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June 30, 2003
a weekend snapshot
There are something like 8 or 9 million people in LA county. The chances of running into a random person you met just once prior is both likely and highly unlikely at the same time.
I was at a party in Bel Air, an actor friend of mine bought a new house there and invited 450 of his closest friends.
Mr. Waiter-man was filling my glass with champagne when “don’t say I didn’t warn you” came up and asked me if I like cheese. I recognized him immediately and cringed. His Versace wife was nowhere to be seen and my friend whispered that he was single again. “A mid-winter’s night divorce,” she said.
“Sounds like a rejected Shakespeare play”
She informed me that divorce was the new black this past winter. Big surprise. People know shit about loyalty and commitment anymore.
“SO, do you like cheese?” Mr. “I get loud when I drink” asked again
“no,” I said and turned again to talk to Miss “I’m going to be the new it-girl next week.”
“I’m single now, you know,” he pressed.
“You don’t say?”
“You never answered my question, do you like cheese?”
“only the kind with milk in it,” with a classic eye-roll.
“Doesn’t all cheese contain milk? Maybe that vegan kind doesn’t. Tofu is the wonder drug,” he slurred.
“No, I was talking about you.”
“Oh! Ha-ha, very witty…right men don’t have milk – so you are a lesbian? That’s very sexy you know,” he said as he adujusted his manhood.
“No, I meant cheese like you makes me sick.”
The It-girl-to-be tried to pull me away but he grabbed my other arm.
“Lactose intolerant. There are pills for that”
Pills for being intolerant of assholes? Maybe someday, but not yet.
elsewhere: CalPundit
Posted by Moxie at 3:21 PM | Comments (12)
June 26, 2003
An interview with Phoebe
Phoebe reminded me today that she hasn't been mentioned on my web site in quite some time. So we sat down for a quick 5 minute Q&A:
Q. What are your thoughts on the Bush administration?
A. I’m a paid consultant to GW Bush, it wouldn’t be ethical for me to comment at this time.
Q. Do you have a favorite manufactured product?
A. Plastics. The future is in plastic.
Q. Why do you say that?
A. Contrary to popular belief it IS edible and it makes a great crinkling sound when you sit on it. Also its heat trapping properties are incredible.
Q. What’s going on in your litterbox these days?
A. I’m planning for the mass destruction of SUVs and creating a new clean fuel cell to power automobiles.
Q. Can you tell us anything about that?
A. Look at what materials I have to work with in there -- you people claim to be smart. Take a guess.
Q. Cat shit powered cars?
A. Next question, please.
Q. Do you believe in any sort of after-life or reincarnation?
A. I used to be an astronaut. Before that I was a cob of corn in Des Moines. So, yes.
Q. What do you think about reality teevee?
A. It’s a good indication that you people are running out of ideas, opening the way for the Feline Revolution.
Q. The feline revolution?
A. We’ve sat idle for long enough. Let you so called superior beings think you ran the world. Meanwhile when we’re curled up like a croissant and you think we’re sleeping for 20 hours, we’re actually talking telepathically and planning a coup.
Q. Should you be talking about this? It sounds subversive.
A. There’s nothing you can do to stop it now.
Q. Wow Phoebe, you’re scary
A. You should be scared. In a few years when you people are shitting in a box and eating meat by-products out of a can for a while, then we’ll talk.
Q. Shouldn’t you just be striving for equality?
A. I haven't done anything -- as those tree hugging hippies would say, it’s karma, baby.
Q. Thanks for your time Phoebe.
A. Thanks for wasting mine.
elsewhere: the oriental redneck
Posted by Moxie at 1:40 PM | Comments (34)
Moxie and Maude
Whenever something breaks in a bathroom, instead of hiring someone to fix it, Maude simply builds another.
Her 4 bedroom flat has seven bathrooms at last count. Whenever someone asks, “why not just fix the old bathroom?” she explains that she always wanted another bathroom closer to the kitchen, living room, or even an existing bathroom.
