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SundayUndies.com - May 2005

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GOD & Ethel, I'm Sorry


God, I know I've joked about You, putting You in ALL CAPS for Urs' sake. But if you could make Ethel OK tomorrow, I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER.

This morning Ethel was acting funny. Not purring when I petted her. Spending all her time under the bed. So I took her into the vet. Never fun even for a check-up because Fred & Ethel started out feral. And tomorrow at noon I hear the test results (kidneys, thyroid, diabetes, these are the possibilities I heard). I thought I had been such a god Mom, that her diet food was working. She seemed so perky, jumping onto things that she's never been able to reach because her belly had been an impediment.

And now, perhaps the weight loss was just a sign that all was not well.

So please, please, have good thoughts for Ethel in your heart today. She HAS TO BE OK. And she will be. Because how can a little thing so much loved not be OK?

I am hoping the collective power of internets' good thoughts will overcome any God-all-capping. Some of you have to have a better relationship with Him than I do, no?


Charmed, I'm Sure


Senior year of high school, I was poking around the Redding local bookstore and saw this b/w book with pink lettering, CHARM, up on the top bookshelf. I tried a few jumps to no avail. Finally, an employee, also a student at Shasta, took pity on me and pulled down the Holy Grail of Kitsch:

Charm, the Career Girl's Guide to Business & Personal Success, Whitcomb & Lang, 1964.

The store probably had this thing sitting there since 1964, but I was in heaven. Pearls of wisdon culled from its pages:

Reading clockwise, you can see that getting into cars gracefully need not be difficult.

In an office you often have to work closely with other people, so you must be careful of body odors.

Fashionable glasses add a striking note of drama to your appearance.

Whether a girl struggles into a size 40 dress or slithers into a size 8, she needs a girdle for a smooth look (this was actually my friend Brie's senior quote).

What I remember most is my mother's reaction. My NOW-pin-wearing, kicked-out-of-her-apartment-
for-having-my-dad-overnight (this was Tennessee in 1972, people), still-mad-about-when-she-got-
in-my-dad's-name mother. She said, "You know, a lot of these tips are still useful!"

At the time I was like, "WTF? What parts, Mom? The 'If Your Boss Wears Lipstick (GOD (all caps for Urs) forbid)' section?" Now, I look at my last post and realize I'm still trying to achieve the same perfumed, hairless, graceful ideal.

But you know? Who cares? It's fun to get a haircut and mani-pedi! And plucking your eyebrows? What better masochistic pleasure in life is there? I'm not wearing a girdle (yet), but fashionable glasses do add a striking note of drama to your appearance. Just ask Jackie.

She's charmed, I'm sure.


Q: What's Worse than Getting a Haircut, a Mani-Pedi, Shaving, Depilatorizing, Plucking and Having Nothing To Show for It at the End of the Evening?


A: Nothing much.

Luckily, Urs saved me from a totally foul mood by showing up in town and heading first to El Cholo and then to McCabe's, where we played winners in a shuffleboard game. What was hilarious was that we played these two psych PhD candidates, both male. One was cool, but the other got so FREAKED OUT that two females were beating him (Urs rocks at any sport really; it's astonishing) that he turned into a complete asshole, taking waaaay too much pleasure out of knocking my pucks off the board. Ah, the irony of watching this display of incredibly shrinking penis while listening to his female colleague discuss her thesis on building female self-esteem.


Sometimes It Takes 3 Years To Paint a Table


Because sometimes you buy the table with your then live-in (sin) boyfriend, and you're all excited and building a life together. And you start to paint it and then work intervenes.

And then everything kind of falls apart and you never go back to the table, and it just taunts you, incomplete for 3 years.

And face it, you were never really that good at finishing craft projects anyway. (Confession to friends and family: your Christmas presents of glasses with your initials etched filled with ice-cube-shaped soap? Allan did the etching. I at least picked out the font that best represented you, but Allan finished them because I am a bad friend/sister/daughter.)

But today I finished the table.

Fred helped a lot. By which I mean the best part of any painting project is picking the cat hair out and taking a 1/2 hour break to give your blue cat a bath.

