Digital Shorts

Haven't posted much Lyla content lately. So, I thought I'd bring her back. These are a few videos from our rides in OC a few weeks ago. Many of them are in her high pitched, stop making me perform voice.

Can Blind Men Drive?

I was driving to work this morning from the city, and as a red light turned green, I noticed the back of this truck's message which read: Caution: A Blind Man is Driving This Vehicle.
It wasn't until he started driving that I noticed the message, so I snapped as close as I could.

At first I thought, could this be a joke, but it wasn't in jokey type fonts or in bumper sticker form like:
"What if the Hokey Pokey IS What It's all About"
or
"I brake for scholars, priests, and no apparent reason"

I started riding up on him to get a glimpse, but he kept speeding up. Maybe everyone deos this to him, so he spends all day eluding people who want to see a blind driver. Although, if he' s blind, how does he know I'm looking at him? Whatever.

I didn't even know you could get a license and be blind. This doesn't seem too safe, so I decided to do some investigating. It seems that there are 34 states that allow the legally blind to drive under "specified conditions." Not sure what this means? Maybe when no one else is on the road, or when the apocalypse comes? Regardless, they're out there now, and today must have been a special condition.

I discovered that while legally blind drivers have an accident rate close to double that of the average driver, they are involved in proportionately fewer accidents than fully-sighted drivers who are impaired by alcohol or drugs. Well Amen then, by all means, we should let eye blindness accidents prevail over the blindness of alcohol and drugs. This truly makes me feel better.

So, this guy John Boel (in a Target 32 investigation--whatever that is) on WLKY NewsChannel 32 started tailing blind driver's on the road and during their driver's tests.

He witnessed this guy blow through a railroad gate that was down and flashing with the warning bell ringing. A cop actually pulled him over, didn't know he was blind, and the guy told him, he 'glanced at his dash' and 'when he looked back up, he didn't have time to stop.' Ya think? The thing that trips me up here is the bell. How did he not hear the bell? Was he deaf too? No. He heard the officer right? Or did the officer sign in his hand like Annie and Helen Keller?
Was he feeling invincible with his already blind license, decided to throw all caution to the wind, and f-ck listening too? Take the poll to the right to help me decide what the answer is.

Boel also witnessed a few people taking driver's tests. Here's how that went...

Boel says, "One bioptic driver almost runs into the back of a TARC bus on his test, and the examiner has to apply his brake."

Then, "This woman fails on the first stop when it takes her three minutes to parallel park, and 4 1/2 minutes to get out from between the barricades. Two weeks later she's back, and she's having trouble staying in her lane. Weaving badly, we count her straying outside her lane lines 13 different times, sometimes straddling the lane line to her left, but mostly crossing the white line on the right, nearly hitting the curb here, and nearly hitting a pole here. Later in this test, at a stop sign, she starts pulling out in front of a passing car, but hits the brake just in time."

When asked how confident she felt on the roads and the highway, she replies, "When I got on the Watterson Expressway, I weaved a little."

Boel asks, "On a scale of 1 to 10, how confident do you feel about your driving abilities?"

She replies, "A 9.5."

Guess what? Driver's license rewarded!

I believe my brother forgot to signal when parallel parking, took too long to merge, and failed his test at 17.

Although, after three years of kicking and screaming, my parents made me get a license, and I should not have been on the roads. I remember almost killing my Dad on our way after getting it. I was so scared and anxious. It took me about two years to stop white knuckling every trip to the super market. They didn't have any problems giving me a license either. Maybe I should be added to that stat above:
While young, dumb, and sqeemish drivers have an accident rate close to triple that of the average driver, blind drivers, and drunk drivers, they are involved in proportionately fewer accidents than those under the influence of a white magic, hypnotism, or bondage spell.

What is Wrong with Kelly Ripa's Belly Button

Kelly Ripa is totally gross. When she first joined the set of Regis, she was pregnant, and looking cute and somewhat normal for someone on TV. Then she became super popular, and the huge head, small body pressure (see: other big heads such as Lara Flynn Boyle, Lindsey Lohan, Susan Lucci) set in. About 1.5 years ago, she announced she was trying to get cut with a trainer, blah, blah.
Now, not only does she look like a display from the Bodies exhibit, but her belly button has turned into a penis. Did she have an outie before all this, or has malnutrition caused it to protrude like the bloated belly boy in the Christian Charities direct mailer? How can she smile when she so badly needs a pasta dinner. Hey, I love thin, and I pine away at night thinking about what fad diet will finally make me skinny, but this is horrific. The pic of LL above is equally disturbing. I think everything she eats goes to her boobs. I guess snorting coke, and laying around on Samantha Ronson's floor while she spins L's own records (perhaps on a Pioneer DVJ-1000) leaves little time for chowing.

