10 Rules For Californians Visiting Texas

I've been in Texas for four days and I have to say it is very different than California.  One thing is that I got to order a side of fried okra with my omelet.  Awesome!  Another thing is that the sky is freaking beautiful.  They call this area Big Sky Country and even though I'm pretty sure we have the same sky everywhere, I have to admit it's amazing.  It might be that people look up because there's nothing to look at on the ground except tumbleweeds and horny toads but whatever.  Still pretty.

As much as I've missed my home state, I've been in Los Angeles for fifteen years now and I'd forgotten some of the rules of existence in Texas.  Luckily, it's all starting to come back to me.  Pretty soon I'll fit right in!  (I leave today.)

Here's what I've learned (remembered) so far:

1) If a woman calls you "sweetie," she's being bitchy.  In L.A., if a woman's being bitchy, she'll call you "bitch" or something way more creative but in Texas, they will kill you with kindness and strut off in bedazzled capris.

2) No one walks anywhere.  If you're going for a stroll after lunch (wearing regular clothes instead of work-out clothes, no less), people will stare.  Some people (I'm looking at you, guy in the camo trucker hat) will sick their Cocker Spaniel on you because you are clearly up to no good.

3) If you ask what veggies are on the veggie sandwich, you're a total dick.  Don't do that.  It's lettuce, tomato, onions and shredded carrots on Wonder Bread, by the way.  Just order the fish and chips.

4) Paint your toenails black if you want people to stare at your feet and cock their heads like confused poodles everywhere you go.

5) If you tell the liquor store clerk you're from California, be prepared for a speech about how "that crazy Clinton closed all the mili-try bases a while back" and that's why he votes Republican.

6) You have to say "Hi" to everyone you see everywhere you go.  If you don't, you'll seem rude so get those greetings ready, y'all!

7) Don't worry about checking to see if anyone's coming, just pull on out into traffic.  It'll be fine.

8) Everywhere you go, someone on the radio will be singing about boots and beer.  This will make you want to put on boots and drink beer and then you'll do something that will make you depressed enough to listen to sad songs about boots and beer.  It's a vicious cycle.

9) Black jeans plus black cowboy boots equals formal wear.

10) If you really want to fit in, make sure you're wearing at least five sparkly items at all times.  Then put on more before you go out.

That's all I can think of right now but I still have a few hours here to learn some more stuff!  Seriously, though, I've had a great time in my beautiful home state but I'm also glad to be going home.

*photo by me from my parents' alley.

What I Learned By Drowning My Phone

Monday morning I woke up groggy and cranky.  Too many Cinco de Cocktails?  Maybe.  Or it might've been this weird dream I had where Tim bought me a pet rabbit and gave it to me in front of a bunch of people and everyone kept insisting it was a puppy.  When I would say, "That's a freaking BUNNY, PEOPLE," everyone would just look at me like I was crazy.

Anyway, whether it was drinks or bunnies, I was out of it.  I went into the bathroom, lifted the toilet lid (We keep it down because we're all kinds of feng shui, ya heard?) and promptly dropped my precious iPhone into the toilet.  Yeah.  I did that.  Everyone's joke nightmare IS MY LIFE, YOU GUYS.  Next time someone asks, "Who would drop their phone in a toilet?  Who would do something like that?!" picture my smiling face.  You're probably wondering what happened next.  Well, what happened next is that I said, "No no no no no no no no no no no no no," as I picked it up, screamed and wiped it down with at least six Clorox anti-bacterial wipes while holding back tears.  Then I did these things:

• Washed my hands.
• Tried to turn on phone.  Didn't work.
• Took the case off of the phone.  
• Wiped it down again.
• Tried to turn on phone.  Didn't work.
• Finally peed.
• Washed hands again.
• Cried a little bit.
• Tried to turn on phone.  Didn't work.
• Said, "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck."
• Glanced at case.  Wiped it with another antibacterial wipe.
• Tried to turn on phone.  Didn't work.
• Picked up case, threw it in the recycling bin.  I loved that case but it will forever be known as toilet case and I can't hang.
• IM-ed Tim the following message:  JUST DROPPED MY PHONE IN THE TOILET SERIOUSLY ANYWAY GUESS I'M GONNA HAVE TO GO TO BEST BUY AFTER MY APPOINTMENT IF YOU NEED ME TOO BAD BECAUSE I HAVE A TOILET PHONE.
• Tweeted about breaking my phone.  Didn't cop to dropping it in the toilet because it was too raw, guys, too new.  Too, um, fresh.
• Got ready, went to my appointment with my dead phone.

At Best Buy, they were really helpful.  The girl didn't blink when I deadpanned, "This phone is dead because I dropped it in a toilet."  They took my phone and put it in a box and said I'd have it back by Thursday.  I then expressed my displeasure that I wouldn't have it until Thursday because I'm leaving on a trip really early Thursday morning.  I offered to pay more money.  I sighed.  I was frustrated that she couldn't make everything exactly how I wanted and needed it to be even though I'm the idiot who gave her most precious possession a swirly.  Because I have insurance on my iPhone, she offered a solution.  I could get a loaner phone in case my toilet phone (or its replacement if it's truly dead) doesn't get here in time.  She explained that it would be an older phone.  I pictured an iPhone 3G or something and nodded my head vigorously.  "Yes, please!"

That's when she said, "The best phone I can offer is a Droid."  

And then that's when I said, "Huh?  What?  You don't have any iPhones?  None?  Really?  I mean, what is a Droid?!"

She said that's all I could get and told me that if I break it, I'll owe them $200 as she had me sign a bunch of papers.   I left Best Buy confused and scared.  A Droid.  On a trip!  No Instagram.  No iTunes for the flight.  No games, no apps arranged just so.  No fun.  I set up Twitter and Facebook on my phone.  I programmed in the numbers of the only 6 people who call me.  I tried not to throw the stupid Droid when I first attempted to tweet from it.  Then, later in the day, I was talking to Edi explaining why I was speaking to her on a non-iPhone when all of a sudden it flew (this is true) out of my hand and broke into three pieces, causing me, for the second time that day, to treat my dog to a chorus of, "No no no no fuck fuck fuck."

Lucky for me and my wallet, it had merely broken into battery, phone, back of phone and was easily reassembled.  There's been other adventures since then like when the alarm went off this morning or when I found texts from someone named Ryan asking if I could pick the kids up from soccer practice.  (I said no.)

Today, this morning, I am hoping with every ounce of my being that my iPhone gets here early and I can take it on my trip.  I have learned so much, you guys.  First of all, don't bring your phone to the bathroom with you, even if it's always attached to your hand, even if you get all shaky without it.  Put it in a pocket or on a counter or something.  Second, if you have to bring your phone, maybe don't use the hand that's HOLDING THE STUPID PHONE to open the toilet lid.  Yeah, that's a good rule of thumb.  Third, $5 a month insurance on your phone is smart if you're dumb or clumsy like me.  Fourth, don't spend waaaay too much on a Totoro phone case that you're just going to drop in a toilet.  And, finally, fifth, Droid phones suck.

*totoro phone case selfie by me.  r.i.p. totoro phone case.

Why Vodka?

Sometimes people ask me why I drink vodka.  Sometimes I tell them the truth.  But, most of the time I say something about liking it or that it doesn't cause hangovers as much as other alcohols (which is true).  Or I claim that it's about calories.  But, it's not.

Three months ago I quit caffeine.  I should say I loudly quit caffeine.  I bitched, I moaned, I tweeted about it.  I grumbled.  I still complain when I haven't had enough sleep and I know I can't fix my fatigue with a chai latte.  Many people have asked why I quit caffeine and to them I'll say, "health reasons," or I'll just change the subject.

I suspect people think I'm a prissy health freak or a vapid L.A. girl constantly worried about her weight.  But, I'm something much worse.  I'm a liar.

I had fibromyalgia for a decade.  To deal with it, my number one rule was not to talk about it.  To act like I felt fine when I was out in public.  I didn't want to be seen as a victim or a sick person or a freak.  I wanted to keep my life as normal as possible. So, I never really shared much.  I wrote about it sparingly and then usually I'd end up deleting those blogs.  When I discovered I had mercury poisoning and started going through chelation, I decided to share my experience.  I shared once and the response from the kind readers of this blog gave me the courage to keep sharing throughout the process.  Because of that, I've had three friends visit my doctor. I was able to help three people just by being frank and honest.  By not lying and making excuses for my weird health shit.  Sure, it's odd sometimes when you meet someone at a party and they ask you how you've been feeling lately.  But, I put it out there.  I did that.  And, I'm glad I did.

