Pros and cons of living in a gay neighborhood

Pro: Everything is better. The food and service in restaurants, the quality and selection in grocery stores, the friendliness of merchants, EVERYTHING.
Con: The staff constantly hits on your boyfriend.

Pro: Houses and lawns are well-maintained, and the trash is always taken out and sorted properly.
Con: The bums know this and go through all the trash cans in your alley.

Pro: Small children are few and far between, as are loud football parties.
Con: Brunch establishments are packed on the weekends.

Pro: Everyone has a dog.
Con: They're usually small and yappy and poop on your grass.

Pro: Cars are kept clean and with minimal obnoxious flair.
Con: Cars are washed by flamboyant shirtless men (not so much a con) who blast techno music at 8am on Sunday morning (definitely a con).

Pro: Everyone is super nice and friendly.
Con: They Constantly. Hit on. Your boyfriend.

The Wedding, Part 2

Last we heard about The Wedding, the girls were on their way into the church to meet the boys for some aisle-walkin'. That part went off without a hitch; even the 3-year old ring bearer and his little flower girlfriend did their parts and walked hand-in-hand down the aisle. And it was just as adorable as you might think.

Aside from one minor trip over a chair at the alter, the reading I gave at the church (from my iPhone) went well. The groom kissed the bride and we all cheered and clapped and took a thousand and one pictures. Including this one:

Told you they were as adorable as you thought they were ;-)

The limo ride to the reception was.... well, I'm not allowed to talk about the limo ride to the reception. Just know that there was a lot of drinking and personal picture-taking involved. And that it was F-U-N!!!

So we get to the reception hall and we're all nice and toasty, ready for some more boozin' and dancin' and actin' a fool. We hover outside of the hall while all the guests file in, and stop every single server on his or her way out that has even the slightest bit of food left on their serving tray. (We were HUN-GOR-AY!!) As we're milling about aimlessly, Cousin Dee (not to be confused with Me Dee) ushers a very frantic looking woman into the hallway. This woman is clearly upset and begins to talk a bit of smack about another family member, something about someone's husband and who has to stay away from him and some how someone told someone else to keep her hands of him, whoever "him" is. Very confusing. Very agitated. I thank God the bride is not around to witness it. This woman eventually calms down, and someone finally tells us to just go inside and eat, that it'll be at least an hour before the DJ introduces us. So we do.

Then we go back out and dance our way inside. Every couple does a funny dance on their way in, except that the best man and I have decided that he's going to carry me in. Which actually turns out to be pretty funny, because the best man is a 300-pound black man that looks sort of like the Notorious B.I.G., and I am a 125-pound (shut up, I'm estimating) white girl dressed in an elaborate bridesmaid gown and holding flowers. Oh, and he carries me out to Don't Stop Believin'. True story!!

So at this point in the festivities, the bride and groom have danced their first dance and my BFF Caila (hi Caila!!) take this opportunity to go use the ladies room. We walk out into the hallway and are confronted by 6 or 7 servers, 2 managers with headsets, and a flurry of wedding guests. We see 2 children crying in a coat closet and someone trying to console them. The entrance to the patio is being blocked by a member of the catering staff, and we have no idea what the frack is going on. We look out onto the patio and see two females, one of which is the agitated lady from earlier, being held back by a dude, while another lady is being held back by someone else. They are clearly involved in some sort of altercation. Just as we begin to understand the situation, I see blue and red flashing lights. In what probably took all of 10 seconds, the following happened: a manager in a headset pushed his way through the crowd gathering in the hallway yelled at everyone to clear out and refuses to let anyone in from or out to the patio; a wedding guest claiming to he a police officer (who actually is) tries unsuccessfully to push his way outside to help, and become increasingly angry when no one lets him through--they eventually let him through; the bride's brother and his girlfriend try to exit the hall and are frantically pushed back inside by Caila and myself, but when the girlfriend insists she has to pee (poor girl, she'd been holding it for hours!), we have to let her through and explain that there is a fight taking place on the patio outside, and please don't tell the bride or groom. At this point, 6 uniformed police officers and 2 undercover cops have congregated on the patio of this restaurant. The uniformed officers try to enter the building and are politely asked not to, with pleadings of, "Come on guys, this is a wedding. We don't need the bride to find out about this. They're inside having a good time, they just danced their first dance. Let's not make this worse. Can we keep it outside?" (I fully admit to being one of the first people to say those words.) At first, the officers get all "who the fuck do you think you are, I'm a cop and there's been an altercation, I can do whatever I want," but then an undercover agent comes over and makes the same argument that this is a wedding, let's keep it down, and the police take care of the situation outside.

