Leaving on a Midnight Train to Georgia

The thought of driving coast to coast is not a pretty one. So yesterday I decided to price out how much it would cost to have my car transported. In one fell swoop I don't want to put so many miles on my car, and risk flat tires and other mishaps (I've gotten more flat tires than I care to remember).

I gave two websites my info for quotes. Remember, this was yesterday. As of 4 minutes ago, I've gotten 29 emails from various companies offering to move my car. 29!!! And that's not even including the phone calls I've received. Am I everybody's last hope? Why the fuck won't they leave me alone? Even car salesmen aren't nearly this bad! But I can tell you one company which will definitely not be getting my business: the one that addressed me as MR. In conclusion, moving companies are fast moving up my 'shit list' ladder. They way they're going, they're going to out-pace the ABA in terms of the number of unwanted emails. Now that's saying something.

Now I'm scared shitless. I haven't started packing, although I've entertained the notion on more than one occasion. I still have to sell my bed and table, and donate clothes that I bought when I had an apparent lapse in eyesight. I have two months before I move. In between now and then I will:

-spend a weekend in North Carolina
-spend a weekend in Vegas
-spend a weekend in Texas
-spend half a week in DC

Of course I have to fit in packing in between all these cross country jaunts. You say it can't be done? I second that...

One Man Band

Whenever a long weekend approaches, I make a list of all the things that I want to get done. I figure that if there's an extra day to do everything I need to do, there's no way I can't finish.

Wrong.

At the end of the long weekend, nothing on my list ever gets marked off. Nothing. Some things I had to do this past weekend: grocery shop, clean out closet, hook up Blue Tooth, laundry.

What I actually did: read. sleep. Rock Band. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

I'm somewhat decent on the guitar. Mind you, I still jam on Medium. I tried hard, and FAILED before vocals even started. My excuse for not going past Medium is simple: I want to enjoy playing. When PS3 becomes a chore, that's when I walk away. So being the bad ass rocker chick that I am, I finished the solo tour on guitar. Instead of running down my list of things to do and actually doing one of them, I decided to try the drums.

I nearly passed out.

On Easy. When I'm on, I'm on. But when I'm off, I am most definitely off. I felt a sweat bead or two roll down the side of my face. My breathing became more rushed. I panicked. Drums was like an anxiety attack waiting to happen.

Fortunately my roomie arrived and saved me. So I switched to vocals. I'm not bad when its girl songs. But when its boy songs, like KISS or Beastie Boys, well, my roomie basically summed it up: You need to grow balls.

The Good Fight

I've never made any bones about it: people in LA are superficial and materialistic. Its the culture (or lack thereof) and the way of living. But every once in a while, I run across people who are kind and selfless.

My last Wish Kid, Blake, had his going away party this weekend at the Hard Rock Cafe at Universal Studio's Citywalk.

That's him, his brother, and some friends playing limbo. The best thing about this Wish was that a great company, Verifi, sponsored it. Not only did they sponsor Blake's wish to go to Hawaii, but they also sponsored the party for his family.

And their company came out in full force too. So my hats off to Matt (CEO), who is an incredibly gracious and kind person, and his company, for giving back to the community and making my Wish Kid's wish come true.

That's So Hollywood

My cousin was in town this weekend. I took her to Kitson. I hate Kitson. The sales associates are lazy and snobby. The perfect combination for getting no where in life. I walked out with a super cute Harajuku jacket, only to find out that the zipper was warped and wouldn't unzip all the way. Now I have a 84 bucks worth of store credit and will one day have to grace that stupid place with my presence.

Sadly, we didn't see anybody famous there. Or at The Ivy. Although I had a hard time looking sideways and walking. And how many times can you cruise on by by foot and not be noticed?

I introduced my cuz to Pinkberry. Which I find funny because there is no Pinkberry in Houston, so she can crave it all she wants and will never get it-hahaha! Although we can't afford Rodeo, we troll the area for celebs, and guess what?? Camped out in front of Gucci is a white Rolls Royce Phantom. And 10 paparazzi. Holy mother of meatloaf there's a celebrity inside! I pressure my cuz to hurry up and finish her frozen yogurt (in the end she ate the fruit instead-I totally don't get that since fruit is plentiful in Houston...) and in we went. Oh-I forgot to mention that we knew who the celebrity was. Get this: Janet Jackson's older brother.

No-not Michael Jackson. Don't we all wish it was him. So that left Tito or Jermaine-neither of which I would recognize anyway. But in we went. In we went with my cuz carrying her FAKE GUCCI. Its one thing to carry a fake Gucci into a Gucci store anywhere. Its a whole new ballgame to ago into the Rodeo Drive Gucci with a fake Gucci. I give her mad props.



That's us at The Grove-Asian style. We have absolutely no shame. For the first time I went into American Girl Place!!! I didn't get anything...but you know I wanted to =D

Karaoke for the Cool Kids

My roomie has a high tolerance for bad singing. Maybe he's as tone deaf as I am. When I sing, I hear Bon Jovi's voice. But of course the voices in my head are more melodious than what everyone else hears...

For three hours last night, we jammed on Rock Band. I started off as guitar because that's what I played Saturday night. I'm not very good. But my middle name is Progress. The first time I picked up the guitar I forgot that I had to strum. I was too worried about getting the colors right. (This is multi-tasking and sometimes I'm just not good at it).

Everybody else I play with can either do the 'Medium' or 'Hard' levels. I am comfortable in 'Easy' mode. It only requires the use of three fingers. Once I introduce Mr. Pinky, it all goes to shit. Mr. Index, Middle, and Wedding Fingers don't play nice with Mr. Pinky. And the end result is that I seem to not have rhythm or know the primary colors.

Last night after a brief stint as guitarist, I ended up lead singer. Roomie was a drummer named Bertha.

We totally rocked out.

I am Courtney Love.

1) without the blonde hair
2) without the drugs
3) without the smoking
4) without the disastrous pathetic life

I sang Courtney Love better than Courtney Love could of.

The flip side was that the crowd was less than pleased with my rendition of The Clash's 'Are You Gonna Go My Way.' And I got booed for Bon Jovi's 'Wanted Dead or Alive.' Same for Radiohead's 'Creep.' Eh...can't be good at everything.

I wonder if a taping of this will get me into the American Idol auditions...