my new free show.

There’s all this water falling from the sky and I don’t understand it. I had to actually take things off the porch so they wouldn’t get “wet.”

First of all, there’s a new billboard outside my bedroom window. Because it’s the law and the way things are supposed to be, there’s now a giant Johnny Depp head staring into my window day and night. Sometimes Christmas presents come a bit late.

The other giant billboard you can see from our porch is currently getting changed. We’re very happy about this, as it used to be this ugly Tommy Hillfiger (my lack of spelling power on his name shows you how little I actually pay attention to fashion) ad with these vacant models standing in front of a grid. We called it the Eighties Senior Picture, and always wished the models were standing in front of a giant “’87.” They painted over it yesterday and started working on it last night. They stopped after they painted a giant female head without any teeth. It’s the scariest damn thing. Right now they’ve added another man head that’s half finished, and I’m currently terrified that it’s going to be Helen Hunt and some guy laughing at me all the time.

Because yesterday was a nice day and I was going to spend it driving around and having fun, I did what I always do when I’m in a good girlie mood: I wore a skirt. This is usually An Occasion, and means that I’m happy to be out and about and want people to think I’m pretty. I need this reassurance every once in a while. The problem is I haven’t done this in a while, and I don’t think I’d done it in LA before. I had on my big shoes and a little skirt and a long sleeve shirt. I hadn’t tried this combination before. I now think I won’t try it again. At least, not in places where I will have to be in public.

We went to Starbucks and ordered coffee. As I was looking around the place I saw a boy seated in one of the comfy chairs. He was looking at me, and when I caught his eye, he smiled. He didn’t just smile, he smiled. Like he was saying, “Thank you for walking in here wearing those shoes that make your calves pretty, and thanks for doing that absent-minded kick when you ordered your caramel macchiato.”

But I can’t just enjoy things like that, so the other side of my brain instantly told me that he was actually laughing at me and that everyone hates my big shoes and I look like a giant towering fool and that since we stopped listening to the Spice Girls, we also stopped liking big shoes and it’s time to just accept my shortness.

We had lunch and went back to get the car. The valet opened the door for me. I gave him his tip and then got in the car, but he was shutting the door while I was getting in it, and the big shoe caught on the underside of the door. This means that I had to turn and dislodge myself to get in. This also means that the valet got an incredible shot of my spread legs in the tiny skirt. His smile told me that any skimping I may have done in that tip was fully forgiven. I left with full-blush raging. I think I can now get free parking at Jerry’s if that guy is ever working, though.

We went to the scaryKmart, where suddenly I was surrounded by children. Normally this isn’t a big deal, but I’m not normally near children while I wear the big shoes/ tiny skirt combo. I’d never had children wander between my legs and look up my skirt before. They just walk right under and look up. It was at this point that I began wishing I had made different underwear choices and was confident in myself enough to not take style tips from Britney Spears.

But I really hated my panty choice when I was waiting in line to buy the new bathmat. The scaryKmart is incredibly crowded, and there are people all around you at all times. I was standing still, breathing through the anxiety of auras meshing as I suddenly felt an incredible draft. It was very slow, and started at the back of my legs, and then suddenly my ass was cold. I turned around. The woman walking past me had accidentally caught the bottom part of my skirt on her clothes hanger. The more she walked away, the higher the back of my skirt had gone. She laughed, stammered, and swatted my skirt down. This was not before all of Kmart saw my blue light special, however, and Eric marveled at just how red my face can become.

One last lesson learned: don’t try on new shoes in a skirt. I’d never had so many men offer to help me try on shoes. I finally thought I was alone at one moment and tried on a strappy platform thing. I bent over to fasten the strap and heard Eric at the end of the aisle: “Hey! Woah-ho!”

That’s it. Jeans. From now on. Jeans and shorts. My ass got more exposure in one day of shopping than the time I went waterskiing.

The only control I seem to have over a hemline is if there’s one at all.


“YM Girlz Rule!”
100 Girls Spill

What white lies have you told?

  • 64% of you have falsely claimed a pal’s haircut looked good.How do you live with yourself?
  • 56% of you have let a bud believe her crush was cute when you actually thought he wasn’t.That’s so nice of you jealous bitches.
  • 50% of you have fibbed about your weight.And the other half just ignore scales completely and don’t know your weight so technically you aren’t lying.


and other excuses

I tend to let all of my work slide until Friday. I think it comes from back when I worked at an office, and I’d give myself all sorts of things to do on Friday to make the weekend come sooner.

Now it’s just a pain in the ass.

Thursday night got hit with trolls. I found their source, banned them, banned their IPs (not that it makes a difference) and generally had things under control within an hour. But if you were around at that time, thanks for not giving me more things to delete. Ignoring them is the best thing to do.

Thursday night was spent like several of the nights around here lately: we play the Playstation 2 until our fingertips are bleeding.

I am truly amazed at the ability I have to sit in front of a screen for several hours on end and not even notice my entire life just wasting away. I find it rewarding to get to the next level, even if I could have read a book in the time it took to get there. It’s sad. I don’t like it. This is why we haven’t had a gaming system in the house for about a year.

But these games are rented, which is really the way to go. In five days we can’t play it anymore, so we just play it hard for as long as we have it, and then we move on. Without that due date, I could repeat 1991: The Year of Tetris, and I really don’t ever want that to happen to me again.

We’re playing these games even though we can’t save them, because the Playstation 2 memory cards don’t save Playstation 1 games, and we don’t have a Playstation 1 memory card. We just start over each and every time.

My hands are sore. My fingers hurt. I have blisters. It’s dumb. But there’s something very refreshing when you kick the shit out of someone with your Kerry Strug-looking Japanese girl in Tekken 3.

There’s another side effect to playing these games. Sometimes you get up in the morning, put on the game, and the next thing you know it’s been all day long and now it’s the evening and you haven’t eaten or had a cigarette (one benefit) and you haven’t washed your face or even put on clothes.

And if you live with Ray, this means your evenings look like this:

People. This is no way to live.


“YM Girlz Rule!”

Speak Up

When you leave a salon, you want to look like a vixen, not a victim. So heed these tress tips:

  • Hate layers? Don’t like to spend more than ten minutes on your hair? Have clear ideas about your preferences, and communicate them to your stylist.Who wouldn’t have thought of that on her own?
  • Find three photos of locks you love, and three of locks you loathe. Your stylist will get your goals.Why do writers think teens want to read and talk in this half-assed rhyme thing all the time? All the alliteration and shit. They’re girls, not Star-Bellied Sneeches.
  • If too many strands start hitting the floor, speak up! You call the shots.Not at some salons, man. Those stylists work so fast that one minute you’ve got hair, and the next second you’re GI Jane. And you have no control over how much color you’re getting. Oh, and here’s a free tip: if you’ve got long hair, don’t ever let them try and color your hair with the hat with the holes? You know that thing that looks like a colander that they pop on your head and pull pieces of your hair out with a rat-tail comb? Good golly, that’s some pain right there.