A Tangent About How I Almost Spent A Grand On Pool Porn.

24 01 2012

I’m now a personal assistant. I don’t know if I ever said that here but yeah, I don’t do social media anymore, which is great. Instead, I get to run errands I wouldn’t normally run for myself because I hate them so much/run errands I only dream of running for myself.

For example…
Yesterday, I got to go pick up some goods at Paul Smith.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been to the Paul Smith store,
but HOLY MOTHER OF ALL THINGS WOOD
& WHITE & AESTHETICALLY PLEASING!
That place is just like, heaven.

It’s just magic in there. I want to live there.

Now see those book shelves in that second photo?
Alright, so I was checking out these pajamas
when I spot a book I’ve been dying to have:

THIS IS LIKE A PHOTOGRAPHER’S PREMONITION OF MY LIFE.
THIS WAS MY BIOGRAPHY BEFORE I WAS EVEN BORN TO HAVE ONE.
THIS IS EVERYTHING I STAND FOR IN A FUCKING BOOK DUDE!

Anyway, so I pick it up & look for a price, expecting a zillion dollars.
I couldn’t find a price tag though, only a small $35.00 on the inside sleeve.

I ran my little hands across the cover, gently grazing the plastic sheath like a lover’s cheek. I flipped through the pages, using all my strength not to just fingerblast the hell out of those nineteen-seventies pool scenes. I wanted to just kiss it, all over. I wanted to make love to that book right there. I wanted to worship it, and whisper sweet nothings in its ears. “You are the tightest pussy of a book,” I’d tell it. “I want to live in you. I’ll never be able to live without you. You’re so beautiful.” But I decided, for thirty-five dollars, I should just buy it & go be creepy in the privacy of my own home.

Being as this store is in the trajectory of 2014 in terms of shit I can afford, I don’t know what in hell possessed me to trick myself into thinking it was actually thirty-five dollars. I guess it was wishful thinking & also the fact that I didn’t think people would maliciously hide the price tags in the spine of page fifteen.

But that’s exactly where the real price tag was.

Please take a moment of silence
to picture & bless the look on my face
when it rang up as NINE HUNDRED & FIFTY FUCKING DOLLARS.

My mouth dropped open & I let out a silly, “Aheh…”
followed by a giggle that would have been cute on me five years ago.
And the too-fashionable-not-to-be-gay salesman says,
“Well, it is vintage & first edition!”
Apparently, vintage + first edition = more than my rent.

I held A Wonderful Time in my hot little hands for a moment longer, thinking of the ecstasy I had felt just mere minutes earlier in that back corner of the store. That hot minute I spent alone thinking about how I was going to fuck the shit out of this book with my eyes for all of eternity, how it would always be there on my coffee table just waiting to be molested with my mind, every day. For a moment, I really wondered if I could get away with it. Like if maybe I ran my debit like a credit card & then ran home & told my dad my cat was dying or something.

But then I realized that that was really stupid.
There may come a day when I actually need to lie about my cat dying
so I can get nine hundred & fifty dollars to fucking live or eat or not be arrested.

Also, I shouldn’t even be thinking about lying about my cat dying! I love my cat! What is wrong with me?! What has happened to me?!
This pool porn was turning me into a monster!

I sheepishly let out another, “Aheh…”
with an awkward smile & put the book back,
feeling totally defeated & deflated.

I gingerly stroked its cover one last time,
promising I would see it in two years
& to please, PLEASE JUST WAIT FOR ME!
I WILL COME BACK I FUCKING PROMISE!
I LOVE YOU! I FUCKING LOVE YOU!

I turned my back on it at 2:30pm
on January Twenty-Third Two Thousand & Twelve,
knowing I may never see it again
but certain the love in my heart would go on forever,
much like Celine Dion or a good designer bag.

The rest of my day felt pretty miserable,
a feeling that is still sort of lingering today,
which is kind of fucking weird since it’s A FUCKING BOOK.

I feel like a man who fell in love with an escort he couldn’t afford. He had caressed her perfect tit & was then turned away, only to dream of that single tit for the rest of his life. He would aimlessly wander Tumblr evermore & pray that perhaps one day he’d get really fucking lucky with a high-res find on a Large sized Google Image Search.

That book is my 70′s Harrison Ford in a speedo & the Parker Hotel rolled into one. It is my muse. I will have it. Mark my words, I will have that fucking book.

That $950 one too,
considering I just found out
that to buy that book new,
oh it’s just about a cool four grand. 8-O

[Currently Listening 2 "Wait" by the Beatles]


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A Tangent About Beauty & The Beast.

23 01 2012

This weekend I got Dudefriend to spend the best seventeen dollars he’s spent on me this year & take me to go see Beauty & The Beast 3D.

IT WAS SO AWESOME!!!

I’m not even a fan of 3D movies because they usually give me a headache & I can’t get drunk beforehand but Beauty & The Beast 3D was not like that because since it was made back in the day, its 3Dness is just like a really nice depth of field with the foreground & middleground & animated background actors. I was AGASP when they open up on the beautiful rolling hills of Belle’s poor provincial town & surrounding wind-swept meadows with tiny little pink flowers & shit. I was seriously five all over again. I smiled the whole time, except for the parts where obviously you shouldn’t smile– like when she cries about never seeing her father again or any time Gaston is on screen cause I really don’t like his attitude.

I probably hadn’t watched Beauty & The Beast
in like, a good ten or so years.
FAR TOO LONG.

But kind of awesome because I realized
something about Beauty & The Beast
THAT I NEVER REALIZED BEFORE:

THAT IT IS FUCKED UP THAT THE BEAST GOT BEASTED!!!

