Crash Test Kittens

6 May

This had me cracking up quietly at my desk at work today. I want to shove those kittens in my mouth.  In a good way.



3 May

You may have heard that Yvette Vickers, a Playboy Playmate and B-movie star of Attack of the 50 Foot Woman and Attack of the Giant Leeches, was discovered dead and mummified in her Beverly Hills home last week at age 82. They are saying that she was probably in there for a YEAR before anyone found her…

I was reading DListed, a favorite gossip site of mine, and DIED (not literally) after reading this. We’ll discuss more after you read:

Yvette Vickers

Submitted by colt13 on Tue, 05/03/2011 – 10:24am.
This might be me one day. I like my space, and I am single, so it would probably be a week before they found me. Postman would probably find me when all of those donation letters clog up my box.

I have a feeling that might be my fate too. Oh well you have to live life on your own terms and be happy right? You’ll be dead and off to whatever is the next great adventure so won’t really give a flyin crap.
I remember when I was a kid this man a street over from us wiped out his entire family. It didn’t take very long to sell the house. I don’t know if realtors have to disclose this type of information but I think they figured it out because whenever kids went by they would yell MURDER HOUSE! MURDER HOUSE!

HA! Hahahahaha! Ahahaha. Ha ohhh. Hahaha.

Obviously all of this is really sad, but how creepy is this WHOLE comment?!

1. “I will probably die like this.” She/he’s not kidding, either. They go on to explain how serious they are, and then rationalize loneliness to themselves/to anyone who will listen.

2. “A man murdered his whole family across the street when I was a kid.” This is just sad. But she’s not phased by it because

3. “It sold quickly.” Gross.

4. “MURDER HOUSE!” Ah!!! This is the best part!

This comment starts out really apathetic and sad and then somehow turns in to screaming MURDER HOUSE!

The best part, is how easy it is to visualize this situation.

It’s the 40’s or 50’s.  Kids on their bikes, riding around in packs through their new suburban neighborhoods, wearing pastels and hair gel and the best part of that summer was that a family got murdered across the street and they get to yell MURDER HOUSE all day long.

Thank you lady. (I’ve decided it’s a lady, because I really don’t think a man would write about dying alone, much less be reading DListed as an older person…)

College Part II

29 Apr

Oh when the weather gets nice!

I’ve started accidentally calling my home/apartment a dorm room.

As in:

“Yeah, I gotta just run home and grab my backpack outta my dorm and then I’ll head over.”


“It was so hot in my dorm room last night…”

I was just telling my gal pal who lives in Portland how nice the weather here in L.A. is right now and that when I get home from work I open my door just like everyone else on my floor and in the apartments around me. And then I realized I was describing a dorm.

My life is repeating, starting from January 2006.

-I’m just starting school again.

-I have homework and a ‘backpack’ (I’ve actually not had a backpack since middle school, I know it’s bad but I’ve always been the girl with books in her arms and four bags/purses hanging off her.)

-I don’t have a kitchen

But I do have a bathroom and 3 closets

I have one room total that I can claim as mine

Except that back when I was in real college I actually had friends, a social life, and was much thinner.

My mom has always told me that when you graduate college you get really skinny, and I don’t know if it’s because I don’t have it in me to be a starving artist or be anything but lavishly surrounded by yummy food items, that did NOT happen to me.

I, like, totally want a boyfriend and like, wanna get drunk and makeout.


That’s depressing.

Living in the heart of Boy Town won’t help with any of that, except maybe to get really thin and tan. These gay guys are some serious thinspiration: they either look 1. Starving or 2. Like if they accidentally bumped into you on the sidewalk, you might fly 30 feet from the sheer force of their biceps.

College, Part I was awesome.

I hope College, Part II gets just as awesome!

Hahahaha. Oh shit.

I’ve Joined Bloglovin.’ Follow Me!

27 Apr

Follow my blog with bloglovin


27 Apr

That’s mine.

An Easter Miracle!

25 Apr

Sunday Morning I woke up with a hangover and helped my pal  and his roommate make deviled eggs for an Easter brunch we were invited to (myself the night before.)

I balanced the slippery eggs uncovered on my lap in the backseat for the whole 20 minute curvy ride. Naturally the minute we park and I get out, I put the eggs on the roof so I could grab my purse and a bag of groceries. Twenty seconds later the trunk was opened and the above happened.

No one was surprised at all. We laughed, took pictures, and then put most of them back on the plate and put them inside on the buffet table.

Maple Syrup Hell aka Organic Spray Tan

25 Apr

Several weeks ago I got a great deal on a spray tan and corner lash extensions. Two weeks ago I got my first Mystic spray tan since Spring Break 2009. As you may (or…. may not?) know, I am a pale, freckled redhead, who can get a mean tan.  Approximately the day I turned 20, I realized that I was a pale, freckled redhead, and was quickly on my way to yucky wrinkly leather skin and skin cancer. From that day forth, I have been scared of the sun and any color on my skin.

If I notice my shoulders have a few extra freckles (which is very hard to have not happen, LA tends to be sunny…) I make sure to wear sleeves and sunscreen.

I embraced the deathly pale look, this is the new always me! And, until I moved out of New Orleans, I had platinum blonde hair…

So back to the spray tans.

I decided to get a Mystic tan. I went, I got it, I was tan! You could now see me when I walked into a white room! I received many compliments and decided this was exciting, must do more.

