Dear Blog,
I am amazed by the many discarded couches in Echo Park; specifically, on my one-block street. Without fail, there are always at least 2 couches plus, often a medley of mattresses and broken chairs. I can't believe there are enough living spaces to have housed all the abandonded couches. Irritatingly, the seemingly-pee-ridden-couches are apt to linger on my street for weeks, regardless of my good-citizenhood, calling the LA refuse specialty pickup number. Last summer there was a gigantic pile of garbage, including several mattresses, a couple couches and we waited a couple weeks for something to happen to the pile. Nothing did, so we called the special pickup number and went away on vacation. Returned a couple weeks later and the pile was still there, but larger. Finally, I called our city councilman's office. The pile was picked up a couple weeks later. I think it was there for about 2 months. City living.
Once a dead dog was put into a garbage bag and left in front of our house. Me and my duplex neighbors thought it was a stuffed animal, until the flies started swarming. Again, I called a special number. When I lived in San Francisco I never called the police or a special number, in 8 years. Since I've been in LA, 3 years now, I've called at least a dozen times. Someone died in front of our house last year. This person was stabbed at the Burrito King down the street, ran, bleeding and collapsed in front of our plant-filled oasis (totally a paradise, my housey). We were drinking at the oldest French restaurant in LA, staggered home to police tape surrounding our street and weren't allowed past, into the house, for about an hour. And then, only after I threw a mini-drunken-tantrum. We got to our house by climbing over our neighbor's fence. There were blood-stains on the sidewalk the next morning from the dead person. Yikesies.
The couches, however, are really beginning to annoy me. I just can't understand how they keep multiplying. The Couches of Echo Park are like baby mice.
Love The UkuLady
PS: I've developed a crush on John Heder (Napoleon Dynamite) after seeing Blades of Glory. However, his Mormonhood is really un-hot. Maybe I just like his flameyness...love those gay men....
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Sims-Sessions Winners-of-the-Week!
Dear Blog,
Although we laughed extensively at this week's Sims Session, in fact I was on the floor real-lifesies-weak-kneeed (sp?) there aren't many notes in my comedy notebook. Here are the few nibblets apparently worth writing down:
1. Moose Ganja. This was a Simlish slipup. I think we decided that moose are just funny no matter what. Meese. Whatever.
2. The FriendHeart. You'll find out soon....Ok, I can't resist, it's so delightful! When you and a friend have a disagreement, argument, fight, what have you; and you just want it to be over but you don't really want to work it out with theraputic hippie-attentive listening shit, you can just say to your friend, "Friend Heart." And make a heart with your hands and your friend won't be able to resist. No one can resist the Friend Heart. This is registered by ASCAP, AFTRA and SAG.
3. The Comedy Goat. It was funny at the time. After 6 hours in a recording studio speaking gibberish, almost everything is fucking hilarious.
4. Judo Mo. A Judo Master obviously. Possibly a fellow heeb.
5. Comedy Gold. As in, "That take was Comedy Gold." Or just CoGo.
6. Bell Hops vs. Concierge. Is there really a difference?
7. Nana Mammals. I suppose these would be grandmothers who are also mammals, such as my mom. I am not the child making my mom a grandmother, just for the record.
C'est Tout! As Patreek (phonetically-French-way-to-say Patrick), my, in retrospect, flamingly gay French teacher in high school used to say.
Love The UkuLady
PS: A Swedish couple has been forbidden by the Swedish tax board to name their baby girl Metallica. I think it's a pretty good name. Call her Meta. Very post-modern.
PPS: Speaking of Post-Modern, The UkuLady would like to give a Props-of-sorts Award-of-Theatrical-Dedication to my myspace friend and real life friend, Timmy, who is flying to Greece for 3 days only, in order to catch a couple performances of Nixon in China. That's artistic-appreciation-dedication! Hope you get some airplane tranquilizers.
Although we laughed extensively at this week's Sims Session, in fact I was on the floor real-lifesies-weak-kneeed (sp?) there aren't many notes in my comedy notebook. Here are the few nibblets apparently worth writing down:
1. Moose Ganja. This was a Simlish slipup. I think we decided that moose are just funny no matter what. Meese. Whatever.
2. The FriendHeart. You'll find out soon....Ok, I can't resist, it's so delightful! When you and a friend have a disagreement, argument, fight, what have you; and you just want it to be over but you don't really want to work it out with theraputic hippie-attentive listening shit, you can just say to your friend, "Friend Heart." And make a heart with your hands and your friend won't be able to resist. No one can resist the Friend Heart. This is registered by ASCAP, AFTRA and SAG.
