The Adnostic

I hate moving. I really, really, really hate moving. But, I despise commuting, so moving it is and may Craig's List be my faithful guide.

If I were just looking for a place to live, it would be easy. All I would have to do is find a reasonably priced, well maintained vintage apartment close to where I work; but I want to save money on rent and put it towards a horse of my very own, so I'm looking for a roommate too and that makes it all the more complicated. I have to find someone I can enjoy living with for at least a few years and that's tough because I'm not the kind of person that can get along with just anybody.

So I looked at eight places in the last three days and I'm about to look at two more tonight, and from this limited sample size I have made the following conclusions:
A) The apartment is amazing, but the roommate is annoying, needy, and will not shut the hell up or it isn't available until August.
B) The roommates are amazing, but the room is the size of a shoebox.

I'm trying to keep my focus on the roommates because I can deal with a small room, but there's no way I can handle an annoying roommate. Then again, I have to remind myself that I don't have to settle. I've already paid for July's rent at my current place, Jen isn't in any hurry to find my replacement, and I'm finally in a position that I can actually afford something nice.

Patience is a virtue that does not come naturally to me, but I think I better make myself a quick study or end up with a place I hate or a roommate I want nothing to do with.

People who baby-talk to their unfixed Chihuahuas need not apply.

Can we open the bottle now?
No Jen. Not yet.
How about now?
No Jen. Soon, but not now.
Now?
Yes Jen. NOW!!!!

I have been looking for a new job for over a year and half, and was just about to crack and break under the force of the endless series of rejections. I'm serious, it was really awful. Friends and family would compliment me on how resilient I was being, but it's not like I really had a choice. I couldn't stay where I was and keep making entry level pay. I just had to stay the course and hope that the next one would see beyond what I'm doing presently and understand my potential.

It was a really hard sell and it wasn't going well at all. Over and over again I heard people say, "You seem really smart, too bad you're so inexperienced." I would walk away from interviews I could not have handled any better with those words ringing in my ears, and the worst part about it, was that it was a criticism I couldn't do anything about. As long as I was in my current job, I was never going to get the experience they were looking for.

Then about a month and a half ago I applied for an Interactive Account Planner's position on a whim, figuring it would be a great job, but they would never even call me for an interview. Let this be a lesson to you kids - it never hurts to give things you may feel are beyond your reach a shot, because miracles do occur and the ad agency's HR department gave me a call to schedule a phone interview.

After a phone interview, two in person interviews, a few blatant grovels in front of my potential boss, a phone call from an ex-colleague and a week of parent company transfer negotiations I suddenly have a job. And not just any job, the perfect job.

In my new position I'll be applying my (medium) market research know how, my (small) account planning experience, and my (enormous) passion for the web to aid a lot of big name clients to improve brand awareness and retention.

My friend Gary always thought my problem in interviews was that I was too honest, but that meant that when I finally did get a job it would be perfect for me because I wasn't BSing anybody. I usually hate it when he's right, but not this time.

Now Jen can crack open that bottle of Frogs Leap Zinfandel that she's been saving since her trip to Napa specifically for this occasion. She's overly optimistic like that.

Yes Jen, now.

Same weekend, but now it's Sunday. My day to clean the house and get the small stuff done. Hollywood calls mid-day and asks what I'm doing that night.

This makes it three nights in a row! For me, that's unheard of. What kind of loser wants to see me three nights in a row? I just met this guy last Friday! I'm a little unnerved by his overwhelming attentions, but I'm not really doing anything that night, so I agree to make the drive to LA to revisit the scene of the crime - The Lava Lounge.

I walk in pretty much on time, and true to form, he's late and it's Karaoke Night. If he was thinking romance, he missed by miles.

After ruminating over the song list (and finding maybe two songs I thought were worth singing) and a couple drinks, the call of nature urged me towards the bathroom which I obliged due to lack of choice in the matter.

