quiet.

As in, I have been. And also will be.

We are leaving on a jet plane tomorrow at the crack of dawn. We land in Newark some gazillion hours later (thank god I no longer smoke) and are spending the long weekend with Will's family. His cousin (hi Liz!) got married in Hawaii last month and they are throwing a luau/reception for the family. I am looking forward to it.

It may be that all of my time is spoken for, but if you are in the New York City/Northern Jersey area and would like to see me, drop me an email. I will try to make time for you.

After the weekend I am supposedly coming home again with my sweetheart, but there is a chance I will extend my stay to go help my grandmother move (and hopefully to see Joni and her family, since I will be so close). I haven't decided yet and I'm really stressed out over the whole thing.

Would it be tacky to start an iBook fund? I desperately need one. This vacation is going to suck so hard. I was finally getting on track with my writing.

Anyway. I expect to be quiet, but I will have internet access, so please drop me a line.

This entry is all about farts.

Someone in Mission Viejo (southern Orange County) just asked me to light a match or something. Because MY ASS STINKS.

Last night Cassie took me and Will and Darren and Jenn to Marouch, where the food is really delicious and full of garlic. The vegetarian dishes all have garbanzo beans and/or fava beans.

I am a vegetarian who cannot digest beans. And yet I eat lots of hommos.

It is really problematic.

...Aren't you glad you read this entry?

Weeeeeeird.

A week or two (or even maybe three) ago I was admiring a necklace at Silver Jewelry Club (looks like a scam, totally isn't). I have NO MEMORY of buying it, but it arrived today. Will doesn't remember buying it either. Is it possible they read my mind?

This week I've been reading Anne of Green Gables online and PMing Mgan about it. Today a package arrived from gorgeous suki containing the DVD.

Hee!

It turns out that Odwalla Superfood can go bad.

Blecchhhhhh!

And on reflection, that is really all I had to say.

Celebrity Sighting #6348

Yesterday afternoon, TIMOTHY OLYPHANT ran past me, shouting.

It was one of the crowning moments of my life.

(Can you have more than one crowning moment? Do they have to be achievements? I'm confused.)

To be more specific: Will's boss, SC, was meeting with TIMOTHY OLYPHANT. These things happen. I guess. I can't imagine having such a thing happen to me but then I am just a drooling fangirl.

I was standing between SC's office and the front door. The windows overlook the street.

TIMOTHY OLYPHANT must have seen the parking enforcer pull up in front of his car, and he ran out to stop him/her giving him a ticket. I originally thought someone was towing his car, which somewhat amused me as I have chased a towtruck down the street. A long time ago. But it was just an expired meter. And I think he got there in time. I know I wouldn't have given him a ticket.

HE IS TOO CUTE.

You're ruining it for the rest of the class.

Comments OFF until further notice.

Further notice. (Trying word verification. If that doesn't work, someone needs to install Wordpress on my site for me.)

Also.

Due to SPAM, anonymous comments are disabled. If you are a human, registration with Blogger is free and takes mere seconds. Please do so, as I love your comments. If you are trying to sell or promote something, please fuck off.

I AM A VEGETARIAN.

Stop SPAMMING me.

Worst. Party. Ever.

OK, look. I used to work for an organization that threw super-hip parties. Like, we rented The Factory once for a party. The Andy Warhol one. (Or, you know, one of them.) SO I KNOW HIP PARTIES. And honestly? They are fun to set up and run.

Last night we went to a party in the Silver Lake/Echo Park area. The location alone was so hip that the door said it was a doctor's office. Oh, and the door? Locked.

The invitation (more on that) said 9pm onward, so we assumed that the party started at 9:00 in the pm. CRAZY, right? We got there at 9:30 to the locked door with no sign or other indication that we were in the right place, other than some valets sitting around shooting the shit and not parking cars. We wandered their way and discovered a hipster standing with them, who told us they were opening the doors at 9:30. Being a TOTALLY UNHIP BITCH, I said that it was after 9:30, the invite said 9:00, and I didn't want to wait. I believe I was given the evil eye, but Will only noticed that the valets laughed in an agreeing sort of fashion.

