The Southern Wedding

As I was raised in Texas by parents who were raised in Southern California, it took me a while to get up to speed with all things southern. Take, for example, southern food. I was not introduced to a grit until I went to college. Until I became hip with Paula Deen, I thought a collard green was a dirty word. Chicken fried steak? I honestly still don’t get it. Also, what the hell is the big deal with sweet tea?!

Anyway, getting my southern bearings took me a good eighteen years. There is one thing, however, that I was introduced to immediately. The southern. family. wedding. YEEHAW! First, I should provide background about my family. I was raised by parents who had, hmmm, shall we say differing ideas about child rearing and what is important in life than most of our neighbors. I was told at a young age I would be going to grad school. I was told that education and career should the most important things in my life until I graduated and began my career. Men? I mean sure, if you want to date that’s fine. My dad always told me, “don’t be one of those idiots who gets married in your early twenties. Remember you have the rest of your life to be married. It can wait.”

No offense to my friends that are already married. Doug’s advice shouldn’t be read as one size fits all.

The moral of the story? Weddings weren’t really on my radar. I had no, and still really don’t have any, desire to get married. The drinking/dancing honeymoon stuff I can get behind. Big white dress in a church? SCARY. The parade of horrible that can be my relatives? NO thanks. However, despite all of my parents “sage” advice, I was warned told about the southern wedding.

I don’t get it. Alright, let me explain. The southern wedding is BIG. It is loud. It may or may not involve hay stacks, cowboy boots, two stepping, 500 fraternity and sorority sisters and an insurmountable number of family members. Oh, and for one of my friends, Bevo will be involved. (shout out to ‘ya K Nasty!!)

I recently went to a family wedding with my boyfriend. The wedding was BIG, the wedding was loud and there were more boots and big hair in once place than I would EVER care to see again. The best part about southern weddings, are the stereotypical guests. Specifically, the out of towners, the random, the distant relatives and the party person/people.

The out of tonwers really don’t belong. First of all, they probably have no idea where the are/where they are going. “Saaaaaaaaam, I told you the church is on the right!!!” These folks always seem to have an air of confusion surrounding them. Look people, you’re in Texas not Afghanistan. Grab a beer and some fried chicken and join the party.

Ah, the distant relatives. In my experience these are the ones that you have to invite because they are family, but you really know nothing about each other. If you are lucky, the distant relatives will aim to “make a good impression.” This may or may not involve full length beaded and ankle length coat tails. Yikes.

When I speak of the random, I don’t mean Vince Vaughn wedding crashers random. I mean, who the hell is that guy? The random is usually a lurker, scoping out prey at the bar or waiting to swoop in on the dance floor.  No one knows the random but no one is willing to strike up a conversation with him. Don't let your beer goggles get in the way here people. Stay clear of the random.

The party person is always my favorite. This is usually the best man, maid of honor or some other particularly intoxicated college friend. The party person somehow always manages to find the mic, whether it be at the rehearsal or the actual wedding. “remember that time we learned how to do keg stands behind the KA house and you had to pee on a tree and then we woke up on a couch in the alley?!” Yes I do remember. However I didn’t plan on sharing this tid bit with great aunt Mildred. Classic. Don’t ever change party person, don’t ever change.

I promise I am not a total pessimist, and I really do enjoy family weddings. I am usually the first one on and the last one off of the dance floor… with minor breaks to refill my cocktail. Having family that is willing to travel to see you or is willing to come even though they haven’t seen you since you were in diapers is pretty darn cool. Thankfully, my family and my boyfriends family are the sh*t. Phew! However, until (if ever) this happy even comes my way, I am going to spend my time with Dot…Training her to eat food off of the living room table.

Until next time,

Exercising My Rights

Oh blog, how I have missed you. I think of you often. Unfortunately, I have a case of the running around like a chicken sans head. Sigh. So… quick update.

1.       I have a job(s). Thus why I am busy. I bounce back and forth between the two jobs like a crazy person. I am working and making money, so thou shall not complain.

2.       I am still looking for work. What, wait? Right- so here’s the thing. I love my jobs, but they may or may not be permanent/ turn into salaried positions. Mama wants a salary, and preferably an office. So I figure while things are still pretty informal what’s the harm in looking around. Right? Right.

3.       Dot is still alive and kicking. Yeah we weren’t worried about that. She is going to last longer than you will. Touche.

That’s whats going on here. I did, however, omit one tiny detail. I GOT MY GYM BACK!! Yes, this makes no sense. Allow me to explain. In April, much to my HORROR, my gym closed for renovations. Word on the street was that the new gym was going to be so nice and upscale that membership dues were going to increase upwards of $65 bucks a month.

