Friday, June 24, 2011

My Friday Night

I think we all know I had zero to do with the mass accomplishment of uploading a video onto my blog. We have Amanda McFarland to thank for that. She can often be seen hacking my Twitter and Facebook pages. She is a rebel and a leader. Much like these animal people below, she is a wildabeast. Hope you enjoy. She asked me to put on a play including the animal crackers she bought and far be it from me to deny a lady a request.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Happy Birthday

I’m supposed to go to Mexico for my birthday, Puerto Vallarta, to be exact. I have meticulously planned this trip and have set aside the necessary funds in order to embark upon this journey in a responsible way. Then I accidentally watched a documentary entitled Crude. This movie has ruined my life.

Crude tells the heartbreaking story of how Texaco-Chevron basically destroyed the country of Ecuador (Is Ecuador a country? It doesn’t matter. There are indigenous people there and they are God damn adorable.) Basically there’s something there called “The Amazon.” This place looks terrifying to begin with. Pour a shit ton of oil on top of it and you can bet your ass I’ll never be visiting. Yet as this documentary unfolded, I was taken. Set aside the fact that these people are dumb enough to live in the jungle. Why not a studio apartment? Believe me people, it’s no picnic but I have to imagine it’s better than living in a tree. So whatever, I get it. Born in a tree, start a family in a tree, grow old in a tree. It’s tradition. God bless. I’m willing to chalk this all up to idiocy and move on with my life. So far, this documentary is boring.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop there. Turns out the fine people of Texaco accidentally spilled a ka-jillion gallons of oil all over the fine city of Ecuador (maybe it’s a city?). All these tree people are dying because they have nothing to drink but oil water. This is where I start to lose it. It turns out drinking and bathing in oil water causes ferocious cancer and the horrible man that made this film was sure to cover it all. There was this little girl with rashes all over her body, and then some 16 yr old who had to take a bus 18 hrs to get cancer treatment, and then a dad who lost both of his sons. And then Sting’s wife, that vixen Trudie Styler joined in and before you know it I’m jumping off the couch, cheetos are flying everywhere, I have a total breakdown of senses AND I BUY A $500 WATER CONTAINER FOR THE PEOPLE LIVING IN THE PROVINCE OF ECUADOR.

You have got to be fucking joking me. This is not ok. I don’t have $500. I DRIVE A DAEWOO! But how could I just sit here and watch that 16 yr old jungle person take the bus for 18 hrs? She should be awarded $500 just for having to take a jalopy in that heat! And who knows what supposed cancer treatment she’s even getting? For all I know, she just took a bus, probably got a staph infection in the process, and was awarded an Advil on the other end and told it was chemotherapy. Stop it.

It seems I have a soft spot for tree people. I love them, in fact. So fine, I can’t afford to go to Mexico now because I have no more money. And sure, my parents are going to murder me once they hear about the kinds of choices I make on my own. And yes, Rob Schaefer is going to never speak to me again because I made him change all his plans around so I could visit his condo in Puerto Vallarta and instead I chose to provide water to a part of the world I can’t even be really sure exists. Essentially, I’ve lost everything. I guess the good news is a) I have clean water, b) I don’t sleep in a tree and c) I have 4,000 new Ecuadorian friends that owe me, big time.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011


I drive a 2001 Daewoo. Daewoo is a company committed to manufacturing an array of items ranging from toasters to cars. Many people ask me a) what the fuck is a Daewoo and b) why the fuck are you driving one.

I moved to Los Angeles sans car. As a matter of fact, I had never purchased a car nor had I driven in several years. A friend of mine knew of a car rental dodge that would occasionally sell a car or two. Listen, I’m not sure how it works but I do know he took me there. I had initially become devoted to buying a car in a rational and conservative way, however, after 5 days in LA without transportation (don’t talk to me about the bus, that’s unreasonable) I became desperate. On a Saturday afternoon, David and I arrived at the rental place, and I had a short but assertive conversation with the woman behind the counter.

Me: Hello, my name is Alison Royer and I’d like to buy a car now.

Car Person: Um…

Me: You heard me.

