Tera and James (aka Spitch and ButtMonster, -Muncher, or anything else w/ "Butt" as its prefix) are here right now and we're having the best time. I knew when they arrived that I had tough competition: they kicked off their two-week West coast tour with a stop in Portland to stay w/ Havis. Admittedly, I felt daunted by the challenge. I mean, Portland IS Portland after all, with all those trees and hikes and cool vistas and great beer and roses; EVERYBODY loves roses. But then I realized, LA has Pinkberry. And it turns out -- Pinkberry is saving my ass. We've already been there three times in the last two days and my guess is that James is in the next room right now, dreaming of his weirdo green tea yogurt with oreos and yogurt chips.
Quick aside about Pinkberry -- I'm TOTALLY bummed. I kept hearing how awesome it was but I wouldn't try it b/c I gave up desserts for a year. Then I must've been on meth or something b/c I swear to God I thought I read that it didn't have sugar --that it was Splenda maybe??? So I tried it the first time a couple of weeks ago, and as I mentioned, have taken T&J there too. Well, last night I decided to google it again. Holy Rain-on-my-parade! Though they don't publish the ingredients, there are all sorts of blogs about the sugar content. And the fact that I would rationalize what I thought to be artificially sweetened frozen "yogurt" (it's breakfast food, yo!) is worrisome in itself. I don't care so much not eating it again for another 7 months, as much as I feel bad about breaking my commitment.
Anyway, so the four of us (Dre too) started off the day at the Barney's Warehouse Sale (I know how to entertain *these* guests) then yoga for me and T, then to Cinespia last night (movies in the Hollywood Forever cemetery) where we saw Taxi Driver. It's hard to beat watching *anything* surrounded by mausoleums. Even with an unwitting Mystery Science Theatre sitting right next to you. Readers, Dre is a movie-talker. Have you ever sat next to a movie talker and wondered what they could possibly have to say that's more important than not catching what's going on on the screen? No? Okay well here are some excerpts anyway. If you know Dre, and some of you do, you'll be able to detect what's so damn funny about these:
On Robert DeNiro: He's so little. Look at him, he's *little*.
On Wizard: Oh Peter Boyle was in Everybody Loves Raymond. I love that show.
On Robert DeNiro: Dude, I can't believe how little he is.
On Robert DeNiro: He's so scrawny.
On Robert DeNiro: Look! He's little.
On Robert DeNiro's Mohawk: Look! That's the first Mohawk!
And so on...
About five years ago, A-lo, Dre, and I went to see Minority Report. After sitting through the persistent movie-talking (notice I didn't say movie-whispering), A-lo swore she would never see another one with Dre. And while I recall being totally annoyed by it then too, I'm much more tolerant since learning to identify and exploit the bloggable quality of Dre's quirks.
CORRECTION: I must clarify something about my last post since I've gotten a number of inquiries on it. Tony Leroy isn't a psychic as much as he's an intuitive counselor. Now, in the event you're thinking, yeah kinda like a housewife is a domestic engineer?, no, this is legit. I didn't ask him, nor did he offer, much about the future. (Though my last post would lead you to believe the opposite.) Rather, he gave me insight on things currently going on in my life. He's really gifted and if you're interested, I suggest you check him out.