ME AND THE LAPD

We got a thing going on.  I have gotten so worked up about it that I am exhausted and must now attempt to find inner peace by turning to a higher level of thinking, or risk losing my relative sanity.  I have moved past denial and into acceptance that there is clearly a vast conspiracy within the LAPD to harass me in an agressive and persistent manner.  I present the facts:

1.  Several weeks after taking a lovely spa weekend trip to Arizona, I received a Notice of Delinquent Parking Violation from the City of Los Angeles Parking Violations Bureau.  It has to do with license plates they say were not there, that ARE there and have never not been there.  I have been fighting it since June 17th, it was "issued" on May 23.  The details of the whole drama are too emotionally difficult for me to relive, but my ranting post I'M MAD AS HELL with all the gory details, is available here.  STATUS:  Still pending while they review the photographic evidence and mildly worded argument I submitted several weeks ago.

2.  On July 30th I was driving home at night when I was pulled over by a Sheriff who on upon laying eyes on me said "you're not Jose Garcia."  I think it was the blond braids and 36C's that gave it away.  Apparently Jose has a warrant out for his arrest.  He took my ID back to his car for a minute, asked me a few creepy questions, stated he had "never seen anything like this before, " and apologized for pulling me over.  STATUS:  No ticket, but that night I slept with the safety disabled on my bedside bear spray can.

3.  On August 22nd I was pulled over for crossing a double yellow line during the process of making a left hand turn.  Any monkey with a tape measure (me) is capable of marking off on the sidewalk (and photographing) where I would have had to veer into heavy oncoming traffic while avoiding (1) crashing into the Starbucks storefront and patrons (2) sideswiping the SUV waiting at the stop sign on the street I was turning onto (3) the small family I waited for as they pushed a stroller across the street I was turning on to.   I know this is Hollywood but if had I actually done what the ticket states, it would have looked like a scene from Starsky and Hutch complete with screeching tires, people diving out of the way and chicken coops flying everywhere.  I WILL NOT PAY THIS TICKET EITHER.  STATUS:  They don't even allow you to follow up on the citation until three weeks after it happened. 
 

4.  And today, August 31.  Expired parking meter, $50.  This one I will pay because it's actually legitimate.  I was over by 10 minutes.  Which they knew.  Because they're watching me.  STATUS:  Will pay tomorrow while murmuring @!#$%*!!

I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL WARD

 

YOU KNOW YOU'RE GETTING OLD WHEN

The first time I heard myself say I can't stand these new haircuts the boys are wearing, they are too poofy or their bangs are so long you can't see their eyes, I knew I had officially left rebelville and moved into appropriateland.  This is why people have mid-life crises.  You wake up one morning spewing forth words and phrases that not too long ago gave you hives.  How did I get here?

Back to the haircuts, but first this disclaimer.  **I HAVE NOT READ ANY OF THE TWILIGHT BOOKS, NOR HAVE I SEEN THE MOVIE.**  So forgive me as I use the following demigod to illustrate a good style idea gone wrong.

EXHIBIT A

See, even he's not that thrilled with it.  It takes a lot of product to get that kind of lift.  I am glad he had it cut recently.  He must have seen a little bit of himself in the same photo I did and decided that wasn't going to flip the switch for tweeners and housewives much longer.  Girls like a head of hair they can run their finger through, not one that snags your sweater or provides refuge for a small flock of sparrows.

Maybe if I saw the movie I would get it.  Maybe I'm really "out of it."  Up until 10 min. ago I thought his name was Robert Patterson.



EXHIBIT B                                  EXHIBIT C
 

BETWEEN THE KNEES AND TOES

My body image recently underwent a change of attitude.  I came home from a trip to my apartment which had undergone some remodeling while I was away.  In addition to getting a new and improved bathroom (which is...awesome) I asked for a mirror I had recently bought to be hung.  This mirror is not the thing, it's the mirror that it replaced that has rocked my world.  That mirror is sitting on the floor of my bedroom propped against my spinner.  For the past few days, the first thing I see when I get out of bed are my calves, warmly referred to by me as my cankles.  I am very happy to have legs that work, but acknowledge that I have no ankles, just calves that connect to feet.  This body part on me is where "sturdy lass" comes from.  One might think I am just exaggerating so I will recite the following true story:

I worked on a TV show called "Jake in Progress."  During season one a character (Wendy Malick) is pregnant, and complains of swollen ankles.  We were discussing that we were going to need a swollen ankle double for a close up (Wendy has incredibly fantastic model legs) when the AD reached down and pulled up my pant leg.

She said, "Eve, you're doing it."
I said, "B**ch."

Ultimately we found a suitable photo double and I eventually learned to like the AD again. 

I am currently on the pudgy end of my personal weight fluctuation continuum, and my new familiarity with my calves is changing my whole approach to diet and exercise.  I now see my cankles as the Susan Boyle of my body.  They are talented and hidden away and just need a haircut, a little time in the sun (or the fake equivalent of such) and a few less biscuits.  They crack me up and carry me around, they deserve a make-over and I am happy to oblige.

MY NYA IS MADE OF PINK FOAM...

My niece Nya turned 4 yesterday. Happy Birthday Nya! She is 4 going on 15, with a bullet.  Recently when I was home visiting, my sister and I were heading to Chuck E Cheese with her kids.  We heard Brynn asking Nya what kind of birthday party she wanted to have. It went like this:

Brynn: What kind of party do you want to have Nya?
Nya: Something that's boyish.
Brynn: Like Spiderman? or Superman? Why do you want it to be boyish?
Nya: Because then the BOYS WILL LIKE IT! (Duh).

Oh Boy. My Nya is made of pink foam. I have said so since she was born. When you pick her up she feels like she weighs nothing even though she's full of trouble, willful determination, and boy crazy.

They continued their discussion about party activities, and I chatted on with my sister until we heard Nya say "Well... I guess they don't have to get punched in the face..."

Happy Birthday Nya, I like your style.