pretty crabby

Pacifica

Alphabet: A History. B = Boston

My dad moved to Boston when I was eight years old. When I was a kid I spent the summers with him and I would ride the bus down Mass Ave from his apartment near Harvard Square to his work, on Newbury Street. I would cross this bridge and go that same route all the time.

Last year when I worked on that same bus line, I thought about that time a lot. Riding the bus, seeing the city, looking out the window. My mom and I lived in Vermont then and I would ride the bus back and forth to Boston too. So much of my childhood was spent looking out a window.

In 1995 I dropped out of college and I remember the day my dad called to tell me they got a bigger apartment, and I should pack my bags because I was moving to Boston too. It was the end of May that year when I showed up. I remember the day I bumped into Elaine on the street and we talked about the baby she would have the following January.

In May of 1998 when I moved back there again (after a brief ill advised trip across country) I sat on the stoop at my dad's yard sale and that was the first day I met Suzanne who would be my landlord and friend 10 years later. I didn't know that then though, no birds whispered in my ear about my future. I was just a 22 year old girl trying to figure out what to do next.

Today when I walk down the street in my neighborhood in Boston, the same neighborhood I have lived in for the last 14 years, I sometimes think about all the other times I have walked on that street. It is funny how you end up somewhere and you make a life there. It is hard for me to walk down that street now without seeing at least one person I know. I think about how this is my little corner of the planet, where people know me, where I can drive down three streets, point out different houses and say "hey, I lived there for awhile".

I moved to Boston because my dad was here first. And then I made friends with his friends and I met some of my own. In Boston I met another transplaned person and we have made this life together here in our little corner of the world.

And they call me warrior?

Beware if you click this link, it's fucking loud. Turn your speakers down first. And hide your vagina from view.

This was one of the preview things when we went to see I LOVE YOU MAN (which was very funny by the way. Love you P Rudd. Call me!) this weekend. What the fuck is going on in this... commercial? Video? Promotional thing? I don't even know.

First there are some soldiers and they are bringing peace to a war zone of some kind. They help kids! They don't run them over with their tanks in the street! They hand them their BALLS! They are so kind and generous! The kids love them!

And then Kid Rock sings for a bit. Or rather screams his fool head off.

Then Dale Earnheart Jr. is driving a race car. Then there are more soldiers. Then Kid Rock screams and soldiers are moshing and cars zip by and I am overstimulated not in a good way and WHAT IS HAPPENING OH MY I AM A LITTLE SCARED.

After the preview was over I turned to Bob and said, I think that was sponsored by penises! It makes me want to go out and drive fast and shoot things! Hoo boy! Or maybe I will just hide for awhile and ask someone to stroke my hair until I fall asleep.

America, you still kind of scare me.

Alphabet: A History

I am stealing this idea from Wendy who I think stole it from someone else. And so goes the Internet. I need something new to write about and this is 26 entries if I get all the way to the end. So, let's do this thing.

A is for Annie/plus L is for Lucie.

Annie and Lucie were born in 2000 when my life was kind of a mess. I walked to the hospital on my lunch break and held Lucie in her little blanket and said she looked like a hampster with her spikey hair.

Before Annie and Lucie were born everyone kept having boys, and all we wanted were some girls damn it. Finally Elaine came through and had two of them.

Annie is the sweetest person you may ever meet. She likes to sit next to me at restaurants and walk with me on the beach. She is up for whatever comes next, she is happy and ready to go.

Lucie is a rock star. She is moody and hungry and a goofball. She wants you to play a drum beat so she can pose to it. She knows what she wants and she wants it exactly when she says. No later, please.

Annie and Lucie are smart awesome nine year old girls. I am so glad to know them.

"The sun in California it drops right into the sea"

Our trip was very fun. Lots of running around, lots of seeing people, some ocean, some shopping, some sun. My favorite part may have been swimming in a pool in March and seeing palm trees while a nice man named Marco brought me Corona Lights.

We also went to the desert and saw some Joshua trees like this little one.

Click through for all the photos.

Right now, I need to go to bed for about three days.

I have a sunburn in March.

I am sitting in our Palm Springs hotel slowly typing this out on my iPod. In 48 hours I'll be back in Boston where it has apparently snowed. Today I sat by the pool and tried to will my freckles out. Tomorrow we drive back to LA and hopefully go the ocean. I think I'll go to bed. It's 8:30. Vacation is hard work.

Pssst.

My other site,tallulah blue, is now on twitter. Or rather, I am on twitter again some more only now I am telling you what to buy. And not just complaining like usual.

Follow me if you like!

High School

Fifteen: Fifteen is the worst year I can remember. Among other things: I get arrested for shoplifting; I am failing most of my classes; I hate every thing; and my parents are idiots. This is the year I slam a lot of doors and yell "I HATE YOU" more times that I can count. To this day, I cannot mention being 15 without my dad getting a look of terror on his face.