Phew. It seems to be over.

But it's not. Before we can say, "Oh good, let's not tell the bride or groom about this," the groom comes flying around the other side of the patio, clearly upset. And I'm using that term very lightly. He was mad. Fuming, in fact. And rightly so. He has a few choice words for the ladies involved in the fight (who, let's just say, should've been acting with the utmost class and respect considering their relation to the bride and groom), throws his jacket on the floor, and storms out of the restaurant. Both his father and I chase him down the street until I realize I'm the one in 4 inch heels. So I stop running and go back inside to do damage control. Caila and I are both very hush-hush about the situation, downplaying it as much as we can, giving as little detail as possible. The groom comes back inside smiling, and it seems as though his father has calmed him down. The party continues. The bride at some point comes over to my table and casually asks, "Soooo.... how many people saw the fight? Who else knows the cops were called? Come on, you can tell me. I can take it. I've been drinking since this morning."

Aaah, what a wedding. The rest of it went off without a hitch. I gave my speech, we all danced and ate, I nearly suffocated in my dress, my cousin got naked in the bathroom because of a Spanks malfunction, and we all agreed that it was a night to remember.

Winter

I think I was born with thin blood. Or at least some sort of condition that renders me incapable of ever getting warm. Because even when it's 72 degrees outside, the slightest breeze will make me shiver.

It's been about 65-70 degrees during the day here in San Diego, and that's perfectly fine with me. But it goes down to around 57 at night and holy crap, am I freezing. Last night I slept in pajama pants, a t-shirt and sweatshirt, and under a "level 4" down comforter and I was STILL COLD. I wear a sweater and a pea coat to work every day, and still bring a scarf or wrap to drape around my shoulders. Even though I can wear flip flops to my office, I've opted for boots the past two weeks. Because once my feet start getting cold, then my hands start to feel it, and before I know it, I'm curled up in a ball under my desk basking in the warm air coming from my computer.

And the funny thing is that I've always been this way. San Diego didn't "get to me" or "thin my blood" as some like to joke. I was always the first one to wear my winter coat and the last one to ever leave the house without a sweater, even in the dead of summer. Because you know how cold it gets in those air conditioned stores......

So I ask you, Internet: WTF? Why am I so damn cold? I moved from the frigid home of the Nor'easter that is New York, to a desert on the ocean where the temperature is a constant 60-80, and I still can't shake the cold. Are there others like me? Do YOU turn the heat on in October like I do? Some support would be nice here.

As per your requests

Mrs. Mia Wallace.

I can't argue with that

Boss's wife: So what were you for Halloween?
Me: Uma Thurman from Pulp Fiction. I had a syringe sticking out of chest and blood coming out of my nose and a black wig. It was pretty cool.
Other attorney in office: I love it!! Did you carry around bags of heroin too?
Me: Nah. I thought that given the profession I've chosen to embark upon, that might not be appropriate.
Other attorney: Oh, so.... coke?

5 new reasons why San Diego is awesome

1. I can wear jeans and flip-flops to work every day. (At least at this job.)
2. Bringing your dog into work is not uncommon.
3. Saying you work "downtown" here is not the same as saying you work downtown in New York in that your commute isn't 2 hours long.
4. Burritos.
5. Beer. San Diego was recently voted the #1 city in America for beer.

Wedding, Part I

My best friend got married a few weeks ago and I was the maid of honor. It was an awesome weekend filled with car towing, scotch drinking, falling, fighting, dancing, and police intervention. Let's recap that weekend, shall we?

