Sorry for the blackout period.

In short, since my last post I've left my job after only six weeks due to the fact that the position was oversold and misrepresented to me. Not only that, I was going home with headaches every day due to the obnoxious "music" from this station played at a high volume in the office. Yes, I asked management to rectify it. Their solution, and mind you that they were in offices and didn't have to endure it, was for me to buy headphones since they approved of having this music in the office. You see where I'm going here. I just didn't write well to songs like, "I Kissed a Girl," and Britney Spears remixes, replete with coworkers singing along. Fine that Lil' Wayne got licked like a lollipop and Soulja Boy wants to Superman that Ho, but I don't want to hear it blasting in my ear at work. Or, at all. Ever. And no, I'm not kidding. Even with $100 noise-canceling headphones that I bought especially to block out the crap, KCRW's cool independent music was no match for keeping that tripe at bay and offering me a conducive work environment. Add that to the colossal disorganization of the place and you've got a lose lose situation.

On Tuesday, with four days left in the job, I drove to work and had gotten all the way downtown when I turned around and went home. It was very out of character for me. I take jobs very seriously and always strive to do what's best for my employers. However, because of their inability on many levels to provide a decent work environment, to describe the position properly and act professionally, meaning, run the place like a business instead of a sorority house, it led me to end things early. It wasn't some big moment or triumph. Movie music didn't cue as I turned the car around among the graffiti-stained buildings and build into a crescendo as I drove home. It just simply was. Two weeks ago I'd told my supervisors that I had decided, after only four weeks in the position, to leave my job. This was after a few meetings where I voiced my frustration and tried to rectify a process and fix with management. The last revealing there had been a miscommunication in the job responsibilities. My supervisor literally said to me, "Anne, you're in the wrong job." They left it up to me and everything was amicable until Monday where they blew it big time. That led me to Tuesday.

So, here I am again having to look for work. I'm certainly disappointed, but frankly, I'm more pissed me off as I felt the entire six weeks was wasted time and that I was unnecessarily put through that experience. It's not even going on my resume. Too bad, as I had expected a nice long-term job at a company where I could make a great contribution. During the short time I was there, two other people transferred out of the department.

Just sayin'.

Last Sunday, I went to Book Soup to buy a couple books. Book Soup is a great independent book store on Sunset that even before Anne in LA: Part Deux, I shopped in all the time. It's just a great store with a real, pardon the expression, bookstore feel to it. There was a metered spot in front of the place, so I pulled in, and while parking saw that a big black SUV had pulled up and was waiting for the spot. I waived him off to let him know I wasn't leaving and he sped around the corner at breakneck speed. A couple other SUVs followed him at the same rate, but I didn't think anything of it. When I got out of the car, I was met by three or four men on the sidewalk with telephoto lenses and camera equipment slung around their shoulders, clicking away. And then I knew. I had found myself in a paparazzi crush. I stopped, looked to my right and saw a very LA couple making their way towards me. The woman was in big sunglasses and a pretty full length white summer dress, and her boyfriend was very typical LA. Handsome with five o'clock shadow, oxford shirt hanging loose over jeans. I had no clue who they were, but didn't want to get in between them and the rabid paparazzi who had grown by a few numbers. They passed, and a man watching the activity asked me who they were. I shrugged. I walked steps behind them and yep, they turned right into where I was going. A paparazzi was by the door and I stopped, as a knee-jerk reaction I do for anyone taking a photo. Also, I didn't want to get bulldozed. Paparazzi are notorious here for putting that photo first and when looking through a lens can miss that there are other people around. Of course, had that happened they would have been sorry. Surprisingly, his chivalry kicked in and he actually let me pass to go inside.

So who were they? Kate Beckinsale and her husband, director Len Wiseman. Once I was inside, the actress apologized to the woman at the cashier for the activity. The woman told her that it wasn't her fault, that she should be able to shop in peace. I loved the woman at the cashier, as she was a bookish-looking redhead, but pretty, who occasionally turned around and said in a harsh tone through the window, "No. No. Go away," to the paps outside when they got too close. I laughed and told her she sounded like she was scolding a bad dog.

After I found a couple books, I went to pay and noticed another crush.

"Oh dear," I said, and the woman turned around. The couple was still inside so I wasn't sure what was going on until I saw Jeff Goldblum walk in. Maybe Hollywood, like me had just gotten the book itch that day. Goldblum looked great. Fit, tan and healthy with a tad of stubble on the chin.

It wasn't the first time I'd encountered Beckinsale. A few months ago, when I was shopping on Robertson, she had been inside another store that I didn't go into because of the paparazzi crush outside. It was insane.

Last Friday, Shannon and I went out to the Velvet Margarita in Hollywood, then to another bar right next door. I was walking by a man who had an interesting looking telephoto video camera and asked him about it. He was African-American with a bald head, hardened look and a pot belly with a couple large bags slung over his shoulder. He turned around and scrutinized me for a second. After he came to his decision about me, he turned around and told me about the camera. There were tons of people around, but right away I could tell there was something off about him. He looked at Shannon, who had become interested, not to mention concerned that I'd engaged this man the way I had, and held up another camera that he said he'd sell to him for $60. Shannon was interested in seeing the video camera, and the guy began to give us a very interesting sales pitch.

MAN: This here's from mother fuckin' Japan. Won't be here for another two weeks. Four-hundred dollars if you want it.

ME: Where did you get it?

MAN: I ain't answering no questions.

As Shannon and the man looked over the camera, which he wouldn't let Shannon hold, another two men passing by came up to look at it. Our salesman gave them a quick look and dismissed them.

