Tag Archives: california

Stupid Hippie!

Wow, guys.

Like, really.  Wow.

Ya know, I’ll admit it right here — sometimes I talk like a lazy ass Californian.  I use the word “like” a lot.  I use “ya know” and “so, yeah” and “totally.”  To emphasize confusion or indifference, I will often end a sentence by saying, “I mean…” and shrugging my shoulders.

Make no mistake, though — I’m an eloquent motherfucker when I wanna be.  I can use words like “egregious” and “superfluous” in sentences.  I can pontificate about “hegemony” and “heteronormativity.”  I can say things like, “Her taste in movies has always been somewhat plebeian” and know what the hell I mean.

I’m also not an idiot when it comes to politics.  I stay informed as best I can.  I have opinions on issues other than immigration, gay marriage, and legalizing pot.  I drank lots and lots of red wine both times President Obama was elected (the first time to celebrate, the second time to help finally relax).  I find Anne Coulter irrelevant and I get a little bit irritated at Bill Maher when he has her on his show.  Really, Bill, there’s no point in giving her any more exposure.  She’s a nut.  She belongs in her basement.

Ya know what else I have opinions about?  Universal healthcare.  Obamacare.  The Affordable Care Act.  SOCIALIZED MEDICINE.

That’s right, SOCIALIZED.

All right, so, like, why the hell am I, like, totally talking about politics?  And, like, what’s this have to do with, like, hegemony?

Yesterday I was exhausted by 6pm.  Like, totally worn the fuck out.  I had to drive downtown to attend a tasting at a fancy-ass restaurant (oh, it’s so HARD to be ME and DUDES I ATE CROISSANT BREAD PUDDING), and the combination of LA traffic, total darkness, and a full stomach was rather Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz WAKE UP YOU’RE DRIVING THROUGH BEVERLY HILLS.  Realizing that I was far too tired to shower and blow-dry my hair before bed, I decided to stop at the CVS near my apartment and buy myself some dry shampoo.  Then I thought, screw it, let’s also get some Q-Tips and a new razor.  All the beauty.  All of it.  Just go wild.

I walked up to the entrance.  Standing in my way was a man in a suit holding a microphone, and a woman holding a giant camera.  I knew I didn’t exactly look camera-ready, but oh, how I hoped they’d ask me to maybe answer a few questions…

They did.  Well, it was one question.

“What are your thoughts on President Obama and the Affordable Care Act?”

“I think President Obama is doing the best he can.  I think that government programs like this one always create controversy when they’re first instated, and there are definitely a few kinks to iron out, but I think that if we all work together and act like adults everything will be fine.”

“Thank you.  What’s your name?”


“And your last name?”

“Like ‘Maria.'”

“Thank you.”

I went inside.  I found my dry shampoo and my Q-Tips.  I didn’t buy a razor because there was some kind of bullshit lock thing and I wasn’t about to go hunt down some person to assist me because honestly, I don’t really give a shit.  (Tonight, in fact, during my Pilates class, I wore my sexy black workout pants that show off my hairy calves.  I asked myself, “Would Amanda Palmer be embarrassed?”  The answer was a resounding “FUCK NO.”  I didn’t think about it again.  DEAL WITH IT.)

I got home.  I fell into bed.  I poured a glass of red wine…

Suddenly, I had a facebook notification from a friend: “Holy Cow, Just saw you on Chanel 9 talking about Obamacare — I never watch TV; I just happen to be in a hotel tonight. You looked great!”

What what WHAT?

I found the clip.  You guys…I FOUND THE CLIP.


My first thought was, “Shit, I should have asked them to give me a second to put on some lipstick.”  My second thought was, “Man, I really love that coat.”  My third thought was, “WAIT A GODDAMN SECOND, WHY DID THE WOMAN BEFORE ME GET SO MUCH MORE SCREEN TIME?”

I watched it again.

“I…think President O-BAAAAMAAAAAAAA….is doing the best he can.”


Ok, real talk.

Did I expect them to air my snarky comment about how we all need to “act like adults”?  Hell no.  That woulda been way too subversive of them (not to mention downright honest).  However, did I expect them to only use the three seconds where I sound somewhat…dazed?  I didn’t.  And that was my mistake.

You guys, this particular shitty news story was put together to further freak people out about the Affordable Care Act.  Ya got Bill Clinton talkin’ about how Obama messed up.  Ya got a doctor talkin’ about how the website is shit.  Ya got “Jody G” talkin’ about how she’s “disappointed in Obama right now.”  AND THEN YOU HAVE ME.  ME, going, “Errrrrrrrrm, uhhhhhhhh, Obaaaaaaaaaammmmaaaaaa…” while the words “Affordable Health Care Supporter” flash across the bottom of the screen.  “Jody G” didn’t say anything particularly interesting, you understand — she got more screen time than I did because she expressed dissatisfaction with Obama.  I, on the other hand, expressed patience and understanding.  Perhaps I didn’t sound like a Harvard grad, but I did sound like an educated person with an educated opinion.  Except, of course, during the part where I said, “UHHHHHHH….OBAAAAAAAAMMMMAAAAAAAAA….”.

