The Stories and Musings of Meiyee Apple Tam

I'm an actor that walks, bikes, and works in Downtown, Los Angeles (Downgeleno?). These are my stories and thoughts on the things I hear, see and interact with (formerly downtownstory.tumblr.com)

[meiyeeapple]

David Bowie Socks

I really like cheap socks.  Here’s why. The Downtown Los Angeles Toy District is a weird place.  It should be called the Toy and Bong district because that’s really what it sells most, but they sell so much stuff in the Toy District from bongs and cheap plastic guns to all the baby Jesus paraphernalia and specifically for this story, socks.  I got a three pack of socks there for $1 once. They wore out in about a year. 

In January, 2016 there were a lot of stories of David Bowie being told due to his passing. I listened to one on NPR where a guitarist he worked with mentioned that in New York, David Bowie would go down from rehearsal and get cheap black socks. The kind you could get 10 for $1.   In the Toy District, they sell you a dozen for $5.  I always get those cheap black socks now because if it was good enough for David Bowie, it’s good enough for me.  This is how I feel closer to David Bowie. 

[meiyeeapple]

My name is Apple

Apple is my legal middle name. I was not born with it. I was not born with any middle name. I was very jealous of all of you that had middle names. I decided to take it upon myself to grant myself a middle name. 

I went with Apple.  I had always liked that word as a name.  I thought it was fun and creative. Like if I had a dog, I would name it that. I love fruit.  I also thought it was the least stripper sounding of all fruit names, like Cherry and Mango.  I love apples and apple flavored things (ironically, I hate apple juice).

After graduating college, I was unemployed and living upstairs in my parents’ house. I looked up how I go about giving myself a name.  I was 21. I could make my own adult decisions. I don’t know if this is the case anywhere else, but in Dallas, TX, I had to write an essay, schedule a hearing, go through citizenship verification, and then the other things women do when they change their name after getting married.  I wrote a full page essay on why I wanted to give myself a middle name.  I had to stand before a judge in a downtown courthouse as she read it on her stand.  There was a moment where I was afraid that she was going to reject it.  That all this time, money, and the thoughtful consideration of my identity I spent was all lost. At one point in her reading, she even cracked a smile. She approved it. I did it. What I wasn’t thinking about was what would happen after my name change. I was in bliss with my new, unique middle name for a year.  THEN May of 2004, Gweneth Paltrow and Chris Martin named their baby Apple, and all the late night talk shows made fun of it, and I had to hear, “Like Gweneth Paltrow’s kid?” GODDAMN IT. People would also ask, “Oh, were your parents hippies?” I also didn’t anticipate how much apple paraphernalia I ended up getting myself, as well being given to me. I learned that when I wore anything with red apples, people thought I was a teacher. No more red apples after that.  Either way, I don’t regret it.  I don’t have tattoos, so this is my mark of individual expression. 

OH YES, one more important detail.  I also wanted to change my last name to Tam, because I was actually born with, and get this, Dam...DAM!  So, I had to deal with that embarrassment for 21 years. My father’s last name is Tam and so is my brother’s, but for some reason, my sister and I got Dam.  Damn, right? So really, I wanted to change my last name AND give myself a middle name to make this whole ordeal fun. 

What’s even funnier is now my last name is Chappo. Say it aloud.  Meiyee Apple Chappo.   An Apple Chappo sounds like a regional dessert in St. Louis or elsewhere in the heartland.  “Would you like an order of the apple chappo? It’s our cook’s family recipe.” My life’s mission now is to create an Apple Chappo. 

[meiyeeapple]

Texas...over it.

I’ve said this many times in person, but here it is in writing.  I’m so over Texas. I grew up in a dumb, dumb state.  Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change my suburban Texas upbringing as it has shaped me to who I am, but ugh, I’m so over it as a state in current form. 

We were brainwashed as children in believing Texas is bigger, better, the best state in the USofA.  The Texas flag was bigger than the American flag at car dealerships.  We added the Texas pledge of allegiance after the real Pledge of Allegiance in elementary school. You will never not know what the shape of the state looks like because it’s goddamn everywhere.  In middle school, we had an entire year of just Texas History.  They will not let you forget that Texas was it’s own republic.  Oh, you didn’t know that?  Of course not, because who cares? (only Texans)  The amount of state pride they indoctrinated in us starting in pre-school is unlike any other state.  You’ve heard of state pride, this is fucking TEXAS PRIDE.  Watch out.

