Thursday, June 30, 2016


I can see, objectively, that I might not be the best driver in the entire world. I might've scared one or two people with my driving in the past. BUT, I've never been in a collision... with another car. I backed into a utilities box once. Anyway--despite a couple tickets that weren't really my fault, I have an aversion to traffic police. Whenever I see them, my heart begins to flutter and I forget how cars work. This physiological response has garnered both sympathy and ridicule.

As for sympathy, I was pulled over a few years ago because I was speeding and drifting. Apparently, you're only supposed to pull over to the right side of the highway. I pulled over to the left.

"Don't you know what to do when a cop turns on sirens?" the cop said condescendingly.

"Pull over," I said, and did.

"To the right of the road. Didn't you listen in driver's ed.?" Rude. "You were swerving around blahblahblah."


And he gave me directions and let me go. Yay! I have magic tears.

One day after this encounter, I was driving down a little road by the beach, and a cop pulled out behind me, so I immediately pulled over TO THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE ROAD, turned off my music, checked my seatbelt, and tried to muster a look of remorse. The cop slowed down and pulled his car up to mine, rolled down the window, and motioned for me to do the same.

"Did you think I was pulling you over?" he asked.

"You're not?"

"No! HAHA! GUILTY CONSCIENCE, EH?!" And he drove away.

In conclusion, I hate the government.

Wednesday, June 29, 2016


Generally, as an English major, I've had to tone down the natural inclination to correct grammar so that I can have friends. I still occasionally find myself correcting people if they misuse a word or completely butcher a sentence. I've concluded that sometimes this is beneficial for people, even if we want to encourage the organic development of the English language.

My boyfriend's roommate was signing up for classes online, and he was audibly frustrated.

"I'm already taking a lot of credits, and my friend is trying to get me to take this class. He's totally pigeonholing me!"

"You're not using that word right."

"Pigeonholing? Yeah, he's trying to manipulate me..."

"No, 'pigeonholing' is assuming someone fits a stereotype."

"No it doesn't!" He looked up the word online, and his face dropped. "Oh." He tried three online dictionaries. Then, he looked up the word on Urban Dictionary. It said something about pooping on someone's windshield when they do something to upset you. "That's what he did. That's what I meant the whole time."

Just a Note about Query Letters

As many of you know, or don't know--I don't really know who reads my blog besides Kelli (hey, Kelli)--I've been trying to get a book published for a long time. It's hard to justify how much time I've spent writing and editing now that my other friends are starting to make money with real adult jobs.

As anyone who has tried to get traditionally published knows, you have to write a pitch, or a query, to an agent, who decides whether or not to request more of your manuscript. My first query, submitted to a rough guesstimate of sixty billion people, was apparently... not as breathtaking as the Sistine Chapel... it was actually about as breathtaking as a fat man trying to hike. That was a terrible joke. I'm so sorry you had to read that.

Anyway, I just sent out a revised query. It reads somewhat like this:

Dear any agent,



P.S. This is also my dating technique.

Bin Surprise

My boss, Jami, was probably the coolest boss in the world. She was funny, outgoing, hardworking, and nice. Being nice is a quality I admire after having done office work with a woman who hated smiling (Yes, Leslie, I'm talking about you).

Jami drove two and a half hours every weekend from LA to run the wine bar. It would've been nothing without her. Her personality brought the saloon to life--unfortunately she brought things to life that should've been left alone as well.

On one of her first weekends in the saloon, while getting accustomed to the rural atmosphere, she was preparing the bar. She realized she hadn't taken out the trash, even though she thought she'd done it the night before. She reached down into the trashcan and awoke a possum that had snuck in during the night. It woke with a fright and bit her.

She screamed so loud that she burst a blood vessel in her eye. A kitchen worker ran out and trapped the possum, and my boss had to close the bar to go to the hospital.

When recounting the horrible ordeal, she said she hadn't noticed it because it was "playing possum".


I like my brother's girlfriend. She's the first girl he's dated that I like. They are goofy together, and they're a good pair.

She and I were talking about tanning one day, and we complained about our tan lines making our skin look like we have little white bathing suits on all of the time.

My grandfather owns a large ranch in the town where my brother and parents live. It's six square miles of rolling hills, green fields, and giant oak trees. There's farmland in the front, but it's separated by fences. There are a few houses up there. It's just my half-blind grandfather and his Hagrid-like tenant who helps manage the property.

"Why don't we just tan naked on the ranch. We'll hike up one of the trails. No one would ever find us back there."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. I never see anyone back there." And it was agreed.

On the day that we carry our sunscreen, tanning oil, speakers, water, and snacks up the path, we are a little nervous. We find a spot on the hill with plenty of sun and start to strip down when we hear a roaring noise.

"Is that an airplane or part of the song?" I ask.

"I think it's a four-wheeler," she said. I start to dismiss the idea--of all of the space on the ranch, why would anyone be on this old, hidden trail--when there comes Hagrid-like tenant on his four wheeler! I was only wearing a sports bra and shorts. We tell him that we're tanning, and he goes away, but for the rest of our time tanning we jump at the slightest noise. I'm sure that my credibility was thrown out with my clothing.

Now, whenever I'm tanning, even with a bathing suit, I'm always nervous. Thanks, Hagrid.


My boyfriend acts like a child around his friends. It's sometimes endearing. Sometimes. Other times, I want to punch him in the face. Lately, he's been taking advantage of my lack of observation and handing off his phone to his friends to answer when they're hanging out together. I don't know why my brain has difficultly distinguishing my boyfriend's voice from the others.

"Hello, Spencer!"


"[blah blah blah, my day] Do you want me to get you anything before I come over?"


"Okay! Sounds good! I'll see you in a bit. I love you!"

"Okay." [hangs up]

Not realizing it wasn't my boyfriend, I go into a rage. Why wouldn't he say he loves me? How rude and unprovoked. I'm not even going to pickup beer. That'll show him. I almost immediately get a call back from him. I almost don't answer, but I give in right before it goes to voicemail.

"What?" I spit venomously.

"What the hell? You love Eric?!" Now I recognize Spencer's voice.

This was the third or fourth time this has happened with different friends. Now, whenever I'm annoyed at Eric, he asks me if I remember telling him I loved him.

The Chef

There's nothing like returning to a blog two years later. You probably think that embarrassing things stopped happening to me. That is not the case. [insert excuses]

A few months ago, I was working in a wine bar that connected to a restaurant. It was great fun, and I met an eclectic bunch of people. The restaurant, in attempt to remain on par with up-and-coming restaurants in the area, hired a new chef. She was cool. She had food-related tattoos, an energetic demeanor, and a passion for what she was doing. A refreshing breath of genuine person compared to the plastic walking platitudes that seem all too common when you're within a reasonable driving radius of LA.

One day, as I sat behind the bar during a not-too-busy moment, the chef came out from the kitchen to chat and we settled into getting to know each other conversation.

"So what do you do when you're not at work?" I asked.

"Oh, you know--hangout, spend time with my mom, spend time with my girl."

"I didn't know you had a daughter!" I said.

"I don't... My girlfriend," she corrected. And my brain went into overdrive at the sudden surprise. I am pro-gay rights, and this has never been an issue for me before, but I just felt this need to justify myself just then.

"I HAVE LOADS OF GAY FRIENDS." I (practically) shouted. She gave me a weird look.

"Uh, okay..." she said, and shortly thereafter returned to the kitchen.

I think I need to practice subtlety.