Showing posts from January, 2007
I’VE BEEN ROBBED Yes, it was just like in grade school when I was yanked into an alley between the school parking lot and the athletic field, by some bully from another school who said, “Hand over your lunch money kid.” I'm blogging about this because it's happened recently, and it didn’t happen just once. No. This is the second time I’ve been shaken down in the span of just a few weeks by the same big she-bully. Both times it was at the Philadelphia Airport US Airways security check point. Oddly, the screeners at LAX who are governed by the same Transportation Safety Administration handbook, I would assume – have had no problem with my packing, but when I try to bring the same items back on the plane from Philly, the she-bully takes everything she can from me. I check the TSA website before packing to be sure that I’m up to date on the regulations. You know, it would really suck if I was standing there with my shoes in a grey plastic bin and holding up my pants because my
EAVESDROPPING ON THE WEIRDEST ARGUMENT EVER Oh! I meant to tell you about the argument I overheard–so I guess I wasn’t technically eavesdropping, you know, actively, as I am wont to do. I’m just letting you know that I wasn’t doing that here. I was simply minding my own business here in Freaky Beverly Hills. I was just there and the voices were loud and then the strange behavior was right there for me to view,and none of it involved me putting a water glass up to a hotel room door* or perching precariously on a vent while hanging onto a bedroom window frame to see into the dimly lit room.** No, here is what happened while I sat outside a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf on Wilshire Blvd sipping my green tea. I was sitting alone at a little table, and then 2 people walked over and sat at the next table. She was so average looking that I can barely recall what she looked like. I’ll call her Jane Doe. He was sweaty and quite overweight, but a very sharp dresser–I’d guess he had money. I’ll ca
ONIONS, NOT FOR THE WORKPLACE Just like strapless blouses and flip flops, onions are not something that should be considered office compatible. Erika and I just nibbled on the most delectable Salad Nicoise and the after burn in my mouth from the red onions is simply unchristian! It’s um pagan. I have pagan breath! Or more dire yet, I have Hell breath! Oh the plight of the Hell breath when one has to collaborate, and communicate all over the workplace! The first person who came into contact with my fierce breath was Jordana who is way too nice for her own good normally, and in this case too nice for her own comfort. Jordana: “Hi Ivy, I need you to look at the text for this web layout.” Me: “Sure.” Jordana handed me the printout and didn’t miss a beat. Jordana: I’ve highlighted the areas we need text for. Me: (breathing onion to the nth degree) “Sorry I just had the most powerful onions for lunch, I’ll get right on this text.” She beat a polite retreat out of my office. I’ve
BLIND VANDALISM OK, here's what happened. I climbed into the clown car for my short ride home from work and it's rush hour and we're crawling along at a pace that makes me depressed because I know I could walk home faster than I'm progressing on 6th street. Normally I'd go to my happy place - yes, it is what I took away from when Joe and I learned to do guided medition. But I was unable to this evening. Why? Well, I've gotten really good at going to my happy place at will, but I had a big Lexus SUV in front of me in our long line of not-moving traffic, and every time the SUV hit their brakes, their broken right tail light threw a blinding beam of light straight at my eyes. Me, coasting a few feet, "Hmmm, so perhaps tonight I'll have dinner with Oscar Wilde and he'll find me frightfully amusing.. ARRGGHH! I'm blind!" Yes, that's how it happened. Just like that. We were all packed on 6th between La Jolla and Crescent Heights so none of
MY BEARSS Yes, that’s right, two esses mother fuckers. My home team bested the Saints and are going back to the Super Bowl! True, I am not a football watcher anymore–but I do remember how to do the Super Bowl Shuffle* and even have one of Jim Mc Mahon’s headbands somewhere in storage. I used to have a Refrigerator Perry jersey that I used as a nightgown until it was in shreds. Also I have such fond memories of trying to thaw a frozen Soldiers Field seat with my ass while blinking the icy tears from my eyes as the lake-effect wind roared off Lake Michigan straight at me. Ah, good times! And then waking up on Sunday mornings with my roomie Beth, and making the largest and tastiest Bloody Mary’s we could concoct, you’ve read about them in my blog once before, but they’re worth repeating: Campbell’s Tomato Soup, Spicy V8, horseradish, Tobasco, pickles, celery, cornichons, celery salt, Worsteshire, olives and a whollop of vodka. Oh yeah! And making our way to the couch to sip and watch
I'M GOING TO DIE Yes, I'm not being morbid. I've always known that I was going to die. I always had pets as a child and those goldfish didn't last very long. I remember Ichobod floating ridgidly when I climbed up on the kitchen counter to feed him one evening. I remember our male dogs eating the unlucky pups in the litter that they snuck away from their mom. Puff, my rabbit got out and my dad ran him over with the lawnmower. Yes, the grass was very high in the backyard and Puff wasn't visible above it. Or Dad was daydreaming and not watching what he was doing. Anyone who knows my dad, doesn't find that possiblity a stretch. Anyhoo, I used to think I knew how I was going to die. In 8th grade I thought I was going to die sitting in English clas when my poor heart that was overstuffed with love for Troy Barker would just burst out of my chest and splat against the blackboard dramatically as I fell out of my chair - dead from loving Troy too much. Then out and ab
ALWAYS WITH THE SCARPACCI REFERENCES Last night Joe was on the couch musing about crime dramas and said the following to himself in a quiet, Clint Eastwood-esque voice: "There I was, on the bridge, a stiletto, a cold wind and there was Phil Scarpacci..." An so it continues... Ivy All Red Ivy compositions, posts and blog content Copyright protected.
