Wednesday, March 31, 2004

Oh, and Anna from the O.C. is in the video too. Right up Waller's alley.

Did you hear the new Hanson song yet? Dude. It's good. That's right. Hanson. I also couldn't help but notice that those boys grew up...well, nice. Quite nice. I am a dirty old woman.

What's with me and boobs and sex?



What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com


It's pretty accurate, actually...

What I've been doing this past week instead of writing:

Worrying. Drinking Snapple. Watching "Catch Me If You Can" on HBO. Eating left over chinese food. Worrying. Talking T$'s ear off. Discussing bachelor parties with Strode and Galster. More worrying. Misplacing my ID. Flirting with J Dz and JE. Searching my room for clean clothes. Worrying. Finding my ID in my purse. Checking my messages. Killing another spider. Mixing my music. Calling long distance. Even more worrying. Drinking 10 cups of coffee per day. Crawling into bed dog-tired. Applying cream to the scar. Worrying.

That's it in a nutshell. I may be going to see "Hellboy" tonight. Perhaps I'll have something to report later.

Great. It figures....

Summer
You are SUMMER'S BOOBS.


What Quirk From THE OC Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Monday, March 29, 2004

I really don't have anything to say, but I feel bad that the latest postings were all T's. Where's the A? You can't have T without A. Now, T$'s T's are admirable (and bountiful) and sometimes that's all you need especially when the T is that nice, but there's nothing like a little A to balance it out. And what an A it is.
Anyway, the scoring session on Saturday went great. Joe Dz is a genius. Waller is jealous of him, I know. We're mixing the music tomorrow night, and I am editing some of the tracks now. I am not a musician, so it amazes me to be in the company of such talent. It's a whole new world.......[everybody sing]......don't you dare close your eyes........everything is red letter....... I can't remember all of the words right now, so I think it's time for another episode of the Andrew Waller Show complete with Disney's karaoke. I wonder if Cats and Mels will want to come this time. Perhaps there should be a special appearance by JB. I know Pearl's gonna be there to make the crank calls....

Friday, March 26, 2004

So nervous about my music session tomorrow... I can't think about anything else. Today, I snapped at a few people. I skipped a meeting. My QuickTime from Avid failed. I witnessed a T$ vs. Marcelo bitch slap-a-thon. I asked everyone around me, "How about a 1 sec fade up to a single credit, hold for 3 secs, and a 1 sec fade out?" Is this English? I'm gonna barf.

Wednesday, March 24, 2004

Since Waller complained about the lack of posts lately, here goes....

The REAL Tara and I are down at school recording ADR for her fabulous film. Waller is dead. I will be having a music recording session on Saturday. Waller is dead. We'll be recording a doo wop song. Waller is dead. I wrote the lyrics. Waller is dead. Tara's movie is almost done. Waller is dead. I need to go home and install my DSL tonight. Waller is dead. Tara now likes me better than you, AW. Waller is dead.

Monday, March 22, 2004

Television is back! In celebration of this monumental occasion, I will share with you my list of fabulous TV moments:

1. Sam and Diane's final break-up
2. The ice hockey Simpson's episode
3. The first season of West Wing
4. Sisters
5. The Muppet Show
6. When "Twice Upon a Time" aired on HBO, and my sister and I freaked out.
7. Dallas and Falcon Crest back in the day
8. Ryan's Hope
9. Jonathan Winters on Mork and Mindy
10. Jeopardy

Praise the glowing box of love.

Sunday, March 21, 2004

"Dawn of the Dead" rocks. I did have one major problem with it, but I'll hold off on that discussion for now so that I don't spoil it for anyone. On the way to the theatre, T$ and I wait at a street corner for the light to change. Some dude over my shoulder keeps pressing the crosswalk button. click click. click click. We're still waiting. click click. click click. click click. I look over at T$. click click. click click. click click. click click. click click. The light's not changing any faster. click click. click click. click click. click click. click click. click click. I can't help but smile really wide in no direction in particular. click click. click click. click click. click click. click click. click click. click click. click click. click click. click click. Finally, the light changes, and we all cross the street. I say, "It ought to be socially acceptable to punch somebody in the face." T$ responds, "No good. I'd get punched out a lot." I nod silently. We go to the movie.