ANYWAY, someone let us in through a terribly hip entrance in the alley and we went into the "space." This is the kind of location that can only be called a "space." It was TRAGICALLY HIP and there was open fire. That was pretty damn cool, actually. We stared at it, mesmerized, until this woman named Noelle came and introduced herself to us.

This was not Noelle's party. Oh, no. The hostess hadn't shown up yet. Hopefully from embarrassment. Noelle was the party planner. As in, "Events By." And let me tell you, I could do her job ten times better than her, even though I have no contacts and am not remotely hip. Also, I am skinnier than her, but that is a petty victory because I bought jeans on Friday at the Gap, where they size things small to make you feel good about yourself, and I am two sizes larger than I have ever been in my life and I'm not even pregnant.

*deep breath*

Let me tell you about the invitation Noelle designed. And let me start by saying that I could have done better given five minutes, MS Word, and a printer. The front (?) is this awful teal blue and has the names of the hosts on it, written as "Mia & Michael" - only that isn't their names (only Noelle's name has not been changed). If I received it I would assume it was a Save-The-Date for a wedding. The back (?) has a navy blue stripe across the top and a teal stripe - probably a different shade - across the bottom. The background is white, which is the nicest thing I can say about this thing. The text is black, except for random words and bits of punctuation (and I do mean random) which are bright red. Also, the text is not aligned in any uniform fashion. Some of it is centered. Some of it is aligned left to a centered margin. Some of it is just aligned left. And the actual words are stupid. "Promoted. Party. Period." (The full stops are red, by the way. For some REALLY HIP reason.) Then it says "WHEN," "TIME" (which is redundant and party of "when"), and "WHERE." The "WHERE" giving no indication that the address is incorrect and the "space" is actually in the alley behind the doctor's office. ALSO, "TIME" said 9PM ONWARD, as I already mentioned. It occurs to me that there was no reason for block caps, but she used them anyway. Maybe they're friends with the random bits of red ink.

So, the invitation sucked, the party sucked, and there was fire. Any reasonable person would have set the place on fire, using the invite as kindling. NOT ME. I wandered around, trying to give the place a chance. It was the baby bottles sitting on display next to the "margarita in a bottle" that did me in. And even then, I waited for Will to say we could go. And really, I don't think we have never skidaddled so fast, even given the two to three minutes spent staring at the fire. I think we were back in our car within five minutes of admittance to the "space." Home in 45. (Which, amusingly, is the estimate I gave Darren.)

Revoke my nerd cred.

Will is playing a game on the PS2. There is a HUGE FIRE PLANET IN THE SKY. I'm like, "What the hell is that?" and he's like, "I'm on the moon where the rebels have their base, and that's the planet that the death star comes around." (No, I don't know why he said it in such a retard-o fashion. He was trying to kill the droid.) So I'm like, "Endor?" and he's says "No." So I'm all, "I don't know what you're talking about!" and he's like, "The rebel base where they send out the fighters to destroy the Death Star. IN THE FIRST MOVIE."

And I'm like, "Oh, I've only seen that about 600 times so I have no idea what you're talking about."

Will, do not read this.

local6.com - News - Naked 'Tickler' Targeting Sleeping Elderly Women

Bitch monster from Hell.

Today I met the lady they were thinking of when they coined that phrase. (You know. "They.") She was younger than I expected.

Spanky, the puppy I was watching/playing with/being beaten up by, lives in the Franklin Hills, which is sort of above Los Feliz. The road is narrow and very windy (er, winding, not breezy) and parking is permitted on one side. So I parked across from the house and went into the backyard with the pup.

About half an hour later I heard a woman's voice calling from the side of the house and went to meet her. She said, "Is that your car?" in the most accusatory voice I've ever heard. Since I couldn't see the road and was not the only person parked out there, I asked which car she meant. "THE ONE BLOCKING ME IN." Well, I hadn't blocked anyone in that I knew of, so I asked her to wait a second and I'd come check.

