Say Something Funny...B*tch

First of all, BALLER.

Second of all, let me introduce myself.  I’m Rebecca Leib.  I’m a writer.  You may know me from such publications as Art Ltd., Beautiful/Decay and-

wait.

You’re riding a horse. 

Fuck it. 

The first thing I noticed about you was your sheer height.  You see, not many people ride horses around these parts.  I’m pretty sure you are cognizant of that, unless you are insane.  So, who knows?  It would not be the first time I openly admired a person who is categorically insane, but it would be the first time that I did so and said person was in command of a 2,000 pound animal. So, kudos to you!

By your dreadlocks and your homeless-yet-equestrian-appropriate garb, you seem like the kind of guy who likes to be comfortable, but also take risks. 

I admire that. 

There is a thin line between looking like a Rastafarian crossing guard mountee and a Goodwill discard pile, and I’d say you were skirting that line but for your impeccably-kept saddle.  Where did you get such a nice, English-style saddle?  Saddles will run you a couple thousand dollars, and judging by the thickness of your facial hair and your minimum attention to dental hygiene, I would say that you perhaps could not afford such a grandiose expenditure.

…Did you kill a man and take his saddle?

I’m sorry if I sound assumptive.  I don’t mean to judge your life, your lifestyle, or how you wish to be perceived by the wide array of sex shop workers and patrons on this street. 

I surely don’t mean to call you insane, unless you are that. So…are you insane?  Are you a prophet from some book in the New Testament that I wouldn’t have recognized because I’m a dirty, dirty Atheistic Jew? 

I mean, I assume you are religious, from the backpack you’re wearing and the gigantic cross dangling out of it.  

But again- maybe I’m just being assumptive.  I don’t mean to be.  In a world where fucking apeshit crazy people on horseback and super, hypersexy comediennes in flannel could be friends, by god, WE WOULD BE.  But for now,  you have inspired me.  I leave you with some famous poetry modified to fit in with my life from one of my favorite hobbies, modifying famous poetry to fit in with my life.

This one’s Robert Frost.  You may know of him, or perhaps you are carrying around something of his in your dirty backpack?

“Stopping by Hollywood on a Smoggy Evening.” By Robert Frost BUT ALSO AND REBECCA LEIB

Whose limo dispatch buildings these are I think I know.   

His house is in Franklin Village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his limo dispatch buildings fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the Loteria and Trader Joe’s  

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and Trannies Trannies Trannies.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I P90X,   

And miles to go before I P90X.

You’re Welcome.

Rebecca

We’re gonna chat about something we’ve never really delved into on its own before.  It’s so fundamental that I’m shocked and awed we haven’t dedicated an entire year to it yet.  Maybe 2013.  Unless I’m super famous or married by then, then probably not.  I’m talking about Honesty.  Your basic, erryday Honesty.  And, in the spirit of honesty, you should know I’m stone cold sober right now.  I don’t drink when I write because booze is a ridiculously silly way to think you’re gonna perform better.  A nice fatty bowl, however, is the way to a true writer’s heart, and I’m dry as a bone for a couple weeks.  I cannot vouch for how this is gonna go.  Speaking of, shall we?

The other day, I was catching up on my General Hospital.  Backstory:  Sam(antha) and Jason are just married.  Jason was in a car accident when he was a teen (because his fuck of a brother, AJ, was drunk driving) and when he woke up out of his coma (duh), he was different.  He was harder and unemotional and difficult to love.  He shunned his parents and turned to the mob because Sonny (the mob boss) understood that he needed a mentor, someone to understand him and accept who he had become, not a judge, and took him under his wing.  Jason became Sonny’s enforcer; his hit man.  You heard me.  He was handsome, cold and calculated, but loyal and always, always, always honest.  And then he grew up, met Sam (salt of the earth, though formerly a little slut-slut) and they fell in love and everyone wondered how she could possibly love him.  And Sam says:  “It’s pretty easy.  You just have to be honest.”  Nailed it.  And this column was born.

