Friday, March 10, 2006

i hate sheep

Okay, I don't hate actual sheep; actual sheep are quite adorable, really. My problem, to be honest, is with sheeplike people. Take tonight's party...please.

My friend Rebekah brought me along to a party for a friend of hers, which seemed well and good. Rebekah is a fab individual, and it is generally a good idea to get out of your house and have a life every so often. Still, the promise of the evening came to a grinding halt when we were introduced by the hostess, within the first five minutes of our arrival, to a guy who asked us "What do you do?"


Rebekah, being superfab, replied calmly, "I'm a contortionist." I immediately burst out laughing, the guy responded with disbelief, I insisted that her five-in-a-row backflips are truly something to behold, and then Rebekah had to ruin it all by confessing that she is, in fact, not a contortionist after all. Damn her honesty.


Then more people showed up, most of whom failed to ask me anything about myself. I learned a great deal about them, inquiring into the thrilling details of their lives, but no curiosity on their ends. The brave few who bothered to ask about me had no idea what cinematography is, which is certainly fair enough. I explained it, they nodded politely, and the conversation died—until I asked some more about their lives, and they lit up and just blathered away merrily again.


The worst, though—THE ABSOLUTE PITS—were these law students talking about Coachella. They asked me if I planned to go, and I said No Thank You, I am not into Festivals of Trendiness for the Sheeplike Masses (I neglected to further mention that I can't afford the ticket—but even if I could, I seriously doubt I'd go). One of the law students replied, "Astrid, you think too much."

Think too much?

"Gee," I said, "that sure inspires confidence, coming from a law student. Remind me to hire you sometime."

"Seriously, though," he said in a genuinely earnest fashion, "I do very little thinking, and my life is great."


Then he asked me what I'm drinking.

"Coke," I replied.

"And what?" he asked.

"Just Coke."


"Why not?"

The poor guy experienced some serious consternation at this point. He studied my face carefully, clearly expecting me to break down and tearfully admit that I am a total loser, and don't know how to party. Little does he know that my brain synthesizes LSD naturally, and I've danced on bars—and gotten chased away by security—completely stone-cold sober. I am perfectly comfortable with having fun on caffeine only, and it freaked him out royally.

"But it's FRIDAY!" he exploded.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you drink at all?"


"But not now."


He regarded me some more, shook his head whilst mumbling wonderingly, and backed away into the crowd. He looked a tad frightened, which I found oddly satisfying.

But still: GAH.

I hate sheep. Where O where are the contortionists, the feverish thinkers, the folks who would rather get their fingernails ripped out one by one than ask somebody what they "do"?

Friday, March 3, 2006

rainy fridays

Wouldn't it be cool to have a band called The Rainy Fridays? Well, okay, maybe it just sounds cool to me.

Anyway, I'm really liking this switcheroo in L.A. weather—bring it on, Mother Nature! The main thing I like about rain is how musical it makes my brain; I start thinking endlessly about all the rain-related songs I know, and it makes for an amusing day. My personal favorites are "I Can't Stand the Rain" by Ann Peebles, "November Rain" by Guns & Roses, and "Come Clean" by Hilary Duff. A co-worker also mentioned "Fool in the Rain" by Led Zeppelin, which I've never heard, and I also briefly debated including "No Rain" by Blind Melon, which I think has us covered. (Yeah, yeah, I know the Grateful Dead did their own rain thing, as did Madonna, Neil Young, Mariah Carey, Whitesnake, and other musical luminaries—I've just never heard their particular odes to dampness, excepting Madonna's.)

Totally unrelated: someone said to me last night, "You're doomed to failure, but in a good way." Assuming he was joking, I consider this brilliance. Maybe I need new friends, or at least a lobotomy.

Thursday, March 2, 2006

hope for humanity

So I went to Boomie's improv thingie last night -- and all I have to say is, their impression of President Taft ROCKED. And if impersonating President Taft is not truly entertainment, folks, then I don't know what is.

Happy National Caffeine Awareness Month, National Eye Donor Month, National Frozen Food Month, National On-Hold Month, National Umbrella Month, Play The Recorder Month, and Vulvar Health Awareness Month! Wow, March sure is a helluva month. I'll be spending tonight at the Saddleback Ranch on Sunset, avoiding the mechanical bull like the plague (gotta maintain that vulvar health awareness, what with all those trampy disco gals) and hobnobbing with UMichigan entertainment alums instead. Boy, am I thrilling or what? The month of March does not deserve me.

Wednesday, March 1, 2006

Le fromage bleu

Why do I love bleu cheese so much?  No, really—why?  I don't get it.  I used to think the stuff was nasty, back in the day, but this was also back in the same day when I hated anything made with whole grains.  Taste buds are curious things.

So, for the first time in my life, believe it or not, I have finally tried frozen grapes.  Frozen grapes!  I love how there's that moment when you first bite into a frozen grape and your gums go YOWTCH from the searing cold and then suddenly the grape juices melt and HOORAY it's a party in your mouth and a grape was invited.  Ooee, I just love it.

Can you tell I just went grocery shopping yesterday? Garlic rosemary crackers are FAB.  Pearl tomatoes are fab, and doubly fab when you wrap each tomato in some fresh basil.  Oh, man, I'm hungry...and I didn't really have a proper lunch...gah.  I'd get something now, but I'm going to Ammo tonight, so I need to save room.  Alas, my existence is so difficult.