Sunday, September 26, 2010

Not That It's Any Of Your Business But

People ask me if I forgot to have kids. And I always answer, yes, I was too busy.

I had laundry.

I have many reasons for not having kids. First of all, they run too fast; it's almost impossible to trip them. Plus they're too short to dance with and you can't borrow anything from them, they have no cash. What's the point?

They're also too loud. I had one next to me on a plane once and it emitted such a piercing scream we lost cabin pressure. It made me miss the smokers. At least a cigarette goes out in 3 minutes. In the bible Jesus says "Suffer the little children." I think he knew what he was talking about.

People always tell me, "You're a woman, you're supposed to have kids." Well, I always thought I was supposed to have a Rolls Royce but you won't see that at my house either.

And based on my personality this is probably the kid I would have had:

Did I ever seriously think about having kids? Getting pregnant: throwing up every morning and putting on 60 extra pounds, every woman's secret fantasy. Hearing the pitter patter of little feet running around my apartment, destroying everything I worked my whole life to get. Yeah, no.

Plus I would never voluntarily want to go into anything called Labor. Why don't they call it something I would want to go into? "Suzy, your contractions have started and any minute now you'll be going into... shopping."

And who are these women who want to be awake during childbirth? I don't even want to be awake during the conception. When you go to the dentist and he pulls out your teeth, you're not awake, so why would you be awake when they pull this giant baby out of you? And believe me, your mouth is a lot bigger. I’ve measured.

People with kids always want to know if they can bring them along when they visit single peoples' homes. Sure. Why not? And bring other things we don't have, like a plague of locusts or some fresh manure. Oh, and dip your kid in oil before you come, I hear that's good for wood furniture.

I don't think I'd be a very good parent. I was baby sitting this kid once and he said, "I'm going to drink a gallon of Sunny D without breathing" and I said, "Cool." And I'd be too protective. I can just see the day my kid came to me and pleaded, "Please Mom, let me go to school." And I'd reply, "You have plenty of time. You're only 24."

I like to date guys who already have kids. Then if they're screwed up I can say, "Not my fault, they came this way."

And to those women out there who have 6 or 7 kids and have never heard the words The Ozone Is Killing Us All, you need to close up shop. I was talking to this really drunk woman at a party and she said she had 8 kids. I asked her if she'd ever considered birth control and she said, "You know, it's really hard to get those little pills up in there."

Having a baby can lead to heart failure, pulmonary edema and a ruptured uterus. Forget teaching young girls about birth control, just tell them that.

End of chat.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Baby You Can Drive My Car - Part Two

I found a description of the difference between men's cars and women's cars. Men keep their cars spotless and their homes a mess. Women keep their homes spotless and their cars a mess.

I keep them both spotless but I'm a known liar.

I've noticed that a guy will cry if his car gets hit by another car. A woman will cry if she has to tell a guy that his car was hit by another car. That she was driving.

I really don't like any man driving my car.

I don't care what they claim but they have no idea where they're going. My ex-boyfriend and I took a trip to Palm Springs, in the desert. I fell asleep for 10 minutes. When I woke up there was snow everywhere. I said, "Where are we?" and he said "I think we're almost in Palm Springs." And I said, "Well, why don't we pull over here and ask this Canadian Mountie exactly where we are?"

When he's driving, it's always "We'll take a right at the light then turn left at the exit." When I'm driving it's “Get in the southbound lane and go west at that intersection." Like I'm Davy Crockett and there's a sundial in the car.

Moses wandered in the desert with the Jews for 40 years. I'm guessing that was supposed to be a 10 day trip. And Moses' wife probably spent the whole time saying, "Moses, don't be a schmuck, stop and ask Achmed where we are."

I have an elderly neighbor who I drive around so he can do his errands. He's 89 years old and reads every road sign out loud. FOOD GAS LODGING, 65 MILES PER HOUR, 280 MILES TO CALIFORNIA, which would scare me because he'd distracted me so much I'd crossed over into Arizona.

I'm still amazed they sent men to the moon with a car. What did they want to prove? That they couldn't ask for directions on two planets?

Los Angeles is a big city, 10 million people, and every one of them has a car aimed at you. The only time I was hit by a car I was standing in the bedroom. Of my apartment. On the second floor.

Everywhere you go you have to valet your car and depending on where you go, it can be very expensive. I once valeted at the new Wolfgang Puck restaurant and then couldn't make rent.

I hate to give them money to park a car. Maybe if they changed my oil I wouldn't mind so much. Of course if I go out with a guy and he won't valet, I think he's an asshole.

Another thing that drives me crazy about Los Angeles driving is when the stoplights go out and they send in police officers to direct traffic. Instead of, you know, catching killers. The cops start talking to you through your window. They’ll make 2 circles in the air and then point to the left and I’m thinking I got a 10 yard penalty and am offsides.

