I’m having one of those nights where I feel like writing. I’m not necessarily sure I have anything to write about, but why the hell not? I have fingers perfectly capable of typing, a laptop perfectly capable of receiving said typing and turning it into words on my screen and a half empty bottle of Merlot. (The other half already being in my tummy of course.) All of these things obviously add up to being primed and ready to write. I mean look at me go…I’ve already been writing for a solid minute now and I think it’s going fairly well.
I was flipping channels and saw America’s Next Top Model listed earlier. I switched over to it, but then once I remembered it was a real show and it wasn’t going to be Maya Rudolph doing her Tyra Banks impression I got really depressed. Then I realized what was happening on the show and it made me feel better. They are doing a season called America’s Next Top Model “All Stars”. Apparently on reality TV when you lose at something you become an all star. This season is made up of girls who have already tried doing the show before, and lost. Some of them seem fairly normal, well as normal as you can be to be a contestant on a competition based reality show. But most of them just seem to be the really loud ghetto girls who yelled at everyone because they didn’t “reck-a-nize”. So thank you Tyra Banks for showing us that no matter how illiterate you may be, or how un-classy you may act, or how badly you may lose at something; anyone can be an all star. And I do mean anyone.
Ok, there is either a skunk outside my apartment or Cheech and Chong are sparking up some skunk weed under my couch right now because I just caught a strong whiff of one of the two things. Everyone cross your fingers for Cheech and Chong.
I decided today that I would go through the giant box which has not been touched since it got put in the corner the day I moved in after moving here from New York. It’s that box of things that you really don’t have a need for, but you keep anyways. You know what I’m talking about – when you’re moving or cleaning and you just keep finding boxes inside of boxes inside of boxes which you tell yourself you will look through next time…but you never do. Well today I did. And I am beyond glad that I did. One of the boxes contained around a dozen cassette tapes of radio mixes I did when I was younger. They are all titled either DJ Amy Hot Jams or DJ Aim-Dog Jazzy Jams. I can’t say I’m partial to one title or the other, because they’re both obviously brilliant. These tapes contain the best pop mixes from the 90’s and very early 2000’s you will ever hear in your life. I’m talking everything from Boyz II Men to Brandy to All 4 One to Robyn to Mya. Mya! Come on now, if you didn’t know every word to ‘Ghetto Superstar’ including Ole Dirty Bastard’s part then I don’t know that we could ever be friends. I for one, as a 12 year old white girl living in the suburbs, totally owned the ODB parts as you can probably imagine. I really need to find a cassette tape player now though. These tapes are just sitting there taunting me. Now that I know of their existence in my apartment I need to listen to them. I can’t talk about this anymore…the sweet, sweet sounds of Shaggy and TLC are ringing in my ears and it’s too much to handle.
While looking through these boxes I also discovered a hard copy of the script I wrote when I was probably around 10 or 11 years old. In my post “Back to School” I speak of how I tried to cast this movie during classes at my elementary school. It didn’t go so hot. But I haven’t read this script in years. As soon as I found it today I sat right down with a cup of coffee and started reading. As I read I realized from a young age I was meant to be a comedian. Either that or a crack head. It was quite clear to me. It also became clear that the above mentioned pop artists had a great impact on my life because every single character in my movie was named after a 90’s pop star. Except for 3 characters named Peppy, Poppy, and Pappy. Correct, I was great with names. It also included Barbara Walters, a bomb scare, saving stuffed animals from a fire, a who-done-it murder plotline, two old British sisters who were always bickering and an astonishingly unprepared police staff. I would say it all makes sense once you read it, but that would be a lie.
I went for a hike at Runyon Canyon today and remembered just how much I hate how everyone does the little smile and nod at strangers when you’re hiking. Why is it that people feel the need to do that when on any type of walking trail or path? Just because we are walking through a pretty little canyon doesn’t mean I want to say hello with a close mouthed half smile and a “I don’t know you so instead of speaking the word hello I will just politely nod”, head nod. I avoid eye contact at all times with strangers. I’m that person who always somehow manages to get into weird and awkward staring contests unknowingly. So I just avoid it all together. When I do end up accidently making eye contact it always ends up being with the homeless guy standing a foot from my car staring directly into my eyes as I roll up my window and pretend not to see him and look away. (Keep in mind I drive a convertible so rolling the window up doesn’t seem to dissuade them much.) So I don’t care if we are on a walking trail where everyone else got shot up with the happy drug and feels the need to say hi to everyone or if we are on the street walking through West Hollywood trying to avoid the creepy guy playing Spiderman on Hollywood Blvd. Either way, I will be wearing sunglasses and avoiding your face at all costs.
It’s now after 2am which means everything on TV is infomercials, 90’s sitcoms, or religious shows. So I can keep rambling incessantly here, purchase a miracle weight loss pill from an 800 number, watch Married With Children, or be reborn with the salt and pepper haired gentleman who hosts the 700 Club. All options sound quite tempting but I think I’ll throw a curve ball in here and just finish the rest of this Merlot in bed until I fall asleep or decide to get more Merlot. I know you are all probably concerned because if I am already cozy in bed, traveling back to the kitchen could be quite a nuisance to get more wine. No need to fret, I keep emergency sleepy time wine under the bed. I’m no amateur.
Good night and good luck. (Good night is directed towards you, the reader, and good luck is directed towards me in case you were wondering. I have white sheets so the Merlot is always a little risky. I need the luck more than you. Deal with it.)