Offing Myself

I've decided I'm going to leave all my money in a pile outside my door and off myself. That's what I might as well do as the end result will be the same in a couple years' time.

Sorry if I seem a little overly frustrated. I have been through the wringer in my attempts to record some of my music for a rough-but-presentable demo. It's frustrating. The only words of comfort I can offer myself are that I'm new at this so, I guess I'm bound to run into roadblocks.

The only noteworthy thing to mention is that I checked out Ventura - gorgeous beach, made me remember a guy I met in Greece who was from Ventura - and Oxnard, which is indeed as ghetto as SD had cautioned me it would be. That didn't deter me from getting some pastries at the local panaderia and frequenting Albertsons, where they had a lot of queso de la casa's and sliced cactus available in their deli section. And also a very long line. And special flaming hot Cheetohs con limon. Interesting. Kinda yummy.

Friday was Bowling Night at my place of employment. Free 2 drinks for each person and their guest (I brought CM) plus free flirting with the guy at the office who likes me. Actually the 17-year old custodian likes me too, so it's nice having some excitement at work. Of course I wouldn't date either as I love my job too much! I managed to get the absolute lowest score (40) during my first round, and then increased it to 76 after I warmed up a bit. I'm getting there.

Wetsuit? What's a Wetsuit?

My friend RR was nice enough to let me come visit her in San Diego on the spur of the moment, when my scheduling conflicts suddenly cleared up and I was OK for takeoff.

O M G.

We went to Encinitas on Saturday and the water was so warm a wetsuit would have been overkill. The waves were so small and gentle that I managed to catch at least 10 of them and ride many of them down the line. I couldn't believe myself. Afterwards we had dinner at Pacifica in Del Mar and then headed home for rest.

Sunday commenced with RR's triathlon (which I slept through, unfortunately) and World Cup viewing. Sadly, this World Cup I haven't been able to watch any of the weekday daytime games. If I had done my homework I would have figured out how to get live streaming World Cup ...

After watching Italy win RR and I headed to Pacific Beach. Again, I was astounded by the warm water, the gorgeous beginner waves, and the huge meat market on the sand. While I was in the water, RR tried boogie boarding and got hit on by thousands of guys. Meanwhile, I got hit on while surfing, which never happens. Folks tend to be more aloof and detached, "This is my piece of ocean, stay away from me." By the way, I have never seen as many cute guys with nice bodies as I saw in two days there. Unbelievable. Not to mention they allow beer on the beach. ???!!!

I'm moving to San Diego.

Sniffing Singer Sweat at the Bowl

My friend - he thinks it was a date, oops - had comped Row 2 box seats at the Bowl for yesterday's Belle & Sebastian show with the L.A. Philharmonic. My goodness. I've never been before but it was quite an experience.

Row 2. This bears repeating. Row 2.

We were one row away from the monitors and microphones. We were closer to the stage than the large amplifiers were, and you could hear the performers making sounds and drinking water in between songs. I didn't even know what the Bowl looked like (a hemisphere, or rather, "quarter-sphere") until I went to go to the bathroom and then got to take it all in from a distance.

Let me say this: I am not a big indie music fan. In fact, it really gets on my nerves. A lot of high-pitched wailing and feel-good hill-billy-esque tunes. Eh. But it was an unreal experience. I had to go through 3 ticket ushers to get to our very elite section, where they serve complimentary tea and coffee during the intermission between acts. I was parched and didn't want to stand in the long-ass line for "Refreshments" and I got one of the waiters to bring me a glass of ice water. (I tipped of course).

At the end of the concert loyal fans rushed the stage and our elite section but of course we, being the gracious aristocracy we were, deigned to allow their presence. The funniest thing was watching fans ricocheting off the bouncers. No one lasted on stage beyond 20 seconds.

Afterwards, we went to the exclusive afterparty and I got the lead singer to sign my ticket, "Love, Stuart."

Had I known the seats were that good I would have arrived earlier and caught the Shins, who opened for them. (I arrived late because I wanted to avoid exposing myself to the horrible sound that is the Shins minus their New Slang song. I am a little sad I missed New Slang though.)

I had never seen so many hipsters in one place in my life. Big ups to big-name indie acts at the Bowl for drawing more hipsters than all of San Francisco.

From Disneyland to Metal Skool

I met up with the fam in Anaheim on Friday for a fun-filled day at Disneyland. I hadn't been in 12+ years and was re-introduced to the excruciating heat and nostalgic rides. California Adventure was new and my dad insisted on having beers. I have a feeling that contributed to my near-encounter with heat stroke. I swear, I thought I was going to pass out for most of the day. My favorite new ride was Tower of Terror, which I went on twice. It is, quite simply, the bomb. And it doesn't hurt to have the creepy-sounding safety announcement ... also in Spanish!