3. The Comedy Goat. It was funny at the time. After 6 hours in a recording studio speaking gibberish, almost everything is fucking hilarious.
4. Judo Mo. A Judo Master obviously. Possibly a fellow heeb.
5. Comedy Gold. As in, "That take was Comedy Gold." Or just CoGo.
6. Bell Hops vs. Concierge. Is there really a difference?
7. Nana Mammals. I suppose these would be grandmothers who are also mammals, such as my mom. I am not the child making my mom a grandmother, just for the record.
C'est Tout! As Patreek (phonetically-French-way-to-say Patrick), my, in retrospect, flamingly gay French teacher in high school used to say.
Love The UkuLady
PS: A Swedish couple has been forbidden by the Swedish tax board to name their baby girl Metallica. I think it's a pretty good name. Call her Meta. Very post-modern.
PPS: Speaking of Post-Modern, The UkuLady would like to give a Props-of-sorts Award-of-Theatrical-Dedication to my myspace friend and real life friend, Timmy, who is flying to Greece for 3 days only, in order to catch a couple performances of Nixon in China. That's artistic-appreciation-dedication! Hope you get some airplane tranquilizers.
Mobizzo; look what I don't got.
Dear Blog,
It's a total bummer to be the voiceover spokesperson for a product that no longer exists. My ship came in a little bit last summer, when I landed the Mobizzo account. Blog, I'm sure you are wondering, as blogs are deep-thinkers in some dimension of existance, what the hell Mobizzo is. It Was a cell-phone download thingy and I was their spokesperson! I made a lot of money, that has since, totally dwindled, saying, "Mobizzo. Look what I got."
Now I am compelled to say, "Mobizzo. Look what I don't got."
If I spoke like I live in Fresno. (Jenna, since you don't live westcoast style, Fresno is considered the armpit of California. Now I'm just being mean to Fresno-residents. My anger at Mobozzo's disappearance is being channeled to Fresno-ites, who may be totally into correct grammar.)
I got a horoscope last year which said I need to develop Maniacal Career Focus. I have and now I have determined that I am Nurturing my Maniacal Career Focus.
Love The UkuLady
PS: It's totally unfair that Hilary Duff is making millions and I'm not. Bitch.
PPS: This blog is being written on Tallulah Petunia! My new computersies! It's like a new car! I encourage everyone to go into debt to have this kind of computer speed and ease. I heart you Lulu!
It's a total bummer to be the voiceover spokesperson for a product that no longer exists. My ship came in a little bit last summer, when I landed the Mobizzo account. Blog, I'm sure you are wondering, as blogs are deep-thinkers in some dimension of existance, what the hell Mobizzo is. It Was a cell-phone download thingy and I was their spokesperson! I made a lot of money, that has since, totally dwindled, saying, "Mobizzo. Look what I got."
Now I am compelled to say, "Mobizzo. Look what I don't got."
If I spoke like I live in Fresno. (Jenna, since you don't live westcoast style, Fresno is considered the armpit of California. Now I'm just being mean to Fresno-residents. My anger at Mobozzo's disappearance is being channeled to Fresno-ites, who may be totally into correct grammar.)
I got a horoscope last year which said I need to develop Maniacal Career Focus. I have and now I have determined that I am Nurturing my Maniacal Career Focus.
Love The UkuLady
PS: It's totally unfair that Hilary Duff is making millions and I'm not. Bitch.
PPS: This blog is being written on Tallulah Petunia! My new computersies! It's like a new car! I encourage everyone to go into debt to have this kind of computer speed and ease. I heart you Lulu!
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Pork Lodge & Pouches
Dear Blog!
Just now driving home to Echo Park from Canter's Kibitz Room, where I was politely blown-off, I misread the street sign, Park View as Pork View. I wish it was Pork View Street. For some reason, when I'm in my 6-hour Sim sessions, where we speak gibberish, I am compelled to often say Pork Lodge. As in, "Sneeb norbula flidge la Pork Lodge?" And then Jack, my Sim partner in crime, will give me that look, over the microphones, like," You are totally ridiculous - you said Pork lodge AGAIN!" Or when I mistakenly say vaj or waj, which also happens frequently, as in, "Wib globbet, sneej flam worbley vaj?" Jack gives me the same look. It's endearingly amused.
Speaking of the Sims, there were tour groups flocking the EA campus monday. Scores of youthful video-game mavens, taking pictures of things like the EA cafeteria. Granted, it's a nice dining space, but it seems that one's video-game obsession has been taken a bit far, if looking at photos of a cafeteria thrills one.
