Tuesday, April 29, 2008

sick and tired

today was a blah day.
i woke up feeling a bit shitty & it was pretty much down hill from there. slight fever, achy, drained of all energy. however, sleeping during the day around here is not to be done. it was as though everyone's pent up anger from the last few days of heat finally boiled over when the temperature broke and the entire afternoon was filled with arguments in the street, screeching tires and conversations all held at top volume — even if they weren't heated in nature.
it made for some interesting eavesdropping — not by choice of course so i don't know if that constitutes actual eavesdropping. i've discovered that the woman in the building behind mine has diabetes, is losing her hair because of the meds she's on & just got a hair cut (that's quite short), she's one of those people that blows her nose while showering & the best — she hasn't been in 'four car accidents.... she was in the car and it was hit four different times.' nice distinction lady. i think i kind of like her — she's got a brazen, booming voice and she does the dishes after every meal. i can't keep any sort of normal schedule of my own but i take comfort in the normality of others.
fortunately my voyeurism hasn't been strictly auditory in nature. i was sitting on my back porch this evening and saw the couple across the alley with the excessive kitchen curtains totally gettin it on against said curtains. maybe the swags & valances act as some sort of aphrodisiac

the closest i came to going outside was sneaking down to my front door in my underwear to get the mail. my front door is glass & i tend to forget that when i am down there i am completely on display for anyone who happens to walk by. i peeked out for a second & contemplated venturing out but it wasn't to happen today. i came back upstairs & got back into bed where i listened to the next door neighbors dog whine & the people across the street duke it out with the ups man.

it was not an entirely futile day though... i managed to unpack my clothing in between restless naps. i hate my wardrobe. i don't even remember buying 90% of it & have no idea where it all came from. all i do know is that it takes up a lot of room that i don't really have. and considering for the next month or two anyway i'm going to be doing complete grunt work as an art department lacky i don't need any of it except a pile of jeans, ratty wife beaters & tshirts and sweatshirts for those lovely 14 hour days when blistering heat turns to cold nights spent out doors waiting for people to set up lights & give a final dusting of powder on noses. movies are mind numbing, tedious affairs. it makes no sense that they are so much fun to make.

and now it is 9:36. i am still feeling like crap, i'm still tired and i am still living in an apartment surrounded by boxes — but the path is getting wider and it seems to be quieting down a bit outside. i think it might be time to try and sleep. i was hoping i would have to work tomorrow but it's not looking that way. if i let myself think about these things it puts me into a catatonic state 'fucked' that is hard to shake.

so i just listen to the neighbors was their dishes.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

peeing in another dimension

i am convinced that my bathroom exists on an alternate plane in the universe. one in which square corners and standardized sizes for plumbing and fixtures are irrelevant and any time you try to introduce a mass produced item into the mix it is instantly rendered completely useless by nature of being designed for use in 99.9% of bathrooms in the country.

welcome to my pisser.
i should have realized greater forces were at work when the plumber at home depot cringed as i described my shower set up when trying to replace the shower head.
"oh man, you'll have to pull all that out, nothing will work with that thing."
should have been warning enough to quietly back away from the bathroom humbled in fear and relinquish myself to a life of zero storage and crappy water pressure.

but i am stubborn and what's worse i insist on trying to do everything myself. i hate asking for help. i hate the thought of being one of those insipid little girls who is incapable of getting her own glass of water from the sink much less putting in a new one. i have nightmares about admitting i need help (except the psychiatric kind — there's no hiding that shit). i will bitch and moan incessantly about how much i hate doing everything myself, especially when things go wrong — but i will have undergone a minor stroke & lost all control of my facilities before i finally break down and ask for someone to take care of something for me. and even then it will be killing me inside. help is something that is offered — never asked for. in my opinion — if the world sees you struggling and they don't offer assistance it means they have no interest in lending a hand and i'm not really interested in begging for help from someone who has no genuine desire to be helpful.

so today's adventure to home depot and target involved returning storage 'things' meant for a bathroom with average height ceilings and normal width tubs. naturally it was entirely futile. oh to be average. it's something i never thought i would wish for, but alas here i sit dying to be plain old boring average.

