Oh I wish I was...

an Oscar Meyer wiener!!!

Today, I'm in Houston, TX. Actually, I'm in a hotel room in Houston, TX. I didn't leave the hotel until 6pm when we decided to get up and eat something other than candy corn and cough drops. How much fun shit can happen in 30 minutes? Well let me tell you...a lot.

Destination Hard Rock Cafe pin collector took us about 15 minutes away to the Theatre District of this fine Texas city, but no sooner than before we got past the corner of our hotel.....we came upon a sight to behold - the WienerMobile.
"Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooh, I wish I was an Oscar Meyer Wiener!" could not have been sung with more gusto from two women approaching their 30's if you paid us to. What an incredible fucking ride. What I wouldn't give to steer that giant penis shaped mobile down the sprawling sidewalk or across the open highway. I guess my picture with my booty backed up against it at the corner of Hidalgo and Sage will have to do.





Arrival dinner time - public parking garage at the Hard Rock Cafe complex. We parked in section orange, which I only know because of Paul Blaart Motorized Mall Cop who quizzed us upon exiting the parking complex. He asked us where we were going before we even had the car doors locked...in hindsight, he was a little odd.

"You're going the wrong way. Hop on." Those words will go down in infamy some day, I know it! Tonight was not the night for that though. Tonight two hefty girls hopped on the backwards facing golf cart seat, putting a strain on the shocks and minature horse power and zipped along the parking garage to our underground stairwell. It was walkable, but who can really say no to motorized mall security. Not me. Not me.

As we bid our security farewell and began our ascent up into San Juan Capistrano, the greeting of a thousand tree dwelling birds rang in our ears, second only to the mass quantity of bird shit covering the stairwell, steps, and handrails. "We're gonna get shit on ," I declared as if it were one of the commandments itself.

Of course what would a big city be without a wayward transient citizen milling about the only open dining establishment on the block? Not a big city, that's what. Just then as a waft of urine and booze hit us, our neighborhood hobo frustrated with the garbage selection, threw a glass bottle back into the can which was just as effective as shooting the birds out of the tree with a pellet gun. Two words = shit storm. Somehow in the chaos, I managed to avoid the white rain falling down from the sky, but my dinner date was not as lucky.

"Lauren!"
"What?"
Angry with disgust and disbelief she demanded to know..."is. there. shit. in. my. hair?"
"Uhhh...(stifle), no, just a bit of a streak right there on your sweater."
"I knew I was going to get shit on today."

(long pause) "So then I'm guessing you don't want to sit outside on the patio then?"

Today was more fun than a circus.

Viva Las Vegas p. 2, 3, 4, shit...I give up

Yeah, barely enough time to sleep = no time at all to blog. But there are picture. Oh there will be pictures for days to come. I hurt. I ache. I think I have a sinus infection. I have blisters on all my toes from hooker heels and my head wants to explode right here at McCarren International. Plane, please arrive soon. Please? Please.

Blogger friends, I survived. Barely. I'll be back with pictures soon. I promise.

:)

Viva Las Vegas p. 1

Blogger, I've been thinking about you. I have all these thoughts and only you can keep them all recorded for me. This weekend, you are my notepad and I will try to update you every day. You and I have been apart far too long.


I'm laying here at 8:45pm with the A/C and fan blowing on me exploding with excitment and sticky all over with spray on self tanner. In my living room there is a small colony of shopping bags and an entire suitcase full of high heeled shoes. Yes, 1 suitcase full of shoes. I am Filipino, it happens. The phrase uttered most in my house today was "that's not a dress, that's a shirt" and visa versa. Along with the shoes, there is a tripod, 12 strands of long Hawaiian beads, and a gold glitter covered costume top hat decorated with poker chips and dice. Pray, do tell what you have in store... Oh the pictures will not lie. They can't. They simply won't.

Soon the packing will commence and in the morning, four girls will make their way to Sin City where the adventures will begin on the plane via re-redeemed drink coupons before the plane even reaches the NV state line. In the immortal words of the King himself:

Viva.

Las.

Vegas.

Dear Blogger

I love you. I do. No, really I do.
What? No, I'm not lying.
It's not you. It's me.
I've just been so...so busy with life and things and work.
I can't keep up with it all. I promise you that I will make time for you soon. Just you and me and some quality time to catch up.
I have good stories that I've been making for you.
Really. I do.

Me

its all the rave

I have a best friend. She has a brother. He is a DJ and a promoter of all things...well, rave. This is a few weeks overdue, but let's say that I've just been busy.

