Funny Strange....

The Groovy Schwartzman, Part III

First off, if you haven't been following the ongoing coverage of the bizarre names list, please click here to go back and get re-acquainted with a list of the weirdest names of real people in the known universe.

I made a new friend last weekend, and she was kind enough to give me FOUR names to add to the list right off the top of her head, which makes her the coolest new person I've met in a long, long while.  Brace yourself for the latest additions to the Groovy Schwartzman list.

1.  Gathering Flowers.  Yep, real name of a real person.  In fact, real name of a real person who's probably going to email me and be all "Hey Lori, why am I on your blog?  Sincerely, Gathering Flowers."

2.  Rhythm Xander.  This one is harsh, because you know no one knows how to spell "rhythm" without spell check.

3.  Phoenix Eden Harmony.  Sweet, but this name might still put you at a disadvantage in a job-interview scenario, if we're to believe Malcolm Gladwell's Tipping Point theory on names pre-disposing the interviewer.  Also, Phoenix Eden Harmony probably smells like nag champa, my favorite new term of the week.

4.  Tidimdia.  Didn't catch the last name, but Tidimdia is a great onomonopeaic name, like the sound a drum makes when you're playing it...IN A DRUM CIRCLE AT THE GRATEFUL DEAD.  "Yo, Tidimdia...don't bogart that joint."  Yep, that works.

By the way, since the original post I have gotten alot of emails from people who claim to know Groovy Nipples Schwartzman and her groovy family, which apparently also contains a person named Strawberry Cheesecake.  I believe these are real people, but I don't actually know them, so you're not going to have any luck contacting them through me, even if you did go to high school with Groovy and haven't talked to her in a long time.  Sorry!

You Say Airtight! I Say Prenup! Airtight! Prenup!

Yeah, someone needs to tell Charlie Sheen that it's a bad idea for him to keep getting married.  It's not for everyone-- some people are just better off single, right?  Sheen obviously can't restrain himself in the face of tons of money, booze and pills, and women everywhere-- so why does he even try?   This is either his third or fourth marriage (depending on which source you believe), and he's just NOTORIOUS for being a jerk to his wives.   I suppose if you're the highest-paid sitcom actor on tv, you don't have to try that hard, but really, why is he trying at all?  You'd think he'd just go all "George Clooney I'm never getting married."  But nooooo --- Charlie has something to prove, especially with a half million dollar engagement ring.  Why would you do this willingly?  Has this girl never read US Weekly or People magazine?  Seriously.

I also think it's totally funny that he proposed to her with a $500,000 ring.  Because you know if you're going to put yourself through a marriage of any length with Charlie Sheen, you're not going to do it for a ring from Sears.  I'm guessing that Denise Richards is getting crazy paid from the 3 1/2 years of Sheen she had to take. 

By the way,I know everyone likes Denise Richards again now that she broke up with Richie Sambora and she's with her kids all the time, but to me she just seems hairy, like she's about to spontaneously burst into hair at any moment, or like she's just been from the salon where she (probably) goes every other day to have her eyebrows and arms waxed.  Hairy, that's what I mean.  Like she requires alot of hair control.  Oh and also, and I mean this only in the most flattering sense because I loved the West Wing.  Has anyone noticed that Sam Sheen (daughter of Charlie and Denise) looks just like Martin Sheen?  She's like a girl Martin Sheen with ponytails and a dress.  I would've said "a shorter Martin Sheen," but honestly, Martin Sheen is pretty darn short.  This face is really funny, like "Put me down, I'm Martin Sheen from Apocalypse Now." That's how much she looks like him.

Speaking of Martin Sheen, you know he's like "Charlie-- enough with the weddings."  Because that's got to be quite a large expense for him, if he has to throw a lavish, Beverly Hills style wedding for his son every three or four years.  Emilio Estevez tried it a few times and now seems to have given up, but Charlie is still plugging along.

Is it possible that we could put a marriage embargo on the Sheen Brothers?  It's time.

I Guess She's Not Keeping Her "Promises"

Once she sobers up, Lindsay Lohan is going to be pissed that her mugshot isn't as good as Paris Hilton's, don't you think?  Does anyone else think that, the way this girl is headed, she's trying to end up dead before she's 30?   She needs someone to babysit her all the time, or no one's ever going to be able to get insurance to hire her on a film again.  I can only imagine what a totally sucky time it is right now to be one of Lindsay Lohan's spin-control people.  Like-- how do you spin this?   She's out of rehab what?  Six days, and even with the alcohol-monitoring device she can't keep it together?  Yikes.

Speaking of alcohol monitoring, did you see this picture of her out and about last weekend, before her big drunken car chase arrest today?  If you did, did you wonder-- what's with the ankle bracelet?  Is she on probation or something?  Apparently the ankle bracelet she's wearing was for alcohol monitoring, and it's called the SCRAM.  Here's a link to the website, where you can watch a little movie explaining how it works.  Apparently it measures the alcohol intake of your body by your perspiration, which is a relief, because at first I thought they had it directly connected to her bloodstream or something, and that just looks like it would hurt, as well as being a total buzz kill for the rest of the people at the party. 

