You're Alright Amy Wallace, A Real Trouble Maker But A Star Nonetheless

Really it's when I read old posts like the previous one that I want to crawl under a virtual rock and flee my own embarrassingness. You guys should never read this blog. I mean Judas Priest, what the shit was I even talking about. Sometimes my literary background comes sweeping into my life unannounced like Bette Midler in Hocus Pocus and then I get all philosophical and big-picture-like. Start reducing life to a few grand themes like I am Hesse or something. Yeah, they force English majors to exercise this minimize/reduce/tie-everything-into-one-baby-bow in the 347 essays that one must write over the 4 years of university. Eventually it just seeps into one like disease. Binding to an innocent messy haired girl like an insect on its host. Anyways, I'll get that shit right out of here.

HI GUYS!!!! What have you all been up to? How have you been spending/wasting your time without me?

It has been such a very long time since we have last caught up, and my dear readers, I have missed you like the desert misses the rain. Yes, the pilgrims could have probably crossed the g-damned Atlantic in the amount of time that was my latest blogging sabbatical. I am positively shaken with guilt. But I have been a tick tied up doing whatever it tis that I do. Wild though, how much has happened. I mean Miley Cyrus is a slut now, Al Gore is just another stain on the Clinton administration, Christiano is going to be a dad. Ron Artest naysayers are now sycophantic admirers AND eating hot dogs is suddenly trendy again.  In fact, my last post was so long ago that I won't even get on about the Lakers. After all that build up that I put you guys through, I will punish myself by being minimal.We'll just share a virtual celebratory chestbump and move about to the next order of business. And throw another one up for Phil's return, just for good measure.

First, in addition to the usual top secret clandestine pirate antics that comprise the majority of my leisure, I have been reading my ass off. Absolutely just soaking up the words and pouring through titles with a rabid voracity.  Reading is really very luxurious you know. I mean there is nothing more bourgeois than indulging an entire day with a thick and savory novel. So what has been getting my embers hot? Well, for your sake, I will only talk about one title. I believe I have caught this train a bit late, but it was so excellent that I cannot in good conscience skip over it. The Help by Kathryn Stockett. Oh my word, I can't remember the last time a book shook my soul like this one did. What a focking talent this lady is too, and for a first time novelist!!! You all must go out and get it right now. I have always felt a pull to content about the atrocities of humanity against each other, most specifically the Holocaust and the Civil Rights movement. Books with this subject matter are always so moving/humbling and it seems that it was during these horrific times that certain people became super-human and heroic. Rose against the threatening infection of hate and exhibited other worldly courage and kindness towards others. Yes, this is precisely what I like about books that shed light on the heartbreaking sections of our history. Miss Skeeter was one of these characters in The Help. And I really like how Kathryn Stockett is so adept and cognizant about showing the entire sphere of perspective as she makes sure to take us into the minds of opposing characters. Anyways, pick it up, you little cupcakes will eat that shit right up, I know it.

What else? Well now we just wait until NFL pre-season. Because while these are the most luscious, sexy months of the year, they are simultaneously a time for despair in professional athletics. A deep, sleepy, squirmy lull. Just an overall feeling of loss and yearning when the Top Ten highlights on Espn are all baseball. I wish to God I cared about baseball. It's so jolly and American. About beer drinking and Babe Ruth and hot dogs. But we all are who we are, aren't we.

I also was in a silly contest called the Aluminum Man this past weekend. I won't tell you what it entailed because you would definitely judge me. However, I will say that it involved a great number of males, submerging one's self in the cruel/frigid ocean, running, Mutt Lynch's, and maybe a bit of Vom here and there. But one doesn't just build character out of nothing. No, it requires labor.

Okay, this is already way too long. It's good to be back. I just slapped you on the ass.

XX,

Flighty Petey

I'll Be Your Friend Aldous

Even Blogger has a new format. @^%$ @$^*!!!!! I don't like it, give me back the old cuddly familiar one. For shit's sake. Would you all (the world) just quit the innovation and constant adjustments for one bloody second. Let me down easy. Yes, you just let me sit down for a tick and take a g-damned ujayii breath. And don't you dare ask me about "apps" because I don't even know where those are. It wasn't long ago that I had my little baby palm size nokia for a solid five years. (and my palms are really very small). It was like a tamagachi to me, an endearing extra appendage. I took pride in my reluctance to fall victim to the clutching inertia of technology. But then it just became inconvenient. Like the grandma's need email now, one needs googlemaps.