Prior to a few weekends ago, I had never been to a rave, but I was prepared for just about anything. The pictures made it look more posh than reality would turn out. Lack of fancy phone since my iphone-chocola-palooza, I drafted some texts about the sights and sounds and saved the ones that made my friends LOL and LMAO and LMFAO. I don't know that I really need to elaborate much about my 3-day rave in LA. These texts speak for themselves. Enjoy.

"This beat is so hard it's like sitting in one of those massage chairs at the nail place. Lots of pelvic thrusting going on. And Asians. There's lots of Asians pelvic thrusting."

"There's this guy named Robbie who keeps introducing himself to us over and over like a record. He's the one who brought the midget over to ask me to dance. Go figure a midget would find me in a Hollywood club."

"Shit, I almost just got kicked by a schoolgirl."

"IM IN A WAREHOUSE IN DOWNTOWN LA. THESE PEOPLE DANCE LIKE THEY HAVE CEREBAL PALSY. THE MIDGET IS BACK. GOOD THING WE'RE VIP. WE'RE UP STAIRS HIDING. SOME GUY JUST MADE SURE TO REMIND US THAT THERE'S FREE RED BULL IN VIP. RED BULL AND NO MIDGETS."

"There's some drunk DJ saying "dont be a white pigeon be a dove" What the fuck does that even mean? I think I have to be on E to get this shit."

1-minute later: "There's another guy next to him smoking a cigarette in a Jason mask.. There's smoke coming out of the eye holes. How much does that guy smell and why does the screen keep flashing CUNT in big red letters? Where the fuck am I?"

"Back in the barrio and I've discovered that I can spot shirts with wings on them from a mile away. Winged shirts are for assholes."

"Are they linedancing? Do they linedance at raves?"

"There's a lot of skinny jeans and supportive shoes here. I thought there would be more glowsticks."

"SOME DJ IS SAYING SHAKE THAT ONION BOOTY. "

"HE JUST SAID POP THAT ASS. I THOUGHT THERE WERE NO WORDS IN THIS MUSIC."

"Fuck Robbie and his purple sweat headband and his midget. Why are there always midgets everywhere I go?"

"I imagine that ninjas and faries probably go to a lot of raves. That's how they get so spry and light on their feet."

"OMG. Zena the Warrior Princess just walked in. She's standing next to a girl in short shorts that looked like they were painted by Monet. There's a guy next to Monet wearing all black with with a black bowtie. Point Dexter is standing next to Zena. This just keeps getting better." <<< response: "Tell me you have a camera. I have to see this."

"MORE VODKA. I NEED MORE VODKA."

"I'm on the rooftop of the Standard in downtown LA now...there's a pool up here. On the roof. This roof could never be on fire."

"Some guy in a Superman cape just rubbed his head in my boobs. I just got motorboated by Superman. On a roof. In downtown LA."

www.notachance.com

Quite a few of my girlfriends are into internet dating. I was. Once. I was occasionally successful, but I was mostly unsuccessful. That was about 10 years ago. 10 years later, not much has changed. Maybe it's because nothing impresses me. Maybe it's because I'm just getting too weak and I lack the willpower to internet date anymore. Maybe it's because of this:

I realize that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, there are plenty of fish in the sea, to each his/her own......but I also strongly believe that you only get one chance to make a first impression. So far, I've found that most of you guys suck at selling yourselves and some of you just suck. With that, men of the internet dating community, ponder these things:

Profiles
- There is nothing like the stench of desperation. I throw up a little in my mouth when the first thing I see on your profile is : "I want you to want me" "I dont have an 80’s van with primer LOL" "Willing to lie about how we met" "Look no further I have arrived" .......*gag*
- User name, screen names, handles, whatever they're called...choose a good one. They're important. This is going to be the first nickname that your potential mate knows you by and refers to you by with all of her girlfriends. Assman, MrFister, I love children, MrKiller, DiaperDaddy…spare yourself the embarrassment now.
- ALL CAPS IS ANNOYING, punctuation is phenomenal. I can feel your A.D.D. coming through your incessant run on sentences. That's all I will ever feel from you.
- Using the word "cum" instead of come, "dew" instead of do, "Baby I want you to no", "looking for the rite girl" any other misspelled and overtly sexual words in the "about me" paragraph makes me want to set your profile on fire.
- “No need to look any further” “I'm the one” “What are you waiting for?” "to acquire me you must inspire me" “If you want to be loved, be lovable” Thanks. There’s nothing like a profile header to give you an ultimatum right from the start. I can't wait to get into a relationship that will be wrought with control issues that will spring forward like water from a geyser.