CP: Unfortunately the man who usually sells car is out until Monday.

Me: Not interested, gimmie a car.

CP: I’m not even sure which ones are for sale.

Me: Try harder lady.

CP: I think that one’s available (as she points to the Daewoo)

Me: I’ll take it. Do you take debit?

And she did, and that’s how I bought my first car. She wasn’t lying about being ill-equipped to finish this transaction. She didn’t even have the key to the safe that held the title to my brand new (old and decrepit) Daewoo but I wasn’t gonna let that stop me. And let me tell you, this broad did everything in her power to keep me from buying that car.

Me: Seriously, give it to me.

CP: Do you want to test drive it?

Me: *blank stare*

CP: Would you like to start a payment plan?

Me: You want me to mail you 50 cents a month for a year lady?

This is when Mimi got involved. The awkward car person continued to pepper me with a slew of ridiculous questions that I did not understand so eventually I just called my mother and handed the woman my phone.

At the end of our transaction, I entered my pin number and drove off with a brand new (10 yr old) Daewoo that I could smoke in although nothing could eradicate the smell of oppression and failure that already lingered. It reminded me of every other memory from my adult life.

I love my car. It was cheap, it makes me happy, and when pregnant women back into it (happened) I don’t mind at all.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

A Love Letter

Dear Poop:

I am so sorry! I had no idea you were up there buddy. I feel horrible. Why didn’t you say something? Oh my God poop, I am so embarrassed. There was so much of you. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you. Cramped, uncomfortable, no room to breath; how did I not know? This is my fault poop. I haven’t been paying enough attention to you. I got busy and I forgot about you. This is a relationship and I recognize that sometimes I need to put you first but today I just got distracted. I thought I noticed you after dinner but I was busy talking and then I had to rush to the gym and I didn’t think to get back to you until now. Poop, will you ever forgive me? It wasn’t my intention to keep you locked away like a slave. I cherish you and all you do for me. I would literally die without you and I want you to know that I will never treat you this way again. You deserve better than that poop. I want to start over. I want to work you into my schedule in a way that makes you feel important. I want you to feel that you can be yourself. You don’t have to be afraid to speak up. We are in this together poop. I love you.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Things That Bother Me #547


I work in the US Bank Building. It strikes me as a fairly non-threatening commercial building, however, each day I attempt to enter this Goliath, I am put through aggressive security procedures. It strikes me as fairly unreasonable to have to scan my badge literally every 5 feet. Recently I forgot my badge at home (consider it the downfall of switching purses which I will never do again). The members of the security team in my building, treated me like a terrorist that day. Somehow, they managed to conveniently forget that they see me EVERY DAY. I had to do everything short of giving blood, merely to attend a job that I don’t like. It was oppressing.

And let me just tell you, when I say I see these tyrants EVERY DAY, I mean it. Believe me, I would love to move through my day without 50 strangers greeting me repeatedly throughout the process. The worst part here is that I smoke, so I’m apt to be walking in and out of this death spiral several times each day. Let’s face it, being a security guard has got to be the most boring job in America. Your job is to stand there like an asshole while the rest of us ignore you. I recognize that there are people out there who want to befriend these security people, I am not one of them. I like to pretend they’re statues. It’s fairly hard to do this when they keep talking to me! What’s more, they make outlandish assumptions about where I may be heading which makes it increasingly awkward when I come back 3 minutes later. Also, I’ve worked here for 2 years and you’d think these imbeciles could figure out that I’m in and out a lot, kind of like The Terminator. OH MY GOD I NAILED IT!

Sorry, moving on. Let me give you an example. I typically go for a cig at 4:30pm. I leave work at 5:30pm. Yesterday, I walked downstairs and some know-it-all security man said this to me, “Have a great night!” You can imagine the pain that I felt, knowing that I had another hour to complete at my wretched day job before I could be released into the wild. He then added insult to injury, after I scowled at him, by saying, “Smile!” If you want to be murdered by me, you should ask me to smile. If you want to be murdered by me and shipped to your parents, you should tell me that smoking is bad for me. Needless to say, that particular security guard is dead.