When I moved out of Texas in 2004 to Washington, DC, I was met with a less than enthused, “Oh, you’re from Texas?  You don’t seem like you’re from Texas.” Being fully brainwashed, I could not understand why people had such disdain for my great state that I knew and loved. I thought people loved Texas just as much as I did, but everyone clearly had a preconceived notion of cowboys and country music, and I didn’t fit into that mold, so that’s what they mean, right?!  Sort of.  Conversations generally went like this: Anyone “what about those fucked up open-carry gun laws” Me “Yeah, that’s weird, but...Tex-Mex is so good.” Anyone “Women have no access to low-cost healthcare because of Southern Baptist Jesus nuts and their mis-guided hate towards Planned Parenthood.” Me “Yeah, that sucks, but...have you had the barbeque?” Anyone “Casual racism and homophobia are everyday things to high school kids, huh” Me “Yeah, it was.  I guess I didn’t notice it since I thought that’s just how life was...but but...chicken fried steaks and kolaches, though!”

After several years of this, I realized I did nothing but “yeah, but...food” in defense of Texas.  I realized that this was not a good excuse.  And that after all the time of telling people they were wrong about Texas, I realized, “Oh. I’m the wrong one!”  I don’t totally recall when I came to this conclusion, but I want to say it was around 2011.  It took SEVEN goddamn years to shake the Texan out of me.  That’s how deeply entrenched we are. 

I grew up in the suburbs of Dallas, Texas.  “Oh, well that’s why, it’s not Austin.” No.  Fuck you.  I lived my formative college years in Austin.  I, of course, had a great time there (because drinking in college and seeing bands is fun. Literally can be done anywhere, though).  Growing up, Austin was not the farm-to-table land of cool that it is now.  In terms of culture, the only museum in Austin is the Texas History Museum. It’s still a part of the Texas.  Everything I wrote above still applies to Austin.  It, as we all know, is the capital of Texas, where they create and enact all those fucked up laws about guns, women, and homophobia that represent the state, so Austin, too, can fuck off.  No, I would NOT like a side of kombucha with your main course of hate, thank you.

Many Texas will disagree with me.  Not because of the obvious facts about the state that are not just anecdotal, but because you love being there.  Sure.  I get it.  Again, I would never trade my past in for all the great friends I’ve made and all the great experiences I’ve had from ages 4-22.  This is not to say that Texas is a horrible place, and there aren’t great things about it.  There are great things about every state.  I’m not dismissing the great things. I denounce this state because all the negatives outweigh the positives.  All the times an old southern lady said to me, “Oh, bless your heart” which we can all agree is just some condescending ass shit. The amount of sexism, racism and homophobia I’ve lived through, witnessed, and continue to read about is enough to think that it’s not that cool of a place.  LITERALLY, sweltering 103 degree summers with 100% humidity is a fucking thing, and it’s the worst. That alone makes Texas suck. I can site so many more things, like how the education system is beyond fucked up, or reproductive rights are fucked up, or LGBT rights are fucked up, or pick any other fucked up topic out of the fucked up hat.  (please click on that) However, that would make this blog post SO long and you’ve already read too much of my (very legitimate) rant.  I’m just really mad at the brainwashing job they did on us.   You know what, we can just go-ahead blanket the entire South for places I dislke in America, really.

Oh my god, one last related story.  I went North Garland High. Our football rivals were South Garland High.  Their mascot was a Colonel, that wore a Confederate uniform and when they scored a touchdown, the Colonel mascot would celebrate by running up and down the field waiving a giant Confederate flag.  Standing in my band uniform, even in all of my 15-year-old ignorance, I still knew that was fucked up.

