Why Pinkberry, WHY????

Why does a small size frozen tart and tangy Pinkberry yogurt with 3 toppings cost more than a medium with three toppings? Why am I punished financially when I want to eat less? Someone please explain this to me.

The 412 on the 101

Today I learned that there are benefits to the insane traffic in Los Angeles after all. While sitting in grid lock frustration, traveling at a speed of about three miles and hour (literally) I started looking around at the people in cars around me. I realized that at that particular time in the existence of our lives we all had something in common. We were all tired, (it was close to 1 am) frustrated, and unaware of what was causing the backup. When that sort of thing happens you can't help but get the urge to form alliances or fellowship of some kind. It's like you almost want to start up random converstations with people who are next to you picking their noses. At first I had my music on really loud and tried to dance my way through the traffic torture. Then I decided to to turn down the music to see what others around me were listening to. I was actually trying to see if anyone around me was listening to music I'd like, because maybe they would be people I like. As I was trying to listen, an attractive man pulls up next to me and there was a woman who I presume was either his wife or girlfriend sleeping in the passenger seat. The man began giving me the "eye." Not the evil eye, but the "I want to get in your pants" eye. I in turn gave him the "you're a disgusting pig, I would never give your old, disrespecting ass the time of day" eye and kept driving. I then resorted to my music for comfort once again. A little Lily Allen, then some Wyclef, then back to Lily Allen again. The music was good but I really wanted to call someone on the phone and complain about L.A. traffic. The only person I thought who might be up was my brother (and he's on the east coast!) so I called him. While I was trying to explaining the depth of traffic on the 101 to my brother who seemed more interested in his chicken salad with rasberry dresssing, another guy pulls up on my right in a little white sporty number and out of the corner of my eye I see and feel him looking at me. I look over to test my periphial vision, and this dude is blowing kisses at me. WTF? Who does that? He wasn't my type and the whole scenario kind of made me laugh so I just kept driving and shared with my brother what was going on. He insisted that I have some fun with it and suggested I traffic kiss him back. I wasn't into the idea so much. After hanging up with my brother, I went back to the music. This time it was Alicia Keys. The music was pumpin, I was getting my dance on at the steering wheel, and before you know it, along comes this hot black car, with this hot black man in the drivers seat. He pulled up next to me as far as he could and smiled. I couldn't totally see him because he was kind of behind my car so I was trying to look back to get a better view. Then he got a chance to pull up closer and we played this little cat and mouse game; looking, smiling, catching up to each other as the traffic moved at different speeds in each lane. So cute. Then at one point I got a good look into the car I realized there was a woman asleep in his car too!!! WWWWTTTTFFFF? I mean really guys. Is it not even safe for women to sleep anymore? Is that how determined you are to mow the grass in other pastures? Anyway, sorry to say that the guy was a little too cute for me to care, especially when he mouthed "WHAT IS YOUR PHONE NUMBER? To which I replied using my fingers 412-818.... As I "signed" my phone number he typed it into his phone while his date continued to sleep like a log in the passenger seat. Part of me justified it by considering that both of them were dressed like they just went out or were about to go out, and she was fast asleep. That's kind of rude, don't you think? After I gave the guy my phone number he mouthed, "I AM GOING TO CALL YOU." I just waved and smiled and as his lane started moving I watched him drive off into the sea of red tale lights wondering if he'd ever actually call, or if it was just a fun little party action among commuters. About 45 minutes later I get a call on my cell from a 310 area code. I knew it was him. I was so tempted to play that "I am not going to answer the phone game...followed by the "I am going to see if he leaves a message game," but I didn't. I picked up the phone and our conversation went a little something llike this:
me: "Hello"
him: "Um, hi, uh, this is the guy you gave your phone number to in the black infinity on the 101."
me: :"Hello guy I gave my phone number to in the black infinity on the 101, how are you?" (I am so witty.)
him: "So where are you?"
me: "I am at home."
him: "Can I come over and properly introduce myself?"
me: "Are you crazy?"
him: "No why?"
me: "It's 2 o'clock in the morning, and you're a stranger who asked for my number while you had a chick in your car.
him: "Oh she is a long story, and I don't normally do this!"
me: "If I had a nickel for every time I heard THAT!"
him: "hahaha. Well, what should I do, can I meet you sometime?"
me: "Sure"
him: "When"
me: "How about tomorrow?"
him: "Sounds great. I'll come out your way. You're worth it. Oh wait, what's your name?"

yada yada yada.

