love hello kitty love hello kitty love hello kitty

Don't you just love hello kitty? I cannot name one individual who does not enjoy hello kitty. Have you been to the website? I've added it to my list of favorite links, so check it out.

I love hello kitty. I've been in lust with her since 1985 and this is an affair that is not soon ending. In honour (intentional) of my love for ms. kitty, i now have a hello kitty email address. It's kind of a joke, but I enjoy it. I thought it would be a nice email address to give out when I'm in bars meeting guys since no one gives out their phone number anymore (ugh sooo y2k). I would just love to see someone's reaction upon telling them you have a hello kitty email address.


I love hello kitty. She makes me feel 16 year old Asian girl who spends her entire time writing notes on wide-ruled notebook paper! Email me at candit@hellokitty.com

hello kitty is such a hot ho...

so long no cuddle frog

I'm learning new things about myself everyday and today I learned that I hate dropping people off at the airport. I've always acknowledged that it brings a bit of saddness to my afternoon, but this time I realized taking friends or family to catch a flight is so sad. I feel very lonely afterward.

I guess I should tell you the who, what, when, where and why...

One of my long-time buddies, Noah came to visit me over the long weekend. I moved here four and a half years ago and since the day I arrived I've anticipated his visit. So, it finally happened. We had a great time. In fact, I think in the seven years that we've been friends, this was some of the best time we've ever spent. I always appreciate his company, his conversation, his insights, and his genuine friendship (he has good hair too). I felt like we got to know each other a little bit more. We partied on Friday and Saturday nights, we stayed up for late chats, watched cartoons and ordered pizza, "myspaced," shopped, had a great dinner at Delfina, brunched at Elite and even took a walk to Land's End (a cliff) to watch the sunset, but he never gave me a cuddle. I'm still trying to get get over not getting a morning cuddle.

At any rate, Noah is a great friend (cuddle or no cuddle)and it was refreshing to spend a weekend with him. Maybe that's why I got so sad about dropping him at SFO this afternoon. He got out of the car, we hugged and said farewell then, he headed inside. I instantly broke out my piece of shit cell phone to dial Ralph in order to achieve some sort of interaction. I was afraid of my car getting quiet. He didn't answer and neither did the other two friends I called. So I rode in my car--the same song playing as when Noah was got out--and tried to keep from getting emotional (not emo). A rush of saddness and loneliness came over me. Are you crying yet? Sheesh, I'm crying just typing this (not really). Perhaps I had a really meaningful weekend with one of my favorite people (I gave him a new nickname--frog) or I hate dropping people off at the airport, I haven't decided. I can be fickle, so I don't know what my excuse will be today. Wait I know why I got sad, no cuddle...

"happy fuckin' new year"--b.spears (that drunk mess)

I'm back!! I'm back where I belong in San Francisco where I belong. I had a wonderful time in Southern California (with the exception of the two days that I think I rode the H-train), but it's so great to be home. It's nice to have some alone time, a healthy liver, and my nice quiet thoughts. I will admit, however that constant stimulation spoiled me a bit because while I am enjoying alone time, I'm also getting bored a lot quicker than usual.

Now it's a new year and while I'm not a fan of putting pressure on a new year, I'm expecting great things for 2007. Right now I'm trying not to be negative (hahahahahahahahaha)--we'll see how long it lasts.

Before I get into the nuances of my resolutions, I must tell you of my New Year's Eve. I had an amazing time (see the photos). I'm not much for blogging right now, but I wanted to wish you all a hapy new year. Here's to another year of crazy blogging ahead.



*Sometimes having a blog makes me feel like a celeb in my own right. Now if only I could get the worldwide recognition that comes with it...jebus

belated farewell

(robin, yours truly, jenny)
last week i bid farewell to robin & josh (miss them already)...i'm sure i'll be seeing her soon!!!

BYE ROBIN, BYE MR. BARDY--enjoy ohio, your mansion, and working in your jj's!

the hardest person on your list

I haven't blogged for some time now, and the last time I did blog, it wasn't happy.

I also haven't done one ounce of Christmas shopping. My list isn't long,
so I'm not worried. But I got to thinking--some people have very long
lists, other's have lists that include pets, and then there are those
who put their drug dealer on their "to buy for" list. Now there's a
question you don't hear everyday, "what should I get my drug dealer for
Christmas?"

I've really been thinking about this--not because I
have a dealer--but because I'm obsessed with what type of gift one
would give the guy who makes you happiest all year round. What would a drug dealer like to see under their Christmas tree? Maybe a new pair of socks? I bet they get cold feet from nervous transactions. How about nice scarf? Maybe you could get him a magazine subscription, although I doubt that would work as I'm sure he doesn't live in one place for too long. Do you think drug dealers wear pajamas? Isn't this perplexing? My vote is yes. It's not like you can give this guy an 8 ball, 8 ounces of pot, or 8 tabs of e...sheesh. These are a mobile group of people, household items would never do. I bet we'd be surprised to find out that dealers would love to haveporcelain tea cups, a nice bottle of wine, or a book (they read a lot from what i hear).

So I don't think it's people with bratty children who want PS3's, Bratz Dollz, or legos that have it hard. It's people who have drug dealers that have the hardest time shopping! What are you getting your dealer? I think just letting you know you appreciate him would be more than enough. He doesn't hear that often!!!

i hate my life

dramatic? a little bit.

but i have good reason...

[repeat]

i hate my life

[repeat]

i hate my life

[repeat]

i hate my life today, tomorrow, wednesday and thursday.

i should start enjoying life again by friday or on jan. 1st

i hate my life

billie's jeans

It's another rainy day, but I'm ok with that.

I arrived at work today and synced le pod into my machine as I always do. My listening taste varies. Some days I'm in the mood for Madge (no surprise, I'm sure), Mickey, or trance thumping, other days I want to listen to the solemn tunes of Death Cab, or those nostaligic beats of old from Billie, Frank, and Ella. But today I wanted nothing more than Michael Jackson. I think he's a total weirdo these days, but nothing gets me more amped than Billie Jean. I have to argue that this is the best song ever...yes EVER!

There's a lot of great music out there, but this song is timeless really. Have you ever met anyone who doesn't like Billie Jean? If ever I'm out, gettin' "crunk" someone plays this song and everyone gets so excited! If a party sucks, play MJ--you will get results. I once told Amanda (who is back in less than a week...yay) that whenever I get married (if I do) Billie Jean is going to be my wedding song. She said that's not a very appropriate for a wedding song. She's right, but I still love it.

Here's a little story: In July 1986, there was a little program called the Victory Tour. I was only two, but strangely MJ ignited a fire within me at a young age. He came on singing Billie Jean and broke into his famed moonwalk which caused this young child to jump up and down and scream, "whooo hoooo!" My mother told my aunt that MJ had a strange hold on children (future events revealed her clairvoyance). By three y.o. my bedroom walls had posters of Jacko, and my "Puff-a-lumps" record player blared the sounds of Thriller on vinyl.

I heart Billie Jean, eventhough she's not my lover...


MJ Moonwalks (click here)

black swan's tumultuous ending

I think it goes without saying, this has been an interesting week for me. I'm glad it has come to an end. In honor of ending the week of Dec. 4, 2006 I had a nice cry. After all of my relaxation, shakes, and frustration (those things don't seem to mix), I gave my ducts some exercise. Reasons available upon request.

I'm thinking I should take my pennies and move to Paris. The French will hate me for the first six months, but once I immerse myself in Parisian culture they'll love me--their little black swan. Nicholas sent me a link to style.com to which Scott Schuman, author of the beloved satorialist, contributes. I viewed a few of his photos from Paris Fashion week and decided that I had to be apart of that fashion parade. Wow, those people pull out all of the stops and really embrace the season. California style is boring, uneventful, and never leaves a lasting impression (look at those hollywood "it" girls).

I should really make a point at learning French (and taking it seriously). If I can't live there, perhaps I can visit soon. Change is always welcomed at my door. Just imagine it--me with no real job, a fabulous coat, great hair, before a really good looking French boy (yes, he'll be younger than I--a first) and a glass of Bordeaux.

"Liberté, égalité, fraternité, ou la mort!" ("Liberty, equality, fraternity, or death!")...the slogan of the French Revolution. Dramatic, yes. But very fitting.

when it's more than a party

I am excited to report that this month I will attend more parties than in all of my December's combined (i'm lying a little bit). See my list...

*Mike & Katie's Chrismahanukwanzka party (12/02)
*A "Cookie Party" (12/03)
*The GenArt Film Party
*Josh & Robin's farewell bowling party
* NCBPMA Party
*My Company Holiday Party
*My Family Christmas party (in Simi Valley, blech)
*Paul & Craig's Christmas Eve Eve Gathering.

That last party is what prompted this post. I've received some nice invites to all of these fetes, however none as exciting as the one waiting in my gmail box from Paul. Read it and let me know you'd like to be my date.

Press Release
Holiday Gathering

Riverside, Calif. ---- On the eve before the eve of December 25, 2006 you are invited to a medium-sized holiday gathering. Mr. Paul ____ and Mr. Craig ____ will host friends and selected family at their Riverside compound.

Paul and Craig will provide some premium alcohol products. The couple will also offer light food. Menu items include, but are not limited to, simple carbohydrates and slices of processed meat.

Never have Paul and Craig invited more than five people to their home at one time. They purchased the residence in April. By the time of this event Craig and Paul claim they will have plumbing, running water and electricity.

