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emmyfabulous [userpic]

I Fought the Car and the Car Won

February 28th, 2007 (12:50 pm)

Actually “won” is a bit of an understatement. “Massacred” would be a more accurate description. That’s right, I got my ass beat by a 93’ Honda Civic. I’m a girly girl. Not the annoying kind that wears make-up to the gym or walks around wearing a tiara and declaring herself a “princess”, but a girly girl nonetheless. I like pedicures. I love shoes. I have a pink ipod. I can recite every episode of Sex and the City practically verbatim. I don’t do auto repairs. To me, the mysterious mass of metal lurking beneath the hood of my car is about as clear as the ink blots in a Rorschach test. However, even someone as mechanically un-inclined as I am can figure out how to get the cap off the oil filler…or so I thought.

As I drove home from work last night, I noticed the oil light on my dashboard would start to flicker on every time I braked. I knew I was overdue for an oil change, so I wasn’t too alarmed. But save for emergencies, or non-operation of my vehicle, I generally save the exciting task of going to the mechanic for Saturday mornings, so I figured I’d just put some oil in my car to tide it over and take it in for an oil change over the weekend.

I stopped at the Kragen Auto Parts store near my house and walked into utter chaos. I didn’t know automotive supply chains were the cool new post work hangout. Hey everyone, screw happy hour, let’s go buy some car accessories! It was more crowded than the intersection of Hollywood and Highland the week before the Academy Awards and to top things off, the store was completely disorganized. After waiting in “line” for about twenty minutes I paid for my oil and was pushed out of my place at the register by the impatient prick behind me. Being a “man” store, there was no observance of “purse courtesy” (the few moments polite people give a girl to get all her things together before she vacates the register) and I hurriedly tried to gather my belongings as I felt the hostile glares of other customers piercing my back.

By the time I arrived home, my Kragen experience has already put me in somewhat of an ill temperament. I had a lot of other errands I needed to run, so all I wanted to do was put the oil in the car, change my clothes and be on my merry little way. But my car was not having it. I popped the hood and when I proceeded to try to twist the cap off of the oil filter...nothing. I’m not talking about the sort of mild resistance that could be remedied with a quick cocktail of perseverance and elbow grease. This was an absolute refusal to move. I was a Democratic initiative and my oil cap was the Republican Congress spearheaded by Newt Gingrich. Not budging. After forty-five minutes of grunting, screaming, crying, pulling muscles I didn’t even know I had, and basically having a full-blown emotional meltdown in my driveway, I called for back-up. My best friend, Deeves, (also a girly girl, but considerably more practical and adaptable than I) suggested that I just gently tap the top of the cap with a hammer to loosen it up. What a fantastic idea! It works great on jars of spaghetti sauce, so why wouldn't it work for cars? Wrong! The first tap of the hammer sent synthetic splinters flying everywhere like some guerilla insurgent had set off a plastic grenade. At this point I completely lost it. I knew there was no getting the stump that was left of that cap off the oil filter so I just unleashed my rage and hammered the shit out of it until it broke off. I was temporarily relieved by the cathartic release of my pent up aggression until I realized, in utter defeat, I would now have to go to Pep Boys to get a new oil filler cap. So in the end, the car won...but at least I got a cute new steering wheel cover.

emmyfabulous [userpic]

(no subject)

February 27th, 2007 (04:01 pm)

I am grateful for music, I am thankful for friends, I am thankful for sunshine. I am grateful to be blessed with the drive to succeed and to know what I want to do with my life. I am blessed to have the BEST MOM in the world!!!

emmyfabulous [userpic]

Oops, She Did It Again!

May 20th, 2006 (11:25 am)

Seriously, can somebody please call child services now? If little Sean Preston Spears Federline were the offpsring of normal, poor white trash, he'd be safely nestled in the walls of an orphanage or foster home by now instead of inevitably destined to suffer a tragic and untimely demise at the hands of "Mama Brit". First there was the "Look Ma, No Car Seat" incident, then the equally disturbing Mini Cooper picture in which Sean lie slouched in the car seat looking every bit a life and limpless rag doll. And now comes "Baby Drop 2006".

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Apparently lacking the coordination to hold a drink (I'm only praying it was a concoction of the Starbucks and not the alcoholic variety), the baby, and walk in her new espadrille wedges, Britney stumbled and nearly dropped both the drink and the child during a recent trip to New York. If it weren't for the intervention of the man on the right, Sean's skull surely would have met the asphalt with a sickening splat. If this child surives until the age of two without incurring severe brain damage, it will be a bigger miracle than the immaculate conception. Hey Britney, why don't you put on some flats? You don't need to wear 4 inch platforms in a vain attempt to make yourself look svelte. Those days are GONE sister, especially if you continue to keep popping babies out your coochie like a Mormon on ferlility hormones. Or better, yet take off your shoes altogether. No one is going to judge you for hitting the sidewalks of Manhattan sans shoes when we've all seen the pictures of you frequenting not one, but two gas station restrooms barefoot.

