I'll give you the shirt off my back.

At the costume shop, we are strongly encouraged to dress up for work. By dress up, I mean in pseudo-costume, usually a mix of your own stuff and stuff at the store.
Yesterday, I came in wearing my white Dickie's capri's with crazy black zipper pockets, my Converse All-Stars (appropriately ratty), a studded belt, and my essential black v-neck. I then became an 80's rocker with the addition of a pink and black wig from work and an amazing black and white leather driver's cap.
Today, I came in my aqua 50's waitress dress (that I acquired in Europe for 6 Euros), my ripped Rocky Horror fishnets, a little black cardigan, and my ever-so-ratty Converse. I added a tacky pink apron with little flowers, a white neckerchief, and these terribly guady gold cat-eye glasses with little gold flowers around the corner of each eye. 3 girls said they wanted to look like me for Halloween. And to the last one, I literally rented the dress off my back. My boss said that if I was willing to rent my dress, she would go half with me on the rental price. So for five minutes I wore one of the kimonos in shop (with the gold glasses and the neckerchief) while the customer tried on my dress. So my waitress dress (with the name "Chrystle" embroidered over the left breast) was rented out today for $24. I'm cleaning it, and bringing it with me to work on Thursday. This dress has already paid for itself twice over--and I've only worn the thing once!

Possible work-costume ideas for the Halloween weekend:
Thursday/Friday: Pink Ladies
Saturday: Alex from A Clockwork Orange (just so the white zipper Dickies can make another appearance)
Sunday: The Bride (providing the bastards at Miramax actually get my costume to me by Friday!)

Throats should not be cultured.

Diesease is both a blessing and a curse.

I woke up this morning and the sore throat I've had since Tuesday had culminated in a particularly awful way. I couldn't swallow. I could barely talk. It was pretty bad. I haven't been in class today. I missed English this morning to go to Student Health and get various throat cultures done. The good news is I don't have Strep. The bad news is my throat still hurts rather unbearably.

More bad news: I can't go to work today, which means less money. Nomada cut my shift into half tomorrow, which also means less money.

More good news: No work today means I have more time to sit wrapped in blankets in front of my computer to write my English paper. I have also been given Vicoden for the pain. Thank fucking gods.

So, while daily living activites like drinking, eating and breathing are a task, I have marvelous painkillers!

All of this works out in the end. Somehow.

Straight to your thighs.

For those with no cafe etiquette, let it be known that they shall get What is Coming to Them.

Some girl today, who was behind me in the pay line at Nicoletti's, went up and nabbed my Double White Mocha, when, clearly, it was mine. Had she waited the two drinks later for her own fucking drink she would have gotten her precious Double White Non-Fat Mocha. Non-fucking-Fat. Non-motherfucking-Fat. Girl Who Stole My Drink obviously doesn't drink coffee enough to know that baristas will always call out the entire order so as to avoid drink stealing by ignorant bitches like herself.

Let us just say that as I sit here with her Double White Non-fucking-Fat Mocha, I have the satisfaction of knowing that coffee karma is already biting her in her fat ass. (While said ass was not overly fat, I can only assume that she thinks it is, otherwise why muck up such a marvelous drink with non-fat milk?) My coffee may be slightly shittier than the one I ordered, but at least her misdeeds are keeping my ass as virtually non-existent as it has always been, and her drink-stealing ass will only continue to expand until she leans some fucking etiquette.

This is Karma. And it is Good.

Produce is money, and I don't have a job.

The fabled Department job is not happening. Susan has chosen--inevitably--some senior with a lot more time on his/her hands than myself. I was forced to look off campus, as my only on-campus option was stolen from me.

Luckily, after job hunting with Heather yesterday, I received a call only an hour ago from Victorian Vogue, the wicked-cool costume shop downtown. I have a job for at least three weeks! This is awesome because a) I have always fancied myself working in a costume shop and b) I seriously need some cash.

Other applications submitted: Borders, Hollywood Video
Other applications to be submitted: Barnes & Noble, Metropolitan Theatres
Applications unavailable to me: Ruby's Diner, which I will take as a sign that I am only meant to admire their candy-striped uniforms and never to wear one myself.

Checking for color and clarity.

