To say that L.A. has been an experience is the ultimate understatement of the year. Trip highlights: The Grove. Seeing the famous sights. Bad drivers. A Man Man convert. Seeing famous folks. El Pollo Loco. Seeing the hotel room for the first time. Pounding the pavement. The "subway." Old ladies at bus stops. Being hollered at by a Mexican Boss Hog. Cabs. Unknowns on the walk of fame. Ameoba. The Sunset and Vine sign. Seeing Ray. And meeting Ray-Ray.
But there's two more days. Tomorrow, Tortured Soul and Halloween Fest. Tonight, I just want to rest my nerves.
The one thing I really forgot about getting myself all worked up about this vacation is that it probably helps not to really hate flying when you're expected to um, fly across the country. I always find the planes are never big enough when the lovely tin can being smacked across the skies scenarios start. I sat in my seat, eyes closed and hand squeezing a water bottle into an unrecognizable shape. The plane bobbed, weaved, and dropped and passengers around giggled in that hysterical way people do to keep from crying. I fucking hate flying. I also hate that lady who was sitting behind me and having a running commentary on everything from take off. "whoa...look at that cloud...that looks like Ontario Mills Mall...blah blah Bush...blah blah someone punch me in the face because I don't have an off button." Her comment on the big drop that made me and the girl next to me feel really ill: "well...that was a big one." Sheesh. I really had to stop myself from climbing over the seat and throttling her.
Then again, I got no sleep and I'm still tired. But, I'm in LA. Tell me why it feels like NYC fall day here? I want some beach gazing weather! On the agenda is a fast food tour and doing my best to recreate my NYC party life. And hopefully meeting new folks. Do Angelenos bite? Are drinks cheap? Does everything really shut down at 2am? I'll find out that and more in between now and Monday.
Hey, do you remember when this was actually a real blog with more than daily writing and stuff? Eh...I don't either really. It's been a while.
Life has been a blur.
Work is work. Apartment hunting is apartment hunting. I never get enough sleep. I spend too much money. Vacation is imminent. The Zen is still the most awesome thing I've ever bought. I wonder if I've been replaced with a pod person because half of the shirts I just bought are pink. My #1 favorite boy in the whole world, Alex, has returned to these shores and I'm over the moon. I'm bummed that 2004 partner-in-crime extraordinaire Fizzie will be returning to the West Side mere days after I return from the LA trip. I suck at pool. I'm good at diffusing drunken bar fights. I need a Halloween costume. I've got 3 days to pack and clean. My hair is a fried out mess. The weight fluctuates. I still don't write enough. I've lost interest in all the fall prospects. I've got a lot to do before jetting off.
Life plods on. But, I promise to update more often.
From the BSing on the company's dime files (You know we need a vacation when the fucking gym and exercise is a hot topic):
Jamirakid: i can't decide if i want to be bad and get some mcd's. man would that taste good!
Jamirakid: i'll do an extra few mins on the elliptical and make myself do 30 push ups!
Jay: hehe i had that yesterday. ive been wanting a sub for like a week now but im cold and think hot food would be a better choice
Jay: ooh push ups! im strictly a crunches girl
Jamirakid: oh i do those already
Jamirakid: i'm up to 75! woo!
Jay: :) when i do them i do 500 in sets of 50
Jamirakid: hehe
Jamirakid: i use the machine. it makes it hard and fun
Jay: the operative phrase of course is 'when i do them'
Jamirakid: natch
Jay: i use the machine but i dont like it. i feel like im cheating
Jamirakid: anyhoo, need pushups
Jamirakid: gotta strenghten the arms. they're kinda beefy though slimmer
Jay: heh
Jamirakid: i think that sums me up in general (mentally and according to my mean mom): beefy, but slimmer
Jay: ha ha youre a beefy lean
Jamirakid: totally
Jamirakid: like veal
Jamirakid: i can go around saying "i'm only a little cow"
Jay: lol youre a calf!
Jamirakid: yep!
ETA: New pic! Yeah, right!
Wow...two posts in a row?! I must be on vacation! (Nope, that's next week. LA, here I come!)