Wednesday morning, 8am: Rad Boyfriend and I walk out of my house in San Diego and realize my car is not where I left it. I call the police and they inform me that it's been towed. After 2 hours of phone calls, emails, faxes and tears, RB drives me to work, picks me up later, then drives me to the airport. And all without complaint.

Wednesday night, 11pm: My red-eye to NY is full, RB comes back to the airport to pick me up.

Thursday morning, 4:45am: Cab comes to pick me up and drive me to the airport, where I am told the chances of getting on a flight are slim. I somehow get to Atlanta, and then to NY.

Thursday afternoon: Exhausted and hungry, I arrive at what used to be my childhood home, but is now virtually a brand new house--new kitchen, new bathroom, new floors, new windows, new cabinets, new everything. I am immediately put to work cleaning.

Friday morning: I walk downstairs in my robe and nearly give our contractor a heart attack as he looks awkwardly at my mother, then back to me, then decides the best thing to do is to turn his body completely away from me. Laughter ensues. More cleaning. I spend 3 hours at the DMV. I come home, eat, and resume cleaning the house in preparation for the 20 people we will have over before the wedding the next day. Meanwhile, back in San Diego, Extremely Rad Boyfriend is at the tow yard with the million documents I've sent him, getting my car back for me. (Have I mentioned how awesome he is?)

Friday evening, 9:30pm: Exhausted and filthy, I go get my nails done and practically fall asleep in the pedicure chair. Chinese food at my house with the bridesmaids, all of whom are sleeping over, makes me so tired that I can't keep my eyes open. We finally all get to bed at midnight.

Saturday morning, the big day: I wake up to find that everyone else has been up for over an hour and a half. I take a shower and rush to the salon where everyone is getting their hair and makeup done. We spend 3 hours getting washed, blown, straightened, curled, sprayed, brushed, lined, and photographed. Back at the house, the bride's family arrives as the 7 girls try to get ready in 2 bedrooms. It is a veritable mess of safety pins, hair spray, tears, mascara, tape, heels, bags, bobby pins, and people. People everywhere: photographer people, bridesmaid people, family people, little people (as in children, I wasn't that lucky!!) and more People.

Saturday afternoon: It's pouring rain. The bride is surprisingly calm about all the People and photographers and big wet drops falling from the sky. As the 3pm hour of the ceremony draws near, the People start to leave. We receive multiple phone calls from the groom telling us that the wedding before theirs is running super late, and not to leave yet. Learning that we have at least another 20 minutes, the bride hitches up her skirt and goes upstairs to collect her belongings. She returns with 3 bags on each arm and a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, which she proceeds to drink straight from the bottle. We look around nervously for the photographer. The limo driver is waiting patiently under an umbrella in the pouring rain. We get the call that it's ok to leave, and we get on our way. The limo driver takes us one by one from the front door in the pouring rain and into the waiting limo--the limo that has marble floors. As everyone steps in with their heels, one by one we trip and fall. Hilarity ensues. The limo driver begins to pull away when I remember I've forgotten my speech, the reading I'm supposed to do in church, on the kitchen table. In a series of awkward turns that sends all of us flying around the back of the limo, we get back to my house.... only to find that someone has locked both doors (to which I have keys) and the screen door (to which I do not have a key.) "FUCK!" is the only thing I can say. Someone suggests I read the passage from my iPhone. "FUCK!" turns into "Fuck it." And that's what I end up doing.

In the next installment of this story, I will introduce to you the groomsmen, the priest, the catering staff at the reception hall, and the police.

To be continued.....

One of those rare moments when it makes perfect sense after the fact

Regarding the neighbors' cat

Me: What color was it?
Rad Boyfriend: I dunno, cat-colored.
Me: Like orange?
RB: No. Like.... dark.
Me: Black?
RB: Eehhhh... no, not exactly.
Me: So brown?
RB: Ya sure, it had brown it in.

The next day, said cat walks past us on the walkway.

RB: See? Cat-colored!
Me: Oooohh... yeah, I see what you mean now.

