911 In Plane Site
Oh dear. I want to see this documentary.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Chillin' like a Villian
I have an important job interview coming up this week. It was important enough (to me) to merit a new interview outfit (procured from THE GAP and the Juniors department of Robinsons-May... let me just tell you how excited I was to purchase items that FIT ME from THE GAP and the Juniors department of Robinsons-May.... I had to suck up my very pride to even walk into THE GAP and there found that I wasn't actually looked at funny AND found a friggin' shirt ... then... I was unstoppable and boldly pranced into the Juniors department of Robinson's May!)
Not only a new outfit but I decided I also needed new hair highlights (and a trim, more importantly, to get rid of my split ends).
You must understand (for the rest of this story)... that I was traumatized at a young age by a certain Asian hair-stylist in Santa Monica (who now has her own salon near the Third-Street Promenade). She was my grandmother's favorite stylist. Once, when I was in my grandmother's care and probably about 8 or 9 years old, she Shanghaied me into this salon where Shoo-Pin (what we will call her) listened to what my grandmother wanted and proceeded to comb out all of my cute little girl curls (she called them cow-licks) and gave me a boy-cut. (And for reasons beyond my understanding I was taken to Shoo-Pin on more than this one occasion. And my mother later chose Shoo-Pin as her personal stylist before finally realizing that Shoo never listened to her and she finally, only recently, escaped from this relationship.)
So I have a complex about hair-stylists and salons and for many many many many years avoided them at ALL costs and if I HAD to go I would actually go through some post-traumatic drama and tear up whenever in the shampoo sink. (My complex being that the stylist was not going to listen to what I wanted and was going to give me some horrible horrible haircut.)
BUT last year I conquered this fear and found a little salon in Monrovia where my stylist was more than helpful, listened to all my needs, made wonderful suggestions and gave me the best haircut I've ever had in my life. (I've since attempted to maintain it on my own which requires a lot of hair-care learning that I've never previously bothered to figure out.)
So I figured I'd go to "my" salon yesterday for this needed cut but found them to be unavailable. This put me into a downward emotional spiral as I realized that I was only going to be OKAY if MY stylist cut my hair and did my highlights!!! I could NOT get my highlights from some non-English-speaking-non-Erin-understanding person at SuperCuts or Fantastic Sams. What was I to do???? I decided to browse through a local mailer and found a coupon for a place on the cute little old-town street here. I called, they had availability, I went in. I figured they weren't a chain store and they were on the cute street so maybe they'd be OK.
Now Blanca seemed like a decent person but she gave me some big chunky too-light highlights, dyed dark the old decent highlights and gave me a trim that left me looking like a Super Mario mushroom.
In a panic I went home and found the hair dye I knew I had under the sink - Black Cherry - and applied it to all of the too too blonde-ish highlights. So now I have lots of purple streaks throughout my darker dark-brown hair and look like a Disney villianess.
Luckily my new outfit is a black suit with a purple blouse. (However, the at-ease summery professional thing I was attempting has now become psycho goth girl.)
(In Epilogue - I also apparently missed a whole section in the back, had to buy a new box of Black Cherry and re-dyed everything including the missed back portion.)
BEFORE:
AFTER:
Not only a new outfit but I decided I also needed new hair highlights (and a trim, more importantly, to get rid of my split ends).
You must understand (for the rest of this story)... that I was traumatized at a young age by a certain Asian hair-stylist in Santa Monica (who now has her own salon near the Third-Street Promenade). She was my grandmother's favorite stylist. Once, when I was in my grandmother's care and probably about 8 or 9 years old, she Shanghaied me into this salon where Shoo-Pin (what we will call her) listened to what my grandmother wanted and proceeded to comb out all of my cute little girl curls (she called them cow-licks) and gave me a boy-cut. (And for reasons beyond my understanding I was taken to Shoo-Pin on more than this one occasion. And my mother later chose Shoo-Pin as her personal stylist before finally realizing that Shoo never listened to her and she finally, only recently, escaped from this relationship.)
So I have a complex about hair-stylists and salons and for many many many many years avoided them at ALL costs and if I HAD to go I would actually go through some post-traumatic drama and tear up whenever in the shampoo sink. (My complex being that the stylist was not going to listen to what I wanted and was going to give me some horrible horrible haircut.)