Vegas Wedding

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As many of you may know, we took a trip to Vegas last week to renew our vows. Yes, a very popular renewal year is six years. My parents (Frank and Di as they are known), celebrated their 45th wedding anniversary this year, and we teamed up with them to step our Vegas trip up a notch. Thankfully, the wedding was great, and the night a huge success, because some of the events at the Paris spa leading up to it, were pretty bad.

We've stayed at Paris before. Probably about seven or so years ago, but we often go there to eat at Mon Ami Gabi, a great restaurant in the lobby with an outdoor patio. So, in finding some great rates, Paris came up pretty low, and was easy for us all to book. We flip flopped about ten times thinking of going to Venetian, since my parents stayed there last, and loved it. I had fond memories of the small but quaint Parisian rooms, so we said let's do it, we're not in the room that much anyway.

The trip started out swimmingly as I started getting the royal treatment from everyone thinking I was getting married. Girls, carry a white garment bag on a plane, and I guarantee, everyone will hold your door, move their luggage, and be overly pleasant to you. Three things that rarely occur in an airport, and certainly never an airplane. I find a pregnant belly also helps. Even the counter people are nice, and again, that happens maybe once every 100 flights for me.

Well, we arrive at Paris, and get upgraded to a corner room, which isn't a suite, but is much bigger than a regular room there. It's large, which was nice, since our luggage took up half the room. I had seven pairs of shoes alone. Funny thing about the shoes...the night before we left I had a half asleep Trent trying to weigh in on what shoes to wear for our "wedding" and the two pairs he liked I decided to take, thinking I would have my Mom or Leslie (lovely lady friend who came with us) decide which to wear. When I unpacked, I realized I had only packed one of each shoe. So, I could wear neither with the dress. Classic Jen. (Classic Peeeeg--for those that watch SNL). I had to wear black patent leather shoes in a pinch. Luckily, you couldn't really see them, so it was ok, but geez, could I be any dumber?

Which reminds me of another funny aside. I took a tennis lesson this past Saturday, and halfway through the lesson realized I was wearing two different pairs of shoes. One of my tennis shoe, and one of my running shoe. This is not a joke. I will have to take a picture of them both to prove how much alike they look, but I laughed at myself for a good five minutes after that. My tennis coach thinks I'm a complete kook anyway, so this was just more icing.

Ok, back to Paris. The room was a bit dated. The carpet was indigo, one of my least favorite colors. The furniture was trying to be French provincial but in the tacky old school hotel furniture way. Hotel furniture has come so far, and this looked like a creepy B&B where the owners listen to your conversations at the door, and serve you wet eggs for breakfast.

We go down to the pool, where Trent proceeds to get shit canned on Bud Limes, and lemonade and whiskey slushies. The drinks are served in 32 oz. jugs, and you could say the boys were over served. Ryan tends to hold his alcohol a little better, whereby you never ever know if he's drunk. I've never met anyone who could drink six 32 oz. gin and tonics, and behave exactly the same as if he were drinking Smart Water (I am now brand dropping on this site to boost my SEO rankings). Actually, I didn't even know Trent was that bad until he fell head first into all the lounge chairs, pretty much busting up his whole elbow. He had two huge round circular cuts on his elbow. It looked like a bite from Edward.

After an hour-long nap, we had to go to dinner, where my soon-to-be renewed husband had to re-group for the night's gambling and hijinks. He pulled himself together quite well, but the road back to drunksville was a pretty short distance the second time around. I'll skip the details of wobbly walking, cross eyes, and snoring, and FF to the morning after.

Thinking we'd be up early from the time change, we booked 8:30 and 9:00 appts. for nails for me and massage for Trent. Someone was struggling, and smelling of hopps.
While one of us sweated it out in the spa, I went to get my mani/pedi. I don't get my nails done very often, so when I do, I want it to be really great.

It all starts out with this woman, who I really liked, but who I quickly found out must work on product commission the way she was pushing services and product. She tried to talk me into this upgraded manicure that cost $160. I had already booked the regular one ahead of time for $100, which I think is already outrageous for a pedicure. So, instead of getting soaked in the nice tub, with the leather massagers, I am in a hair chair, with my feet in a portable pedicure tub plugged into the wall with about 15 curling irons. I thought my number was up that day. I kept thinking I'm gonna get electrocuted here because I didn't upgrade to the damn cucumber pedi.