MAN: This don't do shit. It don't take nothin'. It's just a movie prop.

MAN 2: (trying to intelligently engage) Oh, well I just find it fascinating.

MAN: It don't take shit. Just a prop. Ain't nothin' to see.

The two men walked a few steps away, then watched as the man turned on the camera and interviewed us about the recent Laker's loss. He took a couple pictures of us as well, then played back the video that very obviously had just recorded us.

Apparently, the two men hadn't passed the smell test. Shannon had no intention of buying the camera as it was obviously stolen. Someone was hurting over their loss and we weren't going to fund the black market by patronizing anyone who had a slick camera to sell. He was just interested in the functions, being a photographer. And, both of us in the experience of this man who had surfaced from the underworld.

By the time that Shannon had seen enough, the man dropped the price to $200. He declined, citing that the man couldn't show him all the features that he was curious about. Again, he had no intention of buying it. It was just an excuse.

MAN: (undeterred) Okay. I gotta go smoke some crack.

And off he went into the night.

Happy 4th to all my fellow Yanks.

I've gone through this entire day not being able to taste, smell or go through five minutes without blowing my nose. It still didn't stop me from going to the coffee shop and enjoying an iced mocha. Can't taste it, but I can imagine it.

My neighbors had a cookout and were cooking long ears of corn on the grill with Hebrew National hot dogs. They had invited me to take part, and I did except for the eating part. One of the neighbors really wanted me to drown the cold in alcohol, but I politely declined. He's a trip, and reminds me a lot of Jeff Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High. He'd been previously jumping from the second floor walkway into the pool. He has no idea that I'm stiff competition for the biggest splash created by a can opener. It's a secret weapon that I have yet to reveal to my unsuspecting neighbors. It's all in the lean, folks.

And I look like such a nice girl.

The food looked wonderful. Looked, that is. I'm sure it smelled and tasted delicious, too. I've had hints of it coming back today when I blow my nose, so hopefully it will be back by tonight. I friggin' hate this part of a cold.

However, it came in handy when my landlord took me on a tour of one of my neighbors' apartments from which he'd just moved.

Landlord: Wanna see something gross?

Me: You know I do.

Landlord: Okay, I warned you.

Me: I'm ready.

He opened the door and the first thing I saw was a half inch of dust that had collected on the carpet, mixed with hundreds of tufts of...something.

Landlord: Look at the stove.

Me: (looking) Oh. My. God. Oh my God. What the fuck?

Landlord: (knowing)

I stood there, mouth open wide looking at an inch of filth on the stove. New filth piled upon burned old filth. It had to have never been cleaned.

Landlord: You haven't seen anything yet. Go in the bathroom.

I walked to the bathroom and recoiled when I saw the tub. It was covered by a fourth of an inch of black film that crept halfway up the tile. Black filth covered the floor and I'm not even going to describe the toilet. However, it was the bathtub that was incredible. How could someone think that they were getting clean in something like that? I know that dudes mostly choose showering over bathing, but you'd probably feel cleaner rinsing off in a New York subway with a garden hose than in that mess.

Me: (speechless, hand to chest)

Landlord: (Smiling) Told you.

Me: I'm beyond disgusted.

Around this apartment, in addition to the filth that covered the floors, tiles and stove, were balls of cobwebs that clung to the walls. Some of the corners were completely obscured by them, and bridges made of dust and cobwebs extended from the floor to the wall. I know he didn't have a bed, just a mattress, so he was sleeping within inches of it.

He then went on to tell me that one out of ten tenants live this way. He has a book full of pictures of what tenants have left in their wake, and told me he'd show it to me sometime.

I think I'm starting to understand why landlords want to rent to me so badly. I can't imagine dealing with this.

Tonight, we watched the great fireworks display from Universal. I stood out on the sidewalk with the other neighbors, including a new one and his family, and had a great view of the show. It was the perfect amount of festivity and effort for not feeling 100%.

I still can't taste or smell. So much for that being cured by tonight. Oh well, there's always tomorrow.

Oh my, this is what happens when I don't post for a while. So many things that I've experienced or want to talk about. Especially because lately I've felt like I'm going through a "biding time" period.

There are a couple reasons why, and one is because the jury came in on the new gig. It's always been in, I guess...but I just like to make sure that I give things time and that it gets a fair trial. Now, I said the jury is in, which means that I've come to a verdict on it. I won't say what that is, but you can probably read between the lines.

I also haven't posted because I've been a tad cranky lately and I try not to post when I'm cranky. Several things have contributed to that.

One, is that I've been flirting with getting a new apartment and have even looked at a few. One yesterday in West Hollywood that was built by Paramount Studios in the 1920's to house their starlets. It looked like a fairytale development straight out of yes, a movie. Rudolph Valentino used to live in one of the units. It was a very interesting place but I didn't like the neighborhood. Too many people on top of each other and too many apartment buildings. It also had a super small bedroom, which is something I'm looking to enlarge. The living room was really big and it was flooded with light. It just didn't have everything I'm looking for, even though it was fantastic to tour it. I could tell the landlord really wanted me to take it, something that I got last time when looking for apartments here. Landlords must have to deal with a lot of crappy tenants, because when I flew down to look for places before I moved here, I even had one guy offer to lower the rent for me on the spot. Unfortunately, it was too much for me to take on at the time and they didn't take pets. Those were super nice places, too. Too bad, because I'd look him up now. I happened upon him by chance when looking at another place.

