Slumdog In My Hair

Final Farewell

2010-03-13T14:30:00.000-08:00

I guess Tyler knew but neglected to tell me, but Rubi showed up on our doorstep again last evening. I was in the middle of putting on a vegetable curry with coconut milk. As a native of India, she claims that only people from a certain region or state of India put coconut milk in their curries. She referred to them as "demons." I LOVE coconut milk, and out of courtesy, waited for her to leave before making a proper curry. (Everyone knows you can't make a curry without coconut milk!)

In any case, there she was in our kitchen. She returned my scissors and calculator that I had chalked up as gone forever. She acted as if nothing had happened, so I felt obligated to invite her to stay for dinner.

"Let's have some tea," she said, "Where's Tyler?"

Thankfully Tyler came downstairs and talked film shop with her while I got my curry on. Then she starting rambling about Raj again. No surprise. She stayed for about an hour and then said she was meeting some friends for dinner. It's odd that she claims to have all of these friends yet she had been staying at the Days Inn since she left the house. Curious, indeed.

When she got up to go I gave her a hug and wished her a safe journey.

"I hope you guys will still come visit me in India. And you have to come to my wedding!"

I've heard this one before. She seems to have a habit of making wedding plans before there has been a proposal.

"Please come! You can stay as long as you like."

Was that a dig?

"And when I come back in six months..." she continued, "I hope that you are both out of this house and living with your new boyfriends or husbands!"

"Yes," I said, "because that is our only purpose in life..."

Some things will never change.

Her last words? "I'll be back!"

I closed the door and turned to Tyler, who said, "She went out just as she came in!"

Yes, I thought, and I'm so glad it's over...

I think this story is closed. At least for now.

One for the Horses

2010-03-12T08:40:00.000-08:00

What a sense of relief to have my home to myself again. After a good night's sleep without Slum's snoring or stomping to the bathroom I feel renewed. I was still a frenetic ball of angry energy yesterday though. The good news is, I took it out on someone who really deserved it.

There is a "trainer" at my barn who is notorious for abusing horses. I used to ride with him a little bit until I saw his barbaric methods in action. Since then he's been on my shit list.

Yesterday he was at the barn running the crap out of a client's horse, hitting it with the lunge whip even though the horse was moving as he'd asked. The owner of the horse doesn't seem to care, so there isn't much I can do. However, he does not board a horse at the stable so he has no right to take the arena from paying boarders.

I was standing with my horse waiting. He stopped running the horse, sat on the rail and began to instruct a rider in the back arena - another poor soul that doesn't know any better. He knew I was waiting to get in the arena.

"Paco, are you finished in the arena, because I need to use it," I said as nicely as I could muster.

"No. I'm going to ride the horse now."

"Well, you don't even board here, so you need to get out," I said a little less nicely.

"Don't try to push me around."

Oh no you didn't. He had no idea that I was a walking pressure cooker about to explode after a 7 days with Slum.

I walked closer to the arena and he stepped off the rail and faced the riding ring in the back.

"You know you are a piece of shit that has been banned from every barn in this town and except this one... "

He just kept staring at the back arena, but was no longer instructing. Then he walked towards his horse and tried to mount it but every time he tried to put his foot in the stirrup the horse would move.

"Whoa! Whoa!" But the horse kept moving.

"Yea, you're a really great trainer, Paco!" I antagonized. "He doesn't trust you!! I wouldn't trust you either if you chased me around with a whip for an hour!"

I decided I should quit while I was ahead and went to complain to management about him. The barn manager came out and told him something in Spanish. From the sound of it Paco wasn't very happy because he was raising his voice and yakking really fast in Spanish. God! I wish my Spanish was better!

But he got out. I was still a live wire, so I went for a short ride to calm my nerves.

Slum left me in a negative state, but at least I was able to dump it on a piece of crap horse abuser. It was long over due.

Hmm. What will today bring...

Snap! Goes the Camel's Back

2010-03-11T15:41:00.000-08:00

Where to begin?

I'll begin with the last disturbing comment she made that sent me into panic mode. She figured it would work out great if I took her car until she moves back from India at the beginning of next year.

"And then if there is a room available here I can move back in!"

Over my dead body.

I found myself getting increasingly agitated by her presence, and the fact that I couldn't even use my own PC freely because it was allegedly "in the shop" was making me resent her even more. Totally ridiculous, I know, but she was stuck to it like glue. At least she was leaving the house for a few hours to go to the internet cafe.

She was gone when I got home around 4:30 yesterday afternoon. I pulled out my laptop to write and then I pulled up hulu.com to catch up on my T.V. shows. I got through one and a half when I heard her at the door. I scrambled to hide the computer before she discovered my covert usage.

I should add that she has driven me to drinking and smoking since her arrival. I lead a pretty quiet life these days, rarely partaking in booze or cigarettes, but this week I've been swimming in a bottle of wine nearly every night.

The second evening she was here - the night that I got super drunk - she was snapping photos of me all night. And as if that wasn't enough she had to snap 10 -12 morning after hangover shots. I'd seen many of these unflattering photos and tried to figure out how to delete them but it's a fancy pants camera with a hard to find delete feature.

But getting back to last night. I was in the kitchen with Tyler and Slum (yes, we're back to that) chatting. I was again using wine as a coping mechanism to get through yet another night of non-stop yak about guys. Slum mentioned that Tamiko had stopped by earlier that day when I was out of the house.

"Yea, I asked her how it was going with that other girl that her boyfriend was seeing," said Slum.

"YOU DUMBASS!" I blurted out.

I had confided in Slum the story about Tamiko's boyfriend having a brief fling with a 21 year old. He thought he'd found love at first sight. (Idiot) It was devastating to Tamiko, but she is in love with him and decided to let it go when he came to his senses and came back to her. I told Slum the story because we were talking about the mystery of why he won't just marry Tamiko so she can come live in the States again. Slum listened with wide eyes as it is her favorite genre.

"Why? Why? Why would you say that to her? That is so old and water under the bridge!! And now she knows I told you about it!"

"She TOLD me about it," she said defensively.

"No. I told you about it the other morning and you didn't know a thing about it," I insisted.

"No, dude, she told me when I lived here."

"Really? That's funny because it happened well before you moved in, and you didn't seem to know a thing about it the other morning."

If there is one thing I despise it is lying. And she does plenty of it. I've caught her in several white lies just this week, but this one took the cake.

Tyler looked at me as she made a dash for the door. "I'm out of here!"

I snatched my wine glass and headed for my room muttering about how much a hate liars.

I camped out on my balcony and got on the phone with an old friend, finished off the rest of the bottle, along with several cigarettes.

I knew that I could not possibly accept her offer of taking her car. I knew I didn't want any attachment to this toxic vampire that had holed up in my space. However, I knew that I'd been drinking and I shouldn't do anything rash.

When I went back inside she was sawing logs on her mattress. I had but one mission to accomplish. Find the camera and delete those hideous photos once and for all.

I walked around her a few times to make sure she didn't stir. Then a grabbed her purse and went into the bathroom to dismantle it. No camera. I went back to her bed to investigate further. Lo and behold she was sleeping with it right by her side. I carefully leaned over her and braced myself with one hand on the wall. I was able to snatch it up in one clean swoop. I scurried off into the bathroom like a squirrel with a nut.

I locked the door, sat on the floor and with drunken determination found the elusive delete feature. First I found the option that said "delete all." It crossed my mind momentarily, but I figured that was a lot of bad karma. I just wanted to get rid of the awful photos of me. I asked her several times to delete them, but she refused. So, one by one, I deleted about 40 photos of myself.

There were also some good ones so I popped out the chip and downloaded them to my PC. I was quite proud of myself. I put the camera back where I found it, and passed out in my bed.

I was in a blissful place. Maybe I was flying. It was a good dream until the clack, clack, clack of her shoes on my wood floor startled me out of my sleep. I had asked her not to walk around the room at night in shoes, but she would put them on just to go to the bathroom.

Argh!!

When she came back I barked at her, "Will you please not put on your shoes to go to the bathroom!"

"Ok. Sorry..."

We'd been through this before. I was wide awake and pissed. Then, like Reagan from the Exorcist I sat straight up in bed and started spewing.

"Rubi - I can't do this for another week. I need my space back."

"Okay. I'll leave tomorrow," she said as if she was not surprised.

We both tossed and turned for sometime and then I heard her shuffling things around in the dark.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm packing."

"Now??"

"Yea, I'm gonna go. I can't sleep."

"It is two o'clock in the morning. People are sleeping. You can't go schlepping your suitcase down the stairs," I said in a less than compassionate tone.

"I don't want to stay where I'm not welcome."

"Oh my God! It is all about YOU isn't it? This is exactly why you've worn out your welcome here. You are SO inconsiderate!"

"Fine. I'll come back tomorrow morning for my suitcase."

I didn't answer. It was two in the morning. Where the hell was she going to go? I decided I didn't care. She left and shortly after I drifted off into a pleasant slumber.

She returned around 8:30 for her suitcase. She rang the bell and Tyler let her in. When she came into my room I felt like I should say something.

"Rubi, I never should have agreed to let you stay here for so long. I'm a very private person, and..."

"You don't need to give me excuses. It's okay."

She was right. Why should I make excuses? She is a bad house guest that doesn't know when it's time to go.

It was such a relief. The thought of 7 more days was more than I could take. Still, there is lingering angst. It may take a day or two for me to find my balance again.

What was I thinking? Actually, the first 4 days were fine. We actually had fun. If she'd had the common sense to go stay on another friend's floor for a few nights it probably wouldn't have come to this.

Que sera.

Three more days...

2010-03-10T17:51:00.000-08:00

I wish I could say I only have three more days of sharing my space, but that is not the case. I walked into a trap this morning. A dirty, tricky little trap. I should have seen it coming.

I woke up bleary eyed and PMS addled to realize that it was not, in fact, all a bad dream. There she was - sleeping on my floor for the 7th morning in a row. While we've made peace and I don't hate her - it is difficult to share a room with anyone I'm not having sex with, and even then, it is a challenge for me.

But what can I do? She's so clingy and needy. I guess I kind of feel sorry for her. Besides, I thought, she's due to leave on the 14th. That's just around the corner.

She must have sensed my foul mood and attempted to cheer me up.

"You know, girls like us really need to have good sex from guys all the time. Then we would be happy and nice."

Girls like us? I could not bring myself to respond to such an asinine comment, so I got up to make coffee. Once I had a nice, hot cup of java in my crabby little hands, I crawled back in bed with it and listened to her prattle on about men, and sex, and then... her car.

She's been storing it someplace in San Francisco and planned to drive it back to deposit it before departure for India.

You should just leave it with me," I said, half joking.

"Really?"

"Sure, I could sort of lease it from you for a very small amount."

She went nuts over the idea saying that the current arrangement in SF was not ideal and that she'd feel better if someone was using it.

A part of me thought it was a great idea. I mean, it can get super cold on the back of a Vespa sometimes, and it does limit my mobility in the evening hours. But a part of me felt a string being attached to my soul.

"I'll call my insurance company today and see how much it will be to add you as a driver. This is so great!" she squealed. "Now, I don't have to leave on the 14th to go to San Francisco. I can stay here with you until the 17th!"

Fuck!!!!

Ghosts

2010-03-09T11:00:00.000-08:00

I'm taking refuge in a local Starbucks as I type. As I suspected, things are getting a little too close for comfort. And, she has driven me to lying. I despise lying and I rarely ever even tell the whitest of lies, but she has been dominating my PC non-stop since she arrived, obsessively checking email and Facebook for signs of Raj 2, who frankly seems to be a replica of Raj 1. Both are imaginary boyfriends as far as I can tell.

So, back to the lying. I told her my PC crashed (knock on wood) and that I had to put it in the shop. That means it's living in my Vespa and I have to go to a coffee shop to use it. It's a nice break for me. Only 5 more days to go now. I feel a little bad about it, but my laptop is very personal to me. I didn't mind her checking her email, but when she's on it for hours without my supervision, it puts me a little uptight. What if she went into my internet history and found this blog??

It hasn't been all bad, of course. In fact, we've had quite a lot of fun. The evening after our shopping day we ended up drinking the night away. Well, actually, I drank the night away. Tyler had a couple of glasses of wine, and Rubi got a contact high.

The three of us were sitting on Rubi's mattress on my bedroom floor having a heated debate about, what else, why Rubi has been unable to lasso a man, when we heard what sounded like a herd of chatty elephants coming up the stairs. We all stopped talking and raised our eyebrows in WTF? There was a knock on my door.

I opened the door to see Tamiko, a past roommate, and her boyfriend standing there. I was drunk and shocked, feeling as if I had crossed into some strange altered reality, so I grabbed her and hugged her.

"Oh my God! What are you doing here?"

"It's a surprise!" she said with a big smile and Japanese accent.

Tamiko had moved back to Japan about a year ago. We've maintained contact via email since she left her cat, Ode, with me to babysit until her boyfriend makes an honest woman of her so she can move back to the States.

"I didn't know you were coming!" I screeched, my head still swimming in too much wine and confusion.

"Nobody knew," she said. "It's a surprise!"

Obviously.

She and her boyfriend visited with her cat for a while, and then they split as quickly as they'd arrived. Perhaps the three ring circus they'd stumbled into scared them away.

What are the chances of two past roommates, both living in faraway lands, to descend on the doorstep of the old house at the same time, without ever talking to each other? I was having a twilight moment for sure, with or without copious amounts of wine. It was as if the house was calling the ghosts of roommates past home. If Mariana had shown up at door I would have truly lost my mind.

More to come... Stay tuned.

She's baaaaack

2010-03-06T11:56:00.000-08:00

The last few days have been a surreal blur. My adventure began on Wednesday evening when Rubi (a.k.a. Slum) showed up on my doorstep with her suitcase. She asked if she could stay with us for a "few days" while she was in town taking care of tax stuff. Apparently, to her, a few days is actually 2 weeks. If we had an extra bedroom it would be no big deal, but she's sleeping on my floor!

