Random Occurances & Traffic Reports

Although we all know how much I love dooce, I was blogging drunk. Drunk blogging is the new drunk dialing.

I mean, obviously I could have been less repetitive if I was sober.

Anyways, last Thursday, when driving home from Malibu, I was stuck in some gnarly (yeah, like Gnu) traffic. We were rarely moving at more than 10 miles per hour. I was behind a truck that I could not see past.

I sat in my car for almost 2 hours - at least half that time was spent staring at that yellow and red Igloo cooler. I was so thirsty. What if I’d be stuck there until the end of eternity? What was in that cooler? Would it be icy-cold water? Or better yet, iced-tea?! Or would it be empty? Or worse, full of warm yucky root beer or something?! Or what if he’d killed & decapitated someone and was hiding their head in there?!

Hmmm…

So I contemplated getting out of my car one of the many times we were at a dead stop and approaching the driver of the vehicle in front of me. Maybe we could get to know each other and maybe he’d share his (hopefully) iced-tea with me. I was sooooo thirsty!! But then, just as I had almost enough nerve to go through with it, the traffic started moving. Nuts!

I guess I’ll never know the truth.

I know I am not as funny as dooce dot com. I know I can’t be totally honest with my blogging audience. No matter how much I’d like to, I can’t talk about my constipation, diarrhea, bloating, zits, stupid dumb-ass employers (I came, I blogged, I got fired…) or any of that. And I know I can’t be as funny as dooce (aka Heather B. Armstrong.) But I know that I write and feel compelled to write fairly often and I’M SO SORRY THAT I CAN’T BE HONEST WITH Y’ALL. There are just some things that I’m just not ready to reveal (yet.) Although birdshit is coming pretty close.

Sorry.

I will get there one of these days, I promise. In the meanwhile, check out http://shutupiknow.blogspot.com/ or http://dooce.com/ or http://julia.typepad.com/julia/ or http://finslippy.typepad.com/finslippy/ or http://brunette-on-fire.blogspot.com or http://tjsplace.blogspot.com/ but he hasn’t posted in a year or so … there are so many more.

One of these days I will learn how to make links in my blogs - or i will convert to type-pad - whatever comes first. Until then, just copy and paste into your browser.

Thanks.

I think somewhere in my family history there must be a Jew involved because otherwise there is no humanly way possible I could be compelled to do so many things from mere guilt! Last night after I posted the previous blog, I sipped my Shiraz but did not turn on the TV - Shut up! I know! (That’s borrowed from my friend Micah - http://shutupiknow.blogspot.com/ )

Instead, I wrote 20 thank-you cards, balanced my checkbook (which I haven’t done since November, so that took quite some time) and cleared away at least one mountain of debris in this hurricane-stricken apartment. I also downloaded/applied for my free annual credit report from all 3 major agencies! No joke, folks. All of this took almost 6 hours.

I’ll get some sleep one of these days, I swear. But right now I should go pay some bills.

Let me leave you on this note, however. When you turn your key in a lock, the key should turn in the direction of the requested action, should it not?! For example, if you are trying to unlock a door, the key should turn away from the doorframe, mimicking the direction of the unlocking bolt, AM I RIGHT OR AM I RIGHT?! Anything else is just asinine. I’d like to have a word or two with the lock designers/installers of the door at the entry of my building for crying out loud.

I love the days I have to go to work in Malibu (which since New Year’s has been 2 or 3 days a week.) I drive up the 101 for an hour listening to Kevin & Bean on KROQ and stop at a lovely Starbucks in Calabasas where skater/surfer boys, barely old enough to drive but smart enough to flirt, serve me my Venti Vanilla Non-Fat Latté with shit-eating grins. (I hope they aren’t spitting in my coffee or anything. I hope the grins are due to elicit thoughts or anything else which is less invasive to my health than pierced-lip phlegm.) When working in Malibu, I sit in a small office with great mountain views and often get little visits from rabbits in the yard outside. We lunch on the terrace in the sunshine and life is good. I sometimes get to go down to the oceanside cafés and pick up lunch if it isn’t already brought to me and I always get a striking view of the water on my windy way down the mountain.

The only downside to working in Malibu is that sometimes the traffic on my drive home is so hellacious that it takes me 2 hours from door to door. Ugh. But today, it only took an hour! This is cause for REAL celebration, as you Angelenos know. In fact, I think I’m going to go pour me a nice glass of Shiraz right now…

Another great thing about working in Malibu is that the office hours I have to keep are 10am-4pm!! I am not joking! So I get home (usually) waaaayyyy before I normally finish working elsewhere. Alas, I think this Thursday will be my last day there for quite awhile, so I’ll definitely have to enjoy it.

