I thought Mother's Day was May 11th! God Dammit.

I'm a terrible daughter. That, however, is not news.

THIS IS NEWS! My phone died. I'm pretty sure there's a living will around here somewhere that says Do Not Resuscitate. But let's start at the beginning.
Yesterday my phone wouldn't turn on the first 7 times I tried. The 8th time was perfect, though (like the 8th Ripley clone in Aliens: Resurrection!), so I thought nothing of the problem. Then today, I plugged it in because it was almost dead after lying on the floor (don't look at me like that, I don't have a bedside table) all night, and when I tried to unplug it to call the Sushi people, it died. And I heard things clunking inside it. I would be sad, especially since, well, FUCK, THERE GO ALL MY CONTACTS, but I'm also kind of happy because that phone has been aggravating me for a while now with all it's "oops, delete your text!" and all the "hahaha! hang up your phone call" nonsense. AAANNNDDD...I'm also kind of proud that my sidekick made it to May (well, barely) because that means I am now eligible for a discount on my...BLACKBERRY! YAAAAY! So, off to do research on which model I want.

Yikes!

Okay guys, I'm still angry, but I have to talk about this, maybe get some opinions...

Will Arnett! Cute and normal looking!



Amy Poehler! Cute! and normal looking!



But when you put them together...



AGHHH! Will suddenly looks like LA has gotten to him, and Amy looks like a...well, still normal. And they're both cute...it's just that...Maybe Amy should stop locking Will out of the house so he has to pass out next to the pool every day for 4-6 hours, getting tanner and tanner until finally he's...crispy.

And Here's Another Thing

I am pissed off about everyone asking me where I'm "from". I'M FROM HERE. I'M FROM THE WORLD, isn't that enough? Jesus Christ. People are constantly asking me where I'm FROM! STOP! STOP ALREADY! GAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH
Oh, and Blogger staff? STOP TELLING ME TO BLOG IN MY NATIVE INDIC SCRIPT GOD DAMMIT, MY NATIVE SCRIPT IS THIS ONE IN WHICH I AM TYPING RIGHT NOW, ENGLISH ENGLISH EEENNNNGGGLIIIISSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I'm clearly losing it. But at least I know I'm losing it. On the other hand, this brings up all kinds of self-awareness questions, like does the madwoman know she's mad? and that thing about the act of observing changing the action itself? like when you try to see an electron? just looking at the electron changes it? so if I'm calling attention to my crazy, am I...ACTUALLY BEING SANE?!

Worst. Day. So Far.

It is almost 5pm, and I haven't gotten out of bed. I didn't take a shower, or brush my teeth, or wash my face, even. And I don't care what happens. My crazy neighbor came to my front door peddling some computer desk for $40 (that clearly wasn't worth the money), and I BOUGHT IT because I just couldn't be bothered to say no. In short, I have lost the will to live.

Why, oh why the lack of healthy vigor from you today, Priya? I hear you asking. And I shall tell you why. Yesterday I spent four hours trying to retrieve a car that I can't drive from the tow lot. That's right. The stupid car that I wish were dead got towed finally and I had to rescue it and drive it back, listening to its infernal death rattling all the way (it's 13 years old, is a stick shift, and everything inside it smells like boy ass and mechanical trouble)! But not before I took three trains (twice in the wrong direction, and then I got off too early and had to wait for the next one to get back on, so, SIX TRAINS), then walked for 40 minutes in the wrong direction because SEVERAL PEOPLE LIED TO ME when I asked about which direction in which to walk to get to Hope street, then had to pay for a taxi to take us the rest of the way because it was getting dark and it was just me and a skinny white guy (Shem) in Compton, and then gave some random dude my car keys and FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! to get my car out of the lot. YEP. FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS. FOUR! HUNDRED! MOTHERFUCKING SHIT BLOWING DOLLARS. AND THEN I had to call my friend O and have him come down and JUMP the car because it DIED. AND THEN I had to have him drive slowly in front of me in case it died AGAIN. And then we were late to the David Cross show that we were supposed to go to, and what's more is that we were supposed to go to CHIPOTLE before the show and we DIDN'T GET TO DO THAT EITHER.

I am POSITIVE that I did not deserve any part of yesterday. I believe in Karma and everything, so, cool, but I AM A GOOD PERSON! Because I believe in being a good person. Did you know that I gave LOTS OF MONEY to Planned Parenthood last year? I just donated it! I didn't get anything except the knowledge that I was helping others in return! AND I sponsored a fucking CHILD in BELIZE OR SOMETHING. I don't deserve a medal or anything, I mean, it's not anything spectacular, it's not like I actually went to Belize or wherever and nursed that child back to health and educated it with my own two hands or anything. BUT I DO DESERVE TO JUST HAVE A NORMAL GODDAMNED LIFE WITHOUT SHIT ALL FALLING APART ON MY FACE EVERY DAY.

