It's hard out there for a chimp

I think we can all agree that one of the most horrific stories in the news this week is that of the attacking chimp. I don't mean to make light of it, but in every story I read, I keep coming across this one mind-boggling bit of information:

"Authorities are trying to determine why the chimp, a veteran of TV commercials who could dress himself, drink wine from a glass and use the toilet, suddenly attacked."

Okay, can we talk about this sentence? Granted, dressing oneself and using the toilet are clearly unusual things for a chimp to do, and therefore I understand why those details would be included. But I love how, "drink wine from a glass" is kind of buried in the middle there, as if it's on par with the others. Are other chimps slumming shots out of Dixie cups, or huddled in an alley somewhere swapping sips? While I am impressed that Travis seemed to have a handle on stemware, why is he drinking wine in the first place? Is it to alleviate stress? Loosen up among friends? Does he ever lie awake at night and tell himself, "I can stop anytime I want to"?

I'm so confused as to a.) why this lady would waste good alcohol on him, and b.) what kind of dinner parties she is throwing that it would be inappropriate for the chimp to consume wine out of something easier to clean. And a point I have heard exactly no one discuss: was he even of legal drinking age?

Then of course the whole Xanax debacle came out in the news and it became clear to me the source of his stress - he is a former child actor, after all. We all know how they turn out.

On an oddly related note, I've mentioned before that the people in my writing class are an interesting bunch, most with significant stories they want to share. One of the ones I'm most fascinated by is this guy who was a child actor in the 1970's. He had a popular role on a show that's since become a cult classic, but because that role was a monkey, he is virtually unrecognizable today. His story idea, as you can guess, is to go back and talk about his time as a kid actor, the behind-the-scenes dramas of the show, and his experiences after it ended when he found himself, at 13 years old, living in an alternate universe from the rest of his peers.

The guy has been out of the industry for years, and from what I can tell, at least, lives a completely normal life. In contrast to that, though, is his former co-star, who is the same exact age and worked on the show for the same time period - but has since become a full blown alcoholic. He went to interview her last week for the book, and when he arrived at 11:00 - AM! - she was already a few in the bag.

He told us a funny story that the whole reason he got into the business (as a very precocious ten year old) was to make a lot of money, invest it, and be a multi-millionaire by the time he was thirty. This co-star didn't have nearly as high aspirations - she got into the business simply because she wanted a pony. The irony, of course, is that she got what she wanted, while he's still plugging away, trying to amass that fortune.

The moral of this story, then, I guess, is aim low. And that even primates can succomb to Hollywood's pressures.

Fame-dropping

"Did you pick up a Small?" I heard the blond mother ask. "I have an Extra-Small." I looked up to see what grown woman - who was shopping with a daughter around my age - could be fitting into clothes two sizes smaller than me.

Turns out, it was Lisa Gastineau, who was shopping at Zara with daughter Brittny. Neither, for the record, should be wearing Extra-Smalls. I think they both are, refreshingly, Mediums like me.

I've had some decent celebrity sightings lately, which either means I am hanging out in cooler places, or maybe just paying more attention to my surroundings.

Friday night I saw Ian Gomez at Jar in West Hollywood. Last Friday I saw Rachel Zoe at Tower Bar. She was wearing so many layers, I couldn't tell what size she was, but, like her surprisingly-compelling TV show, she has this innate energy and I found myself unable to turn away. Like a Barbie doll, I feel like I should probably hate everything she represents, yet I can't help but want to stroke her hair and just revel in the pretty.

By far the biggest sighting I've had was Ed McMahon, a few weeks ago outside of my doctor's office. I was in the parking garage headed for the valet, when I saw him standing next to what looked like two handlers. Immediately, my brain thought, Ooh, Ed McMahon! Then, as I got closer, and realized that he wasn't just standing next to two people but rather like he was being helped by them, I thought, Wait, no that can't be him. The man in front of me looked about half the size of the Ed McMahon I am familiar with, if not from Star Search or the Publisher's Clearing House commercials a while back, then from the recent press tour he did when his home went into foreclosure. There was no way that the frail, disoriented-looking man in front of me could have been doing press six months ago. This man was wearing bedroom slippers out in public in Beverly Hills.