Determined to make the best of it, I invited her along on the previously arranged plans I had for the evening. My girlfriend, CeCe, was to arrive with a bottle of wine to add to the raw food meal I was preparing. Rubi arrived first.

I opened the door and we greeted each other with huge smiles and a big hug which still seems so odd in light of all that happened in the past. I was genuinely happy to see her, and she brought me a beautiful silk scarf from India.

When CeCe arrived she popped open the wine and we had a toast to Rubi's homecoming. Then CeCe helped me finish chopping the veggies for the raw veggie spring rolls to be served. Rubi and Tyler sat at the table dipping pita bread into homemade garlic hummus, chatting and catching up. I noticed Rubi watching me and CeCe.

"How do you guys know each other?" Rubi asked.

"We used to work together," said CeCe.

"Yes, we worked together at at law firm another life time ago..." I added.

"Has she ever threatened to break your fingers?" Rubi asked facetiously.

"No," said CeCe, "Did she threaten to break yours?" As if she didn't know the story of my PMS rage that drove me to threatening bodily harm on a roomie that was a daily thorn in my ass.

"Yes, she threatened me..." said Rubi.

"What did you do to her?" CeCe asked.

She paused and thought for a moment. "Her Dishes."

At that we all burst into laughter. It wasn't funny at the time, but it has brought a lot of laughter in retrospect. I believe it went something like this - "If you put your filthy paws on my dishes again I'm going to break your f***ing fingers!"

Once we sat down to eat the "guy talk" started. Rubi's entire life and existence revolves around chasing guys. After she talked incessantly through the entire meal about the new Raj, or "Raj 2," I was beginning to regret the whole visit. She claimed that she had gone to India to make a film, but in truth it was to chase "Raj 1." Now here she was going on, and on, and on, about a new Raj. Tiring. Really tiring.

However, I know that I will be asking the same favor of her later this year when I go to India, so I made the decision that I will make the best of it. Now is the time to accept what is and practice my patience. Practice. Practice. Practice!

Besides, so far, so good. She got out of bed a the crack of dawn, still feeling the jet lag. I got up not much later because it's tough for me to go back to sleep after I've been awakened by an Indian woman shuffling around my room in the dark. I had the brilliant idea to make pancakes. Yum! Pancakes! It was truly selfish motives that got me out of bed. To my surprise she'd left the house. I made pancakes anyway. Blueberry. So good.

A few hours later she returned. She'd gone to the gym for a swim and showered there. This, I thought, was a good thing.

We had the whole day ahead of us.

"What should we do?" I asked.

We discussed seeing a movie but then agreed that it might be better to wait for a rainy day over the weekend.

"Let's just get in the car and go," I finally said.

She was waiting for me at the front door. As I started to descend the stairs I heard her say "Slumdog..." My heart sank. Had I left my PC open to the blog? Quickly I realized that she'd opened my Netflix mail. I had just ordered Slumdog Millionaire, which I have not seen yet.

We ended up at Vroman's bookstore in Pasadena. I can spend hours in that store, but she ended up in the attached coffee shop writing in her journal. I reunited with her after about an hour of perusing the store and finding a few bargain buys.

One of the items was a writing kit. A game to help spur creativity. It certainly spurred it in her.

"Dude! We should start writing a screenplay together while I'm here! Yes! Let's sit down and brainstorm. We'll come up with 50 ideas, then pare it down to just two."

"Sure. Yea. That would be fun." Although, admittedly, I'm not as excited about screen writing as she is.

We left the book store and had Indian food for lunch at Akbar in Old Towne Pasadena, and then spent the rest of the afternoon shopping in all the stores on Colorado. The most fun part was trying out cook's knives at Sur la table. I think the idea of me wielding a sharp knife put her on edge a little bit.

She bought a pair of Dolce & Gabana sunglasses, and I bought two cheap t-shirts and sunglasses at H&M. It was a fun and girlie afternoon. Little did we know we had a pretty exciting evening ahead.

To be continued...

Horror in the kitchen

2010-01-26T21:05:00.000-08:00

Horrified is the only word that can sum it up. I really didn't want to go into the kitchen because I could hear all the commotion. But... my desire for chocolate soymilk won the battle.

As I walked into the kitchen I saw Francis in her gym clothes making herself some dinner, and Grant sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of Seagram's and Seven Up, watching American Idol.

Grant is a 37 year old male.

"Drinking on a Tuesday night?" I inquired.

"Well [some female pop-star] is on tonight, and if I don't have a drink I think I'll explode! I don't normally watch American Idol, but I looooove her!."

"Who?" I needed a repeat, but I still can't remember.

"You don't know who she is??" He said, aghast, and then started to belt out one of her songs - which, by the way, sounds like some teeny bopper pop crap, like Britney Spears or something.

"Um... no." I said.

"Get out! You don't know that song?? Get out!"

Oh, I so wanted to get out.

"I'm not into pop music." Lameass.

"C'mon!"

"Dude - I don't have a radio. I'm not a part of pop culture." Because I have much better taste than that, Mr. Pabst Blue Ribbon drinkin, t.v. dinner eatin, baseball hat wearin, mini truck drivin, baboon.

To which he replied, "C'mon! You're a... SUBCULTURE!"

I grabbed my soymilk and got the F out of there before he started singing again. It was bad enough that every time she came onto the screen he had to screech "Oh, I love you!" like a pubescent 13 year old.

Damn chocolate soymilk...

Square Peg

2010-01-24T10:02:00.000-08:00

Things are pretty quiet and calm in the house. No cat fights, no slamming doors, or threats to break fingers (ah, the good ole days...). Grant, however, seems to stick out here like a sore thumb. It really makes me wonder why he answered an ad seeking a female roommate to share a house with yoga minded, vegetarian leaning, cat lovers.

After the Christmas party, which was smashing, the two of us stayed up until 5:00 a.m. debating the existence of God. I was on God's side. Turns out, he doesn't believe in God. And his thoughts on yoga? "I just think of yoga as an hour of trying not to fart." Ugh!

Don't get me wrong - I don't think he's a terrible person. And the fact that he doesn't believe in God - Not my problem. He's the one going to hell after all... But when he's hacking and coughing at midnight because he's allergic to cats, it makes me wonder about his decision to not only move into a house full of them, but adopt one of his own. At moments like that, I think he's an idiot.

Last week he decided to go on a diet. He's a little on the hefty side, and it is the new year, so he went out and bought massive amounts of carrots, yogurt, pre-cut apples in a bag, and Healthy Choice frozen dinners. All of this food prompted chaos in the refrigerator.

Tyler was the first to complain to me that she had nowhere to put any food if she decided to go shopping. Being den mother, I sent out an email to everyone saying we need to section off the fridge, so we all have our own little fourth of it.

Grant thought it was all about him. Of course, his overstuffing the fridge did spur me to do something that was long overdue - but it was not about him.

Tyler, perpetually afraid that someone is going to get more than she does, was making it a federal case of it, and wanted to deliberate on who should get what shelf for a few days. Finally, I'd had enough.

"Look, this is my drawer, and this is my little shelf," I said pointing at them, "You all can work it out amongst ya-selves," I said in a very New York accent in an attempt to smooth the edge of my tone a little bit.

"Oh whatever!" She huffed and walked away.

Francis and I just looked at each other. We were the ones actually trying to clean out the old jars and condiments left by past roommates, and all Tyler had to do was sit back and complain.

Then her knight in dull chrome armor came into the kitchen. He probably heard all the fuss from his room.

"Oh, hey, yea, you should get in on this..." Tyler said to him bitterly as she left the room.

For Christ's sake! It's just a bloody refrigerator! I could not understand why Tyler was getting so huffy.

Grant walked in and said to Francis, "You know what. Why don't you just leave my food where it is and I'll take it all to work tomorrow."

What an upstanding guy, huh? Clearly, this whole thing was all about him, and with one command it would all be fixed. Francis starred at him blankly.

"Um, Grant, this is more about a long term solution," I said flatly.

Since then, we all have our own little sections and I think everyone is much happier, but wading through the ego to get there was rough.

The fact still remains that Grant is the square peg here in the house, but if I've learned anything since I started this blog, it's that nothing ever stays the same.

Big Christmas Soiree

2009-12-16T22:09:00.000-08:00

Tyler insisted on getting a Christmas tree, so as much as I’ve tried to resist this holiday it looks like we are having a big Christmas bash here on Saturday. I went out and bought some things today and then left a note for the others with suggestions on what they could contribute. Grant seemed to be the most enthusiastic about the whole thing even though he doesn’t have any confirmed guests.

“How much beer should I get? I can get a bottle of whiskey and mixers too,” he said cheerfully from his favorite chair in the breakfast nook.

I was carefully folding my laundry as I took it out of the dryer.

“Um, I don’t know… maybe a just a twelve pack and a bottle of whiskey? Other people are going to be bringing stuff so there’s no need to go overboard.”

“Ok. Well, that’s the other thing… All of my friends are bartenders and they work on Saturday nights, so I really don’t have anyone coming,” he said.

“Oh, well don’t worry about buying a lot of stuff if your friends aren’t even coming.”

“Oh, no I didn’t mean that… well, I was thinking of inviting these guys that I hang out with sometimes, but they are like … DRINKERS,” he said with wide eyed expression.

“We will certainly have a few of those here…”

“Yea, but we like, play beer pong and stuff,” he said.

I have no idea what beer pong is, but it sounds like something you do in a frat house.

“Are they going to break stuff?” I asked facetiously.

“Oh no! And they won’t start a fight or anything!”

Famous last words. This party should be a very interesting mix of folks.

Cat Fight

2009-12-15T18:53:00.000-08:00

Grant lives on T.V. dinners. And his room looks like a bomb went off in it. A musty stink bomb from the smell of it. The floor is littered with dirty clothes and empty pizza boxes (I guess he does eat more than T.V. dinners after all). I only know this because I went into his room to check on his cat that had been jumped by my cat on Sunday afternoon.

I was just waking up from a nap in front of the T.V. in the living room when I heard the commotion. Hissing, spitting, yowling, and then CRASH, BANG, BOOM… they were tumbling over the floor, the littlest one just trying to make her escape, but my girl wouldn’t have it. I had to take a nose dive under the piano to break up the fight with my bare hands. I came out of it without a scratch on me, just bruised knees from hitting the floor.

Grant, who’d been watching football in the other room hobbled in on a gimpy foot.

“Is everything okay?”

“No. You should check your cat to see if she’s hurt,” I said out of breath with a pounding heart.

It seems the youngster had no problems at all, but my old cat required a trip to the vet to be pumped with pain meds and antibiotics. I guess she’s not the hell raiser she used to be.

In the meantime, Tyler and I had our own passive aggressive cat fight going on. We’d both signed up for this “yoga” workshop that turned out to be more of a Hare Krishna recruiting session. It was meant to be a weekend long “bootcamp for the soul,” but after a full Saturday of horse shit and incessant chanting of “hare hare hare,” (har-ray)I decided to duck out on Sunday. Tyler made it passive aggressively clear that she was unhappy with me.

“I think I’m going to pass on bootcamp today,” I sent via text in the morning.

She never bothered to respond and when I crossed her path in the evening I only got a surly “hey” out of her. So I just ignored her for a day and now we are speaking again. We were instructed by our guru to chant “hare hare hare” for eleven minutes straight everyday with arms stretched overhead. I’ve been listening to see if she’s going to do it, but I haven’t heard a peep.

When he gave us the instructions I looked at her and said “Our roommates are going to think we are soooo weird!”

“If they don’t already,” she said.

Hmph.

So Long Mr. T.

2009-12-08T09:06:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was a very somber day in the house. I drove Tyler to the vet first the in the morning because her cat, Mr. T, had totally lost control of his back end the previous evening. While it seemed there was still hope because his head was fine, she made the decision to put him down. He was 19 years old.

It’s hard to know what to say in a situation like that, so the ride home was pretty quiet. It was still raining pretty hard. Once we got home we just hunkered down in front of the T.V. in the living room.

We will miss his precious little face and his demands for better food. So long Mr. T….

Novel Plans With Slum

2009-12-01T16:10:00.000-08:00

This morning I was IMing with my BFF, Slum, and she said that she was starting a writing project – a novel instead of script. The idea is to commit to writing for two hours everyday. I gave her the thumbs up when she extended an invitation.

“Why don’t we both do it?”

“Like a co-writing project or each write our own novel?” I asked.

I was hoping for the latter because I don’t know what to write about “crazy sex crazed Indian guys that work in IT…”

“We’ll each write our own.”

“That’s a great idea! Sure! Let’s do it!”

I’ve never really had much interest in writing fiction, but what the hell? Why not give it a stab? I have tons of nutty ideas all the time, so I’m going to pick one and stick with it. We’ve given ourselves a 6 month deadline. Seems fair enough.

I immediately left the house and hit the hiking trail to ponder my subject. I have found that being alone in nature, on foot or horseback, is the best way for me to find inspiration. I think I was presented with a story idea that Oprah will love! And everyone knows Oprah can make or break a new author...

What a great idea from Slum, but I’m starting to feel a little guilty about referring to Slum as “Slum." I mean, we're pals now. She's no longer the bane of my existence. It's funny how much I love her now that she's on another continent. I will add her to my long list of successful long-distance relationships. Seems to work better for me... but I digress... So, I’ve thought of switching back to “Rubi,” but I’m not sure how I feel about that.

Thoughts? I know there are at least two religious readers out there. Throw me a bone?

P.S. The no coffee rule on my detox lasted about two hours. So sad... But otherwise I've only eaten blueberries, salmon, and greens with olive oil & lemon juice for two days. My skin looks great!

DETOX

2009-11-30T10:31:00.000-08:00

The last round of PMS and housemate drama has left me feeling a little depleted. Yesterday I had an overwhelming desire for salad greens. Luckily I had some dark leaf baby greens in the fridge I had picked up a few days a go. I put them in a bowl with a little olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and a touch a sea salt. It was the best thing ever! This got me wondering what my body might be missing, so I started googling “craving salad greens.” (What better way to spend a Sunday?) Before I knew it I was reading about the Dr. Perricone Diet that was big a few years back. For me, I just want to do the 3 day detox.

