Appreciate Nature

Korean Karaoke

I don't understand karaoke. Why would anyone want to be subjected to horrible singers belting out songs when you can just stick an ice pick in your ear? For this reason, when my friends suggested we all go to Korea Town for karaoke, I gotta say ... was not thrilled.  I knew immediately this meant the day after would be one spent incredibly hung over -- really, the only way to survive karaoke night.

And for those of you who are not familiar with Korea Town karaoke -- this is the kind of karaoke where you rent a room and for 5 hours straight friends sing songs ... one after the next, no stopping. No place to go. No other random patrons, like in a bar, to be distracted by. Just singing. Lots and lots of very very loud singing, crazy strobe lights, flashing tambourines and insane Korean-produced videos, which accompany each song. It's like an epilepsy-victim's worst nightmare.

It's pretty insane. So, I went. I drank. I drank some more. And then ... the anti-Karaoke queen ... SANG!!!!! Okay, so, I did sing with my bf Steve, but I did get up there and do it and ... I am pissed that no one took a picture. So, I can't even prove it! But I did -- I sang Outkast's "Hey Ya" and Seal's "Kiss from a Rose." Two stellar picks, in my opinion.

Two highlights from the evening. #1) Mike singing "Bootilicious" and 2) A closing group perfmance of "We are the World." Upon leaving someone mentioned going back next month. No way. This is the kind of thing you can only handle once every 3 years.

And yes, the day after did include much-needed carbs and milkshakes.

Grocery Shopping Sans Diet Coke

See anything missing from this grocery shopping cart?
Hell yeah, you do.

Ugh. No. Diet. Coke.

You have no idea. Normally when at the check-out, I see my favorite treat ...

 ... an ice cold D.C. -- perfect for an instant check-out buzz. Instead, I just stared. Long. And hard.

Oh, the sweet nectar going down my throat. The flirty bubbles tickling my nose.  The rush of caffeine straight to my head.

I went home and drank a bottle of wine instead.

Go Metro

New York is known for its subway system but did you know Los Angeles has an underground transit system too? It's exists and I took it.

Not quite as busy as the New York subway.

Diet Coke Detox [DAY 2]

Happy to report -- I am still clean!

I am tired as all hell, but ... the Diet Coke in my blood stream has decreased (or at least I would hope so).

Today my stomach was killing me all day. So, my feeling is, it was either the cheese I ate for my mid-morning snack or my bowels not knowing what is going on. Sorry, that was gross. But really, the internal organs are screaming for help.

I was asked what I have replaced the caffeine in my life with -- I said nothing (although, thank you everyone for the green tea recommendations). Yup, no caffeine -- well, okay, I did have a chai tea from Coffee Bean today ... but I dunno, does that have caffeine?

Okay, I gotta go now ... my eye lids are barely able to stay open at this point.

Oh wait -- one more major occurrence of the day. At lunch I opened a bottle of flavored, carbonated water and it EXPLODED all over my desk and keyboard (don't tell the IT guy) and everything! WTH?! My precious Diet Coke would never have treated me that way.

Stop Drinking Diet Coke [Day 1]

I have survived day one of -- Stephanie's mission to give up Diet Coke for Lent. (Ugh. It pains me to even type the words 'Diet' and 'Coke')

It wasn't pretty today, people ... not. at. all.

At around 2 PM today, (when I would normally be on my third D.C. of the day) my leg was falling asleep and I was convinced -- absolutely convinced -- it was my lack of Diet Coke's fault!!

When I broke the news to my friend Rose today (I have been informing all loved ones, as if someone has passed away), she said one, "you are crazy" and two, "I'm sure giving up DC, will help build a stronger connection to god."

I'm afraid tomorrow will be worse -- as the withdrawl is really just setting in.

My head hurts. Where is my Advil bottle?

Give Up Something for Lent

Okay, so, I was raised Catholic but haven't been to church in a few years. I say God's name in vain a LOT and the only blood of Christ I've drank lately is straight from the chalice of St. Charles Shaw.

I am definitely not the type of person who would give up something for Lent, which is every reason why this blog is going to help make me extra holy this year!

That's right folks, I'm doing it ... I'm giving up something for Lent.  But ... not just any old thing. F the people who just give up fish on Friday. Weak! I figure if I'm going to do this -- I'm going all or none.

So with that said, I am scared as all hell to announce that, as of tomorrow, Feburary 16, 2010 I am giving up my ultimate vice ... Diet Coke.

Hello, my name is Stephanie and I'm addicted to Diet Coke. Yup, that's me. The liquid that stains your internal organs and guarantees my great grandchildren will have fingers on their earlobes,  is the same liquid I love love love. Forget a Diet Coke break, I bathe in D.C. My veins are flooded with it and my eye balls are red as all hell 24/7 because of it. Did I mention I'm a Diet Coke rewards member? Many a magazine subscription has been funded thanks to the good folks at Coke.

