Category Archives: life observation

I’m pregnant with a food baby and it might be Korean

I have now gone to all-you-can-eat Korean barbecue twice, and I have realized that there is definitely a learning curve when it comes to tackling such a feast. Allow this novice to share with you things that I’ve learned:

1. It’s not a spur-of-the-moment event. You’re going to need to know if you’re going to Korean Barbecue before lunchtime of the day you’re going to go, because you need to plan accordingly. Assuming that you’ll be eating dinner, you better eat a light lunch and breakfast. I’m talking a lettuce leaf and a grape. You’re going to want to be STARVING by the time you arrive (though not by, like, African baby standards). My second time, I thought I would have a light snack right before I went, so I would fill up faster and thus save myself some self-loathing. But no. It did nothing.

2. The sides are awesome, but just do little taste-tests of those. Eat some of the salad, because you’ll feel better about yourself knowing you got a vegetable in you. The only thing you should feel free to go to town on is that latke-like thing.

3. Don’t waste time on the unmarinated meats. Sure, they’re tasty, but they’re nowhere near as good as the juicy stuff. My first time, I gorged myself on the unmarinated stuff until I was comfortably full. And then my eating comrades declared that the marinated stuff was coming out and…oh my God. It’s just…so good. So you eat a lot of that until you’re well past the point of comfortably full. And then someone always seems to order ANOTHER course of awesome stuff. And the process repeats. So I guess my point is: know how many courses people are planning to order.

4. Don’t order octopus. It’s only really good when it’s perfectly cooked, and the “perfectly cooked” window is really small. And no one knows when that window is open. Just…don’t.

5. You’re going to hate yourself. Don’t get me wrong; it’s a good time. You have fun with friends and you’re cooking on your table. It’s awesome. But you’re going to stuff yourself stupid. When you stand up, the contents of your stomach will disrupt your normal center of gravity. You’re going to smell like meat. The scent will haunt you. Your skin will be slick with meat grease. You’re going to be sluggish. And this feeling will last at least 24 hours.

6. There’s still room for dessert. Fact: there always is.


So no one told you life was going to be this way (clap clap clap clap)

Four underrated ‘firsts’ between new friends:

1. The first time you catch each other’s eyes during someone else’s stupid moment. Okay, stay with me on this one, because that first sentence seems convoluted. But picture this: you and your new friend are hanging out with some third-party person, and this third person (whom I will name Jimbob) says something stupid like, “I think chocolate is dumb,” and then you and Newfriend just casually glance up into each others eyes and look away. Now I’m not talking a full-on glance, but like a MICROSCOPIC eyelid lift. Yeah, to anyone else, it seems like you just simultaneously twitched, but you know. You said it all right there. Through just a furtive eye-glance, you communicated, “Jimbob’s obviously an idiot. Also, hi! How’s it going? We should talk later.” It’s a beautiful thing. And Jimbob had no idea.

2. The first “you would!” Example: “Oh my God, I still own Backstreet Boy’s Millennium album and it’s in my car RIGHT NOW!” and then your friend laughs and says, “You would!” This not only means that you can joke about each other’s stupid interests, but you know each other well enough to not be surprised by them. Heartwarming. (Full disclosure: I don’t still own this cd, but I really wish I did.)

3. The first time you allow yourself to snort-laugh. Okay, I’m going to start this with a little background. My sister laughs like an idiot. No, not an idiot; she laughs like a donkey is raping a monkey. And those two distinct animal sounds combine into this cacophony of horror. You can pick her out of a crowd by her laugh, and she is well-known (you know, among family and friends) for her crazy guffaw. But I slowly started noticing the rest of my family’s laughter too: my mom’s whinnying, my dad’s high-pitch cackle, and my other sister’s deep-voiced “HUHhahHUHhUHUh.” So, one day I said to donkey-rape-laugh sister, “Jesus, we are a family of crazy-weird laughers.” Donkey-rape-laugh sister looked at me sagely and said, “Fuck, Lisa–all laughs are weird.” This is true. We get bogged down by hearing so many polite laughs that we forget sometimes what a fucking guffaw sounds like. It’s ugly, people. But I guess beautiful at the same time. So this moment is not commemorating the first time your new friend (or you) said something truly funny, but the first time you just let it go and slapped them in the face with your gut-busting laugh. Me personally? I sound like a snorting, wheezing Frenchman.