Well, I'm still here, so that didn't happen. During the pedi, I get talked into buying an OPI dead skin foot scraper thing. Fine. I've always wanted one. Instead of $8.99 which is the price at Harmon in NJ, I got mine for $30.

Then, I make the mistake of talking about hand cream, and my Mom's trouble with dry hands. Another $15.00 for a hand cream for my Mom.

We get to the manicure, and I see a pile of products at her station. I'm thinking these needed to be shelved or used for me. Who knows. She started playing jedi mind tricks with me and steering the whole conversation to skin, and how the product right there was a miracle worker, and it saved her skin. Now, this woman was about 40, and looked 21, was it was hard to resist her. We would be talking about the pool, and what a nice time we had, and she would counter with how the dry air is destroying my skin minute by minute. I fell for it hook, line, and sinker, and soon, I have a pile of product I can only get there in my hands. I managed to talk my way out of a few of them, but ended up with two hand creams, two eye creams, an eye serum, and the foot scraper. I thought we'd go broke just with my salon bill.

I felt betrayed by Paris on my way up to my room. I pay all this money, then I get hoodwinked into buying all this stuff as well. I was surprised that a place like that pushes their employees to do that.

Well, despite my better judgment I return to get my hair and make-up done for the big night.

I already moved the appointment later, to have more time to play Craps, and I literally run from the car into the hotel to the salon. The one and only hair stylist is an approximately 80 year old woman, with a huge red hairsprayed hairdo. I have nothing against older woman, but with my recently chopped bob and big bangs, I was worried. Worry affirmed.

She decides she wants to experiment with curls. Anyone ever see me in curls? Right.
I told her if she wanted to try it, to do something Carrie Bradshaw/SJP so I'm cute. She didn't know who either of them were. More trouble.
So, she starts curling and pinning, and I know it's going to end badly. Not to mention I had one hour for all this to go down before we had to leave the hotel.

She takes the curls out, and starts trying to put a hairdo together. I looked like George Washington on the one dollar bill. It was so, so bad. It was big on top, curled on the bottom. Then, she said I had to wear my bangs bigger with curls. To quote Rachel Zoe, "I died."

Leslie came down so thoughtfully to serve me wine and toast our night, and the look on her face was priceless. It really said it all.

We swiftly washed it all out, and started over. She did not know how to blow out hair, and then she tried to straighten it with an iron, which was equally terrible. I just dealt with it knowing I would fix it when I got back to the room.

Luckily the make-up chick was great and a doll. She even put false eyelashes on (which I found later were extra of course), which took some getting used to, but were so fun. I think I look a lot like a tranny with a lot of make-up on, and that night was no different, but at least it wasn't our real wedding.

Trent called half way through the make-up asking me where I was. When I finally finished I literally ran up to the room to change. I had no time to put any jewelry on, fuss with my hair, or button the 20 button in the back of the dress. I shoved a pink belt on, and ran out. I was up there maybe five minutes.

My hair was big all night. I felt like Mary Hart. After losing eight pounds prior to the trip, I still photographed looking like a chunk with no waist and flabby arms. A friend emailed me saying "Tracey is so skinny! and your dress is lovely." This pretty much sums it up the two-year fat phase I'm in. She thought Leslie was my sister, and that she was skinny as hell, and that my dress was nice.

Can I possibly take another Master Cleanse?

Before I forget about my (now) two colonic experiences, I wanted to share the photos I took from the bathroom at the "spa" last week. I don't know if you can tell, but the one that starts, "Dear Client" is actually a torn up envelope asking for you to tip the technician if you are happy with the service. At first I thought, do I need to leave cash in this bathroom for this lady? I pondered this while sitting on the toilet for 15 minutes, and thought, no this couldn't be the appropriate spot--even for this place.

Do you like the beach lady candle holder? How about the near-empty soap dispenser. After taking the world's biggest dump in the toilet, you'd think they'd make sure the soap was plentiful wouldn't you?

The pic to the right shows all the homemade signs together. It feels just like Elizabeth Arden!

It of course hasn't stopped me from making my final appointment in the series of three to clean out my colon. With all that the Clarity mini spa is not, they are nice, and do give a darn good colonic. Plus, I'm buds with the tech now, how could I go anywhere else? It's starting to feel like home.

The Russian Special

Maybe the only thing that equals the Stanley Burroughs Master Cleanse is a colonic. After recently cleansing to the worst effects to date, I decided to clean my system another way. I looked up colonic online, and the Clarity Medispa was the primary result (if you link through to the web site, notice the Our Facility section is coming soon). By the name of this place I presumed I would reap the results of any procedure, and return to my car feeling refreshed and ready to face what the world threw at me. The web site wasn't awful, so I thought, I'm in for a treat!