When: December 23, 2006
Where: (the address has been removed so you
don't stalk my friends)
Earth
Time: 3:45pm to 11:05pm

Please join us. RSVP by December 19, 2006 via telephone or telegraph at ______. (If carrier pigeon is used to RSVP, it may become part of the evening menu.)

A strict no gifts policy will be enforced.

scrub scrub

While I was certainly suffering from a case of the Monday blues yesterday, I managed to find some solace in the spa with a full body scrub and mask. As a result of my new freelancing gig, I've been awarded with lots of free product and tenement.

Upon my arrival I was delightful greeted by a nice woman who instantly offered me a glass of champagne. I gladly accepted the offer. I slithered out of my clothes and my skivvies and into a plush terry robe (haha..see previous post). I made my way to the ladies waiting room where there sat brie and crackers, sliced cucumbers, grapes, and brownies! After a few moments of noshing, Rhonda my specialist arrived. She greeted me and gave me a run down of how things would work...this is the exciting part...

Rhonda guided me into a room that was much like a cave. I positioned myself face up on a platform (draped, so my goods were covered--no Britney moments here). I was then slathered with a cranberry scrub from neck to toes. This was followed by a warm rinse and application of a pomegranate-honey mask. Rhonda then left the room and I sat alone as my cave filled with steam. So, knowing this treatment was all natural, I opened my eyes, looked around to make sure i was alone and had a taste of the mask..hahahaha. I felt a bit silly, but soon the ceiling began to rain (it lasted for 3 minutes) and rinsed me. After my rinse, I made my way to an alcove where warm towels, my robe and citrus shea butter waited for me. Rhonda arrived and offered up another glass of bubbles, I said, "yes, please." So, while most of Monday was dismal, it came to a pleasant end. I am now an even more firm believer in the power of a good scrub and a spa day.

FUTURE ADVICE: Invoke your inner "rich, white lady" and make your way to the nearest spa as soon as you feel your Monday blues approaching.

post sunday blues

It's 12:55pm and I've done nothing today. I've sat at my computer acting as a slave to my inbox. I have refreshed my mailbox about 15 times within the last 20 minutes (both work and personal accounts). I'm drained.

I had a chat last night that upset me a bit. It made me realize how so many of my decisions are not my decisions. I'm at the mercy of devices, mandates, and/or other individuals. They make decisions and set the rules, while I painfully oblige and blindfully accept them as my own. In the end, I question my ability to make choices, I question my ability to function as an adult, I question if I'm really the independent and socially capable individual that I believe myself to be. I'm sure I go through this questioning only out of paranoia, but I really feel like I'm not as in control as I would like. I'm losing my drive and my ambition.

In the past year, I've noticed a pattern in my behavior. I approach so many things with gusto, high hopes, high expectations, and genuine delight. However, as time goes on I lose the excitement. Is this something that comes with age? Do things progressively become more and more dull? I hope not, because that makes me want a pharmie.

I'm suffering from a total case of the Monday's.

december excitement

For some odd reason I'm excited today. Maybe it's because it's Friday or maybe it's because I'm babysitting Leo tonight or maybe because Christmas is coming. I'm looking forward to exchanging gifts with friends, seeing the nutcracker, making Christmas breakfast, and all of the lights.

I've decided that I'm going to avoid the insanity of shopping. I'm going to do most of it online...and I won't be doing that much anyway. When I really start thinking about Christmas shopping, I wonder how the hell my mother did it. As most of you know, I was an only child for ten years (and sometimes I'm still treated like one). I like to describe my younger self as my mother's living doll. This is not to discredit her parenting by any means, but she indulged me.

While most children ran to their trees to find a few great packages with their name on it. I think all but 6 packages under our Christmas tree were for me. I vivdly remember two Christmas's in particular--1989 and 1991. I'll dedicate today to 1989.

I was 5 yrs. old and a sassy kindergartener. On Christmas morning, 1989, our Christmas tree was filled with gifts. Most of which were mine. My mother put on the Christmas music as I tore into my loot. I received a new bike, a vcr, a race car, dolls, a doll house, stuffed animals, a tea set, a hot pink punk wig, clothes, jammies, shoes, undies, a mug for hot chocolate, new ballet slippers, new leotards, tights, a Minnie Mouse pillow with arms and legs...oh my god the list goes on. So when thinking about this insane/obsurd list, I wonder how my mother had time to enjoy the holiday season. It seemed she was constantly primping me, putting me in ruffled socks and dresses, shopping for me, and baking cakes. Wouldn't she have rather said forget it and just sent out Christmas cards??

show your cards

While my twenties have at times seemed to turn me into a rigid, negative, selffish, cynic, I have a lot of soft spots (want to try me--wink wink). I get great joy from sending (and receiving) letters, cards, thank you notes, and so forth. So, I'm awful exciting that it's time to pull out my fancy Holiday card spreadsheet!

Before meeting up with a friend last night, I took a trip to the MoMA store. I browsed for a good half hour before I came across the holiday card section. Two display fixtures sat toward the back of the store gleeming (i'm serious). It was perfect. There were so many interesting cards to choose from. One box featured hot pink reindeer on a silver backdrop. Another opened up into this cut out "enchanted forest." I decided this year, that I would search for a holiday card that simple, yet poignant. There at that MoMA I found my 2006 holiday card! If you are lucky and on my list you shall receive one. And you're going to love it...it's so "domino."

I also found a card that had me "in stitches." It was a vintage photo of a young boy, possibly from the 60's. It seemed as though the photo had been maniuplated (photoshopped, y'all), so the child wore lipstick and blush. He sat in front of a Christmas tree and the above caption read: Everyone Loves A Little Fruitcake During the Holidays.

I hope someone sends me that card.

I'm excited to send out my cards this year. More excited than I was last year. My list has grown and I'm much more savvy about this activity. I'd love to believe that people will be enchanted by my card, but it will sit with the others from family, distant relatives, and friends--which is ok. I will be pleased and the holidays are about giving, so give me joy and get on my Holiday card list, pronto!

back and ready to blog

Your beloved "chuntress" has returned from the depths of Southern California. It wasn't that bad, in fact, it wasn't bad at all. In the week I was there I purchased a pair of red shoes, had the most delicious burger from Father's Office (Santa Monica), hung out with old friends, and participated in some much needed laughter!!!

shhhh, it's sleepy time

I'm in Riverside and it's not to my surprise that I had a difficult time falling asleep last night. I usually can't fall asleep in unfamiliar places right away. So as I was dosing off, I began thinking about a conversation that I had had earlier that evening with my very good friend (and new mommy), Emalee. We were speaking about her sweet baby (he was 10lbs. at birth) and how often he sleeps. I began to tell her that one of my most rewarding activities is putting my little ones (the children I babysit) to bed.

It goes something like this...

There's been chaos or near chaos all evening, but once the kids finish dinner and have baths they're good to go. I lather them with sweet smelling cremes, give them fresh diapers, and select the cutest "jammies" in the drawer (I like to pick the ones with feet). Once they are in "jammies" I hug them and tell them they are so cute! By now I have a warm bottle ready --mind you these are my kids age 2 and under--so I grab the "baba," "bobbie," "bubby," whatever and a cozy blankie. I usually dim the bedroom light (one of the children likes a lullaby cd), swaddle the baby, settle into a large chair, give the baby his/her bottle and rock back & forth, back & forth, back & forth.

I'm sure none of this sounds like riveting information on child-rearing, but I get such joy out of these moments. It's quiet time and the babies always look so peaceful. It usually takes the little ones about 10-20 minutes to knock out, and once they do, it's to their crib they go. I'm not typically a sentimental girl (emotional, but not sentimental), but it's this moment that makes me realize why people fall in love with their babies. They're great when they're awake yes, but they're so trusting & peaceful at sleepy time.

update: I've decided that I'm not looking forward to going down to Riverside. I really hate going there. It's nothing but drama everytime I go. And I can already feel some nasty tension building. I'm ready to go back to San Francisco and I haven't even left. Ugh, Garden State experience is surely underway...

leavin on the midnight train

Today it's a trip home to "the side." Riverside. I'm sure I'll be greeted with the usual questions from family:

"How do you like living in San Francisco?"
It's great, I love it. I'm never moving back here.

"Really, why not?"
Because I don't like chain restaurants (I'm a San Francisco elitest now). I have a life there, I do things that I like and it excites me.

"Ohhhh. So where are you working?"
I'm working in book publishing. I like to call myself the marketing lord, even though I don't know enough to be a lord, god, goddess.

"Candace, it's not right to compare yourself to God."
No, no not that god. but the marketing gods. They are different.

"Are you going to church up there?"
No. I'll be right back. I need to get another drink.

Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy these chats wtih family, but they're always the same. Maybe that is the beauty of getting together with family--redundance. I think I'll switch it up a bit this time and develop some witty answers or just steer the questions in another direction.

Another joy of going home is trying to divide my time among friends and family. At the top of my list are the following:

sparkle & Victoria Gardens with Ralph
day drinking with Noah
getting "crunk" (what a horrible word) with Melissa

Bring on the Riverside. I may come back with a set of acrylic nails and a plate of T.G.I (E) Friday's "tato" skins y'all.

poopy diaper party

Quite a few of my girlfriends have babies, but none of them have had baby showers. I'm thankful for this because I've never been a fan of le baby shower--I find that they're boring and the games always suck. The last baby shower that I had the "pleasure" of attending was clad with floral frocks, soccer mom haircuts, carrots & ranch dip, punch w/ sherbert in the center, dry costco cake, plastic baby hangers (someone gave this and this alone as a gift--a pack of 99 cent hangers), and prayers. I think it goes without saying, I was miserable. I stood out like a sore thumb in a big white skirt, gold hoop earrings, and cowboy boots.