So many questions with this-- why's she wearing it for alcohol?  Is this part of the Promises Rehab program?  Do they call you back in if you have a beer and start sweating?  Does a buzzer go off somewhere?  They obviously don't lock it on you, because she was already drunk when she was arrested this morning. (for chasing someone, with cocaine in her pocket-- so you know that last trip to rehab really stuck).  I mean, does she have a choice in the matter?  Where does the reading go?  Like, is there a guy, sitting in a room, receiving a ticker-tape printout of Lindsay Lohan's alcohol consumption?    Because you know THAT's got to be a fun job. Also, and this seems very important--- were they monitoring her cocaine intake?  Because that's what we're really interested in, right?  Do they have an ankle bracelet for that?

I'm just genuinely curious as to why she was wearing it-- I mean, was obviously for some purpose-- maybe to show the DUI judge that she's sober?  But, she can obviously take it off, so I can't see how this would do much good.  Also, regarding this photo from the website-- it's so amusing to me because it's so META-- monitoring the alcohol output of a stein of beer?  Too funny.

So clearly, I've finished packing, and have now turned my attention to Lindsay Lohan's problems and this strange alcohol-monitoring contraption in order to redirect my manic "move limbo" energy.  Also, my best friend Katie Holmes did not invite me to her welcome party for Posh and Becks, and I am very offended.

Moving: Defcon Five

Further move update:  There were some large bookshelves in the garage, and we noticed one of them was coming apart, so we made the executive decision to leave them outside for someone to take, and just replace them.

That was 23 minutes ago, and now they're GONE.

For the past couple of weeks people have been going "wow-- you bought a house!  you're moving!  you must be soooo excited!"

And I'm like "yeah-- totally-- um-- yeah-- once everything gets unpacked-- yeah-- uhhhhh."   So, basically I sound weird and crazy, and like I'm an android who is not capable of feeling the emotion called "excitement."  Because who wouldn't be excited?

The problem is, not only am I trapped in move limbo, where the escrow closed but they're still working on the new place, so we're still in the old place, and can't really pack up everything, blah blah blah, but I am totally one of those people who gets nervous and anxious until I know everything's going to be ok, THEN I get excited.  Maybe it's because of the high stakes nature of LA real estate, but this escrow and moving process has left me with more than one sleepless night.  I AM excited about the increased square footage and the closet space, and the multiple bathrooms.  But I am also scared that there might be a hidden closet full of toxic waste, or a serial killer living next door.  And THAT doesn't sound crazy at all, so I don't know why I'm not just saying that when people ask if I'm soooooo excited.

I feel like Miranda in that episode of Sex and the City, where she fakes the ultrasound.  Like, everyone is excited that she's having a boy, and she knows she should be excited and that this is what people expect, so she's like "Yay!"   

I am trying to channel this manic energy into packing.

This is a picture of the first floor/ living room/ dining room of the new place, by the way.   

I Don't Know Why This Made Me Laugh

So, you probably know I have this MySpace page (mostly for my novel Hollywood Car Wash).  I mostly feel too old for MySpace, but it's a great way to get your stuff out to alot of readers, and for people to get in touch with me, etc. 

Every once in awhile, though, I find MySpace bizarre and very different from me, like for example, when someone posts this comment on the page:

We got this new thing going on . send us pics of you in ya fave hip hop shirt stating why fire is ya #1 rapper or just rep RBP and we'll post you on the page in a slide show... the more pics we get of you the more times you'll appear on the page soo..... GET AT ME!!

This is problematic on so many levels, not least of which is that I don't HAVE a "fave hip-hop shirt."  More specifically, I don't have a hip-hop shirt AT ALL, much less one that I could consider a "fave."  So, I'm excluded right there. Also, I'm not even sure what the message is here, or why "Fire should be my # 1 rapper."  Is Fire a rapper?  Who is this person who wants me to "get at him?"  Is he Fire's manager?  Why would he want me to appear on his page in a seemingly random hip-hop shirt?  Does this "Fire" have a shirt?  Does he mean "rep R & B," or did they actually invent a whole new category of music (R & P) since the last time I paid attention to music?  Because I'm going to tell you right now, the last rap album I bought was Jay Z's Black Album, and I only bought that because I like listening to his music while I'm running on the treadmill.  I could not be less in touch with what the kids are listening to.

My point here is-- I have no idea how this person found me, or why he thinks that I would be a good addition to his site in my non-existent fave hip-hop shirt.  My MySpace page is PINK.  It's mostly dedicated to a chick lit-type book.  The only conclusion that I can draw here is that this person has totally misjudged his demographic, and is now trolling for rap fans in chick lit land.

Wow, wonder what this guy believes in....

