I love New York so much I haven't left the house in two days!

I am not a New Yorker. Every time I come home I am reminded of this fact. On Monday I had a meltdown when I got confused like three blocks from our house and called my step-mom in a panic to declare "this is why I belong in LA!"


My brother and I were given the option of going up to Maine tomorrow or today and both of us were like, "TODAY. NOW. RIGHT NOW! AS SOON AS POSSIBLE." I do love New York but ultimately, it's not for me. Never would I ever have thought that LA is more similar to Maine, but I guess it is... so Maine, here we come!

"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."

Happy 420, I guess?

Does anyone actually know the historical significance to 420 in stoner culture?

Or whatever. Watch this video:

White Girl Problems: Static aka It's Really Fucking Dry Out

Static is really annoying. Like super duper annoying. I hate humidity but sometimes staticity is just so much worse. Is staticty a word? It feels like it is. I mean, it sounds science-y enough, right? Fuck it, for the sake of this rambling inner monologue it's a word.

So like, let me tell you about some of this bullshit with static.

LA is a dry city. I know, I know, we're on the coast and do have some super humid days, especially where I live in Santa Monica. And like, my roommates and I always bitch and moan about how wet it is and how our clothes and towels never seem to dry properly and oh man my room that we jokingly call a boat sometimes really does feel like a boat because it's got this like, moist (ew, ew, ew, I hate that word but I can't think of any other way to describe it) feel all the time. 

Otherwise, for the most part this town is seriously dry.

Right now I am wearing this silk shirt and I'm having some serious cling issues. And my hair is all dry and nasty and stringy and it sort of looks like I maybe got my finger stuck in an electric socket earlier this morning. And don't even get me started on my skin and what this dry climate is doing with that. Let me just tell you this: not cool.  I can tell it's going to be one of those days where I am hyper aware of staticity and cling location (for example I just looked down and my shirt's clinging all weird and I've got an inappropriate amount of boobage happening which is also just not okay for the workplace) and I'm just going to be annoyed all day long. UGH MY LIFE IS SO HARD.


Okay.

False.


My life is not hard, like, AT ALL. But static is just really annoying and it's really fucking dry out and I'm over it and think I could probably use a few days in a miserable humid place like Florida to remind me how much I love dryness. You know?

it's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring...

It's another dreary day in LA, but I am perfectly okay with the gray weather - it feels like we're getting a fall! So I'm back to wearing my Barbour coat and my cowboy boots and looking like I'm going on hunting trips in the English countryside. Which, frankly, sounds just lovely.

 Anyone know the rest of that nursery rhyme? You know "it's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring" and then something about bumping his head? Yes?

This Weekend: It's the Abbot Kinney Festival!

I'd go more for the food than for the bands but... yeah just go. It's awesome.

"It's always fun to get away from camp. Even for an hour!"

I spent the 4th of July weekend in the lovely Napa Valley region, on a "girls and gays" trip to Sonoma for lots of wine tastings and Broadway sing-alongs. It was heavenly.

I hadn't left LA since April, and before that I guess it had been Christmas. As nice as it is to stay local on long weekends and relax, I forgot how incredibly refreshing it is to get out of town.

When we were in the cab on the way home from the airport yesterday I turned to my friends and remarked at how lovely it was to get away. DiTonto, of course, had the perfect response, in the form of a Wet Hot American Summer quote:



Please note - Waterville, Maine doesn't actually look like that.

I wouldn't call myself a California Girl, but I am DEFINITELY a California Dork!

Why the Lack of Sports Stores at LA Malls Proves That Angelenos are Fair-weather Fans; Or, An Open Letter to the City of Los Angeles

Dear LA,

You have so many malls. You really do. Sometimes I wonder if this is what New Jersey is like, except the malls here are filled with pretty people and nice stores and people with real tans.

I have, however, noticed an alarming trend when it comes to the malls of Los Angeles. Unlike many of the malls I know and love, your malls are often lacking a quality sporting goods store. Now I get that the Westfield malls like to be fancier and what not, but let's check out the Westside Pavillion - a pretty standard mall... I don't see any sports stores listed, do you?

