The Women of LA

Hi everyone,

'Tis I, the former writer for Running Into Screen Doors. First, please know this is merely a creative hiatus I have taken... Between trying to make a dolla, dolla bill y'all, and raising the cutest baby on the planet, my brain's a little fried and I have been having a difficult time coming up with anything worth reading that doesn't sound preachy or boring as hell.

Having said that, I hope you'll enjoy a YouTube video I just stumbled upon... As you know, I lived in LA for three years, and while I wasn't trying to pick up chicks or "hit that ass," I LOVED this video and all its accurate stereotyping. Also, I don't think you can go wrong with a video that features Pauly Shore, Urkel and Mr. Belding...

Hope you are doing well... hugs and kisses from me to you!

At the Red House

My mom's internet recommendations are usually hit or miss.

Thank you, Mom, for this GLORIOUS recommendation.

Making My Week

A few things have been making my week. They are as follows:

Rifle Paper Co. has teamed up with Villa Romo to create UPHOLSTERY FABRIC.

Ummm, Mom, I think I'm gonna need Grammy's ugly gold chair back. I have officially figured out what to cover it in.

Some pretty damn stylish maternity gear that I've been drooling over since Lovely Morning brought my attention to it on Monday. This being one of my faves:

My sister-in-law shared this Pinterest image with me and without even having met him, my son has his first Halloween costume!

And finally, I know I should probably not laugh so heartily at this, but I can't help myself.

How's your week been?

Drunk Baby

Sometimes, you just need a laugh.



It's an oldie, but a goody. Enjoy!

Dementia Can be FUN! Part Two

Well, this weekend found my grandpa back at the hospital after another stroke. We're not yet sure if he'll be able to go home or if he'll have to be transferred to assisted living, so at this point all we can do is wait and see.

I haven't had the chance to speak with him since it happened which means I am unaware of the quality of his speech, his thinking and memory. I doubt it's improved his ability to remember though, so I'm sure there are some interesting chats ahead.

Case in point: I have to remind my grandparents every time I speak with them that I'm having a baby. I only do it about once every three times now because each call goes something like this:

Ring, Ring, Ring...

Grammy Net: (in a southern Georgia accent) Hello?
Elizabeth: Hi Grammy Net, it's Elizabeth.
GN: Oh, hi. How are you? (Sidenote: I'm almost certain she doesn't know who I am at this point in the conversation).
E: Kyle and I are just plugging along, doing our thing.
GN: KYLE! (She now recognizes who we are as a couple because she loves my husband... I'm still not sure at this point if she knows who I am, however). How is he doin'? You know, he is just the sweetest boy. They are hard to come by like him these days, you sure are lucky.
E: (now comes the fun part) Well, I'm sure you'll remember that we're having a baby.
GN: A what?
E: A BABY.
GN: A baby?!? Are you kidding me?!
E: Nope. Not joking! We really are.
GN: Well this is certainly a surprise (at this point I nod into the phone because they have "known" since December). Who's the father?!
E: Kyle... remember? My husband?
GN: KYLE! How is he doin'? You know, he is just the sweetest boy. They are hard to come by like him these days, you sure are lucky.
E: He's doing good. Hey, can I speak to Papa George?
GN: You want to speak to George? You know, something happened to George. I can't figure out what it is (she has very little recollection of his health issues over the past 2 years). Let me see if I can get him.

At this point, I hear her plod along or I hear the sound of the dial tone. If she hangs up on me, I usually wait a couple days to call back. Occasionally, she'll actually remember that (1) I've just told her I'm having a baby and (2) she needs to hand the phone to my grandpa. If these two things have happened, the phone call progresses as such:

Papa George: (in a Texan accent) Well hi there, Ginny!
Elizabeth: It's Elizabeth, Papa George. Not Ginny.
PG: Oh, Elizabeth! I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that. Is there some reason I associate you with a Ginny?
E: Yeah, she's my sister, remember?
PG: That's right. So, your grandmother (this is a good sign because he's referred to her as my aunt in the past) tells me you're pregnant?
E: Yup. Due in August!
PG: (in a very stern voice) Well I hope you'll be getting married, young lady! How are you ever going to graduate?
E: Papa George, remember, I graduated in 2006. And I am married. You were at my wedding? It was 3 years ago.
PG: WHAT? That can't be right. You're still a teenager.
E: No, I'm actually almost 28. Pretty crazy, huh?
PG: (long pause) Time sure does fly, Ginny.
E: Yes, it does, Papa George, it certainly does. Well I have to go, I'll call you soon, ok? And take care! Love you.
PG: Love you too, Ginny. And say 'hi' to your mom and dad for me (please note there is no mention of Elizabeth in this sentence... Still not sure how I got ranked last in my family).

And then I call back about a week later and we have the exact same conversation if I'm lucky. If I'm not lucky, a usually drawn out call happens, where the same pleasantries and questions are repeated over and over and over again.

Naturally, I'm Ginny the entire time. 

So ends Part Two of our three part series, Dementia Can Be Fun! Tune in next time when I follow up with an unexpectedly racist joyride and more.

Ghetto Hikes Love

A friend of mine from childhood posted a link to a blog this afternoon on Facebook, and to say it made my day is, well, just not enough.

This may have made my week. It might have even made my February...

Folks, if you haven't become acquainted already, allow me to introduce you to Ghetto Hikes.

Photo courtesy of National Geographic

The premise, as written by the blog's author: "I'm 28. I have a full time job leading urban kids on nature hikes. I simply write down the shit they say."

Whenever I find blogs like these, I thank my lucky stars (the same went for Stuff White People Like and Hipster Puppies); I get especially excited about creative premises that my husband and I can enjoy together, and Ghetto Hikes is one such blog. 

If you don't think it's worth your time, why not indulge in a few quotes directly from Mr. Cody's pupils:

"Hey Dustin! Getcha ass ova here! We buildin' bird feeders! Peanut butter pinecone craft time, mothafucka!"

"Mr. Cody, hook me up wit a glue stick. Ima cut and paste this fuckin' orange leaf into my memories book."

"Them sheeps is funny lookin'. Homie wearin' a Snuggie full time."

"Mr. Cody, this sleepin' bag feel like I'm kickin' it wit a big ass loofa or some shit."

Friends, please send some love to Ghetto Hikes... a blog this perfect deserves appreciation.

Celebrity Photos: WTF Edition

There have been a couple celebrity photos that have caught my eye as of late, and not in a good way.

One: when did Robin Williams become homeless?

Even the Monsters aren't fans.

It appears the man has fallen on some hard times because I've only seen comparable beards on the derelicts who live along the creek near my house. I'd like to say he's taken on a role similar to his character in The Fisher King, but all signs point to "no."

Is it wrong to say I personally think he looked better playing a homeless man? I guess with Tim Allen's sitcom career being back on track (eye roll), he could always play St. Nick in The Santa Clause 4.

Two: when did Macaulay Culkin become anorexic? Or is he dying? Or is dying from anorexia?!

My hope is that he's spent the last year and a half starving himself due to pining after his ex-girlfriend Mila Kunis, which is, I think, understandable to most. However, I just get the drogas vibe from him. In conjunction with his pallor and sunken, hobgoblin eyes, the weight loss is not doing him any favors. 

Nor is that facial hair! Come on, MC, we want you returning to your healthy best (Richie Rich, circa 1995, obviously).

I feel I owe it to my readers to point out that the next available article on good ole Macaulay was titled, "Culkin Denies Dating Porn Star." Dude, if I were you, I'd just go with it. At this point, I think it's the only street cred you have left.

Interesting sidenote: you may remember a few months back when I talked about my favorite childhood celebrity crushes from the 90's. It has become my blog's most trafficked post, and not because of any Americans, god no! I'm pretty sure the length of my posts leave most US readers high-tailin' it for the hills. I get around 50 hits a week on that one write-up because France, Spain and Germany's Google searches turn it up for fans of Hanson, Macaulay Culkin and Elijah Wood... true story.