[do you have any idea how many bottles of two buck chuck you can buy with that? 30. That’s a lot!!!]

Needless to say, I had to find another gym in the mean time. Enter Bally’s. Note: I apologize if anyone reading this works for Bally’s, loves their Bally’s or is offended by my comments. The thoughts and opinions in this article are the authors and the author’s alone. Law school ya’ll.

What's wrong with Bally’s? Ah, let me count the ways:

1.       The machines were always broken. At one point HALF of the gym didn’t have power. Soommmeeeoooonnneee probably forgot to pay the electric bill. Well played Bally’s.

2.       The pool was SKANKY. I mean go under the water with your goggles on and discover all sorts of horrors not limited to hair, fingernails and debris skanky.  Thanks, but no thanks.

3.       Shotty Construction. Ok seriously the weight room was on the 3^rd floor of the building. I swear every time Chuck Norris dropped his barbell the ceiling was going to collapse. That sh*t will wake you up in the morning.

4.       Class dues. Yes, you pay for the membership…but wait! There’s more! You had to pay additional fees for every single class. Riddle me this, if the power is out, the pool isn’t habitable and the building is older than father time, where the hell else are my dues going?

On the bright side, Bally’s did provide me a place to work out for a few months. The other day I decided I had enough, I wanted to go back to my former gym. I thought I’m a lawyer; I can negotiate my way to a better deal. This is horse shit- I will demand my membership at the old rate. Foolproof plan ya got there…

Monday, I went into the gym guns blazing.

            T: I would like to speak to a manager.

            M: I’m a manager, how can I help you?

T: I would like to discuss my membership with you. I was a member pre-renovation and I feel that raising my fee due to the new appearance and equipment is unconstitutional.

            M: Ma’am, we…

T: Unconstitutional!!! This is CRUEL and UNUSUAL punishment. Also, this is a clear violation of my free exercise clause. I demand entrance to this facility!!

…unbeknownst to me, the manager had taken my membership card and swiped it. Turns out if you were a member at that gym pre-renovation you did in fact get to keep your membership at the reduced rate.

             M: MA’AM.

             T: Really? Raising your voice at me? HARASSMENT!!!

              HARASSMENT I SAY!!

             M: YOU ARE STILL A MEMBER, CHILL OUT.

             T: Wait, what?

The nice man then went on to explain what I had yet to realize. Sh*t. I apologized profusely, blaming all of my pent up bar knowledge that was not actually tested on the bar thanks California. He shrugged it off as I swallowed my pride.

When I was little my dad told me I was going to be a great litigator. This is due to the fact that I found pleasure in arguing with various family members regarding the exact color of the sky. Well you know it’s not blue everywhere, it depends on the reflection of the molecules etc. Nooooow I get what he was talking about. Apparently the gym manager now agrees. Point Doug.

On a different note, the place is amazing. When I walked in I was struck with how different everything looked. But oh wait… what’s this? Towel service? Free bottled water? New machines? FLAT SCREENS on every machine? A sauna? Basketball court? FIFTY brand new spin bikes? I’ve heard of this place…. HEAVEN!!!! [insert huge smile]

Thankfully my little skirmish with the manager didn’t tarnish my reputation. However, when I checked in this am a different front desk attendant greeted me, “good morning counselor.”Damn. Oh well, you win some, you lose some. At least I have my gym back.

Until next time,

I'm Taylor W, and I am not a Phoenix

As I have been stuck on the I cant get a damn job bandwagon, I had a thought… if I didn’t go to law school, what else would I be doing? What alternate career would suit this sassy southerner? Well, part southerner. I’m kind of like a buttery biscuit topped with egg whites and avocado. Ya dig? Moving on. Here are some of my thoughts:

1. Traffic Enforcement Officer (a.k.a bitch if you park there imonna give you a ticket!)

                I know, you are thinking “Taylor what the EFF?! You can’t give people parking tickets, you are the QUEEN of parking tickets.” This is true. I believe that any signs of improvement in the California economy are a direct result of my relationship with the LA traffic enforcement. My bank account agrees. I swear, those sassy little traffic vixens wait in their three wheeled go-carts just WAITING for my meter to expire. But officer, I was 30 seconds late. Sucks to be you! Why yes, yes it does. In fact, I got a $68 dollar ticket last week DIRECTLY IN FRONT of my apartment. Now that is truly impressive. So, like the old saying goes, if you can’t beat ‘em join em right? I can just picture it now, dressed in my fancy pleated khakis and crisp white shirt zooming down Santa Monica boulevard to give Mr. Maserati a ticket…or to ask him if he is hiring, either one. It could work right?

