TiVo. And they expect me to go back to regular TV? Nuh uh! This thing is the best invention since fanfiction. Never have I been so entertained. I watch what I want to watch, when I want to watch it and I don't have to sit through commercials? Sign me up! Uh, I mean... let me get a job first, and then perhaps an apartment... and a television... and some extra cash - then sign me up! Woo hoo!

This is a reminder to all the world - like you needed one - that the Alias Premiere is Wednesday, January 5th from 9pm to 11pm on ABC (Alias Broadcasting Company). If you want the recap of the first three seasons before embarking on the fourth (I'll just say for the record that you suck for not watching but at least you're now expressing interest, and that's a great improvement) feel free to come over to my parents' house. We're having a screening on the big screen and my oral recap starts at 8pm. Come eager and willing to learn, and most of all - DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT TALKING DURING THE SHOW. It's like talking in church... I imagine it isn't done.

Feel free to stay after 11pm when I watch it again on TiVo. Cause it's gonna be that good.

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I left my purse at the movie theatre the other day. Downtown Hollywood and I just walk away from my purse. How dumb is that? Not only were my wallet, cell phone, and car keys in there... so was my digital camera. Luckily for me, I went to the movie with Loren. The day before my unbelievable stupidity Loren found a purse in a parking lot and turned it in. So when I went to check with lost and found, I found that someone had done the same for me. I guess I used up Loren's good purse karma. Hopefully she won't need it anytime soon.

Ryan recently decided that he would be a nice driver. You know those jerks who drive on the shoulder so that they can cut in further down the highway and skip all the traffic? The guys who you curse and hope they are never allowed to merge? Ryan lets them in. We went shopping the Sunday before Christmas at the Glendale Galleria. This shopping center was so freaking busy that not only did they have cones set up and people directing traffic, they also had police officers in the streets surrounding the parking structures in order to keep everything running smoothly. We had been waiting in line to get into the structure for about five minutes when we were two cars away from the entrance. This jerk came up in the median and tried to nose in front of us. I, of course, started getting angry. What makes this guy so superior that he doesn't have to wait in line or abide by the laws of traffic like the rest of us? Who does he think he is? And if he even thinks for a second that we will forfeit our coveted spot and let this a-hole in he is gravely... yeah. Then Ryan waves him in front of us.

Allie: What the hell do you think you're doing? That guy didn't wait in line! He's going to take our spot now. There's going to be a spot that opens up that should have been ours that now this jerk gets because you have this stupid new "be nice" policy! I didn't sign on for this! I don't want to wait another half hour because you have no mean side!
Ryan: Don't worry.
Allie: What? Don't worry? We've been waiting five minutes just to get off the freaking street! The line of cars is so long that I can't even see the end of it! We have to wait for the shoppers to come out one by one!
Ryan: It will all work out. Just watch. We're going to get a spot that we wouldn't have gotten because I let this guy in front of us.
Allie: Yeah, right. And I'm Santa Clause.
[A man with shopping bags walks between us and The Jerk and proceeds to signal to Ryan that he'll be leaving and taking his Land Rover with the front row parking spot with him.]
Ryan: This year I'd like a flat screen monitor for my computer.

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Well Dave and Loren weren’t too happy about the pictures I posted of them. They insist that I repost so that you can see the true them, and not the individuals portrayed in the other unfortunate snapshots. When browsing my photographs to find pictures that captured the essence of Dave, I happened across this little gem:



Now there is Dave in a nutshell. (Yes that's him wielding the shovel.)

Or maybe you can just see them as the cute team they are:



But if you want to see something cool, check this out:



I have finished with my duties as “Production Designer.” You might wonder what exactly a Production Designer does… I wonder that myself. I think I was more of a glorified Production Assistant… but I’ll take the killer title. Now I just have to research that and figure out how to manipulate that into what I actually did. Ah, the life of Hollywood.

I’m sick. I’m not going to lie to you – it’s not pretty. We shot the other day from 1pm to 5am and when I got home (and after we walked poor cooped up Clio) I found that I felt like crap. When I woke up the next morning to go to work, I found that I still felt like crap. And today – wait for it – I still feel like crap. I can only breathe through one nostril, and the other one is a faucet. My throat hurts and I’m slightly nauseous. Whine whine, bitch bitch.

So, on Tuesday it was potluck day at the set and Ryan and I made Crunchy Cabbage Salad (yum!) and brought some fruit salad. As we were walking to the car we saw Shelley (Patti’s neighbor who hired me as a PA for the Celebrity Award Ceremony) and we were chatting with her as we walked. Then, all of a sudden I felt something under my foot and – boom! I was down for the count and the fruit salad had gone flying. I had stepped on a twig and it rolled right out from under me. It might as well have been a rollerskate. My back and my elbow are all scraped up and I think Shelley is now questioning my motor skills.

…And I’m rambling.

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I was at the grocery store today, sifting through the green onions, when the sprinklers came on. Usually you hear a little warning noise first, to let you know to get the hell out of the way… but apparently this particular produce aisle didn’t feel the need to alert the shoppers. Anyway, it sprayed me and I let out a little yelp of surprise. The old lady next to me (cucumbers) did the same. Then she shook her head and said, “They think spraying keeps the vegetables longer. If it did, my refrigerator would spit at me!”

Ryan and I had one of the worst dining experiences ever when we had dinner at Red Robin last night. The food was fine, but the people in the booth two down from us were horrible. It was some lady and her 8-9 year old son, and another couple and their 2-year-old boy. The young boy (we shall call him Christopher, for that was his name) was standing on the booth leaning on his father’s shoulder and attempting to put his dad’s dog tag over his head. The older boy (we shall call him Shut Up, for that was his name) was holding his mother’s picture phone and trying to get Christopher to smile for the picture. He did this by yelling “Christopher!” repeatedly and at the top of his lungs. I swear on everything holy he yelled that name straight for at least a minute and little Christopher (as well as the three adults at the table) were taking no notice. I think perhaps Christopher had a hearing problem, or just enough common sense to ignore the older boy. Finally, the mother yelled, “Shut up, he’s not going to look at you!” This only made Shut Up pause briefly, before continuing to shout. After a while, Christopher tired of the dog tag and went to look at the carousel horses that were precariously balanced on a ledge across from their booth. Shut up took this to mean that Christopher wanted to ride the horses. He dismounted from the booth and went over to the horses, one of them a foot of the floor, the other about three feet off the floor, and started shaking them to test their sturdiness. I thought this was wise of young Shut Up. I thought perhaps he cared about the well being of Christopher and would not subject his friend to the horrors of the incredibly rickety shell of a horse. Instead, upon finding that the horse was far from sturdy, he shouted, “Look Christopher! It rocks!” Like somehow this would make the ride more enjoyable. As Shut Up repeated the little boy’s name at an impressively piercing volume, the three adults (amazingly impassive up until this point) look over to the shouting boy and his mother yelled, “Shut Up!” No “stop rocking the precariously balanced horse” or “don’t touch that” or “please sit back down you’re causing a scene” – just “Shut Up” and then she went back to dining. Tired of the horses, Christopher decided to go to the empty booth that separated us from them and sit peacefully. Shut Up decided to jump on the both, stand there and play with the light fixture. As he shouted “Christopher! Christopher look!” the mother once again took time out of her busy schedule to pay attention to her child-run-amuck and shout, “Don’t touch that! It will electrocute you!” At least she’s concerned for his safety.

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Due to popular demand (read: my mom and Dave) I am going to write a little blog about work thus far.

First, I will introduce the players. And by players, of course, I mean the crew. (What? You thought I meant the talent??)

. Tim (aka: Pound Sign).
Tim is the Director of Photography (DP). He is the be all and end all of badassness. He’s a senior at USC and you sure as hell wouldn’t know it. It’s like he’s been doing this all his life. He may be short and almost a year younger than me, but he’s got guns like Rambo and a heart of gold.

. Loren.
Loren is the Producer. Which, in this particular production, means that she does everything. And by everything, I mean every single thing. She cooks, she cleans, she produces, she’s wardrobe, all the shopping and set dressing… I can’t even begin to list all the things she is in charge of. Plus, she’s wicked cool.

. Carrie.
Carrie rocks my world. She’s a graduate of UNCW (which you will always be reminded of because every piece of clothing she owns has those four letters on them) and has come to Hollywood to be… everything. She writes scripts, she produces, she directs, she’s a gaffer, she’s even been known to be a mean c-stand (see picture.) In this production she’s the Assistant Director and cracker of whips.

. Anna.
Anna is the 2nd DP. She’s a southern girl who has come out west to go to USC. She’s incredibly nice and incredibly hot – and frankly, it’s just not fair.

. Jim
Jim is the Sound. He does everything sound in this production. No assistants for him. Oh no, this man needs no assistance. He’s a British bloke who says “cheers” instead of thanks, likes to flash the peace sign, and when he finds a wig, he puts it on. Or stuffs it in his shirt. That’s also fun.

. Dave.
Oh, Dave. What to say… Dave is the Director. He’s pretty cool.

The movie is entitled Clique. It will soon be found at www.cliquemovie.com (but not yet!). It’s the story of some high school kids, who, after talking briefly with their awesome and super cool friend “Allie” go off to a deceased grandmother’s house for some weekend fun. And the killing begins...

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Okay. I don't have the energy or the conviction to write a post right now, but in order to satisfy your craving for you daily dose of Allie... here are some pictures from the set. This is Slate-Allie. I have many other names, but none are quite as easy to photograph (or maybe I'm just lazy).





This pic was taken at the top of a stairway and was much more impressive of a set up in person, I swear. The guy with the camera is Tim, the guy with the weird look on his face is Nick.

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Over Thanksgiving Ryan and I made a new best friend. She’s Ryan’s three-year-old cousin from Arizona. Her name is Kailey, she’s wicked cool, and she likes Dora the Explorer and Disney Princesses. Here is a conversation that took place while we were jumping on her trampoline:

(Picture, if you will, a tree with large yellow fruits growing on it.)

