LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You need to deal with some old, but still pressing issues -- further delay is sure to work against you. Today's big business can wait for a while, so don't hesitate to put it on the back burner.
Laura’s Log:
Of course Katherine wore white. Why do people with tans still look so radiant when we all know the exposure is a bad thing? When will pasty come into vogue? Tilda Swinton, where have you gone?
As much as I love Tamara and Nadia, it felt good to mix with a different crowd for Oscar watching. Must have been close to thirty people crammed into Katherine’s condo. I overlooked the fact they were shameless “Avatar” fans and enjoyed myself. (The Bellinis helped!) And as good as Bradley Cooper, Gerard Butler, Jake Gyllenhaal and Ben Stiller looked—yes, who can resist a man in blue?—I found myself sneaking glimpses of Katherine’s cousin Gabriel more than anything else. For four years, I’ve had sporadic Gabriel sightings and I’ve never been able to say more than “Don’t you hate the rain?” which is really the Vancouver equivalent to “Hi. How are you?”
When I arrived, he seemed to be hanging on a slut named Rachelle. Okay, she was more Tenley than Tila Tequila, but she was dominating Gabriel’s time, something I had hoped to be doing. After my third Bellini, I felt brave (buzzed) enough to approach him. (Rachelle had moved on to showing Katherine how to fold napkins to look like swans. So ’80s, right?) My time with Gabriel started out awkwardly—five minutes about what makes a good hummus (tahini is an especially funny word after a few Bellinis)—but picked up as we shared a common a longing for Nicole Richie and Mariah Carey to go away. Okay, who doesn’t want them to disappear, but I have to choose safe topics when I’m crushing on a guy. Too much at stake to start bashing Sandra Bullock’s acting. We did, however, find more depth as he confessed that he was rooting for “Up in the Air”. (Okay, maybe not much depth, but it was the Oscars, people!) My love for that movie has nothing—or very little—to do with my own recent firing and isn’t even solely based on the fact George Clooney is in almost every frame.
Imagine my shock when I said I hadn’t seen “An Education” yet and he asked if I wanted to go Tuesday night.
Oscar, I love you!
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
HARD DAY TODAY. WOKE W/A SICK FEELING, THE KIND WHERE YOU WANT TO VOMIT, NEED TO VOMIT, BUT CAN’T. CLARA’S BIRTHDAY. USED TO DO THINGS UP BIG FOR HER. PROBABLY WLD HAVE FLOWN HER TO SAN FRAN OR CHICAGO FOR THE WKEND. AND NOW SHE’S…WHERE? IN JAKARTA? MOVED ON TO THAILAND? WHO HAS SHE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH? HOW THRILLED IS SHE TO BE RID OF ME?
SO MANY GUYS FORGET ANNIVERSARIES, BIRTHDAYS, DRY CLEANING. WHY CAN’T I? WHY CAN’T I KEEP MY BRAIN 100% ON THE CANUCKS. HENRIK’S BOUNCING BACK, DEMITRA’S SHINING,…HECK, EVEN WELLIE’S GETTING POINTS. FOCUS ON THE POSITIVE.
WHAT’LL IT TAKE TO MOVE ON FROM CLARA? ANOTHER WOMAN? MAYBE, BUT I PITY THE NEXT ONE IF I CAN’T FULLY DE-CLARA-FY MY LIFE. CALLED BRAD AS SOON AS HIS OFFICE OPENED @ 9 A.M. HE’S FITTING ME IN FOR AN EMERGENCY SESSION @ 2 THIS AFTERNOON. I’LL JUST TELL THE BOSS IT’S A MEDICAL APPTMT. HE’LL THINK IT’S SOMETHING TO DO W/MY BLACK EYE & THERE’S NO WAY HE’LL QUESTION ME ON IT. THE GUY’S AN ASS, NOT AN IDIOT.
WHAT’S IT TAKE FOR ME TO MOVE ON? LACUNA, INC., I NEED YOU. (SEE “ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND”.)
Showing posts with label Avatar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Avatar. Show all posts
Monday, March 8, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
OSCARS, I’M A GROUCH
March 7, 2010
OSCARS, I’M A GROUCH
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your brainpower is sparking new ideas today, so you should be able to get yourself in the right mode for almost anything. Share what you've got with those around you and move forward together.
