Montana, cool now?

How flipping rad is it that Montana elected a musician/organic farmer to Senate?

I mean, sure, it will be like, slightly hilarious when Tester shows up for the first day with a banjo and buckwheat, but will be so much cooler than the guys who show up in sport coats and playing-it-safe Cole Haans.

It's about time you claimed your excessively large state as the kingdom of hipdom--after all, your ladies have been tucking their jeans into their boots for decades. So, Montana-- the new Vermont?

As expected, oblivious.

Today, I met my first celebrity.
As a part of my new position as "Marketing Assistant" at Whole Foods, I had the opportunity to attend a product expo, where I sampled about a million different organic products. Not only did I get a recycled wood fiber toothbrush, and a variety of new age beverages, and a whole half-pound of the divine La Tur cheese to take home, I also responded with dubious ambiguity to a celebrity's offer to demo his product in my store. To be fair, my dubiousness had nothing to do with the celebrity (whom I didn't recognize), or the product, merely my unwillingness to make a commitment as I am new to my position.

So anyway, I came home with my assortment of goodies (including some truly disgusting quinoa cookies that Bill liked, in a radical departure from his typical "more fat the better" mentality) and pointed out that the maker of "Begley's Best" looked familiar. Bill said that the name Ed Begley was familiar, so I did the whole Wikipedia thing, and alas, Ed Begley, Jr.

All the more ridiculous in my inability to recognize Mr. Begley is the fact that I have seen him in literally dozens of different shows. From Happy Days to Arrested Development, Six Feet Under to Seventh Heaven (yes, I occasionally...), Best in Show to The Smurfs, Ed Begley has been a part of my life for the past 25 years.

So, I'm sorry, Mr. Begley. Your product seems outstanding, and you were totally down-to-earth when you were offering to come to my store. I should have recognized you, and thus avoided speaking with you. And I loved you in This is Spinal Tap.

Last Meals

So, prompted by some last-season Prison Break watching, I have been pondering the concept of one's last meal. It appears that the state of Texas used to post the last meals requested by their death row inmates online. The list can be found here. Fascinating stuff, really. The list consists of primarily hamburgers, fried chicken, and steak. Specific soda requests are common, as are ice creams.

Of course, this all makes me wonder about my own last meal. The death row inmates don't pay much regard to menu planning: pizza with stir-fried beef, chocolate cake, ice cream, broccoli, grapes, 10 quesadillas and more (Jessy San Miguel, executed in 2000).

On one hand, I'd be tempted to request pad thai, chicken paneng, Papa John's hand-tossed with pineapple, chocolate mint ice cream with york peppermint patty mixed-in, vegetable samosas, chevre cheese, nectarines and Coca-Cola. I think the above constitutes a fair representation of my favorite foods, but, for a last meal? I mean, would gorging myself on all my favored flavors give me the requisite level of satisfaction, or would I be better served by creating a real meal?

Ahh! It's an absolute nightmare. I am giving myself a headache planning my theoretical last meal.

I suspect I would enjoy an exquisitely executed (ha! puns!) last meal, but how could I turn my back on goat's cheese, or pad thai? I'm afraid I could never decide. Thus, I would end up with a massive stomach ache before my extermination, OR, the better alternative: I am never executed.

$10, 3-hour haircut

yeah, i'm pretty excited about it. whoo hoo vidal sassoon academy.

messages

So, my birth control comes with a label saying that I should not take it if I am trying to become pregnant. This is the first time I think I have gotten this particular pharmacy sticker. I wonder if the pharmacist thought that this would be an amusing addition to the "take with modest meal," "some antibiotics may lessen the effect..." and "may turn your urine funny colors," or if someone has really deemed this message necessary. I suspect it's the latter.

In other strange-message news, I am currently temping and the previous non-temp version of me was given the axe. She has two little epigrams jotted on a notepad: "You can't fail if you don't give up!" and "Never trust anyone!" Hmm.

suckas...

While the rest of you fools will be voting at libraries, schools, and other unspecial places fitting of your dull, non-Los Angeleno lives, I will be voting at the Culver Hotel.

That's right. My polling place was once owned by John Wayne, and housed the Munchkins during the filming of the Wizard of Oz.

Ha. Ha.

$5.50 and the poorer for it.

Why, why, did I spend $5.50 to send a fax, only to end up with some creepy guy claiming to be a lawyer calling me on my daytime minutes?

Why don't I know how to send a fax, free, through my computer? Surely this must be possible...

Why didn't I check the number on the confirmation?

Now, I must do one, or perhaps a combination, of the following things:

• Temp tomorrow, and try to hop on their fax machine, violating my temping rules on the very first day of employment.
  
• Wait until Saturday when I will be able to go to mom & pop print shop (they have, of course, mom & pop hours), and get my $5.50 back.
• Find some other place tonight to send a fax from... like, the grocery store? Kinkos is not close and they are mean anyway. Where does one send a fax from, if not the mom & pop print shop on the corner?
• Drive fax to location--not close, but equidistant to the Kinkos.
  