How to annoy me, alley edition

The alleyway is a new concept for me. Aside from college, I've never lived on a block that had an alley in (on?) it. And even in college, the alley was 10 floors down and on the other side of the building. So moving into a house that is not only directly on the alley, but having my bed mere feet from it, is a bit disconcerting. I'm not used to hearing the whispered conversations of couples that walk past my window at all hours of the night, or the loud cell phone conversations that take place in Spanglish, or the barking dogs, or loud diesel truck engines at 4am, or the bums with shopping carts that troll the garbage cans on trash day. No, I'm not used to all that noise. And I don't like it. Some might even say it annoys me.

That front corner of the house right there, that's where my bed is. See how long that alleyway is? Do you know how many cars drive up and down that alley every day? Many.

String of bad luck

So I mentioned yesterday that my car got towed a little while back. While I'd like to say that it was a freak, one-time incident, and that my bad luck ended right there, I can't say that. Because it's not true. Oh so ever not true.

Let's backtrack to around the end of September. I knew I was flying home on September 30th for my best friend's wedding, the wedding in which I was the maid of honor, the wedding for which the entire bridal party was getting ready at my family's newly-renovated house. (By the way, a contractor who stays until 11 o'clock at night the day before the wedding to finish the job is an awesome contractor.) I knew I would be crazy-busy before and after the big weekend, so I set up some automated online bill payments so that I wouldn't have to worry about them. But instead of withdrawing the money from my account 2 days after payday like it was supposed to, the bill processing website withdrew the funds my account that day--leaving me with a negative balance for over a week. Awesome.

The wedding weekend was a lot of fun, but that's a story in itself. It involves rain, getting locked out of my house, tripping on marble floors in the limo, reading a speech in church off an iPhone, the bride downing Johnny Walker Blue mere minutes before walking down the aisle, and 10 police officers showing up to the reception. Again, awesome. But let's move in to the next bit of bad luck....

The day I was supposed to leave for the wedding weekend, Rad Boyfriend and I step out of my house and stop short, both wondering the same thing: where is my car? "I parked right in front of you last night," Rad Boyfriend says. "I thought so, too," I reply. In short, my car-- with New York license plates, registered to my father, and with a registration that expired THAT DAY--was towed to a lot that wouldn't release it to me without a) a notarized letter from my dad releasing it to me, b) a current registration, and c) $470. Yeah. More awesomeness. Luckily, Rad Boyfriend stepped in and helped with that situation BIG TIME. But still... not a great experience.

I won't regal you the tales of my stand-by travel nightmares, as you can read about them here and here. I'll just tell you that I didn't make it on a total of 7 flights that weekend.

So I finally get back to The Diego on Sunday night after the wedding. I go to work the next day, and all is well. And then Tuesday morning I'm driving to work when all of a sudden, my car just turns off in the middle of the freeway. The RPM's go all the way to zero, and just as I start to pull over, all the lights on the dashboard come on, the steering wheel locks, and the car just shuts off. In the middle of 6 lanes of traffic going 80 miles per hour. Talk about scary. I manage to pull over to the shoulder, then get the car started while on the phone with AAA. I bring it to the shop the next morning, and luckily it's nothing major--but it's still gonna cost me $200. Awesome, right?

So amidst all the drama, I'm on the phone with my mom, crying about all this money I've had to spend, sobbing that I can't afford all these unexpected expenses, when I suddenly remember: my car insurance (paid biannually, not monthly) is due next month. ANOTHER $370 down the toilet. Fuck me.

Luckily nothing terrible has happened since realizing that over $1,000 will be debited from my bank account in the first two days of November (ah, how I love paying rent).... but I'm keeping my guard up. With my luck lately, I wouldn't be at all surprised if I broke a mirror while walking under a ladder and watching a black cat cross my path.

I'm back

So I know it's been a while, and that I promised to be back sooner than now. But dammit, life got in the way!!