Pictures
- If every single outfit you own looks like your entire wardrobe was purchased at ComicCon, you should re-evaluate your life's purpose.
- Wear a shirt in your main profile picture. Nothing like meeting your man nipples right away. This aloso applies to self portraits of you leaning up against a porch banister, a tree, or the frame of an empty doorway to a room filled with clutter.
- Since we’re talking about self portraits: for the love of RayJay, learn how to take a self portrait that doesn’t require being bare-chested in your grandmother's daisy print wallpaper bathroom with the camera phone half blocking your face and the flash bouncing off the mirror.
- When you have 17 pictures posted in your profile and 13 are of your sports car, 3 are of your pittbull, and the 1 picture of you has a blonde girls hair on your shoulder, her arm draped over your neck, her check touching your cheek, but there's a black bar inconspicuously placed over her entire face, you should consider getting more friends before looking for a life partner.
- When your favorite profile picture is the one where you are wearing your extra tiny Gold's Gym man tank it makes you look like you're wearing a bra from chest up. Don't do it. Just don't post it. This also goes for extra medium muscle shirts, exposed mid-drifts, and half shirts.
- Do you all own the same Affliction shirt with the angel wings on the back?
- Trim your nose hairs
- Make a note for yourself: webcam pictures make you look like a serial killer.

And finally: Please. Please? Please...smile. If I wanted to be with someone who didn't smile, I would seek out my emotionally disabled, mentally stunted a-hole of an ex.

Day trip to the edge of the Earth

Today was a great day.


I like that sentence.

I am trying to live up to my vow to explore the immediate world around me. I am making the effort to seek adventure in my own backyard. I am keeping my camera closer by my side. I am stopping for that picture instead of ignoring it and continuing on the way.

Today was an adventure.


I like that sentence, too.

This weekend, I set out to have one of those adventure. I had a general direction, but not a route, and not a final destination...which is how things in life should be. It's not about the destination, it's about the journey. I knew my day would be long, so I slept the extra hour and arrived at just about noon to pick up my navigator and friend Carrie. We barely made it out of the city limits without being t-boned by a old pickup with probably an even older driver rolling through the intersection, and then, again, almost came to our big-rig induced demise along I-80. Needless to say we took a moment to pray. I prayed to all the gods just in case. I think I prayed to Oprah Winfrey and Tom Cruise too.

After the adrenaline from near death experiences settled, we set off to see a light house and go to the coast, maybe the city. Maybe all of the above. I love California. No...really, I love California. Born and raised, I still am in awe of the vast landscape that is within hours if not minutes from my house.

The Pacific Coast is dotted with lighthouses, with nearly a dozen just in the Bay Area. As we turned from the highway to the back roads through Olema and Inverness, we could feel the temperature drop from the near 90's to a more reasonable mid 70's.



Winding through back country roads over grafitti-art covered bridges with lunch on the brain, our first stop was Point Reyes Station, pop. 370. We parked and set off down 4th St towards the renowned Cowgirl Creamery. Out with the traditional sandwiches and cafe sit-downs, we opted for locally made, organic cheeses, fresh bread, and fruit.





Had I have known what was in store, my guilt at consuming so many carbs wouldn't have been a second thought. Our next pinpoint on the day's map was the Point Reyes Light Station, which is in fact, 21 miles away from the small town of Point Reyes Station. 21 miless of twists and turns through bramble bush dotted hillsides occupied by dairy cows and wild deer. As you appraoch the coast from the inlands, you can see the fog wafting down over the tree tops and over the water of the still clear inlets. Watching the climate change before our eyes was the first clue that adventure was in store. The drive was beautiful and tretcherous all at once. Driving along the coast on the edge of the world is harrowing enough on a clear day when you can see the demise you may be in for, but when there is limited sight in the blanket of fog, it is downright scary. I drove slow. We were in no rush.



Upon arrival, the fog seemed to get a little thicker and there was no hope that we would see much of the water. The cypress tree lined .4 mile hike through the fog and the cold to the lighthouse seemed much longer than .4 miles, but the steady stream of tourists of all ages wearing I Love SF tshirts and Golden Gate Bridge parkas told us we could handle it just fine.



Finally with the last set of stairs to go, covered in sea-mist, damp in humid layers, the firs sight of the lighthouse could be seen about 100 steps down. Water or no water, looking at this building that's stood since the late 1800's, it is an awesome sight to imagine that someone, some living, breathing, daily stair climbing person used to light this thing day in and day out to keep sailors and vessels safe and out of shallow water.







As I trudged back up the 308 steps, huffing and puffing, wishing my lungs not to explode, and my knees to stop shaking, I thought of the fact that 8 years ago exactly, there were thousands of men and women running down flights of stairs to safety, and hundreds of men and women running UP flights of stairs to save others. It made me greatful that I had a day like today to take a daytrip to the edge of the Earth.