Last night, we all went to see a special advanced screening of Alexander Payne's newest film, Sideways, with Paul Giamatti and Thomas Hayden Church. The film was totally amazing, shot locally in the Santa Ynez Valley, was worked on by many UCSB grads (including Lacey Rae nee' Palowitz, whom I went to high school with, as a two-line waitress). Because the film takes place in Santa Barbara's wine country and features wine as a metaphor for life and grapes as a metaphor for people, we all decided to spend our evening in drinking very cheap wine.

We tossed in a couple of dollars a piece in the hopes of getting an abundance of Trader Joe's Two-Buck Chuck and sent Jen and her homies from LA to acquire it. They returned with 5 bottles of Albertson's finest cheap wines: a Gallo white Merlot, 2 bottles of some unidentifiable Zinfandel (not quite red, not quite white), a bottle of Gallo White Zinfandel, and a bottle of Sutter Home Pinot Noir. So, following Paul Giamatti's wine-tasting rules from Sideways, we started with the Merlot. ("If anyone orders a Merlot, I am leaving.") We checked it for bouquet, color and clarity (which was difficult in our 4-for-a-dollar IKEA tumblers) and drank up. We moved on to the unidentifiable Zinfandel, which was strangely carbonated and raspberry-flavored. Then the Gallo White Zin, which was decent and probably the most wine like beverage of the 3. Finally, we finished off our evening with the bottle of Pinot Noir, Paul Giamatti's personal favorite in Sideways, the ultimate metaphor for his character . . . and that shit was probably the most disappointing Pinot I've ever had in my life.

After 5 bottles of wine, plus some beer and vodka supplied by Nikki, we all were terribly amused with the various 80's mixes that Heather had cued up for the remainder of the evening. At one point, Heather and Melissa were performing an entire Queen album (with help from Richie and myself on "Bohemian Rhapsody"). I did "Tainted Love." Heather belted "Total Eclipse of the Heart." Our tendencies toward drunken singing are vindication against our upstairs neighbors, who, we think, are either harboring large animals in their room or are practicing to go on Trading Spaces, but only between the hours of 11 pm and 11 am.

All in all a lovely evening. I fear for the photographic evidence.

I knew when I got my skateboard back that this relationship was probably over.

Grayson is very bad with answering and returning phone calls in a timely manner. Should I take this as a sign?

Alyssa Milano also loves A's pitcher "Curvalicious" Barry Zito! (And so should you.) 

Alyssa Milano loves the Oakland A's!  

Nice Houses in the Ghetto

I went to a USC party on Friday night at Kate's house. USC parties are so much more civilized than SB parties . . . they also have less alcohol . . . and no one knows how to set up the tap on a keg. Leave it to a UCSB girl to set up both kegs and fix the pumps at several points during the evening. Sigh. USC kids are too good for cheap beer. Kate tells me that they usually just get drunk off of really expensive booze. I want expensive booze! And property that's worth what I pay for it! And good land lords! And houses that aren't falling into the ocean!

But at the same time, I think I'll take my cheap beer and shitty property and just know that every party I go to will always be a totally good one where I don't have to worry about breaking shit or spilling booze on someone's very nice carpet. I heart Isla Vista. I heart it so much.

USC party also managed to convince me that I am far behing the times in getting onto Facebook. As usual, my circle is not on this marvel of internet communication because they are not those kind of ladies. I must expand.

In Solvang, no less . . .

Jen and I drove up to Solvang this afternoon in search of Danishes and other Danish things. Amid our hours of shopping for tasty foods and amazingly good deals on a variety of odd, non-Danish items (hats, great shoes, Victorian blouses, jewelry, Swedish flags), we decided to stop in at the Red Viking for a late lunch.

As we stood in front of the window of the Red Viking, glancing at the menu to see if vegetarianism was acceptable in Danish town, we noticed that the front of the restaurant was filled with bikers. I catch on to this fact as we move toward the door, and, rather loudly pronounce, "Oooh! Bikers!" I expected them to turn and glare and get all Hell's Angels on my ass, but they did no such thing. It was as if they didn't even hear me. In fact, the whole dining room was silent. Then we saw that between bites of food, every single one of the bikers was signing in ASL.

It was by far the strangest thing I have ever seen . . . an entire room of deaf bikers . . . and in Solvang, of all places.

