Adios 27

So, the day is almost here. That dreaded day - my birthday. On Sunday, I will be surpassing 27 and aging to the big 2-8. And it makes me want to gulp - lots of booze. Just kidding, kinda.

I have this recurring nightmare that on the morning of my 28th birthday, I wake up and I have wrinkles all around my eyes and I lose two teeth. Irrational, yes, but, the truth is, I'm getting up there. Some of you may be rolling your eyes in disgust, but, last year was the first year that I didn't look forward to getting older. The pressure is on. My only next milestone (16-drive, 18-vote, 19-drink in Canada, 21-drink in US) is 65-AARP membership. Wahoo.

This weekend I drink to another year gone another year's worth of braincells gone. But, I have a feeling that although I'm feeling a little blue about the day, that my friends are going to make it one hell of a good time.

I must admit, though, that 27 has been a riot. I've seen a lot of things and met a lot of people and have definitely bettered my life significantly. I thought about setting "goals" for 28 but, why put that added pressure on myself? I'm already dosing my face with layers and layers of cream and brushing my teeth at least 4 times a day. I'll be happy if I maintain my wrinkle-free eyes and all of my teeth. Consider that my goal.

My birthday is always an adventure because it's always the day before Halloween. The best part is, I always get to look different on my birthday because we dress up - so at least if I do get the instant wrinkles and lose some teeth, it'll be in style and I'll just claim I'm trailer trash for Halloween and then I will put the petal to the metal for Extreme Makeover.

So wish me luck. Wish me lots of great times and lots of great presents, I mean, memories. No, I mean presents. Cash and credit will also be well-received - send them all to me c/o the blog.

Here I go - into the land of my "late" 20s. I better sew those oats while I can (excuse me - what does it actually mean to sew oats?). I jumping feet first and hopefully, I'll have plenty of writing material upon my return!!!

Helping the Foreigners

Everyone has their talent or talents in life. And I think I discovered mine today.

I was having a conversation with my gorgeous friend, Angie today. She is a native of Peru but was educated in Wisconsin or some cold state and has lived here ever since. You can barely hear an accent, but, she still isn't exactly "fluent" in all the slang terms. And, in her defense, having any kind of conversation with me will elicit some confusion as I have a strange tendency to invent my own words and sayings. Not only is it fun, but it also leaves a lasting impression on people. I'm just a girl trying to make her mark in the world.

So, back to my original story. We were talking about god-knows-what and we got on the subject of Christmas and I mentioned that I am staying put in LA for Christmas this year due to rising plane ticket costs and overall irritation of traveling during the holidays. (I'm just plain burnt out on it.) And she made a sort of squealing noise and screamed "ME TOO!" Well, we were just thrilled (as you can tell from the strange sounds and use of capitalized letters) and she said to me, because this is our sense of humor, "I'm so excited I think I just peed a little."

I responded with, "I think I did too. But luckily, I'm wearing depends today so it caught the squirt." She burst out laughing and claimed to have never ever heard that phrase before, which completely baffled me because the use of "squirt" or "squirted a little" is a common crude phrase used by my friends and I. (We're sooooo ladylike.) For example, I always say, "Cameron is crazy. Whenever I walk him, he squirts all over ever tree he sees." To be honest, I just don't like the use of the word "pee". So, instead, I've always said "squirt". Well, she thought it was the funniest thing ever. And it was then that I realized my talent.

God put me on this earth to teach foreigners slang, crude, and Rachel-esque terms, phrases and words. I am like the Moses of bad american language. And here people thought I'd never make something of myself.

I really do that though. Remember Niko, our old German intern (I blogged about him). Well, everyday, he would come to me and I would teach him one word or phrase, such as "beat the shit out of" or "jank" or "weaksauce" or "what's the 411", etc. This legacy has continued with our new German intern, Christophe. Although it's not as often, I still teach him a number of phrases and such that will make his transition into LA living much easier (or so I tell them) - it will probably only score them nasty looks and a few smacks across the face. But I put that all in a disclaimer.

It's a very enlightening moment in life when you realize your born talent. I hope some day, all of you can discover your hidden talents as well.

Now I can go to pilates and really meditate because now my life has purpose.