Laura’s Log:
Whose Oscars are they anyway? Tamara, Nadia and I watched “District 9” last night and couldn’t wait for it to be over. Felt like it should have been a short. After the first ten minutes, it was really nothing more than a sci-fi shoot ’em up flick for boys, with a few teary eyed phone calls thrown in. I am having a hard time accepting the fact that “District 9” and “The Hurt Locker” got nominated over “A Single Man” and “(500) Days of Summer”. I’d be pissed if I were Tom Ford. (Apparently they really don’t like you.) Even the only halfway successful “Julie and Julia” would’ve been a better candidate. Too bad they didn’t edit the title to “Julia”. (Worked for Vanessa Redgrave et al. in the ’70s.)
Maybe I was in a bit of a snit after our foray to the Salsa Festival was a bust. We thought there’d be hour-long workshops, but no. Full day salsa immersion. Sorry, but apparently I have commitment issues after all. Should’ve checked the website. We wanted to see some of the pros rehearsing but we were denied. I was trying to convince an official to let us in, but then Nadia got lippy. Tossed to the curb. We never even got a glimpse of the male-male salsa pair, Eli and Yen. A YouTube clip is just not the same.
It may have been just the movie, but by the time “District 9” was over, Tamara, Nadia and I had had enough of each other. Katherine’s back from Puerto Vallarta and is hosting an Oscar party so I’ll head over there for a new social experience. (Katherine hates—or at least strongly dislikes—Nadia and Tamara so I’ll be forced to mingle.) Aside from my Oscar predictions, I’m betting Katherine will be dressed in something simple, yet elegant in white to highlight her new fab tan. What can I wear to minimize my year-round pasty look? Will there be any single guys in attendance? Desirable ones? How about her cousin Gabriel? He was off the market for much of last year, but then there was that unfortunate breakup just before Christmas. So sad. He’s cleared the Rebound period, hasn’t he? I just hope he’s not a “District 9” fan. Or a “Hurt Locker” gusher. Or an “Avatar” advocate.
Suddenly it’s looking grim that I could meet a guy at the party. Damn you, Oscar!
KEN’S JOURNAL:
OSCARS, SCHMOSCARS. “THE HANGOVER” WAS ROBBED! YEP, I’M WATCHING THE CANUCKS INSTEAD. HERE’S HOPING LOU BOUNCES BACK IN NET. AND HENRIK REDISCOVERS HIS SCORING TOUCH.
REAL ESTATE SHOPPING YESTERDAY WAS A BUST. A SPACE IN A STRIP MALL IN PITT MEADOWS AIN’T GONNA CUT IT. I’M STARTING TO REALIZE THAT WE’RE GOING TO BUILD UP A MASSIVE DEBT B/F WE EVEN OPEN OUR DOORS. SUDDENLY EXCITING HAS TAKEN A BACKSEAT TO FRIGHTENING. WHAT R THE SIGNS OF AN ULCER ANYWAY?
MAY NOT BE SUCH A BAD THING THAT RAJ IS WAFFLING ON JOINING US. I DON’T THINK I CAN GO AROUND HOLDING HIS HAND WHEN MY PALMS R GETTING SO SWEATY.
I COMPLETELY REREAD OUR BUSINESS PLAN THIS MORNING. IT ROCKS. WE ROCK. GAWD, I NEEDED THAT REMINDER.
IT’LL ALL BE GREAT. AFTER THE FIRST 3 YRS OR SO. HEY, I LOVED KRAFT MAC & CHEESE IN UNIVERSITY. I CAN LUV IT AGAIN. ONLY NOW IT’LL COME IN A GENERIC YELLOW BOX W/BLACK PRINT. SAME THING,…RIGHT?
OSCARS, I’M A GROUCH
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your brainpower is sparking new ideas today, so you should be able to get yourself in the right mode for almost anything. Share what you've got with those around you and move forward together.
Laura’s Log:
Whose Oscars are they anyway? Tamara, Nadia and I watched “District 9” last night and couldn’t wait for it to be over. Felt like it should have been a short. After the first ten minutes, it was really nothing more than a sci-fi shoot ’em up flick for boys, with a few teary eyed phone calls thrown in. I am having a hard time accepting the fact that “District 9” and “The Hurt Locker” got nominated over “A Single Man” and “(500) Days of Summer”. I’d be pissed if I were Tom Ford. (Apparently they really don’t like you.) Even the only halfway successful “Julie and Julia” would’ve been a better candidate. Too bad they didn’t edit the title to “Julia”. (Worked for Vanessa Redgrave et al. in the ’70s.)