Cassie-Cat picked this item up at a porn shop in San Diego. You can pretend to draw on him using your cursor. We leave him out in the living room so that the Company can enjoy more than just my moshi pillows and grappa. 

Speak to me in a language that I can't quite understand.

Middle English is the fucking sexiest thing I have ever heard in my life. It would be very easy to seduce me by simply reading some Chaucer aloud to me--a Bedtime story, for certain.

Same Effect could be achieved through the recitation of racy passages from any D.H. Lawrence novel, but I would much prefer the Chaucer.

Again! Paul Bettany! Paul Bettany has a knack for playing roles involved with sexy, sexy authors. Naked Gambling Chaucer in A Knight's Tale and a lecherous immaginary English major with a penchant for girls who have a penchant for D.H. Lawrence in A Beautiful Mind. I should have a glossy of him as Chaucer plastered in my English 101 notebook, so I can imagine him reciting Canterbury Tales to me instead of my sweet, grandfatherly professor. This is not a Bad Idea.

I go to immerse myself in difficult and beautiful words.

Nikki's Birthday

On only 4 hours of sleep, I managed to put in one correct contact lense and one of a very old perscription from my emergency pair. (I discovered this later that evening when I noticed one contact was much more colorful than its counterpart.) Having this as a start to my day, the confusion of only being able to see adequately from one eye was amplified when, on the way to a job hunting session, my neurologist called to inform me that he decided to report me to the DMV because of my Medical Condition. I was very, very sad.
I napped later in the afternoon in an attempt to recover my lost sanity, knowing I would need to stock up on energy for Nikki Ferry's Birthday Bash that evening. Being exceptionally tired, I gave in to a double shot of espresso at dinner. This was not enough, and, at the party, I left after two beers to hunt down some more sweet succulent caffeine. Once the espresso shots were in my hand, I walked back to the party with my nose in the cup, breathing in that dark and bitter liquid. I downed it, then downed another beer. Gray and friends later arrived to witness Nikki's lady friends all grinding down on one another and making out on the dance floor. I taught them English drinking songs and the gaiety continued. We did at some point all dance to the Spice Girls.
As the party diminshed, Gray, friends and I went in search of smokables and returned to my place to smoke grape hookah on the sweet-ass patio that everyone and their mother adores.
And I'm afraid that falling out of bed will agrivate my Medical Condition.
Maybe I just like flirting with disaster.

Weekend 1

It's my first weekend back here and things are already crazy like a drunken Isla Vista fox.

Friday: I spent Friday here alone because I moved in early. I have the top bunk and was afraid of aggravating the Medical Condition by falling off and seizing into oblivion.

Saturday: I spent the day working the Move-In and meeting all kinds of people who live in and around my place. I actually moved in a couple friends by pure coincidence.
Slowly, the roommates arrived and our massive new digs began to fill up with stuff. Our living room was overflowing with furniture: 2 chairs, 2 end tables, a coffee table, 2 couches, the Fu, 2 fridges, a TV tray. We decided later in the day to aleviate the room congestion by locating our loveseat on the sweet-ass patio that we adore. So far, it has not been stolen. We hope it stays there forever and ever.
The evening brought bonding time with the new roomie, Cassie-Cat, who is John Waters era Ricki Lake cute and compact, and then the introduction of our crazy friends to Cassie-Cat. I think it went over well. We all shared the first sips of sweet Mela Verde grappa, forayed into the stronger Pesca and Fragolina . . . and then Nikki busted open the Inferno I bought her and it burned like death, but we were oh-so-grateful.

Sunday: Roommates and I went out shopping for Food Containers and other various Life Accessorizores. We utlized Miss Kitty to her full capacity (which is not a whole lot of capacity, I realize). We also spent entirely too much money on beautiful collections of paper that we will abuse over the course of the quarter and stole tasty cookies from the bookstore.
The evening brought more bonding time watching Se7en, using the deadly sins as an icebreaker. Same icebreaker was repeated when Jen's boy toy Max brought many friends to drink with us. Evening went well, with full utilization of our newfound Living Space. Freshmen Ryan had too much and so did my roommate, so Gray and I stayed up until 6 making sure these two were not dying.
I am so tired.

