Cemeteries are a girl's best friend

You know what? Moving sucks! I think I am the first person to realize that.

The only good thing I can tell you is that there are a lot of stores around here with moving boxes at the ready, including Baskin-Robbins. Sadly, those boxes just make me hungry. They are maraschino cherry boxes, waffle cone boxes, nut boxes...Mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm MMM!

At one of my old jobs, there was this old lady who was in love with me. I am not making this up. She was obsessed with my wardrobe; every day she'd compliment something.

"Only you could wear that color" "Oh! I love those pants!" and she would punctuate each compliment with "Mmmm!"

"Mmmm! That bra fits you nicely! MMM!" (No, seriously, she really said that. She was this 75-year-old grandmother. I have no idea why she loved me. Some mornings Marvin Gardens and I would guess what thing she would compliment that day.)

(Am I mean-spirited? Perhaps she just really liked my clothes. But no, I have to go there and make it all lusty.)

Anyway, I wanted to tell you that we found a free thing to do yesterday. We went to the cemetery! I love me the cemetery, I always have. My Aunt Mary used to take me to the mausoleum for fun, an activity that baffled and repulsed my grandmother. But I loved it! There was one guy who had died on Valentine's Day. This fascinated me. I had no idea you could die on a holiday.

Also, I recently found out that my great-grandmother liked her the cemetery, too. So it's genetic.

And here, the cemeteries are full of movie stars, which is oftentimes a surprise. I have gone to cemeteries asking, for example, "Can you tell me where to find Andy Gibb's grave?" and they get all huffy and tell me this is not a tourist attraction, but rather a place of rest. Oh, calm down. So often you have to find the tombstones by accident.



Here is Marilyn Monroe's grave. Every time I have gone to MM's grave, someone has kissed it with their lipstick, which really can't be sanitary. There are also always fresh flowers there, which I know used to come from Joe DiMaggio, but not anymore. Next to her place in the wall is an empty place, which I have heard Hugh Hefner is going when he dies.


This is not a movie star, I was just fascinated by the fact that she still gave palm readings. And so cheap! This is a photo taken with my cell phone, so I apologize that it is the size of a postage stamp

I was thrilled to find Rodney Dangerfield's marker, which reads, "There goes the neighborhood." Oh, he is a funny one.



And finally, my favorite of all the celebrity stones I saw yesterday, Jack Lemmon's, where he just has "Jack Lemmon... in..." Whoo! Get it? He's not in anything! Just the ground! Oh, I thought that was hilarious.

The other morbid thing we did for free yesterday was go to Benedict Canyon, down the street where the Manson murders were. Neither one of us knew the address of the house, only the street, so we THINK we saw the house, but I was getting carsick from the twisty, windy roads up there so we left without being sure.

"Mmmm! Only you could turn green that way! Your carsickness looks great! MMMMM!"

7/7/7 and 4200 (Is that the least compelling title ever?)

Am I the only person who doesn't hold out much hope for Eva Longoria and Tony Parker? They just seem so...show-offy about their love. Am I the only person who has given any THOUGHT to the union of Tony Parker and Eva Longoria? They are getting married this weekend, on 07.07.07. I think I do not trust people who get married on such a gimmicky date.

Also, does anyone else read the comic strip For Better or for Worse? If so, do you desperately wish Elizabeth wouldn't end up with the mustache guy? Am I alone on this as well?

The weekend is here and again we have...NO PLANS because we...DON'T SPEND!

I am into the ellipses today.

Actually, I have to change our "amount saved" section on the right-hand side of this blog. We are down from our all-time high of $17,500. Marvin Gardens decided to pay off his credit card, which had like $2500 on it. We are officially debt-free! Well, other than his car. Doesn't Suze Orman say things like cars don't count as debt? Could I seem more obsessed with Suze Orman? I don't even like her that much. Her teeth are unnaturally white, for one thing.

Anyway, I got home early from work (again! They did the "leave at 2:00" thing again! Exciting.) and Marvin is not here. So I cannot ask him how much he has in savings. I think it is now officially not much. Nevertheless, our not spending has resulted in us being able to pay the $4200 in taxes that we owed this year, the $4200 we owed on my car (what's with us and the figure "4200"? Ooo! It's like that creepy show! Or is that The 4400?) and Marvin's $2500 in credit card debt. So we really can't complain.

