La Rosa Knows

THERE. I said it!

Growing up, one of the fantastic nicknames that would be slung my way (thanks to my gorgeous red hair) was “Little Orphan Annie.” Which, admittedly, was better than “fire crotch,” but still. We don’t all look alike, or whatever.

To add insult to minor injury, this biotch Aileen Quinn isn’t even a natural redhead. So, the little impostor who is responsible for affecting my life, was never forced to actually be on the receiving end of the moniker she created. Or, at least, not naturally.

Looks like she’s still hitting the bottle though. Not that I can blame her… once you go red there’s…. well… there’s not even a word wonderful enough to be in the same rhyme with us.

Source: Uploaded by user via Erin on Pinterest

Feeling a little homesick today, so I uploaded a new board to Pinterest. Click on my page to see more pics from where I grew up!

There are a number of things I do on a weekly basis that can easily be chalked up to Los Angeles douchebagery.

Getting smoothies from the Body Factory, for one. Wearing a scarf in my car while the windows are rolled up and the heat is on full blast, is another. And going to a hybrid workout class that costs too much money and combines too many types of exercise.

Here’s another one to add to the growing list: I joined a book script club.

Stay with me here… This is a book club, but with pilot scripts that have been picked up. We read 5-6 pilots per week (though, I only made it to 3 scripts this week. My b, my b), and then we meet at a coffee shop to discuss why we think it sucks, why it’s great, and how it will do ratings wise. I wear comfortably knit sweaters and sip crack coffee out of a mug the size of my head. We laugh, spend a pleasant weekend afternoon together, and then go our separate ways.

Look, I’m not apologizing for this. I really enjoy it! It’s essentially a coupla hours with a great group of people (Danny and Garrett included, respectfully), where we get to judge work that isn’t our own. It’s fun to be bitchy, okay??

It’s more that I’m just alerting you to the fact that this is what happens in Hollywood. When you move here from your small town USA ready for hookers and cocaine as far as the eye can see, just know that you’ll find something much seedier. A deeper, darker underbelly than you ever imagined possible. In that underbelly you’ll not only be forced into a script club, but they’ll expect you to read the stuff, have opinions, have ANSWERS.

No one said making it in Hollywood was easy, but at least now you know the truth. The whole truth. And nothing but the truth so help you god.

What happened to my love of award shows?

I can’t decide if it’s… 1) Because I’m getting older and therefore have less tolerance for self congratulatory circle jerks, 2) Have become a woman of the technological age and developed an acute form of ADD where I can only pay attention to minute long web series 3) I live in Los Angeles and, well, I can’t take any more of this shit or 4) I am completely bitter/uncool, and everyone else in the world just LOOOVVVVES these.

The thing is, they kind of depress me. The jokes are always ho-hum. The women look like emaciated debutantes. And the men have these smug, somewhat grotesque smirks plastered on their faces. It also just reminds me that while I’m home, doing my laundry and wearing pajama pants with a stretched out elastic band, somewhere not too far from me people are partying. No one invited me to the party. And even though I probably wouldn’t go anyways, it’s the thought that counts, ya know?

Anyways, if any of you completely agree and want to watch the Academy Awards with me as a kind of study/non-protest-protest/attempt to re-approriate this thing… CALL ME!! :D

Did you know that an octopus has 8 arms? Sexxxxy.

They also lack an internal and external skeleton so they can fit into tight spaces. Sexxxxy.

AND mating is the cause of death for both the males and females? Super Sexxxxy.

But you know what’s sexier? Getting one of these bad boys tattooed on your bod.

The tentacle points to her lady bits… Her vagina… Her va-jay-jay… Her fur burger… etc.

Hey girl, you ever licked whip cream off a calved octopus?

She’ll want you to put your 8 arms all over that tramp stamp!

This guy would KILL on Grindr.

I feel like this octopus is asking, “Why me?” And, indeed, good question.

This is just fucked up.

Peek-a-Boo!

Niiiiiiice!

This girl is taking her octopus back to the beach, WHERE HE BELONGS!!

SCORE.

For many of you, this is going to be the most important day of 2012.

My birthday is a time to reflect on what a good friend/person/girlfriend/future CEO of a Fortune 500 company I am. It’s also going to be your one shot at giving a gift that will prove I should keep you in my life – and, believe me, you want to be able to say that we’re friends. Because when the end of the world comes (December 2012), I’ll have a rocket ship made of indestructible bubble gum that will take us to a planet that not even God in all his smiting fury will be able to find.

Want to board my bubble gum rocket ship? Here’s what I’d like you to wrap up and give me:

-A polka dot pony

-A lifetime supply of Perrier (we’ll need that for the journey)

-A hybrid Lexus SUV in black. If you get me white, I’ll run you over with it.

-Dunkin Donuts store in Los Angeles

-6 pack abs

-A polygamist family to move in next door to me and call me the “Prophet”

-An unauthorized biography of me, published, and on the NYT’s Bestseller list

-Chocolate cake. Two layers. And don’t even think about any kind of frosting that doesn’t have the word “butter” in it

-Butter

-An enchanted mirror that tells me I’m pretty every time I look into it

-The giant, creamy cookie from Honey, I Shrunk the Kids

-15 rare breed kittens set up in a kitty playroom and dressed in colonial garb

-Those guinea pigs who know how to row a boat

-Michelle Bachmann’s eyes, in a pickle jar

-That guy who narrates the honey badger videos to DJ at my birthday party

-A flashmob in my honor and, at the end, Josh Groban proposes marriage to me

-A Will & Kate-esque marriage to above suitor

-Someone to push me home from the bars in a baby stroller

-Functioning human catapult

-Teleportation that only I can use

-Robot maid

-Robot chauffer

-Robot tailor

-Robot chef

-Robot umbrella holder

-Front page, NYT’s announcement of my birthday

-The NYT’s

-A teddy bear dipped in platinum, then in gold, then in platinum again

-Espresso machine

-A Starbucks in my home where a male barista named Sven will use my new Espresso machine

Thanks in advance, you guys!! xoxo