On the way, I was pulled aside by the woman who will forever be known to me as the Queen of the Rednecks.
Queenie: Hi! You're purty. My friend, Steve here, is having a horrible time tonight. Will you flirt with him?
Me: Um, thanks, but I'm kind of here with someone, so I really shouldn't.
(I have never been more grateful to be on a date in my life.)
Queenie: Oh, that's too bad. I really like you. You seem so down to earth. [She proceeds to introduce me to her redneck entourage] You're so purty and so down to earth.
Me: Well, I've got to use the facilities, so if you'll excuse me..

I was sitting with Hollywood, going over the song list when the Queen spotted me.
Queenie: Is this your boyfriend?
Me: No! We just started going out.
Queenie: Well, are you an item?
Me: Uh, yes. Yes, we're an "item." That will work.
Queenie: Well I'm really sorry about what I asked you to do back there. I didn't know you were with someone.

Hollywood, Queenie, and I shout back and forth at one another before I realize the MC is calling my name. It's my turn to sing "Venus" by Bananarama. Yes, I am fully aware of my lack of shame, there is no need to rub it in or dwell on the matter. So just keep reading.

Hollywood goes up next to sing "Roadhouse Blues" by the Doors with a rich gravelly voice and perfect execution. I've got to admit, the man can really work a microphone.

I turn over to soda water while Hollywood continues his binge of Jack over ice. To his credit, he doesn't get sloppy drunk, just blissfully over-buzzed.

Suddenly, Queenie is in front of us again. Only this time, thankfully, she is giving us her goodbyes and well wishes. Well, more like shouting them with brute force.
Queenie: And my niece, OotieCutiePie, is an actress and she's been in commercials and TV shows. She's going to be big! Watch out for her.
Me: Wow, that's great.
Queenie: I KNOW!!! Eleven years old. Can you imagine?
Obviously she has never seen an E! True Hollywood Story and doesn't realize that in five years, little precious OotieCutiePie is going to be arrested for selling her body in exchange for some low grade smack. I guess some people just need to learn the hard way.

Queenie then made a move to kiss me goodnight. Her intention was clearly not to hit my cheek, but to go straight for the lips. Thank goodness for sobriety! I turned my face at the last minute and avoided her wish for some hot lesbian action.
Then she went to kiss Hollywood goodbye. He was sitting behind me so I didn't see what happened, but after Queenie and her minions left, Hollywood leaned over and whispered, "She just tongue kissed me." Gross.

On the drive home, Hollywood started doing what most drunks do when it's time to sober up - deep introspective thinking out loud. My favorite.

Hollywood: Now that I have my own successful business, they can't fuck with me anymore.
Me: Who's "they?"
Hollywood: You know. My friends. My family.
Me: [Holy crap! What kind of friends and family does this guy have?]

Then there was a long stretch of silence as he pouted over the fact that I wouldn't let him smoke in my car.

Hollywood: So, do you want to come in. Maybe hang out and watch a movie?
Me: No.
[Extended, pondering pause.]
Hollywood: Are you mad at me?
Me: No, but last I checked you still have a girlfriend and I have no desire to be the other woman.
Hollywood: She's not my girlfriend and you wouldn't be the other woman!
Me: Yes, I would, and this is the same girl who just got done telling how much she needs you and that she loves you!
Hollywood: She only loves me because she's twenty three years old and I have a big dick!
Me: [Sudden coughing fit]
Hollywood: Oh, I made you choke.
Me: [Trust me. That should never be a source of pride.]

I drove him the rest of the way home and dropped him off outside of his apartment.
Hollywood: Are you sure you don't want to come in?
Me: Yes, I'm sure.
Hollywood: So, [gesturing back and forth between us] what are we going to do about this?
Me: I, am going to drive home. You, are going to go inside.
Hollywood: That's not what I meant. That's not what I meant.
Me: [He cannot be asking me about the status of our "relationship" when I just met him two days ago.] Tell you what. Ask me that when you sober up.
Hollywood: You're right. You're right.

