Firstly, do you know what I love about this blog right now? The complete contrast between good and evil. "Hey, I hiked God's mountain, but I did it while swearing up a storm." "Hey! I went to see the innocence of a newborn, but first I had a really dirty one-night-stand."
Secondly, I would love to tell EVERY portion of Friday night, but I am going to have to limit it to just three snippets because the rest would be TMI even by my standards and will be reserved only for an email to my closest friends. I will tell you that Friday night resulted in my sending this text to Shim Shimmy on Saturday morning:
"Nothing says taking it to a new low like getting off a plane to meet a newborn for the first time while wearing a shirt you had to steal from your Vegas one-night-stand because you couldn't find your clothes by the light of your cell phone in the morning."
Thirdly, if you read this and think that I have behaved badly, well, a)you clearly don't know me and b)just take faith in the fact that God has punished me. I was such a wreck getting from one night stand to the airport on Saturday AM that I forgot to turn my car lights off. My battery died, and jumping the battery blew out the fuse for my power steering, resulting in hundreds of dollars of car repair. See? Sex really is the devil's work and God will always remind you.
That said, here is the Reader's Digest version of Friday night, in three short chapters.
Chapter One: You Never Know Who the "Nice" Boy Is So, my Asian Party Posse was in town on Friday night. Yeah. This is how we roll in Blush at the Wynn. And also, you can see all of the pictures here.
So, there's some set up here. We walk in, and there's a table full of guys with bottle service, and I immediately think that the one is hot. Like, so hot. Shim Shimmy disagrees and wants to give him a haircut. I like it messy, though. But I am not feeling the game. I'm really not. I think I just hadn't been out in too long. Because by today, having been back in the game, I am, for sure, feeling the game. But whatever. Because I am not feeling the game at that time, I avoid the boy I think is so hot and hang out with my girlies and also this boy we meet upon entering the club named ... Slick.
Slick seems like everything a girl should want. I cannot deny that he was freaking adorably attractive. He's in town for a debate tournament, so he's smart and just a little bit dorky. He installs high end home theaters. He's from LA, which is almost like being local! He can carry on a funny conversation. AND I COULD NOT CARE LESS. I really couldn't feel it. And I think it was because he seemed too nice.
Wanna know what we learned later?
Slick had done porn in Korea.
Wanna know what happened as soon as I found that out?
I was a lot more interested.
However, it was too late by that point, because cute and messy boy had made his move and I was defenseless. Well, that's not true. I was so not feeling the game that I actually physically tried to hide behind Shim Shimmy when we saw him get up to make his move. Right? I know. Something's been off with me since that whole "Nice to have met you" thing in Madrid. But don't you worry! I think we righted the ship.
Anyway, my point is, that's screwed up, right? That quasi-perfect boy couldn't hold my attention until I found out he'd done Asian porn? I HAVE TO GET OUT OF VEGAS.
Chapter Two: Do You Have Anything Thinner? If you have an IQ above 2, then you have figured out by now that at the end of the evening, or the beginning of the morning (either works), I decided to go back to the Hard Rock with this boy to do inappropriate things. On our way to the room, we do what romantic couples in Vegas have been doing for decades. We stop at the apothecary in the Hard Rock lobby to buy Gatorade and condoms.
You really have to feel something for the girl who works at the apothecary in the Hard Rock. She probably sells a hundred combo packs of Gatorade and condoms a night to drunken, horny fools wondering through there who later may or may not remember their room number. And in that process, there are probably two questions that she has been asked so many times that the mere sound of them will want to make her spontaneously combust in anger. The first, of course, would be "Ha, ha, do you have anything bigger?" Fortunately, we were not the people who asked that question, because based on her response to the question we did ask, she may just have come over the counter at us with a baseball bat if we'd asked "Ha, ha, do you have anything bigger?"
What we did ask, though, was what I am sure the second most popular question that gets laid on her when she hands over a pack of condoms is. "Do you have anything thinner?" Yes. Yes he did ask that. And before I could even roll my eyes, the apothecary girl looks at me. And her look speaks volumes, and those volumes read "I hate men and their infinite stupidity."
And then she looks at him. And I fear for him, literally. And she picks the condoms back up off the counter, and the she slams them back down in front of him again, and she says:
"Listen, I sell a lot of these and I know what I'm talking about. YOU WILL NOT FIND ANYTHING THINNER THAN THIS."
Then, literally, she slams them down AGAIN (for emphasis, I suppose), and rings up our Gatorade and condoms. We just stood there, staring. At her, at each other, at the condoms on the counter. It was like she had told us how it was, and now we understood. And again, I am just thankful that he didn't ask if she had anything bigger, because, you know, what would THAT scene have looked like?
Chapter Three: This is My Life Lesson to You - How to Avoid the Walk of Shame Okay, listen, there is no real way to avoid the walk of shame. There are going to be times in your life when you straight have to roll out of a casino at 5:00am to get to the airport and you're going to be wearing some slutty heels, some tiny black party shorts, a shirt that was obviously stolen from the boy you hooked up with because you couldn't find your own clothes in the morning and later realized that that was probably because he was sleeping on top of them and a big old mascara stain underneath your right eye.
