grievance: thinking you can go to work after taking a red-eye l.a.-n.y. flight

What the fuck was I thinking? I must be absolutely insane to think that these events would or could lead to my being able to function this wonderful, rainy Monday morning:

9:15pm L.A.: Get to airport late for a 9:50pm flight;
10:30pm L.A.: Take off from LAX;
11:00pm L.A./2:00am N.Y.: Fall asleep;
11:00pm L.A./2:00am N.Y. - 2:00am L.A./5:00am N.Y.: Sleep really badly due to scary, scary turbulence;
2:15am L.A./5:15am N.Y.: Wake up in rainy, cold, grey New York;
4:15am L.A./7:15am N.Y.: Arrive home;
6:00am L.A./9:00am N.Y.: Get to work and make NO sense whatsoever, i.e. MAJOR SPEAKING FAIL.

So I fell asleep at 11:00pm, woke up after barely sleeping 3 hours and woke up at 5:15am in a different place? I don't know where I am or when I am and I feel like I may possibly be in an episode of Lost.

Help!

Judgment Fail.  Itinerary Fail.  Travel Fail.  Person fail.

-moon

grievance: the series finale of the l word *spoiler alert*

Look at this crapola. "i killed jenny."

I'm furious. Absolutely furious. I just spent, what, 6 years of my life watching a show, following plotlines, seeing characters DIE... and then this?! Really, Executive Producer/Creator Ilene Chaiken? Seriously?

Okay... so for those of you who don't know, The L Word was the show which essentially took Queer As Folk's place in terms of being edgy and breaking down walls which previously existed for same-sex relationships being portrayed on television. I watched it live from the very first episode (it's premiere directly followed some big season or series finale, I think). And I thought it was incredibly well done and interesting and entertaining. And I think it did do what it intended to. Because after a while, it seemed really mundane. Which is apparently why it ended. Because it wasn't edgy enough anymore. And for that, I'm really happy, actually. I like gay people. More than most straight people. Topic for another blog.

Anyhow, they set up, from the very beginning of this last season, that one of the main characters, Jenny Schecter, portrayed by the lovely and talented Mia Kirshner, ends up dying. And the first episode is in real-time, during which the police are "investigating" what seems to be her "murder." And the entire last season is spent leading up to those events. Which is incredibly thrilling and exciting. At times, however, it did become annoying. Because up until about mid-way through last season, Jenny Schecter was a pretty loveable character. She had moved to L.A. with her boyfriend and been "seduced" by this woman (whom I don't think is altogether that hot but is supposed to be this sex pot of sorts) and gets in touch with her true sexuality, dumps the boyfriend and then goes through a mess of heartbreaks and emotional problems. The entire last season is her systematically pissing all of the other main characters off, each saying some variation of "I'm gonna kill Jenny Schecter" after the events have transpired.

And every single time, you have this moment, as a viewer, where you think "oh God. Could this have been any more staged? It's almost laughable." But you continue on.

So the series finale comes. And everyone's all raged up. Everyone is ready to "kill Jenny Schecter." And they're all at a party which she's essentially put together as a sort of send-off for main characters Bette (Jennifer Beals) and Tina (Laurel Holloman). And they keep setting characters up to be alone with her. And the other character does something sheisty, like Kit (Pam Grier) closing the drapes, etc. etc., blah blah blah. And the whole time, I'm sitting there rolling my eyes, making bets with my roommate on who's gonna do it. And every 45 seconds, we change our minds. Because they're trying to make it as suspensful as they possibly can.

And then... they leave it entirely open-ended. Like, you could guess. But you could guess SEVERAL different options. And I'm simply NOT DOWN WITH THAT. You might as well have just not ended it. Not even done this season. It's not cute. It's not kitschy. It's not innovative. It's a really creepy thing to do to your audience who has been loyal for so many years.

Go to hell, L Word.

-moon

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.

-stars

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.

-stars

raging out at... john mayer

Okay, so yes, living in Hollywood, you're bound to have a celebrity neighbor or two. And living anywhere, you're bound to run into your neighbors fairly often. But sometimes, it goes above and beyond the call of neighborly duty and becomes borderline stalker creepy. Welcome to the case of The Gingers Vs. John Mayer. Leave us alone or give us a heads up that we are getting together for the 12th time this week. Two redheads in the foreground of every stalkerazzi picture of John Mayer? Probably us because he haunts our grounds. And we have had enough. Or not nearly enough.

