My Favorite Question

"So. What do you do?" A standard, boilerplate question, tried and true, used to abate the awkwardness of social mingling. For most of my life this question presented no challenge. I met it with ease, replying in kind with a standard blurb about my life of academic slavery, eliciting bored but polite nods from my cocktail clutching interrogator. Lately, however, I find myself struggling with this question.

What is it that I do, exactly?

I graduated from law school over a year ago. Since, I've spent much of my time fondling diamonds and South Sea pearls in an office on the ostentatious Rodeo Drive. At one point I tried my hand at being an attorney, but soon realized court appearances were not my forte. After a few weeks as an attorney, I found myself spending my Friday nights bawling over gin and tonics in the arms of the bus boy at the Roosevelt. Soon I realized this was the manifestation of my misery, the 8 to 8 job that had consumed my very soul and left me waking up at night drenched in sweat. I lasted 6 weeks.

I'm normally not a quitter. No, really. But I do believe in loving, or at least liking what you do in life. So I quit like Jerry Maguire. It was rather terrifying but also exhilarating to for once in my life just walk away from something. Perhaps considering the current economy, my act might be considered foolish by some...or many. But I've been living in a state of bliss ever since."So. What do you do?" Do I proceed to answer this question by launching into the saga of my brief stint as bankruptcy litigator slash jeweler?

The economy tanked in perfect synchronization with my admission to the bar, at long last the seemingly untouchable profession, that of the lawyer, came crashing down and broke its crown. The future doesn't look bright, as every six months a new swarm of newly minted esquires jostle for rank amongst those already waiting for that entry level job to launch their careers.

Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

I love working at the jewelry company. An office of one man and an ever evolving staff of women (11 at last count), every moment spent there is packed with popcorn-worthy entertainment with a fascinating cast of characters all of whom I've fallen in love with over the past 18 months. Plus did I mention the diamonds? If it paid enough to fight the monster of Sallie Mae, I’d stay forever.

On the legal front I sometimes Clark Kent as a temporary attorney. Document review, who knew? Document review attorneys are generally regarded as the untouchables within the legal community. But I love love love love love it. I pay the bills by reading salacious materials subpoenaed from the black heart of your hard drive. When things get dull I blog, do a crossword, participate in the occasional Disney sing-a-long. It's a unique culture, created when you herd a large group of bored attorneys into a confined area with a highly repetitive task to perform. Such a scenario tends to bring out the immaturity in everyone. Gossip is a welcome and fascinating respite. The stereotypical bad rat is not just a stereotype; he does exist and will circulate the rooms, attempting to sabotage his more trusting co-peons in a hapless bid to impress somebody. After a while, there is the inevitable drama resulting from the variable preferences in sunlight, volume, food and inappropriate subjects of discussion. Bondage, drugs, politics, religion, UFOs, animal nights, anything that might create a hostile work environment is fair game after only a few days of boredom. It is, in a word, amazing. Maybe I'm crazy, but I really do enjoy it. Stress free and characters welcome. It also gives me the luxury to figure out what I REALLY want to be when I grow up. Yes, my current status as temp attorney brands me as the black sheep of a rather pretentious profession. But that's surprisingly ok.

"So. What do you do?" I really have no better notion of how to answer this than does a fluffer presented with the same. I could lie just to get it over with. "Mortician" should do the trick. On only one occasion did my answer of “lawyer” result in a man abruptly darting away with his canapé. More often, “lawyer” breeds more questions with uncomfortable answers, and there is something about the truth that doesn’t quite mix with dirty martinis between strangers.

Headache

The sound my mother makes as she witnesses one of the dogs skip across her Persian carpet with mud dipped paws must mirror the anguished wails of the damned that echo within the passageways of Hades. Seriously. It is a sound I heard much of in my youth and it really bugs. Some shopping might help.

I apologize for my last post's abrupt ending. Apparently I cannot edit posts with this free app. Well, off I go to add to my collection of fringed scarves and nifty winter caps, none of which I wear 11 1/2 months of the anum. Salut!

T'Was The Day After Christmas

I trust everybody is beginning to recover from their alcohol slash food haze brought about by the copious amounts of bubbly and the questionable consumption of a slightly stale lopsided gingerbread house with Hershey's chocolate shutters. I regret to inform you that amongst my various Christmas duties, I was required to sit through the film, "Julie and Julia" from start to end, which provided enough cheese for one of the hefty French baguettes that ample Julia Child probably ate as a midnight snack. Amy Adams' character's obsession was neither remarkable nor endearing, it was creepy and aggravating. Julia Powell, thank you for wasting two hours of my life. And thank you for making me feel blissfully normal.