Monday, April 21, 2008

i found it!

kramer metals @ 1000 slauson ave.
i want to go there.

god help us all

if my magazine shelves decide to give way & crash down on the stairs in my hallway. the impact would be so forceful it could set off a nuclear reaction that could prove cataclysmic around the world.

if nothing else it would make one hell of a racket and be a total bitch to clean up.

so let us at least hope that when my 2500 lbs worth of food & wine, martha stewart weddings & juxtapose come tumbling down there are no women or children on my stairs. the men aren't such a worry as we don't get many gentleman callers 'round these parts & generally speaking when they do come they don't stick around for long (and they certainly don't congregate around the magazine racks in my stairwell.) — thus getting my hopes up for nothing, only to send me reeling back into a state of bitter, crazy old spinster lady who is utterly annoyed with the male race in general because of their unwillingness to just deal with me and all my esoteric eccentricities (try saying that 3 times) that apparently only i find charming. i will die alone & forsaken, but at least i'll have something to read during the interim.


dave

it's all your fault.
hahah

Sunday, April 20, 2008

i fucking hate my neighbors

i'm starting to feel like i am living in one of those shitty comedies from the 90's about suburban life that stars the cories and an over-weight dan ackroyd.
this evening i took my first bath in the new place. i'm a compulsive bather & i haven't gotten around to taking a long soak in my short tub since i moved it — so it was much awaited. i filled it, slathered some enzyme peel onto my face & slipped into the water for the first time. i'm 5'8" and much too long for my tub. i did my best to enjoy it though, that is until i realized i had forgotten to move my car which i parked on some other street this afternoon & i couldn't remember which one. fuck. so much for slipping from tub to bed in one easy transition sans clothing.

so i get out, get sort of dressed & try to retrace my steps. 4th street was my best guess & much to my delight there was an open spot outside my house. i high-tail it down to the corner & have a peek around 4th street. hit my lock switch a few times & see my tail lights flicker half way down the block. almost in a panic i head for the car & haul ass around the corner so that my spot isn't gone by the time i get back home. it's not, but in the 45 seconds i have been gone the neighbors who are having company at the moment have parked a big ass truck in the way & i can't fit anymore — because people around here park like fucking blind retards.

after many shouts of "FUCK!" and many obscene gestures towards their front door i begin the mind numbing task of cruising through the streets looking for a spot. did i mention that people around here park like morons? apparently parallel parking is not a maneuver taught in southern california. 15 minutes of driving in circles & every time i pass the neighbors house i can see into their living room full of fucking slobs lounging on sofas yammering away. i hate them. they drive me insane. they have about 15 kids who all wake up at 6 a.m., they never want to attend to them at that hour so they let them sit in their rooms and whine for an hour. then they let the kids AND the dog out into the yard to play as loud as possible — the dog they just let run free & he can often be seen charging down 4th street in traffic. it's infuriating. to make matters worse — despite being the only house on the block with a garage and a driveway — they seem to take up at least 3 street spots as well. how many fucking mercedes & mini vans do you need? i swear there is a small community living in that god damn house.

so tonight i drive all over hell & end up BACK ON FUCKING FOURTH STREET only now i'm about 50 feet farther away because someone else has parked where i was before. this also means i have to get up tomorrow morning and move it because it's 2 hour parking starting at 9. i walk back to my apartment, come upstairs & look out the front window — some mother fucker on florida is pulling away. i actually yelled 'cocksucker' at him but i don't think he heard. pissed as hell i decided to drown my parking woes in chocolate gelato — which is hard as a rock & thawing a bit on my kitchen counter. as i am sitting here writing this piece of shit.... i can hear the party disbanding next door — their annoying laughter trickling onto the street amidst the honks of security systems being disarmed & car doors slammed. one after one — i can hear them pull away & each and every time it pisses me off more. the street is probably empty now but i refuse to look. because if i do i will go back out & move my car. and if i go out and drive my car around the block only to get here & find them all full again i will kill someone... and i'm going to start with the kids because they make the most noise in the morning.
just kidding, i won't kill the kids... just their parents & extended family.

ojai in the morning


believe it or not...


