the heathers

What is your damage, Heather? - image via guardian.co.uk

What better day than Oscar day for a movie-themed post (kind of)! I jumped out of bed this morning, threw open the window, took a deep breath, and sang out (towards THE FIVE), “it’s Oscar Daaaaayyyyyy!!” The red carpet interviews, the dresses, what I just saw Sacha Baron Cohen do to Ryan Seacrest, the awkward hosting/speeches – I love it all! I am currently relishing the fact that award shows air nice and early out here on the left coast. No more battling with my eyelids until the final award is given. No more nodding off during a commercial and coming to just after the best actress Oscar winner has walked off the stage. And (this one might actually be unfortunate) no longer using the best song performances as opportunities to power nap. (Let the record show that I would never power nap during “It’s Hard Out There For a Pimp,” the best song ever to win an Oscar . . . take that Celine Dion.)

As usual, I have gone off the course here. Refocusing . . .

I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure I have wandered through that little door behind the filing cabinet at LesterCorp (it’s on floor 7.5 if you are having trouble locating it). Instead of finding myself behind the soulful eyes of John Malkovich, however, I’ve found myself in a Heather-centric recreation of the infamous scene where Malkovich himself ends up inside the portal. Perhaps I am exaggerating slightly (me? exaggerate?? never). It’s not as though I am surrounded by people of all shapes and sizes sporting my head and speaking to one another in a little language I will call Heatherish. But that being said, everywhere I turn (on reality TV), nothing but Heathers.

Being John Malkovich

Just in case you had no idea what I just spent the last paragraph referencing. For shame, by the way.

Too many Heathers to ignore:

Heather Sinn – Ink Master (Spike)

The Heather with, by far, the coolest last name. I haven’t done my post-wedding legal name change yet and am now considering the plethora of options open to me. I will entertain all suggestions that make me sound like a bad ass.

Heather Henry – Face Off (SyFy)

SyFy shows are not good. Don’t argue with me by naming the one or two shows over the years that have not blown. Usually, Ghost Hunters is the only reason SyFy ends up in my channel rotation (Can you believe Grant’s decision to leave?!? For real, I teared up.), but Face Off is actually pretty entertaining. It’s all monsters and creepy things. Seriously, it is worth checking out.

Heather Macia & Heather Grubb – Next Great Baker (TLC)

The show with so many freakin’ Heathers that they had to resort to using last initials.

Heather Dubrow – The Real Housewives of Orange County (Bravo)

Get this: she is new to the show this season, she is a brunette, and she is originally from the east coast. Was there an open casting call that I missed??

As you can see, the world of (questionable) entertainment is just oozing with Heathers. This leads me to the only logical conclusion: my 15 minutes of fame MUST be just around the corner. The universe has never spoken so loudly and so clearly.

I’ll leave you with my favorite clip from one of the greatest films to ever grace the silver screen. For reasons I cannot begin to fathom, this film was not an Oscar winner. Major snub. It’s your turn, Heather.

we will never sleep, ’cause sleep is for the weak.

Last night/this morning, I was up until 1:00 am.  If you are handy with the maths, then you have already surmised that 1:00 am PST is the equivalent of 4:00 am EST.  (If you are less than handy with the maths, don’t trouble yourself trying to figure it out.  It is a complex time zone conversion formula best left to eggheads.)  And for those of you who think that this boring post about bedtimes is going nowhere, never fear . . . I am illustrating a point.

OK, I’m going to admit something that will shock and possibly horrify the majority of you.  When I moved out here, I had every intention of staying on east coast time.  I know; I can hear you all now: “WHAT?!? Whyyyyy would someone want to do that??  It’s nonsensical, blasphemous to the idea of starting a new life, and (most importantly) weird – Where are our torches and pitchforks!?!”  Hold your ponies people, and allow a girl to explain . . .

The attachment to my former chunk of the world clock is part nostalgia, part biology, and part jealousy.  I don’t really like being on a different schedule than my family and friends.  So, east coasting it on the west side made me feel closer to them, and I may have been clinging to that like a security blanket (not that I have one of those . . . nor do I have a bear named Bloopy).  Then, of course, there is the simple science of my body acting how it is used to acting.  It was certainly going to take more than a week for my internal clock to recognize that noon is the new 3:00.  Going to bed early (read 9:00 pm) and getting up early (read 6:30 am), made me feel like a new version of my 2nd shift self.  I was up and at ’em (as my mother would say) instead of forcing myself out of bed before 11.  The only real problem with this schedule (aside from my early acceptance into AARP) was that I was missing out on my nighttime TV show line-ups.  Here is where the jealousy comes in . . . It’s bad enough the east coast watches everything first, but I was yawning so hard by 8:30 pm that the idea of staying up for Jersey Shore was more laughable than Mike actually “twinning.”  I guess part of me knew I would have to shape up, if not immediately, then definitely by September 6th (SOA).

Anyway, without my even noticing it, California has managed to sneakily seep into my circadian rhythm . . . and BAM all of the sudden I’m up until 1:00 am like a freakin’ night owl.

And in a totally unplanned and not at all awkward segue . . . look at these owl slippers I got downtown last night!!!

just the right amount of slipper for chilly San Diego nights.

Believe it or not, my night got even better than owl slippers.  The reason Nate and I were downtown was to attend a Bring Me The Horizon show (well, that was the reason I was there – Nate was there because I made him).  I refuse to stand at shows anymore because I am just too old for that shit, so I had purchased us seats in the balcony.  About a week ago, I received a phone call telling me that they had closed the balcony for the show but would be able to accommodate us “elsewhere.”  Once we got there and after the security guard GRILLED my Connecticut ID, we ended up in VIP seating.  No one blocking my view AND a special gold wristband?  Not too shabby for my first San Diego show.  The best part was that it took Nate and I all of 2 seconds to start acting like VIPs.  We would have been all-stars in that blue eyes/brown eyes social experiment.  With very little convincing, we knew we were leagues better than anyone else at that show (oozing superiority while making sure to apply just the right amount of condescending pity to all of our interactions with non-VIPs . . . it’s not their fault after all).

Kidding aside, I find it hard to keep up with all the changes my music scene has seen over the course of the last few years.  Remember when shows were full of kids in black hoodies?  Remember when a dude sporting a man-tank and a girl hair cut would have gotten “his” ass kicked?  Remember when I didn’t have to wear ear plugs to ensure that I could hear the next day??  Yeah, never mind my VIP mentality, I’m just old.

check out my arm hair!! i mean, special VIP wristband!!!

crazy lil peons going all bananas

Finally (and I mean that, this post has become epic in length), my stuff arrived (unscathed) which was surprising considering the condition of most of the boxes.  Seriously, they looked like multiple dinosaurs had taken multiples bites out of them while making this noise: RRAAAAWWWWRRRR!!!!!  So, here is our living room after many, many days of unpacking and cleaning – still need to get the art hung on the walls, but it sure is nice to have a place to sit.

extra long tablecloths are all the rage here on the west coast.