Monday, January 28, 2013

"When it's 100 degrees in New York, it's 72 in Los Angeles. When it's 30 degrees in New York, in Los Angeles it's still 72. However, there are 6 million interesting people in New York, and only 72 in Los Angeles."*

   It rained** over the weekend and so today it was so clear that I realized that the San Gabriel Mountains were much larger than I thought they were. I’d never really seen them before and it turns out I’d just been looking at the foothills all these years. Ha! Weird, though, because if you can never see them, does it even matter that they’re there? (Whoa, that’s totally existential of me.) But we get so few clear days in Los Angeles that it was a real treat to find out about the mountains. Today it looked like this:
I love those hot air balloons. Love them.

   Minus the hot air balloon. And the regular balloon. And I didn’t draw in the mountains. I guess this is just what today felt like in my head.

  I was feeling pretty awesome this morning even without the mountains (though those made it even nicer) because I’ve FINALLY lost the weight I put on over Christmas and the New Year. That’s right, folks. I gained 6 pounds in two weeks at my parents’ house eating the following: Christmas cookies, my dad's brownies from-scratch (Grandma Begge's recipe), Kraft mac-n-cheese, and copious servings of buttered toast. (Disclaimer: these items were either gifts from schadenfroh*** neighbors or purchased by my mom for my sister Penelope, who can apparently eat whatever the fuck she wants and drink six regular cokes a day and not gain weight. The last time I could get away with that kind of diet, I was 8.) Turns out flour and sugar are bad for you and I had the gut to prove it. But now I’m back to my pre-holiday weight so I can start again with my regular 15-lb weight loss goal. Hooray for baby steps!

   So I went to my appointment for laser hair removal. (Yeah, I do that. You never know when Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue will need a last minute replacement for Marisa Miller.) So anyway, I had consciously made the appointment with Aren, seeing as how she is the technician I always visit. But it turns out my technician’s name has been Linda this whole time. Wow, I feel like an asshole leaving all those tips for Aren. And...wait for it...Aren is Linda’s SON. And he was the only technician working today. The receptionist, Annabelle, informed me that he’s really good and he’s an R.N. so I shouldn’t worry about showing him my vagina.

   I said, “Have you ever been to him?”

   She said, “Well, he’s my brother, so…”

   “So, no.”

   She said, “No. But people love him! He’s really good! People request him specifically.”

   I think that the “people” specifically requesting him were me. Last week. And notice she said "people" not "women."

   But then Annabelle told me that she has a male gynecologist. Helpful.

   Anyway, long story short (TOO LATE), I sucked it up and had my appointment with Aren. 
   Aren came out and Annabelle said, "Aren, take really good care of Lacey. It's her first time with a male technician and she's really excited!"
   I said, "Well now, that sounds wrong somehow."
   But you know what? Aside from not having much to say while he was working, Aren was truly excellent. I would see him again (just as friends). I think he’s better than his mom, even. And I feel like he probably deals with a fair amount of sexism (not to mention skepticism) in his line of work, what with being a man and all. On the other hand, maybe that’s a weird profession for a man. But on a third hand, I’m sure dudes that are getting hair lasered off their butt cheeks are happy that he’s doing what he's doing. Okay. I’m totally sold on Aren. (Which is apparently pronounced like “Aaron” and not, as I previously thought, an exotic, Armenian name pronounced like “are-en.” Or R.N., which he is!) And at least my tips were staying in the family.

   That’s enough/more than enough for now. Happy Monday!

*Neil Simon. Not to shit on LA, but have you ever noticed that when people who live here talk about it we always say, "Well, you can't beat the weather." That's because if we didn't have the weather, we'd kill ourselves.
**Due to the rain, my power went out for an unknown period of time over the weekend, which explains why the milk I poured all over my oatmeal led to a near-brush with vomiting.

***Schadenfroh, according to my sources (the Interwebs), is the adjective form of schadenfreude. It’s not really used in English, but it was the only word I wanted to describe people who bring plates of cookies to your house during the holiday season and call it "a gift."


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  2. Hmmm, I disagree just short of violently with your contention that without the weather, we'd kill ourselves. I'm from Michigan and you're from Omaha for f**k's sake! And if anyplace is more stultifyingly boring than the middle west, I want you to name it, right here, right now! There we didn't even have the weather and we're not dead! I can show you some AWESOME parts of this fair metropolis, if you need further convincing. But you ne'er return my missives so...