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May 31, 2003
shave six
There was a certain someone I invited to the Tsar show tonight a few weeks ago. I know he would have had fun. His loss. Since Matthew would be late, I was Katie's date and she picked me up as any proper date should begin. After we arrived Katie helped me scope out cute boys. Course I met one and he gave me the sweetest kiss goodnight. More about that another time but he has the most marvelous crystal blue eyes.
Tsar, my new official favorite band rocked again and I can’t wait more than a week until they get to the mainstream. It will be never ending joy when the KROCK-o-shit stops playing crap over and over again and replaces it with the brilliant and diverse music of Tsar. Call me crazy but Tsar IS the next big thing. They are all awesome and Jeff Whalen is dreamy. Just can’t wait until I get the full on action photo of his patented hair shake.
The glorious and beaming Kate Sullivan was there and we did more girly bonding. That girl can parallel park like no one’s business. I love me some Kate. We talked about music venues like 1650, she’s so hip on the music scene she knew all about even the most obscure bands like Mojo Rib. Another favorite local band.
After Bad Apples played, Tsar rocked the hizouse and some other band got on stage.
“Who’s that” I asked Matt Welch
“Eve 6”
“Oh. They’re still around after the Pittsburgh incident?”
That’s when Welch pushed me and said, “Moxie…Max is showing his penis. GO forth and photograph.” I snapped into photographer mode and took some video and many x-rated close up photos. The field was auburn ladies and gentleman. And yes, shaved.
Who would have guessed he'd show up at Tony's for the after party and drink absynthe?
As some girl jumped up on stage and started kissing him he said something along the lines of, “Some of you may recall that I was recently incarcerated in Pittsburgh for indecent exposure,” that just as his tighty whities hit the ground. Eve 6’s finale was their one hit wonder and Max was in the buff.
Mostly though the men were interested in Max's nudity "hey, I don't look at penises that much -- is that a typically sized unit?"
Click for a sampling. I’m saving the best stuff for the star or national enquirer.
{NOT work safe or for the faint of heart -- also if red man-hair gives you seizures you should probably avoid clicking on the more button}
and because sepia captured that precious moment.....
Posted by Moxie at 6:45 AM | Comments (20)
May 30, 2003
who knew he was a fan?
Thank you to Doug from those shirts for the excellent photo!!
Posted by Moxie at 12:19 AM | Comments (8)
May 29, 2003
be the envy of your (cell) block
Whomever suggests the winner will get the following:
1) A prominent and permanent link on my web site (even if they are mean to me later)
2) The knowledge that they were creative and made me laugh
3) Lunch with me when and if they are ever in LA
4) A gratuitous threesome with Donald Rumsfeld and his wife
Okay maybe not the last one, but if that is your sole motivating factor I can try to pull some strings --
Pls Visit: Bellini induced Brain Freeze and cyber :: ecology
Posted by Moxie at 10:20 AM | Comments (72)
gunk
You might have wondered where I’ve been the last few days. You might have been thinking, “oh Moxie’s too busy living the glamorous life to sit down and write.” Actually, that is not the case.
My Aunt and 2 year old cousin arrived in Los Angeles over the holiday weekend. The baby was in surprisingly good spirits after the long flight from London.
After dinner she wanted to take a bath with her dolls and the funny little fizzing tablets that turned the water a brilliant purple. We got her out of the tub and wrapped in a fluffy towel after a nice long soak and some tub swimming. She immediately began asking for Bentley and believe me there is nothing cuter than a 2-year-old saying “I really like that fluffy one.” So we went downstairs to find the critters.
Both of the cats were standing in the pantry staring at the door to the little bathroom, ears pulled back almost flat against their heads. I could hear a splashing and gurgling sound and when I got to the open bathroom door I almost fainted.
Purple water was shooting out of the toilet two feet into the air. Much of it had already turned the tiny room into a flood of purple water several inches deep.
“Oh my god. This isn’t happening.”
My aunt ran over and agreed. Maybe we should walk away and come back in a few minutes – we must have had bad wine with dinner. I went back a few minutes later, the geyser had disappeared but now debris that looked as old as the house was pouring out of the toilet.
“What IS that?”
“I think it’s gunk”
“What kind of gunk?”
“Pipe gunk”
“How did the bathroom drain get mixed up with the likes of the toilet pipes?Shouldn't that shit be separate?”
“I don’t know, let’s just hope the water that came out of the faucet upstairs wasn’t coming from the toilet.”
“Oh god.”
I called the landlord who called the plumber who said he couldn’t make it over for a few days.
A few days?
That’s right. In the meanwhile I’ve found out some interesting things about my townhouse’s plumbing. For instance the kitchen sink, garbage disposal and outdoor sprinklers also cause toilet geysers and weird alien-like gurgling.
So here I sit waiting for the man to figure out the pipe situation while my family is staying in a hotel.