And yet we will.

We are going to spend a lot of the weekend packing. We are pretty ahead of ourselves, actually. All the bookshelves are empty and most of the knickknacks are gone. Marvin also packed my friend Kathy's Anne of Green Gables DVD, which I am making him find, so I can return it. Oh, was I annoyed when I figured out he'd packed it.

I guess I will blog at you later. Can you use "blog" as a verb?

June Cracks

Hey, I think this is my 100th post. Doesn't this mean that I get syndication money now?

They let us out of work early today. I have never really understood that, offices letting you out early because you get the next day off. I mean, why? Don't get me wrong, I was off like a shot at 2 p.m. There was an outline of my body crashing through the wall, getting out of there. But I do not get what we are supposed to do with this extra time.

And by the way, it is 3:18 p.m. Got out of work at 2:00, got home at THREE EIGHTEEN P.M. Nice traffic.

So, I have to tell you the truth. I bought a dress on Sunday. Remember in elementary school when boys would say, "Dress up for Sunday!" and then flip your dress up? What a bunch of jerks young boys are.

I am going to yet another wedding soon, and I went to the mall on Sunday to purchase new underthings. But did I? No. I am still wearing Marvin Garden's boxers, my mom's girdle and my bathing suit because I need new chones.

For whatever reason, I convinced myself that my marry 'em and bury 'em all-purpose dress would not suffice for my next wedding. So I went to the Ann Taylor. Now, sue me. I know Ann Taylor is not cutting edge, and that I am not cool, but I like me the Ann Taylor. It is classic, pretty, and I do not look like I am trying to be 21. There is a store here called Forever 21, which just makes me sad. Do we really want to be forever 21? At this point, I would have to go in twice, to match my age.

To make a long story really boring, I bought this dress. And no, I didn't turn into a really attractive African-American model when I put it on. That is not a picture of ME, per se. Just a picture of the dress.

They were having a sale at Ann Taylor, but of course I bought the one item in the store that was full price.

I would say this is my biggest cheat so far, and right at the halfway point. Nice.

I guess that's all I have to say about that. Happy 4th of July, everybody! We're independent! Every year I make Marvin Gardens listen while I read the 4th of July chapter from Little Town on the Prairie. This year the book is already packed. So if anyone has that chapter, please type it word-for-word into the comments for me, just up to the part about the despots. Marvin will be SO happy.

$317 richer

(Note our snow globes lining the curb. Who loves herself?) I guess our moving sale was a hit. We made at least $317, and I think more, but it is impossible to say because Marvin kept putting the money in different places all day. I kept thinking the money was stolen. "It's in the orange box," he'd tell me, then "It's in the yellow thing in the bedroom" then "It's in my pocket." So $317 is what I found in the SILVER thing he said it was in at the end of the day.

And could the end of the day have gotten here sooner? People showed at up SEVEN, even though the signs clearly said 8:00. These were the professionals. They even knew each other. I heard them say, "See you tomorrow!" It reminded me of that cartoon where the sheep dog and the wolf punch in at the time clock and say, "Hello, Sam" "Hello, Ralph" then spend the rest of the day trying to outsmart each other.

Our cat Winston was delighted to have people over. He is seriously the most sociable cat I have ever met. He just sat in the yard like a sentinel. A couple people asked how much he was, and one busybody tried to tell us a coyote could come right up into the yard during the sale and eat Winston.
As you can see, we tried giving him a name tag but he was having none of it. That picture of him ripping it off makes me pee a little every time I look at it.

At one point, I was in our beanbag chair, and Marvin told a guy that the beanbag was $5 and I was $2. The guy said, "You'll have to move. I want the chair." He wouldn't even buy me for TWO DOLLARS?! Insulting.

Speaking of which, I have mentioned before (but am too lazy to find out where then provide you with a link), we have a Winchell's Doughnuts on our corner that old men in cowboy hats hang out at (like my prepositions) and today was no exception. I walked down there to hang our sign and on the way someone had their sprinkler going. Because I am 10 years old, I jumped through it and got all wet. I even had to wipe off my glasses. It was delightful.

So, I get to Winchell's and the men in hats are being particularly nice to me. They're telling me where to hang the sign, they're helping hold it up. Really nice.