Well, reality set in when I found the strip mall (yes, you read right) where the spa was located. For some reason, I feel like any place that does Botox or microdermabrasion should not be located in a strip mall. This particular one had many of the strip mall favorites like a China Moon buffet, a Bill Bateman's Bistro (this is a chain located in every WT area of Baltimore), a dry cleaner, and a tax return place. The Social Services Department and WIC were also there. Need I say more?

I don't find them in the strip so I call, and they tell me they are around back behind the "Beauty Academy" and the dumpsters. I put "Beauty Academy" in quotes because this was certainly not a place for teaching beauty. It was maybe 900 sq. ft, with mannequin heads of gay men with beards in the window. The girl at the front counter welcoming prospects had the worst hair I've ever seen. Too long, and crimped with an iron, with white blond and red streaks.

I made my way around the building to the long flight of stairs to the dumpster landmark. Another thing I wouldn't readily associate with a spa of this sort--being behind dumpsters that is.

I finally arrive, and walk in. As I fill out the paperwork, I start taking in the environment. They have a lot of those animated picture landscapes. The ones that look like waterfalls, with sparkles and stuff like that in them. I bet China Moon has a few of those too. The price sheets for their services are in a binder printed from a dot matrix printer. I start to worry.

They call me back into the colonic room, which is way scarier than the front. The massive machine is mounted onto the wall, but there are medical sheets all over the floor, where I can tell it leaked. Now, I will remind you readers, that this is a shit machine, so if there is a leak, it's trouble for sure.

The walls are spray painted over tiles in gold, and there are plastic flower arrangements all over the room. She tells me to change in the bathroom, and there are more trinkets in there, and several hand markered signs about flushing tampons and paper towels in the toilet, and the fines you will incur if you flush them. It was dusty in there, and I had trouble finding hand soap to wash my hands. I pondered for a moment about getting naked and letting this crazy Russian lady in this less than clean place stuff a probe up my butt for 45 minutes. I decided it was too late to turn back, so I stripped down, and awaited my fate in this borderline 70s Eastern European bath house.

Luckily, the tech was very nice, and very professional. She made the whole thing a lot better for sure. I won't go into the details of how the whole thing went down other than the process. They fill you up with warm water (yes, into your colon), until you can't hold it any more. When you feel like you can't hold it any more, you say "Release" and she pulls the one pipe of water going in, so the waste can come out. This occurs four times during the procedure. It certainly wasn't as awful as I thought, but it's not exactly a swedish massage. She did massage my colon. Does that count?

She told me I needed two more sessions over three weeks. I should no longer be full of shit by that point.

By buying three sessions, you get a free B12 shot. This was another interesting experience.

I got the B12/MIC shot, which requires a shot in the ass of course. I go into another room where the shots happen, and there is just a counter with about 20 jars of assorted remedies. It was like a witch doctors brew, and I was about to get the freaky treatment. The MIC part is also $10 extra, but I had already run my credit card twice, so I said, forget it I'll just get the regular one. She ended up just giving me the MIC under wraps. So, it's now also apparent, they have no regulation of this stuff. Did I mention the hot wax was also sitting on the same tray as all the other drugs? Lovely.

She told me the shot wouldn't hurt because she was going to give me the "Russian Special." I couldn't even guess what this would entail. Well, a moment later I learned. She slapped my ass, then put the needle in. I have to say, she was right, it didn't hurt.

I highly recommend the B12 shot. I felt great after I got it, and my energy level was so high. I'm hoping it will help my hair (that is falling out) as well.

Thanks for the memories Clarity Medispa. See you the next two weeks!

Naturally Cool

I found this video while looking up some blog posts on invite web sites. I am about to embark on another blogging adventure with Fold Invites. I have recently started thinking seriously about the later toddler years of Fold, and I think it's time I start treating this kid like my own, and get the word out. I am redesigning the web site, starting a blog, and getting myself out there as much as I can. Now, working 16 hour days for my "real" job doesn't help my cause here, but I feel like if I start talking about it, people will start asking me about it, then I will be committed to making it happen.

Anyway, I wanted to share this vid. Apparently, this couple met in a coffee house in Venice, CA, fell in love, and had a fabulous wedding. Now, they live on a sailboat, and sail the day away. Nice. They look like a perfect poorgeoisie pair, who look could live on the street behind a dumpster, or sip champagne while on the toilet. One or the other. I've worked my whole life to be as cool as these two people.

Enjoy.

Beverly Hills Hotel from charlie hilton on Vimeo.