So what did we learn today? Only grow facial hair if your cheek bones can handle it. And make sure to eat food. Both good rules to live by. 

Happy Thursday!

Post 101: Dementia Can Be FUN! Part One

Yesterday was my 100th post and I didn't even realize it! There should have been balloons and cake and a marching band. I will say there was Indian food, so that's always a plus.

Sugary desserts or not, GO ME and thank you to my three loyal readers!

This photo is meant to represent me forging trails in the... uncharted* world
of blogging (*please note, uncharted may be grossly overstated).

I felt I should mention it in my 101st post (ahem, this one), but I needed something compelling to write about in order to convey this milestone... and it led me to wanting to divulge about my senile grandparents. I should warn the faint of heart that this will not be soul warming or politically correct, so you might want to "x" out this page if that's what you're looking for.

To explain the deterioration of my paternal grandparents, I have to paint a picture of how strange they have always been. Growing up, my sister and I always understood we had an "awesome" set of grandparents (previously mentioned here and here) and a "meh" set of grandparents.

Our "meh" set didn't want to be bothered with seeing us and for the majority of my life, I've seen them once, maybe twice a year. Even though they were my dad's parents (and by parents I mean his father and stepmother), my mom would be the one to reach out to them. The three of us would meet them at the Napa Airport every summer: they would fly in on their little plane from Sacramento, we would eat lunch and they would head back to "the big city."

They were very predictable. We received a birthday card with a dollar for every year we were alive until we hit ten; after that, it was a standard ten dollar bill until we were twenty, and then it was just a birthday card until those stopped altogether. Our annual Christmas cards contained fifty dollars until we hit twenty as well.

For those of you who think I'm greedy, I realize how pathetic it is that I associate them with these cards and cash, but honestly I don't have many memories otherwise.

There were no phone calls between us unless we dialed them and they chose not to screen us through their answering machine. They spent more time visiting extended family in Texas and Georgia. They were passionately into exercising and eating health food (I happen to think I eat a rather healthy and balanced diet; theirs by comparison, was more a "lacking in all fun" sort of menu, but healthy nonetheless). They enjoyed their privacy. Oh, and they're sort of racist. And by sort of, I mean really.

It wasn't horrible or anything. It was reality. And we had our awesome grandparents, so we didn't ever feel like we were lacking. Until the good set died. And then our apathy towards the remaining pair was really apparent.

I warned you I wasn't going to sugarcoat things.

A couple years ago I received a strangely scrawled message from my grandma saying she had been trying to get a hold of my family for weeks and had not been able to find any of us. She said she'd called all the phone numbers she had for us and that either no one answered or it was strangers. This was news to me, as none of our numbers had changed. It should have tipped us off then, that her brain was starting to fail, but I just chalked it up to her chicken scratch writing in her address book.

Last year, we received an urgent message from her saying that my grandpa was in the hospital due to a seizure. He was intubated and in a medically induced coma and had been for 4 days when she finally got a hold of us to relay the info. Once my dad got up to Sacramento, he discovered that my grandma had dementia and that my grandpa (now comatose) had done an exceedingly good job of hiding that fact from us.

So the games began.

My dad took her into get tested for it while my grandpa was still out cold. She was asked thirty questions, all those which a person of normal brain capacity should be able to answer like, "What is your name?", "What year were you born?", "What year is it currently?"... you know, fun stuff.

She got eleven right and during this time, my father was enlightened to learn she thought it was 1997 and that she had been born in 1972.

Neither were accurate statements, in case you're wondering.

So ends Part One of our three part series, Dementia Can Be Fun! Tune in next time when I follow up with some tales of the 21 group hug salute, unexpectedly racist joyride escapades and more.

Sh*t People Say In LA and A Little Article about Schools and Religion (You Know, Kids' Stuff!)

It's one of those "all over the place" kinda days.