A Dr's Diagnosis of LA Dating and The Good Samaritan

Is Los Angeles the Toughest Town for Singles? by Dr. Benzer

Little known fact: I went to high school in Los Angeles, so I'm kind of from Los Angeles. So when I found myself back in LA after a long hiatus, it was a bit of a homecoming. I looked forward to perpetually sunny climes, rollerblading on the boardwalk, and the general openness of the people. The perceived abundance of friendly, fit women didn’t hurt either.

However, the quality of my love life was worse than it had been in any other city. For the first two years, I just assumed I had suddenly gotten ugly and stupid. Then I heard multitudes of other people voicing similar experiences.

Now after six years of being in this town, conducting dating seminars, answering thousands of readers’ letters and writing The Tao of Dating for Women and The Tao of Dating for Men, I’m pretty sure that Los Angeles is a particularly tough city to be single in – perhaps the toughest in the US. Here are one man’s observations on the challenges of socializing and dating in LA:

1. According to the Singles Map, the sex ratio in LA sucks.
Anthropologists have noticed a statistic that correlates nicely with the social and sexual permissiveness of a population. It’s called the sex ratio – the number of men for every 100 women. In places where the sex ratio is low (i.e. excess of women over men), social mores are relaxed, women go out a lot, and everyone has a ball. Where the sex ratio is high (i.e. excess of men), people go out less and attitudes are more conservative. No one knows exactly why this is, but it makes sense.

This correlation tracks in large populations (e.g. whole countries like Russia) and smaller ones (e.g. cities, towns and university campuses). According to the latest singles map from the 2006 US Census, New York has a 211,000 surplus of single women over single men, while LA has 89,000 more single men than women. Accordingly, dating in New York City is fun, while dating in Los Angeles sucks. This statistic alone may be the single biggest cause of the lackluster love lives of singles in LA.

2. Large distances in the world’s biggest city create a real barrier to intimacy.
Let’s say you meet someone you like -- cute, fun, smart, funny. You ask where this person lives --“Silver Lake.” You live 20 miles away in Santa Monica -- and that’s not just any 20 miles. It’s 20 miles through one of the most car-jammed concrete jungles on the planet, with no efficient public transport to speak of. And your helicopter’s in the shop. Again.

20 miles is a perfectly reasonable distance to travel in the 5,000+ square miles of Los Angeles to get somewhere. Yet, it is totally unreasonable by human terms. It’s almost twice the length of Manhattan (13 miles) and enough distance to cross a couple of national borders in Europe.
And so the activation energy of meeting someone not nearby goes up. Physics tells us that the higher the activation energy, the less frequent the event. So people become less likely to meet to get to know one another casually.

Contrast this with New York City. Even though the times required to get around in NYC are comparable, the perceived effort of taking the subway or hopping in a cab is much less than driving yourself through snarls of traffic. Hence people there are much more willing to go places and meet up.

Which brings us to…

3. Lack of pedestrian culture reduces opportunities for casual contact.
Whenever I visit Boston, New York or London, I bump into friends – on the sidewalk, on the subway, in the parks. This casual, unforced, unpremeditated contact is the cornerstone of building social relations. That’s why our closest friends tend to come from work and school.
That casual contact is missing in LA, because we spend a lot of time in our wheeled steel cages. As as in the song by Missing Persons, “Nobody walks in LA.” And if you want to meet someone again, you have to coordinate busy schedules, make a one-on-one date and travel (see #2) – a higher-stakes proposition than bumping into someone and grabbing an apropos drink. The higher energy required for making a date means that it happens less often.

4. Transportation challenges make even the best-intentioned people flaky.
Traffic in LA is unpredictable; as a result, even the best-intentioned people end up being late more often than they wish.

Here’s the psychology of what I think happens: once you’ve been late or missed an appointment for reasons beyond your control, your brain has to make a choice: “I’m flaky so I’m a bad person” vs. “Flakiness is okay.” To avoid cognitive dissonance, the unconscious choice that most people make is to validate the unintended bad behavior.

Showing up late, not showing up at all and breaking promises can then become the norm. When that happens enough times to enough people, you end up in a legendarily flaky city, and social and dating life encounter more obstacles.

5. The transience of the city’s entertainment culture adds an aura of impermanence and unreliability to social ties.
A lot of people come to LA to make it in the entertainment industry, which is a fleeting, fickle creature. Is it too farfetched to see that fickleness permeating all the way down to the participants in that industry and their social bonds?

