So for the past 3 days, I have had an on-again/off again fever.
My throat has been sore.
And I have looked a mess.
So I took today off and went through all the various degrees of being too cold and then being too hot where I sweat through my clothes in a way I never have in my life.
I made an appointment to go to urgent care.
I washed my hair but that is about it.
I had no make-on and I wore something that was close to the door on the floor. Needless to say, I was not looking my finest.
So I get to Urgent Care and get processed pretty quickly. The doctor walks in.
He is Indian with long stringy, thinning greasy hair. His eyes are huge and behind large glasses, which makes them look even bigger. He is maybe 5'7 and is skinny.
This is the conversation after he diagnosis tonsillitis (sp?):
"So no one else around you is sick?"
"Nope...no one."
"Not a boyfriend?"
"No one is sick. It is terrible because I can't figure out how I got sick."
"No boyfriend?"
"Uh...yes, I have a boyfriend. He isn't sick either."
"I was gonna say. A pretty girl like you and no boyfriend...that would be strange."
"Yeah, I have a boyfriend"
"You are very pretty."
And as every pore in my body is having me sweat and my hair is drying in a kind of matted style you see only homeless people, I am curious as to what it is his glasses are revealing.
"Well, I don't feel pretty today."
"You know, the other day I had a patient who was pretty and I asked her about her boyfriend and she said, 'Which one?' and I was like, 'what?' and she was like, 'many guys have 5-6 girlfriends so why can't I?' and she is right."
"yeah, uh huh"
"I mean, men have had many women on the side since day one. I think 98% of men have women on the side. So why can't women?"
"um...yeah" uncomfortable giggle from me. I am wondering if I am on a hidden camera show. I feel like I am drunk and he said the same thing 3 more times about men and women while he was writing my prescription.
"How is the pain?" he asked
"Well, if this antibiotic works, it will go away pretty soon, right?"
"Yeah, but I know some women can't handle pain. if you would like something for the pain, just let me know."
"Yeah, thank you, but I think I am good"
"Okay, well if you still have problems with your tonils in 24 hours, come back. good luck to you."
Then I go to wait for my prescription and everyone is smiling at me.
Which leads me to believe that a sweaty feverish face sans make-up is attractive to everyone OR that my energy of not caring and being in a sort of sedated feverish state allows me to not be guarded and just sort of be.
Either way, it was very surreal.
I got the email from Kim that she was coming to LA from Portland.
I hadn't seen her since I moved to LA in '99.
Then my employer gave us Friday off in addition to the Monday Memorial day.
Booya...4 day weekend. So I was able to meet her for lunch on Friday when I wasn't sure I was going to be able to.
So I left early Friday am to meet Kim on Balboa Island. It was a wonderful reprieve from LA (where this week I went on a date with quite possibly the worst person ever).
I cruised over the bridge and saw my old stomping ground from when I lived on Balboa in '89. I passed what used to be the John Wayne Tennis Club, where I use to work.
After a little mix up of what is the Island vs the Peninsula, Kim finally made it to the island. We met at Wilma's for lunch.
Then we took the ferry over to the Peninsula and drove over to Newport Beach where we met up with her friend Lee. There we were drinking at 3pm at a beach bar. It was great.
On my way home back to LA, I got a call from mads. I was going to meet her and Diana for dinner. On to El Coyote. Too many chips and margaritas later, we headed to the M Bar to see Evil Maria play. I came up with several ideas for the video that Mads and I will shoot one day for them.
Sat was great. Errands and rest.
Sunday, I went walking with Zappy and then I was off to Arcadia to Zelo's Pizza (Foothill Blvd) with Zappy and Nat. We hung out there for 3 hours eating amazing cornmeal pizza and drinking italian beer. Mike, the owner, knows Nat and it was a relaxing afternoon.
It was such a great weekend. And I had one day left.
Today.
And guess what I did?
I finally wrote one of my pieces for one of my upcoming shows.
Great (real emotion).
But the rest of the day, I nursed having a fever.
Great (sarcasm).
I went to do laundry and considered that I may have vertigo. Do I?
I am not sure. I feel drunk. My head is wobbly.
Maybe I was too strung out on how great the weekend was that my body just went "whoa".