Saturday, March 20, 2004

I did tussle with a teenager. I am ashamed to admit it. Let me preface this little story by setting the scene more clearly. So, we park the car in a lot next to the Roxy. The parking attendant tells us that the garage closes at 2:30am. We say, "No problem." Then, he makes it a point to stop us as we're walking away. He says, "I'll stay open until 3:15am for you, if you'd like." T$ shakes her head. I'm weirded out. We are stone-cold sober.
We turn the corner, and there it is. The mob of teenagers. It's like being in Chucky Cheese. You could smell the insecurity in the air. It is contagious. I feel stupid for being there. I'm 12 years older than the average fan.

[Now, I use the term "fan" rather lightly. AW started corresponding with a few young (read: illegal) girls on the internet for the sake of research. (I think.) They told AW about this band. AW got all girly excited about going to this show at the Roxy. I went along with the plan. I actually enjoy awkwardness. If the possibility for embarrassment is high, I'm in!]

So, I'm standing in line at the box office to purchase our $12.00 tickets, when a young boy approaches me. He's dancing around like he has to pee. He says, "Let me cut?" It's not really a question, really. This 15 year old is trying to push me around. I give him my best look of disdain. He pleads, "I'm with the band." This gives me a laugh. Then, he pulls out all the stops. "I'm their manager. I have to go in RIGHT NOW." I roll my eyes and step up to the box office window. He retreats in defeat.
So, that's the story. I know I should have been the bigger person, but I got caught up in the teenaged world for just a moment. When asked what band we were there to see, I did lie. I looked at the flyer taped to the door and said, "The Revelators." Too bad that was a teenaged band as well.

Friday, March 19, 2004

I was sitting on my bed last night reading the latest Vogue. Hmm. Breast reduction. Hmm. Bold printed skirts. Hmm. Clutch purses. Hmm. Gwen Stefani rocks. Many more thoughts running through my mind. Then, there he was. A big fat hairy black spider crawling up the wall next to my bed. My Hot Shot Spider Killer was within arm's reach. Now, had I been smart, I would have sprayed the wall just below the creature (who will now be known as BFS - Big Fu*#ing Spider) and get him on the upswing. But alas, I shot straight at him and knocked him to the ground. BFS fell into the crack between my bed and the wall. I pulled out the bed and grabbed a broom from the kitchen. BFS was crawling quickly up the side of my mattress. I held back on the spray since I'm pretty sure it's really toxic, and I like to sleep in my bed. BFS dropped to the ground again. I lost him in the pattern on the carpet. Standing in the middle of my bed, broom in the left hand, Hot Shot Spider Killer in the right, something in me snapped. I sprayed. And sprayed. I sprayed around the entire bed, covering the grey carpet with a mist of Spider Killer. I didn't stop. It was like the wire hanger scene from Mommie Dearest. I snapped. Uncertain of BFS's fate and breathing in toxic fumes, I stood on my bed a little longer scanning the carpet. I lowered my broom. All was silent. BFS was either dead or hiding until he could make a midnight attack on my face. I was pretty sure I'd get brain damage if I slept in my bed that night. So, I woke up on the couch this morning, stiff neck and all. I wonder if I'll ever sleep in my bed again. Stupid BFS.

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

Thanks to Wes for providing a link to another weird quiz:


I don't want a toaster.
Furnulum pani nolo.
"I don't want a toaster."
Generally, things (like this quiz) tend to tick you
off. You have contemplated doing grievous
bodily harm to door-to-door salesmen.


Which Weird Latin Phrase Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla


I actually love quizzes, but I do get rather irate about telemarketers.

We're getting DSL!

[wait......I'm doing my happy dance.]

No more dialtone. No more "Are you online?" No more busy signal. No more "I'll get off!" No more refreshing. No more beach ball from hell.

It's a happy day.

