Things I Published Elsewhere: The Story of How I Forgot My Pants

THIS IS SOMETHING I PUBLISHED ELSEWHERE

Hey everyone! I’m starting this new thing called No Pants Fridays! It’s also called Pantsless Fridays! Essentially, it’s when you don’t wear pants on a Friday. 

I know - genius, right? And now you’re dying to know how I came to invent such a monumentally brilliant idea, and you should be excited because the story of my brilliance is a lot like how that guy invented sticky notes by making a mistake or how that other guy invented the hula hoop because of the coffee ring his mug left on the newspaper — this story is just that good and will probably be just as famous. Mark my words. You’ll be thanking me for Pantsless Fridays for years to come!

It begins at nighttime, last night to be precise, when I was getting out of my car and made the executive decision to leave my gym bag in my car. “Why bother lugging that satchel all the way upstairs when I’ve already got everything I need for tomorrow’s gym trip right here. Including pants!” (OR SO I THOUGHT).

Then it was this morning and I was getting dressed after my workout, really excited about the nice, preppy outfit I was going to cap off my week with. (There’s nothing that makes me feel better about myself than really pulling off a good outfit on a Friday. I like to go out with a bang). I had prepared brown riding boots, a blue striped oxford button-down, a navy blue crewneck pullover, a brown belt to match the boots, and pants. (OR SO I THOUGHT).

There weren’t any pants. THERE WEREN’T ANY PANTS. So first I had a panic attack which resulted in some extreme sweating and then I formulated a plan to ransack my car for a back-up. I just knew there would be something in that mobile closet for me to wear.

Like any good LA-living young professional fashion-concious girl I keep piles of clothes (and other things) in my car at all times. I have a really nice Barbour coat that has lived in the backseat of my car since last March. You NEVER know when you might need to go horseback riding in the British countryside. Some of the other things I keep in my car are as follows:

• a sleeping bag
• three scarves
• a white blazer with shoulderpads
• LL Bean duckboots
• two umbrellas
• a sleeping pad
• a pipe
• a television wall mount
• Aquaphor
• 23 reusable grocery bags
• one TOMS shoe (the right one)
• two cardigans, both blue
• denim cut-off shorts
• a tennis ball
• a tennis raquet
• SillyBandz
• khaki shorts with neon orange stripes down the side
• a Barbour coat
• Febreeze
• a flashlight
• four pairs of sunglasses
• one fleece pullover

So while I could play tennis in full rain gear smoking a pipe in the dark and then comfortably sleep on a mattress made from grocery bags, I could not wear pants. 

Faced with my destiny, I made the logical choice — of all the items in the car, only two were “bottoms” and of those two, the khaki shorts were slightly more work-appropriate than the denim ones, and thus I donned my brown riding boots, my blue striped oxford button down, my navy blue crew neck pullover, my brown belt to match the boots and khaki colored shorts with a neon orange stripe on either side. In other words, I dressed like a German boy hunting for his Oktoberfest supper.

I am lucky enough to have amazing co-workers who declared they too would take off their pants in solidarity - and thus, Pantsless Fridays was born.

(I’m going to the mall to buy some pants now).

"Gotta love California in this day and age."

I got pulled over just after I got off the 405 freeway onto Santa Monica Blvd this morning. 

I knew, instantly, it was because my registration sticker was for last year (ironically just a few weeks ago our building manager asked me to put my current registration on it, but I couldn't find my 2011 sticker, only my 2010, so that's the one I had on the car. Because I'm an idiot and figured being one year behind was better than two).

Now before I continue, you should know two things:

(1) My car smells like pot

(2) My strategy for dealing with police officers has always been to play dumb

We pull over to the side of Sepulveda and I roll down the window and it goes a little something like this:

Cop: "Did you know your registration is expired ma'am?"

Me: "Oh yeah, actually it's not I just don't have the sticker on it."