For those of you who still follow what I'm up to, I moved to the City of Awesome (aka San Diego) about 3 and a half months ago. And life has been been pretty fantastic ever since. I moved into a cute little craftsman bungalow with the famous Red, but not after living with the famous Liz for about a month. (A million public thanks to Lizard and her man Nick. Without them, I would've had to share space with strangers. And who wants that?) In summary, here's what I've been doing for the past few months:

• I went and found myself a man of the Rad variety (rather, he found me);
• I kicked some ass at Monday Night Trivia;
• My car got towed and I had to pay a buttload of money to get it out;
• I've flown to New York and/or the British Virgin Islands for various wedding commitments once a month since I moved;
• I've spent many hours at various establishments that serve alcohol all over San Diego, including Petco Park and the homes of many friends;
• I've generally enjoyed the good life.

In closing, I'd just like to say that happiness is definitely not overrated. You just can't stop believin'.

More to follow....

Mea Cupla

I know, I know. It's been way too long. My sincerest apologies for the extended hiatus in posting. I swear there's a good reason for it. Well several, actually--the biggest of which is that I moved across the country and needed some time to adjust.

.............

Adjustment period over! Expect regular posting to commence after this weekend. In the meantime, here's a picture of Lady Gaga. With Kermit The Frog all over her.

Creepster.

I stopped believin'. But only for a day.

So remember last Christmas when I was whining about some past travel nightmares? Well it was all a lie. Every single last detail. I redact, recant, and re-remove everything I ever said about any of this shit being my worst travel experience ever. This weekend was hands-down my favorite worst time traveling on standby ever. I know my mom has worked for them for 25 years, but I gotta: Delta Airlines can kiss my shockingly white ass.

Friday, 6:30am: Set out for JFK with every intent of getting on overbooked 8:30 flight to San Diego.

8:30: I don't get on the flight, but my luggage does.

9:00: Mom says to try 9:30 flight to Salt Lake City and make connection there.

9:30: Flight to Salt Lake City is overbooked--the Mormons don't want me, either.

9:35: Set out for La Guardia with every intent of getting on overbooked flight(s) to Atlanta.

10:50: 10:55 Flight to Atlanta is oversold by 20, I am number 33 on standby list.

10:55: I am now number 34 on standby list.

10:56: I give up and walk to the next gate for the 11:55 flight.

11:50: Flight is oversold by 19, I am number 37 on the standby list.

11:55: Flight leaves with all standby's still waiting around. I walk to the next gate for the 12:55 flight.

12:15: Wait with 200 people in a hot, overcrowded terminal with 100 other passengers trying to get on the 12:55 flight to Atlanta.

12:30: Mom suggests I keep waiting to get on a flight to Atlanta. I ask mom how the flights out of Atlanta to San Diego look. Mom says "not good." I ask what my chances are of even getting to Atlanta today. Mom says "not good." I ask mom how the 7:30 flight to San Diego out of JFK looks tonight. Mom says, "Overbooked by 20 with 19 standby's."

12:35: I make the executive decision that it's time to quit this bitch and go home.

1:00: Awesome Cousin picks me up at airport and we spend the day shopping and eating Chinese food.

8:30pm: Receive frantic phone call from mom that the 7:30 flight to San Diego has been delayed to 10pm because of thunderstorms, that there are 14 seats open, and that if I rush, I can make it.

9:00: Arrive at airport and attempt to check in, only to have the kiosk tell me to see an agent. Line to see agent is 100-deep. Use Delta lingo to get agent to help me and cut line. Get dirty looks from other passengers. Don't give a damn.

9:30: Get to gate. Flight is delayed until 10:15. Look for outlet to charge my dying phone; find none.

10:15: Flight is now delayed until 11:00.

11:00: Flight is now delayed until 11:15.

11:15: Departure gate is changed to an entirely different terminal and delayed until midnight.

11:45: A/C is on full blast at new gate, tired children are crying, creepy air marshal is giving me the side-eye because I keep opening my suitcase to put more clothes on. I am hungry, aggravated, frustrated, and exhausted beyond words. Look for outlet to charge my dying phone; all are taken.

12 midnight: Flight is canceled.

12:01: I lose my shit and start to cry.

12:02-12:15: I desperately call my mother to come pick me up, she doesn't hear the phone.