On the way home I realized. The sprinkler had made my tank top COMPLETELY SEE-THROUGH.

Finally, in the late afternoon, we just gave stuff away. Less to schlep to North Carolina.

And I'd like you all to know that Marvin wanted to CHEAT with our winnings today. He wanted to go to a movie or to a restaurant, but I stayed strong. The winner of the Winchell's wet T-shirt contest has to stick with her convictions.

One man's junk is another man's junk that they bought for a dollar.

Tomorrow morning we are having a garage sale. Actually, we are calling it a moving sale, as that sounds more classy. "Hey! Here's all our crap that we don't want cause we're moving! Come take it off our hands!" Yep. Classy.

Did you ever notice that the word "classy" is just the opposite?

One realizes how not spartan one is when one gets ready to move, doesn't one? (Does one wonder how many times one can say "one" in one sentence?) We are selling much of my once-exciting snowglobe collection, clothes we no longer fit into cause we're heifers, books that we thought we might read again but haven't because we are intellectually stifled, and oh! with the knickknacks. Good Lord, we are knickknack-y people. You'd think we were 72 years old.

Remember in the '70s when everybody's mom had like eighty-six Avon perfume bottles on their dresser? Or was that just moms in Michigan? There were the doll bottles that wore hoop skirts, men's cologne in racing-car bottles, and the ever-present Sweet Honesty, for the "I still want to be young" mom.

I recently found a bunch of Sweet Honesty roll-on deodorant at an Amish store and bought some for everyone I could think of. Well, I guess it wasn't THAT recently, as it couldn't have been this year. At any rate, I think I thought I was way funnier than any of my Sweet-Honesty-sweat-smelling recipients. I thought I was heeeeelarious.

I will write again soon to inform you of the results of our classy Moving Sale. Also, please note that our savings went up again, to $17,550, and one of my freelance jobs already paid me, so technically I will have $18,000 total in savings once I get to the bank. However, Marvin Gardens has decided to pay off my car before we sell it for the move, and to do so he is taking the money out of savings. But we will get that money right back when we sell the car, so I am not going to futz with the total in savings if that is all right with you.

And come on by tomorrow! Buy our crap! Give it a good home! No early birds.

Why we don't buy things.

6 p.m. I get home after a hard day of wielding the red pen at work, and as Marvin Gardens and I eat dinner, I remember that I am completely out of conditioner, and that for two days I have been using leftover leave-in stuff purchased during the Cro-Magnon era. Which is fine except that I am allergic to it, and it makes me cry all day, leaving me looking as though I take proofreading errors very, very seriously.

I make the fatal mistake of saying to Marvin, "You wanna go with me to CVS?"

6:30 p.m. Marvin and I get in the car.

6:36 p.m. We pull in to the CVS located about half a mile from our front door. As we are turning in I say, "Oh, let's go to Walgreen's instead." "Too late," says Marvin, "We already committed to turning left here."

Turning left is a very important thing in LA. You do not take it lightly.

Nevertheless, I say, no no, I want to find conditioner that keeps the red in my hair, and they probably won't have it at CVS. After nearly barreling over a poor old lady, who I smile at apologetically while sensitive Marvin mutters, "Move it, Gramma," we peel out of CVS toward Walgreen's.

6:40 p.m. At Walgreen's, Marvin drives past 79 convenient, open spots to park in the most far-away place possible -- so that we require trail mix in order to make it from the car to the store -- then spends his usual 45 minutes removing his seat belt, looking at himself in the mirror, rolling up the windows, sketching out a rough map of the store and putting push pins in it to designate aisles he might peruse, or WHATEVER ON EARTH HE DOES WHEN HE TAKES SIX YEARS TO GET OUT OF THE CAR.

6:45 p.m. Finally in the store, Marvin does the thing where he pretends he is looking at stuff, but really he is following me to hurry me along. I have never bought hair conditioner that enhances red, so for me this is an important purchase. It was relaxing, therefore, to have someone standing seven inches behind me at all times, picking things up and making fun of them. "Can I interest you in some Scoopios, which are like Cheerios but only a dollar?" Marvin brightly queries, interrupting my reverie over the conditioners.

