Silly Stuff

It’s been a year since I posted. Whoa! Time sure does fly…when you’re having fun!

My life took an unexpected turn and I find myself living and working in LA in the entertainment industry. I used to live and work here, but I moved away, disillusioned by the “industry”. It’s easier now, I’m older, wiser and totally different than the first time I came down here and so it’s better. Mostly because I’m better and the things that used to bother me don’t bother me anymore, or don’t bother me in the same way.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s still silly bothersome stuff, that I will talk about here on my blog…oh yes, plenty of silly stuff.

Final Word on Prison Break

Ok so I just watched a zillion hours of the show Prison Break (thank you Joe for hooking my Wii up to my Netflix instant watch). It became an addiction. Like a p-r-o-b-l-e-m. When I wasn’t watching it I was thinking about it.

I even had a dream about Michael Scofield, and I hardly ever have dreams.

The writers for that show were great at the suspense, cliffhanger, suspense, surprise, danger, cliffhanger, surprise, cliffhanger, suspense equation. And I was completely hooked, totally engrossed and a little in love with Michael Scofield (aka Wentworth Miller).

So now that I’ve watched them all I feel like I can finally breathe. I can get my life back. And now that I can look back over those zillion hours spent there were a few things that I think could have been done a little better. The big issue I have is with the main love story. Yes, I buy that Michael and Sara are in love, but would it have killed anyone to actually SHOW us that love? I’m not saying I wanted them to be making out all the time (well, maybe) but there were so many opportunities for a little more something between them, I mean they had just gotten themselves out of extreme peril and they looked at each other and then Michael put his hand on her shoulder, asked her if she was ok and then the “moment” between them was over. So I would have liked just a wee bit more on that.

I also take my hat off to the writers and editors for their deliberate and repetitive misdirects. I came to enjoy the cat and mouse game they were playing with me.

But now it’s done. When I finish binging out on a show like this I can’t help but feel a little sad that the thrill ride is over. That the characters are finished. That there is no more.

It’s like finishing a good book. Sad but satisfied.

Oh Mr. Wentworth Miller, when will I see you again?

Life Lessons Learned from Prison Break

So I’ve been watching Prison Break lately and I’ve learned a few lessons I thought I’d share with you in case you haven’t watched the show and are in need of some valuable life lessons:

1. If you have a plan, an elaborate plan to escape from prison, and get a tattoo to remember the plan — try to commit a bit of it to memory so that in case they take photos of your tattoo or someone sees it they won’t be able to anticipate your next move.
2. Kill your enemies the first time you get a chance otherwise they will continue to screw you over every chance they get.
3. Prisons are full of super hot guys.
4. Even the best laid plans are not good enough.
5. Suspect everyone.
6. Trust no one.
7. Panama prison is worse than Illinois prison.
8. The ‘bad guys’ can be ‘good guys’ and the ‘good guys’ aren’t necessarily as they seem.
9. If “they” are after you and they have resources – do not use your cell phone, or your computer and certainly don’t call or visit anyone who already knows you or they might get killed.
10. Beware of the double, triple, quadruple cross.
11. If you’re going to go to prison (and you know about it before hand) take some self defense and martial arts classes before you go so you can be a bad ass and defend yourself from all sorts of physical attacks.
12. If you do something bad, they will always have something to hold over your head.
13. If you’re on the run, and you don’t want to be spotted, try looking a little different by growing out your hair, facial hair or wear lots of different hats.
14. Prison is an unpleasant place.
15. Wentworth Miller is hot, hot, hot!

Microwaves

I have an irrational (or maybe rational) fear of microwaves.

I know, I know, I’m the odd woman out on this one. Most people I know don’t have any problems with microwaves. Which I find very strange.

Doesn’t it bother you that some crazy super powerful microwaves are accelerated to a point that causes them to get super agitated until they explode your food!

Now this is something you might expect to find with special seals that need to be replaced regularly, a special insulated wall, a lead apron and special face shield just for starters! But no. There are people out there right now using old microwaves with a shoddy door that is definitely leaking microwaves. Which seems dangerous, but apparently isn’t.

Plus they make your food taste like shit.

Just saying.

And Happy Thanksgiving.

Home Ownership

So I’m a homeowner. Which is supposed to be a desirable thing. I don’t find it so. (I know, I’m an asshole and a privileged one at that — how dare I bitch about being a home owner — but I’m gonna, so hold on to your hats ladies and gentlemen).

I find home-owning to be a responsibility I don’t enjoy.

The most annoying thing about being a homeowner is that you have to fix your own shit. Gone are the days of being able to call your landlord and have someone magically appear and fix your shit. Now, I have to be the one to call someone. And because I don’t know shit about any of the things that go wrong in a house I am in the hands of these dudes — these home repair dudes. Without a dude of my own to handle these things, it lands on me.

This is what I mean. My gas fire place was acting funny. The flames going out and coming back on again. When you flipped the switch to turn it on it most times wouldn’t. So, I called the fireplace store and asked about having someone come out to look at it. It is an explosion hazard, so it concerns me a bit. And the answer was that they could come out for $160 and then assess the situation, if it needed repairs then it would be an additional $60 per half hour or some such nonsense. Now, it’s impossible to know how long this repair is going to take, so if you have this dude come out then you might end up paying a gazillion dollars.