Cop: "Oh okay that's fine just let me see your license and registration then."

So I start to rifle around my glove compartment and I'm taking forever.

Cop: "Okay where's the marijuana."

Me: "Huh?"

Cop: "The marijuana. I'm going to need to see it."

Me: "Oh yeah sure. Oh I have a card."

Cop: "Okay I'm going to need the marijuana and the card."

So I hand those over - meanwhile I have taken out ALL the papers in my glove box and am going through them one by one to try to find my registration.

Cop: "Do you have your doctor's note?"

Me: "Huh?"

Cop: "Your doctor's note - the certificate. You need to carry that with you."

Me: "Oh really? Oh I didn't realize that I need both. Okay I keep that safe at my house."

Cop: "Well start carrying it with you from now on."

He hands me back the weed and the card. He then looks at my license. I'm still looking for my registration.

Cop: "How long have you lived in California?"

Me: "A little while now."

Cop: "Why don't you have a California license?"

Me: "Oh I spend a lot of my time in Maine for work. I still have a home there."

Cop: "Where do you spend most of your time?"

Me: "California."

Cop: "I'll be right back. You keep looking."

So he walks back to his car holding my license - and I throw my pot on the passenger seat while I'm still rifling through those papers. Finally I find it - sure enough I am registered for 2011 and have my sticker stapled to the form. I poke my head out the window and wave at him.

Me: "Heeeey! I found it!"

Cop: "Okay I'll be right there."

Me: "Can we put the sticker on it now?"

Cop: "What's that?"

Me: "Let's put the sticker on now!"

Cop: "Just a moment ma'am."

So after a few minutes he comes back to my window and grabs the registration and then he walks away again.

I send a few emails - first to my boss just to give him the heads up I got pulled over and am going to be late. I look in the mirror at one point and see that the cop is making his way back.

Cop: "I put your sticker on your car but this is a verbal warning that you need to keep your doctor's note on you for your marijuana at all times and you need to get a California license."

Me: "Okay do I just like call the DMV?"

Cop: "Yes you call them up and take a test?"

Me: "Is it hard?"

Cop: "It's just a standard written test ma'am."

Me: "Okay cool I'll do that."

Cop: "It's really important you do. The California laws are different from the Maine laws."

Me: "Okay I guess I can have two licenses?"

Cop: "Yes you can. But if you're in California you need to get that California license."

Me: "Okay well thank you."

Cop: "Do you need me to help get you back to the freeway?"

Me: "Oh ah, huh, no I'm going to work. I got it. Thanks man."

Cop: "You have a good day now."

And off he went and I drove away and started laughing like a crazy person. 

Because, well, REALLY? 

First of all the dude told me I could have two licenses - is that even real? I'm pretty sure it's not. Secondly, I am so thankful I have a marijuana card because it was truly an insane experience where this drug, that for so long has been associated as WRONG and BAD and ILLEGAL  that I had in my car was LEGAL and he couldn't do anything about that. Like this dude actually had to hand me back my little canister of medical-grade marijuana. That was surreal.

I also think it helped that I was playing dumb and that I was pretty calm about the whole thing - I mean of course I was calm, because I knew that outright, I had done nothing illegal (sure you could find some legal grey areas in there, but that worked out to my benefit I guess).  Don't get me wrong - I mean deep down I was freaking out that I was going to be fined a SHIT TON of money between the license, the registration and not having my doctor's certificate on me but I really did keep my shit together.

Speaking of keeping my shit together, I mean I wonder what was going through this cop's head when I rolled down my window and he sees this chick he has to deal with - like this dumbass girl who is driving a car that smells like weed - and like OF COURSE she has a registered car but with the wrong sticker on it and OF COURSE she thinks she needs to keep her doctor's note for her pot at home. Like what a dumb fucking white girl stoner. I mean I probably pose the least danger to society ever. But at the same time? That cop could have just FUCKED me over. Not only did he let me go with a verbal warning but he changed my registration sticker for me. I didn't have to lift a finger.