It started for this Ginger years ago when I was a phone operator at a New York radio station. I was 19 years old and passed out asleep at 5 AM on a desk waiting for my shift to start. I could feel a body hovering over me. I fought to stay asleep until this gigantic body began strumming his guitar in an obvious attempt to annoy the piss out of me (or maybe he was warming up for a performance on the country's biggest pop station, but this blog is about me so shut your mouth.) Strike one, John. Don't bother me at 5 AM.

Fast forward to a few years later. I'm working at Mayer's label. Fine, he was there before me but still. My boss at the label sought out my number and called me. John's homebase was New York so without fail, there was a bi-weekly elevator encounter, including one time where the lights went out and we were stuck for about 45 seconds. (Did I pray to be trapped there forever? Mind your business, I will not answer such questions.) Strike 2, John. (Yeah fine, strike 1 Stars for that. But I'm still winning according to golf rules.)

So not too long after leaving that job, I moved out to California. Guess who else decided to change time zones? Out here on the left coast is where things began to get absurd. I managed to avoid Mayer for nearly a year until shortly after the boy I was dating decided he was over it. So in faux celebration, 2 of my girlfriends and I decided to hit up a hotel bar which is no more than 1200 feet from my apartment.

We went in and ordered a round of drinks and I noticed a familiar looking man. I went up to him and tried to place how it was that I knew him. Turns out he was a member of Mayer's band and was in town with John to perform a special holiday show. Of course he was. And here's where it becomes excessive.

JJ invites us to the show and we of course agree. Mayer's stalkerish tendencies aside, he puts on a great show and I love all free things anyway. The next night we decide to hit up Chateau Marmont. Guess who rolls in? Shocking. My body remains a wonderland all over Los Angeles County. Next day we hit up the premiere of Walk Hard, which despite living in LA for a year is the first movie premiere I bother attending. Guess who's on the red carpet promoting his surprise cameo in the film? Yeah, my old buddy J Mizzle. Of course he was. Where else would he be? And is my invisible assistant tipping off the Mayer camp to my every move? Because honestly, I have friends and family I see far less than I see John. I'm actually hard-pressed to think of friends, family, or boyfriends I see more frequently than John. I'm coming up blank.

So as we know, I headed home to New York for the holidays. I hit up a restaurant in Gramercy for dinner with an old boyfriend. We enjoy a nice meal and a few laughs and exit the premises as John is entering. Is there a coast I where I can live in peace? No, Stars, there's only 2 and they're both tainted.

This morning was the final straw, however. Last week, I had a "date" (my god, I hate that word) and went over to Ginger's house to get myself together. A friend of ours decided she would be my angel and straightened my hair for me. This morning I get an IM from Ginger that reads, "YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME. CHECK TMZ RIGHT THIS SECOND." I log in and there's my hair straightening friend smiling up at me, sitting at Katsuya with John. Now he has not only infiltrated both my homes, my Christmas vacation, all the bars I love, but my circle of friends too?

That's enough, John Mayer.

-stars

raging out at... my top 10

Today is a special day when so many things have created a swelling rage within me that I can not stick to one topic. I must instead introduce my first annual (or however frequently, or infrequently, I feel like doing it) Top 10 Rage list.

In no particular order...

10) My Roommate's Piece of Trash DVD Player
I will readily admit that I am absolutely the kind of girl that reads the novel before the movie comes out so I can snidely look like a pompous ass walking out of the theater saying, "can you even believe they left out the 3rd word in the 4th paragraph on page 26? The whole movie couldn't have possibly made any sense to anyone who didn't read the book." Now this attitude (and it is a stretch, but bear with me) is why I'm pissed off at the DVD player. Dexter, from what I hear, is this brilliant amazing show that I haven't seen. I've had the DVDs laying around and I, of course, have not yet unwrapped them and bothered to watch the show. Of course all it takes is for me to hear that it's coming to CBS and I immediately raced to watch. How could I bitch and moan about how much better the cable version is if I had not seen it? So clearly to keep my grandiose sense of entitlement, I attempt to watch the DVDs today and the DVD player tells me the disc is incompatible. Living with my roommate for a year, I have yet to put a disc in there that does actually work. So now I'm watching dexter on my laptop while the stupid DVD player screen mocks me in the background. I will be going out in the morning to purchase a cinnamon raisin bagel to see if that might be compatible for it. Or at least cross my fingers that DVD players are capable of being choked.