this is enormous progress

my favorite pirates






goose died a horrible death

remembrances of germ

my old roommate. some of his finest work.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

i'm off

to lake casitas tonight. steve's shooting there this week so i'm going to go hang out with him and make my film debut — hopefully in some steamy sex scene with ed asner. i'm really tired and haven't eaten. this is a record for me lately.. why am i not 20 lbs. thinner? huey is furious with me. i'm not really looking forward to the drive but i think traffic will be semi-minor. i hope anyway, it has been a long week — i'm looking forward to hanging out for awhile. getting paid for hanging out is just a bonus — albeit a much needed bonus. i'm afraid to even look at my bank balances at this point. at any rate, i don't want to roll in at midnight after a trip that should take an hour and a half or so.

suppose i should get my ass on the road. fun, fun, fun.

i just heard

my first horn in the harbor and i smelled the ocean when i opened the windows this morning.
i think i might actually be happy. it feels sort of strange & i don't know what to make of it.

::
just got off the phone. i'm off to santa barbara tonight. my friend steve asked me to be an extra in the flick he's working on. i'm going to be the background MILF at a 4th of july bbq. excellent. i'm sooo going to hit on ed asner. i'm sick of being single.

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

i hate to admit it...

but the old shower head won. i'm returning the new one tonight & buying one that requires a ball adapter — since it seems to be welded onto the shower arm coming out of the wall. i'm a little frustrated. no, i'm very frustrated. everything i've tried to 'fix' since i got here has turned into a monumental ordeal. today while i was at the hardware store (for the 3rd time) i decided to buy some larger shelves for in the kitchen. a simple task for most — but not for me. i bought some wider ones but they ended up not being long enough to really be safe & the next size up was 2 feet too long.... so then i decided to buy some wood but painting isn't really an option at the moment considering i have a house full of boxes and the glasses & dishes to go on said shelves are currently scattered all over my kitchen. SO... i opted for the lazy mans paint job & decided to cover them with fabric. apparently the only fabric store close by is actually way out in suburbia hell & also under construction — but i got my fucking fabric. now i just need to screw in all the supports, cover the planks of wood & hoist them into place. god fucking forbid i just be able to put my dishes away like a normal person.

i think i need to eat. i haven't ingested anything but coffee since dinner with goose & i think that was monday? tuesday maybe? no, i think monday. the days are all running together. god i'm tired. so, so tired.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

*note to self

*in the future — remember to REMOVE coffee cup filled with wd-40 that is taped to the shower head arm BEFORE turning on the water.

i thought it was a little gross when i got some in my mouth earlier while filling the cup.
that was nothing compared to my little mishap a few minutes ago.
now i'm the only girl in southern california with blond roots and a lubricant deep conditioner. god only knows what this will do to my skin which is already revolting against me for the last 5 weeks of stress, hormones, poor diet & weekend commutes back & forth between apartments.

that fucking shower head will be the death of me. it's like the universe is cursing me for not marrying a doctor or lawyer when i was 22 & marketable.

of all the things

i've got running through my head — the one that is most persistent is the junk yard i passed while riding the metro into LA to pick up my car at the goose factory. i took a photo of it but apparently didn't save it because it's not on my phone... i know, i keep looking to see if it will magically appear.
it was the junk yard to end all junk yards, i nearly stood up from my seat to get a better look and i haven't stopped thinking about it. (except during a rather rowdy pirate sword fight in the back lot of the goose factory with gusticles and lil'man after eating 5 pounds of gnocchi with gorgonzola.)

i want to go there.

i must go there. it's on slauson in what looks like a pretty shitty area of LA. maybe i'll do a drive by over the weekend. i'm a girl on a mission.

::

other than that — things are good. i've moved. it was a fucking nightmare & i will post photos of my bruised body later to prove it. my ANKLES are bruised??? how the fuck does that happen?
at any rate my mind is in total overload right now & i'm physically & mentally pretty much dead. but i am home and i'm happy. it would be so nice if it actually lasted.

we shall see.

home at last

anyone know where i packed the wd-40?

Saturday, April 12, 2008

hi my name is

heather fucked h
if you see me driving my moving truck today south on I-5... feel free to wait until we get to a nice steep drop off & then run me off the fucking road.

thanks!

Friday, April 11, 2008

damn kid almost made me cry



jane, my dearest little friend brought me a going away 'cake' today. it's a 6 pound mouse. cutest thing i have ever seen. she is such a cool kid. i really, truly love her.

so long, farewell....