[meiyeeapple]

Random High School Story

My group of high school friends were friends with this god-kid  (that is what we called the overly Christian group of good-two-shoes kids that used to pray in the hall before class and all went to the same church...Texas) named Canan.  I was probably 16, sitting on my best friend’s couch with my legs and feet folded Indian style (which now that I’m typing this, that’s probably not an okay phrase to say).  We were hanging out at the house, and Canan, a dude I barely even knew other than his name, had a wooden rod.  I think it was there to keep the sliding door from opening.  Canan is walking around with the rod and just points it at me and pokes my vagina with it. I know.  What? Why? I recall jumping up and being disgusted, and he just laughed and walked away.  I felt really violated, but didn’t know how to express it.  I guess I just felt like “Well, that happened, I can’t do anything about it or say anything about it.” Nothing else happened after that.  I don’t even recall talking to him.  It was just a weird moment of some asshole teen boy doing some fucked up shit that they aren’t even thinking about.  I’m pretty sure if you asked this god-kid, who probably is overweight with bad facial hair, but loves his kids, that he did that, he wouldn’t believe it and laugh or maybe apologize.  Who knows.  This is more of a story of how mindless bullshit teen boys do can scar a girl for the rest of her goddamn life.

Ugh, fuck them.

*also, it’s been so long since I’ve blogged, I just noticed that this is my second poking story

[meiyeeapple]

Feminist Rage Reflex

I was about to walk out of the front door of my building and I see a homeless man ask a girl for a cigarette. She hands him one and walks off.  He then drops to the ground in the same way one would pray towards Mecca.

Like this, but head pointing upwards. 

What was he doing?  I step out of the door and follow the direction of his eyes.  Cigarette girl is walking away, and she’s wearing a short skirt.  I look back at him and realize he’s trying to look up her skirt!  (she was 30 feet away by then, I don’t know what he could see by bending down so low that couldn’t just see standing up straight, but whatever)  In that moment, I go into a FIT OF RAGE.

I bend down towards him and in my loudest shame-tone, I scream, ”QUIT BEING FUCKING DISGUSTING!!!” He jumps up right away, knowing he was caught, and gets all defensive. “I wasn’t doing nothin’!” Then pulls his jacket over to reveal a fake badge, and says, “Bitch, I’ll pop a cap in yo’ ass!” “Oh yeah, whatever...fuck you!” I respond. Let’s break down his logic...I’m supposed to believe he’s a cop and that he will shoot me for yelling at him for being gross.  Ok, sure.  I then turn around and see my friend behind me with a what-the-hell-is-happening face.  It knocked me out of my fury.   I completely forgot that she was with me.  I flipped out so quickly. I didn’t even think about what I was going to say, yelled the first things off the top of my head, and forgot why I was even stepping outside...to go to brunch. As we continued walking, I apologized for my outburst, and explained how I was “upskirted” once, so I was mentally prepared this time. (that experience here) “It’s just...I can’t let these disgusting men get away with doing this.” She responds, “You’re like the moral police. That was epic.” What gets me the most is that cigarette girl probably didn’t even notice that I was fighting for her...NAY, fighting for all women...that bitch.

[meiyeeapple]

Poked!

I was walking to work today.  Because it’s a shorter route, I cut through the edge of Skid Row.  It’s safe enough, it just smells bad and I would get hollered at.  To remedy that annoyance, I wear these huge headphones so it is obvious that I cannot hear them. This tactic usually works.  Maybe they see I have headphones, so I can’t hear them, so they don’t say anything. Maybe they are saying things, but I’m eliciting no response because I can’t hear anything.  Either way, it’s much better for me.

EXCEPT for today.  As I was walking by a clinic, I feel a slight jab against my tote bag I’m carrying.  A fucking homeless guy sitting against the building poked me with a fucking stick.  It was like a thin metal rod, like a broke car antenna. He was kind of poking me at the bottom of my bag.  As if to try to poke my ass, but not getting it. 

He started to say something, but I didn’t hear him because I had some gentle electro indie mix playing in my ear.  Not knowing what he was saying, I kept walking but turned to yell “NO! DON’T DO THAT TO ANYONE.  EVER.” And then some other guy standing there holding trash or whatever looks at me because I’m yelling, as if I’m the crazy one.

Continuing my walk to work, I realized that that was the best homeless scenario.  I didn’t hear what he as uttering, so I couldn’t be mad at that.  He poked me, but he didn’t actually touch me with his hands, so he probably got no satisfaction out of it.  All in all, I’m not mad at this.

[meiyeeapple]

Avid Movie Goer

For my new year’s resolution, I’m getting in the habit of blogging more.  When I used to blog frequently, I felt...I don’t know, fulfilled? Maybe a way to jog my thoughts in my fading memory due to old age?  Sharing my experiences with everyone out of sheer narcissism?  It’s all these things, I’m sure. Here goes. 2016, Y’ALL!!!! -----------------------------------------------------------------------

When I go to the movies, I usually roll up to the movie theater and buy tickets or I go to the Arclight and use their ticket buying platform.

