October 2008

I might never date again. After the last couple scares, I realize it would be easier if I could only give up all expectations. You know the ones like manners, a job, and acting like you’re from this planet.

My last fix-up by friends seemed great at first. Until he laughed. I was thinking ok, maybe I just won’t ever say anything funny so I won’t have to hear that screechy howl of his. But then he laughed at nothing, it came out of nowhere. Like he was hearing something funny in his crazy little head.

When we walked into the bar he went in crazy head first, and the door sorta hit me in the face. Hey, it wasn’t only me surprised, a couple walking out looked on in horror. I felt embarrassed. That I was having drinks with this idiot and would have to kill my friends soon. He flagged down the waiter with a big country wave and yell across the lobby. But there just aren’t enough martinis to make stories of childhood skin disease interesting. So an hour of fake smiling later, I was exhausted and looking for the nearest exit.

Happy to make it out alive with only the awkward parking lot goodbye to go, I was relieved. Until he leaned in several feet and tried to smooch me. Like any smart dater, I used my purse as defense and held it up like a shield. We hugged, purse and all and I scurried off.

I’m usually flattered when my friends think of setting me up with someone. One of my best relationships started that way. So send your great single guy friends to me…I just have a brief mental competency test for them first.

Guess what business is doing better now than it has all year?

That’s right, while the rest of us are tightening our belts, strippers are tossing theirs off in celebration. And maybe it’s their turn. To hang out with more unemployed, down on their luck guys than ever.

Perverse isn’t it? A tawdry career choice can withstand the crappy economy and even benefit. Seems bouncing boobs really are comforting in times of trouble.

If more men are at the strip clubs, where are women and how are we amusing ourselves? Clipping coupons and shopping at Walmart, sheesh I hope not. It will be interesting to see what industries survive and even prosper in this icky economy.

So what about all the stripper poles at home? In LA there’s a popular class where women go and learn to dance just like a tart. http://www.sfactor.com/ I never was sure how you’d explain that stripper pole in your bedroom, to your kids or parents. But now at least it’s thrifty.

Save money, strip at home.

Imagine the surprise when my mom called me, with a cooking question. She was at our country house. Out in the middle of the country I mean, in Oklahoma. Where there is no internet, and I am the spokesperson for Butternut Squash. Turns out everyone loves it but isn’t sure what to do with it, ravioli is next to try. So here’s the squash lasagna I made for my Book Club recently, it was a big hit. I found it in Sunset magazine. Hey don’t laugh, they have great recipes and cool gardening designs. 

Whole-wheat lasagna with butternut squash-serves 8

** for the squash-only instructions

4 tbsp olive oil, divided

1 medium red onion, peeled and sliced

3 peeled garlic cloves-1 minced, 2 whole

2 14 oz cans crushed tomatos

1 tsp dried oregano

1 tsp each salt & pepper

6 cups, about 2 pounds butternut squash, peeled and cut into 1/2 inch cubes, it’s like cutting up pumpkin so get ready, or just buy it already cubed

1 pound Lacinato kale-also called dinosaur or Tuscan

9 whole wheat lasagna noodles-about 8 ounces

1 15 oz container part skim ricotta

1/8 tsp nutmeg

2 cups shredded mozzarella, divided

Preheat oven to 400 for the squash

The sauce: Heat 2 tbsp of the oil in a medium pot over medium heat. Add onion and minced garlic, stir and cook about 5 minutes until onion is translucent. Add tomatos, oregano and ½ tsp each S&P. Reduce heat and simmer about 30 minutes. (I didn’t love the stringy onion in here, but do your sauce any old way you like)

The squash: While sauce is simmering, toss the cubed squash in the last 2 tbsp of oil, S&P to taste and garlic cloves, all onto a cookie sheet for baking 10-15 minutes. When it’s done, reduce oven to 350 and puree squash until smooth.

** For my mom or anyone else wanting to just make squash, cook for less time and don’t puree.

The kale: Tear leaves from ribs and boil until soft, about 5-8 minutes. Drain and let cool, squeeze out the water and chop. ( Ok now I know how to use kale. But too much trouble for the little specks of green when cooked so I suggest more kale or some other vegetable)

Boil the noodles, drain and rinse.

Mix ricotta, nutmeg, remaining S&P and 1 cup cheese in a bowl.

Start layering: Coat the bottom of your 9 by 13 inch dish with 1/3 sauce. Lay in 3 noodles. Top evenly with squash. Sprinkle ½ of the kale or something else here. Now 3 more noodles and top then spread the ricotta. Remaining kale and noodles next. Then rest of the sauce and last cup of cheese on top. Bake about 30 minutes, let stand about 10 before cutting. I made it a day ahead, wrapped in plastic in the fridge until baking time. Deelish.

Seems we’re all just lying to each other. When we ask a friend what they think, do we really want to know?