Moral of this story is if you live in a state where pot is legal/decriminalized and you think you're ever going to have it on you in a public place you ABSOLUTELY should do what you can to get a card.  I was so thankful that at that moment, everything I was doing was within the parameters of the law. (Ignoring the legal grey areas like - shouldn't the cop have known that you technically need a CA license to even get a pot card? I mean when I got my card I proved my residency by showing my lease, but he could have nailed me on that - whatever I am getting my CA license ASAP, that's for sure).  

The other thing I learned here, is that despite the generally bad rep, there actually appear to be cops in LA who recognize when someone's just a dumbass who can't get her shit together. I mean let's be honest, I spend most of my life at work. And when I am not at work I am trying to capitalize on that fact by either writing, or sleeping or working out or watching TV so you're probably not going to find me at the DMV taking care of shit.  Or maybe what they say is true and he let me off so easily because I'm a girl and I was calm and polite and kinda dumb. Who knows. I'm incredibly lucky, that's for sure. And incredibly stupid, if we're being honest about the whole thing (and clearly, we are).

When I told my boss the story this morning he was like, "trust me when I was your age and I had a story that included - 'and then the police officer could smell my weed' - it would have gone a very different way. Gotta love California in this day and age."

Oscars Schmoscars! This Charlie Sheen-Mel Gibson-Christian Bale Mega Rant is Better Than Anything Franco Was Smoking Last Night

Oscars Schmoscars. AMIRIGHT? I mean, Charlie Sheen is way more exciting to talk about this fine Monday morning. (Although, new to my bucket list, just after "smoke pot with Snoop Dogg" I have added "smoke pot with James Franco" - bro appeared to be high as a kite during the show. For that matter, it seemed like everyone was on drugs at the Academy Awards. As long as this doesn't escalate to a city full of Charlie Sheens, rock on Hollywood, rock on).


Christian Bale, who, to this day, I like to think of singing about Santa Fe with a kerchief round his neck in Newsies, won an Oscar last night. Immediately afterward everyone in my living room  started screaming "GOOD FOR YOUUUU." See? Twitter evidence:

tweet

But more exciting than my own self-congratulations at an easy joke would be this superb mega rant featuring the angry screams not only of Oscar winner Christian Bale, but of Oscar winner Mel Gibson, and HOPEFULLY NEVER AN OSCAR WINNER Charlie Sheen (very NSFW btw):

Thanks to the brilliant Editors/Clip-makers at FilmDrunk for this gem. The best part is definitely Christian Bale's crazy "La da da da da da" on repeat with the Nick Nolte (or is that Gary Busey? I honestly can't tell the two apart at this point) and Alec Baldwin soundbites.

Glitter, Unicorns and James Van Der Beek

Good God. KE$HA. 

You just keep bringing it! Hit after hit after hit! And now you've just like, BLOWN MY MIND! This new video for your song "Blow" - which, by the way, I'm a HUGE fan of - is just seriously epic. I mean. Look at it. LOOK AT THIS VIDEO! With DAWSON OF DAWSON'S CREEK himself! AND UNICORNS.  MOTHER FUCKING UNICORNS! And did I mention the LASER BEAMS OF RAINBOWS!?!

My God. This is fantastic.

Why I Love Celine Dion, Pt. 10

You guys. Yesterday, we here at Jaw Wired Shut (we being me, but whatever) witnessed a miracle. Yes, a miracle! And of monstrous proportions, no less!

Yesterday, Wednesday February 16th, 2011 was akin to the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. Or the Talking Heads reunion. Or the Arrested Development movie.


Yesterday, Celine Dion returned to Las Vegas:

She's a Goddamned Mother Theresa. (Source: Just Jared)

That's right. My favorite alien in all the world makes a glorious return to Caeser's Palace for a two year stint performing at the Colosseum.