So now I am lying here and frowning with my arms crossed IN PROTEST of something that has already happened. I am pissed. So if you don't hear from me, it's because I'm angry. Just assume that I want to rip someone's larynx out, and unless you have heard explicitly otherwise in print, you will be correct.

Sneaky Priya!

Sometimes when I am feeling sneaky late at night I like to cram my whole body right next to Kyle's, and when he scoots away in his sleep to make room for himself, I cram in even closer. Then, before too long, both of us are on his side of the bed and there's lots of room for my arms and legs.

Hey! Why am I still awake?

I put my bottle of water in the fridge this morning, and Kyle took it out for me at 10:30pm. All the ice has melted now but the water is still very cold. It's dripping on the ground.

Terrible (Awesome) Girlfriend

Sometimes I like to hassle Kyle about being a guy. Like, a male. There's a whole line of questioning that begins with inquiries about a specifically male characteristic, and gets more and more vague until, well...It goes like this:

Priya: Does it bother you to have hair on your chest?
Kyle: It kind of freaked me out at first, but not anymore.
Priya: Were you prepared for it? Cause when I was younger, all girls ever talked about was who had boobs and whether ours would be big when we finally got them.
Kyle: Really?
Priya: Okay, it wasn't ALL we talked about, but, yes, we did talk about it. Did you talk about hairy chests?
Kyle: No.
Priya: Why?
Kyle: I don't know...
Priya: Were you afraid it would make you gay?
Kyle: What?
Priya: Do you ever wish you didn't have hair on your chest?
Kyle: ...No? I don't really think about it.
Priya: You don't wish you maybe had a nice smooth chest like miiiiine?
Kyle: No. Because YOU have a smooth chest and I can enjoy it from here.
Priya: Are you jealous that you don't have one?
Kyle: No.
Priya: Are you jealous that you have a penis where your vagina should be?
Kyle: Oh my god.
Priya: Does that bother you?
Kyle: ...
Priya: Does it?
Kyle: ...
Priya: I bet it does.

It always ends with me wondering if he's mad that he doesn't have a vagina. Hahahahaha. Oh, and it's really important to start out with an almost childlike curiosity and end on a kind of dark, gender-studies-gone-wrong note. Remind me to tell you about the "Do you love me more than that girl on the bus whose butt you commented on? Why don't you just ask her to be your girlfriend?" game. That one is a real laugh riot, too.

Old Conversation

I have nothing of worth to give you. Read this conversation while I throw up.

(Watching There Will Be Blood)
Dad: That kid is crazy! Maybe if his dad wasn't constantly making him drink whiskey he'd be normal!
Me: You can give kids whiskey.
Dad: ...No, you can't. That's bad for them. It makes them retarded.
Me. I mean, just a little. Just to make them quiet.
Dad: No, you can't!
Me: ...Uh oh.

So I'm back from puking now. I think three nights in a row of going to bed at 4am after revelry has gotten to me. God, I wish I were dead. I will tell you something later.

Tights are...

I buy Nylon magazine for the pictures. They reveal new trends in makeup, show me new colour and proportion combinations I would never have thought of myself, and point me to new designers, but actually reading an article is tantamount to considering Dear Penthouse letters actual literature. In this month's issue, there's a written debate on whether tights can be worn on their own (as in, without a skirt, dress, or pair of pants on top), with one full-length essay in the "Tights are Alright" camp, and one full-length essay for the "Pants Party" side. And the worst thing about these essays was not the subject matter; it was the feeling I got that they're hiring 6th graders at a well-respected fashion magazine these days, and I'm still living in a studio apartment with one pint of ice cream and a bottle of ketchup in my fridge. But nevermind all that. The point is this:

Resulting conversation with Kyle, as we lay in bed last night, nose-deep in our respective magazines (he was reading Esquire):

Priya: I just read two essays about whether tights are pants or not.
Kyle: Aren't tights...tights?

I know. He's great.

Limericks, continued.

After coming up with my first, second, and third limericks the other day, I have been thinking hard about what I can do with this new favourite pasttime. My conclusion was that it would be a good expenditure of my energy and time to come up with a set of limericks to catalogue all the lovers I've had in various neighborhoods around the world. Unfortunately, I've had, like, three "lovers", ever, and that's using the word "lover" EXTREMELY loosely...and a set of three limericks (one beginning with the line "I once kissed a man in Regina") is just too pathetic to really consider seriously.