• Abandon fax entirely and not write freelance articles for toy magazine that didn't offer me a real job.
• Demand cookies from friends not located within the Pacific Time Zone.

Disaster!

One sad thing has happened since our Los Angeles arrival (actually, more than one--but I'm not counting parking tickets).

Bill and I accidentally bought the orange-flavored toothpaste. In bulk. We have 6 tubes of Aquafresh Orange toothpaste. It's like brushing your teeth, then drinking orange juice. And we'll be doing it for the next year.

Friends & Countrymen...

I have returned from a monopoly-imposed hiatus. After much battle with TimeWarner, I am now restored to home internet life.

I just ate tamales from my local farmer's market, have an herb garden on my balcony, and had an interview for my dream job last week. Things are looking pretty good, though my mouth is burning from my tamale consumption.

You may now consider California Ruth open for business.

my weather is better than yours.

Well, Bill and I are no longer homeless. That is pleasant. We have an apartment now, which is filled with mostly good things and too-tall cabinets. Otherwise, happiness and joy.

We have a good location, close to many restaurants, etc. Also close to 'the studios.' I haven't seen any celebrities yet, but I have seen more cars worth over $100K than I have in my whole entire life. It seems probable that famous people drive them, but that may be my midwestern naïveté talking.

So, these are all good things. Bad things include the fact that I will likely still be unemployed upon turning 25. However, last year I turned 24 unemployed and living at home, so this year is somewhat of an improvement.

at 4:59 am

So, last night I woke up to Bill beating me. In his sleep.

No, we aren't talking about the rolling-over, arms-splayed type-beating (that's more my m.o.).

What happened was this:

I am asleep. On my stomach.

I wake up. Bill is straddling my back.

He hits me, and says "there's someone in the room."

I am freaked out. My semi-aunt, with whom we are staying, does not really lock doors, and our ground-floor window is wide-open.

It becomes apparent to me that Bill is still asleep. I say, "do you want to shut the window?" He grunts, un-straddles me, and goes back to sleep, while I squint, contact-less, at shadows.

My list of demands.

• A High-Paying Job
• Caveat: must be fun, not-evil, be loaded with vacation-time, and otherwise promote self-development.
  
• An Apartment
• Caveat: must meet numerous hard-to-find requirements, and have no problem with renting to the unemployed. Also, must cost no more than 4x my apartment in Kansas City.

Los Angeles

Um, I guess I live here now. It seems nice. I'll let you know more later.

oh, sigh.

oh, kansas city, i miss you already and i'm still here for another 11 hours.

sigh. it's like high school or college graduation all over again, all uncertainty etc.

oh well. california, here i come.

Bands that make me exceedingly angry on cranky Tuesday mornings.

1) Oasis
2) Nada Surf
3) Archers of Loaf

This list will no doubt only grow as I continue to do menial tasks while listening to what appears to be the worst of the 90s flashback hour on preferred radio station at work KEXP. Incidentally, my music collection has a strong bias towards the 90s, so I am not opposed to the decade by any means.

cool tricks my brother taught me

Uh oh, boyfriend, watch out.

I just learned that pre-teen crush Jose Canseco is now playing minor league baseball in Long Beach. I admit that I find the current version of Jose far less attractive, and steroids are probably the least sexy of all drugs. You are probably safe, boyfriend. But, I must say, I didn't even know you were alive in 1988, and I sure can't say the same for Mr. MVP.

2 weeks 2 days

Until Bill and I begin our great trek westward. Ahoy.

I purchased luggage online over the weekend. I thought it was lame when others received luggage for graduation, holidays, etc from aged relatives. Now I realize that it was not lame, only cheaper than buying it yourself.

Tell me, is there anything more gratifying than clicking "track shipment" a thousand times a day? My luggage has begun its journey in The City of Industry, CA, an (industrial) suburb of Los Angeles, which is, incidentally, where my credit card bills go. So, basically, it was like shopping at a neighborhood store.

The Roommate Tells All: Part 1--Breakfast

I read a magazine article that had advice on what to do if your roommate blogs about what you eat for breakfast. I will now blog about what my roommates eat for breakfast, and see if my roommates know what to do.

Bill: Bill seems only willing to eat bananas, bagels, green apples, and left-over pizza. This means that sometimes he eats no breakfast. I don't understand it.
Julie: Julie primarily eats cereal and whatever fruit is in the bowl. Sometimes, however, I catch her putting a variety of random food items on bread, toasted or otherwise, but never in a sandwich-like assemblage. I have seen her put honey, bananas, peanut butter, aldi- brand nutella, eggs, cheese, lunch meat, and imitation butter products in all sorts of incredibly odd combinations.

Phrase that makes my nose wrinkle: fruit cup.