Alas, just as I was convincing myself it wasn't - it couldn't be - him, another car drove by. The driver gave a big thumbs up out the window and offered some heartfelt praise that implied he was a fan. Ed McMahon acknowledged the remark, and seemed to smile, though it must have jarred him, too. He stopped suddenly, incapable of walking any further, and just stood on the cement with his handlers by his side. I turned away, at that point, and eventually got in my car. It wasn't a scene I wanted to remember.

Not in Kansas anymore

I don't know what it says about my social life or my dating prospects that I hit three major parties this weekend and the best looking guy I met was Kato Kaelin.

Seriously, the man is 50 years old and he looked younger than half the people there. Which was a feat since many people there were actually younger than me. The other half were all comedians - many of whom I recognized from random TV and film, but none whose names I could actually recall.

That's one of the funny things about LA. Yes, I've gotten giddy over my share of A-listers - Britney, Marc and J. Lo, Bruce, etc. But it's the D-list, reality star, VH1 regulars that simply show up at a mutual friends party and think nothing of introducing themselves to you - "Hi, I'm Kato" - that make me love living in this town.

Thanks for the memories even though they weren't so great

I'm not a happy camper.

The weekend started out well enough. I woke up early, went to yoga, ran, and then, because it was 82 degrees out, went to the beach. In November. Hi, Life? Love you.

Shortly after I got home from the beach, however, I got a frantic message from my high school friend Rebecca: "Lori, you you have to see the photos posted on Facebook!" My stomach sank.

I've been waiting for this day. The day the hideous grade school photos would surface. I know we've all had awkward years. But I don't need mine posted on Facebook as a reminder.

Maybe I'm vain, or shallow, or just incredibly insecure, but I prefer not to post unflattering photos of myself online. I can laugh at them with friends and family, and even my fellow blog readers. But I have Facebook friends that are professional connections, former paramours, and frankly, people I would just prefer to look pretty for. I don't care if the bad photos were taken when I was 10. They still strike a nerve that's surprisingly sensitive.

Of course, I could untag myself. (And I did, from the worst of the three). But then I'd appear to be taking things much too seriously, and probably calling more attention to the issue than if I just left it alone. Or, than if I just sucked it up and made my own funny comment under the caption. Laughed at myself before they could laugh at me. But it's really hard to laugh at what I've spent the last 20 years trying to forget.

One nice thing to come out of this was a friend request from my fifth grade teacher - the one who taught us to sing in sign language. We spent time catching up, and she gave me an email address for my fourth grade teacher. I've mentioned him before - the one who directed the play, the one who came up in my psychic reading... Anyway, I emailed him tonight. Let's hope the address is current.

Other than that drama, my weekend was pretty tame. I visited Nicole in the hospital today, and she looked splendid. During my two and a half hour stay, there were never less than four different visitors in the room - a steady stream of friends and family kept coming and going; the phone did not stop ringing; and the room had long run out of vases for the many bouquets that came through. Keep sending her good thoughts, though. It may have seemed like a party, but her recovery is just getting started.

Last night, I was supposed to go to this magazine issue launch party. My friend is the advertising director, so I've attended a few of them before. They're nothing crazy, but offer up free food and bevvies, and some C-list celebs - good enough for me. Unfortunately, this particular party was being held in a hotel penthouse, and there was only one elevator to take guests up. And that elevator seemed to hold only four people. We stood in line for 45 minutes, only to move a few feet. Finally, at 9 PM, we started asking about the hold-up. Apparently, Paris Hilton was upstairs with the cast of My New BFF, and they were either shooting or just not granting access to anyone else.