4. The first time one of you picks up the other’s catchphrase. Yeah, shut it. We all have catchphrases or, you know, catchwords–weird shit that we say that is more-or-less unique to our vocabulary. Now, we’re not like Homer Simpson where we have to say “d’oh” every day for twenty-something years, so our catchphrases can change very frequently (I went through a phase where I said “baller” a lot. Oh wait, I still do. But less). And one day–maybe because you’re hanging around this person a lot or maybe because they think that you’re particularly endearing, you’ll start hearing them says stupid things like “baller” a lot, and you’ll think, “Oh my God, did they get that from ME?” and then you’ll get all verklempt.

Harder than the Oregon Trail

I think it is a truth universally acknowledged that moving is the worst thing ever. Yes, that includes genocide, famine and just general…jackassery.First you have to put all your shit into boxes. How does one accumulate so many hair products and towels? And why do I have “Thank You” cards? I’ve never thanked anybody a day in my life. I also discovered that I own, like, four Allen wrenches. Which is weird, since I don’t own that much stuff from Ikea and when else do you get an Allen wrench? Unimportant.

But you never throw away any of this. Oh no, you bought it, so you must really need it. And I do. I’m sure I do.

Eventually there is the actual hauling of the shit to another place. I’m a cheap bastard whose furniture has the cumulative worth of about 300 dollars, so I wasn’t about to spend 50 dollars renting a van. That’s insanity. So instead I haul whatever you can haphazardly fit into my hatchback back and forth like 40 times, praying to God or the Great Atheismo that my futon frame doesn’t fall out of the back window while I’m driving down the highway.

Then there’s the daunting task of unpacking your shit. I just put it all into boxes a few days ago, and now I have to take it all again. Take it all out while keeping a general floor/organizational plan in mind. The motivation at this stage is generally lacking. It’s been over a week and I still haven’t managed to put sheets on my futon mattress. My futon mattress that is lying on the floor. Lying on the floor with a lamp and blu-ray player sitting on the corner, for whatever reason. I am essentially a hobo. A hobo with a blu-ray player, which is a very special kind of hobo. A hobo with a lack of priorities.

Case in point: I was watching Hoarders with the new roommate and she said, “I noticed that with these people the bed is always the first thing to go. They don’t put on sheets and it gets all nasty,” and my first thought was a panicked, “She knows.”Which brings me to the most awkward part about living with a new roommate: the slow process of marking your territory. In all my roommate endeavours, it’s been me moving into an empty room of an already-furnished apartment. So, like, there’s the first night where I don’t do anything. The second night I’ll leave my toothbrush out. The third night, I’ll put food in the cupboards. The fourth night, I’ll use the stove. And so on, until eventually the place screams, “Lisa lives here too, bitches! AND SHE COOKS WITH A LOT OF GARLIC AND CINNAMON!”


Words are fun

Very real feelings that don’t have a name, but should:
– That crushing disappointment you feel when someone you thought was cool turns out to be a racist.
Suggested word: crackerjacked

-The mix of desperation and optimism that accompanies staring at your facebook chat list (or gchat or whatever) hoping that a specific person will talk to you.
Suggested word: pitiope

-The rush of power that directly follows the sending of an important email.
Suggested word: megalemailical

-The feeling of pathetic uncertainty after sending something through snail mail (as in, “Did I actually put the thing in the envelope?” or “Did I somehow manage to rip a page out of my 8th grade diary and shove it in there too?”).
Suggest word: poubt

-The wave of self-doubt and self-hatred you feel when you realize that you put too much stock in social media things (e.g. obsessing over status updates/tweets, “Oh my god, why didn’t he friend me?” etc.). N.B. The younger generation does not feel this feeling; it will die out with the Gen Yers.
Suggested word:  shamloss

-The shudder of happiness you feel when someone you don’t know very well, but whom you think is cool, says your first name for the first time.
Suggested word: namgasmic

-The fear that accompanies walking past a group of teenagers.
Suggested word: agifiated

The L Word

So I don’t know how many of my fellow bro-tastic straight ladies ever get mistaken for lesbians. It’s a pretty classic scenario–you swear like a sailor and make raunchy jokes that would make your sex-crazed grandma blush if she wasn’t dying from dementia. You lack some basic flirtation skills. You can chug a beer like a badass. Perhaps you like-a da ladies?