Before I could get my keys or secure the dog (who is a baby and she has to know that, living right across the street), she started screaming about how she'd had to climb through the shrubbery to get out of her house. At this point I started apologizing,even though I still didn't know if it was my car. I left my keys in my bag and the puppy in the yard and came up to the street, where I saw that my car had indeed blocked the stairs from her front door to the street. I started apologizing in earnest, because I honestly hadn't seen the stairs and I felt TERRIBLE about it.

At this point any normal person would have realized that I was taking responsibility, not making any excuses, sorry, and TOTALLY INCAPABLE OF TURNING BACK TIME, and just accepted my apology. NOT THIS HO-BAG. She was still yelling at me as she drove away. BITCH.

And the thing is, I still felt bad. I went so far as to write a note of apology, but I threw it away because I realized that there was at least one, and I believe two, alternate exits from her house. SHE WAS JUST BEING A CUNT. So fuck her.

I thought of a great title for this post and promptly forgot it.

Earlier today I rescued a tiny dog. (Before anyone who might be married to me panics, my use of the word 'rescued' here means 'reunited with her human'.)

I was walking to the post office to mail my mother's birthday gift (her birthday is today and I bought the gift weeks ago which just shows you how organized I've been lately) and I saw a teensy white dog on the grass in front of an apartment building. I bent down to pet her and noticed there were no humans in the immediate vacinity. I picked her up and determined she had no collar, which kind of worried me.

I picked her up! Now I can't just leave her! I NOTICED SHE WAS ALONE AND AM NOW RESPONSIBLE FOR HER! CRAP!

There was a guy playing with his kid in the courtyard of the building, and the gate was ajar, so I thought maybe she was theirs. I yelled in but they said no. So I began stopping people walking by, asking if they knew the dog. That...was a nice way to meet old Korean ladies, but didn't exactly help. Eventually a teenage girl came out on the balcony of one of the apartments in the building where I'd found the dog, and I asked her. (Lest anyone wonder why I hadn't explored further, she was a tiny, old little dog and didn't seem likely to have wandered very far.) The girl got her mother who thought the dog belonged to a neighbor, and they came down to get the dog. The neighbor in question materialized, they explained that the crazy white girl was holding her dog on the sidewalk, and she came to take her back.

She told me, in Spanish, that the gate must have been opened.

I told her, in English, that the dog needs a collar.

She said "Thank you."

I said, "De nada."

The end.

Well, not quite. I have to editorialize a bit.

There are a lot of tiny dogs in Los Angeles. It's tiny dog central. I think this is because most landlords don't allow pets, and the ones who do often have a weight limit. Usually 20 pounds. So it's a purse dog or nothing. This dog can't have weighed ten pounds. She was very pretty but not at all in a showy way. She was calm and sweet and liked being held. She got nervous after a while when a dog somewhere started yapping, and clung to my arm, but she never barked or squirmed, just sort of sat there. Very sweet girl. As much as I do not want a small dog, I didn't really want to give her back to her person, who seemed oblivious to the fact that the gate had a six inch gap underneath it when closed and her bitty dog could escape any time and DIDN'T HAVE A COLLAR, damn it.

hee.

• I had my first email asking if I am preggers.
  
  
• I played with a puppy this morning and will go back tomorrow and play with him some more.
  
  
• I am getting paid for this. I find that astonishing.
  
  
• I have to go to the store. I plan to buy pasta, artichoke hearts, olives, pickles, ground beef, salad greens, red wine vinegar, and hamburger buns.
  
  
• I wish I had a PDA so I could check this when I'm standing in aisle 4 wondering what I'm supposed to be buying.

Skeleton Key

I forgot to mention that I have another review up at Creature Corner. I think it's the best writing I've done for them thusfar.

http://creature-corner.com/?type=reviews&id=762

love and the acid test

In a fit of productivity, I applied for something like eight thousand jobs this afternoon. On the internet. So we'll see how that goes.

Changes are happening here at Casa Klein.

Big changes.

I don't yet know what all of the changes will be, but I know they will be great. In the 'vast' sense of the word. But in the 'terrific' sense too.

And if everything goes tits up, I will go live in the monkey house at the zoo.

cleaning house.