(my response to my going away card today)

thank you all for my lovely card. you never really know how the outside world perceives you until they say it on a flocked peep card. the numerous references to sibling marriage, taxidermy and excessive consumption of fatty foods makes me think i might be in need of some intensive therapy (& a diet.)

regardless of what you may think — i will miss all of you. i'm sure ed asner is going to suck as a lunch partner (though he'll probably be much easier to get out the door than you could ever hope to be, bryan) and i'm quite certain that where ever i end up i will surely be without TWO other 'twins', a spiritual guide as prominent and close to god as sister mary and a whole gaggle of hilarious ladies & gents with whom i can exchange scandalous, semi-x-rated emails AND nicknames. my ability to write soft core porn on the fly will surely suffer without the daily practice all of you have afforded me. and where else am i going to find a group of men who can be entertained for hours solely by repeating each other's name over, and over, and over in funny voices. i mean come on... that is top shelf! (OK, so maybe you were just indulging my psychotic rainman-esque ways... it was totally fun for me.)

who will i scold when my refrigerator is out of pepsi? who will judge my dismounts when i get to the bottom of the stair case? who will draw pictures of me not only with my head in a guillotine but also with chihuahua 'implants' and a belly full of cake? these are things i will miss for sure.

i will always be able to find people to make snide remarks to/about... but it's gonna be hard finding people that make it so goddamn easy.

thank you all for everything, you haven't heard the last of me by a long shot.
xo
heather

all future emails and gifts of food, cash and cakey goodness should be forwarded to the following address:

(wouldn't you like to know)

if i was a little girl

this would fascinate me.
actually, even as a 36 year old woman addicted to all things laduree & french macaroon-ish... i'm a little fascinated. but if i had that next to my old playhouse as a child i would have been in heaven.

new shoulder-blades please

i have a knot under my right shoulder-blade that is making it difficult to breathe. i sense a LONG weekend ahead of me. as it is i'm already operating in 'dazed and confused' mode. people ask me questions and i just shake my head noncommittally and half smile in a way that says 'i have no idea what you just said and i'm not going to ask you to repeat it — this nod is all you are getting, interpret it as you wish.'

who knows what i have agreed to in the last week.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

cute babies

thank god my brother got married and had babies... it has taken an enormous load of pressure off me to produce. considering i have a long history of dating men who should be in jail or mental institutions it's probably best that i haven't found myself carrying their progeny. i don't think they sell cutesy t-shirts that read 'mommy's little serial killer' and offer 'skinning your pets' classes at gymboree.

but i have a niece and a nephew who are adorable... and relatively normal — though austin is definitely showing signs of 'auntie heather precociousness' which gives me a great deal of pleasure. he's smart, funny and has a good bit-o-the-devil in him. a few weeks ago during lunch he said 'oh crap' & rolled his eyes. when my mother suggested that maybe that wasn't what little boys should be saying he rather matter of factly replied 'well i like saying it and i'm not going to stop.' (he's 2). that is a child after my own heart. god help them all when he learns to say 'fuck'.

and addi, my niece adores him... so i see a future of little hell-raisers on the horizon. look at those faces. perfect.

Wednesday, April 09, 2008

the longest day(s)

i'm sitting in my empty office. the walls are bare and embarrassingly dirty. not my problem anymore but i still can't help seeing them in my peripheral vision. the echo is rather prominent as well now that my wall of hovel has been taken down and haphazardly packed into a box. crazy lady in an unpadded cell. it doesn't feel right. i have four more days of this. i'm not sure how i am going to make it and for once i'm not being melodramatic. i really don't know how i am going to swing it. exhaustion is the least of my problems but it's the one that is keeping me from being able to think rationally and figure out the next 18 steps that will find me settled in my new home — body and mind intact.

i ran out of tape tonight and when i had spent 5 minutes staring at my front door with my hand outreached midway to open it — i decided that maybe walking to the store to buy more wasn't an option. maybe it was time to stop. not even pretending i am packing up my black ops camp under enemy invasion works anymore. i just don't care. every time i move an 80 pound box all i can think of is

"if my heart pops i wonder if i will die instantly or if there will be a moment where i hear it & know what is going on before i die?"