I must say that I do respect the purpose of shower's. I love a good party and I love a preciuos little baby, but seriously someone has got to come up with a better way to celebrate a woman's big day. I was watching "Girls Next Door" yesterday and there was a baby shower for some blonde gal and her (very homo looking) guy. What do you think Hef's main girl, Holly did? She pulled out the classic babyshower game--guess what's in the diaper. I HATE THIS GAME. I think it's sick. What is exciting about pretending to smell shit? I say nothing, but that's just one black girl's opinion. Another game that I think is ridiculous, how many squares of toilet paper is mommy's tummy? I don't want to be swaddled in toilet paper, do you?

I think the ideal baby shower involves Billie Holiday tunes, canapes, cupcakes (in lieu of a sheet cake), a sit down meal, "cocktails" (non-alcoholic dranks for the pregnant lady), champs (because one glass is ok), lots of gerber daisies (in bright colors), & candles with an early evening backdrop. None of those stupid games will be played. Someone is going to be smart and use the sense God gave them to come up with some original stuff that doesn't involve poop, toilet paper, or "when I was a baby I..."

I haven't figured out what activities will be appropriate. But I do know that if I'm invited to a baby shower in the next few months and someone pulls out those newborn sized diapers filled with mushed candy bar (by the way, why does the organizer always giggle), I just might be the single, childless, city bitch who says, "I'm not into scat!"

ok to be lazy

It's 8:30pm on a Sunday evening and I have nothing to show for the day. That's because I spent the entire day watching television (and I indulged in some Rocky Road ice cream). I'm ok with having done nothing productive, because I deserved my lazy day. I spent my Saturday with five margaritas, Kim & Robin (I love how they keep me giggling), lots of boys, and college football. I was drunk by 5:30...my fingers were numb, my eyelids heavy, and my laughter was genuine. Everything about yesterday was genuine, espeically the way I passed out by 7:45.


(i'm not going to post anything about drinking for 5 days y'all...i'm sobering up)

i gotta new attitude

I've had a face lift and I didn't even have to leave blogspot. Obviously "chuntress" has had a little reconstructive surgery, not me. I was getting bored of black. As I said to Ralph the other day, "g(r)ay is the new black." Everything manages to be the new black at some point or another so I don't really know how much weight that saying has. Regardless, I'm going to ride out the wave of gray being insanely sexy, stylish, and much more myterious than black (Viktor & Rolf are totally going gray).

A true visionary can successfully pull off a reinvention. I mean, Madonna has done it so why can't I? Madonna has also had a face lift (she could use another), so why can't I? My blog has just gone from "Material Girl" to "Bedtime Stories" in like 30 seconds. As I always like to remind you, my reader, be jealous!

No worries, content will remain the same--unentertaining recounts of my drunk weekends, the cicular ramblings of my love life (wanting one and not wanting one), complaints, absurd fantasies, my love of Vogue magazine, frivilious spending (eventhough I'm broke), bitching, hating, and those special posts where I see the light of God and say something that makes me seem like a compassionate being. Welcome, kittens.

*Madge circa Bedtime Stories era

missing mickey avalon

I'm a little bit sad today. There's a Mickey Avalon show this evening and unfortunately, yours truly cannot attend. Instead I'm sitting on babies.

Now, I'm guessing that many of you aren't familiar with Mickey. Well he's a crass little thing, not very attractive either. But his "fuck-it, then bend over and i'll fuck you" lyrics are downright addicting, much like the drugs he references in many of his songs.

My favorite Mickey song right now (see below):

So rich, so pretty

I like a girl who eats and brings it up.
A sassy little frassy with bulimia.
Her best friend's a plastic surgeon.
and when her Beemers in the shop she rolls the Benz.
Manis and pedis on Sundays and Wednesdays
Money from mommy, lovely in Versace.
Costly sprees it's on at Barneys.
And i love to watch her go thru 50 G's calmly.

She gets naughty with her pilate's body.
And thinks it's really funny when her nose goes bloody.
Cuz the blows so yummy and it keeps her tummy empty
And makes her act more friendly.
Dance the night away.
And she won't say nothing when she makes a man stray.

Come on get it 'fore I change my mind.
Come on kid don't waste my time.
So rich, so pretty
The best piece of ass in this whole damn city.


Horrible, isn't it? Can you believe that I would even be interested in this. Yeah, I can't either. I can say this much, I'm going to keep Mickey where I like him--in my ipod. He is so not invited to my fantasy dinner party. Hmm this is something to ponder. I invited Mary Shelley (see October post) to my fantasy dinner party, given the lyrics above just think of her interaction with Mickey. Omg, mother's teach us not to mix friends for a reason, even if it is imaginary...

I bet Mickey would tell Mary "1,2,3,4 get cha booty on the dance floor work it out shake it little mama" (Jane Fonda)

monday rambling

As you regulars know, Monday usually consists of a weekend recap...
My last post recounted my new discoveries, so in keeping with the theme I'm going to add a few more:

1) Spending a Saturday morning (which turned into afternoon, turned early evening) drinking
2) Breakfast at The Elite Cafe
3) Well-done, cheap cashmere at Marc Jacobs
4) Watching Robin yell "c'mon nerd" in coffee shops that could very well be libraries

I'm going to avoid detail this go round. But I will say that I haven't laughed so hard during brunch in a long time! The food at Elite was splendid, Robin & Kim were total crack ups (one story had me in tears from laughing), and bloodly mary's go down well after a night of beer. Also, I met a new boy. We have dubbed him, "new boyfriend." Granted he's not my boyfriend, but he was very candid in telling me that he should be. I like that--the honesty. He took me out for dinner last night and DVR'ed Desperate Housewives for me. Survery says, keeper. And he's really cute when he wears his glasses.

Needless to say, I enjoyed my weekend. I even got up and went running, bought new booties, a knit hat, and scored a $200 blouse for $20. Yes, be jealous.

It rained today and I would have loved to stay home and play dress up in all of my new things---I know I'm not the only person who does that, right? The dress up gods weren't in my favor, because I didn't stay home and play, rather I wore the ugliest thing ever and went to work. Can I go back to Friday and start over?

new discoveries

It takes a long time to distinguish those things that you genuienly enjoy from those things that are, just ok. I've made a few new discoveries lately. I'm getting more in tune with what I do and don't like. Since I often wallow in a lovely little place called negativity, I'm going to avoid telling you what I dislike and spend some time talking about what I am enjoying these days.

Music: Currently enjoying the crass lyrics of Mikey Avalon (itunes download) & the Marie Antoinette Soundtrack

New Found Passion: I have two--deep v-neck tee's from American Apparel & Voluspa Candles (scent Persimmon)

New and Oddly Fulfilling Pasttime: Getting up alone on Saturday, making coffee and reading Vogue

New Found Treat: Cheese & Herb Croissant from Myth Cafe ( i really enjoy their coffee too)

New Discovery (that comes with age): It's ok to disagree wtih someone to their face & day drinking (less of a hangover)

New Libation: Grapefruit Mimosas

wishing & hoping no longer

I knew that if I wished hard enough this day would come. Britney Spears is finally on the right track, bidding K-Federjerk "popozao," a slvete figure, and donning a sassy new cut she is back to her old ways. I think everyone is going to forget about her whitetrash ways in about 3 months. Everyone will love her again. And Ralph & I will be spending our last pennies to see her perform in Vegas--this you can count on. How long must we wait for the full circle of our #2 Pop Icon???

(did i really just blog about this...as Amanda would say, "you [candace] are very lame")

Read Perez

that's an action item for you

(omg, it's 6:28am and I'm up blogging....loyalty)

In the past few years that I've spent in the working world I've been subject to meetings. Meetings aren't always fun, and I'm sure you would agree. They can often be long, boring, misdirected, a "my way is the best way" battle, or short and unaccomplished. Taking all those things into consideration, I've figured out what would make department meetings more enjoyable....cocktails!