Look, I get it. He was an asshole to everyone & then one stormy night he was an asshole to the wrong haggard hobo that came to the door & she spelled him. But guess what? The math is pretty fucked up on this story because in the movie, first it explains via stained glass that the prince was a dick his whole life & then was beasted. Then it explains that the spell must be broken via the wilting rose by his twenty-first birthday. Then Mrs. Potts or someone says that they have been objectified (bahdumchhhh) for the past ten years.

So, basically,
via math
via my brain
via the supplied information
via the script,
THE BEAST WAS BEASTED AT LIKE, TEN YEARS OLD.

I think that the haggard hobo/beautiful enchantress should have given him a break. All ten year olds are dicks anyway and secondly, he was just following one of the top three most important rules of childhood: never let strangers in!
I can’t believe he even answered the door at night to be honest!

And I think that is the REAL moral of the story here.
DON’T ANSWER THE DOOR AT NIGHT! ESPECIALLY IF IT’S A STRANGER!
It’s still the number one way to not get beasted &/or SVU’d.


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A Tangent About Live Performance.

15 01 2012

On Saturday I performed in the Hello Giggles show at UCB.
I love doing the Hello Giggles shows because
I get to perform with some of my favorite friends/people,
and because I loooooove being on stage.

Except for everything that comes with me being on a stage
when I’m not actually on the stage.

I’ve been getting up in front of people & making an ass out of myself since I was a wee single digit and I’ve always been a total basket case about it. For most of my life, I would go through a single process: casually rehearse, procrastinate, freak the fuck out, rehearse like crazy, hate myself, trip out about having shit memorized, memorize everything, feel like Kanye, realize I’m not Kanye, freak out, pick out a great outfit, find a middle ground because at least now if I fuck up I look good, get on stage & have an awesome time and exit stage right
& vomit in the trash cans in the wings.

After nearly twenty years of this,
I am comfortable enough to not vomit
but now I just make up insane stuff to worry about,
like obsessing over what underwear I’m going to wear.

This seems deranged. And it is. I won’t dispute that. But I genuinely spend a lot of time worrying about what underwear I’ll wear because for about ten years,
I was always cast as a manish character.

I KNOW, RIGHT?! HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE WITH MY TINY FIVE INCH FACE & BARELY-THERE JAW LINE?! Fucking beats me. All I know is that on three separate occasions I have been cast as Viola in Twelfth Night. For those of you who are not familiar with Shakespeare, just know that Viola is a bitch who gets shipwrecked & upon washing ashore, dresses up like a man to get a job & this woman falls in love with her & she’s in love with the bro that’s in love with the woman who’s in love with her… anyway, yeah the point is that Viola dresses like a dude for 90% of the show.

I have like ten other examples from while I was in acting school but I don’t remember the names of the plays but just please know I cried to my teacher once about how I was never cast as anyone except a tomboy or a curmudgeon.

He replied, emotionless & hard from years of bit parts on CBS crime shows, “Master your niche, then branch out.”

Fuck that. My niche is not “bad attitude in wide legged pants”.

In some weird not-so-subconscious effort to combat my insecurities about always being cast as a lesbian, I make an effort to wear dresses while performing.

WHICH GETS US TO THIS WHOLE BUSINESS WITH THE UNDERWEAR!!!

Because my biggest fear is eating shit on stage & my theory is that yes, I could eat shit, face plant & have my dress come up around my waist, showing off my half-in-shape ass & my underwear. That’s so possible! BUT! I know in my performer’s heart of hearts, I would get up & laugh it off & all would be okay but I want to make sure that if that ever happened, at least someone would be like, “Wow, I can’t believe Marissa Ross ate shit like that but did you see her underwear? They were so cute & totally matched her dress! For being a clutz, she is soooooo put together!”

So, I spend like a week figuring this shit out.
Three days to find the actual outfit,
four days figuring out what underwear is the best.

Cause I mean, you could go like super-matchy OR you could go quirky OR you could just go neon! And do you do thong or boy short? What about the ones with the arbitrary bows your boyfriend makes fun of but you swear someone out there must think are sexy? Does your dress show lines? Is your ass tan? Is that one dimple you’ve been trying to get rid of for eight months still there? Could your creepy ex-boyfriend possibly be in the audience? Could a future creepy stalker be in the audience? What about a creepy television executive!?!
THERE ARE JUST SO MANY VARIABLES!!!

And this is how I think.
Like a completely psychotic person.
Why are you even reading this?!

Anyway, my underwear was exactly the color of my dress on Saturday.
With some black lace trims/accents & some super cute bows
that my boyfriend thinks are fucking stupid I’m sure.
But I think, they’re maybe in my top three cutest underwear.
I recently got them at Victoria’s Secret, so you know I’m not playin’.

I put them on & was like,
“DAMN! IF I FALL TONIGHT EVERYONE’S GOING TO KNOW HOW FLY I AM!”

Here is me backstage, to give you a visual on my color scheme.

But here’s the thing!
I didn’t fall on my face!

So now I almost feel like I wasted my outfit/underwear combo but you can just go ahead & ignore how sorta unstable & relatively masochistic I am.

[Currently Listening 2 Dunes' "Handle"]


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A Tangent About My Bed.

10 01 2012

My father recently bought a king size bed he didn’t end up using because it didn’t fit in the room he bought it for & it has been sitting in storage. He offered it to Dudefriend & myself, and I was kinda like,
“No, it’s cool, I like my bed.”

Of course Dudefriend was like,
“Are you kidding me?
WE’LL TAKE THE BED.”

Not to say I don’t want a new bed,
but I’m having a hard time
giving up my bed.

