quick question

Since when do reporters on the radio describe traffic on the interstate as a HOT MESS??

i like you a lot

You know the feeling. You're all rough around the edges that day and someone does something sweet and nice and you have to smile because they have great timing. I like that feeling. Thanks Halle.

I got me an emergency contact person

Matthew emailed me this card in April 2008 when I was in Berlin. I was sitting in a cafe and I got all embarrassed, flushed, and silly-tingly when I opened it and saw what it said: Someday I'd like you to be my emergency contact person.



I was alone, quietly and happily freaking out. Emergency contact person! Does he realize the IMPLICATIONS of this ecard? Does he know what he's saying? This is serious. A lot of people say a lot of things they don't mean but Matthew didn't seem like that so my heart beat rapidly, my crazy crush swelling.

I keep thinking of this card because I JUST WROTE HIS NAME AS MY EMERGENCY CONTACT PERSON. That's what happen when you decide overnight to get married in Vegas!







Do you like how we look like we're choking each other in the second photo? Yeah, me too. Married for 28 seconds and already at each others' throats.

Here's the thing about marriage, because I'm an authority after 47 days. There is this whole paperwork side to it, which DUH. It is a civil contract after all. Thankfully, when a lot people do it now it is for love but technically, and in the eyes of the law, that is whatever. And the religious aspect? Equally whatever. Which is why it's funny when people get all high and mighty about their precious, sacred marriage for religious reasons: Marriage didn't start out that way and it doesn't seem to be ending that way either. Legally it's all about finances and assets and insurance and the right to do this and that for and to each other. It's totally not romantic. Romance and/or love is what we MAKE it.

I'm going to steal something now from Robert Louis Stevenson and Elizabeth Gilbert:

MARRIAGE IS A FRIENDSHIP RECOGNIZED BY THE POLICE

I like that.

I'm really into picking apart what marriage is, and has been, and will be. Because it has been evolving since its inception and I'm sure it can be something different for every person and couple and I'm sure that I don't want to fall into some way of being just because I'm married.

I read a post on Offbeat Bride that I liked about people dangling their ideas over you, sort of daring you to be different but mostly begging you not to be. It's over here.

By the time M and I got married - and will get married again in May with friends and family - we'd done some long-termy type of transactions like buying a car and a dog together and were already investing in each other. Plus we've been living in sin for a year. We'd said many times that we already felt married and had - and this is significant, or not - changed our Facebook statuses to married. If the Internet is involved, it's ON.

Side story: Right after he and I met, he web-searched me and found my old Friendster page. Friendster said that I was in a relationship and he got all pissy and interrogated my cousin who introduced us. She assured him that I hadn't checked Friendster in a trizillion years, just needed to update my account, and wasn't a skanky liar on purpose.

Speaking of the Internet, I was afraid to tell my parents about Vegas for three weeks after Elvis walked me down the aisle while singing Love Me Tender. It started when Matthew and I got back to Mandalay Bay and were waiting for a bottle of tequila to arrive and he sent a mass text to his friends that said something along the lines of I'M MARRIED!!

"You do realize you're friends with my dad on Facebook, right?" I said.

"Oh shit."

"Yeah."

His follow-up mass text was more or less "Keep it on the DL for now, no Facebook".

Once I got up the nerve to break the news to Mary Ann and Bob, they LAUGHED. Too bad I shit a river imagining painful, guilt-inducing reactions on their part, revolving mainly around the theme of why were they paying for so much of a wedding in May when we were just going to make a mockery of the whole thing at the Graceland Chapel where Jon Bon Jovi was married.

Nope, they thought it was funny. I have got to start giving them more credit.

You say tomato, I say fuck you.

Exhibit A of why late Hanukkah presents rule. Thanks Jane.

laughing quietly to myself

About the girl in the convenience store next to my laundromat who said to the woman behind the sandwich counter, "I'm TRYING to UNDERSTAND how you could only put mayonnaise on one side of my sandwich..."

And when the woman gave her two packets of mayo, "This sandwich is DRY AS SHIT."

I played it cool and avoided eye contact because I was afraid a) that I would laugh and b) that she would punch me in the throat.

I ordered my own sandwich, went back to the laundromat, and was eating it when the girl walked in with her friend, "And I SAID, you don't know what to do with BOTH PIECES OF BREAD?"

That is a sandwich gangsta.

on hold with Disney

I'm on hold with a Disney office right now and the music is FREAKING ME OUT. It is way too early in the day to feel like I'm tumbling and skipping through a meadow of giant magical mushrooms. I haven't even taken a shower.

Monica and her pumpkin cake

Hi Monica. Whatchu got there?

Now.

yes, Lisa, integrity does pay!