On Friday, I had the day off for the holiday, and decided to cash in on my tan/eyelash coupon.

I walk into this place, which is advertised to seem like it’s going to be this pristine, immaculate spa haven, when in fact, it’s more in a carpeted alley off Melrose.

I lay down on the bed and she puts the dentist-esque light over my face.

“Yeah… so you have white eyelashes…”

“Yes, I sure do.”

“Okay well, I don’t think the eyelash extensions will work for you. There would basically be 20 random long black eyelashes scattered amongst your blonde ones… and you can’t wear mascara with these extentions.”

“Uh oh. Okay.”

“Unless you want to get a full set, which will be $100 extra.”

“Nope I do not want that.”

So we decided on getting my eyelashes and eyebrows tinted instead.

I don’t know if you read/remember my post on getting my moles removed, but something about her putting Vaseline all around my eyes and then wet paper towels around them with her lightly brushing on my eyelashes, reminded me of getting my bandages replaced and I started to get nauseous. For NO reason. I was getting my eyelashes dyed. I basically do it everyday, its called MASCARA.

I made myself get over that real quicklike because I wasn’t going to vomit over something like that. Although I am on a diet so maybe…. Kidding.

After the eyelashes were tinted, she did my brows.

Everything looked great and I was happy. Then the two ladies conversed and realized I couldn’t get a spray tan until my tinting had “set in.” So I was told to come back several hours later that day.

I went hiking with Nancy and then got a late lunch with her, her baby (see photo here), and Preston.

Thennnn I went back to Melrose to get this amazing organic individually applied spray tan.

So I strip down in the bathroom and she gets to work. I’m basically standing on a platform with my legs and arms spread open like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, while she takes an airbrush to every crevice. Literally opened my butt crack and lifted my boobs to get in there. Oh well. I’d say it wasn’t weird because I’m used to it, but I’ve obviously never done that before, but I definitely didn’t care because I’m known to do cartwheels naked in my parents home after dinner.

“Okay you’re all done, just come out here and stand in front of the fan. It’s okay, no one’s really here.”

So now I’m exiting the private bathroom and literally just strolling around the spa, still in Vitruvian Man pose, in front of a small fan while people were carrying on with their business.

If I had been someone who was shy… would have been terrifying…

Good thing I’m an exhibitionist. Even when I shouldn’t be… (fat).

Eventually she tells me I’m good and to go home. Here’s what I was expected to do/not do:

Don’t sit in one spot for too long

Don’t sit, really

Don’t wear clothes

Don’t go out

Don’t cross your legs

Don’t sit on anything

Don’t sweat

Don’t touch your skin

Don’t do anything, really for TWELVE HOURS.

And then I can shower in the morning.

Ok, may not seem so awful, but imagine taking a dip in maple syrup and then do the above. I don’t know about you, but two hours laying on a towel in sticky brown shit was two hours too long. This stuff was awful. I tried doing some homework, and after two hours, looked at myself in the mirror and cracked up. I looked like I was doing a bad version of black face. It was called sticky, runny, brown face. After a mini photo shoot to document it, I gave up and hopped in the shower, trying to just lightly rinse off to make the stickiness go away. Once I’d sufficiently watched the brownness go down the drain I air dried and applied lotion.

Then I turned green.

Back in the shower, scrubbed myself raw, went to CVS and bought a can of L’Oreal airbrush tan.

Worked like a charm.

So now, I am officially 100% pigmented. Where I was once practically albino, I’ve now dyed my hair, eyebrows, eyelashes and skin darker.

Here I am world. Colored. I mean, darkened. Well, darker. More like not a ghost?


NEVER getting a individual spray tan again. Mystic wins.

Nancy, Nancy Thornton

20 Apr

Saturday on Santa Monica Blvd.

19 Apr
My gal pal came into town this weekend.
Whatever, we did fun stuff, but that’s not what this is about.
This is about one of two things:
1. A homeless man
2. The oldest hipster in LA
Saturday afternoon, after a long day of shopping in the Fashion District, we sat down at St. Felix’s on Santa Monica Blvd. up the street from my apartment.
As we were sipping on our sunset cocktails, a bum (or hipster, so hard to tell) approached us.
Yeah, okay, so we’ve all made the homeless/hipster jokes before, it’s not a new thing to joke about, but it’s not about that either. We truly couldn’t tell until he approached us.
He was listening to a turquoise iPod while strolling around West Hollywood in Toms. 
The biggest fashionista living on the streets or the oldest hipster this side of Cresent Heights? 
We decided on the former because his second time around the block he walks straight up to my friend and exclaims quite loudly in front of approximately 15 bar patrons:
I thought that this was hilarious because what kind of question is that? How do you answer that?
“No, I’m the bitch that’s staring at that other guy.” 
“No, it’s not me, that would be her, over there.” 
Later that night I was telling the story to Nancy at one of my favorite bars in Los Feliz, The Griffin.  I’m – naturally – yelling the story at her.
As we were cracking up at my funny, the guy next to us at the bar, looks at me and says,
“Well that’s an interesting thing to overhear the last sentence of!”
A few moments later, we had turned it into the new “…and then I found $20…” to make a bad story good.
Needless to say we had a great night.
And THAT’s when I had my first orgasm.

“I’m Just Not Having This” -Baby

17 Apr

Already hates shopping...