It was not evident to me until this past weekend that I only use Fandango when someone gives me a gift certificate.  They show you every movie you’ve purchased through their site.  Here were my only purchases:

To Fandango, this looks like 1. I see very few movies 2. I like Star Wars 3. I used to live in DC. 4. I am generally kind of lame in the movie department BUT FANDANGO!!! I’M NOT! I’M COOL! I SWEAR! Other than trying to convince a corporate entity that I’m cool, I’m not totally sure what these three movies say about  me. Maybe nothing? Probably nothing.

[meiyeeapple]

I’m just being respectful and demure...

I know I chose to be in an industry that perpetuates stereotypes.  As much as I distance myself from stereotypes, I am still faced with them.

I just saw this post for a short film casting today:

“MAYA -  petite, Asian (Being full Asian is not required). She’s married to a verbally abusive Caucasian man. Very respectful by nature due to her Asian background. She’s quiet, demure, superstitious, and terrified of the ghosts that she witnesses in her home. Mia seeks freedom from her spouse and ghostly spirits that linger in her would-be sanctuary. She is one of two lead characters. One shower scene that possibly includes implied nudity.”

I responded with something along the lines of ““Very respectful by nature due to her Asian background” is an offensive stereotype.  I understand that you are trying to describe the character as best as you can, but it sounds racist. I don’t mean to sound like a bitch, I really don’t. That is all” I could have gone off, but I didn’t.  I wanted to be nice about it, because I don’t know these people and I’m not a troll. I feel, though, that they should know better and use better wording.  They should be aware that someone didn’t agree with their use of language.  I just treated this casting notice like it has a comment section.  Maybe I am a troll.  YOU THINK THEY’LL LET ME AUDITION, NOW?!

Also, “freedom for her spouse and ghostly spirits” is hilarious. I can’t be mad at that.

[meiyeeapple]

No one gets that here...

I did not grow up where White Castle was a thing. I went to Indiana last week.  I had heard from some ladies website that they offered a Dr. Praegers veggie slider.  That’s not some total oaty-soy bullshit, like a legit veggie patty.  I wasn’t hungry, but I had to try one for myself. White Castle Employee “Welcome to White Castle.  What can I get you?” Me “I’d like a veggie slider” White Castle Employee “Oh...that’s going to take about seven minutes to make” Me “Oh, that’s fine...that’s not very fast for fast food, though.” White Castle Employee “Yeah, they’re frozen because no one really orders...or gets that here.”

I’m pretty sure it was the first time they’ve ever made it.  They introduced the veggie burger January 1, 2015.  It’s not new. THE MIDWEST IS HILARIOUS. 

[meiyeeapple]

Buenos Aires - Tierra Santa / Jesusland

We had a ridiculous missed flight ordeal which cost us two months of our rent, but whatever, vacation continues. 

Actually, let me just go off more on this for a second.  The airline that dicked us around was TAM airlines...TAM!  As in Meiyee Apple TAM!  These fuckers couldn’t cut me some slack?  I’ve wanted to ride this airline since I knew about it, and it’s the one airline that caused me the most headache.  Tudo bem?  NO, NO TUDO BEM!.  (which happens to be my favorite phrase I learned in Portuguese.  It means “all good”)‘

Any who, Buenos Aires was quite the change from Rio.  It was a clean, sophisticated city.  Our hotel was WAY nicer.  It had a French bidet...that’s how nice it was.  There aren’t any major landmarks or specific sites to see.  It’s more of a city, cultural joint to wander around.  (oh yeah, and we could wander around and not fear getting robbed/stabbed there) A great thing about this place is that it’s home of Tierra Santa, a Jesus theme park filled with statues and figurines of scenes in Jesus’s life.  We got there right when it opened and no one was there.  Everyone that works there was dressed as either a towns person of Jerusalem or a Roman soldier.  The amusing thing is that they were all doing really mundane job things, like sweeping with modern age custodial tools.  It had the Wailing wall, a man-made hill with Jesus’s crucifixion, Jesus being whipped with graphic figurines....it was all perfect for my blasphemous photo opps.  Best part, a giant jesus raises out of the hill, arms open, to orchestral dramatic music, 10 minutes to the hour every hour.  This was by far, THE most Jesus I’ve ever been around in my life, what with Christ the Redeemer in Rio and this Jesus park in Buenos Aires; it was so magnificent, even for an atheist like me.  