So, the vodka.  The caffeine.  Here it goes. I have one last symptom that wasn't helped by the chelation.  And while I'm soooo grateful to have that mercury out of my system, to be able to sleep and to go through my days free of body pains and fatigue, to be able to eat without getting nauseous, this symptom makes me crazy.  It's the worst.  It's the most embarassing and horrible and soul-sucking and ridiculous thing you could even dream up.  It's something I vowed never to write about.  And, I wasn't going to except that I think I have to.  I have a friend through Twitter who suffers from the same thing and when I talk to her about it, I get so angry because she's young and beautiful and smart and to know she experiences the same things I do at her age makes me feel like fighting in the only way I know how:  to write about it.

I drink vodka because I can't drink much else.  I have a condition called Interstitial Cystitis, which is an allergy-like inflammation of the lining of the bladder.  Picture a cut on your arm.  Then picture constantly pouring wine or orange juice or hot sauce on the cut.  It would get worse, it would never heal.  That's how IC is.  For three years I've had to avoid coffee (even decaf), wine, beer, chocolate, citrus and spicy foods.  (Everything good.) I can't even have fruit juice so when I go to a bar, it's pretty much just liquor that I can safely drink.  "Excuse me bartender, can you make me a cocktail with no beer, wine, fruit juice, caffeine or anything spicy or citrus?  Thanks!" So I order vodka on the rocks or vodka with club soda. Vodka doesn't hurt my condition. (It's not the alcohol, it's the acidity.)  I love cocktails so I learned to love vodka but I would give a zillion dollars to be able to drink beer again.  (I'd always been a beer girl until I developed this horrible thing.) I'd give anything to have a mimosa or a bloody mary at brunch. To enjoy a margarita. To not have to lie about why I'm not drinking when I'm at a place with just wine and beer.

But, it's not just the diet restrictions.  When an IC patient is in a flare, it's the worst, most frustrating pain imaginable.  If you've ever had a bladder infection, you have a small idea of the way it feels.  Stabbing, throbbing pain that makes it impossible to focus on anything else. I had a glass of white wine at a wine tasting last summer and was doubled over in pain for a week after.  It felt like my entire pelvis was on fire and I felt like I had to pee the entire time, even if I'd just gone.  You can't sleep, you can't work, you can't think of anything but your bladder. When you google IC, you inevitably get a bunch of statistics on IC patients attempting suicide.  This is why.  It's a horrible terrible torturous condition. And it just keeps coming back, even when you're eating "correctly" and following all the stupid life-crippling rules.

Doctors are baffled by this and have no clue how to treat it.  We thought the chelation would help it, that maybe it was caused by inflammation from the metals but it looks like it's not.  I've been on several drugs, all which gave me bad allergic reactions so I had to stop taking them.  At one point, a doctor inserted a tiny camera up my you know what for diagnostic purposes.  It hurt for days. I even tried something called electromagnetic pulse therapy, where I had to lie on a table and they put this weird circle thing over my pelvis and it sent electromagnetic pulses through my muscles and tissues, supposedly encouraging them to heal themselves.  (It didn't hurt, it just felt really twitchy.) I did 10 sessions and didn't experience any relief.

So, now I'm on a super strict IC diet and have been for three months.  That's where the no caffeine thing comes in.  I had to give up the chai lattes I was only drinking because they hurt less than coffee.  I even had to give up decaf tea because it's "acidic."  In addition to everything I mentioned above, I also had to give up soy, tomatoes, onions, vinegar, peppers, all fruits (except apples, pears, blueberries and watermelons), cheese (except goat cheese, feta and mozzarella), and anything with chemicals or artificial sweeteners.  (That last one wasn't that hard except I miss movie candy.)

I have an appointment with a specialist in late May.  I won't stop trying to figure this out until I find a cure, like I did with the fibromyalgia.  I'm not messing around with this bullshit.  I will say that on the strict diet, I'm functioning pretty well.  I've only had a couple of flare ups in the last three months but I'm a total pain in the ass to go out to eat with.  (I stare at the menu like a deer in headlights.  I always have to ask for no tomatoes or dressing on the side.)  But, I'm just avoiding flare ups, I'm not curing the problem.  I want it to heal.  I want some doctor to actually help me instead of giving me drugs that make me sick or just taking my money.

So, there it is.  That's why I drink vodka.  On a normal day, I drink water and water.  I wake up and have a lovely cup of water.  Then at night if I'm drinking, it's vodka or sometimes gin. I can get crazy and do a mint julep or a white russian like The Dude or an old fashioned without the orange twist if I'm feeling frisky.  But, that's all I can drink.

I do yoga, I take baths, I have a supportive amazing husband and cool understanding friends.  I make terrible jokes to Tim like, "Hold up, I have to pee really quick.  At least I think I do.  LOL!" So, I'm getting through it.  And I remind myself how lucky I am to be feeling better after chelation.  This is the only health issue I have left.  I can handle this because I have to.  I just don't wanna so I'm gonna find a way to fix it.  I'm gonna find a way to have a beer.

*photo of me drinking a concoction my favorite bartender dreamed up.  yes, it was vodka and coconut and something else yummy.

Oh, The Horror

A few months ago at a party, a girl asked me if I'd seen any good movies lately.  I'd just seen what I consider the best movie of 2012, Cabin In The Woods.  So, you know, I said, "Yes!  I just saw Cabin In The Woods and it's amazing.  I loooove Joss Whedon so much."

She wrinkled her nose (she actually did this) and said, "Yeah, but, isn't that a horror movie?" Then she gave me a look like I'd just stepped on a baby's head.

"Yes, I guess it is technically.  But, I love horror movies," I said.  "This one is different, though, there's so much more to it.  It's genius."

Then the girl flipped her hair.  (Sidenote:  I like this girl.  But this is exactly how shit went down.) She shook her head at me and said, "No, no.  You shouldn't love horror movies, honey.  Gross. You should do what I do. I only watch positive movies."  Then she (seriously) said this:  "You know, like Pretty Woman and The Notebook."  I flinched because I thought she might pat me on the head or squeeze my arm or something else Notebooky.

I did not laugh at her or give her a wedgie.  I just shrugged and said, "You like what you like."  But, then I thought about it.  My favorite movie made her nose wrinkle and her hair flip.  Her two favorite movies made me want to puke vodka and guacamole all over her.  Why?  Why do some people love horror flicks?  Are we supposed to like movies about prostitutes getting new fancy clothes? Is there really something wrong with us?  Are we secretly violent?  Are we worthy of nose wrinkling?

I understand why someone wouldn't want to see people get violently murdered for an hour and a half. I do.  I get that people are squeamish or that they might have nightmares.  But, look, they're soooo much fun.  When someone tells me they don't like the entire genre, I can't help but feel a little sorry for them.  Like they're missing out on some of the good stuff of life and they don't even know it.  (My husband doesn't love horror films but he'll go see one with me occasionally because he knows what's up.)  I never, however, judge anyone for not liking them.  Unless they judge me first for liking them.  Then, it's on.  Judging coming out the wazzoo.  Beacause, seriously?  I should be watching Pretty freaking Woman?!  BECAUSE IT'S POSITIVE?

I saw The Shining when I was very very young, hiding behind the couch while my parents watched it on VHS. (I'm still a little scared of Jack Nicholson, even at Lakers games.) Later, in grade school, I jumped from the doorway of my room to my bed for a month after seeing Child's Play because I was positive one of my Cabbage Patch Kids was hiding under the bed with a knife, waiting to slash my ankle.  I saw Gremlins, of course, squealing with delight when the little sucker gets microwaved. (Spoiler alert or whatever. Geez, it came out in the EIGHTIES, stop crying.) Then, when I was twelve, I watched A Nightmare On Elm Street at my friend's house and I totally fell in love with the genre.  (To read about my love for Freddy, click here, it's been well documented on this blog and probably just, you know, in my life.  My poor friends.)

Horror movies are just so much fun.  What else are you supposed to do at a slumber party or late at night in your dorm room after a party or when you're coming down from a Halloween buzz?  What else are you supposed to watch when you have the house to yourself because your husband's at a Kings game?  Even the dumb ones are awesome.  Most of my friends love horror flicks.  My sister loves horror flicks.  It's something we do together.  We go to the theater, we jump in our seats when we're supposed to jump in our seats, we eat popcorn and then we leave and dissect the movie for the next three days, IT'S JUST WHAT WE DO, PRETTY WOMAN CHICK.