Allie: Kailey, are those oranges?
Kailey: Sure are!
Allie: Are you sure? They look a little too yellow to be oranges. Maybe they’re lemons?
Kailey: Mmm hmm. Yep, they are!
Allie: But they’re a little big. I think they might be grapefruits.
Kailey: Yep, sure are!

Little kids are the cutest. Before she would start talking she would take these big breaths and then construct the longest run-on sentences that I have ever strained to make-out. The best were her responses of “Sure do!” or “Sure can’t!” and all possible variations. She was always so positive… ah. I miss her.

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Ryan: Our first day finished. Well, your second day. My first day.
Allie: Word.
Ryan: That was pretty cool. I looked wickedly creepy.
Allie: Word.
Ryan: I had no idea that my character was going to be that over the edge.
Allie: Word.
Ryan: I’m guessing you find it entertaining that by changing your inflection you can change the meaning of the word “word.”
Allie: Word!
Ryan: This is going to be one of those conversations, isn’t it?
Allie: Word.
Ryan: Okay. Anyway, speaking of looking freaky – how nasty was that woman at McDonalds?
Allie: Word.
Ryan: Who told her it was cool to shave your eyebrows completely off and then draw them in with a single pencil line? And it makes it especially disturbing is that the line is way above where her eyebrows should be so it makes her face looks all warped and discolored.
Allie: Word.
Ryan: I love you, you know that right?
Allie: Word.
Ryan: Then know that I say this because I care about you.
Allie: Word.
Ryan: If you say “word” one more time I’m going to shave off your eyebrows and draw them back on.
Allie: Bitchin.

.

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I know, I know. You didn't see me. I did! I saw me! It wasn't glorious, and it was everything Danny warned me it would be (namely a disappointment and slight embarassment) but what's done is done. If you taped it (as I advised you to do) you can rewind to about thirty minutes into the show. The bar scene opens and I am in the back left wearing a shirt that looks like it's white, carrying a tray around the pool table. I'm sure you all saw Ryan playing pool! (He's famous.) But my "big" scene is later (about fifty minutes in). When Rory and the guy with the orange shirt are walking down the street on their way to the cab, they stop to talk. Ryan crosses behind them "drunk" and then I cross in a big yellow jacket. THAT WAS ME. Rewind and pause. It's like I'm the star.

Well, you will notice that I write this at six in the morning. Most of you will assume that it is because I have not slept yet. Well, in this particular case, you're wrong. I'm actually up, showered and have already dried my hair. I know, I know. I can't believe it either. But the film starts shooting today. I don't remember if I've mentioned it, and I don't have time to surf old posts so I'll just say that it's an independent feature-length film that Ryan is a lead in and I'm the Production Designer. (Although due to an unreasonable amount of "like" on the part of the director and producer, I may just end up in the film with some lines as well.)

Okay, more on that later. LA traffic is my mortal enemy and I must go combat her. *Flexes newly discovered driving muscles and cajones (can you flex cajones?)*

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Allie: Did you hear the news?
Ryan: Most likely.
[Silence]
Allie: That’s it?
Ryan: What’s what?
Allie: That’s the end of the dialogue? You don’t want to know what the news is?
Ryan: I told you, I would assume I already know it.
Allie: So you’re not even curious?
Ryan: Not really.
Allie: You suck.
Ryan: I’m sorry.
Allie: Does anyone want to know what the news is?
Adam: I do.
Allie: Yes! Thank you! Okay, so they’ve decided when Alias will start up again!
Ryan: I told you I already knew it.
Adam: That’s it? That’s your news?
Allie: Yeah, doesn’t it rock?
Adam: No, no it doesn’t. That definitely was not worth the trip. I’m going back to Salem.
[Exit Adam]
Allie: Hey, he left without hearing when it is going to start.
Ryan: I don’t think he cares.
Allie: He wanted to be in a dialogue. The least he could have done was pretend to be interested.
Ryan: Maybe he should have picked a more interesting dialogue to pop up in.
Allie: Shove it.
Ryan: Consider it shoved.
Clio: I want to know when Alias will premiere!
Ryan: Wait a minute… you can’t make Clio talk.
Allie: I can do whatever I want. I am the hand of god in this blog and I will use my powers as I see fit.
Ryan: Yeah, but employing the dog? Don’t you think that’s a little desperate?
Allie: Careful, don’t offend the hand of god.
Ryan: Or what, you’ll cut me out of your lame-ass dialogues?
Allie: You’re going to regret that. Michael, please show Ryan the way out.
[Michael Vartan grabs Ryan and roughly forces him toward the door.]
Ryan: You can’t do this! This is fictional!
Allie: Oh yeah, tell it to the bruises, Jacko!
[Ryan is forced out the door by the beautiful hands of greek-god-Vartan.]
Michael: Allie, I was wondering if you could tell me when Alias premieres.
Allie: They didn’t tell you? I’m surprised. You do star in it.
Michael: Oh, they told me, but I’d love to hear it from your sweet lips.
[Allie blushes]
Allie: Oh, okay. If you really want to.
Michael: It’s more than a desire. It’s a necessity.
Allie: Well, they’re moving it to Wednesdays after Lost. So it will begin on January 5th at 9pm.
Michael: You have a way of making even the most mundane things poetic.
Allie: Aw shucks.
Michael: Would you like to run away with me?
Allie: I thought you’d never ask.
Michael: No you didn’t.
Allie: Okay, you’re right. I knew it would happen sooner or later.

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I don’t know if it’s just Los Angeles, or just The Cheesecake Factory, but let me tell you – that place is a well-oiled machine. When Ryan and I went there the other night (yes, the faux-Vartan night) we learned first hand their waiting process. First, you go and give them your name. Then, they punch a few numbers in on the computer and they give you one of those plastic doohickeys* that lights up and vibrates when your table is ready. So, we go wait outside, like good little patrons, and forty-five minutes later the device starts flashing. We go in the restaurant (or factory, I suppose) and hand the doohickey to the woman at the counter, who then proceeds to tell us to “wait over there.” She punches something into the computer, and hands the device to the woman behind her. Woman #2 puts the device away, reads info on her computer (seriously, they were two feet apart… just talk to one another) and then writes the name Ryan on a slip of paper and places it on a counter with ten other slips of paper. Apparently, we weren’t ready to be seated, just ready to be moved into the next corral. We are now standing with ten other disillusioned parties who are also still waiting to be seated. As we are on our second wait, a man approaches woman #1 with the typical, “You said our table would be ready in forty-five minutes and we’ve been waiting over an hour!” Woman #1 asks for his name, punches it into her computer and says, “Sir, it says here that you have been waiting for thirty minutes and that your table will be ready in fifteen.” That’s right. He was bitch-slapped. He walked back outside with his tail between his legs. Don’t mess with the machine, Boyo.

As Ryan and I were walking out of Target this evening, we passed a woman letting two young girls out of her car. The girls could not have been older than thirteen. As they got out of the car, one of the girls yells oh-so-politely** “Mom, my cell is still in the back of the car, if you want to call me, just call Jenny’s.” Excuse me? You are twelve years old, girlies… what do you need a cell phone for? How far away from home can you get without your parents driving you anyway? Shouldn’t they know where you are without having to call? How often are you left alone unsupervised and away from a landline? What is this world coming to?

I find my answer as about two minutes later I walked by a woman and her nine-year-old daughter. The child was sporting a Louis Vuitton purse. Please. What is she carrying in there? Her Barbie chapstick? As I examine the contents of my purse I find: lipstick, checkbook, wallet, cell phone and car keys. I would assume that little Sally is carrying none of these things. She doesn’t even have a driver’s license or credit card, so she doesn’t need a wallet. Why does she need a designer handbag? If she feels the need to clutch something, how about Hello Kitty? It’s much less expensive.

*As I type the word “doohickies” into my computer, I find that is incorrect spelling. It is actually “doohickeys.” I guess when it’s a fictitious word, you aren’t supposed to change the ‘y’ to an ‘ie’ when making it plural.

**Not really politely as much as rudely

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Yesterday I donned my background cap and took the set of CBS’ JAG by storm. Oh yes, I worked JAG. (Lauren, please wipe up that drool. We don’t need to see that.) Sadly, however, I did not work with Catherine Bell or David James Elliot. I suppose the best is still yet to come.

So now that you know I’m not going to regale you with tales of celebrities (unless you count Bud and his dad, Big Bud, among those ranks), prepare yourself to be regaled with tales of the freaks that are my fellow background actors.

Let me begin with the group I spent most of my time with. Somehow I ended up sitting at a booth the entire day (in holding – offstage) with Danny, Renatta and Terri. Danny was way cool. He was incredibly friendly, and had a lot of background/acting experience that he was eager to share. He gives seminars on breaking into the world prepared, apparently, and he basically gave the three of us a mini one. I took notes for Ryan.

For those of you who went to WU with me, to describe Renatta, I would have to say she was a slightly sedated Briana. Yeah, yikes. She even looked like her. The sad part is she wasn’t the most annoying. The most annoying was Terri.

Terri was a busty size 8. I tell you this only because she said it so many times that it was drilled into my head and it is what I assume she would like to be described as. She was constantly posing the question, “Where is the line between vanity and self-confidence?” I assume she wanted us to tell her that she hadn’t crossed it, but I wasn’t about to lie to the girl. She kept saying, “I’m not vain, I just love my body.” She also informed us (on more than one occasion) that you would never see her without a shirt that revealed her cleavage. She worked hard for her body and she was not about to leave the house in an outfit that did not reveal her best feature. She showed us a picture that she carried in her wallet that was taken at Glamour Shots in the mall. In this picture she was a platinum blonde (in reality she was a brunette, but in another picture she was a redhead) with a red strapless dress, leaning over a column with her elbows together. Yessir, she has a large chest.

After viewing her array of pictures of herself, we questioned her constant change of hair colors. She said that it is, indeed, trying on the poor little strands, but that she treats her hair right. She likes to smother it in mayonnaise and sit in a shower cap, letting the oils soak in. The result is a head of luscious, supple locks. The only negative side effect is that ranch dressing doesn’t taste as good anymore. Apparently, once mayo has soaked into your pores the taste is highlighted in all of your mayo-based edibles. Note to self.