See back on the East Coast you can almost always find at least a Foot Locker, Olympia or Sports Authority at any mall, if not all three.

Now besides the fact that I find this to be a general inconvenience, this also connects to a larger issue. Something that really grinds my gears when it comes to LA sports fans: LA sports fans are fair-weather fans and if they weren't, then all the malls would be overflowing with sporting goods stores so they could purchase team gear year round (and the UCLA/USC Pink line at Victoria's Secret definitely does not count - unless it counts toward embarrassment in which case LA, you should be embarrassed). Because let me tell you, as a longtime Boston sports fan I know a whole lotta places where I can get all the Red Sox and Celtics gear my committed heart desires.

The upside to all this is that I imagine there would be a lot more people cruising around the city with those damn flags connected to their cars if they were more easily accessible. And I really can't stand those stupid flags.

I've sort of lost my train of thought here so I am going to end with what I think should be the valuable takeaway from this oh-so well-crafted letter: GO CELTICS!

Love,
Stamos

The Panty Police

Saturday night I had a run-in with the cops. Now, before you go ahead and jump to any conclusions, it’s worth mentioning that in the time I have lived in Santa Monica I’ve had more run-ins with police officers than I have my entire life prior to moving here. And they’ve always been for the same reason: noise. Yep. People in Santa Monica seem to hate people who like to do things like, oh, I don't know... enjoy life and have fun with their friends... so, as you can imagine, we’ve had cops show up to our apartments for a variety of noise-related reasons. My favorite time was when they came over because we were watching Planet Earth too loud… at least, that was until this most recent run-in...

After a fun night out Saturday, two of my roommates and I ended the night back at our apartment. Sure we were pretty drunk – I’m not going to pretend that wasn’t the case… Actually, let’s get down to it: we were hammered.

Somehow, in the early hours of the morning (I think we thought it was around 2am but it turns out it was closer to 4am) we all ended up in DiTonto’s bedroom having a late night dance party (LNDP for the uninitiated. Obv.) We often joke that our apartment is “pants optional” and this was one of those nights – because both Becca and Ash were in their underwear and t-shirts, although I for some reason was still fully dressed, shoes and all (I have no idea why but I sometimes have a tendency to not take my shoes off until I go to bed).

Now when I say LNDP, I don’t mean like a singalong to music from Glee. We were rocking out to Gorillaz – yes, still riding that Coachella high – and when I say rocking out I mean HARD CORE. Like dancing our faces off. And each one of us totally in our own world in a different corner of DiTonto’s room, with DiTonto holding court jumping and dancing on top of her bed.

Anyway, the song “Rhinestone Eyes” is blaring and we are just all so into it and next thing I know there are two policemen standing in the doorway of DiTonto’s bedroom – which I might add, is fairly deep into our large apartment.

So essentially, two cops who were probably expecting to walk into some apartment and find a massive rager of a party just came across three girls dancing, two of them in their underwear, having a great time. It’s the start to a bad porno.

(It’s also worth mentioning there are empty beer cans everywhere. Among other things.)

These cops were just standing sort of in stunned shock looking at us, and while Becca and DiTonto immediately drop to the floor covering their mouths I just kept repeating “Oh my God I am so embarrassed.”

We then get the following speech: “First of all, your door is wide open so you should probably remember to lock that from now on. And secondly, your music is so loud you didn’t even hear us until we came all the way to the bedroom.” And maybe they said something after that, but all I remember is that the second they walked out of the bedroom door the three of us burst into uncontrollable fits of giggles. We’re talking rolling on the floor, holding our bellies and laughing so hard it hurt giggles.

I am guessing Sunday morning some fellow cops got a good story over donuts.

Easter Earthquake

This is the best video I could find to express how this earthquake felt:



I feel seasick just thinking about it...

When you wish upon a star...

As you may have noticed, either from the day-before post, or the lack of posting, I spent all day last Friday with my roommate DiTonto and her mom, who had been in town visiting us for the week, at the magical place that is Disneyland.

