Jingle.

I am absolutely incapable of getting a manicure and not messing it up immediately. That's no metaphor, though I suppose it could be. I literally can't not screw it up. I guess that's why I don't get that many manicures, because it's so frustrating. I sit there like a bourgeoisie wench for an hour, paying these sweet, hairless, well kept, Korean ladies to deal with the absolute mess I make of my nails and the wreckage that is my cuticles - particularly my right thumb, which bears the brunt of my emotions and always has.  Then I stand up, slap on those temporary flip flops and go about my business, which, apparently, is exceedingly hard on the surfaces of my nails. 

There's a mystery for you. Someone who's as bad at sports as I am and with my level of party dress obsession should be dainty and patient enough to 1) wait for the damn polish to dry and 2) go easy on the hand swinging, bag slinging, and other dangerous behavior. It's a dastardly combination of absolutely loving the way short, shiny, red nails look holding a flute of champagne and the inability to maintain them. C'est la contradiction. 

So in case anyone was keeping score, this is the difference between delicate-girly and awesome-girly. Because yeah, my hand eye coordination is limited. And I love Titanic. And every December I hear the first bar of a Christmas song and suddenly get an inexplicable, Pavlovian need for patent leather shoes, a new dress (preferably taffeta), and tickets to The Nutcracker. And team sports that aren't the Red Sox bore the hell out of me and the only reason the Red Sox don't is because my Pavlovian reaction to them is a need for Stellas and Boston, and frankly, what's better than that? But at least I'm no delicate fool. 

Delicate fools would probably not have been running around Beverly Hills wearing those paper thin pedicure flip flops on the wrong feet trying to change for an office party in the office bathroom while leaving time to tone down the tranny eye makeup that the dude with braces at Nars proclaimed "fierce". My fault for trusting an adult with braces. I should have known better. 

Even so, there is this lovely service that Barney's in Beverly Hills has where you go in, buy mascara and let one of the desperate-for-a-Hollywood-gig make up artists do your makeup for a party. They actually will pour their heart and soul and yes, a lot of glitter into the job. Which is a lot of fun, once you take the eye sparkle down a couple of pegs afterward because this isn't Halloween and I cannot justify eye-shadow up to my eyebrows, I simply cannot. 

Yes, I get a true kick out of December in the Los Angeles but I am so ready for my Massachusetts reality check. Last I kept thinking about how if I were sprinting around in paper thin flip flops on December 12th in Boston instead of Beverly Hills, I would probably be writing this today as a frostbitten amputee. Weather patters and tangible seasons keep people real and as much as the spot in my heart that thinks this place is pretty okay may or may not be spreading, it is going to be so good to be home. 

Petite.

Once upon a time... from Capucha on Vimeo.

It is a genuine shame that all children aren't this awesome.

Japan.

For those of you who may not have heard, my precious friend Natale is currently in the thick of a stint performing in Gift of the Angels, aka the Universal Studios Osaka Christmas Extravaganza. It's freaking great. Basically he sings Western Christmas songs in his real voice and then lip synchs along with pre-recorded Japanese lines to tell a heartwarming Christmas tale. His experience thus far has only served to fuel a deeply rooted stereotype of mine: Japan is, straight up, the most ridiculous country on Earth. I received the following e-mail this morning at work and was so amused that I decided to spread the wealth a little. So without further ado, below please find... an e-mail from Natale. Yup. An e-mail all the way from Japan. Imagine that. 

Hey Poops!

Just wanted to shoot you a quick e-mail letting you know that I FINALLY got a camera so you can expect some pics POST HASTE. I can't wait to show you the oh so very skewed vision of the French these Japs have! (In case you didn't know, our show is set in Paris, and Rachel and I (Melissa and Andrew) work at the Louvre and fall madly in love whilst singing about Christ (O, Holy Night).

On another note, I have not tried any sushi yet...hopefully I will soon, i must admit that some of it looks tasty. (The "trendy" californians who consume it all the time would have sush-gasms at all of the varieties I have seen so far.) Other than that, earlier tonight, I actually just got myself a FREE flu vaccine due to the fact that I am a Christmas Singer who is exposed to the elements every night and must NEVER get sick! So that's fun.

