All Or Nothing

May Is Weird

I have been listening to so much music lately; so many different bands and types.  Sometimes I put just one song on repeat, or a loop of three songs or so, and listen to them endlessly.  Other times I just prowl around, looking for new bands, new songs, new lyrics.  It's been a while since I've been so completely obsessed with music; I guess I went into a bit of a drought there for a few years.  But I have come out with a vengeance, and now I really can't get enough.  As always, any suggestions of something I absolutely MUST listen to are appreciated, and you know I'll do it.

I'm back home anyway, and it's pouring outside.


Sophia says hello.

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You!

I left Lydah in Texas, where she is safe and sound and probably terrorizing my sweet friend who's keeping her.

Terrorizing her with LOVE AND PRECIOUSNESS, that is. 

I miss my dog.  But I am glad that I didn't bring her.  The flight was bumpy and turbulent, we sat on the runway forever after we landed, the temperature yesterday afternoon was bordering on 90 degrees, and Lydah would have absolutely HATED it.  And I would have had to drink at least two airplane cocktails just to deal with my canine-induced worry, and THEN I wouldn't be awake this morning, about to head out to the beach for a lovely day, because I'd be sleeping it off.

All to say?  You were right!  YOU WERE ALL RIGHT.

So, thanks to you guys and your wonderful advice (which, by the way, I either have the best readers in the world or am spectacularly lucky, because I almost NEVER get the horrible, judgy advice-givers), good decision all around.  But I'm still eating cookie dough.  No one can take that away from me :)

The L-Y-D

So.  This one is gonna be short and sweet and (hopefully) heavy on the reader advice.  Did you hear that, Internets?  I AM ASKING FOR ADVICE!  May God have mercy on my soul.

I am about to take a little vacay.  And I'm gonna be gone for a while.  And all throughout the planning process, I have been thinking that I would bring Lydah with me.  There's a whole lineup of doggy activities waiting for her at our final destination, and I think she would be in absolute heaven.

So as the departure date has grown closer and closer, I've started getting my ducks in a row, if you will.  I called the airline, to make sure there weren't any dog-related regulations I hadn't been able to glean from my obsessive online researching, I took an inventory of Lydah's travel supplies, to make sure everything was safe and secure, and I called the vet, to make sure they didn't have any last-minute recommendations for me.

Oh, and that call, my friends - that last call is where this whole thing fell apart.  You see, I LOVE my vet.  I really, really do.  He was our last-ditch effort when Lydah just kept getting sicker and sicker, and he not only fixed up her torn ACL (and WITHOUT surgery!), he also got her stomach all healed, found a food she would eat, spayed her, and is responsible for her TWENTY POUND WEIGHT GAIN.  And if you've ever found yourself in the position of trying to FORCE a sick animal to eat, every day, just so that they won't die - this type of vet is a savior.  He really did save her life.  And I am forever grateful to him for that.  However!  As a result of me having to take Lydah to SEE this vet for some super specialized treatments that, at one time, had me coming in TWICE A DAY, EVERY DAY, the vet and his wife love Lydah almost as much as I do.  Which is great, right?  I mean, it really is - who doesn't want their vet to love their pet that much?   You get EXTRA SPECIAL care.  And, as I've just found out, extra special advice.

Me: So, I'm going to be traveling with Lydah in the next week, is there anything I need to do or bring for her that I may have not thought of?

Vet:  Traveling?  Oh, how nice!  Where are you going?

Me:  Location.

Vet:  OH MY GOSH, YOU AREN'T GOING ON AN AIRPLANE, ARE YOU??

Me: .....ummm.  Yes?

Vet:  Oh, please tell me you aren't going to put that poor dog on a plane.

Me:  So, umm...that would be a bad idea, then?

And then the vet proceeded to tell me all the reasons that would be a terrible idea, how I would be needlessly endangering the life of my dog, how traumatic and stressful it would be for Lydah, how horrible the conditions would be for her, and how it would be just like rolling the dice with my dog's life.  Then the vet's wife told me how she used to work for an airline, and saw not just one, but SEVERAL dogs die in transit.  And then she or another airline employee would have to go tell the owners that sorry, your dog is dead, and then the owners would be inconsolable, but the airline isn't liable, because the customer had to sign a release, and DID I KNOW I HAD TO SIGN SOMETHING SAYING THAT LYDAH MIGHT DIE??  Did I?

So. 

