Tales from La La Land

But, I hate that fucking song.

If you don’t know what song I’m talking about, let me ruin your day. I promise you will now sing it all day.

Which can be kind of funny when you sing it to random things that you do actually love. I love potstickers. I love oyster shooters. Chug. Chug. Chug.

So, anyway, that is the crap that has been consuming my brain.

I finished my second half marathon last week, and have to say that considering how much harder the course was than the first one I did, I am pretty proud to say I did it.

The Lara-Shaner-Ross team all survived despite being made fun of by some 17-year-old skank. Apparently she thought it was sooooooooooo lame that we matched. Yeah, I saw her at mile 10. And, for sure I fucking kicked it up one gear to make sure I finished before her.

Ho.

By the way, no offense to any moms of wonderful daughters out there, but I am not a fan of the 16-18 year old female demographic. I am sure Laef completely disagrees with me on this, but when I see a trick talking ON her cell phone WHILE running a half marathon, I am two heart beats away from a heart attack.

I will admit that when I saw three dolphins frolicking on one part of the race, I did sort of wish I had my cell phone to take pictures. Thankfully, the 34-year-old in me knows that under no circumstances can you bring a cell phone with you on a 13-mile run.

So, now that the La Jolla half is done, I’m looking forward to doing more races. It’s kind of like heroin.

Addicting.

The feeling you get before (nervous) during (thisfuckingsucks) and after (AMAZING) is unmatched. I love it. Now it’s time to try and build up some leg muscles so that my twigs might possibly be able to finish a race in under two hours. That is my next goal.

I am now also looking forward to the wedding. Hello, it’s May. Which brings MANY exciting wedding-related items: Bachelorette Party, Bachelor Party and cake tasting.

Let’s hope we make it through this month in one piece.

Dear Cali,

I have fallen endlessly in love with you over the past two years. Yes, I hate the 405 and writing my rent check, but I love your glorious sunshine that visits in December, January and February. Not to mention the other 9 months.

My wedding day is rapidly approaching and I am grateful for the gorgeousness that is Manhattan Beach. I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have a “destination wedding” in my own back yard.

For the most part, you and I are good.

However, the other day as I was researching how to apply for a marriage license, I was stunned to read the laws of who can get married in California and who can not.

Common Law Marriages:
No.

Same Sex Marriages:
No. Was Yes. Gay couples had two options in California.

As of 6/16/08, due to the May 2008 ruling of the California Supreme Court, same-sex marriage was legal in California. That was changed with the passage of Proposition 8 in November 2008.

Gay couples can still apply for a Domestic Partnership Certificate.

Cousin Marriages:
Yes.

‘Scuse me?

Relax.

It just means that I only like two sexual positions.

April Fools.

I just read on Perez Hilton that Lady GaGa said her song Poker Face relates to bisexuality.

As you may or may not know, that’s my favorite song right now. I thought it was about cards. Actually, I didn’t know what it was about because I only knew like four words to the song. Everytime it comes on, I attempt to follow along and sing in my car before realizing I’m just moving my mouth for no good reason.

Apparently, it’s not about “hold ‘em like they do in Texas”, it’s literally about Poking Her. “I’m just bluffin’ with my muffin’.”

Who knew.

Moving on.

There’s nothing for me to blog about right now. Seriously. Laef used Blake at Jamba Juice today. That was exciting. He also insisted on giving the Sanch a shower the other day.

Yes. A shower.

He came across some article on some brilliant web site about how the best way to do a kitty shower is to put on a heavy sweatshirt and get in there with the cat.

I promptly removed myself from this situation. But, I did peek through the door to see Laef in the shower wearing a UCLA sweatshirt and boxers holing the Sanch while singing Nickleback.

That was exciting as well.

At work, we have graduated to the big time, switching over to Office 2007 from 2003. We also changed our email to Outlook from Eudora. In case you are wondering, Eudora stopped making software in 2007 or something. But, you know how it goes. Old people don’t like change. And by old I mean 35.

I love Outlook. I love the 2007 version of Office. But fuckin’ A it took me two days to figure out how to print something. And my powerpoint presentations are looking like something a pre-schooler made during craft hour. Eventually I’ll get it and then Office 2010 will come out and I’ll be fucked all over again.

Other than that, I don’t have much to report.

OH! Except that my wedding dress arrived. I am confused by the delivery of this garment as it was shipped from New York and was sitting in a brown box on my doorstep one afternoon.

1. I thought it would be sent to the store in LA where I bought it.
2. It was fucking raining outside all over said brown box.
3. I had no idea it was coming to the house, so I didn’t open the box right away.

When I did finally open it, I went batshit. I put it on, tried about 90 different ways to get a picture to send to my peeps, played with my hair, tried on some earrings, put on lipstick.

Blake was supposed to work late that night. Instead, he decided to surprise me by coming home two hours early. In case you hadn’t heard, there’s nowhere for me to hide when this situation happens.

Fear not though, I was able to get in the bedroom and kept him out by telling him that his new issue of WoW monthly had arrived.

By the way, this is genius. (Thanks, Cathy!)

I am not sure if any of you can understand some of the problems that can arise when your name is Laef.

Aside from the most common problem – people calling him something that falls from a tree- there are others.

There is the “Oh, is your boyfriend Scandinavian?” The answer to this is no.

Or the ever popular “Like Leif Erickson?” The answer to this is yes.

But, mostly, it is the five minutes spent everytime Laef introduces himself to people. Or when he places an order at Pinkberry or a pizza place. Pinkberry is the best because they type your name into the register and put the printed receipt on your yogurt cup.

So, we get to actually see what goes through the cashier’s mind. We have seen everything from Lace to Lale.

Last night we went over to our friend Raman’s house to watch the NCAA Championship game. (Sidenote: Mommy finished 4th out of 76 people and won $146).

