Memoirs Of An Evil Genius

Happy Anniversary! Pass Me The Bone Saw.

Yesterday marked Ulrich's and my three-year anniversary. We always try to make a something of a big deal out of our anniversary (and, I mean, why not?) so we plan stuff out in advance and observe little traditions and so forth. Of course the fun fact is that I'm not as good at making a big deal out the Big Deals as I am at making a big deal out of nothing, but I digress. We have traditions, we like expensive food and wine, and we had a reason to enjoy both. Now, for those of you who remember, I need not explain how we met. But shut up and listen anyway, because I have to explain it to everyone else:

Ulrich and I both worked at the same company for a time (that time being three years ago), and we would notice each other in passing, as you do. I was too chicken to say anything, but one day he stopped me in the hall and asked me if he smelled as bad as everyone said. Kidding! He asked my name. I told him and asked his name, and then had to wrap my English-speaking brain around a brand new set of Northern European vowel sounds, which he insists was charming. I'm lucky that incompetence is charming, frankly, or I would get nowhere in life. Fact.

Anywho, long story a little less long, we decided to go out to lunch. Now, we were working deep in the rectum of Southern California (read: The Valley [eeeeeek!]) and our choices were limited. We ended up at this awful Chinese restaurant that was basically the only thing close enough to the office so we could walk to it without collapsing from heat stroke and baking like a Tarte Tatin in the FOUR MILLION DEGREE SUMMER HEAT. Anyway, the food was bad but the company was good, the rest is history.

These days, to commemorate, we recreate our first date every year. So we get in the car and drive out to The Valley [eeeeeek!], and have a mediocre lunch and a fond memory, and so forth. Well, this year there was a little fly in the ointment:

When we got in my car, it started making a horrible noise that only got worse when I tried to make a left turn. I drove all the way to The Valley [you get the idea!] with terror in my heart, convinced my engine was going to bail out port-side, all, "This shit sounds scary -- feet don't fail me now!" Well, when we got to the restaurant, it turned out that the plastic spatter-guard in my wheel well had somehow come loose and was dragging against the tire. So after an EXTREMELY unsatisfying lunch (I cannot stress enough how awful this food was -- our palates have been spoiled, I suppose, because I would rather have eaten the spatter-guard) we had to go and buy a pair of heavy-duty garden shears to remove the plastic piece from the wheel well. Only the shears didn't work, so then we had to go buy a heavy-duty, carbon-blade pocket saw to hack through it. It took us nearly twenty minutes in the unforgiving heat of the VALLEY OF THE SUN to cut that thing loose. We were sweaty, filthy, and nauseous when we finally wrenched the guard out and threw it in the trash.

So we decided that next year we're not going for Chinese again. I mean, we actually had a great afternoon, and it was rather amusing to both of us that we had to spend our anniversary SAWING OFF A PIECE OF MY CAR, but still. Next year I think we'll take a cab to a movie. Maybe.

I Slept With My Sister-in-Law!

That got your attention! OMG, it's been like a MONTH since I last updated. I'm sorry, y'all. I was really busy, and then I was less busy but TOTALLY distracted by other things...anyway, I'm here now to make it all better.

So, my little brother got married. I had to give a speech, which I agonized about for months, but it all went really well in the end and I got to know some of his friends -- a double-sided prospect, to be sure. They were all really funny, but they were also really DUDE-ly, you know? What I mean to say is that my efforts to fit in were both clunky and obvious when they were talking as a group, but I got along very well with them as individuals. Good thing we have alcohol, the Great Equalizer.

Anyway, KillerWorkout is something of a traditionalist. He insisted on tuxedos for the men and a gown for the bride, and some of the other trimmings and trappings that go along with it. For example, he didn't want to see his fiancée the night before the wedding. This meant she had to GO somewhere, and my mother thoughtfully offered the other twin bed in my room. While I was also sleeping there. Bear in mind here that there are two (2) other guest rooms as well as THREE (3!) couches and a (1!!) pull-out sofa she could have used. The intricacies of my mother's mind are myriad and impossible to fathom, but I have to wonder if she wasn't dipping into a bit of her own Great Equalizer at the time.

Anyway, this led to much ribaldry on behalf of the groomsmen, who teased my brother because his wife slept with the best man on the eve of their nuptials. The joke is increased further because the maid of honor sorta kinda accidentally signed the marriage certificate in the bride's spot. So he almost married the maid of honor and his fiancée sort of slept with the best man, and that's the only kind of wedding I ever expect to be involved with, quite frankly, which leads me to ANOTHER exciting story!