So, I'm a liberal (not a freaky liberal, but I definitely have some democratic-leaning-toward-liberal) ideas.  And, that's probably all you're ever going to know, because I really think it's uncivilized to be all up in people's grills about your political beliefs.  If you're the one person left in the world who doesn't know that people get uncomfortable when you try to push your politics on them, then there.  I just said it.  PEOPLE GET UNCOMFORTABLE.  Dude, I have a blog that people actually READ, and still, you don't see me pushing political agendas.  Because it's a free country, and I respect your right to believe whatever you want to believe.  Oh and also, because life is too short, and I really don't think you should sit around obsessing about stuff you can't control.

For that reason, it totally bugs me when people do this:

I didn't even SEE this person, and already I know I won't like them. Like, ok-- you drive a Prius, good for you.  But, FIFTEEN bumper stickers?  Good God.  Not only is this defacing a perfectly fine paint job on this car, but this is sort of the driving around equivalent of the "in your face at the dinner table" guy, isn't it?  Like, I'm sitting behind you in traffic-- what do you want me to do about all these things you believe in?  You are probably not going to change my mind about the world just because you've plastered your personal beliefs all over the outside of your car.

I just think it's pushy, that's all.  I showed this picture to Steph, and he said "I bet that person smells like Patchouli."

I think we are going to start our own political party, called the 'Leave Me Alone- Atarians.'  The only premise of this party is that everyone should leave each other alone about their politics, and no one should ever go out in sweatpants and talk on their cellphones too loud in public.  Because I think slovenliness and lack of manners on cellphones are two of the indicators of the decline of civilization. 

I am only partially kidding. 

WeHo Book Fair

Big news!  I have been invited to be a panelist on the "Hollywoodland: Where Fiction Meets Fact" panel at the 6th Annual West Hollywood Book Fair.  So cool!  If you want an autographed copy of my book, September 30th is the time to get it!  There will be a signing after the panel, of course.

I know there are at least four people in West Hollywood who have read my book (hi Matt!  Hi Dayna!  Hi Perez!), so come on down-- if anyone knows how to throw a book fair, I'm going to imagine it's the City of West Hollywood.  Know what I'm saying?

In other news, escrow closed yesterday, I sold a bed on Craig's List and the people who came to get it actually turned out to be normal (!), I packed three more boxes, the floors in the new place are getting redone, and I.  Am Officially.  Tired of Moving.

Oh, and also?  When you close escrow?  You have to go to the bank and get a check that, I kid you not, should be the size of one of those giant Publisher's Clearinghouse checks.  They seriously should have one of those big checks in the back of the bank, just for people who are closing escrow and have to get a cashier's check for the most gigantically huge sum of money one person would ever put in one place.  How can this sum (which I'm of course not going to name, because that would be uncivilized) fit in one tiny check?  It seems almost hard to believe.  THAT is how much money you have to bring to the Closing of the Escrow.  Oh, and then, once you've brought all that money, still more people need more money, like painters and floor people and A/C people, and....oh, you get the picture.  Hopefully one day I will be able to live in a world without Tums.

I Think I Would Go With "Boobz"

Yesterday I was at a corner and saw a sign for a "Gentlemen's Club" called SilverReign.  I never noticed it before, perhaps because of its exceedingly classy name and signage.  This made me think-- I wonder how many gentlemen are actually driving around, looking for a gentlemen's club, and totally miss that one because it's not called something obvious like "World of Boobs!"    I mean, why beat around the bush (so...to....speak)?  Then I started thinking, it's probably not legal to call your place of business that, even though it would totally get you alot more customers, because it would make property values go down to have a club next door called "Mad Boobs in Your Face!" or something like that.  The BadaBing! and "Jumbo's Clown Room" are two good examples of strip club names that sound pretty much like what they are (dank, dirty, filled with skanky girls).  In fact, when I was in college I heard about a strip club in the area called "Captain Creams," which is, I think, a little too far in the other direction. There must be a middle ground between "What the hell is that place?" and "Oh my God a strip club just moved into the neighborhood." 

Don't get me wrong-- I don't morally object to strip bars or anything.  I just think it's a little sad that no one ever told those girls that they could be lawyers.   I'm just saying, I bet the Hustler Gentlemen's Club  or Tens take in more money than SilverReign, just on name alone. 

Here are some humorous strip club names I found during a cursory search of the internets.  I found a  list that's pretty great-- it made me laugh out loud more than once.   I do find  it a little odd that out of this whole list, there's an inordinately large number of strip clubs called "Deja Vu."  Is that because you're having essentially the same experience every time you go there?  Just wondering.  There's one in Van Nuys that's just called "Strippers," which I think is the funniest.  Because just put it out there, you know?    Don't mince words.

Here are some names I thought were winners:

1.  4 Play
Funny-- maybe they play alot of Prince songs there.