And then lucky me, I get to clean up all the gunk.
to be continued...because as you guessed -- there's more excitement.
check out: what I think I know. Let me know if you know more than me.
Posted by Moxie at 6:43 AM | Comments (20)
May 28, 2003
update
I had a few entries written about the drama going on around here, and there was some sort of emergency power outage at the server hosting location. So all day I kept hoping my site would come back up, to no avail.
From there things only got worse. Imagine someone lying to you for almost 3 years, imagine then finding out you were 100% correct in your suspicions. There should be some sense of vindication, yet somehow I feel sick and very sorry for her. She has no idea what awaits her. Yes, that should be cryptic to all but 5 of you.
Then imagine being in tears and 100% alone. No one to listen or hug you. I'm good at being alone, I'm scrappy when it comes to having no one to turn to, I'm an only child after all. But it still always hits me where it hurts. I'm always there for my friends. Have a drink for me tonight. And get sloppy drunk. That's where I'm headed.
Posted by Moxie at 8:14 PM | Comments (23)
May 24, 2003
Interviewed
I look up to Ken Layne, as any aspiring writer should. As always Ken is right -- I should link to the Moxie interview.
Another LA icon, writer Luke Ford interviewed me last week. I felt shy and weird about basically linking to myself, but Luke did such a great job with a difficult subject (a cranky tired Moxie) you all should go over and read it. Luke is a prolific and talented writer and his site should be on your daily rounds. Just don't forget to come back and read Moxie!
read: Luke Ford
Posted by Moxie at 12:50 PM | Comments (28)
May 23, 2003
recreational psychotherapy
I hate psychology, but my day-to-day dealings with people often prompt me to consider taking it on in graduate studies.
Not for practice though, purely for selfish personal reasons. Therapy used to be for those who had real clinical psychological problems, however now it's a form of demonstrating social status.
If I had a dollar for every time I heard "OMG, my therapist said...," I'd be one of Forbes 500 richest people. Watch out Oprah and Billy Gates.
It is Woody Allen's dream come true -- recreational psychotherapy. As competitive as a PGA tournament, without any barrier to entry.
I dare say I'll never really understand why people act the way they do, or put up walls. Fear? Insecurity? Disinterest? Privacy? Vulnerability?
Deny it if you dare but everyone has walls at certain times. Sometimes the walls are palpable. Other times they aren't as obvious to the naked eye and simply serve to prevent any emotional trespassing.
I've put mine up when I like someone as a person but didn't want things to move beyond that, often good conversations with a woman are enough to encourage thoughts of potential romance from a man. One can have a great conversation with a homeless heroin addict, but that doesn't mean there is something more present.
But what really strikes me is so how many of my friends meet guys with whom they have the conversational synergy, physical chemistry and potential for something amazing, yet the guys refuse to let the walls down. Whether an existing relationship is "comfortable" or they are so afraid of being hurt they without fail stay with women they know can't hurt them.
The stereotypes dictate that men are the ones who only want sex, without attachment -- women are the weaker gender and emotional disasters waiting to happen. Surprisingly, the women are the ones who are brave enough to continue taking a chance. Stupidity? Maybe. Brave and ballsy? Yes.
Are men genetically programmed so that they can't see those women who never want to hurt them? What makes it impossible for them to accept the good ones and be happy? I'm quite sure it takes a PhD in people to see that -- the answers lie far beyond my non-psychology educated mind.
Why a handful of women are ruining it for the rest of us, is one of the great mysteries of the world. Who are these women ruining the few remaining good single men?
I'd like to build a wall around these wenches and isolate them much like scientists want to isolate the SARS virus. And not only so that the few unscathed men can remain unscathed but so that other women can study these evil female beings under a microscope and destroy them.
Or find a cure.
read and email the weis
Posted by Moxie at 2:22 AM | Comments (38)
May 22, 2003
short post day
I'm feeling lazy, must be the heat wave we're having. I just took a brisk walk around the neighborhood. Passed by a pre-K school for Hasidic children. A little boy was climbing on the jungle gym and he gave me a big smile.
He couldn't have been more than four. Unable to resist, I smiled back and he said through his darling grin,
"Hello young lady!"
Being called a "young lady" by a four year old is enough to make my week.
Realizing that this little boy knows how to charm the ladies at such a tender age makes me fear for the four year old girls. He's going to be dangerous by the time he hits puberty!
Posted by Moxie at 3:36 PM | Comments (9)
money laundering
Forgoing my nice handbags, I've been carrying the same small backpack for about 2 years. It hasn't been cleaned out in about as long.
While digging for change today I discovered that a pack of gum escaped its wrappers and has melted onto the 3 lbs of change that congregates on the bottom of the bag.
I started to try and remove it using my fingernails but there's so much of it -- both gum and polluted change that it's just not going to be feasible.
