Oh No I’ve Said Too Much.

Sep

2010

That’s not happiness to see me, is it? — Michael Douglas, A Perfect Murder

This year for Yom Kippur bitches better atone to ME. I am DONE. I am not atoning for SHIT. I am the Kanye West of the blogging world. Bitches should be HONORED to atone their sins to ME.

Sometimes I just hate this city. Sometimes I just want to walk outside and just vomit everywhere. Sometimes I can’t be as positive about life as I was in my last post.

I just cannot believe that everything happens for a reason. I think this is something people say when something doesn’t work out for them. Life isn’t an episode of “Lost.” That person you saw at the airport is not going to become the love of your life 3 months later. Life is random and full of dead ends. Things don’t work out the way you think they will. So here’s where your choice comes in: you can accept that it didn’t work out as you thought it would and be okay with it or you can act like an asshole. I have chosen to act like an asshole.

When I was a little kid I thought I would be doing something very different than what I’m doing now. But in all honesty, when I was a little kid, I thought I would be Zorro. I thought that by now I would be running around in a cape with a sword. That didn’t happen. Am I pissed off that I’m not Zorro? Fuck yeah I’m pissed off I’m not Zorro! That’s bullshit! I SHOULD BE ZORRO, FUCK THIS.

I don’t want to be an adult! Except I like the part about drinking. That’s a great part of being an adult. Even though I’m an adult most people think I’m under 21. I got carded at my Nana’s 90th birthday party. The fuck?? And here’s the kicker: I was a year older than the bartender! What’s going on? And why didn’t I get carded today? SOMEONE FUCKING CARD ME.

AND NO, I WILL NOT JUST DANCE. IT IS NOT GOING TO BE OKAY. YOU LOST YOUR KEYS AND YOUR PHONE, WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW? YOU’RE DRUNK, GAGA! STOP TRYING TO GIVE ME LIFE ADVICE! YOU CAN’T EVEN REMEMBER THE NAME OF THIS CLUB!

So yeah, I’m done. If Bret Easton Ellis gets to walk around drunk while wearing sunglasses indoors, I should get to do that too. I have nice Polo Ralph Lauren sunglasses and mine are PRESCRIPTION, SO FUCK YOU BRET EASTON ELLIS. I still want to be your best friend though.

Hey, in order to be the voice of my generation, do I actually have to write something? Can’t I just tweet shit and be drunk? I think if Ernest Hemingway had twitter he would stop writing novels. Didn’t he think that the best thing he ever wrote was a six word short story? I REST MY PANTS.

Runaway — Kanye West

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Positivity or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.

Sep

2010

It’s a Zen thing, like how many babies fit in a tire. — Waiting for Guffman

I’m going to make a conscious effort, right here and now, to stop giving myself an ulcer. I am not past Almie or future Almie; I am present Almie. I can’t just sit back and let Future Almie take care of everything and I can’t blame Past Almie for everything. If I keep it up at this rate I’m going to wind up like F. Scott Fitzgerald but, you know, without the talent or the career. I’ll just be a poor drunk who dies of a massive heart attack. Or I’ll wind up like Zelda and I’ll go mad and die in a hospital fire. I’m not sure which death is worse. At least F. Scott was probably wearing a nice sweater vest.

Every time I want to skip past this part of my life or let my wind wander to another time I am going to take a deep breath, simply to remind myself that I am here now and alive now. One day, God-willing, I will be old and I will wish that I were in my place right now, typing this, worried about my future career and lack of love. Then I will really want to kick Past Almie’s ass. But then I won’t have learned my lesson at all. Even talking about it now clearly proves that I haven’t learned how to be in the moment. I am never going to be Mick Jagger. I am never going to be Charlize Theron or January Jones. I am never going to be Marion Davies. I am never going to be Oprah. I am never going to be Ellen Paige. I am never going to be Jeff Golblum. I am never going to be Serge Gainsbourg or even Charlotte Gainsbourg. But I will get to be me. I will get to be Almie. I will get to be Apocalypstick. So I’m going to honor that and I’m going to let that mean something.