But hell, I miss that patented 4-piece detachment system. It's really as if the phone just woke up every day and begged me to show it off by throwing it against the wall time and time again. Happily turning on again each time I reassembled its 4 simple pieces of guts. Sure as the sun coming up again. And Snake. Oh those were the focking times man. I prob have the all time high score. And then BAM we all just go and throw it all away for the next big thing. You know what. Screw you blackberry.

Ah you guys better watch out, I am this close to going Thoreau on your asses. That's right we're talking Walden log cabin in the woods suckas. Sorry, you know I morph into a melodramatic thespian past 10 oclock on school nights.

Change is good. Hard sometimes, but good. Healthy and keeps the blood moving. Actually, I've been thinking about it quite a bit lately. Sometimes one needs some change before she can really settle in on this planet. Some change to stir it all up until one is so exhausted that she begins to appreciate a quiet little life of familiarity and sureness. Other times, change can be completely necessary to shake one's soul free. To know one's limits and capabilities. Man versus wild if you will.

Serious blogger Petey? I am probably really freaking you guys out. But hey, at least I am not talking about the Lakers right? I will almost be glad when the series is over so that I can think about and therefore write about something else. See, I am getting tempted again as we speak. I better go. Good luck to us all tomorrow. May the best team win. But so help me, if one more person brings up 2008, I am going to be giving out some world ending Indian burns.

Dump trucks of blessings to all of you beautiful, beautiful people. I love you so much and I am so grateful that you are in my life. You're a g-damned vision and don't let anyone tell you different. And I hope you know that I only play crotchety as a big fat front on this thing for tortured artist purposes.

Yes, I think you know that I am really just a silly little softie that gives the most vicious bear hugs around. Oopsies, sorry street cred. Anyways, cheerio.

Tired and Swollen like Andrew Bynum's Knee

Well, we're halfway through June. Another wild weekend, and my life forces are drained. All sorts of lovely party and revelry with a few hiccups here and there. Yes, let's see, we've got the University of Southern California in some pretty hot water, a significant oil spill down there in the gulf, and Vince Young getting arrested for punching people outside of strip clubs.

We've got a little gnat with one of the most severe Napolean complexes of our time. Right, Nate Robinson. I honestly don't know how any Laker holds it together while on the court with that guy. If it were me guarding him, I would last .5 seconds before I was throwing haymakers. Such a little shit. But this is also why I am not a professional athlete and why I got a yellow card while playing against St. Joseph's during my junior year of high school. (you didn't think midget outside hitters could get those did you). Yeah I have a lot of respect for our guys, resisting the urge to lay that punk ass out. Queensbridge! Phil is way more emotionally even keeled than I am about these things. When asked what his thoughts were on exploiting Perkins' and Rasheed's technical foul situation he answered with his typical PJ zen/classiness. He explained that he did not feel that antagonizing these players would be fair play and that this type of behavior is not how he wants to run his team. This is why Phil is better than me because you best believe I would be talking about their mama's while playing some mad D on either one of those fools. How about Kendrick Perkins though? I mean, guy scares me a bit. Perma-scowl. And can somebody tell me why every g damned Celtic is such a drama queen. I swear they flail and fly every time somebody barely brushes one of their pretty little limbs. Such sallies always begging for fouls. Right, I am not a sore loser at all.

And do you guys get all melty and charmed during the "NBA Cares" segments like I do? Yes, I am like putty in the David Stern agenda's hands. Eat that shit right up. But my good people, who do we believe? Are our guys really these cuddly smiley philanthropic men? Not glock carrying Arenas' ? I suppose each person on this earth is different. For instance, I know D Fish is just a lovely big-hearted lion of a family man.

Jeff Van Gundy. One of the few people that I really don't think I would have felt guilty about water ballooning had I seen him walking down the street while growing up. Poor guy is devastatingly corny but thinks he is completely ground breaking. But hey, dude has something figured out because he is the one announcing the NBA finals while you and I are not.

This entry was just rudely interrupted by the following texts:

One from Amy Wallace, "Your boy Artest is a hack!!!!!!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
One from Ryan Ammerman, "Bestie I am sorry to open up old wounds but your guy ron is unbelievable on the offensive end of the floor"

...Right. Real sweet guys. Kick your nice little messy haired friend while she is down.

The game has ended. I am not going to comment on its outcome. Yeah I am going to Kobe Bryant you on this one. Going to be Phil like and not let you in on what's going on in my head right now. Shit, Lakers in seven?

True Blood tonight. Oh gosh I've missed that totally messed up show. Glad it's back. I'll be cheerier tomorrow I promise. You guys know I get a little heated in the face of competition. I'll be back to my little saccharine self in tomorrow's post, I prom.