So, today I got home at 5pm and I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. I thought, “Kathleen, you should do your laundry.” So I washed a load of jeans and a load of sheets and read a few magazine articles while waiting.

February’s Vanity Fair with Lindsay Lohan on the cover touts her mature acting skills and drops the hugest bomb shell - “…I’m in a place where I can really make an impact on people and really help girls that are, you know, people with anorexia, people that aren’t in good relationships… I can change that a little bit.” Okay, FIRST OF ALL what would you know about anorexia? Waaaiiitt… REALLY? You have an eating disorder and a fucked-up life? What?! Shocking. SECONDLY, how in the hell can you help girls/change that a little bit?! Are you announcing your plans to stop shopping like a Trump wife, and wrecking expensive cars on Robertson Blvd., in order to give it all up for the life of a social worker slash philanthropist?!

January’s Allure with Gwyneth on the cover has an article on how all the A list girls are getting so skinny. Clenbuterol, people. It’s a veterinary drug that can possibly kill you (and worse, make you even fatter in the long run.) Ooooooh, magazines.

By the time I was done with the Victoria’s Secret catalogues and everything else, my clothes were in a wrinkled heap on the dryer. I hate public laundry rooms!! Don’t touch my clothes, you crazy neighbors of mine! I know one of you sicko Armenians were fondling my 500 thread count sheets with your Turkish Coffee fingers. BACK OFF.

So as my laundry plans were so obviously thwarted (I usually do 8 loads at a time for those of you who were previously uninformed,) with only 2 loads down, I clomped back upstairs and put the clothes (or at least some of them) away before I was distracted by a lovely Sudoku book on my bedside table. I dove right in and within minutes was feeling very, very sleepy. I was about to get under the covers and go to bed when I snapped myself out of this dangerous dream-state and yelled, “Kathleen, it’s only 7pm. You cannot WILL NOT go to bed now.”

Therefore, you now find me sitting here writing an inane, very long-winded blog which is neither humorous nor interesting and for that, I apologize. But honestly, the only other “productive” things that could possibly keep me awake at this point are either tackling the mountains of debris in my apartment in this aftermath of Hurricane Kathleen, paying bills and balancing my check book, writing thank-you’s, or shaving my Amazonian legs - and I find none of these prospects very appealing at the moment. So off I go to watch blah TV with my Shiraz.

So I usually work 7 days a week but I decided to take the weekend off which I sorely needed. Unfortunately, I have to take next weekend off as well to go to my great-aunt Betty’s funeral in Northern California. My dad is flying in tomorrow and Brad and I will drive up on Friday or Saturday. It’s going to be a looooooong drive and I’m sure Brad will be whining the entire time that he wants a cigarette since I won’t let him smoke in my car.

Anyways, I spent yesterday on Larchmont lunching with the lovely Sonia. Thanks so much for driving up from Mission Viejo to see me! We had a nice afternoon. I love Larchmont. And I also ran into Yasmine on the street up there which is how I forgot about my meter and got a stupid parking ticket. Grrrr…

I also had a few cups of coffee with Magic Dan at Stir Crazy last night and spent all day today in Brad’s bed working on Sudoku, The Sunday Times and a few movies on TNT - Seven, The Negotiator, and Along Came A Spider (which was actually produced by the guys who owned the company where I was the Director of Development.) I also got my weekly dose of Desperate Housewives and Grey’s Anatomy.

So all in all it’s been a great, relaxing weekend but I got absolutely nothing done. So if you’re expecting a Thank-You card from me or a check to pay a bill, it’s going to be just one more day. I swear!