I believe that “Let It Bleed” is by far the best Stones album. I can’t stop listening to “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” How many times in my life have I heard this song? In how many movies, TV shows, and Coke commercials? How many times have I wondered, what the hell does this song actually mean? When has Mick Jagger not ever gotten what he wanted? Did he want the private jet but could only get first-class commercial? And am I a hopeless teenager at heart for wanting to apply this song to my own life?

No matter. If I can’t get what I want, I’ll find a way to get what I need. Not what I’ll settle for, mind you. There’s a difference between getting what you need and getting what you can get. I’ll get what I need. Seriously, this song and the Mary Tyler Moore theme song may have changed my life. How will I make it on my own? This world is awfully big…but it’s time I started LIVING! I’M GONNA MAKE IT AFTER ALL! MEOWING CAT! I’LL GET WHAT I NEED! CHOIR OF CHILDREN FADING OUT! I’m going to be genuinely happy for people, and anyone who isn’t happy for me doesn’t deserve to be in my life!

I’m going to start enjoying this weird and awkward time in my life the way mothers love their weird and awkward preteen children.

Tomorrow I leave for the east coast for my Nana’s 90th birthday! I’ll be back next week!

Love Is All Around (Theme From Mary Tyler Moore) — Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

You Can’t Always Get What You Want — The Rolling Stones

The Mary Tyler Moore Show Theme — Sonny Curtis

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Silverlake.

Sep

2010

Jon Hamm’s girlfriend met Jon Hamm at a party in Silverlake.

You know who I meet at parties in Silverlake? The Internet. Attractive men with equally attractive twee little girlfriends. Grown men in Ninja Turtle T-shirts and neckbeards. Men of indeterminate sexual orientation. Poor clones of George Harrison and Cat Stevens. Rapists. Pirates. Knaves.

Not once have I met a guy even remotely similar to Jon Hamm. Not in looks or personality. I realize that Jon Hamm is a tall order. But is it such a difficult request of the universe to ask for someone not a complete and total fucking disappointment? Getting so routinely disappointed gets old. Furthermore, I don’t understand this sudden adoration for Silverlake and Echo Park. Silverlake used to be known as the place where my eccentric crystal-loving, ghost-channeling, bass guitar-playing uncle, lived. And now it’s a mecca for young rich white hipsters? What fresh hell is this where I have to drive to East L.A. to go to a house party? When did this great migration to Silverlake and Echo Park occur and why? Is it so that Hollywood producers can buy large 1920s cheap houses for their kids to live and party in? Probably. “This is an amazing apartment,” you say, mouth hanging open, wondering how they can afford it until you realize that they don’t. And if they can afford it, they’re basically living in a closet, even though for the same price they could afford something bigger and less gross in the Valley. Oh, but heaven forfend anyone live in the Valley. Let’s instead live near Dodger Stadium. That makes sense. Why are you people here?

But back to Jon Hamm. How perfect can one person be? Talented, handsome, great sense of humor, smart, thoughtful, and a feminist? What’s the catch? AND WHAT WERE YOU DOING AT THIS SILVERLAKE PARTY? Your career had not yet bloomed. You were working on the set of a soft core porn movie when you came to that party and your future girlfriend offered you a non-paying role as an asshole in her latest play. I need to be a casting director for theatre, clearly. What better excuse to get to know a handsome man? “I should cast you in my play,” I would say, after inhaling thoughtfully from my cigarette. Sick move! She didn’t even offer him a paying part! Bitch move! But it worked. They got to know each other, they fell in love, and years later they are still together even though he is now ten times as famous as she is. Meanwhile I can’t maintain a relationship for longer than six months. I’ve kept hair colors longer than I’ve kept relationships. HIGH FIVE! I’m told that I need to love myself before anyone else can love me. Super! I have a better chance of having tea with Michael Caine on the fucking moon.

