Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
the parking lot attendant must love me
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Cross My Heart, Hope To Die..Metal Shavings In My Eye
Phase 8) I park at the Emergency room and get out of the car. I take the paper away from my eye. By some miracle it feels better. Much better. I must have finally flushed the metal out. It's still red and puffy and tender, but at least the iron shavings came out. Since I'm no longer in that much pain, I change my mind and don't go inside the hospital.
Phase 7) I leave early. Holding a cold wet paper towel over my left eye, I try my best to drive (1. In traffic. 2. With no depth perception. 3. In the rain. 4. In MAJOR pain.) to the emergency room. Because it's rush hour, it takes about a half hour to get there, even though it's barely ten miles, if that.
Phase 6) Throughout the day my eye gets redder and redder, more and more painful, and even starts to look swollen. People tell me I should go to the doctor. At this point I'm well aware that I have gotten metal shavings in my eye. It hurts like a bitch.
Phase 5) My eye quickly because red again, and rather painful this time. I take the contact out.
Phase 4) Apparently didn't wash my hands good enough.
Phase 3) I'm ready to put my contact back in, so I wash my hands thoroughly (I've been playing with metal dust, so I feel it most necessary to proceed into my eyeball with caution).
Phase 2) In the meantime, I have been working on a project for my boss that involves magnets and those little metal shavings that you can get from the science store.
Phase 1) On Thursday morning, people at work point out that my left eye is very red. It doesn't hurt or bother me, and this happens on occasion to my left eye, so I don't think much of it. I take out my contact, put in some drops, and a few hours later my eye is back to normal.
Phase 7) I leave early. Holding a cold wet paper towel over my left eye, I try my best to drive (1. In traffic. 2. With no depth perception. 3. In the rain. 4. In MAJOR pain.) to the emergency room. Because it's rush hour, it takes about a half hour to get there, even though it's barely ten miles, if that.
Phase 6) Throughout the day my eye gets redder and redder, more and more painful, and even starts to look swollen. People tell me I should go to the doctor. At this point I'm well aware that I have gotten metal shavings in my eye. It hurts like a bitch.
Phase 5) My eye quickly because red again, and rather painful this time. I take the contact out.
Phase 4) Apparently didn't wash my hands good enough.
Phase 3) I'm ready to put my contact back in, so I wash my hands thoroughly (I've been playing with metal dust, so I feel it most necessary to proceed into my eyeball with caution).
Phase 2) In the meantime, I have been working on a project for my boss that involves magnets and those little metal shavings that you can get from the science store.
Phase 1) On Thursday morning, people at work point out that my left eye is very red. It doesn't hurt or bother me, and this happens on occasion to my left eye, so I don't think much of it. I take out my contact, put in some drops, and a few hours later my eye is back to normal.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Bonus points if it happened on genitals!
KIIS FM is having people call in to share embarrassing and funny puke stories. If you live in Southern California and want to pseudo-anonymously share yours with the world, now is your chance!
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Try To Catch Me Ridin' Dirty.
I take the 101 on my way back from work every day. I wouldn't so much say it's a "commute" as I'd say it's a bunch of people sitting in a linear parking lot with their cars facing home. Because of my inability to drive slower than five miles per hour for more than a mile (that's twelve minutes, for those playing along at home), I often get off at Ventura, and take that home. The exit ramp, for some reason, has a sidewalk. My guess is it's for the people who abandon their cars forever when the god-forsaken traffic finally gets the best of them. Anyway, there is also a large interstate sign that comes off of the wall of the exit and hangs onto the freeway.
...confession time. I wrote that about four days ago and I can't for the life of me remember where I was going with that. Regardless, I might as well keep it at this point.
I got sidetracked from finishing this post, and from writing on this thing altogether, because there's a lot going on. I hate that I only come on here to talk about what I'm doing with my life. I find that boring. I want to tell funny stories, brimming with irreverence and sardonic wit. Unfortunately, that can't happen anymore. I'm afraid that while my sardonic wit is still intact, everything I do is completely relevant to everything going on in the world, and therefore I can no longer tell lighthearted anecdotes. I'm far too serious and important.
No. I'm serious.
Annnnnnyway, I feel I should do something educational for Presidents Day. I have the day off (by the way, the absolute best part about jobs in the "real world" are having a three day weekend every month for these bullshit holidays), and I think that it is my civil and social responsibility to take time out of my day to learn a little something about our great nation's history. I could sit here and speak ambitiously of going to a museum, or buying a hardcover book, or watching History Channel all day, but a big enough part of me is plenty aware than I'll google Abraham Lincoln, get distracted by Scrabulous, and call it a day.
