After almost a year and a half in Los Angeles, I did what I should have done (by law) in June 2010. I registered my car in California. Anyone who has ever talked to me for longer than three minutes knows I have a (possibly unhealthy) obsession with Colorado, and getting rid of my Rocky Mountain plates was the last thing I ever wanted to do. But my fear of driving an unregistered car had hit an all-time high; I became paranoid. I thought every cop was out to get me. I passed a motorcycle cop driving the opposite direction, and while he showed no intention or movement towards pulling me over, I turned my music completely off, gripped the wheel at 10 and 2 and slammed on my brakes to an inconspicuous 5-under the speed limit.
I knew it was only a matter of time before I was pulled over, and knowing how I deal with unexpected situations, I'm would volunteer the information of my illegal stay without provocation. I had to give into the law for my own mental well-being. My confidence hitting the California roads has skyrocketed since legally registering in the state. Now when I pass cops I throw my hands in the air in a confrontational manner and yell, “what, bitch!” daring him to pull me over. Hopefully that mindset will pass.
It was really hard for me to take those good ol' Colorado plates off my car, figuratively and literally (I got my first ever blood blister from the pliers I was using-- A SIGN??) I thought about keeping them on my bookshelf in memoriam, surrounded by candles and Buffs paraphenalia, but my roommate noted how my room resembled a Chili's (one of his better burns) and I had to hide them behind a decorative box. The worst part about getting rid of my Colorado plates is that my CU Buffs sticker wilted away around the same time and now no one knows where my loyalty truly lies. To remedy this I'm currently looking into personalized liscence plate frames so that I can continue to proudly represent. Here is what I've come up with so far:
- I'd Rather Be In Colorado
- My Other Car Is... In Colorado Because That Place Is The Shit
- Colorado Is Smarter Than Your Honor Student
- How's My Driving? Call 1-800-I-Love-Colorado
- Honk If You're Horny... For Colorado (too much?)
I am open to more suggestions re: these frames. You can also contact me if you are interested in purchasing one of them, I'll get a deal if I buy in bulk.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
It's About To Be.... A GIRL FIGHT!
As you all know, by night I am a blogger and all around badass, but by day I am a nanny in Hermosa Beach. A place that, according to its website, is “the best little beach city.” It is great. It's calm, laid back, slightly backhandedly judgmental, but great. I feel like everyone I encounter is a former hard core college partier/sorority or fraternity member who, after making millions of dollars, decided living in Hermosa was a fair trade for giving up their partying ways to raise beautiful, shaggy haired children. PLUS there is a Farmer's Market every Friday that has really great hummus, so yeah, I'm down with Hermosa Beach.
My working day in Hermosa is pretty straight forward: I take the boy I nanny to the park and we have the time of our lives. Every day is the best day of our lives. While the park is pretty great all day long, four o'clock is my favorite time. At four o'clock, the older kids are out of school and all the moms find each other and cluster together to (I assume) discuss their latest yoga class, their newest yoga pants and their plan to start a yoga collective. This point in the day just reeks of class and ease. But this illusion was shattered a few weeks ago when a mom fight broke out. I've seen my fair share of girl fights (like, at least two), and nothing could have prepared me for the schizophrenic verbal assault that occurred between these two ladies.
The interesting thing about this altercation is that it was a dog fight that spurred a cat fight. Literally. But also figuratively. One woman's large, unleashed dog attacked the other's small, leashed dog without cause. Their dogs started it so they, AS LADIES DO, finished it.
I figured these competent Hermosa moms would exchange information (should the small pup have any injuries), passive aggressively forgive one another and return home to tell their husbands and/or Pilates buddies everything they wanted to say to the other's face. But these women were confused. Unsure of whether to stick to their educated, mild mannered, beach persona or seem sincere and ready to brawl without hesitation, these women bounced between catty, personal digs and thug-like threats for twenty minutes.
The fight started with the usual insults that fly out in the heat of the moment, “I'll fuck you up,” “you're an ugly bitch,” “you can't do the Lotus pose and I'm embarrassed for you,” but that quickly changed. As the argument escalated, these ladies knew they had to really hit hard with their insults. “I have a Masters...and... I'm... going to shove it up your ass....with your dog!” “I have a PhD.....BITCH.” Only in Hermosa Beach would women put each other down by flaunting their higher education, realize it wasn't living up the the expectations of the situation, and scramble for a something to build a gangster facade around.
I was too entertained to be upset with them for ruining the point in the day that usually lulls me into relaxation. And, yes, I should have been more upset for the three-year-old I nanny. But I think it was motivation to stay in school. He doesn't want to find himself in the same situation, and only able to prematurely end the fight with, “Well, I have a high school diploma.....DICK!”
My working day in Hermosa is pretty straight forward: I take the boy I nanny to the park and we have the time of our lives. Every day is the best day of our lives. While the park is pretty great all day long, four o'clock is my favorite time. At four o'clock, the older kids are out of school and all the moms find each other and cluster together to (I assume) discuss their latest yoga class, their newest yoga pants and their plan to start a yoga collective. This point in the day just reeks of class and ease. But this illusion was shattered a few weeks ago when a mom fight broke out. I've seen my fair share of girl fights (like, at least two), and nothing could have prepared me for the schizophrenic verbal assault that occurred between these two ladies.
The interesting thing about this altercation is that it was a dog fight that spurred a cat fight. Literally. But also figuratively. One woman's large, unleashed dog attacked the other's small, leashed dog without cause. Their dogs started it so they, AS LADIES DO, finished it.
I figured these competent Hermosa moms would exchange information (should the small pup have any injuries), passive aggressively forgive one another and return home to tell their husbands and/or Pilates buddies everything they wanted to say to the other's face. But these women were confused. Unsure of whether to stick to their educated, mild mannered, beach persona or seem sincere and ready to brawl without hesitation, these women bounced between catty, personal digs and thug-like threats for twenty minutes.
The fight started with the usual insults that fly out in the heat of the moment, “I'll fuck you up,” “you're an ugly bitch,” “you can't do the Lotus pose and I'm embarrassed for you,” but that quickly changed. As the argument escalated, these ladies knew they had to really hit hard with their insults. “I have a Masters...and... I'm... going to shove it up your ass....with your dog!” “I have a PhD.....BITCH.” Only in Hermosa Beach would women put each other down by flaunting their higher education, realize it wasn't living up the the expectations of the situation, and scramble for a something to build a gangster facade around.
I was too entertained to be upset with them for ruining the point in the day that usually lulls me into relaxation. And, yes, I should have been more upset for the three-year-old I nanny. But I think it was motivation to stay in school. He doesn't want to find himself in the same situation, and only able to prematurely end the fight with, “Well, I have a high school diploma.....DICK!”
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