I love my bed.
I’ve had it since I was 18.
This is apparently the grossest thing ever to everyone besides me but I’m sorry, it’s a perfectly fucking awesome bed that is really fucking comfortable! It’s beyond comfortable! Everyone who has ever slept in it had commented on how comfortable it is & how they wish they’d never have to leave it! That is a fucking fact! A fact I have woken up every morning for seven years to confirm!

The only reason everyone is freaking out is because they’ve all slept in it
& probably didn’t realize I’d had it since I was 18
& now they’re like, “EWWW! DEAD SKIN CELLS & SEX JUICES!”
like I’m a whore that doesn’t use fucking sheets.
Like that I’ve been servicing men on a plain old mattress
with only a fleece Christmas-patterned blanket
from the 99 Cent store
to shelter me from the
harsh Southern California winters.

I LIVE FOR SHEETS.
ORGANIC ONES.

PLUS!
I’M A CLEAN,
NON-WHORISH PERSON.

MY MATTRESS IS FINE!

IT’S MORE THAN FINE!
IT’S MY FRIEND!

That bed has been with me through the best & worst times & thinking of it just hanging out on the sidewalk waiting to be trashed along with the ACTUAL disgusting mattresses of Los Angeles county is such a bummer.

But then again, it is 2012–
the year my whole life gets upgraded.
So, I must accept that this is the circle of life.
One comfy-ass queen must be let go
in order to get a bangin’ pillow-topped king.

My bed has served me well.
I just wish we didn’t have to say goodbye.


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Resolutions, Aspirations & Hopes for 2012

3 01 2012

• Take my self-awareness to the next level & stop stressing myself out so much when I don’t need to because I do that all the time when I really don’t need to & I should be at a point in my life where I can tell the difference between shit worth stressing myself out about versus being stoned.

• Work out at least three times a week, because I am a woman & obviously I can’t start a new year– ha, let alone a day!– without being unsatisfied with my body.

• Drink more water. Duh.

• Write at least one page on my typewriter a day, whether it be a journal entry or a contribution to my fictional novella no one will actually believe is purely fiction as it will no doubt be about Los Angeles, lust, and a bunch of lazy, licentious losers who want to be writers or pursue some career that is equally creative & contrived, just like me! I mean, but it’s fiction.

• Stop using my phone while driving, even if I’m drinking iced coffee & being super brilliant & can’t wait to Tweet.

• Listen to more music. I’ve really fallen off. :(

• Hope that everyone stops shortening “gorgeous” to “gorg”. It takes a word that means “beautiful” & abbreviates it into this ugly, stupid sounding thing, thus defeating all the sentiments you’re trying to express on my Instagram photos.

• Stop talking shit on people who’ve wronged me, even though I fucking hate them with relatively good reason & wish my friends would too.

• Forgive people who’ve wronged me & not just be like, “I’m over it, it’s fine… I mean, I think they’re really rude but it’s cool… I just feel like she’s kind of a stupid fucking c-word, but whatever… No, really, it’s cool…”

• Not to take it personally when people meet me a bunch of times & we’re always really friendly & they refuse to follow me back on Twitter. I do that all the time! I shouldn’t care! I mean, not everyone is going to think I’m a really pretty genius. And some people are going to hate me for being a really pretty genius. Both totally okay things! Besides, lest us not forget Kelly Slater follows me, so whatever… it’s cool… no, really.

• Hope that spec script I spent two months writing does something besides collect dust. If anyone who can help me get somewhere in the world wants to read it, let me know! I’m open for jobs or just social climbing!

• Transform from “Manic Pixie Dream Girl” into “Hooker With A Heart Of Gold”, cause I feel like the quirky brunette market is kinda tapped right now and IDK, I like the alliteration of “Hooker With A Heart Of Gold”. I feel like I could pull that off without actually being a hooker, just like I’ve pulled off this MPDG without being a fucking idiot.

• Hope to find Beetlejuice on DVD while wandering around Target one day.

BOOM! 2012 IS MINE!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Currently Listening 2 Harry Belafonte]


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Thank You, 2011.

30 12 2011

2011 is coming to an end, and I can honestly say it has been one of the best years of my life. This time last year, I was just let go from my job and started working at an ocarina company. Yes, ocarinas, as in the things from The Legend Of Zelda. I talked to 13 year olds on the internet about Zelda all day for a paycheck. It was an incredibly dark time with very little promise to propel me forward. I was the most broke I’d been since moving to Los Angeles (the brokest time of my life) and was quickly shredding through my savings. But, I persevered! I continued forth, immersing myself in my delusional optimism knowing that eventually, something would happen. I wrote blogs and scripts like a mad man and now here we are.

I am very proud to say that in 2011, I was able to write for one of the internet’s most popular websites, I wrote/starred/basically produced my own web show, got a great job working for one of my heroes, met so many incredible people that I have admired, even met someone who wants to put me on television as the millennial poster girl for wine (cross those fucking fingers, bitches), finished my first pilot script that features characters that are not “Marissa A. Ross” AND Kelly Slater followed me on Twitter.

If it sounds like I’m showboating, I’m not meaning to but also, I really don’t give a shit if it comes off that way. I am just genuinely grateful and excited to be where I am right now and to be starting 2012 in the place I am. If the world ends next year, I’m going to be able to say I went after my dreams and I even got damn close to achieving them.

And this is where I have to thank anyone who’s ever read this blog or any of my articles, ever followed me on Twitter, ever subscribed to my Tumblr and especially, everyone who watched my web series and Wine Time. Because honestly, none of what’s happening would be possible. All my opportunities have stemmed from working on this ridiculous piece of internet real estate and I can’t thank you enough for supporting it and me, some random-ass brunette with a penchant for bitching and wining [bah-dum-chhhhhh].

So, thank you– yes, you, right now you– so, so very much.

