Welcome to DoctorTowne

I got to keep on mooovin'

2009-06-19T14:50:00.000-07:00

Does anyone of my three readers remember how Matthew McConaughey went crazy and stopped posing correctly for movie posters? I'm glad to say that the master of the smirk-and-lean is BACK!

That's right, and BOY, am I relieved. Might I remind you to refresh your memory, because it's starting to get ridiculous. Doesn't he sigh contemptuously at the publicity dudes when they say, "hey, why don't you stand with your backs to each other to signify opposition and flirtation?!" as they pat themselves on the back for such a good idea? Doesn't he roll his eyes and die a little?

Probably not. Dude probably rolls so deep from these chick flicks. And I'm not going to lie, I love him. He's in "Dazed and Confused" and therefore wins.

Best Friend!

2009-03-01T11:47:00.000-08:00

Check out bicoastalbffs.blogspot.com! Molly and Meagan madness to the max!

Commencement

2009-02-24T11:51:00.000-08:00

I spend a bit of time with blindguy. He's had the flu and bronchitis so now I've got something similar (with the added fun of vomitting blood early this morning - something I like to make a habit of once every three years or so).

I am actually going to be gone for 6 weeks starting in a few days, so I guess this is goodbye for a while. I should have begun blindtime blogs earlier, but eh.

I'm going to eat soup now.

Retardant

2009-02-18T23:33:00.001-08:00

Just another day at the office...

There are only a few trucks visible here, but there were actually 7 fire engines, two battalion SUVs, a few cop SUVs, and an ambulance.

All for our little electricity+water=fun disaster.

Everyone including the lovebirds and guide dogs all made it to safety before anything went silly.

The best part was today, a day later, hearing my boss say,

"It's such a comfort to have these dogs with me here in the hotel. So I can wake up in the middle of the night and say 'what the shit?' to someone."

What do you use your toothbrush for?

2009-02-13T09:51:00.000-08:00

Blindguy has a habit of asking questions. Too many of them. Repeatedly. I know he's old, but it's like he's suddenly aged ten years in this past month. The questions he asks really are so obvious that yes, they are stupid questions.

When he talks to anyone, he has a way of speaking like we can read his mind. His joking comments are always misunderstood and never gotten right away, because he delivers them with such off-putting, creepy monotony, that you believe he must be serious. Then, you are made to feel like a total idiot right away when he starts in with his flappy laugh. (I swear sometimes his laugh makes my skin crawl. His uvula flaps in the back of his throat and it makes this horrible wet flipper sound while no noise escapes his lips. Skin crawls.)

The other day, we took a prototype of his invention to a laser cutter. The place specializes in laser cutting of all kinds of materials. Blindguy, after a 20-minute meeting, asks, "So...what do you use with your laser?"

It's such a poorly constructed question, and I just blinked and smiled at the contractor as he tried to understand what it meant. He repeated the question back to BG, as people naturally do when they don't immediately understand, and BG just says "Yeah!"

"Well, you mean...like what...what--I don't know what you mean."

"Ahh, like, what do you use with your laser?" BG never tries to make himself clearer.

"You mean materials?" See, BG's question was so obvious and simple that we all think he means something more complex by his fucked up word choices. If he'd only said "cut" instead of "use," etc., I wouldn't die inside so often.

So he starts to answer the question and BG finally realizes it WASN'T what he meant at all, by saying, "with a laser?"

"Yes. With a laser."

"Oooohhh so you cut it with a laser?"

It's a laser cutting company! He had me search and find a laser cutting company and somehow didn't put together that they'd use lasers to cut?! COME ON!

"Yes."

It's seriously like asking someone, "What do you use your toothbrush for?"

"What, you mean, like...to brush my---WAIT, what do you mean?!"

"Yeah, what do you use it for?"

"I don't know!!! To brush my TEETH??? IS THAT RIGHT?! I DON'T EVEN KNOW!!!"

And then flappy wet flipper comes back.

Salad Dressing?

2009-02-11T15:11:00.000-08:00

"Okay...I got another project for ya...you ready?"

Well, no, I'm not, because I'm putting together baby announcements. Still. But, ok. "Yeah, what's next?"

"I got this salad dressing I want you to make."

"A recipe? Sure." I mean, I made him homemade cole slaw yesterday, stir-fried tofu, veggies and brown rice the other week...what's a little dressing?

"Okay...good...we're gonna buy little bottles and sell it!"

WHAT.

gallon-sized rejection

2009-02-10T11:24:00.000-08:00

I don't know why people often use "pint-sized" to refer to a small thing. A pint can get me buzzed so...I mean, that's pretty substantial.

Either way, this is about blindguy. He received numerous rejections today in the mail for his short story collection and a couple of his novels. We've only received one positive, encouraging response: a request for additional material ...and it was still rejected anyway. Usually, it weighs on him pretty heavily. He bobs his head a lot when he mulls things over, looking back and forth through those chalk-white eyes. He's taken so much rejection from numerous agencies and publishers that I think it's finally not making a difference. He's bummed about it, and that's the way he'll stay.

He moved on from it quick today, because his website will launch in a few days. So he is excitedly and hurriedly having me prepare baby announcements. You know, to say "announcing the arrival of..." He thinks it's hilarious. I just hate that I have to hand-write all these addresses to a bunch of folks who don't even own computers.

I mean, I guess this is what you do when you have this much money. You buy baby announcements for a website launch and make me tie bows on them.

Slice off my face

2009-02-09T13:26:00.000-08:00

Slice it off and give it to my dogs. This is how I feel sometimes, working for blindguy. But let's not get into that.

To answer Hung's question, blindguy went blind when he contracted measles at the age of seven. His birth parents were too poor for medical treatment, so the measles took his sight. Then his mom died, and he was adopted by wicked rich people. Now he's rich and blind.

Good trade-off, I guess.

BRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAANNNNNDDYYYY

2009-02-05T15:01:00.000-08:00

My favorite time of day is when BlindGuy requests a Brandy on the rocks and starts getting loose and silly. He's about to be on the floor right now.

He doesn't understand electric guitars. It's kind of adorable.

Computer vs. BlindGuy

2009-02-05T10:35:00.000-08:00

My blindguy's on the phone with his sister. This is my chance to relax a little bit. They're talking about squirrels.

All morning I've been explaining to him the concept of file extensions and how certain programs don't let you convert certain types of files to other types and that's why we can't "blah blah blah" etc. But I've had to explain about a thousand times. Just imagine explaining .jpg versus .std (the Memorex label-maker design file) and how within the design program you can't convert a design to .jpg, nor can you print screen successfully because the template boxes remain visible on the design. They only disappear when you print to the printer. See, it's even confusing and stupid here, but it makes sense. Now, add 15 minutes of hardcore explaining, knowing that it's all for nothing, cuz he'll forget before tomorrow.

I mean, I understand that he just doesn't get it - although he's very hip to the internet and e-mail, he isn't quite on board with computer stuff. Eighty-one and blind, I can't blame him.

Now they're telling baptism jokes and talking about scratching the bindi off of Hindu women. Wtf?

Inventor

2009-02-03T10:28:00.000-08:00

He won't ever let me start a task without changing his mind twenty times and also telling me stupid, unrelated stories while I'm trying so hard to get his weird shit taken care of. Like, "will you find me a composite manufacturer in California?" Okay, get to searching on the web...click click click type type...

Then I hear: "So there was this guy who could drink 16 cocktails before he passed out...heck, if you gimme 4 glasses of wine, you're gonna have to help me to the door."

And everything he tells me, I must respond to. So often am I on auto-pilot, laughing at certain cues given in his voice or tsk-tsk-ing, or saying,"oh, really? That's interesting." Sometimes I realize that my laugh isn't big enough or something, and then I feel so awkward, forcing any sort of sound from my face; I know he must realize I don't care.

When he gets on the phone with, oh, say, ANYONE, he completely confuses them because the man doesn't explain himself at all - he just assumes people can read his mind or understand him.

He invented something that he has patented and he's currently trying to get----

"There was a kid about 12 years old, and his dad, were playing Saturday in front of Starbucks...he was playing trombone and his dad was playing guitar - he was really very good for being so young. They were playing old time favorites."

He just interrupted himself while talking about making cd labels or USS T1 Type A material by sharing that little pointless gem.

----mass produced. This is why I am in a terrible mood. He doesn't even know the name of the material he is trying to have me search for. He is just as unclear with me as he is with his phone victims. I can't help how pissed off I get and how my tone with him changes to tangibly annoyed. He knows - I'm sure. He shoots it right back at me, like it's my fault.