BUT last year I conquered this fear and found a little salon in Monrovia where my stylist was more than helpful, listened to all my needs, made wonderful suggestions and gave me the best haircut I've ever had in my life. (I've since attempted to maintain it on my own which requires a lot of hair-care learning that I've never previously bothered to figure out.)
So I figured I'd go to "my" salon yesterday for this needed cut but found them to be unavailable. This put me into a downward emotional spiral as I realized that I was only going to be OKAY if MY stylist cut my hair and did my highlights!!! I could NOT get my highlights from some non-English-speaking-non-Erin-understanding person at SuperCuts or Fantastic Sams. What was I to do???? I decided to browse through a local mailer and found a coupon for a place on the cute little old-town street here. I called, they had availability, I went in. I figured they weren't a chain store and they were on the cute street so maybe they'd be OK.
Now Blanca seemed like a decent person but she gave me some big chunky too-light highlights, dyed dark the old decent highlights and gave me a trim that left me looking like a Super Mario mushroom.
In a panic I went home and found the hair dye I knew I had under the sink - Black Cherry - and applied it to all of the too too blonde-ish highlights. So now I have lots of purple streaks throughout my darker dark-brown hair and look like a Disney villianess.
Luckily my new outfit is a black suit with a purple blouse. (However, the at-ease summery professional thing I was attempting has now become psycho goth girl.)
(In Epilogue - I also apparently missed a whole section in the back, had to buy a new box of Black Cherry and re-dyed everything including the missed back portion.)
BEFORE:
AFTER:
Fixation Update
About two or three weeks ago a girl introduced herself to me on one of those social networking sites. I don't remember why or how we got on the topic but we began discussing chick singers (I think it was in response to that Anna Nalick "Breathe" song that I was obsessing over on aforementioned social networking site). So she decided that I also needed to learn of more new (to me) chick singers and she mailed me a 4 CD mix of music. Glee! I enjoy packages and music mixes even more! But now it was a challenge. Her fourth CD was all music that had "Rain" in the title so I decided her return mix must have a theme. I decided upon "Around the World" and chose songs such as "Walk Like An Egyptian," "Kokomo," "La Isla Bonita," "One Night in Bangkok," "That's the Night that the Lights Went Out in Georgia" and etc..
But NO... I couldn't end there! I also decided to see her Rain bet and Call (which is what I also, cleverly, titled this second mix). This next CD included hits like "Blame it on the Rain" (Milli Vanilli) and "Rain" (Madonna). (Both of which I was amazed she had overlooked to begin with).
So - the point is - CURRENT FIXATION: CD Theme Mixes
(I'm already planning my next one... "Songs That SO Made That Movie"... which will include titles such as "Take My Breath Away" by Berlin and "Invincible" by Pat Benatar.)
But NO... I couldn't end there! I also decided to see her Rain bet and Call (which is what I also, cleverly, titled this second mix). This next CD included hits like "Blame it on the Rain" (Milli Vanilli) and "Rain" (Madonna). (Both of which I was amazed she had overlooked to begin with).
So - the point is - CURRENT FIXATION: CD Theme Mixes
(I'm already planning my next one... "Songs That SO Made That Movie"... which will include titles such as "Take My Breath Away" by Berlin and "Invincible" by Pat Benatar.)
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Long sleeves
I am no longer sportin' my flourescent pink arm bandages... though Miriam has deemed that I am required to wear long sleeves because the arm where the vein "blew" has this big horrible foul-looking bruise. Of course I took a picture. I shall spare you the picture. (Though if I know you I may show you in person.)
sheez
It's 4:38am. Miriam and I have just returned from a trip to 7-11 and then a re-route to AM-PM (because 7-11 didn't have the required energy drink). Miriam graduates from college tomorrow... unless I don't finish her final project tonight.
Saturday, June 18, 2005
That's so Erin!
Donating blood at Cedars-Sinai is so stylish! Jump on my band-wagon.
Plus they give you a Coffee Bean certificate... (and if they can't find your vein either, they'll give you TWO AMC movie tickets - one for each arm!)
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Dad's day
In honor of Father's Day I will now share the story of my conversation with my father last Friday night at Sizzler.
(First you must understand that my Dad finds fault with almost every human invention and thinks that it could be "better" or at least not "made wrong.")
Dad: I don't know why they have so many words. It doesn't make any sense. Some languages make sense but English doesn't. They should have just one word for each thing. And in other languages your pronunciation may mean your life.
(Erin smiles.)
