Mulling

Lady Sensation is mulling like a spice over here, contemplating life changes. And unfortunately the blog has to suffer as a result.

I'm such a comedian. Like I don't like attention.

Obviously, I'll be back soon.
xoxo

Sikh and Ye Shall Find a Good Turban.

The sojourn up north was lovely. Words finally left my brain for a while this weekend and it was just heaven. Highly recommended for the neurotic, overachieving set or for people who blog.

And I finally got to see what the back of my thirty second head wraps look like. Like I could tell a mighty good fortune for ya. Incidentally, I usually can.

Spring Cleaning Hits the Road

I got a recap done almost on time, and now I can head out into the wild blue yonder with a clear conscience early tomorrow morning with a few of Lady Sensation's nearest and dearest. It's just one of the many trips I make a year to the Bay area, but I'm still thrilled.

And spring cleaning continues to make cuts left and right, including a potentially fun writing job opportunity. I should be more specific about what I want to stick around.

But I have been reveling in breathing in the new. Literally! Last weekend I got to hit up my very first oxygen bar.

Nose tube chic. I recommend the spearmint-infused oxygen.

It's a brave new world. Enjoy the weekend, y'all. I'll see you in a few days.

The Tale of the Brown Frown

I am in the process of spring cleaning my mind and body at the moment. This time of year always brings about some sort of purge. Last year's efforts involved throwing out a good third of what I owned and it was fantastic. If I did that this year, I could fit everything remaining in a box, so I wanted this spring to bring about something different, like my rebirth as a redhead. Alas, the agents nixed that. So, I'm thinking new everything else is in order. I'll keep you posted.

Anyway, I'd forgotten about this, but something in the air reminds me of how exactly a year ago Ex briefly dated a well-known actress. And it drove me effing nuts. Partly because I'm naturally a hater, but mostly because they were genuinely a mismatch. (In my defense, Ex has dated people since that I've supported and, incidentally, they are never actresses.) And, as I predicted, it didn't go anywhere. The whole thing lasted about three weeks. I'm too polite to say I told you so, but I will, apparently, blog about it a year later.

So, around this time, being Easter and all, she gets Ex a giant, three foot tall chocolate bunny. And God knows I love bunnies, but objectively, this enormous diabetes warning was ass ugly. And it burned me that it was prominently displayed in his house for months. MONTHS. It had this weasel-y, ferret face and it was obnoxious and I hated it. I wish I had a picture, but I can't even find a good google-image proxy.

And I dubbed this confection monstrosity "The Brown Frown".

It was a totem of all that was glaringly wrong with that pairing and, in my admittedly judgmental opinion, him.  And it was a blight on my heart and his homestead, which I loved so dear. So as time went on I waited for that thing to decay and turn white, or for ants to come, or for him to just throw it out, naturally getting tired of it. But The Brown Frown lived on.  He never threw it away and it appeared to have the shelf life of Spam.

So, at the end of June--JUNE!--a good three months after The Brown Frown arrived, I returned from my annual summer sojourn in New Mexico to find that The Brown Frown was miraculously gone. I didn't say anything or whoop it up, and just silently thanked Ex for doing the logical thing in throwing out a three and a half month old chocolate bunny that was an unfortunate gift from someone he no longer spoke to.  Especially because Ex left in June for the summer, not to return until the end of September.  Who would want to leave that thing to the elements?  Or me?  The Brown Frown wouldn't have lasted two seconds under the reign of Lady Sensation.

It was only weeks later, during a random conversation with a girlfriend that I learned The Truth.  I randomly mentioned my glee over the unanticipated departure of The Brown Frown and it turns out she had randomly hung out with Ex the day after The Brown Frown had departed.  It turns out that Ex had not thrown TBF out after all.  The Truth was that Ex never would have thrown out The Brown Frown.  

But God, like Lady Sensation, did not like The Brown Frown.  Apparently this very solid bunny, on his own pedestal, came crashing down one afternoon all on his own.  No one touched him, no one was around.  And I thanked Jesus that this happened while I was out of town, because Ex definitely would have accused me of tampering with that eyesore.  But it was gone!  I had a Frown-less summer and I liked to think that my mental powers played a part in making things right at that place.

So, yes, spring reminds me that new things are coming.  And that with strong mental focus, I can topple giant chocolate bunnies.  Truly anything is possible in this world.

