The night had the stress of any sequel. Will there be a lot of hook ups? Will I be the one who throws up? I wonder if that lizzie girl is going to break a table again..... And I wonder if she will bring her camera....
Well, thankfully, I didn't break any tables this time around.. I did climb on a counter top and attempt to quiet people down at one point, but the bouncer carried me down before I could have any success... Because obviously I was in a state of mind to quiet a room full of people. right?
I did however, bring my camera. The pressure was on. I knew other photographers were going to bring the heat. But I had to capture the essence of the night. I hoped to do accomplish my goal without running a 5k like I did last time. All the running on an august night had previously caused me to think it was socially acceptable to dunk my head in the pool mid party to cool down. Word of advice to all: don't do it... you will have a middle part and resemble hansel from zoolander the entire rest of the night.
I make my entrance, and I know it's going to be a good night. Many thanks to my lovely friend with the pick up truck who happened to be driving by when I needed a ride. Let me tell you, there's nothing more exhilarating than arriving at a party dancing in the back of a pick up truck with you and your friends. And by heroic, I mean, embarrassing and pretentious in sober retrospect.
My camera is out. I must get good pictures.
I'm making my usual rounds, until a snap one make out picture which turns the whole night askew.
SOMEHOW, this one camera flash.... this one little snap shot taken mid party scene.... turns ugly into a rumor that I have mobile uploaded a couple engaging in more than a little innocent kissing, mid party..... yes, because I would leave the party scene in attempt to find kid porn and live the rest of my life as a registered sex offender....
anyway, I had no idea that this rumor had sparked so I spent the rest of the night yelling at people...
in retrospect the convos are so funny.
angry person: WHAT KIND OF HUMAN BEING ARE YOU TO DO THAT? GO TO HELL YOU BITCH.
me: IT WAS ONE PICTURE. JESUS. I DELETED IT AN HOUR AGO WHATS THE BIG DEAL.
angry person: FDKLAJFLDAJL
anyway, so just to clarify, I never did that, nor am I sure those relations even ensued to begin with. everyone should walk away with a clean name...
I meant to post this blog about a week ago.... But I never finished it....
But all I have to say is what a shitshow.
and I'm not quite sure if society is ready for any more PLAS.
Heading back from the snazzy arc light at paseo, my momma suggested we stop at the barnes and noble in old town. Of course, coming from the weird end of Colorado and trying to make a left onto Delacey so we can use that marvelous parking lot (90 minutes free! I recently went to old town and spent 102 minutes in the good ole old town [couldn't resist the ole, old, sorry], and let me tell ya, you love that lot until the day you spend 2 dollars on 12 minutes....) is utterly impossible... so, two lights and a lot cursing later we eventually decide its not worth the extra five minutes to make a left into a parking lot essentially a block away and we drive all the way to the Barnes and Noble in the Americana. Look, it made more sense to have an active pursuit.
We arrive at the Americana, thank god for the cold rags they dispense at each parking level so your motion sickness spurred on by the spiral speedway set up to traverse parking levels, is kept in check. Oh wait. They don't do that.
Me: Mmmmmhmmm the Americana smells good.
Momma Rita: It always smells good at the Americana!
Now, Momma Rita likes Glendale about as much as the average anti-semetic likes, well, someone Jewish. And all of the sudden, she is a Glendale Guru knowing the smells of the Americana like the smells of her own Mother's kitchen. I was/ am in utter chock.
We make it to the Barnes and Noble.
Does anyone else remember the time where bestsellers were stacked on the special wood tables in front? With the little glossy sign that says best sellers? Now, you walk into the ol' nobles and the special feature blond wood tables hold signs that say "self-improovement" and "dieting and nutrition".
This sucks for two reasons. Self-Help books and Dieting are the eye catchers of a book store? Is this really what people go book shopping for?? I admittedly came into the store to by a book in the self-help section....BUT I USUALLY DON'T. And it's not like I thought most people went book shopping to get weirdo "self -improovement" books.. Or does everyone think this? Profound....
The second reason it sucks, as I so eloquently put it, is that dieting and self improovement are two different sections. Because dieting doesn't fall under the cateogeory of self help? BECAUSE DIETING IS SELF DESTRUCTIVE? Wait, also, PROFOUND. Take that atkins, Barnes and Nobles execs think that dieting is inadvertently a sign of self deprication.
Anyway, I can't find the book I'm looking for, I thought it was sure to be in Pyschology but of course it is in the aforementioned self-help section. A jolly book finder helps me, and I have my book.
After a few more minutes of browsing, and i'm in the check out line with Momma Ritz.
Now, the last time I was at this particular Barnes and Noble, I was purchasing books for my AP Lit summer reading list. When we were checking out, an overly chatty recent UCLA grad who studied literature and loved ravoli (I told you, a chatty kathy amoung us), took it upon herself to examine my summer reading list and give me summaries of every book on it. BEACUSE AS AT RECENT UCLA GRAD WITH A LITERATURE DEGREE SHE WAS AUTHORIZED TO DO SO. Not only did she give summaries, but marked my list with little happy faces next to her favorite classics. Of course, not being OCD, I permitted her to do this. NOT. Well whatever, so much for you and your Bruin B.A., you still work at a godforsaken bookstore. Poophead.
So this time, it was essential to have a plan to avoid a three hour conversation. Momma Ritz and I decided to take on Russian spy personas (we love you Evelyn Salt), and pretend we don't speak english if the casher adresses us.
We approach the counter and, damn he already knows we speak English, it's the same guy that helped us find our book upstairs. This guy was a machine and possibly one of few working there. This understaffment led to our inquiry if they were hiring (after all, I did just quit **), an inquiry followed by giggles at Momma's suggestion that he would after all be the one hiring us.... (because he is the only person who works there. keep up people).
Back to the parking garage arena (it can't even be called a garage) and my Mom and I actually ponder whether or not to take the elevator or the escalators. We decided we would burn off the extra calories by using the escalators.... You realize I'm only half kidding...
My mom wanders off at level three (we parked at level five), and after I politely ask her, what she's doing she replies, "Oh, silly me! I always do this at the Americana." (once again, prooving her many encounters with the Americana? I'm still not sure if she leads a double life where she shops at the Americana every day without me, or if she just has recently gotten in the habit of using extreme jargon and using the word always a bit too much....)
Walking back to the car,
Momma Rita: Do you smell that? Smells like beer.
Me: I do smell that, but I was going to say it smelled like marajuana.
So, I leave you with this question... does 2011 marajuna smell like the beer of the 80's or did the beer from the 80's just smell like marajuana? Anyone with any idea, i'm asking this question in all seriousness and wouldn't mind an answer.