over and over and over. just like marcia's terrible nightmare when she got popped in the nose with a football the night before her hot date with the foxy varsity boy at school and learns a valuable lesson about vanity and not being a two-timing bitch. the only lesson i've learned is that maybe i should have been taking those meds all these years past — because maybe then i wouldn't have more shit than fred sanford. at least i'm not as crotchety as he was though. oh wait, i am. fuck. the other lesson i have learned is that if i ever have to move again the only preparation that will be necessary is loading a gun.

i'll finish up this time with my skull intact but the temptation to wire the compound and catch the next bird outta ho chi minh is tempting. watch it burn from the sky like satan was pissing from the heavens on a weekend furlough. but i think i packed the plastic already and the truth of the matter is: i'm a girl who likes her stuff. i just wish i wasn't the one who had to move it. exchanging sex for moving duties is starting to sound more and more tempting. oh if only i were more of an emotionless whore. life could be so much easier.

you don't know how often i have uttered these words.

bedroom notes to self:



wow

nothing says desperate loser like a 36 year old woman sitting at her desk designing bookmarks for a baby name book with a chihuahua nestled into a baby snugly strapped to her chest.

i'm so lame. bella's in heaven though.

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

i have a thing for kissing pleats

i don't know what it is — but every time i see them i fall in love. i always think of fluffy piles of meringue.. and while normally 'meringue' is the last thing a bride wants to look like — there's something about this dress that i keep coming back to. it's the kissing pleats. (& possibly the enormous window — i've always had a thing for grande architecture as well.)

Monday, April 07, 2008

fading fast

i only packed a couple boxes tonight. i suck so bad. my house is a nightmare but i don't have the energy to do anything right now. i think i might be getting something. i was a little feverish all day but i kept ignoring it. i finally gave up trying to pack and took a bath. it was mildly pleasing but when i got out i had to lay down on the floor for a few minutes because i blacked out while trying to dry off. when i could open my eyes again i noticed that jack had ashed his bloody cigarettes all over the floor in the little toilet room. fucking pig. whenever he comes home i always have about 3 days where i walk through the house finding dollops of peanut butter or jelly where there shouldn't be peanut butter or jelly (last time it was my pillows and the floor by my bed), there are ashes everywhere and 8 days worth of dirty dishes in his bedroom and in the sink for 36 hours worth of being in residence. it's absolutely anxiety inducing. i just don't understand how someone could be SUCH a slob. our house is NOT a public restroom... use a fucking ashtray if you insist on smoking inside. it's unreal.

but at least the ashes in my eyeline on the bathroom floor got my blood pumping enough that i was able to sit upright again and dry off. now i am sitting here in my robe, a light sweat on my forehead and still feeling a bit woosy. i think i really am getting sick. i've been trying to deny if for a week and keep it at bay. i don't have time for this. i don't have the energy for it either.

i could actually have a bit of a cry but my head hurts too much and i don't want a puffy nose. god i would give anything for a foot rub. uuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhggggggggggggg.

i don't feel so hot.

i'm guessing it has to do with the chili cheese fries i ate at lunch, the bowl of m&m's i just inhaled and the over all desire to go home and crawl into bed rather than sit here in my office pretending to work. i don't even like fries — but i picked at them because they were there. no wonder i am turning into a fat ass. i really need to stop eating for awhile but i can't seem to make myself do it.

i also have a fucking headache from hell. it goes something like this:

saw off the top third of my skull, flip back, push brain matter to sides and fill cavity with broken glass, nails, razor wire and stick tights. let brain matter slosh back into place, flip skull cap back into place and secure with shoddy stitches sewn with a rusty upholstery needle and waxed shoelaces from your dad's old wing tips.

the headache i am certain is stress induced and it is in no way helped by the fact that my phone has been ringing off the fucking hook all day. i don't get it — i work. everyone knows i work and they also know that as a rule i loathe talking on the phone unless it is for a reason. so when you send me THIRTEEN completely pointless text messages (NO I AM NOT TAKING A FUCKING BATH WEIRDO.... IT'S 3 pm and i'm up to my eyeballs in WORK!!!) and i don't reply... it's safe to assume that following up with a phone call is only going to irritate me more. i just don't get it. i mean, i work in a design agency — we're pretty lax. i have a dog sitting on my lap right now & i was just in a meeting where she walked across the conference table. nobody wears shoes & i put a homo-erotic spin on anything and everything that takes place during the day.... it's hardly a 'corporate' atmosphere. but i still have to work & i don't have time to chit chat on the fucking phone for 4 of the 10 hours i put in during the day. i would love to know how everyone else gets away with it.. and why can't they just talk to each other & leave me out of the equation if they can't survive an afternoon without completely inane banter?