Before you disregard this, seriously (haha) consider it. Your department is scheduled for a 3 o'clock meeting, but at 2:30 some "hotender" (hot bartender) shows up and takes everyone's order prior to commencement of the meeting. This is perfect already. All of your drinks are paid for by your department, unless you're ordering top shelf liquor (oh btw, the conference room is now complete with a fully stocked bar). I'm sure you're thinking that this would be ridiculous because everyone would get shitfaced. But c'mon this is work and there must be some sort of order. The rules:

1) two drink MAXIMUM
2) absolutely no shots
3) the bartender cannot concoct any drinks with tequila (sorry no 'ritas)
4) if you seem drunk after your first drink, you cannot have a second
5) it doesn't matter how good the drinks have you feeling, you cannot, by any means take off clothing or dance on tables (grounds for termination)
6) beer is only offered during friday meetings to coincide with weekend sporting events. otherwise no beer, it's cocktail meeting hour, not an afternoon at the "Brewco"

The beauty of alcohol is that in small doses it gets things accomplished. One drink will loosen everyone up, they will say what they have to say and all attendees get out within a reasonable time frame. I just think this would be great. I'd love to begin discussion projects and asking questions after taking a good sip of a campri and soda (with orange juice), a raspberry mojito, a kir royal, grey goose and pineapple, or just a flute of veuve. How effective. Mmm make mine a double. I want to hear your thoughts on this...

let me eat cake...

i had a chance to take in a sunday matinee of marie antoinette. i read
the new yorker review prior to attendance, so i knew i was in for.
despite the anthony lane's scathing (and hilarious) review, i still
trumped over to the amc van ness with nicholas for an afternoon treat.

i have to begin by saying that it was very difficult to get into this
film. it had a very slow beginning with a number of scenes that seemed
either too long or not crucial to the story development. don't you
hate that? i do. immediately i start looking at my cell to see what
time it is, thus trying to calculate how long this pitty of a film
will be. this happened when i went to see "the lake house" (yes, i saw
it). so roughly 20 minutes into the film i began to get somewhat
comfortable. i never really got into the dialogue (because there
wasn't much). i didn't enjoy the jason schwartzman as the dauphin--i
didn't believe him and i kept seeing "weird ethan" in his eyes,
kristen dunst reminded me of sour, retarded milk--can milk be
retarded--and all in all the movie missed its mark.

coppala's intent was clear. she was hoping do skillfully intertwine
eighteenth century france with modern day. fair enough, right? but it
was off on so many accounts. the converse, the language, the behavior
of the characters, the music, the overall indulgence somehow didn't
gel in the way one would have expected. somehow there manages to be a
great disconnect in the film. perhaps it isn't cohesive due to her
choice of actors? or maybe she's trying too hard? i can tell she's
trying to tap into some greater meaning. nicholas suggested that
perhaps the 80s tunes (i.e.bow wow wow, siouxsie and the banshees)
where a failed attempt at coppala creating a comparison between
over-the-top way of the 80's to that of revolutionary france.

anthony lane suggests that paris hilton directed the film. i found
this hilarious, but i do feel that the redeeming quality of the flick
was it's decadence. being the sort of gal that i am i can't shy away
from luxurious fabrics, unforgiving colors, ornate design, perfect
curls, cupcakes, candy, pastel poker chips, ribbons, porcelain tea
cups, champers (champagne), luscious bedding, dramatic dress, and a
delicate french backdrop, so for those things alone, i enjoyed the
film. it made me want to lie around and relish in dainty eats all day,
dress wale-bone corsets, pick out shoes, and bitch about who's who's
in the french social scene. oh and make "nice" with sexy soldiers.

i did however walk away with a sparked interest for marie antoinette
and i'm interested in picking up a copy of antonia fraser's book, upon
which this film is based. i guess any girl who supposedly tells a
bunch of starving people to "eat cake," is a no nonsense darling after
my own heart. the movie wasn't great, but i'm glad i saw it. and to be
honest, because it was so pretty, i'd see it again.

word of the day

SLAG

WHY: i like the movement of the jaws when saying it. and it's a hot insult to call someone a slag

MEANING: 1. also called cinder. the more or less completely fused and vitrified matter separated during the reduction of a metal from its ore.

2. to form slag; become a slaglike mass

3. residue

USE IT IN A SENTENCE: gavin is hot and i hope he runs again. i'll gladly be his young girlfriend once he gets rid of that SLAG he's dating now.

can i holla at chu?

ERRRRGGG, very uncool way to begin my tuesday. i was "attacked," but a dreadlocked something as i was making my way to starbucks (would have rather had peets) for my morning coffee. i expressed the fact that i was in a hurry, i don't give out my phone number, and i didn't want to talk. i thought i rid myself of the guy, but lo and behold when i walked out of "bucky's" there he was--clad in a camoflogue hoodie, green hat, and jeans. i was on the phone with my beloved mother and tried to make the call seem more important than it was. he stopped me and asked, "can you talk now." i responded with a quick "no, i'm on an important call and i need to get into work." he left...thank jebus.

the point of this rant, is because i'm tired of being approached by men who are clearly not my style or type. just because i'm black doesn't mean i want to date a guy in a hoodie with rims on his lexus. in fact, i don't care about that. he'd probably just want to sleep with me then loaf off of me...been there, done that and i'm not doing it again. i know it's horrible for me to sterotype a group of guys, but why is every black man that approaches me so FUCKING AGGRESSIVE. i like assertive, not obnoxiously agressive. look, no means no. i'm not interested in you tryin to "holla." BLARG...

oh no dawling, keep the change

there are so many things i want. i'm sure it's a combination of living in consumer culture and the fact that my mother had no trouble (and still doesn't) with indulging me. on the "to have" list this week:

a) a mani
b) a new pair of red pumps
c) a knit red hat
d) new La Luz candles
e) sushi dinner

i'm sure all of it won't happen (in fact i'm positive it won't), but i like wanting things. however, the reason why it won't all come to pass is because of....yup, money! now why is it that we can't pay people in ice cream. there is plenty of it, it tastes better than pennies or dollar bills, and it leaves one with options. i mentioned to Amanda (jebus, i miss that girl) that when she returns i'm going to take her out for dessert at citizen cake. i'm going to dub that our date spot. i'm taking her there for a number of reasons (she likes it, i like it, it's quaint), but most of all i'm taking her there for payment. i'm repaying her in dessert for being one of my favorite people and i'm sure for some reason i owe her cash (i owe everyone, even the irs). she will be pleased with this form of payment, i'm sure. everyone is happy when you pay people in dessert be it ice cream, cupcakes, cookies, truffles, or rum balls.

*you may think this post is making no sense, but i like it...it's making my cavities hurt

cow branding

i'm not really into cow branding, although if it helps someone pick out a better piece of steak than let's do it. i'm kidding!

i'm the cow, and i need to be branded. i don't know who even reads this blog anymore, but if you know what's been going on with me as of late, you are well aware of some of my outside projects and my hope to become a big name in the mktg./publicity world. so i'm currently doing some freelance work for a style website, and i've also adopted (not black babies) some freelance publicity projects. i'm a girl on the go--attending events, sucking down cocktails, and networking. and regardless of my pathetic checking account, i'm seemingly fabuloous (tooting of the horn...awww beep beep awww toot toot).

any who, i need to be branded. i'm sticking my butt out so stamp a seal on it! i need a website, i need a logo, or a sexy design, a treo, and a new handbag (my bag is so tired). ok, maybe i don't really need the last two that badly, but i need to up my contacts list and get recognized. if i want prime san francisco property, a winter condo in palm springs, and a black AMEX i need to get on this. if you have any ideas for branding, please send them over. this is my new project and i want your help, cuz i luuuuuh you!

word of the birthday

i'm on a roll.

word of the day: STRUMPET

why: because i said so and i really like the way it sounds.

today is laura aka blaurablog's "burfday." she is just getting so much celebratory action these days. i attended her bachlorette on saturday, which is the real reason for my mention of her. it was so fun. she was scantily clad in a tutu, bunny ears, a garter , and a t-shirt with commands such as "give a beer bottle a blow job," "let a random guy do body shots off of you," "give away your garter," "eat a chocolate cock at the bar and ask the guy if he minds," "kiss a bartender," and "show your right nipple," to name a few. laura was a good sport about this. she was by far the best bride yet--i guess she was channeling those sorority days. david really is a lucky guy to have laura ...FOREVER and oscar is a lucky pup to have her too. we stumbled our way through the mission (beauty bar, skylark & double dutch) with penis straws, drunken smiles, and more booze in our belly than we knew what to do with (beside puke). laura's friend brooke and i donned "tramp stamps" indicating our single status. all and all it was good fun, but i don't think laura will be reliving her last time as a STRUMPET (use it in a sentence) on this, her lovely birthday. below are a few photos of the evenings debachery....(p.s. don't show my mom). Do you think we were STRUMPETS?

black babies are the new birkin

If this is true than I can get rich pretty easily. Black babies seem to be a hot comodity in Hollywood. So, if I pop out a few does that mean that I'll reap the monetary benefits of well tanned offspring? Probably not, because at the rate I'm going my children won't be pure breed, since I don't date very many black men. They'll be muts, so I won't get as much money for them...damn.

This brings me to my next topic of discussion. I've been dating more. I've been going out more. Which means, I've been drinking more (my liver runs marathons). But back to the first point. I've been dating more. Now I had a date back in August and the follow (or lack thereof) was wretched. However, I met a gem--Southern Hottie--and we reconnected last weekend. Exquisite, I tell you. I also managed to sneak in a dinner date on a school night with "Apple." Apple is cute and, despite Nicholas's contempt for Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Apple resembles him (J.R.M, not Nicholas). Any who, while I have had no shame in expressing my wish for a boyfriend, I like dating right now, it's fun.

My mother thinks this is obsurd and I should, "wait on God" and that SF is filled with weirdos. I came back at her by stating that people in Riverhell do the same thing, only they meet at TGI Friday's. To be honest, I don't really care if she thinks dating is crazy. Someday, my date will become my claim to fame. Because he will assist me in producing an impure blood line and we'll get rich off of it. While black babies are the new birkin, half black babies well become the new vintage chanel.

dining in fantasyland

New methods are always welcomed if you ask me and that is why I took Bart to work (that and I can't afford gas). Taking Bart isn't exactly new for me, but it never ceases to refresh. Over the weekend my October issue of Elle arrived so I toted it along today for riding reading material.

After reading this article about "not-so-perfect" wifery, I came across a really cool Q&A with CFDA Womenswear Designer of the year, Costa del Soul. They asked him "Who are your fantasy dinner party guests?" What a great question. I marveled at this. His answer: Picaso, Maplethorpe, Diana Vreeland, Elizabeth Taylor, Harry Potter, Louis Armstrong, and Diana, Princess of Wales.