Dear Random Matt and Trey Lovers Hitting This Here Blog,
I wish I had the lyrics to that "America, Fuck Yeah!" song -- in fact, I wish I had an mp3 also, but I have neither. If you know where to find either, leave a comment. Thanks!
The Management
In other corners of the blogosphere, virtual high-fives to Ms. Lauren and the Pinko Feminist Hellcat. Having male strangers invading my personal space is the ultimate social world pet peeve, heads and shoulders about someone flipping their hair in my face and cutting me in line. I don't care who you are or what you look like, if your first geture is a touch, you're putting your life on the line. Don't fucking touch me if you don't know me. And no, I don't have to respond to you if I don't feel like it. You want me to smile? Well, I want you to fuck off and die. It's rude and obnoxious and it's obvious your mother didn't beat you enough.
Todd over at Tremble writes about a shitty party so I don't have to. It wasn't that bad, but it was type lame for sure. (Though I've gotta admit I was annoyed before I got there because I had planned on walking down Greenwich from Chambers until I saw the big construction pit and had to detour like 4 blocks. Such a long walk. And fuck it's always 10 degrees colder in that part of town. Grr.) Never being in there before, I wandered into the actual strip club section first before backing out slowly when I saw the glassy looks in the men's eyes. Upstairs I went where most of the crowd looked as if they were coming up on 15 and they were just staring at the DJ as if he was doing something besides spinning records. What the fuck people? Nothing to see there. But the ones that did dance, I wish they wouldn't have -- the pirate ship bounce to the extreme set to Miami Booty Bass. I need a barrel of brain bleach to erase the travesty. The music amused me, especially this one song where the chorus was just like "Ass Ass Ass...Titty Titty Titty" but really set to the kick. So awesome. I'd like to listen to that song all the time...at the gym.
In other news, I finally got around to writing about that Brooklyn block party show from forever ago...just not here. And while you're over there, find out what a blumpkin is -- in case you were like me and didn't know until you were "enlightened."
When I get something in my head, I'm dogged to the point of ridiculousness. Yet clueless at the same time. Something the friend units have been reminded of in the past 24 hours.
I think I may be crushing (read: god, I totally am!) on the DJ guy, but I've found myself faced with the task of building up some confidence to do a little chase. I'm so rusty. I don't have any recollection of how I got over before. Dumb luck? Good looks? Bold pursuers? Take your pick.
I've been driving everyone apeshit as I constructed a note on Friendster. It took me like a day to write four breezy lines with input from Jay, Steven, Bill, both Cs, and even Farmer. So bonkers. Hilarious was the battle of the sexes that developed where Steven and Farmer were all "be bold and say, 'the ball is in your court!'" where Jay and girl C vetoed that because there was no point in being too far out on that limb. The most interesting piece of advice was from Bill who said that saying "I'd like to chill" implied that "I'd like to erm, fuck." My response was "yeah...and?" but I cut it.
I think there's something to be said for just being really silly over people. Keeps life fresh. Yesterday, I was semi-depressed by a poston Jay's site about the damned book I'm intrigued with and think of as emotional krypotonite as the same time. Like we don't fucking know it when they're not into us! Come on! It's straight up common sense. But, sometimes you don't want to be all logical. If you did everything the way you're supposed to all the time, you wouldn't be living your life. And sometimes when you think he's just not that into you, maybe he's just busy (and so are you), so when he shows without a doubt that he is, it's a nice reward for holding out hope. The Director has proved me right on that front before. You've got to strike that balance between cautious and open.
But, I'm not hovering at my email box waiting for a reply. No...no, I'm not. I swear.
America, fuck yeah! Saw it Wednesday with Fizzie and a theater full of folks. We're still wearing our wristbands and Fizzie was slightly annoyed at me because my reply to his "go get them [being Trey and Matt] to sign the shirts" was: "But, they're standing right here. *blink* They just passed." Oops. And I discovered I'm an idiot because those "matchbooks" are actually filled with puppet-sized condoms...which is funny, but damn I wanted free matches.
