Bottle Rat Status: RETIRED

There are a lot of things that I don't want to do that I will do for my friends. Drive them to the airport at 4am, delete their ex from facebook. I would even help a friend who suspects she has lost a feminine product inside of her, because I know they would do (and HAVE done) all of those things for me. What I DON'T want to do is go to a Hollywood club.

I would have never in 2 million years thought I would ever utter those words. It seems I've come a long way from the young bottle rat* who landed in LA 8 years ago with big dreams and cubic zirconias dangling from her pierced belly button, which she exposed EVERYWHERE she went. (Yes, even at work. No, I was not a stripper... But I'm sure I could've fooled a few people.) I remember the days when my roommates and I would spend all of our money buying new outfits on Melrose so we could go to all the hot spots with our fake ID's that we bought from Alvarado Street, just to see Britney and Justin under the same roof post-breakup. (We were there the night of the infamous "dance-off," not a big deal.) So broke, we would order 1 Long Island Iced Tea and share it between the 3 of us until we found some suckers to buy us drinks. After parties in pools with married A-Listers (unknown to us.) Oh, Hollywood...

Maybe I grew out of clubbing 3 nights a week, maybe I've grown up, or maybe working at Hyde for 8 months and seeing how awful people who go out 3 or 4 nights a week are when you're on the other side of it really got to me. There seems to be a direct correlation between working there and when I became fed up. I think once you are handed a carafe full of vomit from a drunk slut without warning, the "fun" aspect of nightlife goes out the window. (Yes, that happened to me, because those things ONLY happen to me.)

Things I rather do these days: Happy Hour and pass out in my bed to questionable CW programming, terrorize kids with my affection, spend an evening at the Grove watching a movie and eating at the Cheesecake Factory. I'm happy to have retired my half-shirts to a new generation of bottle rats, and happy to be left with only stories that I can tell my grandchildren... Or sell to the tabloids.

*Bottle Rat- the girl(s) at the club waiting for guys to buy them drinks/bottles. (See picture above.)

I'd Like to Know Victoria's Secret.

I've always thought lingerie seems like a fun concept. It's been a really long time since I've come in contact with any which is one of the perks AND downfalls of being single for a VERY long time. (Perk: Saving a lot of money. Downfall: Slowly dying alone.)

I like lingerie, even though I don't really understand it. It makes sense in movies but I just don't understand how it works unless you are jumping out of a cake or wearing it before the recipient arrives at your destination. But if you and the person you are wearing it for are in the same place do you go to the bathroom to change? I guess it would be stupid to put it on in front of them. And are you supposed to wear high heels? So you come out of the bathroom all of a sudden in lingerie and heels and then you wear it for like 10 minutes or so? All of the logistics confuse me. I remember giving a friend of mine advice on this subject a few years ago when I knew things, but now I'm rusty and confused.

Anyway... I'm currently in the market for some lingerie (for reasons I'm not at liberty to discuss,) so I decided to make a trip to Victoria's Secret today. It was highly unsuccessful. I felt like I was 12 years old, shopping for my first bra.

First of all, they don't have as big of a selection as one would think unless you are a bride-to-be. I learned that the hard way. I saw the big section of white, lacy, pretty, girly white lingerie and thought "Spring!" "This seems like a good color for my skin tone." It would be... If the tags didn't say "I Do" on them. Good thing the sales girl in the dressing room asked me when the big day was. That was a lot of fun.

Also, the lighting in the dressing rooms is enough to give somebody an eating disorder.

In the future I will probably order from the catalogue so I can try it on in the privacy of my own home and skip the part where I try to hang myself with a garter.

Roses are red, Valentine's Day is stupid.

I've never been a fan of Valentine's Day. Not just because I'm bitter and I've been single for 6 years, I just don't like the pressure. If a girl comes home empty-handed to a a guy on Valentine's Day, it's all good in the hood. If a guy comes home empty-handed on Valentine's Day, HOLD ON TO YOU FUCKING HATS. That's not fair.