2.  Spearmint Rhino Gentlemen's Cabaret
um....this sounds like absurdist French theater to me.

3.  Bare Elegance
Fantastic trashy name, AND it's in Inglewood-- you know the girls there have one tooth.

4.  California Girls Night Club
Decent name, but it's in Santa Ana.  That's right-- a strip club for strippers who couldn't make it in LA.  $3 lap dances, anyone?

5.  Star Strip Too
Not bad--sounds a little like it was named by someone for whom English was not a first language

6.  Valley Ball Cabaret: 
Sounds like they were trying to fit the words "Ball" and "Cabaret" into a name, and they really wanted the meeting about the name to be over.

7.  Bare N' Legal. 
Just....oh my God.  "Yeah, I live in the apartment complex down the street from the Bare N' Legal...."

8.   Golddiggers Gentlemen's Club.
Again, you have to respect the fact that they just put it out there like that. 

9.  Sam's HofBrau
Misleading-- there is a real chance you could go there for a nice lunch with your business colleagues, and end up totally embarrassed.

10. Hollywood East
In La Puente.  Now that's east.

I think just from this list, I have to say my favorite is "Lusty Lady" in San Francisco.   Maybe I'm just old-fashioned when it comes to strip club names.

Click here if you want to see the list-- but, don't click it at work.
 

One-Line Slogans

Awhile ago, I don't know why, Stephan and I were trying to come up with catchy one-line slogans for products and cities, like if you were an ad exec and you were trying to sell, for instance, the city of Indio.  I think we were talking about this because I grew up near the City of Indio, and when I was a kid, there was this big "re-branding of Indio" campaign called "Indio-- the Hub of the Valley."  I don't know why I remember this, other than the fact that apparently I had an abnormal interest in advertising campaigns when I was a child, and because even then I noticed that Indio was definitely NOT the hub of the valley, so I wondered why they were calling it that.

Anyhow, occasionally we'll come across something that really just BEGS for a one-line slogan.  Here are a few we've collected:

1.  Echo Park:  "You probably won't get stabbed."
2.  The Salton Sea:  "It doesn't smell THAT bad."
3.  Popeye's:  "When you want your chicken with a side of despair."
4.  Modell's:  The haberdasher for the discerning gentleman....with crunk teeth."
5.  Pork:  the other white meat.  The one that's bad for you.
6.  Cook's:  the beer of champagnes.

Even the Movers Are Funny.

So, I called this morning to confirm the move and to discuss this WHOPPING move estimate I got in the mail from the movers (like, it was going to be the same cost to move our stuff 1 mile as it was to move all the way from California to New York.  THAT is how whopping it was).

I ended up getting transferred to this guy who shared my sense of humor (thank god, because I am right out of patience with mortgage people, and escrow people, and shutter people, and Home Depot people, and painters, and yard sale people, and all the other people you need to deal with when you buy a house and move into it).  Here is a snippet from our conversation regarding the ridiculously large move estimate:

Me:  Um....doesn't this move estimate seem a little high?  We're only moving one mile, and it's not like all of our furniture is made of glass or anything.  What gives?

Bill from the moving company:  Oh, that's just a "maximum" number we put, in case we get there and your home is full of pinball machines and stuff that's made of lead.

Me:  Lead?  People have things made of lead?

Bill from the moving company: You'd be surprised what people have, and how much they lie about it.  We just put that number to make sure people tell the truth, and so they know if they lied on the phone, they're still going to have to pay.

Me: Ah, ok.  So there's no way my move could be that much?

Bill from the moving company: Well, maybe if we sent a bunch of movers who only had one limb each, then it would take twenty hours to move all your stuff, and THEN it could be that much. 

Me:  Americans With Disabilities Act?

Bill from the moving company:  You got it.  I just won't put those guys on your job.

And so on. 

Yard Sale Day: Packed With Funny.

In preparation for our big move, we put some stuff aside to sell at a yard sale this morning.  We got the second shift at a big family yard sale up the street, which some people wouldn't want because they want to be out there right at 7:00 am when the early birds show up, to start the haggling game.  But, as we've already established, I don't have kids, so there's no way in HELL I'm going to get up that early on a Sunday, even if there's money involved.  Besides, I have a general distaste for yard sales and the people who go to them.  Like, one minute something's good enough to be in my house, and the next minute a woman who looks like she's homeless is seeing if she can get me down to $2.  Just...yikes.

We had a bunch of stuff, though, that we wanted to try to sell before we donated it, so we decided to do the 11 - 2 shift today.  Now's the part when I'm going to switch over to a time-stamped list, so you can see how the day just grew more and more hilarious.

10:30 am-- While Stephan and our friend are unloading the stuff, I go to CVS to get water and change.  I'm standing in line at CVS when, no lie, a man RUNS in and goes "EXCUSE ME--EXCUSE ME! to the row of cashiers.  When someone finally acknowledges him, he shouts "WHERE ARE THE COMBS?"  in a tone so urgent, you'd think he needed someone to call 911 for him or to get him some nitroglycerin pills.  One of the cashiers goes "Um...Aisle 6, sir," and he RUNS away to go get his comb to address his hair emergency.  So, this really set the tone for the day.