The thing that was most irritating about Terri was her constant stream of “facts.” She likes to know things on a molecular level. For visuals she would ball up her fist (the molecule) and smother it with her other hand (the offending chemical). Did you know that MSG is found in 90% of your food whether there is a warning on it or not? Oh, yes it is. There are certain chemicals that combine to create it. You have to look at the labels to see if those chemicals are ingredients. (For the complete list, feel free to ask Terri.) And Equal and other artificial sweeteners will kill you. Antiperspirant is the real devil, though. It has aluminum in it, which plugs up your pores. She uses natural deodorant to avoid such cloggage.

Imagine a stream of information, including, but not limited to, these tidbits, presented to you at a very high pitch by a pair of large boobs. That is what my day was like. Too tell you the truth, I have no doubt that most of her information is right-on. But really, everything is going to kill you eventually, so you might as well spend you life without pit stains. It was impressive how much information she spewed. I guess the key is to type the list of ingredients on any food you eat or product you use into Google. Then you can find out all you need to know. That’s what she does before she uses anything new.

While she was ranting on the horrors of aspartame, the AD came into the room and said, “We need some people to sit at the bar. Does anyone smoke?” With the enthusiasm of a kindergartener asked who wants an extra Jello cup, Terri waved her arms in the air and shouted, “I do! I do!” After filming several scenes in which she lit up, she went outside to have a smoke break.

She came back to our table later and began her antiperspirant spiel again (because a new person had pulled a chair up to our booth and the poor girl probably had no knowledge of the horrors of the Degree she applied every morning) and Danny and I, in amazing unison, shouted incredulously, “But you smoke!” Terri looked at us like we were aliens and countered that yes, she did smoke, but her lungs got just as polluted by breathing the air when driving behind a bus. Danny asked her if she rolled down her window and stuck her head out to better inhale the exhaust. She rolled her eyes and informed us that the world is a polluted place so smoking wasn’t doing her that much more damage. I told her that was like saying, “I already have antiperspirant in my armpits, I might as well apply it to every inch of my skin.” She told me that it was nothing like that, and that it was a choice she made. Danny and I just looked at each other and changed the subject.

I also spent some time at the bar between two sailors, Bench and Jeffery. Jeffery was very annoying, baby faced, and followed me everywhere. I wanted to punch him. Does that make me a bad person?

Also irritating and freaky was Michael. For those of you who went to WU, again, I can best describe him by saying he was very similar to Bennett. I’m not kidding. People like that exist. He was very weird. At one point he stole some papers from the second AD’s desk. They were crew info sheets or something. He took the papers to his little chair and started reading them. The AD walked by and saw that this kid has his papers, snatched them away and said, “Where did you get those? These are confidential!” To which Michael just stared blankly. He also spent a great deal of time in his chair rocking back and forth like a crazy person. It’s too bad I can’t describe him better to you guys. You really had to be there.

So the scenes we shot took place in Big Bud’s Bar, which not only served drinks, but provided the patrons with entertainment. Specifically, female lingerie wrestlers. Yeah. I am sure that they are going to have to do some cutting of the footage, because I saw plenty that was x-rated. Not NC-17... X. I swear. Eww… It should have been called Big Bud’s Vu Show.

Anyhoo… that’s what happened yesterday. You wanna hear what didn't happen? I didn't get to work on Alias because I was working when the call was on the line. That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, it is now official. The casting company I work for is the one that books background for Alias. And I didn't get to do it. Bugger. What makes it even worse was that Alias was filming outside Matt’s office yesterday and I didn’t get to go stalk the set because I was working JAG. Grr… Vartan was there. He bumped into Victoria and smiled at her.

Oh, to be Victoria. *Sigh* Although, next time Vartan apologizes for something, you should definitely say that you don't forgive him, and that the only way he can pay you back for the harm he has caused would be to go out on a date with a certain individual you happen to know that is a big fan. What were you thinking???

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For all of you who wonder what I would do if I actually saw Michael Vartan, I can tell you. I’d flip out, pee my pants, and die of heart failure.

Ryan and I were at The Cheesecake Factory, seated at a two-person booth in a row of similar booths. After our waiter introduced himself to us as Chadwick, he moved to the couple behind me. The gentleman and I were back to back and he was dining with a young lady. Ryan and I were minding our own business, munching (conservatively) on the free sourdough bread when my ears perked up. My ears only perk up at things involving/related to/concerning Alias, of course, so the particular trigger in this case was, predictably, “Jennifer Garner.” When the name crossed the waiter’s lips, I told Ryan to shush and strained to hear the conversation. Regrettably, the only person I could hear was said waiter, and I only heard parts of what he was saying. This is what I caught:

“…the one with Jennifer Garner?”
“I haven’t seen it on. Is it still running?”
“…Sunday nights. I’ll have to set my TiVo.”

After hearing this, I began trying to figure out why C-Dub-Diggity* would talk to these patrons about Alias. The only logical conclusion, like duh, is that these people are somehow involved with the show. While whispering with Ryan, he confirmed what I already held in my heart to be true - the waiter must have recognized one of them. Why else would they talk about the show? From Ry’s viewpoint he could see the lady – no one he recognized. So, we decided it must be the guy. My back was to him, and his back was to us, so we were really shit out of luck. Not one to pass up the opportunity to spot an Alias star, I wrenched my neck around and “casually” looked across the restaurant. I caught mystery man just as he was turning, and saw a brief flash of his profile. What did I see???? A hook nose!

At this point I started hyperventilating and informed Ryan that he had to go check it out… go to the bathroom or something. He stood up, and after realizing that the restrooms were in the opposite direction, he decided to take his phone and go outside to “check his messages.” He did so, and I was left at the table, sweating, panting and completely flipping out. I may very well be back-to-back with Michael Vartan. It is during this period that I decided The Cheesecake Factory is my favorite restaurant and I should come to this particular one every day for the rest of my life.

Ryan was taking for-freaking-ever. I didn’t actually expect him to check his messages. I expected him to walk out the door and turn right back so he could walk to our table and ID my back-buddy. I was contemplating calling his cell and telling him to haul his ass back when he returned to the table. I looked at him anxiously, trying to keep my visible shaking to a minimum, when he looked at me sadly and shook his head.

At least I learned a valuable lesson in all this – I am not cut out for celebrity sightings. But I’m still going to actively seek out Vartan. I mean, come on… wouldn’t you?

*Upon finding out that our waiter’s name was Chadwick, I asked Ryan what he could do if he had such a horrid name. I mean, wouldn’t anyone sane just shorten it to Chad? We thought other nicknames that were an improvement were: C-Dawg, C-Diggity, C-Dubba, and, my favorite, C-Dub-Diggity.

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Ryan is obsessed. Seriously, he can’t stop. It’s an addiction and I just don’t know what to do about it. He is constantly looking at himself in the mirror. Our closet doors are mirrored and he sits at his computer, or on the bed, or sometimes just stands there and looks at himself. The worst is when we’re sitting and having a conversation – does he look at me? No. Why would he do that when there is something more attractive to fixate on?

Celebrity sighting. Oh, that’s right. We were in the Gap with Abigail Breslin. Who is she? Well, she’s a child star, according to her website. She was the little girl on Signs with Mel Gibson. That’s not why I recognized her. I remembered seeing her on Law & Order once. She was a little girl who had two moms due to some fertility clinic mishap. The reason I remember her is because she sobbed practically the entire episode. Kyle and I were making fun of her… we figured the casting agency was like, “Give us a human sprinkler,” and they landed her. No acting skills, just the ability to spew salty tears at the drop of a hat. Anyway, she was accompanying her mom. No paparazzi. Apparently “child star” doesn’t warrant constant attention.

On our way out of the Gap we saw something interesting. A lady in an SUV was pulling a horse trailer – complete with horse. An ugly white thing, but a horse, nonetheless. What is odd about this scenario is that the woman pulled into a parking spot, got out, and proceeded to go into the shopping center. She went into the Gap and left her palomino in the parking lot. HUH? Did the urge to buy a fitted-tee strike her on the way to the stables? Could she not have stopped another time? Without the horse, perhaps?

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I’ve found my soul mate – it’s Patti. Yes, that’s right. She’ll watch Alias with me. Not only will she watch it, but she will watch numerous episodes in one sitting. Today we watched three (Salvation, The Counteragent and The Passage Part I, for those of you who care – who I am guessing are few). If only Matt didn’t come home and ruin everything. Blast him and his bad taste. I mean, really… who doesn’t want to watch Alias all night? What kind of psycho drugs is he on?

The only problem I can find with my new Alias partner is her misguided interest in Will. Come on, Swill (that’s fan-speak for Syd/Will if you couldn’t decode that on your own) fans went out the door years ago. It’s Syd/Vaughn all the way, baby. Patti keeps calling Vaughn a weenie and saying that he doesn’t know Sydney as well as The Willage Idiot ™ does. To that I say – okay, maybe you’re right. But Vaughn is hot and there are numerous scenes fraught with sexual tension. And his watch stopped the day they met. He’s obviously the man for her. Like, duh, Patti. Like, duh.

At least she’s not Sarkney. I would have to terminate our sessions.

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Alright. Due to excessive interest, I’m going to tell you about my day as a star. Or, not star. Extra. But that’s as close to a star as I’ve come, and you weren’t there, so you don’t know – therefore I’m going to call myself a star. So there. *Sticks out tongue*

Oh, and Ryan was a star too.

Okay, for those of you who don’t know, Ryan and I appeared as “background” (the new word for “extra”) on the set of WB’s The Gilmore Girls. Ryan was slated as “Townsperson” and “Yale Student” and I was hired as a “Waitress”.