Special thank you’s to Bennett Smith, Molly McAleer, Sophia Rossi, Zooey Deschanel, Mindy Kaling, Kashy Khaledi, Jennifer Still, Kimberly Gordon, my close friends who should know who they are and most of all’s: my best friend Meredith Leyerzaph, my sister Valerie, my Grandma and Papa (RIP) and my insanely, incredible boyfriend Benjamin Blascoe. Each of them have been beyond good to me and every day I am reminded to be appreciative for what they have brought into my life this year.

My only real regret this year was not writing here more.
And I really hope to get back to that in the new year.
The truth is, blogging is hard when you’re busy & happy.
So thanks for sticking with me.

My best wishes to you & yours.
I hope each of you work hard,
do shit for free & never give up.

2012 is going to be fantastic.
Can’t wait to kill it with you.

And remember,
summer only ends if you let it.
xoxoxo


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A Tangent About “My Dip”.

12 12 2011

I’ve been trying to replace “my jam” with “my dip”.
I decided to do this because quite frankly,
it’s a better fucking choice.

I am guessing– with confidence– that on average, people love dips more than jams. I mean, I threw myself an entire birthday party around dips where I did not ask for presents, I asked for everyone to bring a dip. My “David Putty Party” was a serious success that I don’t think a “jam party” would have been. Jams are great, don’t get me wrong, but I feel like they’re more for bread and Brits. (Right, tea time? Am I just being a dick right now or does anyone else feel me on that?)

Dips are for everyone!
Ranch dip, bean dip, artichoke dip, sour cream & onion dip, SEVEN FUCKING LAYER DIP, spinach dip, guacamole, chile con queso, straight up salsa, cheddar ale spread, jalepeno crab dip! AND THAT’S JUST OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD! IF I SPENT AN EXTRA FIVE MINUTES ON THE INTERNET I COULD BLOW YOUR FUCKING MIIINDS WITH THE SORT OF DIPS I COULD FIND! NOT TO MENTION, FRENCH ONION!

(I don’t like french onion really, so please to the four people who brought it to my David Putty party, can three of you bring more 7 layer dips next time? Thanks.)

Unfortunately, despite all reasonable logic
& my immaculate enunciation
(when I’m not drunk),
everyone keeps thinking I’m saying,
“DAMN, THAT’S MY DICK!”

Which is, painfully, not the same as “my dip”.

“Dip” is better than “jam”,
but “jam” is better than “dick”.

:|

I am sullen, but not defeated.
I will be a trendsetting slanguist one day.

Mark my words,
MARK MY DIP!

[Currently Listening 2 Friends Records 2011]


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A Tangent About Retrogrades.

2 12 2011

A weak spirit would have been crushed by the shocking storm of circumstances, set-backs & general annoyances I’ve weathered in the past two days. They haven’t been the worst days of my life, but they have been incredibly tedious. And by “tedious”, I of course mean,
“WHY DOES THE WORLD WANT ME TO COMMIT SUICIDE?!”

I woke up Wednesday feeling great.
I got up early & worked a little,
then I exercised, cleaned the kitchen
& even got in a quick shower.

I pranced out to my car in a long, flowing tye-dye skirt. I was in such a good mood. I was going to go to the coffee shop & was envisioning my personal rendition of that opening sequence with Belle in Beauty & The Beast– you know, in which I am the incredibly popular but totally oblivious girl-about-town who is into books & all the hot dudes fawn over me. It’s cool.

The wind was blowing & I felt like I looked straight of an Urban Outfitters catalogue, which is a confusing thing to feel. No one wants to look like everything they own is over-priced & peddled to overeager nineteen year olds; but then again, they do have great catalogues. No matter, even if I did look more contrived than a confused college student, I was feeling great & I was confident the day was mine.

It was at this moment
I began to back out of my drive way
& immediately feel
the indisputable symptoms
of a flat tire.

My flat tire turned out to be the catalyst for what those of feeble character may have called “a fucking apocalypse”. From there, it all went downhill. Just, ev-er-y-thing. I was late. I couldn’t get cell phone service anywhere. I got bruises all over my arm from trying to break into my friend’s house through the mail slot after forgetting my keys at home. I had to file police reports. I was super hung over (OK, totally my fault) & out in public in sweatpants (also, my fault) & I started my period (damn, also not my fault, fuckin’ nature). I was stuck in traffic from the west side for nearly three hours. You know, just all the really annoying things that usually happen spanned out over weeks, not a matter of hours.

But here’s the cool thing:
MERCURY IS IN RETROGRADE!

Now I can just save all that energy one would normally spend looking for someone to blame/murder for the series of unfortunate events! More importantly, I don’t even have to fret my pretty little head contemplating my own responsibility in my life! No, I can blame a planet instead!

Headache? Retrograde.
Step in dog shit? Retrograde.
Forget to pay a parking ticket? Retrograaade!
Run a red light while texting & rear end a Bentley?
YOU’VE BEEN RETROGRADED!

It’s all very freeing you know,
absolving yourself from your life’s liabilities.
It’s like, do I really believe
a planet has that much control over everything?
I’m not sure.

But will I believe it anyway
just so I don’t have to wonder
why the universe just shit all over me?
Of course!

I’m just going to focus on the good things that happened this week, ya know? For example… let’s see… well, last night, a married bartender who purposefully doesn’t wear his ring bought me a drink. So, that’s cool! I’ve still got it!

“It” of course being “my innate & effortless ability to attract assholes”.

Yeah, it’s been a rough one.
It’s going to be okay though.
We just have to stay strong through the 12th guys!
Then we’ll have like another three months
before Mercury gets bored & decides to ruin our lives again.

