Crossfire

This is about an event I witnessed a few years back.  Though I scoured the newspapers, I never found out what it was about.  I still recall this event every time I drive through this intersection in Hollywood...

It's Monday night, and I am driving home from a going away party in Los Feliz. Back at the party, the guest of honor requested a photo with me, and I fell apart in sobs just as the flash popped. My behavior signaling that my time at the party had come to an end, my soon-to-be-missed friend announced "why don't we walk you to your car now." Driving along the darkened city street, my sobs have subsided into a sort of disconnected melancholy. The "Cure-ish" playlist on my iPod providing an apropos soundtrack. The first chords of Modest Mouse's "Invisible" prompt me to turn the volume up. Red light at the corner of Western and Melrose, I have allowed my eyes to glaze over until I am greened, and I whisper "You're not invisible inside your car/No matter what stupid sort of mission you're on..." like a depressed backup singer for Isaac. My listless eyes register the light has changed, and I offer them bribes of a future sleep sleep to focus on the road.

There is only one car ahead of me, but I have yet to move. I am searching my steering wheel to locate the seldom used horn when a white sedan swerves from somewhere behind me at about 80 miles per hour, careens across the street, up onto the sidewalk and screeches to a halt narrowly missing a storefront. A nano-second later the passenger jumps out of the car and escapes down the road on foot. My eyebrows have barely had time to form themselves into a furrow when swarms of cop cars come from every direction and surround the errant vehicle. Cops emerge from everywhere, guns drawn and ominous, some of them close enough for me to touch through my car's open windows. I am suddenly reminded of all the newspaper articles I have read about similar situations in which innocent bystanders were shot in wayward crossfire. For some reason I have never been able to fully picture this; somewhere in my naive mind honestly believing those not involved were ushered to safety before the bullets fly. How foolish I have been!

It is so surreal, like I am watching some new-wave technology television that puts the viewer directly in the action. I am literally surrounded by rifle-wielding cops using the doors of their cruisers as shields. But I am not in a movie. This is live action, totally real-life drama happening all around me. My car is locked in; I can't drive away, and there is nothing in this world that will get me to leave my car on foot. It is a coping mechanism I have had since pretty young to try to escape "unpleasant circumstances" by viewing them as though a distant observer, and what is happening right now is no different. I know that doing so is quite dangerous as I won't be focused enough if I need to act in an emergency, so I struggle to maintain focus now amidst the shouts of officers, the echoing of gun shots, and the roar of the helicopter circling above.

As quickly as it started, it is over. Our good vs. evil scene has concluded with the falling of a fugitive, his lifeless body crumpled in the spotlight of my headlights. Weapons are sheathed as our players exit the stage, and I, the audience, leave the auditorium.

An Unexpected Date Night

Dude.  So last night was pretty unexpectedly awesome.  The BF and I go out a lot, but mostly it is to see our friends perform in bands or to their art shows.  Rarely do we go out on a "date".  If you're asking what the difference - as he often does - the point of a date is US and spending time together vs. supporting our friends.  Last night was technically a bit of both, but I take what I can get.

We already had plans to see our friend Donato play in his band, Give Me Your Hands, at the Silverlake Lounge.  Out of the blue I decided to forego my typical jeans, boots and beanie ensemble and throw on a dress.  With all that primping I totally forgot to make supper for us so when the BF asked if we should just grab something on the way, I jumped at the chance to turn it into a date night.

We very, very rarely eat out.  When we do it is typically grabbing something like a sandwhich real fast en route to somewhere.  But sit down? Tablecloth? Metal utensils? I can probably count on one hand the number of times we've done that in our five years.  As much as I love to cook, and to cook for the BF, I effing love the eff out of food.  Love it.  So I love restaurants.  Also, I love not having to cook and clean it up afterwards.  I think the dim light and sitting side-by-side is all sweetie-pea mushiness, too.