Once I got there I stood around for two and a half hours before getting an hour lunch break. After lunch I started to work. We moved from the town (where Ryan had been walking) to the Pub. For a three-page scene we shot the same thing from five different angles. Which would not have taken five and a half hours had Alexis Bledel (the daughter) known her lines. Seriously. The girl was horrible. As you know, if you watch the show, she’s not the best actress. Most of the world wonders why they cast her in the first place, but they don’t even know the half of it. It’s like she doesn’t even try. She just rambles what sort of resembles her lines and tries to pass it off. The script supervisor has got to be dying. Poor guy. Anyway, we did like a fragillion takes just ‘cause she couldn’t make it through without stopping. Which, in itself, would not make her a bitch, but her personality put her over the edge. Talk about your spoiled little brat. Sheesh. Every time they would yell ‘cut’, her wardrobe lady would run (and I mean RUN) to her with a giant fluffy coat and wrap her up. Like the girl wouldn’t last a second longer without dying or something. Once they had to hold for a minute because of a technical problem, and little angel Alexis had to wait for a minute. Then the director yelled, “Come on people, she’s out in the cold! Let’s move!” Like we, the background, hadn’t been freezing our butts off for the past six hours. Plus, she had some little phone thing, or palm pilot – I couldn’t figure it out, and she was playing with it every time she wasn’t filming. Like every second. She was punching in things and talking on it. It was like she couldn’t be without it. If she only spent that time looking at her script.

So, there was a lot of standing, and a lot of repeating. And let me just say it was FREAKING cold. Ryan estimates it was 40 degrees. And I concur. We were dying. And since we were supposed to be inside (when we were actually in a shell of a room) we were not allowed to wear coats or anything. So we just froze to death. My poor fellow waitress was wearing a miniskirt and fishnets. She was suffering. At one point my waitress friend (Michelle) and I were inside the bar while they were filming a street scene. They wanted there to be heads in the windows so the place didn’t look empty. Anyway, we were just sitting inside, being heads and shivering. In an attempt to warm up, we were huddling over little restaurant candles. The prop guys were in there too, just sitting at the bar talking (I don’t know why, but I suppose they had nothing else to do) and they felt so sorry for us that they ended up giving us their jackets and gloves.

So the first pub shot started out with the camera following me as I delivered a tray of beers, but in the end it got cut to just starting with my butt. That’s what the cameraman said. We got to talking (he felt bad for me that I was shivering, plus he wanted to compliment me on my stellar waitressing skills) while we were waiting for bitchass to learn her lines. He said that it looked like the first part would be cut, but my butt would definitely get screen time. So keep an eye out for that. Also, Ryan and I are in the background a lot. He’ll be easy to spot in the pub. He’s playing pool and wearing a Willamette/Griffindor scarf. Then there is another scene were girly and her friend are walking down the street in the dark and people are crossing behind them. Ryan comes out with stumbly/drunk boy and I cross a little later in a bright yellow coat. It’s like we’re famous.

Anyway, Ryan put in a fourteen-hour day and I worked for ten (not counting our lunch break). So it was really cold for a really long time. It wasn’t what I could classify as “fun” but it was a good experience, and I think I’ll do it again. It pays, anyway.

It will air on November 30th at 8pm. I’d recommend taping it if you want to see us, because my guess is you’re going to want to pause it to make sure it’s really us. Plus, if you tape it, then when I write you exactly where we cross the screen, you can go back, watch it, and realize that we’re not really stars.

Points of interest:

- We saw Lauren Graham, Scott Patterson, and Alexis Bledel. Ryan picked up Ms. Graham’s newspaper and I brushed up against Alexis a few times.

- Two of the extras had been paired as a couple on Blind Date and ended up sleeping together but never speaking again. So it was really awkward between them but really funny to watch.

- A good portion of the extras use their free time to hit on the other extras. At least three pairs of them ended up going home together at 1:30am when we finally were released.

Also an interesting thing I learned to notice is that shows really reuse their background people. They bank on the viewers not noticing, but when you look it’s really obvious. Ryan and I watched Friends and Will & Grace yesterday and were watching for background actors. In both shows they had the same people walk by, going the same direction multiple times. It was pretty funny. But it’s true… you don’t notice the extras. Unless, of course, it’s a really hot waitress.

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Allie: Do you ever wonder about bananas?
Ryan: All the time.
Allie: I mean, they’re so easy to peel. The perfect outside protecting the mushy inside. Edible completely separate from the inedible.
Ryan: Why does that confuse you?
Allie: It just doesn’t make sense. And how does that benefit the banana in any way? It’s not like it can peel itself to spread its seed.
Ryan: That sort of thing doesn’t really bother me.
Allie: It doesn’t bother you?
Ryan: It’s a matter of convenience.
Allie: How is that convenient for the fruit itself?
Ryan: You damn evolutionist, you.
Allie: Are you telling me that you believe the banana is so easily peelable because that’s the way God made it?
Ryan: Yup. He wanted to make it easy to eat.
Allie: Oye.
Ryan: That’s why he didn’t make chickens come plucked and pre-cooked. Because we weren’t supposed to eat animals.
Allie: Oh no. You’re telling me that not only are you religious, but you’re also a vegetarian?
Ryan: No.
Allie: Wait, but I though we weren’t supposed to eat animals.
Ryan: That was before Eve ate the apple. We’re clear now.
Allie: Okay, granted, I don’t know the story that well… but I feel like I would have heard the part where God told “Eve” that she could chow down on her furry friends.
Ryan: The bible doesn’t go in depth so much when it comes to the progression of eating. But they didn’t eat animals before the apple, and they did after.
Allie: How do you know that? Does it say that somewhere?
Ryan: God told me.
Allie: Did he speak through George W? Because I must say, I don’t think he’s as much of a direct conduit as he claims.
Ryan: If he is a conduit, someone needs to talk to God about raising his standards.
Allie: And why don’t we talk to America about that while we’re at it.
Ryan: I’m on it. Can I finish my beefstick now?
Allie: Go ahead, my child. Go ahead.

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You’ve got to be shitting me. This is the epitome of patheti-lame. I am seriously feeling nauseous. To 50-odd percent of America I’ve just got to ask – what the hell were you thinking? Take off your blinders and remove your earplugs. The man is an undisputed idiot. And he thinks God talks through him? Well, let me just say I don’t know a thing about God but I would certainly hope that he or she would know how to speak English, Spanish, French, Azeri... an actual freaking language instead of the garbly goop this numps spews. What a dolt. Stupid piece of… HOW COULD YOU VOTE FOR HIM???

And let me talk just a minute about the fact that eleven states (including Oregon) passed a measure that writes discrimination and hatred into the constitution. The fact that we even vote on this bullshit is pure and utter insanity. What infringement on your rightwing religious elitist lives is it for homosexuals to marry? People make me sick! How is it possible in this day and age that we can’t allow everyone the basic decency of human rights? WTF is your problem??? I… ugh… grr… ahhhhhh!!!

I don’t know what incenses me more – that people in this country are so incredibly blind and stupid or that they are narrow-minded bigots.

I can’t even talk anymore. I’ll let others talk for me.

“I hate dumbasses.” -Lauren

“I don’t want to think about it, I’m so depressed.” -Matt

“I'm very f***ing pissed off at our stupid conservative f***ing nation and it's goddamned single mindedness and lunacy.” -Sean

“Where did all the smart people go? Did they move to Canada?” -Dad

“I’m going to throw up.” -Mom

Yeah, Mom, me too. I’ll use the supplied barf bag on my flight to Vienna. I’ve got to get out of this place.

I better wake up tomorrow and find that this got sorted out during the night.

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I’ve decided I’m not incredibly fond of the monster that I have become. Just call me Lazysaurus. Sure, indolence is a virtue. But I think I need to look into having more than one enviable quality. So, in my effort to perk up my future personal ads, I’ve made some November resolutions.

1) Get your lazy good for nothing ass out of bed before 9… or 10. Ten. Definitely ten.
2) Though running in bed is highly amusing, it is not as effective as running around the neighborhood. Give that a try.
3) Because of excess Halloween consumption, candy or chocolate of any form is hereby forbidden for 30 days.
4) Do push-ups every night. Perhaps thirty. Maybe one day you’ll be able to do real push-ups. (Otherwise Arnold has permission to call you a girlie-man.)
5) Only vampires stay awake until 6am. So stop it. You’re not a vampire.
6) Figure out whatever is up with the funk you’re in and snap out of it. The people need their funny blogs. They deserve their funny blogs.
7) Stop making fun of vegetarians. They can’t help it.
8) Stop making fun of Bush fans. They can’t help it
9) Start driving. You’ll never learn how to deal with California drivers or figure out how the hell to get from place to place until you try.
10) Stop using the imaginary brake when Ryan drives. Lord knows it doesn’t work, anyway.
11) Stop watching Matt and Patti through the glass doors while they sleep. One of these days they're going to catch you.

There you have it. I figured if I posted this information, I'd be more likely to follow through. We shall see. I have Ryan tasked to be my personal Hitler. I think he's pumped.

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As my loyal readers, you will recall my earlier post regarding my distaste for horror movies. That distaste still stands. Although, I did watch another one. Why? Because Matt is relentless.

This is EXACTLY how I got talked into watching it. You can ask Matt. He'll verify. Besides, we all know I only speak the truth. Well, okay... but I'm speaking the truth now. It is as if there were a court reporter.

Matt: We’re going to watch “Village of the Damned.”
Allie: Okay.
Matt: Come watch it.
Allie: No thanks.
Matt: Come on.
Allie: Nah.
Matt: Are you sure?
Allie: I’m sure.
Matt: It’s not scary.
Allie: I’m not interested.
Matt: It was made in the 50s. It can’t possibly be scary.
Allie: I see your logic.
Matt: It’s a classic.
Allie: It’s just not my type of movie.
Matt: Come watch it.
Allie: I think I’ll pass.
Matt: Just ten minutes.
Allie: I’ve got other things to do… like… uh… you know… important stuff.
Matt: Just watch ten minutes of it.
Allie: I try and make it a policy not to watch movies with “Damned” in the title.
Matt: It’s not scary, it’s just aliens.
Allie: Aliens are scary.
Matt: It’s Sci-Fi.
Allie: I really don’t like Sci-Fi.
Matt: It’s not Sci-Fi.
Allie: You just said that it was. Next thing I know you are going to tell me it’s a romantic comedy.
Matt: It is!
[Allie eyes him warily]
Matt: It’s not scary.
Allie: I believe you.
Matt: Just ten minutes.
Allie: No thanks.
Matt: You have to give it a chance.
Allie: I’d rather not.
Matt: Just ten minutes, then you can go.
[Allie shakes her head and Matt leaves the room. He comes back seconds later.]
Matt: Ten minutes.
[Allie says nothing. Matt leaves the room. He comes back seconds later.]
Matt: Just give it a chance.
Allie: Really?
Matt: Yeah.
Allie: Okay.