BTW... As I'm writing this, a uterine contraceptive commercial is playing.

Now a match.com commercial is playing. (True story. I swear on my birth control pill.)

Thanks, universe, I get it.

The moral of my story is that I'm happy as a clam. Is that a saying? I feel like I've heard it, but I'm not sure. It doesn't make sense, but I swear I've heard it.

I am really happy, though. I know people say that, and (truth be told,) I usually want to punch those people right in the larynx, but I really am. I look back on so many douchebags that I've dated. Guys that picked the rice off of their sushi (true story,) guys that wore really deep v-necks, and guys that weren't interested in sleeping with me (if you know what I mean.) Gross.

I get to have a wonderful life with people I love who make me smile and laugh and have adventures with. I'm really lucky. So Valentine's Day can take it's pre fix menus and shove them.

I'm gonna watch my questionable CW programming now. Goodnight.

AMBER ALERT!!!

I've never had a problem with getting older. I've always had older friends, dated older men (daddy issues.)
When I turned 25 and found my first gray hair, I plucked it out. When one hair became lots, I just kept (keep) plucking them out. No problem. I've always enjoyed getting older. Every year has always seemed to be better than the last. I appreciate myself more each year. I learn and grow more. I'm happy and healthy and grateful.

Well, now it seems my body is starting to turn on me. I take back everything I've ever said about embracing age.

This week my lower back decided to start acting like a bitch. I've been a runner for years and have never had any issues with my body. I used to dance and do gymnastics and have always been very very active. Now all of a sudden it feels like someone is constantly rubbing Icy Hot on my lower back for no reason. I got a massage and thought the problem was solved until Queen Latifah's girlfriend kicked my ass in the gym today.

Another awesome thing that happened was I thought my boobs were getting bigger which was really exciting... until I realized so was everything from the waist down. We're not in Kansas anymore. I can't eat cake 3 days in a row without consequences. (But I did it anyway this week.)

Even so, I can deal with all of that. I'm an adult, shit happens, I get it. But what really has me concerned is my potentially threatening case of BABY FEVER!!!!!!!

WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?????!!!!!!!!!!!!

I've been single for 6 years and up until last year, I was never really sure if I wanted kids. Let's just say  if I don't have kids in 5 years, I fear for the safety of other people's children. More that I already do. I feel so betrayed by my biological clock. How did this happen to me??? I'M SINGLE! I'm in no position to have a kid, so why the fuck is my body getting ridiculous ideas???! I used to think babies were so annoying. I used to cross my fingers every time I saw a baby come onto an airplane I was on, hoping and praying that it would be nowhere near me. It ALWAYS would be. Crying and screaming as I gave the parents dirty looks and set my alarm to take my birth control pill.

Now I can't stop creepily staring at EVERY BABY I SEE. Like "Hand That Rocks the Cradle" style. You know you're getting older when, at a party, you gravitate towards the babies instead of the cute guys. A baby threw up in my perfectly coifed curls recently and I could have cared less. I would let a baby throw shit like a monkey at me if it would make him/her love me. (Okay, maybe I took it a little too far with that last statement, but I probably would allow it.)

So basically this is a cry for help. In the words of Antoine Dodson, "hide yo kids."

I Will Never Be On 'Mad Men...' (and other short stories)

I know all of you 9 followers have been on the edge of your seats, waiting for my next blog entry. I'm sorry. I've been really busy doing things. I made my first New Year's resolution (which I'm failing miserably at.) I am resolving to keep a journal of my life, since apparently I don't remember things no matter how important (or not) they are, such as guys I've gone out with, which can really get awkward. Guess how many journal entries I've written in 25 days: 1. Awesome.  

Also, I turned 28 last week, which is really exciting because I enjoy getting older. No, really...I do. Mostly I just love having a birthday party. Fun fact: A certain young gentleman I know who wasn't able to make my party offered me an hour of oral sex to make up for it. Not sure what to do with that, but if anyone is interested I can ask him if it's transferrable.

