Monday, November 30, 2015

That’s Cold.

On Thanksgiving, I officially hit the “I guess these shrank in the dryer” phase of my weight-gain denial.

Except I don’t have a working dryer at the moment. Or heat. Or hot water.

Saturday afternoon, my neighbor knocked on my door and said he and his wife thought they smelled gas along the side of my place. And holy shit did I get a lesson in how fast people hop-to during a possible gas leak.

The gas company was here within 20 minutes, and discovered there really was a leak, thanks to corroding pipes. Living by the ocean is murder on metal.

The gas for my place was shut off, and this lock placed on the valve until the pipes get replaced and then blessed by the gas company:
 I imagine the lock sees some action with people who don’t pay their bill.

Also hustling: my property’s management company, who came out Saturday night, and then again yesterday, and are having plumbers come by to start the job today. It’ll take a few days to fix, and it’s really chilly now, so it kinda sucks shit. Freezing apartment. Freezing shower.

Before anyone says “It’s LA – permanently 72°,” last night’s low here was 45°. But before I bitch too much, I must remind myself after seeing The Martian over the weekend that conditions could be a lot worse. Sounds crazy, but see the film and you’ll know what I mean. (See it anyway. It’s even better than I imagined.)

Gotta go find an afghan. Starting to see my breath.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

And It Ain’t The Liquor Talking.

I spent the evening at the Surly Goat last night, where they decided to show Sleepy Hollow on the TVs. (They have a Netflix subscription, which is simple yet brilliant.) It left me with one major question: why isn’t anyone naming their baby Ichabod anymore?

Friday, November 27, 2015

Can’t Talk. Eating.

Nothing like Thanksgiving with your family to remind you that you can't “win” against crazy.

So it’s good to mix in a bunch of friends. Hope yours was as nice as mine.

Thursday, November 26, 2015

I Give Thanks.

I Give Thanks. Thanks for listening, pictures of breasts.

Yeah, it’s a great holiday. And as is tradition, I like to thank everything that made my blog possible this past year:
  • Animatronic dairy bands 
  • Chocolate crema hazelnut crumble at Osteria La Buca 
  • The under renovation shithole that is Courtyard by Marriott 
  • The “No Concealed Weapons” sign at the Red Cross 
  • Smelly casting workshop couch 
  • A children’s dentistry and breast implant practice 
  • The old woman who crossed the street running 
  • Harley guy waving to dude on a pink scooter 
  • TV’s “please do not hit children” reminders 
  • The gentleman who required two stylists to trim his comb-over 
  • Bilingual babe-magnet puppies 
  • Dog trainers who boot their own trailers 
  • Spaghetti and beetballs Line drives to my head 
  • Riding in cars with elderly Asians 
  • O’Neill Men’s “Murca” beer pong boardshort 
  • An allergy to water 
  • Cars from Enterprise that reek of weed 
  • The John F. Kennedy Gentleman’s Lounge 
  • Stray cows 
  • Pakistani Hitler 
  • Man pissing in Herald Square

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

First Rule Of PBS Fight Club:

Nobody talks about fight club around Mr. Rogers.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Happy Birthday, Old Man.

Ricky turns four today. But in people years, the drool makes him about 98.

Monday, November 23, 2015

My Christmas Gift To You.

I’m going to buy this used meter maid vehicle, and on behalf of everyone who’s received a bullshit parking ticket, drive it off a cliff.