So, I watched the movie. I’m spineless.

It's not you, Matt. It's your movie. For the record, even if Michael Vartan wanted me to watch it, I wouldn’t want to. Granted, I would watch it. Because he’s hot, and probably very nice to cling to - but I still wouldn’t enjoy the movie itself.

For all of you out there who are wondering who this crazy Matt fellow is, here is a recent picture. Can’t you see the familial resemblance? We look just like Grandpa Bill.

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The glass door swings open unceremoniously and she is immediately swallowed by an all too familiar smell. As it fills her nostrils she fights the reflexive urge to heave. She wonders briefly why people are compelled to seek out this smell. Why so many people find it calming, even comforting. How so many people manage to inhale it without retching. She expels the air from her lungs in an effort to purge her body of its unwelcome guest. She fails.

Waiting patiently for her turn, she smiles at the irony. Paying for a service she does not want. She does it anyway. She always does.

She slowly sips at the beverage she has always despised. She finds it more appealing than her other options. Perhaps that is how she has convinced herself she can consume it. Perhaps that is why she has subjected herself to it on countless occasions. Perhaps next time she’ll order a cider.

She watches the two men that flank her. The short, blonde one amuses her. He is uncomfortable in his skin – this is readily apparent. He twitches nervously and laughs constantly. Checking his phone for the fifth time in two minutes, he looks up and meets her gaze. Embarrassed, he shoves it back into his shirt pocket. She knows he puts it there so that he will feel the vibration. He wants to leave. Almost as much as she does.

The man to her right is more at ease. He is in his element and comfortable with both parties. He has no one to impress, and therefore impresses neither. They didn’t expect him to.

The men talk of trivial things. Sex. Politics.

“It was the first time I tried it. Before then, I had thought God wouldn’t approve.” He demonstrates with his hand. She wonders if the other patrons are watching. She wonders if God has changed his mind. She doubts it.

“I came into the election impartial. I’ve made up my mind through study and research.” She knows he’s lying. He votes the way his best friend does. The words he spews have come directly from someone else’s mouth. His lips don’t form them correctly.

As the men continue their banter, she reaches into her pocket. She withdraws the knife she keeps there for occasions such as these. Removing the jacket from her now stone-cold beverage, she begins to slice and shave.

Their eyes wander in her direction briefly before landing back on each other. It is as if she does not exist. She doesn’t mind. Existing is overrated.

The men begin to reminisce. A small part of her wishes she had something to offer the conversation. A pearl of wisdom. A note of interest. She has neither. Instead, she focuses her attention on the rapidly dwindling source of entertainment between her fingers.

As she whittles away the final piece of cardboard, her eyes scan the immediate surroundings. She removes the white plastic and digs the knife into it. It slides in easily. Much more easily. Intent on staying within the lines, she barely notices when they mention her.

The blonde one asks his companion if he minds that she never speaks. He says no. She wonders why he didn’t say that she does. That she speaks when she has something to say. That she finds speech is most effective when used sparingly and not merely as a replacement for silence.

If she spoke, she would tell the blonde man that it doesn’t matter if God approves. It matters only if he does.

If she spoke, she would tell the blonde man that his vote is as pointless as they come. That the uninformed are worse than the apathetic.

If she spoke she would tell him she can see through him. That she knows his mind is in his pocket, waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for his invitation out of this place.

The place she never wanted to be to begin with.

But she doesn’t speak.

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My sophomore year in college, I decided I wanted to have a smell. You know how certain smells remind you of certain people? Like when someone breezes by you wearing a particular cologne and as soon as it hits your nose you are struck with memories of a particular individual… I wanted that. I wanted people to think of me when they smelled something good. So I went to the perfume counter and tested out the different fragrances in an attempt to find a particular scent that I would use for the rest of my life.

I came home, a happy customer, with a brand new product. I wore it everyday and loved it dearly. Somewhere along the line I stopped wearing it daily and began to wear it only on special occasions. But now, as I have commenced a new chapter of my life, I have decided that in order to reach my previous goal, I will wear my perfume daily.

And can I just say – love. I love this stuff. I find myself sticking my wrist up to my nose just so I can get a better sniff of it. It is the most comforting and pleasant smell I’ve ever had the fortune to happen across. So I would like to applaud sophomore Allie on her wonderful taste. I can definitely see myself wearing this forever. I can’t get enough of it. Although, I am going to have to stop smelling myself in public. The stares I get are less than flattering.

It recently occurred to me, however, that I have come across this smell before. It hit me the other day, when I had my nose pressed against my wrist… it smells like flowers. Not real flowers. Play Doh flowers. I remember vividly a large white plastic faux-woven basket with holes in it where you put the flower patterns. Then when you moved the handle, the Play Doh would come squishing out, in typical Play Doh fashion. What made this particular item special was not its shape, but its smell. The dough was scented. Now this is what gets me. My perfume is not floral. It’s almond scented - and a dead ringer for Play Doh flowers. Now who’s the confused marketer?

Don’t you love it when junk emails are personalized? “Hello Allie. It’s true! You can now stop paying retail… and START saving up to 85 percent on all your PrinterInk and Toner cartridge needs.” Well, thank you very much Mr. PrinterInk8797 for your generous offer. Since we’re close enough that you can call me Allie, can I call you STOP EMAILING ME YOU FREAK? Seriously, the subject title is “Allie - 'Alwâys uptô [85percent] sâvi.” You tricky little buggers. You got me! I thought you were a good friend of mine ‘cause you had my name in the subject! You’re so sneaky!!

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Because of lack of desktop space paired with my tendency to use my computer up until the point of total and utter exhaustion, I don’t store my laptop on a counter. Instead, I place it on the floor beside the bed. A while ago, Ryan stepped on it by accident, breaking my USB port clean off. He felt horrible, and went to buy me an adapter, so that I would not miss my now dysfunctional port. He’s sweet like that. We all know that it was my fault the laptop was damaged… I mean, how stupid do you have to be to store your computer on the floor? Right, anyway, he felt guilty about it and still does. So I use this guilt to poke at him. Almost daily, when Ryan is walking around the room, I like to remind him not to step on my laptop. Each time that I call out, “Don’t step on my laptop!” he looks at me with puppy eyes and shakes his head in shame. It’s really quite entertaining. You should try it.

Well, today I did something that will forever end my small source of joy – I dropped it. That’s right. I was holding my laptop in my hands, wandering around the room with the wireless card aimed to the sky searching in vain for the neighbor’s signal when my foot stepped on the cord and yanked my four-year old antiquated baby slamming it into the hardwood floor. I could have cried. Luckily, Inspy takes a licking and keeps on ticking… and is currently no worse for the wear. The only thing bruised and battered is my ego, as it only happened twenty minutes ago, but Ryan has already told me “Don’t drop your laptop!” ten times.

Celebrity sighting – Ryan and I saw Laurie Metcalf today at the Halloween store. Does she still count as a celebrity? We’re 99% positive it was her, anyway… but there is no way to be 100% unless you ask and, well, we all know I’d never ask. I did, however, try to get a look at her bank card as she handed it to the cashier. The only thing I managed to find out was that she was a Citibank user. They print those names so freaking small. Dangnabit.

What is this thing with Drive Thru’s having the windows on the passenger’s side? Who thought that up? I don’t approve. What happens if you don’t have a passenger? I have yet to experience that, but I can’t imagine it’s pretty. I can just picture having to lean over the gear shift, the passenger seat, out the window and bridge the gap between my car and the drive thru lady’s outstretched arms. Please. Sometimes I can’t even reach when it’s on the driver’s side. I hereby vow never to go to a passenger Drive Thru by my self for sheer fear of humiliation. I just know that I’d be the dork that actually had to get out of the car and walk around.

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Sometimes when I’m feeling low I like to watch Mamut. I find that the immaturity of it all is like someone farting in class. Short, sweet and embarrassingly funny. I was not in the highest of spirits today, but after one viewing of the online cartoon I felt instantly cheered. Woot woot for the Mamut. I think everyone should have a Mamut… something that instantly brings you happiness. Mine is a cartoon drawn by five year olds who don’t even speak my language. Yet somehow we have an indescribable bond. I lurve me some Mamut creators.

Now, I bet a few of you are thinking – “Ha ha! Mamut is da bomb!” and some of you are thinking “Mamut? HUH?” To the first group I say, “You are my kindred spirits. We will forever be connected in the chicitito land of humor.” To the second group I say, “I would show you the Mamut, I would lead you to the promised land… but you people didn’t like the Instanity Test. If you don’t think the racecar is hilarious (Ryan and I are laughing right now just thinking about it) then I’m not going to waste the Mamut’s time on you.”

Right now I desperately desire a Mudslide. Ryan bought me the pre-made stuff that they sell in grocery stores (I’ll get to that in a minute), but alas, it is 11pm and Matt and Patti are sleeping. Therefore I cannot use the blender. Oh sweet agony, why doest thou taunt me with mudslide near yet far?

Okay, so the liquor in the grocery stores business… why has Oregon outlawed this again? Anybody? Anybody? Bueller? Yeah, I don’t get it. It seems really logical to me, and very convenient. Boo on the state. You have deprived me of a wonderful time and energy saving way of getting boozed up. Yes, you – Oregon. Why were you not fostering my laziness? Did you not want me to grow up and be the immobile slug that I aspire to be? And moreover, isn’t it just encouraging gas consumption? Isn’t it bad for the environment that I have to drive to the liquor store when I’m already at the supermarket? You should be ashamed!