So I was kindly blown-off of my now-formerly weekly gigs at Canter's deli. 3 weeks ago I was asked to take 3 weeks off. An odd amount of time. I myspace messaged the booking guy, who's very nice, an Echo Park neighbor and a trained opera singer. He never got back to me. So me and my big Annie-rejected balls, got all dolled up tonight, practiced a UkuLady set, which included Rainbow Connection, Facts of Life and Silver Spoons, and showed up at the Kibitz Room anyway. I have a show next week, but I think I'm being kindly phased out. Bummer, as I made up 1000 postcards touting the weekly tuesday shows. I said fuck too much, and was asked to say bleep or friggin instead and my political songs were also censored. A whole lot of censoring for a small lady with a ukulele. I'm edgy! Or I have superior diction, compared to the rock bands that must say fuck or else they're not rock.
Love The UkuLady
PS: I have adult-onset acne! I never had pimples as a teen and since moving to the environmental disaster of LA, I am like a prepubescent tweenager who works amongst frenchfry fryers! Ok, I'm being a tad overdramatic, but I'm being forced by the hand of Narcissim to learn a new beauty evening regime in my old age, so's to remain Askable-For-ID-At-The-Bar.
PPS: I stole a washcloth from the Sofitel Hotel to aid my beauty regime in Echo Park.
PPPS: It's a pouch washcloth and Pouch is one of the Best Words Ever.
Just now driving home to Echo Park from Canter's Kibitz Room, where I was politely blown-off, I misread the street sign, Park View as Pork View. I wish it was Pork View Street. For some reason, when I'm in my 6-hour Sim sessions, where we speak gibberish, I am compelled to often say Pork Lodge. As in, "Sneeb norbula flidge la Pork Lodge?" And then Jack, my Sim partner in crime, will give me that look, over the microphones, like," You are totally ridiculous - you said Pork lodge AGAIN!" Or when I mistakenly say vaj or waj, which also happens frequently, as in, "Wib globbet, sneej flam worbley vaj?" Jack gives me the same look. It's endearingly amused.
Speaking of the Sims, there were tour groups flocking the EA campus monday. Scores of youthful video-game mavens, taking pictures of things like the EA cafeteria. Granted, it's a nice dining space, but it seems that one's video-game obsession has been taken a bit far, if looking at photos of a cafeteria thrills one.
So I was kindly blown-off of my now-formerly weekly gigs at Canter's deli. 3 weeks ago I was asked to take 3 weeks off. An odd amount of time. I myspace messaged the booking guy, who's very nice, an Echo Park neighbor and a trained opera singer. He never got back to me. So me and my big Annie-rejected balls, got all dolled up tonight, practiced a UkuLady set, which included Rainbow Connection, Facts of Life and Silver Spoons, and showed up at the Kibitz Room anyway. I have a show next week, but I think I'm being kindly phased out. Bummer, as I made up 1000 postcards touting the weekly tuesday shows. I said fuck too much, and was asked to say bleep or friggin instead and my political songs were also censored. A whole lot of censoring for a small lady with a ukulele. I'm edgy! Or I have superior diction, compared to the rock bands that must say fuck or else they're not rock.
Love The UkuLady
PS: I have adult-onset acne! I never had pimples as a teen and since moving to the environmental disaster of LA, I am like a prepubescent tweenager who works amongst frenchfry fryers! Ok, I'm being a tad overdramatic, but I'm being forced by the hand of Narcissim to learn a new beauty evening regime in my old age, so's to remain Askable-For-ID-At-The-Bar.
PPS: I stole a washcloth from the Sofitel Hotel to aid my beauty regime in Echo Park.
PPPS: It's a pouch washcloth and Pouch is one of the Best Words Ever.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Airport Magic!
Dear Blog!
Another distpatch from the Sofitel Hotel bar, sipping my complimentary merlot and nibbling fancy olives and cheesynibblies, all on the Electronic Art's dime! go DreamFollowers! Some observations from my Southwest Airlines weeked travel to share:
1. A tshirt with the slogan "Jesus is my Homeslice"
2. I think my air hostess was a post-op sex-changee - man to woman. I noticed her collegen-inflated lips the moment i stepped on the plane and she pointed a finger at me and said, "Cute!" not to be a total narcissist, but I've been getting that a lot lately. I think it's my newly inflated UkuLady persona I'm flaunting in preparation for my soon-to-be-public figurehood. (Also got the "Cute!" from some teen hippie/homeless kids on Haight street today) Then I noticed she (the possible sex-change stewardess, not my homeless-hippie-teen fans) was either A. a not-very-bad-burn victim with a lot of plastic surgery or B. a man. She had a great figure! Really long, lean legs with a tight boy ass. So I checked out her hands as she was passing drinks and I really can't say for sure. They were kind of big and veiny, but not outrageously so.