Honesty, y’all.  It is the be all and end all of everything.  And I don’t mean that you shouldn’t steal wallets.  If you’re gonna steal a wallet, there is nothing I can do to better you here.  Futher, if you’re gonna steal a wallet, I don’t want you even coming to read my column.  I mean honesty, like, if you’re uncomfortable in what you’re wearing don’t wear it because I don’t care to hear you lament how awful you look.  Be honest with yourownself and know skinny jeans just ain’t your thang and your self-esteem should most certainly not be required to take a hard knock because you can’t come to grips with that.  I mean honest, like, if you don’t want kids, and some guy you like asks if you want kids someday, say no so it doesn’t come up after you’re married and then you’ll need to go ahead and get yourself a divorce because the truth came out.  I mean honest, like, if you can’t afford to go out to dinner with your friends, you decline the invite because you can’t afford it, and we ALL understand what it’s like not to be able to afford to go out to dinner three nights a week.  And if you’re eating out three nights a week, you need to be honest about the fact that it’s an expense no one should foot, and possibly rethink the assumption that the rest of your paycheck won’t eventually run out.  Honesty is some rull basic shit that will save you so, so, so, so much time and emotion and energy and woe.  And if you don’t start with a baseline of being honest with yourself, how are you supposed to present yourself honestly to others.  And if you’re presenting some skewed version of yourself, everyone you meet will want to be friends with that person, not the real, honest, flawed version of you.  And, this just in, we are all very much flawed.  Y’all come here every Friday and thank me for whatever I’ve said because it hits home week after week, and I am so remarkably flattered—really, I don’t think you have any idea how full my heart is when I know I’ve touched on something you’re struggling with, too, because there is so much pressure on women—on everyone, but I’m here for the bitches—to be exactly who everyone assumes women should be:  Cool, put-together, sassy, confident, independent, social, funny, blahbitty blah, blah, blah.  But the truth is,  most of us are none of those things altogether, let alone on a mutually exclusive basis.  We’re just trying to keep our heads above water and make it through the day without hating ourselves.  At least I am, and as much as I can be an odd duck, I feel like we all share this to some degree.  It’s the way of our Lady people.  But if you’re honest about what you bring to the table—OR DO NOT BRING OT THE TABLE—you will find that, not only does someone share your insecurity, but is so thankful someone else is dealing with the same.  You are never going to look like Jessica Alba, so stop comparing yourself; rather be honest with about what you can accomplish in the gym with a week before you leave for Cabo.  If you can’t get a grasp on this, you won’t be able to be honest about how incredible it is to be afforded the opportunity to go to Cabo in the first place—most people are only able to make it to a poolside in the Valley.  Enough of this woe about what you don’t have.  Embrace it, understand it, work with it, and put it in perspective, because honestly, no matter how sick your body is, you’ll still never think you look as good a Jessica Alba.  It’s not about what/who/where you’re comparing you or your life to, it’s about how honestly you’re being with yourself in the life you have.  And, most importantly, honesty will forever lead to action.  For.  Ever.  If this is the year of the decision, you can’t make a decision without being honest about the data points that brought you there in the first place.  I had a friend for a really long time and she was always someone different.  Always.  She said she spoke, like, 5 languages.  She did not at all speak 5 languages.  She said she surfed.  She did not at all surf.  She said she goes to yoga.  One time a year is not someone who goes to yoga.  I could not be friends with her anymore because I had no idea who she was, and after 10ish years of friendship, I told her I had to bow out gracefully from our relationship because she’s not honest with herself, so I had no idea which version of her I was supposed to be friends with.  It was never anything huge, but it was always something.  And if you know the person looking you in the face is consistently something other than who she claims to be—even just on the surface—then you can’t get to know and love and invest in the person underneath.  I want all of you to be a little easier on one another.  It’s fear of reproach and judgment that we avoid honesty, but the fact of it is, we’ve all got shit; we’ve all got reasons to dislike ourselves, our place in life, our job, our significant other, and everyone around us, but the majority of us dislike in others things we seem to think we don’t also possess or display.  As such, we should all be so damn thankful anyone is willing to look in our direction, let alone accept us with all of our flaws.  Be honest about your flaws, as I promisepromisepromise that accepting them in others won’t be a decision you have to make because your practice of honesty will bring you to the understanding that you will need people to have the same kind of grace shown to you as you work your way through your ability to show grace to them.   

Last night, I went to a good friend for a haircut, and she said her Mormon family is beside themselves with her “LA” life—exaggeratedly, but anyone not from this town gets what she means—and I felt an immediate and familiar connection with her as a friend I’ve had for longer than I think we both realize.  But she is honest about the life she has, the life she knows her family wants her to have, and the fact that neither one will ever match up.  It’s either going to be something you own, or it’s going to be something you shrink away from.  And, in essence, shrinking away begets insecurity which begets dishonesty.  If you’re going to roll out, own it, be honest about the path you’ve chosen and the decisions you make because they’re yours.  And eventually, someone will call your ass out and you will need to stand by the person you’ve decided to be.  I know my parents think my life is a shitshow of discarded potential, but very luckily, I absolutely love every act of this long-running shitshow that has provided me the honor of a starring role.  I am obscenely blessed to have each and every one of you in it—even that one guy.  I’m constantly excited by how much I love my friends, and I’m constantly shocked as they continue to have me among them. 