Now, what I may have failed to mention is that this was really my first Disney experience. The one where I was pretty much a baby doesn’t count. It’s also worth mentioning I have never been to a Six Flags or a Busch Gardens, and my only amusement park experience is Funtown USA, aka Maine’s pathetic excuse for a theme park (for proof of this lackluster place, please enjoy their budget website). I have also not been on a rollercoaster since I was in England in eighth grade, and I have never been on a ride that goes upside down.

So what I am trying to prepare you for here, is that this trip to Disneyland, was, as Joe Biden would say, A BIG FUCKING DEAL.

I’m not going to give you a full minute-by-minute recap, but I am going to share a few thoughts, and some pictures…

First, up did you know you get those mouse ears embroidered with your name? YOUR NAME! And if it’s your first time at the park you get a first time pin, also with your name! And, because I love Michael Jackson (and crewneck sweatshirts), after seeing his aspiring Star Wars film Captain EO I got a totally rad Captain EO sweatshirt.



I almost started crying on two rides, coincidentally the ride that kicked off the day – Star Tours (when I saw C3PO, as well as the promise of visiting Hoth and Endor I freaked out), and then the ride that closed the day, the Finding Nemo submarine adventure (because I love that movie so much it hurts).



DiTonto got a picture of me hugging a giant stuffed Winnie the Pooh, as well as a candid where I was standing on top of a picnic bench in an attempt to look at a Disney princess. She and Mama D also claimed they needed one of those leash backpacks that three-year-olds get. Because you know what? I FELT LIKE A CHILD. I DID. AND IT WAS AWESOME. I mean, it was magical. It really was.

Finally, I went on my first rollercoaster in 13 years: California Screamin’. And it went upside down! I took a picture of the picture they take when you are mid-ride, and while DiTonto’s face is covered in shadow, you can see the absolute glee on my face.



Obviously, my favorite part of this picture is the chick sitting in front of me. She looks like she is either about to vomit or murder someone. I am glad she didn’t do either.

Happy St. Patty's!

Happy St. Patrick's day everyone! (A perfect excuse to slap a big Celtics logo on here).



Or, as I like to think of it, today is that day we all would be having a lot more fun if we lived in Boston. I'm pretty sure LA doesn't care a whole lot about this holiday. Don't worry I am wearing a BRIGHT green dress today in my support of holiday pride.

In other news, I watched the fantastic and much-anticipated 100th episode of Bones earlier this week, and after noticing lots of spoilers and speculation hit the web I was prompted to write a new anti-spoiler piece on The Huffington Post. It sort of makes me laugh because I have gone through moments of SUPREME spoiler hunting myself, and here I am preaching a whole new sermon. I mean, I'm the girl that snooped for my Christmas presents each year! But I don't know, I'm starting to reach a state of zen when it comes to knowing what may or may not happen. It's exhausting reading a spoiler and worrying about something you can't control or don't even see in context. But it's also weirdly addictive. I remember back when I was obsessed with Grey's Anatomy I would obsessively look for spoilers online. In fact, I'd almost equate spoilers with drugs or something - you know they are bad for you but you can't help it. WELL STOP. HELP YOURSELF. Read a book instead.

Okay, now go drink some green beer or something. I've got a stimulating afternoon ahead of me - writing, reading, watching dailies, cleaning my bosses office (ah, yes, the joys of being a TV assistant) to be followed by an even more stimulating evening of laundry and reading. Yep, that's how I am celebrating St. Patty's this year. Actually, go ahead and drink a green beer for me!

I love KCRW so hard

I think one of the best things about moving to LA a little over two years ago was discovering truly fantastic public radio.

Growing up in Maine I always associated NPR with shows like "Car Talk," "All Things Considered" (gotta love that intro music) and drives home from Sugarloaf, the ski mountain we flocked to many weekends during the winter. So in other words, public radio lulled me to sleep over countless car rides from the age of 2 and on. (Yes, I learned how to ski when I was 2. What else do you think we did during Maine winters?)

However, I stopped listening to NPR on my own, in fact I never listened to the radio when I was at school at Middlebury - beyond random listens to a friend's show on the college station. I did have grand intentions of doing my own pop culture radio show with a witty friend, but that never came to fruition, and I ended up co-editor of the magazine Also instead (a sure sign I was a better writer than a talker? Maybe. Ironically, one of my favorite issues I contributed a lengthy article about Bob Dylan, music, and social movements - could have made for a great radio show, I suppose!).

