Sometimes It's NOT The Thought That Counts

I'm hosting a giveaway on my reviews blog, a first for me. I'm giving away a cookie bouquet to the person who can tell me the most pathetic gift story ever. I'm not talking about a sweater that was the wrong color, or the time you received a sauté pan when you clearly stated that you wanted a griddle. I'm talking about the most grievous of gift giving crimes, the ones that leave you speechless when you tear off that wrapping and make it impossible to even utter a 'thank you.'

I would totally win this contest.

It happened when I was in my twenties and dating a guy who was totally wrong for me. I was living on my own in the city and running a business. He was living near the beach, sharing a small house with three other guys, one of whom had a pot farm in the closet of his bedroom. If my mom knew who I was dating back then she would have been so proud.

We'd only been going out for a few months, and we were coming up on Christmas which is always awkward in a new relationship. The selecting of a gift for your first holiday as a couple is excruciating, since it will be infused with meaning. Spend too little, and it looks like you don't care enough. Even worse, spend too much and it looks like you care too much and will send the guy running for the hills. I've had friends ruin perfectly good relationships because they chose to give the expensive wallet from Barney's instead of the totally non-committal jacket from Banana Republic.

Thinking back, I can't remember exactly what I got him, but if it was like everything else back then I totally over-thought it. I probably considered no less than twenty different items, photographed them all and sent them out to six thousand of my closest girlfriends. Then they chimed in with their comments which I entered into my special Gift Meaning software that calculated the most appropriate level of meaning for each item. It probably told me to buy the guy a pair of socks.

He came over to my apartment for the big exchange since I told him I didn't want his three roommates hovering over our evening, and those huge, bright pot-growing lights were always so intrusive. When the time came he seemed eager to give me my gift, and he handed me a small square box. I tore off the wrapping and was surprised to see that the logo on the lid was from a very expensive watch company. If he had run this through my special software he would have known that a gift of jewelry means the relationship is serious, and I immediately started planning our wedding in my head. By the time I had opened the lid to that box I had already picked out the flowers in my bouquet and the names of our two children.

So imagine my surprise, or should I say horror, when the inside of the box revealed not a tasteful timepiece but a t-shirt, scrunched into a fist-size square and bearing this logo:














In case you're not familiar with this lovely piece of art, it's a surf wear company that was popular at the time. I'm sure in his mind it was the perfect gift; he was always trying to get me to abandon my city life and become a part of the beach scene, his tank-top-clad, Hooters-chowing, pot-farm-in-your-closet crowd. I knew I would never wear that t-shirt, unless I could wrap it around my wrist and ask it to tell me the time.

I know very well it's the thought that counts, and the idea behind the gift wasn't so bad. But someone should have told this guy that next to calling her 'mom' by accident, giving your girlfriend a t-shirt disguised as expensive jewelry is probably one of the biggest mistakes you can make in a relationship and will cause her to blog about it to the world many years later.

I think I'll go have one of those cookies now.

My Favorite Restaurants. And By The Way, Art Supplies Are Edible.

I wrote about my favorite restaurants in L.A. this week for UpTake. I started off my post with a mention about the time I ate an eraser. Maybe not the best way to start off an article that's sharing my culinary opinions, but there you go. (Also, if you know of where they serve the most badass margarita in your city, go on over and leave a comment on my UpTake post. I'm going to do a compilation list later this month):

We were asked to write about our favorite restaurants this week, and the only difficult part will be writing a post that doesn’t go on for five pages. My list is long and varied, and I’m always up for trying new things - including half a Pink Pearl eraser that I once ate on a dare when I was working at an ad agency. It definitely didn’t taste like chicken...Read More...

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UpTake, a new travel search engine, opened to the public today. Check it out - it's a great site, where you can find everything you need to plan a vacation, from girlfriend getaways to pet-friendly travel (you can finally take your gerbil to Belize with you.) Plug in your destination, what you're looking for (lodging, things-to-do, etc.) and whether it's a family trip or just a getaway. And voila - you might just come up with an adventure more interesting than that Soap Opera Cruise with the cast from Passions. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Also, you can read my weekly posts there where I regale the traveling world with tales of all-you-can-eat nachos and men in tights. It's almost too much goodness in one place, I know.