Look at me...what an asshole.

[meiyeeapple]

Straight Outta Compton, a historical inaccuracy...kind of.

While driving today, I look over and see a bus stop bench with a “Straight Outta Compton” ad on it.  There are only a few things in this ad; the five actors that make up NWA, the movie logo, palm trees, and a Compton Blvd. street sign.  While looking at this bus stop ad, I noticed the Compton Blvd street sign is the kind that is lit from the inside. Like this:

The Los Angeles history buff in me emerged.  There is no way that 19-year old Ice Cube walked the streets of Compton under internally lit signs. These types of signs were installed within the past decade. Shame on the graphics and marketing team for this movie poster.  It’s such a simple photoshop job! There are only four things in this poster, and one of them is wrong.  These guys live in LA, come on!  It didn’t occur to them that these modern signs MAY not have been in Compton in 1988?

I feel like there is probably not a subreddit about this, because really, no one else cares. (I also could be totally wrong, but I really don’t think so.  Show me actual 1988 street video footage with these lit ass signs, and I’ll eat my words and my bullshit assumptions) *after seeing the movie, the first scene takes place in the late 80′s, has Eazy-E wearing a Chicago White Sox hat with a logo that was created in the 90′s. Shame on your, wardrobe!

[meiyeeapple]

Conditioned Beliefs

I was walking to work the other day, and some guy was standing in the middle of the sidewalk.  I was walking up from behind him.  He wasn’t moving.  He was just standing there.  I instantly thought,”Avoid that guy’s stream of pee” but as I walked closer to him, he wasn’t peeing.   Because he’s standing in the middle of the sidewalk, WHY WOULD HE BE PEEING? I realized after living downtown for all of these years and seeing a lot of public urination, I’ve been conditioned to think that when a man’s back is turned to me, and he’s just standing there, then he must be peeing. Generally, that’s the case. It took the one time when a guy wasn’t publicly urinating to make me realize that THAT is something I’ve made myself believe. There’s no moral here. 

[meiyeeapple]

Rio de Janeiro

Joel and I have told ourselves we are taking an international trip at least once a year.  This May, we took our first trip to South America, specifically Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and Buenos Aires, Argentina. 

Let’s talk about Rio:

Things we learned

Brazilians don’t eat with their bare hands.  Foods that we would all eat with our fingers, they do not; french fries, bar snacks, sandwiches, etc. Their napkins are really waxy and shitty.  It’s because if you use a napkin, then it’s not to clean your hands (since you don’t touch your food), it’s to hold your food with. If you walk by a Subway, you’ll see all these people eating foot-longs with napkins.  It’s amusing.

Our middle school Spanish is not a good substitute for Portuguese.  

Condensed milk is the key ingredient in their desserts.  Their most popular dessert is a fudge like ball called Brigadero.  It’s chocolate and condensed milk, mixed, rolled into ball and covered with chocolate sprinkles.  It’s very sweet. 

Rio is dangerous.  Yes, we knew going in it was dangerous, but no one explains to you how dangerous.  I thought, danger schmanger, I’m an experienced traveler. I live by skid row, and it’s not dangerous but it just seems dangerous to everyone else.   I thought it was a suburban mom’s idea of the inner city being dangerous, but that is not the case.  We were not told of how it was unsafe until the second day we were there. If someone under the age of 18 does something wrong, NOTHING HAPPENS TO THEM. They may go to a boarding school or something, but then they are let out.  It’s really not punishment.  That’s why drug lords use kids to do their bidding.  You can be a tween serial killer, and in the eyes of Brazilian law, when you turn 18, you’re all good.  The thing that you have to look out for is gangs of kids and teens.  They are the ones that will rob and possibly stab you.  The 38-year old homeless crazy guy that I walk by everyday near skid row seems more like Santa Claus in comparison to these roving gangs of stabby child-thieves.  I have no idea how they are going to have the Olympics next year without many clueless tourists being robbed. The World Cup didn’t exactly go off without a hitch

Other than the danger, though, we had a great time, and it’s a beautiful place.  It’s the first international destination we’ve been on where the beach is a thing, since we’re cultural city travelers.  Nature is amazing and tiny monkeys just show up on your table.  I’m so glad I went there.  I don’t really see myself going back, though, until they fix that whole killer children thing.  