Barter & Trade

I recently heard an unusual (or so I thought) agreement between a friend of mine and his wife. Now, I want to premise this description with the fact that I am not demeaning their relationship in the least. They are a happily married adorable couple and they shall live blissfully together forever and forever - as long as stripclubs are still around. Sorry, not necessary.

Anywhosits, onto the arrangement. This is what I like to call relationship barter and trade (b & t). I honestly believe that the differences in men and women really come to the surface when a couple participates in relationship b & t. So, my friend, the husband was approached by his lovely wife one evening with the idea of popping out some offspring. After some thought, he agreed contingent on the fact that he gets a puppy if "she gets" a baby; to which the wife agreed and so began the mission to make a baby - those details I have been spared, thank goodness.

I was a little surprised that he agreed to this b & t session as I didn't realize he was ready for a baby. To which, bless his heart, he responded with, "Well, I need something to get me beer so I don't have to get off the couch." CASE IN POINT.

Look, I'm not saying that men aren't sensitive or don't love children as much as women - I know plenty of cases where the roles are swapped. But, let's face it - men like to look at all things in relationship b & t through the glasses tinted with: beer, sex, sports, fast machines, and anything else that is "fun" (ie, puppy).

In my wacky, naive (ha ha) world, I always thought that babies came about in a relationship in one of two ways: oops and full-on-basil-temp-taking planning. It never occurred to me that men would withhold their little swimmers for negotiations. But alas! (I've never actually used that word before.) Maybe, in a way, relationship b & t is a co-gender game that we all play that guarantees the inability of one gender to have complete control over the other. Men need women to survive and women need men.

Whatever the reason for this relationship b & t all I know is that it must work in some ways. As crazy as it is - "I'll see your puppy and raise you a baby" - it is what keeps the balance between couples - or at least that's the goal.

So, note to self - in next relationship, know my bargaining power. Know what I want and what they want and: Ready-Set-Go! Let the games begin. One new pair of Manolos for one weekend of fishing with the guys. Or, twins for a speedboat. How simple is that?!

Sometimes You Need Beer to Fall In Love

The Hollywood Bowl is a really fantastic venue for concerts. Quaint, great acoustics, outdoors, romantic, and you can bring in your own food and drink - including booze. Of course, that generally sets me up for a headache the next morning - quite literally.

Last night, Charlie and I (no comments from the peanut gallery - this has been on the calendar for months) went to see Gavin DeGraw and Sheryl Crow at the Hollywood Bowl. We packed our picnic lunch and some travel size wines, and had a great evening. I know what you're all thinking, "CHARLIE!?!?" Yes, Charlie. Let's just say that we've been talking again - nothing serious, so cork it. ANYWHO, the concert was pretty great. My only complaint is that Sheryl Crow, a boots and jeans kinda gal played and sang her heart out in Manolo Blahnik stilettos and a Dolce & Gabana gown. Man, has she gone all Hollywood on her roots. But, nonetheless, she was entertaining. And, Gavin DeGraw, who opened for her rocked. If you haven't already, check out his CD - he's one talented kid. But, he definitely won my permanent affection when he sat down at the piano and played the most beautiful and brutally honest song I'd ever heard. The title? "Sometimes You Need Beer To Fall In Love". It was almost as if you could see the Doves of life flying out into the sunset. So romantic. But seriously, the more wine I drank, the more romantic the ambiance - or so I thought. I think our little friend Gavin has a valid point.

I did wake up this morning with a blazing headache and an Englishman beside me. Lordy lord, will I ever learn? Red wine gives me headaches and so do British men. No need to lambaste me. I'm doing it quite well to myself.

On a lighter note, I did a TOTAL LA thing this past weekend. I had Cameron, aka - the new doggie star, professionally photographed. Now, before you think I've totally cracked up, I must justify it with the fact that I was at the pet store while they were doing it. As you can see, Cameron is a total stud. And so no one gets confused because he's so puffy and white, I put him in a dump truck to prove his masculinity. Laugh all you want. When Cam stars in the next "As Good As It Gets" and makes me millions, you'll all come knocking on our door.....

Dumb and Happy?