11:17 am-- We have all the stuff out, some stuff gets sold right away, and of course there's one totally looney woman who's been there all morning, haggling everyone down on every knick knack.  She tries to get Stephan to sell her two steak knives out of a set.  He refuses. 

12:00 pm-- A sour-looking woman who says she owns a preschool shouts "are any of you offering a teacher's discount?"  At a yard sale.  On things that are a quarter to begin with.  Later, I will tell Stephan that she owns a preschool, and he will reply "Which one--McMartin?"

1:00 pm -- Comedic actor Dom DeLuise pulls up with a driver. He doesn't want to get out of the car, though, so we have to bring boxes of stuff over to him to he can look through it.  He buys my humidor, and some stuff from a woman who used to own a party store (including a bunch of ballerina costumes).   As soon as he leaves, my friend's neighbor, a lovely Japanese woman named Keiko, leans over to me and says "Why he need twelve tu-tus?"

1:15 pm-- I run into the house of JoAnn, the yard sale ringleader, and say "Dom DeLuise just left!  You missed him!"  With a straight face, she replies:  "He comes to all the yard sales....he never wants to get out of the car."

2:15 pm -- The sale is over.  We are hot and tired.   The things that we were previously calling stuff, Stephan is now calling "shit," because he's the one that has to take the excess to Goodwill.

2:30 -- I'm getting ready to leave, and some of the other yard salers start offering me their stuff that didn't sell.  I tell them I don't want to get a divorce, and that is what will happen if I come home with any NEW stuff from the yard sale.  One of them laughs, then tries to put a fifteen year old beige Knotts Berry Farm Candle shaped like a magical tree in a bag for me.  "Use it as a White Elephant Gift," she says.  I am extremely tempted to take the candle and give it to someone as a joke for Christmas, but again, I have my relationship to consider.  She also tries to tempt me with a two-foot high florescent green frog that she won at the Santa Monica Pier (I couldn't get her to tell me how much she actually PAID trying to win the frog.  Ouch).  She says "Don't you have any friends with kids?"  I want to say yes, but I want them to still be my friends, so there's no way I can show up with a two foot tall, three feet wide florescent frog. Because I want my friends to like me, you see.

3:00 pm -- The yard sale is over, we are $150 richer, and the rest of the stuff is at the Goodwill.   Stephan's neck is sunburned, and once again, we've had our fill of children for the weekend.

P.S.  I'm looking for a new agent, if anyone knows someone.  Preferably someone who can represent fiction as well as non-fiction.

They Solicited Me, So I'm Allowed to Mock Them.

A few days ago when I got home, there were two women knocking on the door of the house next door to mine. Now, I know for a fact that the woman who lives next door died two years ago and that now, her son-in-law uses the back yard as an organic garden/ ranchero music blasting hangout spot for himself and 1,000 of his closest friends, but that no one actually lives there, so I called over the fence “Excuse me—were you looking for someone? Because no one lives in that house.” Because I was trying to be nice, you see? I thought maybe they were looking for someone and had the wrong address. Or—I don’t know what I thought. I thought they probably didn’t know that woman died, maybe.

Anyhow, they weren’t lost. They were Jehovah’s Witnesses. When they realized that it w as too late to convert my now-deceased neighbor, they pulled out a pamphlet and started toward me.

One of them said “Thank you so much for letting us know no one lives there—now, are YOU interested in hearing about a world where there’s no more suffering?”   

I don’t really go on for the whole “tell your religion to total strangers” thing, so the look on my face probably approximated the look when I tried Roastaroma!. I thought it was a little odd that they were selling their religion door to door like insurance, but I basically just said “Um, thanks—I’m fine with my afterlife choices” or something weird like that, and they thanked me for my time and left. I did take the pamphlet, though, because it looked like it was going to be hilarious, and of course, it was.

Two things:

1. These ladies were so totally lucky that Stephan wasn’t home when they came      by. Whereas I feel like it’s maybe okay if people want their religion to include door-to-door recruitment (as    long as I’m allowed to say no), Steph does not agree, and probably would      have told them so. I know this   because later, when I told him about the Jehovah’s witnesses, his head      turned red and he said some things about how people should mind their own Goddamned business, especially Christians, because wasn’t organized religion the cause of most of the problems in the world? I’m sure those ladies were glad that they didn’t have to engage my husband in a whole “dialectic of world religion” throwdown right there in the driveway, because he totally would  have won.  He's really thought this stuff out.