Tuesday, March 16, 2004

Dute dute dutta dutta dute dute dutta.....Tonight was a very special episode of "T$'s and Allie's Circus of a Life." It started with a walk to the Trader Joe's down the street. Upon entering the establishment, we were assaulted by a mother who seemed to have five children hanging off of her cart. I do mean hanging. For those of you not familiar with Trader Joe's, it is a very small specialty shop with really narrow aisles. You get involved in a game of bumper carts every time you shop. These kids were uncontrollable. The running. The grabbing. The whining. It turns out that there were actually two moms present, but neither one seemed to feel like parenting at the moment. I actually like children, I really do. These weren't like any children I know. I thought we had ditched them on our way through the checkout, but our line was interminably slow. Something about the ATM portion of the payment terminals being down. I heard it from the guy in the next line, but our checker reacted like it was news to her when the guy in front of us had a problem with his card. Then, T$ tried to use the ATM and still the checker kept mum. I was going to say something, but it was only checkout line hearsay and I don't like to spread rumors. The moms and monkey children screamed past us in another line.
After (finally) leaving the Trader Joe's, we walked up the street to the Sev. This older man was crossing the street in our direction, and he sped up just enough to cut us off and walk just two steps ahead of us the entire way down the block. I usually hate it when someone is hot on my tail, so I wondered why he felt the need to speed across the street to get in front of us. That's when I noticed the bag. It was a bright yellow "Forever 21" shopping bag. I giggled to myself because he was so close and could probably hear me breathing. Just then, T$ shot me a wide-eyed look and shot out a "Dude." I said, "I know." Then, we talked in a sort of code behind him. Secretly, we both assumed he was a child molester.
The Sev was in our sights. I spied some eye candy for T$, but she wasn't biting. We stocked up on cokes, iced tea, and chocolate. Then, from the ice cream isle, there was a loud, "VANESSA!" And this woman goes on this rampage. She's shaming this poor Vanessa into behaving. Her logic is circular. I can't even follow her train of thought. She keeps at it, yelling at poor Vanessa. When I turn around, it looks like a three year old who is the object of this rant. Vanessa's mother is fucking her up as we speak. The guys behind the counter start to talk to each other in another language. I must have rolled my eyes because the cashier and I shared a "she's crazy" glance. T$ said that three year old Vanessa just stood there crying the whole time while her mother yelled at her incomprehensibly.
A little while later, we started back up the hill towards our apartment, when two grown men came out of nowhere speeding towards us on tiny motorized bikes. These weren't scooters. They were mini motorcycles. The wheels were up to my shin, and the seats were a bit lower than that. These big men were hunched over their baby-sized handlebars, and they were coming at us on the sidewalk. I hopped into the grass. They must have been Southern Gentlemen since they did have the courtesy of pulling over to let us pass with our grocery bags.
I'm glad to know that we're not the only crazies on the block.

I have a ton of work to do, but all I want to do is lay in my bed and read a script about an "accidental virgin" given to me by AW. It's really funny. AW jokes that it is the story of my life. He doesn't know how right on the money he is. I bet you he never even read the script before giving it to me.
The Big Red jingle is running through my brain now, thanks to T$'s continuous rendition of it this morning. "Make it last a little longer.....give your breath long lasting freshness...." I want to go see a dentist now.
All week, we've been celebrating our vacation with the Van Halen hand signal raised in the air, shouting "Spring Break. Whooo." But I always counter with, "A break from what exactly?"
I need a life.

There was this couple fighting across the street tonight. T$ was staring at the spectacle. I was afraid to be serial killed so I remained concealed behind our tree. I admit, I was as interested in the content of the conversation as she was, but I'm a scaredy cat.
So I bought new skin care products in as effort to a) rid myself of the fish-shaped (or Jersey-shaped) scar on my temple caused by those wretched bed spiders and b) fend off the effects of a hard-lived 20s existence. Now I have two zits on my face. So much for the "skin care" since I rarely ever breakout under normal neglectful circumstances.
Waller turned 29 today. I find it interesting that he accuses me of being 40 years old when he himself is in fact only 4 (count 'em four) months younger than me. I must just be so much more mature, responsible, and quite a bit more sane than all the rest of them.....(stop laughing T$).....
Speaking of T$, she's turning into a crazy gardening lady. We have more seeds than a once fallow field could hold, and today I swear I had to pry her little fingers off of a five piece patio set complete with an oversized umbrella. I was tempted by a few hanging lanterns but only purchased an ocean scented candle for the front porch. Oh, and two pots for my english daisies. I walked right past the space on the shelf once occupied by our own Crazy Eyes and had to stop myself from kicking all of his friends. Stupid pigeons.