So thanks to traffic on the 101, I have a brunch date tomorrow.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Beholder Be Held

I've heard, as I suppose many of you have, that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Every time I hear that it is in reference to physical beauty. But what if we learned to behold the beauty found in our shitty life circumstances?

Tonight I watched an episode of Grey's anatomy, then a little internet porn (oh stop it, you know you've done it too) felt gross afterward and then got a good naked cry in, while listening to Sarah MacLachlan on my newly updated Myspace profile because this is apparently what I do now when I am in a post traumatic break up funk. Don't bother judging, because at this point I am WAY too past the point of giving a shit.

Anyway, so back to the point. As I was sitting here literally in a moist bundle of tear soaked bed sheets listening to SM's "Wintersong" I sat bewildered, wondering how in the hell she could make an ambiguously painful experience of some kind sound so beautiful. Her bittersweet melodic prose made it sound like pain was actually a necessary component to the formation of hope. I listened and transferred her words to my current situation and I reflected on memories, visualized hopes, and remembered the many other times in my life that I have survived. The pain doesn't disappear with this mindset, but neither does my strength to bear it all.

If beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder, then I think I will behold myself (in a non-internet porn kind of way) in the hopes of transcending what so often is thought as ugly. Something so pure, raw, real, and formative can't possibly be ugly in a true sense. Nothing that is truthful or necessary is ugly. Every nook and cranny of what I am experiencing these days, no matter how train wreckish it all seems, will run its natural, necessary, destructive and lovely course just like a river smoothing rough rocks. As a result, I, the beholder of such beauty, will be held.

Too Much Information

If you are at all attracted to me in a romantic sense, think you may be attracted to me in a romantic sense in the future, or are grossed out by topics like girls farting, vomitting or having diarrhea then DO NOT read this blog. I repeat DO NOT read this blog.

For the rest of you, I feel compelled to share a recent experience that I had, that I kinda wish I didn't. I am compelled to share this experience because it was so awful, I just don't feel like I should have to keep it to myself. I should be able to share this experience with the hopes of finding out that maybe someone else has experienced something similar, or maybe I need to share it just to get some sympathy. Either way, I believe that my experience is one that epitomizes what it means to be human in all its ugliness.