So, yeah, I don't know why some people like them and some people don't.  But, I know I'm a pretty happy positive person and I've had a steady diet of slasher flicks for the last twenty years.  I know that I'm so far from violent that I've never so much as purposefully stepped on a bug.  I also know if I was forced to pick a best friend based solely on their movie tastes, I'd go with the chick who's seen High Tension over the girl who can recite lines from every Katherine Heigl film.  Basically, what I'm saying, Notebook, is that you might be horrified that I watch horror flicks but your shock and disdain only makes me happier I'm me.

Oh, also, P.S. If life were a horror flick, you'd die in the first scene while making popcorn and I'd live until the end looking super hot and triumphant in my blood stained white tank top. So there.

*photo from gnnaz.

A Gate Made Of Gold

So, I've been playing this horrible game called SongPop on my phone.  You know the one.  I'm completely addicted to it.  I've exhausted all the usual categories (for me, that's 80s collection, 90s alternative, Indie Rock and Classic Rap), so now I'm just buying every category and trying it.  (Well, except Ke$ha.) I started playing the 80s Country category and realized I knew most of the songs.  Even the ones I didn't know know, I knew, you know?  I'd guess someone and it would be right, every time! But, I did grow up in Texas with a dad who blasted Alabama and Oak Ridge Boys in his truck so I guess some of that stuff was bound to stick.

Up there is a video of George Strait singing "Ocean Front Property."  I'd forgotten about this tune entirely until SongPop made me remember it this weekend.  Memories came flooding back.  I was so young when I first heard this tune, that I took good ole' George at his word.  The lyrics are "I've got some ocean front property in Arizona/From my front porch you can see the sea/I've got some ocean front property in Arizona/If you buy that, I'll throw the Golden Gate in free."  Pretty straight (Ha, Strait.  Sorry.) forward, right?  The dude's obviously being totally sarcastic and kinda mean.  OK, but I was young.  Didn't really have a grasp on sarcasm or geography or national landmarks.  I thought the guy was really gonna sell his place by the sea in ARIZONA and if you bought it, he'd give you a nice GATE MADE OF GOLD because that's the kind of swell guy he was.  When we finally got around to American geography in Junior High, I just stared at Arizona on the map thinking, that can't be right!

So, yeah, I got my information about life from song lyrics.  Of course I did.  That's how I knew that we were living in a material world, Kenny Rogers had 400 children AND a crop in the field and if you really hated someone, you should call them a vegetable like Michael Jackson. Shamon, y'all.

When I was twelve, I was in a play called Snoopy! The Musical.  We had to sing a song called Edgar Allan Poe.  Those lyrics will be stuck in my brain for the rest of my life.  The gag is that every time Charlie Brown guesses anything, it's wrong.  Which is fine except that by the time I got old enough to learn about Poe, all the lyrics were blurred together, I could no longer remember what Charlie sang and what Linus sang (the correct answers) so I ended up writing that Edgar Allan Poe wrote "Columbia The Gem Of The Ocean" on a test.  Yeah, that's a SONG.  Written by some dead dude who is sooooo not the author of "The Fall Of The House Of Usher."  Since then, I've read a lot of Poe and I'm sufficiently embarrassed.

This is the danger of being a lyric person.  You love them, you remember them and then sometimes they mislead you, they bite you in the ass.  But, you can't help what you're drawn to.  I'm drawn to words.  Even when they're WRONG.  (I'm looking at you, George Strait.)

Best Female TV Characters Yes They Are Shut Up

Yesterday, I bared my soul and revealed to you my favorite male television characters.  It was a scary, cathartic, gut-wrenching experience.  I worried I'd be judged for leaving out Mr. T and the entire cast of  Arrested Development.  But, you know what?  It was fun.  And because you guys care so much, here's my favorite female characters.  Yes.  Party.  Ohhhhhh yeah.

Let's do it, ladies:

1) Mrs. Garrett  (Diff'rent Strokes/The Facts Of Life)

Sure, like everyone else, I loved Tootie.  But, it was Mrs. Garrett that kept me watching The Facts Of Life when I was a kid.  I followed her from Diff'rent Strokes, of course.  I thought she was awesome and funny and I marveled at her hair.  How did it stay like that?!  I also really wanted to eat some Edna's Edibles.  (Don't be gross, you guys, that was her fancy food company.)

2) Starbuck (Battlestar Galactica)

Starbuck is a badass. She's tough, she's hot, she drinks, kicks ass and shoots cylons and shit.  She made me like that song "All Along The Watchtower" again.  I loved Battlestar Gallactica and I'm pretty sure it's  because of Starbuck.

3) Anya Jenkins (Anyanka)  (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

A thousand year old vengence demon who's afraid of bunny rabbits, what's not to like?  Anya is funny and brutally honest and has little to no social skills, everything I like in a television character.  Plus, she loves Xander, who is every fantasy geek's not so secret crush.

4) Daria Morgandorffer (Daria, duh)

I thought I loved Beavis and Butthead in the 90s until Daria came out.  Then I knew what real cartoon love was.  I remember searching for a Daria head toss pillow to go with my Beavis and Butthead ones.  The first episode even aired on my birthday.  She was cynical and dry and snarky and over it and I felt like someone had made a cartoon version of me but with better hair.  I love Daria.

5) Peggy Olson (Mad Men)

Oh, Peggy.  She's everyone's favorite, right?  She's the one I root for.  I could care less what happens to Don but I hope Peggy takes over the world.  I like that she's driven and smart but she's also a bit of a mess.  I like that she's goofy.  I like that she has liquor in her desk drawer.

6) Possessed Dr. Marlena Evans Black (Days Of Our Lives)

This was the best thing to ever happen on television.  (This was also the stupidest thing to ever happen on television but in this case they are completely one and the same.) Marlena got possessed by a demon and it was GLORIOUS.  She levitated, she tried to kill people, she had creepy glowy eyes.  During this story line, I tried not to miss a day.  I'd set it to record just in case she puked pea soup while I was at school or something.  Freaking brilliant.  Love it.  Sometimes I'll randomly think of this when I'm at the gym or the store and it will fill me with glee.

7) Dr. Miranda Bailey (Grey's Anatomy)

There's no way in hell I would've kept watching Grey's if it weren't for Dr. Bailey.  I love her.  She's tiny and sarcastic and they call her 'The Nazi' because she's so scary.  I think she's delightful every time she's on screen.  I think they should wipe out all the other annoying whiny characters and just make it an hour long clip of  Dr. Bailey yelling at people.

8) Pam De Beaufort (True Blood)

You knew I'd have a vampire on here but you probably thought it would be Drusilla.  My love to Dru but Pam is where it's at.  She's a total bitch, she's prissy and she's lethal.  In my opinion, she has the best lines on the show.  Pam can totally bite me.


There they are.  My favorite favorites.  Now you know.  Whew.  Who would you pick?  Let me guess, not Mrs. Garrett.


*photo from afterellen.com.

Best Male TV Characters Ever Uh-huh Are Too

Right now I am eating one of those hard candies you get from Mexican restaurants.  You know the ones.  It's called a Choco Starlight and it's green and brown and it tastes like heaven.  I am also procrastinating by sitting around making lists of my favorite television characters of all time, like ya do.  Because I love love television and I always get obsessed with one character on every show.  I'll even watch something horribly ridiculous if there's at least one character I like for whatever reason.  Could be the actor is hot or they have funny hair or I like their voice or the character occasionally turns into a werewolf and eats people.  I also tend to have a thing for the fat guy on any given show and I don't know what that's about but anyway, I'm listing them, folks.  Because I can.  The thing is, I have too many for one blog.  It's gonna have to be two.  I could be reasonable and divide it up into comedies and dramas but that's way too logical.  Just gonna go by sex which is probably all kinds of wrong but whatever.

First up, the dudes. (Click on their names to experience the magic oh wow.)

1) Bill Haverchuck (Freaks & Geeks)

I like to gush to people how much I love this show.  Then people like to tell me I was a Lindsay in high school.  Then I like to make a puke noise and say I was "totally a Kim Kelly,"  which is pretty much a lie but it sounds way cooler than that whiny brat Lindsay.  But, really, I find Bill the most lovable and relatable of all the characters.   Team Bill!

2) Jesse Pinkman (Breaking Bad)

Yo, bitch, I love me some Jesse, yo.  I would've stopped watching a loooong time ago if it weren't for Jesse.  He's the perfect foil for Walter White's intense serious craziness.  He's so perfectly flawed and such a mess but he's a good person.  You have to root for Jesse, even when it's impossible to give two shits about all those other bald dudes and crazy ladies on the show.

3) Data (Star Trek: The Next Generation)

If you ever rode in my car in the 90s, you would've noticed my Data doll.  Data doll was there for me through high school and college and got lost after I moved to Los Angeles.  I think he might have been zapped out of existence when I crossed the border into L.A. for lack of coolness.  But, I don't care.  I think Data's the best.  He's frank and sweet and unintentionally funny.  Sure, he's totally an android but whatev.  He's an adorable android and I think he's the best part of the show.