Instead of coffee I have green tea. This is the biggest sacrifice for me. I LOVE coffee! For breakfast – whole oats with blueberries, and then for lunch and dinner – salad greens with olive oil and lemon juice, and salmon. It’s the salmon with its omega-3’s that is supposed to work its magic on my skin, and as Dr. Perricone says, the skin is the biggest organ in the body and a reflection of what’s going with the rest of the organs.

Yes, I realize I’m straying from the subject matter of this blog, so here’s a little bit of weirdness for you: On Friday night, the night I’d had too much to drink, I went downstairs for a little midnight snack before bed. I could hear Grant knocking around in his room and I hoped to get back to mine before he came out. No such luck. I heard him in the hallway.

“Who’s in there?” He yelled from the hallway into the kitchen.

“Um, me… I’m about to leave. Should I leave the light on for you?” I said.

“Yea, um, wait… I’m putting on my shirt.”

I stood there for a moment in confusion until he came into the room.

“Hey, I just shaved my head. Can you check the back of my head for any missed spots?” He said as if it was the most normal request in the world.

“Ok… Um… Yea, it all looks good to me.”

I was sans contacts or glasses so the fact that it “looked good to me” meant very little, but he seemed to be happy.

“Great! Thanks!”

He bumbled back to his room.

Odd, indeed.

Missing My Slum

2009-11-27T21:35:00.000-08:00

Never in a million years would I have guessed that Slum’s voice over a crackly connection from India would be music to my ears. We’ve been communicating via instant message since she left well over a month ago. Tonight she found me a bit tipsy (ok… drunk) IMing about “boy” problems. It’s her favorite thing to do – give counsel on relationships, so she picked up the phone and called me.

We were on the phone for at least an hour discussing the politics of love, and all the game playing that seems to be involved. She had me laughing my ass off. It’s hard to believe I threatened to break her fingers just a few months ago. She wants to me to come visit her in India. It’s been at the top of my list of places to travel for a while now.

“I have a two bedroom, two bath apartment here! What are you waiting for? Buy your ticket!!”

“Are there ashrams nearby where I can meditate and purge my demons?”

“It’s India! Your demons will instantly disappear!”

I want to go so bad… cheaptickets.com?

As a side note, I ran into Grant on a beer run to the fridge. He was sitting at the dining room table working on his screenplay. We had a nice conversation which involved bashing on the Scientologists. Maybe he's not all bad...

Good in the Hood

2009-11-27T09:20:00.000-08:00

Tyler and I have kissed and made up. We had a really nice thanksgiving with friends. We didn't talk about any house issues, but just let it go. Although there was a football game on t.v. and she made a comment about the referee's outfit.

"Where do they get these outfits??"

"I don't know, but I think we need one of those guys in our house!" I joked.

"Ha! No doubt!"

We have plans to go get a Christmas tree and possibly have a little holiday soiree in the house.

I haven't seen Grant. I've been gone for a couple of days, but it seems that he is hanging out in his room more. Hooray!

My PMS pills have arrived and I've started the dose of two capsules per day. I can't wait to see the results.

The Apology

2009-11-25T13:48:00.000-08:00

Hey,

I thought I'd run into you by now. I'm sorry I lost it on Monday. I know you were just talking to me like a friend, wanting support and I AM sorry that Grant is bugging you and you're uncomfortable with his presence.

Tyler

Vacationing in the 90210

2009-11-25T08:28:00.000-08:00

A house sitting gig in Beverly Hills is just what I needed to get away from the house drama. I feel like I'm on vacation. I arrived yesterday afternoon and numbed my brain with four back to back episodes of the Oxygen reality show, Bad Girls' Club. It makes the conflict in my house look like child's play. Later I enjoyed a hot bubble bath with a cup of tea, which sent me into a blissful slumber in a nice, quiet bedroom.

I really feel so relaxed, like I'm on vacation. Unfortunately, I have to return to the house daily to check on and feed my cat. I don't really feel comfortable asking Tyler to do it, and now that I think about it, she always seemed less than thrilled to do it in the past.

Last week I invited her to attend Thanksgiving dinner with me at some friends' house, but now it seems a little awkward. I really feel like she has betrayed me by participating in Grant's bitch fest, yet making me feel like I'm insane for wanting peace and quiet at night when I'm trying to sleep. I'm not sure how that will pan out. I'm not going to dis-invite her. Hopefully she'll just bow out. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy the sweetness of my current digs and forget about it.

Tyler’s On The Shit List Now

2009-11-23T18:01:00.000-08:00

Considering Tyler didn’t seem to have a problem listening to Grant’s hissy fit the other day when apparently both of them were unaware of my presence, I thought I would consult her this afternoon about the most recent ruckus in the night. She was sitting in the dining nook having some food as I was making some tea. After she was finished complaining about a bad shoe shopping experience I made my move.

“Grant is driving me crazy. Did you hear the loud crash last night around midnight? It woke up me AND Francine and I was in a dead sleep.”

“No,” she said, “and I don’t want to be in middle of it.”

“Well, after he had his hissy fit the other night I’m reluctant to approach him again.”

This is somewhat true – I thought since they seem to be so chummy she could mention it to him and he might take it better from her without having a complete fucking meltdown.

“Hissy fit?” She said with a dear in the headlights look on her face.

“Yea, you know, the other night when he was bitching to you?”

“Oh, you heard that…?”

“Um yea, I guess he didn’t think I was in the house.”

And by her reaction she didn’t either because then she started babbling some stuff about it not being okay to leave notes like that but she told him that it was between him and me. Clearly more was said than that because it went on for quite sometime, and now she was feeling sheepish. Of course her voice doesn’t carry like his, but judging by her reaction she had said some things she hadn’t intended for me to hear.

“Now I have to go out and buy and fucking white noise machine and put felt pads under all the fucking chairs so I can get some sleep. I haven’t had one good fucking night’s sleep without sedating myself into a stupor since he moved in!”

I continued my rant “He lies!! When I interviewed him I asked him specifically what his habits were because there have been problems with past roommates making a lot of noise late at night and he told me ‘oh, yea, I stay up late but I’m just in my bed writing on my laptop.’ And that shit about him not being able to get the internet in his room? Bullshit!!”

“Yea, that’s a little weird,” she agreed. “But, this has been a problem for you in the past and you know you’re sensitive to noise, so it’s obviously you, and you have to take responsibility for it.”

My mouth gaped open.

“Oh, okay, so I should be okay with this,” I slammed the kitchen door, “at midnight?? And what the fuck is going on in the dining room? The chairs are all over the place and there’s a drill on the table. What is this, a fucking garage?”

I was indignant.

“Nobody even uses that room, so what does it matter?” she argued.

“It matters because it’s fucking inconsiderate! If you move something, put it back the way you found it!”

This was the first time she and I had ever had “words,” so I had no idea what the hell was going on. We go to kirtan and yoga together – we’re pals, or so I thought.

“It is unreasonable for four people to live in a house and expect that a chair can’t be left askew!”

Now she was just being a bitch. There is a big difference in a chair being askew and having all of them scattered all over the room as if it is his personal romper room.

“Okay, Tyler. I’m just going to leave it, ok?”

I picked up my tea and started for the stairs to my room. She slammed her spoon into her plate and let out an exasperated sigh.

Bitch.

New Year - New Plan

2009-11-23T08:39:00.000-08:00

It’s never too early to start thinking about New Years Resolutions. The New Year will be upon us in a few short weeks. I’ve already decided to put “be more patient” on my list. Wait – before you laugh yourself off your chair – I have a plan. I just put in an order for this stuff called Femal by Flora that is a non-hormonal, homeopathic treatment for PMS and menopause. I sent some of this stuff to my big sister a few months ago. You see, horrific PMS runs in the family, so she was sort of my guinea pig. Lo and behold it seems to be working for her. Surely it will work for me too!

I do understand that this might take a little bit of the fun out of your reading. I mean, if you read regularly it’s as if we are sitting side by side on the hormonal roller coaster. The good news is it takes about two months for the stuff to get into the system and start doing its thing. It will probably be another week until I get the package, and then a good 6 to 8 weeks from there to see any real results. That means you’ve got about 9 weeks of mood swinging fun ahead of you. And let’s face it, it doesn’t come with a magic wand. My sharp tongue and acerbic wit are likely here to stay. The goal is to practice patience, not roll over and play dead.

Drama Queen

2009-11-22T09:02:00.000-08:00

Friday night my beauty sleep was, once again, disturbed by Grant dragging furniture across the floor under my room. When I got up yesterday morning I skulked down to the kitchen, tired and cranky and saw the furniture in the breakfast nook in disarray and the table actually splitting down the middle – no doubt from rough handling. I was pissed. Like, what the fuck is he doing?? So – armed with a marker I started scrawling on the sounding board:

Can we please handle the furniture a little more gingerly? Chairs sliding across wood floors make a lot of noise. And what’s up with the table coming apart - ?

Then I left for my busy morning, which I was late for thanks to asshole sleep robber.

When I returned home I went straight to my room. The house was quiet. I put on some music and went about my business until I heard loud voices downstairs. It was Tyler and Grant. Well, mostly Grant ranting about ME! Of course I turned off the music to listen.

“It’s just everyday there’s something new. I don’t need it!” He whined.

Well, my advice is to get the fuck out then… And the everyday something new? 2 days in a row is more accurate. Day one he left the lights on downstairs overnight (again) and Day two he got a long overdue reprimand for making so much fucking noise late a night.

I listened to him rant like a girl, playing the victim, for what seemed like forever. I could only assume that he was unaware of my presence in the house. When he was done, I pumped up the music so there was no mistaking my presence in the house, got in the shower to prepare for battle. A girl needs to look good when she’s about to kick some boy ass. Besides, I was going out for the evening anyway.

Cool as a cucumber I sauntered down the stairs to find him sitting at the dining table at the bottom of the stairs. I had no intention of going for the jugular unless provoked.

“Hey, what’s up?” He said.

“Nothin, how are you?” I said as I walked over to the table and leaned forward, resting my forearms on the back of one of the chairs.

He started talking but he wouldn’t make eye contact, just kept looking at his computer screen.

“So, I don’t understand what’s going on with the notes on the board, and it’s like, I’m so sick of having some new complaint everyday…”

“Well, you know, the reminder to turn off the lights could have been for anyone. It was not directed at you,” I said coolly.

“Oh. Ok. I guess that’s a good point,” he said, still not looking at me.

“And the problem is this…” I dragged a chair across the floor to demonstrate and then pointed at the ceiling, “My bed is right there.”

“Ok, well, I’ve calmed down now, but I just feel like it’s something new everyday.”

Ok, so I see you’re attached to this and not letting go… and I guess I should be grateful that you’ve calmed down? YOU better be grateful that I’VE calmed down…

He continued, “But I’ll try to be quieter.”

“Great. I appreciate it.”

What a turd (or a tard). I can’t believe he whined to Tyler for nearly half and hour, like a DRAMA QUEEN! If he’d just stop dragging the damn furniture across the floor at midnight and filling the fridge with Pabst Blue Ribbon, maybe we could all be Rodney King-like.

Urban Dictionary

2009-11-22T08:44:00.000-08:00

1. Man-boy:
(n) A male who, by age, should be a man, but still acts childish, is oblivious of what acting grown-up is about. An insult to point out ridiculous immaturity. A pathetic example of taking responsibility or manhood.

I'm not sure that the second sentence makes any sense, but hey, that's what you get when any yahoo can post their definition. I think it's a good description overall, but I think Grant has graduated to "drama queen." More to follow...

Don’t Bullshit a Bullshitter

2009-11-18T18:26:00.000-08:00

I suppose I should have seen this coming. Grant is a Scorpio too - his birthday only one day after mine. We can be a temperamental and stubborn bunch, and sarcasm just comes naturally. I don’t really think our head butting will escalate to the levels that it did with Slum, but he is definitely a child trapped in a big 36 year old’s body.

I sent him an email explaining that I didn’t want him using my outlet because I have way too much stuff plugged into it already. I’m still perplexed by his claim that he can’t get a wireless connection from his room, since it’s just below the cat room. I think it’s all BS. I suggested that we remedy the problem by moving the router to his room. He responded in a way that would indicate he is not all that interested in fixing the problem.

I don’t know that I have a cable hook up in my room, and I’m not sure how soon I’m going to get it. it’s not a big deal. I realize you don’t seem too comfortable with the set up, so if I want to get on the internet I’ll try to go to a coffee shop or something.

Cry me a river….

Grant –
There is a cable. I lived in that room for 6 months. So we can move the router - since Ty and I have no prob getting a connection from anywhere in the house, or see if Fran's router works better for you. Just let me know what you prefer- No need to go to a coffee shop, unless you want to.

To this he only said, “whatever you want to do is fine.”

Then I saw him a few hours later in the kitchen. There was some plumbing work going on, so there was quite a lot of banging and noise. To my knowledge he had no idea what was going on so I casually said, "Just a little repair work going on."

"Obviously," he responded dryly.

I had no control over my eyebrows shooting straight up in disbelief.

I’m not sure if I’m just feeling extra cranky this week, but I’m really bored of the whole man-boy routine. There really seems to be an over abundance of them roaming the globe. Why, oh why, did we let one move into our house?

Round One!

2009-11-17T16:04:00.000-08:00

So, this Grant idiot is showing his true colors this week. First off, when he moved in he was catless. Then, without asking anyone, he went out and adopted a kitten – just assuming that we were okay with it. There is red flag number one. Even as I was telling Mr. Lovely Hands about the kitten adoption he stopped me and said, “Wait, what? This guy just moved in a few weeks ago and he just adopted a cat without saying anything?? I’m not so sure about this guy…”

Sunday he dragged his laplop up to the “cat room” which adjoins to my room by a small window. The room used to be a balcony before it was closed in to make a sun room. I kept hearing all this banging in there so I went to see what in the hell the cat was doing, but instead found fat ass Grant in there setting up shop with his laptop.

