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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Allie: I want to blog, but I've got nothing to say.
Ryan: Then don't blog.
Allie: How utterly predictable.
Ryan: Ass.
Allie: No cussing. Children might be reading.
Ryan: I can see it now - children pushing each other out of the way, running from the playground in a mad rush to read your blog.
Allie: Ass.
Ryan: Ah, ah, ah... the kiddies.
Allie: My bad. So, anyway...
Ryan: Let me guess. You want to blog.
Allie: Am I that transparent?
Ryan: Like butta'. Wait. That's not transparent.
Allie: I find this conversation far from entertaining. What do I pay you for again?
Ryan: Shh... the grandparents.
Allie: Alright, alright. So tell my dear viewers your news.
Ryan: I'm a woman.
Allie: They already knew that. Tell them your other news.
Ryan: You mean *gasp* the auditions?
Allie: Well, yes. I mean the auditions. Though I could have done without the sarcasm. Waiter, bring me a martini.
Waiter: Right away, Ma'am.
Allie: Excuse me?
Waiter: Miss. Right away miss.
[exit waiter]
Allie: No tip for him.
Ryan: You weren't going to tip him anyway.
Allie: Alcohol is obscenely expensive. I can't afford to tip as well.
Ryan: Says the woman applying for unpaid internships.
[enter waiter]
Waiter: Here's your drink.
Allie: Gracias, muchacho.
[exit waiter]
Ryan: He didn't look Spanish to me.
Allie: What, like 'gracias' isn't universally accepted as 'thanks'?
Ryan: Damn.
Allie: Oh my god.
Ryan: What?
Allie: Don't look now...
[Ryan immediately looks]
Allie: I told you not to look!
Ryan: That's like the first rule of the jungle.
Allie: What?
Ryan: If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you. You'll just die in the jungle alone.
Allie: No, I don't think I will.
[enter Michael Vartan]
Vartan: Is this seat taken?
Allie: No. *Drool* No, it's not.
Ryan: Excuse me? I'm in the chair. Hello???
[Vartan knocks Ryan off the chair with nary a flick of his wrist.]
Vartan: Did you hear something?
Allie: No, sir. I did not hear a thing.
Ryan: *Squeak*
Vartan: I saw you from afar and was wondering if you would do me a favor.
Allie: Anything. Of course. Yes, I'd love to. Sure. Yup. Uh huh.
Vartan: Jennifer Garner contracted some disease from Ben Affleck. They're recasting the lead role of Alias. Would you consider taking the part?
Allie: *Squeak*
Vartan: Oh, and would you like to go out with me sometime?
[Allie falls off chair as Ryan recovers and takes her now vacant seat]
Ryan: So, do you think Affleck is available again?
Vartan: Sure. I'm pretty sure she dumped him. Moved on to her costar from 13 Going on 30.
Ryan: Score. I love pink diamonds.
Vartan: Whatever you say, buddy. Hey, I've got to go do a photo shoot. Can you give that lovely vixen this number?
Ryan: Sure.
[exit Vartan]
[Allie recovers and takes a seat at the table]
Allie: Was it a dream?
[Ryan pockets the number]
Ryan: Yes, yes it was.
Allie: Damn.
Ryan: So...
Allie: So...
Ryan: How was your day?
Allie: Fine. Yours?
Ryan: Fine.
*Silence*
Ryan: I think this conversation is deteriorating.
Allie: Alright, then let's end it. But we have to end with something really, really funny.
Ryan: So there are these two muffins in an oven...

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Well, that was incredibly disappointing. No ALIAS filming on the lot today. I guess I'll have to keep waiting. You just hold on, Michael - we'll be together soon.

I thought I saw Jesus in the mall today. Turned out to be a koi pond. My bad.

Still unemployed. What is up with people wanting 3-5 years experience? What about the newbies? Nobody wants me, everyboy hates me, I guess I'll go eat the boxed cake I made last night. Mmm... devil's food.

I am, however, sending in my very first application for an unpaid internship tomorrow. Think good thoughts for me, will ya? Get an interview, Allie. Get an interview. Get an interview...