2.  Nurse (a.k.a bitch imonna stick you with this needle!)

                This is really just a horrible idea for so many reasons. 1) I cannot stand needles. Yes, I am a 25 year old grown woman. However, I still squeal for sweet gentle Jesus whenever nurse Sally walks toward me with that death instrument. 2) I would dick around. I can see it now, Taylor walking around the hospital with an O.R. mask.. Dr. Phillips, I am your faaaaathhaaaaah. 3) I lack compassion. Shocking right? Actually, that isn’t 100% true. I am very compassionate…toward my friends. Some lady bitching at me because little Johnny got an eraser stuck up his nose? Maybe sooommmeeonne should keep a better eye on Johnny.  Yeah, not so much. Finally, 4) I SUUUUUUCK at math. My father neglected to pass down the “I can do math” gene. I still have nightmares about my dad hovering over me while I sat at the kitchen table at 1am in the morning trying to figure out my calculus homework. Oh, and to you Ms. Horne, I have NEEEEVVVVEEEERRR used anything above jr. high level math. Maybe that’s why I can’t find a full time job? Food for thought.

3. Restaurateur (a.k.a Charles Shaw isn’t fine wine?)

                I would LOOOOOOVE to own a restaurant. I love to cook, watch food network and I have an eye raising amount of experience, how do you say, sampling adult beverages. The only problem- I know nothing about operating a restaurant. I know nothing about owning a restaurant. Shit, I know nothing about owning anything. I’m pretty sure my dad is the rightful owner of my dog, I rent my apartment, and just about the only things I can call mine are either previously owned or from the mecca that is IKEA. I digress. This really is an actual dream of mine a loooooooooooooooong time down the road. I just need to make sure I keep my eye on the prize. An endless supply of good wine at my fingertips? Must. Not. Get. Sloshed. At. Work.  I should probably keep that in mind at all times… So this idea could actually work. In thirty years. Sigh.

Well, until then I will cling to my newly acquired part time jobs, (yes I have two now !!!) and the handle of “Vodka of the Gods” in my freezer.

Until next time.

Downgrade Taylor's Credit Rating

So last Monday, three days after the bar, I started looking for a job. Enthused, I sent out over 40 resume’s a day last week. What did I get?  7 rejection letters and some random asshole asking me on a date. Can a sister catch a break?

I know, I know the economy sucks. The great thing was that I had school to hide behind. Yah, it looks like shit out there but I’m protected by my academia bubble…until now. Granted, I have only been searching for a job for eight days, but it is beyond discouraging. Lets consider, I graduated at the top of my class in high school. In college, I could count the number of B’s I received on one hand. I graduated law school at the age of 25 with three amazing summer externships under my belt. What’s my point?

I just applied at subway.

What’s wrong with this picture? I’m not knocking the awesomeness that is the six inch meatball sub (Moses on the mountain its amazing), but I didn’t go to law school to work at Subway. If I didn’t have any loans to pay off, then this wouldn’t be an issue. However, as I am considering tucking Dot in a nap-sack and hiding from Sallie Mae for fear of default, the problem is real.

Another example of my misery- I have the best friends in the world. In college I was blessed enough to meet and befriend seven of the most amazing women I have ever met. Since that time, we have all remained extremely close. Visiting those girls is often the highlight of my month, quarter or year. As we are “that age” several of us (them) are getting married. Cut to the point- I just had to tell one of my best friends that I can’t attend her bachelorette party because I can’t afford it. Actually, that’s an understatement… Whenever I have enough money to buy groceries or put half a tank of gas in my car I think tiny baby Jesus…Amen.

No job = no social gatherings = no friends, right? My boyfriend woke me up in the middle of the night last week because I was shouting, “BUT I DON’T WANT TO BECOME THE CAT LADY. I CAN’T AFFORD FANCY FEAST!.”

Well shit.

There has to be good in all of this right? Actually, there is. When you live on a budget that involves searching under your couch cushions for gas money, you tend to become on savvy B. Exhibit A: yesterday- said no no bachelorette party day- I was feeling pretty down. Andrew’s solution? “Lets go fry some shit.” And fry we did. Oil, flour, okra, and chicken  totaling $7.50 (plus probably ¼ of a bottle of vodka) = a damn good time. “What else can we fry? Lets fry a cherry! Didn’t work. What  about beer? ?!?!!? We could fry DOT! Drunky-skunky. Needless to say, we had a blast.