I have to get up at 6 am tomorrow for training. I'm running in the San Diego Rock N' Roll Marathon with Team In Training, and raising $5,000 for Leukemia and Lymphoma Research. That is 1,001 more dollars and 13.1 more miles than I did for Disney. See, the great thing about this is since I know for a fact I'm doing something really really good, not only for my body but for society as a whole, I feel that it is the end-all-be-all of excuses. I'll eat five Snicker's bars for lunch. Doesn't matter...I ran four miles that day. I can be late for work. I'm training for a marathon. I can say whatever I want no matter how offensive it is, because karma has my back since I'm raising all this money. In my mind, every dollar I raise provides me with a free pass to make fun of AIDS, the holocaust, rape, incest, domestic abuse, and most of all...incestuous rape of AIDS victims during the holocaust and beating them after. What, is that distasteful? Fuck off, I'm running a marathon for cancer.
Feel free to donate to the cause...this is my website.
http://www.active.com/donate/tntgla/SSzlaga
It's pretty stellar that I'm past $500 and haven't even started my letter writing campaign yet. My boss actually donated $100, which is brilliant.
Wait...did I didn't mention dead babies in things I'm allowed to make fun of. I'm still entitled to a SIDS joke.
So yes, fundraising and training is going to be taking up a lot of my time, but it's definitely worth it. Even if it does mean getting up to run at 7am on a Saturday with that is 90% women who say "you go girl!" after someone walks one mile. Last year I didn't run with the team at all, and I really don't want to do this all alone when I paid a good $50 registration fee to have trained athletes yell at me to keep running. They don't really yell, though. Kind of a bummer. I think I'd be good at boot camp. I respond to negativity and insults surprisingly well. People think that I'd be terrible because I have such a bad attitude I'd get pissed and leave, but I believe that it would be the opposite. I'd work extra hard to prove myself as the best person there, and even though my drill sergeant and I get off to a bumpy start through a series of comical mishaps and false impressions, I'd melt his heart in the end with my thick skin and sticktoitivness. I forgot what I was talking about.
Besides the running, I'm also keeping busy with writing (especially right now. How the fuck am I still talking?!). I've completed a rough treatment of my script and I have to admit, I never expected to get as attached to this project as I am. It honestly started off as a throw-away joke, then for some reason struck me as a funny idea to do a school assignment on, and now almost three years later I am legitimately writing it for a legitimate reason involving legitimate people. Crazy. I'm also doing a lot of stuff for my comedy writing class at Groundlings. Sometimes I think my teacher is more than a little out there, but she is hilarious and fantastic and nice and worked on some pretty funny sitcoms, so the flightiness just makes the whole experience even brighter. Especially when she sang a little ditty to me about how my friends are going to need treatment for alcohol abuse when I told a rather tawdry story about some of my less savory college days. And no, Twigger. It wasn't you. But yeah. She broke out into song. That just doesn't happen enough these days.
I want a girlfriend. I'm only now realizing how much I really blew it in that department in Chicago. I knew tons and tons and tons of people and can't say I was exactly oblivious to several missed opportunities, but I think I was just too driven to even think about relationships. I knew that my time in Chicago was going to come to an end eventually, and I had severe tunnel vision in terms of graduating, moving to LA, and getting a job. I've done all three of those things, and now I'm ready, but the issue now is that I know a total of about seven people in Los Angeles. There is one chick that I kind of dig ("chick that I dig..." yeah, that's the best I could come up with) and she IS single, so I should probably grow the balls, ignore the voice that lives in the back of my mind that tells me I'd make a terrible boyfriend and that no girls like me or ever will, and just go for it.
This was a pretty long post I shat out. I'll send a postcard to anyone who made it all the way to the end. Just post a comment with the words "Chevy Corsica" and I'll know you made it through.
...confession time. I wrote that about four days ago and I can't for the life of me remember where I was going with that. Regardless, I might as well keep it at this point.
I got sidetracked from finishing this post, and from writing on this thing altogether, because there's a lot going on. I hate that I only come on here to talk about what I'm doing with my life. I find that boring. I want to tell funny stories, brimming with irreverence and sardonic wit. Unfortunately, that can't happen anymore. I'm afraid that while my sardonic wit is still intact, everything I do is completely relevant to everything going on in the world, and therefore I can no longer tell lighthearted anecdotes. I'm far too serious and important.