4) Al Swearengen (Deadwood)

I call him Sweadgy-wedgy.  He's a little bit awful and a little bit brilliant.  He cusses every other word.  (When Tim and I were watching this show, we called it DeadFuckingPeckerWood.) He's tough and shady and his mustache is magnificent.  Did I mention he also runs a whore house?  Yes, Al Swearengen is a straight-up pimp.  He says stuff like, "Get to fucking" to his whores.  He's gotta be one of the best characters of all time.

5) Omar Little (The Wire)

Omar's like the Robin Hood of the show.  He's got morals, even though he's a thug who steals from drug dealers.  He's the kind of character you wish actually existed in the real world.  But, I just like him because he's funny.

6) Bobby Singer (Supernatural)

If Bobby were real, I'd probably be related to him.  He totally keeps those hot brothers alive and he kills soooo many demons when he's not researching supernatural crap and drinking and stuff.  I'd like to go on a road trip with Bobby where we both wear terrible trucker hats and eat Bugles or something while we listen to old country music from the 80s and talk about how everyone's an "Idjit."

7) Bobby Elvis (Sons Of Anarchy)

Speaking of Bobbies I could be related to, Bobby Elvis is the best of the SAMCRO motorcycle club because he's tough but nice, he parties really hard and he's a straight up Elvis impersonator.  This show isn't shy about killing characters off but if they killed Bobby off, I think there'd be a mutiny.

8) Carlton Banks (The Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air)

OK, first of all, shut up, you guys.  Seriously, shut up.  I love Carlton.  I love his dancing and his little sweater vests.  Shut up shut up shut up!

9) Butters (South Park)

Duh.  I know.  Butters is the best because he's the cutest and the most innocent and because of that one time he accidentally became a pimp.

10) Taco (The League)

Taco is where it's at.  He's high all the time and sings ridiculous songs and dresses up in costumes.  I just described my entire theater department in college.


What do you think of my little list?  Did I leave anyone out?  Leave a comment if you need to but if you make fun of Carlton, I'll eye roll you so hard.  Please notice I showed major restraint by not just listing ever hot vampire on television.

Come back tomorrow to find out who I think are the best female TV characters.  It's gonna be so crazy, y'all.  I hope you can sleep tonight!

*photo blastedgoat.

LOVE BITES Part Three: Zombie

Oh, hi, guys.  Here we are, on week three in the three part series, Love Bites, where I break down the harsh reality of becoming a supernatural creepy crawly.  These decisions are extremely important to your future.  Do not wait until it's too late.  Get informed! Knowledge is power!  This is your brain on drugs! WHO YOU GONNA CALL?! Wait, where am I?  Sorry.

Ahem, we have discussed the pros and cons of becoming a werewolf.  We have debated whether or not you should let some cold dude in a cape turn you into a vampire.  And now, it is finally here, the week of the zombie.  I know what you're thinking.  Most of you are thinking, Why would anyone possibly want to be a zombie?  (One of you is thinking I have crazy hair.  It's okay, I think it every day, dude.)  Anyway, I think by the time I'm done, you'll agree there are some good things about zombie-ism.  I'm here to help you decide if you want to be part of the walking dead because I care, y'all.

OK, we'll begin.

PROS TO BEING A ZOMBIE:

1) You're super hot right now.
2) Haven't you ever wanted to shut your brain off?  Well, now you can!  Like yoga but better! Namaste, zombies.
3) You'll be very driven.
4) You won't have to worry about getting your nails done or reapplying lipstick.
5) A lot of energy.  Zombies are just go go go. (Shuffle shuffle shuffle.)
6) You can do the Thriller dance and it will look soooo sick, man.
7) The ultimate revenge on your annoying neighbor would be to eat their brains.  Rad!
8) That Cranberries song can be your theme song.  Not too shabby, unlike your clothes, LOL.
9) Speaking of clothes, you're so not a slave to fashion.
10) It feels really good to be a part of something big, you know?

CONS TO BEING A ZOMBIE:

1) You're gonna be soooooo stinky and probably pretty gooey.
2) A lot of people will probably see you all gross and zombie-fied.  Embarrassing!
3) No more pizza or brownies, just brains brains brains.
4) Over saturation.  People are getting sick of you, dude.
5) No alone time.
6) No more sitting.  And sitting is AWESOME.
7) What if you accidentally eat someone ugly?!
8) Say goodbye to smelling the roses.  Actually, say goodbye to your nose because that's totally falling off at some point.
9) You will have no idea how Mad Men ends.
10) The moaning.  You'll just be moaning all the time like a weirdo.

That pretty much sums it up.  I hope I've helped.  I hope you all make the decision that is right for you, whether it's werewolf, vampire or zombie.  I hope you have a great after-life, guys.

*photo from Night Of The Living Dead, Ronald Grant/Public Domain.

Gettin' Zitty With It

Someone cooler than me once said that getting a pimple when you're old enough to get wrinkles is total stupidhead bullshit suckville.  OK, I paraphrased.  I made it my own, you guys.  Sunday, I woke up to a bump under my nose.  It wasn't really obvious to anyone other than me but the feeling was familiar.  What is this, I thought.  What is happening to me?  Visions of teenage shame and bottles of Clearasil tap danced through my brain until I had to admit what I knew was true.  I had a zit.  And it was gonna be a big honking one by the feel of it.  I didn't know what to do.  It's been awhile, you see.  So, because I didn't know how to handle the situation, I did what any sane woman in her thirties with a zit would do:  I went into a rage.

I ranted, I screamed, I flipped off my reflection.  I gave my husband a speech about how life is bullshit while he looked at me wide-eyed and kept saying, "I can't even see it!"  But, I knew people in Arizona would be able to see it in a couple of hours.  This asshole was a grower.  And, what's worse, I had a party to go to.  A daytime party with, you know, DAYLIGHT and other humans even.  I know it's ridiculous but it ruined my day.

Because how dare my skin do this to me?  I have put in my time with bad skin.  I know I had the prerequisite amount of ugh moments in high school. I remember freaking out if I ran out of Oxy. But it was college (COLLEGE!) when my skin really spazzed out.  I'm still not sure why.  I'm highly sensitive for sure.  It also could've been moving from the desert to the humidity of central Texas or the stress of being a theatre major (so many monologues, y'all) or it could've been hormonal.  I don't know.  All I know is that my face exploded and I spent four years of my life hating my reflection and piling on so much concealer and powder that I looked way more like Robert Smith than a co-ed.  It was bad.  Really bad.  Really traumatic.  I've buried that shit way down inside and I try to laugh it off if someone posts a pic from those days on Facebook or something.  But, I'm not even trying to pretend like it didn't suck.

So, Sunday, my zit did get worse.  I had to go to a party and interact with people knowing they were probably checking out the not-so-cleverly concealed mound of ew under my nose.  And it sucked.  It did.  Suck is the best descriptive term I can think of for this sucky suck situation.  The zit sat there on my face being icky and ugh and stuff.  But it was gorgeous compared to what I woke up to this morning.  Today it looks like I'm a character on a lame tv show who is supposed to have a break out and some makeup person glued a prop pimple to my face.  It doesn't even look real.  What are you gonna do, though, right?  I'm dealing by complaining about it, blogging about it, avoiding mirrors and not doing anything social until it's small enough to not require its own zip code.  Wanna see me this week?  Too bad!

So, anyway, I think I should be given a free pass.  It's a cruel cruel joke to make me put on both zit cream and eye cream.  It's a terrible thing that I had to put on a super cleavage-y shirt this morning to force people to look at my boobs instead of my adult acne.  (No shit.  I really did that.  I'm a horrible person.)  This is unfair and awful.  I'm formally lodging a complaint.  I'm taking a stand.  Down with zits!  Somebody better be listening.  Seriously, if this happens again, I'm gonna, um, cry and, uh, blog and it won't be pretty.

*Photo of my feet because yeah right I'm gonna document this zit with a photo no way you're crazy gah.