Does anyone know how to remove unchewed gum from change? I wish I was kidding.
elsewhere: Jeff Harrell's novel in progress
Posted by Moxie at 2:41 PM | Comments (25)
May 21, 2003
more idiots in the spotlight
I can’t sleep.
I’m watching some idiot named Jamie Metzl, from the “Council on Foreign Relations” appearing on CBS news. I don't care what he's done, or what political party he belongs to -- he's dead wrong.
When asked if the war on Iraq was useless against the war on terrorism, the dumbkoff said Saddam had no links to global terrorism. How about the bounty he paid to Palestinian suicide bomber’s families?
“Sixty-year-old Fatheyeh Abu Asal's face was swathed in sorrow and a white scarf as she spoke of her 23-year-old suicide-bomber son, Murad Abu Asal… She said: "It is very expensive for us to get our homeland - we have to pay with our blood. We are grateful to Saddam (Hussein) because he helps us as though he were a Palestinian too.
The ALF, like the other factions of the Palestine Liberation Organisation, was banished from Lebanon in a US-brokered deal after Israel invaded Lebanon in 1982. The fighters sailed off to Tunis and many later ended up in Baghdad. With the establishment of the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank and Gaza Strip in the mid-1990s, some of them have been coming home.
One of them is Rakad Salem, a silver-haired 58-year-old, who is secretary-general of the ALF. These days he can be found in a spartan fifth-floor office in the teeming West Bank city of Ramallah - on the same floor as the Palestinian Liberation Front, the faction of Abu Abbas, the man who masterminded the 1986 hijacking of the Achille Lauro cruise ship.
Mr Salem insists the ALF's work is political and social - like handing out Saddam's money. He confirmed that since late 2000, more than 800 families had each received "martyr" payments of $US10,000 (almost $A19,000) and that $US1000 had been given to fighters with serious injuries and $US500 to those with light injuries"
Either Webster & other dictionaries decided that the term "global" doesn't involve the whole "world" or Israel and the Middle East have become a part of another world.
Then again, maybe I'm wrong and terrorism no longer involves strapping on a belt of explosives and killing people you don't agree with -- so sorry my bad.
Am I the only one who reads the news?
always right: right wing news
Posted by Moxie at 4:23 AM | Comments (24)
May 20, 2003
a feat
I sat down tonight at friend-organized happy hour and suddenly a bleached blond older man was leaning over resting his hand on my thigh.
He described in great detail how he had just purchased a 9 thousand dollar digital camera.
Impressed I decided to ignore the hand that was relying on my thigh to balance the weight of a seated 50 something-year-old man.
He must have been really drunk, tired and suffering from acute buyer's remorse. Having been there myself years ago after an 800 dollar handbag purchase, I showed him some mercy.
Moxie:
You must be a professional photographer to have purchased such a gem
Leaner:
Yes, indeed. That camera doesn’t leave the studio
Moxie:
I’d imagine not
Leaner:
Make me sit down if someone tries to bother you. I’ve got a felony on my record, assault with a deadly weapon. Seems every time I’m out at a bar someone picks on my lady friends
Moxie:
What was the deadly weapon?
Leaner:
My fists. I mean I’m an 85 year old guy
{I laugh}
Leaner:
I notice you laughed but didn’t say I don’t look 85
Moxie:
I knew it was a joke. You clearly aren’t 85
Leaner:
You are a bright young woman
Moxie:
Back to the felony on your record
Leaner:
What a mess. Some guy tried to crack me over the head with a wine bottle. I only punched him. I’m not a violent person – I’m a photographer!
Moxie:
Of course
Leaner:
I’m out with my models a lot. One night two of the girls decided they liked each other and shared a special kiss at the table
Moxie:
And some guy had a problem with that?
Leaner:
Yeah he called them carpet-muching….never mind. This is the 21st century, I’m not going to repeat that. They were ignorant not to appreciate the beauty of two women engaged in passionate lip-lock
Moxie:
What happened?
Leaner:
I got into a fight and beat the suckers to a pulp. But I told the owner if he pressed charges I’d contact all my friends at the major studios and have them out of business in no time. All the studio execs went there regularly, you see
Moxie:
So how do you know our friend {who organized the gathering}?
Leaner:
Oh I spotted her in a crowded bar…she has the greatest little feet
Moxie:
Interestingly enough, I’ve never noticed that. Her great smile and expressive eyes, yes. Her feet? No.
Leaner:
Oh, they are the cutest little toes I’ve ever seen
Moxie:
What kind of photographer are you?
Leaner:
I do high fashion fettish and bondage photos
Moxie:
You live in the Valley?