I just deleted half of my blogroll. Gone are blogs that are no longer updated. Gone are blogs of people I don't know, except for two food blogs that I want to marry and the blog of a woman I might also want to marry, Diablo Cody of Pussy Ranch. Also Neil Gaiman gets to stay. No explanation necessary. Gone is my mother's blog, per her request. If I do know you and I accidentally deleted yours, let me know and I'll put it back. If I know you and don't have a link to your blog and you think I should, let me know. If you use Blurty or LiveJournal, my blogroll is unfairly prejudiced against you and you will not be added at this time. This decision is totally arbitrary so don't ask for an explanation. But you can ask for an exception. I am in a lot of pain and the more painkillers I take the more generous I feel. Which reminds me - it's been at least an hour. Time for more drugs!

Ack.

Today I walked into Will's office to see if he wanted to have lunch with me, and he was on the phone with Trent (name not changed because I don't feel the need), the friend who optioned the Worst Book Ever™. What does my sweet wonderful husband do? He puts me on the phone with this guy, who wants to know what I thought of the book. To Will's credit, he had at least told Trent that I didn't like the book, which hopefully softened the blow a bit as I did not pull any punches. I may have even suggested, inadvertently, that Trent is dumb. I hope not. I did tell him that I was sure that ABC Family and/or Hallmark Channel would almost certainly be interested in making it into a movie. I just won't watch it.

Anyway, I think I managed to avoid hurting his feelings and tell the absolute truth. Plus, he said he owes me lunch, and I love lunch, so that's nice.

balancing

I balanced the checkbook.

I sent Will and Darren to the store for cake + ice cream.

I am lactose intolerant.

Lactaid.

In which I am the World's Best Wife.

So, Will reads a lot. I mean, A LOT. For work. And then when he is done reading for work, he reads for pleasure. IT IS A SICKNESS, PEOPLE. He reads and he reads and he reads AND HE STILL HAS 20/20 VISION.

To say that he's been under a bit of pressure at work lately would be the biggest understatement since, well, a really big understatement made sometime before now. So when he agreed to read a novel that a work-friend of his has optioned, I suggested that I read it for him and let him know how it is.

By the first sentence I knew it was bad.

By page six I hated it more than I have ever hated any book, anyone, seriously ANYTHING ON EARTH. I called Will to tell him that it was the schmaltziest, the worst, the most poorly written book in the history of time. He told me that he'd promised and so was going to read it anyway.

Any normal person would have set the book on fire and then feigned innocence when Will asked where it was.

Do you know what I did?

I read it. Every page. It burned my eyes and killed a large portion of my soul, but I read it. And when I was done, I wrote a detailed synopsis and notes on just how bad it is and why, so that Will would never have to open the book.

And that, dear readers, is love.

P.S. Just in case it is true that any press is good press, I am not going to name the book here. However, I do not wish for any of my readers to be subjected to its unbelievable badness. So please, if you think you might accidentally read it, drop me a quick email and I will give you the details so you can avoid it.

To anyone on Ventura Boulevard in Studio City this morning at about 9:47 who might have heard me screaming along to Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now"

I'm really sorry, dude. The aggression wasn't going anywhere on its own, and desperate times call for desperate measures. I really wasn't "having a good time."

Transmitting.

It has just come to my attention that I have not updated in 5 days. (Really, I only noticed because my blog is my home page and I opened my browser and went, "Wednesday? Gee, that was five days ago.")

So, I will tell you an exciting little story.

This morning I drove Will to work so that I could have the car (though the reason I needed the car is no longer valid so all I've done is put a few extra miles on it). When I got home I put a load of laundry in, then came upstairs and dicked around on the internet while eating breakfast. Nearly TWO HOURS later I remembered about the laundry and went back downstairs to put it in the dryer, where it is currently tumbling, hopefully in something resembling heat (the machines here have - at best - about a 50% chance of working). I am currently done with breakfast, still dicking around [/Mindi], and listening to the maintenance guy fix my toilet.

