Alcohol abuse made me push a button in my car.

As many of you know, I am the proud and loving owner of a midnight blue '07 Nissan Altima. Among the many features this gangster magnet on wheels has, there is the option to choose what is displayed on the dash.. This week I changed the display from my usual xx miles-left-until-you-run-out-of-gas to the current temperature in farenheit. I think this is a hugely symbolic event and a growth that came very unexpectedly.

When I got back from this latest tour I had grown so much. I have learned a lot from living in a myriad of large vehicles for a month a time. Each tour, I change a little for the better, or grow up in a good way. This last tour, however, was, in my classification, party like you're fifteen again. I thought this was my break-from-positive-growth tour. Wrong. Dead wrong.

In my alcohol induced mornings of horrification and despair of life, I desperately turned to google for help. I googled "the meaning of life,""why,""unrequited love," and more, but one thing I came upon was the law of attraction. Lost, lonely, and searching for a purpose and somewhere to belong, I hooked on and suckled. I read about thinking positively, and that true happiness comes from having a lot of money. Google told me if I think good changes will come, then they will. I started to practice changing my thinking.. And it worked.
When I got home for some strange reason (probably the spirit of the law of attraction) I was divinely inspired to see the temperature every day when I drive instead of how much gas I have left. I wanted to see "now" instead of "you're goin down soon homie, unless you can come up with some cheddar."
Things are turning up for me! All that morning-after misery has lead me to this gigantically different life I am leading today. I'm very excited about my new life as a instantaneoous-meteorologist.

Deeming Shia LaBeouf my EX future husband (not saying if I had the chance I wouldn't....)

Things I am supposed to be doing:

Writing a letter to my landlord

Watching "Yoga for New Beginners" on Youtube.com and hopefully following along

Getting prepared for a heinous tour through the Colorado Rockies during El Nino (something I still do not know exactly what is)

Working on myself

What I am actually doing:
While this is actually productive because I learned for sure how to pronounce Shia LaBeouf's name (having heard it from his mouth), I have forsaken all of my intended day's activities to watch Shia Lebouf videos on youtube.com (just bare with me.. I am still working on accepting that "You Tube" is an agreed upon unobjectionable word).
As much as I would like to be a postitive thinker and believe in "The Secret" that anything I imagine will come true, I also-- for the sake of my fragile, dragged through the mud, and repeadedly patched up heart-- must be what us negative thinkers diplomatically call ourselves, a realist. Tonight my mission is to convince my Disney-movie-conditioned mind that the chances of me ever meeting Shia LaBeouf are scant (although maybe its a sign that my love at first sight for him took place on the Disney channel). Its just so hard because I know he is the perfect man for me. Physically, he has my 2 it-doesn't-matter-who-you-are-I'm-sold traits: uneven front teeth and hazel eyes. And his personality is flawless. From what I hear through TMZ, he has the mouth of a sailor and is kinda a loner. What else would one need to know? Anyway I think I might be straying from my mission. How to convince myself to move on from the imagined happiness and fulfillment that being with him would bring?

Be on alert for a missing bad dog!

Today I got home to find that my precious, beloved, horrible pet dog was missing. She must have been dog-napped which is probably my payback because I, myself, dog-napped her to begin with.
The perpetrator was very sneaky, because all of my doors were locked before I left and were still locked when I got back! He or she must have come in through a window or something. I cannot believe this. Here is a picture incase you see her...

She answers to the name of Tramp... She will respond to "Shark Week" as well.
I need to find out who did this to me...
Even worse-- as some sort of cruel and disgusting form of torment-- that sick, porch-hopping crook who carried this out placed another dog in my house to taunt me!
This dog looks EXACTLY the same as Tramp (AKA Shark Week), however it is not her. This dog is a good dog. Gentle, calm, obedient. She's not even a shark minute.



Who is this good dog and what have they done with my bad dog?