Leaner:
Yeah
Moxie:
Makes sense. Hey, I’ve got to get up and stretch my legs. Nice talking to you
And as I walked away I hope he didn’t notice my own cute little feet. I haven’t had a pedicure in months.
appreciating the wizbang
Posted by Moxie at 11:11 PM | Comments (17)
pass the cheese plate
My mom thinks that the west coast party equivalent of the east coast cheese plate and crudités is a big bowl full of drugs, pipes and needles sitting prominently on the coffee table.
“Were there drugs at the party?” she always asks, after miraculously waking up at 4 AM her time to call and make sure I wasn’t car jacked for my 18 year old car or brutally murdered at the 7-11 over my leather jacket.
“yes, we were all freebasing and huffing off a can of Lysol after the cool whip ran out” I answer.
And because I’m honest and not that cruel I tell her I was kidding before she has a coronary but I admit that I smelled something funny. And I’ve learned her that lots of my friends smoke pot and that it’s okay. It took years of training -- mostly consisting of her saying, “I really like your friend Blah-blah-blah” to which I reply yeah, “she’s really smart, successful and rich. Did you know she smokes the ganga?” Bet my Mom never thought she’d gain knowledge of a meaning for “wake and bake” that didn’t involve a crock pot.
Just because she’s in her fifties, her thirst for knowledge hasn’t diminished.
She wants to know if after everyone has consumed the equivalent of a few tofu & wheat germ martinis if the host passes around the crack pipe for dessert. I told her, don’t worry it was all free-range organic crack.
Mom wonders if I have I seen people shooting heroin in the bathroom and if it will scar me for life more so than my love affair with rapper Ludicrous, chicken and beer.
She speculates that the United States really is sloped downward to the left wherein all the loose screws eventually make their way to the west coast.
She reads my blog and has asked, you didn’t really let Carson Daly do a line of coke off your ass?
If the opportunity presented itself, why not?
I’m used to the intense questioning though, and I’m not a strung out Hollywood hooker having sex for drugs because of it. Back when I was in high school she read an article about all the crazy unprotected teen sex everyone else was having and would regularly grill me. Had she been correct and there were unbridled orgies at the parties my professor’s daughter threw while they were out of town to receive some academic award for excellence in family values and education, my teen years certainly would have been less innocent.
Not much has changed but at least my life is consistent.
elsewhere: sumo pop
Posted by Moxie at 1:43 AM | Comments (15)
May 18, 2003
spaceland lovefest
I love it when you are too sad and hopeless to consider going to the Tsar show later when you get an unexpected attitude adjustment. I love me a surprise.
I love picking up Tony Pierce in my Porsche because fun things always ensue. Much to my shock and delight there was some "Katie is Good" + some Matthew goodness present and they are both as delightful in person as they are on Katie's blog.
Even more I love it when a bunch of creative effing geniuses are together for several hours with great music, absinthe, smokes and beers. Paparazzi are snapping photos, you are meeting people you've known and loved for years and meeting cool new folks who have deep intelligent thoughts at 4:30 AM.
I love it when a club can commit 120% to a decor that actually relates to its name despite how ridiculously dorky that image may be. Now THAT is cool.
Extra kudos to them for booking great bands like Tsar. Who really sounded like the next big thing last night.
I send my love to Tony for hosting the afterparty and dealing with a bunch of cool but drunken fools, I of course, include myself in that group.
Ever notice how the photos you take get blurry in direct proportion to the amount of libations you have consumed?
No? Well maybe you haven't had enough fun lately. Go get to work....
Posted by Moxie at 8:18 PM | Comments (10)
May 17, 2003
too strange to change
Sometimes a situation is so perverse and so unbelievable instead of changing it, I prefer to see where it goes if I do nothing at all.
A perfect example would be a man I dated for almost 3 months. In reality the scenario should have lasted about 2 weeks, but my sickly curious side allowed it to drag out much longer than necessary.
You see, Mr. Man never initiated a conversation. Sometimes when we were driving across town I would promise myself NOT to start a conversation -- just to see how long the silence would last. How long it would take him to think up something, anything to say?
So the drive from Hollywood to the west side (near the beach) can take up to 20 minutes if the traffic is perfectly horrendous. It was that night and other than a few offhand comments like, “take a left at the light” or “can I change the radio station” nothing was said.
I had to bite my tongue, it was interesting to me that he didn’t want to hear a great Beck tune, I wanted to start a conversation to break the sterile silence. But -- I kept my promise to myself.
Once we arrived at the destination and a crowd was involved, he was perfectly capable of participating in the conversation. Still, he never initiated one.
But wait there’s more….
Not being one to rush things physically, I always appreciate a man whose primary objective of the evening doesn’t involve getting in my pants. However Mr. Man takes, “going slowly” to a whole new level. He brings new meaning to the phrase, “let’s wait.”
Not a grope nor a grab in all of the two months no matter how much we kissed or cuddled. The perverse side of me wanted to know, “Do you prefer penises? Would you like fries with that?”