But back to Jon Hamm. How can someone so attractive be so humble? Jon Hamm doesn’t walk into parties like he’s walking onto a yacht. I like to think that if a Jon Hamm equivalent was at a Silverlake party and I was at this Silverlake party, we would find each other. The silent understanding of, We do not belong here, we are not cool enough would come between us and we would forsake the cigarette smoking and discussions of, “how like, weird David Lynch is” (stunning observation, neckbeard) and we would be all right. But this never happens to me. Then again, this never happens to anyone. Except Jon Hamm’s girlfriend. She probably had it together. I, clearly, do not.

Still.

If you live in Silverlake and you’re under the age of forty then I’m sorry to tell you that you are a total fucking asshole.

Young Turks (The Disco Pusher Remix) — Au Revoir Simone

EDIT!!:

Dearest Almie…my little niece (whose birthday is my pin code) ,

Don’t think you can hide. So now I know how you really think of me… “the
place where my eccentric crystal-loving, ghost-channeling, bass
guitar-playing uncle, lived.” You could at least have said handsome or good
looking…would have softened the blow…

Well, regardless of your judgments, your blog made me laugh. Very clever.

Love,
your eccentric Uncle Steven

For the record my Uncle is cooler than all of the lame hipsters who live in Silverlake. IT’S HIS LAND.

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

You’re A Sad Girl In The 1970s: A Mix Tape.

Aug

2010

(Cover by the amazing Emily.)

TRACKLISTING:

1. I’m Not In Love — 10cc

2. The Air That I Breathe — Olivia Newton-John

3. If You Could Read My Mind — Gordon Lightfoot

4. Without You — Harry Nilsson

5. If You Leave Me Now — Chicago

6. At Seventeen — Janis Ian

7. How Deep Is Your Love — The Bee Gees

8. The Time Has Come — Anne Briggs

9. Mona Lisas And Mad Hatters — Elton John

10. Superstar — The Carpenters

11. So Far Away — Carole King

12. Wild World — Cat Stevens

13. Vienna — Billy Joel

This is a great mix to listen to while you’re hanging yourself.

Download here. I hope I did it right. Let me know what you think.

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Give Up The Ghost?

Aug

2010

There is no way that this winter is ever going to end as long as this groundhog keeps seeing his shadow. I don’t see any other way out. He’s got to be stopped. And I have to stop him.

I don’t even need to remember things anymore, not when I have Google. The internet remembers things for me. Google helps me find them. However Google doesn’t once ask, “Are you sure you want to search for this?” This where trouble occurs. Sometimes you find things that you don’t want to find.

You know how sometimes it doesn’t matter how old something is, it can still feel like it just happened? It’s the same way you can watch a movie you’ve seen countless times but it still moves you. Like when the bum pops up from behind the dumpster in “Mulholland Dr.” I freak out every single time. I know it’s coming, and I try to prepare myself, but it still scares me.

To paraphrase the cowboy from “Mulholland Dr.” let’s get right down to it, shall we?

I’m sick of being a back-up. I’m never the first choice. I am like Ralph Wiggum. Lisa didn’t “choo choo choose” him. She took a valentine card given to her, crossed off her name, and gave it to Ralph to make him feel better about how no one cho cho chose him. I am a second-hand valentine card. Am I being irrational? Maybe. But looking back on my dating history, I feel like I’ve come to a horrible realization that anyone I’ve dated and/or “dated” was with me because they weren’t with who they really want to be with. If their girlfriend hadn’t broken up with them, they wouldn’t have been with me. And I wonder how many other people feel the same way about themselves. And I wonder if we’re all just dating out of desperation. Because the person we want doesn’t want us.

My friend countered with something like, “No you just haven’t met the right guy yet! And any guy who doesn’t want to be with you isn’t worth your time!” To which I say, even the right guy for me…will only be with me because he’s not with somebody else. In that, he’ll always have the ghost.

Do we ever really give up the ghost? The past is everywhere. It’s never leaving. Thanks to the internet it will always be there.