Or, maybe you'll never have to do that, but I'd argue that you may be missing out if you don't experience that at least once. Sure, you don't have to have done it so many times that you have a life lesson to share on it, like I do, but once is good.
Anyway, in that situation, you cannot avoid the walk of shame out of the casino, but you can MAKE IT YOUR OWN. Don't avoid the eye contact of the people playing blackjack at 5am as you walk out. You know who those people are? The people who didn't get laid the night before. You have WON in this circumstance, and don't let them make you feel any differently just because they're down $500 and you may or may not have an std and be missing your panties. You win here. It's not even a debate. Potential STD and missing panties trumps lost gambling cash and drunken red-eye any time.
Then, you own it as you walk out to the taxi line. I mean, maybe you're lucky and you have a vehicle with you, but chances are, you're going to have to face the taxi line attendant in the bright light of morning. In the shirt that is obviously not the shirt you wore out with your sexy heels and tiny black party shorts the night before. You know what you do in that situation? You look the taxi line attendant dead in the face and say, "This is a nice shirt, isn't it?" He'll say some variation of yes, and then you say, "Yeah. New rule. If you're too drunk and tired to get up and help me find my clothes in the morning, then I take yours." And suddenly, with that one sentence, you will go from being just another tramped out girl trying to get out of sight before her one night stand wakes up to THE COOLEST GIRL EVER TRYING TO GET OUT OF SIGHT BEFORE HER ONE NIGHT STAND WAKES UP.
That's my lesson. Take it. Use it. I promise you it is better than trying to hide behind bangs of shame on your way out in the morning. Own it, ladies, own it.
My life is about efficiency. I make lists of lists that I need to make. Check marks are my friends. I time how long it takes me to do laundry. I use Excel, Outlook, Project AND a running set of notes both in Word and in a paper notebook to organize myself. Perhaps you have seen the holiday letter and gift spreadsheet. Or for that matter the former lover ranking spreadsheet. You know it.
But this week, I even exceeded my own expectations about making my life more efficient. Here are two pictures of the nightstand in my bedroom.
It has all your standards. Candle, light, water glass, lip balm, lotion, linen spray, birth control pills, nail polish ... bottle of wine!
Yes. This week I was at the grocery store, buying my standard low-end bottle of drinking while making dinner and before bed wine, and it dawned on me ... every night before bed I clean up, and then I walk into my bedroom, get my wine glass, walk back to the kitchen, pour wine and then walk back to the bedroom.
How much more efficient is my life if, instead of that, I just buy a second bottle of wine and leave it on my nightstand? Then, that entire kitchen scenario goes bye bye. And that kitchen routine? That's four minutes of my life that I now have back every evening!
And those are four minutes where I can now use the items in the bottom drawer of that nightstand! BAM! I just wrote that entire entry to get to the punchline!
I am on what Red Delicious likes to refer to as negative time right now, which, you know, means that I'm really, really busy. Though, in fairness, I do get to work while watching the tournament games in the office, so that's good. However, instead of taking the time to write anything, I'm just transcribing other funny people's funny stuff that they said to me. Enjoy.
Joe It's surprisingly good. Fine print says it's a Syrah and Cab blend. You should check it out.
Me Is it cheap enough to support my alcoholic tendencies?
Joe It's cheap enough to support mine.
2. More Robin Thicke
Ferris Things Robin Thicke will do with you: 1. Roll with you. 2. Hold with you. 3. Stay warm and get out of the cold with you.
3. More Melissa Etheridge
Hott Scott I was behind you while you were running at the gym today and I just kept thinking "Damn, I really hate Melissa Etheridge."
Me Cause I think "Come to My Window" was on my playlist twice.
Hott Scott So stalkerish. Like reverse stalkology. I mean, I sneak up to look in some girl's window and she's already there. Waiting. "Now who's the stalker?" she'll say in her head as she sings "Come to My Window" It's a game of chess, and I won't have it. I prefer good, old-fashioned voyeurism. Oh, I'll come to your window the second you fall asleep. They all fall asleep sometime.
I bet the witch in Hansel and Gretel was singing that all slow and evil with an Appalachian kind of accent while she watched the children approach the house.
Me Dear God. I wonder what goes on in your head when you're NOT texting me.
Hott Scott It's my crooked little house.
4. Twitch
Boom What are you doing home?
Me i came home to put on my easter clothes and bake the single most delicious thing in the world to take for dessert.
if you were here, i could bake and you could lick my bowl! whew! inappropriate innuendo humor for easter!
Boom are you going to dress up like a bunny ?
Me i totally have a slutty bunny outfit left over from some gay easter gala years and years ago. it has a little cotton tail and everything. i'm sure jesus thought it was an appropriate tribute when i wore it through the castro
Boom does your nose twitch?
Me if it's my nose that's twitching, you're in the wrong spot.
It addition to just the concept....brilliant...it's on LIFETIME, it's hosted by Ian Ziering and judged by Chris Judd AND somebody named Vitamin C. I feel like we're probably missing out.
