Archive for July 2005

I can’t believe it.

July 21, 2005

My co-worker, Julie, has been pregnant ever since (and before) I started working at my current job.  As every expectant mother should, she got all the requisite check-ups and ultrasounds, and we have all been excitedly awaiting the arrival of her new baby girl.  At the office baby shower, she received lots of cute pink things, and I personally gave her the cutest baby dress ever known to mankind.  Y’all, it was adorable.  We’re talking purple and white, hand-stitched patchwork-type accoutrements.  I want to say there was a pinafore involved, and definitely some adorable little matching bloomers underneath.  I got it at a fru-fru little baby clothes store that only sells items so cute that nobody inside is speaking in a normal voice or using adult words.  Once you walk in that store, your vocal register immediately rises a full octave, and the only sounds coming out of your mouth are sounds such as "AWWWWW!  OH my gosh, LOOOOOOK!  AWWWWW, look at that widdle dwess!  It’s so tiiiiiny!!!!" 

Anyway, so here it comes, people.  The moment you’ve all been waiting for:  Julie had a boy.  I’m not kidding you, she had a boy. 

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Why the reasons for moving to New York are suddenly clear…

July 1, 2005

Last month somebody hit my parked car, doing just enough damage to make the front corner on the driver’s side look ugly.  A week later, somebody ELSE hit my car on the SAME block, making the back door on the driver’s side look ugly, fugly, puddin’ & pie.  Luckily for me, both people-who-need-to-pay-more-attention-when-they-are-parking-in-a-tight-space-or-turning-around left notes.  So, after obtaining FOUR estimates for damage and driving around with a butt-ugly looking car for a month, it looks like I might finally be about to collect.  Of course, the one girl’s insurance company seems to think $457 will cover the damage (that’s about how much it costs for the insurance co.’s  rink-a-dink auto body guy to grab a hammer, a scrap of sandpaper, and some old white-ish Tempra paint from the back closet and go to town for 15 minutes until SHAZAM — "good as new")! when the estimate I got from MY trusted guy was a good $300 more.  Sigh.  I guess I should be thankful that they both left notes, and I am, but you know what?  They wouldn’t HAVE to leave a note if they would LOOK IN THEIR REARVIEW MIRROR ONCE IN A WHILE. Why, why, WHY can’t L.A. have decent public transportation? 

If New York didn’t get so freakin’ cold in the winter I’d be there in a second.  At least I wouldn’t have to worry about all this car mess.  No sitting in stand-still traffic, no people banging willy-nilly into my car all the time — Yes, if only NYC were a little more temperate — Oh, and if I could still go hiking whenever I wanted, and if I were 20 minutes from the beach.  And if I could walk to the best farmer’s market ever, and if I could still drive down to Laguna Beach in an hour, a place that is so breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly, lump-rising-in-the-throat-becauseLaguna you can’t believe a place can be so beautiful, a place that gives new meaning to the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ song "Road Trippin," specifically the line that goes, "Blue, you sit so pretty west of the One, Sparkles light with yellow icing, just a mirror for the sun… just a mirror for the sun… just a mirror for the suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun…"  Anyway, so as I was saying, I would totally move away from LA in a heartbeat, as long as I could still sit in my living room in the late afteroon while the sun bathes the room in golden light and window-shaped patterns, looking out over tile roofs, then palm trees, then mountains, and when the sun goes down, over the lights of West Hollywood. 

Aaaaaaaaaugh!  Damn you, LA, you have seduced me with your wiles.  You have caused me to spew forth cheesiness like an episode of "Full House."  I love you, dammit!  So what if I have to drive a virtual bumper car in 5 mile-per-hour traffic?  So WHAT if people regard my vehicle as their personal target for car-hitting-practice?  I will drive my mangled wreckage up to Mulholland and get out and spin around with my arms open wide, and sing loud and clear, all the way to the Pacific Ocean, while the Cheesy "This episode of Full House is about to End" music plays settlingly in the background. (or possibly just in my head).