i spoke too soon.

Apparently i'm not out of the woods with this sick boob thing.

I had surgery again on Friday and it was a much more brutal experience than the one in October. I'll resume posting next week. And maybe I'll even share the gory details if you all promise not to be squeamish about it.

Let me know if you want any Vicodin. I'm carrying enough painkillers to warrant a spot on the next Celebrity Rehab.

Churched & Sated

Now that I'm moving out, I guess it's okay to discuss the residence frankly. Like share the exact address.

In case you'd like to stalk me the one afternoon I'm going to collect my belongings at some point during this month: I've been living in The Biscuit Lofts in downtown LA since last spring. A former Nabisco factory turned architectural wonder and luxury loft building. I am also lucky enough to have had a friend that wanted to split a unit. (Let's be reasonable here. Clover's not pulling solo Biscuit cash these days.)

So for those of you not familiar with the eastern section of downtown LA, the neighborhood can be summed up as one block of Chelsea and twenty blocks of Skid Row. Just how I like it. And one of the factors contributing to the Chelsea-ish qualities is a trendy bistro of a place called Church & State.

And just how hot is this joint? WELL, I will have you know, it was name dropped recently on the new Melrose Place. (You know. The guy who was Ella's boss at the PR agency before Amanda Woodward came back and fired him was trying to impress someone by saying he had "standing reservations at Church & State.") Or something like that. I wasn't paying that close attention. Okay I was.

(ASIDE: Melrose Place is only one in a long list of many shameful television programs I consume weekly. Yesterday morning Boyfriend asked me what shows he should set a season pass for from the living room and yelling them out from the kitchen was difficult even for me, and I have a say-it-loud-say-it-proud policy with my low brow television viewing. Q: Do you know how cool it sounds to yell "The Bachelor" urgently from across a house? A: As cool as being a contestant on The Bachelor.)

SO. Anycomfortablewithmyself, I have been a longtime enemy of this Church & State establishment.

Yes, I appreciate that its presence makes the otherwise no man's land that is my corner of DTLA a destination. And I like that it gives extra cache to the building. My beef with C&S stemmed entirely from the close quarters we shared. And when I mean close, I mean it's like this, y'all:




Shit gets loud.

My only understanding of Church & State was that its employees liked to listen to Kings of Leon and Journey. Loudly and often. And exclusively. While there was the audible din of a dinner crowd on a Friday night, the real headache began after the doors closed and before they opened, when it appeared the only songs its staff enjoyed hearing were "Sex on Fire" and "Don't Stop Believin'". There were times when I thought the bands were giving in-house performances and hoped for an earthquake so I could come crashing down on them. When this is occurring at 8 am after working at a bar until 2 am the night before, you easily become homicidal. Ear plugs do not cancel out the throbbing bass that will pulse through your loft floors. Goodbye rest and youth and beauty.

But I had heard the food was awesome there. And while a few nights over the past year I had gone in for a drink at the bar, that was not enough to win me over nor justify its existence. Plus I walked by it everyday. It wasn't THAT exciting. Usually I would glare at the patrons in my sweats while carrying groceries and feel completely desensitized to its awesomeness.

But this week, as my tenure at the Biscuit comes to a close, I decided it was high time Boyfriend and I had a date night there. As excited as I am to be back in Silverlake, I'm already having downtown nostalgia. I got misty as we sat at our table, and while checking my email on my iPhone, saw my wireless network pop up. Aw, Bisky. It's been so real.

And Church & State is absolutely as good as the hype. We ate like Royalty. (Like how Marie Antoinette got killed for eating this awesome. Also under this Royalty eating structure, vegetables are for the cake-eating plebes.) Eat this: the steak tartare, the foie gras served in a magical little French-y mason jar, the moules frites and the frisée salad with an (also magical!) soft poached egg and warm bacon vinaigrette.

So go go go, people. I'm totally over the time they ruined my sleep for a year.

I'd rather be lucky than good.

Back in November I got this Facebook wall post from one of my favorite bloggers (and IRL friend!) Bex.

G! What on earth has happened to your life since we saw each other last? You went to court, had surgery, are now In a Relationship and you LOST YOUR iPHONE?


Yes, that's what's been goin' on. And the answers to all those questions are, respectively: charges dropped, breast, yes, and I got a new one. Each one of those are worthy of several posts, but I've exhausted the topics by repeating them so much verbally. I just can't elaborate any more right now. I do have much to say about all of the above, however, ranging from my disillusionment with the health care system and gratitude for my parent's financial support for said breast surgery, to my run in with the law and having my first attorney. I guess the Serious Relationship thing is kind of a big deal, too.

Basically things are kind of different. Including that I am now thirty. Yes. THIRTY. I probably wouldn't mention this fact had the past three months of being thirty not been a glorious departure from the shit storm that was The Twenties. I am not unconvinced I didn't walk around with a glittery marquis sign above me for the entirety of the decade (invisible only to me) that screamed "Fuck this bitch."