All day I've been thinking of my fantasy dinner party guests...I think I have an idea of who I would invite.

-Truman Capote (that's a given--damn he was a partygoer & he could hold his liquor)
-Audrey Hepburn
-Mary Shelley
-Billie Holiday (for sassy entertainment)
-Diane von Furstenburg
-Johnny Depp (he's nice to look at)
-Coco Chanel
-Andre Leon Talley
-Humbert Humbert
-Yves Klein (i love blue)
and
-a few of my refined friends (but that's not fantasy)

Before meeting in a grand dining room--the one with 12 ft. ceilings, brocade dining chairs and a table fit for a queen--we'd lounge around the sitting room on decade sitting poufs, drinking Campari, sidecars & manhattans--maybe even Veuve Rose, while enjoying canapes for hors d'overs, and talk about two of my favorite things--literature and fashion! Tres magnific...Can I move to fantasy land?

grey's friday-pt. deux

Happy Friday, Friends!

So I had a fabulous dinner last night with Nicholas. He is totally the BEST DATE EVER. We always have such good conversation and I end dinner feeling accomplished. After dinner, however, I rushed home to catch Grey's. And here's what I have to say about it. I'm beginning with the end, because it was so powerful.

Go Addison!!! I loved her for so many things last night. She's such a great character. When I first began watching Grey's, I hated Addison. I thought she was pathetic and getting in the way of true love, but the truth is that Addison is a hot slut. She called her husband a slut--I love that. And she got herself set up in a swanky hotel with one hot piece of ass. Jebus, did you see him walk out of that steamy shower?!? My God...I'm excited for the unraveling of this story, it's totally bringing sexy back to Seattle. I'm glad she and McDreamy have realized that it's over. She's so much better off without him. He's one of those men who will just take take take. He doesn't give, instead he blames her for everything. Addison, keep effing that hot guy, he's a better lay--I know it!

Second item of business, Burke's "mama." I hate her. Yeah, yeah, so she's a clean cut, wealthy black lady, but she's also a bitch. Ralph says she's like my mom. Whatever. She needs to be nicer to Yang. I'm not into mother's "testing" their son's women. That's tired. About as tired as that black blazer that she wore throughout the episode. Upity black people can be so disenfranchising.

I'm over Izzie and her shit.

I'm over Meredith and her obnoxious monologues. I know that viewers like that, but she has too many wrinkles to be that choosy over who she wants as a man. People like her shouldn't have options. George's girlfriend on the other hand is so perfect. She's my favorite right now. I want him to love her, don't you? I think he does, but he's being a total guy about it.

Finally, let's talk about Alex. He and Addison get the hot slut award. That old lady wasn't hot enough if you ask me, but I still love that was, as Amanda would say, a "Booty Nomad." How great was his last line, "You're right, I shouldn't be getting physical with patients?" He's got a big one--I know it! hahaha

Tune in next week for more of my useless opinions on Grey's. I provided a link in case you want a respectable look at the show.

Click here for Seattle Grace

get on your knees and get to work

I'm thinking about getting a cleaning lady. Ralph told me to "Go find a Mexican," to which I responded with uncontroable laughter. I think having a cleaning lady will make me feel rich and more in control.

If you don't already know it, I have serious control issues. I'm like the Barbie (in black, of course) who comes complete with territorial issues, a voicebox that complains when you pull my string (or just say something I don't like), caffiene dependency, opposable thumbs, and a bag full of accessories.

Cleaning ladies are good. I think any way. I once had someone say to me that they weren't comfortable with getting a pedi because they felt like it was weird and some superiority issues could come into play That makes me wonder how some people feel about having a cleaning lady. Sure, cleaning is a task you can do yourself, but why not have someone else do it. If she's making money than clearly it isn't that much of a burden. Because we all know there are a lot of ways to make money and cleaning house doesn't have to be one of them. I don't care what anyone else thinks...I want my baseboards cleaned and I don't want to do it. After five days of commuting and working, the last thing I want to do is pull out soap and water to start scrubbing the walls in my dust ridden apartment (we get dust from the street--I live on a busy one). A clean house means I'm in control of something and I love being in control because when I'm not in control of things, I begin behaving strangely. Well more accuratley I get bitchy. And I hate being a bitch.

16 drinks, 2 port-a-potties & 1 naked leatherfest later

It's Monday. I've begun many-an-entry such as that, but mostly out of detest. Today it's out of exhaustion. I filled my weekend with goodies--the kind that come in bottles, glasses, flutes, and cans.

Errrgg I'm really tired today....

So on Friday Ralph came up, which is always fun, but unlike past visits where we spent our days rifling through the racks of H&M, movie going, or skipping through Union Square until we have shopping headaches, we took in the weekend's festivities and drank ourselves silly. Friday was dinner at Medjool with Arty followed by a round of shots and about 5 additional drinks (per person) at Elbo Room. I'm really glad I've stopped drinking fru fru drinks (for the most part anyway), it's so much easier to order Campari--everyone has it and you can't screw it up! We had such fun. I was even asked if I wanted to go motorcycle riding sometime this week. The guy--cute, but he was about 5'2 and that doesn't work with me. Then he confessed to be an "LD" (yeah I didn't know what that meant either). Well it means "learning disabled" and when I offered up my number, I also I had to task of entering my name into his phone. I never have a dull moment at Elbo Room. So for three crazy kids who didn't want the evening to end, last call was more upsetting than usual, so back to Arty's for champs--the result? Vomitfest '06. I'm such a hard parting rock star (hee hee).

Saturday came and after waking up in Arty's flat at 2:00pm we decided to make the day happen , but take it easy. Shopping was the plan. Little did Ralph know, shopping on Saturday in Union Square is severely frustrating. We caught the first bus available and met a "friend" of mine at Civic Center for the Love Parade. It was my first time hanging out with this guy (the friend) and my first Love Parade--what fun it was. After 4 beers, 8 techno beat buses, a hash brownie, and ganja cake I couldn't stop feelin the party. We met up with the the friend (who is now dubbed "Southern Hottie") after dinner (more beer please) and partied until 3am. I managed to make out with Southern Hottie on the corner of Pacific and Van Ness--this one's a keeper...

Sunday was nothing but bare butts at Folsom. I didn't want to go but Ralph made me. Luckily I ran into one of my favorite groups of people--Jenny, Aaron and Tim (i just love them). This made Folsom a lot easier to ingest (in addition to those two really good margaritas). It felt unsanitary and I know someone caught ringworm. I saw enough penis to last me a lifetime (who am I kidding), enough ugly boobs to realize that maybe plastic surgery isn't as bad as I thought, and enough hairy butts, backs and balls to consider stock in Nads home waxing kit.

All in all I had a great weekend. I'm tired now, but I partied, I boozed, I had a few nice meals, I finally met Southern Hottie and made-out with him, and I used two port-a-potties in one weekend. Happy Autumn!!!

anatomy of a loyal viewer

Last night was the season premire of Grey's Anatomy. I was so excited--I still am. I remember ending last season in tears. For months I kept wanting Denny to die, so in the last episode of the season Seattle Grace Hospital fulfilled my wish and killed off Denny. I ended up feeling sad for days and whenever I heard "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol (now one of the most played songs on le pod) thoughts of Denny's failed body came to mind. Ugh and Izzie just crying her heart out in that Jessica McClintock. Jebus!

I feel like my old friends are back. It was so great to see everyone--McDreamy, George, Miranda, the Chief, Addison, Christina, Alex--everyone. I think we are in for an exciting season! After last night I called Ralph to ask him, how long until next Thursday. I will admit I was a bit frustrated with Izzie. I know Denny is dead, but she really showed her us "crazy" last season and it's going to be hard for her to win my trust back (hahaha). Of course Meredith and McDreamy are up to their old tricks. It's not a fresh idea, but it keeps me going back for more. And I'm crossing my fingers that Addison finally lets McDreamy have it. She's too good for him. Yeah so she had the affair first, but she's trying to make it work. The only thing he's trying to do is get and keep Meredith naked. I wonder how they're going to react to Meredith's black panties tacked to the "Lost and Found" board. Ok, I'll stop now. But I'm thinking this may be a regular thing--I'll dub it Anatomy Friday. Loves it!

a little discouragement goes a long way

The first year was hard. Actually those first few months of single life were daunting. The only thing enjoyable was getting down to a zero---ahh "breakuprexia!" After a few months of it (about six to be exact), I settled in nicely and began appreciating the new me.

The second year of single girlhood was wild, adventurous, sexy, even envious. I had my pick of guys. I exuded with confidence, while maintaining that girlish charm that males love so much. With no real commitments I relished in this devious behavior. It was refreshing and down right liberating after spending my days and nights with soy ice cream, my vegan buddy, and reruns of Everybody Love Raymond.

I've just passed the three year mark of single life. I know the exact date, but I'd feel foolish revealing it...eventhough I just told you that I know it. So now, at the ripe and ready age of 23, I'm ready to delve into the world of exclusivity. But sadly dating now seems to be much more difficult than it was 4 years ago. I have standards now and won't settle for any piece of shit off the street. I'm not into chubby guys (sick), guys who love Vegas (I'd rather go home and kill myself), mama's boys (not my style), anyone over 32(done that), vegetarians (not into relationships sans Ruth's Chris), divorcees (fug baggage), guys who just want to hook-up or play date (so over it), people from high school (losers), people from college (educated losers), guys with kids and/or wives (ugh done that one too) anyone who thinks not wearing sneakers is dressing up (lame and immature), someone who considers $35 too much money for a meal (cheap ass), men who hate gays (if you don't love my "gays" then you can't love me) and the list goes on. I don't think that's picky. I just know what I want and I'm vocal about it.

