Boys and Their Toys

Yesterday morning proved to be a frenzy of present wrapping (yes, I'm a procrastinator) and feverish unwrapping. My dad's dog went nuts, pummeling its full weight through the towers of discarded red and green metallic paper as me and the fam exchanged gifts. However, even with all the yuletide stimuli one thing stuck out amongst the layers of trash and piles of Christmas delights and that was a statement by my youngest nephew who I believe (and don't hold me to this as I have a black hole in my brain where ages and birthdays should be) is four years old. This is a direct quote from his mouth as he waited not so patiently for his turn at gift opening: "I don't like to wait. I just like to rip into them and get them open." My completely inappropriate response was something along the lines of boys both young and old pretty much having the same line of thinking. Delay gratification? Hell no. That's for suckers with too much time on their hands. What's refreshing was that a young boy was able to put it so eloquently out on the table without fear of judgment or female backlash. Finally, someone speaks the truth that us women have always known to exist. That no matter how pretty your packaging or how painstakingly you put it together with scotch tape, all the boys really want to do is rip it off and enjoy the gift inside.

Temporary Boredom

Today is my first day as a temp. As exciting as that sounds, trust me, it's about as fun as watching paint dry, even if that paint is cerulean blue or magenta. Here's what I've done today. Get ready for some thrills.

1.) Answered every email and myspace message I've put off for the past month, even those I never intended to respond to in the first place (you know who you are.)
2.) Drank lots of water because trips to the bathroom mean a change of scenery.
3.) Mapquested my bikini waxers office. See you in an hour and a half, Stella. http://www.starwaxing.com
4.) Watched the crew from the city delimb some poor tree outside. Lots of action going on there. Men in orange hooting and hollering at each other. I pretended I was in Italy.
5.) Stared at the clock a lot... Just did it again.
6.) Researched the cost of velvet material for the new website (see past entry.)
7.) Walked to Quiznos for a heartburn sandwich with a side of homeless guy singing Stevie Wonder's "I Just Called to Say I Love You."
8.) Made a detailed to-do list with neat little boxes that scream to be checked.
9.) And activated my new debit card. The automated operator's voice was so friendly I stayed on the line to hear about how I can protect myself from credit card fraud. Thanks, lady, I didn't know that!

Tomorrow will be more of the same, so I'll spare the day by day details. Just know, I'm working hard at hardly working, and I could use a vacation.

I'll Be Home For Christmas

I know, I know, LA misses me. It's roasting chestnuts and hanging stockings, wistfully thinking of my sweet embrace, a nostalgic tear making a streak of white down its Mystic-tanned face. But here I am biding my time in Northern California, hoping we can be together again for the holidays. In fact, it's the only thing I asked Santa for for Christmas (sha right, I'm a greedy bastard). Actually, up North things are a bit more, shall we say, "christmasy" with the cold weather bestowing upon everyone a red nose to make Rudolph jealous (where as if you have a red nose in LA you probably just got done doing blow in the bathroom at Sky Bar.) All we have in LA as far as Season's tidings is that the girls in mini skirts exchange their flip-flops for Uggs, and Starbuck's starts selling their peppermint mochas by the thousands to anxiety ridden, prescription pill-popping, holiday shoppers. But now that's Christmas to me, and I can't wait to return home, some well-earned money in hand, to buy myself that peppermint mocha (with soy, of course) and enjoy it with a bag of roasted chestnuts from the West Hollywood Whole Foods. Does anyone make a soy egg nog?

Velvet Ties

My friend Emily and I have decided to start a business. True, we decide on a new one every time we have one to many glasses of wine or vodka sodas, but everyone needs that special someone to drink, I mean think, big with while under the influence. Our last idea? An Inn and tea shop based on our abnormal obsession with The Gilmore Girls and its small time, big drama appeal. She's in hospitality management making her the perfect candidate to run the B&B while I spend my mornings in the tea shop and nights feverishly penning the next blockbuster screenplay and chatting it up with our single male guests over homemade hot chocolate. The shop would be called A Spot, as in "a spot of tea," and we would serve a piece of dark chocolate with every cup and offer a different signature soup every Sunday, cumulating in our future cookbook/coffee table masterpiece entitled "52 Soup Sundays," which a friend of mine in LA's DP boyfriend would shoot uber creative and cinematic stills for. We'd also have plenty of Sherry, Brandy and miniature organic sandwiches to pass out to our minions. Sounds good, right? Well, after plenty of Pinot Grigio, we sure as hell thought so.