Since moving to LA, however, I've rediscovered NPR. Now I associate NPR with KCRW - LA's fantastic public radio, and specifically with Jason Bentley's kickass music show "Morning Becomes Eclectic." Ever since the Indie channel here went under (boo) I pretty much stopped listening to the radio all together, but fortunately KCRW has Bentley's perfectly DJ-ed two hour show where I get to listen to some solid jams, whether I'm late to work, or streaming online once I've gotten into the office. It's the perfect way to start your morning. (Also, Jason Bentley sounds like he's hot. Something about that low, slightly monotonous voice... kind of like David Duchovny... and now I'm getting distracted...)

For those non-LAers who are interested, check it out for yourself at KRCW's website.

And don't worry, I make a point NOT to listen to NPR when driving home from ski trips nowadays. That's a recipe for disaster, no matter how interesting the the music or news topic!

Two Croissants is One Croissant Too Many

I'm still in that collegiate mode of thinking when it regards to parental visits: OH MY GOD MY PARENTS ARE IN TOWN I GET FREE FOOD I MUST EAT ALL OF IT AND I MUST EAT AT NICE RESTAURANTS I MIGHT NOT NORMALLY GO TO AND EAT FOOD I WOULDN'T NORMALLY GET, LIKE STEAK, WHICH I ONLY EAT WHEN SOMEONE ELSE IS PAYING.

Which means that I've probably packed on some pounds this weekend while being wined and dined and living a life quite unlike my usual. For my dad's 60th birthday my stepmom surprised him with a family trip to La Jolla, CA, where we stayed at a lovely resort over the weekend and pretty much just went to the spa and walked on the beach, and stared at the golf course, and got private tours of historical buildings, and ate amazing food, and like I said before: COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF A NORMAL WEEKEND (in which I try to spend as little money as possible and come up with creative ways of sneaking booze into bars). Oh, and I even made off with a bathrobe from the hotel spa. HOLLERRRRR.

So my dad and stepmom are still in town, now staying in LA, and I went and met them for breakfast before work this morning. Now whenever they are in LA they like to stay at this really nice little boutique hotel called The Ambrose, which has a phenomenal breakfast spread. Mostly it's fruit and pastries, and I don't even like pastries, but they do croissants better than the French, I swear to God. So for breakfast I had a chocolate croissant (or, as the French do call it: Pain au Chocolat) and some strawberries and some juice and coffee and it was GREAT.

And then I took an almond croissant for the road (no idea what the French call those).

I just now ate it.

That was unnecessary. But like I said, I'm of one of those mindsets: I don't pass up free food. However, two croissants is one croissant too many. I feel ill.

Oh no.

So they turn off the air conditioning in my new office building after 6pm. I can't confirm that, but it is surely what it feels like, and that is not good for my temperature issues, LET ME TELL YOU.

Also not good is that these LA fires are really persistent, man. Like it's just hot and smokey alllllll the time. LA is not supposed to be like this! I was on the phone with my dad earlier who informed me he was at a Seadogs game last night (the Portland Seadog's are Maine's great minor league baseball team... or it might called farm team... I'm no expert) and it was really cold out. I WANT THAT. Those beautiful late summer nights in New England when it couldn't be more perfectly crisp? But nope, here I am in smokey, smoggy LA where it's hot as balls.

Enough complaining. Time to get PSYCHED about LA because guess what? (What!) My brother is moving to LA. TONIGHT. In fact, I am picking him up from the airport in about 20 minutes. Yeah that's right, this city is about to become overridden with STAMOS. Actually I am the ONLY STAMOS, but he's pretty similar to me. Even better, Joshie is moving to an apartment a block away! Even worse? My arch nemesis moves with him. Who, you might be wondering, is my arch nemesis? His cat, Geneva, known by 'Neva to many. Yes, Neva and I go way back to the days when she was a cute average sized kitten. But now she's overweight and has dandruff.

I hope that not only will my brother's move to LA inspire me to learn how to surf (aka he will teach me), but perhaps I will repair my relationship with Neva. Maybe I'll even get to post some cat videos of her. OOOOH see that is how we will become friends! I will exploit her feline ways for YouTube infamy!