#pray4theretrograded

[Currently Listening 2 David Axelrod]


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For That Special Marissa A. Ross In Your Life: The T&tT Holiday Gift Guide

30 11 2011

There is only one thing that comes close to how much I love Summer
& that is HOW MUCH I FREAKING LOVE THE HOLIDAY SEASON!

I love Thanksgiving, I love all of December, I love decorating shit, I love making ornaments, I fucking love love love Christmas music, I love themed cocktails, I love wearing big coats over tiny dresses, I love being wished a thousand happy Hanukkahs, I LOVE Christmas & I sort of love New Year’s.

But I hate shopping during the holidays.
That’s the fucking worst idea ever.
Especially when you don’t know the person well.
You’re like clawing your way through the mall,
navigating through a Disneyland crowd on PCP.
How are you supposed to see that perfect gift
while you’re busy getting struck head-on by 4-wheel drive strollers?!

So, in the spirit of the season, I decided to make a Holiday Gift Guide so that moms, dads, friends & unacquainted cousins could get an idea as to what to get that very special, weirdly sophisticated dumb asshole that drinks too much in their family for Christmas/Jewish Week this year.

So, press play on this delightful Dent May holiday jam & get to reading! You only have like, 26 days left to figure out how to get all this shit under my tree.

Bandit Cabernet $8

Wine in general is a good idea but a personal affordable favorite is Bandit boxed wine. It’s delicious & more eco-friendly so you can drink it & pretend you’re not such an asshole. Also: there is 33% more wine because it’s in a box. Also: great for Ross testing!

Wine Away $18.50 (pack of two)

THIS PRODUCT HAS BASICALLY SAVED MY LIFE. BY LIFE I MEAN MY CLOTHES, MY FURNITURE, MY DIGNITY & PARTICULARLY MY BEDDING. THANK YOU WINE AWAY!

Jeffrey Campbell Lita’s $159.95

Give your spritely little friend the extra five inches she’s always dreamed of with these incredibly cute, chic & incredulously comfy Jeffrey Campbell’s. If we’re going to be real here, these shoes have changed my life & I have been stomping around in them for weeks acting like I’m the queen of something.

Sachajuan Volume Powder $34

I was recently introduced to this stuff when my hairdresser used it for my last photoshoot. Contrary to popular belief, I actually have very thin hair, just a lot of it. This volumizing powder not only gave me the perfect amount of poof, but also gave my hair that awesome just-outta-the-ocean feeling & I didn’t have to wash it for days (which means a lot to hustlers with little time on their hands).

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? by Mindy Kaling $25

I don’t know what you people want from me. I will continue to rave about this book for forever. Buy it for someone this holiday season. You have to. Not gifting this to a lovely lady is a fucking crime against humanity.

R29 + Samudra Beach-Inspired Pouches $60

Okay. OK. These are actually just on my Christmas list since @etoilee8 tweeted them at me this morning & I was just like, “DAMN. SOMEONE BETTER GET ME ONE.” Like, for real. A beach scene. That I can put stuff in. What more could I possibly want in the universe besides a ranchion?! (Note: A ranchion is a ranch-mansion, which is like a mansion but a little more cozy & welcoming.)

CSA $25 – $600

Since you pay weekly, this could be either pretty cheap or really expensive but anyone who reads me on the reg’ knows I’m obsessed with Community Supported Agriculture. I rep them so hard on the internet & in real life. Basically, for $25 a week you get two bangin’ big ass bags of local, organic produce. That is so much cheaper than buying it at the grocery store! And $3 of every purchase goes to your local school district. Plus you just pick it up. I’ve heard that this is best in California where we grow tons of stuff year round, but I know my friends in New Mexico love it too! Great for parents. They will think you’re looking out for your own health & not drinking yourself to sleep on a regular basis.

Wildfox Runaway Donovan T $92

Did you read the thing? Hello, duh, yeah, this is for Marissa A. Ross’. It’s very reminiscent of my favorite HST quote plus I live in Wildfox because I’m a spoiled bitch & it’s the best. Give your favorite spoiled bitch this shirt so we can be spoiled bitches together (until I steal this from her & we’re mortal enemies).

Herbal Ecstasy $20

I just got this in Santa Cruz at the Happy High Herbal Store. They specialize in “legal party alternatives”. As someone who has enjoyed (not saying I condone!) recreational drug use in their day but doesn’t have the time to deal with a three day depletion of serotonin, I was intrigued. Does it work? No idea. I haven’t tried it yet but who cares? Even if you don’t orgasm off sucking on Skittles & rubbing Vick’s Vapo-Rub all over your face, at least you will be putting a good laugh in someone’s stocking.

Betsy Johnson Darling Diamond Thigh Highs $18

I just think these are really versatile in the fact that they could go from seduction-to-snuggle. First, you have them on with some pumps & a cute dress. After everyone loses interest in clothing & disregards their shoes & ruffle some sheets, you can throw on a comfy sweater & your cute undies & hit the couch in these. They’re like pants but sexier.

T by Alexander Wang Knit Crew Neck Pullover $195

Who knows? Maybe this is the comfy sweater I was talking about! I just think every girl needs a good black sweater they could wear everyday if they wanted to. I like to buy mine a size or two too large & feel like I’m swimming in warmth.

Wool Blanket around $30

I’m sure I’m being totally not politically correct in calling these wool blankets “Mexican Blankets” but I feel like you totally know what I’m talking about now. I got this amazing one in my favorite color at my local hipster “general” store. I keep it on my couch where I snuggle it for hours while watching Storage Wars.