Or maybe I am really kind of not feeling so hot.
My stakes are on the great weekend. I am not sure if the odds are in my fever. But a girl can hope.
"We are meeting at 4:30pm" Zappy said to me Sat afternoon, "At my place."
Nat and I met at Zappy's and off we went. Mads joined us later.
We grabbed a table.
I look around.
"I thought this was an art exhibit" I mention kind of casually.
"Yeah, see the art on the walls? That is the exhibit."
"Hmmmmm" and that is the last I give it any thought.
The crowds hadn't started yet.
But our drinking had.
We each bought a bottle.
I was sent to the bartender to find out what the best wine was.
"What would you recommend?" I inquired.
"This one is oaky and has a nice flavor. Not too bitter."
"Um, yeah, I meant...which one will give us a buzz faster?"
It was the actual question I was sent to ask but I was told to code it by asking for the best.
The best.
He smirked.
Stupid woman. Here I am trying to give her an actual sophisticated answer and she and her friends have the palate of a freshman doing bong hits.
Whatever. His choice was good both for our palate and our initial purpose.
Mads and I went down the street in a haze to pick up pizza to bring back.
We waited and drank coffee.
Chatted over our latest miscommunication. Cleared it up. Walked back armed with our cheesy pie.
A former co-worker of mine taps me on the shoulder as we are about to re-enter the bar (with art on the walls - voila...an art opening).
I still thinks he works at my company. But he doesn't. He is a little disgruntled and bends my ear to explain why.
He gives me his card. Very sleek. Made in London. Looks like a credit card. I tell him I can use it as a weapon. I laugh at my own joke and realize how drunk I am since I also realize this isn't even funny. Which makes me laugh harder.
He tells me he will invite me to a party. I tell him that I will come.
I don't really care.
About anything.
Except the immense pleasure I am experiencing from not caring.
And the wine.
And the pizza.
The place was hopping.
Mads and I reach our table and 2 cute guys are in our seats.
They stand up and we chat with them.
Mads talks to the nice one.
I talk to the jerk.
He tells me that he wants to grab the ass of a black girl who has been partying next to our table. She has a huge fro and is wearing large sunglasses and plaid pants that accentuate her butt.
Mads points out that she isn't pretty but no one cares because when you make a statement with your outfit like that, you say so much more about how confident you are. How insecure. Either way. You are noticed. And pretty doesn't seem to matter as much as the WOW factor.
So the jerk says he would like to grab her ass.
I turn to him with a face that looks like I sucked on a lemon.
I tell him that is charming and I turn away.
Or maybe he had already walked away.
Either way, we were done.
The magic hour light streamed into the bar through all the windows.
All the locals began streaming in with their dogs.
Mads wished she had brought Louie.
Zappy almost stole someone's bull dog because it had a circle marking around its eye and she knew that this is the kind of dog who will love you even if the world doesn't. And, it is the kind of dog who will get people coming and talking to you when you are out with it.
Mads left. The people with Zappy's almost dog left.
And it was time for us to leave too.
There was a line to get in as we exited.
Which is funny, because it doesn't seem like that kind of place.
But I guess it is.
Once we were in the night air, the smells of the bar stand out on our clothes.
We pile into Zappy's car and all three talk at once. About nothing.
I roll down the window and let the beach air hit my tired face.
I am happy.
Jazzy and I had been planning this for a month.
Going to see Mortified.
We knew we would be pressed for time, so if we wanted to eat, it would have to be close to King King.
Jazzy picked Lucky Devils. I read that Lucky Vanous from the coke commercials owns it. I meet Jazzy and Zappy there just as Jazzy is ordering me my food.
I am not a food blogger, but if I were, I would sing its praises.
I had THE best veggie burger there. It didn't taste like any veggie burger I had ever had and asked Jazzy if she had accidentally ordered me the beef burger.
We downed our food and wine, but not before noticing the hobbit who is now on Lost also sitting there.
After swiftly eating our food (I even said sadly, "This is not the kind of meal you scarf down"...and it wasn't.) we headed down the street to King King to watch several people share their painful youth writings with us.
It was hilarious.
Alanis Morissette was there. Prettier in real life than I would have thought.
She is very short.
And the Lost Hobbit was there too. We agreed that we liked his hair.