With that news, Tracy and I turned to each other and agreed to head out. I don't know when it happened that having Paris Hilton at a party turned into a reason to leave rather than a reason to stay, but there you have it. Say what you will about my Facebook photos, I guess I'm not really that shallow.

Put to the test

Okay, kids, POP QUIZ!

You find yourself at work, in the middle of a 5.4 earthquake. Do you:

A.) Hide under your desk

B.) Stand under a supported doorway

C.) Run outside into an open field or park

D.) Update your Facebook status

Well, apparently I was in the minority for thinking the answer was B, as I was the only person at work standing under my doorway. Everyone else, it seemed, wanted to get outside, away from the building, so I followed them to the sidewalk.

When we went back in, maybe five minutes later, I thought to myself "I wonder how many people have already updated this on their Facebook status?"

The answer, at just before noon, was 10. Now that has more than doubled.

At first, I just thought it was funny that everyone's - including my own - instinct was to share the experience. Some people were being practical, letting friends and family know that all was well. Some clearly did it for bragging rights, and some people, like me, were probably just excited to have something new and interesting to share. After all, if it didn't happen on Facebook, did it really happen at all?

Then, having lived in New York through both 9/11 and the Blackout of 2003, I found myself wondering what those days would have been like had some similar application been around then. Sure, we were lacking electricity and phone service for a while, but nowadays almost anyone can text their way onto Facebook if their wireless access goes down. My parents aren't on Facebook but some relatives are, and it could certainly serve as one-stop shopping to keep everyone else in the loop.

Anyway, for those of you wondering, I am fine. I work in a very old (historically landmarked) brick building, and the walls crumble down on a good day! When it first started, I thought it was just a small one, but it got very loud and a little scary pretty fast; then, just as quickly, it was over. I do have a bit of a mess of brick and mortar debris to clean up, but there was no major damage to anything beyond some people's nerves.

I was curious returning home to my apartment tonight, but from the looks of it, you'd never know there was a quake at all. Not a single frame or vase or any of my 10,000 beauty products were a smidge out of place.

What I've come to realize about quakes is that by the time you can think to be scared of them, they are over. And, after they are over, I have a tendency to forget that I might have been scared, because I can't remember how long it lasted or how loud it was or what it really felt like having the floor roll beneath my feet. My brain only remembers thinking everyone was overreacting for going outside and that I really wanted to finish my status report.

The only thing I even should be concerned about at this point is that earthquakes tend to happen in groups, and this may have only been the first in a while to rattle our chains. Fortunately, I am leaving tomorrow for my annual trip to Hotlanta, and will hope that the friendly skies prove a bit more stable than solid ground.

Top 10 signs it's time to get a new eyebrow lady

10. You know more about her sex life than her training

9. She asks you repeatedly about your sex life even though you've made it clear you aren't having any. And probably wouldn't talk about it with her if you were.

8. She excuses herself in the middle of a session to throw up last night's tequila shots

7. She burns your skin in two places

6. Excitedly says, "Want to see what the guy downstairs gave me for Christmas?" And pulls out the biggest bag of marijuana I have ever seen.

5. Offers a free Brazilian as a Christmas present

4. She makes your eyebrows completely uneven

3. And blames you for letting them grow in too long

2. After admitting she took a few Vicodin that morning

1. You come across an old Daily Candy which highlights a place only 10 minutes away that specializes in brow services and only costs a few dollars more than you are paying now. The staff seems somewhat professional and probably won't bother you with their dating or drug issues. They sound extremely busy on the phone on Saturday morning but manage to squeeze you in for a last-minute appointment. And when you hesitate to explain why you had to find a new place, the technician simply laughs and said, "I get it all the time."

What a difference a week makes

I thought to myself, as I sat at brunch with my friends, discussing our wearing tank tops and flip flops in February and how one of us (not me) had a sleepover with a former Apprentice cast member.