Demeter Suntan Lotion Perfume $6 – $39.50

It’s like being at the beach all year round! Okay, so this stuff doesn’t smell like coconut but it does smell like your mom’s Hawaiian Tropic from the late eighties which I LOVE. All you’ll need is one of those one pieces that barely covers your crotch & completely misses your hips & you’ll be set.

Hennessy $35

Because all us egomaniacal fiends really want to be rappers on the inside (sometimes).

Crosley Record Player $100+

I got one of these a couple years ago & I love it. They’re super stylish plus they come with speakers built in! Sure they kind of suck in terms of speakers but awesome when you don’t want to throw down for a whole sound system/want a gift for a girl who probably doesn’t give a shit about sound systems anyway.

The Doors, Self-Titled on vinyl $8+

I’m sure there are people out there frowning on this choice, but seriously, fuck you. It is not my fault that you have never been drunk on a hot summer day in Los Angeles. Anyone who doesn’t “get” The Doors, that’s all they need to do. Get super wasted in the heat of LA & suddenly The Doors make sense. I know this because everyone in LA is not from LA and they’re like “WTF” until I show them the light. This is my personal favorite Doors album. It’s so classic, super sexy & mad fiendish. I just want to get into a bottle & a bunch of trouble with it. Another great choice: Waiting For The Sun.

Women by Charles Bukowski $16

Tangents about booze & sex. Can’t get much more Marissa A. Ross than that.

MAC Wet, Wild & Wonderful PlushGlass $18.50

I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT THIS! It’s my favorite lipgloss in the world. It’s not too dark with the quintessential amount of glimmer & tons of shine. Only downsides: it will ruin wine glasses & the faces of those you’re making out with. Oh well. Occupational hazards exist, ya’all.

Corkscrew Keychain $3 – $10

Do you know how many times people like me are in situations where they need a corkscrew but left the travel one from the Hilton in their other clutch? ALL THE TIME. That’s why this is a really affordable & smart gift!

Family Members’ Left Over Pharmaceuticals

For you broke, soulless types with access to your elderly-people relatives’ medicine cabinets or recent wisdom-teeth-losing younger siblings who haven’t discovered the recreational uses of Vicodin yet.

So, that’s it!

Unless you know where to get a bikini made of a hundred dollar bills?


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Categories : Shit I'd Marry, Tangents & The Times

A Tangent About How I May Have Enemies.

21 11 2011

I’m not arrogant enough to believe
that everyone in the world thinks I’m great
but also, I was pretty sure
I didn’t have any real enemies.

But now, now I know that my ego
has once again forsaken me,
for I have at least two known enemies.

One, a UPS delivery person
& two, a FedEx delivery person.

I’ve never met either one of them, nor am I sure what it is they hate so much about me, but from what I can tell, they fucking hate me. They want me to suffer greatly. They want me to make me bleed & fuck up my new Jeffrey Campbell’s.

Something they effectively achieved
by throwing my packages into the fucking cactuses.

WHO PUTS PACKAGES AMONGST FUCKING CACTI?

Like honestly, I still am not sure if these people really hate me but they must. Why else would they put my packages in such a precarious place? I mean, obviously I was going to get fucking stabbed retrieving them. We’re not talking about the kind of succulents you find on Tumblr, I’m talking about a five foot prickly bastard that could– and did– leave me punctured.

I don’t like thinking there are people out there who want me stabbed though, so in case any of them are these delivery people who want to harm me, I’ve decided to make some public apologies:

• The Girl We Used To Call “Crotch Picker” in Grade School
I didn’t even remember that we did this until my best friend reminded me & I felt super bad, but I also remembered she used to pick her crotch a lot so maybe we helped her in the long run, you know, show her that this isn’t socially acceptable to dig your shorts out of your labia in public. Anyway, Girl We Used To Call Crotch Picker, I’m really sorry. I seriously don’t remember calling you that, but it’s fucked up & this is my public apology. Also, really hope you still don’t pick your crotch because although mean kids say it to your face, grown ups just talk about it on GChat.

• Loren
This is a girl who was really cute & all my guy friends wanted to fuck & I hated her for it. I hated her so much for it because no one cared that I could talk about books & movies & super obscure Broken Social Scene tracks. She would prance around in super short-shorts in the rain & jerk-off dudes in the backseats of cars, all the things that appeal to twenty year old boys. No one wanted to volley When Harry Met Sally quotes with me & I took it out on her at parties after I’d drink too much whiskey. Loren, I’m sorry I’d constantly try to belittle & humiliate you, if it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure it just made everyone like you more, and me seem like a lame, wordy bitch. Who calls people “slatternly slags” in real life anyway? Me. And other losers.

• People Who Hate Me For Wearing Super Short-Shorts
As I hated Loren, I’m sure there is someone out there who hates me for wearing short-shorts all the time. To you people, I’m not fucking sorry. Get a grip & some self-esteem, assholes.

• My Ex Boyfriend
He definitely wants to stab me but…
yeah, no, I’m not going to apologize for shit.

Hmmmm…

Yeah. I don’t think I have anyone else on the list? I mean, aside people I’ve already apologized to. Like, I’m pretty sure my friend Shawn has forgiven me for the time he had a crush on me & I knew about it but proceeded to makeout with the captain of the soccer team in Shawn’s sauna sophomore year. Shawn is also in NYC now so I feel like it’s not him. He also helped me get jobs… yeah, I don’t think he put my packages in the cacti. I think we’re just friends!

There is a good possibility that these delivery people have nothing against me & are just idiots, in which case, I hope they fucking pick up a book or go to a botanical garden one day & figure out that a patch of cacti is a terrible place to leave things.

But then again,
why on Earth would I start thinking
the world doesn’t revolve around me now?! LOL


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Things I Learned From My First Super Hollywood Weekend.