I wrote my very first cover letter this afternoon. I feel like a grown up. Although, let me just say, that I have trouble with this cover letter bullcrap. I hate doing the whole "I'm amazing. Look at my muscles" thing. Sheesh. I'm following the handbook given to the WU senior class (by good old Nancy herself) and let me just say, How cocky does she think I am? According to Ms. Career Guidance, I'm supposed to write "I will call you on ____ to arrange a mutually convenient time for us to get together." Oh, I will, will I? My fear of calling strangers aside, I am so not doing that! Perhaps some employers appreciate such ballsyness but I am dubious to commit such a gutsy move and give them the wrong impression. I am neither cocky nor ballsy. And frankly, I think that sort of assumption is rude. Needless to say, that line was stricken from my cover letter. (I can hear what you're thinking. All of you. And I will get a job without being pushy. People will see me for the angel I am and hire me without my follow-up call. So there.)

I have to pee. I've had to pee for a good half hour. Bathroom... so... far... away...

*Clears throat* Moving on.

Season 4 promotional photos came out. Oh that's right. ALIAS, baby. Beautiful cast. And just to debunk that nasty rumor - I have it on good authority that Michael Vartan is NOT leaving the show after episode 8. She may have broken his heart, but she did not ruin his career. I know you all were sweating that.

Oo... I'd like to take this opportunity to ask for a little viewer mail. Are you guys out there? I'm just wondering if I can improve my posts. Do you care whether or not I have to pee? Or do you just want to know which celebs I'm drooling on? I know Seany thinks I should reformat the gray background. (If only I knew how. I'm just impressed I managed to change the font and the color scheme -- oh, side note. Ten points to the person who tells me why I picked the title font.) What else? Send your comments to asaucy@gmail.com or just add a comment at the bottom of the post. Or remain a lurker. I won't judge you... I'll just dislike you.

Pearls of Wisdom:
1) If you decide to move to the area and you have US Bank - switch. They're like sasquatch down here. Seriously. Get Bank of America. It's, as Ryan says, fri-huge. (Apparently that is the equivalent of frickin-huge. He prefers to spare himself that third syllable.)
2) Buy an electronic car. It is like having a handicapped sticker - you get parking right by the mall entrance. Plus, you can charge your car while you shop. Oh yeah, and it saves the earth too.
Nice. I just spell-checked and it didn't find a single mistake. Ten points to me. It's like... uh... like I have an ed-yu-kay-shun or sometin. I ken spel. Skore. (And no comments about the grammatical errors. There is no checker for that.)
Don't forget... positive thoughts...

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First things first. I'd like to state profusely that I am not looking at real estate. I get uncomfortable paying for groceries. There's no way I'd put money in a house right now.

I'm starting to get seriously concerned here. People keep asking me what I do all day. They ask me if I spend it 'looking for work.' Is that possible? Is there a more active way to do this? Cause I put in my time reading the classifieds and online ads - but that doesn't take all day. Is there some secret place to go and search for a job that is more time consuming than reading the paper? Is there something I should know?

So if you want to know what I really did all day you'd be sorely disappointed. I did some grocery shopping and drove Aunt Patti to her chiropractor's office. While sitting in the lobby I perused the magazines. Much to my chagrin there were no People, US or Entertainment Weekly. Just Time, Newsweek, National Geographic and books with titles like Your Bra May Be Causing Cancer. Excuse me? Do they test that on rats? Is there NutraSweet in it? I was almost tempted to read that last one. I'm sure it would be gripping. What is this office trying to imply? That all people with back problems are boring stiffs who care about world affairs and don't concern themselves with catching up on this week's celebrity gossip? I had to spend a good half hour reading an interview with Bush. Jesus, that man is a dope. The only thing I took away from that article was that there is a bumper sticker out there that says "Bush: Like a rock, only dumber." I found out more interesting information in line at the grocery store. There I learned that JLo weighs in at 120 while Jennifer Garner is a whopping 112. Thin little bitches.

Speaking of Jennifer Garner - big news! And no, this is not a celebrity sighting. None of that today. Although this is sort of a celebrity sighting. It's a second hand sighting. Uncle Matt said that ALIAS was filming on the lot where he works today. He actually was within five feet of Victor Garber. And he didn't get his autograph! (Now I know how you feel, Lauren.) Oye! And I've been making Matt watch ALIAS just so he can recognize the cast when he sees them.

