I’ve started on the 2nd bottle of wine and I’m listening to Nick Drake. What’s next? Elliott Smith? Radiohead? (Sorry Janelle)
I am teasing– I’m not sad. It’s really nice to be able to blast my music since I am usually hostage to whatever Jen and Stuart inflict upon the neighbourhood. . . I just sort of realized. . . it’s a bit. . . shall we say– unusual? . . .to be sitting alone on New Years listening to Nick Drake and feeling happy. . .?
Forgetaboutit.
Something I’ve wanted to learn to do for years and years is swing dance- lindy hop, jitterbug etc. . . and it is beyond ridiculous that I haven’t done anything about it since I lived near The Derby in LA (The scene in Swingers where Favreau meets Heather Graham was filmed there).
Folks in Los Angeles know my love of 1940’s and 1950’s vintage clothing and tunes. . . (I haven’t been able to break out my pretty frocks here since I’ve had a rather serious case of Heathrow Injection. . . I’ll be whinging about that tomorrow. . .)
I have discovered that there is a swing dance class and dance night at The Bedford, a pub down the way from me. I’m going to start taking classes so I can stop wishing I could lindy hop and actually be able to do it a little.
I also wanna go to The Savoy Ball in March. I need to find some alligators to drag a hoof avec moi cause I know it won’t be Stuart’s bag, but I fully intend on being there jump, jiven’ and wailn’, ginned up with the hep cats and kittens. . . Dig daddyo?
I’m staying at home alone tonight to ring in 2007 (Don’t worry! I’m fine- Stuart is fine.) I have had a few invitations, but this has been my plan for about a month now.
New Years Eve 1995 I also spent alone, although not by choice. I was terribly sick, so I hid in my scary Seattle studio apartment that I shared with ten million cockroaches and sang the blues in a big way. I thought I was still in love with my ex, I was broke, I hadn’t been doing any writing. . . and here I was stuck in my apartment with the lurgy. Grade A not fun.
I didn’t feel it was possible that cold lonely night, but 1996 turned out to be a good year for me. I earned a bit more money (A whopping $25,000 which felt like a fortune), my friendships with people in Seattle deepened, I started to date a terribly sexy boy who all my gay boyfriends had a crush on, (which was very,very good for my ego) I lost weight, moved into a one bedroom apartment in my building that I only shared with my cat and no bugs, and in ‘97 I got into the American Film Institute and moved to LA. . . I was getting my shit together. Sort of. –I don’t think I will ever have my shit completely put together.
There is no way that I could have known that eleven years later I would be where I am at now. . . There are some things I definitely would have done differently. . . I haven’t done enough writing, I’ve hooked up with some of the biggest wank stains on the planet, and I practiced general fiscal irresponsibility. . .but all of those mistakes (or should I say, poor choices) led me here. . . and I am very happy to be here sharing my life and negotiating bed space with Stuart.
So Happy New Year everyone! A special kiss to Stu– Oh, and please don’t get arrested tonight. 
I hope that everyone is happy and safe. . .
For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne.
Originally uploaded by treefrog girl.
Just finished re-reading the last Harry Potter book all in one go. Fired up the computer, turned on the iTunes and The Replacements- If Only You Were Lonely comes on. . .
“Somewhere there’s a smile with my name on itâ€. . .
I think it might be the best, ‘I’m a drunk in unrequited love’ song ever. . . Not that that is a huge genre- but if it were, it would be the best.
My buddies Doug and his wife Jamie turned me on to the Replacements—of course I knew them. . . anyone who has seen any of Cameron Crowe’s films knows The Replacements. . . But I didn’t know them that well.
I had been over at their house. . . and when Doug discovered I wasn’t well versed, burned me 5 million CDs of Replacements tunes.
It’s funny how you can be happy living where you are living but there are certain people that you wish you could move to where you are. Some people you are quite happy to have the thousands of miles distance and connection through crackly phone lines and misunderstood IM messages. The Kamin’s– I would be quite pleased to have them living next door.
This year I intended on sending out Christmas cards. . . which yeah. . . didn’t happen. . . Luckily a lot of my friends are more organized than me because I love Christmas cards. Doug and Jamie’s card was one of my favourites because it was so bizarre. Each year they take a family photo with some random stranger. This year it was their dentist.
Anyhoo. I loved their card and have been feeling guilty that I haven’t sent any out and haven’t been reaching out to friends back home the way I should. The Replacements reminded me of it again. . .
This photo of Doug, Jamie and Amelia was from my wedding. . . They had another wedding to go to in Palm Springs the same day but they decided to attend ours in Vegas. They had to leave early in the evening to drive back to Palm Springs—So they were in the car for beaucoup hours driving with a toddler to share the day with us.