Have you ever taken the time to listen to the Oscar Mayer Wiener song? I mean, really listen to it? You watch the children with their little pudgy faces singing about how “I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener… then everyone would be in love with me.” Is that not wrong on so many levels? First of all, what sane child wishes they were ground up parts of reject meat? Not even the good meat – I mean… this is the stuff they pick up off the floor. And is that how children should want to get love? By tasting good when slathered with mustard? I think we should explain to these young ones that the kind of love they really should desire is not the love a person feels for their hot dog, but the love a person feels for their child.

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Ryan and I were driving to Kinko’s last night, unaware that it was “bad driver night” here in LA. Bring me your crazies, psychos and just plain oblivious masses… and put them behind the wheel. Holy buckets, we saw three very close calls in the five-minute drive to the photocopy superstore. So, when we parked and exited the car I was not surprised to be bombarded by the shrill honking of countless horns. As I walked to the front door, however, I was really starting to worry. I mean, this was the sound of a whole lot of horns… all honking repeatedly. So, I hesitantly went around the corner to peer at the crash site or the duck in the road – whatever had caused this cacophony. When my eyes finally fell upon the scene I actually bust up laughing and considered running back to Ryan’s car and joining in the honk-fest. Turns out there was a make-shift Kerry rally going on. The busy intersection teemed with Kerry fans asking to “Honk 4 Kerry” and “Honk for Change.” The more original participants were bearing signs like “Asses of Evil,” “Dubya, We’re Gonna Dump Ya,” and “4 More Wars.” My personal favorite – “Smush Bush!” Anyway, I snapped a few pictures, but they didn’t really come out. All I could salvage were a few signs… here’s one:



The highlight of the evening was when we left Kinko’s and turned the corner, away from the honking masses, and there was a little Pro-Bush group trying to out-yell the swarm of Kerry fans. There were probably ten of them, and they obviously did not come prepared. It looked as though they had uprooted lawn signs. No creativity. Tsk, tsk. Poor little kids were turning blue they were shouting so hard over the cheering and the honking. Almost felt sorry for them. Then I remembered that they were voting for BUSH.

Got a job today. Well, sort of. It got a job for November 13th. It’s a one-day gig… but I take what I can get and one-day is certainly better than no-day. So WOOO HOOO for me. And woo hoo for the fact that Matt and Patti’s neighbors own their own production company.

I bought a button online today. Don’t know when I became politically outspoken, but I guess some of this stuff just really gets my goat and I want people to know that I think some things are crappy. This is what the button has on it:



Turns out I’ve overused my left control key on my laptop. I learned this the hard way, of course. I’m an avid cut-and-paste person, so I use the ‘control c’ shortcut. For the third time in a row I ‘control c’d an entire paragraph and it turned into just a little ‘c’. In Word, this would not be a problem as I could ‘control z’ myself right out of it… but when in text boxes online – there is no ‘control z.’ This makes me not happy. I have been relegated to using my right control button. It’s really more trying than you think.

Oh, yeah – SMUSH BUSH.

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When I’m frustrated with the options under the “entertainment” section of the classified ads, I click “display all” on the off chance that some fabulous job that I have yet to consider will jump out and bite me. This has yet to happen. I do notice, however that 9/10 jobs are in marketing and advertising. I think that they should cease this effort to increase their workforce. These people obviously have too much time on their hands. I thought checkout stand televisions were bad – now they’ve resorted to selling space on hubcaps. A taxi passed me today with Virgin Records emblazoned on the wheels. Is this really what we’ve come to? Is there no space left sacred? Is it too much to ask for a nice shiny metal hubcap free of decals and slogans?

Sometime ago – when I started actually going out and paying for my own meals – I got into the habit of ordering water with dinner. This was not a health thing. It was a cheap thing. I figured if I was going to pay for the food I sure as hell wasn’t going to pay for the drink as well. Besides, water washes things down just as well as pop. (Plus, Ryan tends to order pop and I just sip out of his if there are free refills). This method is employed at the grocery store too. When purchasing my groceries, I tend to avoid the pop and juice aisle. I label it an unnecessary expense. Anyway, I’ve taken this habit with me to California, and I’m suffering for it. The water here tastes remarkably like... poop. It took me a while to figure out exactly what it was I tasted. I knew it was a little off, but it was not until I smelled my water bottle that had day old water in it that I actually pinpointed where I had encountered that odor before. (And no, it’s not my water bottle that smells. It’s the water. I’ve done the research.) Now I am forced to do what I could never before stand – put lemon in my water. I always thought ill of people that requested the slice of citrus, or even worse, bottled water. I regarded them as snobs and people who wanted to seem more sophisticated than they really were. I now know the truth – they were people who weren’t from Salem and didn’t know that it was possible to enjoy drinking water without plugging their nose.

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Last night I got another glimpse into the life of a citizen of Los Angeles coping with the rain. It’s not a pretty picture, my friends - not pretty at all.

Let’s take for example, the lady at Ralphs. It was pouring down rain, I will admit. Okay, her hair was nice and dry – this is also true. But even when I put these two things together I can't find a reason for her to do what she did. Standing inside of the store, the woman grabbed a plastic shopping bag and put it over her head. My first instinct was that she might be attempting to suffocate herself. Not the case. She spent a little too much time completely covered for my liking, but eventually she pulled her face out of the bag and used the handles to secure the plastic over her hair. I have two questions for this woman:

1) It’s 8pm. Where the hell are you going that is so important that you cannot get your hair wet?
2) Was it really that well styled to begin with?

Her poor children looked on with expressions somewhere between bewildered and embarrassed. I couldn’t blame them. The younger one asked her mom to wait a second while she gathered the bags from the cart. Her retreating figure informed them that she was not to be slowed. The two girls watched as their mother shuffled the 30 feet to her car, then they grabbed the groceries and doddled after her – unbagged, of course.

I was talking to my online friend (oh, come on – all the cool people have them) about “real” friends. I have decided that they are incredibly hard to come by at this point in life. Where does one go to meet a new friend? I can’t meet them in class or on campus, and I’m certainly not going to meet them in this foreign land people call “the workplace.” Should I go to a bar to pick up a friend, like trashy men pick up trashy women? But then wouldn’t I just end up with a trashy friend? Other suggestions include taking a yoga class, or a play on a sports team, even joining a gym. I find these ideas problematic considering my distaste for physical exertion. Perhaps I could join a chess club? I don’t know how to play. Rotary? Do I look like an old man to you? I find that I have no friend-making hobbies. Except of course, Alias… but then again I acquire friends that could not be placed in the “real” category. Maybe I’ll just hang out with Clio. She’s real, right?

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Alright. I retract my earlier post. Please, stay off the roads… it’s raining out there.

It seems that when they constructed this angelic little city they didn’t account for the prospect of rain. Due to what I can only assume was poor planning and sub-par construction – the streets are hell when wet. The arc of the pavement sends all of the water rushing to the sides where it piles up alongside the curb. Now, in Oregon, this would be where the drains come in. Not so in sunny LA. Because of excessive garbage or poor draining system, the water just builds up and creates giant pools. It’s like driving on a giant bowling alley with gutters full of rushing water. In intersections I was tempted to get out my suit and go for a swim – the cars looked like they were enjoying it. I now know why there are so many SUVs on the road. Ryan’s poor Protégé was in desperate need of stilts or galoshes. I’d say there were about 8 inches of standing water on average in the intersections. I pity the fool who stands on the side of the road when a car passes by. Tsunami.

Since I feel that somewhere along the line it became my duty to entertain you and I have fallen short once again - I offer this link which has not once, in the three years I have visited it, failed to make me laugh.

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Batten down the hatches!

Hide the children!

Run for cover!

Save yourselves!!!

It’s… it’s…

IT’S RAINING!

AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Well, shiver me timbers. Am I wrong to assume that Los Angeles has seen rain before? 'Cause I had thought they saw the odd drop or two, but from the sounds of the news anchors, it seems as though this is a foreign thing for them. They’re declaring storm warnings and warning us of the hazards of driving. Yes, Ms. Weatherwoman, I will hide in the safety of my home, lest I get wet and ruin my new perm. What the hell?

This must be what people from Colorado think when Salem schools close because of three inches of snow.

So, Ryan and I have been having a Smallville marathon. He bought the first season (at WB for half-price) and we’ve watched it practically straight through. Now we just have to buy the second and third season to find out what happens.

I must admit, it is a pretty good show. Although, I could do without the villains. I know, I know, they’re an integral part… blah blah blah. I find them creepy and tedious. We know what’s going to happen. We know that some random Smallville citizen is going to stumble into some kryptonite – I’m sorry, “meteor rock” – and gain some power. But said citizen, not being as morally sound as Clark, is not going to use his newfound power wisely. He is going to abuse it and cause harm to an innocent victim. But never fear, speedy Clark will be there just in time to stop the bullet before impact.

And while we’re on the topic of predictable, let me just say – I have trouble with the concept of prequels. It’s like the Star Wars thing. Why would I watch it when I know what happens? How do they expect me to root for Natalie Portman and the blonde dude when I know he turns into Darth Vader? How do they expect me to want Clark and Lana to get together when I know he’s going to end up with Lois? Why do they want me to believe that Lex is a good guy when I know he’s eeeeevil? And why that twist, huh? I’m feeling bad for the bad guy. I don’t want him to go evil. It’s not his fault – it’s the people around him! They made him do it! EVIL PEOPLE. You see what this prequel nonsense does to me?

And don’t get me started on the Alias prequels… Noah??? NOAH? I’m supposed to believe she gets goosebumps around “No!Augh!” – not likely. Vaughn. It was always Vaughn. Even before she met him. Vaughn, Vaughn, Vaughn.

Because of lack of material, I am forced to supplement this little post with a few special requests:

1) To my dear readers: If you would like to make Ryan do the ‘happy dance’ please click on this link. Once there, click on the digit that corresponds with the number you see spelled out on your screen. No, you will not win anything (besides his undying affection) and no, you will not be signed up for anything (besides the list of people who he will love forever.) You will simply add another soldier to his army (currently at 13) in his online game. And yes, in case you were wondering, you can do this once every twenty-four hours, furthering his chances at defeating the online baddies.