My Perfect Mother's Day Weekend

Happy Mother's Day! Hopefully you are relaxing in your pajamas and ignoring the stack of dishes in the kitchen while your husband and children feed you bonbons and champagne. As for me, I wrote about my ideal Mother's Day weekend for Uptake this week:

There’s a column in the Los Angeles Times every Thursday called ‘My Favorite Weekend’ where celebrities write about what their perfect weekend would be. Predictably, 99% of them start with breakfast at the vegan Real Food Daily, involve a vigorous hike in Runyan Canyon and end with an organic chai latte at Urth Cafe. I sometimes wonder if this is just the PC version from their publicist, and the celebrity featured is actually having an Egg McMuffin and a pack of Marlboros for breakfast before passing out until Sunday night.

Since Mother’s Day is coming up, I decided to write about what My Favorite Weekend would be. As you’ll see, without a publicist to speak of, pork products and sedentary activity prevail…Read More...

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tags: mother's day | happy mother's day

A Baby Shower!

I was asked to be a part of a virtual baby shower for three wonderful bloggers who are all expecting their second child. The theme? Advice for moving from one child to a crowd of two. I was happy to oblige, and put the date down on my calendar.

Then a funny thing happened on Friday - my computer crashed. But I was too busy to deal with it, because it was time to pick up both my girls from school. It's a delicate dance, involving cell phone calls, inquiries about after-school activities and pick-up locations at two different schools. Kind of like a James Bond movie, but without the fast cars, martinis and international intrigue. Okay, maybe only the cars and the intrigue are missing.

I finally wrangled them back home, but by then it was time to hop back in the car and take off for an event we were scheduled to go to. This required me to go through my standard before-leaving drill, which consists of standing at the front door and yelling things like, "Did you brush your hair?" and "Do you have your bag?" and "Do you have a snack for the car?" Except with two of them, I have to yell everything twice.

When we got home, it was time to start the evening ritual: bathing, pajamas, teeth brushing. But first there's the arguing over who has to shower first, and then the accusations over someone wearing the other's pajama bottoms without asking, and then the bickering over the last strand of dental floss. I take two Advil, one for each of the two headaches I have.

When they're finally ready for bed, the hunt is on for the two books they were reading but have now mysteriously disappeared under an avalanche of stuffed animals and dirty clothes. I finally have to put an end to it by insisting they each pick out another book to read, just for tonight. There's grumbling, and it's loud since it's coming from the two of them.

But then? I get to hear "I love you." Twice. From my two beautiful girls. And I realize how lucky I am, and how great it is to have these two incredible gifts in my life.

And here it is, late Sunday night and I realized I still had to write a baby shower post, but my computer was still down. So here I am, on my laptop, writing this at 3am. Advice? The only thing I can think of right now is to get some sleep, and prepare to have everything multiplied by two, including, and most importantly, the love.

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Head on over here to see how you can participate in the baby shower, and have a chance to win some great prizes donated by Cool Mom Picks while you're at it.

'My Interview With Alicia Witt', or 'Why I Cringe At The Sound Of My Voice'

The spring issue of Genlux magazine is on the newsstands, and my interview with Alicia Witt (88 Minutes) is the cover story. Which is exciting because the photos are beautiful, but honestly, my interview pales in comparison. (Although, in my defense they did change a word here and there.) And holy crap - my byline is like 90-point type, so there's no pretending I didn't do it.

Why is it that sometimes seeing your own words in print is as painful as hearing your own voice on tape? There you are, thinking you sound like Lauren Bacall or Angelina Jolie, but instead what comes back at you from that speaker sounds like Fran Drescher being strangled. While gargling. Inside a tin can.

For some reason I'm thinking everyone reading this interview is going to picture me as a three-foot-tall, pear-shaped housewife wearing mom-jeans and a newsboy cap.

Which, for the record, I'm not. I'm wearing a fedora.







(Click here to read text. You know, only if you want to.)

