Why Can't You Tan It Into Your Memory

Here is a list of things I had forgotten over the course of my five* month break:

1. If you’re not drinking something a bit more high-spirited, you’re going to need more than one bottle of water - er, you’re going to be aware that you need more than one bottle of water. After four games, I had to sit out due to severe dehydration. I then continued to slump helplessly on the beach, anguishing over said dehydration…staring down Perry’s, fifteen feet-that-may-as-well-have-been-miles away. 

2. There’s probably a tournament going on. (There was. We set up our shop-talk station five feet north of their charity-driven territory, waiting to be invited to play with the decently athletic folks dominating the two remaining free-for-all nets. We waited many hours.)

3. In addition to the sunglasses, magazines, altoids, almonds, book, lipgloss, and cozy cardi that you always remember to toss in your tote…you’ll need both sunscreen and a towel. (I managed to dig a towel out of that open space my Prius calls a trunk, and borrowed sunscreen from a friend. I usually use a spray sunscreen on my body and a cream for my face. This one was a spray version. Had I any real control over my mind slash actions, I would have decked myself out, head to toe, in drips of SPF…unfortunately, I slipped into auto-pilot and let my subconscious lead the way. Basically, I forgot to put sunscreen on my face. For the first time in a decade. On an 85 degree day. Did I mention I would be running a 5K for Melanoma the next morning?)

Speaking of hot temps and mobile feet…

4. The sand can be hot. Really, really hot. It’s rare here on the Pacific Coast, but it happens. They actually happen to make little things called Sand Socks, for just these sort of situations. We actually happened to be sprawled out next to one of their sponsor banners and actually happened to have multiple conversations revolving around their very existence. Then we played in our bare feet. It hurt. It hurt real bad. (Probably should have been less aggressive with the pumice stone that morning.) 

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It blistered. Angry, irritated, nauseatingly gooey-ish blisters. On the bottoms of our feet. 

Did I mention I would be running a 5K for Melanoma the next morning?

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[Insert UGG Slipper Collection plug here] 

*Five because we live in CA, where you can play volleyball on Christmas Eve.

I Love Barcelona

Outside Faith & Flower, following a lovely birthday dinner, I was introduced to an equally lovely 7’ tall man. If the events that followed are any indication, 30 is going to be very similar to 29.

Him: Hi, my name is Pau.

Her: (Leaning in slash up to hear because she’s deaf. Especially when slight accents are involved.) Paul?

Him: Pau. Uh, P-A-U.

Silence. HER is obviously still confused. Because she’s an idiot.

Him: It’s Spanish - I’m from Barcelona.

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Her: Ahhhh - love Barcelona!!*

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And he thought he couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized. 

He can’t, by the way. We all went around the corner to Honeycut, where every man proceeded to chat him up, leading him to call it a night. THANKS, GUYS. It’s April - isn’t the madness supposed to be over by now? 

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*HER has never actually been to Barcelona. But huge fan of the Lakers! Huge. 

That's So Not Right

My little brother manned up over the weekend and put a ring on it. It being his now-fiancee’s hand.

When I showed their adorable post-proposal photo to the heartbroken mylifeissonotironic, she noticed something a little…off.

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I mean, Beyonce could have been a bit more specific. 

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*Young Love* 

Sigh.

Is Dreaming Cheating?

My grandmother had a dream. She recounted it to me.

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Under the spell of night, she had reunited slash rekindled things with her high school sweetheart - and he was looking good, if you know what I mean. 

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Moving right along.

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My grandma led me through the tender garden of her (re-) blossoming romance; I compared it to my orchid that I thought was dead, but now appears to be alive, thanks to a little hot glue and a carefully regimented amount of sunshine; she looked at me like I was a stranger, and then finished her love story.

At the end, we both sat in sweetly contemplative silence, until she suddenly straightened her back, shook the wanderlust from her eyes, blinked the flush straight out of her cheeks, and exclaimed, “But then I thought, what do I want with a boyfriend?! I’m 81 years old!”

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Uh, yeah. You’re also MARRIED, Grandma.

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More contemplative silence. Slightly less sweet.

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Kids these days.

Double-Tap to Love

When the guy you’re dating refuses to indulge your social media need(ines)s:

Him: "You expect me to "like" all of your Instagrams, don’t you."

Her: "Um, yeah. I mean, what’s not to like?”

Him: "Ha. But then it doesn’t mean anything. This way you’ll know when I really like something."

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Her: "So what you’re actually saying is that you don’t like all the other ones.”

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HIM looked at HER like she was the crazy one.

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This relationship didn’t last very long. 

Naughty in Nature

Down on my grandpa's farm, man’s best friend and nature’s boldest scavenger went ‘round in circles and ellipses in this fight to the…point where the humans got bored and walked away.