LOVE BITES Part Two: Vampire

Hello and welcome to Part 2 in my 3 part series:  Love Bites, in which I help you decide whether to become a werewolf, a vampire or a zombie in your afterlife.  These types of decisions are important, people.  Do not wait until the last minute.  Research your creepy supernatural creatures and then you can make an informed decision about who you want to bite you in an abandoned school or an airport bathroom or a nightclub.  Last week, we talked about the werewolf.  To review that click here.  This week, we're discussing the vampire.  Let's do it:

PROS TO BEING A VAMPIRE:

1) You get to look young forever without getting that 'over-botoxed surprised lion' look like the ladies in Beverly Hills.
2) Good excuse to sleep all day.
3) You can wear a cape without looking like a magician.
4) You'll probably be super sexy and have lots of vampire sex in like dungeons and crypts and stuff.
5) Super speed.  No more rush hour traffic!
6) You're never cold or hot so you can wear a leather jacket in the middle of summer like a boss.
7) You'll live forever if you're careful so you can learn a bunch of skills like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day.
8) Maybe you'll meet Dracula or get a cameo on True Blood.
9) You can flash your cool vamp teeth at strangers in crowds just for shits and giggles.
10) If someone is rude to you, you just eat them.

CONS TO BEING A VAMPIRE:

1) You gotta drink blood.  Gross.
2) Twilight.
3) Heightened sense of smell, which is totally a bummer if you live in a big city.
4) Serious Vitamin D deficiency.
5) Sleeping in a coffin equals neck cramp city.
6) No more garlic bread.  :(
7) No wooden furniture for fear of accidental staking.
8)  High dry-cleaning bills because blood stains like a mo-fo.
9) You might have to hang out with bats.  BATS. (I'm shivering.)
10) You have to put up with stupid humans for the rest of eternity.

And, there you have it.  If you liked what you read here, maybe becoming a vampire is for you!  Stay tuned until next Friday, when we wrap up the series with the zombie.  Wowee!

*photo from classiccinemagold.

Got Vinyl?

I have a confession to make.  There is no vinyl anywhere in my house.  No records.  No record player. I might be the least cool person in my entire neighborhood.  (I don't even have a beard.)  I'm not anti-vinyl.  I admit that some things sound amazing on vinyl and I think it's great when other people have kick-ass collections.  I love to see what my friends have.  But, the thought of collecting myself makes me feel a little nervous.

If you know me, you know that I have a giant music collection.  It's just all digital.  And I like it that way.  No, I love it that way.  I don't have to worry about it.  It's in a cool cloud hovering somewhere waiting for me to feel like listening to a sappy ass Peter Schilling B-side or to get drunk and wanna jam out to early Poison.  It's at my beck and call and it doesn't need dusting.  Not that I'm listening to iTunes all the time.  I'm usually on Sirius or Spotify or Last.fm or Pandora.  (I like not knowing what's coming next.)  But, I'm listening to music all day every day.  Just not on vinyl.  Because, look, what if I lose it?  What if I break it?!

Once upon a time, in a faraway land called late 90's Los Angeles, I had this magnificent machine in the trunk of my car called a 6-disc-changer.  I know, right?  What is this wonder? you might be asking yourself.  Well, I'll tell you.  You loaded that sucker up with 6 cds and then you could jam out to 6 full albums in your car.  Imagine!  You could put it on shuffle or listen to them individually.  It was a marvel of modern technology.  I drove all over L.A. for jobs and auditions and social crap.  I was always in my car.  So, naturally, I'd fill that thing up every day before I left, hovering over my trunk in the parking lot of my building trying to decide if I was feeling more Filter or Dr. Dre.  Because I needed variety at all times, I'd haul my entire cd collection back and forth between my car and my apartment. This consisted of 2 cd folders that each held 100 cds.  Heavy but necessary.  I thought of it like a mini-work out.

One night I got drunk.  I forgot about my cd books in the car.  I went to bed.  The next morning, the passenger side window was broken and my entire music collection was gone.  Gone.  All the cds I'd gotten for Christmas and Birthdays, that I'd gone without meals to buy in college, everything I'd loved and cared for since high school was gone with one break of a window.

It was traumatic.  It was horrible.  It would've been less jarring if the asshole had stolen all my clothes or my cat or my roommate.  It took years to build back up my collection but some things never got replaced.  Worse, the crime had opened up an old wound.

When I was a kid, my favorite thing to do was sit in front of my record player and listen to music.  I'd lie on the carpet and hold the record cover in front of my face, gazing at the pictures of the artists.  I had a bitchin' collection too, man.  Super cool shit.  I was jamming out to Starship and The Jackson 5 and good ole' Tears For Fears' Songs From The Big Chair.  I had Silvia's Snapshot album and Sports by Huey Lewis and The News.  Straight pimpin'.  I'd trip out for hours on Michael Jackson's freaky wrist on the inside of the Thriller album cover.    I loved those albums.  I figured I was adult and cool like my parents, who had an entire wall of records in their bedroom.  I loved loved records, until I broke one.  I was holding an MCL album called Code Numbers in junior high.  It slipped from my hands and landed partly on the glass of my stereo cabinet.  (We used to have actual furniture for our music.) Anyway, it shattered into like 5 pieces and I cried so I started getting everything on cds, which seemed sturdier and more permanent unless someone breaks into your car and steals your soul I mean your music.

So, I don't have vinyl.  I don't want to collect something that I can lose or break.  I want my music and I want it forever.  I want it all to fit on an iPod.  I want it to be floating around in a cloud.  I want to know I'll never have that crushing ohhhhh shittt feeling of losing my music ever again as long as I live.  I want to be in my rocking chair when I'm 98 saying, "Badass computer thingy, play Wreckx-N-Effect" so I can rocker-dance my old ass off.

But, I will gladly ooh and ahhh at your records.  Just don't let me hold them.

*photo, Hogan McSmalls.

LOVE BITES Part One: Werewolf

No matter where you live, there's a high probability that sometime during your life, you'll be bitten by some type of immortal or supernatural creature.  (Okaay, that is a lie.  But, geez, suspend belief for a second.  It won't hurt, I promise.)  Anyway, as I was saying, if you believe what you read and see on movies and television as I absolutely DO, chances are, you're going to be attacked by either a werewolf, a vampire or a zombie.  Most likely very soon.

WHAT IF you are cornered in a dark alley or a cornfield or something and you have to choose to run toward the zombie, the vampire or the werewolf?  WHO DO YOU CHOOSE?!  Well, folks, I'm here to help you make this after-life changing decision.  In this three part series (Called Love Bites because awwww, cuuute and because yay, Def Leppard), we will explore the pros and the cons to being a werewolf, a vampire and a zombie.

This Friday, let's start with werewolf.

PROS TO BEING A WEREWOLF:

1) Howling at the moon has got to be a blast.
2) You're fuzzy!  Adorbz!
3) Dogs like you probably.
4) Werewolves have to get naked a lot when they change which means lots of hot werewolf sex like on tv.
5) Better excuse for being bitchy than pms.  (Sorry, it's my moon time, grrrrrr.)
6) Werewolves are always hungry so you get to pig out a lot.
7) Superhuman strength.  No more struggling to open jars!
8) Nice full head of hair/good beard.  I mean, surely, right?
9) Answering the door for the pizza guy as a werewolf.  LOL!
10) You won't have to go to the gym since you're running through the forest all the time.

CONS TO BEING A WEREWOLF:

1) Shedding.
2) Let's face it, you're probably gonna smell like a dog. Ew.
3) Huge hike in what you spend on waxing per month.
4) Constantly losing your clothes.  It would suck if you changed and then forgot which tree you hung your favorite AG skinny jeans on.
5) Doing, you know, murders and whatnot.
6) Can't watch anyone eat without drooling.
7) Can't watch a tennis match without getting SUPER excited.
8) You have to be outside ALL THE TIME so you probably get all gross and messy and, like, dirty and stuff.
9) No more sweet silver bracelets, dog.
10) Undeniable urge to sniff butts and pee on trees.

There you go, guys.  I hope this will make your decision whether or not to wolf out a little bit easier.  Remember to drop by next Friday to find out the pros and cons to being a vampire.  Yay!

**photo from literarydancer.

Pollen Is A Dick

Things I took today to feel like my skull wasn't splitting open (in order):

1) Allegra (I do this on the regular.)
2) 2 squirts Flonase (regular)
3) Some crazy herbal allergy pill my holistic doctor put me on (Supposed to be regular but I usually forget.)
4) Aleve
5) Advil Cold & Sinus

*Break from pill taking to eat 2 poached eggs and a piece of toast, yum!*

6) 4 more squirts of Flonase (am I going to overdose on nasal spray?)
7) 2 Ibuprofen (because it was too early to take more Aleve.)

*Break for doctor's appointment that has nothing to do with allergies*

8) Advil Cold & Sinus
9) Butter Rum Lifesaver because my throat hurts
10) Aleve

*I will break again exactly at 5:00 to pour a little vodka on my headache because it's the only thing that truly makes it feel better*

.....aaaaaaand sneeze.