Remember Pussy Galore? And how she was going to get married, but then had to postpone it because she got preggers? And then they picked a date, and she asked me to be her man of honor, and she chose a dress, and I started planning a bachelorette party? Well, she got knocked up again and they've had to postpone it a second time. I told her she needs to STOP HAVING SEX. Or whatever it is she's doing. Seems like you just have to say the word "wedding" and she comes down with a case of the babies. This will be number THREE (3!!!) and she hasn't even made it past the church door yet. At least she knows she's fertile, right? I mean, that's a good thing?

Anyway, work has stabilized greatly over the past couple of weeks, which is why I have the liberty to write this now. I have some great pictures to share as well, because I FINALLY bought a new digital camera! I just have to figure out how it works. This could be tricky because of my deficiency in understanding technical mumbo-jumbo, and my aversion to "reading instructions".

Wow! This "writing my blog" thing has been a really refreshing change of pace! I'll have to do more of it. Just...don't hold your breath, I guess.

CROSS YOUR LEGS

Jamie-Lynn Spears is pregnant.  Oh, yes she is.  This is not a drill, folks!  This is the real thing!  The SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD sister of Britney motherfuckin' Spears is going to HAVE A BABY.  They are like The Beverly HIllbillies FOR REAL.

Speechless

My world has gotten a little more surreal.  I got a phone call from my little brother last night to tell me that he and his girlfriend just got engaged.  Engaged.  My baby brother is GETTING MARRIED.

Pause, while I let the blood stop rushing in my ears.

Of course, I am totally thrilled about this, and he's only five years my junior, but I still remember him as a ten-year-old throwing a temper tantrum because my sister was allegedly cheating at croquet (which: probably true, but not the point) and as a twelve-year-old hilariously getting rugburn on his forehead the day before school photos (which: my fault for throwing him off a bar stool when we were horsing around, but still funny).  I'm not sure I'm ready for tuxedo-clad and MARRIED little brother.

Oh my gosh, the blood.  The blood in my ears.  I think I have the vapors.

He asked me to be his best man, and I was absolutely honored to accept.  Then I had to ask him just what that meant, because I have a feeling that I would be hard-pressed to organize a bachelor party befitting a straight man, but he said I just have to "you know, stand next to me, and then give a speech at the reception".

Here's the thing: Dr. No?  Good at standing.  Not so good?  At giving prepared speeches that I have to write myself.  It's either going to be totally dry and awkwardly sentimental, or COMPLETELY irreverent and inappropriate and NOT FUNNY.  ("You've come a long way since rugburn-on-the-forehead, baby!")  Yikes.

BUT.  I would defend this title unto the DEATH.  I will be the most awesome best man ever, I just need to, like, start working on that speech now.  I have a year, folks.  Any tips?

Splendor in the Cable

I'm pretty consistently about four years behind the curve when it comes to technology.  Like, I very resolutely listened to my mix tapes until they more-or-less stopped manufacturing the walkman all together and I was FORCED to buy a CD player.  (And I know they still *make* walkmen, but at this point they're basically like those do-it-yourself balsa wood kits.)  I also didn't get a DVD player until my parents bought me one for Christmas about five years ago, but that's more because I was broke and they were still pretty expensive.

That's the one good thing about being "behind" the curve -- by the time you finally get around to accepting that [fill in the blank] isn't just some crazy fly-by-night fad, the technology has been improved and the prices have all gone down.

Which brings me to this past week.  Let me just tell you what crazy, space-age advances have come to Chez Dr. No:

• Digital cable (Time Warner has been nothing but trouble, but the digital option drops the monthly bill by $10 and theoretically ups the number of available channels, so I'm cool with it. FOR NOW.)
• Wireless internets (I no longer have to get in the car to check my e-mail! Huzzah!)
• A new ink cartridge for my printer (not actually HERE yet, but on its way) (also not really a technological advance, but necessary nonetheless.)
• TiVo!

Oh yes, ladies and gents: I now possess the power of TiVo, and it is better than I could have dreamed.  Seriously, it's like when you were in high school and there was that gorgeous boy that you loved from afar -- maybe he was a jock or an artist, or a hot geek or whatever, I don't know what you were into -- but you LOVED him, and you KNEW he would never love you back, and so you just pined away for him and wrote love poems and imagined what your (possibly adopted or surrogate) children would look like, and how he would say stuff like, "Oh, how could I have ever thought I was happy before I met you?" and then all of a sudden one day he comes up to you after school while you're waiting for the bus, because your sister needed the car because she's back from college and has to visit her friend, and he introduces himself and you giggle nervously and you kind of talk about something innocuous until he says, "Hey, would you like to go get some coffee or something?  I'm parked over here," and you're like "HOLY SHIT, I'M GOING ON A DATE WITH [athlete/artist/geek]!" and you think you just might DIE because you're FINALLY TOGETHER and you know that NOTHING WILL EVER DESTROY YOUR HAPPINESS?  THAT is what owning TiVo is like.