At least he can't see me rolling my eyes into the back of my head.

Storyteller

2009-01-30T15:37:00.000-08:00

It's blazing today. End of January in California. Such is life. My blind guy is sitting in the living on the opposite side of the house, recording a story into a neat little recording device (specially made for visually impaired types called the Plextalk made by Plextor) while I sit in here, the office, editing some manuscripts - his hopeful novels and short stories. His babies. Ya gotta kill your baby.

I can hear him telling this story so enthusiastically. It's unscripted and unrehearsed, completely spontaneous...and I gotta give it to him, the stories aren't that bad. But it's still a bit strange to me to picture him there in the living room, telling stories to no one. He doesn't even falter. It's admirable.

Pretty soon I'll get to prepare him a SmartOnes meal...because they have easily visible WeightWatchers points right on the box. I mean, easily visible for me. He's doing WeightWatchers because when you're 80, blind, and look like a peanut M&M, you might as well blow some cash on a weight loss program. After his meal I'll get to bring in the lovebirds, feed the guide dogs, and shoot the shit with him for a few minutes before he finally lets me go.

Tough life, I guess.

BlindTime

2009-01-28T12:10:00.000-08:00

I work for an over-80-year-old completely blind man who has entirely too much money and energy on his hands. I will tell you about it.

So, my blind guy, he's not much taller than me (a whopping 5'4"). He's squat and middle-heavy, like a toad, with tiny legs and arms, huge belly, no ass. Like your typical short old man. Like the commercial peanut M&M guy. He employs an educated vocabulary, but often relapses into his North Texan drawl and uses lots of really cute/totally annoying phrases like "Oh you're just whistlin' into a rain barrel." Shit like that.

Right now, he's in the kitchen, filling his pipe with vanilla tobacco. He just came running in, grinning from ear to ear, saying "I'm gonna' go sit outside and sin for a little bit." His guide dogs ran after him, and I am alone in the house. It is rare to be alone - it is rare not to be busy. With this gig, I've been more busy than at any other job.

I started as a part-time clerical assistant, but that quickly turned into full-time personal assistant. Thankfully, I don't have to dress him or assist him in the ways of the bathroom - he's very capable. He's a wily old thing, with good ears and a healthy body. He's not going anywhere for a while. Anyway, what began as simple computer work has developed into basically running his life on a day-to-day basis. It's tiring and hilarious, but only if I've had enough sleep the night before.

I'll keep posting on the happenings here in the house, working with a blind guy, a solely Spanish-speaking housekeeper, and the many, many other individuals we all encounter every day.

doctortowne transmission over?

2009-01-12T17:28:00.000-08:00

i never post. heee.

change

2008-08-27T16:09:00.001-07:00

What started as a fantastic dream (touring the United Kingdom with my band for the second time) morphed into a world of challenge (July spent in 100-degree Northern Nevada, babysitting 24 hours a day, three children, zero energy) and then change. Nothing but change, change, change.

It seems that every time there's some sort of change in my life (plus boredom and bloody marys), I get the itch to post a blog. So what's new? I live with my parents (strike), I work part-time as a waitress in a Japanese restaurant (enjoyable, but strike two), and I'm 50 miles away from friends, my life, my city. Strike three, I'm out. I drive around this blazing eastern tip of Los Angeles county, cursing its neighborhoods and residents, shaking my head that it's not home. I actually, for the first time, feel like I don't belong somewhere. And that place is here.

So I've become detached. I'm on autopilot, making it through each day with naps and bloody marys and practicing away at trumpet and piano. I complete each shift without having realized I've just worked. I clock out and drive home and stare at the walls until 3 or 4 in the morning. I read O Henry and fantasize about some day finding someone that originally romantic or I recount and edit the past, erasing idiotic moves and replacing them with envious brilliance. Hindsight fantasies, they rule.

I'm hoping that the cooler fall weather will change my heart again. Maybe that autumnal nostalgia will hit and I'll be lovey. But right now I can't afford to see my friends more than once a week; the said band is going through some sort of tense pubescent stage...everyone's breaking out and shrugging off and mumbling, figuratively speaking, of course. But one way or another, things are strange, and probably going to change quite a bit. I hope Autumn is strong.

So my life...it's on pause, I'm in limbo. I have no plans at all except to make it to work tonight. I don't care what September or 2009 bring. It's strange. Change is strange.

ewwwww

2008-08-06T00:34:00.000-07:00

This previous post about Blogger Babies has been removed by its author due to its unnecessary use of foul language. Haha. Seriously.

Huh?

2008-05-26T01:09:00.000-07:00

There's nothing I like more than reading myself write. I mean, if it's funny. Or smart. But usually I write somewhere between "shut up" and "what?" So...

Um. Tonight I've been enjoying (read: drrrriiiiiiiiiiinking!) Jameson (and also the last of some Jack). I abuse parenthetical asides.

Anyway, in a fit of sentimentality, I perused myspace profiles of old beloved friends from some other life and then I realized: hey, interested is interesting. So goes it with: loved is loving. And when I thought about it for a few minutes, I realized (again) how much I miss some key figures of my little life, and how much it'd be beyond all my dreams to have them all around, if maybe just for a minute. Or afternoon.

That's not the point, though, as we're all well-aware. They're there at that point in your life for a reason, none other, and maybe not again. Yada yada. But man. I have a lot of funny, brilliant friends to appreciate.

So, whether it's this Jameson, or soothing sounds of Sufjan Stevens, I'm sentimental and in love with you.

No, I didn't watch the Oscars

2008-02-25T12:55:00.000-08:00

Did you ever see "Buffalo '66," by Vincent Gallo? It's a pretty ingenius film.

I didn't watch the Oscars, I revisited "Buffalo '66" while receiving text updates about the Oscars...of course I only cared about best picture (of which I may have seen two this years in theaters) and I'm kind of mad that "There Will Be Blood" didn't win. It's the most perfect movie I've ever seen. The most astonishing cinematic experience EVAR. Maybe I would have watched the awards, but I have no TV for a reason.

I've decided that my silly little life is going to be a lot more fun if I live it in three-month episodes. By the end of March I shall be either a valet attendant, voiceover actor, or deli counterperson. Actually I have a secret life-goal to own and operate a small, Mediterranean-influenced deli one day. I think it sounds charming.

It is hard to get a job in Los Angeles these days.

There have to be more, funnier ways to kill yourself...

2008-02-05T14:53:00.000-08:00

Overheard at the office today, just outside our company's door in the common hallway between suites:

"You know, what I've noticed is that typically Tuesdays and Wednesdays go by faster than Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays."

"Ha, ha, ha, yeah, yeah they sure do."

I suppose if you've never sat in an office for eight hours a day (okay, I'll be honest, I pull maybe 6-7 if they're lucky) every freaking day of your life for work, the banality and cring-worthiness of this phrase uttered and agreed with probably wouldn't make you want to die.

But it did me. But it ain't heavy. I know that today's also Fat Tuesday, which I preemptively celebrated this past weekend on a three-day bender in San Diego. I have Christ-like wounds on my left hand, bruising up and down my left arm, a nice red sore spot on my left shoulder. I think I fell to the left. According to friends, I "totally ate shit, dude." Good to know. I got blasted in San Diego and all I got was this puke-covered jacket. Happy Mardi Gras!

Matthew McConaughey's contract recently violated with new movie poster!!!

2008-01-25T18:04:00.000-08:00

I stand on the right side of the poster, no buts about it. And I should have my hands in my pockets...some version of a smirk on my face. I need to be leaning back against the girl. Gimme a nice suit.

2003, "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."

2006, "Failure to Launch."

2008, "Fool's Gold."

I ASK YOU, WTF IS THIS BLASPHEMY?!?!

I lift heavy things, like stories from the LA Times

2008-01-15T10:17:00.000-08:00

Is it just me or does it annoy everyone when any somewhat reliable newssource publishes a story that reveals groundbreaking scientific hoohaa that really isn't NEW news? They've proven these things a million times over - it's like the phenomenon of growing up. You realize something when you're 22 and you think you're fucking Copernicus (prancing around in the 1400s all like, "Dudes! Dudes, check out my notebook! Look at my findings! Come to my astro-party - tonight. BYO telescope!") only to go back and read a book or watch a movie that pre-dates your parents' conceptions and makes your discovery totally yesterday's bread. Sorry, C-towne. Someone else probably figured out that whole heliocentric thing before you, too, but they didn't have a notebook.

