D life

I just realized that I own something from Banana Republic.

And I’m wearing it right now.

Atleast I remember now how it ended up in my closet. It wasn’t a Starbucks latte-induced nervous breakdown of some sort or another personality coming out—the 35 or over conservative career gal that wants to look somewhat stylish for the stuffy office, without going overboard OR overbudget. *grin* It was my sister-in-law who coaxed me into taking it home with me from Atlanta after she realized she couldn’t wear anything with the slightest hair of angora in it. It’s a rather soft, sleek gray cardigan number with, as my friend Teresa pointed out, interesting buttons.

Thanks T.

Atleast the party girl inside paired it with a low-cut lacy camisole top and long wrap around black necklacey thing—dark slate nails and funky rings included! Sellin’ to the highest bidder!

Ha. Is it time to go home yet?

Well, it’s not in there anymore, Kieran. He’s come out to say “Hello world!”

Camren Michael Veety. Born in the 11 o’clock hour on the morning of January 23rd, just a day after Jodi, his mother’s, birthday. Atleast she still gets to have her own day, and he wasn’t like the scene stealer’s we have in Rice’s family (Kieran’s younger cousin Evelyn was born on HIS birthday, 2 years later).

I got the call in the morning, and after skipping out of work and braving the horrible morning 405 traffic over the hill, got home, packed and headed down to San Diego. Lots of tunes, lots of singing outloud by myself in the car, and luckily, not a lot of rain. I got to hang out in their place and have a tiny tiny mini-cation of my own to sleep in, watch trashy tv, go to the movies (Persepolis….freakin’ awesome!) and read my book. Well, yeah, there was the added bonus of holding a newborn baby that wasn’t mine. He’s a pretty good one, eats a lot then sleeps A LOT, and opened his eyes and sort of made tiny grunty noises at me before I headed back to LA. Got called back early because Rice’s work is the 9th circle of hell and for him to leave at a normal workday time to pick up his son one more day was going to create all kinds of chaos the likes of which the world has never seen before. Or maybe they couldn’t find the key to the rusty metal cage they chain them in all day long, and had to call a locksmith, which wouldn’t get there in time to let him out to go get Kieran? I’m just sayin’. That’s how much I love where he works.

obsession
—noun

A few years ago it was Gangster movies. Then Yoo-hoo. Chuck Palahniuk novels, silver hoop earrings, Tater Tots, Rilo Kiley, Chicken Tikka Masala, Twizzlers and bubble baths have all made it past the “in-like” stage to OMG-I’ve-got-a-shotgun-so-don’t-ever-take-these-things-away-from-me obsessive stage.

Current obsession:

Horror/Psychological Thriller movies. Actually, we’ve been ’round this bend before with specifically Asian Horror flicks, but suddenly it’s back and encompassing the entire genre. With the exception of blatant gross out torture movies like Hostel. There, I draw the line….and ask a co-worker to tell me what it was all about. Recently viewed & re-viewed: One Missed Call (Japanese version), Feng Shui (Filipino), Masters of Horror: The complete first season, Three Extremes, Lady Vengeance, Oldboy, Pulse (Japanese), Tale of Two Sisters (Korean), The Eye (Chinese), House of 1000 Corpses, Saw, The Decent, Silent Hill.

Also obsessed with Camera Obscura, the band not the darkened boxlike device in which images of external objects, received through an aperture, as with a convex lens, are exhibited in their natural colors on a surface arranged to receive them.

The Fug Girls would totally have had a field day with my outfit today. I wore their dreaded “dress over jeans” ensemble….well, atleast it wasn’t leggings, matched with terrible shoes. Plus, the hair is just pulled back in a pony, and the makeup’s understated, so I just have one clothing-foul.

This weekend we got to try out Rock Band at Robyn & Charlie’s house. Holy shit, talk about living out my dreams of being a rock star. I loved doing that with Guitar Hero and all, but I wont lie—I wish I could be a singer. But apparently I did pretty well on this game with my pipes. Of course, Rice had to go home and figure out how much $$ he had in Best Buy gift cards so that we could then own the game. Yep, Sunday he picked it up. Rice, Kieran and I started our own band called The Totoros. Kieran’s on drums, Rice switches up guitar and bass as Ricemaru, and I’m the lead singer, Evilwillow.

Saturday night I spent it out with my new friend from work, Teresa. Now she’s a rockin’ babe. It’s freaky weird how alike we are. I finally got to check out Lucy’s 51, with their wicked red velvet and leopard print interior and 51 choices of martinis. I suggest the “Silk Panties.”

But seriously, what is the deal with guys? I guess it’s been waaaay too long since I hung out with girls only at a bar, and while it was flattering to get hit on and all, it’s entirely way too lame for them to then NOT TAKE THE HINT that it’s going nowhere so lets just say good night. Pointing out the ring and mentioning that I have a 3 year old at home did nothing. Admitting our ages, nor T’s admission of her current men woes did nothing to deter these idiots. No Bruno, I do not want to talk about what could be wrong with me and my man (the ass was actually trying to coax something out of me that was not there!) and the lame ass joke about the two of them being life partners (hardee har har) was funny the first time, but by the 50th, it made me want to slit my wrists.

Yeah, I totally remember how I never did this kind of thing when I wanted to meet guys. I always seemed to hook up with friends, and I hardly went out to clubs with a group of girls, it was mostly a mix of the sexes. But after Bruno and his idiot friend from Tarzana, I’m not regretting that I never did.

Man oh man I am stiff today.

That’s what he said.

Seriously though, I must be insanely outta shape. I haven’t been off the walking schedule THAT long, but damn.

Started at the 24 hour Fitness recently and those elliptical machines are killing me. I’m not overweight, just have no regular outlet for some aerobic activity except for the occasional weekends when we’re not busy. I thought it was time to tighten up the ole buns and work the heart.

But last night, after a grueling 5am workout (all workouts are grueling to me) and full day of work,  I had to run to Westwood Cost Plus to pick up a trunk. I had bought it the night before on a whim, and then couldn’t fit it into my backseat with little old Kieran back there. So I ran over there without him, picked it up, drove back to my apartment, then had to figure out how the hell I was going to get it out of the car and up to the front of the garage all by myself, with a time limit of 15 minutes before I had to turn around and go across town to the daycare. Light bulb!! I had a nice sized, sturdy Woolrich blanket in my trunk, hoisted the CP trunk out onto the blanket and slowly dragged it about a car-length and a half. Oh, I knew my shoulders & back were gonna pay later.

Then I fought traffic to the daycare, turned around, got home again, but did I mention I had also found the matching side cabinet yesterday at a Cost Plus in Woodland Hills, and it was wedged in my passenger seat? Or that we park a hair’s-breadth away from the garage wall on the right side? I convinced Kieran to hold open the asinine locking door from garage to complex, not too carefully maneuvered the cabinet across the front seat and out the door (a few horn honks were heard that night) and hoisted it up 3 flights of stairs with my own muscles to our apartment. I remembered to tell myself: lift with your legs. Oh, I knew my back and arms would be killing me later.

So here we are today and my entire body, from shoulders to calves are screaming. Am I really that much of a weakling?