A peculiar energy permeates a town when so many people are trying to advance an ego-based agenda – my role, my song, my script – which may not be the most conducive energy for building meaningful, lasting relationships. Bringing us to…

6. Dating people in the entertainment industry is fraught with unique challenges.
I’ve already written another article about dating actors, so I’ll make this brief: dating people with uncertain finances, erratic schedules and fragile egos is a challenge requiring saintlier patience than most people possess.

7. Nightlife shuts down at 1am and you have to drive your own butt home afterwards.
Last call being 2am in Los Angeles, most establishments start kicking you out at 1am. So just when things have started to get interesting, the party shuts down. In cities like Berlin, New York, London, Barcelona and Paris, people often start going out at 1am, and the social life is correspondingly more raucous.

Lack of public transport also means that people stay sober enough to drive back home. As a result, the social lubricant effects of alcohol don't operate in the same way as in a city with public transport.

Mathematically stated, less party time + less imbibing of adult beverages = less fun. This, plus the other six aforementioned factors, may very well make LA the toughest big city in the US to be single in.

I've found that the best way to overcome these challenges is to carve out a smaller, more local niche of friends based on shared interests and to cultivate that group with intimate events like book clubs, mixers, dinner parties and game nights. How have you managed to create a lively community of friends in spite of tough odds?

Source: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dr-alex-benzer/is-los-angeles-the-toughe_b_379298.html

Thank youuuuuuuuu Dr. Benzer. My $0.02: first I would like to praise Dr. Benzer for his writing ability. There is nothing worse than a piece of writing where any interesting point to be made is obscured by repeated failed attempts to amuse me and a bland selection of words. Sometimes I wish I'd lived in the 1700s, when people used ink dipped quills to create delicious prose. For instance, the exploitation by the of the lower classes was described by one 18th century gentleman as "grinding the poor." Grrrrrrrrinding the poor. Yes. Yes. YES. Unf. I'd love to have grab a dirty 'tini and bitch with this Dr. Benzer someday.

How are you all doing today? Per request, I have now enabled anonymous commenting so if you feel the need to slam me, giddyup. I am rather upbeat today despite the weather outside. I hate cold weather, a fact that has landed me in a somewhat awkward position. I borrowed a valet's jacket a few nights back as I was exploring North Caheunga Boulevard at 3 am. Behold the radness:

There really isn't anything more magical than waking up in a tulle dress and an inside-out valet jacket. Sadly the owner of this jacket (or as he pronounces it in his heavy Spanish accent, "NNNNYACKET!") has demanded it's return in the form of harassing me via text and call multiple times a day regarding how cold he is. I suppose at this point he has learned that no good deed goes unpunished. And I must do the right thing and return this beauty to its rightful owner. Off I go, happy Friday!

Road Rageaholics Anonymous

Sorry for the lack of updates. Ideally, I'd love to blather on about things on here every day but SHOCKINGLY I don't have the time. For those of you who know me well, me not having time for the Internet means now you can now enjoy ice skating in hell. It doesn't help that my Macbook's LCD screen is cracked out and my HP is inflicted with a corrupted .dll. But being electronically unequipped is kind of freeing and makes me more mysterious, right?

Today's post will be short(er) and bitter. Today is not "my day," whatever that expression really means. On my morning commute I saw Santa Claus on a bike which was really exciting, but the presence of several gargantuan super sized SUVs blocked the view of my cellphone lens. I had to sadly watch him shrink to oblivion in my rearview mirror as I drove on.

Can I just for a moment bitch about SUVs in general? Thank you. They are always driven by people who lack the competence to drive in Los Angeles to begin with, usually by overripe trophy wives with PDAs held to their left ears by diamond encrusted acrylic tipped claws. Anybody with a spark of intelligence should know to at least put whoever it is on speakerphone, it's much more stealth, but the German symbols fused to the hoods of their steel chariots make these drivers feel that heeding the law is an unnecessary inconvenience. They haven't yet figured out the whole turning signal feature, drive the wrong way down one-way alleys, always park in compact spaces, and block your view of everything from devastating six-car pileups to Santas gone green.

