Saturday, June 28, 2008

Adventure Bowl
Let Me In Your Pool!

This week I pulled from the Adventure Bowl, "Do something that makes you afraid." I really wish I had been more specific when I wrote that one. Because right now, there was a long list - talking to the cute guy on my street, standing in front of the mirrior naked, looking at my 401K, taking my car to my mechanic because every time I do, he, in his thick Russian accent, says, "Very bad news. VERY BAD NEWS for you."

But, I want to have fun! This Bowl is about having fun, challenging myself, getting back to me.

Hmmm, what can I do that makes me afraid? Well, one thing that I want to work on is my extreme case of Good Girl-i-tis. I am so freakin' good.

I obey all laws, I'm nice, I never step out of line. If a friend wants to jay walk it's like I can compute in five seconds or less all the castastrophes that could possibly happen, "We'll get tickets! We'll be mowed down by Hummers! We'll get tickets, be mowed down by Hummers and be on the news with mug shots that will not be flattering to my jaw line!"

I know. My friend once said to me, "It must be exhausting being you." And it is.

So I thought this could be a great time to do something that made me afraid and was bad...

My friend R sent me this web site that had all these listings of houses for sale in LA, each more ostentatious than the next. One even bragged that it had the best pool in LA and had even been feautured on "Entourage." (Eye roll with secret jealousy).

I started to think that it totally sucked that the only people that could luxuriate in pools were multi-millionaires. Poor people get hot, too!

There seemed only one way to remedy this. I needed to crawl over the fence of the "Entourage" house and get in that pool.

I told E my plan and she was in.

We decided we should do this at night, 'cuz of the whole fence scaling thing. The adreniline was pumping and soon I as I was up on a trash can (we didn't have a ladder) and over on the other side.

E went next, though, she started screaming when she came face to face with a racoon scurrying along the neighbor's fence. You would think I would care about someone calling the police but I was feeling so bad ass at this point, I practically DARED them to haul my soaking wet, voluminous ass out of that pool.

The pool was freezing and of course, we forgot the towels in the car. (MORONS!) But that only made us laugh harder until we were practically convulsing in fits. "We did it!" I knew it made E feel good to see me this way. As soon as just last December, I had been a shell of my former self.

Her words. But, true words.

The getting out part, OH, WE WERE DYING, we were so cold! And then there was the part where we had to crawl back over the fence with NO GARBAGE CANS on our side. We were dying of laughter over that. "Let's call the police to let us out!"

But man, was that worth it. Indescribable fun.

I highly recommend you do something that makes you afraid. That makes you feel like a bad ass. Because it pays off in the most unexpected ways after. You have no idea.

This blog is dedicated to fearless friends raccoons the size of dogs.


Tuesday, June 24, 2008

When You're Hiding Margaritas in Your Purse... It's Time To Look At Your Life

Life has been hectic. My new way of coping is to stay super busy so I don't have to think about being super stressed. I knew I was neglecting my blog because I didn't want to deal.

But knowing "not wanting to deal" has lead me to be confined to my bed, isolating from friends and eating a lot of string cheese, I thought I'd just journal like crazy and get it off my chest.

I went to one of my favorite Mexican places, Sunday, journal in hand. I ordered a margarita. Margaritas always make me tell the truth. Not always a good thing, like the time by BF and I had them and I ended up telling him I fake my orgasms. That was not a fun night.

Anyway, all the stuff I had to write about this Sunday was about family and the ability of my family to drive me bat shit crazy. I'll publish that entry one day. It's gut wrenchingly honest about how upset I am with my parents.

My Mom is either off her meds or no one is regulating them. She's the one who went to several different doctors to get all sorts of anti-depressents prescribed to her after my cousin died. She then concocted her own tiny meth-like lab in her house where she combined them in all sorts of varying degrees until it backfired an landed her in the emergency room.

That was a fun two months.

After one margarita the steam was pouring out of my ears. Why won't my Dad step up and do anything about this? Why am I the bad guy in all this? Why when I talk to my Dad about her erratic behavior am I called... wait, for it - "too sensitive?"

The things my mother says... they are not the things a mentally well person says to her daughters. Nevermind, that if she is acting this way with me, she is acting this way with everyone. My sister told me four months ago she was cutting off her relationship with my mother. I begged her not to. Why? I guess... I hate conflict. I would much rather ignore conflict. Can't we just all get along? Haven't we all gone through enough?