One of my guy friends is thinking about changing jobs. There would be no reason on earth to turn it down if offered. He knows that. But asked me, and admitted to asking all his friends, if he should make the move. After telling him he’s being a girl, I realized he just wanted confirmation that he’s doing the right thing.

Certain friends are sure to be more delicate with our feelings, or lie. To be in agreement with what we’re doing. So we go to them and ask what they think. Knowing our mind’s already made up to leave that guy or that job. We just need verification. Or confirmation that our instincts were good. We’re such pussies.

I say today is National No Asking Anyone What They Think About Anything Day. And the next time a friend asks for your opinion, be honest. I dare you.

And all the other names Greys Anatomy has come up with for our lady parts. Last season it was the popular Vajayjay, even you know who was using it, everyday it seemed like. I think she’s swell, but it started to feel overused. Sorry Oprah.

My favorite was LadyTown. It seemed like a real destination, a place so superb, only the most special and well behaved guests would get invited back. Okay, maybe that was my own interpretation.

In college a girlfriend used the name Cooter. Fun for awhile but too hilarious. It lacked respect, but it still cracks me up. You can say it a zillion different ways without ever sounding like a porn star. And really, isn’t that what we all want.

I’m not proud, but I can’t be the only one. When another woman is the proud owner of a big ol’ diamond engagement ring I think, WOW that girl is really loved. If it’s a budget-sized normal ring, it’s just not as exciting. There was a girl I used to work with, and the teeny tiny size of her diamond chip was sad news. I never even saw it, just heard how subtle it was. I felt bad for her and that high school promise ring posing as something more.

Oh sure it’s about love, not the diamond. But it’s the big sparkly stones that get our attention. So maybe it’s a very shallow scorecard of how we did or didn’t do in the love department.

Lucky girl, he loves her 3 emerald-cut carats worth!

What is it about a big ring? Like a fancy new car or a 500$ purse, it says to everyone Hey I’m special. Or at least my credit card is.

That bullshit telling us how many months salary a guy is supposed to spend, heard it was invented by the diamond companies to sell more shiny. Would you rather have a down payment for a home or an impressive piece of jewelry? Don’t answer that.

Especially in LA, where image seems to matter most. It’s not an easy city to be down to earth in. Driving my 10-year old car cause it gets great mileage, I’m often alone in my practicality, but mostly I just don’t care. And I’d go broke trying to keep up.

So you’d think I wouldn’t give a shit about some showy thing that proves something or other to some people. But I do. And I don’t.

Size shouldn’t matter. But it always does.

Every girl should be so lucky to have a friend like him. We used to work together and he was one of my first friends 13 years ago when I was new to LA. He’s married to the superfoxy Jennifer, who became one of my good friends too. Because she didn’t mind a bit when Alan and I went to lunch, or to movies or Costco or Pottery Barn at lunch, I vowed to be that kind of partner. See how fab they are.

When I finally found my perfect apartment he helped me move over lunch. There was an expensive jacket at Banana Republic he knew I wanted, saw it get marked down, and put it on hold for me. He worked late to help me put my portfolio together so I could work as a writer. Years ago he patiently took dozens of photos of me when I wanted to put an ad online. I even borrowed a shirt and jewelry of Jen’s, she dresses much better than me. And damn her, she never takes a bad photo.

I’d like to think I’ve learned a lot from his friendship. He was one of the first people to admit to me that relationships aren’t easy. Gasp. As I complained about each and every dork I dated, it was obvious that perhaps just maybe I had overreacted, or taken something too personal. And god knows, he heard it all. The good, the bad and the fucking ridiculous. There’s just something special about a guy friend, and getting a guys point of view. He can say things your girlfriends shouldn’t, and it seems perfectly ok. More honest yes, but more educational for the long haul.

Two days ago a bunch of Alan’s friends and family got together for his birthday. There was lots of wine and lots of love. For a guy that happily does so much for everyone he knows, he’s a one-of-a-kind friend.

I run by this cute house all the time and now it’s for sale. I’ve accepted the sad reality that I can’t afford to buy in my neighborhood. Shit, none of my friends can afford to buy in my neighborhood. But I was curious and it’s actually a bargain at only $995,000. Crazy right. Two bedrooms, one bath, 1000 square feet in a great location right across from a pocket park. 

This is what a million bucks gets you in Santa Monica. Well, this is what a million bucks gets someone else. I prefer something smaller and crappier anyway.

Men in shorts at the office, just say NO!!! This is LA and it’s advertising, but come on. Too many of the guys around here forget their pants when they leave the house in the morning. Shorts and tennis shoes with socks only look cute if you’re under 12. Put some big boy clothes on. Please. I can’t take you seriously and the women are making fun of you. In the words of Jerry Seinfeld to George about wearing sweats outside the house “It tells the world that you’ve just given up.”