Last night, for work, Stacey and I went to this Design Conference up in North Hollywood. They were having a lecture and we thought it would be a good event to attend since my job is to be toothy and charming and roll in some new business. Unfortunately, when we got to the lecture, there were only about 30 people and the people speaking were total SNOOZE balls. When the moderator asked one of the award-winning product designers about various projects he enjoyed and he began talking to how he designed a tampon box, we knew that was our signal to beat it - fast.

But let me rewind for a sec. Prior to going to the lecture, we stopped off at the only place in the surrounding neighborhood for a nice glass of organic wine (ick). On our way to the lecture, we passed this tall drink of water standing outside the "cool" bar that we completely missed (even though we parked immediately in front of it). As we passed by, I said, "Holy hotness, Batman." Stacey, of course, stopped, turned around, and stared at him. After a few failed attempts to make me go talk to him, we continued on our way.

So that brings us up to the tampon box design and our immediate departure for the horrid details. As we stumbled out of the lecture hall, Stacey took an immediate left (not right - which was where the exit was and I was quickly walking towards). She wanted to "look at that cool art". There were some art pieces hung over in a corner representing a local gallery. As we were looking at the pieces (and I'm still completely dumbfounded as to why we're doing this), a man's voice came up behind me and said, "Can I interest you in some art?" When I turned around, there was the tall drink of water in all his hotness. It was at this point that I became a bonified mute (which some people would kill to see). I managed to make an ass out of myself, thoroughly entertaining Stacey. I even forgot my name when he introduced himself. Utterly embarrassing. Even though I probably looked like I should be wearing a helmet and hopping into the local short bus, he asked to exchange business cards and then we left.

But it hit me. My acting stupid was not mortifying to me during the time that I was brainless. It only became awful when I looked back on it after coming back to my semi-intelligent self. And it made me think and I know that I've thought of this before. Do you think that it is easier to go through life stupid? I look at some of these men and women that reside in So Cal, and I think, "Wow. How do they make it through a day with such a lack of knowledge?" (I think my thoughts are a little more harsh, but, I thought I'd be semi-friendly.) Perfect example: Jay Leno's J-Walking. These people can't even point out Australia on a globe or name our President. But, the scary thing is, they seem perfectly happy - in fact, they seem far more content than some of the most brilliant people that I know. In my moment of utter stupidity yesterday, I was truly able to sympathize with these "less than brainiacs" and I didn't feel an ounce of humiliation or discomfort.

So, maybe it's true. Perhaps life is easier for stupid people. I'm definitely going to have to ponder that one for a while as well as the additional pros and cons of being "not the brightest bulb in the pack". Your opinions are also welcome......

I just hope that I don't revert back to "Dur" Rachel for a while. "Dur" Rachel is not so smooth. There will be no dates in my immediate future if I keep forgetting my own name.

Storm Watch: 2005

I swear, the moment a single droplet of rain lands on Southern California land, all the television and radio channels turn into perpetual Chicken Littles. I woke up this morning to the TV morning show with the flashing headline: STORM WATCH LA: 2005. Give me a break, will ya? It's rain. Those of us that have not had extensive plastic surgery will NOT melt - I promise.

I thank my lucky stars each and everyday that it rains that I work 3.4 miles from my house. Why, you ask? Because not only does the Emergency Broadcast system go into effect when it drizzles, but, everyone apparently gets crazy glue stuck to the bottoms of their braking foot. It's always a great idea, people, to be cruising at 40mph on a freeway and then for no known reason, you slam on your brakes. Are you just checking to make sure they're still there? Because they are. And because of them, I'm gonna ram into the back of your E Series, you stupid So Cal driver.

I learned to drive in Buffalo - in snow, sleet and ice (since that's all that's there). I am like the USPS of drivers. I have the solid ability to drive in varying driving conditions - AND I do not freak out. Here - as soon as the sky starts to spit, people pop their Prozac and turn into instant driving idiots. But the mass panic, as I pointed out before, is generally brought on by the stellar media stations of the greater Los Angeles area. Our fabulous weather men including Johnny Mountain and Dallas Raines (I AM NOT MAKING THOSE UP) are so worried about the schlack in their hair that they instill panic and chaos in all those who watch their irresponsible "STORM WATCH DOPPLER 6,000" or whatever it's called.