The week was an alcohol and/or sleep deprived blur. I was never in bed before 3 am, so every day before noon at work was a total wash. Is it time for my vacation yet? But, I got a good night's sleep last night because I got up today at 3:30. Good times.
Monday, I spent QT with my dear Steven, even playing bystander to his relationship drama. Further proof that even "dating" is for the birds, kids. I also made the mistake of taking him out Tuesday night to meet up with Jenny, open bar, and new drinks in radioactively glowing green cups (Everglo, folks. It's aight.) and then forgot the cardinal rule of getting a heartbroken friend drunk: put their drunk ass to bed so they can't cause any more damage. Ah well.
Wednesday was the previously mentioned movie screening, followed by a trip downtown to a monthly party when I played mouse and mouse with the DJ/promoter I had met in Brooklyn the other week. It didn't take too long to realize the problem with going to a party to talk with someone while having another guy with you ambiguously. I was being a chickenshit natch, but he was kinda intimidated by Fizzie there. We really ran circles around the place with no connection. Hi, I'm 23 going on 11! I really needed someone like Alex or PrincessNella at that moment who would just shove me into him and/or bring him over to help out a hopeless cause. There's always next month I suppose...or around town. NYC is wonderfully big and socially tiny place. After getting that flyer from him, I heard about the party from no less than 4 other places on the net/mailing lists. I found out we were at the same Halloween party last year. He's a friend of a friend...and on Friendster. I could rock the hell out of this with only some nerve. Le sigh.
I've been doing CMJ stuff only tangentially. Thursday night, I went to two showcases for a min way late. Kitty Power says no to hipster art metal and empty dance floors, respectively! Life has mostly been wandering around with the kids and being happy that places are filled and strangely fun for a switch. And marvelling that just when I had forgotten about The Director again, there he was -- almost for real this time. Developing...
It's my blog and I'll not blog if I want to. Don't worry, I haven't actually been up to much of anything anyways.
This was a big drift weekend. The theme of the weekend was college, wandering with kids, doing up the house party thing. I got lovingly yelled at Friday for being MIA from that branch of Wes friends and enjoyed seeing everyone after such a while. Saturday was off uptown with Trendvickster and her school friends, trying not to sneer at the ghetto fabulous party theme. No, don't ask me for approval on your costume, you shit. But, it is amusing to know that ghetto fabulous in that universe means bandanas, track pants, and sweat bands. Oh yeah, they roll mad deep in Scarsdale, yo.
Sunday night I decided to say the hell with being in bed the day before a holiday work day (grrr) like a good worker bee and ventured out to a happening. Hung with Jenny and friend and was horrified/amused by the freaky dancer guy trying to get all up in my space. We taunted Bill by calling him a party killer and I found myself strangely in a dance off. I lost -- but only because I was wearing 3-inch boots and backed into a corner. I call rematch! Was good times though.
Work has been eating my time and attention this week. I may *jinx* be in line for a promotion after only a little over 5 months. *jinx* The whole thing has been random and fast and I've been trying to put on my good face yet be me at the same time. I can think of an equal amount of pluses and minuses for getting or losing out. A few for new position are: more money than I can shake a stick at (+) and the satisfaction of being really successful doing shit my own way (+), but also if you think I've disappeared in the past couple of months, you haven't seen anything yet (-) and I'd be losing the account variety for one massive one with a self-identifying micromanager. Joy. (-) I'm waiting and seeing what happens now. ETA: I jinxed myself just like I knew I would. Didn't get it. I'm sorta disappointed, but ah well. Life goes on.
Regardless, I plan on coasting through the rest of the month -- though this week has the possibility to be a little hectic. (Woo...CMJ and other music related stuff!) At the end of the month, I'm finally finally going on vacation. My last real one was the Florida trip from hell with the psychotic French and this one is going to La La Land to visit recent transplant and pal C. Interpol at The Wiltern...yes please. I was telling PrincessNella about my aspirations to get a Defamer sighting trifecta of Twitney, Lohan, and Paris and she worried about my sanity. That'd be the shit, y'all. I'd be a god on the Fametracker boards! I also aspire to meet Jason Negro Please...or at least get his recs on some hot spots in town. Actually, any- and everyone with a rec should give a shout.