Our latest venture, planned out over Irish coffees at San Francisco's Gold Dust Lounge late last night, is to create a website where we sell skinny velvet ties of the darker hued variety, aimed mainly at the hipsters and fashion forward thinkers of the world. We'd also sell a variety of ingenious and artfully designed tie clips for men and women, brighter colered bow ties and modern indie meets francophile berrets. God, we're good. And if I suddenly see this site up and running, I'll know that obviously someone read this blog and stole our intellectual property, and I'll have no other choice but to file a grievance with The Court of That's Not Fair and get my money.

Stay tuned for more thrilling entrepreneurial delights and lighting strikes of pure genius in the future. And if you feel you can't wait, come to Sacramento this week, and by all means, buy me a drink. ;)

Volunteers of America

I've had a strange week. Yesterday I went to the Bodies Revealed exhibit, currently making its home in the least cultural district of Sacramento, Alta Arden. I was intrigued at the thought of going to see a bunch of dead bodies and body parts, especially after finishing a book like "American Psycho," not that the book is for lack of graphic visuals. However, I have to admit, when my step mother was raving about how great the exhibit was years back, I found myself leaning more to the, "that's disgusting" and "how creepy" side. But this time I swallowed my grade schooler reaction and decided to go with a scientific eye. I can't say that I flipped out over spleens and nervous system functions on display in the way I did when seeing the Mona Lisa for the first time, but the experience was quite eye opening and, yes, interesting to say the least. However, if you decided to go, my advice is to avoid the embryonic babies in jars area. I know it sounds like a barrel of fun, but it gave me nightmares.

Today I volunteered with my mom at a local Women's Center. We woke up at the butt crack and made our way over there to serve breakfast and spread some holiday cheer. I was a bit nervous at first because the last time I volunteered to serve meals my friend got a stale loaf of bread chucked at her head by an unsatisfied costumer. After my friend fell to the floor the homeless woman exclaimed for all to hear, "Whoops, my hand slipped." That memory has stuck with me, but I found the women and children today to be friendly and easy going. I even got hit on once which served to provide plenty of laughter for my mother who was so tired she even slipped a double chocolate chip muffin onto her own plate when no one was looking. Nothing like a dose of sugar to keep you alert. Just ask the addicts who I watched dump a pound of sugar on everything, from a hot cup of coffee to a bowl of salad. Apparently, it helps calm their addictions by trading one vice for another: drug addiction for diabetes.

The women were very ethnically diverse but I did notice that the various nationalities separated into different tables. The kids, however, played games together and no one was want for good company or second helpings. What I missed though was the type of closeness you get from smaller deeds, like the year I volunteered for Meals on Wheels. I knew every person inside the houses I delivered to. That Christmas I received a handmade, woven Kleenex box holder with snowmen on it from one of the elderly ladies who was also a Holocaust survivor. She was the funniest old lady I've ever had the pleasure to hang with, and no one could put together a 500 piece puzzle as fast as she could. She was like the Bobby Fischer of puzzle putter togetherers. Oh well, the experience was definitely something I needed and have been missing out on in my life of networking and schmoozing and worrying about whether or not I'll be able to get in a certain club or what the hell I'm going to wear on my date with the latest and not so greatest future ex-boyfriend and/or stalker. So if anyone is up for some more volunteering (as long as it doesn't involve reading L. Ron Hubbard books to underprivileged children in the ghetto - true story) then call me up, and let's do some good deeds together. Hell, what else you got to do until this writers' strike is over besides drinking wine and watching re-runs of "Gossip Girl"?