And of course, midway through I remembered that Allan will be back to LA this summer to pick up the chairs that go with the table (they're his). So now I'll have this goddamn painted table with no chairs. But screw it, it looks pretty, no?



K, maybe not. Actually, I really think it is hideous and tomorrow I may repaint the whole damn thing white.

Another life lesson learned today: Do not listen to the Classic Country (I needed me some Johnny Cash) station on your cable tv all day long. If you do, the only thing that will uplift you at the end of the day is watching Bring It On. Which you own on DVD. Because you are 16.


31 Flavors of WRONG


Out loud I have been saying, "Of course Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt are having an affair." But inside? I am a PR flak's wet dream: "Maybe they are just friends. I mean, there weren't any pics of them on the beach doing anything but playing with Maddox, right? Maybe Angelina is just Brad's confidante, helping him through this tough time by sharing the life lessons she's learned from being with Billy Bob and working with refugees."

Picture 100% stolen from TheSuperficial.com

Now, I want my denial back. I know, I know, it's totally ridiculous and maybe just a little bit crazy for me to be mad at two people I don't know. But I am outraged. Outraged! It's just SO WRONG. So I'm going to do exactly what I did when Tom and Nicole split up. Express my outrage with my pocketbook.

  • Jennifer, I will see every movie you ever make from now on, even though Rob Reiner hasn't made a decent movie since 1995.
  • Brad & Angelina, I refuse to see your stupid movie. Or any other stupid movies in which you will star in the future. So there. Pbbblt.

I'm sure that my decision alone will make them rue the day things got a little too hot and heavy in the Smith set trailers.


Gainfully Employed, Ungainfully Occupied


That's right. Oh, mindless temping, I've escaped your clutches for one summer, anyway. I've got a paid internship in the real estate department of a financial services firm. Sure, it may involve working with the dreaded Microsoft Access (to do tomorrow: buy an Access programming book to, ahem, refresh). But I'm sure to learn something about real estate transactions in the process. Yay!

Aside from securing a job, I've been busy:

Attending a BBQ at Laurie's
Burgers. A hot dog into the charcoals snafu. Lots and lots of alcohol. Drunk. Making a fool of myself. Drunk knitting. Drunker picture taking. Laurie has a much better account of the madness, but here are a few pics:

Amy, maxin' and relaxin'.

Shannon sneaks a peak as Karman indulges one of her obsessions, celbrity gossip rags.

I can't believe I got to meet Minou and Minou's mom, Angela! You have to check out Minou's blog. So freakin' funny.

Fellow knitters and cool gals Laina and Carrie.

That's right, Drew, but don't worry, I stretched my canoodler ahead of time. Last night my usual date and I went to SkyBar at the Mondrian. Skybar is hands down the most fabulous bar I have ever been to. You have a gorgeous view down into Hollywood, can order apps from next-door Asia de Cuba, and the cushions and beds everywhere make it feel like you're in someone's Topanga-Canyon-chic backyard complete with the softest, bestest lighting ever.

And of course eating by this lighting at a little table overlooking the city is uber-romantic. Hence, the canoodlin'.

With two more weeks before I start work, who knows what trouble I'll get myself into next!


Pearl Harbor Sucked, and I Miss You (Sort of)


Today my mom, Jeff and I helped Penny move her stuff into storage for the summer. Here's The Fam minus Dad:

Moving Penny turned into a trip down memory lane, harkening me back to my old UC Santa Cruz college-housing days. The rotting refrigerator. The roommate who spills an entire Big Gulp on the carpet and fails to clean it up, leaving a wide, hardened swath that's still there when you move out. The sticky pots and pans. The way that every time we had a keg party the driveway would be a river of raw sewage the morning after. Good times.

Evidence of the 1996 goodness:

Our cat, Stucky, wearing my bra. Note the totally fantastical and, er, trippy painting someone has done in the background. This is the kind of artwork that was done around my house.