it's one thing if they have a valid question or concern — then i don't have a problem with it at all but i've got a couple people who i hardly know who are serious text offenders and it drives me up a fucking wall. the most annoying part is they never, ever have anything legit to discuss, it's just stupid 'are you naked?' type banter.
1.) NO, as a matter of fact i am NOT naked. and quite honestly if you saw me right now you would NOT be impressed because i look like shit.

2.) even if i was, i'm not going to TEXT back and forth about it... so get over it.

i am a terminally single 36 year old woman. the chances of me getting a boyfriend or married at this point are pretty fucking slim... but i haven't hit that brick wall where i get off on titillating text messages with people i barely know. it makes me wonder if the rest of the world is collectively brain damaged and seriously in need of a cold shower.

whatever, fucking get over it. they're boobs. more than half the population has them. take some hormones and you could too.

ugh, god dammit. the dog just barfed on my desk. i really need to not be working anymore. i'm getting cramps, my skin is totally revolting against me and i feel like i could sleep for days. i just want to crawl into my bed and have someone, anyone promise me things will work out okay instead of exploding in my face like they normally do. instead, i get retarded text messages inquiring about the state of my boobies.

why me?

Sunday, April 06, 2008

today was a good day (long and rambly)

and as the harbinger of death, doom and destruction (minus the heavy eyeliner), hearing such words from me is really saying something.

yesterday i made my next to last trip to long beach. it was time to lug yet another load of 'things i can carry that fit into my car' and then drop it off at the goose factory to hang out for the next week. got in later saturday than i had expected, unloaded my crap, met some guy, john from next door who had the most adorable 'sausage like' dogs. of course i had sweat dripping from my nose, a tangle of 'ozzy osborne circa 1979' hair sticking to my neck and steamy raybans.... i looked like i had just made it out of a meth lab explosion. rad. i love it when people meet me & wonder 'man or woman? crank or speed?'

didn't do much that night, i was dead tired and my only real objective was to get that mother-fucking-god damn sonofabitchin piece of shit shower head hooked up. (i didn't) and my ugly metal shelves assembled. it was very distressing. i sprawled out on my living room floor and got to work. 2 minutes into it i discovered that these shelves were made for two. i have NO idea how i got them together by myself before — but it was sooo not happening saturday night. i felt like a moron. i would get one section assembled and the other would crash to the floor. i haven't felt that alone in a long time. and at one point i actually thought to myself 'even my ugly bookshelves are mocking me over the fact that i will die alone and forsaken'... and then burst out laughing at my melodrama and ordered something to eat. (when my furniture starts taunting me it means 'time to eat')

i gave up after one wobbly, hideous metal shelving unit was semi put together. i used to have them in my laundry room & i hated them there.... i'm having a really hard time coming to grips with the idea of having them out in the open — but i am currently about 200 square feet short on bookcases as my new apartment has about 25% the built in storage as the sacramento one does... so something's got to hold them until i can come up with a new plan. metal shelves it is. or maybe not, i don't know if i can get the rest of them together without needing therapy.

woke up sunday after a night of dead sleep... still on my floor though i had the foresight to bring along my feather bed and favorite pillows so i was really quit snug and i only woke twice during the night when my ghost was flushing the toilet. i did have a dream that i took off my vans and had extremely long toenails that were shaped like gossamer butterflies.. and i was NOT AT ALL happy about it but i don't remember how that issue was resolved. walked to get some coffee, waited in line with 40 of long beaches trendiest. i felt a little chubby and hid behind my hair as much as possible... not because i cared about them in particular (they were all kind of dorks), just because people make me nervous — especially lots of them crammed into a small area all talking.

