The Gurly Life

Is it just me?

The first, from a laser hair removal place.

If you have weird hair like that, I highly recommend getting laser. You don't want to be seen like this, now do you? What clinches it for me is the litle butt crack action going over above the shorts -- I think implying that ass hair can go, too. Or that it should.

Then this. Eh hem. I was a little uncomfortable when I saw it, anyone else find the nipplage a little much for a window display?

Weirdness actually, is all around us

Last night I went on a date in Old Town Pasadena. The date consisted of dinner and window shopping. We had fun. As you are aware by now, wherever I go weirdness emerges. Well, it's not that it emerges, it's there for the picking - and I pick it. So here are some highlights.

This was in the window of the creepiest store ever, called Gold Bug. Weird and creepy does not begin to describe it. You really need to click on the link and check out the website. I will admit that there is something fascinating about the whole thing, and the contributing artists obviously put in a lot of work and care in the pieces, so it's good that there's a store that caters to this kind of work. Having said that, it's weird and creepy. Take the above. It appears to be a diorama of some sort, a Christmas scene that began bucolic and then a tarantula wandered in and stole the Christmas gifts. Puts the Grinch to shame if you ask me. I think the caterpillar is about to eat the Christmas tree, too.

There there was this:

The heads of hair in the front of the frame are about the size of a fist, to give you perspective. So from the street, you see the backs of these seemingly shrunken heads with pretty hair under glass jars, and this miniature goat wearing a crown. A passer-by said those are not shrunken heads, that's doll hair. For dolls. Oh, ok, so that makes it, like, 10 times creepier, kthxbye.

We wondered around some more, and spotted this little gem taped to a tree.

Yeah dude, just wait for the good women to line up.

We wondered through a store called Naughty Or Nice, which really didn't seem to relate to what it sold, but whatever. They had these fur hats for sale, so here we are, wearing fur hats.

Everyone looks sexy with a big fur hat. You can't deny it.

When I assume, I make an ass out of ... well, mostly me

On Wednesday a dear friend went into labor. (Between then and the writing of this post, the baby was born -- it only took 9 hours -- and everyone is just dandy. I add this so you don't wonder what happened and worry and want to know blah blah blah.)

The friend who was in labor sent me a quick email to tell me that she and her husband were on the way to the hospital. I in turn texted a few other friends to let them know. Shortly thereafter, one of the friends texted me back: "I don't care." Mmmh. I was all, you know that seems odd, maybe she's kidding. So I texted her back: "Are you j/k or serious? Can't tell tone." She reponded: "I seriously don't give a shit." I said: "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know you had a falling out. What happened? I won't send you anymore updates tho." No response.

Wow. So I thought, ok, something happened that I don't know about, and it must be really really bad, but this does not at all seem like the person I know, she would never do such a thing. I emailed a mutual friend, who called me. We were at a loss how to explain it. We both agreed, this is not like her at all. Maybe she thought she was texting someone else and thinking this was about something else. We figured at least one of us should delicately broach the subject with her, so that it if was a misunderstanding we wouldn't be left thinking she was so heartless but that if she really was this angry maybe we could help.

I then emailed another friend and asked if she had any ideas. She said she thought maybe I had the wrong number because it showed up wrong when she saw the original text. Which explains why it didn't sound like my friend at all - it WASN'T my friend. Duh!!!!

I knew the whole time that there was something wrong, that this could not be my friend, how could this possibly be? But the last thing I thought, which was the most obvious, was that it actually was not my friend. I just assumed I had the right number.

Of course, now I wonder who in fact texted me back and why they were so callous. All kinds of possibilities present themselves, but I can only fix one problem at a time.

Machu Picchu? Really?

Or: Well, that just bloody figures.

A few weeks ago, my good friend Ms. Ranty Pants suggested we enter a drawing by these fine people, Global Base Camps, for a 4 day Inca Trail trek to Machu Picchu in Peru. I never win much of anything, so as a lark, I said, sure, let's enter.

I had a niggling feeling that it was very likely one of us would win because neither one of us is even remotely equipped to undertake such a trip. By not equipped, I mean that with hip injuries, SI joint stuff, and back issues, we are barely one healthy person between us. I shrugged it off and thought no more of it. We both have hip issues, and we're not the roughing it types (don't deny it, Ms. Pants) - left to our own devices, this is not perhaps the trip we would organize for ourselves. I distinctly remember saying, as we giggled on Facebook, watch how we're going to win this thing because we so would just die on the trail. I mean, seriously, I get excited when I can hike for 2 hours without collapsing in pain in Griffith Park, trekking across the Andes was not even a glimmer in the apple of my eye.

I further point out that Machu Pichu hikers have oxygen bottles with them. OXYGEN, PEOPLE, OXYGEN! Yeah. I mean, it's only 8,000 feet in altitude, so I'm thinking it's a precaution rather than a necessity. Cusco, however, where we start, is at 11,000+ feet, so that's a little trickier.

I think you know where this is going. Apparently, I won said trek. Natch, I'm going, and I'm dragging Ms. Pants - I immediately called her and told her so. If I go down, I'm taking her down with me (linky to her perspective on this madness). This is going to be a tale of overcoming hardship - the two "disabled" ladies make it to Machu Picchu, and strike it off their bucket list. Incidentally, it's not even on my bucket list, but whatever. In light of the photo ops that this presents, we'll be going, even if we have to strap on one of those newfangled exoskeletons to get us up that mountain.