Dad: No, I'm serious. I had a friend in college who went to Africa with one of the professors and had to learn the language of the bush men there. It was a series of clicks and whistles and sounds and the word for "friend" and the word for "enemy" was very similar. He could have been killed if he'd mis-pronounced it. They shouldn't have words like that! One word for each meaning is the way it should be!
Erin: So language was made wrong?
(Dad smiles at the inside joke.)
Dad: Yes! They should go through the Dictionary and pull out all the words that mean the same thing and just pick one and throw the rest out.
Erin: Don't you think it would be a lot easier if they started with the Thesaurus?
(This would have been funnier if I then hadn't had to explain what a Thesaurus was. Once I did explain it, he agreed. Use the Thesaurus, pick out one good word, throw the rest away - boom - no need to even have a Thesaurus!)
(First you must understand that my Dad finds fault with almost every human invention and thinks that it could be "better" or at least not "made wrong.")
Dad: I don't know why they have so many words. It doesn't make any sense. Some languages make sense but English doesn't. They should have just one word for each thing. And in other languages your pronunciation may mean your life.
(Erin smiles.)
Dad: No, I'm serious. I had a friend in college who went to Africa with one of the professors and had to learn the language of the bush men there. It was a series of clicks and whistles and sounds and the word for "friend" and the word for "enemy" was very similar. He could have been killed if he'd mis-pronounced it. They shouldn't have words like that! One word for each meaning is the way it should be!
Erin: So language was made wrong?
(Dad smiles at the inside joke.)
Dad: Yes! They should go through the Dictionary and pull out all the words that mean the same thing and just pick one and throw the rest out.
Erin: Don't you think it would be a lot easier if they started with the Thesaurus?
(This would have been funnier if I then hadn't had to explain what a Thesaurus was. Once I did explain it, he agreed. Use the Thesaurus, pick out one good word, throw the rest away - boom - no need to even have a Thesaurus!)
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
When I grow up...
... I want to be Libby Gelman-Waxner.
Here's another moment where I feel a little behind the times. But I shall explain...
At some point I realized that the only way I was going to read the magazines I subscribed to was to put them in the bathroom. Originally I had considered this something that was a little too trashy to do but then I realized the genius of it. Not only would I read the occasional article - but the magazine would get all warpy due to the humidity in the room and I would NOT want to keep it out of guilt and preservation. (I still have boxes full of old magazines that I intend to sell on eBay.)
SO.. I finally started reading my PREMIERE magazines and discovered Libby Gelman-Waxner's articles. They always look like something I'm going to glance over, finding the topic not particularly interesting, but I read and laugh and consider writing a letter to the editor to tell them to "keep this Libby chick!" Then I proceed to forget about her existence until the next time I stumble across another of her articles.
Today I laughed and brought the article to my computer to quote my favorite portion of her commentary on BEAUTY SHOP:
"Most of Latifah's employees are black, and whenever one of the stylists made an especially satisfying wisecrack, the audience yelled, "Girl!" This has become such a common response that I've started using it in bed when I have an orgasm, and my husband is very confused. When he asked me to stop calling him "girl," I just did three snaps and declared, "I will if I want, bitch!"
So then I googled Mrs. Gelman-Waxner and found out she has a book published full of her PREMIERE articles already! I'm behind! AND then I found out that she's a boy... named Paul... and he writes screenplays like IN & OUT. And I'm no longer sure how I feel.... about Paul.
Here's another moment where I feel a little behind the times. But I shall explain...
At some point I realized that the only way I was going to read the magazines I subscribed to was to put them in the bathroom. Originally I had considered this something that was a little too trashy to do but then I realized the genius of it. Not only would I read the occasional article - but the magazine would get all warpy due to the humidity in the room and I would NOT want to keep it out of guilt and preservation. (I still have boxes full of old magazines that I intend to sell on eBay.)
SO.. I finally started reading my PREMIERE magazines and discovered Libby Gelman-Waxner's articles. They always look like something I'm going to glance over, finding the topic not particularly interesting, but I read and laugh and consider writing a letter to the editor to tell them to "keep this Libby chick!" Then I proceed to forget about her existence until the next time I stumble across another of her articles.
Today I laughed and brought the article to my computer to quote my favorite portion of her commentary on BEAUTY SHOP:
"Most of Latifah's employees are black, and whenever one of the stylists made an especially satisfying wisecrack, the audience yelled, "Girl!" This has become such a common response that I've started using it in bed when I have an orgasm, and my husband is very confused. When he asked me to stop calling him "girl," I just did three snaps and declared, "I will if I want, bitch!"
