Hello, Show.

I became a writer by accident. For reals.

When this woman Kimberly recruited me for my first professional job, she read me the job descriptions of like five or six different positions. Without much thought or discretion, I told her – That writing one sounds kinda cool.

I had no idea what it meant. I didn’t understand my job responsibilities. I didn’t even own a computer or have an email address. Thank god for the typing class I took in seventh grade, because that was basically all I was bringing to the table.

Well, that, plus my flawless understanding of Jane Austen, John Milton, William Butler Yeats, T.S. Eliot, and U2 lyrics. (This one professor had a radical Bono jones.)

And now about a million years later, I’m a mildly competent totally brilliant writer.

So just because you arrive at your career accidentally, doesn’t mean you can’t be SUPER awesome at it.

I’m talking about you, Barry from Omaha.

When the Marc Germain Show is actually a show, and Justin Levine is busy with whatever secret hobbies he has that he doesn’t want to talk about, and Barry isn’t in New York, or on a fancy vacation, you can delight in his newsishness on talkradioone.com.

P.S. Imaginary radio news anchor is not actually his career. More like something to do at night when he’s bored and the cows are sleeping. But, for purposes of this article, I’m pretending imaginary radio news anchor is his career.

P.P.S. It’s just more fun that way.

P.P.P.S. Happy Birthday, BFO. :)

Tuesday

Just so you know…

Today I successfully made a comparison between Kim Kardashian and Nellie Oleson.

I also compared Dr. Kate Hutton with Wayne Resnick.

I watched a lady fill like 117 containers at the Rubio’s salsa bar.

I smoked everyone at iPad app Blokus.

I was forced to walk around like a geisha all day at work.

I decided to write a book.

…and I have to wake up at 4:30. Night!

 

Candy Doesn’t Have to Have a Point. That’s Why It’s Candy.

Fair Warning: This post may be a tiny bit mommy-bloggish. Sorry.

Eight years ago I was poor. Not food stamp poor, just not-enough-money-to-go-on-a-real-vacation poor.

But I also had a four-year old and about eleventy billion hours of saved vacation time. So I did what any resourceful hot single mom with not enough money would do.

I started stripping.

Just kidding, I invented the staycation. Only I didn’t call it that. I called it Fun Camp. And it meant we would go to a different fun place every day for a week.

You know – places that kids enjoy. Like Legoland and science centers and outdoor Shakespeare plays and lectures about ancient Chinese astronomy. (What? Your four-year old doesn’t like ancient Chinese astronomy? Hm. Strange.)

Fun Camp 2011 was this week. And though it’s not actually over, I’ve already seen some super cool stuff.

Like this.

P.S. I also went here.

But you know…I feel kinda ripped off. Because I walked all around that pavilion and I didn’t see Wayne anywhere. Hmpf. Lame.

Let’s just say that I was deeply unhappy, but I didn’t know it because I was so happy all the time.

I recently learned that I’m very angry.

It’s weird though. Because I don’t feel angry. I feel…I guess…fine?

I mean…

  • I feel enchanted by the TBTL Hunger Games book club.
  • I feel infatuated with Pasha from So You Think You Can Dance. Again. Seriously, can he just be on every season?
  • I feel independent because I totally drove all the way to Lakewood today. And I didn’t even get lost.
  • I feel amazed by rainbows. And kittens. And unicorns.
  • I feel delighted with the super cute shoes I found at Nordstrom Rack.
  • I feel eager to take pictures of my feet wearing the super cute shoes.
  • I feel optimistic that everyone will compliment my super cute new shoes.
  • I feel hopeful that my feelings in the near future will shift away from super cute shoes and move toward something important. Like handbags.
  • I feel excited about the upcoming Presidential election. (Just kidding, I don’t really feel excited about that. I’m just trying to sound smart after all the inane shoe talk.)
  • I feel keen to use the word ‘keen’ more often. Like a British person.

Do these feelings add up to angry? I don’t *think* they do. But it’s possible I’m so blinded by intense anger that I’ve failed to understand the complexity of the human psyche.

P.S. Just in case…here’s a picture of my angry face. GRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!

 

Hi. I’m cranky.

You GUYS…I’m like SO cranky. I mean, I know you don’t think that’s possible because I’m like 29 and I like live in Orange County. But seriously, it’s totally easy to be cranky here.

Number one, we have practically NO self-serve frozen yogurt stores. For reals. There are only THREE in my immediate neighborhood. And one of them doesn’t even HAVE cake batter flavor. They have like…vanilla. Which is super lame.

Two, the weather here totally sucks. Like today, for example, is August 14. And it’s only going to be 84 degrees. Also, I saw a cloud earlier. How am I supposed to get tan when there is a CLOUD? Duh!!

Number…four? What comes after two? LOL, I forgot. I’m not good at math – LOL! And also, I’m cranky. Which I already told you – LOL!!!! OK…so number four. LOL now I can’t remember the fourth thing. LOL!!!!

Oh yeah, also, all the guys here are like SOOOOO Abercrombie&Fitchy. I mean…I’m like FEISTY and I like feel like I’m going to BREAK them!

I ONLY date guys who are like either radio news reporters or radio news anchors or radio hosts or radio producers or radio board ops or radio call screeners or radio promotions directors or radio interns or radio researchers or radio parking garage attendants.