So when he followed up the first question with "wanna run by Subway?" I waaaay too loudly replied with an emphatic "NO!" and we instead found a surprisingly cute and romantical place disguised as a hole in the wall down the street from where our friend was playing. If you're in LA, check out El Conquistador on Sunset and sit on the enclosed patio.  Bonus: you can see people run into the tricky door after having too many tequilas at the bar!  We started counting and got to six nose-smashes :-)

However, I totally lost my favorite ring (well second favorite if we include my beautiful engagement ring) at the restaurant.  I took off the chunky black onyx ring to wash my hands and accidentally left it by the sink.  I didn't realize until we were at the Silverlake Lounge later then ran down the street and crazily tore through all of our coats (I think I must have looked a little looney...or like a thief) until I remembered having taken if off.  Sadly, it is gone.  I even called the restaurant twice today to see if anyone had turned it in, but nope.  Finders keepers I guess :-(  Ahhh the prices we pay for dates.

The Fiance, Part 1

It Started with a Shirt: Kaviar & Cigarette's Kissy Fish

When I met the fiance nearly five years ago I was in a "no dating" mode.  Famous last words, eh?  My little heart had just been smashed to smithereens by a cheating jerk, and I was self-healing by hanging with homies and being a "Hollywood Party Girl".  One pre-fateful weekend I went to a local designer sample sale in downtown LA.  It is part of my hippie ethics to never buy anything new - including clothing (except for the delicates, but that is for sanitary reasons).  However, I make an exception if I am buying something from a local designer.  I have a lot of friends with clothing lines, and I really believe in supporting their art.  This said, I am also incredibly frugal (not cheap, FRUGAL), and could never fathom spending the amounts some people charge.

So when I stumbled across Kaviar & Cigarettes sample sale and saw their prices, despite my attraction to their unique and custom pieces, I just couldn't do it.  The price tags had three digits BEFORE the decimal for tops and this was a SAMPLE SALE!  If you've never been, this is when designers clean out their sample-size inventory for waaaaay cheap - like $5-50 for everything.  Then a certain t-shirt caught my eye.  Totally not my style, but something told me I had to have it, and I plonked down the 50 bones for it.

The next weekend I was lazing around the Hollywood Farmers Market with three of my party pals, sporting my new Kaviar & Cigarettes tee, when I hear "is that Kaviar & Cigarettes?"  I look up to see who asked and find myself face to face with Mr. Hotty McHotterton.  He was wearing dark and stylie shades that kept me from making eye contact, which is totally a pet peeve of mine.  Below the shades was a very stylie ensemble that told me this cat was too cool for school. "Uh, what?  Oh, yeah, yes it is" was my uuber suave reply.  Long story short he said he knew the designer and had a line himself.  He asked my name and I said "Dori" (coz that's my name).  To this he finally pulled down his shades (um, hello sexy eyes) and said "No way! My name's Jory".  Yes.  Our names are Dori and Jory.  Puke.

This little street exchange happened just as LA Fashion Week was starting.  He invited me to his show the following week and handed me a biz card, and I walked away feeling more than a little butterfly-ish.

...and that's the story of how we met: all due to a fateful t-shirt.  Though if you ask me in person I typically just say "on Hollywood Boulevard".

Stay tuned for parts 2-1,000,000...or maybe I'll condense it to like three parts...?  We'll see.  I like the dude, so talking about him is one of my top 10 favorite subjects.

Getting to Know Dopey

Hello Internets!

Now that I've posted some from the archives to break the web ice, I suppose I should say a little somethin-somthin about myself.

I'm currently 33 and I live in Los Angeles with my fiance, a former fashion designer (7Lightningbolt) who now owns a screen print shop.  We've been together going on five years and got engaged last summer in Sharm el Sheikh, Egypt...but I'll write about all of those gooey details in posts to come.

