The much delayed house cleaning occurred this evening. The term "house" of course is used liberally. It is LA after all, you have to flirt with millions to own a blade of grass. Anywho... I needed new light bulbs cause turns out I actually try to do things after the sun sets in Arizona near Flagstaff.  So I spent literally half an hour trying to figure out how I would change my light on my 12 foot ceiling. Answer: Climb on the bookcase. Sounds stupid huh? well, that just shows how stupid you are, cause it worked out great, ha. Even with my sorely torn apart, shaky sore inner thighs and ass that my beautiful personal trainer Larry tore apart.  Try balancing with shaky legs. That's right, you couldn't do it on a non-sore day and sober, and I wasn't either of those.

Also, I threw away two pennies. I picked them up off my carpet and instead of walking to my coin jar, I turned to the garbage can next to me and  rid myself of those germ ridded pieces of unsmooth mettle. Obviously, my internal super refined and polished inner sense of cost and benefit is trying in it's small way to tell the treasury dpt. something.  I'd a vacuumed them, but I don't own a vacuum.

At work, I did a find and replace on a script to change the values 'Yes', and 'No' to "True' and 'False'

A week later (aka today), when 26 the titles in my program are breaking, I do a little investigation and find these gems.

DiFalsesaures Seasons One & Two

False Country For Old Men

GFalsemeo and Juliet

PheFalsemeFalsen

PiFalsecchio

Snake Etrue

Cinderella II, Dreams Come Yes

Who's retarded.

Oooooo, me; pick me.

I visited the Castle Green. It's not really a castle. It's an old hotel; one of the earliest ones built in the Pasadena area.  The Castle Green is now not a hotel; it contains private apartments. Because of the hotel's historical significance, people pony up $700,000 dollars for the privilege of living in a one-bedroom with no air-conditioning.  At least that's the price that runs that high in half the Castle Green; the half that is open to the private sector. 

The other half of the Castle Green is owned by the government and rented to low income earners in Pasadena. The contrast is stunning. One half of the building is well-maintained, well-decorated, historically-preserved. The government-owned half looks like a peeling, crumbling, old stinky building.  Only rich and poor in this building. This whole trip turned out to be more a lesson on why middle classes disappear in government manipulated economies rather than a tour of a historical landmark. 

So the people who do care about the historical integrity of the Castle Green open the doors for one day a year for the outside public to take a tour of select, self-volunteered, rich residents' condos.  Cost was $20 dollars, and included a self-guided tour, hourderves, and wine. Also, we were, of course, only allowed to tour the rich part of the building.  Noone wants to see how the Other Half Lives; Yucky poor people.

Cool seeing how people worth millions decorate their studio apartments. Taught me a thing or two about decorating with almost no place to put anything.  Little voyeuristic to be touring someone's living space, though, with the owner standing right there watching you. You have to embrace the inner creep in order to have a good time. It's hard, though. I spent a lot of time casually following groups of people so as not to accidentally be the only person entering an apartment. I'm not so good at the "I like your bedspread" conversation.

Skiing at big bear. All the things that are different when skiing a Southern California mountain:

1. Coats are completely optional. As are neck warmers, hats, under armor. etc. Gloves really only necessary if you plan on falling. Sun block, not optional. Being Beautiful, not optional.

2. A lot less Asians. Not that there weren't Asians. Just a lot less than in Tahoe. Apparently, SoCal isn't a hot ski destination for tourists. Who knew?

3. Skiing is so uncool. Cool people snowboard. COME  ON.

4. Ski lifts were made for weed. Ask every other person at Big Bear. That is, of course, if every other person isn't too drunk to answer you.

Every morning on my way to work, I freak out cause I can't find my keys. For a while, I would look and look and look before finally finding my keys under a pile of blankets at the bottom, right-hand corner of my bed. Now when I can't find my keys, I head straight to the bottom, right-hand corner and the keys are ALWAYS there.  The simply crazy part of all this is that I never have any memories of how my keys get to that spot.  Lately I've been coming home from work and trying to make myself be aware of my actions as I come in the door. I want to know why it is my subconscious feels it necessary to put my keys on my bed under a couple of sheets. But somehow between the time when I walk in the door and the time that I grab a yogurt from the fridge five minutes later, all memory is gone. I've come to a begrudging acceptance. I shall not pursue the mystery further lest I actually break the spell and lose my keys for realzez.

I got a promotion this week. To celebrate I got myself a 60 minute massage. Trust me, I haven't had that much action for a while. Those Armenians are not shy people. Woah...Woah. Also, I got myself some expensive white pants. There is a direct relationship between how much money I have and how many white clothes I posses.