PLUMPING IS WRONG In so many ways, women are doing odd things to their lips… and it’s time for an intervention. I’m going to make up little labels with a circle around big cartoon lips with a line through them and a strident “Plumping is Wrong” slogan. Then I’m going to cruise the make-up counters, and -- OH Sephora! Do you hear me Sephora? I’m coming your way! – and surreptitiously slap my stickers on all of the lip plumping products. Why when women like Melanie Griffith have been getting lip enlargement surgeries for years–mangling their mouths in an effort to look more kissable–-am I just now getting my dander up about this? Well, I recently was talked into getting a lip plumping gloss by a girl at the Clinique counter and paid a premium for it, I can tell you. I got it home and applied it to my lips. Mmmm, pretty color. And then I’m not sure what the plan was in the Clinique laboratories, but within 10 minutes my lips were chapped. And within an hour they were badly chapped. So
TOO DUMB TO PROCREATE Yikes! I was just catching up on some recent Amy Dickenson “Ask Amy” columns and read this one: “Dear Amy: I am a happily married 27-year-old woman about to have my first baby, and I am terrified because it isn't my husband's baby. Last spring, another woman and I took a trip to the Bahamas. At the hotel, I had a massage and was seduced by the masseur. I tried to resist, but I guess I got carried away. I sort of cooperated once things got started. After some prenatal tests, my doctor recently told me that the baby's blood type is different from both my husband's and mine, which means the baby is not his. When the baby is born, it will be very obvious: My husband and I are white, and the masseur is black. I can't tell my husband; I think that he would leave me. It's too late for an abortion. What can I do? Please advise me.” Let’s take a moment to contemplate this situation. Wait, I need another moment or two… OK. We can look at it an
PET VOICES? I was reading in Mimi Smartypants’ blog that she uses a special voice to talk for her cat Banana: "Although it is embarrassing, I can't be the only person who "talks for" her pet in a certain voice, right? Our dead cat was very high-pitched, regal, and WASP-y and swore coldly at us a lot; Banana talks trash like she is permanently on the playground basketball court in the toughest neighborhood in town; and my best friend has a cat with, oddly, a sexy Italian accent.)" While I do not have a voice that I use for either Hanni or Evadnae, I use completely different tones of voice when I speak to them. And I’m not sure if that is odd or not. My Evadnae voice evolved naturally enough as he was so terrified and living under Joe’s dresser for the first month or so that we had him, I speak to him in loving soothing tones. And there are lots of soothing noises I make as if he were a fussy infant. When we’re alone there’s lots of zshush zshuzhing going on a
WHAT NOT TO TALK ABOUT WTH YOUR NEIGHBOR’S DAUGHTER Sooooo, today, I’m minding my own business. Trying not to be a bad influence on anyone. Just being quiet. While taking the trash out to the chute down the hall in my big apartment building and I hear, “Ivy?” I turn around to see my neighbor’s daughter from down the hall coming after me with her trash. “Hey Simone.” I greeted her. We dump our trash and she moves closer to me. “Ivy, can I ask you a private question?” “Sure Sweetie. What’s on your mind?” I’m thinking that this can’t be a tough question. I’ve known this little teenager since she was 10 so what can be the harm? Simone is 17 years old, staggeringly lovely and alarmingly intellectual. She is taking chemistry classes at USC in her spare time for what she hopes to be a double-major in agro-business if I’ve understood her in the past when she’s explained her life’s plan. “What’s up Simone? How’s your mom and sister?” “Oh, they’re fine. Um, you know a lot about sex ri
A FUTURE FOR INDIE AND MARIO? Just thinking what will happen to these two. If they really do try to settle down, can you picture the wedding? Indie'd better get herself a wedding planner because I can't imagine how many times they'd have to reschedule the nuptuals because she can't decide on the dress, the location, the flowers, and maybe her mother can have Indie's gal pals draw straws or something or she'd end up with every friend she'd ever had standing up with her. Good luck Mario! Ivy All Red Ivy compositions, posts and blog content Copyright protected.