Of course there's a small part of me that thinks this is a scam of some sort, but it so absurd and ironic that it can only be legit. I will of course do my due diligence, my hopes having been dashed of being alternatively a Nigerian princess who inherits vast sums of money, or being trusted by one and the only human on the planet who can save her and her inheritance. I thus approach windfalls with a leery eye.

The tour includes [my comments/questions are in square brackets, in case the sheer stupidity is not enough to tip you off]

Camping Equipment: spacious North Face [<--merchandising!] tents, dining tent, toilet tent [a. I should bloody hope so, b. toilet paper will be provided, yes?] tables and chairs, oxygen bottle [wait - what?] and cooking equipment [which, presumably, I will not need to use - see below]. Trekkers need only bring sleeping bags. A licensed, well-trained, English-speaking guide, who visits the clients the evening before departure to explain the trek and answer any questions [my question: is the guide coming with us, or just visiting us the night before and then is all, see ya, suckers!?] Chef and Assistant Chef [because what if the Chef twists an ankle? Who would cook? Not me!] preparing healthy, hearty meals cooked with fresh, local ingredients. Well-paid and well-treated porters [ohmygod porters! How colonial, I love it. No, really, I love it - I don't like carrying things]. We supply the appropriate duffel for you to pack and them to carry [again: LOVE IT]. You carry only a light daypack [my purse probably weighs more than this daypack they speak of]. [One last question: what's the shower situation?]

I am compelled to point out how much I do not like to travel, and how somehow the universe is insisting that I travel. I mean, I love visiting new places, but the actual traveling, with the suitcase and the food issues, and those god-awful plane rides, I do not like. Yet somehow I am always traveling. Either visiting friends or family, or being treated to an awesome Egypt trip by my dad (and it's awesome, wait till you hear about it), or planning a trip to Turkey with Ms. Pants, or being dragged up an Andean mountain kicking and screaming.

I'm a lucky bastard.

GAG!

Ok, what's a visit to a presidential library without a kitschy souvenir photo? It would be nothing. Like we'd never gone.

I give you ... photo in front of Reagan's Air Force One. Gag! I look like a complete dork, and my mom and Jill look intensely uncomfortable. I just knew it would be an embarrassing photo, so of course I had to have it. Och.

I think this photo gets bonus points for the Air Force One and American flag overlays  - yikes!

I shall treasure it, always. And blackmail my mom and Jill with it, always.

Anonymous sense of humor

There are two mushroomy looking things on a street corner in my neighborhood. I have yet to find out what they are. Someone paints them on a regular basis. Today I walked by them, and not only had they been painted again, but ...

I notice the strangest things.

How vomiting a lot is like a marathon

Yesterday, something I ate disagreed with me. Either that, or I had a migraine coming on and it made me sick. Not sure which one came first, the head and the stomach go hand in hand, as it were.

I threw up from about 5pm to about 11:20pm, every 20 minutes. It took that much vomiting for whatever it was to finally make its way out of me. Thing about vomiting is that you're using all those powerful stomach and esophagus muscles backwards. So doing that every 20 minutes for almost 6 hours is, in my opinion, almost like running a marathon: at the end I'm exhausted and need to sleep, I'm dehydrated, and I've lost 2" around my hips. Except at the end I don't get a medal or a pat on the back, and I certainly don't get that feeling of accomplishment. On the plus side, I don't have blisters on my feet.

Um ... I'm kinda speechless, actually

Drunk. WITH. POWWEEERRRRRR!!!!

Heh heh. Ok, well, not really, but this is pretty funny. Ok, maybe not funny, per se, maybe more WTF?

Anyway.

I'm very active in my alumni community. I went to a fancy (and VERY popular!) Ivy League university, and yes, it means I'm very very smart. It also turns out I'm a monumental, epic idiot, but that's another story for another post, maybe a few years from now. Stick around!

I digress.

You might remember that I am currently the regional director of the alumni committee that coordinates interviews of applicants by alumni in the area. What that means is that I'm in charge of all the applicant interviews on the west coast, Hawaii and Alaska. No, I don't do them all myself, I tell other people to tell other people to do the interviews.

Now it looks like I'm going to be Class of 1990 co-president. They asked me to help out, I was all, sure, whatever you need, and this is what I got. I have no idea what I'm in charge of. None.

It's AWESOME!

The great blue yonder

Please welcome The Gurly Life to Facebook. Apparently, now that they have added these new "social optimization" gizmos to outside web pages, I am able to link my blog directly to its own page on Facebook. So, if all goes as planned, I should be able to post both on my personal page and/or on The Gurly Life page. Not sure why I would do that, it seems redundant, but why the hell not? I got nothing to say, and like to say it in more words than necessary, so why not more Facebook pages than necessary? But anyway, it seems that I am the only one who sees the FB page, you get redirected here. I know, huh?, right?

It is apparently now possible to click on the Like button on this page, in the left hand panel, just below my photo. When my insane rantings are posted, you will be notified on your newsfeed. Unless, of course, you Hide me/it, in which case, you will make me look good by having clicked Like, and you won't have to really bother reading.

We'll see what, if anything, now happens.

As a side note, it says on the page that I am responsible for making sure my page doesn't get published in the countries where the content would be objectionable. Um. There are, reportedly, at least 189 countries in the world, possibly up to 195, depending, I suppose, on who has claimed they are seceding and whether or not the rebellion has been quelled. Problem: the option that Facebook gives me is to list the countries where I want the page published, and leave out the ones where I don't want it published. Eh-hem. Does that sound at all feasible to anyone other than the New York Times?

What do you guys think? Is this a good idea? Or should I just stick to posting my updates on my personal page? Please respond before shady government agents from countries I dare not mention kidnap me in the night.