Big Fat Fatty

For the most part, I am a very healthy girl who tries to maintain a ‘Schmegan’ lifestyle (vegan most days but I am not opposed to meat either- strange, I know) and works out at least five days a week. But I love food and enjoy eating and have daily fights with my inner fat kid. Like, I see a bowl of peanut M&Ms and my skinny side looks the other way, while my fatty bo-batty side grabs my hair and jams my hand into the bowl in into my mouth. I usually lose against my inner fat kid, hence working out at least five days a week. But even though I am in shape, I have always had a knack for eating and some may even call it a talent. My best friend, Alicia used to tell me that I should enter eating contests and she would bet money on me and clean up because people wouldn’t expect me to pack it in. I have been known to eat a foot long Subway, a family size bag of chips (from the grocery store, not the dinky ones at Subway…I don’t mess around, kids!) a few cookies and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Completely turned on, aren’t you fellas? When I go home for the holidays, my family calls me either the garbage disposal or the endless pit as I binge until I pass out, like I have never seen food in my life. Ever since I was a kid, I have been known to love all kinds of food (I think I was four when I had my first Whopper at Burger King- and finished it) and my mom even used to give me giant pickles to eat when I was a baby.

But I think I may have met my match and have bitten off more than I can chew, literally. A few blocks away from my work, there’s a sandwich shop owned by actor Jerry Ferrara called Fat Sal’s. They have a sandwich (actual picture above) that is available to order for their food challenge only for a mere price of $49.95. It consists of cheesesteak, cheese burgers, pastrami, chicken fingers, bacon, mozzarella sticks, fried eggs, jalapeno poppers, fries, onion rings, chili and marinara sauce on a 27 inch garlic hero. If you can finish the burger in 40 minutes or less, the sandwich is free and you get to name your own “fat sandwich.”  Mine would obviously be called “Dumps like a truck” and be 100% Schmegan. So, last year I told my co-workers I could do it (before I saw the picture and only if I could throw it up afterwards) and now it is on the company calendar for December 7^th. I am either going to put in my two weeks now, or change my identity- pronto!

The Homeless Whisperer

I am sure you have heard of the ‘Horse Whisperer’ and the ‘Dog Whisperer’, but ‘Homeless Whisperer?’ Yup, only Erin. It is always weird in LA when you see someone you know in an obscure place (it has happened to me countless of times) solidifying the saying, “it is such a small world.” But when you have seen more than a handful of homeless people in different parts of the cities, a few years apart in some cases, you start to wonder what the heck is going on.

About five years ago, I worked at Peet’s Coffee on Sunset Blvd in Hollywood and a homeless man by the name of Michael used to come in all the time for some water and an occasional cup of coffee. He was very nice and always talked to the staff, so I never forgot him. Cut to 2012, and I find myself working in Westwood near UCLA. For those non-LA’ers, it’s not very close to Hollywood (especially if you are pushing a shopping cart). One day, I see Michael in the village walking around with his cart, whistling away. I felt like I saw an old buddy and I think I waved. He looked at me like I was crazy, and that says a lot coming from a homeless person.

Earlier this year, there was a homeless person that used to hang out near the library next to my office building toting around more luggage than even a regular person has belongings. Seriously- this lady had about twenty five rolling suit cases lined up along Glendon Ave. It looked like a Samsonite convention! I would see her every day when I drove to work; sometimes she would be in a trash bag dress, other times in a bright pink sweat suit. But I was never surprised to see her plentiful outfits considering how much baggage she had. One day, out of the blue, her and all her stuff were gone. Odd. Very odd. Did she move during the night? Did someone abduct her? Was she a figment of my imagination? I was worried for about a week and then I moved on with my life. A few months later I was walking on Pico Blvd (about 3 miles from where she used to reside) when I saw her on the sidewalk waiting for the bus! I smiled (knowing she wasn’t abducted) then went on to ponder how the hell she moved all her stuff!