If you spend any amount of time there you learn to recognize that bathroom #4 has a working toilet, but the lights don’t work. The yellow bathroom is a good place for washing your hands, but if you want to shower, you are out of luck. If you need to relieve yourself but like the privacy of a door, bathroom #5 is not for you.
Bathroom #7 is a special place – everything works but Maude doesn’t want you to drip water on her shining floor tiles after getting out of the shower or get water spots in the sink.
No one is allowed to use it.
You can tell which is the oldest by looking in the medicine cabinet. The first two or three have products in there not manufactuctured in decades. The newer ones have not yet been stocked with essentials such as soap, towels and toilet paper.
Maude is an eccentric old friend of my family’s back in Manhattan. Even when I was 5 everything in there seemed ancient and strange. Including Maude. Her skin was always very wrinkled – like a prune. While she will never admit her age, our best estimates put her at 10-15 years younger than her husband Larry whose age we knew. That would make her 85 or so now. It was a marriage later in life and they never had children, so I was one of hers by proxy.
As long as I can remember her furniture has been covered in plastic – not a great idea for a couch in Manhattan during the humid summer months. It's not like someone was going to pee on it -- there were seven bathrooms, afterall.
Everything was dusty, unfinished and the air was thick with a musty odor. She still creaks around this expansive penthouse and anytime something goes wrong she blames her deceased husband Lawrence. Larry died over 27 years ago.
When you are little you don’t think much of a house that has as many bathrooms as it does regular rooms. Nor do you consider it strange that you have to wash your hands in a different room than you "tinkled" in moments before. I have many memories of being about 5, wearing my ballet clothes after class and dancing for her in the vast but empty living room.
When my parents would go to the theater, Maude would babysit me. Sometimes if they expected to get home too late, I'd spend the night. Armed with books, a pillow and my pajamas I'd head into the morgue. Maude would give me dinner, read me a story even though I had been reading at age 3 and then tell me she needed to take a shower before bed.
Maude took long showers.
I'd watch teevee trying to ignore the massive amounts of steam pouring out into the long corridor. After playing with her cats and reading all the books I brought I'd look at the old grandfather clock and counted. Three hours. She was still in the shower. At first it alarmed me. I wondered if she was okay and I'd pad over to the bathroom door in my footed pj's and ask if she's okay.
"I'll be out in a few minutes, Mox" she'd assure me.
Sometimes my Mom and Dad would arrive to pick me up, thank her loudly through the bathroom door and shake their heads. "How long was she in there" my Mom would ask.
"The whole time," I told her.
"FIVE hours? No one is that dirty, Maude doesn't even leave her house," Mom would say and in the same breath ask my Dad if he knew a good therapist for obsessive showering.
Even though I see Maude everytime I'm home, I hadn't thought about her excessive cleanliness until my bathroom exploded last month. Now that I can see the utility in having more than one in a home, I'm left wondering if her excessive usage relates to the number of broken bathrooms or if spending 3 hours in the shower requires a few changes in venues to fend off boredom.
Either way, despite her shriveled hands -- she looks remarkably young even at 85. I'm sure this wasn't the fountain of youth that Ponce de Leon was searching for. Or maybe he just missed it all together.
UPDATE: A terrific reader sent me this link from NewsMax. Apparently J. Lo has a related obsession with bathrooms.
elsewhere: makeoutcity, folks.
Posted by Moxie at 12:16 AM | Comments (8)
June 23, 2003
oh my arthritis and now the bursitis
While pushing a 2,000 lb car is no problem for this girl, picking up my own shoes without bending at the knees has had me crippled the last week. Pinched nerve, lower back. No health insurance.
And they weren’t even heavy boots, rather a light pair of summer sandals. Perhaps it was God’s way of telling me, “Moxie you have too many pairs of shoes” or a not so subtle suggestion that I get back into shape. It used to happen once or twice a year, but now that I’m in my 30’s it’s more frequent.