“Oh, hey – what’s up?” I said a little surprised.

“Oh… um, yea, I can’t pick up the internet downstairs so I’m gonna try to see if I can get it in here.”

It’s true that the router is in the cat room, but no one has ever, ever had a problem getting a wireless connection anywhere in the house, upstairs or downstairs, so I’m 100% convinced he is lying.

It must have been obvious that I was bothered by his presence because then he said, “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

Stupidly I said, “No, not at all.”

Seriously, I didn’t think he would return again the next night. Only this time he brought beer. Papst Blue Ribbon. He’s a classy guy. All evening I was distracted from my reading by the “pshhh” of can after can being popped open, and the resulting beer burps. Add to that the fact that he is severely allergic to cats and he's hanging out in the CAT ROOM - sneezing and sniffling... WTF?

I was so irritated that I woke up at 4 a.m. plotting my plan to keep him out of that room, and downstairs where he belongs. Then it hit me… the power strip that he’s plugging his lamp and laptop into is connected to an outlet in my room via a crack in the window. So… I just unplugged it and secured the window. Viola!

I was telling a friend about my master plan and she said, “But that’s mean.”

To which I said, “But I am mean!”

She guilted me into atleast giving the poor slob a reason for disconnecting him – and a valid reason is that there are just way too many things plugged into my outlet. It’s a fire hazard after all.

Then, I got home and realized that the schmuck had pried the window open… Possibly even entering my room to do it. He’s crossed the line. I guess he hasn’t heard about the finger breaking that can go on around here. He’s dangerously close to finding out.

Trouble in Paradise

2009-11-16T08:55:00.000-08:00

Things have been going way too well at the Glendale Manor. It was inevitable that something would pop up to ruin it. This time it’s the landlord. She’s a woman in her 60’s that has an emotional attachment to the house, as it was the house her immigrant Spanish father worked hard to attain when she was a child. Well, this is the story she gives when she’s trying her best to make us feel guilty for not maintaining the outdoors to her liking, but if she loves the house so much, why does she live in Laguna Beach?

Before each of us moved in she asked if it would be a problem to water “a small area of the yard,” but as of late she’s asking more and more, and wanting us to sweep and rake… I didn’t sign up to be her gardener and Tyler is pretty indignant that she’s trying to get “something for nothing” out of us. She is relentless lately in her nagging and it’s starting to piss me off.

Yesterday afternoon I was blissed out after a sweaty vinyasa yoga practice with one of my favorite teachers at Yorkworks Larchmont. At the end of class, she led us through three rounds of overlapping Oms. It sounded absolutely heavenly – a room of 35 yogis unleashing their most soulful Oms from the bottom of their hearts. I floated out of that class without a care in the world. Then I pulled out my iPhone and checked my email. There in my inbox was yet another mile long email from the landlord with "feedback" from her recent visit to the house, which included:

Last but not least.............the fruit trees were really dry. I know you just got this responsibility......but please water them regularly until we get some substantial rain. It is better to use the sprinkler head and let it run about a half hour on each of the three trees....there doesn't have to be a lot of water pressure........deep watering is the best.

Um, yea, okay Lady – Let me spend an hour and a half 3 times a week watering your trees and then ooh, oooh! Can I pay the water bill too??

Needless to say this sent my vinyasa zen calm right out the window. I was livid. I tried to talk myself out of it. Do not let this broad undo what took an hour and a half of sweat and breath to achieve… but it was too late. My panties were all in a wod. I obsessed about it all the way through my after yoga snack and continued to obsess over it all the way to my next destination, fantasizing about sending her an email telling her where she could shove those fruit trees.

After I calmed down I sent a very bland two line return email acknowledging receipt, but with no comment on the watering. I ended it with “Have a nice week.” Translation: “Get a life you old bitch.”

Hmm. PMS? Is that you?

Second Date

2009-11-15T08:19:00.000-08:00

Last night I went on a second date with Shane (a.k.a. Mr. Lovely Hands). He drove all the way from Santa Monica to pick me up. Before he arrived I got Tyler’s opinion on my outfit – It’s so nice to live with girls you can ask girlie advice of! She gave my jeans and bohemian top the thumbs up.

“Are you nervous?” She asked.

“Mmm… A little… This dating thing is so weird. I’m worried he’s going to try and kiss me!! I just don’t know if I’m ready for that!” I said, laughing at myself.

It’s not like I’m a prude - God, far from it! But kissing a guy that I met on the internet that I really have no background with or link to, just seems… unnatural. I need to take this stuff very slow so I don’t get spooked.

He rang the doorbell just after eight. I was impressed that he did the gentlemanly thing, and came to the door, but I didn’t invite him in.

“So are you ready to go?” I said.

“Yea – let’s do it.”

He asked me about my day and told me about his on the drive to the restaurant. He’s so polite and pleasant. Surely he can’t be like this all of the time. But I guess that’s why people do this dating routine, right? To get to know the other person and see if he or she has qualities that are likable, and flaws that are acceptable.

The conversation rarely had a lull over dinner. We have plenty in common. He is more of a talker than I am, however, and every once in I while I found myself not hearing what he was saying over my own mind chatter – Do I like this guy? He’s got nice hands, nice lips, and good bone structure… hmm. Can I see myself naked with this guy? He’s so nice… I think I’m attracted to him… but I’m not 100% sure… Pay attention to what he’s saying!!

After dinner we decided to call it a night. It had been a busy day for both of us. My mind started to send me into a panic on the ride home. He was talking about fondue and I was thinking – Oh shit! What if he tries to kiss me? This is so awkward. I don’t like this part. He doesn’t seem like the type of guy that will lunge his tongue down my throat… breathe!

When we stopped in front of my house I started babbling.

“Thank you so much for driving all the way to the Glendale, and thank you for dinner, it was really lovely to see you again…”

And then I reached over to give him a hug and he kissed my cheek. It was very sweet.

Like I school girl, I wanted to tell Tyler all the gory details of my date, but alas, she’d already gone to bed, so I was left with my own thoughts tossing around in my head until I finally drifted off into a deep winter’s nap.

New Roomies

2009-11-11T18:30:00.000-08:00

So Slum and Mariana are distant memories now. Grant and Francine have moved in and brought with them much needed peace and tranquility. What on earth will I write about? Well, beside the trials and tribulations of internet dating, which, quite frankly, is getting old already.

Francine is from Venezuela. She’s a journalist for a Spanish television station. She’s the polar opposite of Mariana. She’s quiet, considerate, and clean. She’s very lady like and has the cutest little accent.

Grant is 100% dude. The other night I went into the kitchen to find him eating fast food with his plumber’s crack peeking out while he watched football. Then a little while later he went into his room and came out with the cutest little kitten in his arms.

“Hey – have you met Lizzy?” He asked.

It was really quite cute – this big dude holding a fragile little kitten. I thought it was strange though, because just the week before he told me that he was severely allergic to cats.

“You picked the wrong house! We have four cats here!”

“Oh, that’s okay. I can just take allergy pills,” he said as if it was no big deal.

I guess it shouldn’t have been any surprise when I overheard his telephone conversation with his father later that evening.

“Dad…. Dad… DAD! I’m not going to overdose on allergy pills…”

I don’t know about that. Last night one of his eyes was so red and swollen it looked like he’d been punched. She sure is one cute kitty though.

Dullard Dave

2009-11-11T17:33:00.000-08:00

He seemed like he was coffee worthy. His emails were light and unpretentious, and the fact that he’s a tall, handsome, 32 year old personal trainer with a great body didn’t deter me from meeting with him. But his looks were overpowered by his excruciatingly dull personality. I was ready to slit my wrist 10 minutes into our date. Actually, I was ready to end the date before it began.

We’d agreed to meet at a café in Atwater Village at 2 p.m. Once I arrived, ordered my coffee and found a good table outside, I checked my phone to find a text message from him: “I’m lost. Help!” Good God. So I called him and spent the better part of ten minutes trying to explain how to get there. We hung up and I occupied myself with a book as I waited.

The phone soon rang again.

“Um, I’m not sure I’m in the right place…”

No, he wasn’t. He was in exactly the opposite direction that I’d told him to go.

“Just stay where you are,” I said. “I’ll come to you.”

Already annoyed, I finally met up with him only to have him bore me to death with comments like, “Yea, I know I only got this job because of my looks. Surely there are much more qualified people out there. But I guess that’s the way it goes.”

I started plotting my escape. I didn’t want to be mean but I had to get the hell away from him asap before I lost my patience. I pulled out my phone to check the time.

“Oh, I gotta get going. I have to go work a horse before it gets dark.”

I think he kind of got the message that he was getting the brush off because he was suddenly very interested in my life.

“So, are you a shaman?”

“Um, no. But I have a shaman.”

“Wow, you’re a really fascinating person…”

“Thanks.”

I got up to go. He dragged his feet a little but finally got up.

“So, do you want to go for a walk in Griffith Park?” He said eagerly.

Confused, I answered, “Not today.”

He laughed. “Yea, I’ll email you.”

“Sure thing. It was nice to meet you,” I said as I put my hand out for a shake – Get a clue, dude.

The thought crossed my mind to keep him around as a toy boy, but then he’d just ruin the fun by talking. Sometimes it’s just not worth it.

Safe and Shane

2009-11-06T06:58:00.000-08:00

Another successful PoF coffee date. Again I was pissing and moaning all the way there. It was after 8:00 p.m. since he works a day job, and we agreed to meet at a coffee joint in Hollywood. That meant bundling up in my coat and scarf and scooting over there after dark, which is not my favorite, but that’s the price I pay for living the Vespa lifestyle.

The ride was actually really refreshing and the venue, Solar de Cahuanga, was cozy with wood décor, oversized ceramic cups, and writers littering the place. I’m glad he picked it. Although he was 20 minutes late, he apologized profusely. I guess he had a hard time finding parking, and unfortunately we had not exchanged phone numbers, only email.

Two hours flew by in no time. We talked about travel, writing, and lots of yoga. We actually know a lot of the same people within the yoga community in LA. He’s an “active” activist – Like, he actually gets out there and donates his time to worthy causes. I’m inspired to do the same.

I’m not sure if there will be a love connection. That remains to be seen. He’s a little younger than me, and he lives way over on the west side of town, so really not an ideal situation there, but I think we’ll stay in touch for sure. We have a lot in common and he seems like a good friend to have – a sincere and kind heart indeed.

Post Patrick Post

2009-11-04T19:47:00.000-08:00

I was so grumpy about going on my date with Patrick. On the way there the mind chatter was just soooo negative... I can't believe I'm doing this... what a waste of time... I'll NEVER like him... he's a probably a dork... Spending an afternoon with a stranger when I could be taking a nap...

You get the picture - but I got there and he was much better looking than his photos and not a dork at all... We talked for a solid 2 hours until I ended our date to go to my yoga class, which is good since I guess guys like it when you're not too into them. Although the lingering gazes were kind of a dead give away.

He seems to have a bright future in screenwriting, working on two scripts of his own, and one for a big name film. He has a Master's degree in film from USC and seems really passionate about his work, with several short films and one feature under his belt already. And bonus: he practices yoga and has dabbled in shamanism south of the border. All very good and deserving of high marks in the book of Mo. He’s also pretty sharp with his wit. I was telling him about my “relationship” with a horse named Jake.

“We came to an understanding,” I said. “He didn’t buck and I didn’t beat him.”

To which he quipped, “And is that pretty standard for all of your relationships?”

I think I blushed just a little for what seemed to be such a blatant sexual innuendo. Then again, maybe it’s just me.

I'm just really excited that I liked him and didn't walk away feeling all bitter and angry. We left it at "it's been a pleasure" and his suggesting dinner and drinks next time.

There is still nothing to report on the home front. It's just very peaceful here. Maybe life is taking a turn for the better in all directions.

PoF Progress

2009-11-04T06:58:00.000-08:00

After wading through a sea of losers, I finally have two gents that seem worth the effort of getting coffee. I'm meeting Patrick today.

Stats:
42 years old
6'1
Brown hair and eyes
Filmmaker

Tomorrow I'm meeting Shane.

Stats:
34 years old
5'10
Blond and blue eyed
Screenwriter

I think it's really funny that so many "film people" have come into my life over the last several years, particularly of the writing variety. Hmmm. What does it all mean?

In any case, wish me luck on my coffee dates. I'm sure there will be no chemistry and I will be running for the door after 15 minutes. While they both look good on paper - chemistry between two people is so rare, it would really shock me if I found it on the internet.

A Fine Specimen - Throwin' Up Gang Signs

2009-10-30T09:40:00.000-07:00

The latest from PoF:

Sign: Aries
Height: 6' 0" (183 cm)
Age: 29 year old Man

HELLO LADYS ! I BELIEVE THAT PHYISICAL ATRACTION IS WHAT DRAWS SOMEONE TO SOMEBODY OFCOURSE , AND THIS SHOWS NO PERSONALITY SO IF YOU LIKE WHAT YOU SEE SAY HI AND WE'LL TALK !SOME BASIC INFO , I LOVE ROCK SHOWS ,EATING , TATTOO'S , ALL SPORT'S ,KISSING=], I AM ROMANTIC I LOVE JUST TO BE WITH THAT ONE PERSON AND JUST CHILL NO WORRIES EVERYTHING IS CAREFREE THATS WHAT I WAN'T, A PARTNER FOR LIFE , A BESTFRIEND , A LOVER , A WIFE !!!

His message to me: HOW YOU DOING TONIGHT YOGI?

The way he writes in all caps is a nice touch. I hope he doesn't find this blog because he'll come pop a CAP in my ASS!

Cry Baby Dave

2009-10-29T19:34:00.000-07:00

So I had what I thought was a decent prospect on the line from Plenty of Fish (hereinafter "PoF"). Pun intended. His name is Dave. He's an artist, a Scorpio, and in touch with his spiritual side. Our email exchanges were going really well and then he sent me a link to his work which is downright spooky, dark, and dungeons & dragonesque. It put me off a little, but I didn't write him off for it.

