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raging out at... the puppy store

Rewind: Christmas Eve 2005 (Or: My Sweetest Mistake).

At about noon on Christmas Eve, a little over two and a half years ago, my brother and I decided it was probably due time for us to begin (and finish) our holiday shopping. My mother wasn't what you would call. pleased with us, as our day of marathon shopping meant we wouldn't be around to help her with, or really get in the way of, Christmas preparations. Matt and I swore up and down that we had made a finely. tuned list as to what we needed and where we needed to procure it. After my brother swore he wouldn't again let me punch anyone whilst. fighting through an overly packed crowd of last minute shoppers, my. mother had no choice but to relent.

So off we went.

Our first stop was at the pet store to pick up gifts for all the extended family pets. (The Stars Family has a tendency to overdo it. Shocking.. While picking out a variety of toys, I spied the rowdiest Jack Russell Terrier with the sweetest face. Way too much money later, we had an addition to the Stars Family and a debacle of a Christmas shopping nightmare. All worth it.

Fast Forward: Yesterday.

I was strolling along Melrose in L.A. with a few of my favorite boys. (If there's anyone reading who has yet to check out Lights Resolve, do it). We stopped in The Puppy Store before the fantastic fun of haircut appointments was to begin. I spotted an amazing miniature French Bulldog and felt that another Christmas '05 moment was upon me.
I can't resist a sweet puppy face. I asked the Dr. Spock lookalike if I could please see the pup. Well, ladies and gentlemen, apparently Pretty Woman was based on fact and I was Julia Roberts. "Spock" gave me the attitude of the century and told me he would only take the dog out for customers who were serious.

Ok, what? I do not look like a homeless vagabond nor do the boys whom I was there with. despite their "rock band" status; I would gladly let any one of them babysit my child (if I had one). They look clean and respectable. And I have never once received money for sexual favors. (And NO, jerk, if you're reading this... cab fare and a t-shirt does not count.) So why the attitude?

I'm sorry that this blog has to again come crashing down on servicelology(thanks for the term, moon), but this was pure and total garbage. We
live in a world where "new money" is rampant. People like the dudes
from Jackass and thugged out looking rappers and porn stars can buy most of us out ten times over, so who is some Star Trek lookalike to assume
I'm not serious about a purchase? And, I live in LOS ANGELES where
there's an exponentially greater chance that any random on the street is some big-time movie producer's kid than in, say, Kenosha, Wisconsin.

Point is, though I'm none of those things, everyone deserves to be treated with a little bit of respect and not have assumptions made based on physical appearance. And I know if that was me wielding the very minimal power of being able to TAKE PUPPIES OUT OF THE CAGE (cool job, by the way, "Spock"), every time I busted an attitude, I'd be afraid I was pissing off Spielberg's daughter.



grievance: the worst airplane ride ever

Okay. I admit that part of the cause for what culminated in "the worst flight" in aviation history had something to do with me. I realized, the day before I was supposed to go to Puerto Rico for a much-needed respite from the world, that the looming paper deadline on the horizon was actually due the day after we were supposed to get back to NYC... at 9:45 A.M. And our flight was getting in at 1 A.M. So, I'd spent a bunch of "beach time" reading JSTOR articles about fallacious, semicompetitive village elections in China. (And had to spend FORTY THREE dollars on printing some of these out at the business center of our hotel. Meh.)

So... When I got on the plane to come back home, I was all kinds of prepared to just bang out this paper. And then the flight-from-hell began. The young man in front of me felt it was acceptable and appropriate to wail his arms about and yell in my face to get my attention (I was on my computer and had earplugs in so as to preempt any kind of vexing behavior by other jetBlue patrons).

"Yo, you gots a credit card?"

Bewildered and bemused, I told him that I did, in fact, have one.

"My buddy ain't got one and they not takin' cash and he wants-a get a drink. You put it on your card and he cu pay you back?"

Okay. This dude had already banged the hell out of his seat (which slammed into my computer on the tray table every time) and had been yelling like he was in a bar. But I thought "hey, this would be a nice thing to do." So I did.

Then the entire thing caused such a commotion that all of the flight attendants were in the aisle, trying to figure out this stupid situation. When I asked her for another tomato juice, she smiled and said "would you like some vodka with that?" I really would have. But the fuckin' China democratization paper. Ugh.

Then these fucking bastards essentially start jumping up and down like monkeys, laughing, banging seats. Acting like real classy characters. So I went to sit by the window.

Still fucking distracted as hell by the three d-bags, now there was also a woman in front of me sitting on her knees somewhat turned to her boyfriend, massaging him, and essentially staring at me. At first it was annoying. Then it was severely disturbing and creepy.