12:30: I take a $35 cab ride home.

1:00am: I walk into my house and scare my mother half to death. I tell her that I'll go to work with her tomorrow at 6am and try again to get on the Atlanta flight(s). She says not to bother, as 3 Atlanta flights were canceled that night due to weather and all those bitches would be on the AM flights. I secretly thank God that I get to sleep for more than 5 hours and go to bed.

Saturday, 6:22am: I receive a frantic call from my mother that they've added a second morning flight to San Diego that has 45 empty seats, and that if I rush, I can make the 8:30 flight.

6:24: I cautiously call my awesome cousin and beg her to drive me to JFK. Because she's so awesome, she not only agrees, but gets there in less than 20 minutes.

7:30: Arrive at JFK and warn Awesome Cousin that even though there are 45 empty seats on the extra 8:30 flight, not to leave the airport.

7:40: Attempt to check in and have the stupid kiosk tell me to see an agent AGAIN.

7:45: Call mom in a panic.

7:50: Mom tells me extra 8:30 flight to San Diego is canceled.

7:51: REALLY lose my shit and start to sob.

7:55: Mom tried in vain to calm me down and tells me to get to LaGuardia in time try and get on 11am flight.

8:00-9:00: Awesome Cousin and I get breakfast and watch Michael Jackson videos on MTV.

9:30: Arrive at LaGuardia and have kiosk tell me to see an agent.

9:31: I literally smack the kiosk.

9:35: I call mom and she gets an agent to check me in manually and bring me my boarding pass. More passengers give me the side-eye.

10:30: After waiting in the security line for an hour, I get to gate and see that I am number 42 on the standby list. Mom tells me to come upstairs to the control tower where she works and wait with her.

View from control tower

10:45-2pm: Watch flight after flight leave without the same 20-30 standby's still waiting to get on.

2:05: Mom suggests I find another airline and buy a ticket.

2:10: Non-stop flight from JFK to San Diego on Jet Blue at 6:35 this evening is booked, hassle-free.

2:30-4:00 Go home, shower, relax, go back to airport.

4:30: Arrive at JFK, check in at the kiosk hassle-free, wait 10 hassle-free minutes in a short security line, and proceed to into Jet Blue terminal, otherwise known as Heaven on Earth.

5:00 Purchase turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread and caramel popcorn, walk 20 feet to gate, and sit at internet depot where I am currently enjoying free wi-fi and a plethora of outlets for my electronics.

Words cannot express...

...how much you girls mean to me. For seventeen years we've cried on each other's shoulders, made each other laugh, and have been there for each other in more ways than I can count. I have never in my life met another group of women who have the history, the bond, and the love that we have for each other. Don't for a second think that I can ever forget how much you guys mean to me. Without you, I wouldn't be me.

My girls, I will love you forever!!

Packing can kiss my ass

I hate packing. From hauling the suitcase up from the basement to sitting on it to close the zipper (and inevitably having to remove stuff), I despite every part of it. I know things are little different this time, since I'm packing EVERYTHING I OWN. But still I've done it enough time to know that I can't stand:

1. Choosing a suitcase size. One would assume that factors like length of trip and weather at destination would determine what size suitcase to pack, but you know what they say about assuming. Suitcase size is actually determined by gender of traveler, how many activities (read: outfit changes) will be required, and how many shoes she has. And just when you think you can get away with nothing but your bathing suit and some flip-flops, someone mentions a boat cruise and a volcano and you've broken out the closet on wheels.
   
2. Planning what to pack. This essentially requires that you plan out all of your outfits in advance--you can't just throw a bunch of random stuff together and hope some of it matches. When I think about what to pack, my inner dialogue usually goes something like this: "I want that red top, but I need pants to match, and those shoes would go really great, but then I need something else that matches the shoes because it's silly to bring shoes that only go with one outfit, so what about that brown top, and then which pants go with it...." Repeat seventeen times.
   