I was going to post about this article today, but I hesitate to start throwing around my opinions about religion and bullying and the Constitution. It's a little heavy for a Tuesday, c'est vrai?

So, here's my take in three sentences: I have friends and family (all of whom I love) who are religious, atheists or agnostics. I believe everyone should have the right to practice their religion freely, without persecution, in their own time, but also believe in the separation of church and state; the First Amendment is solid for a reason, people. I am appalled that the young girl (Jessica Ahlquist) in this article would be outrageously bullied for having her own beliefs (because, don't forget, being an atheist IS a belief), but forcing her school to uphold the constitution. Oh, and one more thing: shame on you, Peter G. Palumbo (Rhode Island State Representative), for not upholding the Constitution you swore an oath to support AND for having the audacity to call this girl 'evil.'

I guess that was four sentences.

Phew! How about some fluff, now, hmmm?

Yes, I realize how overdone the Sh*t People Say videos are, and while most of them are crap, I think it actually only matters how relevant they are to your life (I still love the original and this one for its crazy, though accurate, bride impersonations).

People, having lived in Los Angeles for three years, I have to say this is pretty spot on. While watching it, I cringed at the number of things I've said in the past (and if we're being honest) in my every day life, although I will say I've never had Intelligentsia coffee or snorted blow with Skeet Ulrich (or anyone for that matter; no cokeheads up in here!!).



Do you have any favorites Sh*t People Say videos you're crazy about? Better question: do you think the things you say in real life could make for a good two minute short film?

Either way, I'm hoping the people who said the shit they did to Jessica Ahlquist will realize how ludicrously wrong it is to attack someone (let alone a teenage girl) simply because their beliefs do not match with their own.

Namaste (please note I am saying this ironically and as an homage to Angelenos).

Book Club Thursday!

Hi everyone. I'm hosting Book Club at my house tonight (not to mention it's just a crazy day in general), so there's not much time to write. However, I found a video that simultaneously gives a nod to old literature while maintaining my love of whimsy and ridiculousness.

Ladies and Gentlemen (via a status update from an old classmate of mine), I present The Hobbit starring CATS.



I think their use of "hairless cat" for Gollum is genius. I appreciated the strange rainbow anime cats flying across the sky as well.

Hope you're up to some whimsical stuff this Thursday, everyone!

Just a reminder...

... that families of all shapes, sizes, colors and creeds are families if they are based on love.

“There is no doubt that it is around the family and the home that all the greatest virtues, the most dominating virtues of human society, are created, strengthened and maintained.” 

-- Winston Churchill

Happiness, Lions and Bad Wigs

A few things have been on my mind as of late. One, I realized last week that I'm humming again. It's something I've done since childhood, and though it may not seem a big deal to you all, it's absence a few months back was an indicator of my stress level which was, well, ludicrously high.

I'm never the first to notice my humming because apparently, while it drives people a tad mad (as it turns out), I do it subconsciously. Honestly, I probably spend a good couple hours a day doing it and have no clue unless someone points it out to me. Usually, they are songs that no one in their right mind would want to hear, like those from the musical Wicked or one of those Maroon 5 tunes that no matter how bad and whiny, still manage to burrow itself into your brain like a tick nearly starved to death. Damn you, Adam Levine!

When I caught myself humming last week, I suddenly realized it was the first time in a long time that I felt immensely happy. Immensely wonderful. Immensely filled with joy. And it felt so great to recognize it.

In continuing this trend toward all things happy, I wanted to share something I found through StumbleUpon last week that did perpetuate those feel-good feelings (although, if I'm being honest, and we try to tell the truth here on RISD, it was really more shock than happiness). It was a series of photos showcased on this blog that Life magazine published in the 1970's about a family who had a pet lion. I haven't been able to find the accompanying text, but this is some truly crazy stuff.

"Omigod, Tricia, remember that time we stayed up ALL NIGHT
and ate an entire quart of ice cream?!"

I think most children would be horrified to have a lion nibbling on their back.
I would hope they would also be terrified of this boy's bowl cut. To each their own, I suppose.