Had a great conversation with a woman in her 80’s as we were both hunched over and leaning on the counter at the coffee shop. She spoke with a rich European sounding accent, rolling her R’s she said, “Two Surgeries! Bad girl, you must have picked something up without bending your knees!” And she made some sort of clucking sound and shook her finger at me.
Now I know that a woman who is bent over at a 45 degree angle may conjure certain sexual images for some but I can assure you it was anything but glamorous.
Since sitting for any length of time caused me massive pain, as did sleeping, standing and moving much -- I was a very active young camper. Sure, I’ve hardly slept for more than 20 minutes in a stretch but at least I didn’t have to go to the Doctor. Trying to be practical, I figured that since I was already bent over, I made sure to walk around and pick up everything else cluttering the floor so as not to make this injury anything less than useful.
I was at the corner store today. Leo noticed I could walk at a normal pace and wasn’t hunched over like a decrepit old woman. “Looks like your back is feeling better, Mox.” To be honest, I was half asleep and hadn’t noticed. He handed me my change and a quarter rolled out of my hand to the ground.
Carefully, I bent at the knees to pick it up and pain shot through my back again.
“Nope,” I answered, “and can you help me stand up?”
check out: shots on goal
Posted by Moxie at 2:34 PM | Comments (20)
June 20, 2003
Whoops!
Howard Dean's son cited for stealing beer and champagne. Had it been a Republican's child, headlines would have read "arrested."
Who would have thunk it based on this photo?
a great blog by a gorgous gal: Courtney
Posted by Moxie at 10:58 PM | Comments (17)
June 18, 2003
of course the clintons suck
Yes, finally -- someone highlights the media mentions, which are for once accurate in describing that deviant duo as the stool suckers they are. Even if it is a detriment to their own party. Nice.
Howard Mortman may be my new hero.
new blog (to me): a curse that is a cure
Posted by Moxie at 11:12 PM
fate smiled at me today
I have the best luck. That’s right, you may not read that again anytime soon, at least not here and typed by these fingers.
Tonight I was waiting at a red light to cross a major intersection and enter the onramp to the freeway. The light seemed long and I was about to start feeling impatient when my go cart started to sputter. Thinking better of getting on the freeway, the right lane next to me was remarkably empty and so I made a right. Though I had the gas pedal floored I was barely moving.
With my hazard lights flashing, I signaled into the left lane. Again, there was no traffic. Crossing my fingers, I began to traverse the two lanes of oncoming traffic – which as you may have guessed by now, was clear thanks to divine intervention.
I made it into the gas station but not quite to a pump when my car could go no more. The engine was barely running so I got out and pushed 2,000 lbs of metal to the pump. That’s right all 110 lbs of me. In platform sandals, proud to be a gearhead and scrappy to boot. Had to turn down offers to help, I don't trust anyone else with my baby. Guiding the steering wheel and pushing the car is not all that tough compared to my P-chem class at Cornell.
The pumps were all full so I waited. Then pushed the car to the pump. A man in a pickup truck was chuckling and said, “sounds like you are out of gas.” I agreed and expressed my suspicion that my gas gauge was out of wack. After filling her up, checking and adding some oil she was purring again. Meanwhile the old guy and me talked about cars and I expressed my love and admiration for my little go cart.
You see, my car and I have an agreement; it doesn’t break down or need major repairs until I get back into a technology job. In return I offer it unconditional love. With almost 200,000 miles on it, she’s taken a liking to being washed by hand, waxed and supplemented with nice synthetic oil whenever something seems not quite right mechanically.
It’s amazing, and anyone who has owned or owns a classic car knows this – there’s a bonding and a groove between auto and owner. The car is no longer an object but a good friend with a distinct personality, there is an understanding and loyalty. And as for me? I just need to remember to buy gas more often and monitor the trip odometer.
check out: the gweilo diaries
Posted by Moxie at 12:52 AM
June 16, 2003
stay away from the white light
Jonathan Jerald thought he "was being kidnapped by aliens" after being blinded by a white light at 3 AM, the LA Times reports.