The Crew: Ursula, Shoshonna, Kristen, Julie, Cassie & Craig (Not pictured: Naom & Kates & Thais). All with our Beach City Gas Station mugs. We would walk to Beach City a couple times a day and fill up on our soda of choice.


My little Urs, tucked away in my bed during a party. She's always been an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of lady, so she often got sleepy and had to duck out early. p.s. Haha, Urs! Picture of you drunk on the internets! p.p.s. Haha, Jen! Pictures of the hippie-ass handmade stars and moons pillows you had on your bed!

Now I am sore, tired, and happy that Jeff & Penny are watching Team America in my living room right now. Although I love living alone, sometimes I miss the closeness of the relationships you make when you spend every waking hour with someone. But only sometimes. And not as much as Michael Bay missed the mark when he made Pearl Harbor. And certainly not enough to ever live with anyone aside from a boyfriend again.

But. It's nice to have company over. People sitting on your couch, drinking your beer, using your dishes, experiencing your space and your stuff. So I've decided I'm going to make an effort to have people over more often. I'll just add that to my list of half-met New Year's Resolutions.


Why Have Just One When You Can Have, Like, 12?


Last night I went with Laurie to the West Hollywood Stitch 'N Bitch, where I'm learning, sloooowly, to knit. I picked her up in downtown from work and we took 3rd over to the Farmer's Market, passing my favorite house in LA (you have to click to see it in its full, unadulterated glory):

What I love about Youngblood Court, aside from the fact that the owners drive a matching SUV and Mercedes convertible in glittery burnt orange, is that there are 12! statues of David lining the lawn. No, not one tasteful (is a statue of David on your lawn ever tasteful?) David casually adorning a fountain, but 12, 12! of them standing sentinel.

Every time I have an out-of-town friend visit I make them take a gander at Youngblood Court. I'm sure they think I am crazy for dragging them to see this bizarre, wrought-iron mess. But it gives me pleasure to think of the owners:

"Hey, sugar plum, I really dig the statue of David. Maybe we should put one on the lawn."

"Ooooh, me, too. So European. But maybe we should have a bunch of them? Like in an arc around the lawn, lining the drive? All in white? It'll be totally HOT."




Manning Up


So far on my summer vacation I have completed online traffic school (thank you, Superior Court of Glenn County for the privilege), cleaned my apartment, and purchased new bedding. I decided my old bedding was too girly and I needed something a little more tailored-seeming. What do you think of my new stuff?

Clearly, Fred & Ethel are fans.


I Love You, LA


Los Angeles, I love you.

I love you because last night at dinner at Mexico City, I saw a man with pants so tight and hair so long I thought he was a girl until a second look at the pants told me otherwise.

I love you because when my date said he felt like Mexican, I could name 5 good Mexican restaurants in my area and the virtues and vices of each.

I love you because Mark from Road Rules lives in my building.

I love you because I saw 12, count-'em, 12 billboards for Mr. & Mrs. Smith in my drive down Sunset today.

I love you because my drive down Sunset took 45 minutes today because starting every year on May 15, tourists descend on this city like locusts.

I love you because your inhabitants hate tourists as much as I do because they interfere with our crazy, ghetto-ass aggressive driving.

I love you because you draw people from around the globe to see you.

I love you because you were 86° today.

I love you because my local grocery store is the Rock 'n Roll Ralph's (featured in Go).

I love you because I can get my gas at Exaco and still pay a lot of money for it.


So Long, Farewell, auf Wiedersehen, Good Night


It hasn't sunk in that I'm done with my first year of law school. But there it is. Took my last final today, for which I spent an entire 45 minutes preparing because I spent the last few days since my last one:

Going Out Thursday Night

jason & cindy
Jason & Cindy, so cute!

jason & cindy
Neeta, Ali, Adi, Roya & Natalie at Jason's pre-party.
i am a dumbass
Karl, Neeta, Megan & Kevin. Who's the dumbass that took a picture into a mirror? Maybe the same dumbass that had to discard the first one because her finger was over the lens.