Maybe I was in a bit of a snit after our foray to the Salsa Festival was a bust. We thought there’d be hour-long workshops, but no. Full day salsa immersion. Sorry, but apparently I have commitment issues after all. Should’ve checked the website. We wanted to see some of the pros rehearsing but we were denied. I was trying to convince an official to let us in, but then Nadia got lippy. Tossed to the curb. We never even got a glimpse of the male-male salsa pair, Eli and Yen. A YouTube clip is just not the same.
It may have been just the movie, but by the time “District 9” was over, Tamara, Nadia and I had had enough of each other. Katherine’s back from Puerto Vallarta and is hosting an Oscar party so I’ll head over there for a new social experience. (Katherine hates—or at least strongly dislikes—Nadia and Tamara so I’ll be forced to mingle.) Aside from my Oscar predictions, I’m betting Katherine will be dressed in something simple, yet elegant in white to highlight her new fab tan. What can I wear to minimize my year-round pasty look? Will there be any single guys in attendance? Desirable ones? How about her cousin Gabriel? He was off the market for much of last year, but then there was that unfortunate breakup just before Christmas. So sad. He’s cleared the Rebound period, hasn’t he? I just hope he’s not a “District 9” fan. Or a “Hurt Locker” gusher. Or an “Avatar” advocate.
Suddenly it’s looking grim that I could meet a guy at the party. Damn you, Oscar!
KEN’S JOURNAL:
OSCARS, SCHMOSCARS. “THE HANGOVER” WAS ROBBED! YEP, I’M WATCHING THE CANUCKS INSTEAD. HERE’S HOPING LOU BOUNCES BACK IN NET. AND HENRIK REDISCOVERS HIS SCORING TOUCH.
REAL ESTATE SHOPPING YESTERDAY WAS A BUST. A SPACE IN A STRIP MALL IN PITT MEADOWS AIN’T GONNA CUT IT. I’M STARTING TO REALIZE THAT WE’RE GOING TO BUILD UP A MASSIVE DEBT B/F WE EVEN OPEN OUR DOORS. SUDDENLY EXCITING HAS TAKEN A BACKSEAT TO FRIGHTENING. WHAT R THE SIGNS OF AN ULCER ANYWAY?
MAY NOT BE SUCH A BAD THING THAT RAJ IS WAFFLING ON JOINING US. I DON’T THINK I CAN GO AROUND HOLDING HIS HAND WHEN MY PALMS R GETTING SO SWEATY.
I COMPLETELY REREAD OUR BUSINESS PLAN THIS MORNING. IT ROCKS. WE ROCK. GAWD, I NEEDED THAT REMINDER.
IT’LL ALL BE GREAT. AFTER THE FIRST 3 YRS OR SO. HEY, I LOVED KRAFT MAC & CHEESE IN UNIVERSITY. I CAN LUV IT AGAIN. ONLY NOW IT’LL COME IN A GENERIC YELLOW BOX W/BLACK PRINT. SAME THING,…RIGHT?
Friday, January 22, 2010
A CHILL IN THE AIR
January 22, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your face is a photograph of your feelings. Vulnerability is your strength.
Laura’s Log:
Cute barista’s name is Dodger. He asked my name for my latté order and I said—get ready to cringe—“I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.” I smiled bravely through the whole exchange as the guy behind me impatiently went through an episode of odd throat clearing noises. (He should really give up smoking or knock it down to just three packs a day.) Dodger. Even the name is adorable. Adopting a cockney accent, he explained, “Me mum got a thing for Dickens.” All I know is I want me some more. Please, sir.
And that’s where the fun stopped. I was welcomed with hideous glares from Ann-Marie and her entire entourage, which seems to be everyone but Ernesto and me. I’m guessing they got together for drinks (arsenic?) after work last night and took a vote. It’s unanimous, then. Laura is sleeping with the boss. She’s going down on him. Bad choice ‘cuz he’s just going down.
“Good morning, Donna.” Grunt.
“Hello, Laverne.” Sneeze?
“How was your daughter’s birthday, Amy?” Dunno. Suddenly urgent need for Amy to turn, grab the phone and reorder toilet paper for the office. I suppose that could be a dire concern.
Poor Hester Prynne. I feel your pain.
9:35 Ernesto summoned me to his office. Closed the door. Thank god it’s a windowless cave. (Looked up to scan for tiny spy camera. Not sure what to look for.) “What’s going on out there?”