Not too long ago, we were sitting at a big booth at a local ale house. My friends and his friends were engaged in a rowdy conversation when his guy friends started jeering, “Mr. Man sleeps with anybody. He’s not picky”
"Really? Anybody," Mavis asked?
They confirmed, “Anybody.”
I said, “I guess that makes me nobody, since he never even tried” and I got up from the table and had a nice gentleman buy me a beer. We haven’t spoken since.
Admiring: Listen Missy!
Posted by Moxie at 7:08 PM | Comments (19)
May 14, 2003
playing with fire
The interview with the spork isn’t going so well. Sporks aren’t very talkative, so far all it has told me is that it was once used by Michael Moore to devour a Twinkie and a ding-dong. Makes me want to throw it out immediately. The things I’ll go through for good journalism. I know what crap comes out of Moore’s mouth, so something that has been *in* his mouth would have to be tragically toxic to our environment.
Speaking of toxic, perhaps what’s most tragic about this spork situation is that some very important people are going to be checking out my blog and writing in general. I was fortunate enough to stumble into some leads and my lazy assed, drunken self slept until 3:30 PM.
Once I woke up, I had to get clean and get pretty for yet another social event. Don’t roll your eyes; instead remember I hardly left my house for a year not so long ago. I told my Mom tonight, “as much as I love being unemployed, I’m just not cut out for the socialite lifestyle. I have no idea how the Hilton sisters do it.” I must give them props, because they are indeed due.
My Mom stands by her carefully crafted theory that it's a simple case of
"practice makes perfect."
Being drunk and spending money every night is really taxing on the soul not to mention the body and dwindling wallet. The benefit of course is that you never have to face the stark unsurgically-altered face of reality and there’s always someone out there that thinks you are fabulous. So you’ll never see him again. Who cares if he’s gay or married with 72 tofu eating virgin mistresses? You live in the moment and every moment is filled with fun. You know, good times, noodle salad.
When I woke up today, I walked to the corner store for my diet coke breakfast of champions. Leo, my favorite "hard worker" was back after being ill for about 5 days. I asked him how he was feeling and he sobered me quickly.
“I almost died,” he said.
Someone else was in the store, so he signaled that I should wait and then he told me,
“I did too much {universal hand gesture for coke}. I felt dizzy but I don’t remember anything. The doctors said I had a heart attack and my heart stopped. Moxie, I was dead for close to 30 seconds.”
I told Leo, don’t you mess with drugs, bro. They kill and you are supporting terrorism, you know. He had new really deep black circles around his eyes, and I could see death had been knocking on his door. Secretly, I hoped that death had at least come away from the fight with more than a few splinters in its gnarled knuckles.
“I was in the hospital for 5 days, I only woke up from the coma yesterday morning.”
Tomorrow I am staying home, eating (vegetable) salad and watching teevee. I don’t mess with drugs, other than the legal ones, but it reminded me….life is fragile. The other side is just one misstep away.
Appreciating: Pejman, who must have been my lova in a prior life!
Posted by Moxie at 2:45 AM | Comments (18)
May 13, 2003
mary, mary quite contrary
Anyone find Michael Mouse Moore's Disney backed anti-Bush movie and Disney's free military pass contradictory?
Just checking. I guess this is corporate hedging in a political sense, though I call it chicken shit.
My favorite Aussie: Tim Blair (AND he makes me look like an amateur lightweight around the bar)
Posted by Moxie at 3:59 AM | Comments (17)
rare drunken blogging
I rarely blog drunk, but I'm committed to this reader appreciation week thang. When I'd usually fall asleep instead of posting, let me assure you it took about 20 minutes to find a parking spot tonight which I could confirm without my glasses was not a tuesday street cleaning spot. Though I don't legally need glasses to drive, let me say for the record, I'm blind as a bat. Yes, that should terrify you.
Before the parking foray, about 10 minutes before the last 4 olive dirty belvedere martini kicked it inside my body and decided to dance, funky white girl style in my brain-- I was fine.
Wilson told me, "Look you shouldn't feel weird about this teevee appearance, but your fans will go wild (seeing you on VH1) and demand more."
"Sure," I slurred, "whatever!" as the camera zoomed in on me dancing on top of the bar. Just wait. This is a mess waiting to happen. I shunned him and danced some more. Yes, I'll be on on a VH1 club-umentary.
What else could I do but be honest? It's reader appreciation week and I'm too messed up to post a new picture or coherent writing. Wilson said, let me talk about you on Moxie. And I said, no...
I think blogging drunk will be good enough. At least until I wake up and can post my interview with a spork.