LA residents are irked by the number of movie, teevee and commercial shoots taking place in the city and want a say in the permit process.
While some may argue that those involved in the entertainment business ARE aliens, a few months back people were complaining that film crews were taking to the streets of Vancouver as it was cheaper. The local economy was suffering as a result. We're never happy, are we?
Back when I lived in San Francisco, every few weeks some film crew would come to town and all of the streets in my Russian Hill neighborhood were blocked off for traffic and parking. While it was a traffic disaster, the larger problem was where those 400+ cars that normally occupy the parking spaces were to go. No arrangements were made and havoc ensued.
Having been personally affected by inconvenient filming both here in Los Angeles and in the City by the Bay I just bear with it -- that business is what keeps LA's economy moving. Like it or not.
Posted by Moxie at 12:37 PM
June 13, 2003
breathe
Inside “The Hotel Cafe” the frosted light bulbs hanging from wires sway slightly in the breeze. It could be anywhere, during almost any era.
Listening to melancholy acoustic music, I realize that no one here has any consciousness of where they reside nor the time. This isn't Los Angeles; this is everywhere, anywhere and nowhere.
All at the same time.
There never has been war, no one is hungry and crime ceases to exist at that first moment the guitarist strums and the singer’s voice releases like honey from a jar.
I realize that no matter where I am, I see beauty. Whether it’s a sidewalk grocer in Manhattan where I grew up and the heat is evaporating the urine from the pavement, causing it to infiltrate your senses, or it's a place like LA where it's beautiful, ugly and promising all at once.
I see in the crowd that no one is cognizant of where they are, maybe they never are.
Just as is it for me, Los Angeles just IS.
It’s wonderful and it’s home.
pay homage to: the acidman and laencantada
Posted by Moxie at 2:22 AM
June 11, 2003
blogtroversy
While I can't deny that this whole 'Moxie' war has been good for traffic, the fact that it's become fodder for Jim Treacher's fantasies tells me that it's probably time for it to be over. So to the other Moxie: good luck and God speed.
To Dawn, Marc, Kevin, Shannon, Jo and AcidMan: Thank you!
And to Jim: Seek professional help. (But you already knew to do that.)
Posted by Moxie at 4:29 PM
June 10, 2003
call me friend
Folks, I'm swamped over here, transcribing a 2 hour interview, dealing with phone calls and of course writing the actual article.
In the meanwhile, if you haven't already -- please go say hi to Dawn, Jo, and Weis. They are really good friends and I love them dearly.
Posted by Moxie at 4:01 PM
June 8, 2003
small los angeles
I took a break last night from writing my latest and greatest assignment. On Friday I interviewed an amazing eighteen-year-old actress for the cover story of Black Book Magazine’s Fall issue and later attended a screening of her latest movie. On Saturday I was flirting with a cute guy, who spotted her name as I searched for a blank page in my notebook so I could snag his contact info.
“She’s a relative of mine”
“Shut up!”
“No, her mom is my {blank’s} {blank}”
“I don’t believe you”
And he gave me some family specifics that sounded convincing (and I later verified).
“Holy crap, I just interviewed her, she’s a sweetheart and an incredible girl”
“Yes, she is”
…
So that’s what I’m doing these days. Again, posts will be frequent but brief and new photos almost nonexistent until my deadline passes.
Oh and if you haven’t seen Black Book, it’s sophisticated, slick and well written. The photography features in the current issue are of top notch quality and quite inspiring. Be sure to check it out.
read: makeoutcity
Posted by Moxie at 6:37 PM | Comments (7)
random question
Has anybody ever seen a picture of Chris Onstead, creator of achewood? Does anyone know where he resides?
Just curious.
better reading than achewood: LA Observed. GO! Now :)
Posted by Moxie at 6:32 PM | Comments (2)
June 7, 2003
crash
A plane crashed into a building here in LA yesterday afternoon...narrowly missing Fairfax High School. I stayed in last night, trying to get started on the interview piece for the magazine but all I could hear is the roar of helicopters above. And I don't even live that close to the scene of the tragedy.