15 11 2011

Over the past couple days, I’ve had the most glamorous life.
I’ve never been subjected to any sort of A list events
and now that I have, I have to say, I have learned a lot.
Here are some of the things I learned:

• “I’m going to keep it together & only have like two or three drinks” quickly turns into “HOLY SHIT! IT’S AN OPEN BAR?!”

• Being really drunk around beautiful, rich & famous people is so much harder than being drunk around normal people. It’s like, normal people get drunk all around you & you don’t give a shit but beautiful, rich & famous people get drunk all around you & they just glitter.

• Just accept that no matter how cool & collected you usually are, you are going to pull a fan girl moment & geek out on at least one person from Party Down or embarrass your friends by yelling “NICOLE RICHIE HUGGED ME!” periodically throughout the night.

• Eli Roth is one of the most handsome men alive & when you look at him in real life for the first time, you will automatically make bedroom eyes at him & he’ll look at you like you’re a crazy person because your bedroom eyes are probably really just awkward squinty things.

• Jon Hamm IS the most handsome man alive & when you look at him in real life for the first time, you can just stare at him because he’s not paying attention to you because he’s FUCKING JON HAMM.

• Eat all the hors d’oeuvres (they’re going to be better than probably the best thing you’ve ever cooked in your life, especially if you’re me because I’ve only cooked nachos).

• Stay away from photographers until you’re positive you know how to not look like a thirteen year old with a sixty year old Jew nose.

• Don’t eat painkillers. Or eat painkillers. Not sure about this yet.

• But definitely don’t drink RedBull & vodka unless you want to be made fun of. That’s a drink for the Jersey Shore. Or Vegas. Or me on a Saturday, apparently.

• Take your best friends & have the best time.

• And always spend a small fortune in the photobooth.


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A Tangent About How I Can’t Watch Sex Scenes.

10 11 2011

Okay, so I doubt you will even believe this,
but the truth of the matter is
I’m probably one of the
wisest & most mature people you know.

Yeah, okay, I know you’re like blinded by the illusion of the internet but for real, I am such an adult. Despite what may turn out to be late onset alcoholism & my occasional bong rips, I am really quite grown up! I take care of myself, my son Zissou & my brother Burlioz (who may or may not fucking eat me– see how brave & levelheaded I am?!). I have a very happy & healthy relationship. I have a cool job that I’m awesome at. I work my ass off pursuing my passions in my spare time. I write really insightful articles for Hello Giggles & I am the pillar of strength in my family & I love mango salsa. I am a fucking adult.

Except when it comes to sex scenes.

Like, why can’t I get it together & not feel like a second grader when two people start boning on screen? I feel so awkward on the inside, like, “Oh god, why am I watching this? I shouldn’t be watching this. This is a private moment that is to be shared between two people… oh god, they’re like fifty. Jesus Christ, PLEASE STOP HAVING AGGRESSIVE SEX WITH YOUR WIFE, WALTER WHITE!”

I can say with all honesty that
the only thing that bummed me out more
than watching Up with my grandma,
was watching that horrible sex scene on the stairs
from A History Of Violence with my mom.

I’m twenty-five years old,
going on twenty-six here real quick!
And yet, I just cannot comfortably watch sex scenes.

It all just reminds me of sixth grade.
I was kicked out of sex education.

Yep, during the video,
you know, THE VIDEO,
the one with the penis becoming errect?
Yeah, I burst out into uncontrollable laughter,
which was completely against the sex-ed rules
& I had to sit on the wall outside for the rest of the lesson.

Keep in mind at this point in my life
I was a goody-two-shoes with a bad perm
& a nose six sizes larger than the circumference of my face.
I was not in any position to be getting kicked out of sex-ed.

And that is how I feel during every sex scene ever! Like I should be kicked out for not being an adult about it! Did sixth grade sex-ed ruin my life?! Will I ever be able to watch two fictional characters bone?! Will I even be able to watch Drive?! WILL I ALWAYS BE SITTING ON THE METAPHORICAL WALL OF LIFE STARING DOWN AT MY BEAT-UP SKETCHERS FULL OF SHAME?!

Probably.

But I mean, I’m okay with it.
I have a system that works pretty well
& it’s called “going to the bathroom until it’s over”.

[Currently Listening 2 Teenhäze]


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A Tangent About How I May Have To Stop Smoking Weed.

6 11 2011

After a long night of drinking & pretending to skateboard,

I woke up this morning far, far too early.
This always happens to me when I drink.

In general, I can’t sleep past seven or eight. If I sleep until nine, that is me getting buck wiiild. But when I drink, I seem to wake up three hours after I’ve had the last bite of my two AM burrito feeling like I need ninety hours of sleep. So I do what every other sane person who owns a bong does & lights a fat bowl.

Unfortunately, this quick fix is not really working like it used to back in my community college days. In fact, I think I have to stop doing it because it’s starting to give me anxiety attacks. It’s like seven AM on a Sunday & I’m freaking out about work, as if getting stoned & sleeping for another hour & a half is going to make or break my career. I was laying there today thinking to myself,
“OMG my heart is beating like a hoarder’s right now. I am at an eight!”
which is definitely the last thing I need
when I’m trying to get in ninety hours of sleep.

After I stopped beating myself up
about getting stoned to go back to sleep,
I started to finally doze off.
And then my cat woke me up
with his incessant staring.

My cat was staring at me like a crazy person, which immediately turned me into a crazy person & I started deeply analyzing whether or not my cat would eat me if I died from my anxiety attack.

I decided by the intensity of his stare
that he would in fact eat me if I died.