And after laughing a lot at others' pain, it was time to go home.
And think about how not very different this blog is from reading my private thoughts from yore.
Although it would be the most mortifying experience to some, I must be a masochist because just like my amazing meal at Lucky Devils, with the experiences I have had in my life, this is not the kind of life you scarf down...you pick it apart bit by bit in little essays and stage performances until you are full. And baby, I ain't full yet.
Bon Appetit!
"Oh my god, mom, David Sedaris is a funny writer who sometimes speaks on NPR and -" I said during a phone call yesterday to my mom, who is dutch.
"What is MPR?" She interrupted.
"NPR? It is Public Radio"
"Yeah, what is it?
"Seriously? National Public Radio?"
"Of course...I KNOW what that is. I thought you said something else."
"Well, anyway, he has a hilarious story about the Dutch Santa Claus and I want to send it to you. Should I do an audio file or try and find an excerpt?"
"I don't know...how long is it?"
"Oh it is just so funny. He talks about how Sinter Klaas travels with 6-8 black men. That is the title."
"Well, he doesn't."
"He doesn't what?"
"He doesn't travel with 6-8 black men. Just one. Black Pete"
"Yeah, I know I know...you raised me. I am telling you what HE says. Several Dutch people told him this...anyway, he also talks about how sinter klaas kicks people-"
"He doesn't KICK people."
"Well, this is the story he was told, anyway..."
"You know, I don't want to hear anymore. I am getting very angry just listening to this. I have had to fight people on this for years about the real story of the dutch St. Nick. And I don't want you to send it to me."
"You can't just remove what you know for one minute to see the humor in the story? He says it very funny." I ask, sighing because unfortunately in my family, these are our fights. Who has the least amount of hair on their body, who has better looking legs, who is a real blonde, etc. So this is not foreign to me. It's just that I live so far from it now, that I am a little thrown by her anger at such a harmless topic. At least I think it is harmless.
"Can't you see it from MY perspective? My heritage?" She says I am sure with a straight face.
"Your heritage IS my heritage. And I think it is funny. You have lived in America longer than you did in Holland. Why can't you just listen without prejudice?"(yes I did just quote george michael)
"Because...people get this story wrong all the time. St. Nick didn't beat people. Black Pete did. And that was only when the kids were bad."
"Mom, what you're saying is almost as funny as what the story was. Can't you see the humor?"
"It is not supposed to be a funny story."
And after we hung up on each other with several hurumphs, I felt myself relax.
I was worried that since my life is starting to go on track, that I would run out of material.
But then I remembered, I always have my family.
A beautiful source of neuroses, chaos and over-emotional tantrums.
Sinter Klaas brings people together.
And I think for all his bad reputation, I think Black Pete does too.
When I become famous, I will love my fans, but I may pull a Greta Garbo, where I try and flee from the limelight of strangers. From my fans. I will hold dinner parties with peers that I can trust and be grateful that the unseen masses like my body of work, but I will not trust their adoration. And this is because I know the nature of what it is to be a fan. And it ain't pretty. It is obsessive and fantasy driven.
I was once in a movie where we were reenacting a true story. I played the role of a woman who had died.
The reporters for the Oregonian came out to interview us. My movie-husband, peacock that he was, couldn't help himself and was first in line to be interviewed.
To my amazement, I ducked into the nearest tent and cried "cold". I didn't want to be interviewed.
The reporter found me and I gave less than lackluster answers. Yet I was quoted all over the article and thank god, sounded better than the answers I had provided.
I wondered why I would seek fame only to duck from it. After all the hours of practicing how I would talk to Barbara Walters in interviews or how witty I would be on Letterman, I just wanted to be left alone with my creativity.
But I would want to be left alone, with the caveat that I would want to know how much my work is appreciated.
I myself being a crazy fan myself with an obsessive quality, I would not want to meet the likes of me when I am on the other side.
Hypocritical?
You bet.
Honest?
Absolutely.
I become fixated on something: a person, a celebrity, a period of time, a definition of a word, the history of something, a language, an answer to a trivia question.
Yes, I may seem mild mannered in this forum, but I am a crazy woman masquerading among you. You won't see the cracks of my particular brand of OCD come to light until you know me. And even those who know me, pretend not to notice it. Because then it would make them accountable in their own choice of friendship.