2. I am so amused to see, from the pamphlet, the apparently everyone is multi-racial in the afterlife, and there is a sacred moose, a white pony, and a big giant Great Dane looking thing. Or maybe that’s an animal they only have in the afterlife. So many questions about the      afterlife. Also, does everyone get to live in the Afterlife Log Cabin, or is that the rec hall or something? This picture is so bucolic—like, are we going to be making lanyards in the afterlife? Should I let someone know now that I don’t really like pumpkin? Because it seems like there is a bounty of gourd fruit in the afterlife, and I want to make sure I have enough to eat for all eternity other than a basket of apples.

3. Did the Roastaroma! people call the Jehovah’s witnesses and compare notes? Because I notice that they, too, are totally overusing the exclamation points. Though, granted, ALL SUFFERING SOON TO END! really does sound like a statement for which an exclamation point would be mandated, doesn’t it?

So, the extent of what I know about this religion is basically limited to this amusing pamphlet, and these two girls that I was in grammar school with, who could never participate in birthday or Christmas parties at school, because apparently Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t celebrate stuff like that because, I don’t know, they’re saving all their partying up for the Great Rec Room/ Cabin in the Sky.

 All I know is, if I’d given up birthday cake and Christmas my whole life, then I got to the afterlife and all that was there was gourd fruit and apples, I’d be pissed.

PS  Speaking of Roastaroma!, I gave the rest of the box to my friend's nanny, and no joke, she LOVES it.  She was like "I have it twice a day now-- it's so good!"  I was tempted to go "Did you make the face?  The Roastaroma! face?  The face that you think is never going to go back to your normal face?"

Things That Smell: A Summer List

After that exceedingly popular post about how much I don't want to have children, I sat down last night trying to think of an entertaining list for mid-week.   I was struggling to find a theme, and finally settled on "stuff that smells" in honor of summer, the very stinkiest of all the months (in New York City, at least, where I first noticed this).  I had about half of the post written, and was intending to finish this evening, when this afternoon I was exposed to probably the foulest-smelling thing there is:  baby puke. 

How did I even get in the way of baby puke, you might wonder, after just days ago I swore to be so vehemently anti-child?  Well, I went up today to take Maddie out for a walk in her stroller, since her mom (my friend) is a single mom, which means she probably hasn't shaved her legs in like, oh, 15 months or so.  So, clearly it was altruism that got me into this mess.

Anyhoo, thinking I'm doing a good deed for my friend, I put sunscreen on my darling Maddie, put her in her stroller, and pushed her all the way down to Wild Oats on 15th, where I picked up some groceries for my friend and some decaf, organic, water-filtered coffee for myself (yeah, day 16 of no caffiene-- the headache is gone, and now I'm just annoyed that I can't have a latte).  Everything was actually going fine, and I was actually surprising myself with how well I was handling the giant stroller and all the stuff.  Of course, Maddie was asleep the whole time, so maybe I'm giving myself too much credit.   Or maybe I GAVE myself too much credit, which is what makes what happened next all that much more "dramatically ironical."  Or maybe-- just maybe-- Maddie actually knows how to read, and was angry and trying to get me back for Monday's anti-kid post. 

As I was packing up the stroller to walk back, she woke up.  Then after she woke up, she threw up.  Then after she threw up, the smell was so bad that I almost threw up, and the guy from Wild Oats went "um-- gross."  Did I mentioned that she had yogurt and hard boiled eggs right before I took her out?  Yeah, I didn't know this either, and I'm sorry that I got the chance to find out.  Because seriously, the smell of that was worse than any random "city stink" I ever encountered in New York. 

It was right then that I realized that I was the grownup in this scenario.  Good Lord.

Those who know me know just how much I hate vomit, and so will be surprised to learn that instead of freaking out and just giving the baby to the guy behind the checkout counter at Wild Oats and running away, I actually cleaned her off with napkins, then high-tailed it back in the direction of my friend's house.  Did I mention that I had to do the  "New York homeless  guy exhale/ inhale," which is when you see someone you know is going to be ripe, so you exhale deeply, inhale a lungfull of non-stinky air, then hold it until the threat has passed" for 12 blocks?  This strategy also works for picking up dog poop.  Did I mention that I was downwind of the baby the whole way home?  What about the fact that she puked AGAIN after I cleaned her off?  Does this amuse you?  Yes, I bet it does.  I'm sure the mental picture of me pushing a stroller while trying to avoid the putrid scent of hard boiled egg and yogurt baby puke is the funniest thing you've heard today.

Long story long, I made it back to my friend's house without dropping dead, and Maddie was absolutely fine, like nothing ever happened, even though she was covered in barf. 

Also, I thought my friend was going to barf when she saw the stroller.  But dude-- I cleaned the kid, and I even changed her clothes.  I could not.  Be expected.  To scrub barf out of the stroller.  I'm the child's Godmother, not the Pope. 

And so, with that lovely mental picture filling your mind, I leave you with a few other things that smell, in honor of summer:

 

1.  This Teddy Bear.  This is the teddy bear/ mascot of the rehearsal space where my Steph plays music.  Notice that the bear is not only covered in grime, but is a little moldy in areas.  Yes, the bear smells.  Not as bad as baby barf, but still stinky.  We have no idea why someone doesn't just throw him away, but eventually I guess he'll turn into a black bear. 