I'm also finding it hard to think of leaving this neighborhood. I love it here. It's quiet yet a lot goes on here. It's also completely safe. It's got all the major studios surrounding it and every convenience because of that. I walk to everything. One of the apartments that I looked at was a half block down the street, just not big enough for me to justify an entire move. I'm torn between really upgrading and just upgrading a little. Two of my neighbors whom I like moved out this week. Both are moving out of state. The neighbors that I want to avoid, I seem to run into all the time. Mostly, Mr. Naked. I came home from work one day and he was exercising with hand weights in the pool area. Once again, he tried to call attention to himself by calling out my name. Icky. He and his wife sort of live "outside" their apartment, leaving their door open and stepping out when they hear conversation. They are constantly having to use the neighbor's phone when they wait too long to pay their bill and are always having money problems. Mainly, because Mr. Naked is a dead beat dad who avoids banks and God knows what else to avoid being detected by the law. I have no respect for people like that. None. The junker they drive is always breaking down, too. I feel sorry for the wife, as she's a sweet lady. Every apartment building has one. The last ones like them, though they don't even come close to the Baltimorons I lived under, I took to court. However, these neighbors are much older. Way too old for that shit.

Last night I took a walk and pet the cats among the mansions. The people here are very nice. One of the houses has five skunks that like to forage in the yard at night. I was watching them with a couple with a kid, and another couple with a dog when the owner of the huge Tudor house opened her second floor window and said, "Do you like my skunk family?" She was great, in her long nightgown opening her paned window from her giant Tudor. Another night I was on my walk and took a picture of one of them. She opened her window again and introduced herself. Very cool lady. I told her she had one heck of a security system. I love that she just lets the skunks be. There's a mom, dad and three smaller ones. Cute doesn't even come close to describing them. I took this picture of one of the larger ones.



On another night, I was petting the neighborhood cats and heard a screech above me. I looked up and saw a huge owl flying about twenty feet overhead, its white belly reflected by the street lights. It was a very Harry Potter moment.

I looked at a huge, gorgeous two bedroom today a block from me. I'm seriously considering it though it will be a stretch in the short run. There's that whole security deposit and first month's rent to cough up, not to mention moving expenses. The place is private, quiet and on a tree-lined street. My camera wasn't charged or I'd have taken pictures. However, with the jury having made its ruling on the job, these are uncertain times. I won't do anything rash. It's much more expensive than this apartment, but within my budgeted guidelines. However, it's at the top end of those guidelines. Do I need a two bedroom? Nope. But this one is a good price in a great neighborhood. If it's meant to be, it will happen. If not, there will be more great places.

I'm in the throes of a horrible cold. At least, that's what I think it is. I'm hoping it's not something else. My throat hurts and I'm getting achy along with a stuffed nose that I blasted with Afrin. Add that to the Sudafed I took earlier, Airborne that I took today and soon to be Nyquil that I'm going to take before bed. I hate colds, and felt so crappy I actually left work early. I wouldn't have gone to see the apartment had it not been just a half block walk. I just hope I can sleep tonight. Luckily, due to the holiday we don't have work tomorrow. Of course, I had to get this cold. Sometimes I think our bodies know when we're going to get rest and decide to get sick.

Off to the medicine cabinet.

This is the first time that I've been hesitant to talk about something on this blog. Because this blog is so public and I've always been so frank, it limits what I can say on here. Blogging is not what it was when I first started. Before, there were a few of us on the internet here and there. It had always been the people who knew how to design, program and had their own server or knew how to do that shit. I wasn't one of those people. I was glad that Blogger was around, as it gave me a forum when I needed one when I was going through a hard time.

The subject I'm referring to is my new job.

I started this blog when Blogger wasn't with Google. I even paid for the service to avoid the advertisements on my blog. Just didn't seem right to have Anne...straight from the hip with a big banner ad animated with a dancing chicken selling insurance. So, I paid my $40 a year until I got a letter from Blogger saying that it was all going to be free. I also got a cool Blogger hoodie, pictured on me here, for being one of their ground roots customers who helped them become what they are. Their words, not mine. However, the irony wasn't lost. They'd helped me through my painful growth, and I'd contributed to helping them through theirs.

Since personal websites have gotten more mainstream, people are almost certain to Google the names of those they know, or just met, or who rubbed them the wrong way at school or the office to see if they can get fodder for revenge. Or, just the curious who want to know more about you without asking.

Because of that, I've chosen to keep work close to the vest for now. And no, this isn't anyone's decision but mine. No one at my new job, as far as I know that is, even knows that I blog. And if they Google me, which people undoubtedly will, they won't find anything about my present job except for surface level observations. I will say this, that I'm neither here nor there about the new gig. And I'm completely okay with that.

Several employers, when I did blog about work knew that I blogged. The bookstore in Baltimore knew it. I told them when the Baltimore Sun came calling about my blog a couple months after Blogger chose it as a "Blog of Note." Same with the Calabassas store, because yes, a more internet savvy manager Googled my name and found it. I learned that he knew about it when he told me one day that he was moved by something that I'd written and that I was a fantastic writer. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, because that was the first time that had ever happened to me and I was brand new to blogging. But, he was just simply giving me a compliment. At another job, an IT guy with a crush on me Googled my name and checked it from work. I saw the company name on my logs and asked him if he could track who was surfing my blog. I'm kinda smart that way. He turned sheet white and I knew it had been him.

I did post about The Wire, because I was careful to not reveal anything about the story or talk disparagingly about coworkers. First, I liked my coworkers. Even if I hadn't, it wouldn't be on my blog. I was also careful not to use names unless it was necessary or not harmful. I also openly discussed that I blogged.