The shows have been going great so far and I am having a blast doing them! Rachel and I went out to Bubba Gump's the other night at Citywalk and were recognized by a cadre of Japanese school girls who started SCREAMING their heads off in the middle of the restaurant demanding that we take pictures with them. They were like "IT'S ANDREW AND MERISSA!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" I was laughing so hard and WISHED that you, Ray, and Heather could have seen them...it was an experience let me tell you.

Other than that, I have been exploring the city as much as I can shopping way too much (I need to stop). But I got some AMAZING dick stomping boots and some funky japan clothes that I can't wait to show you! "That is SOOO FUNKY JAPAN!" Speaking of which, it is SO FUNNY walking around the streets and seeing the MOST effeminate men carrying purses and wearing SO MANY ACCESSORIES...and walking right beside them, their Sarah-plain-and-tall girlfriends. It's really hilarious how metro-sexual bordering on trannies the male style is out here.

Anywhoo...that is all for now! I miss you all so much and hope that all is well over there!

MUCH LOVE!!! ARRIVERDIERCHIE!!!!

~Natale~

That's my boy! Voice of an angel.

Judgement.

This is the beginning of what I'm sure will be an ongoing series of absolutely ridiculous yet, sadly, totally serious updates to an assortment of Facebook profiles on my friends list, mostly people who I went to elementary and high school with that have only made the cut on my frequent de-friending sprees because they're too damn entertaining to let go. Really, it's somewhat unnerving to think about how these people and I essentially got the same education. We drank the same tap water, did the same posterboard research projects, took the same standardized tests and yet, somewhere along the line... I don't know, but something clearly went terribly wrong, or else I somehow managed a narrow escape. On second thought, I was decidedly uncool by the standards of the time for a solid twelve years, so maybe I was just ignorant to the after school glue sniffing parties that were going on. Regardless. Voila:

Exhibit A

I actually just really admire Exhibit A's enthusiasm for what appears to be a sad, very sad existence.

About Me: I currently work for Target my all time favorite store!!! I am a Cash Office Specialist and also a guest service team leader!!! I Love my job its fun to be back in the customer service field!!! I love music its basically what pulls me threw each day!!! I live to shop!! I wish i could really afford it but I have done my damage!!! I love the color pink and would live around it all the time!!! I am very outgoing very friendly! I appericate everyone that has come into my life no matter how bad the times were!!! I care so much about others and what others think about me that I think tends to get people to think im out of the norm but all i want is for you to like me!!!

Exhibit B

After a long day of organizing, social work and helping others, Exhibit B likes to trade her LONG jeans in for some sweatpants, throw back a dozen Jager bombs and stare at her smiling face in the mirror while she exercises, in hopes of getting a bod worthy of an Italian Stallion.

Interests: *loud music *my smile *perfume* Italians *my mom's cooking *nice people *Central Mass *working hard * sweatpants *sneakers *exercise *hoodies *LONG jeans *afternoon naps *cuddling *typing fast *trashy tv shows *Dunkins *Taco Bell *drinking *Jager and redbull *thugs *cloves *long showers *Amaretto sours *being organized *cleaning *social work *helping people

Exhibit C

Hey oh, Ladies. Exhibit C is a C-A-T-C-H.

Activities:

working construction

Interests:

smoking weed, drinink beer, gambling, chillin

Favorite Music:

rap

Favorite TV Shows:

nip/tuck

Favorite Movies:

scarface

Favorite Books:

don't read

Favorite Quotations:

first you gotta get the money....after you get the money, you get the power...and after you get the power...you get the woman

About Me:

i like to smoke weed, drink beers, and on my spare time play ball with the boys and chill.

Sitter.

Here's a good one.

When I moved back to L.A. after graduating, there was a solid month and a half or so where I was pretty unemployed. After spending a couple of weeks with the self appointed, highly un-lucrative task of unclogging my drains, assembling photo collages and watching assorted movies with commentary, I decided to sign myself up for sittercity.com, a website where people find baby-sitters (shocking, right) and get me some jobs. Which is exactly what I did, and it worked out really great for several weeks, until I got my "real" job, which has a lot in common with baby-sitting, when you get right down to it.