Drive Me Crazy: Part Infinity

One car accident, being responsible for someone else's dead car problems, and getting a flat tire on the freeway hasn't been enough automotive stress for 2008.

Today I got another flat tire. Yes, within a span of a mere two and a half weeks, the rear driver's side tire has gone flat on the 10 freeway. I mean, WTF, right? In my history of driving I've had a flat tire, you know, never. And now twice in less than three weeks?

Y'all missed me, didn't you?

I didn't think my new skills were going to be needed so soon after I got them, but I was almost excited to have a chance to put them to the test. Almost. I would preferred to have just gone to Bed, Bath and Beyond like I'd planned, instead of driving out to Monrovia to get a new tire, but whatevs.

Either way, I got her done lickity split. By myself!

And now, I know what you are all asking yourselves: In the midst of all your genius mechanical work, did you also manage to figure out how to utilize the timer function on your digital camera (a feat you have never done before on any camera) AND finagle a way to use your open car door as a tripod??

The answer:

You bet your bottom dollar. (That spare is such a ham).

Boys, did I mention to you that my car is also a stick shift? And that I'm single?

That's right. A girl who's not afraid to get dirty.

It's almost enough to make you forget about all those unicorn posts.

Tito's Tacos: Robbed of their Clio

Despite my chosen "profession", I would like to believe that I am not easily swayed by television commercials, nor advertising in general. (Product packaging, a different story.) But, in general, commercials seem forced and obvious to me. I ignore them. However, while watching the last My Fair Brady last weekend for TVgasm, I stopped dead in my fast-forwarding tracks to view this gem. The most amazing commercial of all time: Tito's Tacos.

A girl from 1994 loves Tito's Tacos.

Now in a world of shiny, sleek advertising with dreamy Target kaleidoscopes and sexy Levi's kids, this stood out and captured my eye and my heart. For those of you who are not aware, Tito's Tacos is an institution in Los Angeles. I, however, had never been, having my own chosen burrito stands that I am extremely loyal to. But this advertisement is something special. Something pure and untouched in a world of savvy and seductive marketing. I was intrigued.

Visit the Tito's Tacos website to see the ad in its entirety. Don't blame me if the hokey song never leaves your head.

A dude from 1986 loves Tito's Tacos.

A gaggle of taco-obscured women love Tito AND his tacos.

This settled it. I had to meet this Tito individual and I had to do it STAT. And who else would I call, but Monrovia adventurer, Mz. Moxy to join me.

Overdressed for the occasion.

So I arrive with expectations high. But, alas, that is often the downfall of many endeavors. The advertising had lifted my hopes, only to drop them. My first disappointment was the lack of options. My favorite Mexican stand ever, La Playita on Lincoln Boulevard, is a sixteenth of the size and has eight times the menu. (Didn't mean to bust so much math on you, but there you go.)

Smallest menu ever, but dammit, I'm a sucker for a rainbow.

My second disappointment was the casual relationship between food and health at Tito's.

Only $1.90 to stop your heart in its tracks!

My third and final disappointment: not meeting Tito. Although, from such a bustling enterprise, I imagine he was at his palatial abode in Malibu, rolling in piles of cash.

So as much as it pains me to say, I would advise Tito to spend less money on advertising and more on expanding the quality and quantity of the menu. The spirit of adventure and getting some rare Moxy time made it all well worth it, but alas, my loyalty remains to La Playita.

That said, I could only dream of being in such a commercial. Tito, please contact my agents.

Eat this!

My artist friend and fellow mermaid enthusiast, Scotty Vera, participated in a moving Dom DeLouise tribute at Track 16 this weekend. The theme was Dom DeLouise and lobsters, which turned out to be a winning combination of elements. In my favorite piece of the show, Vera imagines DeLouise as lobster centaur, saving Anne Frank and decapitating Nazis.

You can never lose with Nazi decapitation.

Vegan lobster jello molds were in the mix, impressively plated.

I'm nothing if not enthusiastic about themed events.

And now I present to you my very own Fug or Fab.

I had my outfit for the evening's festivities all planned out, since I was going to remain westside until the opening, already being that side of town all day for the much-touted UCLA romance workshop. (Which was amazing, BTW. A post may or may not follow depending on motivation level this week.) However, I remembered everything but my black heels, and only had the day shoes I'd been motorin' around in, the green Pumas. Now, people insisted the outfit actually worked, but these people are also my friends.