It's Hollywood - drama seeps into our weather too. You just can't escape it.

I am seriously considering putting rubber bumpers on my car so when people slam into me, they will just bounce off and bump into someone else. It may not look hot, but, damn it, it's practical for this town.

So, off I go to check to make sure that Cameron is not a wet washcloth of a dog because I left the back door open - which is horrible, considering he is facing "STORM WATCH 2005" on his own. I wonder if they will be advising the construction of arcs tonight on the news - I'll keep you posted.

Meet the Rock's New Stalker

Real quick - I had to post this because it's so ridiculous. My friend, Stacey, is obsessed with "The Rock". She had the thrill this week of meeting him in the flesh at "The Greatest Sports Show". The picture they took was great. But then she decided to make some alterations..... and you thought I was crazy! Photoshop is a miracle invention...

Schmoop: Overrated or Secret Passion?

I began my day today with an interesting conversation with my girlfriend, Amy. Amy has been in a long-distance relationship for a while, now, with a really great guy. He is coming in for a visit in a couple weeks and as we were discussing the visit, we got into a deep and intriguing conversation about the concept of "schmoopiness" and how it can affect a relationship.

First, let me define "schmoop". Schmoop (n.) has been defined as: "Flowery prose designed to make people all warm and fuzzy inside; may include actions as well, but, only if they are especially cheesy in nature" (Copyright 2005: Amy). For the majority of the population, schmoop is generally experienced from female to male. But, there are those men out there that enjoy and use schmoopiness to quite an extent.

Second, let me explain the difference between Amy and I. I adore schmoop. I am schmoop to the core. I ooze schmoop. Amy finds herself a tad uncomfortable with it and definitely has a personal schmoop deficiency, although she is actively working on it. It is these differences that bring to the table what I call "Murphy's Law of Schmoop". People who enjoy schoop do not receive it. People who don't necessarily enjoy it do receive it. WTF?

So, I posed the question to her: "What if two schmoops get together?" Her response, "They would turn into two giant blocks of cheese." Interesting visual. I guess what she is implying is that it would be serious schmoop overload and the relationship would begin to mold. Ewe.

I have to admit, though, I have a really hard time believing that there is a bit of everyone that enjoys being the schmoopie (not necessarily the schmooper). We all love to hear good things about ourselves, especially when they come from people that we care about. There is a schmoop inside all of us. I know it. Even you guys who say, "That's gay." You love it. Embrace it. Get over yourselves and enjoy it when someone acts a little cheese. It may just make your day.

Show V. Sale - Big Difference

There comes a day in every LA girl's life when she learns the cruel lesson of Trunk Sale v. Trunk Show. One seemingly simple mistake can cause a world of difference. And that day came for me and Stacey today.

A couple weeks ago, we received an invitation (VIP of course) that invited us to the Trunk SHOW for BCBG. In our pre-coffee haze, Stacey and I read, Trunk SALE. For those of you men out there, here is the devastating difference:

Trunk Show (n.) : An event where woman with nothing better to do waste their time and money on designs released to them for pre-order before the general public see them. You can expect to pay 30-40% more at these shows than general retail. Comes from the Greek word, "Bunk" or "Crap". Score: F-

Trunk Sale (n.): An event where woman beat each other senseless trying to purchase samples from designers at half the price, even if they don't have a chance in hell of fitting. Comes from the Hebrew word, "Awesome". Score: A+

So, you can see our dilemma. We drive ALLLLLLL the way to Rodeo Drive, find parking, battle with the old rich people driving and walk in expecting a private room with loads of samples at half price. And we found ourself staring at a single rack of incredibly overpriced pieces of shabby fabric.

We left and got chicken philly subs. Much more satisfying for a fraction of the cost.

Lesson learned: READ the invites carefully. Take note to "Sale" v "Show". If it's "show" - f it. Not worth the fake smiles you have to give in the store. But if it says "sale" - whip on those boxing gloves and the platinum card - momma needs a new pair of shoes.

Brad & Jen Setting the Precedent

Simon says, "Get a divorce."

YAH! Looks like Brad, Jen, myself and BS are the winners!!