Um, my case in point is actually totally weak, but it DID get me thinking, and it's the thought that counts.

From LA Times' article, "Why We Like Pricey Wines:" they hooked 20 volunteers up to a functional MRI scanner thingy and showed a much higher level of medial orbital prefrontal cortex* (signaling pleasure) activity when drinking what they thought to be the more expensive wines, although when not told the pricing information, they preferred the less expensive wines.

DUH. You don't even need a scanner thingy for that. I don't even want to get into consumer psychology, but come on. DUH. DUH DUH DUH.

*i am talking about cortices a lot lately

Keeping you informed!

2008-01-14T12:14:00.000-08:00

Things for to checking out, you:

www.clarkandmichael.com -- did you like "Arrested Development?" Fan of Michael Cera ("Superbad," "Juno," George Michael on AD)? Meet his adorable best friend Clark Duke and fall in love with it all. Ten ten-minute episodes at your fingertips for the taking!

movie6.net -- it's no tv-links, but it's all right. Go watch new movies for free and stuff!

I sold my soul and my guitar this weekend to pay the bills. Isn't it lame to sell the things you love to pay for what you hate?

Breaking Hearts and Taking Names...

2008-01-10T12:24:00.000-08:00

It occurred to me, via the part of my brain that realizes things (the "oh yeah, shit!" cortex), that it's been an ass-long time since I've blogged in ol' Doctortowne (population: one, me.).

I enjoyed the United Kingdom and it enjoyed me, I think. I have still not gotten my photos back (my beloved Sony digicam was brutally smashed halfway through the tour, so the photos I had uploaded to my friend's laptop to that point are stuck on his now frozen Macbook. What gives, technology?) but once I do, I'll share with you a few!

2007 is over and that is good news. 2008 has begun and it is already completely, totally, without a doubt sucking more than 2007, kind of. It's been 10 days, I think the next 356 should make up for it. Leap yizzle.

The good news is that finally The Voice of Reason and I have plans to record and release a 5(or so)-song EP of old jazz standards and lounge stuff this spring, to be titled "Breaking Hearts and Taking Names" or something just as cute. Anyway, if she gets out to California, it's happening. We'll set up a silly myspace. You'll see.

Flashback Post #3!

2007-11-13T23:44:00.000-08:00

"April 19th, 1994

Today we got assigned lots of assignments, and we started sex education. We're learning about puberty. Our teacher says we have to remember that word. Sick. We are all laughing because the filmstrip was so funny. This kid had the funniest face. Goodnight."

"December 28th, 1993

Dear Diary,

Today, well it all started when me and my sister rode our bikes to Hallmark and then we rode to Subway and then back home. Later we called 102.7 KIIS FM and Manda said on the 'Say Anything' line 'John, I hate you, you stupid cow.'"

These are riveting entries.

Hot Chocolate & Identity Theft: Bringing in the Holidays

2007-11-09T13:58:00.000-08:00

Aw, what a lovely little post about the early mornin--FUCK THAT.

Recently I learned about identity theft and fraudulent companies and affadavits* the hard way. I just love the word affadavit. Anyway. At first I was totally upset, but since the bastards had been stealing small amounts over a long period of time, it's actually not so bad. I'm downright lighthearted about it. If I had suddenly lost this whole amount, I would be crying somewhere dark, popping pills and muttering. Either way, it does have a tint of suck to it, but I am working towards a small bit of justice.

2007 has been kind of a shitty year for nearly every friend I have. It's rather strange. Deaths, thefts, divorce, breakups, drama, lawsuits, suicides, car accidents, domestic violence...it's all been quite a ride. Traditionally, the new year, the new number, brings about all this hope for renewal and repentance, resolutions, whatever. It's just a string of days, in the end, so I say to tonight, tomorrow, the next hour! I raise my first cup of hot cocoa of the season! Hurrah!

In other news, I'm terribly important and famous and traveling to the United Kingdom very soon for a number of weeks to tour with my band. I haven't a dime to spend. I am concentrating on surviving until the plane ride. The next priority after that is batteries for the digicam. My side project, Latitude Longitude should finally be releasing a debut album by the end of December. Hurrah!

Oh, and another thing: check out cutewithchris.com. I had to watch a few to get into his style and understand that yes, the things that make me roll my eyes he does on purpose. But, he is cute and hilarious.

*actually, I have filled out one of these before. In college, I paid for dinner at a snobbish restaurant in Nob Hill of Albuquerque, where I ordered, drank, and paid for wine underage. Later, my bank statement reflected a larger charge than what I had authorized the restaurant to debit. I filed one of these things and didn't get the overcharge back. Super lame! I mean, I know I did something illegal, so it works out in the end, but come on, Zinc Restaurant of Albuquerque. Push the right buttons. Haha.

Early Morning Life

2007-10-30T07:06:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I've done the early morning thing. It wasn't so much by choice as it was by lack thereof. The alarm had over an hour til it was scheduled to go off, but I was awake and eggs and toast and hashbrowns were sounding pretty good. I fed the cats and prepared my little lunch to take to work and headed off.

The famed Shorehouse Cafe (two locations: Long Beach and Seal Beach) is open 24 hours. The food isn't amazing in the small hours of the morning, as is expected of 24-hour joints, but you can't really fuck up eggs and toast and hashies too much. Plus, cafe coffee is special, you know? PLUS, hello, "Edward Scissorhands" was on. So I pretty much scored this morning. For under $8 (though I tipped waaaay generously on top of that) I had a delightful little breakfast and coffee, watched part of one of the best movies of all time, and got to feel special.

There's just something really sacred about that early morning life, that total quiet blanketing the city. It was only about 5 when I sat down to eat; the only other patron in the whole joint was flipping noiselessly through the paper and when he left, he offered me that secret morning-person smile. You know the one I mean? Like, "You and I are awake and no one else knows and I know how great that is, too." Winky wink.

These kinds of mornings make me want to keep driving down the Pacific Coast Highway. There wasn't even a hint of sunrise, yet, it could have been 10 o'clock at night for all I knew. The stars were particularly bright, and two planets were beaming with ridiculous luminosity. I pulled into work, twenty-five miles later, while it was still dark, still no implication of day anywhere on the horizon.

Early mornings are better than late nights. But there is a secret window where the two meet and I think it is called the "blow your mind hour."

Informative Life-Important Secrets Revealed HERE!

2007-10-22T11:58:00.000-07:00

HERE, I will tell you how to pick the right person to love, YES.

Step 1: Look at your pet.
Step 2: Realize that your pet is cute no matter what, and it listens to you rant, and you WANT to take care of it and feed it and clean up after it.
Step 3: Pick a human about whom you feel the same way.

Result: SUCCESSFUL LASTING RELATIONSHIP

I SWEAR TO GOD THIS MAKES SENSE.

Note: If you do not have a pet, you are fucked.

Okay, Ambiendayz Over. Transmission Complete KCSSHHHH

2007-10-16T10:30:00.000-07:00

Hi.

I have scored a second job. Let me tell you about my second bossman. He is my mother's age, unmarried, unattached, afraid of his spiritual side, afraid of angry women, plays a mean blues guitar (kind of well-known dude), pontificates to me - bares all; why do the men in my life want to tell me everything? Seriously. Men, you talk a lot. Shhhh shhh (putting finger to your lips), don't speak...shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhut up.

I'm kidding! I love men! Talk all you want, you bastardly lovekittens!

So I am typing up this man's handwritten lifestory. I am going to implement a new filing system for him. I'm going to ship off his hand-wound, vintage replica guitar pick-ups (it's what he do), and maybe learn how to build them.

Now, hopefully, I will work all the time and therefore avoid many other parts of my life. Double score!

AHOY!

2007-10-08T19:41:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen, of which there are at least two each who regularly read my blog, hello.

It's been about a week since my last Ambiblog, so here I am. However, I am not yet CRAZY. So first, let me just say:

All that she wants is another baby.

Who? I have no fuckn idea, but that damn lyric and melody line have been in my head all damn afternoon, except, you know, I'm putting my usual Cher+Pearl Jam+Creed effect on it, so it's coming out more like:

"Aawww thaya she wawnn, ihhh anuhthuh baybehyuh."

Look at this band's promo shot. Look at them. Dude, you know you look like you failed to get a part in any Russian film and now you're just bummed cuz you're in a band called "Ace of Base" and you know, at the risk of sounding really ignorant, wtf does that even mean? No, really, this promo shot is much more appropriate for television NOW. Like, CSI: Behind the Music Who Wants to Be Your Bassist Legal Anatomy?