Did a little shopping for the End of the Year party at The Bungalow Club. Here is Neeta in the Beverly Center food court bathroom, a little freaked out because that bathroom BOGGLES THE MIND. You think there's a mirror there, there should be a mirror there, and then your friend pops out of a stall and starts talking to you across the way. Doesn't it look like there should be a mirror?

ack! that's not a mirror!

You can see the uber-cute top (Rebecca Beeson, I love you!) I got in the pics below from the EOY party.

End of the Year Party
The evening is a bit of a blur starting from about 1.5 hours and 1.5 vodka-crans at the open bar in, and I only ended up with two photos, one of which I had to steal from Cindy. Things I do remember include: a) telling more than one of my friends that I planned on giving this 2L girl a beat-down (me! giving someone a beat-down! using the phrase beat-down!), and b) waking up in the morning with the third worst hangover of my life.

Maggie, me, Neeta & Cindy

David B, me, David M, and Louis

Neeta and I went to cheer Karl on at his LLM (Masters of Law, for foreign students (he's Austrian, like Ah-nold)) graduation.

And after graduation, did we head home to study for Lawyering Skills like we should have? Oh, no. We did what every responsible first-year student does before their last final of the year. We went to Malibu and hung out on the beach with lovely Porcia, and the boys -- Dave, David, and Louis. Here are the boys playing some pick-up volleyball.

So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good night, first year of law school! Hellooooooo, summer!


Bag Me and Tag Me


Because I am dead. Dead meat. I have spent the last oh-so-many hours with fee simple determinables, fee simples subject to conditions subsequent, possibility of reverter, and the infamous rule against perpetuities and somehow it is still a big ole foggy mess.

Of course, this is only after I spent the first part of the day at the library where I got absolutely nothing done because instead I:

  • Went to get snacks and sodas, oh, about 8 times (yay for finals weight gain!)
  • Learned that Renee Zellweger and Kenny Chesney ARE MARRIED! Can you believe that? I couldn't, and I had to spend about 45 minutes confirming and then dissecting the news over AIM
  • Accepted and made about 12 phone calls. None of which resulted in a job this summer. Yet. Counting on voodoo.
  • Laughed at my section-mates changing one another's desktops to porn every time anyone went to the bathroom.
  • Met with the dean to complain about grading issues and pondered the fact that a woman who wields such power has such shitty, shitty office furniture.
  • Chatted with anyone who came by. Also stopped by and chatted with folks on my way back from the many snack trips. I am so much friendlier when avoiding work.
  • Fantasized about my post-school life... beaches, margaritas, tans, reading for pleasure, and pleasure just generally. I have decided this will be THE SUMMER when I get TRULY TAN. Age-ing side effects be damned. Bring on the UVs, baby!

In better news, majority rule is that me!me! tagging is A-OK. And I'm tagging its proponents: Dagny, Crystal, and um, well, I'm definitely not tagging Logan because I love Ursula too much. However, if he were to, say, complete this me!me!, I would not be offended. BUT I am not tagging him! Instead I am tagging his girlfriend, Carolyn.


A Shout Out to All My Peeps


I know I'm only 2 finals down (5-hour, FIVE-HOUR final yesterday in Con Law). And maybe I'm jinxing myself for thanking people halfway through (but that's why I've got the voodoo, to ward against these kinds of evils). Nonetheless, this one goes out to...

Laurie, because she is not a bad friend for helping me to be realistic to prevent later heartache, and for finding a way to blame it all on Homeland Security. And because for the last 10 days she has patiently listened to me re-analyze my outlining strategy over and over, bemoan my own stupidity for getting so far behind (200 pages, to be exact), and yet each time has talked me down off the ledge.

Neeta, because she's one of the smartest people I know, and because she taught me substantive due process at 11:30 last night, the night before the final, and because her outline is peppered with "'cuz" and "peeps." AND because she provided the one amusing part of yesterday's 5-hour debacle. A squeal when this big ole green bug jumped on her computer.

My cats, for not running away when I fed them stale food for 1.5 days and yelled at them for eating my Chemerinsky supplement.