So, you be the judge:

Feel free to judge me mercilessly. I would.

Procrastination Vacation

Last Friday I hit a wall in all areas of productivity. I couldn't even force myself to go to Whole Foods for my new favorite fixation, coconut water. It was that bad. I had to break free. And luckily for me, in LA breaking free can be done in a matter of hours with little more than a willingness to sit in Friday afternoon rush hour traffic.

Well worth it, people. California has the wonderful quality of transporting you to another biosphere within an hour's drive.

You don't even have to make it to Bakersfield to get this action.

I ended up in Ojai, centered in idyllic Santa Barbara wine country, a place I always have wanted to explore, but arrived too late and too unprepared to make much of it. Still, I felt like I'd traveled far far away from my stale surroundings and enjoyed filling my nostrils with unsmogged air. Nothing less than a new lease on life occured.

So, losing daylight and lacking knowledge of the area, I did what I do best in any foreign territory. I find the organic grocery store. No joke, I can do this is desolate areas of Michigan. It's like I have Non-GMO lojack. Now, I mainly do this to score kombucha, but also I have discovered from sea to shining sea, compost-loving, rainbow-gathering hippies are the same everywhere. From New York City to New Mexico, there truly is a national standard. Having a strong sense of personal space and a specific standard of hygiene, I find hippies trigger a bit of repulsion in me and yet, I find them warm and comforting at the same time, I always know what and who I'm going to find. Oh, you use Burt's Bees? No way.

Organic markets everywhere, you are my familiar corporate chain equivalent.

I didn't even ask these dolls to pose. Prolonged exposure to pachouli and raw cacao makes you friendlier.

I made it back to my smoggy eastside hood in time for a fancy Los Feliz dinner within an hour and fifteen minutes. And for this reason, as much as the outside world does not understand, I totally, completely love LA.

I still haven't finished my week's writing assignments and am using this blog post as another way to enjoy some high octane procrastination. Unfortunately, I can't run away this Friday, so it looks like I'll have to figure out a new way to avoid fulfilling my obligations. I could always see Step Up 2 The Streets for a third time. I really wouldn't put it past me.

Romancing my stone cold heart

I am one step closer to fulfilling my dreams of living the glamorous life of Joan Wilder. While I originally mentioned this avenue in jest, in a matter of days I will be walking down the path of complete seriousness, heading over to UCLA to immerse myself in this:


NEW COURSE
It's All about Love: A One-Day Workshop on Writing and Selling Your Romance Novel
713.92 English $95

With 1.4 billion dollars in sales, 26.4 share of the market, and over 6,000 novels published every year, it's clear that the American public wants to read love stories. The other good news is that romances are fun to write. This course begins by identifying current key sub-genres and their particular requirements, including contemporary, paranormal, inspirational, comedic, mystery, erotic, and historical. We then consider what story you want to write and how to structure its plot, scenes, conflict, central characters, and most importantly, a believable romantic relationship. Short in-class writing exercises allow you to work on some of these important aspects, and you finish the day by learning about the marketplace and writing query letters. By the end of the class, you have a clear focus on the type of romance novel you are writing, a working outline, a couple of new scenes, and knowledge on how to move forward in writing and preparing your book for the marketplace.

Who are these individuals that go to this sort of gathering? How will the instructor dissect the craft of romance writing with a straight face? How bad ass would I be if I did this as a career? These burning questions keep me up at night.

Now that TVgasming has lessened on the technical difficulties front, I have less stress and more time and brain power to tackle another project. One that amuses me and makes money is really all I require from said project at this point. (Recapping reality television shows, formulaic smut. Credibility and artistic merit are obviously not variables in my writing choices these days.)

If I do decide to foray into the world of breathless women and swaggering men, you can bet your bottom dollar I will never ever reveal my alias.

WWUD? Part III (Unicorn as Olive Branch)

I reconnected with this person over the weekend. As it turns out, I am not so 86-able after all. And I received a musical unicorn statue as a peace offering. As probably anyone reading this blog can surmise, kitschy thrift store items are always the way to my heart. He even compared its rotating, lazy susan glory to my own personal style in life and posture: "It's like you. Off balance, but never tips over."

WWUD? The Trophy.

Through no effort of my own, I am beginning to think that the people in my life are trying to make my home look like the one of Christine Taylor's character in Dodgeball.