I'm discouraged this week. Let's cross our fingers that something good happens. Because I'm starting to believe that my ex did voo doo on me and didn't tell me. As usual, I'm starting to discredit my own abilities in selecting men...Do you think it's me or them?

"over" is the new black

Thanks to last night Marc Jacobs Spring 07 preview, we can assume "over" as the new black (this is not fact, but silliness). I'm hearing a lot of tales of things being over. Relationships, in particular.

I feel like I cut off my left arm today and this time I'm not getting it back. I am emotionally exhausted by fleeting arguements and inconsistency. Who knows that the future holds, that's for MJ to decide. But as of now I'm going to cling to "over" and love it with every grain of salt sprinkled on my wounds. I'm wearing "over" and loving it. Yay for trends!!!

world peace: one fucking email at a time

Forwarded emails generally make their way to my "trash" without even a glimpse. You'll never catch me responding to a chain letter and you can pretty much forget about me adding my name to a "Save the (fill in the blank)" campaign.

Since last Saturday I have discovered a few of those listless emails in my gmail box. UGH. A friend has sent emails on the following:

-clubbing of baby seals
-stopping AIDS via email
-subscribing to a poverty site

Obviously, the sender isn't practicing cognizant behavior because most individuals with a computer or access to email have seen such web material and realize that it is pointless. These things crowd one's inbox, annoy, and result in nothing but cyber space clutter. I really don't think AIDS will be eradicated through msn, Myspace isn't going to be the sole savior of brutalized baby seals, and a blogspot will have no effect on the homeless. Most of us (or at least I hope) realize that the only way to begin to create change is by implementing programs and being active participant's--not enjoying palatial lifestyles with infused vodka cocktails hitting a send button from our laptops.

The web is a passive tool. It allows us to feel in touch with reality, but we aren't. The Internet distorts truths, it is indirect, and allows us say what we want without having to deal with real repercussions in real time. I think it's a great tool for research, artwork, shopping, expression, etc., but it's also harmful. We get further and further away from true life when closer to the web.

I can guarantee that we're not bring out world peace one email at a time. Instead we're pissing more people off, which seems to me, counterproductive. Active behavior resonates much more than passiveness--ya'll.

but i didn't hear the bell ring

I've never been a fan of the fall, but with all the great things in tow, such as leggings, tunics, ankle boots, red nail polish, and the return of Grey's Anatomy, I can't help but love fall '06! Oddly, enough I've been waking up these past few mornings and getting myself back to (what now seems) a simpler time.

The mornings are reminding me of those first few weeks of my sophomore and junior years of high school. My uniforms were clean, my shoes were new, my backpack was light, and I was content with having thirty-dollars to my name. But what I remember most vividly was the weather. The mornings were always glorious, with the perfect amount of moisture settled on the windshield of my mother's mini van and a slight morning haze, but not enough to break the visibility of the sun's rays. It was never so cold that one needed a jacket or a sweater. I would simply roll the sleeves of my white polo, with the green emblem on the left breast and make my way out the door. Everything was really fresh and new in a time generally associated with death. Of course at the ripe (stupid) age of 16 I wasn't concerned with death, intrinsic meanings, or any other sophisticated idea. Usually those mornings gave way to unbearable afternoon heat, but it didn't matter. Each morning was a fresh beginning at impressing new teachers and rekindling fondness among the old and thinking about what I would rather be doing than conjugating Spanish verbs--yo, tu, nosotros and then some.

Now, I'm six or seven years removed from that experience, but I've managed to get back to those mornings in some sense. I can't blame tardiness on the bell failing to ring, being held late by the previous class--now I blame traffic. It is not acceptable to have only $30--I have bills now. I think I'm glad it's no longer summer and that's making me nostalgic. Whatever the case, it's nice and I hope the feeling lasts for awhile.

in search of

I took at trip to the SF MoMa yesterday evening. Not long after moving to San Francisco, I realized it was one of my favorite things to do. While I am an artist by no means, the MoMA is still a very inspirational place for me. It's personal, calming, and everything I need to feel grounded again.

I was accompanied by Nicholas. I usually don't like going to museums with people, because it can spoil the sacredness of the experience, but this was quite different. Nicholas really knows his stuff. And I found it freshened the visit having someone actually explain the purpose or school thought behind some of those more abstract pieces. Nicholas also introduced me to Joseph Cornell---who is my new favorite. I'm thoroughly intrigued by his boxes. "Pink Castle," captivated. I also managed to rekindle my fondness for Yves Klein. I love "International Klein Blue."

I'm thinking about spending more time learning about modern art. I initially didn't have much of a liking for it. I thought it too abstract and lacking artisticness, because oftentimes modern art is subtle or seems simplisctic (like I could do that at home, simplistic), but when one understands the madness behind it, it really adds a layer to it's intricateness. I want to go back to the MoMA soon. Jill has suggested that if I like art I ought to go to NY--I agree. She's suggessted that I go to New York and devote the weekend to "museum hoping." It sounds splendid!

feelings, nothing more than...

I feel like pudding.

No, I do not wish to eat pudding, but rather I am likening my being to that of pudding.

Today, I'm suffering from a mild case of insanity.

i want to be more famous than the internet--jessica simpson

Not sure if you had a chance to check out Jessica Simpson's new (very lame) video for her new (very lame) song, Public Affair. Ok I'm kind of into the song, but not the video *click here to view*.
The only thing wise in the video was Jessica flashing Eva Longoria a toothy grin, pushing out her pouty red lips and saying, "I want to be more famous than the internet."

I've decided that I can not only agree that that is a fine desire, but an attainable one as well. I'm sure it is much easier for J. Simp. to become more famous than the net, but I'm still going to give it a try. Many people say that fame doesn't bring happiness, and I'm sure they're accurate in saying so, but it sure does have it's advantages. One day you're an average person driving to work, the next day you're not so average and you're not driving to work, but being driven to Chateau Marmont for your Vanity Fair interview (which will take place in the garden as you swig Riesling). I still haven't figured out how I'm going to get famous. But I will make it happen somehow. I don't need to match up to J. Simp, Hohan, Shitney (in her heyday), or J.Lo's celebrity, I just need a slight dose of fame where only those in the know will know me. I'm certainly not interested in being photographed and finding that photo on Perezhilton or even worse defamed on Dlisted, but I'm interested in having a name people remember and contributing to a cause that people remember. I'm interested in goodie bags from big events, I'm interested in afternoon lunches followed by pool lounging, I'm interested in a mail box overflowing with invites, weekend trips to resorts, and I'm interested in all of the freebees.

I'm sure fame must be exhausting and frustrating at times. But like anything it comes with a pricetag. Do think they (fame makers) take Mastercard?

bring on the red and white stripes, waldo

By way of Amanda's blog I discovered this really fun quiz. Though I'm generally not a fan of this sort of thing, I couldn't resist sealing my fate. Bonne idee, oui!

You Belong in Paris

Stylish and a little sassy, you were meant for Paris. The art, the fashion, the wine, the men! Whether you're enjoying the cafe life or a beautiful park... You'll love living in the most chic place on earth.

What City Do You Belong In?

plugged into the disconnect: Lebanon today

It's been brought to my attention that my blog is oftentimes repetitve, so in light of that comment/judgement, I'm taking a different route today.

The gossip has been awfully weak as of late. My guess is that I read it so much that it's losing its potency. So today I made my way over to the BBC news page. I usually don't read much news (although I should); however de temps un temps I'll pick up a copy of the Economist or spend my lunch browsing the New York Times, but it hardly stems past that. I had an infectious yearning for real news on this "toxic tuesday," and this is what I found:

Lebanon condemns Israel 'madness' (click here)

Lebanon evacuation gathers pace (click here)

I knew things were going on the other side of the world. But today I actually began to think about it, and try to place myself in that situation. The thought of living in constant fear and chaos was alarming. I've never experienced things like that (bombings, shootings, panic) and I'm sure you haven't either. We live a very sheltered and calm life for the most part.

I saw a photo on the cover of the Times (about 5 individuals were gathered against a stone wall screaming and crying) that left me feeling guilty. I sit in front of my computer everyday gawking over what LaLohan wears, who's dating whom, what's hot and what's not. And while I have no intention to give up the gossip (it's fun and light-hearted, but I will read it less), I think I need to keep reminding myself that in the grand scheme of things someone carrying last season's Balenciaga bag doesn't amount to much when people are uprooted from their homes, leave behind their families, go to work and wonder whether their bus will be bombed today is a real issue.

Sometimes watching the news doesn't make war real. Sometimes reading the paper doesn't make it real. Even photos of explosions don't always convey the realism of terror and uproar. But I've found that the stories and faces of the people in the midst of the situation makes it more real than I could ever imagine. It also makes my own selffish come to the fore front in a way that I'm not prepared to deal with. So, as I sit here plugged into my computer, with my lunch from Whole Foods and my cell phone buzzing Michael Jackson and my ipod (whose battery is slowing dying) plugged into my ears, I'm still feeling horribly disconnected.

bringing sexy back....

in the form of dessert.

So in the past month or so, I realized why my love life isn't flourishing--I don't care enough about it. I'm busy right now learning French, mastering my tennis game, liking my work, drinking Campari, wearing skinny jeans, and figuring out how life will materalize once Amanda is gone (sniff sniff). I'm only interested in giving hot guys my number, prentending they'll call, and then being completely over it 2 hours later. Also, I've realized that if a girl really wants to bring sexy back, she's needs to find her solace in the spoonful.