Also, I guess I forgot to tag someone with that me!me!, but can I tell you something horrible? Penny tells me it's MEAN to tag people! She seems to equate these things with chain letters -- am I like too old to realize these things are a virus? Am I that irretrievably unhip woman in your office who nonstop forwards you cancer survivor stories and boss jokes and 101 Good Things Martha Stewart's Doing in Prison? Or are these things different? I need some feedback before I can tag someone next. Definitely some of my favorite bloggers have done them before, but perhaps they were just pacifying the senders? What do you think? New form of internet blight or fun?


Pitiful Excuse for a Post


hanging on by a threadSaturday night at 11:40 p.m. Just abandoned the Con Law outline. Still behind, only (hallelujah!) 100 pages at this point, but still only 4/10 through my outline and the final's on Monday. So all I can manage is a me!me! tag from Laurie.

The Premise (pick 5):
If I could be a scientist…
If I could be a farmer…
If I could be a musician…
If I could be a doctor…
If I could be a painter…
If I could be a gardener…
If I could be a missionary…
If I could be a chef…
If I could be an architect…
If I could be a linguist…
If I could be a psychologist…
If I could be a librarian…
If I could be an athlete…
If I could be a lawyer…
If I could be an inn-keeper…
If I could be a professor…
If I could be a writer…
If I could be a llama-rider…
If I could be a bonnie pirate…
If I could be an astronaut…
If I could be a world famous blogger…
If I could be a justice on any one court in the world…
If I could be married to any current famous political figure…

My five:
1. If I could be a scientist...
I'd totally invent the in-home IV! You know what causes hangovers? DEHYDRATION! (I love that my first "if I could be" is about drinking, but there you go.) An in-home IV would solve it all. Then Laurie could listen to her Patsy with Jack in her coffee cup, Gloria could have her sangria, and everyone I know and love could have a fantabulous evening and still enjoy the morning without resorting to the PANACEA of hangovers, In 'N Out. A half-hour on the ole in-home IV and you're set to rights! Minus the 1800-calorie induction. p.s. Am I not a TOTAL FUCKING GENIUS for thinking of this? I've been contemplating this for years, people, years!

2. If I could be a psychologist...
Maybe I'd stop getting involved with men who were totally unavailable. Uber-important (in their own minds) corporate stiffs, emotionally-stunted fuckwits (thank you, Bridget Jones), and people leaving the country in a couple months.

3. If I could be a chef...
I'd totally clone myself and then cook for myself! Nothing in life makes me happier than good food. NOTHING. I like it ALL. And yet I have told you before about my current finals-limited diet of Easy Mac, Cheez-Its, Teddy Grahams, Sour Straws, etc. But if I had a ME, cooking for me, I'd never have this problem.

4. If I could be a professor...
I'd be my professors! And give me As. Even though I so do not deserve it this semester!

5. If I could be a lawyer...
That would mean I'd have made it through the next two years with my nose clean. That's all I'm asking for at this point. I know Laurie was thinking this might be a great opportunity for me to curse some of the anxiety right out o' me, but I have already cursed my professors AND the horses they rode in on AND their little dogs, too, many, many times over. I am depleted of cursing. Except, maybe, one last, Fuck All Y'all, baby! Ack. Must. Go. To. Bed. Finish. Con. Law. Outline. Tomorrow. ZZZZZZ.


You Know Your Heart's Not in It When...


you're 1/3 the way through your Contracts final and you are SO BORED by your OWN RESPONSES to the questions that out of habit you go to check your e-mail and realize:



Next: Con Law final on Monday. And as you all know, I'm 200 pages behind in Con Law, so should be fun!

p.s. I'm sorry these entires are so boring. Even when I jazz them up with a picture of my contracts outline, woohoo! I promise once finals are over there will be some drinkin', some possible canoodlin', some vacationin', and even (please, please let me find some gainful employment) some lurid work stories.


Don't You Think I Have Abnormally Large Forearms? No? Really? I'm Pretty Sure They're Growing. Type, type.


Two days 'til first final, Contracts.

Yesterday when my sister Penny asked me where I was over AIM, I told her "in the elevator." By which I meant, "in the library." Brain functioning great, thanks!



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