Also of note: Darren arrived on Thursday. He is here (Los Angeles, not necessarily my apartment) for good. Other than my enormous melt-down on Saturday, things are going well in that department. My chiropractic sessions are going well and I am feeling better, though still very far from 100%. Unfortunately I only have enough money to pay for one more appointment, so after tomorrow I am fucked.

Furthermore: we have been watching Reno 911 (Darren brought his DVDs) and I LOVE it. I am far from shocked, as I also LOVED The State.

And finally: I was very sad to hear that Peter Jennings died. He was my favorite newscaster (if one can have such a favorite) and it was his honest* reporting that really helped me to get through September 11th without having a complete breakdown. I know that a stupid, clich�d thing to say but it's true.

* By "honest" I mean that he did not try to hide his shock or to put on a "brave face," just reported in his rumpled shirt. He hadn't shaved yet when he was called to the studio. He was so HUMAN.

What is it with people? A two-part question.

Yesterday I mentioned to someone that I'd started seeing a chiropractor. He immediately began telling me all about his chiropractor.

PART I: Why do people think that I should see their doctor instead?

But the thing is, he wasn't really extolling the guy's virtues. In fact, he basically told me that he sees a really mean chiropractor.

PART II: Why would you think that if your doctor is really mean, I would see him? Why would you think that even if your doctor is the best doctor ON EARTH I wouldn't try every single other doctor - every single one - before I would see your meany-head? WHY?

I suck!

I have been wanting to meet Yvonne for ages, and actually planning on it since I figured out that we only live an hour or two apart. (In Southern California, "an hour or two" is an exact measurement. Seriously.) We keep sending each other these emails, like, "How about next week?" and we know our approximate halfway point but we never actually name a day and that's mostly my fault. In fact, I feel like a total heel, 'cause, um, she has three kids and I have none. My biggest issue is finding a day that Will doesn't need the car (easy) and finding $5 to buy a coffee or something while I'm out (not as easy as I'd like, but not impossible).

And today? Yvonne totally emailed me and said she's driving this way, and could I meet her? AND I CAN'T. Because I didn't plan ahead. And OK, partly because we seriously don't have $5 - but I can drink water! I like water! But I was totally lame and said I can't go, and even though it's true (I am not about to walk), I feel awful.

Luckily, she gave me her phone number.

In TOTALLY UNRELATED NEWS, I have to go make some crank calls now.

I wrote some more crap.

Bruce Campbell's Man With The Screaming Brain

I don't get it.

I rather like Dave Attell, though anyone who says that he has the greatest job on earth is wrong (it's Kevin Brauch). He's reasonably funny and seems to enjoy life, which is a sadly hard-to-find trait lately.

But I don't understand the appeal of Insomniac. Watching other people get drunk and behave irresponsibly is not funny! Well, the latter can be. I mean, I laugh at Jackass when I'm not hiding my eyes or retching. But Dave Attell doesn't have a giant panda suit (that I know of) - all he does is visit late-night bars and the Real World houses and spill beer. Why is this entertaining?

PHLEGM! the musical

I am having issues with post-nasal drip, brought on by the consumption of dairy this weekend. I've been studiously avoiding it and except for a small amount of butter hadn't had any in nearly two weeks. So of course I decided that a latte was a Really Good Idea™. Yummy foamy delicous milk! COFFEE! (I haven't had much caffeine since I gave up the milk.)

I. Am. So. Dumb.

That's really all I've got right now. I'm trying to finish a review that I flaked out on and really need to finish, so the obvious thing to do was write a blog entry. And now I'm done.

Well, almost. I suppose I ought to mention that I've been to see a chiropractor and it's looking good for everyone involved except the bank. They are getting SCREWED (which, alas, means we are screwing ourselves).

conversation

After recognizing an actress in a clip from Bram & Alice on Katie Finneran's demo reel:

me: Oh! She was on Two Guys, A Girl and a Pizza Place. She was the girl.

Will: Well, I was going to assume she wasn't the pizza place.

Suzy Poke

This is Susan Pope as she looked about eight months before her death. Her white hair and tininess were a shock to me, as the last time I'd seen her she was well - and four years younger. But her sparkle is very evident.

She was a truly wonderful person.