Please to enjoy our vacation video.  There was so much to see, that this was the longest video we’ve made, clocking in at five minutes.  The last two minutes of which are Argentina. 

[meiyeeapple]

Pepper Sprayed

I was walking out of work today and noticed it was super dark for 5 o'clock.  My eyes needed time to adjust to the darkness, as my lasik has weirded up my night vision.  Walking towards the intersection, these two middle aged men are making their way around the corner fighting.  Not argument fighting, mind you.  They were physically fighting, and grappling onto each other like some Greco-Roman wrestling shit. I paused to watch this ridiculous spectacle. 

Here is what went through my head:

"Oh, this is hilarious.  I'm going to stand here and take in this show.  These guys aren't homeless, I wonder what they a fighting abou.....HOLY SHIT WHY AM I COUGHING? MY EYES ARE BURNING! IS MY LASIK GETTING WORSE! I CAN'T BREATHE..." and I turn around and I see this young bearded hippie motion me over and he grabs my arm and we run away from the fight, both hacking, to then start sneezing uncontrollably.  As we are coughing, he looks at me and says, "Pepper spray!" "Ohh, so it's not some Agent Orange shit." I respond.  My guess is these dudes start fighting, one of them (I guess in case of attack) has pepper spray,  wantonly spays it into his opponents face, and I happen to walk into an errant cloud of mace sending me into coughing and sneezing fit that makes me think I'm dying. I then look around to see the wrestling men and they are gone. I fell victim to one of those cartoonish traveling fight clouds.

I say goodbye to the friendly young hippie, and jaywalk across the street as to not be hit by another invisible pepper mass. I can only imagine the horror of having sprayed directly in the face.

Happy Veterans Day!

[meiyeeapple]

Just Married

Joel and I got married/eloped.  Yes, I know.  You’re surprised.  We told no one.  Well, not absolutely no one.  We told the cashier at the Veggie Grill right after we got our marriage license the week of my 33rd birthday.  He gave us free drinks (because that Arnold Palmer Bar is our jam).  For real, though, no one we knew knew; not our friends, family, coworkers, neighbors; no one.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Friends would ask in these twoish months we were planning this.  Keeping ourselves from exclaiming, “We're getting married!” was very difficult.

Why no hoopla?  It’s because I very much dislike weddings, tradition, social pressures, or ceremony of any kind. Not to say that I didn’t enjoy every moment of your wedding/graduation/bat mitzvah/virgin sacrifice/rain dance/tea ceremony, I did.  It’s just not something I, personally, care to have.   

I also love the element of surprise!  So, SURPRIX bitches!

“Were you engaged?” you’re asking.  In the traditional sense (which, again, I despise) no, we weren’t.  Although, within the time period of being together for nearly seven years, we’ve engaged ourselves. 

The Proposal In May or June of 2014, Joel and I were going to bed on a Monday or something, “Hey, let’s get married this week.” I said in passing “This week…I have stuff to do.” Joel uttered “Okay.” “This year, though.” “Alright.”

 A few days later it dawned upon me, “Oh yeah, we can’t get married this week. We have to get rings.” “Right.  UGH.  Rings.” “Egh, I know.”

The Rings Joel and I have lived in Downtown Los Angeles for over four years now.  It is a place we proudly proclaim as home with all of its kitsch, art, culture, food and grit.  Downtown has the largest jewelry trading district in the country.  We would have to get rings made in DTLA. 

Joel picked out a simple 14K white gold band.  I custom designed a ring for a downtown jeweler to make: a 14K white gold ring with a solitaire white sapphire (NO BLOOD DIAMONDS FOR ME, DEBEERS!) It was hot when the jeweler handed it to me, assuming because it was freshly forged from the fires of Mordor.

The Date and The Time 08/08/14 2:00PM

The Location The Superior Court of Los Angeles County - Beverly Hills Civic Center. That’s right.  We got married in Beverly Hills, 90210.  We’re fancy like that.