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Delicate little kittens.

M-I-C-K-E-WHY

Yesterday, as our adventure-filled day at Disneyland came to a close, imsecretlystraightforirony and I decided we needed to indulge in a little midnight snack of lactose and hot fudge. He would be sharing his with his boyfriend, while my fat-attack would be more of a solo venture, so to speak.

For those of you who have not attempted to order an ice cream sundae from the Dreyer’s-hosted Gibson Girl Ice Cream Parlor, there are three options…all of which are the same size. And let’s just say, the bicycles aren’t the only things built for two in that magically mousey world. 

I told the guy behind the counter that mine was for me and my homies. Because I’d be pouring a little out….

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He gave me this face in return:

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Oh boy. Giggle giggle?

Hi, I'm Interesting

One of my tragically un-LA traits is my penchant for walking. Call me crazy, but I would rather spend twenty minutes out in the open air than fifteen in a car, fighting traffic, searching fruitlessly for parking, and spending half my rent on valet.

This can make things a little awkward after a first date. 

Gentlemen generally attempt to insist upon walking me home. Sure, the stroll to my apartment is lovely, but their lonely hike back seems a tad cruel – especially after a somewhat recent occasion when one such manner-mindful lad apparently got a little lost mid-return. Oops.

Then there’s the sort of uncomfortable, I-swear-I’m-not-a-rapist-let-me-drive-you-backexchange. Cue: Louis C.K. monologue on the stupidity of women in this sort of situation. I usually accept. This one at least usually goes pretty smoothly from this point on.

Usually. Last week, things got a little…lumpy:

“Oh, here, let me go give him your valet ticket.”

“Oh, I actually just walked over.”

“Oh, well in that case, may I walk you back?”

(There were a lot of oh’s.)

“You don’t have to do that – it’s not really that close. Like, it’s close for a one-way meander, but I would feel bad making you solo-trek it back.”

(laughs) “Well, can I drive you? I mean, if you – or if you, well, if you would like?”

(I laugh(s)) “Sure, thanks. I mean, as long as you’re not going to like, rape and murder me along the way.”

Stilted laughter. Welp. 

En route, we discuss my preference for walking slash how I like to take that oxygen-infused time as an opportunity to  reply to emails/catch up on calls - scintillating convo material, I know. He drops me off. I safely enter my home. Easy, breezy, beautiful, call me a cover girl, right?

Not exactly. Two minutes later, this text téte-a-téte occurs:

 “I get it now. That was where you lived! I thought you intentionally parked 0.8 miles away so u could walk and right (sic) emails!! Ha. That being ur apt makes much more sense!”

 “Haha! You thought I was just some weirdo who parked blocks away? That’s kind of amazing.” (Probably should’ve gone with a different adjective here.)

 “I wouldn’t say weirdo. I would say oddball! Huge difference! An oddball does things differently but usually in an interesting way…”

Sooo…yes? Yes. Awesome. I would just like to note that this is the second time in a single month a potential new suitor has tagged me as interesting. I’m gonna go ahead and overthink that. 

…

Intriguing.  Interesting.

Editor’s Note: The author has chosen to skip right past the oddball bit for reasons of sanity maintenance. That’s all. 

Rezi Rating

Wherein icouldtalkironyforever and I dissect dinner date destinations in the Beverly Hills/West Hollywood area. It gets deep. 

icouldtalkironyforever: these days are so crazy
like giving up the hottest date night
or middle of the week
both days are hothothot

me: hahahahhaa right?
i think ima say wednesday

icouldtalkironyforever: YES
can you go somewhere cuter than mastros?

me: i know right?
i kind of don’t love mastros at all
like at all at all

icouldtalkironyforever: for some reason i can only see dinner with you at eveleigh

me: hahahahhahaa
and little door! and doms!
places with trees inside

icouldtalkironyforever: i hate mastros
i think of bad food
yes trees inside

me: yeah, and cheesy people
and like a thick, weird atmosphere

icouldtalkironyforever: thick

me: and i always do something awkward in the entryway

icouldtalkironyforever: ALWAYS

me: it’s always so uncomfortable
so much staring

icouldtalkironyforever: bouchon is a great alternative
dim lighting

me: ooh yes

icouldtalkironyforever: also church key is sooo good for dates
and they have a dim sum cart
that comes BEFORE you even order your food
boom

me: ooh realllllly
i like this idea

icouldtalkironyforever: the vibe is fun

me: didn’t you say their food was subpar?
no
wait

icouldtalkironyforever: yes
hahaha

me: oh haha
ok 
that was the place

icouldtalkironyforever: but some stuff was coo
and they have a banana split

me: um
brilliant

icouldtalkironyforever: but anything involving bananas is too suggestive on the first date
or maybe not…bc I love bananas
my dates/non dates are SOOOOOO aggressive
sorry

me: i feel like its esp too suggestive for men over 32
hahahhahahahaa
i love your dates

icouldtalkironyforever: we have great dates

me: haha we really do

icouldtalkironyforever: he should take you to doms
bc u love it there right?

me: comfycozyhomesweethome
my fave

icouldtalkironyforever: unassuming
love it 

5 Stars for Dominick’s. 7 for banana splits. 

…

The date still occurred at Mastro’s.