Okay, here goes. Yesterday was one of those mornings that when I woke up, I just knew something in my body wasn't right. I felt this strange sour feeling in my stomach and was hoping that it would fade after I took a shower and got my morning started. I took a shower, got dressed, had some chips and salsa for breakfast (what? doesn't EVERYONE eat chips and salsa for breakfast when they have an upset stomach?) and attempted to enjoy the last few hours with friends and family in Pittsburgh before leaving for L.A. No matter how hard I tried though, I just couldn't shake the funny feelings in my belly. I was also feeling really tired and slightly nauseous. I started to feel a little achy too. You know... that feeling that makes you aware of every hair on your body. Still I tried to fight it off and in my head committed to an attitude of mind over matter because I had a plane to catch and certainly could not be sick on the plane. When the time came, my best friend drove me to the airport. I said my goodbyes :-( and headed inside. After I checked in I realized that all I ate all day was chips and salsa. Maybe the feelings in my body were hunger. Yeah that must have been it. Because at 32 years old I certainly know the difference between hunger and nausea right??? The assessment that I was hungry led me to TGIFridays so I could use the $10 gift card my mom gave me before she said goodbye. I sat down at the table and placed an order for bacon and cheese stuffed potato skins and a large iced tea because, well why not??? I eat almost half of the potato skins before realizing that I am not hungry after all. I am in fact sick. Sick in the "the smell of bacon suddenly smells like the burning rotting flesh of a pig" kind of sick. I asked the waitress to box the rest of my lunch, paid my bill and made my way to the newsstand to buy some Pepto Bismol. It was at this point that I realized the potato skins were the worst decision of 2008. I headed to my departure gate to await boarding and every single second seemed like an eternity. I knew it was only a matter of time before my digestive system would erupt into a fountain of disgustingness. I decided to go to the counter to see what my options were for getting on another flight. I found out I could leave Pgh the next day but it would cost $100 which I didn't really have. I convinced myself that I was feeling better and decided to get on the plane-the 2nd worse decision of 2008. The second I found my seat I snagged a flight attendant and told her that I was definitely going to hurl and asked her if she could arrange for someone sitting closer to the bathroom to switch seats with me. A kind soul obliged. I moved my stuff to a seat that was two feet away from the restrooms which could not have been more timely. I immediately rushed to the bathroom and to my surprise the eruption I expected did not come from the source I initially expected. It felt like I was peeing out of my butt. I know TOO MUCH INFORMATION but seriously this is what happened to me! I went back to my seat, (with a sore seat, if you know what I mean) and tried to convince myself that there wasn't a horrible odor filling the rear of the plane. Then the plane took off. About 15 minutes into the flight, nature called again. This time eruptions decided to explode from every end. I puked and shat myself into a frenzy in that airplane bathroom. It was the worst experience I can remember on record in my brain. It didn't help that Pittsburgh skies were filled with air pockets and turbulence. Have you ever tried to take turns puking and shitting in a turbulent airplane bathroom? I don't recommend it. This whole charade continued about every twenty minutes for the entire five hours on my flight. The flight attendants kindly stopped by with ginger ale and asked how I was doing every once in a while. You might think that things could not get any worse. I assure you, they did. At one point I felt so nauseous but I couldn't throw up. Standing up made me feel worse so I purposely stood up so that it would allow me to throw up. I just wanted to rid myself of the toxins! As I stood up I felt what on any other occasion would have been the sensation of an innocent fart about to release itself into the air. I didn't consider the possibility that the sensation could be the origin of my most mortifying adult moment to date. I entertained the senstion by letting it run its course only to be shocked and awed at the warm gush that rested in my pretty pink thong underwear. I shit myself in an airplane bathroom while wearing a thong. Do you even have the brain capacity to absorb such a nightmare??? Luckily, my quick reaction time allowed me to squeeze my cheeks enough to prevent a complete meltdown. In other words, it wasn't alot of gush, but it was enough for me to WANT TO RIP OFF THE EMERGENCY EXIT DOOR, AND VOLUNTARILY JUMP, PLUMMETTING TO MY UNTIMELY DEATH! I pulled my pants off sat on the toilet in utter disbelief and rinsed out my otherwise sexy underwear in the itty bitty sink of the airplane bathroom. I used the good smelling handsoap to create a makeshift soak cycle and dried them off by squeezing them with paper towels. I put them back on even though they were damp because in my then state I just didn't think it was safe to go commando in my jeans. I went back to my seat knowing that the neighboring passengers had to have known that something was not right with me. I had to of been in that bathroom for a good 15 minutes. I made a few more trips to the bathroom after that, but eventually in the midst of all of this I made it off that god forsaken flight. My friend Michiline picked me up from the airport, took me to the grocery store and picked up some ginger ale, saltines, jello, and chicken broth for me. Later I talked to another friend who assured me that even though my situation was the all time worst, that EVERYONE has had a similar experience at some point in their lives. I guess that in the worst of human embarrassment and mortifying experiences, we can find beauty in the fact that we are not alone in such circumstances. Hopefully when we experience those situations we can all have kind flight attendants with ginger ale and encouraging 80's rocker look alikes that push you to "hang in there" when both bathrooms are occupied and you just don't think you can hold it in any longer.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I sincerely hope that "too much information" reminds you that some of the worst shit we experience in life is the same shit that everyone else experiences. So we are not alone after all, or at least that is the hope.

And in the words of a wise old friend who has a "miso soup incident" of her own "May all shit stories unite!"