While I am on the subject of things that piss me off, can I express how sick I am of jay walkers? Like everything else in this world, there is an art to jay walking. The right way: traffic is stopped due to another unnecessary construction project in the middle of Santa Monica Boulevard at 2:00 pm. By all means, proceed, I get it. The wrong way: Clutching your L'Occitane (how do you pronounce that?) and Neimans bags, you trot across Beverly Boulevard at a treadmill speed of 0.3 in your Brian Atwoods and make me miss my left-hand turn as you grin in what you hope is a sheepish and charming manner with your collagen stuffed smackers. You make me sick. First of all I would appreciate those shoes so so much more than you do, and second, I am now wishing I lived in Toon Town where I could proceed to mow you over, reverse, repeat, reverse, repeat and then watch you peel yourself off the asphalt like a sticky fruit rollup while I laugh evilly in my Jetta. Then I'd steal your shoes. Does this mean I need therapy? Listening to Limp Bizkit makes me feel better. Remember them? I used to belong to the Limp Bizkit fan forums when I was obsssssssseessed with Fred Durst. A guy told me he'd give me Fred Durst's email if I sent him a pic of my ta-tas. I google image searched and found a suitable pair, which I traded for the email address, chocolatecoveredstarfish@aol.com (yeah really). Thank you Google and irresponsible girls with web cams and Internet access. I know it wasn't the Real Fred Durst. It was probably Brian Peppers. Google him. You're welcome :)

The Drama of Online Dating

marketing genius

The other day a friend who shall remain anonymous (obvi!) called me over to her laptop. She'd decided to join the ranks of the online dating world the night before and wished to have me give my $0.02 on one of her more eager suitors. At first glance, cute-ish, a tad bit husky, prominent teeth that could be overlooked over time, perhaps. Then it hit me - I knew this guy, no not knew, I'd never met him, but this guy had harassed the life out of me for a period of two years because I had, at one time, made the mistake of giving him my phone number during one of my own virtual dating stints. He would randomly send texts or call repeatedly, with lines ranging from "I want to have your babies" to "I hope you fail the bar exam, get fired, and choke to death on a chicken bone you bitch." The latter, in response to me asking him to forget my number. After eventually threatening to contact my provider, he finally has left me alone for around three months now. Fingers crossed. After warning my aforementioned friend that she was dealing with a lunatic who belonged to several online dating sites, she thanked me for the information. Later that evening, she emailed this man about her connection to me and told him to move along. Apparently he flipped out and told her she was "doomed" for being my friend. Ahhh, I love being right.

I honestly believe in the online dating movement. I do. Especially in a vast, soulless metropolis like LA where the man who asks for you number at the grocery store is exponentially more awful than anybody you'd ever meet in a bar, where at 27 the men who hit on you are usually 57, where people are so jaded that by the second date they begin to negotiate the terms and conditions of the relationship, and where where an inquiry as to your plans for the evening is usually performed via (mass?) text. In such an environment, it is only natural to occasionally turn to the comforting arms of the online dating network, which promises you a shining sea of other open hearted singles, most with some form of income, transportation, and shelter, in which to cast your line. The odds are at least better, right? Perhaps not.

Unlike that friend of a friend who met his or her soul mate on Match.com and is still tanned and basking in the glow of a couple's retreat at some exotic locale, my experiences in the online dating world have overall been a bit disheartening. I consider myself knowledgeable on the subject, perhaps, sadly, a bit of an expert. I was dabbling in online dating in the Dark Ages of the Internet, when a mention of Craigslist was met with "Who's Craig?" and when Match.com was free, yes, FREE. What was meant as a joke, a post in the personals section of Craigslist back in 2000 when I was only 18, opened a door that would have better have remained shut. And dead-bolted. With several stainless steel Kenmore appliances stacked against it, bound in a roll of yellow hazard tape for good measure. This fateful post resulted in an inbox clogged with 500-odd emailed responses. I actually met up with one gentleman, whose attached jpg (of his face) made a blatant violation of the social taboo of online dating that was pretty damn pervasive at the time (come on, it's still not really that cool) welllllllll worth it. We met up at a Starbucks in the Financial District. He sauntered in, clad in a leather jacket with his motorcycle helmet under one arm. A former USC football player turned financier who still clung to the glory days, the only indication of his current age (34! I kind of almost choked on my latte) being a slightly thinning patch at the crown of his perfect head. An hour of mindless chatter and a platonic hug later, the whole Internet dating thing seemed pretty underrated in my opinion. When I opened my Inbox the next day to a number of forwarded salacious and oh-so-explicit emails between he and his naughty female co-worker accompanied by the note: "I want to help you explore your sexuality," on second thought...