I'm back in the saddle.
First things first before the freaking novella to follow: I met him! *cue fangirl screaming* He was nice and all, but we don't have to get married anymore. He's got a doppleganger (or at least did Friday wandering around the party) that was just more. Would it be really ballsy of me to put a missed connection on Craig's List all "you looked like my fave musician was supposed to look but didn't. Holla back." I'm pretty tempted.
I spent Thursday night after work at the gym after finding no one who wanted to do anything more than watch the debates (Fizzie, Ant), sleep (Lina), or be M.I.A. (everyone else). On the bikes, I watched bits of Joey (what the hell happened to Paulo Costanzo? He used to be all proto-Seth on the O.C. dorky yet cute in things like Road Trip, now he looks about 15 and blah. Regrow the white man 'fro, Paulo!) and Veronica Mars (which is such a shameless blend of Buffy and Nancy Drew. She even talks like Buffy. Paris Hilton cameod and is a strange plastic afghan looking giant with no intonation in her voice. And it was so annoying how everyone addressed the title character by first and last name. "Oh, Veronica Mars, what do you think?" "Get out of here, Veronica Mars!" "Veronica Mars, you so crazy girl!" It drove me nuts!). I dropped by Sapph where tumbleweeds were blowing through and showed off my Zen, chatted some, played guinea pig, the usual. I was actually in the house by midnight...on Thursday! You know I had to do something about that the next night.
I'd heard about this show early in the week and wild horses weren't keeping me away from my man. I've managed to miss all of his New York appearances for years and I was determined to rectify that -- especially since this place was mere blocks away from my job and I'm all about open bars. Talking with Ant as the work day wound down allowed me to draft him up for party duty.
I went first to make sure I didn't miss the bargain and was confront with a major pet peeve of mine. Don't you love it when people willfully are skipping you on a line and then want to chat with you as if you don't notice? This bitch was pretty obnoxious about it too. The colder weather has ushered in the return of the kicky stil boots, so I was tall enough to shoot withering looks down at her. She stepped aside when we hit the bar at the same time because I'm sure she could see in my face I would've swatted her down like a fly.
The party itself was great. I was really stunned. I've learned to accept that at an art event, it's pushed to the background while people mill about practicing cool faces. The $5 cover must've brought out the serious folks because not only were the pieces given a prominent role but people were actually looking at them too. The space was cool and had a massive terrace outside adjacent to the High Line. Ant and I milled about until I spotted a Wes head that I run into a fair amount but usually get semi-ghosted by. We weren't unfriendly back at school and worked at the radio station together. I bitterly noted that fact to Ant and said I could probably go up to where he was get zero response. Oh, did I mention yet that the party bars were only serving beer (not an option) and Red Bull and Vodkas? Whoever made up that drink needs to be shot. I'm the worst handler of caffeine in history. When I was younger, it used to put me to sleep and now it has an effect which I can equate (based on observing other people) to Ellen Burstyn's diet pill dementia in Requiem For A Dream. I start to twitch. My eyes get wide. I turn ON GODDAMMIT! It's really sick. So, when I had this brilliant idea, I was on V&RB #1.
I stroll over to him and look him in the face about to pass him and he's all "hey, Candice!" all happy fake. "What's up, D," I said neutrally. "How are you?" And we go on some long drawn out reunion convo that was strangely not painful, though I had to be all "I see you all the time and you never say hi. I saw you at The Sea and Cake concert!" (almost a year and a half ago. I do believe heavily in holding grudges) His reply was that he'd never seen them. Liar! As if he's not totally distinctive looking. He says he works in the music industry nowadays which brought me to wonder that who -- besides me -- doesn't have their hands in that, especially guys. Every NYC guy I seem to meet are in graphics, music, and/or journalism. But where I hang out might have a lot to do with that, natch. Anyways, he was all "doing a CMJ showcase, I'll give you a call to check it out" blah blah. I'll believe that when I see it.