Now It's '95 and they clock me and watch me Diamonds shinin' lookin like I robbed Liberace

What I did today.... 

Who the shit cares? Excellent inquiry. If I were you, I would absolutely not read any further. You will not be able to get these minutes back. 

Well first I went to hot yoga at Asana. Yes, after I downed my grape nuts with sliced banana, I hustled down there in my horrifically minimal HY outfit. I was just glad that I made it there because even though my mind was saying yes, my body was saying hell no. I suppose that whole thing usually works conversely for the rest of the human race? Anyhow, I showed up and was pleasantly surprised to learn that my favorite teacher (Jaylene) was going to be instructing. Holy shit though, it was a gdamned inferno in there this morning, 104 degrees. As predicted in the previous post, Monday's physical activity reigned down on me like Beowulf. I honestly felt like I was dying a slow death of constant muscle paroxysms. But I got through it.

Then after racing down the 405 freeway back to my house, and taking a 5 minute shower (Rob would be proud), I tried to get decent for the work day. Stuck a hairdryer to my mane and it blew up like microwave popcorn. But alas, I had to keep moving. I then threw on the stilts and wobbled until I forced my legs into submission. Lady business walk.

Then a little bit of work. Lot's of emails "Hey, how have you been?".

THEN after all of those charades, I met this dude for a business lunch. A word about business lunches, do them quite often, you never know how they are going to go. A bit like roulette if you will. But as soon as I got to the Elephant Bar, I knew this was going to be a good one. Super rad guy, and by rad I mean F'ing hilarious. I literally could not stop laughing for the entire duration of the lunch (big shocker there I know). Anyways, I think business lunch guy and I might now actually be legit friends. Perhaps BFF's later on down the road. In the name of new buddies, one point for the title rep career choice. By the way, I got the market cobb salad with balsamic and no eggs. Solid pick by me.

Then back to the office. More follow up emails. "Did you receive the bloody prelim yet?" "Thanks Joe, YOU'RE THE GUY." "I am not sure on that, let me get right back to you", and so on. Right.

Finally, I got home where I planted myself firmly to the couch. All the while trying to speed up time and force the game to commence. You guys know that I was feeling like hell about this game, quite strung out about all of the predictions and omens and statistics. And then when Garnett went ahead and dropped like the first 4 buckets, I was just about at risk for atrial fibrillation.

As always, I could go on about this game for days, but I will be respectful and keep it tight. I just want to say, player of the game, Derek Fisher. WHAT A FOCKING WARRIOR. He was out of his mind tonight, and that one cross court lay up literally sealed the deal for us. I imagine the LA times will feature a picture of this particular layup scene tomorrow, Fish going up with three bodies trying to guard him. I am so happy. So so happy that I am not even going to get into Ron's outrageous shooting decisions or Ray Allen's 0 for 13 night.

By the way, I watched the game with Holly (my mom) up in the game room at my house. My nutty dad is so obsessed with the Lakers that he refuses to watch the games because he thinks that if he watches they will lose. So he literally makes me turn the game off if he is anywhere near the general TV vicinity. It sounds crazy. And that's because it is. Anyways, Holly and I took to our safe room, and I wish you guys could have heard her dialogue. Unparalleled. She was yelling at the TV more than I was. Her observations maybe a smidge uninformed, but sure as shit very spirited. One can really do anything with enough confidence. This coming from a woman who pouts when the Lakers are on in the family room during the regular season. To this she responds nonchalantly, "Oh honey, I don't have the patience to see any team through a whole season, but I sure love the playoffs." I don't mind it one bit, I think she is the cutest bandwagoner there ever was. When I write these things about Holly and Rob down, it really truly confirms the staggering levels of eccentricity that my parents collectively reside at. And people ask me how I came to arrive in Blair land. 


And to all of you Laker hating curmudgeons, better luck next time. Suckers.


Your Friend for the Ages,


        Pp

Bow Down in the Presence of a Boss Player

I couldn't sleep last night. It was so hot and the loss so profound. Needless to say, I did not wake up for hot yoga this morning. Bloody hell. Now, everyone is crying about the officiating and while I can't say that I disagree, I bloody hate when people blame a loss on the ref's. One should always have enough pride to resist the urge to make excuses, no matter how appalling the calls. As in real life, I much prefer that people err on the side of taking responsibility. Anyways, Vegas has Boston favored by 2.5 points tomorrow with an over under is 192.5. No likey. I know that I should not publicly be declaring even an inkling of weakness, but we're going to need a lot of things to happen. Let me just take a second to give some credit to Bynum though because he played his ass off (for once). I typically always rag on him in this blog for consistently putting forth a lame mediocre effort and for being a wuss too, but homeboy finished last night with 21 points and 7 blocks. He finally looked like he was playing with purpose. I was proud of him... I won't get into all the rest of my analysis because most of the 9 people that read this blog are chicks and I don't want to bore you babes. But for all of you taking pulls of hateorade, ie: Nathan Meerstein, you just watch your self, I am not sure if you have heard about PJ's first game finals win statistic. That's right 47-0, suck it.