Now, don’t get me wrong. The only scenario that I care where people think I’m a lesbian is if I’m trying to get my mack on (and the lack of flirtation skills makes this difficult anyway). I mostly find it humorous how people try to wheedle this information out of me.

Not that I don’t always contribute to the illusion. Sometimes it’s just fun to be a bro.

So I present to you three scenes of mistaken identity and/or clumsy interrogation:

Scene: Driving with my dude-friend down an eerily deserted Los Angeles street.

Dude: You know, I think all the guys thought you were a lesbian after the way you were talking about the naked ladies on those playing cards last night.

SMASH CUT

Scene: A group of dudes and I were all playing poker with a Playboy deck of cards. These cards had pictures of naked ladies. Lots of them were making “duck face.”

Dude 1: Oh man, I love the tits on the two of hearts.

Dude 2: The queen of diamonds is so hot!

Me: Really, guys? I mean, she has total bitchface. Look at her face. Ugh. I wouldn’t tap that.

Dude 2: Not really looking at her face.

Me: Even so. Tits McGee is NOT working with natural materials. The four of clubs is much hotter.

Dude 1: What do you think of the ace of spades?

Me: Meh. I fold.

———————-

Scene: I’m in my old house that I shared with a lesbian couple. They were having a dinner party with some of their friends and I was invited to kind of mooch on their food and conversation. Instead of really mingling, I’m standing in the corner, gnawing on mini quiche.

Roommate’s brother: So how are you liking L.A.?

Me: I like it a lot, actually. I mean, I don’t know if I’ll settle here permanently, but I like it.

Roommate’s brother: Well, you never know what the future will bring. Any day you could meet Mr. Right…or Mrs…..

[Roommates stop talking and eye me expectantly]

Me: Um. Mister. Mr. Right.

———————-

Scene: Bar, last week. I’m talking with a girl-friend. The bar itself is covered with coasters that feature the movie poster for “Friends with Benefits.”

Me: Ugh. You know, this movie actually has pretty good reviews on Rotten Tomatoes, but I just have NO interest in seeing it.

Girl: Me neither.

Dude: (after semi-overhearing us discussing the movie) You want to see this?

Me: No—

Dude: Would you want to see it for her (covers up Justin Timberlake’s face) or him (covers up Mila Kunis’ face)?

Me: (sighs) Really? (covers up Mila Kunis’ face).

[Though, to be honest, JT’s not really my “type” and I would probably just as soon hit Mila Kunis. That said, is JT walked up to me on the street and was like, “Hey, wanna bang?” I wouldn’t even think about it…]

Fin.

And word to the wise: if you ever really want to know, I’m pretty sure it’s okay to ask.


This is not funny, but it almost kinda is

I got a forwarded email from an acquaintance today. The content of which was this (and I’m just going to issue one big [SIC] for the whole thing):

This is from the County Sheriffs  Department, please read this message very
carefully:

This message is  for any lady who goes to work, college or school or even
driving or walking the  streets alone.  If you find a young person crying on
the road showing you  their address and is asking you to take them to that
address… take that child  to the POLICE STATION!!  No matter what you do,
DON’T go to that  address.  This is a new way for gang members (MS13) to
rape women.   Please forward this message to all ladies & guys so that they
can inform  their sisters & friends and family.  Please don’t feel shy to
forward  this message. Our 1 message may save a life.  Published by CNN &
FOX  NEWS (Please circulate).. **Please DO NOT IGNORE!  Thank you  !

First, I find it hard to trust anything that has no semblance of proper grammar. Second, I’m not really concerned because as you know, I’m not one to help anyone in any kind of altruistic way. Especially children.