Sixteen: I am completely obsessed and enamored of the boy I met at summer camp the year before. We spend our camp days hiding out in the lifeguard shack and telling stories and flirting as if it is our job. We walk to his house and when I stand in the door way of his house looking outside, he stands behind me and puts his arm on the door frame. All the hairs on my neck stand up and I can still feel him there if I close my eyes and think about it for long enough. One day he steals all the change from his fathers junk door and rides his bike to get us pizza and sodas. Seeing him balancing the pizza on his handle bars and waving to me as he rides in to camp is one of the sweetest memories of my entire teenage life.

Seventeen: I go to prom with my best friend; I laugh too loud; I dance in the street like a crazy person and do not care who sees me; we take road trips and smoke cigarettes and act like we are the only people ever to have done this before. My English teacher is my favorite person aside from my friends and one day I ask him about his daughter who is in a wheel chair. One of my friends is horrified that I would bring this up to him. I say "he's only a PERSON" and walk away. Most of my friends parents do not like me for this reason; I am not scared of them.

(Middle school. Elementary.)

On second thought maybe I should have my own tiara.

Sometimes I wish I could unroll my brain (picturing it like a roll of wrapping paper full of paperclips and fuzz balls) and scrub it down. There are too many things clogging the gears like our humidifier which gave up this morning and just started letting the water leak onto the floor.

I probably shouldn't be watching Lost, I don't think that helps. On top of my own family dramas and work dramas I have this weird other drama in my head and OH MY GOD WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO THEM ALL?! Then I remember it is a TV show and I try not to read Lostpedia online all day long. Eh.

Things seem to be bothering me more than they might usually so maybe if I write them down, it will help.

Firstly, people.

Mainly people on the train. WHY IS EVERYONE SO RUDE IN TRANSIT? It is like they don't care because they aren't actually anywhere that matters. They have left their home where the people there presumably love them even though they are ASSHOLES (at least in transit!) and they are not yet to work where people pay them (for being assholes) so they feel free to let their asshole flag fly* while riding the train and walking to and from the train. WHAT IS SO COMPLICATED about letting people get off the train before you get on?? WHAT? I do not get it. I have become a transit asshole myself by yelling at these people. Now I am a screaming banshee on the train, yelling "LET US OFF FIRST!" as they push past me. Also, people who wear their fucking backpacks on the train when it is crowded and then proceed to hit people (namely ME) in the head with it. Take it off! Put it on the floor! I don't believe you arrived on earth yesterday. It is not so hard. Yesterday there was a guy on the train with a ski lift pass on his jacket from 2007. What is that about? Was that a truly remarkable ski trip in which he first used his legs again after being paralyzed? Did he almost ski into a tree? Did he get a hand job on the lift? Unless something truly awesome happened, Ski Lift Guy, it is time to let that go. Even then, he could possibly REMOVE it from his jacket and put it in a drawer or something. I don't know why that annoyed me so much, it might have been because a backpack was knocking me unconscious at the time and that was the last thing I saw before I blacked out.

Secondly, TV.

Man, TV, you really suck lately. I know, you have probably sucked for awhile but there is NOTHING ON these days. Aside from Lost which mainly just confuses me. The other week I actually found myself watching Ghost Whisperer. I know. Trust me, I KNOW. And it was this episode which was totally weird and I have already bored everyone in my life with the story so now I have to bore you (you're welcome!). 

So, the Ghost Whisperer is J-Love Hewitt and I can never decide if I hate her or I am weirdly fascinated with her (as an aside did you see that on her recent birthday she went to Tiffany's in a freaking tiara and ball gown for breakfast with her "friends"? Except in the picture she was the only one there and I thought it was sort of sad and also COMPLETELY CRAZY) and ANYWAY in the episode her husband had just been shot and killed and they were at his funeral. It's all sad and crap and his friend/boss/whatever (who is notably Biff from the Back to the Future films) gets up to give the eulogy. So he starts talking about "Jim" (are there any people in their thirties named Jim?) and how you know, he could be sad and play a sad song (at this he takes out his iPod) or he could play a rock song because "Jim liked to rock." (eesh) So then. THEN! Biff grabs J-Love's friend and makes her dance with him. Then everyone slowly starts getting up to dance. Because it is a funeral and that is what you do? And because JLove has been so sad, she has not been able to see him (you know, she sees dead people) through her grief. So she is dancing (badly) and clutching a photo of him to her heart and then through the crowd of horribly dancing white people, she suddenly sees him there. Then they start dancing together and HOLY GOD it was so stupid. The best part was that as they pan out, she is dancing ALONE but with her arms up in the air (because no one else can see him) and everyone just keeps dancing. Brilliant! Yet, I was watching it. I actually watched the whole show (including the end where he jumped into someone elses dead body and then GOT AMNESIA) a couple times. Thankfully I have come to my senses since then. I was actually telling Brian Byrne about this on IM one day and then I actually found a clip of it on You Tube (yay for You Tube). Beware, it is ridiculous.

Alright. This is long. I have a lot of grievances. Luckily I am going on vacation soon, I should cheer up. But it is not like my blog is called PRETTY HAPPY so whatever, deal with it!

*Note, I also hate the phrase "let your freak flag fly". What the fuck is that?? Why are we saying it? I hate it, let's agree to stop. It is almost as annoying as the nicknames we keep giving people. Octomom?!? SHUT UP, America! Ugh!