I smell like vanilla from the care package I got from a perfect stranger!

A few weeks ago I was faxed an invoice that was supposed to go to someone else. It sat with me for a couple of days until I remembered how vexing it is to be stumped by a stupid, simple detail like YOU SENT THE FAX and you're telling everyone I SENT THE FAX but what you don't know is that the fax escaped to the wrong place.

So I called the number at the top of the fax and asked for the sender, Lisa Monroe. A man told me that I'd called a shipping company and that Lisa is their customer. I explained why I was calling and he looked up her cell. I called and left her a message, la-di-dah good luck end of story.

Except! Lisa took a minute to call ME back, thanked me nicely, and then informed me that she works for Bliss and what scent do I like?

And I can't even explain how buffed and buttery and exfoliated I feel right now. I stink real nice.

The last thing Lisa said to me on the phone was, "See, integrity pays!" She was so sweet about thanking me, it was all I could do to not send her a present to thank her for thanking me.

Right before I decided that my float on the karma parade was getting a little silly and I'd just stick to keeping my elbows moisturized and appreciating nice people.

Renee still makes this face, too

I know. I know. State of the Union address, J.D. Salinger, Howard Zinn, climate change but have you seen this photo of my friend Renee?



And now.

my laudromat kicks ass

You know your laudromat is incredible when you're glad that THIS time not everyone and their neck tattoos is smoking and drinking and talking about the big news of the day, that someone shit on the floor earlier.

Mind you, I left that day without folding my clothes due to fear of shitspecks so I didn't find out if the dump was on the bathroom floor or right out there between Maxi-Loads. I HAVE MY SUSPICIONS.

I told Sunny that my laundromat keeps me real.

"Yeah," she said, "Real dirty."

I know who owns it because she told me to "get off her table" when I was sitting there talking on the phone. I jumped off, glanced at the steel beams bolting it into the floor to see if there was any real chance that I'd have broken it (no), and went out to the parking lot to carry on my business. Which is just as well, I do good work out there. If we are friends or associates, I've almost certainly called you from the parking lot.

Today I did some tour managing, wedding planning, gave some friend advice, and found out that I know someone who knows someone who lives in Cedar City and the next time I'm stranded in Southern Utah, I'm calling Omar.

The owner, who may or may not hate me for sitting on her table, is far more chummy with her other patrons, the patrons who bear a much higher likelihood of accidentally pouring MGD down the detergent drain than I. What the?

I'm a little afraid of her. When I absentmindedly walked into an area that she'd just mopped and sort of subtly blocked off with a leaning broom, I freaked internally. I turned on my heel and got out as quickly as possible without drawing attention to myself. Like, what? I always speedwalk real casually like that.

She may be warming up, though. She hasn't questioned me on my intentions at the quarter machine lately, though if she does again I'm not saying I'm getting change for laundry, I'm saying that I'm starting a drinking game and she's welcome to join in. And even though she didn't make eye contact, she did call me "honey" before barking that I dropped my sock on the ground.

It's happening, I can feel it. I will win her over.

laughing quietly to myself

About how ridiculous I sound when trying to counter-condition Patsy not to bark at the vacuum cleaner. Thanks to The Dog Whisperer, I give treats and say happily over and over, "It's a VACUUM CLEANER!!" like I'm on crack while she tries to kill it.

Brian Head, Utah

For a tour manager I stink at planning personal vacations, particularly the recent one to Utah. Thanks to said vacation, though, I'm taking back all the shit I've talked about Utah in the past. Because I have a new respect.

Matthew and I wanted to go east after Christmas to snowboard and then head to New York City when I found out I was working a concert in Las Vegas on New Year's Eve. We changed direction and found the closest snowy town to Vegas - Brian Head, Utah - and booked tickets there instead.

That's where things started getting complicated, NOT that I knew it at the time. Thanks, however, to some of the nicest people and by that I mean the Utahns I met between December 27 - 30, it ended well.

Bob Whitelaw, please stand up. Actually, grab your brother Bret and take a bow together.

It began with Bret. Bret works at the Cedar City airport, where we flew to on a propeller plane from Salt Lake City. We were supposed to land at 5:30 pm but our first plane was halfway there, above the snowy mountains, when the pilot told us that we had a "small but significant" equipment failure and had to turn around.

I looked at the mountain range below and felt doom. To me small means a PIN, and significant means the pin is holding together the entire right side of the aircraft or at least a significant part, like the wing, and I can kiss my sweet future goodbye.

This same news made Matthew pep right up. Like, sweet, our plane is screwed, let's DANCE. Anyone know any old cheers from seventh grade? Bring it! Seriously.