Although there has been some holdovers. I'm still excelling in my wheelhouse of "car problems" and "evictions".

Exhibit A: Right before the holidays some kind jackoff hit my parked car and knocked off the bumper. I think about this person at least once a day and wish them evil things. Like a knocked off side mirror and a flat tire in rush hour traffic on the 405. (Also instead of using my blog as a platform for iPhone solicitation, as was last year's urgent request, this year I'm asking for a Prius. Dream big and impractically, I've always said.)

Exhibit B: Also right before the holidays, the place I've been living in in scenic downtown LA got foreclosed on, and I was told that the bank wants us out, like, ASAP. (Soooo... where was that rent money going if not the mortgage?) But whatever, who wants to live in a nice building with a pool and famous people and a doorman anyway. Not me.

But now that I'm thirty, things are getting progressively better. Including The boyfriend and me moving in together, which is like winning a Prius and a brand new iPhone all at once. Which leads us to my first point of order in the new year (and upcoming post): Cohabitation. Gentle Interfriends, I am about to embark upon the glorious enterprise otherwise known as "living in sin". And I have much to learn about this endeavor. Although. I've been living in sin long before Boyfriend came along, so it already feels pretty homey.

happy new year.

i'm drafting. genuinely drafting. internet sensationing is a resolution i'm keeping this year.

Welcome, LA Weekly Readers!

Thank you for reading my article. You've come to the right place. It's me that confused to be here.

I've been in a bloggerly limbo, unsure of whether to move forward with all things Sensational, or go anonymous and kick it with a new URL. And apparently it takes me six odd months to make this decision.

TELL ME WHAT TO DO, INTERNET. I've solicited advice from far less reputable sources, and promise that I very much like to be bossed around.

Yet another day my life did not change.

I KNOW. Lazy blogger, thy name is Clover.

"Where have you been all summer?" you ask. "Isn't it true that you are a generally self-absorbed person who derives great satisfaction in receiving attention from complete strangers?"

Yes yes, fine interfriends. As a matter of fact, I do. I enjoy this even more than watching Megan wants a Millionaire. Kidding. I don't enjoy anything more than watching Megan wants a Millionaire.

I just kept hoping for something really exciting to talk about. You know like almost getting arrested. Oh wait. That did happen.

But see? Things are just as they've always been:

Doling out quiet judgment.

Boozy singing.

Boozing with coworkers.

I don't know how to describe this, but it's VERY typical.

Also very typical Friday night.

So that about covers it. Now that you're all up to speed, regular posting will resume immediately.

RIP Baking with Plath and watch yer heads.

And just like that my most favorite blog in the world IS GONE.

I woke up to the grim text announcing Sudden Blog Death around 10 am after staying up way too late with Christy trying to sponge bathe and sort out a bloodied and battered neighbor we found outside the building around 2 am when we came home.

I KNOW. A lot of confusing and sad things in a short span of time, gentle readers.

I've been traumatized since 2 am now, I do believe. That happens when you come back from a cheerily cheerful Girl Night with your hot girlfriends, and you find a neighbor is so effed up he can barely open his purple, bulbous eyes and his forehead is gashed and he keeps repeating he has no idea how it happened and he needs to find his brother OH JESUS IT FREAKS YOUR SHIT OUT.

I had never realized that I have not seen someone jacked the fuck up that close and personal ever. I guess my fights have all begun and ended with the dramatic throwing of a champagne glass.

The human skull is a fragile thing, babies. Be careful out there.

So I wanted to give a proper funeral for my favorite blog in all the blogotrons (and also say, Bitch. With it, you killed my truly righteous guest post.) But for right now I'm sleep deprived. Staying up till 4 am manically scrubbing blood off the bathtub with Comet while your friend departs with the concussed neighbor to the hospital is exhausting.

So BWP, I will miss you, ol' friend. I always looked to you for inspiration and I was always inspired by your inspiring inspirations. Blogs are dropping like flies these days, but I didn't think it would be you. We lost you too soon.

On the brighter side, as for the neighbor, I hear he's gonna make it. I'd like to bring him flowers when he gets home.

Well, then.

After the last post, I was surprised to receive the bevy of emails and texts that confused Blog Malaise with forays into self-cutting, existential despair and/or maturity. Slow your roll, friends. No need to have this overwhelming pressure to become a better person. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Really, my most accurate metaphor was that it's been like a friendship that's no longer relevant and in those situations that person gets cut, not me. (FROM MY LIFE, people. Jeez.) I just wanted to point out that sometimes you don't want to muck around in all your old bullshit from the past couple years on virtual space. And this blog feels like Clover's primo bullshit garden, you know? Can't blame a gal for wanting to throw some weed killer on it every now and again.