Dear Jason Castro: The Annual American Idol FanGrrrl Posting
Dear Jason Castro,
I love you. Your such an organic singer songwriter. It's like you sit down and think of how to caress your acoustic guitar in such a way the the words of the poem you're singing reverberate through the strings and your voice and straight into the fuzzy texture of my soul. It's like the fuzz of my soul is melding with the fuzz of your soul. God, not since the days of Cat Stevens in his purest form has somebody touched the core of people through the magic of acoustic music.
Please, Jason Castro, please, DO.NOT.GO.CRAZY.LIKE.CAT.STEVENS.
Just be an artist. We don't need your political views. Just your soothing voice and guitar.
Love, jocelyn
A Haiku for Jason Castro Dreadlocks and guitar Next generation hippie Modern day prophet
Dear Jason Castro,
Sure. You're twenty yeas old. Some people might say that that's age inappropriate for me, but you and I both know better. Because you're an old soul. I can tell that you're an old soul by the way that you feel it deeply when you sing. It's like Paula says, you're special and unique and you have an emotional connection with the audience...by which I mean me. I mean, you have an emotional and physical connection with me. Some might say that twenty is too young for me in my vibrant fertility and middle age, but you and I know better. Because your soul isn't young. It's timeless.
Love, jocelyn
A Shakespearian Sonnet Not Using Iambic Pentameter for Jason Castro I have fallen for a child Jason Castro is his earth name He is, like youth, wild He is, like the youth, a cleansing rain
But he is like a dream And I awake when Simon speaks His visage evaporates like steam Which through the cracks of my fantasy leaks
How? How to actualize him in my life? How to make him full of nerves and blood? How to make him take me as a wife? How to control my emotions - for they are a flood?
Sweet Jason I will fully stalk you Until you realize our love is true
Dear Jason Castro,
When you told that story about how you were on a date and you accidentally tried to eat your dreadlock, I was like "eat me!"
Love, jocelyn
Dear Jason Castro,
You're from Columbia? Really? Are you a drug dealer? I mean, it's okay if you are. I love bad boys. I saw Blow AND Scarface. Wow. What if you were a bad boy and a dorm room guitarist (tm Don Lennon)? Then you would be like Johnny Depp in Blow combined with Dave Matthews and you would be perfect for my split personality. Wait, did I say that? I don't have a split personality. I'm very level. Will you please sing me a poem and then deal me some blow, please? No, I mean, don't take that the wrong way. I'm absolutely stable. I LOVE YOU!
So, when Trick and I play Scrabble, the rule is usually that the loser (usually me) has to write the Scrabble poem, which is obviously a poem using all of the words on the Scrabble board afterwards. Occasionally, however -- well, once -- the word list is so enticing, so lush, that we both feel compelled to write a poem. And then we post them so that you can see whose is better.
Listen, I'm going to concede right now that Trick's is far superior in both quality and story value. However, I managed to both invoke a Bobby Brown song AND refer to a penis as a "tender jo."
Enjoy.
Sulking Yonis by Trick Sulking, sad, under covers, two yonis now avoid each other.
Avid once to rut in bed, now they hog the sheets instead.
Oh, pox-filled nights had been like this since Jo Tate's pliers had wrung their bliss.
At a dais of ziti the three had et a plate of nan, then smoked some hemp.
And with a yen to improve their qi, Jo suggested swapping for a fee.
Cos if you would just suk my seven, I'd return the favor 'til the clock strikes XI.
But then at twelve he wanted more, an' knocked his ag at their forbidden door.
Aw, no way, the big one cried but the teenier one let him come inside.
Hi, Um, Ow, the little one cooed as her betrayed best friend fled the room.
Now, brr, their fur shivers through the night with no warming palm to rub things right.
The Ballad of the Sulking Yonis by Jocelyn Lost without sleep, the sad boy shivered in his bed with a brr Tried in vain to find warmth in his romantic covers made of fur
Once, she had been there to suk his tender jo Her legs like tightening pliers around his torso
Oh, she had been his love, his compatriot, his aide de camp, his toy Now the memory of her love was like a pox that he strove to avoid
In exchange for her love, this hurt afterwards was a fee But his heart was now teenier than the pain, and so into the night he wandered to flee
He walked down the darkened street feeling his need, the clocks approaching xi, He passed gypsies reading palms, Indian stands of hot nan, old men eating ziti and trying to roll sevens,
A hog smoking on a spit, a hippie with a yen to improve his qi, His friends smoking hemp, an avid Tates fan with his book clutched way too closely,
In a open window above, the sounds of a couple unable to wait, Ow, ag, cos, aw, hi, um, an, et ... and "Baby, that was great."
His soul felt like it had been washed and wrung, His emotions in a rut, he went to the bar of the band, knowing what he needed to hear sung,
Past the bouncer, through the door, into the crowd, He downed his drink and hoped that they played the song loud.
