I know it’s incredibly cliché to think this but I’m fairly certain my neighbors are either running a meth lab, are fugitives, or are seeking asylum in America from inside their own home. They’ve been living next door to me for over a year and I’ve never even seen them – once. I suppose they could just be Asian – because those people are awfully quiet. I have almost seen them – once inside their car leaving and once just as they flew in the front door – and there was a shock of shiny black hair so my last deduction may be my best. How is it even possible to not see the people who live next door to you? I live across the street from famous people and you would think they’d be the ones hiding but Alan Ruck takes out the garbage on a regular basis and he’s Ferris Bueller’s best friend for crap sakes. I like thinking that something diabolic is going on next door to me – until it’s night time – and then I scare myself and hope they’re inside making syrup, or rice cakes, or both. I’m kind of a scaredy cat. I still can’t see Paranormal 2, 3 or 16. The first one scared me so badly I had to reposition my bed away from the door the way it was in the movie. I keep trying to decipher if Peaches and Tulip are seeing anything but if they’re seeing ghosts they’re not barking. Maybe their scared too. Maybe if they admit to me that they see poltergeists hiding in my drapes those poltergeists will become real. I think my biggest fear about things than can happen when I’m sleeping is that I’m woken up by my dogs barking at the curtains or an empty door frame. I’m so glad I’m not the kind of person who can see a ghost. I never want to be that person. I will be perfectly happy to live my life never seeing a big floaty figure at the end of my bed… even if that floaty figure is nice. I don’t care. Stay away from the end of my bed.
It’s also a distinct possibility that if I do have ghosts they are simply feeding the dogs to keep them quiet. Who decided that dogs should eat the exact same thing every day? Peaches is pissed and wants a menu change on a regular basis and I can’t say I blame her. If I had to eat duck, chicken, liver, and turkey all made from the same mystery meat – I’d be pissed too. Trust me when I tell you they are eating food that costs more than mine but this bitch is not happy unless she sees something new in that bowl. I spent at least thirty minutes this morning trying to think of what I’d eat if I was only allowed one food twice a day for the rest of my life and I think the answer is grilled cheese and fries with gravy and a side of Ralph’s birthday cake.
I have discovered I may in fact have a birthday cake addiction. This week at work we were writing a wedding story and part of that story was talking about cake and I got so wrapped up in the concept of cake that my poor boss and friend Dan had to stop the writers room and send little Nicola the assistant out for birthday cake. It was more than exciting for me – it was life changing. I waited for the arrival of this cake like it was a free shoe delivery from Louboutin… shoes that I could eat. I was very specific about the cake – sheet – white cake white frosting – from Ralphs. When it arrived it had three giant icing balloons. Holy fuckballs. Our writers assistant Vanessa instantly announced she was afraid of the balloons. It was all I could do not to take all three. I had two pieces and while it was good – the cake to icing ratio wasn’t quite the same as I remembered it was from the last time I forced Dan to buy me a bad sheet cake. I found out the next day that Nicola got the cake from Von’s. I’m making her move next door to me because I never want to see her again.
Remember when you were little and you got caught smoking and your mom or dad would make you sit at the kitchen table and smoke an entire pack of cigarettes in front of them until you got so completely nauseated you never wanted to smoke again? Well someone needs to do that to me with clothes and shoes. Maybe if I were forced to put on every item of clothing I own I’d be embarrassed and stop buying things because only a matter of moments after I threw out half the things I own – I started stockpiling again. I had to – I had so many empty hangers just – well – hanging there – staring at me – silently asking me for things – pretty things. I decided to give the hangers away too so that I’m not compelled to put new things on them. I wouldn’t want them to get a complex from hanging around naked next to a fully clothed hanger. What if they talk at night?