Whew, now that we have gotten those unpleasant affairs out of the way, let's move on to the first day of the rest of my life--as a cowboy. Fine, have a small confession, I did not even ride Western today. It was English, so yes my being knighted into cowboydom is a bit far off, but we will get there. The whole thing was a really good time, and I felt oddly comfortable up there on Hannah (that was her name).  A word about English, you've seen it before, it requires a mid-trot humping motion and therefore, a definitive activation of the glutes and thighs. As an athlete, I did not foresee the act of riding strenuous enough to produce any bodily consequence. However, I cranked out five miles before I went down to the stables, and I really haven't run that far in a good two weeks. My legs were done before I even got there. By the time I dismounted Hannah, I was hobbling. Megan was such an excellent teacher though, my word. What a patient, fun-loving broad. She did have to remind me to keep my eyes forward more than once though (you know me-oopsies).  I can't wait to go back again. Although, I am going to need to get quite a few more allergy shots because I wanted to crawl out of my skin and dive into a sanctuary of calamyne after it was over. Walking in 5 inch heels should be fun tomorrow.

Other administrative loose ends: 

Of the three book choices in my last post, I decided to go with Wuthering Heights. I bought it on my Kindle for 80 cents. Although, I must stress this again, this is absolutely not a book to be read on an f'ing Kindle and so I don't know what the hell I am doing. It's like a double infraction if the book is a classic. I have no business committing such a wretched act. Always promising a return to the tangible, paper book on this blog, and repeatedly letting you and myself down. It must stop. After this one.

The Bachelorette is the worst show on television. I feel infinitely less intelligent after sitting through even the smallest bit of it. And more disappointed in America too. And love. And mystified by Allie's corniness. And mark my words right now, the "weatherman" is absolutely batshit crazy. 

Okay guys and dolls, I love you to the ends of this orbicular earth. I wish you a wonderful day tomorrow and a fruitful night's sleep full of subconscious progress and lovely, silly dreams.

XX,

Pp

Exile on Main Street

Updates up the Yin....

-Last weekend I was watching the Chicago/Philly hockey game with Trouble's (Amy) dad, George Wallace. George is from Detroit so he is a big hockey guy and I like that about him. I asked him several questions as I had not watched a full hockey game since my dad took me to a Duck's game when I was like 12 or something. He explained the rules and about certain players and hockey culture. I inquired as to whether he played while growing up. George said he quit pretty early on because although he could skate like a mad man, he could not stop, and so he says he was never very good. But George is a pretty tough son of a gun, so I imagine he would have been a fine hockey player. I have to say, I like hockey now. I just like how physical the game is, barbaric really. Except not in that disgusting MMA way, more like a sexy way. Maybe I should date a hockey player. Because I need a little bit more of a rugged guy, I mean you won't catch me running around with a gdamned Jonas brother (Bless their little pure metrosexual hearts). Hillary Duff and Carrie Underwood seem to like these hockey types too. And I like anything Lizzie McQuire likes.

-I saw Sex in the City 2 with Holly last week at the newly renovated San Juan Capistrano movie theater in the old part of town. I don't think that place has been open since I was around 10 years old or so. It's pretty wild now, definitely has a 1920's feel in that you can order martini's and wine while viewing your film. There are waiters in suits in everything. So, if you and I have a crush on each other, you should take me on a date there. The movie was entertaining, not Oscar material by any means, but homey in the way that one becomes a part of a long held series. Samantha still makes me blush.

-New high score on Buckhunter this weekend (again). I will not tell you where this was procured.

-I have my first riding (horse) lesson tomorrow afternoon. Really, I am over the moon about it. Holly and I are starting them together, nice little mother/daughter activity before I get the hell out of dodge (20 minutes away into adulthood). But, I am finally going to be a cowboy. Chitty chitty bang bang. bang.

-I would like to have a polaroid camera. There is something so charming about not being able to put that shit up digitally on the internet. Vintage revolt if you will. However, it would be a bit cumbersome to bring out to the bar. Not that I ever bring a camera to the bar, I don't want pictures of that.