Needless to say, I have backed off the whole take-Lydah-with-me idea, and am now completely confused as to what I should do.  I mean, OBVIOUSLY I don't want to needlessly endanger Lydah's life.  I would honestly never forgive myself if something happened to her that I could have easily prevented.  However, I also don't want to live a life of fear, where all of the sudden I won't drive if it rained even three hours ago and the roads might still be wet.  And neither me nor anyone I know can ever taste cookie dough again because WHAT ABOUT THE SALMONELLA, AAAGGGHH!  I don't want to be that person.

So what say you, readers?  Do you have any advice/experience/knowledge to share?  Because this girl is confused.  And really, even if you don't care about me all that much, it's for Lydah.  How can you resist that face?

 

Car Lots, Books, And Music (The Trifecta)

So, the other day while I was in LA, I lost my car downtown and got stranded on a rooftop parking lot for the entire night.  Well, almost.

I have parked in this particular lot many times before, and have never had any problems with it.  It's close to where I work, easy to see from street level (helps with my abysmal sense of direction), and stays open late.  On this particular Monday, the parking attendant took my five bucks when I pulled up, gave me a parking stub, and told me they would be open until 6pm.  Standard procedure.  I grabbed my stuff and said adios, heading out into the wilds of the Los Angeles Fashion District.

A little before 5:30pm, after I had finished working and also managed to convince myself into buying a big, white watch (my friend said, after I finally made the purchase, that he had never seen anyone get buyer's remorse WHILST buying the item), I started heading back to my car.  I easily located my particular rooftop parking structure and took the (unbelievably slow) elevator (that always smells EXACTLY like pee) up to the fourth floor and got out to find the parking attendant.  No dice.

I figured he might be down taking a smoke break or something (although I'm not sure why you would have to get off the roof to do such a thing), and that he'd probably be back fairly quickly.  Plus, anyone who's ever driven much in LA knows that leaving downtown to go anywhere around 6pm is going to be a long, slow process.  So I wasn't in a huge hurry.  However, as I waited, I kept seeing other patrons of this car lot walk out of the elevator with car keys in hand, open their cars, and drive off.  How were they getting the keys?  Where was the magic key guy, handing out keys?  I certainly never saw him.  Was he in the Pee Elevator?  I finally flagged down one of the happily be-keyed drivers to ask him what was up. 

Here's a rundown of that conversation:

Me:  "Excuse me, sir?  Umm, sir?  Sorry...I just...umm, I can't find the parking attendant, and I saw you had your keys...where did you get them?  Is the guy downstairs?"

Him:  "....."

Me:  "I mean, you know.  Your KEYS?  Did someone down there give you your keys?  THE KEYS, WHERE DID YOU GET THEM?"

Him (shrugging):  "ehhhh....I not know?"

Me:  "of COURSE you don't speak English, okay, whatever, whatever."

I am, at this point, getting more than a little concerned about my car.  I decide that probably the best plan of action is walking frantically around the top of the building, looking everywhere for signs of parking attendant life, and appearing (I'm sure) insane.  Finally someone who looks like he MIGHT work for somebody around there walks up, and I nearly jump on him.

Me:  "THEKEYS,OMG,WHEREISTHEGUYWITHTHEKEYS, (breath) ICAN'TFINDHIMANDWHEREISHE?"

Him:  "....keys?"

Me:  "YES.  The keys to my car?  It's right there?  And I have to leave?  And I have no keys?  And the parking lot guy, he isn't up here?"  For some reason when I get upset, I end everything with an upward inflection.  It's totally involuntary, and I hate it because I KNOW it does nothing but immediately label me as Crazed Emotional Woman.  Frustrating.

Him:  "Ahhh....yeeees....I think he is left.  I think he is left, ehhh...around 5 or 5:30?"

Me:  "No.  No, that can't be true, because he TOLD me 6pm; it's always 6pm, and it's NOT 6PM."

Him (shrugging):  "Huh.  I don't know.  Maybe you check on third floor?"

Me:  "Why?  What is on the third floor?  What am I looking for?  Wait!"

Him (walking away):  "Good luck!"

These two conversations very neatly sum up my view on Los Angeles, which is something I get asked about a lot since I'm out there at least half of my life these days.  Do I like it?  Do I hate it?  Is it all superficial and golden bronzed and beautiful on the surface?  Underneath is it crime-ridden and totally scary?  Sure, I guess it's all of those things, in some measure.  But what it really is is apathetic.  That's the one and only word I've ever come up with that succinctly and accurately describes Los Angeles, in its entirety.  Apathetic.  No one cares about you, and they don't even have the heart to make that a mean thing.  They just really don't care.  If you're doing great, well, that's great for you.  Whatever.  If you're doing badly, say you're stuck on a rooftop, alone, in downtown LA, with no appreciable escape plan, well, too bad.  Best of luck.  Whatever.  Now of course both of my brothers and several of my good friends live in and around LA, and so OBVIOUSLY the apathy thing is a generalization of the greater population, and not a personal indictment on each and every Los Angelean.  So don't get all up in arms about how you live there and you are the OPPOSITE of apathetic and how dare I.  I'm sure you're a lovely person, and I do wish you would have been on the roof with me this past Monday.  But you weren't!  On with the story.