Ace of Base. Let's ask Wikiboyfriend. Okay, he's telling me that they were "masters of their studio," rehearsing in a basement of a car repair shop. Ace. of Base. Okay. Thanks wikiboyf. Also? Fucking dumb name. But man, I SAW THE SIGN. We were TEN years old, you guys. I rocked in my friend's dad's pickup truck to that like no one's business.

BiglikeRasputin asked me a favor today while I was dying at work. I shall attempt to address it now, you know, when I'm much more obviously capable. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD it literally has been 10 minutes and the damn page won't bring up the bastardly sentence you wanted me to strip down and mercilessly edit to a pulp. I couldn't even read it all the way through and HEY, I'm feeling kind of capable right now. That's no good. Time to go up the ante.

This can ALLLLLL be YOOOUUUUURRRSSS

2007-10-02T08:43:00.000-07:00

Preface: I like to use a small size font. She is not so threatening on the big wobby screen. BY the way I have been doing this for what feels like an eternity because i've had to correct so many fuckn mistakes! ALSO ALSO it should be duly-assed noted that while I am attempting to set something down here, I'm being shouted at occasionally by pirate men types and the crash of waves on this here ship. What I mean to say is, what I mean to say, ya hear is:

Welcome to: AmbienDayz or my Ambiblog. I like that one.

Meet me. Fully under the influence of the old 'A' - droppin not for fun but for the sleep that awaits in, aww that shits awaits for me. My name is Meagan. Maybe I'm calming down a bit, but back up there, you know, up higher in the words, some fucked up pirate shit is going on. They weren't down with my idea of maybe once a week ambien-induced story-telling. I don't exactly see how this could go wrong ever. I mean, granted, I can't see half the motherfuckn keys...which by the way, all look like those fukkin peeps you guy at easter time? the keys, fuzzy and yellow, messin me up, i'm backspacin all up in herrr.

I suppose this dumbass ambien entry doesn't need much else. Dude, seriously, the words look like they're falling down...like the bottom line of this field in myspace looks to angle down, so my words just look like AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH all the way to the end here and POOF they're back up here, how the fuck.

God I love this shit. The movie "The Wedding Date" SUCKS. I got ten minutes in and even ambien-Meagan couldn't take it. So that movie should be taken out of you houses. There are old ladies trying to turn my computer table like a carousel or some thing...what the fuck ladies!

(when i type it's actually my inner monologue yelling at the other various inner-inspired things.) maybe with more episodes of this you'll pick up on it, cuz explaining shit to you people is like ridiculous. god...,this shit. BED FUCKING TIME

ETA: Please note, this was actually typed last night on a different blog, so no, I didn't take Ambien at 8 o'clock this morning.

My Potatoes are Going to War

2007-09-27T06:31:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was seriously ready for bed by 5pm. I thought, "Awesome, I am finally going to sleep F'REALZ tonight and be normal." An hour into my commute home, however, I was hit with a second wind. So I went for a run, looked at the harvest moon, and decided I should hit up the local Vons.

I just recently started taking Ambien again for my insomnia issues, but the stuff hasn't been kicking in for up to two hours. I thought that I'd be safe by taking one, walking to Vons, doing my thing, and being asleep by the time my groceries were put away. A thirty-minute commitment tops.

So of course, Ambien chose this night to kick in after only twenty minutes, while I'm in the coffee/tea aisle, staring at tea boxes, wondering what on EARTH they say. Everything went blurry and silly and I wanted to just lie down and cuddle. I called my mom to tell her I was losing my shit in Vons and I called ChicagoDan to say the same. Both being well-aware of the Ambien-induced crazy shit I do, they urged me to: "put everything down, step away from the basket, and leave immediately." Being me, I couldn't very well do that.

Instead, I carefully went from aisle to aisle, talking softly outloud to keep my shit straight (I actually did get plenty of looks from strangers - also, I was in a jogging getup, like Adidas pants and baggy sweatshirt, matted sweaty head, ripping shoes...ugh, I hate myself). I'm pretty sure I was giggling the entire time.

One of my weird psychological side-effects of taking Ambien is that my daydreaming narrative starts talking way too fucking loud, and eventually a few words escape my lips now and then. For instance, I was grabbing potatoes, and I was making sure they were all getting in the bag and the bag in the basket (a fuckin feat, mind you) and I thought to myself "okay, you guys all in there? everyone ok?" and then realized I'd actually asked the potatoes if they were okay outloud. In my mind? The potatoes weren't just going into a bag - they were going TO WAR. There were gunshot sound effects and potatoes in helmets.

I don't know.

Something that felt like hours later, I made it to the checkstand, where I realized that I had waaaay too much incredible food in my basket and only $45 cash on me, no wallet, no debit card. I went to an empty aisle (thinking: "All these people know I'm on something; I am so embarrassed to put things back, I'd better find somewhere empty..."). So now, picture me painstakingly slowly (the Ambien had really kicked in by this time) pricing everything and trying to add it up, except I couldn't remember prices...I had to revisit every fucking item's location in the store and put back what I couldn't/shouldn't/didn't even need to get.

I made it out of there with a little change, and stumbled home. I zigged and zagged, a family crossed the street to avoid me. I tripped a few times.

Then I spent twenty minutes dividing a three-pound bag of spinach leaves into smaller plastic containers. They're all in separate platoons you see...

I AM ELEVATED

2007-09-11T22:41:00.000-07:00

Firefox with the good old Vaio laptop does not agree! We do not like your font choices, or text size preferences for that matter! Grudgingly, Dr.Towne switches to the old InternetExplorer 7.0, mumbling something under her breath about cheap whiskey and gas prices.

Tonight, I am elevated. It might be this whiskey I'm sloshing about my oral cavity in whimsical nonchalance or it might just be that I've achieved some level of self-actualization in the past couple days. Yes, it's true! A couple days! I clocked it. However, let's be honest: it's probably the cheap whiskey.

(In fact it MUST be the whiskey, because I am eating plain celery, watching "Dexter" on tvlinks--why I can't break away from Michael C. Hall and dead bodies, who knows--and occasionally pausing the show to play some of a Keith Jarrett album while dancing in front of my mirror to check out how my new bangs behave under bouncy situations (quite well! I do say, they're growing on me, and that is not a ridiculous pun!).) Also, girl moment: Michael C. Hall. Hot damn.

That punctuation at the end of that parenthetical aside bothers me, too, don't worry.

It would sort of break the rules of this blog to expound upon my self-actualization discoveries and even with mild intoxication coming on, I just can't break my rules! Well, okay, just a small tidbit: I successfully sabotage and squander any potentially good things in my life because they intimidate me and threaten my comfortable level of relative security. HICCUP.

This is the kind of post that you wish had substance but you totally lack any and all substances, except cheap whiskey, which I can't seem to stop talking about.

Mom Strikes Again!

2007-08-30T14:22:00.000-07:00

Mom: "I'm sick. Thanks."
Me: "Go next door to Subway; their chicken noodle soup isn't that bad, and it's hot."
Mom: "I can't. I'm on Atkins again."
Me: "No, mom, Atkins is bad and wrong. And your sick body shouldn't be deprived of all foods in all the necessary food groups - that won't help it fight the sickness! Atkins is so bad! Go next door and get soup. DO it. DO it."
Mom: "But I can't--"
Me: "Then don't eat the noodles! Go get some broth."
Mom: "You'd better stop yelling at me or else I'm gonna kick your ass."
Me: " You can't kick my ass. You're too weak and sick to kick my ass."
Mom: "Oh, I always have energy for a little child abuse."

An Open Letter to: MEN

2007-08-29T14:13:00.000-07:00

Dear Men,

Do not ask us out via text anymore. At least three of your kind have done this to at least one of our kind since March of this year and we think it is tactless.

Sincerely,
Women

HOLY SHIT MY MOM

2007-08-29T13:33:00.000-07:00

kim: hey my delivery guy, the nice one from englander..

me: wasn't he short, fat, old?

1:22 PM kim: he got this magnet put by his ear and stopped eating bread, pasta etc(white stuff) and lost 40 POUNDS IN 2 WEEKS!!!!

Tall , hispanic, very heavy

what the hell?

me: lol

mom don't get a freakin magnet put in your ear

1:23 PM 40 in 2 weeks is so bad

kim: i'm going to tape my refrigerator magnets to my ass and see what happens

me: HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAH HOLY SHIT

Made the cover of "Croquet Monthly"

2007-08-27T15:47:00.000-07:00

You should see the serious team picture.