My last repeat sighting just occurred this week. A few days before Halloween, I saw this guy wearing a SpongeBob Square pants outfit on Wilshire Blvd close to my office building and I assumed it was a Halloween costume. I think I even beeped and gave him a “thumbs up.” It was rather hilarious. It was hilarious that is until I saw the same exact guy in the same exact SpongeBob Square pants outfit in Culver City a few days after Halloween, sitting on the sidewalk looking very homeless. Should I have my own show on TLC? Move over Long Island Medium, here comes Los Angeles Homeless Whisperer.

Park Ranger To The Rescue

There are certain occupations that as much as they are valid, admirable jobs, it is rare that you come across people in life who have those certain jobs. Hence, I always say that those occupations are not real jobs (only in the “what I want to be when I grow up” books). For instance- pilots, astronauts, cobblers, lifeguards, blacksmiths and park rangers. Well, I definitely changed my mind one day on a hike at Griffith Park. I used to frequent the park after work and hike for about an hour, just before the sun went down. It was beautiful, scenic and an amazing calorie burner. One day after I parked my car, I went into my trunk to get my iPod and my phone, shut it, and realized that my keys were locked in my trunk. Due to a drunken night a few years back and my lack of extra funds to pay almost $200 to get a spare key made (damn you Volkswagen) I only had one key, and of course I didn’t have AAA at this moment. I panicked for a minute, thought about just going on the hike and dealing with it later, then decided to go ask for help. I stumbled upon a Park Ranger station (sans Yogi and Booboo Bear) and found a few of the rangers washing their truck. I told them about my situation and one of them decided he would help me out. I mean, what else where they busy with? Confiscating picnic baskets from bears? He met me at my car, pulled out his tools and attempted to unlock my car door. After about an hour, his hand was getting sore and we were running out of things to talk about. This better work, I had no other options! Just when the Park Ranger was about to give up- pop! Jorja decided to be on my side for once and allow the nice Park Ranger to unlock her door. Success! And now I know, ‘Yes Erin, there is a Park Ranger!’

Too Tan Or Not Too Tan?

Like most people, my skin is sensitive, uneven in some spots and loves to turn red when I am working out, hot or embarrassed. That is why, my friends, I am obsessed with sunless tanning. Not only does it make my skin glow, but I feel skinnier because tan fat is better than white fat. Even with all of those stated ‘ups’, it does unfortunately have its ‘downs’ as well. My boyfriend has a white duvet comforter and since I sleep over his house practically every night, I am forced to wash it at about once a week because my bronzer loves to rub off while I sleep. I try to reckon with him and say, “wouldn’t you rather have a hot, tan girlfriend?” He usually says he would rather have a clean white comforter. Ugggg! Another down? The act of actually going into the freezing cold booth (I swear I immediately have to pee every time) and getting sprayed. I try and take all the precautions though, to be safe, and make sure I don’t ingest the DHA in the sunless tanning solution. I even put nose plugs and ear plugs in and hold my breath the ENTIRE time, leaving me very woozy but with iron lungs. When asked why I feel the need to tan, my answer is usually “my boyfriend is Puerto Rican and my roommate is black, I have to keep up somehow!”

Is That a Flask in Your Bag or Are You Happy to See Me?

Testicles, spectacles, wallet and watch- check! Guys, you are ready to head out the door...and for the ladies- wallet, cell phone, lip gloss, compact, gum, flask? Yup, that's right, flask! Not that I take it everywhere I go- hello AA! But I do like to pinch some pennies and save a few bucks when I can by providing my own alcohol in certain situations. Like at the movies, or Hollywood clubs, or Stagecoach, or the LA Fair, or just about anywhere that could be more fun when fueled with alcohol and when I don't have to drive. The best part about smuggling a flask anywhere is that moment when you know you got away with it (Beth and I even have a little dance we do once we cross into the safety zone). The worst part? Actually smuggling it in. Last year, I bought a disposable flask for my boyfriend and it was probably the best purchase I have ever made. So, I bought one for myself and made my friend Beth get one too. It's a silver, fold-able and undetectable (no metal) flask that fits anywhere! You can put it in your boot, your hat, your purse and even your pants (causing you to have a little bit of a gut, but it's an instantly removable gut nonetheless). The last two years when Beth and I went to Stagecoach (the country music version of Coachella) we managed to smuggle the flasks through the intense purse search/pat down/metal detector entrance to the festival by shoving these wonders down our pants or in between our boobs. Call us crazy but we saved about $50 each that weekend! The only shameful part about smuggling flasks is when you forgot it was in your purse from the night before and you get to work and see it next to your work keys at 7:00 am....oops! Yes, that has happened to me.