So, after all of these frustrations and only 2 pages of writing done, even with earplugs, I decided to take a mini nap and finish up later.

I woke up when they made the announcement that we'd be making our descent into New York.

The three d-bags were still acting like d-bags, so THAT was awesome.

I looked out the window and tried to calm down. After all, I'd just had an amazing and relaxing vacation: so relaxing a vacation was it that the only complaints I could think of (and I tried hard) were:
1. Grievance: The Terribly Annoying Noise of the Ocean Waves Crashing on the Beach
2. Grievance: Warm, Beautiful 85 Degree Weather in March
3. Grievance: Pina Coladas Melting Too Quickly in the Sun
4. Grievance: Having a Balcony
5. Grievance: Outlet Stores Closing Too Early
6. Grievance: Accidentally Falling Asleep Because You're Too Relaxed
So that's just a few. Not my best work, I concede. It's hard to be prickly in paradise.

In any event, just when I'm starting to calm down from the annoyance, there's some turbulence. I love turbulence. It's like a rollercoaster. I've never had a bad flying experience in my life, so I don't take it too seriously. But this went on for about 3 minutes and then got worse. And then it got really bad. And I looked over at one of the d-bags and he was praying. And I laughed. And then it got REALLY bad. And REALLY scary. And then I looked out at the wing and it looked like it was battling a fucking enemy. And it was pouring. I actually seriously thought the plane was going down and we were going to die.

I was sweating and shaking and about to start crying. When we finally landed, I was unbelievably nauseated. But I was also in some weird shock and was so anxiety-ridden that I couldn't even speak or look at lights. It was horrifying.

I was still in shock when we got home. So I started drinking Bacardi out of the bottle to loosen up to write the rest of the damned paper. I got myself to bed at 5A.M.

I have no recollection of what I put into the second part of that paper, so that should be interesting to say the least.

I regret I do not have pictures or video of the three d-bags, because I was so stunned by the experience I couldn't make it happen. I do however have a picture that will make you all, including myself now that I'm back in dreary New York, quite jealous.

From now on, I think I'm going to have to be one of those CRAZY bitches who pop a Xanax before they fly. Here's to unnecessary pharmaceuticals!

-caribbean moon


grievance: "you'll see me again!"

My response: "what if I don't want to see you again? What if I never wanted to see you in the first place? What if you're not talented enough to be 'seen again'? What if you're as ugly as the lead singer of New Found Glory and the idea of seeing your face again makes me nauseated?"

Rewind. To what is this my hypothetical response? Mother effin' people on reality TV shows who get voted off and say "You'll see me again!"/"This isn't the last you'll be seein' of me, America!"/"This is only the beginning for me; I'll be seein' you, America!" Enough. When has anyone EVER been voted off of a reality TV contest and been seen again EVER? For that matter, when has anyone who's ever WON a reality TV contest ever been seen again? Rephrase: ...ever gone on to do respectable things in their career? Join in with me, everyone, "NEVER!"

I was originally put off by this whole practice (it's become the reality TV show version of "I'd like to thank Jesus") when I saw David Hernandez get kicked off of American Idol last week. (Go to 2:45 to see this hubris-filled declaration.)

Okay. Great. You're consoling yourself on national television by giving false hope to yourself that this ain't the end of the journey (despite the atrocious The-End-Has-Cometh music Ruben Studdard has recorded for this season [note: Ruben Studdard: perfect example of NEVER SEEING SOMEONE AGAIN]). We will NEVER see you again. I will not even know your name in a week. Sorry.

Another wondrous consolation to the American people that we shall not be forgetting the visage of yet another "loser": go to 4:45 to watch Rami lose on Project Runway.

Apparently this has truly become protocol for "how to lose a worthless television show": promise to come back! Dude, you were nothing before this show. You will be nothing after. It's almost like a line from the Great Gatsby. Except the dude from Survivor is NOT Gatsby. And America is NOT Daisy. And it doesn't even matter, 'cause Daisy ends up killing someone and being a miserable fuck. And Gatsby dies. Actually... you know what, reality loser? Be Gatsby. Die. Or no. Don't die. Just shut the fuck up and lose gracefully.

The most astounding thing, however, is that now reality WINNERS are actually promising to show their faces again. Go to 6:20 to see Christian win Project Runway. WHY are you promising to be around again? You WON. Isn't that enough?




raging out at... the shape of teeth

I don't think dentists should hang up giant teeth replicas in their offices. They resemble too greatly the ghosts from PacMan and the receptionists have too great an attitude when you inquire as to why they would hang up Inky. Then a bigger attitude when you apologize and say, "or perhaps it is Clyde."


grievance: annoying humans

I have been taciturn with respect to this issue, because honestly, how do you broach as large a complaint as essentially "Grievance: The Human Race"? Plus, it makes me sound incredibly prickly and cranky to be hating on everyone in the world.