Saturday, March 13, 2004

Eureka! We figured it out. T$ and I were nuthin chillin at the Holidae In - or, just on our front porch - talking about how the both of us could benefit from a little therapy. T$ was afraid to go to her meeting with the composer. I was about to embark on a little trip to the Mall to clear my mind. The Mall is a peaceful place for me - it brings back the Jersey roots. Capitalized because it's sacred. Anyway, we were self-diagnosing for a while before T$ stumbled upon the perfect description for our illness. She said that we are "Involved" and then she pointed to her head and gave me the "do you hear the voices too?" look with her chin turned down. Involved. Brilliant.

Friday, March 12, 2004

It's Friday. The workers up the street are hacking up a dead tree. Our flowers are sprouting from their pots. Waller's birthday is coming up. T$ just left for school. I should be finishing my title layout. Garth's "She's Every Woman" is playing on repeat from my iTunes. A roommate from PA introduced this song to me back in '95. We'd sit in her room after classes were done for the day and listen to it over and over again. I like to sing along. After a while, we'd get dressed to go paint the town red that evening. I miss that house. Love you guys from 625.

Thursday, March 11, 2004

I am a gay man. There, I said it. There was some other insightful observation that we made about T$ while we were carpooling to work today, but the both of us have forgotten it already. Perhaps it was something about her overwhelming beauty. Maybe it was something I said which made her respond, "Are you saying I'm fat?"

This one's me....




You're A Prayer for Owen Meany!

by John Irving

Despite humble and perhaps literally small beginnings, you inspire
faith in almost everyone you know. You are an agent of higher powers, and you manifest
this fact in mysterious and loud ways. A sense of destiny pervades your every waking
moment, and you prepare with great detail for destiny fulfilled. When you speak, IT
SOUNDS LIKE THIS!



Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.



Who in the what now?

Dude. I live in Los Angeles, right? It's the CITY of Angels. While sitting on my balcony just now - 2am - I could have sworn I was someplace else. Two large furry creatures came sprinting down the sidewalk. They were approaching fast. I thought they were dogs, or maybe even extremely fat cats. No. They were raccoons. Big fat furry ones. And they panted. Really loud. I heard the panting well before I could make out what they were. They were big. Then, no more than 5 seconds later, two skunks followed behind, tails up in the air, also in a dead sprint. It's like my neighbor Noah is building an arc, preparing for the colossal flood. I think I'm scared.

Wednesday, March 10, 2004

I am reading "the perks of being a wallflower" now. T$ lent it to me. I seem to be reading everything she recommends these days. Maybe I am in love with her.... Anyway, one passage from the book has been on my mind for the last few days, and I'd like to share it.

"...we accept the love we think we deserve."


Let that marinate in your brain for a while.

Monday, March 08, 2004

Note to Wes:
"Tamara and Allie, you've got some competition now, and I say we settle things once and for all with a three-way hardcore mud-wrestling match. Grab your gear and roll up your sleeves -- this one's gonna get messy..."

Dude. I'm in. Your six-pack doesn't scare me.

Sunday, March 07, 2004

I've been having vivid dreams lately. Blame it on the Doritos. Last night's adventure took place on a movie set. I was working as an electrician on somebody's movie with a few faceless colleagues. When we wrapped for the day, I changed from my usual overalls and t-shirt into some sort of girly outfit. I think I had heels on. The truck wasn't packed yet, and everyone was upset with me because I could no longer help out and do the dirty work in a skirt and heels. Then, Britney's "I'm Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman" came on over the loudspeakers, so I rushed about looking for Tamara. You know how she loves that Britney. I couldn't find her, so I enjoyed the song myself and at this point I think it changed from source music to score. Later, I went outside to discover that my car had been stolen but then it was blocking in all of the production vehicles but then it was stolen again. My dad showed up at the end to help me sort out the car problem.
So, what would a psychiatrist think about this dream? I think that it is fairly obvious.....

