Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Here's a recent (and typical) texting conversation between me and a friend. Enjoy.
Tammy: Jerry Springer has a stripper showdown today and Tyra is talking about her natural hair. And we do not have real incomes?
Me: I'm in the wrong business.
Tammy: No kidding. Writing informative witty articles or teaching the youth vs. contributing to the country going down the shitter.
Me: Is it too late for me to become a stripper?
Tammy: Probably in L.A. but not in some lesser cities like Fresno. I think they start their training really early is all I'm trying to say.
Me: True. I think I'll start sending out my resume.
Tammy: And by resume you mean that YouTube clip of you dancing at the Brass Monkey after one too many cocktails.
Me: You know it. Strippers do the robot and the cabbage patch, right?
Tammy: Yeah. Just greased up and naked.
Me: I'm posting this convo on my blog.
Tammy: You can title it: Stuff My Friend and I Discuss When Unemployed.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
I realize logistically this might not work. For one thing the traffic needs to be completely stopped, not moving at all. I can't figure out a way for this to happen without a really bad accident taking place. And it just seems wrong to dance when people are hurt or dying. Secondly, you'd need someone with a really good sound system in their car or a way to convince everyone to turn their radios to a certain station.
Last Thursday, after I heard about Michael Jackson, I was on the 5 going north to Valencia to see some friends. So many radio stations were playing his songs and I was loving it. It was about 5pm and I started to hit some heavy traffic and I thought to myself, "Oh my God. This is it. This is the moment I've been waiting for. I know we're all listening to Michael Jackson songs right now. And traffic could get really bad. All we have to do is get out of our cars and turn the radios to the same station and start dancing...and then what if Thriller comes on?"
Then I launched into this whole new fantasy where we all did the dance from Thriller (flawlessly of course) and the news helicopters flew over the freeway to capture the amazing moment. It would have been perfection. But traffic actually started moving again! Noooooooooooooooooo! I have never in my life wanted traffic to stop so badly. Okay, maybe the Thriller choreography was a stretch, but I definitely could have started a dance party on the freeway. Sigh. One day, my friends. One day.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
But LA DWP keeps sending me a bill! I've called a ton of times, written letters with documents to prove I no longer live there along with references who can verify this info. Still, they send me bills.
I finally learned that there is a "dispute office" and these are the people I should be dealing with. What a joke. Trying to talk to the dispute office was like trying to see the Wizard of Oz. I called today and asked to speak with the dispute office. I think the phone rep actually gasped.
"No one speaks to the dispute office." No, seriously the rep said that.
I had to speak through him, which is fine I guess. I assumed he would put me on hold and dial their line. But instead he kept saying, "Let me get their attention." I actually heard him knock on a door or maybe a window before he put me on hold. I'm pretty sure they were all sitting in the same room just flipping through US Weekly magazines. Then it was like I we were in the third grade and someone was trying to find out if I liked their friend.
"Um, they're asking what date you moved out of your apartment."
"January 27th. Just like it says on the paperwork I sent. It's the first line in my letter to them."
"Okay, hold on, I'll tell them. Um, also, if they asked you out, would you go out with them? Circle Yes or No."
Okay, so that last part didn't happen. After playing phone tage for a while, I finally won the battle. They are supposedly sending a confirmation letter stating that the account is closed and I don't owe any money. Moral of the story? Don't let those sneaky LA DWP bastards cheat you! Power to the people!
Monday, June 22, 2009
Clearly, some girl broke up with you forever ago and you're still angry. Get over it. Move on. You seem like a douchebag anyway.
Girl Who Is Tired Of The Crap On The Radio
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I couldn't stop thinking about it! If I was mauled by an awful creature after a car crash and the cops were going through the empty Taco Bell cups in my Toyota Echo, they would assume 14 people had been in the car crash. And if they continued to go through all the Taco Bell wrappers, they'd guess they were 14 very gluttonous people with an insatiable hunger for Double Decker Tacos. And since they would only find my body, they'd go on a hunt for 13 people who never existed.
Moral of the story? Don't judge a book by its Taco Bell wrappers.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
I find it completely hilarious. I love the question at the top:
So how did they come up with the idea for this amazing cereal?
As if that's what we're all wondering when we eat Honey Bunches of Oats. Cornflakes and granola?! What a concept! How did they come up with the idea?!
The answer to this question starts with the line, "Vern had a big idea!" Then it launches into this lengthy story about a guy who worked for Post and how he was all obsessed with creating his own cereal. Vern and his daughter made up a cereal, but didn't know what to call it. So the brand manager got involved and was like, "Let's add honey and call it Honey Bunches of Oats!" A star was born and the cereal debuted in 1989.
This is all they could come up with for the back of the box? No profiles on weed-smoking Olympians? Did they run out of plastic watches to give away? Boring!
The Loser Who Reads The Back Of Cereal Boxes
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Hey, everyone! In case you haven't already heard, I've left my job and apartment in L.A. to travel around the country. Check out my travel blog to stay up to date on my adventures. Thanks for reading!
Friday, January 30, 2009
You've got to be kidding me! I'm sitting a table in a coffee shop where there are PLENTY of open tables. Granted, I'm sitting at a table that seats six (it's closer to the outlets and I need to plug in the computer). But these three people aren't even using computers! They're practically sitting on my lap! I secretly took a picture. Look:
Do you see how close they are??? Why are they sitting so close to me? Why aren't they sitting over here?
I give up. People are strange.