Say Cheese

I recently went to Disneyland with my mom, and she reminded me of the following story. When I was 4, after a fruitful trip to the happiest place on Earth, I told her that I had every intention of marrying Mickey Mouse so that I could live happily ever after in Disneyland. Cute sentiment, right? Thinking about this, I came to the realization that that moment may be the only time in my life that I've ever thought of marriage in a positive light, as something that may actually have benefits to it. No kidding. So while in Toontown this last Monday I dragged my mom over to Mickey's house to try to relive this old nostalgia for one of America's dying institutions. As I walked through his quaint, brightly painted cottage with overstuffed plastic furniture I thought to myself, hell, maybe I could do this. The Mouse has money, his own place with no roomates and he could probably hook me up with the screenwriting internship at Disney that I applied for last summer...

However, as we walked over to Splash Mountain to cram in a log with strangers and get our butts wet, the old Blackheart sensibility started to rear its lovely head. First off, how could I possibly share an oversized, yellow blow-up bed with a Giant Mouse? Christ, what would our kids look like? I'm aiming for Brangelina type offspring, if any at all, not the Elephant Man. Secondly, his on again, off again ex girlfriend Minnie would be living next door, and the bitch won't even give up his last name let alone his precious free time. Also, I've seen her kitchen, and the girl can cook. I can barely make toast. Plus, I'm lactose intolerant, and they'd always have a love of cheese in common. Lastly, having a workaholic husband who spends more time with his friends (i.e. Goofy and Donald Duck) and on the soundstage than with me, just doesn't appeal to me. I need some comfort and love, damnit, if I'm going to make the effort to walk down the cartoon aisle. And Disneyland is filled with kids and obese Americans at all times, which quite frankly, is not my ideal living environment. I'd rather live on Wisteria Lane with those Desperate Housewife skitches (translation=skinny bitches.)

So, folks, despite my youthful desire to fall in love and marry my childhood hero, my adult self just can't follow suit. Maybe someday I'll find my Prince (barf) and make my own happiest place on Earth (barf, again), but until then, this Blackheart will keep sifting through the Plotus of the world and playing fetch.

Top 10 China Highlights

1.) Climbing the Great Wall of China. Absolutely amazing. We took the harder, more scenic route, and I worked up a sweat despite the 40 degree weather. There was a huge group of people from India all wearing matching Burberry jackets, and one couple demanded we visit their country next, so who am I to disagree? Anyone down to climb the Himalayas with me?
2.) Boat ride down the Suzhou canals. My favorite vignette from the 300 year old stone houses along the embankments was: a house with a fat orange cat watching us float by, next to a house with a bird cage with 3 multi-colored birds hanging from an open window, next to a house with chickens in the backyard pecking at the ground. Every Suzhou resident would smile and wave at us as we passed. A "Ni hao," a nod and a wave, and we were on to the next idyllic scene.
3.) Summer Palace. Loved walking along the lake down the Empress' endless, painted wooden promenade which she had built so she could wander her grounds without ever being in the sun or rain. A major diva of Mariah Carey proportions. But she deserved it seeing as she only got to get it on with the Emperor 2 times a year in between his hundreds of concubines.
4.) Walk through the Ming Tombs down the Sacred Way. Through the long, broad expanse of willow trees, we waved to the many stone statues of Chinese officials and mythological animals guarding the dead rulers while enjoying the faint sound of music and the leaves rustling in the wind. Fyi, they filmed "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" there.
5.) Last night out in Shanghai which included attending the Chinese MTV Music Awards where we had no idea what they were saying but loved the hip-hop dancers and cheesy love ballads that caused the teeny boppers in the audience to cry out God only knows what. Then it was off to Babyface, a locals hangout where we met a group of Australians who shared their Chivas and green tea with us. Danced all night and got a ride home in style in one of our new friend's private town car.
6.) Eating sauteed tofu and quail's eggs in Chinatown (Shanghai) with toothpicks. We bought it from a vendor out of a giant hot pot in the window after roaming the gardens there. Then we gorged ourselves on mochi. My mom bought a sampler pack. My fave? The red bean and the black sesame. Too bad mom ate the entire pack in 2 days or I would have brought some back to share.
7.) Terracotta Soldiers. It's all about pit #1, baby, with thousands of soldiers and their horses lined in row upon row, guarding Emperor Qing's tomb. There are still twice as many waiting to be unearthed but because the oxygen destroys the clay the government is leaving them buried for future generations to enjoy.
8.) 8 motorcycles driving in circles, upside down and sideways, inside a giant steel cage at the acrobatic show. If they bring this shit to the States it's bound to make some major Yuan. I nearly pissed my pants.
9.) The Birds' Nest and the Water Cube, a.ka. the site of the Beijing Olympics August 8th, 2008.
10.) Tiananmen Square. Owen, our ultra-hot 28 year old tour guide who rocked Prada glasses and used to play in a dance metal band, told us that once outside of the tour bus he couldn't discuss the events of 1989 since China was full of government spies who would arrest you for talking against Mao and the government, despite the fact that the guy has been dead since 1976. We were also warned not to take pictures of anyone wearing t-shirts with political slogans or holding banners because the spies and/or guards would confiscate our cameras. On one side of the square was the past, Mao's larger than life picture, still looming over this communist country and its people, and on the other side was the future, a giant clock counting down the minutes and seconds leading to the 2008 Olympics and their capitalist fate.
**Last final small world note: We saw Paris Hilton at club Attica the night before the MTV Awards in Shanghai. As she posed for the club goers and their camera phones, mere feet away from us, I wondered for a second if we hadn't magically beamed back to some lame Hollywood club where the little people take second string to celebrities. But then as I watched her peer at the crowd from behind red ropes, not a sole with her except for some men in suits and whoever was on the other end of her blackberry (a.k.a. security blanket,) I couldn't help but feel sorry for the little princess, all alone in Shanghai, when I had 3 of the best girls in the world with me to enjoy the music, free drinks and fun.