3. I like to sit in the front of the plane going to Oakland, so I can get off first. ( I sit on the back Oakland - Burbank because the plane is all old-school and a stair goes to the tarmac from the back of the plane in B-town) So I took a major chance and sat in the 2nd row next to a woman, baby and 7 year old. I like babies and have a bit of baby-fever. The mother was totally surprised someone was as bold as me. The baby was totally cute and although babies are generally the most popular person in a room, a baby is definitely the most unpopular person on an airplane. I bonded with the 7 year old.
4. I saw an Hooter's/Hustler employee in Burbank. She was teeeny and her boobs were unbelievably enormous and fake! Platinum hair and why do these stripper/whore/playmates always wear Juicy Couture sweatsuits when they're not wearing bikinis? I totally ogled.
5. Stewards - man-air-hosts - should not wear shorts. Seated on the plane, I am eye-level with the air-host's/essess legs and airplane proximity is tight and Men in Shorts, lingering in front of me, because they have to count bloody-mary change for the morning-drinkers, is disconcerting.
6. Honey-Roasted peanuts vs. regular - No duhsies. Nuts in general are underated. Go nuts, especially honey-roasted.
Love The UkuLady
PS: Brittney and K-Fed settled! and Katie is Tom's prisoner! I got to read US weekly at the airport. I'm thinking of getting a subscription to go along with my Harpers & New Yorker....
Another distpatch from the Sofitel Hotel bar, sipping my complimentary merlot and nibbling fancy olives and cheesynibblies, all on the Electronic Art's dime! go DreamFollowers! Some observations from my Southwest Airlines weeked travel to share:
1. A tshirt with the slogan "Jesus is my Homeslice"
2. I think my air hostess was a post-op sex-changee - man to woman. I noticed her collegen-inflated lips the moment i stepped on the plane and she pointed a finger at me and said, "Cute!" not to be a total narcissist, but I've been getting that a lot lately. I think it's my newly inflated UkuLady persona I'm flaunting in preparation for my soon-to-be-public figurehood. (Also got the "Cute!" from some teen hippie/homeless kids on Haight street today) Then I noticed she (the possible sex-change stewardess, not my homeless-hippie-teen fans) was either A. a not-very-bad-burn victim with a lot of plastic surgery or B. a man. She had a great figure! Really long, lean legs with a tight boy ass. So I checked out her hands as she was passing drinks and I really can't say for sure. They were kind of big and veiny, but not outrageously so.
3. I like to sit in the front of the plane going to Oakland, so I can get off first. ( I sit on the back Oakland - Burbank because the plane is all old-school and a stair goes to the tarmac from the back of the plane in B-town) So I took a major chance and sat in the 2nd row next to a woman, baby and 7 year old. I like babies and have a bit of baby-fever. The mother was totally surprised someone was as bold as me. The baby was totally cute and although babies are generally the most popular person in a room, a baby is definitely the most unpopular person on an airplane. I bonded with the 7 year old.
4. I saw an Hooter's/Hustler employee in Burbank. She was teeeny and her boobs were unbelievably enormous and fake! Platinum hair and why do these stripper/whore/playmates always wear Juicy Couture sweatsuits when they're not wearing bikinis? I totally ogled.
5. Stewards - man-air-hosts - should not wear shorts. Seated on the plane, I am eye-level with the air-host's/essess legs and airplane proximity is tight and Men in Shorts, lingering in front of me, because they have to count bloody-mary change for the morning-drinkers, is disconcerting.
6. Honey-Roasted peanuts vs. regular - No duhsies. Nuts in general are underated. Go nuts, especially honey-roasted.
Love The UkuLady
PS: Brittney and K-Fed settled! and Katie is Tom's prisoner! I got to read US weekly at the airport. I'm thinking of getting a subscription to go along with my Harpers & New Yorker....
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
CamelToe & Mooseknuckle
Dear Blog,
I need to address, once again, the incredible phenomenon of cameltoe and mooseknuckle. The adjective/noun combo "Incredible phenomenon "is based on my incredulousness that Cameltoe & Mooseknuckle victims/fully-aware-Choosers-of-CT&MK:
1. Can't feel the folds of pants scooping/contour-molding into their A. Cooters B. Sacklets (omg- there is no good way to say that one)
2. If they are aware of the sensation, how can they possibly think it is attractive?
Perhaps they are similar to the Massholes and other New England residents who stubbornly, well-into the late nineties and probably now, insist on wearing 80's hair, makeup and clothes. And not the new millenium 80's-are-retro, 80's that is unfortunately sweeping Los Angeles. Actual 80's outfits and hairsprayed bangs. It was rampant with many New England residents, when I lived in Boston.