Post Traumatic Wax Syndrome

For those of you who don't know me, this will be a lot of information to take in. But for those of you who do know me, this posting will contain loads of 'TMI' (Too Much Information) which is exactly why you all love me, right? And why I have monogrammed towels in my bathroom that say 'TMI'...just kidding, but I really should! OK, here it goes. Today, I got my first Brazilian bikini wax, thanks to my wonderful boyfriend who bought me the appointment with the 'devil' named Gina. No, no- she was great...I just hate her, as do most of her clients, she informed me. But in a good way, I guess. I had no idea what to expect, so when I arrived at her office in Beverly Hills, I was terrified and as my family knows, I had the "I only get these when I am very scared or nervous or overwhelmed" red blotches on my chest. As I tried to make small talk with the woman whom I just met and would be getting up close and personal with my 'lady parts' in no time, I began to calm down a bit. I mean, how bad could it be, right? Everyone here gets waxed and I haven't heard of that many cases of Post Traumatic Wax Syndrome...so she told me to take off my underwear and lay down on the table....we just met, my dear Gina! So I did what I was told and tried to relax. She got out the hot wax and the cloth strips and went to town in no time, leaving me shocked as to how she could do this with such ease as her "patients" lay trembling on the table, sweating and twitching. After the first 'rip' I asked her how women have babies if bikini waxing was this painful. She answered, "drugs, Erin, drugs". At that moment, I contemplated asking her if she had any drugs. After the second 'rip' I asked her how the second one could possibly hurt more than the first and she just smiled. I knew I was in for it...in for good cry and a few screams. When she was done, I felt a tad violated (one position she had me in involved my legs up in the air and her smearing wax in my booty) and a bit confused. After I tipped Gina (here's a tip- don't ever get a Brazilian wax) I walked out of her office feeling very strange, like I had just woke up from a dream where I was being chased by a giant Popsicle stick dripping with wax but also feeling delirious and immediately called my mom. My mom laughed when I told her that I thought my pain was worse than child birth and as I hung up the phone, I wanted to wrap myself in a giant fleece blanket, put on The Cranberries and cry myself to sleep. I am still a bit sore and feel like my 'Hohannah' (this is what my niece, Aisley calls her lady parts) resembles the head of a condor, but in the end, I have come to the conclusion that not only will I never visit Brazil, but I am also now terrified of candles, ear wax and Madame Tussaud and her frickin' museum.

Stealth Car Wash

When you need a car wash, you need a car wash, right? And when you are trying to be cheap and save a few bucks, you usually get what you pay for. Or in this case, not pay for...Having a white car in this smog filled city isn't my favorite thing in the world and paying for a car wash when I am used to doing it myself isn't either. So, when I saw my neighbor washing his car outside using the hose attached to the faucet on his apartment building, I was excited and started to plan my stealth car wash. In order for my plan to work, I had to park in a certain spot on the street so I could be directly in front of the faucet and I had to execute my plan at a time during the day where no one was really going to see me. Not like it really mattered but I was having fun pretending like I was doing something really dangerous and risky. For weeks I had been scoping out the situation after work with no luck in scoring the perfect opportunity. Until yesterday that is...I got home from work and saw a bright light shining upon the magic parking spot as the hose seemed to be glistening in the sun, beckoning me to come play. I quickly spun my car around, parked her and got out, clad in my nice work skirt and heels. I quickly jumped up on the lawn of my neighboring apartment building, turned on the faucet and washed my car so quick that Flash Gordon would have been proud. Quick maybe, but efficient, definitely not. Unfortunately my neighbor didn't supply the soap so I really just gave Jorja a good rinse (looking at her today though, she should probably be actually washed). But it made me smile, having executed my stealth plan. Case closed and hopefully a real car wash is open nearby.