Memoirs Of An Evil Genius

Happy Holiday$!

What's this "writing"?  It seems so new, so unfamiliar!

I kid, but not really.  It's been forever since I've updated, but it's been forever since I've done just about anything except for work.  Fortunately, my episode is in the finalization process, so MOST of the headachey parts are over.  OVER!  Of course, the qualifier "most" is "most" important here.  I've learned to stop relaxing, because at 6:30 when I'm supposed to leave I know someone will come running up, all, "OMG!  There's a thing that needs to be done RIGHT NOW for tomorrow, and if you don't do it nine million people will die!!!!" and then the 24 clock starts beeping and the screen goes to a four-way split screen, and...well, you know the drill.

But!  I am finally approaching the finish line for reals.  For REALS, for reals, because we deliver on the 21st and I go home on the 21st for the holidays, and I'm not doing any work on Christmas.  (Incidentally, I did a typo right there and said I wasn't going to do any qork on Christmas -- I'm not going to make that promise.  Frankly, I have to do a lot of qork just to get me through the holidays.)  What I WILL be doing is freezing my buns off and feeling poverty-stricken.

Oh, did I neglect to mention that I have had my car in the shop THREE TIMES since I bought it IN SEPTEMBER?  First the engine light came on and it cost ~$200 to repair.  Then the engine light came on and it cost $700 to repair.  Then, and you'll love this, the ENGINE LIGHT CAME ON -- ten days later -- and it cost $600 to repair!  And now?  Do you want to know what's happening now?  Do you?  Just listen: NOW the BRAKES are making horrific groaning noises, in manner of Shrieking Eels or similar, like they might be fixing to give up the ghost any old day.  Not comforting!  Add to these expenses the holidays -- WHICH, by the way, are taking off downhill like MY CAR WITH NO BRAKES -- and I'm practically sweating money.  I would love to stop my bank account from hemorrhaging, but it appears to be hemophiliac at this point.

Which reminds me: has everybody finished their Christmas shopping?  I HAVEN'T!  Who has time?  I bought a bunch of shit over Thanksgiving, and a bunch more over the subsequent week, but I've got more and more and more people to buy for every year.  And now that I have a "better" "job", people seem to expect more.  Apparently I can't get away with shopping at the 99¢ Store anymore.  I don't care what people say -- you never have too many ceramic hobo clown candle holders.

Anyway, I just wanted everyone to know I'm not dead.  Like my mom.  Who called me two weeks ago, and when I didn't answer called everyone I'd ever met to ask where I was and was I okay.  I was fine, by the way.  I was just drunk.  It was a Tuesday morning, after all.

(Kidding!  It was Saturday morning.)

(Kidding again!  It was Saturday afternoon.)

GASP

That's me, gulping air into my lungs, because I have FINALLY been able to get my head out of work for a few minutes.  Things have seriously been crazy hectic this week.  The shit hit the fan, like, six different ways.  Fortunately, I'm getting to be an expert shit-handler.  That sounded wrong.  But it is actually fairly accurate.

Okay, but for reals?  Why do people have to be assholes?  Like, especially (JUST FOR EXAMPLE) people in public relations.  Isn't their job to RELATE?  To THE PUBLIC?  If I had a dollar for every douchebag PR guy who gave me the runaround this week and/or acted like I was planning to slander them To Catch a Predator style and run some kind of child labor exposé ("We'd love to come down there and film you guys!  Could you make sure your workers don't bathe or put on makeup?  We'll be bringing some shackles -- for atmosphere -- so make sure everyone's aware.  We'd also like them to sing some old spirituals or whatever.  If you have any with broken limbs, let's put them in the front with extra welts on their flesh.") I would have...a whole lot of dollars.

But it's cool.  I got my car situation all straightened out at last, and it's mine, mine, mine!  Ironically, while I was sitting there and waiting for them to process my title transfer, I recognized this guy who was working there at Triple-A.  At first I was confused, because he looked familiar but still seemed so different, and I convinced myself I was wrong.  But then I heard him answer the phone, and sure enough: it was Tony, my old compatriot from the shackles-and-child-laboring pits of Arts-Friendly!  I didn't have time to go over and ask him how he was or what he's up to, because I had to haul ass to the office, but it's kind of nice just to know where he is and that he seems to be doing better than ever now that he's broken free of the chain gang.

In other news, both Tex and Ulrich have officially completed their respective local obligations and have returned to whence they came.  Ulrich is back up north at school, and Tex has gone back down south to his other obligations, so Argyle and I are alone.  Just us and TiVo.  And pie.  (I made pie this weekend.) I don't know what we did in the days before TiVo, though, I swear.  Of course, it's not all roses -- last night I was up till 3am trying to catch up on shows, because I'm going up north myself this weekend and will be missing all my leisurely opportunities to watch at my own convenience.