This truly scared me because it is fucking scary to know that there is a member of your family in your house that would fucking eat you if they had to. I mean, I get it. If me, his food provider, died, it would be a lot like me surviving a plane crash & having to eat the pilot to survive. But I would know I was eating a fucking pilot with a family & shit & I know I’d feel really fucking bad! But I don’t think my cat would feel bad at all! I think he would eat my eyeballs & be totally cool with it!

I tried to get past this though,
being like, “Oh, you’re not dying.”
“Your cat isn’t going to eat you… today.”

I starting dozing off again
when a paw hit me on the chest.
The paw hit me two more times
& I woke up to see it was my cat,
staring intensely at me.
He then meowed.

I realize now he innocently needed to be fed,
but at the time I was like pretty sure,
he was demonically like,
“YES, I WILL EAT YOU BITCH.
FEED ME NOW OR I WILL EAT YOUR FACE!”

My cat would never really say that.
He really likes me.

(Although, he did bite my nipple the yesterday when I was moving around too much & he was in my lap but whatever maybe I should wear a bra every once in awhile, am I right or am I right?! LOL)

Anyway, I’m just like,
is this how it begins?
The end?

Is this when I’m going to start being like, too old to smoke weed?
Because I’m too anxious about all my responsibilities,
like not dying so my cat doesn’t eat me?

#SOIGUESSTHISISGROWINGUP

Related Posts:
• A Tangent About My Cat Really Not Getting It
• A Tangent About How I’m Going To Get Free Shit (The Cat Business Model)
• GPOYW: Moms & Cats Edition


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A Tangent About Not Having Any Juice.

3 11 2011

I want to make a mimosa but I don’t have any orange juice, or any juice at all for that matter. The problem with this is that the juice is what makes drinking at 10:14am acceptable & although I personally would still drink it & just consider myself a “bad grocery shopper”, I feel like a good amount of people might consider me an “alcoholic”.

Or a baller.

I mean, ballers must drink champagne at this hour, right?

One might think that the problem with this is that I’m not a baller.
Which it true, I’m not really a baller.
I’m just sort of a baller.

But that is just a minor detail. My real problem is my “champagne” is really just shitty bubbly moscato I got for free, which is the exact opposite of whatever you uniquely define as a “baller” would drink. I don’t think ballers drink moscato unless we’re talking about Diane Lane, who is definitely a baller in her own right. She is the biggest baller of all the hot middle-aged ladies in the universe, but in her baller-ness, I feel like she’s a juice advocate. Or maybe not. She is fucking Diane Lane. At this very moment she’s probably drinking moscato on a veranda over-looking some fucking riviera with the OG Brandon Walsh in a white linen sarong. She can do whatever she wants. She’s fucking Diane Lane!

Unfortunately, I am not Diane Lane.

Alternatively, I am Marissa A. Ross.
I assume most people assume I drink champagne EVERY DAY
because they have been blinded by the illusion of the internet.

SO WHO KNOWS!
MAYBE I’M DRINKING SHITTY MOSCATO RIGHT NOW! MAYBE I’M NOT!
MAYBE I JUST DRANK THE LEFT OVER GLASS OF RED FROM LAST NIGHT
AND MAYBE THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I JUST DID.

Moral of the story is I need to learn to buy more than
just wine & toilet paper at the grocery store.

Oh, but wait!
Is apple cider leftover from Halloween considered a juice?

FIND OUT NEXT TIME ON TANGENTS & THE TIMES…

[Currently Listening 2 new Real Estate]


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A Tangent About CMJ.

28 10 2011

CMJ was the most indulgent I’d been in awhile. Not to say I’m not indulgent now, but it’s different. In Los Angeles, I indulge in my sweatpants and my work, my boyfriend and my pets. I drink nice wine, eat all local vegetables and take meetings at the Polo Lounge. I have espresso and kombucha for breakfast and come home to a comfortable bungalow.

In New York, I stayed up every night until four am, in beautiful boots that hurt my feet and were out of my price range. On the one night I didn’t eat pasta for dinner, I ate only cheeseballs. I had strangers buying me shots, slept as one of three on a twin pull-out couch and I spent most of my money on shitty, cheap, well vodka-sodas.

Audibly, the comparison could be heard
by first listening to Ducktails’ “Couch Surfer”
followed by White Fence’s “Baxter Corner”.

Equally jarring & unbelievably bewitching.

Photo via Teresa McCullough

I partied more in a week than I had all summer,
squeezing consecutive twelve hour shifts of drinking,
bands, friends & conversations I can’t remember
out of six straight days.

You know, the sort of thing
that makes you oddly understand cocaine addiction.

(Mom, Dad. Don’t worry. I [surprisingly] didn’t consume any illegal substances while I was out of state. I didn’t even smuggle any Adderall. I barely even smoked weed! Instead, I almost OD’d on 5 Hour Energy Drinks! Be proud!)

The point is I’m still tired and have had the longest week trying to catch up from leaving Los Angeles for six days, which in real people adult time is like three fucking weeks. Really put a wrench in my hustle.

To make things easier on both of us, and to give you guys some good stuff to listen to before this becomes irrelevant next week, here are my favorites from CMJ:

Favorite Bands:
• White Fence
• Dent May
• Bleached
• Dead Gaze
• Widowspeak
• Night Manager
• DIVE
• Holiday Shores
• Future Shuttle
• Long Walks On The Beach
• Woodsman
• Family Portrait
• Young Prisms
• Porcelain Raft
• Jacuzzi Boys

Best DJ Sets:
• Twin Sister
• Tommy Toussaint

Best Party:
• MEGABLAAAG

Biggest Regret:
• Forgetting my camera

[EDITOR'S NOTE: I may or may not be to busy/lazy later to add the links for the people who are too busy/lazy to Google. I guess you'll find out after I finish the other ten things I have to do today.]


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