So, I have no idea why the cold feet all of a sudden. Perhaps I'm taking a step back and being less risky, eliminating any risks for inviting drama into my life. Or, I'm just being smarter. Mostly, I'm just not that interested in things that happen at work and therefore it occupies much less of my thoughts. Especially when I'm home.

There's a ton happening in my "other" life out of work, but I mentioned this because I thought it might seem odd if I rarely mentioned the new job.

And there you have it.

First week into the new job went just fine. Weird, but well. I won't post too much as it's all new and I'm getting used to things.

I haven't forgotten the blog. I'm still just in that state of weirdness with everything and have found myself with a lack for words. I wish I had more than that to say, but I don't.

Actually, I do. But it's too late in the evening to say them.

I guess I should mention that I start my new job on Monday.

All of a sudden, I had tons of interest in my resume and took a copywriting position with a huge fashion conglomerate. It pays well and my department is of huge interest to the famous owners, whom my boss reports directly to. And hell no, it's not American Apparel. I wouldn't work for that perv, even though my neighbor did his best to warm me up to that type of behavior.

For the first time in several years, I'll be an actual employee of a company instead of a contractor. That means the full boat of benefits, including perks like free yoga, gym, kick boxing and spinning classes. Oh, and cooking classes, too. Also, a huge discount on the clothing. All that aside, I wouldn't have taken it had it not felt right. My future boss seemed down to earth and the office was an open environment. Both things I must have. I was referred by someone I worked with at Disney who is there now and raved about it. The rest was history.

I'm a little freaked by it and it all happened really fast. Even though I've wanted to find a good full-time employee position, my stomach has been in knots since I accepted the offer. I have orientation on Monday which starts at an ungodly time in the morning. Luckily, my work days won't start that early.

I know it sounds weird but I feel like I hardly had time to be unemployed. My last day at Disney was end of April and now I'm looking to start new work again. I'm not complaining but it was just more quick than I thought. Hopefully, I won't have to look for a really long time, but that doesn't help me not feel ultra nervous. I know I can succeed at the job, but it's the change, commitment and the unknown that are gnawing at me. When I get these feelings, I just imagine what it will be like a month down the road when everything is settled and I'm in the groove again. It will also be good to get on some sort of schedule again because if I don't have a reason to get up before noon, I don't.

My neighbors told me today that they are moving. That is, three apartments worth of neighbors. It's weird that they said that because I've been considering moving into a bigger place as well. I'd love to find a place around here since I love the area and it's a no stress place to live. I just need a tad bigger, more private and quieter, but I'm going to wait I think. And when I do move...fuck packing. I'm letting the moving company do it this time.

I was woken this morning to low buzzing helicopters and sirens.

"Catch the fucker already," I thought, groggy, thinking it was a high speed chase. The noise didn't stop, so I got up. Pissed. It was 6:45 AM. I put on my clothes, opened the door and saw a low-hanging fog bank. When I exited the building I saw the enormous smoke plume that was the source. It was black, twisting and angry.

"Oh my goodness," I said to myself. I walked back in the courtyard and up to the second level. My apartment building is a typical California U-shaped building with all entrances and walkways on the outside.

"It's Universal," a voice said behind me. I looked and saw my 50-something-year-old neighbor standing in his doorway.

Naked.

Um... Yeah.

"It's on the news, Channel Four," he said, not missing a beat.

I looked at him, having no idea if he'd just not realized he was still naked, or if he just didn't care. My poker face would have impressed even the most cunning Vegas card sharks.

"I'll go turn the TV on," I said, glad for the excuse to walk back downstairs.

After I watched the news that Universal Studios was burning, I went back outside. My now-dressed neighbor joined me and pointed out the ash that was collecting on the ground and in the pool. Large ash clusters, probably embers that had burned out in the air also fell on the ground.

I took this video of the fire, and more pictures on Flickr. I shot the video with my little point and shoot. It was set on a lower res, but I thought did a decent job.



I know almost all of you will be disappointed, but these do not include a picture of my neighbor in the buff.

Shannon sent this to me.

I think it's safe to say that this guy has nerves of steel, not to mention is confident in his balance, footing and fine with stepping on decaying concrete a thousand feet or more up. This is wonderfully shot, giving a first person perspective of what it's like to walk El Camino del Rey, (English: The King's pathway). Built in 1901, it's a walkway, now fallen into disrepair, pinned along the steep walls of a narrow gorge in El Chorro, near Álora in Málaga, Spain. Make sure your sound is on, then sit back, enjoy, and while watching it remember to breathe.

I had a catastrophic hard drive failure Thursday on my main computer. I have no idea if the data is gone or not, but I managed to get the machine running again. Not from that hard drive, which was the master, (I was able to diagnose that by unplugging the slave drive to see if it was causing the problem) but from the slave drive. Last year I'd installed the extra drive.

I knew something was off when I woke up to the sound of a grandfather clock. Since I don't have a grandfather clock, someone had either put one in my apartment overnight or I'd entered the Twilight Zone. I was banking on the latter. Truth is, I was creeped out, and it was a long walk from my bed to diagnose that the noise was coming from my computer tower, accompanied by a black monitor that read, "Hard Drive Failure. Press F1 to Retry, F2 for Options." In technical terms, it was telling me that F1 and F2 stand for "Face it. You're Fucked."

I turned off the computer, went back to bed.

Once I got back up, I looked at my options. Not the one that the computer offered me, but my own. And that's where I opened up the tower and went to work on rearranging the hardware. I re-installed XP on that drive and went through the millions of updates, installs, activatons and reboots to get back up and running. Office was already installed since that drive came from an old computer. At half past midnight, I called Shannon and told him I needed a drink. He told me my martini glass was chilling in his freezer and I was out the door.