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tags: alicia witt | 88 minutes | al pacino

Look Who's Talking

Awhile ago I told you we had gotten a new cat, Milkshake. Isn't he cute? We love him to death, but problem is sometimes he does bad things, things that make me threaten to make him live in the garage, or put on that humiliating, pink furry cat sweater I bought him as a joke.

Thank goodness I took that Cat Whispering class! Best five-grand I ever spent, even though it was being given by a guy who called himself 'PussyLuvr' who lived with a bunch of other middle-aged guys in a trailer. Because without his help I never would have been able to figure out what Milkshake was trying to tell me. Just look at some of the things he's said to me in the past week:

"I left you a present in your shower! I know it smells, but I MADE IT MYSELF."

"KACK! KACK! KACKKKK! HAIRBALL!"

"Of course I appreciate the fact that you saved me from the shelter. That's why I'm scratching the shit out of your leather couch."

"Uh, please stop trying to pull your jacket out from under me WHEN I'M TRYING TO SLEEP."

"I love you."

"I hate you."

"I WILL sleep on your stomach, bitch."

"I hope somebody feeds you 'Lamb and Rice' everyday and for every meal in your next life."

"Help! That tinfoil ball is totally trying to kill me."

"I'll stop attacking your arm when it stops looking like a big piece of tuna."

"Hey, you think YOUR poop smells like raindrops and daisies?"

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This

I don't believe in dreams as prophecy, but I do think they can say a lot about the person having them. For instance, maybe they can tell us the difference between someone who is worried about school and her academic future, and someone whose biggest concern is getting jacked at McDonalds.

Kira: I had the worst nightmare last night! We had the mean substitute, Mr. D, and I had forgotten to do all of my homework. He started yelling at me and then started sending me really mean emails! It was awful!

Kiyomi: Omigod! I had an even worser nightmare! I dreamed that I got a Happy Meal and when I opened it there was only one chicken McNugget instead of six! I was freaking out!

I tend to think the McNugget dream really is scarier, but that's probably because I'm on a diet and have only had a whole-wheat cracker and a grape today.

My Surreal Life: I Had Lunch With Jessica Alba Today

I spent five hours at Kira's middle school today. It was their Open House, and for two hours before classroom visits they had a World's Fair with food booths, games, jugglers and live music. I had volunteered to set up and work the PTA bake sale, so there I was in our makeshift booth made out of lunch benches, with my frosting-smeared shirt and plastic gloves hustling brownies and cupcakes for three-hours to hoards of adolescents and their parents.

But before that? I had lunch with Jessica Alba.

Slightly more exciting than selling baked goods to middle schoolers, but equally nerve wracking.

I had been asked to interview her by Genlux magazine, who had me previously interview Hayden Panettierre and recently Alicia Witt. No problem! These phone interviews had been relatively easy, chatting for forty-five-minutes about Versace and celebrity beauty secrets while I sat in my office clad in faded sweatpants and my torn Gap t-shirt, the phone receiver nestled comfortably in my unbrushed hair.

But then I was told that this one had to be in person, that I would be sitting down, one-on-one and face-to-face with Jessica Alba, she of the perfect Revlon skin and the Maxim's Hot 100 List. Did they know who I was? Were they aware that I often ventured out in public in my pajamas? My first reaction was to try and get out of doing it altogether, but halfway through my story I could tell they weren't buying my "mysterious ailment that prevented me from leaving the house" and they really got suspicious when I got to the part about my ten-pound goiter.

To make matters worse, the lunch would take place in a trendy restaurant on one of the hippest streets in L.A. Why, this is the block where some of the biggest celebrities have crashed their cars and had public meltdowns that led to immediate trips to rehab. So much pressure! I felt like I would be expected to charge up in my minivan, run over the valet and fall out into the street while simultaneously flashing my panties and chugging from a quart bottle of Vodka.

(To prove what a serious journalist I am, I'll have you know I prepared extensively for the interview. And by 'prepared' I mean getting a manicure and going to the mall to buy a killer top and a new jacket.)