"Bitch, please!"

"I don't know why you bother to depress yourself with the news, honestly."

I originally thought this woman was wearing a lion-inspired vest. No joke.

"You'll never get Olympic gold if you don't tuck your damn feet together!"

"I totally forgot about that! Wanna eat popcorn and do each others' nails?!"

"I told you those polka dots make you look fat. And delicious."

"You should really get the gap between your teeth looked at."

"But you said we'd go to the park! You said!"

I hope this housekeeper was paid well.

"I think my mane would make an excellent wig. What do you think?"

This last photo comment brings me to my next order of business: Kristy Swanson's shiteous wig in Flowers in the Attic, for you see friends, having a wig made from lion hair is a big no-no.

Have you seen this movie? Read this book? It is all kinds of crazy. I rewatched it this weekend and have not stopped thinking of this raggedy mop they threw on her head halfway through the movie. Is it supposed to look like real hair? I'd be crying too, Kristy!

Aside from looking like it was made from the shorn fur of an anemic lion, the only other thing it reminds me of is a "Bashful" Dwarf doll I had as a kid that was rubber except for the nice pile of "hair" that was essentially one long rasta dread that smelled of cigarettes.

And I think we can all agree this wig surely reeked of cigarettes.

May your Tuesday be filled with happiness, friendly lions and passable wigs. Namaste.

Sh*t Girls Say

Have you seen this making its way around the Internet today? Hysterical is really the only way to put it.





I can't resist anything Juliette Lewis because of The Other Sister and this lovely performance in college.

I haven't forgotten...

... about this blog!

And don't worry- there's still one more Africa post in the pipe, so get excited (or groan, if you're over hearing about it)!

A couple excuses (because they're always fun):

• Two Thanksgivings and a 90th birthday party for Kyle's Grams.
• Getting a new place and moving into it!
• Trying to finish this course before the end of December. 
• Preparing for a girls weekend (!!!!) with my sister in NYC this weekend.
• And, you know, life in general.

To keep myself from feeling like too much of a blog slacker, here's some Pinterest pinsperation for you while I attempt to not have a nervous breakdown.

This is all well and good, but my new house
is looking AWFULLY sparse without the things...

A little chaos currently at the new abode.

Has this claim been substantiated?

Can someone please tell my husband this?
The complaints I received for the amount of books I own
was a little ridiculous. This is not Fahrenheit 451, people!
And I refuse to buy a Kindle!

Not on the street corner or anything, but you know...

I need a pair of swimming pigs to call my own.

Bed is my mistress currently.

Apparently, Sheniqua is the one hustlin'. This made me L-O-L if you will.

If you love procrastinating on Pinterest as much as I do, you can follow me here.

Happy Monday everyone! I hope you all had a fabulous Thanksgiving filled with your nearest and dearest.

Africa Celebration Week: Day Three

If you read yesterday's post you know we're backtracking to the end of our safari during our first week in Botswana. Thus, we ended with our standoff with the elephants as we headed out of Moremi Game Reserve.

Our fearless leader got heat stroke whilst driving from sitting in the 115 degree sun the ENTIRE time and while it sucked for him, he did manage to get us back to Okavango River Lodge in one piece. Do you know what it feels like to go swimming after being caked in dirt for four days in a row? The answer is heaven. It feels (and felt) like heaven.

Staying there was what we called glamping (glamourous camping). Each tent had lights, cots and a little bedside table, complete with turn down service (a major plus in my humble opinion!). To get an idea for our accommodations, take a looksy here:

You know you're not in Kansas when you can take glass bottles of booze into the pool.

I couldn't miss an opportunity to post a skinny photo of myself.

Gurs loves a good lady fan.

Feast your eyes on sexpot Gareth, everyone. He's the guy in blue at the end of the table
(not to be mistaken for the guy in the purple hat).
We thought the baboons had stolen all photos of him, but we were wrong, thankfully.