3. The laundry. How many times have I put a load in the machine, continued packing, and forgotten all about the mound of clothes coming out of the dryer? Too many. Just when I think to myself, "This suitcase isn't spilling over! Score!," a ding comes from the basement and I want to throw everything out the window.
4. Leaving out what you need until the day you go. This is how I manage to forget either my glasses, my pajamas, my hair dryer, or my toothbrush one out of every five times I travel. Did you know hotels charge $6 for toothbrushes? Word to the wise: leave a spare one in your toiletry bag.
   
5. The mess is creates. There is nothing more annoying than tripping over an open suitcases in the middle of your bedroom floor. Or looking for something that you've already packed. Or wearing something you haven't worn since 2002 to run errands because all your "good" clothes are already packed.
   
6. Forgetting something and trying to shove it in at the last minute. I am famous for forgetting to put my toiletry bag in my suitcase until the very end, until I've arranged everything perfectly and created minimal wrinklage. And then comes this gigantic bag the size of a milk carton looking to make its way into my luggage and I have to move everything around and leave a pair of shoes behind to make room. And of course those are the ONE pair of shoes that match that red top.....
7. Unpacking. Be honest: how long do you usually leave your suitcase full of dirty laundry sitting in your hallway before you unpack it? Two days? Three? My stuff usually sits around so long that every article of clothing goes straight into the washing machine. Just be careful not to wash your souvenirs... broken seashells and satin nightgowns don't mix very well. Trust me.

I leave for the City of Awesome tomorrow evening and I can't wait!! I hear San Diego is German for... [5 points to the first person who answers that question correctly].

7 things I'm glad I didn't do before turning 27

See #6 for explanation

1. Get a real job. Sure, I've been a manager at a retail store, but that was only part time. Yes I've argued in front of judges and interviewed convicted felons behind bars, but I wasn't getting paid for it. I start my first real (read: actually means something to me) job in a little over a week and I'm actually excited. I'm not sure I could've said the same three years ago.
2. Get married*. Or engaged. Or settle down. Or really do anything that would involve having to check someone else's social calendar before making plans, or require me to share the remote with them. There's time for that, people.
3. Have a kid. Boy would that put a damper on my plans to drive all over California and drink wine every weekend for the next 3 years.
   
4. Travel abroad alone. I know that for some people this a cathartic, soul-freeing experience. But I think I'd just be really lonely and upset that I didn't have anyone to share it with. I mean, when you see a hooker dressed like Cher proposition a priest on the streets of Berlin, what do you do? Take a picture? Call your best friend even though it's 4am at home? I'd much rather turn to my travel companion and make a witty remark about believing in life after love...and death.
   
5. Make a purchase more significant than my car. Who needs that kind of debt? Oh wait, I forgot that I already owe close to $100K in student loans...
6. Die. If I have to go early, I want to at least join the 27 Club. And definitely not from death-by-fake-ceiling-collapse.
   
7. Be preoccupied with not having done the preceding things and mope about being too old**. Life is too dang short to whine about what you haven't accomplished or where you thought you'd be. As the cliche goes: life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. TRUTH!!!

*I own this t-shirt. Not kidding.
**This picture has nothing to do with anything but awesomeness.

I'm Going Going / Back Back / To Cali Cali

Guess what, internet?

No seriously, guess.



Don't give up yet, come on.


Still can't guess?

Okay one more hint.


What do all those things mean? Well, not much. Only that...

I'M MOVING TO SAN DIEGO!!

Details to follow. Stay tuned...

My summer nights are filled without outdoor cafes and air conditioned dens

Remember when summer TV used to suck bigtime? All those CBS mini series about prairies, and Hallmark movies involving young people befriending old, blind ranch hands.... I mean, I get why that stuff used to be on TV (because we should've been outdoors running through sprinklers and having BBQ's with our families) but no one enjoys that kind of programming anymore.

So it's a good thing those days of crappy summer TV are OVAH!! That's right ladies and gentlemen, some of the best TV now comes on when your A/C does. Let me share with you some of my favorite post-spring/pre-fall shows.