No. I'm serious.
Annnnnnyway, I feel I should do something educational for Presidents Day. I have the day off (by the way, the absolute best part about jobs in the "real world" are having a three day weekend every month for these bullshit holidays), and I think that it is my civil and social responsibility to take time out of my day to learn a little something about our great nation's history. I could sit here and speak ambitiously of going to a museum, or buying a hardcover book, or watching History Channel all day, but a big enough part of me is plenty aware than I'll google Abraham Lincoln, get distracted by Scrabulous, and call it a day.
I have to get up at 6 am tomorrow for training. I'm running in the San Diego Rock N' Roll Marathon with Team In Training, and raising $5,000 for Leukemia and Lymphoma Research. That is 1,001 more dollars and 13.1 more miles than I did for Disney. See, the great thing about this is since I know for a fact I'm doing something really really good, not only for my body but for society as a whole, I feel that it is the end-all-be-all of excuses. I'll eat five Snicker's bars for lunch. Doesn't matter...I ran four miles that day. I can be late for work. I'm training for a marathon. I can say whatever I want no matter how offensive it is, because karma has my back since I'm raising all this money. In my mind, every dollar I raise provides me with a free pass to make fun of AIDS, the holocaust, rape, incest, domestic abuse, and most of all...incestuous rape of AIDS victims during the holocaust and beating them after. What, is that distasteful? Fuck off, I'm running a marathon for cancer.
Feel free to donate to the cause...this is my website.
http://www.active.com/donate/tntgla/SSzlaga
It's pretty stellar that I'm past $500 and haven't even started my letter writing campaign yet. My boss actually donated $100, which is brilliant.
Wait...did I didn't mention dead babies in things I'm allowed to make fun of. I'm still entitled to a SIDS joke.
So yes, fundraising and training is going to be taking up a lot of my time, but it's definitely worth it. Even if it does mean getting up to run at 7am on a Saturday with that is 90% women who say "you go girl!" after someone walks one mile. Last year I didn't run with the team at all, and I really don't want to do this all alone when I paid a good $50 registration fee to have trained athletes yell at me to keep running. They don't really yell, though. Kind of a bummer. I think I'd be good at boot camp. I respond to negativity and insults surprisingly well. People think that I'd be terrible because I have such a bad attitude I'd get pissed and leave, but I believe that it would be the opposite. I'd work extra hard to prove myself as the best person there, and even though my drill sergeant and I get off to a bumpy start through a series of comical mishaps and false impressions, I'd melt his heart in the end with my thick skin and sticktoitivness. I forgot what I was talking about.
Besides the running, I'm also keeping busy with writing (especially right now. How the fuck am I still talking?!). I've completed a rough treatment of my script and I have to admit, I never expected to get as attached to this project as I am. It honestly started off as a throw-away joke, then for some reason struck me as a funny idea to do a school assignment on, and now almost three years later I am legitimately writing it for a legitimate reason involving legitimate people. Crazy. I'm also doing a lot of stuff for my comedy writing class at Groundlings. Sometimes I think my teacher is more than a little out there, but she is hilarious and fantastic and nice and worked on some pretty funny sitcoms, so the flightiness just makes the whole experience even brighter. Especially when she sang a little ditty to me about how my friends are going to need treatment for alcohol abuse when I told a rather tawdry story about some of my less savory college days. And no, Twigger. It wasn't you. But yeah. She broke out into song. That just doesn't happen enough these days.
I want a girlfriend. I'm only now realizing how much I really blew it in that department in Chicago. I knew tons and tons and tons of people and can't say I was exactly oblivious to several missed opportunities, but I think I was just too driven to even think about relationships. I knew that my time in Chicago was going to come to an end eventually, and I had severe tunnel vision in terms of graduating, moving to LA, and getting a job. I've done all three of those things, and now I'm ready, but the issue now is that I know a total of about seven people in Los Angeles. There is one chick that I kind of dig ("chick that I dig..." yeah, that's the best I could come up with) and she IS single, so I should probably grow the balls, ignore the voice that lives in the back of my mind that tells me I'd make a terrible boyfriend and that no girls like me or ever will, and just go for it.