So then I googled Mrs. Gelman-Waxner and found out she has a book published full of her PREMIERE articles already! I'm behind! AND then I found out that she's a boy... named Paul... and he writes screenplays like IN & OUT. And I'm no longer sure how I feel.... about Paul.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Cousin Update
Since Sunday my autistic second cousin has sent me several e-mails (I know she's a "second" cousin because of a "how to figure out what kind of relative you are" chart that they passed out). She's averaging about 3-4 e-mails a day which all generally say the same thing. Sometimes she just types the same thing over again (and its not cut and pasted because there are slight differences). Sometimes she recaps Sunday (i.e. "Remember when I sat next to you and when you helped me get my dinner?") Sometimes she just asks for my phone number (which I don't know how to avoid giving her since she's asking for it 3 times a day). Sometimes she e-mails the message to my mother or from her father's e-mail. I've even had e-mails come that she's sent to my great-aunt about me, who then forwarded it to my mother, who then forwarded it to me.
I have a stalker cousin.
Here's an example of an e-mail:
"Can you send me your phone number so I call you
sometime soon and here is mine if you want it I know
you want it xxx-xxx-xxxx call me sometime soon
and I will call you sometime soon okay you are so
my best friend right now seriously Erin you rock
my world and I love you so much and you love me too
I was very glad I got to sit with you at your table and I
didn't have to sit next to my annoying brother "
I have a stalker cousin.
Here's an example of an e-mail:
"Can you send me your phone number so I call you
sometime soon and here is mine if you want it I know
you want it xxx-xxx-xxxx call me sometime soon
and I will call you sometime soon okay you are so
my best friend right now seriously Erin you rock
my world and I love you so much and you love me too
I was very glad I got to sit with you at your table and I
didn't have to sit next to my annoying brother "
Why I Hate Kids
So I was in Jiffy Lube trying not to enjoy the two little kids that were playing (a little toe-headed boy, almost two according to his mom, and a little blonde girl (just two) according to her dad). They met in the Jiffy Lube waiting room. They immediately bonded. It was obvious they were destined to grow up and fall in love and later in heaven they would rewind to this chance meeting in the Jiffy Lube waiting room when they were two and BOUNCING.
The little boy thought bouncing and jumping would be a good idea so he started jumping up and down and giggling. The little girl thought this looked like fun so she started jumping up and down too. Then they jumped while watching each other jumping up and down. Then they laughed and showed their respective parents that they were jumping up and down. Then the little boy started snorting like a pig which made everybody giggle and the girl giggle... all while jumping up and down.
Then... the little girl attempted a sideways jump towards the direction of her father, landed with one foot on the other, tripped herself and fell over. Then there was that moment ... that pause.. when you don't know if the kid is going to stand up again and continue jumping or cry. She elected to scream-cry. She also looked at the happy little boy and screamed at him with utter hatred in her voice..
"WHY DID YOU DOOOO IT??!?!?!?"
More scream-crying. The little boy stood staring at her.. stunned... obviously thinking, "WTF?"
The little girl's dad said, "Honey, you did that all by yourself. He didn't do it." But I don't believe she was convinced. Then their friendship was over. Their destiny shattered. All because she fell that two feet to the floor.
Kids... they have that power to rip out your heart with their horrible horrible hatred and pain.
The little boy and his mom eventually left. She wouldn't look at him as he attempted to say good bye. She cheered up after she left and decided to harass the other mother in the room who was breast-feeding her baby.
I continued to pretend to read the local newspaper.
The little boy thought bouncing and jumping would be a good idea so he started jumping up and down and giggling. The little girl thought this looked like fun so she started jumping up and down too. Then they jumped while watching each other jumping up and down. Then they laughed and showed their respective parents that they were jumping up and down. Then the little boy started snorting like a pig which made everybody giggle and the girl giggle... all while jumping up and down.
Then... the little girl attempted a sideways jump towards the direction of her father, landed with one foot on the other, tripped herself and fell over. Then there was that moment ... that pause.. when you don't know if the kid is going to stand up again and continue jumping or cry. She elected to scream-cry. She also looked at the happy little boy and screamed at him with utter hatred in her voice..
"WHY DID YOU DOOOO IT??!?!?!?"
More scream-crying. The little boy stood staring at her.. stunned... obviously thinking, "WTF?"