I'd like to claim I had the good sense to let this scarring first experience frighten me off for good. But in life, I prefer to learn the hard way. Repeatedly. My second experience involved my date parking on the wrong side of the cliff when we went to watch the surfers compete at Mavericks on the coast. An hour later, I had hiked across slick, mollusk coated boulders in my stilettos as my date helpfully pawed me at every opportunity. He couldn't understand my sulking, but my marred Nine Wests felt my pain. I guess in hindsight I am lucky I wasn't hurled into the raging Pacific in my peep toes, although my date did enjoy getting to scream at me later because I cut the date short. Psycho.

One might like to think these first unfortunate experiences were due to the type of personality that engaged in online dating back at the turn of the century. Losers, right? Who else would risk the condemnation and embarrassment of having to admit "ummm, we met online." It could only get better. Four subsequent years were spent in a long-term relationship where I behaved myself. The several years after that were focused on champagne and the occasional law textbook. As online dating became more mainstream (even ok'd by the one and only Dr. Phil), I figured I may as well try again. Several of my friends were doing it. Actually, pretty much everybody who was single did it at one time or other. The others were probably closeted. After having tried, tried again, I have officially given up (for now). Much to my dismay, it would seem that, with rare exception, things have not improved over the past decade. In fact, it's worse because there exist several species of the Internet Dater that, over time, have refined their techniques all the better to manipulate you, my dear.

Should you succumb to the call of the online dating site, I must warn you, the following types of people do exist from my personal experience. Let this post at least make you at least proceed with a little bit of caution.

1. The Fetishist
This man (or woman) has resorted to online dating to find that special someone out there who is into _____. Perhaps it is a matter of killing several thousand birds with one stone, as finding that rare other person is more difficult without the tool of the online dating site. Or perhaps it's a matter of confidentiality, as being into ______ is something that The Fetishist would never want his friends and family to know about. The Fetishist is usually not exactly forthright about his interest(s) at first; he tends to lure you in with safe messages about musical preferences and current events. Then he begins to hint at what lies beneath. Whether it be something as passe as special adoration for feet or a more disturbing request for drinks followed by you stomping across him in your stilettos, fortunately you usually see the cat flying out of the bag before the first meeting. Sometimes you're not so lucky, and get a spank accompanied with a dose of baby talk in the middle of the bar.

2. The Former Date
This type of online dater is actually kind of a downer to encounter. Mind you, I have had my share of dates over the years, but I rarely forget a face. But occasionally you will be messaged by a man you once dated. Sometimes it is a man you went on several dates with. He won't remember you, at all. You can drop hints, he won't pick them up. Your ego will be bruised. You don't want to call him out, that's just awkward (and if you do, he blames it on the a-a-a-a-alcohol, which isn't much better). If you met him online, he is still using the same photographs he was using a year ago, even though a year ago he had not looked like his photographs for several years. If you met him in real life, it makes the universe feel very, very small.

3. The Player
I'm not a playah-hatah (ok, I am). Today's Player uses technology to his advatage. What formerly took a night of going out + money spent on drinks + spitting game, which, depending on his skill level, sometimes resulted in a frustratingly solo cab ride home, now only requires an online dating account and the ability to piece together a somewhat witty paragraph. His trademark is asking for your phone number IMMEDIATELY prior to any meaningful email exchange and suggesting some kind of date involving copious amounts of alcohol. Sometimes he will be more clever and book dinner reservations but ask if it's ok if the both of you run home to feed his dog first. When dinner reservations were for 9:00 and he picked you up at 6:30, you probably should have seen it coming. Careful of the glasses of red wine that were waiting on the coffee table, it's time to call a cab. The Player will often have a standardized message he sends out, much like a cover letter, with a few blanks for filling in personalized details. It's a time-saving technique, so little time, so many women, with 1,000s of new profiles each day!

4. The Angry Reject
The subject line of his message will usually be an insult to "get your attention." His message will be short but sweet, maybe a little bit creepy, often containing a line of self deprecation or two. If you don't reply, you will incur his wrath. He is just waiting to unleash his frustration on you. He will call you colorful names which usually include whore, slut, stuck-up-bitch, and the like. He often has multiple accounts on the site under different aliases. If you block one, don't think he won't be back for more. If you play the nice card, be prepared to explain over and over again why women are evil. I don't know any more about that than why men are bastards, both of those are filed under my life's mysteries.