Atop the dias, the band crooned to the audience of tender ronis, Their tight shirts and messy hair framed the ballad he had come to hear, the song of the sulking yonis
Think you can write a better limerick? It's harder than it looks. Here's the world list you'd need to work with. I bet you don't have the chutzpa to try. > palm > hemp > fee > hog > pliers > pox > hi > ag > oh > xi > ow > avid > teenier > dais > avoid > sad > sulking > suk > brr > ziti > fur > toy > yonis > tates > qi > wait > aide > yen > covers > cos > wrung > nan > jo > aw > um > need > bed > rut > an > et
1. The DNC chapter in Florida: Are you morons? Listen, it's one thing for Republican delegates to get their seats stripped because if we know one thing for sure, it's that no matter how close the race is, the Republican party will have their shit together to unite behind a single candidate once there is a single candidate to unite behind. It's an entirely different thing to create unnecessary dissension in the Democratic party. This is party that, four years ago, had TYPOS in the letter they sent to the people who DONATED THE MAXIMUM AMOUNT to their candidate. This is not a party that has their shit together. Your having your primary BEFORE authorized primaries? Unnecessary dissension. It was going to suck either way. If they'd let you keep your delegates, then Camp Obama would have a completely legitimate gripe should Hillary win. If they take your delegates away then it's possible, just possible, that the winner of the primary won't actually be the person who won the primary. And, for the record, I think the DNC did the right thing by telling you that your delegates can't be seated. You can't just let people break the rules for no reason. How fucking hard would it have been for you to have had your primary a week later during authorized primary time? Way to create even more strife in a party not known for its unified front even in the best of circumstances.
2. The DNC of Michigan: See above. But I should not be surprised. That's a state that managed to resist change so strongly that it took one the most powerful state economies and turned it into a mockery.
3. Janet Jackson: For the song Feedback. Why must you take my memories of you and destroy them with a song about your Asian persuasion?
4. Stop and Go Pizza: For leaving the most annoying paper flier under my windshield, almost causing me to wreck in last night's rain storm.
5. Kelly Pickler: Just because.
6. The Girl at the Front Desk at the Gym: For staring at me like I was inconveniencing her when I asked for my towel.
7. Jack Frost: For creating actual freezing temperatures in Vegas this week.
8. Whipper: For not thinking that I was funny today when, clearly, I was funny.
9. Tom Brady: For that foul self-righteous smile in every press interview. Ew. Just gross. But you're going to win XLII, no doubt.
10. The Makers of Xanax: Because it's not doing shit for me this month.
But, for the record, here are three people I would like to engage in a deep lip lock.
1. K-Yo: For purchasing all of season 2 of Supernatural for me. I watched every episode this weekend, and it was glorious.
2. Halff: For purchasing all 94 episodes of Sex and the City for me. Last night I watched the episode where Carrie is having a breakdown about habitually hooking up with twenty-somethings. It was like a spiritual experience.
3. James Ferris: For mocking Google text and its need to POP.
1. I found out that I was actually conceived in Africa. SO MUCH IS CLEAR NOW. I'm just being called back to my homeland. Hold your jokes.
2. Jonathan Cainer told me that in 2008 I MUST focus on my spiritual calling and my place in the evolution of mankind. He pretty much said it just like that, too.
3. My Jesus-loving neighbors (I mean that in the nice way) gave me a 90 minute lecture on Armageddon. It's here, you know. Matchbox 20 is evidence of this.
I mean, you can put the pieces together and figure out that this is all set up for an AWESOME 2008. Can you barely wait? I can barely wait.
Yet, despite my apparent impending spiritual quest, that didn't stop this from happening this holiday:
Did you just call my phone and hang up? You do realize I can look at the received calls listing and figure out who just called me right? Are you ten years old? What is WRONG with you? Don't answer that.
Ugghhhhh. This day. So endless. What time is my flight?
I WILL NOT SHUT UP. I'M IN THE SPIRIT, DAMNIT.
What time is my flight?
Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Wait!
Haiku! So soothing!
Christmas lights are like the sparkling nature of my disposition. Ha!
Remember the time you lived on the hundredth floor of the high rise at Pitt and you wanted to steal the donkey from one of those plastic, light-up nativity sets in somebody's yard and then tell people to look up in the sky at your window at midnight to see your illuminated ass? And then remember how we were driving to the Uniontown Mall and we were headed up that steep hill in Brownsville that leads to the Dairy Queen and we saw one (a light-up ass in a light-up nativity set) in somebody's yard? And remember how I wanted to get out of the car and steal it and even made you pull the car over? And then you told me not to steal it because I'd upset Jesus, and then, even though you don't care so much about upsetting Jesus (baby version or otherwise) your conscious took over and you still wouldn't let me rip the ass off because stealing from somebody's nativity set was just wrong? That's because you're a much better person than I am. That's why you're mom's favorite. It's cool.
But I don't think that I care that you're a much better person than I am, because I make way more cash dollars than you do. And the only way that you're going to Hawaii next year is if I pay for your ass, SUCKA.
A Friday Five In Which I Close the Month With Strippers
1. I am the coolest girl you'll ever date: This is an actual exchange that went on this week.
Runner Boy Via Text We're still on for Friday?
Me Via Email YES! But, um, how do you feel about drinking at the Wynn for at least part of the time? I have to do stripper control and maintanence for a party around 10 or so (by which I mean pay the girls, walk them up and make sure nobody is overweight). After that I'm free.
Runner Boy Via Email Let me make myself clear. I have asked you out on a date and you have counter offered with drinking at the Wynn (one of my favorite hotels), hanging out and "judging" strippers (I have a brain......so no comment), then enjoying the rest of the evening with just you after 10pm. Gosh Jocelyn........DUH!!!!!! :-)
It's true, I am officially the coolest girl you can data. Viva SMOS.
