LAme

Miracle On Wilshire Boulevard: II

By Bridget Phetasy
Published 09.15.09
LAme

DAY 1 - MONDAY CONT.

As I drive Maggie’s mom-mobile to Slimy’s office, a single thought runs through my mind: No matter what they say and what they offer, SAY NO TO IT. At least for now. For now, I am unable to trust my own judgment about anything. I lost my fuckin’ car. And clearly, I have lost something else (other than my mind)--the right to make good, capable decisions.

So here I am, driving to Century City, all the while scanning the gray matter of my brain for the last recollection of where my car might be. In between that and trying not to psyche myself out, there wasn’t much time to pump myself up for a pitch meeting. I am too humbled by my irresponsibility to get excited about anything.

Miracle On Wilshire Boulevard

By Bridget Phetasy
Published 08.04.09
LAme

About a year ago, I lost my car. How does such a thing happen, you ask? Blame it on the TRUE gateway drug, alcohol. And it’s no secret I occasionally like to drink.

It is a beautiful Sunday sometime during the fall of 2008. I meet my friend, we’ll call him Pokerface, at a bar on Montana. From there, things get fuzzy. I only remember him driving us 10 blocks to Sonny’s, the Boston bar on Wilshire. It’s also no secret that I like the Red Sox. I believe it was a playoff game. One they lost. I didn’t take it well. At least, I’m guessing I didn’t.

I Got Spiritually Bitch Slapped At A Healing: Part II

By Bridget Phetasy
Published 07.29.09
LAme

I look around and take in the scene. Inside the yoga studio, along the back wall, a table is set up with wares for sale; magic potions infused with gold that cure ailments and enhance consciousness; raw food balls that eradicate cancer or whatever else they do; lavendar/patchouli candles that you can definitely burn and maybe eat.

The smell of vegans is overpowering. Whatever it is that raw foodists and vegans don’t eat makes them stink. I can’t put my finger on it, but vegans smell weird. Maybe it’s from years of waitressing and dealing with their high-maintenance, condescending food modifications, but I can sniff out a vegan from a mile away. And I don’t like the smell of it.

I Got Spiritually Bitch-Slapped At A Healing: Part I

By Bridget Phetasy
Published 06.02.08
LAme

Yes you read that correctly. I've said it before and I'll say it again, this SHIT, (that's right, I said SHIT) only happens to me. Well let's just say I'm probably the only person who has ever walked out of a healing crying hysterically because someone was really mean to me. Of course I'm laughing hysterically at the moment just re-reading that sentence, but I still want my fuckin' money back. FIRST, here is a dramatic recreation of the scene:

Chronicles of Crazywood: Star Rocker

By Bridget Phetasy
Published 05.10.07
LAme

Chronicles of Crazywood: The Guap

By Bridget Phetasy
Published 04.24.07
LAme

Chronicles of Crazywood: Single 4-Eva

By Bridget Phetasy
Published 04.13.07
LAme

I’ve long contended that those brave enough to endure the trials and madness that accompany the world of dating in Los Angeles deserve some kind of medal—a purple heart for bravery under extraordinary circumstances perhaps? Is that really too much to ask given the agony one must endure?