Time for me to be the dodger. “Oh, it’s just last minute preparations for the Olympics, I guess. Don’t you like the Royal Bank’s new look?”
“Not outside. In the office. I’m getting a sense something’s about to boil over.”
“Yes. I think you’re right.” I paused. Ernesto wasn’t a good boss. He was crass, lewd, insensitive. But what I couldn’t handle was he was a yeller. If something went out five minutes late or a power outage (like on Monday) meant he couldn’t proceed with online Scrabble, he’d swing into a tirade berating every worker in sight as well as the Harper government, Oprah and everything blue in “Avatar”. (I agreed with respect to “Avatar”, but there were better ways to make one’s point. No?) Katherine once asked, “What’s the matter with your boss? Always seems to be in recovery from laryngitis.” If only.
Ernesto continued to stare at me, waiting for more. Never had a poker face. Clearly, I knew more. I had no feeling of loyalty to anyone. Not to Ernesto. Even at his best, he’d basically poisoned poor Tupper. Not to the girls—gosh, why “the girls” anyway? I was the youngest at 32. When would we be the women? How could I side with them when they’d decided without a shred of evidence that I was a slut? A slut with remarkably bad taste.
And for a second time in the day I heard throat clearing. Spill it, Nebergall. “They’re working to get you fired. Sexual harassment, sir. And they think we’re sleeping together.”
It was the last statement that seemed to horrify him most.
KEN’S JOURNAL (sent via iPhone):
HALF A MILLION?! THAT’S HOW MUCH GIL WANTED ME TO INVEST IN UNTITLED FILM PROJECT THAT MIGHT HAVE MEG RYAN ON BOARD. HALF A FUCKING MILLION! OR MORE. NEARLY CHOKED ON MY STEAK. (THANKFULLY DIDN’T. DAMN THAT PIECE OF MEAT WAS TOO GOOD TO WASTE!) SURE, VANCOUVER REAL ESTATE HADN’T TAKEN THE HIT LIKE IN OTHER AREAS, BUT I DIDN’T HAVE THAT KIND OF CASH EVEN DURING THE BOOM. BALLSY OF GIL TO ASK. BALLSY AND FUCKING STUPID.
CAUGHT END OF CANUCKS GAME. WELLWOOD SCORES! DON’T KNOW WHY, BUT I LIKE YA, MAN. STILL DON’T THINK IT’S ENUF TO KEEP HIM AROUND. HOW YOU LIKE MOOSE, KYLE? AWFUL CHILLY IN MANITOBA.
CLARA’S SISTER WANTS TO COME BY TONITE TO CLEAR OUT THE REST OF CLARA’S THINGS. SEEING BESS ALMOST AS BAD AS SEEING CLARA. BESS WAS POISON TO OUR RELATIONSHIP. “YOU CAN DO BETTER, CLARA.” “WHAT DO YOU SEE IN HIM?” AND, LINE FROM JANET JACKSON, “I KNOW HE USED TO DO NICE STUFF FOR YOU, BUT WHAT HAS HE DONE FOR YOU LATELY?” YEAH, PACK IT UP, YOU VENOMOUS BITCH. AND DON’T GIVE ME NO SHIT ABOUT THE PORCELAIN DOLLS. IT’S JUST CRUEL TO DUMP A GUY AND LEAVE HIM TO STARE @ A FREAKIN DOLL COLLECTION FOR THREE MONTHS. SCALPED, YEAH. CLD’VE BEEN MUCH WORSE. BELIEVE ME.
WON’T GIVE BESS THE SATISFACTION OF SEEING ME EVEN GLARE @ HER. I’LL BE COMPLETELY STOIC. YEAH, TELL CA CLARA I’VE TURNED TO STONE.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your face is a photograph of your feelings. Vulnerability is your strength.
Laura’s Log:
Cute barista’s name is Dodger. He asked my name for my latté order and I said—get ready to cringe—“I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.” I smiled bravely through the whole exchange as the guy behind me impatiently went through an episode of odd throat clearing noises. (He should really give up smoking or knock it down to just three packs a day.) Dodger. Even the name is adorable. Adopting a cockney accent, he explained, “Me mum got a thing for Dickens.” All I know is I want me some more. Please, sir.