5. The Eternal Optimist
This guy was on Match.com back in 2000 with me, and he's kept his account ever since. He messaged you then, he'll message you now. He always seems to know when fresh meat has signed up within 10 miles of his zip code between the ages of 21 and 35. He will message you, usually within 24 hours of your account activation. You've seen him on Match, Plentyoffish, Jdate, he's everywhere. During his various offline relationships, he keeps his account active, but just doesn't log in out of respect for his relationship. He never gives up, he never stops trying, he allocates a percentage of his monthly income to his various online dating accounts and he looks forward to hearing from you.

6. The Wife Hunter
Ahhh, you thought this type only existed in female form. You are mistaken. Just as bountiful as the Husband Hunter but less talked about is the Wife Hunter. He has an agenda, he is looking for a wife, he has a timeline, too, he's hit his mid-30s and he wants to placate his mom. His timeline is usually six months to a year. And he wants babies too, he'll mention that a lot. Usually he has a picture of himself holding a drooling, unibrowed niece or nephew among his carefully selected gallery. He loves kids! If you begin to date the Wife Hunter, he will immediately begin to change you. You will be on a regimented plan, the future Mrs. Wife Hunter does not fill bathtubs with ice and vodka, nor does she weigh an ounce over 120 pounds. She is always perfectly coiffed while sitting at home on a Friday night, and receives a set of Rosetta Stone CDs as a thoughtful gift to help bridge the language gap between her and her future in-laws. She meets her future in-laws within a month. Dinner at home. They spin her around like a race horse and discuss her flaws and breeding potential loudly in a language she does not understand as she stabs at a congealed mystery food that she must eat or risk offending her hosts. If you are looking for a serious relationship, it is only natural to mention marriage and children in conversation within a reasonable number of dates - the generic "where do you see yourself and what do you want" discussion. Just be cautious of the Wife Hunter, if a month in you find yourself declining a night at the Roosevelt in order to study Hebrew, you might want take a step back.

7. The Poet
If you find a poem in your inbox, do the following: delete + block. Anybody who takes the time to compose a lengthy poem for purposes of online dating (as the first approach) should be avoided. His name is Alan.

I know this post is very cynical, but it's meant to be. I know there are great people on online dating sites, I've met a few, but they're no fun to write about, right? I hope all of you had a wonderful Thanksgiving! And a random side note, Angels and Demons (the movie) wasn't that bad. Not as good as the book, but I kind of liked it (sorry!).

Just Rub It In Why Don't You?

Today, after three glorious months of having muchmorefunthanIshouldhavehad as a contract attorney downtown, my project finally comes to a sad little end. Today is also the day that a lone window washer decides to wash away the foot-long streak of pigeon shit that for months marred my view of unemployed attorneys floating mid-day in the chlorinated pools atop their luxury Wilshire high rises. Great timing buddy. Ah well, I remain grateful, my experience here has enriched me far beyond what I would have predicted - from reaching, chip first, into a fragrant tub of Tex-Mex queso to debating the meaning of the nonsensical Waiting for Godot, I have been pushed to try things I never, never, never, never would have tried on my own given my various inhibitions (such as those towards pseudo cheese and translated texts). No longer will I err in my wine choices as I peruse the aisles of Ralph's in a cloud of confusion, as my wine-loving associate provided me with a handy 4x6 blue post-it titled, "The Following Are Not Real Wines:", a list which includes Yellow Tail, Charles Shaw and Barefoot (to my dismay). Because parting is such sweet sorrow, we plan to trade parting for partying with a Thanksgiving Eve dinner tonight. I am to bring the following dish: Corn off the cob with lime juice, fresh parsley, melted butter and salt+pepper. If you've never tried this, you must, it's what they eat upon fluffy clouds in heaven whilst twanging on gold plaited harps.

1943 Guide to Hiring Women

My co-peon sent me this today. According to Snopes, this thing is for realz. Hil-lar.

"Eleven Tips on Getting More Efficiency Out of Women Employees: There's no longer any question whether transit companies should hire women for jobs formerly held by men. The draft and manpower shortage has settled that point. The important things now are to select the most efficient women available and how to use them to the best advantage.
Here are eleven helpful tips on the subject from Western Properties:

1. Pick young married women. They usually have more of a sense of responsibility than their unmarried sisters, they're less likely to be flirtatious, they need the work or they wouldn't be doing it, they still have the pep and interest to work hard and to deal with the public efficiently.

2. When you have to use older women, try to get ones who have worked outside the home at some time in their lives. Older women who have never contacted the public have a hard time adapting themselves and are inclined to be cantankerous and fussy. It's always well to impress upon older women the importance of friendliness and courtesy.

3. General experience indicates that "husky" girls - those who are just a little on the heavy side - are more even tempered and efficient than their underweight sisters.