This was a pretty long post I shat out. I'll send a postcard to anyone who made it all the way to the end. Just post a comment with the words "Chevy Corsica" and I'll know you made it through.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
good timez
Most people only blog to complain. It's kind of like that word-of-mouth "fact" they tell you during orientation for a shitty retail job. People are ten times more likely to share a bad experience with other people than a good one. See, maybe it's just the fact that I'm obnoxiously vain and can't stop talking about myself (although I prefer the term "natural born storyteller"), but I think I'm just as likely to share a good or bad experience, as long as it's about me.
Sure, there's plenty of things in my life I could bitch about. I live on the other side of the country from my family. No matter how often I make a payment my credit card balance never seems to go down. It gets down to 40 at night and our apartment has no heat.
But no. I'm going to be talking about all of the good things going on in my life. Because you know what? I've got quite a few. And I'm not even going to make a trite list like usual! Granted, I just happened to change my mind because the previous sentence I just deleted read "and I'm going to do it with a trite list!"
First, there's work. Now, I love love love my job, but I'm not going to go into great detail on the internet about it, because you never know who might get bored in the office one day and rub google the right way and stumble upon this. That's why I don't really mention names or jobs or anything. Not because I have anything bad to say or that I'm worried this could get me fired (scatology sometimes runs rampant in my office), but I mostly just don't want to look like a nerd. What if one day my boss or coworker finds my blog and discovers that unbeknownst to them, I have been writing about all of our good times and relationships on the internet. It just seems weird. My general rule of thumb is that you have to be a reader of this thing, or at least aware of it, to get mentioned. Of course, there are exceptions...like the homeless man with the pink sock. Anyway, suffice it to say that I love my job because I have the opportunity to be creatively involved with the process of making television on a daily basis. I know that sounds like some rehearsed bullshit, but it's true. I'm doing some cool stuff. Granted, it's for reality television, which isn't really my one true love, but it's TV and you can see the Hollywood Sign from where I work.
Another good thing...one of my stories has been optioned. Even though it was optioned by my former boss, I'm just thrilled that someone, or anyone, is interested in getting my work made. It's pretty cool. Much like the privacy policy I just mentioned for work-related posts, I don't want to go into too much detail about this either. Everything is preliminary, and anything can change. I don't want anything coming back to bite me in the ass.
Finally, I'm running a full marathon in June and raising 5,000 dollars for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society. I set up a website and everything, and pretty soon I'll post the link to the website right here. For some odd reason, I've rapidly depleted any drive to continue to write this blog, so just be thankful for what you got and then get out of the house. It's Saturday for God's sake.
Sure, there's plenty of things in my life I could bitch about. I live on the other side of the country from my family. No matter how often I make a payment my credit card balance never seems to go down. It gets down to 40 at night and our apartment has no heat.
But no. I'm going to be talking about all of the good things going on in my life. Because you know what? I've got quite a few. And I'm not even going to make a trite list like usual! Granted, I just happened to change my mind because the previous sentence I just deleted read "and I'm going to do it with a trite list!"
First, there's work. Now, I love love love my job, but I'm not going to go into great detail on the internet about it, because you never know who might get bored in the office one day and rub google the right way and stumble upon this. That's why I don't really mention names or jobs or anything. Not because I have anything bad to say or that I'm worried this could get me fired (scatology sometimes runs rampant in my office), but I mostly just don't want to look like a nerd. What if one day my boss or coworker finds my blog and discovers that unbeknownst to them, I have been writing about all of our good times and relationships on the internet. It just seems weird. My general rule of thumb is that you have to be a reader of this thing, or at least aware of it, to get mentioned. Of course, there are exceptions...like the homeless man with the pink sock. Anyway, suffice it to say that I love my job because I have the opportunity to be creatively involved with the process of making television on a daily basis. I know that sounds like some rehearsed bullshit, but it's true. I'm doing some cool stuff. Granted, it's for reality television, which isn't really my one true love, but it's TV and you can see the Hollywood Sign from where I work.
Another good thing...one of my stories has been optioned. Even though it was optioned by my former boss, I'm just thrilled that someone, or anyone, is interested in getting my work made. It's pretty cool. Much like the privacy policy I just mentioned for work-related posts, I don't want to go into too much detail about this either. Everything is preliminary, and anything can change. I don't want anything coming back to bite me in the ass.
Finally, I'm running a full marathon in June and raising 5,000 dollars for the Leukemia and Lymphoma society. I set up a website and everything, and pretty soon I'll post the link to the website right here. For some odd reason, I've rapidly depleted any drive to continue to write this blog, so just be thankful for what you got and then get out of the house. It's Saturday for God's sake.
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