He finally got out of my car and I made the long drive home. Christ, he was even too metro to drive. He may have been mightily impressed with the size of his own appendage, but I assumed I would find him sorely lacking in the balls department.

Big things are going down in Lauren-Land. I can't talk about it right now because nothing is official yet, but stay tuned.

(And tell the big kahunas holding everything up to get a move on. I have a life to lead!)

When Hollywood said he wanted o to see me again, I figured he meant at least a few days from then. Silly me. He called the next day and asked if I was doing anything that night. I found this behavior strange and unwarranted, but who am I to judge?

I called him when I got to his place.
Hollywood: You're on time.
Me: I am the on time machine.
Hollywood: I'm standing here naked. I've never dated a girl who was on time.

He met me outside in his bathrobe and apologized for the mess, saying that he was going to clean up before I arrived, but I was on time. I looked around at all the junk, the scrap paper laden counter tops, and the Christmas decorations hanging in the living room, and thought to myself, "There is no way this place could be tidied up in a matter of minutes. This guy is just a slob."

I watched a little Deadwood while he dressed and spied a VERY THICK book on his coffee table. The Guide to Getting It On. Can I fault him for learning? I think not.

Hollywood: Do these shoes look too metro with this outfit?
Me: You look fine.
Hollywood: Are you sure?
Me: Really. You look great. Can we go now?
[Crap. I'm the guy. I have already been given the male role and that's just not right.]

I may pride myself on being a low maintenance woman, but that doesn't mean I want to wear the pants in the relationship. I like men who are masculine and confident. Men who don't seek me to validate their egos, who don't pay more attention to their wardrobes than I do, who are well groomed but stop short of a manicure and highlights, who can scuff their hair, put on a crisp shirt and a sharp pair of shoes and be ready to go, and who don't make me late for everything.
I hate being late for anything. It stresses me out.

We're finally about to leave the apartment -
Hollywood: Are you sure I don't look to gay?
Me: No, you don't look too gay.
[pause]
Me: You look just gay enough.
Hollywood: [laughing] That's funny.
[Actually, I was kind of serious.]

We ended up going for Thai food and a movie. I realize this is very cliché, but I swear we made up for it. We ended up seeing Jet Li play a retard and kick serious ass in Unleashed. I love martial arts action flicks. You better not be judging me.

Again he wanted me to come inside and again I told him he needs to dump his girlfriend. Is it so hard to date one girl at a time?

Hollywood: Do you want to see me again?
Me: Yes. Now get out of the car.

It was all going so well. I should have known it was also going too well.

Jacque, Katanga's owner, pulled me aside the other day after her lesson and began with these tragic words, "I wanted to be the one to tell you this...."

Apparently, Jacque can't afford to keep Katanga in training anymore and is taking him to the same facility as Millbrook's in Norco. I can't say I was happy about the news, but I wasn't surprised either. Jacque and Ralph, both school teachers by trade, had been living the dream for a while now with Katanga and Tiger in training and Sophia busy growing up and getting ready to be put into training in Norco, it was bound to catch up with them eventually. Three horses would make just about anyone short of Veruca Salt swallow hard.

So now I'm horseless. I'm going to give Tiffany a chance to find something else for me, but I don't think she can. She has enough clients that she doesn't need a lesson program anymore, and I doubt anyone at the barn has the need for someone to ride their horse once a week. Especially someone who can't afford to help with the bills.

Money. Money. Money. It all comes down to money.

A friend of mine was riding for free at a barn in Orange for a while. I may see if she can make an introduction, but I'll wait for the dust to settle before I do.

I met Hollywood at a Blue Hawaiian's show back in May and we dated for a couple weeks after; which is why I couldn't post this earlier. I'm really easy to find on the Net, and if he read any of this while we were still going out I would have been really embarrassed.
Sorry for the delay, but my sense of decorum delayed my timely nature.