Now, I'm not condoning over eating or over indulging, that is so 2001 (when metabolisms were slower and lipo/personal trainers were cheaper). But what am in condoning is falling in love with your dessert. Here are a few reasons why creme brulee, chocolate mousse, & even jello pudding will bring your sexy back much better and quicker than a shirtless, hairy-chest guy ever could:

1. dessert doesn't judge
2. dessert is loyal, faithful, honest, and true
3. dessert listens
4. dessert will love you when no one else does

So with dessert in moderation, a drawer full of lacy panties, Johnny Depp movies, and a box of q-tips (Amanda and I have decided there is a sex organ in the ear) you'll get your sexy back so quick you won't be able to find your sexy front (translation fake sexy).

*eww that was so bad that I'm cringing
**inspiration from this blog hails from Amanda's genuis during an gmail chat conversation. The list of reasons why dessert is better than a man come from her.

that's my robe

In honor of Friday, it's only right that I grace you with a trip into this crazy head of mine. I babysat last night and once I had the girls down I called Amanda. Suddenly I was stricken by the thought of wearing someone else's bathroom. I burst into giggles as I said, "Wouldn't it be weird if Sara came home and I was sitting on the couch wearing her bathrobe?" Amanda, who was in a saucy mood, tried to ignore me, but responded with a very unaffected, "uhh yeah." I could tell she didn't want to talk, so we hung up.

But once I tip-toed into our quiet apartment around 10:45, I saw the soft beige light streaming from the cracks of Amanda's door. I decided to revisit this topic of bathrobe. Sadly, however, I erupted into an almost uncontrollable stream of laughter (I had tears ya'll) once I begin speaking. I envisioned the face of the bathrobe owner. Just think, you get home from dinner and you find the individual you left to watch your children sitting on your couch, casually donned in your bathrobe. How weird is that? And then when that person leaves, what do they do, say, "hang on, I need to put my clothes back on"? So, is the person who owns the robe supposed to act like nothing is wrong with this picture? This freak-o was sitting in your house pretty much naked. No wait, naked under your bathrobe... Weird, weird, weird, but insanely funny.

Now I must tell you, as funny and as unrealistic as this sounds, I've seen it happen. During my psychotic NYE weekend, my partner in crime (who will go unnamed to protect his pristine reputation), another crime partner, and myself spent some time indulging at W's den. We were all shocked when Partner A emerged from W's bathroom, wearing W's BATHROBE (and I have no doubt that he was naked underneath)! It was so awkward, that we just began laughing.
I was mortified, because I was really into W at the time. And in retrospect I'd say my mortification was warranted, as wearing someone's bathrobe is getting awful close to wearing someone's skivvies, in my book.

I feel like the bathrobe is very personal. The only time it isn't is in a hotel, but even then you can still obtain that intense feeling of ownership. At least I do. But that could be because I want to own everything and in turn rule the world.

then who's robin?

Today I've decided to touch on something that I haven't addressed for some time now--sexual encounters.

Imagine you are hoping to seduce this (who you think at the time) hot guy. You've both had a long day at work, followed by dinner, some decent conversation, and a few glasses of wine. And while you know you shouldn't, you invite him into your apartment. You chat a bit more trying to remain cool and collected, when inside you just want this fool to stop talking and take off his clothes. Then it happens that odd moment where you want to kiss him, and he wants to kiss you, but you don't want to seem like a tramp by making the first move. And almost to perfection, you simultaneously move in for the kill (kiss). It begins with innocence, but soon turns into the opposite. Before you know it you're straddling this "hot" guy, he's grabbing you in places that aren't for random grabbing, and you're saying things that you hope no one ever hears. Everyone is really into this by now, so you remove your top and your pants standing sheepishly in your skivvies. Then he fixes his vision, runs his tongues across his bottome lip, flashes you and intense grin and says, "Holy woo-ly Batman."

At the time you ignore this and engage in some of the best sex you will EVER have. However, it becomes routine to pre-coital activity. You continue to ignore it. Yet, six months later (now that the stint is very much over), a close friend brings it up (constantly) and you begin to think, "Holy woo-ly Batman"? What the hell is that? Who says that before sex, who says that during seduction..."Holy woo-ly Batman?" Who says that period?

Maybe he was into role play, and was hoping you wouldn't mind donning a cape and some sexy black boots? Or maybe the sex was so great that you didn't mind letting Batman, Robin, or even the Joker join in? You decide.

It's a Monday. I feel those three words speak volumes to my mood this morning. It seems not amount of coffee is working, I'm not stimulated by the gossip, and I'm having incessant thoughts of crawling into my bed--and staying there until tomorrow. If anyone could see my face right now, they would notice me suffering for a case of "wonky eye." Sad, but true. I'm exhausted.

The following would probably help my cause:

a) an amusing phone call
b) an eight hour break
c) another day off
d) disco
e) le pod
f) Lindsay Lohan walking through the door
g) an all expense paid trip to Paris
h) someone calling and telling me that I had to move to la la land right now
i) a new haircut
j) Amanda telling me she's not going to move out
k) if it were pre-fourth of july weekend again
l) a call from that HAUTE bartender I met on friday
m) 5:00pm
n) being a work in my jammies


OMG, ok I"m being ridiculous. I need to get to work. If you have any ideas on how I can wake up please post. Happy Monday!

happy potato salad of july

Sadly, I haven't been keeping a documented diary of my trip like I had hoped, but that would probably bore the pants off of you anyway. Althought, I am here to give updates. I didn't purchase Bitter is the New Black, instead I opted for Capote's Summer Crossings (his first novel). Also, on Sunday I made my way north to the Santa Monica shore and spent a day with Chris. We hung out at the beach, enjoyed lunch, and an evening of t.v. movies. I had lots of fun (despite his odd disposition I think Chris did too) and almost cried when I returned to Riverside on Monday afternoon.

In other news, it's the fourth of July!!! This is my favorite holiday--I love the food, the weather, the ambiance, everything. However, it's 12:03 and I still don't have solid plans. Oh well, as long as I'm sufficed with a hot dog, potato salad, and a evening of glittering sky I'm happy.

Today is also my brother's birthday. He's 13 today. I can't believe that ten years ago my mom and I welcomed a new memeber to our duet. And while I didn't actually meet him until July 5th, I predicted his "independence day" birth. I remember him a good sized baby 8lbs, 1 oz. with a head full of dark hair and large goofy eyes. The doctors thought perhaps he was cross eyed, but it turns out he had more skin on his left eye (he's fine now). Whatever the case, he was such a treat. When he would cry in his play pen I would dutifully bring him popsicles, crank up radio, put on one of my dance costumes, and entertain him with sisterly delight. Now he's thirteen and before I know it he'll be eighteen. It almost brings a tear to my eye (which I'm always good for) to think about that. He's not a sweet as he was ten years ago. In fact, he's moody, gets tense easily, and his body doesn't respond well to hot cheetos, but he'll grow out of this I'm sure. I look forward to our finally coming together and creating a bond. It's difficult with ten years in between us, and in all honesty, I don't believe that we'll create that bond for at least another five years. I can deal with that. So for now, Happy Birthday Joseph--may your new Xbox be everything you hoped for and may your potato salad be lumpy!

day 1, june 30 (all present tense narrative)

[sitting in Oakland airport, waiting to follow the Southwest herd]
I'm kind of sad that I packed everything but my book (She Comes to Stay). Well, I guess I can begin something new. I think I want a read so light that I have to hold it with all my might in order to keep it from floating off into the distance.

Bitter is the New Black-- could be the winner. I found this title while perusing Amazon at work this week (yes, it was work related). However, I'm sure I'll arrive at the bookseller only to wind up seduced by something more literary, more esteemed, and written avec precaution de plume, but I kind of hope that doesn't happen. Since plunging into the world of publishing, I feel allowed to read anything. In a way, promiscuous reading is necessary. Besides light reads are best when judgement free!

[4:00pm sitting at Ontario airport, wating to be picked up]
Clearly, my flight has landed, my baggage has been claimed, and now the weekend shall commence.

The air is considerably dry, despite rampant reports of humidity. This makes me even more eager to get to the poolside & sip a frozen cocktail. In 30 minutes I expect my phone to begin the incesant ringing sequence. But again, I have little interest in telephone communication. Whatever weekend plans are made over the course of the next 2 hours surely won't compare to my favorite activity--sauntering through the airport in celebrity fashion--the thrill is over

tag, i'm it

I've been tagged by Amanda to, "name 10 of life's simple pleasures that you enjoy the most." So, here goes:

1. an evening at the ballet
2. clean sheets
3. learning French
4. morning coffee chats that spill into the afternoon
5. a good book
6. day light savings
7. citizen cake for cheering up
8. the smell of gardenias and honeysuckle
9. pebble beaches
10. sunday brunch

*I really wanted to mention how much I love adding to my card collection, but the number was 10 not 11.

Now as instructed, I must pick ten people (or less to do the same).

I tag: Nicholas, Paul, Hannah, Artemis, Christina & Ralph...(and anyone else reading this)

baggage claim

I've just finished packing for my weekend "get away." It's not much of a get away, but another one of my listless trips down south. It seems that lately I have had some trouble with packing. What was once my favorite part of trip preparation, I now dread.