This long build up is a result of being at the Dodger game with Mads, Jazzy and Esteban on Friday night.
"Oh my god," I said, "there is the guy I used to stalk".
"Wait...what?" Jazzy said simultaneously trying to hear me correctly and not spill her ketchup dog into her purse.
"Oh, I never told you about the guy who lived in my neighborhood that I sort of innocently stalked?"
"Um, what? No. What?"
So the story goes...
there was a guy. Not good looking. Not bad looking. He lived in my neighborhood. I had first seen him on tv. An actor. A commercial actor.
He is slightly overweight. Nothing to write home about.
One evening, I was in my car trying to gather up all my belongings when one of my bags hit the horn. Embarrassing.
More embarrassing is that a guy was walking by when I did it.
Hey, I thought, that is the guy from that ad I just saw. Hm. That is funny. LA is funny.
I didn't think more about it.
Then a girl I am friends with linked him as her myspace friend. Turns out he does comedy. I listened to some of it.
He is also funny.
So I request him as a friend on Myspace. He accepts.
So I read his blogs of how he is looking for a girlfriend and how he describes all the comedy stuff he is doing and I start to develop a slight crush.
I leave him comments like: great blog today. or nice insight.
He never comments back.
I notice that whenever I am leaving my apartment, he is walking. Walking with the droopy face and unhappy eyes of a man who is alone. He walks with an intensity not to be disturbed. He is not attractive, I think to myself.
But he is funny. And tall. Which usually doesn't matter to me. But on him, it adds to the attraction.
One day, I drove to the store. I noticed him walking with several friends on my way there. He is better looking than I remember him to be. He has lost weight. He is wearing hipper clothes. And his friends look hip too.
I go to the store, buy my items, get back in my car, all the while wondering why this guy is in my head. I wonder about his life. I wonder about all the reality which sandwiched in between his blogs that I don't know about. I wonder who those friends are.
On my way back home, I see them still walking. With the stealth agility my silver sedan will allow, I trail them to see where they are heading.
Ah to a restaurant nearby.
They go inside.
And I drive home feeling pathetic for following a guy I don't know, wondering about his life when mine is pretty fabulous.
Or is it?
Is a fabulous life one where you can follow a not-yet (maybe not ever) famous comic writer/performer who walks all over town with a scowl on his face?
Is it?
As I am tough love talking to myself about my actions, I notice him.
I had been following the wrong guy.
I see him so clearly.
He is not losing weight, or getting better looking. He is still scowling.
And walking with intensity. Alone.
I smile to myself. Hmph. That was embarrassing.
A friend of mine is in a show and I go to support her. He is in the cast with her.
He is even funnier on stage. Or maybe I have my subjective glasses on and I find any nuance of his acting to be brilliant to convince myself that I am crushing on a guy who isn't just ordinary.
I comment to him on myspace that he did great in the show. That I was there to support my friend and that he was funny.
No response.
I delete him as my friend. Not because I am angry, but because I am becoming dependent upon his accepting me.
And that is a stress I don't need.
I don't know him. And he doesn't know me at all.
Yet his rejection is a huge mirror to me of my grasp on reality slipping.
I can't say I blame him. He probably felt my innocent comment as something that was unwarranted.
I didn't like it. But I could relate.
I have seen him in several commercials since.
He is still kind of unattractive.
I saw him at the game.
I finished telling Jazzy the story as we watched the Dodgers get two runs.
They won that night.
And we went onto the field to watch the fireworks.
And was glad that I was enjoying the awesomeness that is my life rather than trying to figure out an awesomeness in his life that may or may not exist.
And after the fireworks, we left with the masses, unassuming and happy.
I think my Myspace profile has been sent to a link for younger guys.
Sometimes this happens, but today I got like 7 emails in a row from 23-24 year old guys all within the span of a half an hour.
Examples:
"was browsing this site and I saw your profile and I thought it would be a shame not to stop by and say hi... I think you look kinda cute... by the way I believe that age is just a number and difference between two numbers shouldnt stop two people from making friends...
so what you up to these days?
talk to you soon. "
Um, this guy doesn't think age should stop people but having a girlfriend should. And he does.