I was off back to Ant with V&RB #2 and we were chatting when I turned to him and said suddenly, "ohmigod, that's him!" And replied, "future husband, etc." I motioned over to this tallish, thin guy all in black, slightly scruff with hair pulled back. I thought that something was slightly off about him compared to the pics I'd seen, but I chalked that up to photogenic issues. He was still hot though, but in a way I hadn't expected. Ant was amused as I stalked him with my eyes before getting up to follow him inside. He went to the bathroom line and I waited on the female equivalent occasionally looking over and trying to think of an opening. I was about to speak when he went into the bathroom and I just frowned instead and took my turn. When I got out, he was gone. I was pan and scanning on my way back out to the terrace when I almost ran into another guy. Equally tallish, scuff, and thin but his hair was beyond and he looked like he'd just rolled out of bed and come over. His face clicked in my head and I was all "oh shit, that's him! Prefuse has a bizarro!"
Newly scared to talk to him (again), I ran back outside to tell Ant that we had a case of dopplegangers on our hands. We went back inside to meet the newly arrived Fizzie and brief him on the haps. We stood within sight both inside and out as I worked on V&RB #3. Finally, as he stood alone over by the DJ area, I just walked over and blurted out, "you're Scott, right? I'm a major major fan of all your work. I love your site. The commentary is so funny. I love that story of getting barred from APT that you wrote before it got taken down. I'm such a fan" and he was all "bless you bless you" and I walked off, grinning. Woo!
After all this, we settled down into the corner of the roof and chilled out. I dragged out my Zen to let Ant hear the song Fizzie and I are beating into the ground about a year too late. "Fire in the disco! Fire in the...Taco Bell!" Fizzie had bought 5 drinks tickets on arrival and now he was determined to finish them off. He got me another V&RB (#4) and Ant, the lightweight his 3rd Red Stripe. By then, the caffeine was about two seconds from making my head explode, so I was taking miniscule sips. Fizzie, the binge-drinking sadist, shoved another in front of me and I mostly declined. The time was midnightish and we still had a concert to check at the Blue Note.
Poor Ant was wrecked on arrival and went to the bathroom looking a little green. I shoved water at him and made him eat some of the fries that came with my Portobello Cheeseburger (so. damned. yummy) while we listened to K's jazz group. We pretty much stayed long enough to finish the food and try in vain to keep ourselves awake before bouncing. Nice leisurely train ride back to Queens and I was in the door by 3am, not passing go but going directly to the bed for some shuteye.
Another Saturday, another apartment visit. It's damned near impossible to look for an apartment with a full-time job. Everyone likes to do things M-F 9am - 5pm when you'd think they'd realize that those responsible tenants they want are off making money. Who knows how it went? I'm starting not to care anymore. Just give a nice cheap little studio and let me call it a day.
That night, the plan was to check the opening night of a party I liked but had previously been too far for me to go to. I called around but Fizzie was hurting from his like 2 drinks the night before and Lina and I were playing phone tag. I put a call into Jenny and in the spirit of adventure, trekked out to Park Slope. A friend of hers was having a goodbye party and once that broke up, I convinced Jenny to go to this spot, ironically the former site of that party.
We settled into the corner and I pan-scanned. I think I knew officially that I was different/this weekend had been unusually stellar when I realized that the DJ was criminally terrible (god dammit, they need a "how to beat match" guide with every turntable set!) yet I wasn't that bent out of shape about it. There's something about that bar I like. Besides, cute boys everywhere. I heart Brooklyn from the depths of my heart and it was a fun reminder. I need to go to Brooklyn more often. Apparently in Brooklyn, good-looking non-skeezy guys politely and amusingly come up to you and your friends and start talking charmingly. Imagine that?!
I let Jenny be the mack princess and wandered around. I was standing at the bar getting a refill when I was offered a cupcake from a box we'd been eyeing earlier. Mmm...non-chocolate cupcakes. Why can't every bar have cake at 2am? That's what I wanna know.