2)

3) “Hummers support Terrorisim!!!” – Jeff Pritchard

4) “Michael Vartan is gorgeous.” (Okay, it was me, you caught me.)

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Big news, dear readers! Big news!

Five celebrity sightings for today – count them, five!

Star: David Spade
Role: CJ, 8 Simple Rules
Number of Sightings: One
Shortest Distance from Allie: One foot
Details: Mr. Spade was walking through the door of Stage 6 at the same time as Ryan, Matt and I were. He was speaking heatedly on his cellular phone. We sat on the bench outside the door and he proceeded to talk for a good five minutes.
Wardrobe: Casual: Cargo pants, t-shirt.
Interaction: None.

Star: Victor Garber
Role: Jack Bristow, Alias
NoS: Two
SDfA: Five feet
Details: Mr. Garber passed Ryan and I while on his bicycle (complete with “Spy Daddy” plate.) He also spent some googling with a baby outside the building we were sitting outside of.
Wardrobe: Casual: Red shirt, gray pants.
Interaction: Brief glances in our direction.

Star: Ron Rifkin
Role: Arvin Sloane, Alias
NoS: One
SDfA: Fifteen feet
Details: Mr. Rifkin emerged from a nearby door, grabbed his bicycle (I didn’t get a look at the plate), and rode away.
Wardrobe: Costume: Black turtleneck, Gray suit.
Interaction: None.

Star: Mia Maestro
Role: Nadia Santos, Alias
NoS: Two
SDfA: Ten feet
Details: Ms. Maestro was spending some time just hanging out side. Eventually she decided to go for a walk. When she came back, she was on a bicyle. Talked with Victor Garber.
Wardrobe: Costume: Light green sheer robe, slippers. Hair: Ponytail.
Interaction: Looked intently at Ryan as she rode by.

Star: Jennifer Garner
Role: Sydney Bristow, Alias
NoS: One
SdfA: Twenty-five feet
Details: Ms. Garner came out to oogle at the baby. Spent about 8-10 minutes chatting with the mother – obviously a friend.
Wardrobe: Costume: Green shirt, black pants. Hair: Down.
Interaction: None.

There you have it, my day of stars. You’ll notice that there was no real interaction. I’ll admit that it wasn’t for lack of opportunity, rather for lack of guts. I couldn’t bring myself to approach them. I had most opportunity with Victor and even considered talking to him – but I just couldn’t get up the courage. Damn me, anyway.

I did get to see the Alias set and even walk through it several times. I spoke briefly with some of the crew, though I did not get their names or positions. I took a picture of myself with one of the signs (I know, I’m obsessed). They were shooting hospital scenes in the basement where Matt works. They painted the walls white and put up red signs all over. They even doctored the elevators to make them look like they belonged in a hospital. It was way cool.

I also spent some quality times with Jen’s famous pink bicycle and dorkily enough got a picture of it. Ah, the life of a stalker.

Anyway, it was great to see the stars in the flesh. Hopefully, next time I will get their autographs, pictures – or at least speak to them! AH!

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Alright... this is neither humorous, entertaining, nor is it offensive to the ruler of the free world -but frankly, I'm just not inspired.

However, I did just get back from an awesome experience that I wanted to share. I went to a place called the "Hotel Cafe" in Hollywood. It's a hole in the wall place that costs $6 to get into. We went at 7:30 and were the second group of people there... so we got the table right in front. RIGHT IN FRONT. I was five feet away from Joshua Radin when he performed. Five feet from him and only cost me $6. I love LA.

If you don't know who he is... then you should go to www.joshuaradin.com. He's not famous yet, although his song played on an episode of Scrubs and is on the soundtrack of the new (and very good) movie Garden State. He will be famous soon, I betcha. Go to his website and click on 'media' on the left-hand side. Listen to his song "Winter." It's beautiful acoustic stuff. I highly recommend it.

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Since I don’t want to turn this into a political blog, and since I know little about politics… I’ll just focus on what’s important – the superficial. Dodge the hard issues and get to what really matters – George’s big fat mistakes. (On a personal note - I won't hate you if you like Bush. The question is, will you hate me?)

Was anyone else distracted by the large blob of spit that had accumulated and taken up residence in the right corner of Bush’s mouth? Dude. Someone needed to get him a towel or use sign language to communicate the word “slurp.” The man was having serious issues.

Umm… “Hello wardrobe department? Yes, this is George W. I’d like to get Kerry’s lucky tie for the third debate. Cool? Cool.” Yeah, Kerry wore the same tie to every debate and now Bush’s sporting its long lost cousin? Wuzzup wit dat, yo?

Allie’s Helpful Hints to Gee Double-Ya Bush:

1) Just because Kerry says you said something or did something that makes you look bad, you can’t deny it if it’s true. Yes, you own a timber company. Yes, you said you didn’t care where Osama was hiding. Learn your lesson.

2) The incredulous face really doesn’t work for ya. You know, the one were you look all constipated and open your mouth, thereby implying that what Kerry is saying is fictional? Not attractive, nor helpful to your cause.

3) Try not to rip on the credibility of the moderator. It’s a no-no to say that CBS is not a reliable informant when they bankroll Mr. Schieffer. And if you don’t think the major news sources are reliable, who is? Should I turn to georgebush.com for some unbiased facts?

Bush: "In all due respect, I'm not so sure it's credible to quote leading news organizations about -- oh, nevermind. Anyway, let me quote the Lewin report. The Lewin report is a group of folks who are not politically affiliated."

And CBS is being funded by Democrats? Yeah, nevermind is right.

4) That little red light? Yeah, that mean’s you’re DONE.

5) Don’t laugh out loud. You sound like the devil. Little children will run from you. I know I want to.

6) That pause you do – the one where you’re waiting for the audience to react? Yeah. Cut it. You’re not as funny as you think you are. No one is laughing, so don’t wait for it. It ain’t coming.
Example:

Schieffer: I would like to ask you: Who bears responsibility for this? Is it the government? Is it the insurance companies? Is it the lawyers? Is it the doctors? Is it the administration?
You: Gosh, I sure hope it’s not the administration.
[Mother of all silences ensues]

… see right there. You should have just kept on trucking. Maybe we wouldn’t have noticed that you were trying to make a joke.

7) Don’t refer to yourself as “George W.” I can refer to myself in the third person, but you – can’t. Not cool.

8) If you want to get the vote of the younger audience, don’t refer to them as youngsters.

9) Try and keep from contradicting yourself in the same speech. When you say that you will give jobs to Mexicans “as long as there is no American willing to take it” and then in the next breath say you don’t want them to “live in the shadows of society” you confuse me. Is that not in the shadow when they only get the reject jobs?

10) When they give you two minutes, try and take at least 20 seconds of it. Otherwise you look like you don’t know the answer. Perhaps you don’t?

11) Don’t pound on the podium. It doesn’t help your rabid monkey image.

12) Okay, now listen well – the scowl jokes are not funny. Instead of focusing all that energy into witty remarks about the hideous facial contortion, try just not making it.

13) Please, god… SLURP THAT STUFF UP.

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Allie: If you were a bell, would you go “ding dong ding dong ding”?
Ryan: I suppose. What else do bells do?
Allie: They toll.
Ryan: But how does one toll?
Allie: Good point.
Ryan: So, speaking of bells… how do you think Tinkerbell got her name?
Allie: I’m sorry?
Ryan: It’s a valid question.
Allie: Valid, perhaps. Strange, most definitely.
Ryan: Does this mean you’re not answering?
[Pause]
Allie: Maybe she took too long to potty train.
Ryan: Answer, perhaps. Smartass, most definitely.
Allie: Can I get a verdict on that one?
Judge1: No, you’re not a smartass.
Judge2: Definitely not a smartass.
Judge3: You’re beautiful.
Allie: Thank you. Dismissed.
[Exit Judges]
Ryan: Oh, like those votes weren’t purchased!
Allie: Are you accusing me of something, Mr. Carty?
Ryan: Do sailors swab decks?
Allie: I would perhaps be better qualified to answer that if I knew what it meant to ‘swab’. You mean like a cotton swab? Are you asking me if sailors clean the earwax off decks? Cause if that’s the case – then no. I don’t believe they do.
[From the next state a voice is heard]
Lauren: Did I hear something about sailors?
Allie: Isn’t it funny how we can see her drooling from here?
Ryan: I can’t blame her. There’s just something about dress whites that gets a girl all hot and bothered.
[Lauren and Allie raise a collective eyebrow]
Ryan: I… uh… er…I’ve got to go. My video game buddies are calling me.
[Exit Ryan]
Allie: Great. My chatting partner is gone. What do I talk about?
Lauren: I think you need to talk about the bane of your existence.
Allie: Cankles?
Lauren: No. The anonymous reviewer
Allie: Dude. What is up with that person? Or is it multiple people? Or, are they all Ryan just trying to be nice to me?
Lauren: … which is a very plausible option.
Allie: Very.
Lauren: But let’s assume for a moment that it’s not him. Why would someone have something that they thought was important enough to say, yet fail to be held accountable?
Allie: That's what I’m saying.
[Silence]
Allie: Do you think I could smoke them out? Or should I not discourage them – cause anonymous or not, I do enjoy them?
Lauren: Hmm. Let us hypothesize.
Allie: Yes, let us.
Lauren: Then, when we discover the source or their trepidation, we can take remedial measures.
Allie: Brilliant!
Lauren: Thank you.
Allie: You’re welcome.
Lauren: Okay, so… why? Why would one do this?
Allie: Perhaps to be nice, while at the same time not drawing attention to themselves.
Lauren: Why not draw attention to themselves?
Allie: Yes... If they were flaming me, I could see their reasons for anonymity, but positive feedback is not a thing to hide.
Lauren: Who is this mystery person? One would assume they are already on the short list of people you feel comfortable enough with to actually give this site address to.
Allie: One would assume.
Lauren: It's not a random passerby, nor is it a talent scout – bummer.
Allie: Bummer indeed.
Lauren: And so the question remains…
Allie: Who is it?
Lauren: …and what are they hiding? I mean, for heaven’s sake, I have the guts to call Ryan out and still post my name.
Allie: Not that you haven't called him out to his face – but point taken.
Lauren: How many seconds do you think my finger held poised over the enter button on that one?
Allie: I’m going to go with none.
Lauren: Anonymous or named; anonymous or named…
Allie: Well, let's look at the bright side. At least this situation has taught me how to spell the word 'anonymous'.
[Silence]
Allie: You really don’t think the muffin joke is funny?
Lauren: No. No, I don’t.
Allie: Maybe you have to hear it again.
Lauren: No. No, I don’t.
Allie: So there are these two muffins in an oven…

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So I was in the mood for ice cream last night, and I found that all we had was vanilla. Which, under normal circumstances, would be fine. Normal circumstances, of course, meaning that there was chocolate sauce in the fridge. These, however, were not normal circumstances. I’m not one for eating plain vanilla. Something about it just doesn’t sit well with me. I think it might have something to do with my childhood – but I’d rather not get into that. Anyway, here I sit, vanilla ice cream in one hand, and in the other, the refrigerator door. Inside the fridge I find… get ready for it… nothing. Nothing except eggplants, other random veggies, some cheese and Pepsi. Not being a fan of eggplants and not even remotely curious why they haven’t marketed cheese flavored ice cream, I opt for the Pepsi. I create a Pepsi float. I will never create such a monstrosity again. Gag me with a wooden spoon. The stuff was putrid. So bad, in fact, that I think I may now have an aversion for the cola itself.