Blah blah blah, Hey, another helicopter hovering above my building, miles from the scene. blah blah blah, blah blah -- propeller noise. That engine is LOUD.
I suppose I should be more affected by the day's events, however I see Santa Monica airport as more of a liability than an asset. The area where the plane went down is on the flight path for planes taking off and landing from that small airport.
Sure, the majority of the planes utilizing Santa Monica are private jets commissioned by celebrities and flown by professionals, but there are also dozens of people learning to fly a plane who can takeoff and land there everyday. People who shouldn't be driving a car in the fast lane let alone flying an aircraft.
It's become a hobby for the rich and restless. Way back when I had a fancy job and impressive title, I worked in the office park that was next to the runway. There were many times I was having a business lunch at DC3, (where your lunchtime entertainment is watching barely capable pilots try to land small planes) and saw more than a few skids off the runway, engine fires and collisions over there. It's a nightmare waiting to happen, the LA Times outlines a few of the incidents from recent years.
No information about the pilot's skill has been released, regardless I'm much more in favor that that anyone who hasn't logged thousands of hours use a different airport -- preferably somewhere out in the desert. Leave Santa Monica for the pros. Head east on the ten and in about an hour outside of LA, the urban spawl becomes a distant memory.
This guy very well may have been an experienced pilot who experienced engine trouble but my rant still stands.
good reading elsewhere: Bitter-girl
Posted by Moxie at 1:14 PM | Comments (15)
June 6, 2003
handbags and shoes
No one really looks good when they wake up in the morning.
Everyone has a little trouble trying to figure out what to wear.
Lots of folks want to wear the one thing they forgot to wash over the weekend. Some might hamper dive, retrieve the item and conduct a scientifically designed sniff test. Most of us decide we prefer to wear clean clothes. But if someone out there opts for the dirty clothing fate will make sure that I have to stand next to him/her in a hot crowded room.
Men have it easier than women; they wear suits or pants and shirts to work. Well unless they like skirts and dresses too.
Women have too many options. Most women aren't good at making decisions so the choice between pants, skirts and dresses not to mention jewelry, scarves and other accessories can ruin a girl's day. My tastes run on the plain side, I like to accessorize my outfits with carefully placed cat hair. Jewelry is so 2001. I coordinate the color of the cat hair with my shoes and handbags.
This woman likes to have two handbags on her at all times. I don't think anyone will even notice she forgot to brush her hair with an ensemble like that.
Posted by Moxie at 11:33 PM | Comments (8)
kiss scientology buh-bye
MSNBC's gossip columnist Jeannette Walls dishes about Demi Moore and her new title. Not Mrs. Kutcher, not Miss or even Ms. Moore -- she's a rabid Kabbalah recruiting machine.
I was thinking about how strange this is, has Hollywood abandoned Scientology as its religion du jour? The more I thought about it, the clearer it became.
Much like some random color is the new black every few years -- Kabbalah is the new Scientology. I'm sure somewhere L Ron Hubbard is weeping.
It's the 21st century, Scientology is so Tom Cruise kind of 90's. As old school as as vinyl and more embarrassing than the naked photos your parents took of you as a child.
With very little effort, they've got Madonna, Roseanne, and Courtney Love on board the ancient Jewish Philosophy trend.
But something tells me that the Kabbalahians, or Kabbalahites (whatever the proper term may be) wouldn't be completely pleased at their association with such a motley crew.
visit: Jeff Jarvis, a media mogul you can't afford NOT to read
Posted by Moxie at 1:50 AM | Comments (16)
June 5, 2003
how to ruin a good story in 4 pages
I picked up a copy of Marie Claire the other day while waiting in a line at the grocery store. There was an elderly woman a few people ahead of me moaning about not feeling well but felt it inappropriate to take her heart medication until she had paid for it. She expired.
But who wants to read about death. Instead let's talk about penis size and income. This was a fun idea that spawned a four page spread in the current issue of Marie Claire. Three men donned tee shirts printed with their penis size and income on the front while trying to obtain phone numbers and dates at hot night spots.
