The Adnostic

Remember that post about preparing for SXSW, and ordering The Adnostic business cards, and finding the perfect red casual laptop bag. Well, I got the cards, they look great, but the Tucano Cobra 15" Apple laptop bag is beyond my grasp.

It is almost as if there is some kind of ecommerce conspiracy to prevent me from having that bag. Amazon - sold out. UnbeatableSale.com - out of stock. EBay - no such luck. XTechnology - forget it. I even tried a site called BusyBeaverShopping.com - they actually had the nerve to reject my order and not tell me why. WTF? If I wanted it in gray, or blue, or even green - no problem, but apparently the internet has decided that I can't have red. Look at this blog! I have to have red. No other option will be considered acceptable.

Damn you internet! Damn you to Hell! (but deep down I still love you, so please don't shut down my home access)

So it has been my daily quest to find another red, casual, and affordable laptop bag. Today I may have found my salvation. The Crumpler Considerable Embarrassment in RED!!!

On the down side, it is almost twice as much as the Tucano and it isn't available yet, which was denoted with a little hand flipping the bird (I don't know about you, but I find that sort of thing spunky and endearing) (I'm kind of sick that way), but otherwise it's perfect. With a little luck I'll be showing off this little piece of uber-geek fashion at SXSW in March.

Hey Jen, it also comes in purple. We know you love the purple.

I made a deal with Hadashi that I would blog this final episode of the Tales of Hollywood story, if she blogged one of her bad dating stories that made me collapse in laughter after an amazing sushi dinner, then I would tell the absolute last installment of the Hollywood series. So here goes....

You can read the back-story here, here, here, and here, but let me give you a little more build up to the situation.....

I wasn't exactly infatuated with Hollywood. He lived in LA, I lived in OC, and we could only see each other about once a week and I preferred it that way. Earlier that week I had interviewed for a job in LA and it looked like I was going to get it. The job was two blocks away from where Hollywood worked. This was when I knew he had to go. There was no way that I could see Hollywood more than once a week. Cold hearted, yes, but there is only so much inflated ego that I can take.

On our last date together, he wouldn't shut up about his brilliant idea to get a chauffer. I'm not kidding. Every other sentence was about how great it would be to have a chauffer. Oh yes, he definitely had to go. There was no way in Hell that I could date a guy with a chauffer and a swollen ego. It was just too much.

I spent the night (and yes, I slept with him) (Why? I hadn't had sex in over 6 months.) (6 months is a very long time.) and woke up early the next morning to meet some friends for lunch in San Juan Capistrano. This was when I finally saw his spacious 1920's apartment in the light of day.

I was getting dressed after taking a shower and he asked me how I liked my bathing experience. He had just installed a new showerhead and was looking for emphatic accolades.

Me: Eh, it was all right.

HW: Fine. All right. Okay. Why isn't anything "great" with you?

Me: You want to know why? Fine. Your place is disgusting. I know that you're really excited about getting a chauffer, but what you really need is a maid.
- There is mold growing all over your shower.
- You have no trashcan in your bathroom.
- There are spent toilet paper rolls all over your bathroom floor.
- There are wet dirty clothes in your bathtub.
- There is a pile of trash up to the ceiling in your mudroom.
- I'm not sure I even want to know when the last time you swept was.
- Is that.... is that a roach?

HW: No! It can't be.

Me: [I walk over to check it out] Okay, it's a dried up moth, but that still doesn't take away from my point. Your place is GROSS!

HW: All right. I'll get a maid.

I left not long after that, never to return.

I told a little bit of the story to Gary a few weeks later. Afterwards he complained about having to see a chick-flick with his girlfriend.

Me: The things people will do for regular sex.

Gary: Yeah. Some people won't even clean.

Bastard.

[Moral of the story - Guys, clean your place or hire a maid. Don't make us poor girls long to be doused in disinfectant after a sleepover.]

Your turn Hadashi.

I remember one time, when I was working a really boring job, a friend of mine sent me a link to one of those online IQ tests. Sure, the validity is suspect, but what the hell. Waste a little time and make sure it gets billed to the client.

Now, it has been a few years since I took the test and got my scores back, but this is what I recall:

- I scored 135 and was deemed to be an Artist/Philosopher. This meant that I had equal talent for creativity as I did analytical thinking. I was pretty proud of myself. This sounded rare. It made me feel an unwarranted sense of exceptionality.

- I sent the link to the IQ test to my friend, Gary. At the time, we were classmates in the same graduate program and a bit competitive. I knew he was smart, but it was almost as though he had made the decision to be ignorant in spite of his education. This seemed like a frustrating waste to me.

- Gray emailed me the official results and I almost spontaneously combusted.

If you're bored at work, you can take your own IQ test. This is The Morning News version. It's shorter and a heck of a lot funnier.

I went to a swing dance benefit the other night where I saw a lot of old characters from the the Derby's slightly post-glory days, including Hadashi and that German hottie she calls a husband.