I've packed the essentials: bras, panties, p.j.'s, tolietries--shorts, a few tops, and some dresses, and sandals. I've also packed an option for going out, accessories, heels, jeans. And despite what I see in the mirror, I mustered up the courage to pick a swimsuit and my big floppy hat. When I placed those two items in my bag, I sort of wished that's all I was bringing. I would have loved to fill a carry-on canvas bag with tunics, swimsuits, sunscreen, a dress, the essentials, a floppy hat, my journal and two good books.

It's not news that whats in your bag sort of determines where you are headed. But I think if my bag included the latter (and just that), I'd be in for a much more relaxed weekend. I guess this isn't much about what's in my bag, but my hopes that my weekend is not an on-going party, or 4 days of get togethers. I really hate that. Then I come back just as I left, tense. So here's hoping that by startegically placing the swimsuit, tunic, and floppy hat into my bag, I've won favor with the get away gods and I can enjoy a few days at their altar of nothingness.

how to begin a sentence

I did a little self-exploration today. I've noticed a few things about myself that are a little strange.

1. I begin more than half of my sentences with "I hate..."
2. I excessivly use the phrase "Oh My God..."
3. I'm not a people person--I get pissed easily

My goal is to tally how many times in one day I think or verbalize my hatred for someone or something. Today, I'm going to guess that I began at least (very least) 20 sentences with "I hate..." (I hate the I.E., I hate him (Byran Boy, Perez, Tom Cruise, W), I hate her I hate traffic, I hate when...the list goes on). Most of the time this expression of my hatred doesn't really capture my feelings toward that person, thing, or situation. Instead it's a convenient word and until something better comes along I figure I should use it to convey frustration and/or dislike. I don't think I really hate the things I claim to hate. I just like saying, "I hate..." Hey, I'm honoest.

removing me--belly button saga

There comes a time in a girl's life where she must bid farewell to her old ways--whatever they may be. In light of nearing my mid-twenties, I have given up making dates and not following through, driving fast, staying up late, over compensation, and as of Sunday, I gave up my belly button ring.

This was a notable accomplishment. I've been wanting to pluck that piece of metal from my body for about a year, but clung tight to it's symbolisms of freedom, rebelion, sexual liberation/prowess and the fact that it enlongated my belly button, which, in turn made me feel thinner. I was pierced on my 18th birthday with Ralph by my side muttering some nonesense about soroities and how when I went off to college, I should join one. In an instant and a painful breaking of my skin I stood up to find a barbell curved in what was eighteen years prior my lifeline.

I was proud for having gone through with the whole experience. I paraded around campus the following day eager to show off my new jewlery (as well as my flat stomach). I managed to only get infected once and rarely did my ring catch on clothes. However, at twenty-three I feel like I need to let go. That ring no longer symbolizes freedom, rebelion, or sexual liberation at all. Rather it represents that last year of high school, rebelion that I'm not longer interested in, a show, being eighteen and all the things that I no longer am. I certainly grappled with letting go. But I'm learning that's central to my character. I have a hard time letting go of things that make up my former person.

I took out the ring and now it sits on my dresser in two pieces. I wonder if the aligned holes in my stomach will close. Perhaps they won't, which is fine. It can symbolize personal growth and moving on. There are better things when you remove the garbage from the past...you may find that you simply have a belly button.

je m'appelle est bon vendredi

Yeah, Yeah, so my name isn't good Friday, but that's what it's turning out to be. I had no earthquake to wake me, but I did have the soothing taste of Peets to permeate on mine palate, I was a little early to work, the gossip was good and the Senior VP came up to me personally to thank me for doing such a great job. He says he's only heard good things. Which is great to know because I was afraid my ass was grass from all of my blog reading.

My French class is spectacular. I love saying the number 15, it sounds like Caaaaannnnzzz. Now I see why the French feel superior to Americans, their langue (language) is much more sexy as are their dishes, their designers, their history, their landmarks, their coffee, but not their men. French men still creep me out. They're comical but so not sexy. I still haven't decided which men I love best--oh wait I did really like that French Candian, but they aren't REALLY French.

eurf-quakes & oatmeal

At 5:24am I was gently rocked awake by a 4.7 earthquake. I get nervous at night and often feeling like I am falling in my sleep, however that wasn't the case today. After realizing what had just occurred, two thoughts clouded my brain--oatmeal and the fact that I had no desire to drive on the Bay Bridge today. I pondered other methods for getting to work which included: driving north and taking the Golden Gate (because only voluntary death happens there), then somehow managing to get east (which would entail my taking the Vallejo plank-of-a-bridge). Or I could go south and take the San Mateo bridge. I decided this was poposterous and there was no way to avoid taking a bridge.

I got back to those thoughts of oatmeal. I didn't have time for breakfast today because was more concerned with scrubbing last night's dishes. So, I arrived to work very hungry for flaxseed oatmeal. Still no avail--I think I should make this my dinner so in the event of another earthquake I'll have full stomach...not that that matters. Don't they always say oatmeal sticks to your stomach. Well that's just gross, although reassuring. Perhaps I was going through some psychological thing where I rationalized eating oatmeal during earthquakes help bridges to stay in tact. Just think if everyone on the bridge had a stomach full of oatmeal, the bridge would stay up because out of shock of being on the BB during a 7.5 would cause people to vomit their oatmeal and then the bridge would remain from all of the stick.

I'm hysterically laughing right now...

not a chameleon

Whenever I finish a book I get this sad feeling. Over the weekend I completed a book of short stories, Capote's Music for Chameleons. It was fantastic...the man is truly a literary genius. I furiously turned the pages anxious to see what sort of adroitness lie on the subsequent page. As of late, I've had a difficult time completing books--Amanda puts me up to a book finishing challenge everytime I begin something new. I'm a little dissappointed in my inability to read the way I once did, but I guess that comes with life changes.

I was down to four pages, but I couldn't finish the book due to a burning desire to go through and mark all of his ingenuity. My favorite line, "...she sounded the way bananas taste." I don't know why, but that line resonated within. Granted anyone could say it, however the attempt to wrap my mind around the juxtaposition of sound and taste was great. Two completely different senses, made to be synonomus shows just how fabulous Truman really was. Also, he addresses the issue of conversation, and how one can question the whole notion of whether conversation truly exists in a stunning dialouge with himself (or his alter ego). He discusses his dealings with Marilyn Monoroe (whom I don't have much affection for) with the same charm and affection he disscusses an inmate at San Quentin (participant in the Manson Family).

I've now begun Simone de Beauvoir's She's Comes To Stay.

drink up

I'm finding that it's easiest for me to blog on Friday's. I get home from work and I'm way too tired, or too busy trying to keep social that I forget to keep you kids abreast. First things first--I love Madonna with all my purple heart (and no I didn't wow her with my pop-locking leotard skills). Second, I won't be going back to Vegas for a long time--so over spikey hair and big taddies.

Now, while I'm inclined to tell you all about my sudden desire to get a nose job, I won't. I think that I get bored and come up with weird things to want for myself. So we'll attribute any nose job talk to boredom.

I went out for drinks with some ex-coworkers last night. I really had a great time! Although, ex-coworker Shannon told me that I shouldn't drink hooker drinks. I ordered a Midori Sour. Another ex-coworker (and favorite person in SF), Nicholas told me that I should parttake in what he dubs "literary drinks," i.e. sidecars, g&t's, manhattans. I'm afraid of all three.

I like my hooker drinks!

Amanda has also said now that I'm approaching mid-twenties I need to stop acting as though red bull/vodkas are cocktails (I'm really eager to try tab w/ vodka). I get a lot of slack for my taste in music, do I have to catch heat for my taste in poison? Growing up is hard! So for an evening out you can usually find me sipping on things that make everyone but really big queens and Britney Spears gag. I enjoy buttery nipples, midori sours, lemon drops, espresso martinis, margaritas and anything with an umbrella and a sweet after-taste. I do love a kir royal as well (not a hooker drink). So I don't know what to say to this except at least you'll never catch me ordering a COZZZZ-MO-POLITUN!

vadge, the queen of slop

Well it's been over a month (and I thought I was treating my blog bad last time). I've decided to get back to basics and ressurect le blog.

Things are going well. I've officially recognized that I am resistant to growing up, I want my afternoons back so I can do young starlet things--drink from "The Bean," morph into a girl who gags (ladies who lunch), shop uncontrolably, and go see new releases at 2:30--and I've realized that I should lay off the sauce (old men).

I'm at work physically (new job going well), but mentally I'm in my closet, because my dream of dancing with Madonna in a leotard may come true tomorrow. While I've been pinching pennies for the last two weeks (it's so bad that I can't even afford toilet paper) to pay for a $250 floor seat at the MGM Grand to see Madge drop it like it's hot (and at her age it's a wonder if she can bring it back up) I think it might, might be worth it.

I'm horribly annoyed by her L.A. show reviews. Apparently she up to her old tricks--hanging from crosses (so done, so Like A Prayer), whipping some sassy gay ass in S&M riding gear, and requesting no air conditioning in the venue. I'm so annoyed by her person. I just feel like her attempts to shock don't work anymore. I think she shocked us all when she put on that fug dress and starting hawking that p.o.s book about roses (wth that accent of course). She's nuts. I've also heard that she is steady pushing her political agenda, flashing photos of George W. and Hitler during "I love New York." Hmmm she's charges $250 for a seat to watch her perform and then has the audacity to be political? Hypocrisy at its best, I say. Stephanie asked if I'm so annoyed why am I going? I responded, "She still kicks balls, it's Madonna--Vadge, the Queen of Slop"