It's August?

2007-08-19T20:02:00.000-07:00

Luckily, my only exposure to the mean-mean sunny streets of Long Beach has been on weekends, and brief. So I had no idea it was THIS FUCKING HOT lately. Talking about the weather, I know, is totally lame, but I'm on drugs!

The rest of my time is spent in the office, you see, and a great deal of time I have been spending there lately, too. The thermostat is set on -40 degrees farenheit, or actually, I think the dial just says, "Meat Locker In Soviet Russia." There isn't a thing I can do about this as the main controls are in some secret building, so I'm forced to bundle up all day at my desk and just let my digits fall off, one by one.

I owe two things to this account: a shout-out and a debriefing on a failed non-date. These two things happen to coincide now! My confidante and friend, Mr. Fess, has asked that I detail my non-date here in this, my journal of sorts. There's your shout-out. Here's my story:

Usually not one to indulge in the details of my latent lovelife, as "indulge" and "latent" are kind of not brothers, especially not prone to doing so here in the publicity of DoctorTowne, this is something of a momentus entry. The non-date, however, was pitiful and boring.

See, this was, to me, my second "real date" in something like six years. The first was only back in June, and my, what a silly thing that was, and so here we are at number two. Only, I probably built the damn thing up myself, not used to being asked to go swing dancing and all that. The Asker, the Guy In Question (GIQ), he had an in, as I had cancelled our racquetball game that afternoon due to an overbooking of courts at the gym. Well, he countered, hours later during a separate call to the office, what else would I be doing that evening? How about some dancing with a friend of his and one of that guy's friend-girls? Sure, I'd agreed. And then set about contemplating: is this a date?

I made it a date for me. I wore sensible heels, a cute skirt, some lame t-shirt (swing dancing, I remembered later, was not a place for skirts or sensible heels. Where were my jeans, rolled up? Where were my Jack Purcell's? They'd have been perfect.) my hair was fantastically blown-dry, only to be sweat-locked into havoc on my forehead later, and my minimally, appropriately applied make-up didn't look half bad.

Upon arrival, it quickly became clear that this was to be a "group" thing. There were three girls, two guys, and a slightly deflated mego. Haha. Me + ego. Anyway. The GIQ made more small talk with one of the other girls, and I made small talk with his cute but totally unavailable friend. I danced with more strangers that night than either of them and had fun in spite of myself. I scored a free shot of tequila, a drag of a cigarette, and I was on the road by 11 p.m.

So. Boring. No little cutesy side-glances, no secret romantic thinly-veiled anythings, no small-of-back touching, you know. Nada. I mean, I had fun. But come on. Second date in six years turned out to be a non-date so I'm back down to one, and I'm okay with that.

In other news: The experiment and I are on our last two weeks together. Well, as of Wednesday anyway, we start rum. And it is with that bastardly poison that I shall bring this thing to a close. Autumn is one of the biggest drinking seasons of all, so after my liver gets a good month's rest (September, bringer of school supplies and a changing sun, now bringer of sobreity), I shall be at it again, without restrictions! Oy!

Also: check out the UK's best comedy series: The Mighty Boosh. Notable episodes: Fountain of Youth, Old Gregg, Nightmare of Milky Joe. Really, any episodes are hilarious, actually. Must enjoy British humor. Sorry, I mean, humour.

Picture Post #last!

2007-07-31T12:12:00.000-07:00

Just a couple shows away from finishing the tour...next was Tucson. The entire city was under construction, both my under age trumpet player and I were carded for booze (though I was paying, no booze for us), and it was hot and smelled horrible. The Hotel Congress, though, where we played, was fucking awesome. I don't have any pictures that do it justice though...though a little blurry, this is the stage in the Hotel's bar/venue area. Cool!

After Tucson we came back home for a couple days before I took my singer and the lady bassist from our touring buddies, Mr. Shiraz down to Mexico for a few hours before back up to our gig in San Marcos, CA.

Tequila shots (I was on my mid-summer week off from research) make me do inappropriate, politically incorrect things in Mexico. I apparently did not take anything of San Marcos besides some live shots of other bands and some terribly out of focus post-show pics. I completely failed to take one picture of our final gig, our welcome home show, at Chain Reaction in Anaheim. All's well that ends well, and I think the mustache agrees.

Picture Post #2!

2007-07-31T11:30:00.000-07:00

K, I really don't like the picture posting because I apparently suck at it, format-wise. Whatever, you can deal!

Next stop, Portland, OR, where we spoke: "It's like if the United States were a high school, this is where all the freaks and geeks and rejects would sit." Weeks later, I learn that Chuck Palahniuk wrote a book on Portland, called "Fugitives and Refugees." Fancy that. Chuck and I are, like, best friends. Portland sucked.

The door behind us (a single door in a large wall of bricks) says "Someday" on it. After Portland, we headed east to Boise, ID. Boise also sucked royally. Here's a picture of the sign for the venue we played.

Yes, that's right. It may look like graffiti, but it's blue and white tape! 'The Office'! How splendid FUCK THAT.

We stopped in Reno for the night to stay with my brother and his family, but I didn't take a single picture because I am a moron. Then it was on to Vegas...do I have pictures from Vegas?

We played two nights in Vegas, here's the stage from the second venue. It wasn't a terribly cool place, but I liked this backdrop quite a bit. Pretty colors. We then headed southeast, through Albuquerque straight on til Austin, TX.

Sigh, doormen. This was at the Troubadour Saloon, our first stop of three in Texas, though we headed east to Louisiana (New Orleans to visit and Houma to play) before finishing the Texas cities.

New Orleans, what I saw outside:

How I felt inside:

Sparkly!

Next we were back to Texas...we played a show in Plano and the only pictures I got were three, of the house we stayed in. So forget that. We played in San Antonio (saw the Alamo, didn't forget it), I bashed some windows.

I'll be back with more!

Picture Post!

2007-07-26T20:08:00.000-07:00

SO, from the lovely, "everything closes at four p.m. isn't that cool" town of Fresno:

I'm sorry if this disturbs you, but yes, the only interesting thing I saw in all of Fresno was a dead puppy. And it broke my heart.

Next!

Ah, the lovely cities of San Jose and San Rafael, California. This blurry shot gives you an idea of the average storage area cum green room of most slapdash venues. The place was actually an art gallery that rented out its space for bands. We cancelled this show, at any rate. It was well worth the visit, however, as we met some amazing musicians from San Rafael, where we staye d that night.

All those amazingly attractive people were a part of the big tour, excluding our hosts for the evening, the two on the far right. We were standing on their rooftop, which had views of bay area hills just covered in trees.

Eugene, OR on Independence Day; where we thought we might die...

No, there wasn't a fire. Just an overdose, a few doors down from us in the divey Eugene motel. We were apparently situated between a drug rehab center and alcohol rehab clinic. Cool. Happy fourth of July, America.

And what have we learned here? Our venue in Seattle's green room teaches us well. Although, I would totally go to jail if it meant I could play the accordion. I shall do another post and continue!

Back!

2007-07-26T17:44:00.000-07:00

Unrelatedly, I fell asleep at work today (fourth time this week) for about 8 minutes. Long enough to achieve REM, apparently, because when my office door came swinging open (loudest noise ever), jarring me awake, I thought someone was breaking into my apartment. It's nearly six p.m. I should go home.

I suppose you want some details on the tour with my band. Later, when I'm more awake and coherent, I will post a picture entry and share some highlights. There really weren't as many exciting things happening as I'd hoped for, but then again, I drank a lot. Memory's a bit shy.

More later!

okay and so long for a while

2007-07-02T09:30:00.000-07:00

As I may have mentioned before, I'm terribly famous and important and going on tour with my band for three weeks. I'll be writing again upon my return (unless you get lucky and I score wireless internet on the road and convince my bandmate to allow me his iBook through which to update).

The tour may end up being the worst idea ever. I actually don't much want to go. Furthermore, I'm to be researching the effects of whiskey (so far, I haven't even been able to finish three fingers (with water and ice) of the stuff) while on tour, but I'm beginning to think that perhaps a nice two week break is in order?

Do I really want to avoid the hangovers and drama? Yes. Can I withstand nearly three weeks of sobriety? Probably not. Will I succumb to the pressures not of my friends but of my liver and brain, working devilishly together to convince me that yes, I do need a drink because, damn, if it wasn't turning out to be a shitty night? Sounds about right.

I leave in approximately an hour for this tour. Pray for me.