Anyways, I usually try to avoid dating people in what Los Angelinos refer to as "The Industry." This means I have elected to reduce my potential dating pool by a good three quarters. Sure, this hurts my odds tremendously, but I find the trade off to be worthwhile.

Hollywood was what I call an Almost-Reformed Actor. He used to be an actor/producer and now he has his own business, which has nothing to do with the entertainment industry, but he still retains the egomaniacal qualities inherent to most people in the performing arts.

The night we met, I drove him home after the show and we started talking about the band. He called himself their groupie and that he was using his former industry connections to get them higher profile gigs in the area.
Me: That's really nice of you. A lot of people wouldn't do that.
Hollywood: Yeah, a lot of people say that about me.
Me: [My! What a big ego you have. I like how you didn't even try to fake humility.]

He started asking questions about me - Where I'm from? Was I Jewish?...
Hollywood: Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: [That is a ridiculous question considering you just had your tongue down my throat.] No. [small pause] Do you have a girlfriend?
Hollywood: [Pregnant pause]
Me: [You have GOT to be kidding!!!][I let go of his hand]
Hollywood: I'm trying to break up with her, but she cries and tells me how much she loves me. What am I supposed to do?!
Me: [Dump her like a man.] Fine. Let me know when you break up with her.

In front of his place, we kissed good night and his cell phone rang. He answered it. Apparently some things can't just go to voicemail. Hollywood talks for a while in broken Italian, says his "Ciao Bellos" and returns his attention back to me.
Hollywood: That was Timayo.
Me: I don't think I know him.
Hollywood: Oh. He's (famous actress's) brother.
Me: [Yep, I'm pretty sure I don't know him.]

I turned down the offer of a tour of his apartment, but agreed to see him again. Maybe it was the fact that I haven't had a date in the last six months. Maybe deep down inside I really did like this guy. More likely, I sensed that this guy was epic blog material in the making.
The things I do for you people (and a good dinner out).

A friend of mine from Punk Rock Bowling, a few of his friends, and I will be going to see Tom Jones at The Greek next weekend.

Although I realize this makes me whiter than white, I have always wanted to see the Welsh Wonder. The completion of this long held desire will only continue to erode what little coolness I possess, but it's worth it. I get to hear Sexbomb, She's a Lady, and What's New Pussycat live. If you don't think that's awesome then piss off.

Knowing that his knowledge of Mr. Jones' repertoire far exceeds mine, The Occulator sent me a CD of the Best of Tom Jones according to him so that I may educate myself before the big show and not be one of those embarrassing newbie-fly-by-night fans who only know the words to two songs at the most. I think he would deny knowing me if I turned out to be one of THOSE.

Tom Jones ~ Best Of, According to The Occulator
1) It's Not Unusual
2) Burning Down the House (w/the Cardigans)
3) If I Only Knew
4) Sexbomb (w/Mousse T.)
5) Mohair Sam
6) Thunderball
7) Upside Down (w/Dusty Springfield)
8) Are You Gonna Go My Way (w/Robbie Williams) [I don't understand either]
9) Hot Legs (w/Tina Turner)
10) Lust for Life (w/Pretenders) [it's just as amusing as it sounds]
11) Black Betty
12) Delilah [she's a bitch, a slut, and a whore!]
13) I Get a Kick Out of You (w/Juliet Prowse)
14) Daughter of Darkness
15) I Don't Think So
16) Kiss (w/Art of Noise)
17) Baby, It's Cold Outside (w/Cerys from Catatonia)
18) She's a Lady
19) What's New Pussycat
20) Promise Her Anything
21) Situation
22) I Wanna Get Back With You (w/Tori Amos)
23) Sometimes We Cry (w/Van Morrison)
24) Never Tear Us Apart (w/Natalie Imbruglia)

It's like getting a free pass to newbie fan boot camp. Thanks Occulator!! [and Happy Birthday]

"Do you like my cock?"