And here is my freebie message to all the gangbangers out there: Make meth, not rape.


The Facts of Life…

…was a weak show. I get it; the girls were sassy. And they learned an important life lesson every week. Big deal. If you want to watch a show with life lessons, watch Full House because at least then you get to look at John Stamos.

Anyway, I may not have been on this planet for a really long time, but I have learned some stuff about life. So let’s just dive right on in. And don’t try to dispute any of these–they’ve been proven with SCIENCE.

  • If a friend you haven’t talked to in a long time asks you, “So, what have you been up to?” there’s an 80% chance that said friend is about to brag to you about something. There is a further 50% chance that this thing will be incredibly asinine.
  • 60% of the time, it works every time.
  • You will be robbed at one point. Just hope it’s soon and hope it’s small.
  • 50-75% of all electronic problems can be solved by turning the thing off and on again or toggling something.
  • You will never win a “who’s more exhausted” battle. The other person always is a student or has young children or something stupid.
  • People who really like Ayn Rand are always douchebags.
  • People who can quote The Simpsons (seasons 2-10) and/or Arrested Development are awesome 82% of the time.
  • If you drink a lot of water and then decide to go on a long car ride to clear your head and jam along to music, you WILL spend the whole time just thinking about how much you have to pee.
  • The SECOND you decide to start a new fitness regimen, one of your joints will spontaneously combust in terror.
  • Invest in a board game. Everyone likes board games.
  • The “Placebo Effect” does not work for hair products. Just because you spent 50 dollars and really want it to work doesn’t mean your hair will magically not be like straw.
  • The amount of happiness you feel is inversely proportional to the number of foods you restrict yourself.
  • Everyone knows not to go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line (or start a land war in Asia), but only slightly less well known is this: Never argue with a Republican unless you want to question your moral code (i.e. is murder really that bad?).
  • You can’t judge a person by the contents of their iPod or their Netflix instant stream list. Well, you can, but you’re not getting the full picture (I have an absurd amount of 90s pop and have watched a lot of American Dad)
  • No matter how good you are at something, someone is always ALWAYS better than you. Like, a lot better. Like, so much better that you should probably give up. But don’t. That person may die before you. Of course, this person will be replaced by another person who is better than you (you are really far down the line of good-ness).

A day in the life

[feel free to play the Beatles song in your head before you read this. Go ahead; I’ll wait. It’s kind of a long one.]

I have an iPhone because, well, because I’m that type of person. I recently downloaded the app “Instagram” which I guess is kind of like Twitter with pictures…? But I don’t care about the social networking part; I just like taking pseudo-artsy pictures and messing around with the filters.

Long story short (too late!). This is a day in my life told through pseudo-artsy pictures. To enhance your art-viewing experience, the pictures will come complete with a title and commentary. Perhaps the commentary will be witty. Not as witty as it SHOULD be, but I’m sober, so we can only ask so much.

Procrastinator's Delight

Some mornings, while at work, I like to make myself a cup of instant oatmeal because that way I can give myself a couple minutes of complete unproductivity (which apparently isn’t a real word. Thanks, red squiggly line. I get it) while I eat…and I also like to eat. This one is Trader Joe’s Apple Cinnamon. It’s pretty awesome.

Working Nine Tah Five

I actually work 8-5, but Dolly Parton didn’t sing a song about that. She did sing a song about a chick named Jolene, but that’s a whole other thing. Anyway, this is a shot of the left side of my desk. See that thurr? That’s mediocre art. And that other thing is a tape measurer. Tools of the art trade, friends.

I'm in a Raaaaage!

I have redefined hell. It is driving north-to-south in Los Angeles during rush hour on a Friday of a holiday weekend. See how my speedometer is at zero, but somehow my RPM is at 1,000? The wheels were powered by my hate, which I think we all know leads to the Dark Side. But it WAS 71 degrees out, and that’s lovely.