2. Speaking of Strippers: I thought you might enjoy this story. We're planning a party for some bachelors this weekend, and they want strippers in the room. So I call them and say, "Can you be more specific about exactly what kind of girls you want?" They need to think. They need to call me back. And when they do, this is what they want:
"We'd like one blond girl with REALLY big boobs. Once exotic girl, and one Black girl with a great tush."
Listen, if I'm not going to be part of the solution, I'm at least going to capitalize on the problem.
3. A Story of a Camera: This is another story of fun times in LA last weekend. I don't know why World Famous in SF doesn't allow permalinking, which would make this easier, but shamus? tells the story better than I do. Suffice it to say that a camera was taken, incriminating pictures of shamus? looking like a fool looking for his camera were taken and then hyjinx ensued. Click here to read the story, because it's awesome. It's the August 28th entry.
4. Rambling: I have less than 20 days until Africa and still have no visa. I like the excitement of waiting, is what it must be. And I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to 24 straight hours of flying. Football season, who needs it? Twitter: Best thing since MySpace! Facebook: Better than MySpace. BankofAmerica=BankofEvil. My iPod: Jamming.
5. Friday Playlist. There's no playlist at all this week because, really, there's only one song that we should all be listening to. And it's here. I don't feel right inside right now.
"Great news, Jeremy, DoodyBubble is totally available. We can get right on this tomorrow!"
Subtitled: LA is Always, Like, an Adventure
One of the things that I always did love about living in San Francisco is that, if you wanted to go create an adventure one night, there was always something to do to create that adventure and there were always playmates ready and willing to have an adventure. LA is like that for me, too, which is probably why I'm on my way there. (Yes, really.)
I had a good weekend of adventure.
On Friday night, I went with shamus? and Tom to get midnight tacos and then to the Hard Place Pompeii party. Which was at the White Slave Trade. In an alley. In Echo Park. I have three most favorite stories from the night, and also, you can see all of the Hard Place band photos here.
Story Number One: "Well, then I can't help you." So, let it be said that I loved everybody I met. They were all creative and fun and nice and lovers of the absurd. However, I think that I am not telling anybody anything that they don't already know when I say that I am not so much attracted to LA scenester boys in skinny jeans (which, by the way, in my mind are as much as much a travesty on men as are manpris and Crocs). However, possibly as punishment for, well, pick it, God gave me a little scenester boy. This one was so devoted to his favorite band that he had ridden his bike from Burbank to the show. Because bike was his preferred form of transport, which is important later.
I was not in the mood for game. I had not been in the mood for game to begin with. Bike Boy kept telling me that my gold lame stretch pants from AA were so hot he couldn't stand it, which may have been the funniest thing any boy has ever said to me in my life while trying to pick me up. Because, I think we all know that gold lame stretch pants are not hot on ANYBODY.
It is also important to note that shamus?, Tom and myself had no place to sleep that night. None of us had so much bothered to work that out, and all of us were like "We'll just figure that shit out after the show." That's how we roll. So, at one point, I'm trying to extract myself from the couch with scenester boy, and I'm like, "I need to go check in with shamus? and Tom. We don't have a place to sleep tonight."
Scenester Boy You can come back to my place. I have a fold out couch in the living room. They can sleep there.
Me In Burbank?
Scenester Boy Yeah. Burbank.
Me What are we going to do about your bike then?
Scenester Boy We can take it apart and put it in the back of your car. Then you can drive to Burbank.
I see how it is. YES. We're all about the preservation of the environment by riding bikes, but when the possibility of getting laid is on the table - LET'S BURN SOME FOSSIL FUEL.
There were many reasons why that hook up wasn't going to happen, including but not limited to a)I was tired, b)I wasn't in the mood, c)I wasn't all that into it, d)I was on my period, and e)I am way too old and make way too much money to hook up with somebody just so that me and my two gay friends have a place to sleep that night. I totally stopped doing that sometime in my mid-twenties.
Anyway, it's time to extract from the situation. shamus? is about to walk away and I grab him by the toga (oh yes, yes he did) and I'm all like "You can't go anywhere. Help me." So shamus? actually offers up a good excuse to leave the situation. And that excuse is, "Lady friend, do you need a vodka drink? I'll buy you one, but I'm not carrying it for you. You need to get your ass up and walk to the bar."
I give you MAN TOGA.
Now, admittedly, he's given me a perfect reason to disappear. The entire world can see that I need a drink. He's offered to get me one. All I have to do is get up. But immediately the struggle begins in me, and my brain starts screaming "What up, bitch? I can't believe you think I'm getting off my ass to get a drink when you have perfectly healthy legs and arms to bring said drink to me over here." And before I can stop myself, I say, "I am NOT getting up to get a drink. What's wrong with you?"
And shamus? stares at me. Baffled by my reluctance to leave the very situation I just said I needed help getting out of (making this moment a microcosm of my entire life). And he sighs, and he says:
"Well I can't help you then."