Good talk.

Met Bill Nye today. Unconsciously told him his name. Four times. In a row and with vigor. His look of pity will not soon be forgotten.

Call me old-fashioned, but I just think a voicemail from your mother should never begin with the words, "We're on our way to Vegas!"

Merry Christmas, B*tches

Before cellphones, internet, and the advent of Tickle Me Elmo, kids were much easier to please at Christmastime. At least this kid was. 

Click through to watch me sing sweetly in my Sunday School choir, laughably defend my sledding (non-)skills, squirm & pout my way through Xmas Eve bedtime, and shriek with delight upon finding Baby Bubbles in a box - just what was on my list!

I haven’t changed much. Here’s hoping for some pink and purple pens this year! My faaavorite colors.

Mom: "I AM in jail. I've been rotting in here all night. Not like any of you have bothered to visit." Monopoly. Ruining Xmas since 1987.

Love, Sex, & Onesies

INT. THE BEDROOM ifyaknowwhatimean

Him: Wait. What are you wearing?

Her: My favorite onesie?!

Him: Yeah. Take that off.

Her: You don’t like my onesie?

Him: No.

Her: But it’s so adorable!

Him: I don’t think that’s what you’re going for in here.

Her: Oh, you’d be surprised.

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Silence.

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A few to eight hours later…

Him: Are you wearing that terrible thing again?

Her: My totally adorable onesie?

Him: Yes.

Her: Yep! And don’t you worry, I have a wide and varied selection of the sort. I even have a snap-front one with sleeves and legs and the whole bit.

Him: I’m sleeping with a seven-year-old.

Her: Hey, some men go to jail for this sort of thing. You get it risk-free!

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I think HER won. 

Outstanding Absences

I think I just found the tagline for the movie about my life.

Me: "Could you use that in a sentence?" My Tutee: "Stacie is a strumpet."

Take A Look At Me Now

ithinkironyisSOfunny shared an interesting piece of “information” with me today.

Apparently, the #1 song on the day of your birth is supposed to be indicative of the manner in which you live your life.

How fun!! What’s mine?!

Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now) - Phil Collins

In case you are unfamiliar with the lyrics of this song, and you neglected to click the hyperlink above, I shall post a little nugget here:

So take a look at me now, oh there’s just an empty space
And there’s nothing left here to remind me,
Just the memory of your face
Ooh take a look at me now, well there’s just an empty space
And you coming back to me is against the odds and that’s what I’ve got to face

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I don’t like this game anymore.

Keeping It Together

In honor of ironyisalifestyle's fourth birthday, here's a little throwback to the incident that started it all. 

Monday: “Hi Stacie, It’s Ron from Ford. Just letting you know that you have been put on hold this Thursday for the cover of Scientific American Mind. I will call you to confirm the booking.”

Tuesday: “You’re confirmed for Thursday.  I’ll email you the call sheet.”

Thursday: “So we think we’re going to have your hair flowing out behind you and, like, pictures of your friends sort of bouncing out along your hair.  We’ll just shoot a few different angles. Shouldn’t take too long.”

3 months later

"Hey Stacie, it’s Ron.  Your Scientific American Mind issue’s out - go pick one up!  It looks great.  Commercial casting loves to see this kind of thing."

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This kind of thing.  

What do you mean by this kind of thing, Ron?

Oh. Right. This is what he meant:

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I’m bald.

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I immediately emailed my parents to alert them of my plan to die slowly in a corner.

My dad responded quickly, assuring me that I was, “still one of the pretty people”.  

My mother waited a day. Why?

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"I was laughing so hard, your dad said I better get it together before I talked to you." 

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Fair enough. 

Plummeting Standards

INT. RALPH’S GROCERY CO - NIGHT

STACIE is exiting the store with her mother, JUDY. Hands full of groceries; head full of so many other things.

                                             JUDY

               What did you think of him?! I think he liked you. 

                                            STACIE

               The checkout man? Seriously??

                                             JUDY

               He was a nice, good-looking guy!

                                             STACIE

               HE WAS BALDING AND WEARING AN ORANGE VEST, MOM. 

Someone’s getting desperate. Hint: It’s not me.