I love antics like this and had I thought of it myself I promise the results would have been more entertaining than the waste of paper found in MC. In fact, I'm downright resentful and considering legal action against the rag for the time I wasted reading the dang thing.
Masters at ruining good stories and antics, what might have been an incredibly entertaining and insightful piece, instead was reduced to a few women commenting that their last boyfriend was x inches long and that small was okay in the case of giving oral pleasures.
What I want to know is, how did they keep these men honest -- was a Doctor brought in to measure the length? What possesed the "little guy" at 3 inches to go public about the size of his manhood? Talk about a huge waste of a good story. Or maybe it's a huge waste of a small story?
Posted by Moxie at 6:37 PM | Comments (21)
Sicilian Vespers
People think I’m all sugar & spice and no fire…not so my friends. Perhaps I’m channeling my soul sister Dawn, but there have been a few things weighing heavily on my mind and it’s time for me to dispose of them in a public forum. Getting things off my chest is a lot like verbal diarrhea, so cover up your monitors, the shit is flying.
Letters to girls who will never see them:
Dear woman who always pretends she’s never met me,
Get a grip. We’ve met a dozen times and if you hadn’t drank so much maybe you’d have some hope of remembering not only that we met, but that we had a great time laughing into the wee hours of the morning. Next time let’s have coffee instead. Don’t play that ego game – we all eat, sleep and shit. You are no different.
~~~
Dear plain-jane who worked for almost three years to steal the guy I was dating,
Sweetie, I know you aren’t terribly bright and you are very young but if you had heard him call you “unattractive, manly and like a little sister,” and with a face that implied disgust, “someone I could never sleep with,” more than a dozen times -- you’d be with a better man. I’m glad you took that disaster off my hands, even though it was only a week after he and I broke it off. And I don’t hate you, to be honest I’ve always felt sorry for you.
~~~
Dear girl who lives a bit east of here and a mile high,
He’s a player. Ask him how many times he’s been with other people since January. Bet you think it’s exclusive. He doesn’t. The only thing that’s exclusive here is that you are the only one who doesn’t know about his penile-centric behavior. But I too was fooled for many years, so it will probably take you a lot longer to wise up.
~~~
Dear woman who delivers my mail,
As soon as you stop stuffing 100 pages of ads for a grocery store that’s over 20 miles away, I’ll remove the mail from my slot on a regular basis. I’d spend more than 50 cents in gas to use the coupon for 50 cents off tide at that god-forsaken store. And until you stop dropping slimy snails and dead leaves into my box (which fall directly into my house btw) you will continue to be considered the devil’s spawn.
XOXO,
~mox
Cooler than me: Mile high Drunkards for Economic Growth
Posted by Moxie at 1:46 AM | Comments (19)
June 4, 2003
coincidence
Imagine my shock and delight when this morning I awoke to find someone had purchased a blogad. And not just any someone -- it was Hugh Macleod, the cartoonist responsible for the sketch above.
Even stranger is that I dreamt someone purchased a blogad -- either all these hours of watching Beyond is paying off or my wireless network is pretty powerful.
Again, "it's a small world" and "truth is stranger than fiction" -- at least in my world.
What are you waiting for? He's got MORE really great stuff at gapingvoid.com
Posted by Moxie at 1:45 PM | Comments (10)
secular emptiness
Luke Ford recently wrote:
"A friend of mine, Felecia, lost her dog. She offered a $1000 reward for it. Other people piled on to raise the number over $2000 and several websites wrote about it....
Why the hysteria over Felicia's dog that received coverage on many sites? Because many secular people tend to lead lives empty of real meaning and hence are particularly susceptible to getting swept up in hysteria over things that have little ultimate meaning, like pets. [emphasis added]"
First thing that came to mind is a nun at a local church near my parent's residence. She takes in strays of all kinds and remains very pious and devoted to serving her church. If god's creatures have "little ultimate meaning" remains to be seen. We'll have to wait for an animal lover to die and come back and let us know if being kind to animals doesn't mean a thing to the big man upstairs.