And then he disappears. Leaving me there with all kinds of bad touch on gold lame and having to live with the results of the uncontrollable dose of princess in my blood. And in the best news you will hear all week, somebody actually took a picture of this entire scene while it was going down. Perfect.
Story Number Two: Five Dollars, Please. Shortly after shamus? disappears, I get up and go after him. He is standing by the door with one of the guys from The Passionistas. If you didn't notice it in the photo, the guys from The Passionistas had made their togas from American flags. Perhaps you are offended by this, perhaps you are not. In either case, you don't need to tell me about it because I am not the person who showed up in an American flag toga. I am simply relaying a story that requires you to know that there is a person in a toga made from an American flag.
To this moment, I am not sure how this happened, but shamus?, the guy from The Passionistas and I ended up working the door. I really don't know how it happened. One minute we were talking, and the next minute we were asking people for $5 on their way in. We have no idea where the actual doorman, a large man with questionable dental hygiene, disappeared to. But at one point, the actual doorman comes back. And he's on some substance. And he looks at the guy from The Passionistas and says
"Thanks for working the door for me. Thanks so much. You know, you know, I'm gonna tell you something. You know about all that shit that went down at Roswell? You know? Like aliens and shit? Yeah. You know where George Bush was born? Yeah, like an hour from Roswell. George Bush isn't human. He's an alien implant. And global warming isn't global warming. It's making the climate right for the aliens. I'M FUCKING GLAD YOU DENIGRATED THE AMERICAN FLAG, DUDE."
We did not work the door for much longer. That is all. And for the record, this is how the night ended. If you didn't know better, you would think that shamus? was all emo and I had overdosed. But really, there's just no better way in my world to end a night than curled up asleep next to shamus while he's wearing a bedazzled shower curtain as a toga.
Story Number Three: It's 4:10am! Do You Know Where Your Jocelyn Is? So, we leave that show/party at around 3:30am. Still with no place to sleep. shamus? looks at me. "What are you going to do?" I'm like, "I think I'm just going to get on the 405 and find a hotel closer to Long Beach since I need to be there in the morning." And so the three of us split up. But after I get on the 405, my thought process is as follows:
"You know, Shimmy said to me yesterday that she had to leave her place at 5am on Saturday morning to go for a run. If I just drive all the way to Long Beach, I'll get there a little after 4am, which is right when she should be waking up. That works. That totally works!"
And so I drive my ass down to Long Beach. And I pull up in front of Shimmy's bougie building. And at 4:10am I text her this: "Hey! Txt me back if you're awake!"
My phone rings.
Me I can't believe you're awake!
Shimmy I can't believe you just texted me.
Me Can you come down and let me in?!!!!
And that girl, that wonderful girl, she came down and let me in and put me to bed and made me tea later. Right now, don't you wish that you and I were tight like that? Because if you and I were tight like that, I would possibly show up at your place at 4:10am begging you to let me in, then invading your calm and peaceful home while wearing some gold lame stretch pants and a hoodie, smelling like cigarettes, booze and alley urine and justifying all of this by yelling "YOU'RE SO LUCKY, IT'S LIKE GOD SENT ME HERE TO MAKE SURE YOU GOT UP AND WENT RUNNING THIS MORNING!!!!!!"
That girl is wonderful. I am not wonderful because, really, who behaves like that?
As for the rest of the weekend... Well, it was pretty much perfect. Shimmy came back from her run, and we went out and had crepes and mimosas (well, I had a mimosa, Shimmy is being good). The I managed to spend $160 on two dresses MADE OF T-SHIRT MATERIAL to take to Africa. Then I managed to spend $70 on two candles. Then I turned to Shimmy and said, "Maybe I should spend some money today." That's when we realized that shopping should stop and went and had PinkBerry instead.
And then we slept. I think the plan was more like "nap," but I slept until Charles called to tell me that dinner was at six. At which point, I was like, "Uh, maybe six thirty - I'm still in Long Beach." And then I arrived at dinner at 7:00pm. Shadalan, Shimmy, Charles and Luci were ALL there before me, and Shimmy didn't even leave until I was supposedly five blocks away from the place.
But that excepted, dinner was lovely. It was beautiful outside. Charles and Luci had brought two lovely, lovely bottles of vino. Shadalan looked like a beautiful Persian princess. Shimmy was hungry. I was thirsty. Conversation was easy and laughter was frequent. And we all left contented.
The next morning, Shimmy and I got karmic-ly cleansed and talked about anger in the world from a Buddhist perspective. You can decide for yourself if that was time well spent for me when I tell you that after I got back to Vegas that night, I had to pull over to the side of the road to talk myself out of ramming my car into the back of the car in front of me to make them drive faster. So maybe that class worked in that I didn't do that, and maybe it didn't in that I still wanted to. Whatever.
After getting cleansed, we filled back up with this ridiculously good diner food that included but was not limited to all of the following on two plates: toast, french toast stuffed with cream cheese and sugar, hash browns, poached eggs, gravy, corn beef hash, some kind of eggs of a scrambled or omelet variety, avocado, bacon, sour cream...you know what, I'm missing something. Even the man sitting next to us was like, "You guys put a huge dent in that for such little people."