9) Lying Contact Lens Manufacturers
Yes, I know I shouldn't sleep in my contact lenses. And yes, I do it anyway. Almost every night. But I did have the good sense to order the extra oxygen, let-your-eyes-breathe contacts which are supposed to be "okay" to sleep in. Are they? No, they are not. Can I find my glasses? Nope, I certainly cannot. Am I going blind and might this blog be the last thing I ever see? Well now there's one question that gets a yes. Don't offer me extra fake oxygen. It's rude.

8) Javier Bardem
I legitimately can't sleep most nights or go into a convenience store to buy cigarettes anymore as I spend the entire time in a panic waiting for Javier Bardem to come in and airwhip me to death. I'm scared enough of the eye doctor's airpuff. If I ever see Javier Bardem anywhere near me, I will drop dead of a heart attack long before he can get near me with that deadly canister. Frick, now I'm thinking about him again. My roommate will be mad if she comes home and once again can't get in the door because I've created my traditional Bardem Barricade.

7) Lost
Okay (and I'm sure Orion is going to correct me... which reminds me, stay tuned next week for a special orion/stars west coast edition), but Lost is quite possibly the best show of its genre on network television. I would maybe allow Pushing Daisies in a ring against Lost, but any show where the lead actor is a pie-maker is somewhat genre-less. (I will categorize TV based on bakery treats as often as I want and based on the one time I have ever done this [just now], it has proven to be a remarkably efficient and precise classification method.)
But here is my big problem with Lost. And no, it is not how they always quickly and thoroughly answer all my questions within minutes of them being posed, or how it isn't frustrating at all that they do something absurd and never again approach the topic. Actually I've changed my mind. Those are my big problems with Lost. But even more pressing and tragic than that problem is that the costume designer keeps putting a shirt on Sawyer. I believe it's a Biblical reference - that you do not hide your light under a barrel - so the costume designers are pretty much telling God to shove it by shirting the ever majestic Sawyer. That's just not cool.

6) My Supermarket Discount Card
The supermarket discount cards belong to a conglomerate that is also home to such things as socks in the dryer and every Bic lighter I've ever owned. They are objects which are fleeting in my life. They come and bring me joy for a short time and then are just as quickly lost, though not forgotten. There was a period of perhaps 6 or 7 trips in a row to Ralph's when I signed up for a new card because the old one was in the Great Abyss. And my phone number also magically never works.
So I finally have given up and have picked up the habit of punching in my old gentleman friend's phone number. (At least "Pinehog" is good for something). So thanks for the discount, "Pinehog," and you can send me a small gourmet cheese platter for all the points I've wracked up for you in the Ralph's Wine Club. (Come on, who thought I was shopping for a well balanced meal?)

5) Brittny Gastineau
That girl can suck whichever of my butt cheeks is her preferred. A few nights ago, I was walking into a bathroom stall at some Grammy party (God, living in LA is awful) and Brittny Gastineau literally enters the stall with me and yells "Is Paris in here?" Now I've had about a gigaloot of champagne (and yes I did make up that word but it truly is how much champagne I had) and have no idea who this chick is and even if I did, we certainly aren't cool like that for her to join me in a tiny bathroom stall. So the remainder of the conversation goes something like this:

Stars: I have no idea who Paris is.
Brittny: You've got to be fucking kidding me. Where is Paris?
Stars: I'm not sure if you're aware of how tiny this stall is, but the chance of Paris being in here is pretty marginal.
Brittny: You fucking bitch. Tell her I need her.

Okay, what? I'm making it a life rule that D-list celebrities are never welcome in any bathroom stall I'm in. Ever. I have to debate where A-, B-, and C-listers fall on my stall privilege rule. I will get back to you.

4) T-Mobile Sidekicks
I don't have to justify this to anyone who has ever owned a shitkick. Mine is basically being held together by dental floss and a prayer right now. It never works and yet I remain just immature enough to not want to switch to a BlackBerry.

3) My Landlord
My lease is up in less than a month and par for my course, I'm moving, so they're renting out the apartment. With zero forewarning, my landlord barges in with 2 girls to check out the apartment. I was actually head half down in a beer on one couch with a half naked singer/songwriter on the other couch, his head in some Tostitos. We did not need witnesses to that hungover moment. Nor can I imagine it's great for his career to have a spotting of that nature.