So here is my point: 1) I should have a DAMN job because I am SERIOUSLY qualified, 2) but I don’t, 3) therefore I will look as much as I can and make every efforts to find employment even if it involves asking toasted or regular, and finally 4) I will continue to enjoy daily happy hour and pray I don’t throw my dog into the frying pan.

Until next time,

Dont Hate

It is 10:03 pm on Sunday, July 24th. Who gives a shit? Good point... However- I am taking the bar on Tuesday. This Tuesday? Yes, as in day after tomorrow. What the hell are you doing here then? Again, good point. I took a momentary study break and realized how long it as been since I've updated my blog. I miss it- and I plan to return. However I hope the one half of a person that reads this will excuse my absence. The last ten weeks have been hell. Thankfully, the end is near. I have many tales to tell and there are laughs to be had. Don't get cocky, only your brother reads this blog. .....well, even if that is the case, I felt I needed to account for my absence. 

While we are on the topic of my brother, check out his blog: http://ohsnapclt.blogspot.com/ He is just getting started, but my brother is many things including hilarious, laugh your ass off sarcastic and totally relatable.

I look forward to rejoining the real world and updating the One Eyed Dog. Until then, if you have any spare time- shoot me a good luck thought or perhaps a prayer. I could use it.

Cheers.

Thumbs Down

I am not one to hold a grudge. I am much more of the, alright this happened lets figure out how to deal with it so we can be friends again and I don’t have to beat your ass type. Fight. Haggle. Figure it out. Move on. Let us avoid the gray area, shall we?

Anywho- despite this charming character trait, there are a few things that I will NEVER be able to get over. I am currently experiencing a whole lotta’ change in my life last day of work, school is ending, boyfriend moving in…CRISIS PANIC, so I have been thinking a lot about the constants in my life. Naturally, I came up with the things that will forever piss me off. Classy right? See if you agree.

Depends Commercials.

                Seriously Taylor, this is something that bothers you? Um, YES. I mean come on, getting old is scary enough. WHY oh WHY do we need a commercial reminding us, Hey you are going to get old and shrively and forget your family members and not know how to drive…AND you are also going to start pissing yourself!!!! WEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! Absolutely not. AND to add insult to injury, have you seen the Whoopi Goldberg depends commercials? Sister must SERIOUSLY need some cash. Hmm, running out of money.  I know what I’ll do! I will become the queen of the pants-pissers! DO. NOT. DIG. IIIIIIIIIIIIIFFFFFFFF this happens to me when I get older: A. I will NOT tell you about it B. I do NOT want to be told about it. Diaper isle be damned.

Animal Purses

                Seriously T, you are insane. (oh pipe down). Honestly though, Why in the wide wide world of sports do you need a purse shaped like a chicken, or a cat? If you are under the age of six, you are exempt. Sadly, the majority of offenders seem to be overage. There is this chick in my office, and I LOVE her. She is great. HOWEVER- she has a rubber chicken purse. Let me repeat- A RUBBER CHICKEN PURSE. I get that animals are cute (see Dot to your left) but c’mon, NOT in the handbag. Seriously what sort of goofy mother effer walks around with a fish dangling from their shoulder, or holding a rooster? Fashion FAIL.

Skorts

                Unless you are playing tennis, this fashion “item” is a no go. Shorts or skirt? PICK A SIDE. Look! From the front I am wearing a skirt, but when I turn around I really have on shorts!!  What kind of weird shit is that? Basically, you are telling the world that you are not mature enough to wear a skirt. I wanted the skirt, buy mummy wouldn’t let me. To the stores that actually sell this item- High five! Way to fuel the fire that is BAD FASHION. I don’t do gray areas, thus I don’t do skorts.

Family Bumper Stickers

                You know the ones- mom dad and ten kids in stick figures complete with fido and kitty? Listen up people, if you have the balls to drive a minivan (ick) we get that you have a gazillion kids. Why do you feel the need to advertise it? You were probably one of those tools that had the “baby on board” visor in your car, and “my child is an honor student at…” A prayer for you, “that you may learn to separate yourselves from your children and cease displaying offensive and unnecessary art on your car.” AMEN.

Socks With Sandals

                Everyone knows this is a fashion no-no Tay. Right, but let us ponder the reason behind the socks. Sandals are for WARM weather, for spring and summer, for letting your feet breathe! Here’s hopin’ you got a pedicure before hand…musty old winter feet- not sexy. Adding the sock…just doesn’t make sense. You are essentially taking the entire point of the sandal and giving it the middle finger. Just you try, you sly sandal, to show my naked foot. Not in my house! Here’s a thought: PUT. ON. A. SHOE. Unless, however, you would like to traipse around town advertising the fact that you are either a total a douche lord, or that your idea of a good time is hangin’ out at Carlos and Charlie’s with your Hawaiian shirt and fanny pack. Up to you.