My all-time favorite ride was It's a Small World, which I rode on with a gooey smile. I sang along with the lyrics, much to my little sister's dismay. Of course we went on all the usual suspects like Thunder Mountain Railroad and the Matterhorn (pleez keep zee hands eenside zee bobzled ...).

Although I was struck with mortal fear when I first arrived at Disneyland - in contemplation of this media behemoth, I soon began to find this "happiest place on earth" really did make me happy. And I made the startling deduction that it was my dad who really liked Disneyland, for had he not liked it so much, he wouldn't have taken me so many times when I was too little to really know what was going on.

I surfed Huntington Beach at 17th Street in my new bikini on Sunday on my back from the Magic Kingdom and on Monday night SA and I headed to Metal Skool at the Key Club. I found I was a little "mis-dressed" with my chain-draped punk pants, as everyone was wearing eighties cutesy stuff. I had no idea that metal skool featured a stand-up comedy-worthy cover band that played Bon Jovi and GnR. They cracked vulgar jokes and treated the audience to a strip show at the very end, which made me uncomfortable.

But overall it was an interesting experience. I only wish the drunk bastards wouldn't have been so rude. People were quite violent in trying to push me out of the way and I was astonished at the hitting, grabbing, pushing, and shouting that was leveled at me. It sucks to be a small person.

On 4th of July I failed in my attempt to go surfing as the waves at Countyline were nonexistent. Instead, SA and I went to the Dodger-Diamondbacks game and bought decently cheap scalped tix. Little did we know that we were sitting in the People's Section. That's right, they're the cheapest tickets and they're in the fenced-off Pavilion where you can't buy alcohol because it's been the site of major riots in the past.

Despite the unplanned teetotaling, I thoroughly enjoyed myself with multiple bouts of the Wave, the seventh inning stretch, and frenzied cheering for the Dodgers, who won 11-3 against the hapless Diamondbacks. Apparently I get 10 free wings at Hooters with my ticket stub.

London or New York?

I can't believe I didn't post at all in June. That could probably be attributed to my increased workload and general state of panic when in the office (as well as a non-functioning wireless connection at home).

Work's been pretty good, I finally exposed my tattoo today at the company-wide luncheon and got compliments from my boss (yay!). We had tri-tip and bbq chicken, which were delicious. Cash giveaways for who could name song, artist, and year for a few songs they blasted over the PA system. Scorching heat. I sat in the tree for most of the announcements.

The remainder of TC's time here in LA was spent trolling all the beaches - Venice, Hermosa, Redondo, and Malibu. The "sweet boy" from San Jose paid me an untimely visit and really pissed me off with his attitude on the day of TC's departure. I didn't know people could be normal one minute and psycho crazy the next.

I spent the next week or so recording some of my music with some young dudes I met at the Viper Room and getting a lot of surfing in - without a wetsuit at Manhattan Beach! I also managed to get my car repaired in all manners and get 2 tickets within 3 days. Perhaps most memorable, I also spent hours agonizing over outfits and shopping like a maniac on Melrose for CG's wedding.

I actually just returned from the bash in Long Island. She's marrying a Brit: Long Island Old Money meets British Old Money. Chef Palmer was catering. We had buffalo, sea bass, duck, chicken, beef, and yummy dessert treats. It was black tie. I wore a smashing pink dress and shoes that left me hobbled for days. I had Veuve in hand all weekend. Much less of a hangover with the bubbly, I might add. I also met this adorable blond-haired German London banker whom I'm absolutely smitten over because he surfs too and is angelically well-mannered. He also has a twin brother. Not that that means anything, but it makes them a striking pair.

Now, about the little Pond. The question I got all weekend was, "Are you from London or New York?" Unfortunately, neither. I miss New York. It was tough leaving as I feel much more at home there than in Los Angeles.

Outside of the wedding, my trip involved a whirlwind tour of the Guggenheim, the Whitney, the Met, and the MOMA, as well as last-minute eyebrow waxing and shopping to match my three outfits for the wedding. Expensive!

I also went to Coney Island for the first time in five years (and it's exactly the same, except for the roller-coaster prices. I also highly recommend the Wonder Wheel ferris ride). We hit up new places like La Bottega and the Frying Pan and 230 Fifth. La Bottega reminded me of B Bar on Bowery and 230 Fifth sucked except for the view of the Empire State Building.

My weekend concluded with a harrowing, nail-biting ride on the A-train to JFK because I was worried about missing my flight - but not before me and TC, my old roommate, went to our old neighborhood (yes, we lived there) near the World Trade Center and took solemn pictures of the scene.

Doin' Deals

Being a gangsta-ass chick doing deals is hard work (LOL) but you get little pockets of down time. Like right now. I wasn't intending to post a second time in Jersey but I find myself with a little bit of down time on my hands.

My time here has been an insomniac's nightmare. I've been so tired and yet so unable to sleep. I'm still on California time, despite taking my clonapin or lunestas.