I didn't spend the whole day getting that machine back up. I took a break at the coffee shop and whined via IM to Albert, a friend of mine in NYC. He made me feel better about things. The hard drive failure manifested in a dose of insecurity about its timing during my job search, which became frustration with that process. Bert, thanks for getting me back on track. I've come along way to erase whining from my personality traits, but even the best of us have relapses.

And guess what, I have a possible two interviews next week, plus when I came home to a phone call from a company nearby who had seen my resume on a job site. Funny how that works out.

Luckily, I have a laptop which has all my writing and stories on it. I write on my laptop since I can take it anywhere. I'd also just updated my online portfolio. So, that's all good. I have my most recent work from Disney on a flash drive and my newest photos are still on my new camera. Older ones are on photo disks, backed up or on Flickr. I'll be installing that and downloading the images back onto the hard drive. Music was spared, as was Photoshop. It could have been much worse.

We've had some strange weather for May, including thunder and storms. I was in the coffee shop when a huge thunder cracked and startled everyone. It was gloomy, and there were tornadoes in Riverside County. I listened to rain overnight on Friday. The soft rain sang to me like nature's lullaby, soothing me in my bed.

Saturday we had thick voluminous grey clouds overcast, a perfect day to see a movie, so my friend Jan and I went to see Indiana Jones. The Cinerama Dome at the Arclight was packed to capacity and it was a great time. I thought the movie was great fun, with a different twist on the usual Indy story lines. The audience seemed to enjoy it as well.

Interestingly, they previewed Dark Knight, and when Heath Ledger appeared on screen as The Joker, a very audible, sad "ooh" emanated from the crowd in the theater. I was included in voicing those sentiments. It was a touching, spontaneous tribute to how sad people still are over his death. The movie looked like it was going to be incredible, and Ledger, breathtaking in his final role.

There are ups and downs to being between jobs. I'll start with the down first and keep it short because I've mentioned it before. I get my days and nights mixed up. Why, I have no idea. I'm sure my rhythms are off, but it can be isolating if I let it. Luckily, I'm not letting it. However, if anyone has any ideas on why some people's body clocks tell them to sleep late and stay up late, let me know. I take melatonin, but I'm probably taking it too late in the evening. It does work, it's just making myself get up before noon. And, to not look at that scrumptious couch of mine and lay down for a long nap.

Update: The East Coast is well into rush hour while I still have yet to sleep. 4:54 AM.

The good thing about a break is having more time and energy to do personal projects or creative experiments. I've been wanting to experiment with self-portraiture for a while. One, because I've always got a subject and two because I'm looking at other forms of expression besides writing. Love it that I do, I have a lot more that I want to "get off my chest" creatively for lack of a better word. A few nights ago I decided to give it a try. After a few frustrating attempts with a tripod, I decided to shoot freestyle holding the camera, setting it on continuous and moving my arm around to snap photos from different angles. Meaning, the camera took continuous shots if my finger was depressed on the button. The reason I did this is that I found that I posed with the tripod and they looked stilted and wholly boring. First, because I was waiting for the timer to take the damn picture and second, the expressions weren't natural or spontaneous. The difference in shooting freestyle was astounding and I accomplished what I was after, which was to learn something new. The bonus was getting these results.



And, this one which I altered by taking the color out. I like both. You can click on them to see bigger pictures.



It was fun because I got to play "dress up" first. Well, dressing up my face. I put on a ton of makeup for the shots, mostly around the eyes. There were many more shots that turned out well but I haven't posted them on Flickr. Now I'll have to think of another theme, if it can be called that. With these, I had no theme or images in mind. I just shot to see what I would get. I'm glad, because I think I would have become frustrated with trying to do too much for my first real experiment.

I showed them to Shannon and he approved. A major compliment, because his photography is incredible. And yes, he'd tell me if they sucked. I'm just happy I decided to risk feeling silly and go for it. I can't state enough, the importance of getting over that hurdle when it comes to creating anything.

I usually stay away from politics on my blog, but this is really getting to me.

Is there anyone besides me that thinks there is genocide going on in Myanmar? How can you deny aid to the people in your country and watch them starve or die from disease like the dictators in Myanmar are doing? Sure, they didn't create the cyclone, but what else is it called when you deny offered life-saving provisions, but genocide? And why, if we can fly into Iraq, unwelcome, to drop bombs can we not fly in unwelcome to drop food, medicine and fresh water into Myanmar? Really, who are we afraid of pissing off? Some monk-beating thugs who call themselves a government? And when I say "we," I mean any country who has the means and equipment to get aid to there, and neutralize anyone who tries to shoot the planes out of the sky. No, everyone chooses to sit on their hands, too afraid to move because some bullies in a tiny country said we're not welcome. Well, I think that depends on who you ask in Myanmar, doesn't it? If you're one of the millions certain to die, I'm sure you would be rolling out the welcome mat for anyone who wants to help ease your suffering.

Then again, they aren't even letting journalists report the truth about the extent of the damage.

Speaking of suffering, that 7.9 earthquake in China is absolutely tragic. As much as I'm not a fan of their government and its human and animal rights abuses, you aren't seeing them let the millions of their citizens affected by this quake die. So sad to read about the middle school where almost 1000 kids died. Just horrific, and my heart goes out to those who have lost and are suffering in both countries. As I type this, people are buried waiting for rescue. How terrifying that must be.

This was me today. Thousands, and yes I say thousands of ants decided to launch a full scale home invasion into my apartment today. Their goal? The cat food dishes.