Do you know what this means? Like, do you understand the lasting implications this has on my life? If you're familiar with my "Why I Love Celine Dion" series, then yes you are. But what you may not know is that I have never seen her in concert (cue gasp of shock!) - partially out of fear that I would pass out from a mixture of excitement and supreme secondhand embarrassment, but mostly because I just haven't had the chance yet - and now, NOW, is the time. There are no excuses. I have two years to get my ass to Caeser's Palace and see this woman sing a song for a Ford car and pump her chest and perform a goddamn spectacle and maybe, if I'm lucky, tell a few stories about Canada or her weird-looking husband. MY GOD. This is it. Celine Dion, it's happening. EVERYTHING IS HAPPENING!

Caption Contest: Steven Tyler

What is Steven Tyler thinking here?

Leave your ideas in the comments and I'll repost later with the winner's copy. (Assuming people actually comment and stuff.)

Norwegians Are Weird

Why did this happen? Tonya Harding and Jason Alexander and Roger Moore and Pamela Anderson and Dolph Lundgren and Boyzone AND SO MANY MORE BIZARRE CELEBRITIES? Doing Lip Dub! Of "Let It Be!" For Norway!

No really. I don't understand.

Arguably the Best Celebrity Interview EVER

Um. Did you catch Harrison Ford on Conan last night? No? Me neither. Thank God for the internet, because you can now experience the joy of this interview as many times as your heart desires. Which in my case is endless because Harrison Ford is high as shit. See for yourself:

Seriously, the dude is fucked out of his gourd! Looks to me like a weed/valium combo - I mean he's petting the sofa!  THIS IS EPIC!

In related news: if I ever do a whole lot of drugs with a celebrity, (which is obviously on my bucket list), I want that celebrity to be Harrison Ford. I feel as though this is somewhat in the realm of possibility, considering I know where the man gets his coffee.

Indy, my favorite pothead

Madness of the Tea Party

Let's get political for a second. Those Tea Party candidates are batshit crazy - check it out:

VOTE! YOUR FREEDOM IS AT STAKE!

Social TV Viewing Chez Moi

Let's say you were considering watching TV at my house, with me and my roommates (DiTonto, Adubs, Becca and our lovely summer squatter Bui) - what could you expect? What's it like watching TV targeted for tweens with five girls in their mid-twenties?

Well, in an email chain attempting to plan what time we'd be watching tonight's mid-season finale of Pretty Little Liars, Becca made an insanely hilarious, and likely accurate prediction for the night:

I know you're all looking forward to group watching. We all know that Adubs is going to pause a lot to discuss. And I'm going to get up 9 times to do miscellaneous activities and Stamos is gonna be like "wait what's going on" and then Bui is going to get up and get watermelon three times and leave her bowl on the floor next to her flip flops and groan about how much she's eaten. Next we'll have Ash holding her shirt over her nose from the smell of the popcorn I'll inevitably make, huffing and puffing the whole time about who is talking and what's going on and how she is nauseous and we are all going to end the PLL watching affair with the same sort of blank stare that the impeccably dressed liars take on with every new A-originated SMS.

Becca - you're a genius. Those girls really have that post-text blank stare locked down, and it's not too far off from our own collective post-viewing expressions. (And I do realize the irony of the fact that I, the TV obsessed one, is almost always the one who has no idea what's happening - but that applies to most of my life.)

Much love to the four girls I live with...

You know, for all those of you with opossums who need pedicures...

Seriously? There's a demographic for this?

Here's what troubles me: "a mistake people OFTEN make when giving a massage to an opossum is throwing off the energy."

(1) How many people are giving an opossum a massage at any given moment?

(2) How exactly do you throw off the energy of said opossum

(3) What kind of drugs is this lady on and where can I get some?

Thanks to DiTonto for bringing this gem into my life.  I am going to be haunted by nightmares of that lady waving bye to me for the next week.