Despite the fact that overall, I had very good luck with sittercity.com and got hooked up with some lovely families, I have to admit I was a little skeptical about basically putting myself up for sale on a website. They even require a picture and a background check, both of which, as a SWF from the east coast, I obviously passed with flying colors. Let's be real. Anyway, I couldn't help but sense the beginnings of a Lifetime Original Movie in which some nice, unassuming girl in a strange city just looking to take care of a few kids ends up getting totally duped by some psychopathic rapist using the ruse of interviewing a baby-sitter to lure said unassuming girl into his rape lair. Fortunately that was a non issue in my case, as the gentlemen who hired me were a delightful pair of gays with a delightful pair of gorgeous former crack babies.

Now that I have absolutely zip time to take care of anyone except myself and my boss, it seems that my baby-sitting days are over. However, I never deactivated my Sitter City profile so as a SWF with a degree and a very wholesome user picture, I get a steady stream of offers from desperate families in need of a nanny to dump their cherubs on. For the most part they're very legit, and I feel a little bit bad about ignoring them but then this one popped into my inbox and I couldn't let it go unreported because, you see, my rapist theory has been proven.

Behold, Jeff Williams: Baby-Sitter Slayer. The following e-mail is exactly how I received it. Typos are left untouched, they definitely add a certain je ne sais quois.

Hello ,
My name is Jeff Williams . Am a retired military personnel but presently running my own company .I work on mechanical production and repairs . I saw your ad on www.sittercity.com as a good caregiver for infants and am very interested in leaving my kids in your care .I had someone in care of them the last time i came for the project in your area but she moved to Canada to take care of her father .Am urgently in need for a caregiver from 20th October to 17th November. I have to continue a project in your area and i will like to put my 2 kids with you every Monday - Friday from 9am to 4pm when i will be coming to pick them up to the hotel where i will lodge . My twins are just 3 years old . lovers of computer games, not allergic and free to people . I will be sending there pictures in my next email if required .kindly reply me via my private email below if you are sure to care for them Monday - Friday and let me know how much it would cost me .

Best Regar ds,
Jeff Williams .

Yikes. Jeff Williams. Let's break this down, shall we? First and foremost, you're coming to L.A. with your twins to do a temporary mechanical production and repairs job? Really? And your last baby-sitter mysteriously "moved to Canada"? Really? Interesting. I'm pretty sure Scott Peterson tried to convince his in-laws that Laci "moved to Canada", too. Oh, and you are under the impression that "baby-sitting" means that parents drop their children off at someone's house for the day and pick them up later? No no, Jeff Williams. That's daycare. Any parent would know that. Only a semi-retarded rapist who did a half assed job of researching his cover story would make that mistake. And your three-year-old twins like computer games? Really? Computer games. Like what? What computer games do three year olds play? Flight Sim? And will you be bringing your twins' game-stocked laptops to my house when you drop them off from 9-4 every day, or is this just a fun tidbit of information you'd like to share so that when they get to my apartment and learn that I don't let most adults near my computer, never mind children, they'll be bored to tears.

It's also good to know that they aren't "allergic and free to people". More kids should have those characteristics, that's for damn sure. And of course, yes, I will be sure to e-mail you back privately so that you can send me photos of your twins before I make my final decision to bring them into my home for seven hours a day for a month. Because that's what parents do. Send strangers pictures of their children so that they get some shallow baby-sitter who only takes care of adorable children. (He actually may have a point with that one. Parents should be more open about the overall attractiveness of their kids. It's a lot easier to take an aesthetically pleasing misbehaved child than a homely one.) No but really Jeff Williams, I will definitely send you e-mails at your private address and I will definitely give you my home address. That sounds like an amazing plan. Thank you for giving me this opportunity. Finally, you want me to let you know how much it will cost you? Does that mean I get to name my price? Let's see. Hm. Yeah, it's going to be somewhere in the ballpark of, I don't know, millions of dollars. I'm taking into consideration what it will cost me to relocate, install high tech security devices and hire a bodyguard to protect me from your further attempts to rape and slaughter me, the presumably unassuming wholesome East Coast baby sitter.