I was just about to go out for coffee when I saw Atticus watching his cat dish. I'd been through this and much worse before, and knew what that meant. At first, it didn't look too bad. The bowl had been invaded and there was an ant orgy by a stray piece of cat food on the kitchen floor. I squirted the orgy with Lysol cleaner, a sure fire ant killer, then dumped the food into the sink. After grinding it way down the garbage disposal, I set out to napalm the trail. It was then that I realized how many ants had invaded my place.

I followed a four lane highway to my air-conditioner, spraying as I went. The little suckers were hard to see since I have a dark carpet and I had to get a flashlight out to track them. Instead of going outside, like I thought they would, they made a sharp turn toward my couch where a sickening amount snaked around one of the legs in what can only be described as ant grid lock. I folded back my area rug and saw that they were following it in a perfect line to the other foot of my couch where yes, another ant SIG alert was in full swing. Good to know it's not just humans who can't handle turns in heavy traffic.

I couldn't figure out where in the hell they were going until I saw another writhing mound under my side table. One of the cats had coughed up a hairball and it was covered, covered with them. Nasty. I squirted the mound and watched as it stopped moving, then went back over the trail a couple times to make sure there were no survivors.

I do not look forward to this repeating in the summer days to come. It's a fact of life in California and a couple of my neighbors have already had invasions.

On less disgusting note, my first week of unemployment resulted in one interview for tomorrow. I'd like to say that I'd done something to facilitate it, but I hadn't. Okay, that's not entirely true. I applied to the job a month or so ago and the timing just happened to work out. In the meantime, I've been crafting a new cover letter and wondering why I'm spending so much time on it. Perhaps because I don't want it to look like every other stupid cover letter that either I've written or everyone else has written. The truth is it doesn't make a damn difference because most people don't read them. Even so, I wrote a decent one at the coffee shop today and managed to send off my resume to another creative talent agency where I have an "in."

Lastly, David over at StoryLog picked up one of my posts from this blog. He's also got a bunch of other great stories from blogs, including Chuck, whom I link to over on the right. Take a few minutes to check him out.

My last post was picked up by Los Angeles MetBlogs. Thanks for the extra traffic guys, was quite a surprise. For those of you who don't know about Los Angeles MetBlogs, they are a great way to keep current of the happenings in Los Angeles from a first-person perspective. Right now, it's fires, Coachella, and the LA Times Book Fair. Several writers contribute and offer a great mix of perspectives of life in Los Angeles. For those of you who don't live here, it's a great way to see the city from a ground floor perspective from several sets of eyes. All in different ways than you have before. Jason Burns picked me up for his Monday Bullets feature. David Markland who also has a blog has also been kind enough to shoot me some linky love on LA Metro Blogs mentioning me and other bloggers who attended the Harry Potter Midnight Book Release.

Friday was my last day of work, and I'm looking forward to the time off. I hate last days, as they are awkward. My coworkers and boss took me to lunch, which I had been a ball of nerves about the entire week. I don't like "fusses" being made over me, but once we'd all sat down and ordered our food, I was ok. My contract was a six month contract, at which they hire a new copywriter to bring in the freshness. Sounds weird, but with the volume and repetitiveness of the work, it makes sense. Some people burn out sooner than that. I had become somewhat burned out, and the last month was very difficult. Mainly because we were going through a slow period which for a person like me who requires constant stimulation, is a energy kill. It makes me more tired to be less busy and I found if hard to get up in the mornings. It also affected my creativity. This last week was particularly hard, as I was at zero in my energy reserves. It was a great job though. I'll miss the people and I got some great work out of it. I will enjoy sleeping in tomorrow, oh yes.

During my time off I'll be looking for the next big gig. In the meantime, I've already started those home organization projects I've been meaning to do, have thrown more shit away and am looking for even more shit to toss. It's the classic symptoms anyone gets when they are suddenly looking at a lot of free time. Well, I should say those who normally work full-time jobs who suddenly have a lot of free time. The complete and utter turning of attention inward to my own projects, both organizational and creative. Then, in a month or so I get that work itch again which is just about right, as the search can take a while. It all depends on the demand. I hope I finish something of my own during the time. Since I'm not putting the do or die attitude that I used to toward my own projects, that's more likely to happen.

I mainly get it because I miss being in the presence of people, the work chatter and banter and the lives I get to learn about who are in this along with me. In my line of work, it's always fun to hear about people's personal endeavors. Just about everyone has them. It's the age old question, "So what do you do after school?" I love the myriad of answers I get.

Last week, after a very weird night out, Shannon and I sort of became the POH-lice. I'll get to that later, but it was just an ending to a night that was just all out weird. Last Saturday, we went out on a whim and ended up looking for places that had the right "vibe" where we could have a few drinks and enjoy the nightlife. It was the first warm night in months, and by warm I mean actually warm, where long-legged girls wearing slinky dresses weren't shivering in their stilettos as they waited for the doorman to unhook the velvet rope and let them in.

We weren't really dressed for that kind of night out because we weren't looking for it. We looked "expensive hip" but I wouldn't say either of us were pimping glamorous that night. For one, I had on pants. Not my shimmery designer pants, just black cigarette leg pants. Nice, but not glamorous. Shannon had on expensive jeans and a cool shirt with a neat stitched design in it. Great for 95% percent of the bars and clubs in LA. There's a point to me describing this, by the way.