Anyway, Matt says that tomorrow they might still be filming. I'm going to call him in the morning and if they're on the lot then I'm going to go visit Matt for the day. And then, you know, search for the cast and drool unceremoniously. Like all the cool people do. Matt actually printed out two 5x7 photos (one of the cast and one of VG and JG) for me to bring with me. He wants me to have the cast sign them. Which, in theory, would be awesome. But, in practice, I'm not so sure. How dorky would it be for me to walk up to Jennifer Garner, pull out my 5x7 glossy and sharpie and ask for her autograph? This will totally ruin my chances of becoming her best friend. She is sure to judge me and think me lame. I'm not sure I can take such risks.

I must now go and spend the night tossing and turning over my autograph dilemma. And I should be getting a good night's rest so that when I see Michael Vartan (*drool*) I look my best. What's a girl to do??

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Day five is coming to a close, and still no job for the alliemeister. That's right. I know you all were expecting me to be employed by now, but it looks like that ain't gonna happen. I have been reading the classifieds, monster.com, craigslist.com and careerbuilder.com and I can safely say that there are no jobs out there. Perhaps it would be helpful if I knew what type of job I'm looking for. Then again, it probably wouldn't. There was an add for a phone sex hotline. That sounds promising.

This morning I decided I would look into becoming an extra for a little cash. After a bit of research I've come to the conclusion that I'm not the ideal extra candidate. I don't own my own santa suit, I've got all my fingers and I haven't any idea how to play water-polo. I printed off the form you fill out to become an extra and the only box I could possibly check would be 'can play billiards.' Then I think to myself, who am I kidding? I suck at pool! Oye. Maybe I should learn how to impersonate Elvis.

Stopped by an open house today. It was the ugliest freaking house I have seen in quite some time. Seriously, not even remotely appealing. And this place was not very big, either. AND IT WAS $730,000. Ya. Like hell I'd pay for that dump, let alone pay that amount. Oh wait, they'll throw in the giant tank full of creepy looking and abnormally large fish at no extra cost... maybe I should consider it.

The real estate agent was a little on the kooky side. She was gaunt looking, with red frizzy/curly hair that reminded me of carrot-top. The woman was wearing some black and gold pant-suit that looked like it was from the early eighties. She was toting around a three year old girl in a rainbow jumper. As we were leaving the girl started kicking the agent in the stomach. Hard. And the agent was acting like nothing was happening. Like we couldn't see and hear the whole thing taking place. Oh sure, if you don't acknowledge it we won't know what's happening. That works. Then as we walked out the door I hear the lady start repeating "muah!" And then after about three times the little girl joins in. Is it customary for real estate agents and their tie-dye clad children to send air kisses to departing strangers? Just wondering.

Sorry, no pearls of wisdom or celebrity sightings in this edition. Perhaps next time.

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Well, folks... I have arrived. We'll get to that in a minute, but first - the drive.

Things to keep in mind when driving to Los Angeles:
1) Just because everyone around you is going ninety, doesn't mean you can.
2) That whole 'patrolled by aircraft' sign is for real. They're out there, and they're watching you.
3) Handy-Snacks aren't so handy when trying to operate an automobile.
4) Always be prepared for someone to cut in front of you at a high speed, in an impossibly tight spot, without using their signal.

When you've arrived in Los Angeles, there are some things you will need to know. It will be my continued effort during these next few months to inform you, the avid reader, of these important pearls of wisdom.

In the first three days, I've learned:
1) When going to McDonalds, be prepared to tell the cashier exactly how many ketchup packets you want. They don't have dispensers, and 'a handfull' just doesn't cut it. They need numbers, people, numbers.
2) When people from LA give directions, they don't tell you to turn right or left, they tell you to go east or west. So either get a compass in your car or bring your internal compass (I accidentally left mine at home. Dad, can you mail it to me?)

Alright, now to the sightings.

Celebrity Sightings!!
10/01 - Allie see's Scott Lawrence walking into Patti's doctor's office. No, Lauren, I didn't get his autograph. I didn't even talk to him. I just stared like a dumbass. He looked at me, cause, you know, I was staring like a dumbass, so I'm sure that he noticed. Damn.

I'd like to take this moment to thank the people of La Guardia, whoever they may be. You might want to thank them too, for without them you would not be privy to my wit and wisdom. These fine people have allowed me to (without their knowledge) connect to the internet for free, in my bedroom. God bless wireless. And God bless La Guardia for neglecting to set their security. I love them more than they will ever know.

That's the first installment of Allie In La La Land. More to come. Hopefully daily. Check back soon!

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