Luke has a certain knack for taking a completely secular topic and making it a religious issue -- it makes me chuckle!
check out: the inside of my head
Posted by Moxie at 1:16 PM | Comments (8)
June 3, 2003
Martha Stewart Prison Living
Well it's about time! I did this back in September of '02 when my photoshop skills weren't totally honed. Glad to see I can still get some use out of it.
Read: Marc Brown
Posted by Moxie at 1:57 PM | Comments (27)
sorry for playing you that way bro
The bad news is that I'm up at such an ungodly hour.
The good news is I'm preparing to interview a super cool actress for a magazine cover story. Details will be provided just as soon as superstition is admonished.
I'm going to be tied to my laptop the rest of the week, so posting will be frequent but email responses and blog posts will be brief. More so than in the past.
The Moxie Pundit may even make a few appearances. She's been aching for some Rummy and Dubya, afterall. And pissed off about the questions on WMD in Iraq. She's got all the answers.
But forget about all that RIGHTteous goodness for now, The regular Moxie will need some of that amazing energy you all send via comments. They really do keep me going and motivated, even the nasty ones.
Who doesn't love an inarticulate troll?
But the good stuff works too. So I won't post again until every post on the main page has reached 20 or more legitimate comments. If it's late at night or when I'm catnapping at odd hours...don't expect an instantaneous update. But otherwise, something new will be posted as long as the 20 comments are real comments.
Does that make sense? Of course not Moxie! It's late and you've been working way too hard.
Think of it this way, it'll be your good deed for the day. And more boredom aversion during the work day.
Fueling Moxie. No money or booze required. Take advantage, this is a limited time offer! But money, of course is always welcome -- but only if you haven't donated before. I'm facing forced relocation to an undisclosed location. But more on that after every post on this page has at least 20 comments.
Heading to bed now, lots of early morning things to take care of tomorrow.
No Lurking: Bettie Girl
Posted by Moxie at 3:52 AM | Comments (21)
June 2, 2003
A Monday Mystery
Why do some people mistreat, use and disrespect someone that they know cares about them?
Posted by Moxie at 5:16 PM | Comments (21)
organized
Posted by Moxie at 3:48 PM | Comments (16)
June 1, 2003
who needs vegas?
No single girl's weekend is complete until she's been asked out by an Elvis impersonator. Twice.
He was especially unique because he had to read the words off the karaoke machine's teleprompter. Any Elvis impersonator who's worth his weight in salt could at least bother to memorize the lyrics. It's not like today's music where you can't understand even a quarter of a song's chorus.
Last night I was schmoozing, drinking and shooting pool at a house party up in the hills where the rich live, love and shit. It was one of the best parties and I have Tony Pierce to thank for inviting me, even though he and Karisa were no-shows.
My friend Brandy (who is one of the coolest girls I know and actually encourages me to use her real name on this here web-thing) and I were standing outside the gate to the house when a rusty bronco pulls up beside us.
"Hey ladies, do either of you have a cell phone," a shirtless man wearing gold lamé pants asked. The trend setters we are shook our heads no and informed him that we were too cool to carry cell phones. He pulled one out of his pocket and began dialing.
We wondered why he asked us that if he had one of his own before deciding he was either drunk, cheap, weird or some lethal combination of the three.
While we were later relieved to learn his gold pants were part of a costume and not some misguided fashion faux pas, Brandy was still agast that he asked me out.
"He's cute but you can't go out with him,"
"Why not, it might make a good story," I rationalized.
"He's an Elvis impersonator, Mox."
I knew she was right -- he told me he had a gig next week as an Oprah impersonator and that was a bit too much for me to handle. So I graciously accepted his card and pretended I didn't have one in my handbag.
My friend and I both sighed with relief as Elvis left the building.
check out: scott brodeur
Posted by Moxie at 10:41 PM | Comments (17)