So here it goes, goodbye my love.

I will keep you up to date on my detox and all the people I piss off in the process.

PS -- By the way, I would like to apologize in advance to anyone I work with, including all friends and loved ones. Cranky will be present  over the next 40 days and 40 nights, and I have no idea how my body is going to react to this.  Get ready for the ride ...

Color Me Mine

I don't do ceramics. I don't do painting. I don't do crafts. Sure, I had to take art in elementary school but my masterpieces always turned out to be crap (thank goodness for a mother with low fine arts standards and the ability to fake delight). I was the kid who learned how to do one good stick figure well, and used that on all my mediums.  I was also the kid who painted one page of a coloring book and threw the book in a closet -- never to be seen again.

All things crafty fall into the category of Steph not having patience for anything longer than 10 minutes. "Yeah, alright. I get it."

As would be the case, I have often driven by the "Color Me Mine" wondering what in the world would prompt someone to say, "Gosh, gee golly, I really feel the need to paint a coffee mug right now."

So naturally, I check it out.

I walk in and there are two types of people here -- families painting together (even a weird-o Dad getting all into his ceramic picture frame) and middle-aged women who are there to seriously create beautiful 'pieces' for their homes. WTH? So, I am totally coming across as the creepy child molester who doesn't belong.

I try to laugh it off, and when welcomed by the Color Me Mine assistant, I immediately tell her I've never done this before. She tells me the first step is to pick a ceramic. Really? They're already made for you? Yes! Here I thought I would be painting my own lumpy pile of plaster.  She says to select something that "speaks to me" ... huh? How about ... something that speaks to my price point?

This shit was expensive! $10 for access to the painting studio and no lower than $30 per thing to paint. And all I can say is, there is a LOT to choose from. From Disney statues to doggie bowls -- hell, if you ever need a personalized cookie jar, this is the place to go.

I go for a penguin pencil holder -- a perfect gift for boyfriend Steve for Valentine's Day! (lol) -- and I'm on my way ...

 I pick my paints.

 Prepare my palette.

And get to work.

I would like to mention that unlike other artists at this craft-haven, I did not have an "inspiration piece" on my table. The weird lady behind me would not shut up about her damn inspriation piece -- ie ... a finished, painted ceramic that she was just totally copying. What a bunch of BS -- at least I was doing this freestyle.

While I paint I over hear a mom leaving with her kids talking about coming back for "Ladies Night" Ladies Night? What the hell is that? Oh yes, people, ladies night is when you bring two friends with you (after 6 PM), and paints only cost three bucks. Plus! You can bring a bottle of wine to share!  

Oh. fantastic. This is just what we need. Stressed-out mommies getting wasted and playing with easily breakable objects. Um, think I'll pass. When I drink I don't want to have to be concentrating on something. Doesn't that defeat the purpose of drinking, anyway?

I am proud to say I painted that GD penguin for an hour! And got seriously dirty ...

Yuck.

I took the Color Me Mine assistant's advice and really layered up my paints. One layer was not going to cut it -- I was told the key to success was coating. So I did, over and over again until I was like, "Alright, this is getting old."

 

When I was done, I was actually kind of proud.  Sure my black paints ran into my orange and sure that attempted heart in the middle looked like a smooched thumbprint -- but I did it. I actually painted the whole thing!

I pay my $40 plus tax (really?! for a pencil holder?), and take my ticket. I am told to return in a few days to pick up my kiln-fired creation!

Super excited to pick up Steve's Valentine's Day present, I rush back to Color Me Mine after work, and get ready for the big reveal ...

Steve skeptical. I can't blame him.

 "A pencil holder?? Wow."

That's right, baby! Your very own, hand-painted pencil holder! And yes, those are squiggly lines you see all over it. I tried the best I could, dammit.

Cute.

Okay, so after my Color me Mine experience, I do have to say -- I would never go back by myself, but I would invest in this retail chain. Whoever thought of this idea is a freakin' genius. There is clearly a need for birthday places, family destinations and crazy crafty old lady hang-outs. For someone who can actually paint -- I bet it would be enjoyable.

If I had kids, I would take them here to paint a Christmas ornament. Because knowing the genes my kids will inherit, there's no way I want them painting anything that needs to be displayed year-round.

Roadside Valentine

In case you need a last minute Valentine's Day gift, there's always the street corner!

Hooray for  tacky treasures!

Bingo Night at a Catholic Church

I am going to go straight to hell for this one ...

On a typical Saturday night you might find me sipping girly cocktails at a trendy Hollywood bar or  noshing on an un-pronounceable appetizer at some highly-rated "Top Chef" restaurant. What I love about living in Los Angeles is there's always something fabulous to discover. Which is why you'll never find me in a church basement surrounded by other people's grandmas.