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And "K. Fizzy" ain't winning no awards for "Father of the Year" either. When he is not snorting blow off the asses of strippers with his posse in Vegas, working on his music "career" that is bound to be an even bigger joke than his wife's has become, or smoking ciggies and guzzling Jaeger on the sundeck, he just looks pained to be alive, both desperate and unsure of how to escape this "baby daddy" prison of his own making. (I'm not entirely convinced that there isn't Kettle One Vodka in that Arrowhead bottle). K-Fed would rather be at Pure "droppin' sic lyrics" than at home taking care of his kids. For all intents and purposes, he is more sperm donor than father. He is a bad father, a bad husband, and most importantly to me a very untalented rapper! Kevin, please pack your doo rag and go!

Does being a celebrity give you license to be not just a bad, but a frighteningly inept parent!?! From Michael Jackson's horrifying baby dangle of 2002 to Britney's seemingly endless troubles with carseats, it seems if you are rich and famous, nobody can take your kids away from you, no matter how many times you endanger their lives. Your three-year-old can't sleep? Give him a margartia and light him up a doobie-works every time! Your five-year-old is nervous about the first day of kindergarten-how about some Xanax? Good grief! Los Angeles County Department of Child Services, you should be ashamed of yourselves!

emmyfabulous [userpic]

Single and Fabulous...Question Mark?

May 13th, 2006 (01:34 pm)

Anyone who knows me well knows very well that I am the last girl in the world to be boo-hooing over my single status. Sure at times it can be lonely and sexually frustrating, but for the most part being single as a $1 bill is just liberating. I can do what I want and go where I want without having to answer to anybody or consider what effect my actions may have on my relationship. It's a sublime, guilt-free brand of selfishness in which only the single can truly indulge and most of the time I'm totally content with it.

Then there are days like today. I don't know if I am just a little down because I had an atrocious week at work, depressed over the fact that I have not been on a single, solitary date in almost a year, freaked out by the looming shadow of my 28th birthday or it is a combination of all these factors, but suddenly my "single and fabulous" life seems to be anything but.

I guess I just always thought I'd be more settled by the time I was in my late 20's. When I ended my first (and only) major relationship mid-way through college I knew it was the right thing to do and was ready to enjoy the freedom of singlehood. My main focus was school and though I liked to party and socialize, guys kind of took a back seat. Then between my junior and senior year of college I met the guy I thought was the ever elusive "one". Though the relationship didn't last long it took me years to get over it and it really made me question my intuition and even my faith in love. In the meantime, I filled the void with all the wrong guys. From the nice ones I was "just not that in to", to the irresponsible one-night stands, to the self-destructive alcoholic who I consciously deluded myself into believing I could "save" even though deep down I always knew I never could. During those wretched years between 23 and 26 I desperately searched for love, acceptance, and (I think I just threw up in my mouth a little) validation from men. I stupidly thought a boyfriend would be the magical band-aid to fix everything that was wrong with my life.

By the time I turned 27 I had finally seen the light. That was largely in part to the cultivation of the fabulous frienships I had started in my early 20's and the unwavering support of my sisters and my mom. As for the rest, I am not sure if it was the wisdom that comes with age, a natural progression in maturity or I simply snapped out of it but I finally had that awe-inspiring, angels- singing, earth-moving epiphany that I, alone was good enough, independent of the presence or absence of a boyfriend. I realized that true fabulousness comes from within and if I got my shit together and chased my dreams that would be enough for me. I'd have the cupcake AND the frosting, boys would just be the sprinkles.

And for the past year that is more or less how I have felt. But every now and then my confidence falters. All the things I usually believe to be great about myself: I'm attractive, I'm smart, I'm funny,I'm likeable (and please do not mistake this for conceit, I believe these are things everybody should and deserves to feel about him or herself) are called into question. The fact that I can't even score a date when there are girls with issues so extensive they make Danny Bonaduce look like the poster child for mental health , or so bitchy that by comparison Naomi Campbell seems downright docile, who have guys falling head-over-heels in love with them, I start to wonder if my self-esteem is hinged on nothing more than one big old ball of delusions and denial. It makes me think maybe I'm hideously unattractive, desperately unfunny and completely devoid of all traits possessed by likeable/dateable/loveable people. In short, very unfabulous.

However, in spite of the foregoing paragraph, I'm an optimist at heart. I like to see the cosmo glass as half full. So maybe I haven't found my Mr. Big yet, but so what? I know he's out there somewhere. In New York, in London, in L.A., he could be half way across the world or right in my own backyard, but he's out there. Wishing for me, waiting for me and even possibly writing his own blog just like this one at this very moment. And one day, when the time is right, we will meet. Until then, there will be friends, there there will be freedom, there will be fortune, there will be fun. Because life is too short, life is too sweet and life is definitely too fabulous to waste time on just being negative.

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