"You're really enjoying this, huh?" I said.
"Yep," he smiled.

Back in Salt Lake City, the pilot left the cockpit, went outside and inspected the wing with his flashlight, a gesture that I did not appreciate. It seems to me that if a problem is serious enough to cancel a flight, it probably requires more than a flashlight to remedy. But that's just me and I don't know how to a) fly or b) fix airplanes.

We sat there a while and caught a few of the corny we're-all-in-this-together jokes that people crack when they have a captive audience. We talked smack about the stewardess who didn't give us any water and then the pilot told us, basically, we'd get going as soon as they rebooted the plane's computer. Awesome. I was dispirited at the thought of missing a night of the bearskin rug, raging hearth, and steaming cup of cocoa I was sure awaited me in Utah so this was good news. I can deal with software malfunctions as long as no pins are falling out of the wing.

Cedar City Airport, 8 pm. Here's the thing about assumptions: they're often wrong. I assumed that since the Cedar City airport is the closest airport to Brian Head, it would fully service the ski town - shuttles, taxis etc. We were renting a condo so we didn't have a hotel to call for a ride but I didn't see that as a problem; We'd just hop on whatever was driving the 30 miles to Brian Head. Ha!

The one cab that seemed to be running in town picked up four other people on our flight who needed a 2-mile ride into Cedar City. I asked the driver to come back to take us to Brian Head and he said they didn't go up the mountain at night. He gave me another number to call and I got a message that that shuttle service no longer worked in the winter. I called every transportation number in the yellow pages and was told that they either didn't go to Brian Head or there was no answer.

I walked back around the corner to find Matthew camped out by the front door.

"They're closing up here," he said. The doors were locked and most of the lights were off, solid signs indeed. A guy who worked there wandered our way and we told him we seemed to be stranded. He let me go behind the check-in desk to use their phone to make one last round of calls and then said he'd call his brother.

"I mean," he said, "He's kind of busy since his wife had a baby four days ago but he might drive you up there."

"Are you serious?" I asked.

Friendly airport guy, who we eventually learned was named Bret, said it takes an hour to get to Brian Head, another surprise to me. "How much could you pay him?" he asked me.

I threw the amount $75 out there and Bret called his brother. After a lot of explaining on Bret's part, I caught that his brother was having family time and maybe not thrilled to drive two hours up and down a mountain at a moment's notice. So I scribbled this note and held it up for Bret to see:



Money talks, people. We were in business. And I want to emphasize that this was a hundred dollars very well spent. A pickup arrived shortly and two men got out with hands extended.

"I'm Bob Whitelaw," one of them said, "Nice to meet you."

Bob brought along his brother-in-law who was visiting from San Diego, a nice young man named either LaGrange, LaGrand, something along those lines. LG and Bob asked us if we were hungry, if we had food with us, and if we wanted to stop at a grocery store. Apparently there wouldn't be much open near us at night in Brian Head. At first we were all no no, we're fine, it's okay and then reconsidered when Bob emphasized there would be NOTHING TO EAT IN BRIAN HEAD.

"Maybe we'll stop at a gas station," we said.

At the gas station we loaded up on yogurt, fruit, popcorn and Folger's crystals. We piled back into the truck and headed north on I-15, through a small town or two and then hit the road going up the mountain. Bob and LG were charming. Bob told us Utah history and all about Brian Head. He owns cabins and condos that he rents out and his relatives own Georg's Ski Shop. LG told us about his day on the slopes. They asked us about us, we chatted it up and it was totally fun.

Bob knew the condo where we were booked but he didn't just drop us off in front of a snowdrift and go buy a hundred dollars worth of baby diapers for his 4-day-old. He drove us around town and pointed out the main places to know before he and LG parked and came in with us. They made sure our reservation was good, pulled the truck into the garage and helped us get our bags to the elevator.

Side story: One might think I'd know how to pack lightly considering the amount of traveling that I do. One would be wrong.

Then, THEN, two days later, when the talk of the snowstorm about to hit threatened to strand us on the mountain overnight and I'd really be effed if I didn't make it to Vegas the next day, I asked Bob if he could drive us back down to Cedar City early. It was out of his way but he said he would if we were stuck.

He knew my cell phone had no service so he left a note for me behind the desk. I ended up reaching Iron City Shuttle who sent a car up the hill so Bob was off the hook but MAN, that guy was pretty great. And the next time I go to Brian Head I'm staying at his cabins. I recommend that anyone who goes to Brian Head stay at his cabins. And maybe rent a car with four-wheel drive.