I'm totally on to your tricks, Jeff Williams. I'm no fool.

On the real, though...part of me really wants to see what he'd send for pictures of his "kids". My guess is it'd probably be something along the lines of this:

Those are the Jolie-Pitts, Jeff! Circa 2006!

Run.

I am not an athlete. This is nothing new, I've never been one. It's not like I was at one point, and then lost it. I'm just naturally the opposite of Sporty Spice. There's this video of me when I was about four, I'm wearing a pink dress and my poor dad is trying to teach me how to play wiffle ball. First he tried pitching on for size. "Over your shoulder, behind your head, pitch it!" I sucked at pitching. I still suck at pitching. I don't risk throwing anything at anyone, ever, because I'm fully aware that, odds are, whatever I'm throwing won't end up anywhere near where I want it to. So then he moved on to hitting, you know, with that skinny yellow bat, and obviously that didn't work out too well either, so he finally just comes up behind me, places his hands over mine on the bat, tosses up the wiffle ball and together we swing and connect and it's a home run and blah blah blah.

Instead of being excited about it, I just dropped the bat in alarm, exclaimed "OUCH!" and ran away. And that set the tone for the rest of my life. Later on, at the age of twelve, I would convince myself, my parents, and a team of pediatricians that I had "exercise induced asthma" based on my vivid descriptions of how difficult it was to breathe after gym class. Looking back, I'm pretty sure I was just unfamiliar with what happens to people when they run, but at least it gave me an excuse to walk a ten minute mile with the rest of the asthmatics for the remainder of middle school.

I hate gyms too and I'd prefer to let my metabolism do the running, but I'm also aware that I live in L.A. now and a sad fact of living in L.A. is that :

1) Everyone else loves gyms more than cupcakes

2) There's nowhere to walk/jog anywhere in my general vicinity that isn't a gym.

I'm not in Boston anymore. I can't fall back on the unavoidable vertical trek up Revere Street to get me home while simultaneously making up for my hatred of gyms. So occasionally I will get all crazy and go for a run around the track of this decrepit park in North Hollywood where prostitutes sleep in the grass and groups of hippies show up for their Tai-Chi silent, slow motion karate chop sessions. I did this once while I was unemployed and made it all the way around the park without stopping and was really proud of myself until I experienced an exercise-induced asthma relapse and had to sit down, trying not to pass out in the grass like a prostitute before making my way back home.

Now that I am employed, I'm a lot less antsy about getting requisite time out of the house, mostly because I get so little time IN the house. At the same time, I now sit at a desk for about twelve hours a day, which makes me concerned about blood clots and/or bed sores due to lack of motion a la paralyzed Hillary Swank in Million Dollar Baby as well as getting even fewer opportunities for happenstance cardio. The funny thing is, now that I'm aware of how little exercise I get, I'm a lot more health-conscious in terms of what I eat. Exercising always had kind of a weird effect on me where I'd feel like since I ran that one time three weeks ago, I could totally eat that pizza. Today I did a couple rounds of the godforsaken Santa Monica Stairs and was completely justified in investing in a pretzel in an attempt to make my poor quads stop shaking. Considering this particular delusion, it's probably better for me to just eat my peanut butter and celery and call it a day.

My whole existence is pretty much just one head game after another.

Milk.

This just in:

If you happen to like your beverages so cold that it kind of hurts to drink them, there's a good chance that they will freeze if you let them get pushed too far into the back of  the fridge. If this happens and you wake up to a half gallon of partially frozen milk, do NOT assume that the still liquid portion of the milkcicle is the same milk you've come to know and enjoy with the occasional/frequent cupcake. 

It is definitely, definitely not. There is a reason it didn't freeze and while I'm not sure what that scientific reason is yet, what I can say with absolute certainty is that there are some crucial elements in milk that freeze quicker than the other elements, and when you drink some without the others, it is Just. Not. Right.