I’m sure it comes as no surprise that Raman (yes, everyone, the joke Raman Noodles has been used) encounters name issues as well.

We decided to order some Thai food and when they asked for the name, Raman said, “Robert.”

Me: “Did you just say your name was Robert?”
Raman: “It has changed my life.”

Seriously.

Life. Changing.

He did not have to repeat his name 12 times. It was quick and dirty.

Laef and I exchange glances.

He says, “I’m using Blake.”

The weather is finally starting to seem summer-like. There is nothing better than a weekend of sun, chilling at home, drinking Sangria and eating guacamole.

It seems like Laef and I have been all over the place each and every weekend, so I was definitely excited to be home for a change. I had grand plans of doing some major spring cleaning on Saturday, but I sort of realized that I should also take a moment to just finally chill the fuck out and enjoy the day.

We have decided to let the Sanch venture outside a bit. We’re going to limit it to only during the day when we’re home so we can see what he’s up to while roaming free. As cool as I would like to think I am, I spent a big part of the day on Saturday sitting in the back yard watching my cat.

Whatever. I am easily entertained.

Sanch met the neighbor kitty Buddy. Buddy did his absolute best to hiss as loud as possible and try to intimidate The Sanch. But, after being locked inside for the past year, The Sanch did not give a flying fuck about Buddy’s hissing. He was determined to make a friend no matter what.

So, despite Buddy’s meanest noises, The Sanch just kept following him around the yard. Eventually, Buddy gave up, found a spot in the shade and set up camp. The Sanch followed him over and kept a fairly safe distance, but nonetheless, he was hanging with another cat! STOKED. He was probably like, fuck, finally. Someone who gets me.

Then Buddy threw up for some unknown reason and took off. Sanch stayed back to investigate. I was thinking it was some kind of initiation thing where if Sanch ate Buddy’s puke they’d be puke brothers, but Sanch was dainty and buried it.

Later that night, the Detwiler twins rolled into town to celebrate their 27th birthday. We grilled some food, ate some Sprinkles cupcakes and drank yummy summer drinks.

We then decided to visit Beaches to get our dance on.

It is safe to say that it was a success on many levels.

1. Laef Danced.

2. The played Lady GaGa

3. The Twins Were Popular With the Locals

On Sunday morning, my weekend took a somewhat bizarre turn as I was dog-sitting the neighbors dog, who decided to launch an all out attack on another dog while we were on a walk. Let me tell you what is not fun: SCARY DOG FIGHTS. Especially when you are helpless and can only watch as a dog (not yours) basically tries to kill someone elses dog by biting its neck in a furry.

In an effort to end the weekend on more positive note and mellow my nerves, Laef and I spent the afternoon at the beach.

And, all I ever want to be is these people:

Complete and total bliss.

Yes.

It was that kind of Bridal Luncheon. The kind with cute flowery invitations, champagne, gourmet cheese, seafood quiche.

And cock rings.

I don’t know why I ever thought I was the Bridal Luncheon kind of girl. Because let’s face it. My mother smoked a cigarette INSIDE the airport within five minutes of meeting two of my bridesmaids, my sister got me a cock ring and Amy wrapped up some garter thing in a pretty pink box.

Oh, and there were boys at my luncheon.

And basketball.

All I can say is thank goodness for Angie Sit. She brings the girliness to my party. Not that Annett, Amy and Missy aren’t super girly. After all, I am pretty sure Amy and Annett could have done without basketball and Missy wore four-inch-bright-red skank heels (which she used to kick me directly up my asshole, bruising me in a way that only a stripper could understand).

So, anyway, I arrived in Portland on Friday to find a text from Amy.

“Your mom is a hoot.”

If I had any Xanax, I would have taken eight right then.

“My mom is a hoot” can mean about a billion things.

I found Amy and my mom in the Portland airport bar and we ordered some wine while we waited for Annett. My mom was gracious enough to buy Amy and I our wine, but asked that we leave the tip. No problem, I say. But, I only have a ten dollar bill. So, I hand my mom the 10 and ask her to trade me for two fives.

She hands me one five.

Mom: “Oh! This is perfect! You give me a 10 and I give you a 5.”
Amy: …
Me: “How is this perfect?”
Mom: “It’s the first five you’ve ever given me!”
Me: “I’m on a budget and I am pretty sure getting one five for a 10 was not part of the budget.”

Such is the story with my mom. I can’t wait to read the comment she leaves on the blog.

After picking up Annett and dropping my mom off with my sister, we hit the town for some drinks. It was standard operating procedure: acting ree ree with my most favorite peeps.

We downed some late night pizza and a shot of patron before heading back to the Longeteig’s to sit in the hot tub. For some reason, we thought it was a smashing idea to drink two bottles of wine while sitting in the hot tub. Which led to a huge grilled cheese session.

Amy Longeteig can be blackout fucking wasted and make a grilled cheese sandwich that will make your head spin. OK, so it might have been the 12 glasses of wine combined with the hot tub, but my head was spinning while eating my grilled cheese.

At almost 3 a.m. I snuck away to rest my eyes for a minute.

Next thing I knew I was at the shower eating brie and drinking champagne.

We played games. I realized I shouldn’t have let the boys play. They won cheated.

All joking aside, the shower was amazing. The whole weekend was filled with all of the people that I love, eating, drinking, laughing, being highly immature and generally having a blast. Even my mom brought her 23-year-old game and had a blast.

It made me realize how special the whole wedding thing is and how excited I am to spend time with my friends.

Real life is not nearly as much fun as bridal weekends.

Heart.

Tons.

P.S. I have not tried the cock ring. But, I can assure you that it is by far the best wedding gift we have received thus far. According to Laef.