OH NOES

2007-06-28T00:05:00.000-07:00

Tonight I have come terrifically close to breaking my rules of my experiment. I am suffering horrible bouts of insomnia lately and the only thing I have in the house is a small, but substantial enough, amount of vodka. I am drinking wine these days, but good Lord, I would break my rule in a second for beauteous slumber. I need sleep badly. I crave it, want it, need it, practically tear up for it, beg for it, think that I can actually will some force to let me fall into it if I whimper pathetically enough. Nada. I suck at life, at sleeping, but not at following self-imposed rules. I apparently rock at that, tonight.

I took some melatonin, but it has never and continues to not work on me. I don't have any ambien (my beloved), I don't have nyquil, no wine...no money really to go get any of these things. Plus it's PAST THE POINT. If I take anything I'll be groggy and get to work late. So I'm fucked, is what I'm saying.

Terrific is an interesting word. It actually is an adjective used to describe something that brings about terror, but colloquially we all use it to mean exactly the opposite...marvelous, great, wonderful, etc. We use "horror" and "horrific" and "horrifying" and "horrible/horribly" the same way, so why is it that we use "terror, terrifying, terrible/terribly" to mean the same thing but NOT "terrific?" I think we ought to bring back the true meaning. Hitler was terrific, wasn't he?

Back to tossing and turning.

Flashback Post #2

2007-06-20T23:09:00.000-07:00

"December 27, 1993

Today I bought this diary. I also bought a bank that sorts the different types of coins and has a special compartment for bills. Tonight I played a game called Garfield War. (For money). In the end we divided up the money equally. Now I'm watching 101 Dalmatians. I had a fun day today."

"January 22, 1994

Well I'm spending the night at Keely's house its fun. We played Amazing Labyrinth at night. We played all day that day. It was fun. We boxed with boxing gloves and Keely kept punching me in the eye, the nose, and the mouth, the shoulders, and the stomach. But it was fun."

Yeah, sure sounds like it.

oh hai, this is how i die

2007-06-18T15:03:00.000-07:00

Trust, there is nothing more I want than to spoil my book by writing everything that's been happening in here. My experiment rocks!

I suppose it breaks no rules to award you the knowledge of my intake this past weekend alone, which, if you're paying attention, you'd know began the WINE DAYZ. Oh, OH ETA: Remember I'm not upping my intake on purpose, this just happened, I swear.

Cut to a Lakewood Country Club neighborhood home, untouched since the late '60s, and me in the golden kitchen (there's no other way to put that - the tiling, floor, cabinets...all golden), practically mainlining Ecco Domani Pinot Grigio (my preferred selection, it's cheap, it's white - hey, it's like me!). As for my feelings, my actions, my idiocy, I cannot say. But I drank nearly two entire bottles to myself that night, over the course of just a few hours, sans dinner.

I DO NOT KNOW. You guys, come on, everyone knows that's dangerous. I didn't even eat dinner! What am I? Who am I? I am stunned. Especially, because the next day I hurried my hungover ass to a birthday/pool party, where I consumed an entire third bottle, plus two glasses of a cabernet. Your guess is as good as mine. My voicemail I left myself at the country club house was toxic, my notes on the weekend are blurry but substantially embarrassing. I'm rather enjoying all of it, though. Laughter over shame.

um...I guess I should also tell you I had 3 mimosas on Sunday. Based on intake alone, don't you want to buy my book?

Flashback Post #1

2007-06-13T10:15:00.001-07:00

You guys remember this guy, right? They're still around, apparently. I had completely forgotten about them. I don't even remember how I came across their image via a google search, but I totally flipped out. So I scrolled through the bunch of "Little Miss" and "Mr." whatever they were, and was glad to find a pretty equal number of negative characteristics for both sexes. I just would have been mad if the Little Misses were stuck with all the crap.

I don't remember a damn thing about the books for each other these guys, but I'm pretty close to buying the whole set because I am desperately clinging to childhood.

Oh, here's Little Miss Late.

I am 12, but I won't make all the jokes I want to here. Practice safe sex!

I lovingly organize the crazy...

2007-06-11T14:13:00.000-07:00

This whole project thing is really going well. Thursday through Saturday nights were spent poisoning myself, but also keeping in mind this project the entire time, noting the things I say and do, how I feel...as a result I'm not drinking quite as much because I've been dedicating myself to paying attention. Don't get me wrong, I was drunk on Saturday, but maybe I can just handle my vodka really well. I don't know.

What I do know is that my weekend consisted of three shows, staying awake until past 5 am since Thursday, a lot of alcohol, and at one point ending up on my knees in the wet grass of a golf course at 1:15am, hands in the air, getting rolled by the cops. It wasn't even vodka's fault. Vodka doesn't make me break the law. Vodka just makes me organize hide and seek championships and encourage barely legal friends to run around in the middle of the night on golf courses while totally under the influence. Hey, we had rules. I'm not a complete moron.

Even French doesn't make it interesting

2007-06-04T14:18:00.000-07:00

Not gonna lie, I like dramas and medical comedies and basically crap tv. I loved "Six Feet Under," actually, and I liked the few episodes I watched of "Grey's Anatomy" back in the days when I actually owned a tv.

Now, I use that magical site, MagicTowne, and watch and watch (and don't work). My review on "Grey's Anatomy" is brief: SUCK. It gets boring fast. Faster than SFU, and what's worse is that MagicTowne doesn't even supply all the episodes in English, and yeah, I took four years of French - FOUR YEARS AGO - and I just can't keep up. The stimulation from having to concentrate to follow the plotline in French is still not enough to save it. In short, I gave up and have moved on the Showtime's, "Weeds." So far, so good. Annoyed, though, that the 16 year old isn't gonna bone the widow any time soon.

The booze experiment is going well. Whatever that means.

Someone Gets It

2007-05-31T14:19:00.000-07:00

It is a well-known fact that I loathe myspace.com. It's uncomfortable. It gives voyeurs a chance. It provides insecure people with yet another venue for drama. It is a window into hell. But I'm bored, so I've been thinking recently about starting up a page again, just to fill my hours with bullshit. On just this day when I've come so close to doing it, I have discovered something quite remarkable: myfrienemies.com. Basically, it's an anti-social social networking site, for people to commiserate over those they love to hate. Kind of funny - can't see how it would take off (it's too simplistic for today's net freaks), but definitely deserves a nod of approval from the doctor. And well, it's keeping me from starting up a myspace again. I praise ye, Gods.

Another Memorial Day come and gone: I sat awkwardly for two hours at a barbecue, surrounded by some 30 people, 6 of whom I hardly know, and they were busy chatting up other people anyway so really, I looked stupid. I folded my arms and drank Stella Artois and tried to keep the vacant expression off my face. No dice. I followed this experience with another, slightly less awkward barbecue. I knew everyone there, some a little too well, but ended up revitalizing a taste for Southern Comfort (all is well that ends well, I say). The last time I'd had any of the stuff was, Jesus, nearly 6 years ago, when I was pretending to be Nazi Germany and blitzkrieg-ing various European countries in the form of shots. Ah, the drinking games of our youth. It's easy: line up three (or whatever) shots of SoCo (with one small part lime Grenadine), say you are a German Nazi, and rapidly shoot each drink, announcing of course first which country you are taking over per shot. Ridiculous, no? But it'll get you drunk and feeling all WWII-sy inside. I digress. No games were played at this barbecue. Shoulda, coulda, woulda, right.

Tomorrow starts the science experiment! I really do talk about alcohol a lot, I am aware. Your assumptions are unwarranted, however, because I do not drink that much. But when your job consists of nothing and your love life's DOAAAA...I'll be theerree fooorrr yoooooooooouu (when the raaain starts to ppooouurr)...oh, Christ.

LET THE GAMES BEGIN!

False Start!

2007-05-24T09:12:00.000-07:00

I sort of failed to start on that whole sobriety thing. I drank Cold Duck. So, sparkling red wine is not good; let me just get that out there. Lesson learned: when purchasing champagne, do not go for something because it is called "Cold Duck" and that makes you laugh. Buy fucking regular champagne, sparkling white, because you will hate your life after three glasses of "Cold Duck." That wikipedia article is interesting, though. Wikipedia makes everything interesting. Seriously, if Wikipedia were a man, wouldn't you date him and probably love him? You probably wouldn't sleep with him, though, right, because he's too smart and that intimidates you?

Ummm...right. So in truth, I started the Sober Days yesterday and so far all I've done is sleep for nearly 12 hours straight, simultaneously avoiding a dinner party, graduation celebration, phone calls, text messages, and mere consciousness. The sober thing could pay off as far as sleep goes. There is no real point to it otherwise before The Experiment begins, but you know, I need something to do with my time.