4. Retain a physician to give each woman you hire a special physical examination - one covering female conditions. This step not only protects the property against the possibilities of lawsuit, but reveals whether the employee-to-be has any female weaknesses which would make her mentally or physically unfit for the job.

5. Stress at the outset the importance of time the fact that a minute or two lost here and there makes serious inroads on schedules. Until this point is gotten across, service is likely to be slowed up.

6. Give the female employee a definite day-long schedule of duties so that they'll keep busy without bothering the management for instructions every few minutes. Numerous properties say that women make excellent workers when they have their jobs cut out for them, but that they lack initiative in finding work themselves.

7. Whenever possible, let the inside employee change from one job to another at some time during the day. Women are inclined to be less nervous and happier with change.

8. Give every girl an adequate number of rest periods during the day. You have to make some allowances for feminine psychology. A girl has more confidence and is more efficient if she can keep her hair tidied, apply fresh lipstick and wash her hands several times a day.

9. Be tactful when issuing instructions or in making criticisms. Women are often sensitive; they can't shrug off harsh words the way men do. Never ridicule a woman - it breaks her spirit and cuts off her efficiency.

10. Be reasonably considerate about using strong language around women. Even though a girl's husband or father may swear vociferously, she'll grow to dislike a place of business where she hears too much of this.

11. Get enough size variety in operator's uniforms so that each girl can have a proper fit. This point can't be stressed too much in keeping women happy."

WHERE ARE MY LIPSTICK BREAKS? DAMN YOU FEMINISTS! Don't mind me, I'm just grumpy because I'm eating side salads and celery cuz I've become rather husky.

Better In Texas?

As the first anniversary of my swearing in ceremony approacheth, and I find myself still wandering the streets of LA with no better prospects, insights, or connections than I had a year ago, but a little less faith. Sorry, George Michael. The daily Craigslist offerings offer little encouragement...legal/paralegal jobs for today include:



Do You Feel Like You Have the Flu?
West Coast Clinical Trials is seeking people between the ages of 12-65 who have flu-like symptoms (fever, aching, sore throat) to participate in a clinical research study.
Qualified Participants must be:
Between 12-65 years old
Have flu-like symptoms
A fever of 100oF at screening
Qualified Participants may receive:
Up to $150 for time and travel
Study-related healthcare
An investigational medication
To see if you qualify call:
1-877-777-9228


They missed me by a few weeks, I'm slightly annoyed I missed out on $150 for my misery. To make myself feel better I flagged the post as spam. That's my new thing, to temper my misery at my current lack of professional success, whenever I see a job posting that insults me in some manner, I flag it as spam on craigslist and submit the link to abovethelaw.com with the following message:


$90k in student loans for THIS? arrrrghTHGHoaeir;hai#)(&$097ajgkawjfewaljfa!!!!!!!!!


My own subtle, ineffective form of protest. But in any case, clinical flu studies and attorney jobs offering a whopping $45,000 a year seem to be what the city of Los Angeles has to offer us newly minted esqs. Which leaves me wondering if I should, after 27 years, spread my wings and tear myself away from my favorite city.


I am thinking AUSTIN, TEXAS. Here are the pros of AUSTIN, TEXAS (seems like it's the type of place to deserve all caps) (please note that the following reflects my personal biases and internalized stereotypes and I do not wish to be informed of the actual truth of anything whatsoever):


1. COWBOYS


I grew up kind of obsessed with old school cowboy movies. High Noon, Destry Rides Again, Cat Ballou...and John Wayne in Stagecoach is just yyyyyum. What's not to love about a cowboy? Fringed chaps, warm tan, manly calloused hands, fine lines from squinting below the the hot, dusty desert sun, winged Stetson, a pair of Peacemakers perfectly holstered across his slow moving hips. He speaks in a Matthew McConaughey drawl and loves his mom. He can ride a bull better than any UCLA sorority sister at the Saddle Ranch Chop House and won't pay more than $40 for a pair of jeans.






2. COWBOY BOOTS


EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE they are teh CUTENESS!!!!!!!! Want. I am going to American Vintage on Melrose tonight to get a pair to the tune of $34 if Yelp speaks the truth. I've kind of wanted a pair since seeing paparazzi photos of Britney Spears rocking her Miss Capezio butterfly boots circa 2002ish. But I've never taken the plunge. I once wore a cowboy hat to my physics class in high school, a real Stetson felt cowboy hat. I received a round of applause and a lot of laughs and am still a bit damaged from the experience. The hat was then donated to my father who wore it for several years as sun protection while walking the dogs outside, but lost it on a trip to Crater Lake. Sometimes I wonder if it found a new home on some Oregonian's head and now enjoys scenic walks through the lush Oregon greenness. Back to boots, now I have to buy a pair as I am going line dancing at Oil Can Harrys and would look pretty dumb in Jessica Simpson 4" platformed YSL knockoffs in the midst of all the amazing gay cowboy well-heeled gorgeousness around me.