So. *drumroll* I have decided to write a series of limericks about FAKE lovers I've had in various neighborhoods around the world! This opens up so many options, and I'm quite looking forward to it.

Neighborhoods/areas I want to cover in my new limerick series:
- Greenlake
- Queen Anne
- Silverlake
- Bel-Air
- Brooklyn
- SoHo
(I wanted to do one about the Meatpacking District, but, you know, too many syllables for it to be useful. But I already have an idea for it, so I may have to write a different kind of poem for that one.)
- Houston
- Dallas
- Austin
- Milan
- Rome
- Sicily
- Madrid
- Paris
- London
- Anguilla
- Bombay

Midnight Knife Fight

Kyle and I are going to see a midnight screening of Fight Club tonight, and we're both anticipating it greatly. However, for every event which we long to enjoy, there is inevitably a ridiculously long stretch of time before it that we must endure first, and mine is that I have to wait at Whole Foods until 11:30 for Kyle to get out of work and we can go to the theatre together. It's only about half an hour from now, but keep in mind that I've been here since 8:30 with no books or computer to soothe me. Bah. Instead of reading blogs, I have been thinking up more "naughty" limericks (since my first was met with total adulation from the critics).

I once had a lover in Midtown
Whose hair was a nice shade of dark brown.
He was strong as a bull
And he made me feel full
IN MY HEART whenever he came 'round.

And don't forget this is only my third limerick...ever! Pretty good, huh? I would show you my second limerick, but it's too dirty, even for this blog. I got a little carried away with that one.

Under one Flav

Is anyone else traumatized by the idea of Flava Flav being on a sitcom that doesn't involve fake-titted women with terrible pasts and isn't aired on VH1?

Things That Swirl in My Mind, as I Ride the Bus

A coworker today said, "I once had a lover from Long Beach," in a wistful tone, and I thought it was hilarious in that it was the kind of thing an inappropriate aunt might say. But now that I've been repeating the phrase in my mind all day, I realize it is the beginnings to a naughty limerick that has yet to be written!

I once had a lover from Long Beach
Whose ass was as round as a new peach.
I sure loved to grab it,
And made it a habit
To always keep him within arm's reach.

Haha!

I was checking MSN.com and saw this page, the title for which was "The Wife's Bill of Rights."

I mostly disagree with this list, mostly because rather than saying something new or at least amusing, it just cashes in on some easy stereotypes of female behavior: We Reserve the Right to PMS! We Reserve the Right to Foreplay! Jesus. It's like that email that went around in High School, about the differences between women and men. "GUYS LOVE BOOBS. GIRLS LOVE SHOES."

Does Kyle love boobs? Yes.

Do I love shoes? DOUBLE YES!

But neither of these preferences define us. I wish I could explain my irritation with all this in a more succinct way, but alas...I've been on the internet for three hours now and my brain appears to be mush. Now that I think about it though, maybe I'm feeling particularly stupid and irrational right now because my period's next week. UH OHHH! PMS WINS AGAIN!

Chanel

This ad gave me goosebumps...then again, I loved Moulin Rouge unreservedly, and still do. So this is right up my alley.

Sketchcast!

I know this sounds retarded, but I've been trying to spend more time on the internet lately. It hasn't been working, since how many often can you check your email, Facebook and Myspace multiple times in an hour and in varying permutations when you're an antisocial (...wait, what's the word for someone who loves technology but sucks at it?)?

I swear to god, I have a good reason for this. I think it will make me a more interesting person, since, y'know, I don't have a sense of humor or even watch TV.

The thing is, once I've exhausted my usual string of bloggers whom I follow, I usually run out of ideas and log off, having learned nothing new about the internet that they all seem to use so effortlessly. I'm behind on coding knowledge, internet fads (See: Today's post about my new Twitter Widget)...it doesn't seem important, but I guess it kind of is. I decided today that a good way to get out there more would be to look through some of my favourite bloggers' favourite links lists. And so far it has proven fruitful. Take, for example, what I picked up from Schmutzie's page:



I think this application would work better if 1. I had a microphone, 2. I had a mouse or other instrument which would let me have more dexterity with the cursor, 3. it wasn't so difficult to change my pencil's colours. In the interest of full disclosure, though, 4. I weren't so fucking stupid. Where's that word that means that I love technology but suck at it, dammit!

Twitter!

I just added a Twitter widget to the column on the left of this page...so you can see what I'm doing! Like little mini posts. BUT FUN!