For my day job, I am the Outreach and Development Director of the non-profit Build.Create.Kenya, an organization I helped found last year with my fiance and two other dedicated volunteers and close friends.  My biggest hobby is my all natural skincare line SkIndulgence.  Those, and being a house-girlfriend, keep me pretty slammed, but when not doing either I love to crochet and make and build things for my house.

Let's see, what else...how about some simple fun facts?  I love coffee.  I swear A LOT, but I'll try to tone that down a bit for readers with sensitive ears.  I'm originally from Colorado.  I love love LOVE to travel; I've been to somewhere around 14 countries in the last few years.  The fiance and I go camping at least once a month, and I'd probably go totally crazy if we didn't.  I've been a vegetarian for 99.9% of my life.  I have two tattoos, and I plan on getting many, many more...much to the dismay of my mother.  Oh, and I was an English major in college, so I am fully aware of all of my grammatical errors and fabricated words, but I leave 'em in coz I'm a rebel like that.

I think that's enough to get us started, so now let's have some fun!

The Valley Had to Remind Me that it Sucks

One last post from the archives and I'll start in on life in 2013.  From 2008...

Over a year ago I moved out of Hollywood and into the Valley (yeah, I know) because my sis was moving here from the sticks and we needed a house with a yard in a low-key area. Well, Sis LaRue has since moved on home to Colorado, and I thought it was high time I got myself back to the city, so I am once again back in Hollywood and lovin' it. To get all sappy for a sec, lets all take a sec to say good bye to Sis LaRue and wish her well in the Rockies: Good bye Sis! We love you and wish you well, and we will miss you! K.I.T., K?!?!!?

Now on to the actual moving day...

Overall I pride myself on being pretty low key and able to easily roll with those proverbial punches; however, when I am in the midst of a move - even a move just across town - all that goes straight out the window, and my cool is lost at the drop of a hat, or box, as the case may be. I have lived in over 30 places in my 28-year life, so I consider myself to be a seasoned mover. None of that, but NONE of that experience came into play on this particular moving day.

I planned my move for Labor Day weekend so I would have three full days to move and settle into my new place. Like the great planner that I am, I made arrangements for my movers well in advance. I searched my local listings, compared costs, determined my best option, and carved in stone the appointment well ahead of my moving date. I acquired boxes and other moving supplies, and had everything packed neatly and ready to go in my living room. I called to confirm the movers. I forwarded the mail, canceled the utilities, informed my bank, my auto loan people, and my auto insurance. I called to confirm the movers. I sold all my major appliances that I will no longer need now that I am out of a house, and took boxes and boxes to Goodwill. I called to confirm the movers. I crossed all my t's and dotted all my i's.

Sis LaRue shipped out the day before my big move, and after she drove off into the sunset I got a tad emotional. Ok, so I got pretty damn emotional. Friend Devin said she would come over and help me put those final pieces of tape on my boxes and whatnot, so after sitting on my kitchen floor for a while crying I phoned Devin up to choke out "where the [sob] heck are [sob] you???" She arrived shortly thereafter and we finished neatly stacking the boxes and cleaning the house as the movers would be there at ten sharp the next morning.

I went to sleep and awoke at 8:00 am fully pumped and rip-rearin' to go. I headed over to the ATM to get enough cash for the movers then to the grocery store for a quick and easy bite to eat and by 9:55 am I was perched eagerly on my kitchen counter, eyes peeled for a moving van.

10:00 came and went...

10:15 came and went - they probably just got lost. Yeah. That's it. Not everyone is as obsessively punctual as you, Dopey, relax!

10:25 - Alright! Time to call. Dial. "Hello! You have reached the voicemail for..." GRRR! Leave a message. "Hi! This is Dori, and we had arrangements to move me to Hollywood this morning at 10. It is coming up on 10:30 now, so I just want to make sure you are not lost or anything." Repeat the procedure at every single phone number I have for him.

10:35 - Where the fu....

"RIIIIIIING" Sweet! That's him!