"Will you hug me?"

Yes, they were both asked by a man. At least, I'm pretty sure it was a man.

I got a call from my roommate, Jen, this morning; which in itself is strange. Jen will text me or e-mail me way before she will call me, because she despises using the phone. She considers it a device of unwanted intrusion on her personal time.

Anyways, the conversation starts off with the following question:

"Lauren, did you notice the dead bird on the floor this morning?"

Needless to say, I did not.

Now, I don't stay in the habit of looking down while I'm busy doing things around the house. I didn't notice the Scruffy poo in my closet a couple months back until I stepped in it, and I'm naturally clumsy which is probably a product of the fact that I don't pay much attention to where I put my feet. But a DEAD BIRD!!! How did I not notice a dead bird?

Jen's theory is this - She likes to keep the back screen door open while Scruffy is here so he can do his business as he pleases. She thinks a bird flew in and hid itself away in my closet (animals seem to like my closet for whatever reason), eventually landed in my extra towels, and died. When I changed out my towels this morning it fell out on the way and I just didn't see it.

I don't know about you, but this seems a little too convoluted to me. Here's my theory - Jen and I are about to experience some serious haunting. Everyone knows that a good horror movie always starts with something small, unexplainable, and extraordinarily creepy and THIS qualifies.

Next thing you know we're going to start waking up with cuts and bruises directly relatable to that nightmare we just had and seeing disgruntled hockey fans hanging around our bedroom windows. I should have known the lack of an NHL season would put us all in grave danger. Everyone was talking about the economics while they should have been discussing the inevitable rise in serial murders! What were we thinking?!!

And, if you take into account that the virgin always stays alive for the sequel while the slut gets whacked, then I'm a dead woman.

Good news people! Happy day! Tiffany found a retirement home for Millbrook in nearby Norco.

He'll have his own turnout attached to his stall so he can stay inside and do nothing, or go out and run, and buck, and play, and make mean faces at people who won't mind in the slightest. It's cranky old horse heaven!

Anne Bancroft, a phenomenal actress and who I'm sure was also a very tolerant woman (she was married to Mel Brooks for over 40 years), died today.

This was very sad news for me, but I knew it would be devastating to my sister, Leah. She adores her. So, I did what any good sibling rival would do.... I alerted her immediately. This is the response I get:

This is the saddest news EVER! I love her! You just ruined my night you bitch. Love you, Leah

We're really into doling out the love with equal amounts of rage. It keeps everything in balance.

Everyone has a talent. Some people are natural writers, musicians, artists, or athletes. Other people, like myself, have more obscure gifts. For me, I have a natural born talent for putting together IKEA furniture.

Don't mock me! It's the truth. I'm a freaking genius with an Allen wrench!

This special purpose comes in handy when a certain someone who doesn't even know how to use a hammer wants to buy a Swedish bookcase and needs help putting it together.

Gary: I gotta get a new bookcase. Will you build it?
Me: How much?
Gary: One dollar.
Me: That won't even cover gas.
Gary: I don't pay for farts.
Me: Do you want it built or not?
Gary: Yes.
Me: Money talks and I'm listening.
Gary: $2..... cash..... cashola.
Me: Apparently you are not interested in getting this built.
Gary: Build it woman!!
Me: Build it yourself.
Gary: I'll hire Julio..... or Jose.
Me: At those prices, go for it. A day laborer won't even breathe on you for $2.

Me: You realize I'll be blogging this.

Lately I've been entertaining fantasies of turning in my run down, gas guzzling Explorer for a shinny new Prius. It would be in Salsa Red with a tan interior and would glide through the streets like a sail boat on a glassy lake. Ahhhh. Sounds like a little bit of heaven.

Then I find out this dream would be abruptly ended by spontaneous stalls and an inability to restart. Looks like the dream will have to wait a few years until my SUV completely dies and Toyota works out the bugs.