Family Matters with Carl Winslow and Rachel Lander

So tonight my parents came up to visit my grandmother and aunt, who both recently had surgery. Hilariously, my aunt's co-workers gave her a post-surgery present (she had some sort of growth removed - I try not to ask too many questions because medical problems disgust me) of a box of two eggplants, fully clothed, and with googly eyes and smiles. The story of the eggplants were that instead of this growth, my aunt was busy giving birth to these eggplants.

Of course everyone likes to inquire about my super thrilling tales of LA life. The proof was in the pudding - it was Saturday night and I was out to dinner with old people instead of awesome, rad dudes. I love everyone I've met here so far. It's just difficult to bond, to take it to the next level, ya know, when you see them once a week or two via bugging the same three or four people who's phone numbers you actually have. Which is funny because I never wanted to do shit in Oakland/Berkeley with everyone because most of the time I was busy hating my life or sitting in my pajamas watching tv on dvd and wishing I was not there. But now that I am here and want to do stuff, I always feel like I'm begging people to hang out with me. It's never sad except really on the weekends or the day after I drink too much, for some reason.

Also, they were asking me why I don't have a boyfriend yet. I apologized for being a heinous beast of a daughter, and promised to go to Muscle Beach to break me off a piece of that (you have to say it in that special way; like Tai in Clueless). Really, I just like talking about Muscle Beach because it makes me think of blond curly 80s mullets and those hot pink tank tops where the armholes go down the length of the torso. I didn't say either of those things aloud really, but my mom is ready to make me a profile on JDATE, which is tempting for mocking purposes only. And to meet my one true Jewish soulmate, duuuuuuuh.