With a full bar at our fingertips for the first time in days, you know we partied like rock stars. Mixmaster KayKrayKray kept the tunes bouncing all night with her fabulous iPod, thus the gals took advantage and taught a few of the local femmes how to dance like complete American idiots. I think they appreciated it. And there may have been a somewhat heavy conversation about racism in there as well, but the highlight came after the bar closed for the night and many of our (possibly very inebriated) crew went swimming in the river next to camp.

After a hippo got in the water.

Luckily, everyone's alive and shockingly has all their limbs, but I was asleep and thus didn't see my husband run wholeheartedly into the treacherous water. This is a good thing.

Next day's adventure took us to the the local grocery store before our drive to Kasane (most definitely more treacherous than swimming in a river with hippos). You know what makes for a great hangover cure?

Ass pies.

 Africa's got that one figured out, apparently.

In regards to the road from Maun to Kasane, let me say we had a pilot (you know, the kind that fly planes) driving our car, and even he was scared shitless of the terrain and hideous driving skills of the locals. It did allow for some rousing conversation however, and we did spot the only ostriches of our trip.

Kasane was a one day stop, but provided one of the most memorable sunsets of my life. We went on a boat cruise along the Chobe river, and since it was low water season, the amount of game we saw in a square mile area was completely insane.

Gives new meaning to Baby Monkey (Going Backwards) on a Pig, doesn't it?

Special.

Not so cute suddenly, right?

Right.

[insert Hungry, Hungry Hippo joke here]

Little guy was stuck in the mud!

But his brother helped him out. Beyond adorable family dynamic.

Dusk is my favorite time of day no matter where I am in the world. This is going to sound completely contrived, but when I have the chance to enjoy that moment where the sun eclipses over the side of the world, I feel like it gives meaning to my day and allows me to reflect on what I did and what I'll be doing the next day. When I was in Africa, during sunset I would feel completely at peace. There's this calm that seems to settle over everything and everyone, and I found myself staring at the sky in silence until the colors would start to shift from yellows and reds to blues and purples.

Phenomenal stuff.

The next day marked our journey by car, boat and foot into Zambia from Botswana. The border crossing consisted of the following gems:

It was a Sunday and everyone was donning their most colorful clothing; I appreciate reasons to dress up.

Once our border crossing was done, we hired a taxi to take us to Jolly Boys. This seems to be the current trend of this post, but I'll let the photos do the talking:

Nothing says ADHD like drawing raunchy tattoos on each other in a taxi bus.

"I feel kind of bad about spraying water on him.
Wait, is he breathing? Yeah, he's breathing. Sooo... wanna do it again?"

I was a cat for Halloween, btdub.

On our first night in Zambia, we partook in a booze cruise. You know, a luxurious trip down the Zambezi river with a completely open bar. I think the people that run this normally make money off their customers, but we made it a mission to make back our cash in booze. They clearly didn't know who they were dealing with.

The man in a purple hat.

Unintentionally completely matching.

It's ok to be envious of our matching t-shirts. And if you can read you'll realize that no, we're not Christian missionaries.

Groggy and hungover, but always up for a good time, white water rafting down the Zambezi was on the books for the next day. Unfortunately, the people that took the photos of us haven't gotten back to me, so there's no photo evidence we did it. Having said that, I feel I should mention I've never been on a vacation with a group of people where I've been the sissy. You know, the person who's clearly the most afraid of any somewhat "dangerous" activity. I like to think I fall in the category of being somewhere in the middle: up for an adventure, but cautious to a point.

I was the sissy by a mile, there's just no denying it.

In my defense though, we did do death defying things, and I stuck to the following MO: "Guys, I love a good adventure, I'm just really afraid of dying." I feel it's a logical assessment of where I stand.

But peer pressure. Good ole peer pressure. While I was vocal about my fear, I did end up doing almost everything my friends did.

Which is how I ended up in Devil's Pools. However, I have a spectacular baby shower to get hopping on, so we shall start with that on Day Four of our African celebration.

Happy weekend and try to make every moment count!