No, No, He said, "Let there be six kinds of liquor."

2007-05-21T12:13:00.000-07:00

Last night I had a bit of a party - the last for the next 11 days. Starting June 1, I am going to WRECK. MY. BODY. CRASH BOOM BANG.

Well, not really wreck it, per se, but I'll do some damage all for the sake...OF SCIENCE. And fun. Allow me to illustrate:

I'm convinced, based on my personal experience, that the concentration of different liquors in my body affects different parts of my brain, causing me to act out in totally unique ways. For instance, what I solidly know is that:

Me + Rum = blackout, total loss of memory, shameless flirtation, drama TTM*, embarrassment-towne, etc.

I had been drinking a lot of rum pretty frequently recently and noted that each time I imbibed, I had to apologize to someone the next day. I've never had this problem with any other booze, BUT I also never really noted what I did have with other liquors. I'm young and nerdy enough, then, to take on my own little science experiment in which I will actively research 6 different kinds of liquors' effects on my person over the course of three months, two weeks dedicated to each liquor.

The rules:

The chosen liquor must be drank in pure form, or mixed with non-alcoholic mixers. The results must be pure. (I realize that a lot of alcohol-related idiocies are attributed to the mixing of different liquors, but, um, HELLO THIS IS FUN).
Under no circumstances may I choose to drink another alcoholic beverage containing a different liquor than the one I have chosen for the two weeks. If ever I am in a situation where my chosen liquor is unavailable (HORROR), I just will not drink.
I must take copious notes with pen and paper on thoughts that occur to me, any outlandish things I say to anyone, and of course I must document the stupid things I physically do. I am really close to thinking I should have a mini tape recorder around, just in case I'm too fucked up to write anything down.

I am not ramping up my intake whatsoever (I will be responsible), but I drink often enough for two weeks to be long enough to gauge the effects of each booze. At the end of the three months, I'll compile everything I have, notes and text messages (surely there will be drunk text messages), possible tape recorded crap, everything I'll have on my camera, and maybe put together a funny, embarrassing report.

My chosen poisons:
June 1 - 15: Vodka (I choose my favorite for the birthday falls in there)
June 16 - 30: Wine (either red or white)
July 1 - 15: Whiskey (easier to drink while on tour with a band)
July 16 - 31: Gin
August 1 - 15: Tequila (the perfect summer liquor OF FUCKING DEATH, I know)
August 16 - 31: I think I'll figure it out when I get to it

There you have it. I've invited a number of good friends to partake. For instance, Lindsey will be handling only tequila for her entire stay in Mexico (two months!). Another friend, Karen, will be switching up her poisons on a nightly basis while in England for a week, so that'll be a good chapter. Maybe it will even be the good female response to Tucker Max's "I Hope They Serve Been in Hell."

Now, I toast my cup of water to nearly two weeks of sobriety before all hell breaks loose. To the summer!

*for future reference, TTM = to the MAX

possibly still drunk

2007-05-15T09:38:00.000-07:00

Public Service Announcement:

Do not make a night of two vodka tonics, one amstel light, five (six?) shots of rum (disgusting), and weed.

My head, she hurts.

Encepha-what?

2007-05-09T20:03:00.000-07:00

I usually tell every weird dream I have. Trouble with last night's, is that all but the very last scene is gone. So, here it is:

A house, two stories, light green. Behind it, something of a hill. Everything is covered in snow. In front of the house, a woman stands very close to my mind's eye; she actually blocks most of the view of the house, she's so close. On her back is a baby. Newborn. Something shakes and there's suddenly an avalanche blasting towards the back of the house. All I see is a tidal wave of chunky, puffy snow slam into the back of the house (above the roof) and I start hearing glass break. Then, for some reason, a firey explosion blows through the back side of the house and a second, bigger explosion sends the woman and child flying towards me, landing face first in the snow at my feet, and also destroys the house.

A few minutes later, I lifted the woman's face, which was nothing but skull, except she had all of her hair, and in her eye sockets were eyes and very wrinkly skin, as though the skull was just an oversized mask sitting atop her still perfectly okay face. She wasn't dead.

The child I half-expected to be dead or not there, was burnt to the color of brushed-away soot, hairless, shards of glass piercing its skin everywhere (I remember distinctly large jagged pieces in its little cheeks). It looked like a doll, eyes stuck open. But not dead.

I overheard my own commentary as an EMT, and I described the child's condition as having "encephalitic head lice."

Today I looked up encephalitis and discovered that it is a viral infection of the brain. I've never used this word before. I had woken with a start from this dream and punched that phrase into my cell phone's notepad as quickly as possible (almost had texted it to someone on accident - wouldn't that have been a pleasantly awkward 5am wake-up text? especially if it was creep-o!).

Anyway, this dream was horrifying and I wonder if I might have a tumor in my brain.

Six Feet Under

2007-05-08T09:13:00.000-07:00

someone was just about to scream "FUCK!"

I have sort of been watching way too much "Six Feet Under." I have been inundating myself with thoughts of death, life, children, relationships, now-or-never/fight-or-flight concepts, honesty, drugs, self-actualization, depression, anxiety, substance abuse, old age, mental health, careers, illness... For that I appreciate the show a lot. It makes me think, even if the issues are brought up in SUCH RIDICULOUS WAYS.

The show goes downhill so fast that I can't remember when it was actually well-written. The subtle nuances of each character exposed in the first season are blown massively out of proportion as soon as the second season starts, and suddenly every single character has some severe drama going on and they're all freaking out about it.

I think the writers and producers were going for that 'how-we're-all-connected' bullshit that usually pulls at the heartstrings of most viewers, but they've failed here. They didn't connect anyone's problems, they just showcased them all, overloading me with each character's very similar way of dealing (screaming "fuck" seems to be the only/favorite way to deal with a problem. Hey, I'm not denying I don't scream "fuck", like, seven times a day at least, but still, a little variation is nice now and then). And it gets so tiring that no one, not a single character, has something to be happy for. They all have a gigantic problem (AVM, sex addiction, drug addiction, depression, fatherless child, blah blah blah blah, like - did ruth's florist boyfriend really need to owe some ruffians a bunch of money? totally pointless). I frown.

Um, so the only thing is, I still totally love the show and will continue to watch the remaining seasons. This silly blog has been brought to you by COMPLETE AND UTTER BOREDOM.

27th Hour

2007-05-04T10:10:00.000-07:00

Okay. It was probably not a good idea to go see "Spider-Man 3" in theaters at 3a.m. this morning. The movie is two and a half hours long. I got home at 6:45; I left for work at 7:35. I have no idea what the fuck is GOING ON. I know that I nearly passed out several times on my four oh five commute. SAFETY FIRST!

And I cannot get the ATHF movie's Insaneoflex^®'s music out of my head. The lyrics really are something: I like your booty, but I'm not gay. If you Google those lyrics, you will hit a million sites that let you sample this musical genius. I will not link it for you. I WILL NOT DO EVERYTHING FOR YOU.

Seriously get off your ass and watch all of "Frisky Dingo" now. I just revisited the latter half of the season. So bril. New season starts this summer. This is my I-can't-wait face.

Um, so, I've been awake 27 hours, which is nothing compared to some people*, but I don't give a shit about them. I am tired. I bet you thought I was going to talk about Spider-Man.

*ETA: who am I talking about here?

Spring has los Sprung

2007-05-03T11:49:00.000-07:00

There's nothing that says "Happy New Baby Girl" quite like a Beer Mug of Blooms from 1-800-Flowers.

Of course, they don't deliver this item in the Long Beach area, which baffles and infuriates me. I better take it to the Better Business Bureau and file a complaint. Because FUCK. THAT. NOISE. YES: have forceful intercourse with that indistinct sound. Anyway, Lindsey and I sort of met these two guys at the Reno Room, one just bought a pharmacy and the other is expecting a baby tomorrow (! egads). Since Lindsey and I are both equally creepy and hilarious, we thought it appropriate to send the guy a bouquet. And the beer thing! How perfect! We all met in a bar! Get it? Fuck 1-800-Flowers for not delivering this item in my area. They have lost my business for at LEAST two weeks. Mother's Day is coming - shit.

Pet peeve time: there is a girl who sits near me at work. When she sneezes, she does not sneeze once, fully, loudly, get-it-all-out style. No. She sneezes, like, six fucking times in rapid succession, starting soft and getting softer and more pathetic-sounding, even, and actually says "choo" each time. I don't know WHY, but for the love of all things holy, it makes me want to kill something.

you can't text-message-creep out!