"Hello? This is Dori"

"Hi Joy* this is Lame-O-Movers. Hey listen, the latch on my truck broke yesterday so I am just gonna move you in my pick up, cool?"

"Come again? So, [stay calm] what you are telling me is that I agreed to pay you by the hour to move my life in what should be one trip in the secure, enclosed moving truck you advertise, but now you want to move everything I own in what will most likely be at least four trips in your open, my-stuff-flappin'-in-the-breeze pickup truck and you are asking me if that is cool???? NO! If that is what I wanted I would have called a friend!"

"So...you want me to come or what"

"How far away are you even? You were supposed to be here over half an hour ago!"

"Yeah, I can probably leave here in about half an hour"

Click

As my phone snapped shut it dawned on me that I had cancelled all my utilities so I would have no Internet connection to search for alternate movers, and that it was Labor Day weekend, the end of the month - a time when most people do their moving, and the day of my move so chances are finding another moving company were about as great as me marrying Keanu Reeves anytime soon (i.e. not good). To add to that, BMF was helping another friend move this same day and couldn't be there to help, not to mention the fact that his cell phone decided to hate me and break so I couldn't even get a hold of him.

This is when my relaxed persona was stomped to death in a hissy fit that could rival the most spoiled of My Super Sweet 16ers. I didn't have to unpack a mirror to know that it wasn't pretty. "OK, self" I said to myself. "Looks like your only option is to find a U-Haul and yank a few day laborers off the street." Seemed like a simple enough plan to me and I patted myself on my back for being so quick on my feet under the circumstances. Even so, I called BMF to leave a message informing him of the change of plans in the off chance he would get my telepathic cries and be able to check his messages.

Turns out he did. Also turns out that he wasn't as impressed with my idea as I was, "Can you HEAR yourself, Dopey??? That is the DUMBEST idea I have ever heard! Listen to what you are saying! GRRR! Just try not to do anything stupid and I will call you back in a minute." We really do communicate like an old married couple...or a couple of sibling-rivalry-addled kids, but it is all out of love. Really. Five minutes later BMF calls back, "There is a dude coming at three with a big truck and two helpers. Good guy; helps a lot with [BMF's place of employment]. Tip him big; this is a huge favor." Thanks duder.

As I had a couple of hours to kill I headed over to Home Depot to pick up some paint as I had to return my slate-blue bedroom walls to boring white before vacating. Picked up some primer, paint, and extra rollers and headed to the checkout. Where I discovered my ATM card was gone. Lovely. I pay for my packages, run out to my car and proceed to throw yet another tantrum. I am finally able to convince myself that it is far more productive to call the bank than to freak out in a parking lot. The bank is actually able to help me surprisingly fast. We made sure no fraudulent charges went through, cancelled my card, and reissued another within five minutes. I even had enough time to run to the nearest bank branch to pull out cash before they closed for the three-day weekend.

Back home from the bank with paint in hand, it really seemed like the day was back on track. But because my body couldn't deal with things going well, it decided to start purging the contents of my stomach, as it is apt to do when I am under pressure. So now I am vomiting. Violently. And out of my nose, too. Lovely, eh? Thought you'd like that. This was the last kink, though, and everything went decent after that. I painted my walls, the movers came, we relocated me, I went back and finished cleaning my old house, and was in my new place and completely unpacked by the time I returned to work on Tuesday.

You know how people say sit-coms aren't real because problems aren't solved that easily or quickly? More often than not it seems like they really are. Oh, and my new place totally rocks, but that is another post.

*This never ceases to amaze me. Just how in the heck is it possible for SO many people to hear "Joy" when I say "Dori"? I inevitably and reluctantly end up saying "like the fish...yeah..."

80s Hair Bands: Useful for SO Many Reasons

One more from the archive...

80s Hair Bands: Useful for SO Many Reasons...but I am only gonna talk about one.