Me sitting euphorically in the booth with my cupcake apparently signaled the deluge. Apparently I'm attractive when I smile and eat. I'll note that for future reference. I've missed the sitting and chatting so. My flirting skills are rusty because it's been so long since I've cared and I smirk too much, but all in all still fun. I went off wandering as I do and started talking to another guy I had noticed in the crowd. We talked about the DJ (terrible), 419 nights we like (awesome) and his night at some trendoid spot I've strangely managed to avoid thus far (maybe I'll make an exception next week). The cupcake giving man walked by somewhere in there and gave my convo companion the thumbs up signal. I snickered. Boys are so subtle. I took that as my cue to wander off again.
Soon the place had thinned considerably and we were ready to take our leave circa 3 am. Strolling through the streets, on the F to the A to J to the bus, home. Fucking good feeling weekend. Maybe fall's my season.
Everything's been turning around slowly but surely.
I really can't even describe the new lease on life my Zen has given me. (Sorta sad? Perhaps.) I'm a big believer in deprivation as a means to an end. I've wanted (in no particular order) the Zen, a digicam, and a vacation more or less since I plopped back into town last July. I kept putting them off until I got a job (check), moved (working on it) and lost some of that pesky extra weight (mostly done). No point in having spare money if I can't at least do something to make myself happy for a change. So, I took the plunge and got it and I'm glad for it. Post-apartment pinning down is the LA trip to roll around town with C. Nothing wrong with doing stuff for kicks every now and again.
I was pretty hype as the week passed. Music makes my time at work pass so much faster. The only problem with that being if nothing much is going on, I zone out on the music and lose all pretense of "working." I need to work on that. Even the gym breezed by. I'm not at obnoxious iPod user codependency yet, but it's definitely omnipresent. Especially now that I figured out how to completely work it. What's really up with complicated electronics not coming with an instruction manual? For over $250, you can do a little more than give me a damned manual file on the CD.
Adding to that is that I've been on a serious healthy kick over the past month that's been paying off big time lately. Weeks of eating salads (with meat sides because I am me) before easing back into regular stuff in moderation plus quality time at the gym means I've gone down about a size and am back to pre-job weight at least. I feel great and I'm not even done. Who'd have thought I'd actually learn to like the gym? I'm thinking of trying to get down to the start of senior year single digit size. We'll see. I hate it when I'm too skinny.
It's all coming together now.
There are some things that I have learned to dread over the past year and change: "I read your blog" coming out of the wrong mouth. Well, not necessarily wrong per se, but someone random that probably then wants to go on to nitpick with me. Despite all the growth and changes, I write this little space for Alex and Jay-V and PrincessNella and Trendvickster and Fizzie and Wes/HS far-flung peeps and the new folks I've met along the way. Not for you, Persons Mysterious who keep obsessively searching out info on the old entanglements. (I see you. It's annoying. Knock it off.) I write on the web because I'm a fucking nerd and I want to. But, it's not the definitive Candice, just the briefest of snapshots.
If you read this blog, you'll notice that I'm fond of words and words and more words and the occasional picture four times a year. I hate things and I'm not afraid to say it. But unwillingly, I've learned to censor myself and skim over many details because I can -- and have-- gotten annoyed with the random Googling that leads to "ohmigod, I saw you talking about me on your blog, so now I plan to read it all the time." Most of the feelings and episodes that seem to be traumatic mostly cease to matter about 30 minutes after I polish off a post about it. I'm not as much of a vain/shallow/self-serious/trendoid/lazy/snobbish/substance abuser/obnoxious bitch as I may appear in my posts, but I always reserve the right to be a fucked up individual in real life. Candicissima "Candice" Nassapeemadalon is a tweaked persona, but the episodes are a collection of facts. If you've passed through one of my episodes, you might have been mentioned (or not). Name checks are not necessarily indicative of anything but me typing you in with the rest. But if you get called out, and what? Don't wasting my time bugging me about it.
If you're searching for some sort of insight into my emotional state or brain, you're barking up the wrong tree. It's fairly obvious what needs to be taken at face value or not. The bubbly black girl is at that blog down the road. I pride myself on being a little more...complicated. This is a glorious hobby and a bit of a muscle flexing. Getting bent out of shape is for the birds. As are disclaimers. But you gotta do what you gotta do sometimes.