2) Tylenol P.M.
I'm a notorious insomniac and I used to be able to trust in my old friends Simply Sleep or Tylenol P.M. in a pinch. Apparently those things are now as effective as a Flintstones gummy vitamin. It's laughable - the non-existent purpose they serve. I don't even get drowsy. I think it may actually have the adverse effect. The next time I go to run one of my half marathons I'm going to pop a Tylenol P.M. I will be sure to finish in record time.

And the top of the Rageout List, the gold medal of suckage prize goes to...

1) CNN.com
Of course I followed the presidential primaries, obsessively checking each number as they came in. And I was delighted with the turnout and pretty much rooting CNN on as their winner projections were coming in quicker than any of the other news channels. But when you click for the more detailed state-by-state delegate breakdown, it informs you in big purple letters which of the candidates no longer have a snowman's chance in hell of winning. Obviously there's quite a few down-and-out candidates who are basically being mocked in lavender by CNN.com for having no votes. But somehow Mike Gravel, winner of maybe not even his own vote, has a big fat zero next to his name, but has escaped the Lilac Mockery. I will be creating "congrats on the goose egg, Gravel" in an array of purple hues to show I think he showed as terrible of a showing as all the other candidates... sans, of course, my beloved Hillary.

-stars

raging out at... being taped to a couch during a shootout

No, that wasn't a typo. Last night I was actually covered in stickers and packing-taped to a couch while a shootout went down outside. Before the two people who love me freak out, I should clarify that one event had nothing to do with the other.

I should rewind... and also state that my memory is dim on these events so I will be presenting the story from three different sources.

Last night I was exhausted from a long week of "working hard" and "leading prayer groups," so I elected to head over to my local "Ginger"'s house and watch Arrested Development. My usual two large green goblets of wine later, I was fast asleep on Ginger's couch with a party going on around me. The next thing I remember is waking up unable to move, taped to a couch. So allow me to bring in my two very reliable (and terrible) friends to finish this post for me:

"Jen": You took me to new levels last night. New levels of appreciation. You have no idea how many one-liners you had last night.
Stars: Did I? I don't even know what I said half the time.
"Jen": When we were taping you, you kept moving and that would be so loud we would all stop, let you settle. Well, you woke up and you were like "MMM... I SEE WHAT'S GOING ON HERE... I'M JUST NOT DOING ANYTHING UNTIL THE MORNING." I DIED LAUGHING.


Stars: "Jen" just told me I woke up during the taping.
“Ginger”: You don't remember that?? You said, "I don't care... I'll deal with this in the morning."
Stars: I have zero memory of that. I'm an idiot even when I'm a zombie.
“Ginger”: Do you remember me cutting off the shit? I woke up to you moaning you were covered in blood. I was like "oh shit." Then I kept trying not to laugh, but the evil in me kept pulling the stickers on your skin, and you were like "OH GOD NO."
Stars: I just remember being like "put them on my clothes. Keep them off my skin. I'm bleeding,"
“Ginger”: And then you were like "eh, at least it's not loud anymore," when I had taken off a lot. Oh yeah... and you missed a shooting.
Stars: I miss everything when I pass out! There is no waking me up when I don't want to be.
“Ginger”: I can't believe you missed the shooting.
Stars: What happened??
“Ginger”: There was a shootout right outside. And we walked into it. And got yelled at to stay back. But we didn't stay back. I just wanted to make eye contact with the perp.
Stars: Did you do it??
“Ginger”: I might've been the perp. Just saying. There were shots between "the perp" and the cops I believe.
Stars: Did anyone emerge victorious?
“Ginger”: You didn't get shot did you? I'd say that's victorious.
Stars: You ran TO a shootout. I was safer taped to the couch. So you guys are really good friends. And I thank you.
“Ginger”: You do owe me a big thank you for that. We went through a shootout and then made it in time for last call.
Stars: You went to a bar after the shootout while I was taped to a couch??
“Ginger”: Yes. Fiesta and East/West.
Stars: I'm in love with you all.
“Ginger”: Two bars.


So, to summarize: I don't even know what to say. I'm bruised and bloody. Ginger and Jen are hungover. I need No-Doz whenever I am not alone. Oh, and my friends are a-holes.



-stars