2007-04-20T09:46:00.000-07:00

I was text-propositioned by an older man the other day. The backstory on the text-asker-outer is that I worked with this guy over a year ago, for maybe three months (before I quit) at the water company. He wasn't really a funny guy, and obnoxious and too ambitious for his own good. He had a wife and has a son. He was immature. But we got along well enough and related on maybe two things (I think that's being generous, cuz right now I can think, like, well, we're both white...and he...used to play trombone in high school...and I play trumpet...we drink water?). Anyway.

He used to drop little lines like "where were you when I got married?!" but never got out of line or hit on me or anything. He seemed like an okay guy.

So he called two days ago and I instantly recognized his voice. I started laughing, "What the hell? What's up?"

"Oh, well, you know it's funny, but your last name obviously isn't 'Maynard' is it?"

"No."

"I was calling to make sure you were alive! I saw a headline about a Meagan Maynard falling to her death off a bridge or cliff or something in Long Beach, and I couldn't remember your married name!"

So we were laughing, caught up a bit on life, turns out he's gotten a divorce this past year and has changed jobs a few times, yada yada. He says he and his buddies would love to come out to a show, sure, whatever!

Then the texts started a while later. I'm going to type them EXACTLY as received. He will be bolded, my thoughts italicized.

"What do you call a black guy flying a 747 ?"

"Hahaha what?"

"A pilot...you racist...L0L...I'm waiting on a 5pm appt., can you text more or you working?"

Already worried. A 'can you text more' is so creepy.

"hahaha! Working, but i can text."

"Hey, since we're both soon to be free again ???...lol...when's your next gig?"

"Ha! Well i'm not free, so to speak, i move on fast! We're playing in fullerton next week, in hollywood in may"

so I'm just trying to be nice, ok?

"So what would it cost, if your not free, so to speak...L0L...fullerton, maybe/hollywood, see you there"

YOU'RE, YOU'RE, at least get that right. Then I didn't respond in a timely fashion so:

"My sarcasm scared you off...L0L...I am the king...L0L"

dude, that's not even sarcasm!

"No, it's cool, sorry, was just a little busy. Hollywood, sounds good, it's the 18th i think"

"I must admit. When and if your interested, I'd love to see you and take you out to dinner and a movie...? If not, i got friends...L0L..."

guys, he used zeros for capital 'o's. i didn't respond fast enough again:

"Geez...friends is just as cool too...L0L...just always new you were good people...what aboot fullerton...wht day is that ?"

"Wow! A year later! you know i'm actually already involved with someone, wasn't kidding before, heh. friends is cool, i know. F-ton is next sat"

"Damn...well you have friends, right...but you are my favorite...set me up man...you got to have a friend that likes older men (37) ? What time and where?"

wow.

"Now I feel lame! All i do is work and play in the band, i've got no girl friends besides the one who has two boyfriends anyway. Haha."

You can tell how hard I am working to converse on some retarded-ass level here. I mean, what did I just say, right there? I don't know. Leave me alone, creepy man!

"So what do you want me too do ? Wait around for you to get single again ? L0L...I havent been WITH anyone for almost a year..."

SHOOT ME. Must change subject or end talk.

"ha, well don't you go out with your buddies? Or don't they know anyone?"

Yah but im not into cayote uglies like there are...hehe...i like them to look cute and have half a brain.....like you.....L0L"

i don't have words

"I'm sure they're not all that bad. You could meet someone. No reconciling with your wife?"

"Anythings possible...do cows fly...lol"

i'm sorry?

"I should of asked you to be my mistress a year ago...lol"

"ha! I don't do the mistress thing. Sorry to burst bubbles."

"LoL... I know... I'll call you fri. For directions...Im at my appt. See ya"

"You could send me a pic to keep me warm at night...haha"

REALLY, COULD I?

"Yeah, don't think the boyfriend would appreciate that"

"LoL...i wont tell... LoL ..."

DIE

I did NOT respond to that last one, and you can bet your ass I won't be anwering when he calls for directions to my shows. I mean, really. Really. I WOULD LIKE TO ASK CREEPY GUYS TO SHUT THE FUCK UP STARTING NOW UNTIL FOREVER THANKS.

So there you have it. I mean, we were pal-ish when we worked at the water company, but good GOD, this is ridiculous, and year later, and out of the blue. What, was he just scrolling through his phone book, thinking, "Who would date me? Who?" I feel gross. I'm deleting my texts now, must purge of the creep.

The Dry-Hump of Marketing

2007-04-19T15:06:00.000-07:00

If you click the postcard here, you'll be whisked away to a most magical place, where, if you are so inclined, you can easily spend a little more than an hour watching the entire first season of Adult Swim's greatest cartoon ever to grace television sets*. This show, Frisky Dingo, is my new Favorite Thing That Exists (that only means that in approximately three months I shall tire of it and maybe something new will be on YouTube and I'll cackle about that for a while). Anyway, this show is pretty much pure genius. Watch and revel. ETA: THE BASTARDS THAT KEEP US DOWN have taken th' Dingo off tv-links. Well, I FROWN.

In other awesome news, I saw the Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film for Theaters in Oceanside this past weekend. So I laughed a little, but the first few minutes of the movie were really the shiny parts. Other than that, I felt like I was watching one long and not-epic-enough episode at a friend's house, and I wished I had snacks.

So there you have it. Postcards really are the dry-hump of marketing.

*excluding: ATHF, Harvey Birdman, 2021, Venture Brothers, etc.

TRUE LOVE LASTS FOREVER

2007-04-02T16:37:00.000-07:00

I've loved her since I was 12. But we all thought she didn't understand the true meaning of "irony." Here is proof that she DOES.

Apocalypto a Hora!

2007-04-02T14:34:00.000-07:00

As the high-powered executive that I am, I take a lot of days off. I need my downtime. Today is/was one of those days. I was able to moderately panic over the potential but not actual loss of one of my cats, so it was one of those "hey, this panic thing didn't pay off!" types of panics. The cat is fine. Also, I did laundry. High-powered execs wear clothes, too, people.

What's better than doing both of those things is to be able to feel every muscle in your body freaking out in end-of-days-style pain. And not even the Mel Gibson kind. Worse than that, if you can imagine. I blame moving in to my new apartment, sanding old floors with fat and heavy machines (who move of their own volition, you can actually hear them laughing), and also trying to play my first game of frisbee golf yesterday.

Now, I love cult sports. Frisbee golf is one. So are these:

- racquetball
- ping pong
- regular golf - don't even try to argue
- horseshoes
- archery
- badminton

You know, that kind of shit. There are more, I'm sure. I love all of those. They're more fun and the gear is just so much more fun to tote around. But the problem with cult sports is that you better be damn good at it. People suck all the time at baseball and basketball and crap like that, but everyone plays those so no one cares (no one is special in baseball). You waltz up to the back nine of a frisbee golf course and start sucking ass? People are going to wonder where you get off...the nerve!

I sucked ass, but I'm going to get better. I will champion over El Dorado's finest frisbee golf course. IT WILL BE MINE.

Introduction!

2007-03-30T12:36:00.000-07:00

I'm off the wagon. Or am I on it...Which is it? You know, because the goods (like tobacco) are being transported ON the wagon, so if you're OFF the wagon you're not near the tobacco. Right? Or...or are you riding in the wagon away from the tobacco fields and if you fall OFF you will most likely go back and roll up a cigarette? Either way, wagons have more to do with boozin'.

But what I'm getting at is that I've decided to rejoin the world of blogging. Who knows about what I may blog, but rest assured, it will probably not be about wagons again. Probably.

He said "Let there be Vodka"

2007-03-30T12:24:00.000-07:00

And there was. A lot of it.

"It is a place where people of wealth and importance can meet in a luxurious setting. Tala invites the most beautiful men and women 21 and over to enjoy an evening of decadent cocktails, incredible music and dancing."

I'm sorry. But the girl pictured here somehow got into this place, this place that invites the most beautiful men and women, and she's dancing in jeans and a skull-adorned t-shirt. Dancing badly. Mid-snap? And my (oops, her) vodka redbull? Probably not the most decadent of cocktails. Also? Decadent means:
1 : marked by decay or decline
2 : of, relating to, or having the characteristics of the decadents or;
3 : characterized by or appealing to self-indulgence

That's all pretty negative. But I think I'll start another band called "The Decadents."