Okay, speaking of which, I need to get the FUCK out of the office.  RIGHT. NOW.  I will go for a run, I will drive the fifteen or so miles all the way back home to get shit I forgot this morning when I was running out the door, and then I will drive all the way back that and THEN some to go visit my boyfriend.  Toodles, y'all -- have a great and relaxing weekend!
 

Mo' Auto, Mo' Problems

Okay, I'm going to have to make this really, really quick because I have to leave work in about five minutes, but I have been so fucking busy all week that I didn't post anything.  SO, a quick update.

I bought a car last weekend.  Not that it was without The Drama.  Of course.  See, first off?  The car has...an odor.  Like, the guy I bought it from had this goshawful air "freshener" in the car, and it was so cloying it gave me a headache on the ride home.  It smelled like melted crayons and cheap, French whore.  So we put two boxes of baking soda in the car to soak up the stench.  So far, it's done wonders on the cheap, French whore!  Not so much on the melted crayons.

ALSO?  The tires needed to be replaced.  ALL of them.  So I did that on Monday, with much sturm und drang when they told me I needed the "wheel lock", but I'd thrown out the wheel lock (or else I'd salvaged it from the trash by putting it on the coffee table -- I did both things, but I couldn't remember which one came first.  Did I mention how busy I am?  It's like a David Lynch movie inside my brain), and they told me they were going to charge my ass $44 per tire to break the locks.  That's $176.  AMERICAN.  I said hell no, and they, worried they'd lose the insane sale of four tires, relented and broke them for free.  That's business for you.

Of course, the engine light has come on, and now I can't pass the smog test the guy who sold me the car was supposed to have gotten done before he sold it, and without that, I can't transfer ownership or register the car (the guy who sold it to me ALSO did not keep the registration current, imagine that), so I have to put it in the shop on Saturday.  Hooray for the "convenience" of personal automotive ownership, right?

Oh, ALSO also?  I came home Monday night to a letter from the bank informing me that, oh, by the way, they didn't cash the payout check I got from my insurance company for my total loss.  So I paid for my car and have been paying my bills with money I just barely had in the bank.  Like, by the time I found this out, I had $200 in the bank, and my rent check was still at large.  So I called them to yell at them about why I was just finding out about this now, via a letter, with no recourse, when the teller should have informed me there was a problem WHILE I WAS IN THE BANK DEPOSITING THE CHECK, and they should have CALLED ME to let me know that I might not want to start going all Paris Hilton with the spending when I didn't really have a dime to my name anymore.  I finally got things sorted out -- BARELY in the nick of time -- but BANK OF AMERICA has NOT HEARD THE LAST OF THIS.  I will be switching banking institutions, just as soon as all my latest checks have cleared.  Motherfuckers.

PS, I love how they try to subtly (or not-so) blame it all on you.  Like, they'll be all, "you're one of our most valued customers!" and then as soon as you have a complaint, it's like, "well, I'm sure it's your fault somehow.  We'll be sanctioning your account and charging you a ridiculous overdraft fee if anything goes wrong as a result of our incompetence."

Okay, now it is FINALLY the weekend, and I'm going to drink some wine.  Peace, y'all.

Putting the Cash in Crash

To make up for nearly two weeks of absence, and because a couple people asked me some questions, I will herewith impart the tale of my TOTALLY TOTALED CAR.

It was actually all very banal, as these things go.  We (the drivers) were at an intersection and incorrectly communicated which one of us would be going, and then we both went, and I hit the brakes and he stepped on the gas, but it was too late and we hit each other at a combined speed of about 40mph.  There was very little drama, no injuries, and the damage to my car appeared to be little more than a broken headlight casing (the lamp itself still worked fine), a damaged grille with scratched paint, and a slightly misaligned hood.

I drove a good 50 miles more before I finally dropped it off at the body shop (shoppe?) the next morning, whistling a very optimistic tune in manner of Andy Griffith or similar, thinking to myself about how quick and easy and painless this would all be.  Turns out it was quite painless for the mechanic, anyway, who won't have to do any work after all.  Because I got a look at the estimate, which placed the damages at about, you know, nearly SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.

I? Was outraged.  "What exactly is going to cost seven thousand dollars?"  I asked, in my outrage voice.  They informed me that they were essentially going to have to replace the entire front end of my car.  "With what?"  I demanded.  "A condominium?"  But no.  I couldn't understand everything on the itemized estimate, but according to my insurance representative, who went on in an airy bluster about "safety" and "responsible agenting", it would not be acceptable for me to continue driving that car.  So they have paid me considerably more than the damages to shut up and be nice about it.

So I will be getting a new car.  Hopefully this weekend.  God willing.  Because I cannot rely on the kindness of boyfriends (mine and other peoples') forever.