“Liberal Media” my ass.  Lesson learned.  And y’all watch out next time yer buyin’ dry shampoo.

I’m going to watch clips from Network now.  And cry.  Because not much has changed.

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The Beat Goes On II

Ya know what happened to me yesterday right after I posted my blog about how I had a total breakdown when I realized that my Powerpuff Girls CD case was stolen from my car?

I found my Powerpuff Girls CD case.  I also found the Kerouac.  They were hidden underneath a towel in the back seat of my car.  Ya know what?  I’m glad I hid them.  Sure, I was upset for a day, but in the long run…wow, man.  Such a relief.

The iPod, however, has probably been sold for crack money by now.  Oh well.  The thing was starting to act up, anyway.

I spent most of yesterday bumming around the mountains.  Those mountain towns have always had profoundly calming effects on me.  During my last year in Santa Cruz I would sometimes drive all the way to Ben Lomond just to buy almond milk and kombucha.  Their stuff wasn’t any better than what I could get downtown, but the surroundings…wow.

I went into a little ukulele store on Highway 9 near White Raven and Don Quixote’s.  I’d never seen the place before — I guess they’ve only been open a little over a year.  I was already missing my cute like ukulele, but when I walked into the store I felt 100x’s worse.  I could have asked the guy behind the counter for a quick lesson, or asked him for some tips on quick and easy tuning.  ::Sigh::  Instead, I just basked in the glory of all the cute little ukes on the wall.

I took a lot of pictures of Felton, then drove a little further inland to get some pretty shots of Ben Lomond and Boulder Creek as well.  Boulder Creek definitely looked the most beautiful, and I had an absolute blast wandering up and down “the strip” taking pictures of the old timey-lookin’ buildings.  I felt 100% at peace.  I don’t know if I could ever live in the Santa Cruz mountains full time, but if I’m ever filthy rich and can afford to have multiple homes, I will definitely have a getaway pad somewhere over there.  I’ll decorate it with Jackalopes.  And Ukelopes…

Call me crazy, but I think the ukulele guy is having a laugh at this fellow Felton resident’s expense.  I’m not choosing sides — they both enrich my life.

After my wilderness adventures I headed back to the city of Santa Cruz, during which time Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty made their way to New Orleans to visit Old Bull Lee.  All the talk of saloons and sex and Benzedrine made me realize how much I wanted a shower, so I stopped at a house where a few friends of mine live to ask if I could use their shower.  Luckily my friend Dan was there to let me in, so I was able to clean up and relax a little bit before heading back downtown for a last-minute “Happy Birthday” drink with a friend.  After I was all clean I put on Dan’s VHS copy of Annie Hall and got comfortable.  I teared up a few times, especially when Annie and Alvy got back together after he killed the spider in her apartment.  When I finally got up to leave, Dan turned to me and gave me a speech about living life to the fullest.  I almost broke down and sobbed.  I didn’t, though, and I was able to get to the bar on time with my mascara in tact.

I had a Shirley Temple to toast my friend’s birthday, and then I was on my way to Watsonville to stay with my dearest, most darling friend Danielle.  I stayed up late screwing around on the internet and feeling ever so happy that I was in my dearest, most darling friend Danielle’s house.

Today we went to Monterey.  Danielle had an appointment there, so she pointed me in the direction of a pretty park near a lake where I could hang out and take pictures while I waited for her.  I crossed the white bridge over the lake and found myself in a cemetery, where I ended up taking pictures of strangers’s graves and crying over all the headstones that said things like,

Baby Winter

January 30, 1946

I was most overwhelmed by the baby that lived for two days.  So overwhelmed, in fact, that I had to sit down and scribble a few notes.  While I was doing that, I saw a woman praying underneath a nearby tree.  When she finished praying she made the sign of the cross, then she knelt down and set something on a grave.  When she left, I tried to figure out which grave she was praying at.  I narrowed it down to two possibilities.

After an hour I made my way back to Danielle’s car.  I threw my stuff inside and we sped off to Fisherman’s Wharf for lunch.  When I went to grab my coat, I saw that I had forgotten my purse.


I forgot my purse in the cemetery.

We drove back, and my purse was on the bench right where I set it when I sat down to scribble and watch that woman pray.


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Anybody Want Anything?

want |wänt; wônt|


1 [ trans. ] have a desire to possess or do (something); wish for : I want an apple | [with infinitive ] we want to go to the beach | [ trans. ] she wanted me to go to her room | [ intrans. ] I’ll give you a lift into town if you want.

     • desire (someone) sexually : I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you.


1 chiefly archaic; a lack or deficiency of something: Victorian houses which are in want of repair | it won’t be through want of trying.