Better than me: A lovely and eloquent techie with cats
Posted by Moxie at 3:04 AM | Comments (21)
May 12, 2003
reader appreciation week
A while ago Tony Pierce was dismayed that I put up a picture of myself and got 81 comments. One of the reasons why I love T. Pierce is that he keeps me on my toes and reminds me to be myself when I'm down on chips. Since I love me some Tony Pierce, I didn't mind his allegations because I know they're not true -- because afterall nothing on his blog is true.
For the record, I post about dogs, circumcision, Dr JRO, My snooping former couch-cuddling partner (without personal pictures) and the comments fly and great commentary ensues. I know why -- I have the greatest readers in the world. If I haven't told you recently, I enjoy reading your comments more than anything else. And the irony is, you all entertain and educate me to the point that I could never reciprocate adequately ;)
So I'm calling this week, reader appreciation week. I'm gonna write what you guys want me to write about, link to folks who read moxie with ex-lax like regularity and post pictures of things you want to see (no personal nudity, sorry but my folks read Moxie).
As much as I loathe my life, I always wake up excited to see what interesting conversations have developed based on my scribblings. So this week is for YOU. Just let me know what you want to see. Within reason, I'll be happy to oblige.
Visit a great writer: You can't object to Greg. And for the record he thinks law is fun!
Posted by Moxie at 2:28 AM | Comments (41)
May 11, 2003
the hills
There was a huge party in the Hollywood Hills last night. Everyone who’s anyone was there, about 200 someones. The sprawling estate had a few pools, several bars with bartenders and a super fly DJ who was spinning the tunes that I dig the most.
At some point a man started shouting. The music was loud all I could make out was, “everyone OUT...{unintelligible}... FIRE!”
Surprisingly two hundred people calmly filed out into the huge backyard where the smell of butane made my eyes water.
There were fireaters, fire breathers and these two were striking some suggestive poses while spinning burning balls on chains and sticks of fire. Suddenly I was glad that I had managed to squeeze my new camera in my handbag and had lots of fun figuring out the gizmo's settings.
The apple martini's were heavy on the vodka, light on the pucker. The men handsome and friendly. Somehow I ended up watching the sunrise from the parking lot of Yamashiro and then drove down the hill to the IHOP for a coronary on a plate.
When I got home, I called my Mom to wish her a Happy Mother's day. "You're up early, Mox," she said. Expecting a lecture, I admitted that I hadn't been to sleep yet. "Oh, I'm so glad you had fun...get to bed and I'll talk to you later." Is my Mother cool or what?
And as all good things must come to an end, I'm feeling the consequences of my youthful all-nighter. Exhaustion aside, it was worth it.
Posted by Moxie at 5:00 PM | Comments (10)
May 9, 2003
why I sometimes hate my family
One of the things that makes my life so difficult sometimes is that the women in my extended family base “success” on advanced degrees, your chosen career, the quality of the man you’ve married and whether you own a home complete with SUV, 2 kids and white picket fence.
Advanced degree:
I’ve had no need for an advanced degree…I was making six figures before I hit thirty, so my double major at Cornell was serving me well. In fact, I’m still over qualified for the majority of jobs available in this shitty economy. Why make a bad situation worse, even if it will make Aunt June proud of me?
House, etc:
I don’t want to be nailed down to a mortgage and associated costs of owning a home. When my pipes burst, I’m more than happy to call my attentive landlord who has to deal with the costs of the repair and the messy flood cleanup. As for the fence? No thanks, I’d rather have some sort of flowering vine-covered arbor where privacy is compromised and needless to say I’m much more of a sports car girl and always will be. My future husband will have to wrestle the title of my Porsche out of my pregnancy swollen hands.
Fancy Husband:
When my long term relationship broke up and a year later my Aunts were still hearing, “no, I’m not dating anyone” I heard many sympathetic sighs and of course the old “well not everyone is meant to get married.”
When I was dating someone seriously, I was told I’d be the laughingstock of the family because he didn’t have a college degree. When I defended him and revealed that he made nearly triple my six figure salary I was told that Aunt Marlin had married a billionaire and that I would have to do better if I wanted any respect from my family.
At the same time my actual personal victories are downplayed by my extended family.
Surely I got into Cornell only because I went to a private school.. They clearly didn’t know of my crying prep-school classmates who were relegated to second choice schools. Of course I got into New York City Ballet’s school – I was skinny.
Moxie made a lot of money because she works with computers, that’s not a real career. She should have gone to med school and done something important with her life.
And when word broke during my financial good times that I had purchased a vintage Porsche nearly 4 years ago, there was speculation that my parent’s had bought it for me. This rumor started only because my Mom was visiting LA when I wrote the check. She’s my best friend, of course I wanted her opinion and Mom fell in love immediately with my little car sporting the “coke bottle glasses” headlights.
Now I get calls about my cousins who are my age and have been married forever. One had a baby and the other is expecting. “When,” they ask “am I going to make my parents proud?”