My big sis and I are two veeeeeery different beans, indeed. Like, in pretty much every way possible: looks, likes, dislikes, music, etc. If she is digging on something, chances are I am bound to hate it, and vice versa. She hates on my beloved Marilyn Manson and I bag on her electronic/gush-gush "music" (I totally just put that in quotes to mess with/irritate her, hehehe). We also live together. This makes life interesting.

However, this weekend big sis (in this blog we call her "C" because I am all cryptic and secretive like that) did the sweetest thing EVER and gave me the very bestity best of birthday* presents: tickets to the San Francisco Ballet's Nutcracker. A lot of you know that I started dancing right around the time they cut the umbilical cord and just stopped a few years ago when the warranty expired on my knees...and hips...and ankles. This particular ballet is extra special to me because not only did my sis and I dance in the Nutcracker for years and years and years, but the San Fran Ballet was always the company I wanted to dance with the mostity most. All together now: AWWWWWWWW!!!! So the ballet was SO beautiful and it was SO great to see it (I seriously cried all the way through it since I am such a little bitch). It was also super specialness to see my God Ma and her family when we stayed with them Saturday night...and if this blog was all about sentiment, I would just focus on these things...but I don't dig on mushiness, SO back to my point...

It was the getting there and back that had me worried. As much as we heart each other, my sis and I DO live together and we ARE sisters...so, you know, we tend to bicker...and 12 hours in a car together made me just a teensy weensy bit apprehensive. Especially because we simply cannot agree on music and who can drive without music!!?!?!? But then I dug deep in the depths of my Caselogic and out came Skid Row. And Guns & Roses. And Whitesnake. And Poison. And these 80s Metal Gods showered us with sweet salvation. What followed was some intense headbanging bonding sisterly love (not like that) action. And it was good. Oh yes. We totally rocked Interstate 5, my friends. I don't want to point fingers, but one of us (it wasn't me) might have even been inspired to flash a Greyhound bus.

It IS the holidays, and a lot of you might be seeing family. I know I am not the only one who doesn't hail from Cleaverville, so this Christmas, I invite you all to discover the bonding powers of Sebastian Bach and Bret Michaels. You'll thank me later.

*It's next Tuesday, ya'll...yeah, Christmas. Yes, it IS Christmas Day, OMG!

It Was in the Stars...and they aren't too nice

Another from the Dopey archives, circa 2008...

The horoscope I read this morning:
It's a good day for you to try something brand-new, especially if it relates to helping other people.

What happened after I read the horoscope this morning:
While driving to work this morning I stopped at a red light (because that is the law) and looked to my right to see a car rolling slowly, the door open, an unconscious woman roll to the street, and the car keep driving. My initial thought is "whoa, they are totally dumping a body"* which led me to question the intelligence of doing so at 9:45 am in a busy intersection. So then I looked up at the driver in order to provide a description to the 5-0 later...only there wasn't a driver. Which is when I realized that the unconscious woman WAS the driver..and I was about to get hit by a driver-less car. I avoided that catastrophe and the car proceeded across the aforementioned busy intersection, miraculously unscathed, before a tree was kind enough to stop it. So I flip a bitch, pull over, grab my cell phone and run to the lady who was, by this point, semi-conscious, and call 911. Apparently what happened is she had some sort of seizure or something. She was fully conscious by the time the paramedics came and didn't appear to be altogether too hurt, thank God.

Some crazy freaking morning, eh???

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Just realized - I was there until the paramedics took her away and the scene was totally cleared...but no one took the car away; it remained in someone's front yard resting comfortably against their tree...that's gotta be a weird one to come home to, eh?

*Which, no shit, really happened once. Well, it has probably happened a lot, but I mean, in my vicinity when some dudes offed a tranny prostitute, rolled her up in a rug, and threw her body in my garage in Hollywood and was discovered by my next door neighbor..."everyone who comes to Hollywood has a dream - what's your dream?"