Summer Highlight Reel

1. Hairspray. So amazing. I will be Penny Pingleton, just you wait and see.

2. Teatro ZinZanni. Infreakingcredible! A circus, dinner theatre, bordello, cabaret, dance club and music hall all rolled in to one crazy-expensive show package. I got painted up and grew more and more enamored with the velvet-laden lounge as the evening went on. TZ was probably the most fun I've had with my family in a very long time.

3. Impromptu Big Bad Voodoo Daddy concert at the Marin County Fairgrounds on the eve of my European adventure. I am in love with Scotty Morris. One day, I will touch him.

4. Italy. The trip itself cannot be told in one lengthy sitting. The stories I have from there will emerge bit by bit, related in the American Pie "band camp" fashion. ("And this one time, in Europe . . .") Regardless, it was an awesome time. I hiked in the Alps for two weeks. I went drinking with kids from Holland, Algeria, Denmark, Finalnd, Norway, Britain, India, Turkey, and Wisconsin. I actually used my Italian. I perpetuated the stereotype that all Californians surf and have met at least one movie star. I subsisted on pasta and tiramisu for well over a month. I spent a good deal of time shopping in Milan. I wandered Venice alone for a day. I purchased fine writing instruments and coveted a leather-bound 1903 London edition of Shakespeare's Hamlet in a Venetian bookseller's window. I coveted numerous pairs of beautiful shoes in Milan. I went to Switzerland for their national festival. I followed Lord Byron's Italian trail as though I were John Trelani. I fed a marmot.

5. D.H. Lawrence. I ran out of books to read in Italy, so I borrowed a copy of Lawrence's The Woman Who Rode Away from my host family. D.H. is so incredibly sexy. I must have more D.H. Perhaps with more D.H. exposure, Paul Bettany will find me at an English department soiree and take me to one of his "cocktail" parties (a la my favorite quote from A Beautiful Mind).

6. I passed out in a hookah bar on the Haight. I suppose this is really more of a lowlight, but it was an interesting time and certainly important. Eric and this random EMT guy (who was conveniently sitting right next to us) carried me out. They said I had spasms and that my eyes were retreating into my head. Eric's friend Melissa called the paramedics. I spent 3 hours on a Friday night in the ER at Kaiser in San Francisco. I had blood tests, a CAT scan, an EKG that turned up nothing. A follow-up with my physicican lends my amazingly low blood pressure to be the culprit. Nevertheless, I will be spending a lot of first quarter visiting doctors in Ventura. I now have a Medical Condition. Point: me.

For Jay's Personal Satisfaction

Jay text messaged me in the middle of a headache yesterday to demand why there has been no blog of our brunch on Friday. I suppose I should concede to his demands for blogging, but, when checking out his blog, I find no mention of the lunch in question. Why, Jay, have you not written about our lunch? Riddle me that.

But since I'm here, Jay wins. Friday lunch bits:

1. Mel's Diner in Walnut Creek apparently holds much childhood significance for Jay. I just really love diners. I am so, so retro.
2. Eggs abound. I had an omelet. I haven't had one of those fuckers in a long, long time. Don't usually eat eggs. Find them odd and tasteless. But Jay convinced me to have breakfast with him. He's a smooth talker, that one.
3. Brunch discussion circled around how we're not the same people as we were in high school, why things are much better now that we've disassociated ourselves with most of those people, and a good long discussion about clothing. Jay likes to play devil's advocate while clothes shopping. He makes people buy expensive things. See what I mean about the smooth talker bit?
4. I learn of Jay's bizarre text-messaging etiquette. Basically, never call in response to a text message. Also, there are some rules pretaining to what you can and cannot text about. These I do not remember.
5. We wen't to Barnes and Noble and indulged our literary sweet teeth. There was much fondling and coveting of books. And several periodicals by Jay. He insists I subscribe to The Believer. I will do this. As soon as I resubscribe to Entertainment Weekly and Newsweek. Right now I'm living off of Maxim, which is terribly unliterary. (I love hot girls and beautiful pictures of hot girls. Stop sneering.) He purchased me a Moleskine. It's basically THE notebook. Such a hot notebook, in fact, that they've started selling them at Urban Outfitters. (No joke.) The Moleskine lauds itself as the notebook of famous intellectuals from Van Gogh to Hemmingway. They're nice, leather-bound pocket-size little notebooks for quick jotting. They also come in journal-size. This is what I have. The journal-size. It will serve me well in Italy. I already feel much more intellectual just simply owning it and putting my flight schedules in its inside pocket.