If, you know, your hot athlete/artist/geek had a remote control and your boyfriend would NOT LET YOU USE IT despite the fact that it is YOUR TIVO, and thanks to him it seems to think you only want it to tape true crime specials and MTV dating programs, but otherwise exactly the same.

OMG, I'm at work, but I'm daydreaming about getting coffee with TiVo.  I need to concentrate.

The Big Cheese in the Rat Race

It's been a very long and hard road, folks, but I finally decided to stop not getting hired for stuff.  I mean, sure it was fun to sit around and watch my stories all day (and on that note, fuck YOU, NBC, for canceling Passions!) (and on THAT note...what the FUCK is up with Sheridan?  Leave Fancy and Luis alone, you lying hag!  She needs to get punched in the boobs.) but I finally decided that all the not having money, and all the needing to eat, were factors that couldn't be ignored anymore.  So I went ahead and had some people offer me work.

Okay, I'm sort of exaggerating.  Basically, Ulrich wrote a REALLY pathetic e-mail to his old company, practically begging them to make up something for me to do, and so here I am.  I was GOING to be "assisting" someone, but now I'm just doing "odds and ends".  The distinction is lost on me, but I'm getting paid for it, and I know when to keep my mouth shut.  I'm not above charity, people.  Pride is for suckers.

Of course, when it rains it pours, so I ALSO have a job interview lined up for tomorrow morning.  Cross your fingers, because it would be really nice for me to have steady employment when this brief gig is over.  It's a fun show, too, and one that's on quite frequently here at Casa de No, so it would be a great way to break the job famine.  Okay, ANY way would be a great way to break the job famine.  We're reaching critical mass here, people.  My bank account is practically anorexic.

Anyway, in my lingering joblessness, I decided it was time for me to embark on some serious reading.  To that end, I have been chugging my way through Alexandre Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo, on the recommendation of my brother.  And may I just say that this book is 1500+ pages long, and I will be reading it until the day that I DIE, because I have no time now?   Sigh. 

And now my final point: a great, big, heaping pile of CONGRATULATIONS to Pussy Galore, who gave birth to daughter #2 this very morning.  Cheers!  I can't wait to meet her.

Happy Blogday!

Okay, everybody -- go freshen your drinks, because I've got a lot to talk about.  I'm going to try and break it down into three separate entries, but I AM on a schedule.  Forgive me if I start splicing everything together like some madman playing God on a private island in the south Pacific, conjoining men and animals in an unholy miscegenation to satisfy a crazed thirst for power.  You know, it would probably behoove me to update more often.  But ANYway...

It's the 21st, y'all, and do you know what that means?  It means that another birthday for Memoirs of an Evil Genius has passed.  Hooray!  Sound the trump!  Cue the dancing girls!  It's been four years now, and I'm quite proud of it.  I would ordinarily celebrate by putting together a compendium of interesting snippets from the last 365 days' worth of entries, but this new format doesn't really work well for that.  Instead, I'll just reminisce.  I know how much you guys love that.

It has been a strange year.  I guess I'm still young enough that I still think of time as it relates to my childhood and to my life when I was in school.  I'm six years out of college, and still don't really feel like a grown up.  Pussy Galore is on the way to pop out Baby #2 (whom she just named -- she's having a little girl!  Hooray for little girls!) and my sister just had her first, and while the concept of having a baby around doesn't seem crazy to me, exactly, it still sounds bizarre. 

I always thought my timeline was just great -- sure, I'm living in sort of an arrested adolescence with the occasional partying and responsible irresponsibilities, but I live in Los Angeles.  "Arrested Adolescence" is written on the city seal!  But, I don't know.  A lot of things have changed in my life over the last four years, and now I find myself starting to worry that I've outgrown my adolescence.

And then Ulrich I sneak booze into the movies and get plastered in the back row while watching Casino Royale and I realize: I may NEVER outgrow my adolescence.  Woot!

Factory Boy

For various reasons, I just really haven't had the time to think about a Halloween costume for this year.  It generally seems to work in my favor, this 'putting it off till the last second' thing.  Two years ago, I slapped together a costume at the last second -- just to avoid going as the same thing for two different parties (quelle horreur!) -- when I got an 11th-hour invite, and it was the hit of the night.  I was so happy about it that I really planned ahead for last year.  I went as a murdered bathroom attendant, and I bought a tuxedo shirt and a vest, I got a bow tie, I carried around a tray with mints and mouthwash and had a towel draped over my arm ALL NIGHT LONG, and no one effing cared.  All that work!  Philistines.