     • the state of being poor and in need of essentials; poverty : freedom from want.

2 a desire for something : the expression of our wants and desires.

Ever heard of California Chicken Cafe?  It’s a restaurant chain here in Southern Cali.  Most everything on the menu involves chicken, and, rest assured, the items that don’t contain chicken contain avocado.  You can also add chicken to any non-chicken item for $1.75.

You don’t know what you’re missing.  Really.  ::Cough::

California Chicken Cafe is a popular lunch option at the office where I work.  I, myself, rarely participate in the California Chicken Cafe extravaganzas.  No, I don’t think I’m better than everyone, I just can’t be spendin’ money on shit that doesn’t bring me immense joy.  Plus, I spent all my money on baked clams and cannoli last week at San Gennaro in New York City.

I regret nothing.

Today, a co-worker was about to make a chicken run when he suddenly cried out, “Anybody else want anything from California?”

There was a pause, and then I asked, “From California?”


I thought for a moment, and then said, “I want a house near the ocean.”

My co-worker laughed.

“No, no, as in, do you want anything from California Chicken Cafe.”

I didn’t want any damn chicken.  I did, however, proceed to ramble about some of the things I do, in fact, want.  When it was time for me to shut up and get back to work, the rambling continued in my head.

I now present to you Ten Random Things I Want.  Some of them are unique to California, and some of them…well…


Ten Random Things I Want

by Stephanie Callas


I want a house near the ocean.  I will live there by my damn self until I decide I want company.  I have not yet decided the exact location of this house, but I know it will be North of Pismo.  It will be impeccably decorated, and feature a killer sound system.


I want my car to be paid the Hell off.  No more monthly car payments.  None.


I want a bulldog.  An English Bulldog.  I will name him Brando and he will be my buddy.  He will be a healthy boy, with no respiratory problems or hip dysplasia, and he will not die of heatstroke like so many English Bulldogs tend to do.  He will be chubby and cute and he will love The Godfather as much as I do.


I want to know how to program computer viruses.   Ya never know when ya may need to rip someone off.


I want the cryogenically frozen body of Walt Disney.  People will come from all over the world just to get a glimpse of it, and I will charge admission based on my personal prejudices.  60-year-old man in an Armani suit with a 23-year-old socialite on his arm?  $10,000.  Cute hippie-boy with a beard and a beanie who wants to stop and see The Walt on his way to Mexico?  Admission is free!  (This is, of course, not including the food and wine he will inevitably purchase in his effort to seduce me).


I want to be able to travel.  I’m talkin’ far and wide.  I want to wake up, decide that I should spend the weekend in Barcelona drinking from a wine skin and speaking in an English accent and introducing myself as Brett, and then go do it.


I want to be friends with John Waters.  I want to be on a first name basis with him.  When he’s not visiting me in my fabulous house by the ocean, he will be sending me funny text messages and buying me semi-perverted presents.  We will Skype every Monday morning while we’re having our coffee.  He will say things like, “Mondays are just such a DRAG,” and I will say, “Honey, you WISH you were a DRAG,” and he will say, “Honey, the world couldn’t HANDLE all THIS in DRAG,” and I will say, “Honey, you WISH the world couldn’t handle YOU in DRAG”…


I want to speak fluent French.  I will go to Farmer’s Markets all over the world and ONLY speak French.


I want a box of cannoli from Ferrara’s bakery to be delivered to my door every Friday night.  FRESH.  I want them to be all different varieties — regular, chocolate, Nutella, pistachio — and they will all have perfect shells and perfect filling.  I will serve the cannoli to all of my fabulous dinner guests.  Some parties will be small, and others will put Woodstock to shame.  Brando will be everyone’s favorite couch companion, and John Waters will bring out everyone’s inner freak.  Tom Waits will be playing the piano and Patti Smith will be playing the clarinet.  Peter O’Toole will be serving champagne and Leonard Cohen will be handing out white lilies.  Nick Cave and Barbara Streisand will perform duets that bring the guests to their knees in cathartic abandon.  My parents will be excited to be out of the house and my brothers will be happy to be away from school and work, even though school and work is treating them just fine.  All my friends will bring fabulous dates — no assholes, no losers, no fuddy-duddies — and those who do not will be more than thrilled to spend an evening unattached and irresponsible.  No one will get drunk, and everyone will get happy.  The next morning, I won’t have to do one bit of cleaning.  While everyone is driving home, not one person will be thinking about work problems or school problems or money problems or family problems or marriage problems or credit card problems or plumbing problems or love problems.  No one will think, “I should have just stayed home and studied,” or, “I should have stayed in and searched for a new job,” or, “I wish that guy had called me back,” or, “I wish that girl hadn’t been there.”  All they will be thinking is, “I can’t believe I got a picture with the cryogenically frozen body of Walt Disney.”


I guess it goes without say that I want World Peace, so fuck it — I want Don Draper.

The End?

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