-At the present moment, I am considering reading The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark. Or Life: a User's Manual by Georges Perec. Or Wuthering Heights. Which one will get the real estate on my kindle? Only time will tell. I'll let you beautiful people know.

-I am writing this right now as a means of killing time before game 2. Nervous pre-game ruminations...Will Pau remain tough and make KG is biatch again in the post? Will Perkins finally snap and receive his 7th T? And can PJ just put Sasha in to antagonize him? Will Ron make any more incredible fast breaks? (I love the man, but he should never dribble). Will Pierce throw himself 20 feet to the ground any time he brushes another player? My word, the drama of that man. I hope him and Ron get into it major. I wish Eddie House was still on the Celtics so that Ron could embarrass him too, that'd be my favorite. Even Doc Rivers said that we were the tougher team last game, I just hope that we can sustain it. ayeee Los Lakers.

That's it for now you luscious poison babes. Hugs and kisses from me to you.

XX,

P

I Felt You In My Legs Before I Even Met You

Hi guys,

Wild apologies again for being such a shitty blogger. My excuses are meaningless I know. If we were in person I would give you a huge hug and smile and try to charm you into forgiveness. But I am S.O.L. on that one given that this is a strictly virtual love affair.

Arbitrary Anecdotes and Realizations...
 Well let me start off with books. Finished A Ticket to the Circus by Norris Church Mailer. Overall, I liked it. Pretty interesting life that broad led. A model, painter, artist, mother, and sixth wife to one of the most prolific womanizers of the new world. And she managed to stay with him for 30 years. I find it interesting. Marriage is fascinating really. I so admire the brave people that love so completely and are truly not in it for what they are getting back. Because the guy was a nut, worked non-stop and cheated on her ass too. On one hand, I admire her devotion and commitment to love. On the other, it's geezus lady have a little bloody respect for yourself. But I guess one can really never know her course unless she ends up having to cross that bridge herself. 


Next was Shit Your Dad Says by Justin Halbert. You need to read it. I laughed my ass off from start to finish. Look it up right now. I mean it, you do it right now.

The word "uber" makes me want to cringe and die. It's an absolute DB (deal breaker--come on you know that by now). LOL is a close second, but you knew that too. I guess it's okay if you're not a dude. Guys should never say lol or use emoticons in text messages unless it is 100 percent clear that is purely for the sake of being a jackass.

Went to my old college coach Andy Banachowski's retirement party on Friday. It was really cool to get together with 43 years worth of UCLA volleyball women and celebrate our guy. And my old teammates, ahh so wonderful. Except what the shit--they are all married, engaged, or knocked up. I swear something is in the water. But honestly Andy is such a good man and I am so lucky to have played for him. (I am only saying this because he told me he is going to comment on this blog on Friday). ha ha just kidding B diddy, but seriously let's go run some 300's. 

I finally got a nice little sunburn this weekend. Felt so good. Like all is right in the world. Like a Guinness on tap, or dirty red chuck taylor's. Or a Socci family dance floor takeover at weddings, yeah had a pretty good showing at the Narlinger knot tying this past Sunday.

Or like a new high score on Buckhunter...Amy was nice enough to oblige me with what she thought was going to be as I said "just one game, pleaseeee". One game turned into an hour and then all of the sudden old fishermen were buying us margaritas at a bar in which one should never ever order a margarita. But have you tried the secret sauce on the Hav'a Chips there? Just goes to show you that there are always gems of information to be uncovered from prehistoric fishermen locals. That Amy I swear it, always getting me into trouble.

Tegan and Sarah's So Jealous is one of those albums that has become a part of me. It's homey.

Anyways, I have decided to take a break from my Kindle and inject some romance back into my life. Actual lusty paper pages. Well loved books, passed from person to person like a 5 dollar bill. I am specifically looking to complete my Hemingway collection. My mom told me about a used book store in San Clemente that I am yet to unleash on. Used book stores were a thing between my mom and I when I was little and I haven't been to one in a long time. And since I have gone so overboard with my virtual book habit over the last year, I need to go extreme and find the super antiquated/tattered books to make me feel like I haven't completely lost all of my soul.

Lastly, I have to tell you about these stuffed jalapenos that Holly made. All world. My whole family digs spicy. I mean firing. These were hoottttttt and really focking piquant. Anyways, new front runner for Holly, good job girl. Can you sling that recipe to your favorite kid por favor?

Lastly (for reals), can you get me to the Laker game on Thursday? We're already two days away, now accepting suggestions and all invitations. I smile a lot and will make you feel funny (but not on purpose)? Get at me.


Yeah,

       Pp