So on Thursday, when Argyle and I were goofing around and accidentally stumbled headlong into my costume, I was overjoyed.  It was free!  It was creative!  It was free!!!  I went as Andy Warhol, and everyone really loved it.  Well, everyone who didn't think I was being Austin Scarlett from Project Runway.  Philistines.  That show is DEAD to me.  Anyway, you tell me:

                

Neither of those is me, incidentally.  Although I have to admit there are *maybe* some physical similarities -- appearance-wise -- betwixt myself and Mr. Scarlett, although I wear slightly less lip gloss. Well, and also, I couldn't get my hair to do a wave like that if I took it to a baseball game.

Anyway, Warhol was a big hit.  Also that night, however, Ulrich and I turned on the TV to de-drunk before going to bed, and I was absolutely shocked to see an episode of Dr. 90210 that featured one fo the victims of this accident.  I guess the guy who lost his nose had reconstructive surgery done on the show.  It was surreal to see, but I'm really happy to know that he survived.  It was a brutal wreck.

Yesterday we had a wedding to attend way, way out in Topanga Canyon.  It was a traditional Hindu ceremony, and it was absolutely beautiful.  Or, I assume.  I kind of misread the invitation and we showed up an hour and a half late.  A brilliant move, I know.  Fortunately, I wasn't exactly their lynchpin guest -- I was invited because the father of the groom was a teacher of mine in high school; he's a wonderful man who, thanks to some other connections, has a character on Lost named after him.  It was a lot of fun, and we made some new friends, so all told it was a great time had by all.

Lastly, and sadly, Pussy Galore's mother had a major heart attack the other night.  She survived, and it turns out it may have been the result of a congenital defect.  If that's so, and they figure it out, it'll be beneficial for them all to have discovered it.  My thoughts are with them all today.

Big Moments

It's been a busy week, y'all. On Tuesday, Domino left LA for good, so she could be closer to her family. I know she'll be back to visit and everything - it's not FOR GOOD for good - but it's still really sad. Over the last four years since we met, she's become a really close friend, and an important part of my life. She made this decision to move for all the right reasons, of course, and so I'm happy for her; I wish her nothing but the best. That stupid whore.

I mean, seriously, what about MY needs? Huh? My roommate recently moved to the west side, my boyfriend's about to move way, way up north (okay, like an hour and a half up north, but still), and now Domino leaves me, too? It's me, isn't it? WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?? Okay, I'm exaggerating. I'm not pissed off about, at all. I'll just miss her. But it means I get to go visit her, and I love her hometown.

However, while we're on the topic of my boyfriend, I have some exciting news: today is our one-year anniversary. It was exactly a year ago today that we went on our very first date - it wasn't much, just lunch, but as you can see, it truly was the start of something great. I'm not going to get too schmoopy about it here, because y'all don't need to be subjected to that, but I'm very happy on the inside right now.

Tonight, we're going back to the same restaurant where we had our first dinner date, and then we're going to guzzle some expensive champagne, and then we're going to cut open the neighbor's screen and toss in a hive of angry hornets! Okay, we're not doing that last one, but we ARE doing the others. I still hate him, though (the neighbor).

So anyway, that's what I'm doing when I'm not sending nasty emails to people on the internets, who then turn out to work in my building. (THAT'S an interesting story - and it reminds me that I have to send Lauren something - but now isn't the time, and it's not really MY story, but anyway.)

Okay. Peace out, y'all.

Cigars Are On Uncle Dr. No

My mom called last night to tell me that my sister's water broke. As of press time, she's still working on pooping the kid out, and I think hearing about her fourteen straight hours of labor have divorced me of any romanticism I'd hitherto attached to the miracle of childbirth. I'm on pins and needles waiting to hear news of my impending nephew, and would of course like to offer him a hearty welcome -- if he'd just get the hell out here already. Do Native Americans have, like, a rain dance for babies? Like a baby dance? But not like the creepy Ally McBeal baby dance, because that shit was played OUT.

I'm a bit scattered right now, so forgive me. I'm so excited, but I wish for my sister's sake that it could just be over already and she could rest, and I want to know my nephew's name, and I want to hear about his scary newborn baby troll face, and how precious he is with his little toes and fingers, and I wish I could BE there to look at him through the glass, but I'm at work instead, and I can't really concentrate. I also like calling my mom every twenty minutes or so, because she thinks I might be calling to tell her that it's over, and -- holy crap, my mom just called and he's here. And he's perfect.

I think I'm kvelling.