And then it was time to leave, and if I didn't have the fact that My Favorite Mike (MFM) was in town and we were having dinner at Rao, I would have cried about leaving.
So.Fucking.Tragic. That's what I'm subtitling that weekend. Only because of that picture of shamus? and I.
I miss you LA! I'm headed back any day now! Seriously!
Thank you so much for creating "Age of Love." Now I can simply make my goal in life to never have to say "I went on a reality show where desperate women tried to 'find a man' through a competition between twenty-year-olds and forty-year-olds and I represented the bitter, jaded and heartbroken forty-year-olds." You've simplified my life so much. Before that, I thought my needs and wants were complicated, but now I realize it's just that simple. But seriously, even though I haven't watched your crappy bachelor show since the Trista and Ryan season, between this painful exploration of stereotypes based on female age and Mark Philippoussis (YUM), you've got me back.
love, jocelyn
Dear Shimmy,
What Greg said.
love, jocelyn
Dear Men of Match.com,
It's advisable that if you want me to look at your profile, you don't make your username "Welome2MyNitemare." I'm not coming along for that. I'm betting Dr. Phil didn't advise you to do that, either.
love, jocelyn
Dear ILovePaulJack Readers,
Okay, listen, we all actually loved the personal ad and the "Everybody Loses in Vegas" idea. I did too, honestly, and I was ready to go with that. But I think we're going to have to go with "I hate your crappy logo tee" because it means that Shank and I will have a game to play together. How could I possibly NOT do "I hate your crappy logo tee" after I got this email:
"hear me roar.
I am going to have to go for the t-shirt angle. I see this as the most furtile ground for self expression.
I am also selfishly planning on using your site for my own creativity as i promise that i will submit t-shirt designs photoshopped onto your frame as a show of suport.
Please pardon the sentence structure of that last sentence...I have just realized that it is 11:30 am and I am a bit tipsy from starting the day off with a can of Sparks.
1. Maria Taylor is a Goddess: 11:11 is one of my favorite albums. It's one of those albums that I've kept coming back to over the last two years. So I was kind of bumming when people who had listened to Lynn Teeter Flower were all like, "Yeah, it's no 11:11." And then I was like, "Well, it could just be that there's not a lot of room for Maria Taylor and Brandi Carlile to exist at that same time, and that Brandi Carlile album is fantastic (though if you really want to hear her at her best, download her live version of "Hallelujah"). Anyway, so I finally downloaded Lynn Teeter Flower this weekend. And it's no 11:11, but it is fantastic. The tracks you won't care about, you'll flip through those pretty quickly. But there are five tracks on there that are so fucking beautiful that you won't know what to do with them. "My Own Fault" is my favorite right now, maybe because it resonates with where I am. "Small Part of Me" and "No Stars" are also, well, they'll move you. However, "Lost Time" and "Clean Getaway" are the single most fucking beautiful things you'll hear this year (though you have to stay with "Clean Getaway", it builds on itself and then it rips your heart out in the last couple of bars). Conveniently, you can listen to those last two on Maria's MySpace page. And also, we'll be doing two poetry meditations this week. The first are the bridge lyrics from "Lost Time."
And a heart that grieves Gets lost in everything And a heart in need Finds hope in anything
2. Speaking of MySpace: I'd like to thank MySpace for reconnecting me with 500 million people I went to high school with. And I'd like to thank Chris for dinner. I was cool with it until you pointed out that we hadn't actually seen each other in 17 years. It was a great time. Let's do it again this week.
3. Here's What's Not Going to Happen: I'm just going to get this out of the way because I know that you read this (with you being a specific person). I'm not going to apologize for hurting your feelings. I didn't say anything maliciously. I was gentle. I'm sorry you're not getting what you want. I'm sorry you hurt. But when you back people into corners saying things like "I need you to feel this way," you're going to get one of two things. a)A lie that will blow up and hurt you worse later or b)the truth, which more times than not will not be what you wanted to hear. I'm not going to get bullied into feeling something that I don't just because it's what you "need." You need less than you think, honestly. That email was mean and nasty and uncalled for, and you're getting a response here instead of via email because I REFUSE to engage in that emotionally manipulative kind of scenario with you. All I did was say "That's not the right decision for me making me happy." Seriously, I can't believe you have the audacity to say you expect an apology. I'm not apologizing for making good decisions for me. WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE? WHY IS EVERYBODY SO FUCKED UP LATELY?
4. Pennsylvania! I have never looked forward to a week at home more than I'm looking forward to this one. Sangria and Sanjaya. Beer and cocktails. Pookie's 30th. Tyler. Maybe spring will even break. And a little more time to play than I was anticipating. Yes. Very exciting. I want coffee with PDG and beer and cocktails with Bill and Sangria with Candy and lots of time with Pook and Ferris and Dana and my mom. And playtime with Red Delicious' kids. And long runs on backroads. And higher end cocktails with moon. And a Pirates game, and mabye a Pens game if I get lucky. I want ridiculous pictures of Joey V. and those other crazy boys. I want tea with Big T. I want to go to my grandfather's grave and talk to him for a while because I've felt a little lost lately. I want to hang out with Doreen and my mom and wonder if that's what Catwoman and I will be like at their age. I want to feel home for a little bit. You don't really feel home when you're there over the holidays because there's so much to do. Yeah, I'm looking forward to this.