We stopped at Bar Marmont, then decided to nix it after we found parking was $18. We had started our evening out late and just weren't into paying that much for parking for so little time. Plus, we didn't have reservations and like I said we weren't into nor dressed for doing the full bar thing. Bar Marmont is a bar right next to Chateau Marmont and has experienced a resurgence after reopening with a new owner and chef. We used to go there all the time during its first big wave and then noticed it wasn't "the place it was" for a while. Now, it's back. I remember it because it was the place where I experienced the consequences of mixing my drinks. Luckily, Shannon drove me home and I was able to hold it until then, but it was the sickest I ever remember being. Just miserable. Lesson learned. I haven't been back since then and at some point we'll return so that I can "slay that demon."

Honestly, I've never seen Sunset that busy, and there was just a lot of weirdness in the people going on. You could see the frenetic mood in their eyes. Crowds thronged outside every place and the tow trucks were out in force, towing those who parked at the metered parking on the street. We passed one car with Minnesota plates being hooked up.

"Their night's going to suck," I said, feeling for them. In Minnesota, I'm sure you can park on the street in the club area. Not on Sunset on the weekends. It will be a lesson they'll never forget. By trying to avoid paying $15 to park, they'll now be paying a couple hundred to get their car back. At least. I think I saw the two women who owned the car walking toward some of the hotter bars. They hadn't a chance in hell of getting in, with big, outdated hair, mom jeans, flip flops and Gap shirts. They were in their early to mid-twenties.

Shannon told me of a new place by Urth Caffe that might be just what we were looking for. I was game, so we drove away from Sunset to Melrose by Urth, carefully reading the the parking signs before leaving the car on the street. I asked Shannon the name of the place, and he said he couldn't remember. As we approached, we saw a large group standing on the corner, complete with two dogs who were with one of the men. When we got closer, we realized the group was the paparazzi.

"Fuck," Shannon said. "Private party?"

"We could always ask," I said.

So, we asked the paparazzi, who told us it wasn't. And this is where the funny part came in, and why I explained the way we were dressed. We approached the nameless club that had two well-dressed men standing outside, guarding the entrance. They asked us if we had reservations, and we told them we didn't. They told us they were full, and I asked if they could fit two in who were escaping the madness on Sunset. They were very nice to us, and explained to us that we had to have reservations. I asked them why the paparazzi was out there and one of the men said they were the hottest club on the West Coast at the moment. We said we thought it was a private party but were going to give it a chance. Honestly, the two men couldn't have been nicer, so we thanked them and left. On our way back to the car, I asked Shannon if he ever saw the name of the place. He finally remembered, and when he told me the name I burst out laughing.

HIM: What?

ME: We had no chance in hell of getting in there.

HIM: Why?

ME: Without reservations, you'd have to be Brad Pitt and I'd have to be Angelina Jolie. And we so aren't dressed for it.

HIM: Really?

ME: Yes. If you'd told me the name first, I would have told you to keep driving. You freaking crack me up, you took us to Villa!

HIM: I had no idea. (starts laughing)

To those of you who don't know, Villa is currently the number one most exclusive club to get into. That doorman was correct. They are indeed the hottest place on the West Coast at the moment. To those two doormen, we must have appeared like a couple of tourists from well, Minnesota. Okay, we weren't dressed like a couple from Minnesota, but our genuine looks of being absolutely clueless were probably what saved us from being told to sod off. Plus, we were polite and not obnoxious to the doormen.

We drove to El Carmen, a cool little bar where loud salsa music pounded through the place. It's a small-ish bar with a great selection of drinks and fantastic Mexican wrestler decor. Over 100 kinds of tequila were stacked against the walls, looking like a decadent temptation challenge for a recovering alcoholic. I had a cosmo of course and we decided the place was a little too loud for us after the first drink. It was a great place, just not what we were in the mood for. Of course, every now and then I'd start laughing again and say to Shannon, "We were DENIED at Villa!" Then he'd start laughing. I don't know, it just cracked me up.

Our next stop was Jones, another old standby. It turned out to be the winner. Perfect vibe, we sat on the comfy couches and had our drinks and conversation. When I was ordering drinks, a tipsy girl plopped herself down on Shannon's lap. I wish I'd seen it because I would have laughed. Two guys were next to Shannon, one whose pants were buckled beneath his butt and looked absolutely ridiculous, especially since his t-shirt was tucked into them. Shannon had been talking to them a bit before so the ice was broken. However, I couldn't take looking at the guy's pants anymore. I stood, walked up behind him, grabbed his belt with two hands and yanked up his pants. His friend and Shannon cracked up as I said, "You need to pull up those pants." He had that belt on so tight it was hard, but I got them halfway up. The guy was surprised but went with it. Turns out they were from Canada, having a night out in LA. I have a feeling that having a girl pull his pants up wasn't exactly the night the guy had imagined. Most likely he was hoping a girl would pull them in the opposite direction. He was a good sport about it though.

They made a good cosmo at Jones, and gave me the mini-shaker with the rest of my drink in it. Loved that. I kept refilling the smaller martini glass with the delicious cool, pink liquid. I've had several men, and I mean manly men, write me and tell me that because of this blog they've tried a cosmo. First of all, you guys rock and you're not alone. Second, rest easy as it's a drink that I've dubbed, coined from the commercial, that is "strong enough for a man, but made for a woman." All of you manly manly men, your manhood is still intact. Even more so for being able to stand there with the pink drink.

And that brings us to our last adventure of the night, when we were driving home and saw the truck weaving all over the road. It was a pick-up truck, dark blue and the driver was obviously drunk. People were steering clear and when the guy ran into the curb twice, Shannon and I knew what we had to do.

Cue "Mission Impossible" music here.

