Thursday, February 12, 2009

Kitten Goes To Hollywood

On my other blog I tell about going to Hollywood. (except it isn't posted yet) There I tell only the truth. Here, though, I give the rest of the story. A story which can only happen to me, or some kindred spirit. (bless their heart)

Hollywood is terribly overrated. Down by the theaters they were trying to get us to go in for the David Letterman show. We couldn't, because in Typical "Kitten Goes To Hollywood" fashion, well, here goes the story:

We went on a Warner Brothers in the morning. As we were leaving they gave us a list of nearby restaurants. Like, restaurants within a mile or two. One of them was actually a place we planned to visit while in L.A. But The Lion acted as if he didn't even see it and said we were going to Hollywood. We went to Hollywood. The Lion wanted to go to Chateau Marmont. We circled the place like hawks waiting for a parking spot. There seemed to be some sort of garage, but there were Town Cars sitting in the entry, and they never left. After chasing our tails for about ten minutes we decided to try something else. We found out the Peruvian place we wanted to eat was very close, so we went over there. It took forEVER to go a mile. Like more than 30 minutes, maybe nearly an hour? When we arrived, the place was closed. Typical Peruvian restaurant - opens for lunch, closes, then opens later for dinner. We drove around for a long time, again. When we finally got out of the car I told The Lion we had to really hustle because I needed a bathroom NOW.

Want to know what's a bad idea? Having sex when you know you are having your period! What's worse? Periods and orgasms are an interesting combination. (Yes, let's get that uterus contracting all day!) Then, for fun, let's go more than an hour without being able to get to a bathroom!

I ran into this donut shop where I saw a woman working. I asked her where the closest ladies room was. She said she didn't know. I asked her "You don't know where there's any ladies room around here at all? She was really hateful and said she didn't. I asked again "Seriously? You work here and you don't know anywhere with a ladies room?" The whole time she had this look on her face like she was just forced to eat a skunk or something. A couple of really nice guys told me there was a bar next door and I could run in there to use the facilities. I ran in there and I had bled through my Spanx and my pants. Lovely - I'm wearing pink pants and things are a mess. Luckily, it was colder in L.A. than Ohio that day and I had my coat. But it's hot when you're walking, you know (and also when the hot flash/panic attack sets in again) - and I couldn't even open my coat to cool off. So of course we couldn't take the guy up on his invitation to see David Letterman. Because I couldn't sit down and also ruin my white coat.

And because I can never let anything go? On the way back to the car I stopped and took pictures of the exterior of the donut shop and the "No bathroom" lady. She saw me on the sidewalk taking her picture and gestured frantically, shouting at me. I continued snapping photos and she continued shouting and gesturing. I waved at her and took more pictures. When I was done I gave her the good old thumbs up sign.

I'm so glad I made her mad by taking her picture and waving to her. She can rot. With her attitude I'm sure her life has to suck.

I went back to the hotel and scrubbed my pants and spanx, drying the spanx with the hair dryer, got dressed and went to dinner.

One Margarita, well earned.

*Not David Letterman, since he is in New York City. So really, I have no idea which late show they were trying to get us to watch. I feel better knowing I didn't pass up an opportunity to go into the Letterman show. 

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Super Smart Strikes At The Airport.

Try not to be jealous, okay? We arrived to the 'C' terminal and are thinking about two things:
1. Finding our gate
2. Finding breakfast.

If you know me well you know which one is more important to me. We were looking for our gate, but there was no indication of gate 21, let alone gate 21F. Because they whole trip had been enchanted there were, of course, three employees just sitting there (on a break) to answer any question I may have. They were all cheery and so was I. "Where is gate 21F?" I inquire. They look puzzled and said they really didn't know. Am I sure it's 21F? Even though I was (sigh) I opened my purse to get my boarding pass. As I was doing this I realized... My seat was 21F. My gate, on the other hand, was 50B, and not at all difficult to find. They laughed, I laughed, and The Lion laughed.

Breakfast was imminent. The gate could wait.

Friday, February 6, 2009

That's PFCPB To You, Punk

The best/worst (take your pick, I'm exhausted) part of today was when I took my 34B self to Victoria's Secret to be fit for a new bra. I knew I needed a fitting so I just acted all bold. I walked right up and asked for one. But that guy really only wanted to buy something for his wife, go figure. So I asked some gal who works there. She was glad to do it. After measuring me, which is never awkward or humiliating, she gave me a whole box of bras to try on. Thank God I carry pony tail holders in my purse because after a few I was getting what I'm pretty sure are the hot flashes combined with a full-fledged panic attack. I keep having her come back to show her how my boobs are suffering some kind of elephant man syndrome in these things. I tell her my old bra is better than these.

After much examination of my person she decides I need to go up not just one cup size, but two. I give her the hairy eyeball and thrust my boobs up towards her with my hands and exclaim "These boobs are NOT 34Ds! Look at me!" She tries to talk me down by talking about how I have this thing called a "Full Cup" and I should celebrate it because it's why my boobs are so perky. I have to admit, it sort of worked when she started saying stuff like "Perky". In the end she helped me a lot and deserves way way wayyyyy more than they paid her today. I can promise you that much.

I bought a bra and she wrote down the other style that worked for me so I can order more brases online. I now have a love/hate relationship with her, though. It's because the pink/pink striped bra I wanted to buy just didn't work for me. I wanted something greatly fabulous and that was it. But I couldn't have it. I think it's a conspiracy against people with cute little freckles on their shoulders or perky breasts. Or both.

For spending so damn much money they gave me some Godiva chocolates and I AM NOT EVEN LYING. Godiva chocolates from Victoria's Secret! They're sucky because I'm picky about my chocolates but I'm going to be a good perky breasted sport and eat them anyway.

From now on I would liked to be addressed as Princess (Full Cup) Perky Breasts, okay?