I understand why minivans put TV screens in the backseats for kids. Nothing is more boring than taking a long trip and having nothing to do but listen to the radio or CD's. Last year I started doing books on tape. Only once by accident I rented a dirty one and had to pull over and get a motel.

Which was embarrassing because I was alone.

End of chat.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Thanks For Stealing My Thunder, Oprah

Today is a very big day. Oprah starts her last year on ABC.

But more importantly it's my 4 year Blogoversary. And these are the 10 things I've learned so far:

1. Tell your story, of your family, your life, your every waking moment from breakfast to bedtime. Move your life forward. Don't move sideways. Or backwards.

I don't do this.

2. Leave witty comments on other people's blogs.

I don't do this either.

3. Don't swear.

I think we all know the answer to this one.

4. Comment on every single blog you follow, even if it means missing Christmas.

Ridiculous time suck.

5. Don't refer to people who leave comments as commentors. The correct word is Commentators.

I call them commenters. Wrong word and wrong spelling.

6. Don't name your blog something , like say Hollywood, that excludes anything else you might want to talk about because then people will expect you to talk exclusively about that and when you don't they will hate you.


7. Don't take sides. Don't have an opinion on anything. Stay as bland as you can and try not to offend anyone.

Open mouth, insert foot.

8. Give your family cutesy little names to protect their identities.

No way, if I'm going down I'm taking them with me.

9. Don't guest blog. Soon you'll run out of things to say and be sorry you gave away a perfectly good post. Since blogs and websites come and go with alarming frequency, you'll lose it for your own archives.

I've done 51 guest blog posts.

10. You'll lose most of your readers from your first year. People move on, get tired of reading about your life and move to other blogs, Facebook or Twitter.


The most important thing I've learned about blogging is to be unique.

1. Can readers describe your blog in 3 words?
2. When they come to your site, do they always have a general idea of what to expect?
3. If you didn't put your name on a post, could someone pick it out of a group of other anonymous posts?

4. If someone was asked to write in your style, would they be able to?

If you answered No to any of these questions you have work to do. And by you I mean me. And by me I mean I need a nap.

End of chat.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

September 11 bis

The day after in New York City

Saturday, September 11, 2010

September 11, 2001

On September 11, 2001, I was at LAX waiting to board a flight to Florida. My Dad had died in January of that year and I spent a lot of time flying back and forth from Los Angeles, trying to get his affairs in order.

Our flight was boarding in less than 45 minutes so I went to the ladies' room to check my makeup in case I accidentally ended up on the pilot's lap in the cockpit.

As I entered I passed a little girl and her mother who were on their way out. "Why did that plane crash into the building?" the little girl asked. Thinking it was a story her mom might have read her, I wondered what kinds of children's books were being published these days. Wasn't Little Red Riding Hood and that wolf scary enough? Finding bears in your bed wasn't enough to give you nightmares? Now there were children's stories of planes crashing?

When I came out of the loo there was a crowd gathered around an airport bar, watching TV. As I got closer I saw that one tower of The World Trade Center was partially on fire and what looked like a plane was headed for the other one. Passengers were trying to explain to each other what might be going on but the sad reality was that no one really knew what was going on. A few folks reluctantly looked away, picked up their carry-ons and made for a gate as an announcement called them to their flight.

As people wandered away I elbowed my way closer to the bar to get a better look. I watched the coverage for a while and then I knew I had to leave. There was a pregnant woman next to me, alone and sitting on a bar stool. "Come on," I said quietly, "we need to get out of here." She looked at me but said nothing. Didn't even stand up. We stared at each other for a moment longer and then I took off.

As I ran down the corridors I heard the announcements over the loud speakers. All flights canceled. Go to baggage claim. Retrieve your luggage. Leave the airport immediately. At baggage claim Delta employees had flooded the area; there were three of them to every one of us. There was no panic. No pushing. No shoving.

A Delta employee found my bags and I went outside to wait for a cab. The line was long and I remembered thinking, "What if I can't get out of here?" But the taxis rolled up one after the other and people got in quickly. Silently.

As I drove away from LAX, I heard on the radio that they had just shut it down. No one was allowed to go in or out of the airport. I missed the shutdown by six minutes.

The next day I called my best friend, who worked at the State Department back then. I told her I needed to know if I was safe in Los Angeles or if I should leave town. She wouldn't give me any details about what was going on and said only this, "Be aware the target an icon makes and be careful."

To this day I don't know what my friend's cryptic message meant. She now works at Homeland Security so my chances of finding anything out are even slimmer than before. The only icons in California are the Golden Gate Bridge and Disneyland. Were they targets? Are they still?