3. BULL RIDING


This sport pairs cowboys in cowboy boots with monstrous, sinewy bulls. In the cage they nervously sit upon the beast (who is always named something rad like Fender Bender, Major Payne, or Beaver Cleaver), nervously trying to tie an infallible knot around his roped hand. My friend told me cowboys often lose their thumbs in rodeo accidents, so it's fun to try to see if the cowboy has both thumbs. Rewind on DVR to settle disputes amongst your friends. I don't get what the spitting is...maybe spitting on the bull is good luck? Then there's the ding-ding and the cage opens and commencer le bucking (it kind of secretly looks like fun, albeit a bit painful). This is followed by the dismount, the most exciting part. The cowboy crashes in the reddish ranch dirt and then scrambles around trying to avoid the onslaught of angry hooves. It's edge of your seat suspense as to the extent of injuries that will follow. It's also fun to watch grown men scramble up fences to avoid being impaled. The bull always seems to know when to exit for some reason and subduedly trots out of the gate. The cowboy limps away clutching at his body parts, sometimes crying to reveal several missing teeth as he swats away the cameras. Better than football. Better than baseball. Better than soccer. As good as a Laker game in which Lamar Odom gets flagrant. Innnndeed.

4. COUNTRY MUSIC

I long for a place where I can listen to country music and not be judged by others. I like Lonestar. I really like Rascal Flats. Sometimes I cry. In Texas, this is not only accepted, it's rejoiced. Misery is put to music, it's therapeutic. I know all the words to She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy, but I sadly learned recently that liking this song is not accepted in Texas, either.









5. BIG OL' JUGS OF SWEET TEA














6. BIG HAIR

I need Texan girl friends to teach me the secrets to Texas Hair. I bought the highly acclaimed "Bump It" (yes, as seen on screen beh-beh) but I want to know how to achieve this intense volume sans creepy plastic insert. I live in constant fear someone will pet my head only to discover my trickery.








6. TEXAN LAW

In Texas, criminals are required by law to give their victims 24 hour's notice, orally or in writing, explaining the nature of the crime to be committed. Living on the streets in LA has really made me aware of the constant lawlessness and danger that surrounds me at all times.

Having 24 hour's advance notice would give me ample time to locate the knife my douchebag marine ex gave me, a smaller version of the one he always carried in his sock. The gift was inspired by the tale of a date I went on once with an Australian whose claim to fame was his face being plastered on a Jdate billboard in Times Square sometime in 2007. I, ever mindful of my safety, selected a deserted Santa Monica beach at nighttime as the location of our first date, with corner store liquor market 40s swathed in paper bags to be served. I paid for his. We crawled up to a lifeguard tower to sit and listen to the waves. A flash of metal caught the corner of my eye as my date removed a large switchblade knife from his sock. Fortunately, it was to open his beer rather than stab my heart. Unfortunately, the date did not get better. After his 40, my date was too drunk to drive and we proceeded to walk 8 blocks to find him pizza. This sad tale from my past resulted in me being gifted a large knife. Ahhhhhh what a sense of humor, too bad he forgot to tell me he was married.

Another useful law for me: after introducing somebody publicly as your husband or wife a mere three times, you may have a union recognized by law. As I near the age where women begin to panic, I find comfort that in a worst case scenario, I can get myself a husband with $40.00 worth of shots and three witnesses.

I could clearly go on, but it's time for me to get my cowboy boots. Bye now!

The Flip Side of the Coin

Normally I'd bemoan the sludgy backlog in our civil court system. But seeing as my court hearing for the traffic ticket I was bequeathed on my 27th birthday by an unsavory motorcycle cop with a weak mustache is now pushed back until May, I am seeing the silver lining of the madness. This presents me with an additional six months in which to perfect and finesse my legal argument, at which point Officer Douche will hopefully have forgotten my mascara streaked face so we can go at it, man to man, balls to the wall.

Tonight: salads and Real Housewives of Orange County at Chateau Revy with Wifey and LG. If you haven't been watching, check it out, this season is delicious.