Happy, Jay?

Sad News

Ed is gone.

He passed away Monday afternoon. He was on a morphine drip, and we believe the drug depressed his system to the point where, seeing as it was already depressed, his cancer-ridden lungs simply ceased breathing.

My grandmother pretends she's strong, but I know she misses him terribly. She says that she just wants to be alone and not be bothered by anybody anymore, but I doubt that's true, either. When her first husband died, she stayed alone for fourteen years, only coming out of her seclusion when my mother gave birth to me. She said those same words then, when Richard fell on his shot gun, but obviously Ed brought her out of it. She's spent the past 12 years of her life with Ed. Everyone knows her as Mrs. Broglio now. I doubt she can become a recluse now that everyone in Crockett knows her as the widow of the most prominent man in town. I know she'll be taken care of.

We've been spending the week turning things over to Ed's kids. Eddie released the wine cellar to my father, seeing as none of Ed's kids have ever helped us make Broglio Cellars wine. I venture that I've been in that cellar crushing grapes and bottling wine more than they ever have, even. I've grown up with it. So at least that part of Ed is still a part of my family.

This summer is proving to be an interesting period of adjustment in an increasing number of ways.

Home

Today's the day. Come one o'clock this afternoon, I'll be on my way back home. Goodbye tiny dorm bed. Goodbye roommates. Goodbye Carillo Dining Commons. Goodbye cleaning lady who always wants to clean the bathroom when I want to take a shower. Goodbye classes. Goodbye friends. Goodbye Starbucks addiction. Goodbye to Jove at Jamba Juice who lives up to her name in smoothie preparation. Goodbye empty mailbox. Goodbye smelly-ass lagoon. Goodbye room. Goodbye free, high speed internet.

Forgive further sporadic posting. I have three weeks ahead of selling my possessions on eBay and then 5 weeks in Italy. Upon my return, expect me to be much more cultured than you.

Love to everyone, and pineapple, too.

11:11

When I woke up this morning, my internal radio was playing Rufus Wainwright, and rightly so. "I woke up this morning at 11:11." Exactly 11:11. But, naturally, as I had an 8 am final this morning, 11:11 was the second time I woke up.

This is totally disgusting. The building didn't have hot water yesterday, so I literally haven't showered in two days. But if there's one thing I've learned in college, its that smelly people in lecture halls are usually not girls. We must have some inherent anti-odor bits to our skin that just make girls less smelly people. Either that or those body splashes from Bath and Body Works really are the strongest scents known to man. (Love them I do, but I will always cough when applying them.) Regardless of whether or not I actually am ruthlessly filthy, I sure fucking feel it. I have oily hair and oily skin. Never again am I doing this to myself. One day was bad enough, but two days is much too far. I need to take a fucking shower.

This is why I could never go backpacking. Anymore than one day without a shower severely lowers my will to live. Really, all I've done today is take a final and sleep. Yesterday, I just read and studied, and barely moved. All day. I am fast on my way to developing bedsores.

Thank gods I have a multitude of things to clean when I get home. And then a multitude of things to attempt to sell on eBay or at Crossroads or Buffalo Exchange. I need reasons to move.

Final #1

One down, 3 to go.

I finished my Italian final not too many minutes ago and am currently feeling the mix of dread and relief that one feels during finals. One down, sure. We can all celebrate that. It's the three to go bit that isn't so exciting.

On my walk back from Buchanan hall, I started thinking about the birds that have been trying to nest outside my residence hall. They have chosen to perch two little nests on opposite corners of where the exposed stucco meets the roof. These birds build their nests out of mud. And not once, but twice, the cleaning staff here at the Mad House have taken a high pressure hose to these nests. Both times, the birds have returned to rebuild. Even a high pressure hose cannot completely remove all of the mud from the stucco. There is always some outline left of what was there before. So the birds just follow the same pattern. They trace the outline in mud and rebuild. Over and over again. It's amazing, really, the resilience of these birds. They are commencement speech material for certain.