So, yes, I'm all doped up and I'm pissed about it.  I've had a serious headache for two weeks mainly because of the pollen count.  I don't leave the house without Aleve and Kleenex.  Because of pollen.  Stupid idiotic pollen.  I have a bone to pick with pollen.  I'd like to beat the crap out of pollen. I wanna take pollen out on a date, tell pollen it's pretty, then make out with its friend right in front of it.  I hate pollen.  I spent the weekend sealed up in my condo with a HEPA filter running and I still felt like shit.  The pollen count has been over 9.4 (out of 10) for the last couple of weeks.  I get pollen alerts on my phone.  Alert!  You will feel like ass today!  Have a good one!  (Today the count is down to 9.0. Fist pump and stuff.)

This happens every freaking year and every year I react like a little baby who just lost her pacifier.  Spring is not my friend.  Spring is an asshole.  When I hear someone say, "Spring is in the air," I consider buying a face mask.  I've missed more St. Patrick's Day and Easter celebrations than I've been able to attend.  Because of allergies.  Because my body decided something harmless (in this case pollen) was harmful and freaked out.  Stupid stupid stupid.

But every year, I do this:  "What is HAPPENING to me?  Why do I feel so bad?  Hey, everyone I know, guess what, I feel like I have a cold and a migraine at the same time! FEEL SORRY FOR ME!" I think in the year between episodes, I forget about it, like you do any traumatic event.  Like mothers who said they'd never have another baby or me when I say I'm never eating at that one Thai place again.  You forget the worst stuff.

Soooo, what am I going to do about it?  Here's what I'm gonna do about it, guys.  I'm gonna whine and pop pills and do my best to be a normal functional human person.  I'm gonna suffer through the next however long and I'm gonna deal with it.  Because the alternatives are moving (ugh), surgery (ugh ugh) or, I don't know, jumping off a cliff. (Which is probably covered in pollen so I'll probably die of an allergy attack before I jump anyway.  LOL!)  So, I'll deal.  And I'll shut up about.  I will.  I totally will.

Right after I post this blog and text my mom and flip off the air outside.

*photo by Ame Otoko

Hide And Go Freak

If you've ever met Hogan McSmalls, you know that when he gets excited, he gets really excited.  He gets 'we should put him in a helmet' excited.  He gets 'watch your feet and crotch' excited.  Dude gets stoked.

So, recently, when I realized he'd been lethargic all day, I started wondering when the last time we played was.  I figured out it had been days, maybe even a week since we'd wrestled or played fetch or since I'd done his favorite, the good ole' 'where is the toy' bit. (It's always behind my back.  Duh.) We hadn't done any of those things.  It made me sad.  Hogie's getting older and he's slowing down.  But, I know he still has that playful goofball nature in there somewhere.  But that day, he just wanted to nap.

I went back into my office to work.  I sat down at my computer and went over what I'd written that morning.  It was impossible, though.  I couldn't concentrate because my dog was flopped out on the living room carpet looking like he couldn't care less, like a bored emo dog in a black hoodie listening to The xx and saying, "Whatever."

I got back up from my desk and crept down the hallway to the living room.  I peeked my head around the corner and whispered, "Hogie."  He opened one eye, looked at me, then went back to sleep.  I walked around to the kitchen and stuck my head out like I was playing peek-a-boo with one of my nephews.  "Hogie,"  I said, a little bit louder.  This time he sat up and looked at me.  As I ducked back into the kitchen, I heard him get up and trot in my direction.  He came barrelling at me, running so hard that he spun out a little on the turn.  His face was excited, he looked like he was smiling and he just seemed so happy.

So, I, of course, crept into the hallway and hid in the bathroom behind the door.  Hogie walked slowly by, doubled back and bounded into the bathroom, ecstatic that he'd found me.  What a genius!  He jumped up on me, he wagged his tail, he paused for a moment to have a fit on the bathmat, rolling around on his back with his tongue out.  So, you know, I went down the hall and "hid" in the bedroom.  WHAT ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO, THE DOG WAS PLAYING HIDE AND GO SEEK WITH ME?!

And he was.  He really was.  He came and found me in the bedroom.  Then he found me in the office.  Then he took a joy lap around the entire condo.

He still plays with me, at least once a day.  It's the funniest, cutest, goofiest, noisiest thing you've ever seen.  Because he doesn't just find me, he gallops around the house and then attacks me when he figures out where I am.  He attacks with love.  He whines and growls and jumps up and down and licks my hands and my legs.  He wags his tail so hard it's like he's trying to take off like a helicopter.  He even waits patiently for me to be gone first, to hide, and only then will he run full-force, much to the annoyance of our downstairs neighbor.

So, yeah, I play hide-and-go-seek on the reg.  With my dog.  And he likes it.  He really likes it.

*photo by me

Back

Hello beautiful blog friends!

I have been super sporadic with keeping this site updated lately and for that, I hope you'll forgive me.  I've been working on a project, a super fun project, that has kept me busy and obsessed for weeks and weeks. I've laughed, I've cried.  I've pounded Wild Cherry Lifesavers and Hendricks gin.  I've quit writing at least a dozen times and one particularly frustrating afternoon, I turned up Cut Copy and made my poor dog dance around the house with me for an hour.  (He just kind of walks around next to me smiling and sometimes he gives me his paws so I can lead.)

But, I've gotten to a point with it where I will have time to devote to Kendragarden.  I will be back, bringing you the oh so, um, awesome? psychotic? rants about food and lists about the Top 10 Butts or whatever that you deserve.

Some things that have occurred in my absence from this site:

1) I quit caffeine.  It sucked.  It really sucked.

2) I had a birthday. It was weird.  I turned old and stuff, went to brunch, got drunk and talked too much in a pub with a bunch of friends, I ate too many gummy bears.  It was just off the hook.

3) My dog, Hogan McSmalls, got bored and made himself a tumblr page.  It's super weird.  I don't look at it much.  I think he might need another hobby.  Thinking about getting him a pet bunny or making him go work at Buzzfeed with all the cute corgis or something.

4) My eldest nephew turned 9, which was crazy strange.  9 was the best age for me growing up and I remember it like it was yesterday.  3rd grade, y'all!  How could he be my favorite age?  This is just so jacked up.  I'm supposed to be 9! Or something!  I've become one of those adults who spazzes out about the ages of the children they know.  I said to him, "Ooooh, you're getting so old!" on the phone and then I hung up and slapped myself in the face.

5) I read a book called The House Of Mirth by Edith Wharton and got really excited.  I only read it because it was free on my Kindle, I had no expectation that I would like it, much less love it.  So, that was fun, to be surprised by a book and to fall in love with a new (old) author.  I've already put The Age Of Innocence and Ethan Frome on the Kindle and I'm looking forward to tackling them right after I read 5 vampire noir books, of course.

6)  Got a Def Leppard shirt and it's really hard not to wear it every day, you guys.  Really really hard.

7) Fell in love with the Sound City documentary (omh, Dave Grohl!) and this weird indie flick called This Must Be The Place where Sean Penn is a washed up rocker who looks like Robert Smith.  Watch them.  Watch them both!  Yay!

So, there's a wrap-up of sorts.  You can see that my life has been just non-stop crazy.  I don't even know when I find time to sleep, I'm such a party animal!  Thanks for being patient with me and stay tuned for a "real" blog.  I'm either gonna write about something really embarrassing first or really dumb, I haven't decided yet.

xoxo,
Kendra

Dear Moz

Dear Morrissey,

Hi!  I am going to your show tonight at Staples Center.  I didn't mind it being rescheduled from November because, obviously I wanted you to feel better and also, my Birthday is Sunday so this is kind-of like my Birthday concert.  I'm sure you planned it that way, Morrissey.  When you sing "Every Day Is Like Sunday," I'll know you're singing that just for my Birthday and it's WAY BETTER than stupid "Happy Birthday."  No one even likes "Happy Birthday."  "Happy Birthday" is for babies and old people.  "Every Day Is Like Sunday" can be mine all mine and I'll be oh so happy, Morrissey!

I'm rambling on, Moz.  Can I call you that?  OK, anyway, Moz, we have so many things in common.  I've decided we should be besties!  I have A TON of reasons.  Don't worry, Moz, I'm gonna break it on down for you.

1) We're both vegetarians!  I adopt a turkey every Thanksgiving and I hate McDonalds too.  Whoohooo!  True, I haven't been as vocal about it as you have.  Well, one time I mentioned it on Instagram and I could kind-of feel all my Instagram pals collectively rolling their eyes at me.  And, I'm putting it out there now so I'm getting there, right Moz?  You could teach me!  We could eat veggie paninis together at a cafe and moo at people eating burgers!