Road to China

Tomorrow is the big day. I'm finally taking that leap into another continent. I'm all packed and am currently awaiting friends who are coming over for a dinner party/let's drink lots of wine and throw everything in the wok and eat too much shindig. You know you have great friends when they throw a farewell bash for a 10 day vacation.

I have a few worries that I'm trying to keep under control, most being of the can-a-vegetarian-eat-in-China-the-land-of-skinned-rabbits-and-ducks-hanging-from-storefront-windows variety. Food is very important to me. If God told me I could either never have babies or lose my taste buds, I'd rescue the buds in a blink of an eye. Other worries include a lack of adapter for my ipod, whether or not they'll allow fruit into the Beijing airport if it's of the dried variety and whether or not this tour company is secretly run by the Scientologists or any other freaky sect/cult that will lead us down a dark alley, steal our Yuan, beat us senseless and leave us for dead, rickshaws unknowingly criss-crossing our bodies in the early morning, Shanghai traffic. Ya know, the small things. So in reality, there's really not much to concern myself with other than making sure I have lots of fun and try not to fight with my mother. The latter will be aided greatly by her supply of restless leg medication (i.e. the one-two sucker punch, lights out wonder pills).

Also, I'm bringing a friend's copy of American Psycho, which I feel will not only entertain, albeit shock, me but will also ward off any lame-ass American tourists that may try to make conversation with me on the bus. You know the type, spouting out diet restrictions as they float on their insoled sneakers... oh wait, that's me. Crap. Oh well, bringing Ellis with me anywho.

Alright, first guest has arrived. Time to discuss the WGA Writers' Strike over a bottle of schwag vino. China pictures to follow. Perhaps I'll even sneak some of the new Olympic site and beat that damn Ann Curry to it. Today Show sucka!

Funny Ha-Ha

Recommended laughter:
1.) "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia"
2.) The Groundlings
3.) Salt n' Pepa's "It's None of Your Business"
4.) Weddings (as a former wedding florist myself, nothing says humor to me more than two people pronouncing their love in front of others)
5.) JC Penney
6.) all things Tina Fey
7.) Martin Lawrence stand-up (when he was still wearing the all leather suits)
8.) My dad, always
9.) Christian Womanhood class (it's been years, but I the laughter still echoes in my ears)
10.) Steve Martin as Cousin Rupert in "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels"
11.) John Mayer's blog (the man is hilarious, I swear)

**Added bonus: Cats with tape on their paws (terrible, yet true)

Midnight at the Garden of Eden

Halloween weekend. Good god. Can a girl get some recovery sleep? All the sinning culminated at the Garden of Eden party in Hollywood last Saturday night were two boys who looked all of 15 and dressed as the Gotti brothers in their matching white bandanas, over-sized cubic zirconia crosses and tight black t-shirts harassed my friends on the dancefloor. Can a girl get some personal space? When the clock struck midnight this Cinderella Blackheart did indeed turn into a grimy handmaid, and by 2am my pumpkin cab was ready to roll me and my mice friends away. Did I leave a glass slipper? No, indeed. But I did leave behind a great deal of hard earned cash, a tube of cheap lipstick, my sobriety and a bit of self respect.