Next:
"hi your beautiufl, i seen yoru profile i had 2 talk 2 ya ;) hehe , just wondering if u woldn't mind chattin w/ a 23 yr old im also from la , so if u ain't intimadated hit me up ;) bye beuatiufl"
I love that he thinks I would be intimidated. Doesn't he know that I dated a 22 year old last year? Truth be told, I thought the guy was too young at 25, only to find out that he was really 22. And still hasn't had a birthday since that time. Whereas I have...oy...moving on....
"HI ... HOW ARE U ?
DO U LIKE TO CHATTING WITH ME ....
I WOULD LIKE TO BE UR FRIEND ................
WITH ALL MY GREETINGS ................................ "
This guy is in Jordan and is 21 years old.
Another guy calling himself "The Nice Guy" and another calling himself "King Sex" (both are 23) also emailed me all in that hour.
The one I loved the most was this one...
"Hey, I hope you're still looking! I saw your profile page and wanted to contact you.
Want to remodel your entire outdoor space, or just want to liven up you garden or patio. Make for you garden fountain, cascade, waterfall, disappearing fountain and more. Make for patio Neo Classic or Bohemian Tables, chair, and Benches. And for the enter you house make neo classic steps..."
It went on... To try and sell me on buying a fountain...for the backyard...I don't have.
*sigh*
meanwhile, on the actual dating sites, I am dabbling with a man looking for his muse who looks kind of like a guy I hate at work but has pretty eyes, also dabbling with another guy who I think might be seductive trouble, and another guy who wants to play scrabble because dating is too much work right now.
I hear that.
I usually get really bad cramps.
And in the last 6 years, I also get really bad PMS.
But this past 5 months, my PMS has been nothing.
The cramps haven't been too bad and most people who know me wouldn't really notice a difference in my behavior during my period.
This weekend was different.
It was a great weekend, but I was moving in slow motion due to a dull pain that never left me. I woke up several times throughout Sat night only to try and escape from the pain but to no avail. Sleep finally took over and allowed me a reprieve. But Sunday morning, it started again.
If you would have asked me, I would have said I had a great weekend. Because I did. ANd I am trying to focus on the good.
And I woke up this morning with all the intention in the world to have a great day.
But as I put on my clothes and my make-up and my perfume, all in an attempt to show my good mood, something changed.
The worst mood over took me.
And when I got to work, it seemed like an alternate universe where everyone else was in the worst mood too.
I sighed.
Drank my coffee.
Ate my oatmeal and tried to steel my nerves against the day that was unfolding unmercifully.
As the day continues, I am trying to soak in the sunshine, focus on the fact that I played ping-pong AND WII Bowling at lunch (at work even), that I went to another fun game night, that I went to brunch with Zappy and Jill and ate yummy food, that I went out to a fabulous dinner with friends on Sat night and they paid, that I thought my IPod was broken and the APPLE store fixed it for free, that everyone I know is healthy, that I have wonderful career opportunities on the horizon, etc.
I haven't been like this in awhile and I hope it passes because it really is the shits. There is so much that I am grateful for. I don't get depressed anymore and I don't really allow PMS in my world anymore.
It's just that my tummy hurts and I want to go to sleep and the stinky woman down the hall is yelling at top volume about her love of "Wicked".
And I just want to be absent from today and wake up tomorrow and have it all be okay.
Which I am sure it will be.
And if not, I will eat chocolate to counteract the negativity.
It's science, yo.
And you don't want to mess with science when you are battling the horomone invasion.
No you don't.
Lately I have had to look up several words and their definitions. And they all begin with the letter "e".
I think I have been saying the word "exorbitant" wrong.
And last night at the Gals, Gays and Games Night part deux (pics of my latest drawings to come soon), I got the word Evinrude. I still don't know what that is. Miriam's online dictionary couldn't tell me.
And then today i learned a new word...prevarication.
I just looked it up. It's a good word. I know I will probably misuse it some day when i mean to say provoke. Or say "prevaricationate" when i mean to "prevaricate", cuz even though I am smart, I sometimes do stupid things.
I must extricate myself from this Evinrude (ha, I am just using it now willy nilly) and spend exorbitant amounts of time on prevarication.
Ta