But clearly me feeling feelings is an awkward moment for everyone, so let's snap that blog persona back firmly in place and carry on, shall we?

Melissa Lion, famous writer, astutely observed in the comments section of that post that whenever someone says they want to burn their blog in a giant online bonfire (I paraphrase), the next week they start posting twice a day. When I first read it I thought she wrote twice a week and I was nodding my head going "Yes, twice a week. That is probably what I am going to start doing again." Then I reread it. I get her metaphor, but bitch. Don't get crazy on me.

So I'm still here. That is until I decide that what I truly want is to write without people calling or emailing me ten minutes after every post, and then I will move some to some new URL and BE ANONYMOUS. I will be the Thomas Pynchon of bloggering. It will be hard because then I can't post gratuitous pictures of myself, but I will do it for The Craft. ::cough::

So while I'm still here talking about me and my stuff and my things, I'm going to attempt to post everyday this week about the some New Changes that are going on in an attempt to 2009-ify this shizz. I give me Monday and maybe Tuesday.

But the Fun New Thing that has NOT happened is my New Look. Fraken frak. Unfortunately yesterday's reality show makeover was part of a High Concept Styling Challenge. Soooo I looked ka-razy yesterday but this morning I look like, you know, myself again. Le sigh. (I don't think the show airs still August or September, but I will let you all know when it does.)

Can someone make my hair look like this? I WANT THIS HAIR LIKE A FAT KID WANTS BACON.

It's just a mission statement.

When I started blogging I didn't know what I was getting into.

My friend Bethany told me that I should start a blog because it would force me to write consistently and publish immediately. (As opposed to the elusive longer, larger project where imaginary deadlines are never met and the final product is only in your head. What's up, everything I've ever done but this blog.)

And it did. I loved having a blog. Then, as any blogger can testify, the blog takes over your life. You become compelled to post, comment on fifty other blogs everyday, make blog friends and talk about your blog in your real life so you can annoy and alienate all your non-blogger friends. It feels important and special.

And then the malaise sets in.

I've blamed Twitter. I've blamed having nothing to talk about, but yesterday I saw this post on one of my favorite blogs and I realized this was actually what was going on:

I hate this blog.

(Of course she always says it better.)

I didn't realize I hated it, because deep down I didn't want to. I put in a lot of work and, in many ways, I'm proud of it. But I am hating this shit for real, yo, and no longer afraid to say it.

I am tired of roasting my life. I am tired of constant daily blog networking. I am tired of feeling like I should post or no one will read this anymore. I am tired of my blog persona making me feel like who I really am. And I am beyond tired of my mom calling me and telling me this blog makes her feel like she has no idea who I am.

I am filming an episode for a Reality Show this weekend. I've made it clear once or one hundred times here that I love me a show where someone gets eliminated at the end of it, so as you can imagine, I'm gleeful. It's kind of a makeover show, and while I don't need a makeover, I want one. BADLY.

I recently moved, I'm ready to begin a new phase of my career, three of my most reliable and fun friends are no longer day players (one got a serious boyfriend overnight and two disappointed and hurt me very much, together), and most of all I want a visual representation of the new person I am trying to become.

Hopefully after Saturday I can (and will want to) show photographic evidence of this new me. In my head, she is very hot.

I'm not bold enough to delete this entire blog, (in the same way I've always been too chicken to torch genuinely torchable journals), but I have needed a break to figure out why I feel so resentful of it, like a friend that is no longer relevant to my life, someone whose conversations irritate me because I am forced to speak from a place that's not me anymore.

I don't want to feel this way about this blog, and I've been avoiding it because I haven't been brave enough to say it. Not only do I need to feel fresh and clean once again about this blog, but also my life.

So cross your fingers and hope that Saturday does the trick. As a girl, sadly, it probably will.

(Also, embarrassingly, the title of this post is not the first time I've quoted Jerry Maguire in the past twenty-four hours.)

#cloverisageek #advancinggeekery #hashtaggingisadisease

So this whole geek thing turned out to not include a vlog, but I promise this is not the first time I will let you all down, so please just accept me for who I am, and let's all move on with the low expectations route firmly in place.

But I'd still like to address this: if you notice there is a nifty little emblem in the bottom of the left hand corner it says "Society for Geek Advancement". Really? Since when did geeks need help advancing? Do I need to spend more of my money on Apple products so a geek can leave the ghetto?

I am going to start a Society for Clover Advancement. I am also marginalized, suburban and have trouble getting laid. Please throw a party in my honor. I will also give out really good stickers.

(Of note: A popular question among the advancers of geekery was "What makes you a geek?" and apparently responding with "I have started hash tagging my texts." is not geeky, just sad. #idontcare #iblamekiala #societyforcloveradvancement

It's about time we had affirmative action for college educated, socially awkward people.