But after having stood on line at Duane Reade a few days ago with 6 of the most obnoxious teenaged girls in the world, screaming about what candy they were buying to one another, and walking away from the experience wanting to punch a baby in the ear, I've decided that I generally don't like human beings.

This is a blog. I like to write. But there is nothing better to sum up my irritation with the general public than this video by Jed Davis' band, the Hanslick Rebellion. It happens to be hysterical and a great song, but it is also informational. It is called "You Are Boring the Shit Out Of Me" and truthfully, people, you most likely are boring the shit out of me. As Chris Rock asks in his "Bigger and Blacker" comedy special, [paraphrase] "why don't ya go out and have somethin' happen to ya? Why don't ya get kidnapped or some shit?"

"You Are Boring The Shit Out Of Me"

Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck off.

Truth be told, I probably bore the shit out of you too.



shit that sucks: nightclub clusterfuck sxsw edition

Born and raised in New York, I was taught that there is nothing cool enough to wait on line for. Thus I learned the ability to talk my way "in" anywhere at anytime. And in New York you can do that.

As this is the SXSW edition of my occasional contribution to the now officialy domained site, I am in Austin, Texas at a festival where everyone is of the same thought process as I and thus everyone feels entitled to walk right in everywhere. Even the Playboy party.

Yes that's right readers of my-occasional-posts - I know I should blog more but I watched "The Secret" and am trying to be more positive -- I attended my first Playboy party.

"Rock the Rabbit" occurred on the second night of the festival and turnout was absurd. The party was set up to hold 800 people and the list was comprised of over 3,000 names. Catch is: I actually belonged there, as an artist I worked with was playing... No one seemed to care though.

After insisitng over and over that I hadn't the time to wait online and was needed inside I was told that the artist could "still play the instruments without my being present" and thus again was told to wait on line.

After arguing some more, the door guy who looked like Real World/Road Rules Challenge frat boy reject told me he knew what he was doing as he'd been doing it for the last five years.

Really?? Is that so?? You are so good at your dead-end job that after five years you know how to deny people entry to a place they need to be? Awesome.

I explained that it was clearly the first time in his five years of emploie that he had gotten to work an event that anyone would care to attend and thus got to have his first occupational powertrip. A proverbial rush of blood to his head.

Long story short, I got in, and aforementioned artist killed it. I didn't mind seeing Pete Townsend either, or the numerous Playboy Bunnies in attendance.

Signing off for this year's SXSW.

-orion's belt buckle


grievance: the mta

FUCK the MTA. Yes, the Metropolitan Transportation Authority. Seriously. I suppose that I have to address the "fare hike" here despite the fact that this isn't why I'm raging out at the MTA. The problem I have with the fare hike isn't that I can't deal with paying 5 more dollars on a monthly unlimited MetroCard. The problem is in that if you do NOT buy a monthly and get a 20- or 40-dollar card, you end up with a random-ass balance on your card which you need to put extra money on to validate its existence. You get less of a discount. So you end up with 10 rides, and a dollar-fifty left or something like that. (Details of inanities be not my forte.) Fuck off. I'm not loading 50 goddamned cents onto my card. Bunch of bullshit.

I'm not going to delve into an intricate explanation and divertissement of the fact that this fare hike is a bunch of bullshit because it's going to maintain the current debt situation of the MTA, not to help ameliorate the transit system. Because that's a whole different can o' worms. Although, come to think of it, if you paid your "staff" better, MTA, my problem never would have happened...

On the way to work Saturday eve', I was on the M15 which, for those of you who do not live in New York City, or are of the breed who "doesn't do buses" despite using subways, runs up First and down Second Avenues. Directly after the bus left the Delancey Street "station," I hit the "button." (I like using quotation marks.) And the stupid asshole voice came on saying "Stop Requested," akin in ennui level to "Stand Clear of the Closing Doors Please." A block before Grand Street, I got up to get off the bus, and saw a co-worker, who I did not know was on the bus as well, getting up too. And then all of a sudden, I see him hit the strip again.

And we go zooming past Grand Street. We're on the CUSP of being late for work, so when we stop at the next light, which is before the next stop, i.e. Canal Street, I go up to the bus driver and explain that I had IN FACT hit the strip, and asked politely if we could get off while we were stopped since we were trying to get to work on time.

We were STOPPED. It's not as if I was asking him to do me a favor. He NEGLECTED to stop after I had requested the stop. And I was just asking him to OPEN the doors where we were. Also, important: NOT ONE OTHER SOUL ON THE BUS besides my coworker and me.