STOP WHATEVER YOU ARE DOING AND READ THIS (unless you are easily offended, in which case don't)

The best Die Antwoord "story" ever.

Die Antwoord Gets a Tattoo.

Here's Die Antwoord getting a tattoo to promote his upcoming album release:



Verdict? Badass. Even though the Yin & Yang symbol is soooo 1996.

Hey here's me getting a tattoo:



Verdict? Significantly less badass. The spandex jazzercize leggings certainly don't help my cause.

Get to know Die Antwoord

This South Africa "zef-rap" group is pretty controversial, thanks to some over-hype, internet-meme status, and the mystery that surrounds them (are they real? Is this a Borat-esque joke? Must Yolandi - the androgynous towhead sidekick- swear at everyone?) But I recently caught their act at Coachella, and love the album (streaming at their site). Whether or not they’re “real,” Die Antwoord offers up some fun beats, hilarious lyrics, and just over-the-top antics – all worth checking out.

Yes, some NSFW language and phallic imagery abounds, so if you are easily offended I'd suggest passing... but otherwise? That Zef is so Fre$...

Thieves in the Night

Sometime between the hours of 4:30pm Monday and 8:20pm Tuesday the following things were stolen from my car (which I might add, was safe and sound in the parking garage underneath my apartment building):

my GPS
my iPod
my massive CD case
my iPod charger

So it sounds like some asshole is off on an epic road trip somewhere listening to my sick tunes.

Speaking of sick tunes? I hope you enjoy musical soundtracks, bad rap, and mix CDs from the late 90s to early 2000s because that's what you're going to find in the CD case. DICK.

The only upside here is that I just bought a new iPod. I am sad about the GPS - I had named him Giles. He served me well.

My First Internet Feud!

Have I finally made it? Because I've unwillingly engaged in an internet feud - oh what fun this is... actually, it's pretty weird, and all stemming from a piece I wrote the other day about the television show Private Practice.

Who knew people would feel so passionate about Private Practice? Actually - it's more like one person has a serious vendetta, considering a commenter on my last Huffington Post piece "Please Cancel Private Practice. Seriously." is accusing me of cultural fascism, among other things (on a side note - cultural fascism? That gave me a good laugh. My roommates are considering making t-shirts). Oh and someone on Twitter told me I both "suck" and am "stupid." To "chocolotema19" I say: thanks and many happy returns!

I've compiled a few choice quotes from this commenter below, who it would appear is also a blogger for the site, and writes under the moniker Tallulah Morehead. I've also included my own response. Or just check it all out for yourself here.


This Tallulah character:

Now I have no argument with your assertion that PRIVATE PRACTICE is not a good show. I watched the pilot and never tuned in again. Frankly, after three seasons of Grey's Anatomy, I realized that I had no interest however remote in ANY further knowledge of these characters, and never tuned in again to that either.

But I fail to see whay you should call for a cancellation of a show you admit you don't watch. Does someone come to your house with a gun and FORCE you to look at it? Don't the people who LIKe the show (I assume someone is wacthing it, or it wouldn't stay on the air) have any rights? Where is it written that "If Annie Stamell hates a show it MUST BE CANCELLED!" How does it staying on the air discomfort YOU?

You don't like it, as I don't, then don't watch it, but quit yelling to have something banned or cancelled because you personally don't like it. Other people, yes, people who aren't you, have rights too, and frankly, calling for the cancellation of a popular show just because YOU PERSONALLY don't like it is cultural Fascism.

Get a life, lady.

And then this:

Let me add, since I still find this article offensive, it says in your profile that you work in television. How would you like it if jerks like yuou posted articles stating you should be thrown out of work and become unemployed because THE JERK doeesn't like your show?

Doesn't your TV have a channel-changer or an "Off" button?

Don't like it? Don't watch it.