5. And, a poetry mediation for the week: I own a book of Anna Akhmatova poetry, and it's some of my favorite ever. In fact, "The Door is Half Open" is one of my favorites of my favorites, and last week it was a featured poem by Knopf, so I thought we'd all start the week with it:
The door is half open, The sweet smell of limes . . . On the table, forgotten, A whip and a glove.
The lamp's yellow glow . . . Things rustle all round. Why did you go? I don't understand.
More clearly I'll see Tomorrow with fresh eyes That life is beautiful. Heart, just be wise.
You're completely worn out-- Beating sluggishly . . . You know, I read somewhere That souls do not die.
You've probably heard me claim something was the best 42 minutes of TV ever before. You'll hear me claim it again. Keep me honest, because I swear with my hand to the Bible that what I am about to tell you about is THE BEST 42 MINUTES OF TV EVER.
It's episode 10 of season one of Beverly Hills 90210. It originally aired on January 3, 1991 when I was a junior in high school. It's called "Isn't It Romantic?", and it's the episode where Dylan McKay and Brenda Walsh fall in love.
Oh, where to start? Let's perhaps start with the ultra-artistry inserted into this episode that I originally missed when watching it as a 16-year-old. The first scene that you watch is Brenda and Brandon standing by his car and Brandon joking with Brenda about how she's going to stay in on a Friday night and watch Dirty Dancing for the 500th time. Brenda laughs it off and says she's fine staying in because she loves that movie and could watch it over and over. And then, suddenly, slightly dirty but still with his perfect eyebrows, Dylan McKay slides out from under Brandon's car and stares intently with desire at Brenda. It all begins.
But here's the artistry! Then, throughout the remainder of the episode, every time Dylan and Brenda embrace in passionate teenage love, in the background are the whispering tunes of an instrumental version of the classic and still wildly popular Patrick Swayze lovers' ballad "She's Like the Wind." My 16-year-old self didn't realize that little piece of artistry inserted into a 90210 episode, but my 32-year-old literature major self did. BRILLIANT. Seriously, "She's Like the Wind", and they weren't joking about it.
There's not much build up in this episode to creating the pattern of Dylan McKay as tortured rebel and Brenda as the stable girl who keeps him together. Instead, it's pretty much handled all in one four minute cut. Brenda and Dylan go to his father's hotel suite where Dylan's father proceeds to yell at Dylan. Dylan, of course, freaks out in his tortured way and, as he and Brenda argue on the street outside, he -- in a fit of rage -- picks up a FLOWER POT off the sidewalk and smashes it to the street. Brenda, terrified by this fit of violence with the FLOWER POT, turns and runs (in a blazer with shoulder pads, mind you, which is difficult to run in), down the street. Dylan, clearly entirely in love with her already, rushes after her and embraces her from behind, apologizing endlessly for his fit of violence with the FLOWER POT. God this episode is brilliant.
But, lest you think that this episode is simply a love story of the growing passion between damaged Dylan and perfect Brenda, rest assured that this episode is also TOPICAL. Remember, 90210 was not to be confused with some lame, one-dimensional Fox teenage soap opera (ahem - The OC - ahem), 90210 was also supposed to educate teenagers on dealing with the new and challenging issues that teens in the 90s faced. It had an educational element. And on this episode the educational element was about safe sex. There's an entire subplot running about sex education at West Beverly High and how the kids all have significant moments when they realize how serious AIDS is. So, at the end of the episode, Brenda and Dylan are taking a love walk somewhere up at lovers' point, and suddenly Brenda turns serious. Facing Dylan, with her practiced look of deep and soulful Brenda, she says "Have you ever practiced unsafe sex?"
Now, it's true. It's Dylan McKay. He's old for his years. He's a rebel. But also remember that in season one of 90210 he is a SOPHOMORE IN HIGH SCHOOL.
And Dylan looks at Brenda with his perfect Luke Perry alabaster skin and his perfect Luke Perry pompadour hair and his perfect Luke Perry dark eyes and his practiced "tragically sincere Dylan McKay look" that will later become a staple of the show long after the story lines or dialogue aren't any good anymore and we're just watching to see what new plastic surgery Tori Spelling had in the offseason, and he says:
"Not recently."
FUCKING BRILLIANT. Just sit with that for a while. It's fucking brilliant.
Avery tagged me with the post "five things you might not know about me" meme, so here we go.
1. I have an actual caffiene addiction. I tried to come off caffiene once last year to do the master cleanser, and I went into full-on withdrawl: shakes, throwing up, fever and chills. It was an actual chemical withdrawl. The introduction of Coke Blak into my life has not helped this addiction.
2. I once played Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask straight through in a PERFECT GAME with ALL the masks, a full purse of rupees when I ended and ALL THE HEART PIECES
3. I work for a gambling company but can't explain how a betting line works.
4. I had 13 years of classic dance training. Remember that the next time you watch me trip over something, because I'm also naturally clutzy.
5. I own a complete Strawberry Shortcake doll collection. Someday I'm going to collect all of the Brazilian ones, too.
Madonna Tribute - Cast of Glee
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