But in spite of all my nervousness and worries, it went surprisingly well. While somewhat guarded, she was sweet, down to earth and surprisingly easy to talk to. And here's one thing I noticed: People are very nice to you when you're sitting with Jessica Alba. I believe at one point we had three waiters standing by our table, and halfway through our meal the owner came over to ask if I'd like my quesadilla re-made, since it had gotten cold during the course of the interview. Baskets of bread and bottles of water appeared magically at the table. I'd like to take Jessica with me to my local Starbucks and see if that snippy barista still rolls her eyes when I ask for more foam on my cappuccino.

My favorite parts of the interview were where we talked about her pregnancy, and about babies, and about raising kids in this city. I told her stories about my girls, and at the end of the interview I gave her two cards Kira and Kiyomi had made for her. She seemed genuinely touched and read both of them carefully, and brought them out to show her friend who came to pick her up when we had finished. Of course, I told the girls all of this and thought they'd be thrilled, but Kiyomi's only reaction was, "But wait - and you still didn't get us her autograph?"

I haven't even listed to the tape yet, which I have to admit I'm dreading since it will inevitably have me cringing at the sound of my voice and the inappropriate giggling. How many times did I say 'um?' Just how insincere and pandering did I sound when I said, "I love your hair!" Could I have been more dorky when I asked her friend to take a picture of us? At that creepy juncture I may as well have asked to exchange phone numbers, given her a lock of my hair and invited her over for a sleepover.

I'll let you know when the interview comes out. And if I've changed my name.

But at the end of the day, this much I know for sure - I sold a helluva lot of brownies.

Keep the Ball, Just Give Me The Peanuts and CrackerJack

MetroDad has a great post up right now about baseball. Specifically, baseball players of Asian descent, who he calls "our greatest weapons in battling mainstream media's perception of the emasculated Asian male." I say amen to that, since Asians certainly aren't getting any respect in Hollywood, where all the roles for rickshaw drivers and grocery owners have completely dried up.

I also have a post up about baseball, over on UpTake (formerly Kango.) The difference is, I don't know crap about the game - in fact, I'm probably more qualified to perform an appendectomy than I am to talk about batting averages and line drives. But I did some extensive research (I must have clicked on the Dodger Official Website like sixty freakin' times!) and I think I've greatly increased my knowledge of the game:

I’m not a season ticket holder, so I would head down to Chavez Ravine (as all us Dodger experts call it) and buy a one-day ticket. They range in price from $130 for MVP seating all the way down to $11 for what appears to be a seat in the top section inside a stall in the men’s bathroom. I’d decide to splurge for a $70 seat, which along with having a great view of the field appears to be painted a pleasing orange color that would go great with my complexion...Read More...

'21': Why Hollywood Continues to Be Racist

I won't be going to see "21" and it's not because a review I just read compares the film to a "two-hour commercial for the Las Vegas Visitors and Convention Bureau." And it's not because that same review called lead actor Jim Sturgess "not particularly interesting" and Kate Bosworth an "onscreen vacuum."

No, it's because I haven't been so offended by Hollywood since they cast David Carradine in the role of a wise Chinese sage and called it Kung Fu. (And look - they even got his eyes to slant up!)

"21" is based on the true story of a group of MIT students who made a ton of money in Vegas with an elaborate card counting scheme. In real life the two main players in the story are Jeff Ma and Mike Aponte, who are both of Asian descent.

That's right, and they are played in the movie by Bosworth and Sturgess. In case you hadn't noticed, neither of them are even close to being Asian. Thanks again Hollywood, for once again telling the world that Asians aren't even capable of portraying themselves.

I can't wait to see the Hollywood version of the upcoming Olympics in China, with Shia LeBouf playing the role of China's gymnastic team star and Richard Gere as a Tibetan monk.

Hopefully they'll have some roles for some actual Asians - maybe as a rickshaw driver, or a laundress, or a sushi chef, or, yes - a Kung Fu master! That is, unless David Carradine is up for the role.

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tags: 21 | bringing down the house | jeff ma | mike aponte | mit blackjack team | racism in hollywood