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."

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.

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.

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!

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.

Men.

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.

L.A. Sign Of The Times #64

Pepperdine University in Malibu with deer grazing on their lawn.


To see the other 63 offbeat pictures I've taken since I began my blog in 2006, click on the label below.

I Thought These Things Only Happened To The Bloggess

This happens to The Bloggess all the time. (It's below the hot pictures of her in a strapless black dress and a stuffed squirrel. She's not in the stuffed squirrel, there just IS a stuffed squirrel.)

Anyway, I had the phrase you see below on my brain all day yesterday. So I Googled it. (If I need a glass of tap water I Google it.)

I've never used parentheses twice in my life. I might be coming down with something.

Google fixed the word *jackoff*, which is very 1984. The book, not the year. If you were born after 1980 I pray you didn't go to a douchey high school where they skipped Orwell. And no it's not Orwell Redenbacher.

So then I Googled *Jack off all trades* because THAT HAD TO BE WRONG.

The verb usage was particularly disturbing. I'm never dating a man with a tool again. Although I will probably date more tools.

This Entry got 47 UPS and 37 DOWNS.

The English language has left the building.

Why The Internet Is Really Stupid

I was going to publish this list and not point out the errors. But then I felt bad for the spammers who might read it and not notice. So I've marked the mistakes in red. Because my goal in life is to help spammers over the hump of illiterate retardation and overall lack of intelligence. While at the same time giving up sugar and hacking into my mother's email.

I found these on the Internet. Some of them are obvious, some I've included even though I can chalk it up to dyslexia. I could've let those slide but where's the fun in not being judgmental?

But they all make me wonder why 'Website Proofreader' isn't the most requested job in the world.


~The Novocain’s starting to wear roof.

~Tampa Bay officials have been unable to capture a fugitive rhesus monkey that's been on the lamb since last Tuesday afternoon.

~When the show originally aired, Chopin was the center of attention and media coverage, having went from 407 to 193 pounds.

~Families are loosing their homes.

~Authorities have ruled out carbon monoxide posing as the cause.

~Singer, Johnny Holiday: Induced comma after hernia surgery.

~White, dressed in a toboggan, scarf and flannel-like jacket, said she works long hours at the law firm she owns and doesn't get much time to shop.

~There have been plenty of pictures of Woods' cuckholded wife Elin Nordegren and his alleged mistress Rachel Uchitel

~I barely hold it all together with hot glue, Velcro, zip ties, staple gun and the occasional duck tape.

~Currently he is charged with one murder in Michigan, which does not have the death pently.

~But five months after their gunshot wedding in Las Vegas, the couple got divorced.

~Presented to you without adieu, Brad's face in 2010 -- Bearded March, Stubbly June and Smooth July


I won't point out what spellcheck missed when I ran this post for errors. It's entirely too depressing, but then again sugar is a depressant. Or maybe that's Valium. In any event, I am looking forward to meeting White wearing a toboggan.

How To End Your Summer With Me Still Talking To You

-Stop complaining about the same things over and over and over. I can’t fix it. If I could, I’d fix all the things I complain about over and over and over.

-Stop talking about the same things over and over and over. When I turn on TV I can't even watch reruns.

-Make up your mind in less than three days. As fascinating as the difference is between ecru and taupe, your equivocation gets on my last available nerve.

-Stop asking me what I think you should do with your life. I don’t know what I should do with my life and yours interests me even less.

-Stop asking me if you should have plastic surgery. Look in the mirror. If you don’t burst into tears, the answer is no.

-Stop asking me if you should lose weight. Look in the mirror. If you burst into tears, the answer is yes.

-Stop burdening your friends with all your issues. Do what I do and unload on strangers. For a big enough tip those bartenders will listen to anyone.

So in a nutshell:

Thanks Liss!

End of chat.

L.A. Sign Of The Times #63

It's Everybody Can Bite Me Friday!

I ran into actress Christina Ricci at Gelson's this week. As I mentioned on Twitter the day I saw her, she's about 3 feet 12" tall and incredibly long-waisted. She avoids eye contact with everyone. Doesn't want to be talked to. Even Patrick Dempsey stopped to talk to me. He knows a non-violent stalker when he sees one. Maybe.

Ricci lives above me in the Hollywood Hills, in a house (see below) designed by Lloyd Wright, Frank Lloyd Wright's son. Way to pass on the wrong part of your name Papa Wright.

Whoopi Goldberg is an ass and is one of many reasons I no longer watch The View. I'm not going to sit here and defend the Salahi's behavior getting into the White House but after watching the clip of Whoopi appearing stage right to tap Michaele on the arm and TELL HER to keep talking about the incident, as opposed to her new reality show, was really too much. Whoopi is not the boss of the show unless I haven't watched in so long that she is. Once during a Christmas show years ago they paraded out some "Christmas T Shirt Winners" and Whoopi proceeded to screw up her face in disgust at each one. As if to say, "I'm not a part of this bullshit. I'm just here to be taken seriously."

Take a hike Whoopi, because all that weight you lost CAME BACK. So seriously, take a hike. If I wanted to witness condescension and criticism on a regular basis I'd go live with my mother.

See that Humor Medal badge at the top of my sidebar? I received an email from a malcontent who did NOT receive a humor medal. There were 50 winners in each category and it's just a promotional tool for the company that hands them out. It's not a serious award. Although Mr. Disgruntled has a humor blog, he did not win so he served up sour grapes to all who did. He explained that keeping the medal on my sidebar would damage my reputation in Google.

Well, I should hope so.

I still have my partial bridge in. I cannot get myself to the dentist across town because I can't.

I Can Make Anyone Taller And Thinner

Say hello to August's Teeshirter!

Due to my exceptional html skills, I shrink the pictures people send me. And this ex-pat looks normal here but I've given her a body makeover on my sidebar.

If you're sending me a picture of yourself wearing my tee, do us both a favor and make it 200 px x 317 px. I wish I knew exactly what that meant but I don't and many bloggers have had to pay the price in weight loss, height gain and overall cropping of the most important part of their picture. Save the insults for when you go to church.