just want to let the photos speak for themselves. and be sure to click on Projets to see his body of work so far.) I subscribe to him so now I get email updates and photos, and I'm never disappointed.

The Belly Project

I'm still sussing out how I feel about this one. I like the concept -- women of different ages and life experiences showing the reality of these bodies we inhabit -- but I have to be in the right mood for it. Like the one that comes on days when the Victoria's Secret catalogues show up and I start having a fit of self-loathing. On days like that, this is a handy little collective of gals being real.

F My Life

Props to Amy for turning me on to this one. I'm not sure how many of these are real and how many are made up, but all of them are entertaining and make me feel grateful that this crap hasn't happened to me. So far.

A Little Thing I Like to Call Lunch Break

California kicks winter's ass.

And you thought OctoMom was a freak show... have you watched TLC lately?

Last night I was flipping between Intervention on A&E and Little People, Big World on TLC. Little people sometimes make me nauseous -- I KNOW I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON -- but those Roloffs are a sweet family and if I'm feeling like the world is crap, watching them puts me in a much better mood. Plus, the camera people have some good tricks up their sleeves to make them seem less dwarfish -- I KNOW, ME = TERRIBLE.

During one particular commercial break - on both channels - I caught a promo for the show Table for 12. This is not a restaurant show. This is a show about a family of 12. Which normally wouldn't be so bad, but it's on the same network as the shows Jon & Kate Plus 8 and 18 and Counting (yes, and counting...).

I watch Jon & Kate Plus 8 sometimes, but sometimes I just can't. It makes me want to kick babies and smack some sense into hyper breeders -- I FULLY ADMIT I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON. I know babies are a gift from god, a miracle, the purpose of humanity, but I also know that, seriously, this planet will (and is) kill(ing) babies if it gets too many of them. Imagine how many people could be saved from malaria if Jon & Kate had stuck with 2 babies, one to replace each of them...

That being said, Jon and Kate -- mostly due to Kate's efforts -- do an inspiring job loving and taking care of their brood. And if they can do it with 6 babies, the rest of the world can do it with 2-4. I see how the show is comforting to overwhelmed and exhausted parents, many of whom appreciate that how HARD it is to raise kids is conveyed so well, and that they get a lot of perspective and, in some cases, good advice from Jon and Kate on parenting and marriage. Plus, Jon and Kate only had two pregnancies, so I don't think they were being freaky as much as they got lucky with their IVF. Like I said, sometimes I like the show too.

But I'm afraid it's started an epidemic.

Not too many seasons after Jon & Kate came to TLC, the Duggars also moved in. You know the Duggars. They're the one who look Amish, but are actually an evangelical Christian religion called Quiverful. I shudder to think...


Anyway, the Duggars got their own show, 17 & Counting, which then became 18 & Counting and a book deal called 20 & Counting. Twenty. Freaking. People. That's a classroom of family. Two baseball teams.

I should say that if the Duggars want to have 100 kids and they're bodies and wallets can support them, more power to them, but I don't feel that way. Because they are freaks, completely self absorbed with their own agenda (one they get away with because they tacked it onto god), and their multiplying affects me... financially, environmentally, socially.

Seriously, if breeding like a bunny couldn't make you famous... couldn't get you a television series that would let you afford all those rug rats... would OctoMom have been so tempted? Don't think TLC isn't developing a show for her right now, one that will air once all the judgy single momness subsides. I can just hear the brainstorms now:

• "14 vs. 1" -- Nooo, sounds too combative.
• "Extreme Single Mom" -- Maybe, it uses the right buzz words. Maybe we could roll out a line of Extreme kid foods to go along with it.
• "Must Really Love Kids" -- You think she's ready to date? Because this would be PERFECT!

If someone wants to have IVF to get their babies and they end up with 8 in one fail swoop, whoops! But if someone already has 6-18 kids from multiple pregnancies -- and by multiple I mean 15 in the case of the Duggars -- they just need to stop already. And TLC needs to stop making them out to be some sort of parenting heroes. Because that, well, that makes me more nauseous than little people ever could.

Goodness Gracious

A year and a half ago, I put "learn poi" on my Google To Do List. And then I stared at it until this past January when I finally got sick of looking at it and signed up for a poi class.

Poi is basically spinning wads attached to strings around your body. Sometimes those wads are just bags of beans, sometimes they're glowing eggs, and sometimes they're balls of fire.

Last night was a ball of fire night.



I especially like the commentary by Victor, a long-haired Harley biker dude who taught me that you're only supposed to sport a braid after you've had sex with someone. He sounds almost girlish in his fire watching delight.