They’re good people.
I am adding ‘doing my best to stay connected to good friends’ to my New Years Resolution list. Sure Doug and Jamie and my other friends know I love them. . . but I could be better about reaching out.
And it’s always nice to get a Christmas card with a picture of someone’s dentist.
I was reading one of my guilty pleasures, the online gossip column The Awful Truth. I only let myself read this every six months or so, but when I do I go back and read old articles. I’m not proud of myself. . . but what can you do.
Of course Ms. Spears penchant for exposing her kibbles and bits was mentioned. Although I have been living under a bit of a rock recently I was aware of the recent sans panties attempting to get out of a car situation, but I hadn’t seen the pictures. . . I found myself a bit curious. . . So I did a search and. . .
MY EYES! THE GOGGLES! THEY DO NOTHING!
Now I know that everyone has gone commando at one time or another. (Hey. It happens.) But honey! Come on. . . just how much more white trash can you get? (Please don’t show us darlin’. We know you’re up to the challenge.)
Her mama must be soooo proud.
Raul left a comment on my entry for Ghost Town saying:
“I thought you would like to know that I got here looking for a “sorry I grabbed your boob†card. You are at the top of google for such an entry. However, I couldn’t find the related article or comment that pointed it here. Have fun in Los Angeles I guess.”
Poor Raul. The entry for which you seek is here.
And he’s right. If you do a search on Google for “Sorry I Grabbed Your Boob” I am indeed number one.
I’m not sure what to think about that.
Work was a complete ghost town. There were only ten people working on our floor. Restaurants that are normally booming with office workers were closed. You could cross the streets in Soho without looking to make sure a taxi wasn’t going to run you over.
Was eerie.
Tomorrow I will be adding to the post Christmas Diaspora, as I will be ‘working from home’.
Sometimes, I love my job.
Have a wonderful day with your friends and family!
give me.JPG
Originally uploaded by treefrog girl.
Stuart took me to Windsor to feed the swans. (Click on the picture to see the whole flickr set)
Walking to the river he said, “I got brown bread.”
“I noticed.”
“I thought it would be healthier.”
I’ve heard stories about how mean and grumpy swans are. They were fine, but the bastards do have sharp little beaks if they get you. (Which they did a couple of times.)
They swarmed around in front of me (along with ducks, geese, pigeons and gulls). There were two smart swans and a goose that stayed next to me the whole time and kept nudging me to feed them directly.
At one point I fed one swan and went to feed the other but Swan One took Swan Two’s bread. Swan Two grabbed the back of Swan One’s neck in their beak.
“Wait! Wait, here’s some more!†I waved the bread in front of Swan One to get their attention.
I love birds but I really hate pigeons and gulls. An enterprising gull swept in and grabbed a slice of bread right out of my hands. When the pigeons realized I wasn’t going to feed them, they flew up at my face, flapping their fat little arms as hard as they could, hoping that would encourage me to give them something. I had to control my urge to not wap them out of the way.
Later that evening we showed friends the photos of the bird feeding. (I think I look like some batty eccentric English woman in them)
Simon, AKA Chunky said, “You are absolutely mental getting that close to swans.â€
“Well, I know they can have a bit of a temper.â€
“Temper? They can break your arm with their wings. No way would I get that close to a swan.â€
I guess now I understand why Stuart was standing behind the retaining wall at a respectful distance from them.
But I wanna go do it again. I love swans. It was a nice little present of Stuart to take me.
Yesterday we went to the pub for lunch.
Three pints and a hamburger.
Back to work to make sure that nothing went pear shaped.
Back to a pub in Covent Garden to meet up with the people who had not come back to work to make sure that nothing had gone pear shaped.
Four pints. Or was it five?
Libby, Tim and I are the last remaining drinking survivors. We decide to change venues.
On the way, there was a Subway and through a stroke of genius either Tim or Libby said let’s get a sandwich and we did and for this I am happy.
Off we went to a cocktail bar I like called Freuds.
Three very tasty long island ice teas.
How I don’t feel ill this morning, I honestly don’t know although my liver has sent me a cease and desist order.
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Not that I think that anyone would be silly enough to steal my ramblings, but in case you may be thinking about it. . . the very act of my writing this means that I own the copyright. Really. Look it up.
So, please don't plagiarize. It just ain't cool. And what I say just isn't that interesting. Trust me. Most of my friends don't even read this.
That being said, I do subscribe to the T.S. Eliot philosophy of "Immature poets borrow, mature poets steal." There is a difference between Stealing and stealing. . . This is not to say that I am mature. If anything. . . I'm rambling aren't I? That's what I do. I ramble. So, yeah. I'll shut up now.
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