He's into Chinese energy work called Qi Gong. Kinda cool, right? Then he said this:

I was telling my Qi Gong friend about Louise Hay's mirror work, where you stand in front of a mirror and look yourself in the eyes and say "I deeply and completely love and accept myself." I've done this in the past and it always leaves me balling like a baby ... I didn't start doing mirror work until after I'd done a bunch of other internal work of facing many, many old painful memories.

Woof! A little too much sharing there, Dave. Thanks for letting me know just how damaged you are BEFORE I consented to meet you for coffee! Jesus, it reminded me of that affirmation guy from SNL - "I'm lovable, and smart, and doggonit - People like me!"

Next!

Mocheesymo

2009-10-24T18:11:00.000-07:00

There isn't much drama in the house now that it's just me and Tyler, so not much to report really. This morning we were exchanging stories about the guys that message us on the internet dating site, plentyoffish.com - It is a sad but true fact that it has come to this. I just joined a few days ago. Tyler has been a member for some time now, but has yet to go on a date. I've gotten plenty of hits, but none very interesting until "Jonny" popped up last night.

"If you're curious we have something in common."

That's all he wrote and then attached his profile with three photos of himself. He's a six foot four inch Adonis with dark brown hair, just the right amount of muscle and few tattoos. He said he was a personal trainer. I thought he was really hot so of course I responded.

"Curious indeed."

So silly this internet thing... But anyway, he quickly came back with:

"Are you a good kisser?"

Are you serious??? Are you sure you're 34, and not 13?

I knew I should just leave it alone but I couldn't resist answering.

"LOL - can I have some wine with that cheese?"

So after I told Tyler that story she said, "You really should keep a list of all the cheesy lines and put them together for publication.... Can I have some wine with that cheese," she laughed. "That is really funny!"

If this continues, she may be on to something.

Taste the Rainbow - and the Love!

2009-10-19T19:59:00.000-07:00

Tonight I was skulking around the house, feeling a little blue and avoiding my homework when I heard the backdoor open. It was a chipper Mariana that passed me on the stairway.

“Hi, Marissa!” She chirped.

“Hey…”

I should say that during a wine soaked moment a few weeks ago I apologized to her for ripping her a new asshole, which she accepted graciously. I have been known to get ridiculously nice, or alternatively, viciously mean when I’ve been drinking. In this case, I guess it was best that it was the former, considering we share a roof and all.

I went to the kitchen to make myself some tea. If I learned one thing during my stay in Britain, it is that tea can cure just about anything – maybe even my melancholy mood.

Without warning Mariana appeared behind me with something in her hand. As she started to hand it to me she said, “Thank you so much for helping me with Calcifer. I really appreciate it.” Calcifer is her cat and she handed me a card and a bag of Skittles (my favorite sugary snack).

“Aw, thanks. I LOVE Skittles, and I need the sugar rush tonight to get through my homework!”

I was already touched by her gesture, but when I returned to my room and opened the card my heart went all mushy.

Thank you so much for helping me take care of Calcifer during my transition. You are a truly decent kind soul, and a generous person. Thank you. Mariana & Calcifer.

It’s nice to know that no matter how ugly things get between people, the good stuff at the core is still there, and forgiveness is always possible.

Amanna Check Out Your Ass

2009-10-17T13:49:00.000-07:00

While I'm eternally grateful that Mariana is moving out of the house, all of this roommate finding business is getting old. I've quickly learned that impressions made on the phone quite often do not translate to real life.

Last night a guy named Aman came to look at the room. On the phone he sounded really chill, and frankly kind of small, which would be an asset since the available room is directly over Grant's room. When he showed up, 45 minutes late, he was not small at all. He said he was a karate teacher yet he was a little on the portly side.

Aman seemed nice enough, until he started mentally rearranging the house. People often come to this house and see it's "potential" not realizing what a project they'd really be getting into if they start home improvements. Generally, I just quietly roll my eyes and think - yea, you'll get over that real fast.

He was twitchy, chatty, and overall just a little bit too pushy in his ideas about how his life was going to be a the Glendale Manor - because it seemed that he figured he already had one foot in the door. He has a nephew that he felt the need to show me a picture of, adding "You won't mind if this little cutie comes to visit sometimes?"

As if that wasn't enough, I caught him checking out my ass.

Next!!!

The Sausage Debacle - Continued…

2009-10-14T09:53:00.000-07:00

Just for good measure, Tyler sent an email to Mariana about the mysterious disappearance of her sausages. She copied me and the landlord, and just for good fun, blind copied Slum in India.

Hi Mariana,

This morning I was making breakfast and went to make some sausage. I haven't been eating much sausage lately so you can imagine how surprised I was to find a single link in the large box of sausage I had in the freezer when I expected to find it half full. I know that you're leaving and this will soon be a faint memory but I'd like to ask that for the remainder of the time that you're living in the house that you refrain from helping yourself to my food. As you know, we're all pretty easy going about sharing from time to time as it's natural to run out of things and someone else has some and we borrow until we can replace whatever it is and so it goes. However, there is a difference between helping each other out and eating food that isn't yours without at least letting the person know and/or offering to replace it.

I don't know what to else to say about it really except to ask that you not do it again.

Thanks,

Tyler

The best part – Mariana replied and DENIED IT!! Unbelievable. Actually, not really. It is so apropos for Mariana, a.k.a. Psycho Sausage Eater, to steal someone’s food and then LIE about it.

Slum responded to Tyler’s email:

Hi Tyler,

I am sorry you are having to experience all that. I am glad you will all be free of her soon. Tell her to replace the sausages and while you are at it ask her to return my milk as well and ship it to India. Hehe!

Keep me in the loop! This is my only entertainment right now.

Hide the Sausage, Anyone?

2009-10-13T12:12:00.000-07:00

The sounding board, which has been a blank canvas for well over week, today reads:

Did someone actually eat all of my sausage except one lonely link? Next time, just eat them all and let me know, so at least I know I need to buy more sausage for my breakfast. Tyler

Well, let’s see – I’m a veggie, and Slum is gone, so that leaves, Mariana. What a shocker!

It was a little over a week ago that I had to go Finger Breakin Commando on her ass. We had been interviewing and searching for the right roommate to replace Slum and having no luck finding a suitable female, so we decided to show the room to a guy that sent us a funny email.

“Why not give a nice, quiet guy a chance?” He said. “Besides, who opens your pickle jars?”

When Grant came by to look at the room, Mariana and her boyfriend/master had just holed up in her room. I hoped they would remain there, but to my (and Tyler’s) dismay, Mariana reared her ugly head while we were showing Grant the terrace just out the backdoor to his potential new room.

“Hi,” she said to him, “I’m sure you’re very nice, but I’m not sharing with a guy.”

“Mariana, take it up with the landlord,” Tyler said before I could get the same words out of my mouth.

“I’m not sharing with a guy,” she repeated.

“Mariana, this is very inappropriate,” Tyler said like a stern mother.

When Mariana walked away we were very apologetic to Grant, but he was of course feeling uncomfortable with the situation.

“Uh… the place is great. I love the house, but obviously this is not going to work with me. You should probably just get another female.”

I was fuming.

“Don’t worry, she won’t be here much longer…”

I had no idea how I planned to pull that off, but I knew she had to go if there was any hope of peace and harmony in the house.

As soon as the front door closed from letting Grant out, I flew up the stairs and banged on Mariana’s door like a crazed banshee. Day one of my period is not the best day to fuck with me.

When she opened the door I just let it all fly.

“WHO THE FUCK TO YOU THINK YOU ARE BEING SO RUDE TO A GUEST? YOU ARE A RUDE SELFISH LITTLE BITCH!! YOU ARE FUCKING OUT OF HERE! YOU'RE LATE ON YOUR RENT EVERY FUCKING MONTH! YOU AND YOUR FUCKING BOYFRIEND NEED TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"

Tyler said some stuff too but she was a little nicer. Tyler and I went into the kitchen and heard Mariana skulk down the stairs to pick up her bags. I said, so that she could hear me, “I can’t BELIEVE she just did that!”

“Oh, well don’t worry… I’m OUT of here anyway…” she retorted.

“DON’T LET THE DOOR HIT YOU IN THE ASS ON THE WAY OUT!”

Since then, her boyfriend has not stepped one foot in the house, and Mariana gave her 30 day notice to the landlord. Grant is moving in on November 1st.

Slum for Breakfast

2009-10-10T16:59:00.000-07:00

So much has gone down in the last five months I don’t even know where to begin. Maybe it was the “finger breaking incident” that drove me away from writing about Slum. While it seemed therapeutic for a while, eventually it just seemed to be perpetuating anger and creating a really nasty, bordering on violent, situation.

Before I fill you in on what became of me and Slum – (and it is a shocker!) I should first say that she’s gone. No, I didn’t bury her in the backyard. She left about week ago for India to continue her dream of making the world’s most brilliant, life altering film. Prior to her departure, however, her relationship with Mariana fell apart, and that is putting it oh so mildly. It all began while I was exploring the jungles of Peru. Mariana became “collared” by a guy she met at an S&M club in Hollywood. In S&M terms, that means he owns her ass.

I was still bleary eyed and jet lagged from my overnight flight from Lima when I was sitting down in the living room having a chat with Tyler, getting filled in on all the madness in the house during the three weeks I’d been gone.

“So, Mariana has this new boyfriend, and they’re into S&M, and it’s just been non-stop…” Tyler said, exasperated, having had to listen to them screw for two weeks straight.

As I sat and listened I heard the door to my room open and close…

“That’s weird,” I said to Tyler. Maybe Mariana doesn’t know that I’m home.”

I started up the stairs, and as I turned the knob to go inside, a stunned Slum started profusely apologizing and pleading her case.

“Oh, Hi… I’m so sorry. I had to use the bathroom and Mariana and her boyfriend have had our bathroom tied up for the last hour and a half… I never would have gone into your space unless it was an emergency... In fact, Mariana kept trying to get me to come in here and hang out while you were away and I said it woudn't be right... ”

“No worries,” I said to her, not sure what to do next since it was the first time we’d exchanged words in months.

“You have no idea what it’s been like here. Her boyfriend is here all the time and now she wants me to sublet my room to him when I go to Barcelona next month… Let’s go downstairs,” she said as she motioned me away from earshot of Mariana’s bedroom door.

Tyler was still sitting in the front room. I listened to the two of them complain about what a nightmare the house had become in my absence. Apparently they were both awaiting my return to handle it.

“I just said the other day that we’d wait for you to come home because, as I told Rubi, ‘Marissa will come flying out of her room and nip this in the bud the first time Mariana disturbs her peace!’”

It’s good to be feared, and while I knew they were right, I was way too tired and my head was still spinning from my time in the jungle to even consider trying to sort out any house politics. Never mind the fact that Slum was suddenly treating me like I existed and conversing with me as if we were two civilized human beings. Something magical must have happened while I was away. Could it get any stranger?

“You must be hungry! I’ll make omelettes for us!” Slum said.

She cooked up one yummy batch of mushroom and cilantro omelettes, accompanied by a side of toasted sesame bagels. The three of us sat and ate midday breakfast together while looking a slideshow of my trip on my laptop. Clearly, I had fallen into some sort of strange parallel universe where Slum no longer shunned and ignored me.

Spoons and Dirty Frogs

2009-04-08T08:22:00.000-07:00

This blog is truely theraputic for me. The more I write, the less angry I feel, and the more comical all of Slum's behavior becomes. Last night I got home around 7 in the evening. The house was all dark. Mariana's bike was by the back door, but by all accounts it seemed like the house was empty. But just incase one of them was tucked away in their quiet space, I began to talk to my cat in the most annoying, babish way.

"Hey mamacita!! My hungry kitty!! MY NIÑA NIÑA!!..." This went on for sometime in a very loud, high pitched voice.

Then I went down to the kitchen and fixed myself a nice green salad wiht homemade lemony greek dressing, topped with a peice of salmon I'd grilled the night before. I felt so happy and unaffected by the household politics that I sat down at the ktichen table, in Slum's spot, and began to read the travel literature I'd just recieved from Amazon.

That's when I heard the unmistakable clump clump clump of Slum's heavy feet coming down the stairs. I only looked at her briefly when she entered the kitchen, her snarly mug looking all smushed as if she'd just woken from a heavy slumber. I can only imagine that she must have been nine kinds of miffed that I was sitting in "her spot." Beasts tend to be very territorial.

In an event, I kept munching on my salad and reading my book. She banged around in the kithcen for a while, put something to boil on the stove, and rather than sit in the same room with me, she went to the adjoining dining room, a room none of us ever use. From there I could hear her banging her spoon into a plastic bowl for 10 minutes or so. I was just grateful that it was plastic. When she starts feeding out of a cerramic bowl the banging of the spoon can be heard for miles.

Later in the eveing she got dressed, clomped down the stairs, and left the house. Read: SHE LEFT THE HOUSE! Perhaps she was meeting up with the Parisian guy that stopped by for a house tour a few days ago. Watching the dynamics between them I surmised that they'd met on Craigslist personals. It appeared that frenchie had not bathed or combed his hair in about 2 weeks. Who am I to judge if she's into dirty frogs...

HALLELUJAH!

2009-04-06T09:12:00.000-07:00

HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH! Hallelujah Hallelujah! HalleeeeeeeeeluJAH!

I have reason to rejoice today because Tyler has become the voice of reason in this house. Just when I was starting to doubt myself, considering that maybe, just maybe, I’m difficult to get along with and that I ask too much of my fellow humans, Tyler came along and set me straight.

As I was chopping up veggies for stir fry and chatting with Tyler I couldn’t help but ask about the disturbing images from earlier in the day. When I left the house in the morning, Tyler and Slumdog were sitting at the kitchen table having a civilizied chat about The Artist’s Way. I thought, oh no, I’m losing her…

Try as I might, I couldn’t help myself as I continued to slice up carrots… “So, you and Rubi had a nice chat abut the Artist’s Way this morning…?”