Pretty much anything that I’ve had control over, I have worked hard at and succeeded. But I have to admit, I have little to no control over who finds me attractive, or if a company has the money to hire me.
I love my extended family but I’m glad we live thousands of miles away. At 31, finally I see how trying to please them is futile and counter-productive. My parents are proud of me and how I’ve made the most of this downtime. And really, that’s all that matters.
Posted by Moxie at 7:19 PM | Comments (25)
hate crimes
A bunch of city blocks were closed off last night, making our short walk to the club a somewhat winding journey. There were cops and ambulances everywhere. My friends wondered why.
“Someone probably got killed,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Oh Moxie…you are such a NYC girl. It was probably just a bomb threat or something”
Sure LA is a Molotov cocktail kind of place. Empty synagogues in flames but surely no one gets killed around these safer parts. It’s paradise, right?
Last night in Hollywood a gay couple was holding hands and crossing the street. One of them had his face blown off and the other watched his lover die on the cold pavement. I heard several tearful accounts from eye witnesses, but there were no reporters there.
I have yet to see anything about this hate crime on the news while reporters are still talking about the synagogue bombings in Encino from days ago. No one was hurt in those incidents.
One has to question why certain crimes are covered ad nauseum by the media while other very personal and equally tragic murders go unnoticed. Seems in this age of Middle East unrest, murdering an innocent man just because he’s gay isn’t news anymore. If he had been of Middle Eastern descent, we'd have a media frenzy, I'm certain. It's almost as if the networks are more concerned with ratings than with journalism and accurate community reporting.
It’s media tunnel vision and it's shameful.
Posted by Moxie at 3:01 PM | Comments (8)
May 8, 2003
what's out there
Moxie:
Hi again, I’m sorry but you don’t fall within my age range. You seem like a good guy so I’m sure someone great will come along soon
DrJRo:
You are only 31
Moxie:
That’s three years, and I don’t want to continue this conversation. Just respect my preference. Besides, you don't even live in California!
DrJRo:
i am darn close to 29...and without sounding conceited, very mature for my age, a doctor, and you would never ever know i was younger
Moxie:
Sorry, I’m looking for someone a bit older than I am.
DrJRo:
hmmm...that is really lame, but okay, you can't push a rope.
that is actually funny that you could make that judgement about me without knowing me whatsoever...i know plenty of 40 yr. old immature idiot men (and I am sure you do too).
Moxie:
That was a really immature response and only confirms my age requirements.
DrJRo:
You have no shot of meeting a quality guy with your attitude. I can already tell you are nothing more than a somewhat cute face. Your loss is my gain
These are the men who are attracted to me...any wonder I'm single?
Elsewhere: Go and say hello to Cecile DuBois, Cathy Seipp's super talented 14-year old daughter.
Posted by Moxie at 11:31 AM | Comments (74)
May 7, 2003
next
Have you ever been on a 14 hour flight?
Alone?
Then you know what I mean -- the minutes stretch into hours -- you eat, sleep, eat again and still you are 7 hours away from your destination. You are uncomfortable, restless and the people around irritate your soul.
Seven hours in flight time translates into roughly 1 to 2 years of “how long it feels” time. So you sleep because there’s nothing else to do and no one to talk to. The flight attendants have already worn thin on your nerves and the sweaty guy next to you doesn’t seem to speak English and is flatulent. The book you brought is boring and you've already seen "Free Willy" and it made you puke.
This is my analogy for the downside of dating a few guys at a time and not feeling an overwhelming connection with any of them. It’s why I’ve been going out like the world is about to end tomorrow.
It's avoidance but it feels better than being at home alone. I've been alone a lot and been okay with it. I'm an only child. I haven't had a significant whatever in almost 2 years, it's not that I can't be alone, it's that I'm alone far too much.
Every night when the sun goes down it fills me with an impending sense of doom. The hours before bedtime are like 100 silent lifetimes. No one is coming over to cuddle with me on the couch. No one I want to hear from is likely to call. If I eat dinner at all, it’s most likely to be eaten alone.
Since I’m working from home, each day is an unbearable stretch of monotony. Come to think of it, I’d rather be on a long flight. Sure the seats are small and uncomfortable but at least I don’t have to cook.
Posted by Moxie at 5:06 PM | Comments (41)
May 5, 2003
under my skin
There is someone from my “real life” in Los Angeles that has somewhat recently shunned me both as a woman and as a friend.
While that’s a sad thing, it’s not what’s at issue here.
Sure, there was a lot of talk about remaining friends and I thought that was an earnest and heartfelt intention however it has been anything but that. Despite my best efforts at keeping this person in my life in the manner he has chosen, he continues to ignore me yet reads my web site. Sometimes far more often than I’m comfortable with, for many reasons.
I’m not sure if he has underestimated how easy it is to retrieve his static IP addresses from emails sent both at work and at home, or if he’s trying to torment me. And hey, we both use the same obscure ISP, so it’s easy to spot, even when I’d rather not notice.