I flew to Florida ten days later. There were six of us on the flight. The crew gave us free alcohol and sleep kits from First Class, which was empty.

A gay guy a few rows back asked if he could move up to my row. I nodded and as he sat down next to me he said, "Girrrrl, if I have to? I'm going to totally kick some ass."

Thursday, September 09, 2010

L.A. Sign Of The Times #66

Yesterday was a view from my sister's apartment building and today a picture from mine.

The reason you can't see the Pacific Ocean from mine, like you could from hers, is because it forgot to be on my side of town.

Stupid Pacific Ocean.

Wednesday, September 08, 2010

L.A. Sign Of The Times #65

The Pacific Ocean as seen from my sister's building in Santa Monica.

No, it's not funny.

But it does annoy me so that should make you laugh. You know, that I'm so even tempered and all.

Saturday, September 04, 2010

Nothing Comes Between Me And My Sister

Sisters. Wearing my tee shirt!

You'll recognize this sister because she just returned to the United States after being an Expat. This sister has always been Stateside. When Stateside got a shirt I threw in an extra one for Expat since they were going to meet up and Stateside was going to rub it in that she had a shirt and Expat didn't.

Because I have a sister I know how much fun it is to torture one.


I've been threatening to write a post about Twitter but then realized there are Twitter Tutorials online if you use this new thing called Google.

And then I found this post by blogger and twitter user Molly Campbell and she sums up perfectly why those of us who use Twitter are so addicted to it.

Since I spend less time posting (FOUR YEARS OF BLOGGING, PEOPLE. FOUR YEARS) I've put some Twitter widgets on my sidebar so in case you drop by without calling first you'll have something to do while I finish putting on my makeup.

Up top is a Favorites widget. I put all the jokes I write, and sometimes what others write, but mainly me because I am a raging narcissist, and these change every week. Depending on how funny I am. And how funny others are, but mainly me because I am still, at the end of this paragraph, a raging narcissist.

At the bottom I've added a Twitpic widget. That's the platform that allows you to post your pictures to Twitter. Click on a picture and it will take you to my photos and you can flip through them.

So even when I'm not here? I'm here.

And in short doses! Win win!

Wednesday, September 01, 2010

Baby You Can Drive My Car

No one walks in Los Angeles. You drive 45 minutes, buy a carton of milk, drive 45 minutes back. If I drive anywhere for 45 minutes, I feel like I should spend the weekend.

That's what I liked about New York. You didn't need a car because everything was a block away. The store was a block away, the bank was a block away, my apartment was a block away from where I lived.

My first car, a Ford Festiva. Née October 1990-Died April 2000

I spend so much time on freeways. A week ago I took the 101 to the 110 to the 405 to the 134 back to the 101. I never did get back home. I don't know why they even erect houses on streets out here. They should just build them along the freeways.

And it takes forever to get to a good car crash. Two hours to go one and a half miles. And when you get there, what do you see? Nothing. If it takes me two hours to go one and a half miles, I want to see a head suspended in mid‑air. Show me a pancreas flopping on the pavement.

I'm one of those women who will drive weeks with my car making a pinging sound. I'll even offer to drive people places just so I can ask them what they think the pinging sound is.

This is a bad plan because I've come close to believing:

1. It was the engine grinding up kittens
2. It's the noise you hear right before a plane crashes
3. I should look into purchasing a bicycle

When you take your car to a mechanic they ask you to describe the noise. I always sound like a beatboxer saying aho ho ho, ssst ho sssta ringa, dinging, ring. Then I have to say, "My car has ho-hos and ring-dings."

When my mechanic fixed the pinging sound he managed to throw out this random fact, "You need new shoe boots for your front axle." I don't know why he thought I was gullible enough to believe that a front axle could wear shoes and boots at the same time.


Regulating the car heater is a task best left to NASA. Why do they only have two temperature settings, flame broiled and microwave? You're either hot or you've exploded. I can never get it right. I turn it on and five minutes later I think, "Gee, I must be in the wrong lane because we're orbiting the sun now."

Don't ever make the mistake of going food shopping and then put all your groceries on the floor if you have the heat coming out of the floor vents. By the time I got home I had cooked an entire roast beef medium‑rare. Twenty more minutes and the baked potatoes would have been done. If you're on a long distance trip you could use the car as a crock pot.

And some cars have the dome light on the ceiling in back of you. Who designed this, Cirque de Soleil? And that blinding light, what's in there, a 9 watt bulb? Why doesn't the car just come equipped with candles?

Before I traded in my Festiva I was at Nordstrom's and a woman sold me a cream that was supposed to reduce the visible signs of aging. It didn't do a thing for my face but the car looked brand new.

End of chat.