The little girl's dad said, "Honey, you did that all by yourself. He didn't do it." But I don't believe she was convinced. Then their friendship was over. Their destiny shattered. All because she fell that two feet to the floor.
Kids... they have that power to rip out your heart with their horrible horrible hatred and pain.
The little boy and his mom eventually left. She wouldn't look at him as he attempted to say good bye. She cheered up after she left and decided to harass the other mother in the room who was breast-feeding her baby.
I continued to pretend to read the local newspaper.
Poor Baby
I'm watching a little segment of Oprah where they are talking about a couple that met and got married out of their participation on Extreme Makeover. She had a big nose. He had a big nose and big ears. Now they're all fixed up, married and she's pregnant.
I hope they don't think their extreme make-overs will translate to their baby.... because it won't. They're gonna have a funky lookin' kid.
I hope they don't think their extreme make-overs will translate to their baby.... because it won't. They're gonna have a funky lookin' kid.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Weekend/Last Class
I spent the weekend in Buena Park at the "ABS" Reunion with family I've never met, family who aren't my family and family I knew. I met a few interesting "cousins," spent some interesting time with the obsessed autistic cousin and missed out on a few opportunities because I wasn't bold enough to introduce myself to other cousins. I have a few interesting stories about the weekend that I'll post later.
Monday night was the last Creative Writing class and I am saddened by my loss... this means I'll have no more looming assignment deadlines with which to finish stuff. I, of course, got an A. Strangely, one of the teacher's comments was that I was generous with my contributions to the class. If you had ever taken a class with me previously, you'd know that I never contribute in class. I always had those teachers that threatened to grade down if you didn't participate... but I never did and they never graded me down. So I called every teacher on their bluff. I figured... I'm getting an A anyway... if I get an A- I won't give a crud. BUT... they'd just add a comment to a paper or somehow suggest that they "wished I'd talk once in a while." BUT ... it all turned around this time and I did contribute in class. Mostly in the full class workshops in which my comments were mind-expanding and eye-opening! I contributed and I contributed amazingly! AND... I became well-known for my amazing comments on drafts and was thanked many times by various students for the plot holes I dug up and improvement suggestions I suggested. I should maybe consider a career in story-editing! (But not plain ol' editing because I CAN'T STAND ... CAN'T STAND ... peer-editing for language/grammar/punctuation.) (I was so frustrated, in fact, by Chemmy's latest draft of a vampire horror chapter in his sociopathic novella.. that I just wrote "This needs to be edited on a sentence by sentence basis" instead of making the language/grammar/punctuation marks on his paper.)
The teacher told us that he'd be taking a playwriting class this summer and that it might be fun if a few of us joined him. I'm thinking about it (and the Tony Awards were on on Sunday and I was thinking about playwriting so that's synchronicity!).
Monday night was the last Creative Writing class and I am saddened by my loss... this means I'll have no more looming assignment deadlines with which to finish stuff. I, of course, got an A. Strangely, one of the teacher's comments was that I was generous with my contributions to the class. If you had ever taken a class with me previously, you'd know that I never contribute in class. I always had those teachers that threatened to grade down if you didn't participate... but I never did and they never graded me down. So I called every teacher on their bluff. I figured... I'm getting an A anyway... if I get an A- I won't give a crud. BUT... they'd just add a comment to a paper or somehow suggest that they "wished I'd talk once in a while." BUT ... it all turned around this time and I did contribute in class. Mostly in the full class workshops in which my comments were mind-expanding and eye-opening! I contributed and I contributed amazingly! AND... I became well-known for my amazing comments on drafts and was thanked many times by various students for the plot holes I dug up and improvement suggestions I suggested. I should maybe consider a career in story-editing! (But not plain ol' editing because I CAN'T STAND ... CAN'T STAND ... peer-editing for language/grammar/punctuation.) (I was so frustrated, in fact, by Chemmy's latest draft of a vampire horror chapter in his sociopathic novella.. that I just wrote "This needs to be edited on a sentence by sentence basis" instead of making the language/grammar/punctuation marks on his paper.)
The teacher told us that he'd be taking a playwriting class this summer and that it might be fun if a few of us joined him. I'm thinking about it (and the Tony Awards were on on Sunday and I was thinking about playwriting so that's synchronicity!).
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Discovery
Tonight I found Miriam's super secret website! She's hidden it from me all these years! The bitch!
Miam Sex Miam
Miam Sex Miam
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