I should mention that this list is non-exhaustive. I imagine I will post MANY more “things I dislike” entries. THIS is why Facebook needs a dislike button. Happy Tuesday, and GO LAKERS!

H8RS

If you live in LA, or have ever visited in LA, you have probably noticed the abundance of personalized license plates. When I first moved I thought this was the most insane thing ever. Hey, check out lord douche over there with his license plate-“WINNR!” I just didn’t understand it. I am all for making a statement about yourself have ya read my blog but I didn’t understand the need to do it on your car. Doesn’t your actual car say enough about your? I mean come on LA, how flashy and look at me! look at me! do we really need to be? We already have the reputation of being a big bunch of over-tanned self indulgent biAtches. Do we really need to validate this image with our cars?

I carried this attitude with me for two and a half years until I decided to do some research was really bored at work, didn’t want to study and it was too early for a glass of wine. Not all people with personalized plates are AssHats right? There have to be some cool license plates… UM YES, THERE ARE. I give you, complete with analysis, license plates that receive the Taylor you aren’t a total douche stamp of approval!

1.       LYTESPD

I LOVE STAR WARS. LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE STAR WARS. I mean COME ON people- how cool is that movie?!  May the force be with me….to put away all of my laundry with my mind; to tell my loud upstairs neighbor to stop vacuuming at 2am; to convince my professors I deserve all As. Yes, I realize that I am abusing the force- aka sister is on the dark side- and I’m ‘aaight with that. This license plate is the shit. I heart you Han Solo. My Star Wars plate? “LTESABR”

2.       HVABEER

Well, I don’t mind if I do!!! This person is cool. I mean ya, ok, any frat boy would want this license plate, but I bet this dude is awesome. How chill- just have a beer. Nothing about how he likes to N8LCHKS, or his LRGPNIS. Just beer. Granted, this guy could be a total redneck, but what’s wrong with that? Rednecks are F-U-N-N-Y! Hello, Jeff Foxworthy anyone?! To respond in kind, I would like “GLSOWNE” (get it, heh heh).

3.       RUB1OFF

Ok, this one is in no way appropriate, but it made me laugh…and then I thought- at least this guy is honest. He doesn’t play games. From the second you get into his car, you know what is on his mind. I mean, why hide the fact that you are a creeper? She is going to find out sooner or later, so why not just advertise it so you can find a lady who loves you for who you are. A creeper. That likes to rub1off. I salute this man for saving precious female time and energy.  My counter? “TOOTIRD”

4.       VIAGRA

Hugh Heffner you have met your match. Not only does this license plate send a clear message, just look at this dude’s car. RED corvette. This guy isn’t even hiding the fact that he has small man (or old man) syndrome. You gotta love a guy that can wear his stripes so proudly. My response? “HOTFLSH”

5.       I[heart]YRMOM

BAHAHAHAHAHA. I swear there is a 14 year old boy stuck inside me because I STILL  think mom jokes are hilarious. This character probably has a sense of humor, but he might also enjoy wearing too tight muscle shirts and drive around with a case of Natty light in the trunk. Back in ’79 I was the star of the team. I shoulda gone pro. Enter Napoleon Dynamite.  A for the laugh factor, F for the fact this dude is probably livin in the past.  “SXYCUGR” you know I will be [did you see the plate frame? BWAHHAHAHA!]

6.       OMGMOVE

I MUST MEET THIS PERSON IMMEDIATELY. I am not kidding. Hello kindred spirits!!! I have probably shaved, oh, about five YEARS off of my life stressing/yelling/howling at people, objects, animals in traffic. You seriously need to be on top of your shiz if you are driving in LA traffic. We have places to go and we have no time for nonsense. GET MOVING PEOPLE. See blog related to traffic.  This plate sums up my general feeling every time I hit the 405, the 101, or Ohio by my apartment. “FKNDRVE”

7.       1  - LEG 

This plate is a shout out to my one eyed counterpart. HOW GREAT IS THIS?!?!? With the handicapped plate too?!?!?!? I mean come on, I am impressed by this persons sense of humor… if they really have one leg. Or, actually, even if they don’t because that shiz is funny dude. Here here to being handicapped but still having a sense of humor. This person should meet Dot, I am sure they would be fast friends. “DOTRCKS”

Have a fabulous weekend. If I don’t have time to post until next week, HAPPY EASTER from Dot and I.