after that i headed into LA and went to a few different furniture stores i like &/or wanted to check out... scattered all over bloody hell of course — but i got to stop by boulĂ© and grab some macaroons and i found a bunch of things at grace that i would really, really like and will never, ever be able to afford. i must say though — i was a bit disappointed in H.D. Buttercup — the younger sibling of my all time favorite new york city home goods department store: ABC carpet and home. the only stuff i found even interesting was the collection of old military, office and hospital furniture at 20 gauge... which was INSANELY over-priced and 9 times out of 10 painted some garish color. i like my military issue furniture plain stainless steel thank you very much. don't fucking 'cute it up'. they did have some neat one-off things though. a custom roll-top metal desk that was way cooler than it sounds and this refrigerated medical cabinet that i would have sawed off a limb for provided they gave it back to me so i could keep it in the cabinet.

blah blah blah, went to steve's, we drove to goose's dropped off the car and he dropped me off at the airport. the guy at the check in counter points out to me that my ticket is for NEXT sunday. i'm fucking retarded and forgot to change it (i have changed my moving date/plans about 40 times in the last 2 weeks). i go inside to the ticket counter, ready to puke because switching it will most likely cost me a couple hundred easily, provided i can even get a ticket. i wait in line for 25 seconds. get to the counter and the nicest man, named dan, gets me a ticket. there's a glitch in the system that happens from time to time & it didn't charge me the extra $200 & he says he's not going to worry about it if i don't. i love dan & tell him so.

i'm back in sac now. in another week this will no longer be my home. i can't wait.

Thursday, April 03, 2008

finally i can play jackie o again. (A.K.A. all good girls like pearl necklaces once in awhile.)

at 21 the ladies of the family are given jewelry. traditionally it is a strand of pearls or whatever happens to be au courant. by the time it was my turn not many girls were wearing tiara's and diamond brooches. especially at the limelight or the scrap bar. and even if they were, the family had stopped shopping at harry winston long ago. in fact i believe i am wearing the last vestige of that era on my middle finger as i type — a 2 carat emerald cut engagement ring from my great aunt anne. it was her third and she always married up.

so anyway, by the time it was our turn, tradition turned to hand-me-downs. which actually both my sister and i preferred since we like vintage jewelry and even more so if it's from a beloved aunt or grandmother. kri was/is a bit of an eccentric, nutty professor hippy type — so flashy do-dads were never really her thing. she got a really pretty amethyst cocktail ring and a sapphire one as well.

being ever the blue blood, i opted for my grandmother's pearls. they were given to her by my grandfather during 'camelot' when all proper ladies wore oleg cassini, pill box hats and the requisite triple strand of pearls and the men drank double scotches, also wore hats, kept mistresses and smoking was di rigour for everyone.

as a child i loved that necklace. when i spent the night at their house i would dress up in her flouncy dresses, put on the necklace and one of those damn hats and ride the stationary bike in her bedroom for hours pretending i was riding around town visiting people — her closet doors being the entrances to all my fashionable friend's townhouses. i was probably the only 6 year old who could ride a bike in size 6 kitten heels — and damn if i didn't look good.

as an adult who spent most of her days drugged out of her mind meandering from one punk club to another and occasionally popping into a fashion show or fancy gala event — pearls weren't exactly the crowning accessory to my otherwise apocalyptic wardrobe. i was however known for showing up at bars from time to time in an evening dress when i didn't feel like going home and changing after some party. my friend jonny once commented that it was the weirdest sight in the world to see me huddled in some dark corner surrounded by HA's all fumbling to light my cigarette while i sat there in some black tie frock and a vintage ostrich feather hat egging them on mercilessly. i was 1994's answer to eddie sedgwick.

at any rate, the pearls didn't get much wear back then. later in life as a full fledged adult who moved from the city and had no reason to wear black tie frocks i had even less reason to pull them out except when i wanted to play dress-up while i cleaned the house. every christmas i would take them home and put them on for dinner and that was really about it.

until two years ago when i lost them. i couldn't figure out what happened to them since they aren't the sort of thing you check with your luggage. but when i got back to california they were nowhere to be found. i spent weeks frantically searching for them. and finally sure that they were gone forever told my mother they were missing and asked her to search the house and see if i had dropped them somewhere. she never found them and we both sadly resolved ourselves to the idea of them being gone for good.