Although we weren't really married (other than in my head), BS and I have come to a conclusion. (Same as Brad and Jen.) Although Brad was/is a complete douchebag as far as the general public can tell, I'm not going to compare him to BS. If you look past my funny, charming, witty demeanor, you will see that I'm actually really bummed out about it. But, I think in the past couple months, I've come to realize that you just can't control other people. Oh believe me, I've tried, but, it's, as Bush Sr. once said, "not gonna happen".

BS is a amazing guy, but, he's just too damn busy to keep me around. At no point in life should you feel like a nuisance or an additional cause of stress to someone. Granted, he never intentionally made me feel that way, but, with his business and CONSTANT (and I mean CONSTANT) travels, he's had 5 hours in the past month to devote to "rachel time." NOT ACCEPTABLE. He is adorable, funny, smart, driven, sweet, thoughtful and overall perfect for me on paper, but, sometimes even the most "perfect" mates, you have to let go. I've discovered that there's the bizarre little thing called "timing" and it means a lot in a relationship.

So here I am. Single again. And it doesn't feel that bad. I guess it could have been worse - I could have gotten left for crazy Angelina Jolie. Or, I could be pregnant with Tom Cruise's cult-beginning baby. Nope, instead, it's back to me and my girls and Cameron. And to be honest, that's pretty damn good!

Let's all have a moment of silence for BS. He has been good to us. And here's to the next sucker who is just down the road in Rachel's chronicles.....

Midget Update

I'm sitting at work, so, I decided to take a moment and post a quick update about the dinner with the Midget last night. It went remarkably well. I'm sure that the heavy doses of tequila helped, but, he seemed a fair bit more mature than 2 years ago when we were dating. I was shocked to say the least.

I could tell that he had thoughts of reconnecting in mind, but, thank god we made friends with this awesome, also drunk, couple at the restaurant. We ended up completely hitting it off and hanging out so the pressure of one-on-one time was off. It is rather curious to me, though, how easy it is to make new friends when it's couple (at least perceived) to couple. I met one of my best friends that exact way. Perhaps the way to go, particularly if you move to a new city is to hire a dude to go to dinner with you and pretend to be dating and that will allow you to "pick up" new girlfriends. I think it's genius and I'm actually considering opening my own service. Kind of like a wingman/wingwoman service, but, with the goal to help the individual client to meet friends of the same sex. And since this is now in writing, don't any of you EVER think about ripping off my idea. I will hunt you down and kick your ass. I'm skinny but I'm scrappy.

So there it is. If you live in the greater LA area and are a self-proclaimed "loser" of sorts with little to no friends, just let me know, give me $200 in cash and we'll try it out. You never know, I may just be the key to your popularity and happiness. Wow. I'm brilliant.

Ok kids, I'm back to work (yes, on a Saturday). Love to all and oh, by the way, there was absolutely NO touching of any sorts last night. He may be more mature, but, I'm not about going backwards in life - always forward. My mom taught me that and she's never led me astray.

Tootles! Go Ohio State!

Old Men Suck TOO!

What does it mean when you, as an attractive, 27-year-old female get rejected by an old wrinkly man?

A co-worker and I went to this golf tournament luncheon today (because I'm the world's worst golfer, I didn't play - but I'll always eat). Anywhosits, by the time we got there (Hello? Can you say LA Traffic?), there were no raffle tickets left, and quite honestly, other than the target peeps I needed to brown-nose, I only went for the open bar and raffle prizes because that's how I do. So, I decided to pull a Rachelesque Anna-Nicole: flirt with the little old man sitting next to me who had raffle tickets coming out his ears (apparently he thought they would compliment the hair that was also coming out of his ears). Sure enough, he won himself a whole giant basket full of, well, what else, but teddy bears (I don't get it either). I'm not 16 but I had my heart set on one of the teddy bears - it was my mission and he, so I thought, was an easy target.

I was SADLY mistaken and my ego was quickly put into check. After he won, I said, "Oooooh. Those are so cute! I wish I had one." He smiled and nodded and then pulled the basket of bears CLOSER TO HIM. I turned to my co-worker and said, "Holy shit. I just got denied by Mister Magoo!" Someone should have just smacked me in my face with a frying pan - at least those scars are visible!! But, I'm a fighter, after this entry I'll never think of it again. I may have to drink myself into oblivion tonight but then the ultimate rejection will pass. I guess it could have been worse: he could have been a old man who was just released from prison. Ah, good times.