“Well, yea, sort of. For a little while,” she said, making it sound much less serious than it had seemed.

We continued to chat and I said more than I intended. I didn’t want her to feel dumped on, or in the middle of a big mess, but it seems that Slum has already put her in that position.

“She [Slum] is definitely very opinionated,” she said.

Yes, go on…

“And I feel like she is trying to get me on ‘her side.’ Do you know what I mean?”

“Oh, well yes, it was predicted that she would go out of her way make a friend out of you,” I said.

She continued saying that she “gets it” and that it’s clear that Slum is very immature, hence her tight relationship with Mariana, who, let’s face it, she could have given birth to.

We sat down, ate stir fry together, and continued chatting about other things. I really enjoy her company. She’s funny and she thinks I’m funny, and we can make reference to t.v. show’s from the 70’s… She’s great.

After our meal we were standing near the sink when she pointed at the dishes stacked beside the dish drain, “What’s this all about?”

“Oh,” I said, “that’s Rubi. She can’t stand to have dishes in the drain for very long.”

“I’d really prefer it if she didn’t move my things,” she said.

My heart leapt with joy!

“Yea, me too. I’ve asked her several times but she keeps doing it.” Flashes of ‘Keep your filthy paws off my things! came to mind.

“She is just intolerant and immature,” she said.

Finally! Someone who can see things for what they are!

HALLELUJAH!

Reflections of Slum

2009-04-03T12:33:00.000-07:00

Free from the spell of PMS, I find myself asking the question – why do I love to hate Slumdog? It is not, as one person speculated, that I have an issue with her based on her race or nationality. That was actually the one thing that sold her to me. I was excited to have someone that grew up in India around to learn about the culture. To my dismay, however, what she delivered was not the package I’d hoped for.

Instead of spiritual enlightenment and insight, I got the same repetitive claim that “it’s all an illusion…blah blah blah.” Yea. Got it. I wish she was an illusion.

Instead of lovely home cooked Indian food I got some processed rice dish with soy balls. That was a tough one to choke down. She lives off of take out from India Sweets and Spices in Atwater. She literally eats the stuff 3 or more times a day.

“Don’t you ever tire of Indian food?” I inquired one day.

“No,” she said indignantly, “I’m Indian!”

That’s about the dumbest logic I’ve ever heard, but whatever. It would be nice if she would chill out with the patchouli incense. When I walk past her room the smell nearly knocks me down, and last night it was wafting into my room. Gag!

She lied about so many things when she interviewed for the room, like the promise to cook authentic Indian food, but also that she would have B List actors around “rehearsing.” Rehearsing for what is my question. The illusion of her life as a director?

I’m beginning to suspect that she is mentally ill. That would mean that I’m picking on a disabled person, but then maybe I’m a little mentally ill 2 weeks out of the month, so it’s okay. In any event, I’m feeling completely unaffected by her presence today. This is reason to rejoice, indeed.

He's Baaaaack...

2009-04-02T09:55:00.000-07:00

I knew cops would end up at our door before it was all over. But alas, they were not here to take Slumdog (or me) away. When the bell rang at 1 a.m. I was in a place I like to call sleep, which all too often gets interrupted around here.

Apparently Jamie, Tamiko’s cute boyfriend had been hanging out in front of our house for quite some time. Mariana and Tyler answered the door in their pajamas. I guess the police wanted to make sure it wasn’t a “creepy” situation, but let’s face it – what else could it be? Only Tyler’s second night in the house and already stalker boyfriends are hanging around. I guess he told the police he was missing his girlfriend who had gone back to Japan. I stayed at the top of the stairs peering over the wrought iron banister.

“Aw, that’s such a sweet story,” I heard Tyler say. “Sweet and… creepy,” she laughed.

I went back to bed but heard Slumdog invite him in for tea. She is such a loser. He stayed for about half and hour. I heard the two of them and Mariana laughing and talking, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I’m dying to get the whole scoop. Maybe Tyler can fill me in since they were having their tea party right outside her room.

What kind of idiot invites a deranged guy into their home in the middle of the night? A lonely loser of an idiot with a ravenous appetite for attention and friends… Maybe I’m being too harsh.

Mission Accomplished

2009-03-30T10:38:00.000-07:00

They scatter like roaches when I enter a room... Yes~! True, I might be considered the "psycho" in the house, but at least those bitches are getting the hell out of my way. Slumdog "tattled" on me and told the landlord about the threat to break her fingers. Mariana and Slum both told her that I have a tendency to "overreact." Perhaps it's not that I overreact, but that most people underreact. Perhaps if people weren't so passive this world wouldn't be so f'd up... but I digress.

To smooth out the energy in this madhouse we have a new housemate moving in to take Tamiko's place. Her name is Tyler. She's a yogi like me, we have lots of the same books, and from the looks of it we are going to be great friends. She's about my age - late 30's, with a calm temperament peppered with a little underlying "don't cross me." I like that. She's going to be a real breath of fresh air in this place.

In the meantime I have to do some damage control from the temper tantrum I had earlier this week when I told the landlord that I was fed up and planned to start looking for a new place to live. This after their partying until the wee hours on Monday night.

"I live with a pathological liar and a bi-polar child that can't think for herself..."

The rant went on for several paragraphs... She didn't respond for several days only to say that she didn't want to see me go but I should do what's right for me. Ouch!

I live in the master bedroom, custom painted for me, with a bird's eye view of downtown LA. I'm not going anywhere...

Two Buffalo Girls...

2009-03-29T22:00:00.000-07:00

It has been a good long while since I’ve posted but that by no means is a sign that there isn’t any activity in the house. There has been quite a lot of activity, including but not limited to, yelling, screaming, threats of bodily harm, and retaliation by heavy metal music in the morning. I got the crazy notion that maintaining this blog was perpetuating my anger, but as a friend put it, "I think it is sort of catharic for you." She's a criminal defense attorney with my best interest at heart. Better that I get my anger out on the page than end up as one of her clients.

I’m the first to admit that I suffer (or those around me) from raging PMS. It is never a good idea to fuck with me the week before or during my period, period. Slumdog made the mistake of moving some of my stuff out of the dish rack in the kitchen, sending me into a tail spin.

“If you don’t keep your filthy paws off my things I’M GOING TO BREAK YOUR FUCKING FINGERS!!” I growled from the bottom of my soul.

She went to her room and shut the door. I guess she’s not as dumb as she looks.

At the beginning of this week I had actually decided that I was going to move out even though I absolutely love the house. Mariana is all tangled up in Slumdog’s puppet strings, as usual, making life less than wonderful when the two of them decide to stay up partying until 2:00 a.m. on a Monday. In my haste I decided I needed to look for a new place to live. 6 days later I’ve decided that there’s no way I’m going to let that bitch run me out of my home.

Last night they both came in quite late and woke me up with their buffalo asses thundering up the stairs. I figured I would repay the favor this morning with a little heavy metal wake up call. No Black Sabbath this time. Nope. That’s for sissies. Only the heaviest of heavy metal would do. They got a little System of a Down serenade at 7:00 a.m. While I had retired my taste for heavy metal music years ago, those CDs are really coming in handy now. Rock on!

Random Acts of Vileness

2009-03-03T11:14:00.000-08:00

The painters are coming along nicely with my new room. This is their third day of prepping and priming. Who knew a proper paint job took so long to prepare for? I'm going out for the day so I went upstairs to let them know. After the usual morning greetings I told Miguel that I would be out for most of the day.

"I'm going to be gone all day... so you guys behave yourselves..." I said with a facetious wag of my finger. It was a joke, of course.

"Ok," he said. "We'll just have a harem over and have an orgy."

[Blank look on my face.]

As if that wasn't enough, he added, "We'll save you some."

On that note, what could I do but walk away, feeling a little dirty.

Drama? Or Temptation?

2009-03-02T19:40:00.000-08:00

Apparently Tamiko’s boyfriend was not lying about the ‘I love drama’ bit. He returned to the doorstep this evening, unannounced and dressed like he was ready for a date. He’s about 28, half American and half Japanese, and tall like his American father who I met this past Christmas at the neighbor's party.

The doorbell rang and I wondered who it could be. I had just gotten out of the bath and pulled on some sweats. I looked out the peep hole to see Jamie, so I opened the door.

“Hi Jamie! What’s up?”

“Hi Marissa. I just stopped by to move those things upstairs.”

I have to admit that I think he is incredibly cute.

“Oh, sure, please… c’mon in….”

He came in and took off his jacket, draped it over the back of one of the chairs in the dining room and didn't make any sudden movements towards said items. I felt a little awkward with my hair all wet, in my glasses and old sweats. He asked if the room had been painted yet.

“Oh they are up there right now sanding away. They’ve been priming the area for two days now!”

“Really?” He said with his arms crossed.

“Yea, come take a look. I put that t.v. you wanted on the balcony.”

“Oh, I don’t want it,” he said. “I just came to move it downstairs for you.”

What a gentleman… I thought to myself.

We went upstairs and walked out onto the balcony where he started making small talk, and again, no indication of a rush to move anything.

“Wow this is a really big balcony…” He said.

I thought it was an odd thing to say since it is his girlfriend’s old room. It’s not like it was the first time he’d seen it.

“It’s so nice of you to stop by to move this stuff. You really didn’t have to do that,” I said.

“Well you're all females, of course you need help.”

I wasn’t sure if I should swoon or swear.

“Um, yea, I guess so…”

Then he just sort of stood there not making a move to pick up the t.v. so I said, “okay then…” and started to walk out of the room. He followed me, empty handed down the stairs and started the small talk again. Then we saw Miguel, one of the painters, carrying the t.v. down the stairs.

After the two items in question had been brought down, he just didn’t seem like he planned on leaving. I wasn’t sure what to do. On one hand, I didn’t want to be rude, should I offer him tea? On the other hand, to my knowledge, he is still Tamiko’s boyfriend and I didn’t want to give him any ideas, since I was already starting to get the feeling he had some ideas… Quite flattering, yes, but... NO! NO! NO!

“So how long have you lived here?” He asked with his hands in his pockets.

“Since October. So, I guess about six months. The monster has only been here about six weeks.”

“The monster?” He asked with a confused look on his face.

“The Indian chick that I got into the screaming match with the other day when you were here.”

“Oh!” he chuckled.

I then explained to him that I had actually chosen her which he found even more amusing. I told him that I practice yoga and that I’m into Indian philosophy.”

“Oh, me too!” he said nodding his head.

After a while and no invitation to stay, he gathered his jacket and plotted his return.

“So maybe I’ll stop by in a few days to see the room when it’s completed?”

“Of course. Yes, you know you are welcome anytime,” I said politely.

“Ok. Yea, I have your phone number. Maybe we can have breakfast or something?”

Oh dear… This is a cruel, cruel test isn’t it?

Turtle Neck

2009-03-02T09:49:00.000-08:00

Not much to report since Slumdog has stopped talking to me since I told her to "shut up" on Saturday. I almost said something to her yesterday when she came in very close proximity of my person in the kitchen to get yet more rice out of her rice cooker. She was so close that I could hear her smacking her last mouthful of food. She is truly vile.

Having drinks with a friend last night, he inquired about her looks.

"Indian women are either really hot, or really not!"

"She would fall into the latter I'm afraid. She has two big rolls of flesh around her neck," I said.

"Is she fat?" he said with a wrinkled nose.

"Not really. I mean she's not skinny either, but she just has two big wrinkles of skin on her neck."

"Like a turtle?!"

Please excuse me because I had had a couple of beers and I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever heard. Admittedly, it is childish and cruel.

"Yea, like a turtle!"

Great One Liner

2009-02-28T18:18:00.000-08:00

Tamiko left her cat with me to look after until she returns from Japan. The cat is depressed and missing Tamiko, but I'm doing the best that I can. I commented on it to Mariana last night. Of course Slum had to pipe in.

"Shit, man... I am depressed!"

"Yes, but I like the cat."

I couldn't resist. I proceded to laugh maniacally at my own joke.

Slumdog must be really pissed off after our encounter this afternoon. She just left the house and slammed the front door as hard as she possibly could. It's an old house. I hope it doesn't come off the hinges one these days. I might have to beat her with it.

Router this Bitch!

2009-02-28T16:19:00.000-08:00

Things were pretty copasetic with Slum last night. Although she didn’t even let Tamiko’s body get cold before she started tossing things out of the kitchen. It makes no difference to me as long as she isn’t tossing my stuff. I was in a good mood so I offered her one of my roasted beets and we sat at the kitchen table like civilized human beings.

Since she moved in and attached her Vonage crap to our wireless router we have had problems with the system crashing. The internet stopped working yesterday afternoon and when I got home today it was still down, so I took my laptop to the source, unplugged the router, and put the cable directly into my computer to check my email. The phone rang and it was the owner of the house, Kristina, who I am really fond of, and we ended up chatting for a good while.

When I got off the phone I went upstairs to check out the paint swatches I’m considering for my new room when I encountered an irritated Slumdog.

“Is the wireless down again?” she asked in an irritated tone.

“It seems that way. I had to plug it directly into my computer to check my email.”

There is a window opening between my new room and the office where the wireless router is located. I could see her messing around with the wires while I was holding my paint swatches up to the wall.

“This is my new office!” I chirped, quite happy with myself.

Then she looked up with a snarl on her face.

“I have wasted an hour trying to fix this problem. Why did you leave the cable connected to your computer? You should have put it back as soon as you were done! I wasted an hour messing with this!”

I was taken aback by the overreaction and indignation at something that was just not a big deal. Not to mention that an hour was a complete exaggeration. It was half an hour at best, and I had gone without an internet connection for nearly 24 hours.

“WHAT?”

“I have wasted an hour on this!” She barked again.

Just last night she was bragging to me about how she could help me out with my math homework because she is good with math and has a very logical brain.

“Well, I guess you should have used your logic to follow the cable to see that it was connected to my computer!”

This did not go over well.

“I am not logical brained person!” She yelled back at me.

“You were last night!” You idiot!