So after the exceptionally helpful advice from the even more helpful man, I ran down to the third floor, and started looking around.  Of course there was nothing but closed office doors and...well, that was all. Lots of closed and locked office doors.  I ran back up to the fourth floor, thinking how frustrating it would be to miss the freaking parking attendant while I was running a wild goose chase across the third floor (again, SUCH helpful advice!) and to my disappointment, no one was there. 

At this point, I seriously started considering my options.  Would I call someone?  It would take any person I knew out there at least an hour or two to get to me, and what would I do in the meantime?  I could call a taxi, but at rush hour, that would possibly cost me more than chartering a helicopter to do a rooftop pickup.  Either way, leaving my car up there meant that I would have to A) return downtown the next morning during normal business hours to pick my car up, B) force the unhappy friend/family member to give me a ride back downtown the next morning OR pay the taxi/helicopter the rest of my life savings to do so and C) absolutely miss both my car rental drop-off time (thus ensuring another full day's cost) AND my flight.  So.  I was unhappy.  And really, I kind of started Freaking Out.  And when I say Freaking Out, I mean my version of such, which involves a lot less crying and lot more...furiousness?   I mean, how DARE the parking attendant just leave?  What in the world?  Who DOES that?  What am I supposed to do?  And it STILL wasn't after 6pm!

I stalked around angrily until I had the bright idea to walk down the parking ramp and see if I ran into anyone on my way.  Around level two, I saw an empty parking attendant cage, but upon closer inspection saw that a man, wearing an employee shirt, was sitting in a parked van nearby.  I walked (with purpose!) up to the van and demanded to know where my keys were.  Sure, I realized that he had no idea who I was or what I was talking about, but I am pleased to report that I apparently had SO much purpose in my voice, that the poor man jumped out of his van, walked over to the lockbox, opened it, and handed me a set of keys.  The only problem was, they weren't keys to my car.  In fact, they were keys to a much, MUCH nicer car, a car parked on level two, which I guess is corporate parking or something.  Anyway, after a second of moral relativism (hmm, what could I do with this car?) I informed Parking Lot Man that those were NOT my keys, and that I needed MY keys, immediately.  He didn't seem to understand me (again, with the no English), and kept pushing the other keys at me, as if to say "here, crazy!  Keys!  Take the keys!  Leave me be!"  But I wasn't having any of it.  I dragged Parking Lot Man all the way up to level four, pointed at my car, and said "KEYS.  I NEED KEYS TO THAT CAR".  And after a series of phone calls, all in rapid Spanish, another parking attendant came back to the lot and gave me my keys.  Not to worry though, he hadn't "left" as in "left downtown".  He had only "left the premises, to go to the other lot".  OH GOOD, BECAUSE THAT MAKES A BIG DIFFERENCE TO ME, THE ONE WITH NO KEYS.  Leaving is leaving.  And had he not been summoned by Scared Parking Lot Man, he wouldn't have come back until the next morning.  Again, with the apathy.  Too bad for me!  He had to go to the other lot.

Ugh.

So, let's segue.  I need book suggestions, stat.  I am out of good books and I am in a definite reading mood and yet I have nothing that I know of that I must read.  Note:  I don't think I am up for something REALLY deep and soul-searching.  I mean, kind of deep is okay.  Like I could handle some death and depression, but nothing where I feel like I must immediately go to Darfur and what about my carbon footprint and how dare I be such a horrible human.  I'm not really ready for that at the moment. 

And, if you don't have a great book suggestion (or even if you do), then how about a song suggestion?  I have been totally loving all the mixes that have been passed around the ol' Interwebs these days, and stemming from a fun email conversation I had yesterday with Tiff, thought it would be awesome if everyone could just give me one song that they feel I must listen to immediately, right now.  Your mantra song of the moment, if you will.  I'd absolutely love to listen to the suggestions.  And bonus points if you want to tell me WHY it's your mantra right now. 

So, there you go.  You guys get a long, rambling story about how I almost lost my car in downtown LA, and in return I get awesome book and music suggestions.  Sounds about right, doesn't it?

Why I Love Radiohead

They are sexy.

That is all.

Back from LA; felt that I had to update, at least for any interested parties - more later.  Have had maybe 2 hours of sleep in the last 24 hours, must get my head back on straight.