We were talking when a guy I used to dance with often, but lapsed when I made it clear that I wasn't interested in dating him, walked by and pinched my arm.

Hadashi: I know him. How do I know him?

Me: Oh. That's Blah Blah Blah*.

[She still looked confused]

Me: You know, Blah Blah Blah. [I demonstrated one of his signature moves]

[She looked like she was starting to put it together, but she still needed help]

Me: The guy who would sport an erection with every girl he danced with.

Hadashi: That's RIGHT!!! And then he would turn you into him.

That's when I started to gross myself out.

* Names have been completely eliminated for obvious reasons.

Think of it in terms of layers:

Layer One - You are stuck in your mother's minivan.

Layer Two - Your mother is driving.

Layer Three - She is listening to Il Divo, loves it, and can't understand why you don't.

Layer Four - She attempts to give you advice on the best places to pick up men. She is 63 and has been married since the age of 29.

If I could have jumped out of the car and run home screaming, I would have. Unfortunately we were half way to Northridge and I would have immediately burst into flames upon touching the ground.

It seems as though almost every agency I have ever worked for or interviewed at has the same variation on a Board Room. They have a meeting room with surfboards, which makes it a "Board Room." I can't be certain, but I think it started at Chiat Day. Every agency wants to be Chiat Day.

My beef is this - how can a Surf Board room be an expression of your agency's fun loving uniqueness, when everyone has one?

Here are some alternatives to the industry standard:
1) Skate Boards
2) Ironing Boards (especially if your agency handles a lot of CPG clients)
3) Emery Boards (give me one good reason why not)
4) Diving Boards

I think it has potential, and I'm not even a Creative.

The other night I went to an acquaintance’s birthday party at a bar in Silverlake. This party was a little special, not because it was a birthday ending in a 0 or some other kind of milestone, but because the party had a theme. I thought this was brave of him. I've never really been tempted to have a theme for my birthdays. I figure if my party had a theme then people would be less likely to show up and if people did show up then they would ignore the theme and I would be left as the only one dressed as a pirate and all my friends would look at me strangely when I kept responding to everything with an affirmative, "Arrrr!"

Okay, so back to the subject at hand. I tried my best to dress appropriately, I wore my best sparkly outfit, but I really only ended up looking like someone's high maintenance mistress from the 50's. I may occasionally look like a hooker, but at least I look like a hooker with a vintage sense of style.

A pack of college kids with no relation to the birthday boy showed up and was immediately confused. One of them approached me for the answers to their burning questions. Let's call her "Buffy." Why? Because it's such a stupid name and I don't give a rat’s ass if she does guard a Hell Mouth.

Buffy: What do the hats mean?
Me: They're fez hats. Those guys are dressed like Shriners.
Buffy: Oh! What's a Shriner?
Me: It was a popular men's club during the 50's.

She still looked confused, but I decided against telling her about the parades and the little cars because then she would have thought they were clowns, and then I would have had to inform her that this is not the case, and then she would have been really confused and her head would have exploded.

Buffy: What about the girls dressed up as cabaret dancers?
Me: They're showgirls. It's a Shriners and Showgirls party.
Buffy: OOOHHHH! [She runs off to tell her friends the information which not a one will really understand]

Now as I'm writing this a thought occurs to me - is she just dumb or am I just old? Please Lord, let her be dumb.

While telling one of my funnier stories about my disastrous dating history [it was the one about Hollywood, he couldn't believe I dated him for 2-3 weeks either], I mentioned that I didn't like it when people dig for compliments. In my opinion compliments are most meaningful when given freely, much like love, affection, and winning lottery tickets. I am always more than happy to complement someone who truly deserves such a remark.

Later he tried to test me.

Dr: Your hair looks nice.

Me: Thanks. For $160 it better.

Dr: Did it really cost that much?

Me: Highlights are expensive.

Dr: Well, don't ever skimp on that. It looks good.

Me: Yeah, I thought about holding off after I had gotten laid off, but I decided against it in favor of looking good for interviews.

Dr: That was probably a very good decision.

[Silence]

Dr: How did that make you feel? [I get this question a lot from him]

Me: Fine. It was nice.

Dr: Keep going.

Me: Well, it was an unexpected exchange. You usually don't tell me things like that.

Dr: Okay. You're in your car, driving away from here. What do think while you're going back over the conversation in your mind?

Me: Well, I doubt you were hitting on me, but you were probably trying to see how I would react to a compliment given my pervious statement.

Dr: We'll have to see if this makes the blog.

I just out brain-maneuvered someone with a PhD in psychology. Take THAT!

The Morning News had a link to an article that cited a disturbing trend in the sleeping habits of American couples. Happily married people sleeping in separate bedrooms. What is this? A 50's sitcom? Even Lucy and Ricky slept in the same bedroom.

This just doesn't sit well with me. Mostly because the last two guys I dated had issues with me sleeping over which really ticked me off. I enjoy the feeling of falling asleep in the arms of a man I care about. When I start dating a guy I look forward to that first amazingly passionate night when neither of us get any sleep and that is a good thing. I can't think of a better reason to be dog-tired at work. After all, sleeping over was the reason why caffeine was invented (Celestial Seasonings Devonshire English Breakfast has a steroid-like kick and is offered for free in most office kitchens).