I took out my phone and dialed 911 as Shannon followed the guy. Being Los Angeles, I got the, "We're sorry, all operators are currently busy..."

No, I'm not kidding.

LA 911, you gotta fix that. Either get more operators or start fining the jackasses who call 911 for things like the time and directions $500 per infraction. Glad I wasn't being stabbed, shot, chased, hiding in a closet during a home invasion or had just discovered a shirtless drunk David Hasselhoff eating a hamburger in my house.

As the guy driving the car weaved in and out of lanes and stopped at traffic lights halfway into the intersection, Shannon easily stayed on him in his RX8. A 911 operator got on the phone just as we followed him into a gas station. I told the operator the information as he exited his car and stumbled over to the window to buy cigarettes. Shannon got out of the car and followed the driver, an Asian kid who looked barely 21, his outfit borrowed from his favorite rap video replete with a large silver chain around his neck. The kid turned to Shannon, all glassy-eyed and with slurred words, asked him if he was buying cigarettes too. Little did he know that the man behind him was there because he was trying to get him busted and off the road. As they stood there, I told the 911 operator all the details, including a description of the driver, the car and license plate number. After getting his cigarettes, because certainly he needed the distraction of smoking while driving on top of being drunk while driving, he turned around and walked back to the car. I told her he was getting back in to drive. He pulled away, and Shannon got back into the car and we peeled off after him.

However, When we turned onto the road, the truck was gone.

There was an entrance to the freeway right by the gas station, so I told the operator that he may have turned onto it. I heard her relaying the information to the cops and a few seconds later she told me that an officer was behind the truck. Fantastic. After hanging up with 911, we got on the freeway and sure enough, about a mile down, three cop cars had pulled the guy over and already had him out on the curb. Shannon and I high-fived each other when we saw it. Somehow he'd gotten onto Forest Lawn Drive but they'd found him or, when they pulled him over he drove over there. Well done, Burbank Police Department and California Highway Patrol. How they got on him that fast, I have no idea. When we had been at the gas station the 911 operator told me that a car was on its way there, so either they had anticipated him getting on the freeway or there was another officer who had been in the area and listening to the dispatch. Either way, that kid was going to jail that night and going to get a hard knocks lesson on not endangering others or himself like that. Shannon told me he saw a girl in the car with him at the gas station.

Mission Accomplished. This post will self destruct in five seconds.

I know, I know. Long time no postie.

It's been a hectic day today which has left me a bit "weird." I had to do a rush to get my taxes in, which always makes me ponder my tendency to procrastinate things like this. Truth is, I hate forms, paperwork and anything that makes no sense to me. I just don't get taxes, the deductions, terms or whatever and I chose to put it off. Even though everything was itemized, ready to go, I still found myself standing at my accountant's office begging to be taken in last minute. It was a no go, as they were just swamped but I had to try even after being turned down by telephone. I called Shannon, who has my same procrastination tendencies with this stuff, and he was able to hook me up with his accountant who was kind enough to take me in.

I hate it when I do things that require me to ask people to go above and beyond, due to my own laziness and idiocy. This sweet accountant, who did not have time to see me saw me anyway and helped me right my fuck up. My fuck up, being waiting until the 11th hour to do something that I just didn't want to do. However, in cases like this, there's a marked difference in how I ask, opposed to the customers I faced when I worked at a bookstore a few years ago in a part of Baltimore where common sense and culpability were rare. I owned my fuck up. I knew I was in this position because I put myself there and therefore was at the mercy of others. It was a rarity that someone came to me and said just that, instead of trying to turn their lack of planning into an emergency on my part. Some people were just nuts, and those I could actually deal with. I do okay with nuts. It's people who don't take responsibility for the last minute situation they've put themselves in and came in guns blazing, ready to bully and blame. Oh. Hell. No. It was those who showed respect and culpability who got my damnedest effort. Now, if you go into a retail or customer service situation and the person is an outright tool from the get go, then pull out the guns. But for Chrissakes let them demonstrate that they are a tool, first.

In my case, I completely owned it. I even said, "If you can't do it I'll cut my losses." And I meant it. I was ready to give up before they were. I won't go into details of what it was, but it was something I overlooked from a few years back that needed to be taken care of. Then, getting plenty of notification, and I mean plenty, I sat on it. Not getting it in by the 15th would cost me money. It was now or never, and I found out today by a fluke which was what sent me scrambling. I was willing to accept that. It wasn't life or death. It was just taxes. ;)

Because of my slacking, I won't reap the rewards I could have but I did better than had I decided to forfeit it. And I still feel guilty for even asking. Now, I can get things done like the next person and when shit hits the fan I can pull the plug and cut through it. However, when it's my mess that I made I just feel terrible asking someone to help me out of it. Even when I know they could have said no, like my accountant, and rightfully so. But, for some reason he offered me a hand.

Not only that, but was nice about it. And yes, it helped that I had Shannon call first and explain. But, that's part of the respect.

So, it's finished and yet I'm still thinking about it. Waves of guilt hit me and also bouts of feeling embarrassed that the irresponsible parts of me haven't been tamed just yet. However, unlike before I'm not beating myself up over it. Years ago, I would have. I'd have counted the ways that I was a loser and may have pulled out a few fists of hair. I have a lot of it, so it would be easy to hide the damage. This afternoon, I didn't do that. Like the fuck up, I also own the part of myself that brought me to this today. I know my procrastination doesn't sum me up as a whole and I'm working to improve it. Sometimes I win, some days, it wins.

But because I knew how to approach those who could help me and where to put it emotionally, even had I not achieved my goal...today would have been called a tie.