I watched 'The King's Speech' the other night. Great movie. I really wish I could do a British accent, except I realized that probably won't be coming in handy for me... ever. I will never be cast as a British person which got me thinking something I have already thought about before. I will NEVER be on one of my favorite shows, Mad Men. Apparently they didn't have hispanic people back then. Even the housekeepers were not hispanic. Such an injustice.

Let me clean your house!!!!!!!!!

Merry Christmas! (I love my mom, I love my mom, I love my mom.)

If you've ever heard my stand-up or read my FB updates, you know my mom is a real special lady. If you've ever had the pleasure of meeting her, you know that bitch (and I mean that in the sweetest, daughterly way) is CA-RAY-ZYYYYYYYYYY! (I mean that in the most truthful, ADORING, grateful-for-life kind of way.)

She's in town for a week and staying with me. 7 days under the same roof. She smokes like a chimney and she seems to think that if she just sticks her head out on the patio, the smoke will all go outside. I'm going to have to Febreeze my fucking toilet paper after she leaves to get the smell of smoke out of this joint. (Thank God I live in a non-smoking building.)

Did I mention she collects fortunes from fortune cookies? Well, she does. I've found 3 in my bed, one on my nightstand, and I vacuumed a few up today. It's like a scavenger hunt just to get to the bathroom.

The most amazing part of this experience thus far is that she recently learned how to text. My mother does not own a computer, nor does she know how to work a television, much less a DVD player. That's not an exaggeration. Every time I get a text from her I laugh because I can't believe my eyes. After 2 years of getting texts from her that read like this "jjjjjjjjyyyyyyyyyyy mommmmmmmmm," I bought her a phone with a full keyboard and now her texts not only make sense, but there are no spelling errors! VICTORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 She's spent all day sending all her Xmas texts to all her friends and I was so proud of her until I heard her cursing up a storm in the next room. She finally came over and asked me how to text numbers. So I showed her. I also showed her how to use word guess and it was as if she just found out a man walked on the moon. The joy on her face was like a kid on Christmas morning...if the kid was an alcoholic with really strong opinions. She was like "WHAT?! HOW DO COMPUTERS KNOW SO MUCH????!!!!! IT'S AMAZING!"

Things only went downhill from there because the next sentence out of her mouth was "Word not in dictionary?! FUCK YOU!" Then she got pissed and started saying that computers were "Outer space creatures" and "how do they know what you're saying?! It's freaky!" And stormed out of the room.

There's always next Christmas...

It's time to start drinking.
(I love my mom, I love my mom...)

If These Refrigerator Walls Could Talk

...They would simply say, "Hey assholes, can you just do us all a favor and pull the plug?'

My New Year's resolution is going to be to try to keep a fridge that doesn't look like it belongs in a frat or crack house. I mean, seriously. Let's review, shall we?
The top shelf is ANYTHING but.
Aside from the very vital and very necessary Brita that makes our water taste like blueberry vodka for some reason, we've got 3 week old cherry tomatoes, coffee creamer, a jar of dill pickels, and a bouquet of chocolate-covered strawberries that was sent to me from a very sweet friend. (That bouquet is probably the only redeeming quality this fridge has...+10 points.) If you can see behind all this, you might notice a tin of egg nog that my mother bought last holiday season when she was in town. Lucky for us, the bottle and a half of Jack Daniels she put in the first batch was enough to keep her from making the second batch. Enough said.

I think the second shelf speaks for itself. Taco Bell, Chinese take-out, old celery. -55 points.

The third shelf is awesome for one reason only: The single yam sitting on the bottom right-hand corner. That was an impulse purchase. I was at Ralph's and saw this individually wrapped yam and thought, "I could just put that in the microwave and eat it with something!"
(Or I could let it sit in my refrigerator for 3 1/2 weeks.) Fail. -725 points.

I'm gonna stop now because I'm starting to get depressed. You get the idea. I would say "no wonder i'm single" but the truth is, I won't even let a man pour himself a glass of blueberry vodka-flavored Brita water around here.

Gatica Out.