Saturday morning, up for a little adventure,  I call a local Catholic church for the scoop on their advertised bingo night. The lady on the phone proceeds to give me the phone number for the bingo manager ... which turns out, is really a public pay phone ... somewhere near the church basement ...  that he sometimes answers.

This sounds promising. So, I call the bingo man and he forks over the important details:

1. Bingo doors open at 4 PM
2. Game starts at 6 PM
3. The first game of the night is a practice round -- which doesn't count
4. And if interested, confession is from 1-2 PM

A few of my thoughts at this time:
1. Why in god's name would you need to get there two hours early? What could these people be doing for two hours before the game started?
2. Why in hell is there a practice round for a game I learned in preschool??
3. Confession? Oh yeah, that's when I made up sins in the second grade so I had something to say to the priest. Wait, is lying to a priest a sin?

Next, what exactly does a girl wear to a bingo night? Trina Turk cocktail dress? Nope. Super cute black jumpsuit? Nada. Sparkly sequin sleeveless tank? Negativo. Oooh I know - retirement home-inspired velor sweat pants and a hideous "10 Commandments of Bingo" t-shirt, hell yes!

I arrive at 7 PM because fashionably late can usually be trusted and applied to all social events. Let's just say, I learned the one exception. Walking in I'm immediately blasted with fluorescent lighting and a faint whiff of moth balls. This is no Hyde Lounge.

Right away I am welcomed by this lady ...

...  who explains that the twenty bucks fast cash I grabbed from the ATM was not going to cut it here.

For $30 I get 2 bingo cards (with all the night's games on it) -- this is the cheapest way to play, but also gives you the worst odds, as  most seasoned players are using ... bingo machines!

For $55 I get a machine -- no daubing, this sucker does the work for you, increasing your odds. I had no idea there even were bingo machines!

So, despite the hard sell, I pass over $30 and hope luck is on my side.

I am then asked a question that will later bite me in the ass, "Have you ever played BINGO before?"
My answer, "Uh. Of course!" (as I think, what's wrong with these people? It's FREAKING BINGO, isn't it?)

She points to the daubers ...

hands me a program (what? Bingo has a program?!) ...

and then, I'm thrust into a sea of seniors!

HOLY HOLY HOLY Shit.

I'm taken to my seat, which happens to be in a corner, behind the actual bingo board (now understanding why doors open at 4 PM). At least from this view, I'm able to take in my surroundings. Oxygen tanks, walkers and wheelchairs ... oh, my!

The comic strip Cathy 30 years later, lucky stuffed animals and multiple machine set-ups 


(remember, these are $55 a pop!)

 Random good luck thingys

Picnicking at tables


, peanuts and extra ink on hand

Lucky photos of great great grand children.

 

Grannies downing Ensure -- the drink of choice at BINGO night.

The game starts and it's complete insanity! Wide-screen TVs on all walls posting balls before they're read by the announcer. In between the number calling, ladies all over the hall are yelling -- Stingers! Cherries! Cupcakes! Double Action! Queens Wild! Last Call! (and I'm not talkin' about alcohol) Speaking of alcohol, I'll confess I did shove a few bottles of the airport's finest rum in my purse -- but like hell I was going to drink it -- I couldn't even follow this circus sober.

I was a lamb led to slaughter. Numbers -- letters! Lucky dollar bills! Six-packs! (still not talking about alcohol) People holding up lottery tickets and waving flags around. No wonder I heard a lady yell, "Help me!"

I was trying to hard to keep up -- ink ink ink -- breathe -- ink ink ink -- breathe -- look up at TV screen -- ink ink ink -- etc. I thought bingo could only be won by getting B-I-N-G-O in a row or diagonally -- oh how wrong I was. In some games I could ink the free space,  in some games I couldn't, sometimes I ink the corners (called the Picture Frame), sometimes I was playing Crazy Bingo, other games I was playing Jamboree Bingo. At no point was any of this explained to us. Now the practice round totally makes sense.

How is it that old people can't figure out how to work a computer mouse, but can navigate through 26 (!?) different rounds of high-speed bingo? Is it the cold hard cash? The concession stand with homemade brownies? Or is it the last rush of excitement before they're 6 feet under? That's so mean. Now I'm definitely going to hell.

Also, for the record, this game of bingo is not a friendly game. When someone wins, there aren't cheers or applause from fellow players. There's a chorus of grunts and groans because Carmel at the table next to you just won 250 bucks, and she only has one troll doll and didn't volunteer to decorate the church for Christmas.

Once I got the hang of it and settled in, I gotta say, it was actually fun. I mean, it's gambling. I love gambling! It doesn't seem legal to win that much CASH in a church basement. Of course, I didn't win anything, but when I go back (and yes, I will be going back), I'm gonna upgrade to the machine. These ladies don't stand a chance.