At what point do you acknowledge the past without letting it ruin your present, let alone future? You can forgive someone. It’s like I said (and yes, I am about to quote myself), “There comes a moment in every 20-something’s life when they realize, ‘Holy shit, I’m a total asshole.'” We all do stupid things when we’re young and touching people and liking it. So you can understand and you can forgive. But how do you forget if you can’t really, short of brain damage, forget?

I don’t really know how to explain what I’m feeling any better than the Groundhog Day quote posted above. Except I’m not feeling that about a groundhog. But you know?

Too early for flapjacks?

Time Of The Assassins — Charlotte Gainsbourg

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

How Am I Not Myself? Part 2.

Aug

2010

My friend Chloe surprised me at work a few days ago (and it was a surprise to her, too; I don’t think she knew I was working that day. Also, don’t bother asking me where I work because I am not going to ever tell you, Internet.) I was standing in the corner, smelling our new lip glosses. They smell really good, okay? I hear someone call my name, and I turn and see a beautiful girl. I didn’t have my glasses on, so I didn’t know it was her. “Are you okay?” she asked me, coming up to me the way you would approach…well the way you would approach a sad-looking girl methodically sniffing lip gloss. We walked around the store, me pretending to help her. “You know, you don’t have to pretend,” she said. “Pretend to help you find something?” I asked. “No, you don’t have to pretend to be okay.”

It was such a release. I don’t have to pretend to be okay. I don’t have to laugh at something that I think I’m supposed to laugh at. I don’t have to be a happy person. I am the person who had a fucking diabolical summer and whose cat just died. But if I’m not supposed to pretend then what winds up happening is I let the depression overtake me and I watch “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” for something like the twelfth time only this time I thought Clementine was a bitch and this saddened me in ways I can’t even describe.

The day after that, I went to a friend’s birthday party. I thought I looked okay. I sat on the couch talking to a good friend of mine about hummus and other important things in life when the host saw me, stopped dead in his tracks and said, “Honey are you okay? You look absolutely miserable.”

Damn it. Now everyone’s looking at me. “My cat just died,” I said, thus officially taking on the role of Who Invited Her for the evening. Everyone was kind and sympathetic and told me about how they understood because they had to put their dogs down, and it just made me even more sad, thinking about a world where people are basically just waiting for that moment when they have to put down their dogs. I excused myself and went into the bathroom.

My face was pale, which is really saying something for me. I looked like Mick Jagger died, sat in the ground for a few years, then some sick people said, “Hey let’s dig up Mick Jagger and put him in a party dress” and did.

I spent yesterday in a fog. This morning I realized I bought red eyeshadow. I still approve of this purchase, I just don’t remember it happening. I also bought a giant ring and a rhinestone studded necklace of a cat. Yes, I am this person. This is me. Apocalypstick and Almie are at an impasse. I realize that I am now referring to myself not only in the third person, but as an alter ego. I understand if this makes you want to vomit.

And how was your weekend?

Ev’rybody Wants To Be A Cat — Psapp

Follow me on Twitter | Facebook

Goodbye My Love.

Aug

2010

My best friend in the world, Sony (pictured above), died unexpectedly this morning. (You may remember him from such films as “How To Get Over A Break-Up”). He was completely wonderful. He followed me everywhere, and if I forgot to leave my bedroom door open for him he would cry until I opened it. We had our own language. I swear to God he was sarcastic. He slept with me every night. When I took him to the vet I would carry him and he would sit quietly and patiently on my lap in the waiting room. People would marvel at him and say, “Your cat is so calm!” and I would pat him on the head and feel like a proud parent. I had many nicknames for him. I would coo over him and scratch his back and say things like, “Sooooooony, I think you’re exceeeeeeeeptional!” and “Soooooooony, I’m going to nominate you for a Golden Globe Awaaaaaard!” I loved him and he loved me and I will miss him every day.

Has a death of a pet affected you? How did you get over it?

Conversation Piece — David Bowie