It's Whatever

a deep, cleansing exfoliation of the thoughts, with a hint of mint

Table for 1, Monsieur… Oh, and Don’t Look at Me March 24, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 6:10 pm

today in l.a. i conquered my greatest fear of all:  eating alone at a restaurant.  and while it partly happened because i felt guilty that my dad had added the “breakfast for 1” plan onto our room, i also did it because if you’re going to be a famous writer, you need to learn to be a loner and eat at tables in dark restaurants by yourself as you wear all black and sunglasses while brooding over the new yorker.  or, in my case, while wearing skinny jeans, a blue flowery blouse, wet hair, and a look that says “omg i might hyperventilate.”

when i walked in, i made sure to stammer “table for 1” enough times for the hostess to sorta understand me.  then i threw in a nervous giggle, bc who doesn’t adore that.  then i made sure that this was free, because i’m really very poor.  it was awesome.  not an ounce of me felt like a farmer, as my dear mum would say.

the hostess started to seat me, but then stopped mid-way between tables with my ass wedged between two diners’ seats bc she didn’t have a table open for me… except that there were plenty of tables open, and i think she didn’t like the look of my arm hair.  she made me sit on a large couch alone as a bunch of other people came over to make sure i was alright.  i was alright, for having caused a scene.  i made sure to remember to report this atrocity to the hotel manager, but then the lady asked me if i wanted orange juice, and i really really did, so i let bygones be bygones and asked her how little mercedes was doing in school.

as i went to the buffet and approached the first silver bowl of breakfast goodness, i realized that i didn’t know how to open the lid.  it was round.  what the hell.  so i opened it slowly, looking to my right and left to make sure no one was watching as i looked like i was waiting for fire to jump out and char my face.  and it DID.  no, it didn’t.  apparently the new technology in buffet tins is that the lid will spontaneously stand on its own.  i got me some bacon, white eggs that said they had asparagus and tomatoes in them, but didn’t, because someone clearly got here before me and picked them all out (kirsten) and so it was just heatlhy, gross, californians-love-these, white freaking eggs.  i also got 1/4 of a belgian waffle, and some yogurt with berries in it.  i also stared at what i thought were egg yolks in a bowl for 30 minutes, but then looked at the sign and sounded out “a—pri—cots.”  new word for egg yolks? i said to myself, and walked to my table for 1.

i sat facing the window so i could seagull watch.  i opened up my “real simple” magazine that i stole from my mom’s bedroom in nj, and i pretended to read as i tried my best to avoid looking around at the other tables full of laughter, chatter, and some guy talking about “them mexicans.”  God, how i wanted to be apart of that conversation.

the egg whites were gross, but i ate them because i felt like if i wasted them, then some waiter would have the mistake of trying them, and i didn’t want to be responsible for his death.

everything else was fine, except for my need to look over my shoulder every two seconds.  also, the waiter dropped the check off five seconds after i started eating, which made me feel rushed.  also, it made me feel awesome, bc all it asked for was a name and room number, so i signed that bastard off to my dad, wiped my mouth, bowed to the servers, and went off to my room to dispense of the morning’s glories into the white commode.  “this one’s for you” i said as i looked at the cleaning  lady down the hall and gun clicked her.

oh, and i’m writing this by the pool which is located directly outside of the restaurant i just ate in.  i’m facing the very window i looked out of.  i think some of the staff might be reading this.  to them i say:  my apologies.

in other news, i’m pretty sure sitting on my ass by the pool all day is not going to get me anywhere closer to zack morris.  i am, however, still wearing my bayside high t-shirt and will soon approach the front desk asking for mr. carosi.

i had the waiter snap a photo of me.  that damn cat just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

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MY DAD TOOK ME TO COMPTON March 23, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 8:24 pm

my dad doesn’t care about gang wars.  he took me to his work yesterday to introduce me to his co-workers, and when i looked around, i said “why father, i do not feel so safe here.  porquoi?”  AND THEN HE SHOT ME BC I WAS WEARING CRIPS RED

kidding!

WOMEN LIKE THIS ARE THE KIND OF WOMEN THAT I’VE JUST BEEN EXPOSED TO:

DON\’T PULL MY HAIR

 

ok, maybe she said crenshaw.  but we passed the crenshaw exit on the 405, and i’m pretty sure my dad was going to take it if it wasn’t for his texting while driving distractions.

