Today in unflattering paintings, Ms. Rosa Parks
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My plan for my lunch break today was to do one of my favorite things — drink a diet coke and read in my car, in an underground garage. My life is super hectic so it’s just a nice ahhwwwfreetime type dealio. There is a university on the first five floors of the building I work in, I go to the student store to buy the diet coke, and I start to hear this lady who was absolutely beaming with good gossip that there were protesters outside because the Vice President of China was in the building. O.o. I was like “Is this freal or is this just student store gossip? Is student store gossip a thing? It should definitely be a thing.”
I peaked outside and saw a bunch of protestors holding Tibetan flags, and very little security for the VP of China. I had a moment of debating whether to people watch or to guy hide in my car in the garage with my book. The book won, I had an hour of peace, away from the noise of the office/the protestors. Sorry Tibet, I still think you are a good cause and human rights violations suck, and the Dalai Lama should be allowed back, etc. etc., but needed some time for Ashley peace. When my sweet, sweet hour was up I went back into the building. Once again, no security other than the doorman who I’m on a first name basis with, even though I am the worst small-talker. He could totally beat me at arm-wrestling, though, so I guess that’s a form of security. Also, it’s not that hard to beat me at arm-wrestling.
I turn the corner to elevator bank, and the doorman is there. I was like Allen, what’s going on?
“The vice president of China is here”
here, here?
“Yes”
Then Allen started to get a bit jittery and he caressed the door of an elevator. Super weird.
Then out the elevator walks the vice president of China and then I am suddenly swarmed by Chinese people who were business causualing it up. And they all start bowing toward the Vice President of China. If you haven’t had the experience, it’s super challenging to navigate your way through a crowd of bowing people because they all bow at different speeds. It’s straight up Super Mario, and yes, I am aware that Mario is Japanese — you know what I mean.
Also, it was probably super offensive that I didn’t bow at the Vice President in China. I probably should of, but I was so stuck in whattheheckisgoingon-ville that I couldn’t even bring myself to actively do anything.I eventually made it to the elevator, pressed nine and then sat in front of a computer for a few hours.
Also, last night my friend and I pinky swore at Baja Fresh only to look up and see that Ken Marino was staring at us. Then we watched him sloppily eat a burrito, alone, on a Wednesday night.
… how was your day?
Solid purchase, one-sided deep conversation and staring contest.
When I see that people have crappy jobs, I try to be OK and empathetic towards them screwing around with people. Like, I imagine that it sucks to have stand on your feet and make coffee for six hours. I understand that it’s horrible to clean toilets, drive a bus, be a bingo caller, etc. I get it, and I feel like jobs like those come with a certain amount of permission to be a dick to people. Two weeks ago, my manfriend and I were a bit inebriated at the Culver City Starbucks and we really wanted something super caffeinated.
We stood there staring at the menu trying to come up with the perfect combination of chocolate and caffeine. And understandably a weighty decision like that takes time. We were a bit slow, probably annoying, and we definitely held up the line of one other person for a solid minute. We decided to go with a skinny mocha (Los Angeles) with an extra shot of espresso, we got the drink and left, only to discover they made us a really gross green colored drink that tasted like soap. My first thought was that “this is disgusting” and my second was “I could totally understand why they did that to us, but I want my $4 back.” I am probably never going back to that Starbucks, but I get it.
On a higher level, being messed with by some jerks at Starbucks isn’t a big deal at all. But being a dick and being a horrible person are totally different things. Guys, I am pretty sure this mexican restaurant in West LA sits its few black customers at the table under the giant painting of a watermelon. I have picture evidence.
While logging into my work email from home for the first time, I decided I was going to use my parent’s credit card to buy my dinner.
I’ve been working on a short story, so I am going to have to tide you over with this scene from my favorite television series of all time, Father Ted.
You know how when you think about people you always picture them a certain way? Be it a hoodie they always wear, the haircut they’ve had forever, etc. etc. I always picture my old landlady with an eye patch on. I actually almost wrote iPatch; this is a full disclosure blog.
Her name was Nancy and she was a very special lady. Her office was across from the liquor store between the door and the elevator, so everyone in the building had to pass her on their way in. She loved small talk, but she was very awful at it and it was awkward for everyone. It was always things like “there is a parking spot available if you need one, I am only telling you this because you’re my favorite”, “tell your roommate I’m not raising the laundry free because she’s my favorite” and random outbursts against illegals.
Her sidekick/only co-worker was this woman named Angelica who had really long nails, like long to the point where they were starting to curl over. Angelica would always have them painted with some pretty fabulous rhinestones. Basically, the two of them together were the best because they clearly didn’t like each other (but I guess it’s also possible that Angelica was also Nancy’s favorite). I would describe them as like the Odd Couple, but this is 2K12 so I am going to say that they were like Jimmy Fallon and Queen Latifah in Taxi. That comparison is definitely not entirely accurate, I’ve just been thinking about that movie a lot, and bringing it up to make sure that it actually exists. “Hey, remember that buddy comedy with Queen Latifah and Jimmy Fallon? I don’t understand why that happened.”
Anyways, Nancy, eyepatch, liquor store, apartment. I came home after calculus one day at 10 AM, opened the door to the apartment building, felt the feeling of dread of having to conversate with Nancy, passed her office door and actually made an audible sigh of relief. It should also be noted that I really hate small talk, because it’s just so shallow, formulaic and inconsequential. I have strong opinions about things. So, I was super stoked that I had made it home free and that I could just go back to my apartment and pass out for a few hours. I turned the corner to the stairs and there stood Nancy at the mailboxes, a 60-something lady wearing leggings as pants, one of those 90s gray T-shirts with cats on it and an eye patch.
She proceeded to have an entire conversation with me without ever mentioning why she was wearing an eye patch. I could not tell you a single thing she said because I was so fixated on it. Because not only was she wearing an eye patch, but she was wearing an XXL eye patch and she was wearing it crooked. I just can’t overlook things like that. At least with small talk it’s OK to stare at someone’s face, I think, so I was probably in the clear. So now whenever I think about Nancy, I think about her in that moment, with her eye patch on.
One of my really good friends, and yes, favorite people, lives in that building now. Every time I hang out with him, which is always at Bob’s Big Boy in Burbank and always after midnight, I go out of my way to ask about Nancy. Two weeks ago I got a text from my friend saying Nancy was leaving, and all I have to say is that it’s the end of an era, Glen Building.
- performing at UCB Feb. 4
- The Old Spice guy played the sassy mother I always secretly wanted in a scene last night
- My UCB team is up and running; My iO team is almost up and running
- I forgot the definition of “free time”
- Real blog post tomorrow, not going to pinky promise it, though
- the Ihop on Sunset is particularly crappy, don’t go there unless you like $3 toast, gangsters and prostitutes. Wtf?
- Boba for dinner =/= the best idea
- I got 68 points in scrabble by using the word “Glitzy.” Not sure if this makes me cool, I’d like to think it does.
Here is a picture of one of the weirdest things in my neighborhood. I am going to try posting snapshots that are representative of my life, like this.