That was just MEAN.

Furthermore, yesterday I waited for the very same bus line up on 67th Street and Second Avenue for TWENTY-TWO MINUTES. The bus panel said "every 6 or 7 minutes" for my time arena. It was freezing. I finally, after waiting in the cold, had to pay 10 bucks for a cab ride in a straight line along the bus route.

And with what was I greeted? STUPID TAXITV.



raging out at... "appointments"

As I sit here fanning the flames of someone else's rage, I'm finding myself getting increasingly worked up over an issue that hasn't presented itself to me in quite some time. This particular issue, however, is so infuriating that even if it's been 12 years since you've encountered it, it is likely to cause a surge of anger so great that you render yourself immobile.

I'm talking of course about doctors' office "appointments." Right now (and probably for the next 17 days), my friend Riana is sitting in the doctors' office waiting for an appointment that was scheduled for approximately last Tuesday. Why is it that the concept of appointments is just a far-fetched ideal for doctors? And has anyone ever been taken in at the time they were scheduled for? I've even gone so far as to make the first brutal 7am appointment of the day and somehow they're still backed up. How?? I'm the only one in the office!

I'm so pissed. Post your thoughts and prayers for Riana in the comments section.



raging out at... "fix-it" tickets

Somehow it seems whenever I am minding my own business and trying to have a nice day, the police take that as a sign to bust me for absolutely no reason. It's rude. I don't interfere with them trying to enjoy a nice time and I would really appreciate the same respect.

The other day I was driving back from my old boss, and current business partner, Laura's house in Santa Monica. The weather was L.A.-perfect. We held our meetings as we walked along the beach in early March. I, being a born and bred Northeasterner, still can't get over mid-January ocean romps and walking to the store in shorts mid-winter. I love everything about it.

So yeah, the day was bright and beautiful. I was filled with good news and fresh hope on new plans. So why wouldn't the stupid Los Angeles 5-0 pull me over to burst my shiny little bubble? And so the fiasco begins...

Enter Officer Yu and his flashing lights. It took me about 3 blocks to even pull over because as I was doing NOTHING wrong, I assumed they were trying to get around me. I finally pull to the side of the road after their loudspeaker blares out, "Miss, in the silver Nissan, we are flashing at you. Stop driving like we are going to forget. Pull over!" I, of course, glanced around for other women in silver Nissans and when I found none, pulled my car to the side of the road.

Par for the Stars course, I don't have my license, registration or non-existent insurance in my car. So Officer Yu takes pity on me and doesn't impound my car but gives me 3 different "fix-it" tickets.

"Fix-it" tickets are total trash. He sat there in his stupid little squad ensuring that I did in fact have a valid driver's license and a valid registration. But now I have to go to court and show them the actual paperwork and the tickets will be considered null and void. Now, if the state isn't going to make any money on these tickets once I can prove I'm valid, why waste the taxpayers' money and my time by sending me to court? I'm so mad.



shit that sucks: lost addiction

This blog is often used to vent and complain and discuss frivolous everyday miscellany. Tonight, however, I would like to do a very special episode. An after-school special if you will, and discuss something serious.

For years I've been hearing how great Lost is. A while back, on a shitty rainy night, I went out and bought season one on DVD. I watched the first two discs, and liked it, but for some reason never finished.

So, all of a sudden, as a result of the writers' strike, there is nothing on television other than painful reality shows. Shit that sucks: the Real Housewives of New York edition coming tomorrow - so I decide I need to take up a new series.

ABC, unlike every other network, got the right idea, and put the COMPLETE series up for streaming in HD for free on their site. Put it this way: I started watching about five days ago, and I've just finished season 2. That's forty four episodes. Forty four hours of television in five days watched on a laptop.

I would write more about how much this addiction is taking over my life, but I have to begin season 3 now.

-orion's belt buckle


raging out at... 5am

5AM can officially blow my ass. It is never a pleasant experience, no matter from which side I hit it. 5 AM either means I'm exhausted or a few short hours away from a fierce hangover.

Today's 5AM is particularly evil. What's so particularly vile about this early morning terror? Well, let's take into account the fact that I moved 2 days ago so my sleep has been infrequent at best. (Especially when you add the facts that I consistently interrupted my packing to get drunk, go to shows, and watch Season 2 of Dexter [a little disappointing] into the equation.)

But getting up at 5AM to drive 4 hours to Las Vegas to attend a high tea... I have no words. I don't even know what high tea means, but I have no doubts it's nearly as intoxicating as it sounds.

Also currently rageful that Moon saw Hillary last night and Stars did not.