Also, have Verizon or Sprint because AT&T doesn't work up there. I bought a calling card and spent a ton of time on landlines being told that all circuits were busy so a special thanks goes out to the lady at the ski lodge who handed me her cell phone when I asked if there were pay phones. "I'll be back there when you're done," she said, pointing to an office around the corner before disappearing.

Even our cab driver on the way back down was so gosh darn friendly, I almost got his digits so we could send him a thank you note or a Target gift card or something. I don't know if it is the small town factor, the tourist industry standard or just UTAH but goddamn, I approve.

possible overreaction on my part

I wish y'all could see me showering in my ski goggles ever since I got Lasik on Thursday.

Waking up in Utah

Brian Head, Utah

Patsy!

My recommendation for anyone with terrible PMS is



to get a dog!

OMG you guys.

This is kind of day I was having on Tuesday: I was mad, at everything. Not just at my uterus but at my clothes, my own face, and the air. The air was on my last nerve. I had it so bad that I BOUGHT LUNCH FOR A NUN and it cheered me up for less than five minutes.

Matthew and I had had the dog idea for a few weeks and had gotten attached to a couple of dogs online who didn't work out. Through Petfinder we connected with adoption agencies, filled out paperwork, had a phone conversation or two, and were waiting for people to call us back.

Through this process, I realized just how particular - some might say prejudiced - I am. I was literally incapable of imagining a future with a long-haired dog. "Ew," I'd think when I saw a photo of a collie. Matthew and I agreed that I was kind of a bitch. "I'm sorry, I want our dog to be more like a pig," I said. That is, short-haired and maybe fat.

I was starting to feel like a animal racist, a charlatan among supposedly loving owners, and had to keep reminding myself that I was totally open to special needs animals, three-legged dogs etc, and not a bad person.

On Tuesday, PMS Ground Zero, I decided I was going to a shelter and coming home with a dog otherwise I would continue to get in fistfights with all the oxygen molecules invading my space.

I started at the Northside SPCA and spent almost two hours walking up and down the kennel, poking my fingers through the chain linked gates, and choking back the hose water, dogshit, and urine-scented atmosphere.

I took a few dogs out into the side yard to play with and observe but none of them called out my name, which is what I expected them to do. I wanted our eyes to meet through the chain link and I want to fall madly, deeply, into dog love. I also wanted them to be housetrained, good with my brother, and not a total spaz since we don't have a fenced yard.

It didn't happen so, dejected, I left. I called Matthew for the address of the other SPCA location in Sharonville and knowing that I was already sad and my pants were too tight, thought rush hour traffic on I-75 couldn't make matters much worse.

In Sharonville I perked up because the facility is nicer and newer with three kennels and MEET AND GREET ROOMS. I associate meet and greets with rows of Sharpies and 8x10s not a big red bucket of liver treats but whatever. I used the hell out of my meet and greet room.

I walked through the kennel, looked at the dogs through their glass doors, and wrote down at least ten tag numbers. I returned to the front desk, got the story on each, crossed a few off based on their history, and proceeded to annoy the crap out of the guy who had to bring me dog after dog, one after another.

When Matthew got off work, he drove up to meet me and I pointed out the ones I liked. We narrowed it down to two, went BACK to the meet and greet room, and another employee who didn't seem annoyed by my interview tactics, brought the dogs back. One of them, the one you see sleeping with her tongue stuck out in the photo above, caught my eye with her brindle stripes and blue eyes. She's a husky shar-pei mix, her name is Patsy, and when she licked my face my PMS disappeared. Swear.

because Ali said I should

Waking up in hotels

Elliott Bay, Seattle



Hudson River, New York



Pool, West Hollywood

a good travel day

- My Angeleno-Ukrainian cab driver knew where to get 4:30 am coffee on the way to the airport and drove the wrong way up a one-way street to get me there. Love.

- One of our flight attendants was a transsexual. Awesome and beautiful.

- A dude read Jane Austen on his Kindle one row up.

- I dropped my license in the bathroom and was called me over the PA, “Will Jessica RONCK…NER…RONC…RONCK…NER please identify yourself to a flight attendant? What I should have said was, “Only if you mispronounce my name very slowly one more time.”

When I went to the rear of the aircraft, the stewardesses stared at me from behind their food cart and said, “We never would have recognized you!” They looked at my almost expired five-year-old license again, “You look like a mom this photo and now you look like a rocker!”

Why thank you ma’am.

NOT that moms can't rock. Duh.

laughing quietly to myself

About how Matthew made fun of my peacock tights and then every girl I saw that day commented on how rad they are. I bet him before we left the hotel that I'd get compliments and he didn't believe me.

Thanks ladies.

So your family isn't lactose intolerant

Jane and I opened her parents' fridge and counted 33 sticks of butter and 13 tubs of Graeter's ice cream.