And my response:

I'm sorry you found the article offensive as that wasn't my intention - and while I appreciate your comments, please note that much of the tone of this article was in jest. I had hoped readers would recognize the sarcasm... though admittedly sarcasm is not always an easy tone to convey. It looks as though it evaded you, and some of the other readers, here. That's a shame.

Isn't one benefits of the blog at The Huffington Post that we can share opinions? I'm not speaking for anyone besides myself, and I am entitled to my opinion of the show, and as a pop culture writer and "student of television" I'm sharing that opinion in a public forum.

However, as someone who works in TV (yes, it's true) - this post was prompted by my own observations of the television-making process. I see so many excellent shows come and go that are never given a shot to make it to the air, much less a pilot script - so sometimes it would be nice to see a lesser show come to an end, so a better one could take it's spot. I'm advocating for quality content, not job loss. But then again, Private Practice certainly has a big audience who continues to tune in, so good for them, and good for all the hard-working people who contribute to the show.

Again, all this is merely my opinion - not attempting to enforce my beliefs on anyone, and while I found your cry of cultural fascism quite entertaining, I find that statement and your notion that these are "Nazi tactics" both far-fetched and exaggerated - it's simply a public plea, an outright statement - take it or leave it... no sweat off your back either way...

Ultimately, I find it unfortunate you've devoted so much time to expressing your anger over my post. It looks like it's been exhausting. Try taking things a little less seriously and see where that gets you. Maybe then a silly post about a girl-crush on Kate Walsh and disdain for a TV show won't cause you so much emotional distress. Best of luck.

Well, what do you think? She makes some valid points - I mean no one is forcing me to watch the show, and I could simply change the channel, but doesn't this all seem a bit excessive? And is it really difficult to get the joke here? The absurdity of it all? And shit, when did I get so zen about everything?

Please weigh in below - would love to know what my Jaw Wired Shut readers think. And if you feel like defending my honor at HuffPo - well, go right ahead!

if life were a Japanese game show, (fill in anything else here)

Here's the "We Are the World" parody video you never knew you needed. Seriously. Watch it all the way through.



Thanks to my friend Christina, who not only provided the title for this post, but sent me this brilliant/amazing/terrifying video.

Also, I'm considering putting out a Craigslist ad for a Japanese game show announcer to follow me around and narrate my life. Everything would be so much more exciting.

Why I Love Celine Dion, Pt. 9

HAPPY 42nd Birthday Celine Dion!

God, it's practically a national holiday here at Jaw Wired Shut. I'm going to celebrate first by reading all the previous Why I Love Celine Dion posts, and then do a few chest pumps while I sing "My Heart Will Go On."

Yes, she is 42. Girl looks AH-MAZING though, right? Well, you know why? She's an alien. No really. Trust me on this. I KNOW MY ALIENS. Celine = an ET. THINK ABOUT IT. It makes sense. You know it does.

Also, she's better than you:

Why I Love Celine Dion, Pt. 8

BECAUSE WHO ELSE GETS A MOVIE WITH "THROUGH THE EYES OF THE WORLD" FOR A SUBTITLE?



OMG. She's my favorite alien. I can't wait to see this in 3D and hopefully not get shushed too much for laughing/weeping.

And if you're dying to catch up: all previous posts explaining Why I Love Celine Dion

I am a mole person

Here's how my day goes:

wake up late
no time to shower
frantically find outfit to wear to work
change outfit
change outfit again
remember to put in mascara
forget to brush hair
pack gym bag
fill up water bottle
run down to parking garage
drive to work
park
take elevator
work all day
no time for lunch
(blog/write during lunch?)
work all afternoon
time to leave
take elevator
fumble for keys in parking garage
drive to gym
talk on phone in parking garage
workout
watch bad tv while working out
overdue shower
leave gym for parking garage
drive home, traffic free
arrive at apartment building
parking garage
home

I HAVE NOT SEEN SUNLIGHT IN OVER 48 HOURS. I AM GOING INSANE.