6:46 p.m. Intimidated by my "shadow," I grab a bottle of red conditioner and go to the line. Which has one cashier and 7,098,453 people. I hear a weak little voice calling, "There's a register open here!"

Remember that scene in the Bugs Bunny cartoon, where Bugs Bunny is at the theater and he turns on the "Intermission" sign? And all the people rush out in a clump to smoke? That's what it looked like when that poor woman said a register was open. It was as though she were dangling bacon at a pack of wild dogs. Once we got there, the woman realized the register didn't work. So she lead us all, like we were on a field trip, to another register. THAT register didn't work. This was about the time Marvin shouted, "THIS STORE SUCKS. LIKE IT ALWAYS DOES." I scurried out of there before anyone knew I was related to him.

6:59 p.m. We go back to CVS. I find the same conditioner. Marvin tells me how much more he likes this drug store, because it is carpeted. Which, really, is what you need in a drug store. I take my conditioner to the front where there is no one waiting, only an employee purchasing something. So I wait. And wait. And wait. And make eye contact with the cashier, who gives me a dirty look. It becomes evident to me that these two are scamming the store, as they keep trying to run something through the scanner with their employee cards. Finally, I turn into Marvin Gardens. "LET'S GO!" I yell, and toss my purchase on the tube socks.

7:01 p.m. I call the CVS to complain to the manager, who tells me I should have found him in the warehouse, that he would have taken care of things right away. What warehouse? I am supposed to magically know about a warehouse? At this point I am ready to drive to Tarzana and shave my head, like Britney. What conditioner could possibly be worth this?

7:20 p.m. Marvin and I drive to the ends of Burbank to go to some ridiculous, grimy drug store that no human has ever entered in the history of time. We get in there and Marvin says, "Dirty, Gramma" which is a thing I say because my friend Cindy says it and Marvin has NO IDEA why he is saying it. Believe it or not, I get the same ding-dang conditioner and FINALLY purchase it. Seriously, I had better be STUNNING tomorrow.

7:30 p.m. We get back in the car, and Marvin says, "That conditioner was cheaper at Walgreen's."

Funeral services are pending.

Underpantch

Enclosed please find a picture of one of our birds, all grown up. He sat at the edge of that bucket all night -- and you can't blame him for being a tad concerned about actually leaving, after what happened to his brother. In the morning he was still there, on the other side of the bucket. Ten minutes later when we looked again, he was gone.

I do not know if he was Benedict, McMuffin, Shelly or Omelet. Birds tend to look the same. But he was the only one of my little chicks to survive. The others died in the nest. I have no idea why.

So, good luck, my little survivor bird!

Nature is cruel. Look what it's done with my ass. But I have to tell you I would welcome a nest all over again. I can imagine that in our new house in North Carolina there will be plenty of opportunity for nest action.
And hey, did you notice that we saved more money, even though Marvin was not technically employed all month? (He has actually been subbing quite a bit, but hasn't been paid yet.) Despite this, I still managed to sock away around $900 total for June, bringing our stellar savings to $17,000 in six months. Man.

Completely unrelatedly, I really do have to spring for some unmentionables, which I am gonna go ahead and mention. Cause I'm crazy that way. Stop me.

Beleaguered Office Mate once pointed out something brilliant. Did you ever notice that people who announce how fun and crazy they are really never are? "Oh, this accounting department is crazy. We have some fun here. Especially at tax time." Kind of like how people who are rich never really mention it. And how tasteful people don't go telling nine thousand strangers that they need new underpants. Or underpantchs, as I spelled it on my Christmas list in 1972 (my grandmother saved it) (and by the way, mom, nice manipulation. "Tell Grammy you want underpants!" Cause that's what every 7-year-old wants).

When I finally spring for said chones (see how bilingual I've gotten living in LA?) I will be sure to tell you all about it, in great detail. Color, style, maybe even a photo essay.

Before I sign off, I did want to plug one of the blogs on my list: The Hawaiian O'Brien. Dan and Renee are good friends of ours and they are selling everything except for their child and they are moving to Maui. No, they are not rich. (Unless they are doing the we're-rich-so-we-don't-really-talk-about-it thing I mentioned. But I don't think so.) Their blog is going to keep us posted on what it's gonna be like to actually make your lifelong wish come true.

You know, like how you wish for underpants when you're seven.