Post-Run Show-Offery

My gym is closed for the week for renovations. So I got this brilliant idea in my head that I would try running. I ain’t a runner, folks. My people are of peasant stock. Ask me to till some fields and shear some sheep, and I could probably do it for hours. It’s in my descended-from-serfs blood. Anyway, I went for some sad walk/run hybrid thing. That headband that you see was way too tight because I have a huge head, but I wore it anyway because it makes my hair look cool. I also wore that watch because I’m an idiot and when I got sweaty it got all slippy-slidey. The water bottle is there because I drank water when I got home. Gotta stay hydrated, yo.

Carnage

Dinner. See how I just use the cup of the Magic Bullet instead of transferring my smoothie-thing into a real bowl? Class should be redefined to be more inclusive of cool people like me.

Friday Night Shenanigans

And this was me about 30 minutes ago. 11:00 PM on a Friday night. Watching Louis C.K. on Netflix, lying prostrate on my bed, filled with too much ennui to move.


Et tu, Beatles?

Friends, Romans, music-listeners, lend me your ears!

I speak to you today because we, as a collection of music-listeners–for yea, I know not one man who does not don headphones nor at least sit betwixt car stereo speakers–must re-appropriate songs from our troubled pasts. Far too often are good songs interred with the proverbial bones of a bad relationship. Too often are entire playlists cast off like mutineers.  No more!

Music is not insidious; our memories are. Music is our faithful friend and should not be punished for holding steadfast during the tumultuous times of our lives.  As one cannot tether the wind, one must not chain good music to bad memories.

So I implore you to sit through what once was “your” song (how could a song be “his” or “yours” when notes can belong to no man?). Sing along to songs that once brought forth tears. With time, good people, I assure you, the memories will unlatch their unholy grasp from our music collections and our iPods can play freely once more.


My life is boring pt. 1 (of many)

So, I’m not one who believes in omens (except I totally am), but by all accounts, I’m pretty sure today is shaping up to be a not-so-hot day. And I ain’t talking about the weather; it’s supposed to be lovely.

My Thursday started when I was abruptly woken up by a phone call at the ungodly hour of five in the morning. 5 AM shouldn’t exist unless there is a party involved (and even then, you should at least acknowledge how late you’re all up: “Holy god! Have we been drinking for 12 straight hours? Christ! Well, it looks like I won’t be doing anything useful tomorrow”). In all other cases this hour should be slept through and forgotten. But no, there I was, jolted out of a peaceful slumber by the sound of a pinball machine because that’s the ringtone I chose. In a stupor, I accidentally answered the call and promptly hung up. But then it rang again, so I silenced it and let it go to voicemail.

If there’s a sadder noise than a tired and emotionally exhausted 20-something whimpering at a vibrating phone at five in the morning, then I don’t know what it is. Maybe the noise a puppy makes when you kick it–I wouldn’t know, since I don’t kick puppies.

So in the morning, while I’m checking my morning emails (which was all bullshit crap–not even a good groupon that I would think about buying and then not), I check the voicemail. It’s some stupid old woman asking for Louise. I guess she needs a ride to the airport or something? I hope she’s stranded wherever she is FOREVER!

I go back to sleep (though these last 1.5 hours of sleep SUCK), and when I wake up, I go about my normal morning ritual, which involves lying in bed for twenty minutes while watching TV and slurping up breakfast. When I have ten minutes until I have to leave, I get up, get dressed, and go. Normally. And don’t judge me–I’m a night-showerer. And yes, “get dressed” involves face-washing and tooth-brushing, and if makeup needs to be put on, I do that in the car. There. Happy? I justified my behavior to you. God.

But today, as I’m about to leave, I notice that my wallet isn’t in my bag. And I don’t deal well with rational thought in the morning. So instead of thinking, “Oh, it’s probably in my car because it fell out when I was taking out my phone.” I thought, “oh SHIT! It’s probably in Starbucks. Inglewood Starbucks. Super! I had a Menchies card in there and I was THIS CLOSE to getting free frozen yogurt. Also: credit cards! Which I use to buy frozen yogurt until I earn a free one!” So I call Starbucks and it’s not there and then I trash my room as much as someone can trash a room in two minutes.

Of course, I discovered it in my car a couple minutes later when I decided to call it quits and go to work anyway.

Also, someone used all of my coffee creamer and it wasn’t me.

Happy Thursday!