Author Archive | Alison Rosen

Blog readers, I have not forsaken you, I promise. My love for you grows each day. Sometimes I look at you and my heart swells. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I have an embolism[UPDATE: I MEAN ANEURYSM. THIS REALIZATION KEPT ME UP LAST NIGHT. NOT THAT MY LOVE FOR YOU ISN’T LIKE AN AIR BUBBLE] kind of love for you.

I’m just in deadline hell right now, which is a later stage of what I was claiming to be in a few days ago, which was article-writing hell. I’ll put it in Red Eye intro terms: If stress were horses, I’d be taking a crap in Central Park right now. But you see, I haven’t forgotten you, not one bit. I’ve been holding each of you in my swollen heart. In fact, yesterday I held you in my heart as I traveled up and down the 405 freeway. And for how long were you trapped in there near my ripe bosoms? Well I had to be in WeHo (that’s West Hollywood and I can’t figure out if it’s said ironically or not) at 10:30am so I left at 8:18am. I was flying down the freeway listening to music and thinking about how maybe I could get used to this driving lifestyle again and maybe I ought to give LA a chance (yes I’m from here but never really considered living in LA as an adult. So Cal was just a place I was caught for some years in an in-between stage, but that’s a story for another day). Anyway, so I’m flying along and loving everything and the morning is glowing and my chakras are oscillating and then I hit a half hour stop-and-go nightmare in Long Beach and I watched minutes tick by and everything slowed and got blurry and distorted and I wanted to punch everyone and everything and the world no longer held much promise, just a trafficky snarl extending out, forever, to the horizon. So finally after nearly running a light which made my heart beat in an exhilarating and yet potentially deadly way, I got to the damn interview. I could go into the rest of the day, but suffice it to say I saw a lot of famous people at the Polo Lounge, site of interview number two, and I longed for the convenience of the subway. “If I were doing this in New York, doing two interviews in one day wouldn’t be stressful at all because I wouldn’t have to drive,” I explained to my LA friend. “If I were in New York, I would be thinking, this is stressful, I wish I were driving,” he said. So there you go.

Oh and the ride home was a couple hours not including getting lost on the way to the gas station first.

I discovered last night that the thing I thought was due April 7 is due the week of April 7. This fills me with dread/delight. Sort of like if a drug addict who wants to quit discovers a big crack rock in their sock drawer. I suspect I’ll be smoking this deadline extension and hating myself.

I overheard him say something sage on the phone yesterday. Appreciate it in all its succinct poetry:

“Yeah, shit seems to come in fuckloads.”

It’s unfortunate when you’re having a conversation on the phone with someone of the opposite sex—and the topic of health insurance comes up—and he says that he needs to made sure he’s fully covered for all the menopause drugs he’ll need, so you say that you want to make sure you’re covered for erectile dysfunction, and then afterwards you’re thinking that the connection was so bad you’re not entirely sure he really said that thing about menopause drugs, but you are sure you said that thing about suffering erectile dysfunction.

“I need to talk to you about your jury dutice.” —my mom, in a rush, trying to say “jury duty notice”

(Yes, I’ve been called for jury dutice in a city in which I haven’t lived for six years. I think I’ll do it! I’ll do my dutice!)

So I'm still here. The flight is delayed. What am I wearing, you might be wondering, since I so publically made an issue of how I travel in comfortable clothes even if it means I look like crap and in fact I kind of like looking like crap when I fly bc its insurance against people talking to you although now that I think about it, that doesn't quite hold up. Even the ugly are conversed with. But anyway, I'm wearing a prom dress with pumps dyed to match. The whole thing is lavender but I'm wearing large black and fuschia enamel earrings for a pop of color. It might sound uncomfortable–taffeta can be scratchy– but you see I'm wearing it over an oversized tie dye tshirt and leggings outfit with the face of a tiger appliqued on the front. You can't see the tiger bc of the prom dress, which is on purpose. The tiger takes an otherwise tasteful tie dyed pink (oh yeah, did I forget to mention?) tshirt and leggings outfit which I picked up in atlantic city and pushes it over the edge, and I think when you're traveling that's a time to reel it in. For that reason I'm only wearing one armful of bracelets instead of two. And I'm not wearing my headgear, I don't care what you say Dr. Leir! Oh, looks like we're boarding now!

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

I am at the airport. All my bags are overstuffed. Everytime I open a bag, things fall out. I got into the car this morning and realized I'd somehow lost my cell phone on the way from my apartment to the door. This caused a panic not unlike what I imagine would be the feeling of realizing you left your child sitting in a carseat on the top of the car. I'm ashamed of the intensity of the anguish this caused me, but anyway I went back and my phone was sitting on top of the mailboxes…of course (?) Anyway, all this is to say that I feel like a modern version of those 'loose leaf losers' from the trapper keeper commercials. Does anyone know what I'm talking about? No, you're too young, forget it! Also while we're talking school supplies did you know that pee-chee folders were only west coast? West of the rockies actually, I think. That was a special day at time out when we made that discovery. Days, really, because I think I milked it for all the entertainment and sleuthery possible. Yes I know it's not a word. There is an alarm going off. My ears are being assaulted. Not unlike when my sister walked into the bathroom last night and asked what 'that funky smell' was. It was my new jeans, assaulting her nose. They smelled like they'd been dark rinsed in sulphur. I think the rain brought it out more. (They were drying in the shower, which seems counter intuitive.) Also, on the way here I passed the unfortunately named 'Ariola Realty.' A less mature person would have tittered.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry