...so rone-ree

I must be out of my mind. My thermostat currently reads 82 degrees and I refuse to turn on the air conditioning. It's making these flaming hot cheetos kind of not fun to eat right now.

Since it was a brisk 54 degrees on Friday morning, I thought I'd turn off the AC and see how this cold front dictates my next electric bill. Today was a bit warmer than I'd expected, which was awesome because I laid out by the pool and chatted with my neighbor, which was (sadly) my first face-to-face conversation of the weekend, but seeing as how I've spent an entire weekend alone, I have nothing better to do than see how much I can sweat before I just cave and turn the AC on. And no one around to ruin my gnarly experiment.

All in all, it's been a strange weekend. Yesterday sucked because I kind of wanted to do something, only no one was available. I made a lovely steak dinner for one and ate it with my fingers. Then I unbuckled my pants and belched for two and a half hours.

My poolside encounter with neighbor man lead to an invitation to my other neighbor's apartment to watch the Cowboys game. I would normally say, "eh, it's okay" cause I don't like watching football and stuff, but I was in desperate need of socialization and plus, these boys are my Mexican designer friends that I haven't seen in weeks. They also had beer. I'd say today balanced out my rone-ree little weekend nicely.

The funeral dress

You know what pisses me off? MySpace pages with music on them. You know what's worse? MySpace pages with Christian music on them. Look, it's not that I'm against Christ or people who believe in him, but I don't want to click on your page and have to frantically scroll for the "stop" (please...stop) button. And I definitely don't want to roll my eyes at your crappy music choice. It's like Dave Matthews to me.

My week of solitude is almost coming to an end. Matt, my brother and our have been in New York all week doing lines off of hookers and eating $16 slices of pizza. While they've been out, I've been here working my ass off and not eating right and not cleaning my apartment. And not doing other things I meant to, including working on my portfolio and playing my guitar.

Random stuff from this week:

- I conducted a screening of "Things We Lost in the Fire" and lusted after Benicio del Toro's haggard sexiness. And tried in vain to not cry.

- I also screened "Lions for Lambs" at the SMU campus, which was kind of stressful because I was in charge of the damn thing while my account executive was out entertaining the studio suit and the talent, showing up about 10 minutes before the movie ended to conduct a Q&A session with the audience. I ran around like a maniac, but when it was over, I was reluctantly pleased with myself. Mostly that I survived the event.

- The day after the SMU event, I worked the talent's PA tour at the W Hotel. I have to admit, it's kind of nice not being the one in charge because while everyone was off-site doing interviews, I hung around the hotel for an hour and a half. I loitered in the lobby area and talked to the Bolivian valet guy who quickly lost interest in talking to me once I mentioned my boyfriend, bummed a cigarette off a hairdresser from Chicago, checked out the pool area, and took off my hurty shoes and laid on the bed in our hospitality suite watching Spanish telenovelas while eating an apple.

The weather in Dallas has been ridiculous. 70 degrees and sunny -- I'm torn between wanting to go lay out by the pool in an effort to get one last tan this year and staying indoors with the windows open and wait for inspiration to come to me. I did neither today. I went to the mall and bought a funeral/work dress.

Just as women need the quintessential little black dress, we also need the funeral/work dress. This dress is like the LBD, only it's not intended to be sexy. Its purpose is to allow the hapless griever/employee to mourn/work in a most tasteful fashion without calling attention to herself. I realized this on the PA tour that my AE wears the same thing every time we work one and that I'm running out of different outfits to wear on these things. I don't necessarily care if she sees me in the same outfit every time, but it's that I would know. It's like carrying a fake Prada purse -- you know you can probably afford the real thing if you just waited a few more paychecks.

I hate to think about these things, but I also realized that I didn't have a funeral dress.

The truth is this. Okay, remember my Jewish grandpa's party? I have a feeling that he's having this party because he thinks he's gonna die soon or something. Either him or Grandma, because her memory and motor skills are declining due to Alzheimer's Disease. I haven't seen her in the last 10 months, but apparently she's forgetting people and has entirely forgotten how to cook. Also, my true grandmother (my mother's mother, the grandma in my heart, etc.) is not herself in that she's becoming increasingly confused at times and seems to pretend that she knows what you're talking about even though she doesn't.

Anyway, the idea of my loved ones dying is morbid and I don't like to think about these things because I'm afraid that if I think it, Voldemort's gonna call his best friend the grim reaper and grimly reap the person I'm thinking about. Oy!

On a lighter note, I just right now discovered the deliciosity of mixing grape juice and Topo Chico mineral water. Put these two together with two ice cubes and you've got yourself a sparkling wine. Only no buzz.

Fuck, now I'm totally bummed out.

Oh...you mean THAT kind of big girl

Last week Matt and I hung out with one of his co-workers, who's from Trinidad and has quite the reputation for being a ladies' man. Matt always described him as the Trini dude who was always on the phone and whenever Matt would say "what's up," he'd say (every single time), "chiiiiillin'."

So we were chilin' one night and we got on the subject of girls he dates.

He said, "I'm startin' to get into girls with some flesh."
I said, "like how much flesh? Like that girl?" And I pointed to a large woman.
"No, not that big. You know, I want a girl with her daddy's shoulders."

Word.