So the bird shit story has elicited many responses of, “Ooooooooo, that’s such good luck!”
You’re all fucking crazy.
After the shit there was vomit. After the vomit there was a shower and a nap = good, BUT calling off of work means no money = bad. Then, boyfriend incommunicado since 10am which has never happened, so for the first time in my life I start to worry about someone = FUCKING NERVE-WRACKING!
I mean, I seriously thought he was dead. I knew he wasn’t having an affair because I saw him last night and he was acting normal. Was he having an affair, he would have had minor behavior modifications that I would have noticed after the fact. So I really tried to dig down deep to find a rational, logical explanation other than death that could be the reason for his all-of-a-sudden lack of communication.
The only thing I came up with was, 1.) He got called in to work a last minute job …but no - he would have called and let me know as we had plans tonight. 2.) He got arrested for driving drunk in the middle of the day …but no - he’s a white law-abiding citizen and would have at the very least called me from jail to bail him out. 3.) He told me he was going to the public library downtown to check out dvd’s on Danish to learn the language so maybe he was stuck on the subway during a strike, tunnel collapse or terrorist activity …but no - nothing on the internet or news informed me of any subterranean mishaps. 4.) A homeless man took him hostage with a knife or something because the sky is falling and the mothership is coming to take them home.
Then I went so far as to plan my exit strategy. I thought, “We’re supposed to have drinks tonight with a handful of casting directors and Michelle Jannone. How can I call explain my absence? I guess I’ll just call Michelle and tell her something came up and I’m flaking, and she can hate me if she wants. I don’t want to inform her of the current situation until I know what is really going on. So then I’ll have to go to the hospital. Which hospital?! I don’t fucking have a clue. So who do I call to keep me company that I can cry in front of and who won’t say stupid shit to me?! Who will have the answers and be resourceful and helpful? Magic Dan!! And then what?! I’ll move to Denmark and live with my mother and my life will be over!”
Brad, you can’t die on me.
Fast forward a few hours and I FINALLY GET A HOLD OF BRAD! He’s not dead HE WAS FUCKING TAKING A NAP and therefore not answering my calls. Whatever, asshole, I thought you were dead. (And if you know me, I can go days without hearing from you. I am not a worrier nor have I ever understood worrying about other grown adults - we all have lives and live them with or without checking in. However, Brad on a daily basis calls to tell me he’s going to the post office/dry cleaner/gas station so the norm is an inundation of details that I could care less about. Not hearing from him for 8 hours is definitely NOT THE NORM!)
I drive over to his place to pick him up for the trek over to Beverly Hills for drinks with the industry people and when he comes out of his house, I get out of the car to give him a hug and a great big fat kiss to celebrate the fact that he’s still alive. When I get back into the car, I ripped my pants as I sat down. NO I HAVE NOT GAINED WEIGHT! These were not tight pants - they just fucking ripped! So I had to drive back home and change. Fuck me running.
I swear - where is this Bird Shit Good Luck and when will it bestow its graces upon me?!

I just woke up from a 2 hour nap after an hour-long shower (although I really wanted a bath but I never indulge that way unless someone runs it for me) and it’s a school day!! I got up this morning and everything started normally… well… except for the gash on my back, the bruise on my knee and the burst blood vessels on my left breast that I got last night when Brad and I fell over onto a set of dumbbells at his apartment at 2am. (You know the dumb warning signs on things - McDonald’s coffee’s ITEM MAY BE HOT, hairdryer’s PLEASE DO NOT OPERATE WHILE SLEEPING, cold medicine’s DO NOT OPERATE HEAVY MACHINERY, etc. - they should put one on wine - DO NOT ATTEMPT TO DO THE BUNNY HOP NEAR EXERCISE EQUIPMENT AFTER DRINKING AN EXCESS OF ONE BOTTLE.)

Anyways, Apple finished replacing my logic board - yay! (They actually finished it yesterday but called me as I was on my way to work to let me know and hence I was unable to pick it up until today.) I am so happy to have my computer back. I love you, sweet computer. I missed you so much. I found myself driving home on our first day apart thinking to myself, “Why bother even going home? There’s nothing there for me. What am I to do?”

After my trip to the Apple Store, I stopped by the Casting Studios to drop off a birthday gift for Keoni and ran into Liz Paulson in the lobby. As she and I were chatting outside right before I left, a dumb-ass bird FUCKING SHAT ON ME! Unfortunately, I cannot say this is the first time this has happened to me but I can say it hasn’t happened since I was 10 years old. So I was standing there TOTALLY BUMMED OUT and Liz started gagging and laughing alternately. I moped off to my car and started driving home to change my clothes when the very pungent odor of the birdshit started totally grossing me out. I have always been under the impression that birds eat bird seed and maybe your occasional bug if they’re lucky. Not this bird. This bird must have recently feasted on rotting carcass of road kill or something. I tried not to look at the quickly setting stain on my shirt but it was hypnotic and soon I could not look away (except for the driving part - but I wasn’t paying very much attention to the road.) I mean, I think I might have seen partially digested squirrel feet in that mess. That dumb bird was some sort of crazy carnivorous terrorist of the avian world.

At first I was just nauseous, so I rolled down the windows. Then I was cold and nauseous, and I began to gag. Now, let me inform you that I vomit so infrequently that a.) I don’t really remember from one vomiting instance to the next what it feels like so, b.) I don’t ever know that I’m going to vomit until it has left my throat. Somewhere in between the vomit’s passage from my throat to my mouth to the outside world, it hits me that I am in fact vomiting. So there I am, driving down Beverly Blvd. spewing coffee, scrambled eggs, sausage, avocado and tomatoes all over myself - my poor car. So I called work and let them know I would not be returning and that is how I came to take a long shower and nap in the middle of a school day. The end. (Or is it?!)