 

ohhhhh this trip.

 

 

The Plane Ride From Hades

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 5:12 pm

i was the first one at the gate for my flight yesterday.  let’s say it was 5:30 AM… because it was 5:30 AM.  slowly but surely, people trickled in.  except these peoples, they were like 1st graders lining up to go out to recess.  a grown man next to me got up as soon as the lady at the desk picked up the intercom, and he stood right at the rope for the entrance to the plane so that he could be first.

(he’s the androgynous kid with the fanny pack)

uh, we load by zones. and we have ticket numbers.  we’re all goin to the same place, don crazyo.

he also looked like this guy:

so we get on the plane, i’m in first class so i’m busy looking cool for celebrities or possible movie producers, but i can’t lift my luggage into the thing above my head because i am weaker than an emaciated steve urkell.  two burly men had to help me, and i giggled and sat down, so there went me pretending to be better than everyone else in first class.  except that i wore my purple aviator glasses the whole. time.

then our plane began leaking fuel, so we had to switch planes.  when all the big business men around me found this out, they immediatly got on their iphones and called people at their companies to yell at about the fuel.  it made PERFECT sense to me.  don crazyo yelled at his assistant by going “I NEED TO GET TO THAT MEETING BY ONE. NO… NO… NO DON’T TELL ME WHAT THE COMPLICATIONS ARE, JUST MAKE IT HAPPEN…AUDREY, MAKE IT HAPPEN… MAKE IT HAPPEN” and then i thought ‘for the love of god audrey, just make it happen’ and then he got off the phone and gave me a dirty look bc i was completely turned around in my seat staring at him.

as the captain announced that first class could now de-board and switch over to the plane next door, don crazyo and his fellow fatties knocked me and another girl over to grab their bags from the overheads and run to the same assigned seats they had on the plane next door.  it was awesome, except more like ridiculous.

as we settled into the non-destructive plane and took off two hours late, i watched the two flight attendant trainees messing up orders and trying to flirt with the gay male attendant, and i felt content.  i read magazines, flashed my engagement ring at the creep next to me, listened to music, and fell asleep with my mouth open.  i also watched the guy in front of me shake his leg uncontrollably as he waited for another dude to get out the bathroom.  ten minutes later, the guy emerges looking a little lighter, and he gives a guilty smile to the man about to enter the fire pits of airplane shits.  i laughed and then thought “this might  be a good time to let a few quiet ones rip, lindsey” as the smell from the bathroom was already permeating the air.  but i didn’t, bc that’s not first class classy.

then, i saw it.  my innocence drained from my face.  all trips to the catholic church those saturdays with mom and sister, wanting to kill myself as the priest talked about something probably important… gone.

the flight attendant trainee bent over… and she had this showing out of her shirt:

WHAT IN THE HELL IS THIS?! WHO IS SHE WEARING THIS FOR?! and where can i get one.

she also kept putting her hand in her pocket and scratching her crotch.

then i decided that even though it was only 9 AM L.A. time, it was 12 PM my time, and so a vodka and club was called for.  then i got drunk and listened to sad songs on my ipod and cried under my aviators.  then i fell asleep with my mouth open again.

when we landed, i thought about how we could have died, and so i stole a cookie from the flight attendant’s station.  you gotta live big, people.

oh, and when i was waiting for the animals in first to get their business bags and go to their meetings that are probably actually dates with hookers, the guy in front of me knocked me over again and stepped on my foot.  but it was ok bc i’m pretty sure he was famous… so now i am, too.

off to explore  the city of crushed hopes and dreams!  tata.

oh, and how about elizabeth taylor?

i used to get a good laugh from this commercial.   now, my laughter is silenced.  here’s to your lucky diamonds, lizzie girl.

 

Los Angeles: Show Me To Your Zack Morris March 22, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — omahgawditzljk @ 9:51 am

today i depart for the glorious riches of los angeles, CA.  home of pink’s hot dogs, the beverly hills hotel, and, somewhere, zack morris.

as i sit at the gate for my plane with my bayside high t-shirt on, i remember fondly the days of yore when tapered jeans were the shizz and cell phones came as big as babies.

i will find you, zack morris.  and when i do i will cheer “b, ba b, ba b b b… b ba b ba b b, GO BAYSIDE” and you will drop  your pants and love on me.