tonight while pulling down an old suitcase from my closet i heard a rattle inside. i opened it up and inside i found the red satin bag they travel in. and sure enough, inside sat 3 strands of perfect, hand knotted pearls.

nothing is lost forever.

cutest blog on the face of the earth

it's hard to believe i am seriously jealous of an illustration, but i cannot lie, i am absolutely smitten with fifi lapin and her wardrobe is heavenly.

http://fifi-lapin.blogspot.com/

photo taken from the fifi lapin blog.

quitting my job was easy enough. quitting my little girls was a bit more difficult.

almost from the day i started my job i have been a favorite of the little girls belonging to the owner and a former IT guy (who happens to be the brother-in-law of the owner — we're one big incestuous company). during summer/school breaks, sick days and the random lunch the girls would come to work and spend the day parked in my office. we would do our make-up and hair, i would bring in pearl necklaces and manolo blahniks for them to play in and we would swill 7-up from champagne glasses like we were A-listers at the annual costume institute gala. we made paper dolls of colin firth and johny depp and made them kiss, i would tell them stories of eating mice for dinner and they would squeal and squirm in horror and delight (& to this day i think they honestly believe i eat vermin). from time to time i would take them to lunch. we would either go to a pub a few blocks away and eat on the patio or procure something and eat it under my desk a la urban picnic. it was a given that on these days i wouldn't get any work done. it's really difficult to work when you've got two little girls plunked on your lap for 8 hours. it's even difficult to work when they are under your desk giving you a pedicure.

now i am leaving and apparently they are not taking the news so well. they are still young enough that they don't see it as a 'heather needs to leave because her life sucks in sacramento' situation. they see it as 'heather is deserting us.' so this morning i found myself composing a letter of explanation and apology to an 11 and a 13 year old. it was infinitely more difficult to write than sitting in the office of my boss and telling her i was moving away.

i feel so terrible. i absolutely adore them.

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

oh my god telemarketers BLOW!!

i have had a long beach phone number for all of 36 hours and it has been ringing off the fucking hook... 99% of the time — fucking telemarketers. i have only answered once: to yell and all i got was a recording in spanish.

sooooo aggravating. i registered my new number at donotcall.gov but i could still have 31 days of this shit.

TELEMARKETERS MAY YOU FUCKING ROT AND BURN IN EVER-LOVING HELL!!

fucking lowest scum of the earth.

whew... i've eaten lunch and feel much better now.

i still think jack is a dickhead but at least i am over the violent desire to castrate him.

the healing powers of a burrito are really quite amazing.

now i am free to move onto more important things: like the color palette for my glorious new apartment. i'm so in love with blues and greens but then again, i like oranges and reds and pinks and browns as well.

i salivate over color. it's an affliction.

sometimes i really hate people.

actually, i really hate myself for letting worthless, sacks of shit into my life who serve no purpose to humanity other than sucking the life from it.

naturally i am speaking of the man i share an address with. i am so tired of him. so over it. so fucking sick of every word that comes out of his mouth being pure bullshit — because he is lazy, selfish, irresponsible and too much of a fucking pussy to take responsibility for the fact that his life sucks. nothing pisses me off more than listening to grown men bitch and moan about how they fucking hate life but are completely unwilling to accept even a modicum of responsibility for how they got to where they are. what the fuck? why don't you cry a little more bitch? and while you are at it — why don't you take a good look back at every bullshit lie you have ever vomited forth, every person you have completely fucked over and manipulated for sport and every opportunity you have had to do the right thing, only to turn around and do the opposite... and after you look back on a lifetime of 'cocksucker' why don't you, just for once in your life, stop blaming the world for everything that has gone wrong, because there is absolutely NOBODY to blame but yourself.

shitty things happen to shitty people. it's the law of the land and you my boy have hit the end of the road as far as i am concerned.
i could give a shit about swinging from the balls of germ. i know exactly what you are and i'm NOT impressed. save your bullshit for the ignorant whores who are bred to believe their contribution to society is having huge tits and the inability to string together complete sentences is a first class ticket into the coveted world of men who treat them like 3rd class citizens.

i am smarter than you. i always have been and i always will be. don't fuck with me — because i will rape you blind mother fucker and hide your corpse in my closet so i can kick it at will when i am in a bad mood.

Tuesday, April 01, 2008