I think something is seriously wrong with me. I mean, I’ve had inklings for a while now, but I have just recently started to come to terms with it – and to talk about it. Here’s the thing… I only like fast food burgers. Specifically, Burger King and McDonalds. The smaller and smushier they are, the better they taste. I can’t have homemade hamburgers… I just can’t. I try and try. I get them hot off the grill and prepare them just how I like them. If I’m lucky, I’ll take a bite or too. Lately, I don’t even have a bite. Why do I even bother making them? Because I like burgers! I order them at fast food places, and I enjoy them. But when they’re not from the microwave I just can’t stomach them. We went to In and Out the other day and Matt was saying how great the burgers are – how fresh and unlike fast food. He was right, and I couldn’t eat it. I prefer the cheap, crappy, probably made out of rat-parts variety. Am I a product of society? Are all kids my age like this? Is Burger King open this late? I’m getting hungry.

The world has hit an all time low… televisions in supermarkets. That’s right – no longer do you have to be bored while waiting in line at the grocery store! Flat screen monitors will keep you entertained. Don’t open those magazines, just open your eyes and look at the blaring images coming from the checkout stand! Comedians make jokes about food, television chefs teach you how to sharpen knives, magazines tell you what’s in their latest issue and you even get a few recipes! Is this really necessary? Wouldn’t it just be easier to put a bullet in my head?

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So, in my continued effort to increase my slothiness, I decided to try drugstore.com – rather than haul my ass to a Rite Aid. And let me just say, why did I not try this earlier??? This little site is a fabulous invention! Not only is my prescription $12 bucks cheaper a month (which will really add up) but it comes to me in the mail! I don’t even have to leave the house. Go, people! Flock to drugstore.com and join me in my fight for immobility!

I went to the Warner Brothers lot yesterday. Then, when I arrived home, Patti was watching Sex and the City – the one where Carrie goes on the WB lot. Coincidence? I think not. It obviously means that… uh… okay, maybe it was just a coincidence.

For the record, DVDs are incredibly inexpensive if you buy them straight from the studio. All of the studio’s shows can be purchased for half price, as well as all of the movies and series released under their name. For example, at Warner Brothers you not only can get WB shows, like Smallville and Gilmore Girls, but you can also get HBO series (like Sopranos and Sex and the City – for $20 a season) and BBC stuff (like The Office). Oh, and National Geographic specials. It’s a plethora of discount, my friends. (Guess what you’re getting for Christmas!) Apparently, this works with all studios with the exception of Disney. Disney, I have come to find, is not discount friendly. In their on-site store they sell things for retail price. How rude. I can get Alias DVDs cheaper from Amazon.com than I can from the studio. It’s incredibly unfortunate. I suppose that is the price you pay for quality product.

I have been keeping my eyes peeled, but no celebrity sightings. I don’t know where they hide. If you think about it, there are hundreds out there that I would recognize if I saw them… and they are living here, in the very same city. But do I see them? NO. Bah. I’m disappointed.

Vote Kerry.

Did y’all see that debate last night? Wasn’t it hilarious when Bush started talking right over the moderator? And poor Charles Gibson was trying to politely get him to stop but Bush just plowed right through? That cracked my shit up. Bush was incredibly rude and insistent on talking. But when he did…

"BUSH: You tell Tony Blair we're going alone. Tell Tony Blair we're going alone. Tell Silvio Berlusconi we're going alone. Tell Aleksander Kwasniewski of Poland we're going alone.
There are 30 countries there. It denigrates an alliance to say we're going alone, to discount their sacrifices. You cannot lead an alliance if you say, you know, you're going alone. And people listen. They're sacrificing with us.

GIBSON: Senator?

KERRY: Mr. President, countries are leaving the coalition, not joining. Eight countries have left it.

If Missouri, just given the number of people from Missouri who are in the military over there today, were a country, it would be the third largest country in the coalition, behind Great Britain and the United States. That’s not a grand coalition."

Ha ha ha ha… Another highlight was when Bush ‘forgot’ he owned a timber company and asked the audience if they’d like some wood. Dorko. If you didn’t see the debate but want to check it out, go here.

There is a HUGE downside to living with Matt - especially in the month of October. He has an obsession with horror movies. I, on the other hand, have a strong distaste for them. He and Patti insist on watching scary movies and making me watch them - because they're 'classics'. I have already watched three. Which is more than I have watched in my entire life. And I've already spent one entire night with the light on. I know I sound like a five year old, but I really can't handle scary movies. Tonight, while watching 'The Ring' I freaked out, jumped every other second, cried, and accidentally punched Ryan in the face twice... and Matt is giving me shit the whole time, telling me to watch. And just now, as I sit on the computer trying to rid the graphic images from my mind, Matt slips a piece of paper with a ring drawn on in under the door. He's trying to kill me... I know he is. Like when he said, "Allie, you have to watch this part! Look, look!" and so I do, and it's the part where the creepy girl of death climbs from the television screen and kills the guy. Yeah. That was a must see. It is going to be a really long month... and another night with the lights on.

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NO NO NO NO NO. I just spent at least half an hour typing up a blog and then I pressed 'publish' and it disappeared! NO!!!!!!!! I just might cry. It was pretty freaking funny too. I had Ryan in stitches. I don't think I have the strength to recreate.

Well, you’re not going to get the good version. I’ll just warn you. You’re getting whatever I have the energy left to hack up…

Driving in Los Angeles is a whole other world, my friends. And I, being the selfless goat I am, do not want you to enter this world without a little forewarning. So – you have been forewarned.

Tips and tidbits:
1) Yellow lights do not mean yield. If you yield to a yellow light in Los Angeles you are officially an asshole. Everyone runs them. Even cops. I’ve seen it. Just think of yellow lights as green and continue on your way. It’s the first five or so seconds of the red light that are equivalent to the rest of the world’s yellow.
2) Going along with that… green lights don’t mean go. They mean ‘wait for the people running the red light to finish, then go.’
3) When someone signals to indicate that they want to change lanes, let them. They’re going to go whether you do or not, so it’s in your best interest to allow it. You can use this to your advantage. If you want to get over and there’s no space, simply put on your signal. They’ll let you in. For all they know you might be crazy enough to do it without their help.
4) Bring a friend. Carpool lanes are god’s gift to LA driving. While the solo drivers are poking along at a mere 15 mph, the cool people in the carpool lane are cruising by at 45. I’d advise sticking your tongue out as you pass. Oh, and feel free to yell something along the lines of, “Hey, asshole! See that smog that engulfs your fair city? That thick shit that makes it so that I can’t see my hand in front of my face? That’s your fault, jackass. Yeah, you, in the porche. And you, in the Hummer! Don’t think I don’t see you! Bring a buddy, next time. Do you hear me? A BUDDY!”
5) I don’t know if it’s legal or not, but it seems to be the general consensus that motorcycles need not stay in lanes. They can go wherever the hell they want. Shoulder? Sure! Bike lane? Absolutely! Along that dashed line? Why not! Between those two semis? Don’t mind if I do!
6) When someone tells you to take a freeway, don’t let them give you the name. Ask for the number. If they tell you to take the Hollywood Freeway, they could be referring to the 170 or the 101. The Ventura Freeway? The 101 or the 134. Oh, and the 101 also goes by the Santa Ana Freeway. Which is also one of the names of Interstate 5. Or, “the five.” Or you could call it the Golden State Freeway, or perhaps the San Diego Freeway. The 405 is also called the San Diego Freeway, though… so be careful not to get confused. Maybe you’d like to take the 10, aka the Santa Monica Freeway. You might know it by it’s other name – the San Bernadino Freeway. Not to be confused with the other San Bernadino Freeway, the 215…

I went to see “Shark Tale” today in the world’s largest ­­­_____. I don't even know what we're supposed to call this monstrosity. I looked it up. Some refer to it as ‘an upscale dining, shopping and entertainment destination’. I call it LA’s answer to Vegas. Complete with Bellagio water show. This place was so crazy huge that it has its own trolley system. And for some reason I was always confused as to whether I was outside or inside. There were lights strung up to look like a ceiling, and space heaters to keep the temperature comfortably hot. And even in the parking garage – when I knew I was outside, I was walking on plush carpet that was lit by chandeliers and watching HDTV on large flatscreen monitors. And the theatre… yikes. This thing was like an elegant hotel. Red carpet, marble everything, golden chandeliers everywhere. They even had the staff dolled up like bellhops – hat and all. It’s called The Grove. You know, cause it’s all natural. RIGHT. And I suppose I’d need a valet for my limo when I go to pick some oranges. Just throw in a few multi-named freeways…

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