Update: The fly

I got 'im!

Help me find a stage name!

I feel like a real blogger for the first time in my life...I finally posted my first entry on my originally intended blog (not this one), The Knockabout.

Tonight's events leading up to my first real blog post:

1. The virtual roommate moves my computer into my room against my will.
2. Cooked a hardboiled egg for my amazing Greekly inspired Israeli Salad.. maybe I'll post a recipe, or maybe I'll just start a 80% vegetarian recipe blog, since I'm totally a blogger now (permission to e-punch me next time I say the word "blog" in this blog... starting now!)
2. An unsuccessful inning of baseball (well, a frustrated kitchen inhabitant's version), I put the dishtowel down and gave the stupid fly a break. I'll get 'im later.
3. Thrilled with my salad, wondering to whom can I rave about it, I head to my bedroom instead of my computer desk in the living room.

So then I did it. I was sitting on my bed, with my laptop on my lap (Oh, thats where they got the name!) typing a blog. I felt like I should have a nom de plum, like, sOcAliBlOgGRRLL or something. You know, like Hilary Duff in The Perfect Man.

Does anyone have any suggestions for a name???


Noteworthy events post becoming a real blogger

1. Used the word "e-punch" in a blog. I would rate that 68% unacceptable. It's not like I'm a pro yet.

This is Alyson L signing off.

List of Things My Dog, Tramp, Has Ruined

MY:

Bathroom drawer, wall, and door

Blow dryer

Loofah

Miss Dior Cherie perfume

Pill bottle of Xanax

Free Spirit

Pumpkin scented candle in the shape of a pumpkin

Love of dogs

Multiple towels and sheets

Couch cushion

To be continued... (unfortunately)

Don't Let This Be True!

This is just like when you finally talk to that person you like, or the one you admire, and for once, you were totally cool-not nervous, witty (but not too much to the point that it feels annoyingly like a ping pong match of offensive rhetoric), and charming. Afterwards you hurry to the nearest mirror forcing yourself not to smile until you know that nobody is around that can laugh to themselves at you (or wonder if you are homeless or on PCP [sorry I'm from Venice, and that exactly what people wonder when they see somebody smiling to themselves {its really a vicious life out there.. We should be able to do whatever we want whenever we want.. Especially smile for freedom's sake!}])--and its not like you're in your car doing it, or you would have shelter from this judgment by continuing to talk to yourself forcing the onlooker to assume you are on your blue tooth. So then you look in the mirror..... NO. This can't be true. My eyeliner is dripping, my cheeks are red and my pores are HUGE! I look like a sweaty beast. The thought of having looked like that in front of your feared and admired one is too much pain to bear, so you wipe off your eyeliner, blot away the shine, and stare at yourself in the mirror ‘til you have convinced yourself that the new fixed up version of you is exactly how the ever-so-important person perceived you.
That moment the horrible realization ALMOST has victory against your denial is the moment I am in right now.
I just bought a pair of tie-dye socks. Finally after admiring, wishing and coveting from afar. I immediately put them on (they are red white and blue and I bought a second pair because those ones had purple and yellow in them too) and as I walked with my head high back toward my car from a very successful night of hippie dancing at the greek theater, my ankles started to itch. NO. The dreaded truth. My new socks aren't itchy, it must be my imagination. Walk it off. Still itchy. I sooth my uneasy mind with the brilliant reminder that I had taken 4 vicodins (for my work related injury. Don't judge me the doctor gave to me and told me it was ok!) and vicodin makes you itchy!

This can't be true. Please don't let my new, long awaited, esteemed, glorified tie dyed socks be itchy.

I once heard "denial is not a river in Egypt." --Author unknown (well, unknown to me at least and I am too frazzled to go look it up on Wikipedia right now).

OK UPDATE:

September 23, 2009

I realize this entry makes no sense. Please understand I wrote this AS I was wearing the socks. I was heavily intoxicated.