Update for you crazies who actually read this: BS called again last night and this morning and was talking like nothing was wrong. Short term memory maybe? At first that's what I thought, then he threw in a nifty little mention of the fact that he might have to move back to CINCINNATI, OHIO PERMANENTLY in the next two months. Um, WTF? So, I pretty much hung up on him and told him that I would speak with him later because I was absolutely disgusted with the nonchalant mention. WHAT THE HELL IS HE THINKING? "Oh, want to do dinner on Tuesday? By the way, I'm moving across country in a month or two." Unbelievable. As I've stated many a times before, men NEVER cease to amaze me.

So, I'm treating myself to a free meal and PLENTY of free margaritas tonight with Midget Matt. Perhaps if I look hot, he'll restore my ego. He'll get nothing out of it except a big bill but I don't consider that cruel - I call it KARMA.

So, this chick is signing out until Sunday or so. Oh, I also want to send a shout out to my beautiful little sister, Jill, who turned the big 1-9 yesterday. Yup - I'm getting old.

Bring on the margaritas.....

Woodwork

Can someone puhlease explain to me two things:

1. Why is it that men can smell when you're potentially single again?

2. What can't we mix n' match our men like we do our wardrobe?

Let's address the first one in one simple sentence. My OLD boyfriend, Midget Matt, emailed me yesterday (yes, same day as BS sought out some much-needed thinking time) and asked me to dinner ("just like the first night we met" - PUKE) this weekend. Do we give off a special scent that can only be detected by ex-boyfriends as soon as we are rejected/on a break/dumped/etc? Now, you ask if I'm going to do it. It might be fun to rub it in his face what he gave up, plus, I can score some free food and margaritas and then meet up with my friends later. Hey - I get hungry too, you know. I'm just trying to figure out how they can sense it. It's freakish, actually.

SO onto number two, which is actually kind of tied to numero uno. The margarita "first night we met" puke invitation made me think. There are so many qualities about Midget Matt that I wanted to instill in Charlie. And then, there were some qualities of Charlie that I wanted to instill in BS. So, why is it, that we can't just mix n' match our men like we do our outfits? Perhaps those Mormons are onto something - polygamy is much like mixing n' matching. Maybe on Saturday, I feel like watching football all day - Midget Matt is perfect. Maybe on Sunday I want to go dancing - BS. And Monday I want to, um, hear a British accent - Charlie. Why isn't it socially acceptable for me to have three boyfriends as they suit my moods? Better yet, it would be really amazing if women could "adjust" their men based on traits. Take a little of him, a little of that guy, etc. Then we'd all be happy and content. Although, we are women, so we'd be miserable because we'd have nothing to bitch about. Hmmmm. Maybe I need to rethink this a bit. Comments, ladies?

The Runs

Men never cease to amaze me. Truly. Just when I think I've found a "good" one with a solid head on his shoulders and not an FU (see earlier blog entry), I find myself being sorely mistaken. I'm a whole new Oprah.

BS and I had a fantastic evening last night with some of my co-workers at dinner, a play and drinks post-play. Unfortunately, after not seeing each other for a month, I had some pressing issues to bring up on the way home. For example, "How long is this travel thing going to continue?" "Am I an added stressor in your life?" You know, the typical "girl" questions. Apparently, after a couple glasses of cab, the questions become the most important questions in the world. My timing is always impeccable. Long story short, it didn't go so hot.

I got the "I need time to think" lecture today and lord knows how much women LOVE the "I need time to think" talk. It's almost as fabulous as being told to "relax" (another personal favorite). I guess the problem is that the minute my unwavering support was challenged, BS formed what I call "The Runs". As a rule of thumb, The Runs generally appear when a relationship becomes too complex for a man (ie, the woman gives a hint that she is not utter perfection and expresses personal needs). Instead of just putting forth effort to fix or work on what is needed, they get The Runs and split (wow - that was a horrible visual - poor choice of wording, sorry).