Now Tamara and I both have a crush on The Anonymous Blogger. But here's an easy way to settle the score:

1. Are you British or can you do a convincing British accent? (If yes, T$ is your girl.)

2. Do you appear short in person? (If yes, you're mine - I'm 5'4")

3. Do you make noises with your mouth when you chew? (This one won't fly with T$. It sometimes makes me want to poke my eyes out, but I think I'm slightly more tolerant on this point.)

4. Do you know all the words to Disney's "Part of Your World"? (If yes, T$ will eat you up!)

5. Are you willing to bake Wes' chocolate chip cheese cookies and serve them in bed? (T$ will turn up her nose, but I say 'bring it')

Simple enough? We live together so there's no sense in fighting over a boy. Our tastes are different enough to avoid this conflict, but I once had a roommate in PA who shared my exact taste in members of the opposite sex. Instead of getting into a disagreement about it, we'd make it into a little adventure that we shared. It was fun, and the boys got 2x the love. That is, until the final decision was made - anything beyond that is too weird for lil' old me.

Saturday, March 06, 2004

Frito Lay has got to stop making Cooler Ranch! Doritos. I cannot help myself. I bought a 13oz bag yesterday and just can't keep from stuffing them into my face. Sometimes, I'll go a whole day without eating a meal because I get so full on junk food. My mom worries about me. She lives across the country, but every time I arrive for a family visit, she checks me out like I am the walking dead. "You've lost weight," she says with a disapproving look. My mom will continue to worry about my eating habits until the day I die - a day that may be sooner rather than later if I don't stop this Dorito diet. I actually convinced myself in college that Cool Ranch (as they were called back then) Doritos cured a sore throat. Something about all of the tasty powdery goodness found on each chip adhering itself to the mucusy bad stuff in my throat made it all feel better. I must go make myself a tuna fish sandwich before I pass out.

This is awesome. I think she's saying that making a list is juvenile, but I would like to point out a bit of irony found a few moments later (and I quote):
"The whole thing's moronic, if you ask me. So here are my deal-breakers and looking-for's:"
I love it.

I love The Anonymous Blogger. After a bout of Amstel Lights in Chinatown, I was unwilling to welcome the world this morning. I heard T$ puttering about the apartment, but I chose to pull the covers back over my head for a few more hours. Finally, I made an appearance in the living room. "I'm totally freaking out!" T$ exclaimed. It seems that someone, we will call him Bob from NY, copied and pasted our Deal Breakers onto his site with additional commentary. Now, many of you veteran bloggers must remember the exact moment when you realized that someone outside of your own group of friends was reading your blog. It is a moment of clarity, and in this case, one that struck fear in T$'s heart. I pulled up The Anonymous Blogger's page. Giggle. Giggle giggle. This man's a genius. I would react differently if his commentary was mean-spirited, but he's a witty guy. T$ and I know that it is all in good fun, and I'm the biggest hypocrite in the world since I will probably be blogging sometime down the road about a wonderfully mustached, ear cuff wearing (they're clips of silver fastened to the top of one's ear, Bob) guido that has stolen my heart. So, it's out there. Thanks for breaking us in without too much pain Bob. I think I love you.

Friday, March 05, 2004

Tile man just left. God, does it stink in here. The electrician's coming tomorrow, and the tile man is returning next week to finish the job on the kitchen sink and to re-glaze the tub - whatever that means. I think our landlord is afraid of the City of Los Angeles. We had an inspection last month, and I've just learned that the inspector is coming back again on the 19th to check on the repairs he's requested.
If only the oven worked, we would have a kick-ass apartment!

Thursday, March 04, 2004

Crazy Eyes is broken. The pigeons have no fear. I have to go out and buy me a can of whoop-ass.