When I was young, Halloween was my favorite holiday. My stepbrother, who was a dj and amateur carpenter at the time, used to transform our humble home into a den of horror. My friends and I would take turns leading kids through our haunted house and jumping out at unsuspecting victims through smoke machine clouds. His dj lights would spin rhythmically, hypnotizing me as I allowed myself to freefall into a sugar induced coma. We even got in the newspaper once, our home becoming a dot on the historical print landscape. Those were the good old days. Gone are the days of guarding my Reeses cups from my mother. (One time I sniffed the mix of chocolate and peanut butter goodness on her breath and found wrappers in her bed, stuffed under her sheets. Busted.) Gone are the days of someone else sewing a Snow White or bee costume for you. And gone are the days of begging my dad to let me watch just one more horror film with my stepbrother, then regretting it as I ran from killer clowns in my nightmares.

Next year I'm going old school. I'm watching horror films in my bed with a giant pumpkin bucket on my lap full of candy. I may even mail my mom a Reeses cup for old times sake... or maybe just the wrapper. Ah, who am I kidding? I'll probably end up half-naked taking shots of Pitron at some totally pretentious LA party and loving every damn minute of it. That is, at least until I wake up in the morning with a hangover and somebody named Zorro's number on a cocktail napkin in my clutch. Can a girl get some aspirin?

SF vs. LA: The Ultimate Showdown

In my constant battle over which city to reside in, I've come up with a list of pros and cons for both cities. Actually, it's more of an ultimate fighter competition between the two, without all the blood and drool. LA fires vs. SF earthquakes. Well, I'd rather be swallowed by the earth than burnt alive, so one point for Frisco. LA Dodgers vs. SF Giants. I hate baseball, so scratch that. LA men (actor/somethings obsessed with outer appearances) vs. SF men (musician/somethings with lots of facial hair). Hmm, both cities have an excess of gay men, whom I love but who make it a bit difficult for a single woman, but I like a hairy man so SF wins again. Plus, after dating many an actor/_____, I can tell you, it's a lose-lose situation, and who doesn't love a musician? LA smog vs. SF fog. Fog won't kill ya; 3 points for SF. But fog can be depressing, and nothing can beat LA weather. One point for LA. Griffith Park vs. Golden Gate. No comparison. Besides the bums in GG are much nicer. LA traffic vs. SF transit. Love that BART system and you too Muni, you cute lil' thing. Man, SF is kickin' ass. Let's continue. LA vs. SF night scene. Wow, too close to call. It's a tie on that one. LA beach vs. SF beach. LA beaches don't require you bring a parka and wool blanket so LA racks up another. Flat LA streets vs. SF hills. Love them hills. One weekend there, and my calves and butt cheeks feel like rocks. LA vs. SF culture. Both towns house about as many nationalities as the UN so I'd say another tie. LA eateries vs. SF restaurants. The two best meals of my life have been in SF, and I usually side with my stomach.

Look, I could go on and on, but one round remains. The showdown. LA vs. SF charm. Not many people have written love songs to LA. In fact, I can't think of any, except perhaps The Doors' "LA Woman," but that's not exactly a glowing review. SF has an endless amount of songs written in its honor, many of which line the walls in the lobby of Geary Street's Hotel California. But there's only one true love song that sums up my thoughts on who the winner is, and that belongs to the illustrious Tony Bennett:

I LEFT MY HEART IN SAN FRANCISCO

The loveliness of Paris
Seems somehow sadly gay
The glory that was Rome
Is of another day
I've been terribly alone
And forgotten in Manhattan [insert: Los Angeles]
I'm going home to my city by the bay.

I left my heart in San Francisco
High on a hill, it calls to me.
To be where little cable cars
Climb halfway to the stars!
The morning fog may chill the air
I don't care!
My love waits there in San Francisco
Above the blue and windy sea
When I come home to you, San Francisco,
Your golden sun will shine for me!