2) You're from Manchester, England and I'm from Midland, Texas and there are not many parallels to be drawn between the two but they both start with 'M' and so does your last name and so there!  Yeah! This means nothing! Life is meaningless! Whatev!

3) I have taken some Interesting Drugs.  To tell the truth, they really helped me, those Interesting Drugs.

4) Frank and open conversations bring me down too so we can just talk about how awesome your hair is if you want.

5) WE BOTH LIVE IN LOS ANGELES, MORRISSEY.  Although, I've never seen the stars reflect in the reservoir so, oops, my bad.

6) I've never turned down Jimmy Kimmel but I did one time turn down a free extra shot of espresso in my latte because I didn't want the flirty barista to get the wrong idea and it's important to do the right thing, right bestie?

7) I also believe with my whole heart that The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores, Morrissey.  I feel ya.  Totes.

8) I, too, like to be showered with flowers as I dance around and sing your songs.  I usually pay a homeless dude to do it but if we hang, you can do it, no problem.  Hope you like my rendition of "Vicar In A Tutu," that I do while wearing a tutu and doing my special Vicar dance (it's pretty much just bootie shaking but, like, pious bootie shaking).

So, those are my reasons.  Aren't they awesome?!  Sorry I love you so hard.  I don't think you're unloveable AT ALL.  But, is it really so strange?  I don't think so.  See you tonight, BFF!  Sing one for me, I don't even care if it's "Unhappy Birthday," LOL!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo!
LYLAS,
Kendra

*photo via Last.fm.

Thin Mint Drive-By

The thing about selling Girl Scout Cookies is that it’s really pretty easy. What kind of monster says no to a 9-year-old wearing a sash and a beanie? There’s just no excuse for refusing the most wholesome processed food in America. Diabetic? A box of Girl Scout cookies makes an excellent hostess gift. Watching your weight? Try not to eat the whole box, fatty. Besides, the product practically sells itself. Show me an adult who doesn’t like Thin Mints or Tagalongs or at the very least those creepy shortbread cookies that make you feel like you’re eating a Girl Scout’s head and I’ll show you a stupid grouch. 

For me, the process was even easier. By third grade I already knew the drill. I would come home from a meeting of the illustrious Troup 192 and hand the giant paper sign-up list to my mother, who would then take it to school and pass it around to her fellow teachers. They all bought between one and four boxes because they worked with my mother, knew me and felt like they had to pony up despite the fact that they’d be bombarded with similar requests for the rest of cookie time. 

When my mother was done with the order form, she’d give it to my father. This was even more of a score for me because, although my dad was in business for himself and did not have much in the way of co-workers, he would get all of his clients to purchase cookies. It seemed that these faceless clients were competing, having a venerable pissing contest to see who could buy the most. Who could purchase the affection of the cute little Girl Scout and her father? The winner is the manliest man of them all! If the first client bought fifteen boxes of Peanut Butter Patties, the second was sure to buy seventeen or eighteen. My father would bring the form home at the end of the week, not triumphant exactly, but proud that his guys had bellied up to the cookie bar. In retrospect, these rich oil dudes were definitely being generous but, percentage wise, the under-paid teachers won. It pains me to think of them blowing so much of their salaries on my stupid cookies.

The people who really got screwed during cookie season were my extra-curricular instructors. My piano, guitar, dance and theatre teachers were being paid practically nothing to start with but they all dutifully bought one box a piece from every student who happened to be a Girl Scout and had the wherewithal to ask. And, in Midland, Texas in the eighties, anyone who was anyone wore standard issue tassels on her knee socks. I remember the local Dunlap’s Department store selling out of t-shirts that said “Here comes a Brownie” on the front and “There goes a Brownie” on the back. The annual crossing of the bridge ceremony where a girl goes from Brownie to Girl Scout drew almost as big of a crowd as a high school football game or the Lion’s Club Pancake Breakfast. Scouting was the height of Midland fashion and serious business. 

If my guitar teacher charged twenty bucks a lesson and bought one box of Thin Mints from each student, that would bring her already piddly salary down to fifteen bucks a lesson during cookie season. Plus, she’d be saddled with thirty or forty boxes of Thin Mints that she would never ever think of ingesting because my guitar teacher was the skinniest woman in West Texas. I have no idea what she did with all those Thin Mints but I like to imagine her freezing them and using them as picks.

After the order form had made the rounds to my Mom’s school, my Dad’s office and all of my extra-curricular activities, I was allowed to take it around our neighborhood only. This was the only actual work I did during cookie time but I wasn’t about to let my parents outshine me. My strategy was to ring the doorbell right before dinner, when people would certainly be at home and would gladly buy a couple of boxes to be rid of me so they could keep stirring the Hamburger Helper. I knew these people and they knew me. If they refused to buy a box, they could be certain that come summer vacation, I would be doing drive-by’s on my ten-speed several times a day. Up and down their driveways I would go, blasting The Monkees or Madonna out of the pink jam box that rode in the flowered basket tied to my handlebars. I could do it for hours. The cookie-buyers were, of course, spared hearing “Last Train to Clarksville” at high wobbly decibels. 

One of my neighbors was a preacher at a local Baptist church, a big one that I’d entered only once with my little Baptist friend after spending the night at her Baptist house and playing with her Baptist puppies. I’d never thought to sell my cookies to the minister for a couple of reasons. One, I wasn’t a member of his flock. In fact, my grandfather was a Methodist preacher, which I kind-of thought made me The Dallas Cowboys and him The Washington Redskins. Two, his daughter, Kayla was mean and I was frightened of her.

The year I was ten, perhaps inspired by the pink Get In Shape, Girl gear my sister and I had been “working out” with, I decided I was up to the job. I marched up the sloping driveway and rang the doorbell, full of Methodist purpose. 

The door opened and a pretty woman in an apron answered the door. I’d never seen a woman actually wear an apron, outside of old movies and I gawked for a minute before recovering myself. She was frying something that smelled like summer and my mouth watered.

“Yes? Can I help you dear?” she said.

“Hello. My name is Kendra Alvey. I’m a member of Girl Scout Troop 192, and also your neighbor. Can I interest you in some wonderful cookies?” I recited.

The apron lady shook her head. “I prefer to bake my own and we try not to buy any cookies except from our congregation. It gets expensive. But, good luck with your mission,” she said. Then she patted me on the head and closed the door.

Aha! It really was because I was Methodist! That summer, I enlisted the help of my little sister. Up and down the steep driveway we went several times a day, blasting our favorite tunes, which had expanded to include Michael Jackson and Huey Lewis and the News. We never tired of the small act of mutiny but apparently Kayla did. One day, we headed over at full speed, blasting “Billie Jean” and giggling. There was Kayla at the top of the driveway, looking taller and meaner than I’d remembered. As each of us approached the top of the driveway, she reached down and pushed our handlebars or the backs of our seats to force us back down the slope, making my sister giggle so hard, I thought she’d fall off her banana seat. We gave it to her really good a couple more times and then decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Biking off, we looked back to see Kayla standing up there with arms crossed snarling at us. 

Baptists were brutal. 

We spent the rest of the summer teaching stuffed animals about sex and making mud bombs to throw at boys.

Besides the Baptist Affair, my system of Cookie Drive-bys worked tremendously well. I have no idea if it was the deliciousness of the cookies or my sound bullying that did the job but most of our neighbors consistently bought something. When the order sheets were turned in and our Troupe Leader did the final tally, I was always one of the top scouts, as smug in my victory as if I’d actually done all of the work myself. 

The prizes for cookie sales were sad so I generally tossed them aside. One year I got a small white bear wearing a green beanie and holding a fake flower. Another year I got a hardback version of America’s Wildflowers, which I’m pretty sure still sits on my parents’ bookshelf in the living room. I doubt anyone’s ever cracked it open because, let’s face it, most people know what wildflowers look like. Prizes simply did not matter to me. I was above such things. I do, however, freely admit that if Jean or Larry tried to give that book away before I reached my thirties, I would’ve probably had a breakdown. I worked for that book. For at least an hour.

Now, when I see Girl Scouts selling cookies in front of the bank or the grocery store like the cheating cheaters kids are these days, I always buy a box. It’s not exactly the kindness of my heart that has me opening my wallet; it’s more a sense of camaraderie. I know they want to sell more than the other girls and I always imagine my box of Thin Mints will be the one to win it for them. I helped. 

My work is done here.

*photo by eszter.