The Wedding Party Legally, we needed a witness.  The court will provide you a witness for $18 if you don’t have one.  We aren’t actually friendless, so we’ll save that money to hit that Arnold Palmer bar again. We have so many friends, and didn’t want to make this into a thing.  If we invited one friend, then why not this friend, but then again, how about this friend, by why not that friend?  It’s either everyone goes, or no one goes. Who do we know that has no online social presence, virtually none of our friends know and is a general neutral party?  My yoga instructor, Cheri. That’s who. 

The Attire Something Old: My ears aren’t pierced.  Joel’s dad got me these antique clip-on earrings of apples last year.  I’m assuming it’s from the 40’s, so that’s old. I wore those. Something New:  My friend Isa is getting married at the end of August, and the attire is all white.  I don’t own a fancy white dress, because the only time I wear nice dresses are at weddings, and you generally don’t wear white to a wedding.  I figured, I’ll buy a dress for her wedding, and it’ll be the same dress I wear to my wedding. BOOM. $47 wedding dress. Also, I just got Lasik, so my eyes are pretty new, or at least the gift of sight is. Something Borrowed: I told my friend Jana that I needed to use her veil from her wedding for a webisode I was shooting where I was playing a bride.  There was no webisode.  I just lied to her. Sorry, Jana.  But also, thanks.  I didn’t wear both pieces, as not steal her look from her special day. See, I’m a considerate friend...minus that whole lying part. Something Blue:  I don’t even get this. What’s the point of this? Because it rhymes?  Whatever, I painted my nails blue and wore blue shoes because I already owned a pair, and that’s a thing, right?  Joel wore a suit. He also wore a tie tack that I got him.  It is a vintage Los Angeles Metro token from the 1940’s.  It’s another symbol to show the importance of this city to our relationship. 

The Wedding Just a few days prior to our nuptials, I sprain my right ankle.  GREAT. I have to wear heels on Friday.  Damn it!  OF COURSE I do this.  This is so something that would happen to me.

If my feet were in these photos, you would notice my weak, purple ankle.  It is so swollen.  How swollen is it?  You know when a snake swallows a rat whole?  That’s what my ankle looks like.  It’s as if my leg swallowed an medium sized rat.  Real cute, guys.

We woke up earlier that morning and rode our bikes to the Flower District (also downtown) to pick out a bouquet and a boutonniere.  We ended up not using flowers at all, but Dr. Seuss-like Moss Balls. They were super green and simple. 

We showed up at the courthouse.  There were various other couples getting married as well as people fighting speeding tickets and DUIs. It was perfect. The "chapel" was an empty, gray chair filled room with black and white framed photos of old Hollywood couples.  (as shown in this grainy video still)

We were greeting by our Justice of the Peace that was a tiny lady with a New York accent.  She had vows for us to repeat, and she mispronounced my name a different way each time she had to say it. It was all very fitting being as that has happened to me my entire life. I get it, though.  There are far too many vowels. “Dew Yew, Joll, take Mya-e Apple to be yowa lawfully wedded whyf, tew hav an to howld…”

Five minutes later, we said our “I do’s” and took some photos outside. Bing, Bang, Boom.  Wedding done.  We’re married. 

You were all invited to not waste time and money on us.  You’re welcome, everyone.

The Honeymoon The next day we drove to Vegas, had pool time, gambled, buffet’d, drank and went to the Neon Museum as our little one-day honeymoon getaway.  That is really all we need of a Las Vegas trip. 

We already had a plan to go to Budapest and Prague in October, so now we can also call that a honeymoon.  Why not? 

So… Since we didn’t plan a reception (or anything at all), let’s celebrate the next time we see you.  Other than Roxy dog, you friends are the best things in our lives. Talk to you soon, bros.

[meiyeeapple]

Men Lessons - #YesAllWomen

I've been listening to music with my earbuds on my walks to and from work to keep people from talking to me.  A friend of my tweeted that she does this during the hastag trend of #YesAllWomen from May 2014. (I know, this is topical)

It's worked pretty well, and I've probably missed out on people asking about my dog, but I don't care.  She's 10 and a greyhound, you idiots. 

The most recent occurrence, though, I was waiting at a crosswalk and a man motioned for me to take my earbuds out. I did thinking he wanted directions (why would I do this?  No good can come from this), and he said, "Now I wanted to tell you that I like what I see.  I'm not talking about your dog, I'm talking about you. I like you." As he looks me up and down.  

