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.

Monkey C, Monkey Scared

I absolutely adore my family and while I was home in Maine last week we all went to Monkey C Monkey Do in Wiscasset to explore our adventurous side. The outdoor tree house like obstacle course offered various levels of difficulty, zip lines, a bungee jump-esque swing in the middle of the course and hours of fun for my family. Since I was in town from Los Angeles and didn't pack my sneakers in my carry-on luggage (all I usually do at home is eat, sleep and relax therefore working out is not on my vacation agenda), I had to borrow my brother-in-law's shoes so I could play on the course. Although it was generous of him to offer up his old pair for me to borrow, they were reminiscent of clown shoes on my feet, making the tightrope a bit awkward for me to walk on and funny to the crowd below (I must have looked like an act at the circus). Big feet aside, I watched as my 8 year old niece bravely took on the bungee jump swing as she plummeted 50 feet down, not even making a peep. I thought, if she can do it then it must not be that scary, right? Hell freaking no! I tried to remain calm walking up on that high wooden platform into the loving harness of Bill the manager of the course but I immediately started to shake. I find that as I get older, roller coasters, water parks and heights are a lot harder for me to take than when I was a kid. I now applaud my parents for toting us around when we were younger to various amusements parks all over the east coast keeping their composure while we enjoyed ourselves, probably terrified inside. But I couldn't back down now, that's just not my style- and my niece jumped with such ease! As my entire family looked on, I sat down on the platform, nervously waiting as Bill harnessed me in securely and lost about fifteen shades of tan (you see what I did there?) in my face. As my breathing increased and I began having heart palpitations, I kept repeating the phrase "Keep Calm and Carry On" over and over again in my head. Bill moved his arm over to the side of the platform and told me to lean into it to begin my jump. I looked at him like he was crazy, "but there's nothing below your arm and I know you won't be catching me, I'm just going to fall!" He looked at me like I was crazy and said, "Well, yeah- you wanted to do the bungee jump swing, right?" I know, I know but I didn't realize who scary it was! How the hell did my niece do it without screaming? How the hell did all the kids before her do it without screaming? Why am I the oldest one to attempt to conquer this thing today? So many questions, so little time! I looked Bill dead in the eyes and asked him if anyone had ever peed their pants while jumping. He told me no, or at least no one had admitted it. I told him a may the the first and that if I did happen to pee a little, I would like a dry pair of pants and a new harness. He laughed and told me to lean into his hand again and fall. I felt like I was going to die and as my family cheered me on, I thought, screw it! I made it all the way up to this small wooden platform and there's only one way dooooooownnnnnn! As I leaned into Bill's arm, my entire stomach came up into my throat and I began to scream. And I didn't stop screaming until I was on the ladder in the safe zone, getting my harness removed. Once I was safely on the ground, Bill yelled down to me, "Are you dry?" I checked my pants to feel for some wetness and surprisingly I was in the clear. Proudly, I responded "I didn't pee, Bill!" Lesson for the day? This Monkey Saw and this Monkey will never Do again. 

That Skunk Was A Punk!

*Spoiler alert* this story does not have a happy ending...Being a full time animal lover and a part time vegetarian (I can't deny myself lobster while I'm on vacation in Maine) I was the first to run outside when we discovered that there was a skunk stuck in my sister's batting cage net. As my nephew stood on the other side of the net armed with his gun (reminder- we are in Maine) I pleaded with him, tears in my eyes to let me help the little skunk before my nephew took things into his own hands. As my niece followed my instructions and brought me thick gloves to grab the lil guy and pink bedazzled scissors (her idea) to cut the net free, I made my way around the other end of the net to try to get to him and an audience formed. My dad also decided to join in, gun in hand, just in case I couldn't sweet talk my way into the skunk's trustful heart. I was determined to free him, earn my invisible PETA medal and walk home with my head held high. My only obstacle? His nasty little butt and the horrible aroma that could possible protrude out and stain my skin for God knows how long. My boyfriend would love that! As my sister warned me, "he may have rabies!" I made my way, nervously to him on the other side of the net.

As I looked into the eyes of the helpless little skunk, my heart sank. His arm was tangled so bad in the net that unless we had a tranquilizer gun (trust me, I asked my nephew if he did, to which I just got a snicker) I would have to hold down the stinky, rabid skunk. What was I getting myself into? At this point, my pride was the only thing keeping me going. So, I thought I would try to talk to the skunk, human to animal, eye to eye, person trying to save a life to animal that will die. I adjusted my tone a bit, as if I was talking to a baby and started my pep talk. "Hi little guy, it's okay, I'm on your side. I'm not going to hurt you, I'm your friend! Don't spray me buddy, I'm good!" Wishing that he would just give me a thumbs up and sit like a good pet, he made eye contact and did the exact opposite. He turned around and proudly lifted his tail in my direction, aimed and ready to fire. I ran as fast as I could behind the closest tree to dodge the bullet. Now I was trapped. I tried to reason with him again and even warned him that if he didn't listen to me, he was going to have to face my nephew and/or dad but he kept that tail straight up, aimed at me. Frustrated and feeling betrayed, I made my way through the woods, around the batting cage, back into my sister's house. Now I was angry, screaming back at the skunk, "I tried to help you, skunk! I tried but you wouldn't listen!"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-2GmQNkd1-s

I won't tell you what happened next because I didn't even want to know, but I will say that I resented this little guy for not trusting me- Erin Demchak! I wouldn't hurt a fly! But I also wouldn't risk getting sprayed by a skunk, so maybe I should take the blame. I'll never look at Pepe Le Pew the same again.