2.  Amy Winehouse.  I am sorry-- I really love her music, but has no one noticed that this girl needs a bath?    She totally looks like she smells like b.o. and cigarette breath.  How does she wash that hair?   She has a great sound, but she's going to die of rickets if she doesn't eat something and wash herself.  Good Lord.

3. My clothes from today, which I seriously wouldn't even allow to share the same hamper with the other clothes.  The only reason they're not already washed is because I just did laundry yesterday, and as we all know from "An Inconvenient Truth," it's bad to run the laundry half-full.  Because that's just what I need-- baby puke on my clothes AND an increased carbon footprint for the day.

4.  The people on the New York City Subway platform.  I was just thinking about this yesterday, when I noticed that the temperature in New York had exceeded that of Los Angeles.  I LOVE LOVE LOVE New York, but there are some times in that city where the people just smell.  I don't mean homeless people-- I mean regular, on their way to work people who are being crushed by 87 degree temperatures with 85 % humidity.  I want to live in New York again, but not during July and August.  People are mean when it's that hot and they smell that bad.

On a totally different, non stink-related note, we close escrow on the 19th.  I have been reluctant to mention it because I am like the Runaway Bride of escrow-- like, I totally expect something to go terribly wrong the minute I say something, such as a "closet full of toxic waste" or a "sudden earthquake, destroying my new house."   I mean, to the point where the "home inspector" guy two weeks ago was one of those guys who makes alot of puns, and right in the middle of a pun, I literally looked at this fifty year old guy and said "Sir, I need you to focus up here.  This is the biggest purchase of my adult life, and I'd appreciate it if you were serious."

So yeah, I'm a ton of fun.  I feel like I just want escrow to be over, and then I will be able to talk about it.

Only if I Can Go Home....

A few months ago at a little-kid birthday party held at a bowling alley, where 25 (or 10,000) 6 year olds, high on sugar, created a decibel level heretofore unknown to man and began to run around the adults in a circle.  I was scared.  Frightened for my life!  They could have turned on us at any time!  At a certain point, I turned to one of the parents and said "I think my tubes just tied themselves."  All the parents in the room thought this was extremely funny, and in fact, at a similar gathering on Saturday, someone who wasn't even at the first party came up to me and said "oh-- you're the 'my tubes just tied themselves' person, right?  That's funny." 

So, that's cool.  Now I'm known among my friends for being brazenly childless and for making jokes about tubal ligation.  Honestly, I can't think of a job that sounds harder or more terrifying than "Stay At Home Mom."

Alot (like, all) of my friends have kids, and since I've been married almost 9 years and am not getting any younger, people are always asking me when (not if) I'm having kids.  Well, I can say with some certainty, I guess my heart is made of stone and ice runs through my veins, because I just.  Don't.  Have the urge.  Sorry.  No biological clock, no "me taking my baby dolls around with me when I was a kid," nothing.  Zip.  When I was a kid, I always wanted to be a grownup, and now I am, and I LOVE IT.  I don't want to have to cater to someone else's needs all the time.   I want a house that's full of white stuff, modern art, and sharp edges.  I'm not saying they're not cute. They're cute!  I just wouldn't want to have one, take one home with me, or get up in the middle of the night to change one's diapers.   In fact, if you'll click above, you can see a close-up shot of my God-daughter making a mural out of vanilla yogurt.  I will clean this kind of thing up, but only if I can go home and rest after. 

I think my friends and family understand this (or have just given up), but you would be surprised at the amount of flak I get from strangers, who, when they find out that I'm married and ABLE to have kids (presumably-- I have never even tried), why I wouldn't just go ahead and do it.  "There's never a good time!" they say.  "You'll experience a love like no other," they say.  I'm sure this is all true, and I respect their opinions, even if they are TOTALLY unsolicited (and frankly, a little judgmental).  Like, aren't there enough people in the world without me doing something I clearly don't want to do? 

Luckily, I am surrounded by people who are more than happy to loan their children to me for the day, or to let me come visit them.  And I'm fairly certain that our status as "cool Auntie and Uncle" is cemented, since our house is filled with Pixar movies and candy (that we have for ourselves), so I'm sure one of these kids is eventually going to come live with us, or at least housesit for us for an extended period. 

We have one ONE other couple who shares a similar distaste for having children--Alan and Jenn in San Francisco.  Get this?  Jenn WROTE A BOOK ABOUT IT.  Actually, I shouldn't say that-- I think there are some people in the "have children" group who wish they didn't, and a few married (or coupled) types, one of whom is holding out because they don't want to (all are experiencing relationship distress about this important issue).  Oh, and at least one "surprise" for a couple who seriously wouldn't have even entertained the idea had it not snuck up on them like that.

