Meh

Has butterbaby run out of steam for good? Nothing to say, eh? Cats got your tongue? Come on, say something? But all is quiet on the Western front. No Armenians to make fun of. Chocolate truffle is not misbehaving. The lawyer gives me compliments. The diner lady is not worthy anymore after she adamently told me that she refuses to make grilled cheese anymore. Not enough money in it. Hubby is cool behind his wizard beard and hipster striped shirt. And little old me wallows in depression like a motherfucker without my mojo. Meh.

Cinna-Buns

There's a bag of Cinnabon toast rotting at the bottom of the hill that is our backyard. I hurtled it there after A. told me that's how Kirstie Alley got fat. It wasn't so much this simply fact, which he gleaned while sitting in the bathroom, reading one of N's tabloids. It is because he was comparing me to her. Basically calling me "Kirstie Alley trainwreck fat." I suppressed a few tears. Then I hurtled the toast as hard as I could. Thing is, I had never even heard of Cinnabon toast until I had some that very morning at B's house with a hardboiled egg and a cup of coffee. Such a fat fest of a breakfast, I know.

White Lies

You know you have PMS when driving around Pasadena, crying to various White Lies songs (To Lose My Life) and regretting not being nicer to a certain cool Russian Dad who now lives in York (not ON York, alas, but in England). Except that being nicer could have meant all kinds of things I wasn't ready for. But still I cannot turn that frown upside down.

He said to lose my life or lose my love,
That's the nightmare I've been running from.
So let me hold you in my arms a while,
I was always careless as a child.
And there's a part of me that still believes,
My soul will soar above the trees.
But a desperate fear flows through my blood,
That our dead loves buried beneath the mud.

--- To Lose My Life, White Lies

I Want My "Hm, Like, Duh" TV

I'm so glad I grew up with MTV and music videos. Kids these days think it's all about the "Situation," Snooki and her Pouf. I actually was fortunate to see Joan Jett and Depeche Mode and Prince and ZZ Top and Motley Cru and all the horrible-wonderful 80s bands. Today, MTV announced it dropped the Music Television" from its logo. The era has been dead for a long time, but this is the final nail in the coffin. Sorry, couldn't resist all the clichés.

Semaine Terrible

No, no, no, I will not make jokes about Haiti. I spent 20 minutes crying in my car after doing a shot of wheat grass this morning, listening to Amy Goodman interview survivors. And this, after I had carefully applied a smudged eye in preparation for the international male model who, for some inexplicable reason, wanted to interview for an editorial internship. And then I talked to my Dad who had discovered my blog. Truly, a terrible week.

Death, but why, Ms. Dickinson?

Blogging about trivial gripes like the way people park at Starbucks is positively blasphemous while people in Haiti are dying. And yet the world turns. I shop at Trader Joe's. I watch the season premiere of 24. I worry about Milan's fever and my stomach flu and losing a friend. And I covet a necklace I saw on Daily Candy. Nothing to do with the universal suffering, but I'm entering a gothic face: taxidermied ravens, bird bones, crystal balls and medieval illustrations of bugs. Maybe it's dissociation.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

Go ahead. Make yourself feel better. Take a look at: http://www.lisasoltis.com

Frenemies

A. calls me out of the blue (i.e. heroin addiction recovery) and says he wants to be friends again but in order to do so I need to personally invite N. as well to make her feel comfortable and important and basically cater to her and not make her feel like a second class citizen. Then he says I can only call him during emergencies, Wed. through Friday from 6pm-11pm; otherwise A. has to call him. And once, ten years ago or whatever I supposedly made fun of her last name, saying it's German, as if that were such a horrible thing. And I recall many many instances when I went out of my way to invite both A and N, always using plural on the answer machine. But as I just told him, I don't have the energy to put up with the foibles of an insecure adult person (I have a toddler) and I cannot live by rules such as only calling during certain times of the week at certain times. I mean who can keep track of such shit? And A. said, well, maybe that means that we'll be seeing less of each other... when really, I haven't seen in him in probably four months. So I hung up on him. I will never forget the time he facilitated getting me out of the psych ward and holding me all night when I was too scared to live, and visiting him when he was in a coma, and we have a lot of history together... This is so very sad. But I just don't have the energy for it.

Res Ipsa Loquitur

I., who is Russian and from Great Britain, was very excited today when he told me that he discovered a cool radio station here. I knew right away which one he meant. Duh. Indie 103.1. At that point neither one of us knew of the terrible fact that today was Indie's last day on the airwaves. They didn't make it because they played too much good music, stuff like Gang of Four, Sonic Youth, Belle and Sebastian, all kinds of punk and new wave and true indie music like Amazing Baby and Darker My Love. But there are too many motherfuckers out there who prefer Beyonce and Kanye and Britney. 'Tis a sad day in American history. Another nail in the fucking coffin. Even an urban sprawl like LA is populated by idiots with horrible taste. I find it hard to believe that there are so few of us that we cannot even keep an alternative radio station alive.