So I turned off the pilot light.

No more explosion hazard.

Right. So that’s how I deal with home repairs. Don’t use the thing that’s broken, ignore the broken things and improvise. So far, so good.

It’s not that I don’t want to fix things. I do fix things sometimes. Like when my toilets were leaking water. I went on the internet and researched and assessed my issue, figured out how to fix it, went to Home Depot, got the parts, used my “tool kit” to change the tank bolts. And it was satisfying, but there are things beyond me, things that I don’t really care to learn how to do.

And then there are the tools. You need tools in order to do repairs. I have a basic screw driver, hammer, wrenches, pliers, level and a cordless screwdriver/drill thing. But nothing heavy duty.

So I long to be a renter again. More of a jet-setty renter…flitting from here to there, staying in some great place that’s furnished, and then leave to a new place.

I want to get rid of everything I own and just fly off to where ever, when ever. More on that later.

In closing, being a home owner means being responsible to this big stationary thing. Expected to do things I don’t know how to do, and wondering what impact all of these things are going to have when you want to sell the big stationary thing someday…and then what happens if my income goes down drastically?  Uh-oh.

Sweet Jobs

I definitely didn’t realize all the options that were available to me when I decided upon a career. If I had it to do over again I think I would have gone for spy.

I totally wish I were a spy. A TV kind of spy, probably not a real life kind of spy. It lacks a glamor and freedom that I imagine real spies have to deal with.

Now I’m not just saying that because I love Burn Notice and have a serious (possibly unhealthy) love for that show and Michael Westen. But I won’t go into my very serious love of Burn Notice right now…I don’t have time.

So the fantasy I have of being a spy is that I would get to do surveillance on some dirty slime bag for a bit. Get to know everything about the dirty slime bag, then I’d get to hatch a rad plan, then stick to my rad plan and do something fantastic to save the planet.

That sounds fun right? Perhaps a bit on the edge of fun, but I see the possibilities.

I called the FBI the other day to see if I could get in on that action…did you know that they don’t take applications for anyone who is over 36.

For reals.

My dreams of being a spy were ripped from my old wrinkled fingers just as soon as it had popped into my mind. Being a real life spy probably isn’t nearly as much fun as my fantasy spy life anyway.

Bastards.

Paper Seat Covers

Do you believe that paper toilet seat covers are going to save you from whatever nastiness is on the toilet seat?

Sometimes I do. And sometimes I don’t.

The whole thing is completely absurd.

Things I love about paper toilet seat covers:

• When you pull them out and they rip to shreds
• When you try to get the center out and rip the thing to shreds
• When you place it on the toilet seat and it either falls in or the toilet automatically flushes and is gets sucked in
• Or when you don’t get the center punched out and then you pee and it goes down your leg instead
• When it sticks to your butt and you get toilet water and pee on you

Oh yes.  Paper toilet seat covers.

What do they really protect us from anyway?

Wash Your Hands

I recently found out that some of my dude friends don’t wash their hands after they go pee. I was shocked. And totally grossed out.

The rationale is that they know where they’re penis has been and don’t feel the need to wash their hands.

But think about it guys. If you don’t wash your hands then you assume that I want to touch your penis.

If you don’t wash your hands after you’ve touched your dick, then you touch something that I touch, say my glass, then I’ve come pretty close to your dick. Too close.

So do us a favor guys, please wash your hands after you go pee.

Sleeping in Public

I totally don’t get people that can sleep in public.

I am a sleep in my bed and occasionally on the couch kind of person. I don’t sleep in cars, planes, trains, benches, floors, airports or grassy parks.

How can you be THAT tired? And what about comfort? Slumped over in some uncomfortable seat?

Laying on the grass, the nasty grass in a park, with bugs that could crawl into any orifice at any moment…people walking around, dogs barking, kids playing. Uck. That does not seem like a sleep inducing environment to me.

But I’m not a napper. I don’t catch a little sleep here and there. I only sleep because I have to. If I could figure out a way to not sleep I would. I could get so much more accomplished if I didn’t have to sleep.

I might change my position on that if I had cool dreams. I don’t remember my dreams ever. My experience of sleep is to close my eyes, fade to black, alarm. Every night it’s the same thing. Pretty boring stuff. If I had dreams about flying and visiting strange lands I might find it a fun use of my time, but for now, it’s just a mandatory shut down.

And definitely not something to be done in public.

 

Toil and Trouble

If you went into my bathroom you’d be amazed at all the potions and elixirs I have in there. I was noticing this morning that I have quite the collection of cosmetics and cosmetic related things.

I love cosmetics. They way they feel. The way they smell. The way they make me feel. I like the process of putting on layers and layers of fun things. And I believe in their supposed purpose.

I don’t understand my lady friends who don’t like to wear make up. Ladies who use soap on their face. Ladies that don’t pluck their eyebrows and mustache.

But to each her own.

I just thing they’re missing out on the fun that a cornucopia of cosmetics can bring.

My cosmetic overload becomes apparent when I travel. In these absurd days of paying to check your bag and nothing over 4 oz. in liquid it’s not ideal to be a cosmetic enthusiast. And yet, there’s no WAY I can go without my potions and elixirs.

Ah, the potions and elixirs…like a witch, a modern witch.