Not to discredit the work that firefighters have been putting in, but here’s another solution Joanna and I have come up with to help fight fires (and rationalize eating various frozen treats).
By eating frozen yogurt and/or Slurpees, we’re cooling off our bodies. Our reduced body heat will then permeate the air, subsequently cooling off the air as well. That cooled-off air will then travel over to the forest fires and cool things down over there.
Sometimes you go to a Katy Perry (and The Bird and the Bee!!) concert on a Saturday night because one of your friends has free tickets, and sometimes you leave the concert to go a party but find out everyone’s relocated to Crown Bar, so you show up at 12:45 am and you tell the bouncer you’re here for the birthday party (“You’re here for Allison’s birthday?” “Uhh, yep, that’s it!”) so you don’t have to wait in the massive line.
So then when you’re inside the bar, you’re talking to a guy who is stupid pretty and is an actor and gets really insulted when you ask him if he’s a waiter with a headshot, because a) he has no sense of humor and b) he’s on some show on ABC family, so clearly you’ve seen him on tv. After you’re finished slow dancing with him to diffuse the situation (because that always diffuses any tense situation, and if Obama would just slow dance with Kim Jong Il and Ahmadinejad, shit would all be fine), you realize that the in the group of guys he’s here with is the guy you rear-ended in your car accident (the guy in front of the truck you rear-ended) who stuck around while you cried (and not a pretty cry) and got your phone number to make sure you were okay, and then he turns out to work for a certain agency that rhymes with Gee Ay Ay, and only in Hollywood would you use a car accident for networking (and also, did you mention that this guy is super hot? And that you had a boyfriend then, but you don’t anymore?).
And sometimes the bar closes and you and your friends have made friends with all of his friends (except for one that was kind of an asshole, and before you can filter what comes out of your mouth you’ve already told him that he looks like Spencer Pratt had a baby with a turtle) (but it’s okay because you quickly reconcile with a slow dance on the side of Santa Monica blvd), and hot accident boy says, hey, everyone’s hanging out at our house, and his house turns out to be three blocks from your place, so you and your friends decide to go hang out for a little while, because the rest of his friends also work for Gee Ay Ay (except for the random dude who looks a little like jesus and turns out to be a former member of Rage Against The Machine) and a little networking never hurt anybody.
So sometimes you end up hailing a cab at the entrance of Runyon Canyon at 4:30 am with two of your favorite people in LA and trying to piece together an order of events led up to this, and it’s always good to leave a trail of bread crumbs.
Me to Simon/”Dad” if you will
After I sent him a nice e-mail to thank him for paying my wireless bill, all he wrote back was “OK.” I replied explaining why he needed to be a little less emotionally unavailable, and he replied with the same two-letter response. When he called later, the above quote was how I answered the phone.
I really, really like that Simon lets me talk to him like that.
Dear Size TWO Shorts at Express,
Hi. It’s so nice to finally meet you, face-to-face (or should I say… inseam-to-buttcheek?). I’m almost positive we’ve never met until today.
I didn’t take you home with me because investing in a pair of white sailor shorts so close to Labor Day seemed unwise, but I just thought I’d send you a letter to let you know how nice it was to snub your friend, Size 4, and come hang out with you.
Maybe if you have a sailor shorts friend in black, I’ll come back and see you again.
Really, Really Pleased With Myself
I’m getting a little sick of companies taking away services/charging additional fees for things and calling it “Going Green.” Call your PR company, tell them that line’s overused, and come up with a better excuse. How about the truth? YOU’RE FUCKING CHEAP.
T-Mobile is now charging an extra fee every month to send the same bill they’ve been sending since, oh… cell phones have been invented. Yes, lots of people pay them online. But even more people, some who’ve had their credit card stolen online (aka Simon… aka the person who’s taken over my fiscal responsibilities whilst I play intern for a few months) like to do things the old fashioned way.
”Enjoy the freedom of Paperless Billing,” they say.
Horseshit. Real “freedom” would be allowing your customers choose how THEY are going to pay YOU.
So I’m interning at a pretty awesome late night talk show. Who comes on the talk show? Celebrities, duh. I’ll be seeing them every day, so it’s not like it should phase me. I’m cool as a cucumber. Or Jell-O. Or anything refrigerated.
R. Kelly was a few feet in front of me. No big.
Kathy Lee Gifford walked right by. Neat, I guess.
Selena Gomez talked to her familia by us in the green room. Cool, but still not a huge deal.
Then in walks this gigantic dark Amazon. Holyfuckingshit… Shaq is here. He walked past us to the bar, and my mouth dropped.
“You can close your mouth now,” said the other intern.
The highlight of my night: He looked straight at me, nodded his head and goes “Hey, how’s it goin’?”
I could only smile. His presence is… daunting.
I’m such a fucking dork.
Filing casting info today… I came across a few familiar names. See if you recognize any of them:
And an individual who calls himself “Razor.” He’s not famous… he’s just ridiculous.
This is going to take some getting used to.
Hopefully eventually I won’t need a mid-day coffee boost/won’t be schlumping all over the office in exhaustion.