So my computer took a monumental shit yesterday.  It turns out the logic board has to be replaced so I am sans computer for the next 3 to 5 days!!!!  The horror!  What am I going to do without a computer???

Otherwise, things are fine here in sunny SoCal.  I’ve been catching up with lots of old friends recently and having fun.  Last night, I had drinks with Jacob, Josh, Michelle Jannone and G. Charles Wright at Joshee’s house - very impromptu.  I called up Josh from Jacob’s and said, "Hey we’re coming over in about 20 minutes and Michelle is joining us with G. and they’ll probably beat me there." 

No problem.  And Josh was the host with the most, as usual.  We showed up to not only something to drink, but DECANTED wine!!  He’s so gay and I love him for it.

Don’t ever pull that on me though, at least not these days.  If you showed up at my place you would have to dig me out from under heaps of suitcases and piles of laundry.  My place is a disaster.  Instead of donating to Hurricane Katrina relief, I really think y’all should be donating to Tornado Kathleen relief.  I accept cash, money orders and cashier’s checks, made payable to me!

I spent all last night in FREEKING HEAVEN! Australians to the left, Australians to the right… I was like a kid in a candy shop! And, of course, my favorite Australian was there - HUGH could he be any hotter JACKMAN! I chatted with him on various different occasions and he was super duper nice and I have no idea what he said because he was smiling at me and I couldn’t stop undressing him with my eyes! He’s just so damn sexy!

I don’t even know what to write in this post because I can’t think about anything but his sexiness.

So I’ll leave it at that.

My birthday was 2 weeks ago. I’m 30. THIRTY! Jesus. It’s not like I’m exactly married with two point five kids, a house, a Range Rover and a zippy Mercedes convertible in the garage. I’m not a powerful businesswoman in a penthouse with even a Beemer and fabulous business trips. I’m not living in some fantastically quaint little hundreds of years old apartment in a fabulous European city leading the life of a chain-smoking artiste. I’m in L.A. in a chaotic apartment baking at midnight for Andrea’s housewarming slash potluck party tomorrow. I have suitcases all over the place half unpacked. I have shitloads of filing to do not to mention laundry and I’m not even sure I finished putting the groceries away. I haven’t opened the mail in a week and 50% of my shoes which belong in my closet are strewn about my apartment. At least I have lots of closets and rent-control.

Somehow in the last few years, the planets have refused to align. Lately, I’m no longer the obsessive-compulsive neat-freak with a great job and a knack for organization that you’ve all come to know and love. I think that my newly acquired hormone flux has not only changed me from a typical girl who’s cold, to a sweaty freak who needs the windows open at all times, it has also reprogrammed my brain somehow. The day before Brad and I were leaving for Europe, I drove back and forth from one side of town to the other multiple times because I forgot things, lost things… I don’t know. I almost left the house for the airport with no bras - my boobs without bras for 3 weeks in Europe?! I left Copenhagen for Prague with no underwear! I don’t forget things. It’s part of who I am. What is happening?!

I had to go to the grocery store 3 times tonight because I forgot milk, then realized I forgot the bag with the sugar at the store and then noticed I was out of flour and had to go back to the store again. After my bake time was half over, I realized I’d forgotten to add the sugar. I had to start over. When I took the pan out of the oven for the second time, I used my new rubber potholder. (It’s really cool. Check out one of my favorite stores www.surlatable.com) But instead of setting the pan down with my right hand, I grabbed it with both hands - the left one sans potholder. Yes, you read that correctly - I grabbed the freaking piping hot pan without a potholder. It’s a nasty burn. Not only that, but as I’ve been sitting here writing this, I forgot about the very item I’ve been baking and left it in the oven too long and burned it. (To my defense, my timer never went off. At least I don’t think it did. Maybe I didn’t hear it. It’s sitting right next to me, though. You would have thought I’d have heard it.) WHO THE FUCK AM I??!! Better yet, HOW DO I FIX IT?!

I am no longer a talent agent or a development executive. I could paint a pretty picture and say I’m a very in-demand high-paid freelance consultant for various companies but let’s get real. I work odd jobs. (And that’s not Ixel’s version of odd jobs which includes sweeping parking lots and such - but it’s close!) I have no clue what I want to do with my life and can hardly commit to a job that I’ll be bored with by next week. Yet somehow, I’m working about 10 jobs for no money that I don’t like all at the same time, and have been doing so for years. Ironic, don’t you think?

Is this the early on-set of senility?!