Why do men think that dismissing a relationship and starting over is easier than simply listening to the woman and working towards what she asks for? Don't they realize that ALL women have needs? The cycle doesn't stop. It's simply human nature. Perhaps all marriage is is when a man is simply tired from The Runs and is forced to remain stagnant and work within the one relationship that they find themself in at that particular point in time. Maybe it's just all timing.

I'm not bitter. No way.

I hope that isn't the case and I actually find myself believing that there is a truth and goodness to marriage and love. Naive? Maybe. I just hope that this "time to think" is really what he needs and that we can work through this. But, if personal history is any kind of an indicator, I'm not holding my breath. Have no fear, my little followers, it's nothing a good bottle of Pinot, some sappy Kelly Clarkson and Avril Lavigne tunes, a new pair of shoes and some cake can't fix.

Life always goes on, yes? And, I guess the silver lining for you readers is that if I'm "asked" to get back into the dating scene (yet again) after my short sabbatical, the blog may get more exciting again. Seriously. Where's the OG when you need it? Someone book my flight to VEGAS!!

Miss Me?

Thought you might have missed me. I apologize for my suckiness lately, but, it's been pretty hectic up in this bitch. (Sorry - went to the Comedy Fiesta last weekend and they used that phrase a lot.) Plus, I've been wiped out from my recurring back pain so, I've been cranky and I didn't think anyone wanted to read a cranky Rachel blog. So, really, I was sparing you. So, there. You can't be mad at me now.

It's actually been a pretty eventful week. You can say it's been an eventful "typical" California/Hollywood week. Why, you ask? Let me explain just a little.

First of all, let's reverse in time to 2000 when little Rachel stepped onto Southern California ground as an official resident. At that time, I made a promise to myself that I would do ONE audition while I lived in LA. After all, isn't that what everyone does out here? For the past 5 years, I've avoided the industry all together but then, as fate may have it, I got thrown into it last week when a funny little casting note ended up in our office. "Wanted: Sexy Professional Females Who Wear Contact Lenses Wanted." (Ok, I added in the "sexy" part.) "Wait! That's totally me!" I thought. So I followed up with it and dragged my friend Stacy in (they were casting for duos) - and who better than the "Rachel and Stacy Comedy Hour"?!

The initial audition was pretty lax. We showed up and sat on a couch (hello? cliche.) and answered some of the casting directors questions on camera. We also had to take a photo together and the awesome advice given by the Casting Director's assistant was (since he obviously didn't think that we were naturally capable of smiling): "The trick is to look at each other and laugh and then look at the camera." Um, no. I looked at her and almost peed my pants. I'm sure the photo looked awesome. Thanks for the advice, bud.

After we managed to crack up the Casting Director and her camera lady, we left thinking "O yah. The documentary is totally ours." We did get our "call back" (I'm getting so fluent with the acting jargon) for the following Saturday. In LA style, to prepare, we raided the Fred Segal sale in the morning and cruised to our second audition with me sporting my new Valentino stilettos.

The second audition was actually quite nervewracking. There were 8 or so people in the room, cameras and lights everywhere. And we were seated in the lone couch in the center of the room. All eyes on us. It was awesome. We "performed" for the "crowd" for the next 20 minutes, discussing everything from shoes to salmon v. chicken to Stacy's excellent ability to "click her mouse" (that one got a LOT of snickers, even though she was innocently referring to her computer mouse). We were a smash hit. But, as we were leaving we had one of those "moments": we were exiting and the "stripper/models" were all moving in for their call back as well. Uh oh.

But, good news is that they were obviously going for the "whole package" because we landed the gig! Hollywood - WATCH OUT. Stacy and Rachel are entering the realm of documentary film. We're going to be HUGE. Who ISN'T going to watch a documentary on Professional Females Who Wear Contacts?! It's genius.

Now we're just waiting to find what our "shoot" date will be. How exciting. I hope I get to keep the shoes and the clothes. Maybe they'll even through in some Lasik surgery....hmmmmm.

Have no worries, though, I will not forget "the little people" when we blow up from our acting debut. I will always retain my Rachel-esque charm and, of course, the blog. The blog will live on forever.

Yup - in Hollywood style, I've also become delusional. Awesome.