(*Sidenote: Love the use of exclamation points in your lyrics, Tony. Well played.)

Fire Starter

As my plane touched down over Los Angeles last night on my way back from San Francisco, the pilot pointed out that to our left we could catch a spectacular glimpse of the LA fires. Like a bunch of eager tourists on an urban safari, we turned our heads, piling on top of one another to take a look at the destruction. "Oooohhh... aaahhh." And it was spectacular: little lines of sparkling red light dotting the black canvas below. The woman next to me scoffed, rolling her eyes as she dug her face deeper into her book. Apparently, she was above all of this. We were rubberneckers, and she was a highly sophisticated woman of good breeding who preferred not to make light of the tragedies unfolding on the ground. But what she missed was the beauty of it all, a beauty that was short lived once the plane came to the terminal and smoke started to fill our lungs, causing our throats to swell and our eyes to itch. Once home, I spent hours cleaning the soot off the sills of my open windows and prayed that my poor cat didn't have a case of the black lung. Then watching the endless news coverage and the morning sky fill with an eerie orange and black light, I missed that simple moment, when thousands of feet above the earth, the fires looked like little more than grand city lights.

Motherly Advice

As far as careers go, I've been a bit lost of late. Sure, I want to write, but an unclear path makes an uneasy traveler. Here's a quote mia madre send me to ponder, and, no matter how Oprahesque it seems, it's dead on. "... Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Then, perhaps without even realizing it, you will live along some distant day into the answer." - Rainer Rilke After all those questions, today was one of those phenomenal distant days, and what a great damn day it was.

Noodle Survey

The other night someone reminded me of something I haven't thought about in a long time, and I've come to believe that the ensuing question it brings up could be a metaphor for life in general. First the item, or in this case, the dish: spaghetti with butter and cheese. Now the question, and I would greatly appreciate any and all responses for this is big, is which type of person are you? Are you the type to prefer a fancy restaurant and a lovely plate of penne pasta with your favorite sauce and all the works, including a waiter to clear you dishes when you're through, or are you the type who would rather stay home with a bowl of good, old-fashioned, buttered noodles with cheese and a ready remote? Think about it. There's no right or wrong answers here. In fact, I can't seem to decide myself. Whether it is a metaphor for various aspects of your life or simply a matter of taste, I think it says a lot about who we are and could answer the great mystery we all ponder: who the hell am I and what the hell do I want?

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

Not to sound cliche, what with a nickname like Blackheart, but I'm feeling a bit down today. Not the sort of down that makes you stay indoors with the blinds drawn watching 90210 reruns and eating candy corns mixed with honey coated peanuts (no kidding, it tastes like a Payday.) No, it's the sort of down that comes with the end of a long hiatus, in this case, my month long hibernation in Castle Rock, CO. I've become joyously used to long breakfasts over the paper (Denver news, in comparison to LA's, contains such happy problems), watching the Rockies kick ass as Grandma hoots and hollers then takes naps during commercials (don't know how she does it), going to the movies twice a week, writing when I want to and reading a book in the sun when I don't, watching crap TV and not feeling the least bit guilty and working out everyday even though my lungs feel like they're bleeding having never gotten used to this god forsaken altitude. I have loved every second of it, and now, with reality breathing down my neck I feel disappointed. Maybe I should have gotten more done while I was here, or on the flip side, maybe I should have spent more quality time with grandma and less time staring at the computer screen. I suppose I have to resign myself to the fact that I had fun here, that I was able to, for the first time in a very long time, relax and take a well deserved breather from the Merry Go Round that is life after college, that is the working world. And I can't say I miss it or that I'll be anxious to jump back in. I suppose the only way out would be for me to marry rich and spend my days sunbathing in my professionally landscaped backyard until my personal trainer and/or professional cook stops by to whip me into shape. Ahhh, the good life. But, unfortunately, that ain't me either. I'm cursed with the need to be busy, to have some sort of function in this world and to make some use of the skills I was given. So damnit, here I go, back into the wonderfully harsh realities of LA and up to my neck in the thick of it. Bon voyage, Denver. Hola, Los Angeles.