But the price of silence, of just going along with it, is really heavy. It's not making my Mom better and it's really affecting me and my sisters. There were a lot of reasons I broke up with my therapist. One was I just wanted to deal with my cousin's death more.

But when my friend C, a patient of my therapist, told me my therapist cried in a session with C because something they were talking about made her (my therapist) think of her son's suicide, I felt kinda reluctant to bring up David's death.

So I just paid out of pocket and went there and didn't say anything at all. I have taken politeness to a whole new level.

The other reason - she told me I would be more healthy if I didn't have a relationship with my mother.

I was not ready for that. I'm not ready for that now. Which is why, when I came to that conclusion at the Mexican restaurant, I ordered another margarita. Only, it was too strong. And I had to drive. But I'm thrifty and I had already paid for it. So... I went out to my car and grabbed a cup that I was carrying around for water. And I marched back into the restaurant, dumped my margarita in the cup and then tipped my waiter well for looking the other way and left.

I didn't come to any other conclusions about my family that day. Except that margaritas on a hot, frustrating day are delicious.

This blog is dedicated to waiters that look the other way.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Adventure Bowl
I'm Famous Here & At Taco Bell

I've always wanted an 8x10 glossy photo, like the kind famous people have, but of me, hanging in a restaurant. It doesn't even have to be a fancy restaurant. I could actually get quite excited to see myself featured at the Taco Bell right by Warner Bros.

There's only one problem: They hang their pictures quite high and while I'm not opposed to standing on a table top ("Excuse me, yeah, could you move your Chicken Gordita over just a smidge so I can crawl on top of your table and drill my photo up here?... No! Well, then I can't be responsible for falling ceiling."

This week, I saw my dream coming true when I picked out of the Adventure Bowl: "Hang Your Pic Up at a Restaurant." Now the hard thing is, I don't exactly have an 8x10 of me. Then I realized, that's what Kinko's is for! One hour later and about twenty bucks in printing fees (I got kind of picky, afterall, this picture of me is going to be immortalized FOREVER), I was off to this cool Mexican place in Hollywood.

I got to the restaurant and sat down in a booth. First problem - why are there so many damn people in a darken restaurant on a Sunday? Don't you people have anything better to do?!?! Second problem - a lot of the photos up there are nailed in. That doesn't make my job impossible, I'm strong and I come with tools. But I need less people here and someone to shield me.

I'm surprised I had that good of sense to know when an Adventure should be put on hold because by now I had two margaritas and after two margaritas, I start to think that I am invisible. I really don't want to be in the crime blotter because I was seen yanking down a picture of Burt Renolyds and replacing it with mine.

Now, even, though this Adventure has to be postponed until I can bring a few friends with me, it's not a total loss. I did some recon work that told me not to come on the weekend and help me scout the best booth to sit in that will get me the most optimal placement of my photo.

Now the big question is - do I want to be by Jake Gyllenhal or Farrah Fawcett???

This blog is dedciated to patience.

Monday, June 2, 2008

Everything I Know About Depression, I Learned From Carrie Bradshaw

Apparently, "Sex & The City" is not just for learning about sex and fantastic shoes! Now in one viewing or less, you too can learn to have the most fabulous depression ever. Just buy a ticket and grab your popcorn, note pad and pen!

Don't have time? Okay, even more fun, let's compare and contrast Carrie Bradshaw's depression in the "SATC" movie to my own.

CARRIE: Gets depressed in a luxurious five star beach front hotel
ME: Gets depressed in a broke down, rent controlled apartment in L.A.

CARRIE: Gets under satiny, 700 thread count sheets to shut out the world
ME: Lays on a threadbare mattress with a sweaty, ten pound Chihuahua. Gave up making the bed six months ago

CARRIE: Takes to her bed in a gorgeous couture caftan
ME: Takes to bed in a hole-y t-shirt that wouldn't be suitable for washing floors

CARRIE: Her golden locks of glossy hair cascade around her, highlighting her despair
ME: My bed-head is 24 hours away from being dread locks

CARRIE: Takes off her thousand dollar sunglasses and stares at herself longingly in the mirror
ME: Please... a really depressed person knows, rule #1 of depression - NEVER LOOK AT YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR

CARRIE: Refuses to eat for days
ME: Alernates between a bag of Doritos or Cheetos as breakfast, lunch and dinner. Only shops at the depression girls' grocery store of choice - 7-11.

People, if depression were that fabulous, there would be no reason to get out of it. So, thank God mine wasn't :)

This blog is dedicated to healing margaritas.