I’ve been trying to look at the upcoming summer the way most people look at a new year since I will most likely have the summer off to sit around and worry about not having a paycheck again. The joy of being a writer is almost outdone by the fear of something we like to call a “pickup.” It is fairly equivalent to the boy girl version since the line they use to keep your television show going is usually fairly cheesy but it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside and a little bit like the most popular girl in school. Our show is so cute and smart and funny it has to get picked up. I say that ten times before I go to bed each night. Either way I am sure there will be some time off and free time in Los Angeles is like a vacation because it’s so beautiful everyday. Living in California is almost like being on a resort. Everywhere you go people are ready to service your every need and the natives speak a language I don’t understand – I think it’s called dumb. You can go to the beach and see beautiful women in bathing suits or strange street performers like the cockatiel lady who somehow made it on America’s Got Talent last night discussing how she wore a heavily patterned shirt to hide the fact that she’s covered in bird poo. That made me proud. I did see a commercial for something that looked like a fun summer outing – The Renaissance Festival. The original is right here in California – shocking. It’s called the Pleasure Faire which is only slightly disturbing and makes me think of another thing we are the capital of here in SoCal – porn. RenFair lasts for over a month and a ticket is only 23 dollars or you can buy a season pass because quite frankly one day at the RenFair is not enough. Everyone knows that. May 12th was officially gay day at the fair this year. I can’t believe I missed that. I can’t imagine anything more amazing than a gay Renaissance fair. The show Cupcake Wars is on hand this year to make Renaissance themed cupcakes. No fucking idea what that means. It’s actually the Golden Jubilee this year which means that these people have been traipsing around doing this nonsense for 50 years. If you don’t have the right outfit you can visit Clothiers Row and get something made. According to the website they carry the softest breeches, the perfect fit bodice and hats that turn heads. I still have a few hangers left so – see you at RenFair.
Did you know that armadillos have been linked to leprosy in humans? About 150 people in the United States contract leprosy every year. What those people are doing out and about petting armadillos is beyond me. They don’t seem at all huggable. I would imagine this or a flesh eating virus would not be fun things to get. Watching your skin get eaten by your own body would not be something I’d like to have to endure. I’ve never seen an armadillo so I’m guessing I’m safe. When they discover you can get leprosy from eating Easter Peeps however, I’m a dead woman.
I lost 13 pounds. Yes, after a year of being a fat ass, my body has finally decided it likes one diet I’ve been trying – starvation. Who knew that all you have to do to lose weight is not eat – anything – at all? If only someone told me that consuming a piece of fruit and four dried peas a day would allow the pounds to melt off of me – I’d have been thinner a year ago. I’m back in my 27 jeans and my size four clothes. The size six pants are appropriately swimming on me – which makes me have just one reaction – “Why didn’t you people tell me how fat I was?” My boobs are still holding on to the extra weight as if a man has told them to so the size two dresses are not in my extreme near future.
The cellulite situation does not seem to be fixing itself so I may actually have to return to the gym but that’s going to have to wait until I’m done with my very busy schedule of sitting around making excuses for not going to the gym. I’m sorry but I hate working out. All these people who talk about endorphin rushes and how much they love sweating are either mentally ill or lying or both or in love with someone at their gym and want to see them in the showers naked or doing a downward dog in front of their upturned smile. I hate the smell of rubber and sweat. Almost every locker room or workout space I’ve ever been in smells like the inside of a sweaty kids sock. That’s not a smell I aspire to. Why can’t running give me the same feeling as eating a cupcake?
I went to Sprinkles the other day to buy cupcakes for my friends because that’s how I eat them now – through other peoples mouths. I’m like a momma bird without the chewing and spitting. Buying cupcakes and watching other people eat them is good – for now – but the new S’mores flavor almost broke me down. For the first time in a long time the Beverly Hills location did not have a line. I was able to breeze in and buy my dozen cupcakes without much of a wait. There was a huge line however for the vending machine that sits right next to the store and sells one cupcake at a time. The people standing are this line are clearly retarded. Why not just walk three feet to the left and purchase a single cupcake? I guess everyone just loves a gimmick. If Sprinkles wrapped my dogs turds in a little box and shot them through a conveyer belt and onto the streets of Beverly Hills – some asshole would buy it. People love a fad, a trend, something they can tell their friends back in Texas they did when they went on their big trip to Hollywood. I guess I get it. Just leave your Armadillo’s home. I don’t want to see you drop anything while you’re chomping on a red velvet street cake.