Also, I must rant about our crazy neighbor. I hear she's in witness protection, so I am actually a little bit afraid of her, but she has to stop feeding the stray cats who hang out behind our garage. I don't know what to do to help the stray cats. I admit it, their kittens are cute, but every couple of nights I wake to the sound of a kitten wail. One more dead kitty - at the jaws of one of our local coyotes. I do live in a large metropolitan city, don't I? It's true, coyotes trot courageously down the middle of my street. Cars avoid them, I cross to the other side, but some local dogs may wish to go a round or two. I remember walking my friend's dog last summer and stumbling upon a coyote in our path. He looked at us, we looked at him; he was only 10 feet away from us standing in the middle of the street. I silently begged Tyler, the dog, to shut up. My eyes fixed on the source of my terror, I slowly backed away with Tyler. I felt the urge to whistle a tune and look up to the sky. Do you think coyotes understand comedy? No one got mauled. Now I don't take Tyler with me on my nightly walk to the Sev.

Wednesday, March 03, 2004

I just cried while watching the Dr. Phil show. I am so turning into my mother.

What's up with Victoria's Secret? Don't get me wrong, I love underwear. I can't say "panties" with a straight face, but I do love corsets and teddies and slips and camisoles and fancy underthings. But when you flip to the back of the catalogue, you have crossed into 1985. The clothes are hideous. When's the last time anyone ever wore matte jersey?!?

You all know my problem with pigeons. Well, I'm singing a happy tune because of a recent BRILLIANT purchase - old "evil eye" owl. I'll affectionately refer to him as "Crazy Eyes" from now on.
T$ and I took a little trip to our favorite strip mall in Burbank. She wanted to pick up some crafts at Michael's. I didn't make fun of her. And I wanted to pick out a new shade of pink to paint my bedroom walls. The walls are blue now, and I just realized that my bedrooms have always been a shade of either blue or yellow throughout my life (except for the college apartments that would cost you the entire security deposit if you ever dared slap paint on a wall). Pink is for little girls. I'm turning 30 this year, so I guess I'm trying to reclaim my youth. Anyway, while in Lowe's Home and Garden, we ventured into the potted plant section. Actually, T$ was interested in the flowers, I was interested in death. Death to all spiders crawling in my bed! Death to the pigeons cooing on my roof! After picking up a can of Hot Shot Spider Killer, I went looking for something to take care of the pigeons. And there it was! It totally freaked me out! Old Crazy Eyes was warning me to stay back! He's a big plastic owl with yellow shiny eyes and he looks mean. Seriously, I couldn't look straight at him. I made T$ pick him up and put him in the cart.
So, Crazy Eyes has joined our porch fun. He's hanging there as a beacon to all passers-by, "These women are old and ornery!"
I can't wait until an unsuspecting pigeon tries to perch on the porch......... I'm gonna go out there right now and wait for 'em.......

Tuesday, March 02, 2004

I am a musical moron. I guess I should have already been alerted to that. My favorite bands include Bon Jovi, Poison, and Def Leppard. I'm also a fan of En Vogue, Night Ranger, and REO Speedwagon. But I never knew how musically ignorant I was until I hired a composer for my movie. Theme? Motif? Leit motif? What does it all mean? I took guitar lessons! I still cannot comprehend music. Is that an oboe or a clarinet? What exactly is a woodwind? The only bridge I know is the "take it to the bridge" - both a reference for an impending spastic dance and the place where someone was about to get beat up in high school.

Oh well - my new music cue just finished downloading....I have to go feel stupid now.

Monday, March 01, 2004

I had a busy weekend. It's really depressing when a weekend filled with things to do constitutes a "busy weekend". My dear friend, Don Hall, received a career achievement award on Saturday evening. His speech was great, and I got to dance. Marcelo, great dancer. Phil, not so good. Sorry Phil, but you have to move your body to consider it dancing. Anyway, I hate the fact that some people assume that if you want to bust out on the dancefloor and have fun at an event, then you must be loaded. I had one glass of wine with dinner and all I keep hearing today is "Boy, I heard you were wasted on Saturday!" That's undergrads for you - always making up stories just to have something to contribute.

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