LA is Burning

Dear Los Angeles,

Enough already. Seriously, just stop it. All these earthquakes and fires and mudslides and pollution and botched plastic surgeries--ENOUGH! Well mostly enough when it comes to the natural disasters. I don't like looking up at the sky on a Saturday, when I am enjoying what should be a lovely day at the beach, and seeing some giant mushroom cloud of smoke over the city. Nor am I okay with it being late Saturday night when I might be enjoying some libations with a few friends and I see that parts of the hills are in flames like it's that one scene in The Lord of the Rings when they light up all those watch towers. And there's no pretty soundtrack playing in my version.

And sure, yeah, SURE--the fires make for nice time lapse videos online but I'm not down with the smoke in the air and the oppressive heat. And I am not even that close to ground zero!

So on second thought, maybe this should be an open letter to the Santa Ana winds who probably have something to do with the most recent fires, but you know I am just over LA and it's natural disaster issues.

Sincerely,
Stamos

P.S. Time lapse videos, because they are pretty:

Time Lapse Test: Station Fire from Eric Spiegelman on Vimeo.

Timelapse - Los Angeles Wildfire from Dan B. on Vimeo.

Because I wasn't already shitting my pants...

From my Google Reader (but really from LAist):

42 Microquakes Has Experts Wondering if the Big One is Next
Between Saturday and Monday morning, 42 small earthquakes shook, ranging in in magnitude from 0.5 to 3.3, near the Salton Sea, east of Los Angeles, according to the LA Times. "The worry for scientists comes from a case in 1987, when a magnitude-6.2 earthquake on one of the crossing faults appeared to trigger a 6.6 quake 12 hours later on the Superstition Hills fault to the south. The San Andreas fault is north of these crossing faults and the geometry is similar, [research geophysicist Graham] Kent said. This swarm, he said, 'is a flashing yellow light that tells you to be prepared and to spend some time trying to understand the significance.'" Of course, we never will really know until it happens. The only thing we are in control of is how prepared you are. Do you have at least 10 gallons stored per person in your household (and don't forgot some for your pets!).

Great. Just when I start to humor ideas of staying in LA a little longer. You know, I am so incredibly freaked out by earthquakes that I occasionally will wake up in the middle of the night thinking there is one about to happen. It's becoming somewhat problematic. However, IT IS GOING TO HAPPEN. I guess it's probably unnecessary to live in a state of constant fear but I CAN'T HELP IT, OKAY?

Daylight Stealings

As great as it is leaving work in daylight hours, daylight savings always messes up my sense of time. Yesterday felt all out of whack, especially when I woke up with a splitting headache, and thought I had hours until I had to report for tennis, when it was much less than I thought. I was able to pull it together for the lesson (during which Adam and I laughed that our identical outfits were, actually, unplanned). NPR this morning did a hilarious piece about people needing to be more AWARE on their commute. Why? Well, folks, it's darker in the morning and BEWARE OF ENTHUSIASTIC JOGGERS AT NIGHT! Gee thanks for the heads up!

While I would like to complain about how I could use that hour of sleep back--it's March and summer is just around the corner in LA. I can't wait.

WTF, Seriously?

Around 7:45 pm Friday night I was chilling with the roomies, watching Dirty Dancing or Bridget Jones or some chick flick type thing on Oxygen (YES, OXYGEN. Or maybe it was Encore LOVE) when all of a sudden our apartment started to shake... EARTHQUAKE.

Again, I lost all capacity to function normally and screamed out, "What do we do?" while both Ashleigh and Annie both handled themselves a lot better and seemed to look at me with newfound shock. You see, the earthquake ended about 10 seconds after it began and we hadn't moved from the sofa (although Annie held onto the precious TV) and it was just fine. Except of course, the thoughts running through my head were "OH MY GOD THIS IS IT THIS IS BIG ONE" "AT LEAST I AM DYING WITH MY CLOSEST FRIENDS." And then afterwards I thought "I need to get a grip."

I am so NOT down with earthquakes. AT ALL. That ramps up my California exit strategy...