Perhaps he thinks I might write about him. Maybe by writing this entry, I’m giving him exactly what he wants to feed his hungry ego. But the question remains:
Why read someone’s site if you have no interest in them as a person (especially if you never read it while you were dating that person)?
Lord knows, two of the few I’ve loved in this life have web sites. Sure, I’ll pop in now and again but not everyday, not even every week or month. Typically when I do it’s because my life is lacking in happiness and I want a fix of that warm fuzzy feeling their words and humor can still bring from afar.
Yet it seems unfair to me that someone can ignore my very infrequent “hey how’s it going” emails yet come here and find out what I’m doing each day, almost everyday. Why should he care? Why should I let him snoop?
Maybe I should hope that he finds courage. Even better maybe I should simply accept that he can’t deal with me, but still needs a fix of moxie now and again like a big drinker craves a beer.
I blocked him to the best of my ability because above all, it was unfair to me. Even if I asked him, he wouldn't tell me why he reads me. And I don’t need to wonder why he thinks to read me and hope for something that will sadly never be.
Posted by Moxie at 5:30 PM | Comments (53)
May 2, 2003
I'd fly with you
Well perhaps this will clear up one of the common misconceptions that the Dem's spread about President Dubya having no knowledge of or service in the military. As a former pilot in the National Guard, he has indeed served his country and provided a Presidential first yesterday.
Though his "water landing" training sounds a bit, shall we say insufficient
"The training reportedly involved sitting in a cockpit simulator that is filled with water, forcing the president to hold his breath."
he continually surprises me in unexpected ways. You go guy! And if the photos make great campaign photos, all the better. Lord knows Slick Willy never turned down a good photo op.
Posted by Moxie at 8:29 AM | Comments (35)
we should go bowling
If I told you a stranger in a bar bit my arm last night you wouldn’t believe me.
And if I told you that Secret Service Man lives directly across the street from where my X Lucifer lived or that I was asked out by a guy whose name is the same as SU’s (“_____”) real name and then moments later ran into someone at an art opening whom I met courtesy of SU’s neighbor from home, you’d say it’s impossible. I must be making it up.
LA is a HUGE place, afterall.
If I told you that I ran into a guy tonight who said, “you don’t remember me but once you wrote about me on your website” and then went home with me, you’d call me crazy.
What if some guy touched my arm and told me I was dehydrated and had a female cat who is obsessed with her stomach and that my back was hurting because of it? And my back WAS hurting?
It’s all true. Welcome to my life.
Or at least my night.
Isn’t California wild?
Los Angeles is a big place, but many times I find it is not big enough. The very wonderful county of Los Angeles has more than 9 million people and yet my circles continue to intersect. Weirdness finds me like flies on shit and things I’d like to forget are constantly shoved in my face.
While I am a firm believer in karma and fate, this constant reminder of failed relationships is totally uncalled for.
But then again, maybe somewhere out there, there is a guy I rejected who runs only into people *I* know, dates a girl who lives across the street from where I used to live, is dehydrated and owns a female cat whose stomach is always on empty.
He and I should go bowling, and then procreate. But that might be scary. I'm not sure the world is ready.
Posted by Moxie at 7:37 AM | Comments (19)
May 1, 2003
Mr. Firestone
Secret Service Man and I went over to Sara’s west side chateau last night to poke fun at The Bachelor and dine on gourmet pizzas. It was his first time watching, but it went reasonably well. Within minutes he was throwing out cracks about the catty women -- a real natural.
I think the highlight of the night was when Cristina wanted to introduce Andrew to her sophisticated New Jersey “culture." The room erupted in laughter. Having grown up in New York, I’m qualified to state for the record I wouldn’t call what goes on in New Jersey cultural in any sense of the word. When she asked him if he’d like some “wooder” to drink, I had flashbacks to a high school classmate of mine from Jersey who would ask me to “cawl” her. I never did. That accent makes me shudder.
But obviously watching any reality show requires that someone or something irritate the hell out of you. What fun would it be if they were all perfectly wonderful? What would we all do if there weren’t obnoxious comments to spew?
If I’m not going to hell for pointing out Andrew has awful skin and should consider laser resurfacing, then the comment about his lazy left eye or Cristina’s butt-chin sealed the deal. I’ll meet you by the hot lava pool and I’ll polish my horns for the occasion.
It’s not that I think I’m any better than these folks, it’s that I’m smart enough not to go on national teevee so the masses can pick me apart flaw by flaw. While the remaining girls seem to be good choices, I have little faith that two people can fall in love under such artificial conditions. Then again, I have little faith that people can find true love in normal conditions.
Only time (and a few more episodes) will tell…
Posted by Moxie at 2:23 PM | Comments (5)