I am instantly disgusted.  The walk sign turns on. As I scurry away, I said with an angry look and tone "OK" to him and walk as fast as I can away from him. I was fuming while I was walking and switched my music from The Shins to Death From Above 1979 just to fuel my anger. 

This motherfucker interrupted what I was doing to tell me his opinion about me. What the fuck is wrong with these men?  Like I give a shit about what you have to say? You're opinion is so worthy that you have to tell me?

I was most annoyed because I wish I could have said so many other things, but it really caught me by surprise.  We are never prepared for things like this to happen to us, unless they happen again. 

SO IT BASICALLY HAPPENED AGAIN. 

This time, I was trying to get my dog to pee at a tree well, and in between the tree and my dog was this dude.  I was walking towards the tree, and the dude was not getting out of the way.  I think he thought I was trying to talk to him.  I saw he was talking and I took my earbuds out, and he was mumbling something. 

"I need to get to the tree." I say.Some more inaudible mumbling.  I hear him say "dog" "Yeah, she's a greyhound.  She's 10." more mumbling "I'm sorry.  I can't hear you.  Can you speak up?" "I'm saying people think I'm gay but I like women." "What are you saying to me?  That you're interested in women?" "Yes, and I don't know how to get women when people think I'm gay." I gather is what he's saying, he's still very hard to understand.  He starts off the conversation about my dog, eases into talking about ladies, in turn, trying to pick me up, I guess, is his angle. Of course, I'm having none of this. NOW is the time for me to speak. "Well, you probably need to speak up, because you're mumbling and it's very difficult to understand you." "I just like women." "Are you trying to pick up women from the street?  Because that's not going to work.  Women DO NOT like that.  It's very sexist of you to check out women on the street and talk to them." "What do I do then?" "You need to speak up because I can't hear you, but go to a bar or a place where women want to get hit on, but not on the street. We don't appreciate being yelled at on the street.  You are objectifying us and we don't like it. It's disrespectful." "Women objectify us, too." "NO WE DON'T.  That's what's wrong with you.  Stop hollering at women on the street!" And with that I walk away.  It wasn't the same as the first instance, but at least I got to make to make my point clear to one asshole.  One at a time. I never thought I'd be one of these men hating feminists, but it's super easy when the streets are filled with disgusting men to hate on.

(this is like a slightly chubbier Daria-esque version of me with blunt bangs)

[meiyeeapple]

Yelp Spa Day!

I wanted to treat myself today. I looked on Yelp for a spa nearby for me to get a facial.  My skin has been lackluster lately and why not give myself a little love. As I go through Yelp, I see they've pinpointed on the map a spa that is very close to me in the Arts District. The main photo is of a pool.  I click on it thinking, "Oh, one nearby I could ride my bike to.  Great."

I'm skimming the reviews and I see descriptions like: "Friendly Staff" "Clean" "The pool is relaxing" "All ways  some  ass  to  be  had for  sure   just   was  hoping  to find that  man that  can  suck a golf ball throe a straw.  but   no such luck ." WAIT...what was that now? 

I read a review thinking it was complete nonsense.  "This person is crazy.  I have no idea what they are talking about.   Why is the spacing so weird?  They really shouldn't allow everyone to type things on the internet" I think. 

As I comb through the reviews trying to find the word "facial" I realize that I'm not going to get one of those there (or the at least the kind I want). I stumbled upon a gay bathhouse.  Oh what fun!

Things that made me come to this (obvious) conclusion encompass such gems as:

"I regret my blowing my load before exploring the super sleazy basement cuz that's where the magic happens!  Staff gets two thumbs up and the place was relatively clean."

"When I arrived, it was a bunch of uncut twinks and a homeless man... :( How did the homeless man get inside? It's like $20! The basement is... like a haunted house with glory holes....Pretty sure I slipped on a used condom while barefoot..."

"There are also 2 patio areas and on certain occasions they grill burgers and hot dogs around 4PM (free buffet)."  This really takes on a whole new meaning. 

"but take a step back, you queens! Appreciate this place for what it is.The staff are always smiling and helpful..." 

Oh, I do appreciate this.  Also, the staff is getting glorious reviews.

Sad part of this story, I still haven't gotten a facial. Thanks, Yelp.