Listen, I'm confused as to the...point of Twitter that can't be fulfilled with, y'know, blog posts, but I think that's because I am comfortable wasting your time with a post that says [in its entirety] "OOPS", whereas real professional bloggers lure you to their sites with actual content. So when they just wanna say "OOPS", Twitter is there to help. So I shouldn't be on Twitter. Because of...we've covered this, haven't we?

But I'm going to do it anyway, 'cause all the important bloggers said it was cool.

PS...am I going to have to graduate from Blogger College before I realize that all the kids who were cool in Blogger Middle School are actually ditch di

Reality

I submitted my two weeks' notice at my job yesterday, which doesn't mean that I'm leaving LA in two weeks, but it IS a concrete step towards the end of this era in my life. Again, mixed emotions; SO ready to be done with everyone I have to deal with as a part of my job (if I could perform in an interpersonal vacuum, I would), but dragging my heels about the finality of it. I feel mostly sad...the pros of my move (besides the obvious seeing my best friends again - for the first time in years, in some cases) are mostly abstract, and the cons are entirely concrete.

Last Lecture

I just watched this video of Randy Pausch's Last Lecture at Carnegie Melon that's been on pretty heavy rotation on YouTube...it's a video of, as Kyle just said, "that professor who knew he was going to die," giving the last lecture of his career before he retired to complete his chemotherapy. As with any presentation of life's lessons learned, it drives home the kind of sentiment I feel is hokey if spoken out loud or written (regardless of how true or accurate I believe it to be); that there's so many wonderful things in this world to be seen, there's so much to be accomplished yet, and that there is so much to be learned from almost anyone you meet.

I play the cynic, but I am sincere when I say this: There is more to see! Than can ever be seen! More to do...than can ever be done...

Boys! Boys! Boys!

Last night Kyle texted me while I was at work that he, M2 and D (M2's husband) were going out to play bocce ball in the park and that after, they were going to pick me up and we'd get dinner. BOCCE BALL! Hah! Anyway, we ate at Barney's Beanery, which is a fun bar/restaurant in West Hollywood and the boys watched the Mariners/Angels game and were the only people watching (other than a pair of fun lesbians in the corner, who spied Kyle's Mariners hat and made themselves known as friends). When I asked them how the game was going (my back was to the TV), they both looked so enthused that I had to take a picture...with my phone:

John Mahoney

is my boy.

Upheaval

So I haven't been writing about this, but Kyle and I have been debating the merits of my returning to finish college in Houston. It's been really hard, since he would stay here in LA, and I would visit him on breaks - which, as anyone who's been to school at all knows, are always too short.

We decided that I'll return to college in Houston for Summer Semester I (which starts on May 30th) through the Fall semester of 2008 (which ends in January). That's all the classes I'm registered for anyway, and I think 8 months will be a good sample of time to determine if it's working out (being away from Kyle and returning to the loathed Long Distance Relationship, living with my parents, being back in Houston). If it doesn't, I'll come back to LA, take out a student loan, and graduate from someplace here (probably USC).
We came to this conclusion based on many factors, such as:
1. Kyle has to focus on Improv these days and I'm needy to the point that, while I know this is important to him and his future, I will try to suck up any time he has that isn't spent in work proper.
2. I'm going fucking bonkers here not being in school and watching as everyone I know graduates, and feeling less-than because I don't have a degree. For clarification, nobody except my direct family has tried to make me feel bad for not being in school, but a. I would be able to get TONS more work this way, and
b. I would finally be able to move on with my life and have some self-esteem for once.

So, I'm going back to school. Again. For now.

I'm really depressed about leaving Kyle here (and we all had a good sob over having to move my shit out and having to look for another apartment for him, seeing as how we both love the layout and location of this one so much), but sort of optimistic about school life. I miss the papers and the pens, and moving back home means...a CAR! I would have a CAR!

Clearly, I've got mixed emotions about all this. But it is for the best.

PS. Words of support would be appreciated/are severely needed.

Back from Vegas

And that shit is totally in the desert.

HEY.

Hey guys, GUESS WHO I SAW AT THE CAT & FIDDLE LAST NIGHT?

Fatty Snax

Please excuse me while I clean, eat a pint of Ben & Jerry's, and then pack for a weekend in Vegas.

Before anyone shits: NO. I AM NOT GETTING MARRIED. My dad is turning 54 and he needs to complete the midlife crisis trifecta (having already bought a new sports car and pondered retiring to live in Italy) by...celebrating in Vegas. Paris Hilton style.

Unfortunately, I don't have anything even close to inappropriate enough to wear, so I guess I'll have to *sigh* wear my Nicole Miller dress to the Cirque du Soleil show instead of the ripped fishnets/capelet ensemble I was envisioning. Should be magical, y'all. That's all I'm sayin'.