You'll Never Guess What Happened

First, the good news: I'm getting a new car!  Yay!  Well, not a NEW car, but one that's new to me.  Now the bad news: I'm getting a new car because...my car is totaled!  Sigh.

I know what you're thinking.  Go ahead, I'm thinking it too.  But seriously, did one of my ancestors, like, crash a jeep into the mummy's tomb?  Because what is with all the bad car mojo?  However, I suppose I should be glad that this time it literally took only a week for me to get all the paperwork signed and the money from my insurance company in the bank.  Last time it took five months and I almost lost my motherfucking mind.  I've actually even picked out a car already, sorta, if the dude selling it would ever call me back.

Related: why is it that I can't get people to sell me their cars?  The first car I bought -- brand new -- I couldn't get the salesman to call me back for two weeks.  I'm all, "Hey, I've got several thousand dollars I'd love to give you!" and he couldn't find time to get in touch?  Second time, the dude resisted my haggling but promised that if the price dropped he'd call.  The price dropped two weeks later and he didn't fucking call.  I found out about BY ACCIDENT because I responded to an ad in the paper for a car that sounded exactly like the one I wanted at the price I was asking.  What a douchebag.

Anyway, I've been driving Tex's enormous SUV for the past few days.  This has been exciting, because I am decidedly not a Big Car person.  In addition to lending me his car with no questions asked, he also cut my hair for free and is helping me take care of getting this new vehicle.  I told Argyle the other day that I was really glad we're going out with her boyfriend.  But then he needs the car tomorrow, so I will have to figure out something else.  "Something else", it turns out, will be that Ulrich will drive me to work at FIVE IN THE MORNING on his way out of town, and pick me up on his way back.  I will spend three hours tomorrow sitting in the Starbucks and reading.

At least I'll have a shot at finishing my book before the year's out.

Nobody Drives, Nobody Gets Hurt

Okay, seriously, what the hell?  Remember how a driver-less van smashed into our building the other day?  Well, not ten minutes ago, an SUV plowed into the building across the street.  And this comes four days after I watched a car's TIRE COME OFF on the EXPRESSWAY in the MIDDLE OF TRAFFIC.  I don't mean that the hubcap popped off, or that the rubber blew or something; I'm talking about a wheel jumping ship and rolling merrily down the center lane all by itself, while the sports car skids to a sparky halt against a guardrail.  I repeat: what the hell?  There is some bad driving juju in the air, people!  It's like Lindsay Lohan is astral projecting from rehab to take revenge!  I'm afraid to get on the road now! 

In related news, tomorrow is Deposition, Part Deux.  I have to drive downtown, remember in detail an accident I witnessed three years ago, and then drive all the way back into the Valley for work.  The commute alone is going to take at least an hour each way, and I am SO JAZZED ABOUT THE DRIVE I CAN'T EVEN TELL YOU!!!

Also in related news, I have been working through my lunches all week just for that purpose: so I can still leave on time tomorrow.  See, tomorrow is ALSO Ulrich's and my 2nd anniversary!  So we want to go out to dinner together.  Working until 10:30 to make up for my deposition would put a crimp in that plan.  Like, happy anniversary, I got you a typed copy of my testimony in Barton v. City of Los Angeles.  But it won't arrive for another three weeks or so.

Saved By The...Tree

This was one of those weeks where every day I felt like I had something to write about, but didn't have the time, and then I maybe had some time, but couldn't decide which of the many things to write about.

I got a promotion at work, and now have a *real* job (doing important things, for more money) and it's all very exciting.  No more unemployment! [happy face]  Also, no more unemployment vacations. [sad face]  Mo' money! [happy face]  Mo' problems. [sad face]

Also, So You Think You Can Dance is all fun, as I had hoped.  I'm a little less into it than I was last time, but I often find with most reality shows -- even the best of them -- that the thrill wanes with each  successive season.  I love some of the contestants (Pasha, Jaimie [I don't care what anyone says, I love her]), I am lukewarm on others (Sara, Danny [I don't care what anyone says, I AM LUKEWARM!]), and really don't like a few (Lauren, and...well, just Lauren, actually).  I would start writing about it, but it has come to my attention that the fans of SYTYCD are just as rabidly insane as were the fans of American Idol. 

Like, I get how we all use speculation to fill in the blanks of any reality show ("Ooh, I wonder if there was some conflict behind the scenes, and that's why they're so cold towards each other!"), but it actually freaks me out when I read some of the crazy conspiracy theories and emotional breakdowns people are having because they have embraced their personal speculations as gospel. ("Ooh, I wonder if there was some conflict behind the scenes.  I'll bet there was.  And SHE probably started it!  I'll bet she made fun of him!  THAT BITCH!") I mean, it freaks. Me. Out. It also bugs the crap out of me when people play the "he's getting The Asshole Edit" card, because generally speaking that's a load of shit.  You know who got an Asshole Edit?  Hitler.  Sometimes you get an Asshole Edit, because you're an asshole.  Occam's Razor -- look it up.