And that’s where the fun stopped. I was welcomed with hideous glares from Ann-Marie and her entire entourage, which seems to be everyone but Ernesto and me. I’m guessing they got together for drinks (arsenic?) after work last night and took a vote. It’s unanimous, then. Laura is sleeping with the boss. She’s going down on him. Bad choice ‘cuz he’s just going down.
“Good morning, Donna.” Grunt.
“Hello, Laverne.” Sneeze?
“How was your daughter’s birthday, Amy?” Dunno. Suddenly urgent need for Amy to turn, grab the phone and reorder toilet paper for the office. I suppose that could be a dire concern.
Poor Hester Prynne. I feel your pain.
9:35 Ernesto summoned me to his office. Closed the door. Thank god it’s a windowless cave. (Looked up to scan for tiny spy camera. Not sure what to look for.) “What’s going on out there?”
Time for me to be the dodger. “Oh, it’s just last minute preparations for the Olympics, I guess. Don’t you like the Royal Bank’s new look?”
“Not outside. In the office. I’m getting a sense something’s about to boil over.”
“Yes. I think you’re right.” I paused. Ernesto wasn’t a good boss. He was crass, lewd, insensitive. But what I couldn’t handle was he was a yeller. If something went out five minutes late or a power outage (like on Monday) meant he couldn’t proceed with online Scrabble, he’d swing into a tirade berating every worker in sight as well as the Harper government, Oprah and everything blue in “Avatar”. (I agreed with respect to “Avatar”, but there were better ways to make one’s point. No?) Katherine once asked, “What’s the matter with your boss? Always seems to be in recovery from laryngitis.” If only.
Ernesto continued to stare at me, waiting for more. Never had a poker face. Clearly, I knew more. I had no feeling of loyalty to anyone. Not to Ernesto. Even at his best, he’d basically poisoned poor Tupper. Not to the girls—gosh, why “the girls” anyway? I was the youngest at 32. When would we be the women? How could I side with them when they’d decided without a shred of evidence that I was a slut? A slut with remarkably bad taste.
And for a second time in the day I heard throat clearing. Spill it, Nebergall. “They’re working to get you fired. Sexual harassment, sir. And they think we’re sleeping together.”
It was the last statement that seemed to horrify him most.
KEN’S JOURNAL (sent via iPhone):
HALF A MILLION?! THAT’S HOW MUCH GIL WANTED ME TO INVEST IN UNTITLED FILM PROJECT THAT MIGHT HAVE MEG RYAN ON BOARD. HALF A FUCKING MILLION! OR MORE. NEARLY CHOKED ON MY STEAK. (THANKFULLY DIDN’T. DAMN THAT PIECE OF MEAT WAS TOO GOOD TO WASTE!) SURE, VANCOUVER REAL ESTATE HADN’T TAKEN THE HIT LIKE IN OTHER AREAS, BUT I DIDN’T HAVE THAT KIND OF CASH EVEN DURING THE BOOM. BALLSY OF GIL TO ASK. BALLSY AND FUCKING STUPID.
CAUGHT END OF CANUCKS GAME. WELLWOOD SCORES! DON’T KNOW WHY, BUT I LIKE YA, MAN. STILL DON’T THINK IT’S ENUF TO KEEP HIM AROUND. HOW YOU LIKE MOOSE, KYLE? AWFUL CHILLY IN MANITOBA.
CLARA’S SISTER WANTS TO COME BY TONITE TO CLEAR OUT THE REST OF CLARA’S THINGS. SEEING BESS ALMOST AS BAD AS SEEING CLARA. BESS WAS POISON TO OUR RELATIONSHIP. “YOU CAN DO BETTER, CLARA.” “WHAT DO YOU SEE IN HIM?” AND, LINE FROM JANET JACKSON, “I KNOW HE USED TO DO NICE STUFF FOR YOU, BUT WHAT HAS HE DONE FOR YOU LATELY?” YEAH, PACK IT UP, YOU VENOMOUS BITCH. AND DON’T GIVE ME NO SHIT ABOUT THE PORCELAIN DOLLS. IT’S JUST CRUEL TO DUMP A GUY AND LEAVE HIM TO STARE @ A FREAKIN DOLL COLLECTION FOR THREE MONTHS. SCALPED, YEAH. CLD’VE BEEN MUCH WORSE. BELIEVE ME.
WON’T GIVE BESS THE SATISFACTION OF SEEING ME EVEN GLARE @ HER. I’LL BE COMPLETELY STOIC. YEAH, TELL CA CLARA I’VE TURNED TO STONE.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)