“You shouldn’t complain about anyone in this house being inconsiderate. YOU are the most inconsiderate person in this house!” She barked.

“Oh please… Shut up! It’s over. Get over it. Be present”

She muttered something else as I was walking away.

“You know…, I said to her, “You should watch your Ps and Qs because I’m pretty sure Kristina wouldn’t be too happy that there are a couple of potheads here smoking pot in the house”

Ha! Childish perhaps, but oh it got her goat!

“Oh whatever.” She said.

I returned downstairs where Tamiko’s boyfriend was picking up the last of her things. I chatted with him for a while and then went back upstairs to get my computer. When I was going back downstairs she asked if I had a minute. I figured she wanted to have a little “let’s talk and work this out” session.

“No. Actually I don’t.”

“I just want to show you how to fix the router if it goes down again.

I started to say okay and then she said something else in a surly tone.

“Ya know what. Not now. There is a little too much hostility. You can show me later when you’ve stopped being a complete bitch!”

Tamiko’s boyfriend heard my comment and gave me a smirk as I was descending the stairs. Slumdog was still yelling after me.

“Oh I guess you can tell Aunt Kristina! I don’t care!”

“Oh… whatever. SHUT UP!

“I guess you can see there is lots of love in this house,” I said to Tamiko’s boyfriend.

“I love it,” he said facetiously. “I love drama!”

“Well, there is PLENTY of it here…”

Oh, if she wasn’t on my shit list yet. You can bet she is now.

Postcards from the Deep End

2009-02-27T09:45:00.000-08:00

I went off the deep end last night after one too many hours of sleep deprivation. Mariana decided to have a slumber party. Her friend showed up on the doorstep at 11:00 p.m. I was immediately peeved because I knew for sure that meant lots of noise and no sleep for me. Again.

I tried to take the high road. I really did. My attempt at doing a little bedtime reading was soon disrupted by their chatter and thumping around in Mariana's room, which is right above me. A surge of anger sent me out into the hallway where I yelled up the stairwell and through her door – one of her favorite tricks.

“MARIANA! I NEED A MOMENT WITH YOU PLEASE … MARIANA???.”

She finally popped her head out and I went on a tirade that went something like this:

“Why would you think that it’s okay to have a slumber party on a week night? You are totally inconsiderate. You share a house with other people and you know the noise just echoes through the house. If you and your friend need to hang out this late you should go to a bar!”

“I’m sorry…”

“You’re sorry? And then what? What are you going to do?”

“Go somewhere else?”

“Yea. I think that sounds like a good idea.”

With that I stomped back to my room and slammed the door. The "somewhere else" that she decided to go, was the kitchen. It was quieter for a while and I nearly got to sleep, but it wasn't long until they went back upstairs and started thumping around and chattering again. I gathered that they were getting ready for bed. Meanwhile, I had passed my window of opportunity to fall asleep and I was PISSED. It was nearing 1:00 a.m.

I got out of bed in a major huff and did what any housemate bent on revenge would do. I blasted Black Sabbath with my door open and went into the kitchen to bang around every pot, pan, dish, or any other object that might make obnoxious noise. I was completely possessed by sleep deprived rage. No one else was home at the time, so I was free to be as crazy as I wanted to be. Then Rubi came home.

She must have thought she’d stumbled into a mad house, when I, the one who is usually tucked away quietly in my room, was blasting heavy metal and slamming things around the kitchen. She cautiously entered the room and approached me with a blank stare of confusion on her face.

“Oh. My. God. What is going on?”

I went on another tirade about missing my beauty sleep due to Mariana’s complete lack of consideration for anyone in the house.

“I’M FUCKING SICK OF IT!”

She looked at me with her mouth gaping. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

A few minutes later she returned with Mariana who had clearly been crying. Rubi made her sit at the table with us to duke out the issue. Rubi was doing most of the talking for Mariana which pissed me off even more.

“What are you? Her mother?” Mariana, do you have anything to say?”

She just whimpered that she has tried to be quiet. It was no surprise that she played the victim and I was the villain. I think I scared the crap out of her though and I’ll bet she’ll find a way to be more considerate from now on.

“I am on about a 20 hour sleep deficit,” I said slowly to them. “When I don’t get my sleep this is what happens. I go off the deep end.” I looked at Mariana, “Welcome to the deep end.”

Rubi went into a lecture about how no one is purposely being vicious, and yada, yada, yada and then…. She revealed why she had stopped talking to me when she moved in. Apparently it was because her tea kettle kept getting moved off the stove and she thought I was doing it on purpose to make some point that she wasn’t welcome in the house.

I live with crazy people. I think I have gone crazy too.

Breakfast and Boobs

2009-02-26T09:45:00.000-08:00

The bad news is that Tamiko is moving out. She has to go back to Japan because of a visa issue. I’m really sad to see her go, beside the fact that I really like her, she has also been my ally against the two crazy bitches. The good news is, I’ll be moving into Tamiko’s room, which is the master suite. It’s so big it’s like an apartment inside the house, minus a kitchen, of course. But it will remove me from a lot of the madness that goes on downstairs, including but not limited to, 3 a.m. tea parties. The even better news is that included with the room is the responsibility of “house manager.” So, that means I’ll be the boss of those bitches! There, I managed to use the word “bitches” twice in one post. I’m so hip-hop.

This morning we had a farewell pancake breakfast for her. It was actually pretty nice. Some days I can tolerate Rubi in small doses. She said something this morning that was actually funny. She was supposed to knock on my door at 7-ish so we could all start preparing breakfast for Tamiko, but instead my cat woke me up at 7:30.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? You were supposed to knock on my door at 7:00,” I said to Rubi.

She look at me and paused for a moment before she said, “I’m scared of you dude!”

We all burst into laughter. I guess my mission has been accomplished.

Breakfast was very pleasant for the most part. We had pancakes, scrambled eggs, fresh OJ and coffee. My only complaint would be her table manners. She smacks her food. I guess closing your mouth when you eat is not as widely practiced in India as it is in America. And I probably could have done without seeing her boobs. Thankfully, I was able to keep my breakfast down

Bi-Polar Express

2009-02-25T23:45:00.000-08:00

I started the day by getting in touch with my softer side and making a conscious decision to treat Slum with the compassion and respect all living beings deserve - even if said living being is an annoying pain in the ass. When I entered the kitchen she was, as usual, sitting at the table. I said good morning. She responded in an equally courteous manner. We had what I would consider a positive conversation about art and creative living.

On my return home in the evening she was STILL in the kitchen. For ****’s sake! Does this woman have a life? Does she ever leave the house?? She claims that she went to the gym. She doesn’t look like someone that frequents a gym…. In any event, she was not quite as warm as she’d been in the morning. While she was responsive, she seemed annoyed by my presence in the kitchen. She soon after took her pot of tea and bowl of Special K to her bedroom.

About an hour later Mariana came home and she too went upstairs. There was radio silence for about half and hour. I went into the kitchen to wash up my dishes when I suddenly heard a buffalo coming through the door behind me. Alas, it was only Slum with Mariana trailing closely behind.

“Hey Dude!” She yelled as she came at me with a stupid grin and dirty dishes.

“Hey…,” I said, slightly frightened.

“OK… WE ARE SO HIGH!”

Mariana just stood there looking at me, as if she was concerned about my reaction to pot smoking in the house. I think she thinks I’m some sort of naïve nun or something. She has no idea.

“Um… Wow, yea, it would appear so…” I said to them both.

They broke into laughter, because everything was just so…funny?

“I just got off the phone with Raaaaaaaj,” and she leaned towards my face with wide eyes as if I should be impressed. “He is sooooooo gorgeous! Raj.”

“That’s great. That’s exactly what men should be, right? Gorgeous.”

My dry humor is lost on her.

“He’s a leeeeeeo! Raj!”

I felt like I was having a conversation with Stewie from Family Guy, except there was much less intelligence involved. I watched them devour a whole baguette with olive oil and balsamic vinegar and then I had to step away from the stupidity.

Morning Meltdown

2009-02-23T09:00:00.000-08:00

As the days go by I realize how much Rubi turns my stomach with her know it all attitude and plastic emotions. This morning Mariana had a minor meltdown. We are women. It happens. We were all in the kitchen, and still being half asleep, I didn’t immediately realize what was going on.

“Are you okay, girl?” Rubi asked.

Mariana just nodded with her head hanging, face red and tear-stained, looking like a child that had lost her favorite toy. It was only then that I realized that something was wrong.

“What’s wrong Mariana?” I asked her.

At that point Rubi walked up to her and hugged her from the side and said “I love you.”

What?? You LOVE her? Really?

I wanted to punch her in the face, but I just rolled my eyes and went back to making my coffee. It turned out that what set her off was not having transportation to get to an appointment. That’s when Rubi started in on one of her lectures. I mean, why would she miss this prime opportunity?

Last night, like, I was watching the Oscars, dude, and Kate Winslet won for The Reader and she was like, ‘I have imagined this day since I was 7 years old. I used to sit in the bathtub with a shampoo bottle a imagine this moment.’ So, dude, don’t freak out. You’re gonna manifest what you need.

I had to pipe in before I exploded.

“Or maybe you just had a good cry because you needed to. You just had some energy that needed to be released. Kind of like an orgasm, but not as much fun.”

Mariana laughed. Slumdog ignored the comment and started up her lecture again. Mariana always sticks around to listen to her bullshit, so she’s on her own, but she’s getting a ride from Slum to her appointment, so maybe she’s not as gullible as she seems.

The Other Side of Things

2009-02-21T19:17:00.000-08:00

I find myself at home on a Saturday night sorting my sock drawer, no doubt for the lack of a man in my life. Slumdog is upstairs doing God only knows what and a scary thought just came to mind. What if she has a blog about me? Now that'd be entertainment! Everyone knows there are two sides to every story (of course only mine is accurate). But alas, that would require that she have a brain - and since she argued with me that Sanskrit is not actually a language, I'd have to say she is lacking in that department. Much like Latin, it may not be widely used, but it is most definitely a language, and not just any language, a mother language. I think her argument went something like this:

"Sanskrit is not actually a language on it's own. It can be spoken in any language."

"You mean a transliteration of Sanskrit can be spoken in any language," I said, trying to throw her a rope.

"No, it's not a language."

"Well, what are those squiggly symbols I can't read then?"

"Oh, that's Hindi."

If I am not mistaken, Hindi evolved from Sanskrit just as the Spanish language, among others, evolved from Latin. But Slumdog knows all...

Wedding Bells

2009-02-20T17:32:00.000-08:00

It seems that there is going to be a wedding. Things are back on track with Rubi's romance. Raj called her on her birthday and she is ever so much in love.

"I'm think I have to go to India soon..." she said in a breathy voice with a grin from ear to ear.

The glimmer of hope on my face must have been apparent. I would pay her ass to go to India.

"You know," she added, "My astrologer says I'm supposed to get married this July."

"Really?" I said, feigning interest.

"Yes, and he has been right about everything else. I know Raj is the one. I just feel it!!"

She was as giddy as a 40 year old woman pretending to be as giddy as a school girl. It's so incredibly contrived and phony that it's tough to hold back the puke.

As if listening to her "make believe" love life wasn't enough, she decided to start in on mine.

"We have to find your man. Not A man, but THE man!"

"Um, no we don't."

This was not the first time she had broached the subject and I was starting to get a little fed up with it.

"YOU are projecting YOUR needs and inadequacies on to me. I don't NEED a man. I am quite content on my own. I am sorry if that makes you feel uncomfortable."

I kind of barked it at it her and the smile slowly melted off her face.

"Well we could at least go to a party and see what happens..." she said almost coyly.

"Whatever."

With a smirk she softly said, "Sometimes it is what we resist that we need most."

I think this "getting a man" business is all bullshit. She just wants to hang out with me. I hope that Raj is out there somewhere planning his proposal.

Sad Goodbye

2009-02-19T19:26:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was an incredibly sad day in the house. We had to rush Tamiko's elderly cat to the pet hospital. He was almost totally non-responsive, just lying limp in my arms while Tamiko drove us as fast as she could on the freeway with alligator tears streaming down her face. I couldn't hold back my tears either with such a helpless creature nearing its death. I prayed for mercy and repeatedly chanted Loka Samasta Sukino Bhavantu softly over him - the mantra for eternal peace and happiness for all beings.

He died shortly after we arrived at the hospital from acute kidney failure. Tamiko was hysterical. My heart was so heavy as I watched her sob over his body. I wished there was something I could do, but all I could do was stay with her.

On the drive home she insisted that we go visit my horse.

"I know you were going to see her today, but you came with me instead. We'll go see her."

"OK," I said, "maybe we could stop for some carrots?"

"Yea," she said, "I don't want to go home right now."

I couldn't blame her for that. We spent about an hour with the horses. Just being in the company of horses can take the mind off the worst of problems for a little while.

Walls? What Walls?

2009-02-17T11:04:00.000-08:00

Admittedly I’m suffering from a severe bout of PMS this week, but I’m really getting very close to knocking someone’s block off in this house. Mariana might be the winner. I was sitting quietly at my desk feeling “in the zone” writing my morning pages when a voice broke the spell…

“Marissaaa?”

WTF? It’s Mariana in the kitchen, yelling my name, not through one door, but two. More than a little annoyed I got up and went into the kitchen.

“Yes?” You ill mannered imbecile…

“How do I get the electricity to the microwave to come back on?”

Seems that the eight electric heaters running in Rubi’s room are overloading the circuits and tripping the switches. So unusual for her to only think of herself…

“You need to go outside, open the little box, and figure out which switch has tripped. The heaters in her room,” I pointed up, “are overloading the circuits.”

“Is she here?”

“I don’t know…” I said indignantly.

Then she bumbled out into the hallway and ignored MORE walls and doors.”

“Rubiii?”

No answer?

“Rubiii?”

“Tamikooo?”

“Is your electricity on?”

Pause. Tamiko must have answered.

“Yea. It’s just that I was flipping switches so I wanted to make sure your electricity is on.”