OH RACHAEL, DON’T GO THERE My girl Rachael Ray has a cute show on daytime TV that I’ve set TiVo to record daily. I enjoy her so much that I could sit for hours (and do- if I’ve got a few episodes saved up) watching her tips on everything from crafts to the more bizarre how-to-use-ziplock-baggies-as-goloshes ideas. But yesterday she went and got all Jerry Springer and I am starting a petition pleading for her to move away from the white trash strategy. What happened? Did her staff run out of tips for how to make curtains without sewing? Yesterday she featured a woman who had been two-timing 2 perfectly lovely and handsome men. Apparently she’d been dating them both for a number of years and while she’d like to settle down, she just can’t decide between them. Cut to footage of her frolicking on the dance floor with the dark-haired man, nuzzling with the blonde guy over dinner, holding hands with the dark-haired guy in the park, cooking with the blonde man and feeding each other – an
WANNA SELL ME LONDON BRIDGE? I'll share with you a bit of humiliation. OK, more than a little. If this was a breakfast analogy, I would say it was more than just a schmear on my bagel - there would be such thick humilation loaded onto this bagel that the deli would charge $1.00 extra. Biting into this bagel with little princess bites was impossible, I got humilation on the tip of my nose and all over my mouth like my own personal sad sad Got Milk? ad. Here is my bagel, want a nibble? Mmmm good filling humiliation... Joe and I went shopping for our wedding rings months ago and Joe wanted a white gold ring that wasn't too "macho" and had detailing along the sides, and not too "round" and not too "squared" and not too "high". So I searched for the perfect ring online. It was exactly what he wanted. I was so tickeld. No matter that I'd never heard of the vendor, they guaranteed 100% satisfaction. I received the ring and it was awesom
WHERE ARE MY STALKERS? A friend of mine who is a celebrity sent me an e-mail (that had found it's way through a few business associates of hers) to her attention. She sent it on to me with a chuckle "Guess I need to add this one to my compilation of possible stalker information..." I've been busy so I didn't get to it until this afternoon - and she'd sent it on Saturday. Holy Mother of God! The woman, I'll call Bonnie, was trying to get in touch with my pal and literally gave over every bit of contact info she could muster in the hopes that she'd get a response: via e-mail, carrier pigeon, complete home address, one of several phone numbers and another number a woman at a mexican restaurant down the street from her home that could always find Bonnie just in case the celebrity she adored should happen to want to shoot the breeze with her as it were.* The letter was ALL IN CAPITAL LETTERS, which just made me picture her filling up her lungs with great
JOE & I ELOPED Yes, after all these years we actually did it. We wanted to keep it small and intimate, so we did a romantic exchange of vows on our 8th anniversary. On the 6th of October we checked into the Chateau Marmont after work, the next day we did spa treatments all day at Burke Williams and then at sunset our minister arrived (Kirk of the band Supa Floss - yes you can check out his song Chucka Norris on You Tube - he’s the one with the glasses, not John C Reilly) and Joe’s parents. We exchanged vows, ate cake, drank champagne and then went out for a big steak dinner. By the next day Joe had taken over the suite and was happily watching football in his posh Marmonth robe, and Spike stopped over to hang out for a bit. She and I went to the pool where I had to fight all kinds of urges. I had to keep myself from walking up to Jerry Stiller who was camped out at a table working on a script or something. I mean, it was killing me to not walk up and start doing “Festivus for t
THE SCARPACCI ELEMENT & THE X I know I know I haven't been blogging here much, I'm actually working with my geeks at the Mac store who are assisting me in migrating everything from this ol blog over to my new one... but OH MY GOD I wrote a friggin TON over the last several years and um, if you don't give each post the correct date and time during migration, you end up with everything out of sequence. Makes no sense. Kinda like I reference on Monday how hot it is in July working at ING and the next entry is me sitting on Santa's lap at the Toyota Christmas party while working in Torrance. See? But I thought I'd toss out a quick blog for the hell of it. I came back from work yesterday and Joe casually asked about my day. I told him that Spike and I had gone to SKP (Scarpacci Kelly Productions) who are the company creating our newest infomercial. I mentioned that Phil was there and Pattie wasn't. Pattie is the K, as her last name is Kelly but Phil is the S,