Cameltoe and Mooseknuckle makes me extremely uncomfortable.
Love The Ukulady
PS: on my myspace blog, which is the same as this, but another venue, I chose the category Pets & Animals, for this dispatch.
I need to address, once again, the incredible phenomenon of cameltoe and mooseknuckle. The adjective/noun combo "Incredible phenomenon "is based on my incredulousness that Cameltoe & Mooseknuckle victims/fully-aware-Choosers-of-CT&MK:
1. Can't feel the folds of pants scooping/contour-molding into their A. Cooters B. Sacklets (omg- there is no good way to say that one)
2. If they are aware of the sensation, how can they possibly think it is attractive?
Perhaps they are similar to the Massholes and other New England residents who stubbornly, well-into the late nineties and probably now, insist on wearing 80's hair, makeup and clothes. And not the new millenium 80's-are-retro, 80's that is unfortunately sweeping Los Angeles. Actual 80's outfits and hairsprayed bangs. It was rampant with many New England residents, when I lived in Boston.
Cameltoe and Mooseknuckle makes me extremely uncomfortable.
Love The Ukulady
PS: on my myspace blog, which is the same as this, but another venue, I chose the category Pets & Animals, for this dispatch.
My Internet Boyfriend!
Dear Blog,
I have joined the tech-happy new millenium population and am involved in an internet flirtation with someone I've never met! Of course I am not wasting my time flirting with someone lame or boring. It would have to be someone extremely intriguing to capture my busy-scheming-to-take-over-hollywood-head, and this cute (according to his photos) hipster is totally intriguing. My cousin married a man she met in an online fantasy role-playing game and my good LA punk-rock pal, Tiburon, met her awesome fiancee, TriStar, on myspace. Not that I am seeking anything of that nature, but it is totally interesting and bizarre to have a met a total stranger online and come to a place where I would consider this person an actual friend. The Donner Party would be blown away. I think we (now me and he are we!) have come to a place that I would consider my Fantasy Internet Fiancee (my first ukulady marraige proposal!) a friend (hey PA!, being narcissistic enough to assume you are reading about yourself! - double narcissim!). Due to his being interesting, smartie-pants, clever, unassuming, and most importantly in a literary friendship/courtship,linguistically charming and handy, I've perused his writings, music and have developed a total crush. What if he is a disfigured hunchback, which is redundant? Would that make me, if I ultimately was not attracted to him, a total materialistic schmuck? (for my non-heeb readers, like hopefully Jenna Bush, that means asshole). A lot of philosophical considerations go into having a flirtation/crush on an internet pal.....
Heartsy, The UkuLady
PS: I'm very thankful I have eyelids!
PPS: No duh LA Times, Anna Nicole died of a pill overdose. Fucking duhsies.
PPPS: Tapered jeans/pants are lame.
I have joined the tech-happy new millenium population and am involved in an internet flirtation with someone I've never met! Of course I am not wasting my time flirting with someone lame or boring. It would have to be someone extremely intriguing to capture my busy-scheming-to-take-over-hollywood-head, and this cute (according to his photos) hipster is totally intriguing. My cousin married a man she met in an online fantasy role-playing game and my good LA punk-rock pal, Tiburon, met her awesome fiancee, TriStar, on myspace. Not that I am seeking anything of that nature, but it is totally interesting and bizarre to have a met a total stranger online and come to a place where I would consider this person an actual friend. The Donner Party would be blown away. I think we (now me and he are we!) have come to a place that I would consider my Fantasy Internet Fiancee (my first ukulady marraige proposal!) a friend (hey PA!, being narcissistic enough to assume you are reading about yourself! - double narcissim!). Due to his being interesting, smartie-pants, clever, unassuming, and most importantly in a literary friendship/courtship,linguistically charming and handy, I've perused his writings, music and have developed a total crush. What if he is a disfigured hunchback, which is redundant? Would that make me, if I ultimately was not attracted to him, a total materialistic schmuck? (for my non-heeb readers, like hopefully Jenna Bush, that means asshole). A lot of philosophical considerations go into having a flirtation/crush on an internet pal.....
Heartsy, The UkuLady
PS: I'm very thankful I have eyelids!
PPS: No duh LA Times, Anna Nicole died of a pill overdose. Fucking duhsies.
PPPS: Tapered jeans/pants are lame.
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