Also, about forty minutes ago, a very large passenger van plowed into the front of our office building.  I was speaking with the receptionist when she said, "Hey, what was that noise?"  And then we looked out the window to see a very large passenger van rolling backwards down the hill, with no driver, narrowly missing a parked car, jumping the curb, scraping a light post, and slamming into a large tree in the planter in front of the main doors.  This is bad, but the tree actually prevented the very large passenger van from sailing clear through the glass wall of the ground floor atrium, adding immensely to the property damage.  So this is a good thing.

Amazingly, no one was seriously injured, and the tree appears to be okay too.  Just another day in the life, I guess.

People Who Loathe People

So, did everybody have a good Fourth?  Mine was deliciously low-key.  When I was unemployed, every day was kind of low-key, so it was a treat that I got to take a half-day on the 3rd and have the 4th off all together.  I slept in, I read my book, made sangria, went to the movies with Ulrich (no, we did not see Transformers; yes, that does make us the ONLY people on earth who did not see Transformers), drank sangria and tried to read my book but ended up having a long discussion about Scooter Libby, made dinner with Ulrich, drank a coconut margarita while watching Alfred Hitchcock's Saboteur, and then essentially passed out.

I regret that I did not go out and watch any fireworks, because that used to be such an indispensable part of my July 4th experience, but crowds are becoming an increasingly effective deterrent for me.  With EVERYTHING.  Like, I hate going to mall and shit, or even the grocery store when it's all full of stupid people.  I'm not an agoraphobe, or anything, I just don't like all the hassle.  Someone's always bumping into you, someone is always standing where you need to stand; at the store, you always pick the shortest line that turns out to be the longest line because the guy behind the register takes for-fucking-EVER to scan that shit and put it in a bag; on the highway, you always switch lanes in a mad dash, only to come to an almost immediate stand-still while cars start shooting past you in the lane you just left.  I hate it.

I walk everywhere.  Everywhere I can, I mean.  Like, I don't walk to work, because I would die, but I walk to the store and the bank and all that.  It's relaxing (when the sun isn't out, of course), and I feel so much less aggravation and stress.  When you're in the car, it's all 'stop at the stop sign, stop at the light, shift gears, hit the brakes, shift gears again, find a parking space, what's that funny noise?, why aren't my gauges working?, that better not be the tire I just got replaced, etc.'  When you're walking, there's really none of that.  Maybe, 'what did I just step in?', but you can wash that off.

Okay, this entry went to a strange place.  Anyway, work update: today I did nothing.  They have nothing for me to do.  Tomorrow I will have actual tasks, but today I have been fucking around online, and it is AWESOME.

Auto Destruct

I wish I could tell you this is not another post about something going wrong with my car...but I can't lie to you guys.  (Seriously, look at yourselves -- you're so cute!)

So, a few months back, I got a flat tire.  Somehow.  I drove the car from downtown to the Valley, and everything was fine, and when I got off work all late and went out to my car, I discovered I had a screw about sixteen inches long jammed into one of my wheels.  Fun!  I had changed a tire once before, and there I was in the middle of the night with a pipe-y thing in one hand an accordion thing in the other, with nothing but the vaguest of sense-memories about what was supposed to go where.  Seriously, it was like Regarding Henry, or some shit.  Anyway, after nearly an hour, I finally got everything into place, and I was able to drive home.  At 50mph.

I bring that up as background.  Now, my long time readers may remember the incident about three years ago where my tire got slashed in a parking structure, also in the Valley. (Apparently, the Valley is very bad for me, and for my cars.)  Well, the new tire I got eventually sprang a slow leak -- not a disastrous one, but an annoying one, as I had to refill it every six months or so.  Well, I got the tires rotated last December, and ever since then it's gotten worse and worse, to the point that I was going to buy a new one next month to replace it.

And God laughed.  Last night, on my way home from work, the damn thing totally collapsed on me.  I had to pull over in front of a fire hydrant at Cahuenga and Sunset -- where I might as well have been parked in the middle of the Kodak Theater, for the audience I had -- and change the fucking tire, and then race home before company arrived.  Fortunately, I remembered what I was doing this time and finished much quicker, but can't a dude catch a fucking break???

Seriously!  I am sick of shit going wrong with my car!  EXPENSIVE shit!  Okay, the tire will be the cheapest of what I've had to deal with, but WTF?  Next, my hood will smash back into the windshield, my roof will come off, the windows will spontaneously shatter, and the serpentine belt will COME TO LIFE AND EAT ME.  That is the only probable future, based on what has already happened.