I understand some of the reasons cited. Snoring (earplugs), tossing and turning (wrist and ankle cuffs are not just for bondage fantasies anymore), being able to occupy the entire bed (overrated, trust me), and yes, I can see how sharing the mattress with THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE may at some point become tedious and more annoying than emotionally satisfying, but I can't help but think that these couples are missing out on a lot of the intimacy experienced by a bed-sharing couple.

Who holds them when they come home extra late after finishing that major presentation at the office, which is due first thing the next morning? If they have a fight, isn't it just a little too easy for them to retire to their separate bedrooms and not work it out? If one of the partners is a bit miffed or ill at ease and not sure how to express it, how can the other one tell if that person isn't being a little extra restless while laying right next to them? Do urges felt in the middle of the night simply go unsatisfied?

I may have never been married, or been in many long-term relationships, but separate bedrooms stinks of separate lives to me. Personally, I hope I end up in a bed-sharing relationship, tossing and turning be damned.

Because things have been a little slow at work (people catching up from the Holidays, me being new) I have passed much of the time the last two days either reading (marketing blogs, tech news, advertising news, and internal documents) or preparing for SXSW Interactive. It's only two months away. The countdown has begun.

I bought my plane ticket, only to realize after purchase that I had bought it for the wrong month. A phone call to American Airlines and an extra $100 later, I have the right ticket, for the right flight, at the right time, and will be sitting closer to the front of the plane. I prefer being one of the last people on and the first people off.

I bought a new laptop bag. The laptop case I have is the free one that came with the computer. I have decorated it with stickers, but it still sucks. Finding a casual laptop bag that wasn't black, suited my style, had a comfortable looking shoulder strap, and was under $50 seem to be an impossible task. Kolobags was unhelpful. eBags was a dead end. I liked the durable yet colorful look of the PaulPac bags, but for $90 and no extra features I had to pass. Plus the colors available on Kolo were just not right. I am simply not an army green and pink kind of girl. This is my burden.

Amazon came to my rescue by showing me a Tucano messenger bag in red for $50. It's just as colorful as the PaulPac and it has a padded and secure compartment for my 15" screen iBook, another compartment for my other junk, front compartments for pens, an iPod, a cell phone, and other small but important items. AND it was made in Italy, which is just plain cool and they don't utilize child labor. It's a total win-win.

Now for business cards. My new place of work probably won't get me business cards until after they hire me on full time in who knows how long, and besides, I needed cards specific to me and my blog. I needed Adnostic Cards! iPrint to the rescue! Using their website I was able to upload one of the Evil Kid devil girls to use as the background, change the text and font to my liking, and print out a sample before purchase. In full color too! In about two weeks I should have 250 of my new Adnostic business cards ready for distribution all for under $30. How cool is that?

Sure, it's pink and I'm not a really big fan of pink. I had considered going with a red background but I figured that would be too hard to read. At least they will have a devil girl. Everything is badass with a devil girl.

I privately celebrated my new job this evening be making poached chicken breasts in a sauce of tomatoes, onions, and mushrooms on a bed of white rice with a side of green beans accompanied by a glass of El Ceto Sauvignon Blanc.

Poaching has got to be my new favorite way to cook chicken. It doesn't take that long and the meat comes out so tender and juicy it's like slicing through butter. Although, between you and me, I think Julia was a hitting the bong a little too hard when she recommended an 8-minute cooking time. Those breasts needed at least a half an hour in the oven before I could consider them done.

As for the wine, the El Ceto was okay. It had a touch of sweetness that I don't really care for. I should have gone with the Jesper for a few dollars more. (Both available at Whole Foods)

"Come to Vegas this weekend," Jodi says. "I'm here for CES and you wouldn't have to pay for the hotel room."

"So now that you have a job, you're coming to Punk Rock Bowling. Right?" Yeager says. "Tom Jones is playing that weekend. You have to come."

Oh, how those pesky grasshoppers tempt me! Come play in a city specifically designed to take your money and give you lung cancer due to the lack of smoking bans and poor ventilation in the older hotels! No, I say. No I will not. I will deny myself the sins and pleasures of Gomorrah so that I may be an effective competitor at the end of the month.

That's right kids; my horsey fairy godparents have asked me to show their horse, Katanga, in a small local competition at the end of the month. This will be my first competition in five years and if I do well then I will feel confident enough to sink a few extra bucks into training and enter a large regional show in San Juan Capistrano in the Fall. And, because I would normally train three times a week, but I can only ride on weekends with Katanga being stabled over an hour's drive from where I live, then I will have to use every weekend I have available to me to make sure we are both in good form.

This month I will be a hard working ant. No out-of-town foolery for me. No sir.

(This does not mean that I will not be found in local bars, wine tastings, and dance halls. I'm not dead, you know.)