Oh yeah, also, they need to work at like a REAL radio station. And it has to be an AM station. In LOS ANGELES. And it has to be like a 50,000 watt station. Because 5,000 watt stations are for LOSERS. And senior citizens.

As I spread my lovin’ arms across the land

So I was at this party tonight and all the chicks were like – Aren’t girls the BEST? And I’m like – Uh…yeah…TOTALLY!! And they’re all – Let’s start a BFF Sisterhood Club! And I’m all – Uh…yeah…TOTALLY!!

Apparently, sangria makes me talk like a 12-year old. And also kinda dumb.

But the idea of women being interesting and talented and smart and sexy isn’t dumb. So here’s a list of women I like at KFI.

Michelle Kube – Love, love, love your early morning tweets.

Alice McWilliams – Any friend of Wayne Resnick’s is a friend of mine.

Angel Martinez – It’s awesome how integral you are to the Tim Conway, Jr. Show. Thumbs UP!

Terri-Rae Elmer – I love the way you laugh when Conway and Steckler tell an old story. It’s so…honest and genuine.

Shannon Farren – You’ve filled the Laura Ingle-sized hole in my heart.

Mystie someone? – Sorry, Mystie. I can’t remember your last name. And I don’t really know that much about you. But you seem pretty cool. And your planking picture is cute.

P.S. Hey Steve Gregory, call me. xoxo

P.P.S. Steve, I’m just kidding about the call me xoxo thing. I mean, you’re a good reporter and if we met I would probably think you’re nice and stuff, but I’m not actually in love with you. Don’t be upset. I’m sure there are lots of girls who are in love with you. Or who would be in love with you if, you know, you dated for a little while and you liked each other and shared similar values and enjoyed each others’ company and wanted to kiss a lot.

P.P.P.S. Hey Donald Morrison, you’re next on my list. Call me. ;)

P.P.P.P.S. That Donald Morrison thing was a joke. I do enjoy his medical reports though.

 

This Week in Internet Search Terms People Used to Find This Site Which Made Me Laugh

Here you go…

  • “ernie anderson” jesus christ
  • dave ramsey orthodontist
  • is tim conway jr sick?
  • karel leaves kfi
  • george noory not very smart
  • doug mcintyre fired kfi

Couple observations…

  • Yes, Tim Conway, Jr. is sick. Or maybe not sick-sick but he lost his voice.
  • I’m pretty sure Karel left KFI like 10 years ago. I hope you haven’t been looking for him all this time.
  • Poor Doug, he got fired from a radio station he doesn’t even work at.

Enjoy your weekend, studs! I’m participating in a cooking competition and going to a So You Think You Can Dance marathon party. Wooooooo!

Oh. Also, I’m listening to a podcast about a book club. So…you know…don’t be jealous of my super exciting life.

August Blows.

Seriously. Was August always this lame? No Marc Germain show? About a million hours of the Fabulous Octopus Porn and Masturbation Lisa Ann Walter Show?

Fair warning. I’m about to pull a real old man move here. But please note that I am not a man. And I’m not old. I’m 29. (Am too. :-p)

When I was a kid growing up in Orange County, August meant something.

It meant wearing your bathing suit all day. It meant running with your friends and brothers through the sprinklers, until your legs were covered in cut grass and the bottoms of your feet were all cut up from stepping on the hermies* that fell from the tree in your front yard.

It meant Otter Pops and Big Sticks and Cherry Bombpops.

It meant sleepovers. Where you would take all the lingerie out of your best friend’s mom’s drawer and have a fashion show. (For reals, who let us do that?) Or, if your friend’s mom didn’t have any good lingerie, you could always make your own out of paper and double-sided tape. (What, you didn’t do that?)

It meant many, many trips to the beach. Where you would roll around in that ocean all day, losing track of the volume of gross seaweedy water that went up your nose. And when you were too young to realize how disgusting that was.

You were also too young to realize the Laguna Beach Sawdust Festival was something your parents dragged you to every August so they could relive their days as hippies. And you were so naive you believed your parents when they said kids weren’t allowed on the rides at the Orange County Fair, and wouldn’t you like to look at the photography exhibit instead?

So yeah. This is all to say…I’m taking a vacation. I’m doing a different fun thing every day. I’m wearing a bathing suit. I’m going on a train. And I might even have a lingerie fashion show. So there. Take that, August!

*Look, we weren’t botanists. They were like hard seed pods that split open and fell from all the trees in our neighborhood. And they were very painful to step on. So we called them hermies. We were kind of dumb.

Word.

So…hi. I’m done freaking out now. Well, I’m still freaking out but not about the blog. Just…ya know…other stuff.

Blog is better thanks to the awesome .css skills of my friend Steven. He’s a major Web stud.

Here’s a cute picture for you. I’m totally going to have it framed so I can hang it in my office. Or maybe have it tattooed on my forearm. That would be badass.

Yeah, it still sucks.

Good news…the old content is back.

Bad news…still looks like crap.

Lesson learned…don’t decide to migrate your blog when you have eighty-million jobs to do.

Assignment for you…don’t hate me. I know. I’m on it.

Begging…anyone who knows what they’re doing want to fix this ess? I’ll give you…I don’t know…SOMETHING. (No, not that.)