The 8 Best New Star Wars Flicks EVER

Dearest J.J. Abrams,

Hi, J.J. Abrams.  You're directing the new Star Wars flick!  That's swell, man.  I liked your Star Trek movie.  Good job casting hot guys.  I liked, um, Felicity.  I didn't get Super 8, dude, but whatev.  I'm sure this new movie will be great!  In fact, I have some ideas.  Here they come!  Aren't you stoked?!

1) TIE GUN:  Picture this:  TIE Pilot training camp.  Tom Cruise is the young hot up and comer.  He's the best TIE pilot the Empire has ever seen.  He might be a little reckless, sure, but when push comes to shove, he's the bucket head you want in the TIE fighter next to you.  In one scene, he takes off his creepy black helmet, revealing a shining head of hair and some sweet aviator glasses.  Take my breath away!

2) LEIAS:  Princess Leia is in high school.  She's in with the popular crowd because she's a freaking princess even though her name is Leia and not Heather.  She starts dating this guy who wears a trench coat to be rebellious but things get ugly when she (ugh) accidentally kills all her friends and make them all look like suicides!  Fuck me gently with a light saber! Lol!

3) EWOKS:  Leia and Han take a few ewoks home with them so they can live happily ever after with fuzzy pets who know how to use tiny spears and slings and stuff.  Everything is going well until Leia goes out for girl's night (Chardonnay and bun braiding!  Yes!) and leaves Han to care for the ewoks.  He gets drunk and puts them in the bathtub with him and they turn into Salacious B. Crumbs and they're so ANNOYING!  Agghhhh!  Chaos ensuing!  Uh-oh!

4) JEDI FIGHT CLUB: Luke is feeling listless now that he knows who his dad is and his sister is screwing his best friend and lots of people are all, you know, dead or whatever.  He meets a guy named Skyler Durden who convinces him to start a club where they fight for fun.  He runs into trouble when he keeps cutting people's limbs off with his lightsaber but it's OK because Skyler is really just a Jedi mind trick he's playing on himself!  Oh, and there's soap!

5) DANCING WITH WOOKIES:  We visit the planet of the Wookies and see that on Kashyyk, dancing is life.  The big fuzzy lumps may speak Shyriiwook, sure, but the language of dance is universal.  You might lose your mind watching these amazing dance scenes but be careful you don't lose your heart.  Aaaahhhhuuurrrrrmmmph.

6) THE SHINY:  C-3PO takes a job as a caretaker at a huge hotel in the middle of nowhere.  He figures he can write his memoirs.  He brings R2-D2 along for company but as the days go by and his writing stalls out, it is obvious something else is going on.  Are they alone in the hotel or is it full of droids from the past?  As the days take their toll, C-3PO loses his shit and chases R2-D2 through mazes and such.  You can roll but you can't hide from THE SHINY.

7) LANDO'S DAY OFF:  Lando Calrissian steals the Millenium Falcon from Han for a day of fun.  Chewie comes along for the ride but spends the day mainly freaking out about what Han will say when he finds out.  Does Han really love him?  They dine at a fancy space restaurant, sing in a cool space parade and go to an Intergalactic baseball game where they get put on the big screen for the Kiss Cam.  This will be just great.  Calrissian.  Calrissian.  Calrissian.

8) JEDIBUSTERS:  Venkman, Ray, Egon and, um, Ernie Hudson show up to blast Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda and good ole' Darth into oblivion.  They ain't afraid of no force.  The end.

OK, those are my ideas, J.J. Abrams.  You don't have to credit me, just remember that all movies should include at least one ewok, even if it's in the background.  Also, it might be cool if Han has some tattoos or a beard or something.  Maybe sleeves?  I dunno, just spitballing here.  Anyway, I'm excited to see my vision on the big screen soon.  Hollah at me if you need any more help!

xoxo,
Kendra

*photo by cowfish.

Ranting At Windows

I have a neighbor who is constantly yelling at me.

Well, he's yelling at everyone, really.  He's yelling at the air and the sky and the universe.  He's just.  He's just yelling.  I'm terrified of him and sad for him and I find him fascinating.

I first heard him a few months ago.  The sound was coming from behind our building.  I walked out onto our balcony and saw him pacing back and forth in between two apartment complexes.  He was screaming about J. Edgar Hoover and punching the air.  He didn't look my direction but something about his energy made me duck back inside.  I mean, the dude was clearly raging.  He wasn't hurt, as far as I could tell.  It seemed like he was by himself, pacing and screaming. Either a nutjob or drunk or both.  Whatever.  I live in Los Angeles so it's not like I'd never seen a crazy homeless person before.  (When I lived in Venice, I interacted with one daily on my walk to the gym, never knowing if it would be a day where he'd tip his hat to me or one where he'd yell obscenities at me and show me his penis.)

So, crazy dude in L.A., no biggie.  But then it started happening frequently.  His rants followed the same theme.  He was angry at everyone because he's like he is.  He wanted people to stop staring at him even though he was yelling loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear him.  He was paranoid, certain that "Special Forces" or "CIA" or "you fucking fucks" were going to take him away for being too smart and "so fucking onto them it's not even funny."  I felt like I was watching a character from a novel come to life.

In the months that followed I learned that he actually lives behind me.  I surmised that he's recently gone through a break-up with a guy named Bob, that he's a person with a job of some type.  He also seems genuinely smart and witty, like he'd have a great sense of humor and be fun at parties when he's not, you know, completely off his rocker.  Example:  "CAN'T A PERSON JUST BRUSH THEIR TEETH IN THEIR OWN HOUSE?  DON'T YOU GUYS CARE ABOUT MY FUCKING HYGIENE?  HYGIENE IS A CORNERSTONE OF OUR SOCIETY, BITCHES.  I'M BRUSHING THEM ANYWAY, BITCHES!"

I made up back story for him.  I think that this poor guy has a mental illness and doesn't have the meds just right.  I figured Bob got fed up and left him and now it's worse.  I think this guy was probably beloved in his high school drama department.  I think he's probably nice to cats and babies and knows how to bake something from scratch.  In my mind, he's a real person, not just a screaming crazy guy.   I mean, we're all just a couple of brain chemicals away from standing outside ranting at windows, right?

Then, in December, we were in the middle of construction on our condo.  We'd moved everything around so my desktop was now located in the dining room, in plain view of my troubled neighbor.  One day he started ranting, I looked down, he saw me and he screamed this at me:  "I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU STUPID CUNT.  I WILL FIND YOU AND KILL YOU."  So, that was a little jarring.  I went into the kitchen where he couldn't see me anymore.  That's when he started throwing rocks at our window.  In addition to being funny, smart and crazy, the dude's a great aim.  The window was getting pelted by decent size rocks.  It was shaking in it's frame.  I think I was shaking a little too.  But, something distracted him and he forgot about killing me.  A day later, I walked out on the balcony and found shattered glass all over the floor.  It looked like he'd thrown a glass or a vase and it broke everywhere.  I'm so glad my dog wasn't out there in the sun, as he frequently is, when it happened.

I've heard him a dozen times since then.  I worry about him, I'm scared of him and I hope every time I walk my dog I don't run into him.  Because when he's in a rage like that, I think he could do a lot of harm to anyone who crosses his path.  Last week, he went on my favorite rant yet.  "YOU'LL ALL BE HAPPY TO KNOW I'M GOING TO A DOCTOR TO GET THIS YELLING THING SORTED OUT!  THEY'RE GOING TO FUCKING FIX ME, OK? SO YOU CAN ALL STOP STARING AT ME AND FILING REPORTS WITH THE FEDS, OK?  I'M REALLY FUCKING SORRY, OKAAAAYYY?!"

This weekend, though, we saw him get arrested.  He'd been yelling for half an hour about how everyone is spying on him and how he should be allowed to exist in the world.  He'd ripped off boards from the fence and thrown them at the window of the place next door,  I assume because they were looking out to see what the commotion was about.  The cops knocked on his door and he wouldn't let them in.  We heard glass breaking and it seemed like he tried to escape through a window on the other side of the building.  When they finally got him safely in handcuffs (there were four officers), he looked up and addressed all of the surrounding buildings.  "I KNOW MY RIGHTS.  THEY COULD HAVE PLANTED ANYTHING IN MY PLACE ANYTHING.  THEY'RE NOT WHO THEY SAY THEY ARE.  YOU ARE ALL MY WITNESSES.  TELL YOUR FBI CONTACTS."

They took him away yelling.  I wish I could say that was the end.  That he's getting the help he needs.  That someone who loves him is making sure he's safe and sane and cared for.  But, I heard him yelling again Sunday night.  And I expect to hear him again and again.  I'm not stupid enough to engage with him but I will continue to hope he gets help.  If he throws things at me again, I might be the one to call the police.  But, I really hope not.

*photo by me of a bridge.