We ate at The Brick House in Wyckoff last night. It's an ornate, cute little steakhouse with giant-sized steaks on the menu. I unwittingly ordered the rib eye au poivre, thinking it would be rounder and taller and smaller than the strip steak. Oops. It was easily two pounds of meat with large, uncracked peppercorns on the top and nestled in a delicious cognac brown bourgogne sauce.

We had two $70 bottles of Sonoma cabernet sauvignon and delicious parmesan-encrusted croutons. The house salad had an amazing vinaigrette on it that's almost as addicting as that of Olive Garden salads. I swear, this steak was bigger than me. I took at least 6 bites out it and barely made a dent. I had it wrapped to go, and two hours later, it was still warm!

It was me with six old white guys sitting at an expensive Italian steakhouse in an affluent North Jersey suburb. I was the only Asian person in the room. It was an interesting experience. I don't fit in with the older white male moneyed class, where money is everything, including power and the ability to raise a family and be a patriarch.

They just have different values than I do. Negotiation and being a savvy and shrewd business person are valued. They scoff at those artist types (like me) who can't figure out how to run a business if their life depended on it (I have trouble just getting my bills paid on time!).

Actually, one of the guys we met with looked a lot like that guy from King of Queens, the UPS delivery guy. Right down to the short-sleeved button-down with the khaki shorts. I almost laughed out loud just watching him talk in that same animated, over-excited way.

The Dirty Jerz

So I'm sitting in a hotel in Saddle River, New Jersey, right now, my wet hair up in a towel and dog tired after a red-eye to Newark from LAX, with a brisk layover in Chicago yesterday evening-melding-into-this-morning. It feels good to be back in Jersey, and it's neat because I'm out here on business (my first business trip in a long time, pretty kickass!).

The sky is tinted yellow with smog and it's nice and muggy, just like I remember those Jersey and Connecticut summers to be! I recall afternoons getting sweaty rollerblading around New Haven and up and down Grand and Marin streets in Jersey City. I recall afternoons moseying around Canal Street and roasting on the PATH or NYC Subway. Sigh!

It feels good to be back out here, feels like I never left. I feel myself settling back into the soul of a melancholy, hardened, cut-to-the-chase East Coaster.

Friday night I opened up the open mic at the Unurban with a 30-minute set of six faltering songs. I was nervous to begin with, as I had never played a 30-minute set in front of people who were actually paying attention to me (I've busked before, but that's a little different).

In addition to my horrible case of the stage shakes, I had cut my fingernails too short so I was forced to use a thin teardrop pick - and I'm not used to picks at all. Bummer. Although I received plenty of compliments afterwards, I was disappointed with the recording on the CD that they made for me. The crowd, though, was surprisingly a lot more young and femeil than it had been the week before. Maybe it had something to do with the holiday weekend.

Saturday morning I surfed Countyline again, then picked up my old roommate from New York, TC, from Burbank. On my way to the airport, I got lost and ran out of gas. Great thinking, Punky! I ended up on some buttfuck exit off of the 134 before Buena Vista with my car in neutral, pushing my car up the shoulder to get it out of traffic.

Luckily, a guy driving an old Caddy-style car stopped and offered to push my car to the nearest Chevron station on Pass Street. Of course, I saved myself the hour-long wait for Triple A and took him up on the offer. Without power, braking and steering take quite a lot of effort. What a sight we must have been on the road!

TC and I ended up spending the rest of the weekend doing touristy things, like talking to a photo crew at Melrose Place, gawking at the Chinese Theater and the Kodak Theater (I had no clue that this is where the Grammys are held) on Hollywood Boulevard and taking pictures of each other holding up fake Grammys for "Best Lover" and, my favorite, "Best Person".

We dined on Florida grouper, lamb, delicious pomegranate martinis and a sumptuous souffle while dropping some serious coin at Spago. We took a million pictures with countless Lamborghinis and Rolls's in Beverly Hills, and drank nasty-ass organic tea at 208 Rodeo.

Saturday night, we chatted with drunk guys from Boston at Renee's, and on Sunday, I donned my spiked leather bracelet and studded belt and we blitzed through the Rainbow, the Whisky, and the Viper Room. We ended the night at the Saddle Ranch, where we both rode the mechanical bull, and my groin still hurts. Both bull operators were from Texas!

On Memorial Day, strolled the Promenade and then made our way to the Santa Monica pier, where we munched churros and chatted with Elian the Argentinian reggae guitarist. The beach was decorated with hundreds of white crosses and the occasional Muslim crescent. TC, who is "Grecian," as George Bush would call her, commented on the congested "situation of American beaches" as she snapped a picture of the throngs of people dribbling onto the shore.

Afterwards, we met parrots and didgeridoo players at the Venice boardwalk, danced to the giant beachside drum circle, browsed the hippie shops, and checked out the graffiti walls. We ended up inhaling the best goddamned touristy-beachfront fish tacos at the Venice Beach Bistro, before heading to the airport for my midnight flight to Newark.