Yogurt mural, anyone? 

A Steaming Cup....of RoastAroma!

So, I gave up caffeine. Eight days ago, to be exact. Now, when I say caffeine, please bear in mind the difficulty of this undertaking, since I LOVE COFFEE. Love it. I would drink (and have drunk) coffee every day since college, and before that I drank decaf in high school, just because I loved it so much. Diet Coke too. I know, I know, it’s bad for you, it kills brain cells, I have a nervous personality anyway, blah blah blah, but I like it, ok? That buzz you get when you have coffee? I like it.  I’m not saying it’s not a cruel mistress—I have insomnia and stomach issues like any good caffeine junkie. I guess I just needed a little more impetus to actually kick the habit.

 

This year at my annual exam, my doctor said this would be a good idea, and I went “um…I don’t think so, but thanks.” Actually, he says this every year, and I have the same response. Look, I quit smoking—what more does he want from me? This year, though, he said it more seriously, referenced some family history-genetic stuff that’s really not going to be helped by continuing to drink coffee, and I guess sort of scared me enough to try it. Of course, this was in March, and I’ve just gotten around to it eight days ago, because you know what? I love coffee. Oh, and decaf? Not an option either. My OTHER doctor forbids red wine, chocolate, and decaf coffee. Too much acid. So, I was sort of getting around to the whole “getting off of caffeine” thing, slowly but surely.

But, here’s the thing—two weeks ago, we bought a house. A HOUSE. Well, actually, a townhouse, but it’s in Brentwood, so dude, it’s the price of a big house anywhere else in the country. Right after signing the final offer on this house, I realized that I was not going to be able to continue to drink caffeine, buy this house, and sleep at night. Like, I could either have the house, or I could have coffee and Diet Coke. Since there was no turning back (and with my doctor’s warnings ringing in my ears), I decided that, sadly, my darling caffeine had to go,  because it was not helping me. 

First, I cut out soda, and JUST DOING THAT gave me one of those “no caffeine” headaches, if that gives you any indication of how over-caffienated I was. On Saturday the 22^nd, I had my LAST cup of coffee.  Oh, did I mention that I was one of those kids who drank Coke AND Diet Coke? So, I haven’t been non-caffienated in, I’m just guessing here, 25 years.

Because I wanted a few days under my belt before I made this news public because caffeine is (was) such an integral part of my existence, I told only a few people, which also forced me to tell these few people just how much caffeine I actually drank that I would be going through junkie-like withdrawal. That was embarrassing. So, now I’m on Day Eight, the headache is gone and the crippling fatigue is finally beginning to lift. Actually, it’s almost exactly like when I quit smoking—I even have acne, depression,  and the scary withdrawal nightmares. So yeah, that’s been just great.

Here’s where the funny comes in. On Day Four I was grouchy beyond belief, so I went to Whole Foods to see what they had in the way of “healthy coffee alternatives.”  These had the sum total effect of just making me grouchier. Like, give me a break. Teecino does not taste like coffee. Yes, yes I know—it’s the coffee alternative that’s good for you, it actually helps your system, yes yes yes. But, guess what? It’s not coffee, and it should stop trying to act like coffee.  Frankly, it tastes like dirt, twigs, and some bear scat with a slightly fruity aftertaste. Or maybe like potting soil. What it does NOT taste like is coffee. And I resent that it’s in a little tin, trying to act like it’s coffee.  

Next stop – RoastAroma!, a product I can barely even buy because of its screaming lack of irony, compounded with my non-caffienated grouchiness.  RoastAroma! Really? They’re so excited about it not being coffee, they had to put an exclamation point RIGHT IN THE NAME?  Saturday afternoon, I kid you not, I brewed up a cup of RoastAroma!, took a sip, and involuntarily made a face so horrible, I couldn’t UN-make it for a good 45 seconds. There should be a warning on the package. “Looks like coffee, tastes like poo.”

The next morning, I mention RoastAroma! to Stephan (who’s now won a “World’s Most Tolerant Husband” award), and he says “I noticed the packaging….two hikers overlooking a tranquil mountainscape. It totally looks like there should be a caption on it that says

“You know what would make this moment so much more perfect?
”Some coffee?”
“Yeah”

We are still laughing about this, and in fact have written on the package “I wish I could have coffee” inside a thought bubble we drew next to the female hiker. Because I’m sorry, who on Earth would drink RoastAroma! if they didn’t have to? The answer is no one. Finally, FINALLY, someone told me about water- processed decaf, which apparently still tastes like coffee, but doesn’t have acid. So, once I am totally done with caffeine withdrawal, I may try that. For now, it’s hot lemon water and a total lack of irony for me.

The upshot of all this? I think I’m almost done with caffeine detox. RoastAroma! is gross. There should so totally be a caffeine patch. We bought a house. We’re packing. Eventually I’m going to look back on this time and laugh. 

Just not now.