Burn Notice. I know I've talked about this show, but it's just that good. Think MacGyver meets well-dressed metrosexual JamesBond, and there you have Michael Westen, the main character of the show. He's a government spy who's been burned, which basically means he no longer exists. They took away this identity, his cash, his contacts and dropped him in Miami, where he now solves cases for people who don't exactly want the police involved. You know how some spy shows are campy and filled with fake, overdone drama and explosions? Not this one. It's funny, it's sarcastic, and someone who works on this show must have been an actual government agent, because the stunts they pull? Just watch. The new season started last week. Thursday nights on USA at 9pm.

Royal Pains. When you're done watching Burn Notice, you'll want to stick around for the show that comes on after it. Royal Pains insn't your typical medial drama, so sir. Dr. Hank Lawson has been blacklisted from every top-tier hospital in New York for trying to save a patient. He escapes to the Hamptons with his CPA brother, and becomes the hero of the hour when he saves a sick girl at a swanky party. Word that there's a new on-call doctor in town spreads quickly, and before he knows it, Hank finds himself making house calls and moving into the guest house of a very rich German dignitary. The concept of Roayl might be a little eh, but I promise is makes up for in acting and sarcasm what it lacks in a creative premise. Here's a good line to use if you're trying to fend off money-grubbing Hamptonite bimbos: "I have no job, no money, and my Saab is older than you." Guaranteed to work every time. Thursday nights on USA at 10pm.

True Blood. I didn't read the Tween Fuckery Twilight books, so I have no idea how this show about vampires compares to that Edward Cullen crap. But let's just say that HBO has done it again. Set in a small town in northern Louisiana, the show centers around Sookie Stackhouse, a sweet girl who has telepathic abilities. Vampires and humans co-exists in this fictional town of Bon Temps, but not all that peacefully. There are love triangles (think human-vampire-human), drugs, sex, and a hilarious gay man who quite honestly is the best character on the show. More dramatic than Buffy, but much better than the Twilight foolery. The season 2 premiere is Sunday, June 14th on HBO. Check out season one On Demand.

Nurse Jackie. I'm sure you've seen this show advertised all over every newspaper, magazine, website and hot dog cart umbrella (not kidding: saw it in Manhattan on Monday) for the past 2 weeks. I don't know about you, but when I see a show get that much attention, it immediately turns me off. However trust me when I say, this one lives up to to the hype. The first episode features our heroic nurse (played by Edie Falco of Carmela Soprano fame) snorting drugs, having an affair, and telling a punkass doctor what's what. But despite all that nonsense, you end up loving her. Monday nights at 10:30 on Showtime.

I would of course be remiss if I didn't mention my favorite long-running summer series: Entourage (new season on HBO coming soon), Weeds (Monday night at 10 on Showtime, right before Nurse Jakie), and Dexter (also coming soon to Showtime).

Happy summer, y'all!!

Too early in the morning for this topic? Yeah, probably.

Around this time last year, I was up to my eyeballs in the degrees of murder and grounds for divorce in New York. ("I don't want to be married to this douche" is apparently not one of them.) During a break from studying this crap really important legal stuff, I sent Liz the following email:

"For some reason, I thought of you when I came across this photo. For 2 reasons: (1) because he's hot and I thought you'd think so, too, and (2) because he's wearing bikini briefs while holding a butcher knife with a look on his face that says, "Oh. why Susan, you surprised me. What's that? You wanna know where John is? Well.. um..."

His name is Jason Mraz, he's some famous musician or something. Never heard of him. But he is damn hot."

Little did I know that I would later become obsessed this fine piece of hotness. Every song he makes, every video he puts out draws me deeper into his web of delightful sarcasm. And now I'm so tangled up that I can't escape.

So tangled, in fact, that when he recently blogged about toilet tips, all I did was smile and go, "Oooohhhh that's Just Jason Mraz being Jason Mraz. At least he's green!"

Oh, and did I mention the real reason for this post? The almost-naked picture of him? I didn't? Well shame on me!

Who knows what that tattoo on his arms says?

Hey, if Jesus said so....

Six months ago today, I had my last cigarette. I'd like to congratulate myself on quitting the only habit that was guaranteed to kill me.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some republicans to speak with about gay marriage and legalizing marijuana.