For f***’s sake. I guess she would deal with it if her electricity is off… far less annoying that your voice penetrating her little sanctuary.

I had no choice but to blast Lo Fidelity All Stars to drown the noise and “launder my karma.”

Insomnia Café

2009-02-16T14:44:00.000-08:00

Last night, or should I say this morning, I got a rude awaking at 3:00 a.m. Rubi and Mariana were having a tea party. Bleary eyed and pretty pissed off, I opened the door to the kitchen to see the two of them huddled around the electric heater, having a cozy moment to the sound of the pouring rain.

“You guys...” I said with exasperation and squinty eyes, “It’s 3:00 a.m….”

“Sorry… We're celebrating my birthdaaay,” she said in a girly voice trying to be cute and innocent.

“That’s great. But I’m trying to sleep.”

With that I went back to my room and fumed for an hour, unable to sleep. At least the rain lulled me back to sleep eventually.

I’m not sure how much more my PMS riddled brain can handle this week before I lose my temper with twiddle dee and twiddle dumb.

Love on the Rocks

2009-02-15T09:50:00.000-08:00

It would seem that Rubi’s long distance love affair has gone awry already. Raj didn’t call her when she thought he should, and once she finally called him, she did not get the reaction she wanted. Apparently his response was “Who is this??” She was appalled and answered, “Me!”

“How many women is he involved with that he doesn’t know the sound my voice?” She directed the rhetorical question at me.

Deeply upset she went on to share that she has a little problem with letting the guy “lead.” This being a complete contradiction to her lesson about being Queen bee and using her DSL connection to the universe to direct and guide the connectivity challenged male species. That said, what could I do but empathize?

“Yes. I know. I have a hard time letting men be men too.”

Then she wanted to give me a physical demonstration to really drive home what she meant.

“Give me your hand.”

I apprehensively gave her my hand. She placed it on top of her fist and started making small circles.

“Just let your hand follow mine. Don’t resist or try to lead, just let your hand follow.”

“Ok…,” I said, feeling slightly unnerved by the unsolicited intimate contact.

“Now if I do this…” She gave a little push into my hand which I instinctively resisted.

“See, that is okay. That’s how we give men boundaries, and he will be okay with that, but we have to let them lead.”

I’m not saying she doesn’t throw out a good point here and there, but the inconsistencies put a big hole in her big picture. I guess I’m just confused. I’m sure it will all line up and make sense once I have my big breakthrough. Right?

Blowjobs and Skittles

2009-02-14T19:00:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was informed that this whole blowjob business was made up by women. Apparently men have just been polite all this time, only allowing us to blow them because we like to do it. It is not actually in their nature to receive, according to Rubi, anything.

“Men don’t like getting blowjobs. They are givers not receivers. They only let us do it because we want to. They want to give to us.”

She said this with a straight face and believes it 100%

“Wow,” I responded. “I think we’d better take a survey on that one.”

Fellas? Comments please…

In addition to this oral update, if you will, it has also come (no pun) to my attention that the Valentine Skittles meant for Rubi are being ignored. Mariana thoughtfully placed three Skittle filled hearts on the counter with each of our names on it. I thought it was quite cute and since Skittles are my favorite I was doubly happy when I returned home last night. She had also scrawled on the sounding board (a dry eraser board on the fridge) “Happy Valentines” inside the heart she had painstakingly drawn with a red marker, complete with an arrow through it. I jotted a small note of thanks next to it.

When I got home this afternoon I noticed that Tamiko had done the same, but Rubi’s heart was still laying on the counter… ignored. Considering she never leaves the house and keeps her ass parked in the breakfast nook for hours, there is no way she overlooked it. Trouble in paradise perhaps… a lover’s quarrel? An oral argument?

To be continued…

She's a Heeler

2009-02-13T08:48:00.000-08:00

I have not had a chance (or the stomach) to spend any quality time with Rubi for the past few days. I really want to sit down with her and get the details on how to have a “breakdown” in order to create more money, and more importantly, a Mini Cooper S. I mean, with all that fine insight on Brangelina, I’m starting to think we might be on to something.

However, I’m a little miffed with Rubi right now. She only leaves the house on Tuesday and Thursday evenings to go to her acting class. She must be pretty good because she acted her way into this house. She’s not actually an actor but an aspiring director and screenplay writer. Welcome to Los Angeles. Anyway, she must go to the bar with her classmates afterwards because she usually gets home well after midnight. That’s fine except that the front door to this castle weighs a ton and she can’t seem to figure out how to close it lightly. Then, without removing her heels, she totters up the Spanish tile stairs and into her room to do at least six laps back and forth across the hardwood floor. Sleep is clearly not included in her self help plan.

She and Mariana are making breakfast together as I type. Moments ago there was the familiar tapping on my door.

“Melissa?” It was Mariana.

“Yea?”

“Can we borrow some your coffee?”

“Sure, help yourself…” Because it grows on trees…the Starbuck Tree.

Privacy Please

2009-02-12T11:07:00.000-08:00

All that talk this week about “breakdowns” and “break-throughs” finally got to me. I had one salty dog too many with an out of town visitor on Tuesday eve that rendered me useless yesterday. I was lying around feeling miserable when I heard a knock at my door. It was Rubi wanting me to sit down for tea.

“Hey – you want to come have some chai with me and Mariana?” She chirped.

Through a small crack in the door, trying to hide my disheveled appearance I growled, “No, thanks, I’m in a mood today.”

“Oh, well there is no better way to get you out of a mood than to sit down to tea with us!”

“Um, no, not really. Thanks though…”

[Sound of door shutting AND locking]

I crawled back in bed with my laptop to continue the marathon of Family Guy I had been engrossed in. Then I heard light tap, tap, tapping on my door. I ignored it. Tap, tap, tap again, pause… and then it went away. Honestly, has she no respect for personal space?

After that the two love birds starting watching movies on Mariana’s laptop in the breakfast nook. Their incessant cackling sending me into irrational fits of rage. They sat there for hours, until Mariana finally went to bed around 10:00, but Rubi stayed there until God only knows when, surely out of pure spite.

Tea for Three

2009-02-10T09:41:00.000-08:00

Mariana and Rubi have been having ritual tea parties in the breakfast nook for two weeks now. I only began getting invitations a few days ago when the cold war between us ended. Last evening the two peas in a pod returned home from a full day at the Korean spa and Rubi immediately started to set the table for tea. She once again offered a spot at the table, and for the first time, I accepted.

Rubi was actually fairly normal, except for the usual overuse of the word “dude” and “man” which is always so attractive on a woman in her late thirties. I had to fish a little bit, but I got her to talk a little bit about Hinduism. I pulled out my copy of the Bhagavad Gita to impress her. These are actually the types of conversations I had hoped to have when I carefully handpicked her from the pool of roommate candidates.

She said that the temples in India have erotica painted on the outside of them to represent all of the worldly pleasures we are meant to experience before we can move forward in our evolution. Hoorah! I wondered if I had fulfilled my requirements yet. Surely not.

Mariana sat slouched in her chair, mouth gaping, eyes drooping, as if she had smoked a bowl (and probably did) before sitting down to tea time. She only gave the occasional “huh,” or “yea,” in agreement. Maybe my presence at the table was detracting from their vibe together. Normally, when they are having tea I can hear Mariana boisterously cackling at everything that rolls out of Rubi's mouth. I wonder if Rubi knows that Mariana is bisexual…

Fairy God Mother

2009-02-10T08:57:00.000-08:00

Tamiko, my Japanese roommate, is 100% confused by all of this “be a queen” business.

“What’s that mean?”

I could see the language barriers going up, and she was asking me, an American, to translate the ramblings of an Indian in a way that her Japanese brain could understand. That would, of course, require that it actually make sense to me.

“She says I should act like a queen. Like, does she mean like the movie. Did you see the movie the Queen?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that one. I’m still not sure if she meant to be funny.

“I don’t know,” I said. “All I know is that you have to put down your sword.”

“Sword??”

We both laughed.

“You know she told me the other night that she was put in the house to help us all sort out our problems and reach our potential.”

“What??” Tamiko screeched in disbelief.

“Um, yea. So, I said to her, you are like our fairy God mother then? And she said we could call it that if we wanted to.”

You never know what gems you will find on Craigslist.

Slumdog in Love

2009-02-09T12:22:00.000-08:00

Slumdog is in love. She came bursting into the kitchen gloating about a guy from India.

“I am in Love!”

Mariana and I just waited for the rest of it to spill out.

“He called me from INDIA! And we talked on the phone for ONE HOUR!”

“He called like three times and I finally took his call… I’m so PLAYING HIM,” she said with a rotation of her neck, like she’s a sista or something.

Still in her PJs at noon, her black hair looking like Medusa, she bounced around the kitchen putting on a dramatic display of her joy over this new found love.

“I’m in LOVE!”

Mariana, being the impressionable, gullible 24 year old that she is, thinks this is cute in some way.

“You are so adorable I can hardly stand it!”

[Awkward silence]

I’m going to puke…

More on Space Clearing

2009-02-09T10:19:00.000-08:00

According to Queen Rubi we have to first clear a space for our vision to manifest in our life, which seems odd since she also says that everything is an illusion and it seems to me that illusions wouldn’t need much space, but I digress…

Your life is like that chair. She pointed to the empty chair at the breakfast table. If it is cluttered with papers, and junk, no one will sit in it. But if you keep the chair clear for someone to sit in it, they will. People are LOOKING for chairs to sit in. The same as men are LOOKING for women. But the woman has to be a clear space.

Okay, this is starting to sound a little bit like Scientology to me…

Lesson # 2 – How to Control a Man

2009-02-09T09:59:00.000-08:00

This topic came up because another roommate has been having some issues with her boyfriend. Slumdog has the answer to EVERYTHING. It’s amazing. She’s like a human Eight Ball.

She has to be a queen, not a princess. You can’t control a man by pulling out your sword. We have to put down the sword, be vulnerable so that he wants to protect us. Once they see us as their queen, not a princess, they will protect us with their life.

This is the part where she cites Angelina Jolie as a prime role model.

When she was with Billy Bob Thornton she was acting like a princess, but now, she is Brad’s Queen. He will do anything for her. He’s building houses in New Orleans, and changing diapers of kids that aren’t even his!

While this is certainly impressive, I had to question her implied reasons. “Well, maybe that’s because she fucking gorgeous??”

She continued:

That is not the reason. She was gorgeous when she was with Billy Bob, but she did not create and hold her vision for her life. Women are designed with a DSL connection to the infinite. Men are dial up. They need our direction. We have to be queen and allow them to protect us. We are not meant to protect ourselves. Like Angelina, if we hold our vision, the man needed to manifest that vision will appear if a space has been cleared for him.
(more on “space clearing” later…)

“Okay, well let me play devil’s advocate for a moment and ask, where’s your man?”

She starred at me with a dead pan face and replied, “I’m still working on it.”

Lesson #1 - Car or Spaceship?

2009-02-08T14:20:00.000-08:00

Something has changed, but I’m not sure what. Last night I returned home from seeing the movie “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” to find Rubi seated at the Breakfast table working on a painting. While I knew I was not supposed to talk to her, my inner sense of common courtesy chirped out “Hi!” Perhaps this was due to all the thought provoking material in Benji Button. Imagine my surprise when she said “Hello,” sans the usual snarl. My curiosity got the best of me and I decided to proceed with caution.

“I just saw Benjamin Button…”

“OH! How did you like it?”

“I loved it!”

“Yes, it is very profound,” she said in a manner that implied she wanted to continue talking.

I was intrigued by this sudden change of mood, so I carefully stepped in a little deeper. After all, it was only in the morning that she wouldn’t even acknowledge my presence while eating at the same table. What had changed? Your guess is as good as mine, but before I knew it we were discussing the book “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron and I was getting unsolicited advice on how to create the life I want. Because, of course, she is assuming I don’t already have the life I want. True, there is always room for improvement but I received a long winded lecture on how to improve my life. These were not presented as suggestions, mind you, but tried and true insights received directly from the infinite source. There was so much information thrown at me at one time, I walked away with my head spinning. To avoid creating the same vortex here, I will feed these concepts in piecemeal.

Lesson #1

In a nutshell she said to me “Imagine that you are a car that can only go 40 miles per hour, but you want to be a spaceship that goes 1000 miles per hour, so you push your car to 150 miles per hour until it breaks down. Then you abandon the broken down car to find that the spaceship was contained within the car all along. It is not necessary to pick up another book or take another class because you already KNOW everything you need to know to create what you want.”
“What I am telling you,” she said, “you already know, because I am a reflection of you. YOU have created ME to remind yourself of the things you already know.”

I can only surmise that there is something very alien going on here.

Hello Rubi

2009-02-07T16:59:00.000-08:00

Just when things were going so well, I have been presented with a new roommate that is testing my fragile yogic qualities of patience and compassion. Oddly enough, she is from India, the birth place of yoga. Out of several other candidates for the room that was available in our four bedroom mansion on the hill, my vote was emphatically in her favor. If I can't be in India, I figured the next best thing would be to have India in my home. Oh my. Was I wrong.

I'm not sure what I've done to Rubi but she is just about the rudest ***** I've ever had the displeasure of sharing a roof with. She's only been here two weeks and she won't even speak to me when we cross paths in the common areas. I tried to confront Rubi in a house meeting a few days ago, to offer an olive branch and sort out the mystery debacle, but she insisted that there's nothing wrong and no problem between us.

"It is all in your perception," she said to me with a surly snarl. Well, okay.

This morning one of my friendlier roommates cooked up some steel cut oats and invited me to sit down to breakfast with her. So nice! Civilized behavior! Unfortunately, trying to play peacemaker she invited Rubi too. Rubi entered the room and didn't utter a word nor toss a glance in my direction. Pretty typical. Then she started making fresh squeezed juice with the oranges from the tree in the backyard. She then placed a large glass of juice in front of Mariana, and another at her own place setting. Meanwhile, I was distracted by a little IM flirtation that was going down on my laptop, so her infantile attempt to get a dig in did nothing more than make her look petty and stupid.