Craigslist Sadness: Rent My Room!

Sadly, Craigslist.org may have fallen victim to its own success: there are now HUNDREDS of listings per day for rooms and shares, meaning ain't nobody gonna see my ad.
Except for you.

Need a room in a lovely two-storey Anaheim house (nice 'hood) with a private pool, washer/dryer, wi-fi, and all the pay channels? Wanna pay me $700 a month, utilities included? Do you, in fact, not suck? And are you less of a stalker than most?

Good, because with me unemployed, now is the worst time for my sweetling roommate and his sweetling gf to move in together in Hermosa Beach. Not that I blame them. They should be having their own little nestlet somewhere together.
NONETHELESS! Seriously, they suck. And you should rent my room. Stalker.

I Am My Own Concubine

I feel sort of . . . delicious. I am utterly lazy and perfectly still and more relaxed than maybe I have ever been. I feel like one of those women who has to do nothing but wait for her daddy to return, except there is no one paying the bills but me. I'm sure this too will pass, but I am my own concubine, and it fucking rocks.

The Traditional Valentine's Weep-All-Day of 2007

Most Valentine's Days, I watch a Sandra Bullock marathon and weep. Not this year! No sir!
My son took me to see Music and Lyrics instead. But oh, Sandra Bullock, you wily minx! Just a freaking trailer for her next movie made me well up. Her husband dies! And she lurves him! But then it turns into a suspense movie, not a three-hankie weepie, and I was okay again.
Until Music and Lyrics started.
I figured Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore wouldn't be plagued with any pesky chemistry but that it would at least be funny. (Sue me. I like Barrymore AND Grant.) And for the first scene--the A-Ha-style music video--it was. Very, even!
And then it turned into some crap picture where they write a song for a huge pop star, but the pop star wants to take their crap song (serious crap, and if they had the budget for Barrymore and Grant, they could at least have paid an actual lyricist to write their damn song) and put it to a Ravi Shankar beat! Oh, no! And Barrymore flips out because Her Song Is Art, and She Is a Pain in the Ass.
And they break up.
Also, if you're a writer, you really don't need to see them trying to write a pop song for 45 consecutive minutes of movie and have it turn out the way it does.
This movie was so bad, even the sound mixing was bad.
But Hugh Grant did his best, and Drew Barrymore's hair looked really cute.
See? I'm nice.

Miss Smith Is America

There's a story in the OC Register's opinion pages basically dancing on poor Anna Nicole's grave. And guess what?
It's by me!
Please to enjoy!

Best So Far

From OC Weekly's The Blotter, I can't resist running Blaft's comment in its entirety:

"obviously, an alternative to the alternative is needed. Fuck new times. Their shitty los angeles paper was a complete load of crap and now these fucking pennyante lightweights run la weekly and oc weekly? Fuck them in their rancid mouths.
i wish the whole staff would leave and then they’d have to resort to hiring a bunchof castoffs and reject who would blindly follow whatever cockamaimie dictums issued by the fatous fat-asses who run that revolting company.
I am fucking pissed. This is a hurricane katrina for free thinking in orange county.
Ah, yes, I remember the old days, the days o’ jim washburn and buddy siegel and rich kane’s haikus and all kinds of neat shennanigans. How about this one from the early days, lampooning the Register’s ridiculous ad campaign: you’ll read. you ‘ll think. you’ll know or something like that with a picture of princess di or some other useless icon.
the weekly’s take was a picture of hitler and the line:
you’ll laugh. you’ll cry. you’ll annex the Sudetenland.
Now that’s journlaism. Rise up staffers! Storm the bastille! Wage in-house Guerrilla Warfare! Shit in the coffeemaker! Hold your collective breaths until thse evil vile motherfuckers release their gurry fucking hands from a paper that’s mean so much–and pissed so many people off.
New Times: I currse your fucking name, your fucking faces and your stupid fucking policies that are driving the best and brightest from your paper.
I can’t wait to piss on your graves when the paper you rape and pillage goes under and a new one rises from its ashes, glorious and triumphant, brave and exalting!
you stupid dumb fucks."

Thanks, Everybody!

I've been sucking up love (and a fine Chimay) for the past 24 hours. Thanks for all your kind words.
If I haven't emailed you back yet, then you clearly weren't writing in with a job offer (those got answered but FAST!) but know that I plan to . . . eventually.
For those who are interested, there are some very nice stories in the Register and on laobserved.com, the LA Times' political blog and Romenesko. I suppose I'll have to actually post here more often, so feel free to check back.
Also: nude pictures! (Or not.)

Beccalou