Aiite, that’s all she wrote.  In two weeks, I hope have fallen the fuck off the wagon, and I’ll bring you something crazy hard-hitting.  Until then, however, I’m just gonna drink a lot a lot of vodka and try to better myself or something.  Oooh, I’ve just gotten into The Bachelor and, while just one and a half minutes of the show makes me remember why I detest our breed, I’m gonna keep watching in hopes Courtney (sociopath) gives me some material from which to pull from.  It’s possible the title of my next column will be:  Why Dating a Model Will NEVER Go Well For You, Ben.  Maybe that won’t be the title, but maybe we’ll talk about Men Who Date Bitches and Then Wonder Where it All Went Wrong.  It’s got a nice flow….  Okay, babies, get out there and make some better choices than you did last time, and I’ll see you next time.

I just started a new job and I’ve discovered that starting at a new job feels a lot like being the new kid at school. What I am trying to say is, I have been eating lunch in my car.

Raw Kale Salad with Chicken, Toasted Walnuts and Cranberries

(This is what I have been eating. It’s delicious and keeps me from having to get to know anyone.)

Serves 4

½ cup dried cranberries

½ cup walnuts, lightly toasted

1 package of boneless, skinless chicken breast tenders

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

1 teaspoon salt

2 bunches of kale (about 1 pound), center ribs and stems removed, leaves thinly sliced crosswise

1 large avocado, diced

Zest and juice of 1 lemon

Preheat oven to 350 F. Spray a glass casserole dish with nonstick cooking spray. Season chicken with salt and pepper and place in dish in a single layer. Drizzle lightly with olive oil then cover dish with tin foil. Cook about 25 minutes then remove foil. Continue cooking until chicken is done, approx 5-7 mins.

Meanwhile place kale in a large mixing bowl. Add cranberries, toasted walnuts and avocado. Once chicken has cooled, add chicken, lemon zest/juice then season with salt, pepper, drizzle with a good olive oil, put in your best Tupperware container then sneak past those judgmental parking attendants with your head held high. They don’t know you!

Hey Senors and Senoritas,

Just back from a fucking awesome weekend, and naturally I’m a little bummed to get back to work.  THANKFULLY-One of my favorite holidays was yesterday, Martin Luther Day! 

Look- his name was painted into the piece! Ingenious!

It was super exciting because  I could reflect upon the fast and impacting changes Martin Luther made on our society, culture and religious views.  He was such an important man to so many people-  protesting injustices with rousing oratori and volumes of writing on civil  and religious inequality. 

I don’t watch a lot of television on Martin Luther day. I get out my copy of the 95 Theses and write a letter to Johan Tetzel, or some years I vary my shit and write a letter directly to Pope Leo X or Charles V! 

I would share these letters, but my thoughts on this shit are extremely personal. 

After a light lunch of chowder,  I’ll switch it up and read some Erasmus, but then I usually get a little worked up and have to nap.  After napping,  I’ll translate books n’ bits of the old testament to keep up on my verses (I prefer Numbers!).

Sometimes I sneak a peek at the television, and it’s good to know that the world seems to appreciate the impact on social justice that Luther had on history. 

Hell- we get a day off for this shit!

I concluded my day with looking at printing presses on craigslist, saying some nasty shit about the Jews and singing twilight hymnals while I slowly simulate apoplectic stroke. 

LOOK:

I know some of you may not celebrate Martin Luther day like I do, but I got pretty burned simulating the sensations of heat and cauterization that come with a properly apoplectic stroke.  So, I ask this of you:  please don’t judge me by the color of my skin, but by the content of my character, ok?

You’re Welcome.

Rebecca

“A woman doing comedy doesn’t offend me but sets me back a bit. I, as a viewer, have trouble with it. I think of her as a producing machine that brings babies in the world.”

- Jerry Lewis

“F*ck you”

- Judd Apatow

Here is why we artfully disagree.  (by Meg Swertlow as seen on the Insider.com)

http://www.theinsider.com/gossip/48829_Trash_Talk_Apatow_Says_Fck_You_to_Jerry_Lewis/index.html

Check for the shout-out to some FUNNY B*TCHES!!

I’M BACK!

I took a few weeks off to do some “me things” then Tumblr decided to suck balls and I haven’t been able to post to my page for about a zillion years blahblahblah I’m back.

AHEM!

While away, I did some pretty awesome stuff. Like what? Well I took a five week French class at the LA Community College. Have you been to LACC? Well let me tell you, it’s NOT great. But I am going to Paris in February and thought it would be nice to brush up on my French, since all I remember from high school is how to make crepes and say “I am 16 years old”.

Anyway, I took the class with a few friends and a handful of people that I am pretty sure were homeless or at the very least, f-ing crazy! Honestly, I don’t know how these people could afford to pay the $100 tuition or what they were possibly going to do with remedial French skills, but there we were. And I soon realized how hard it was going to be to learn ANYTHING.

Case in point?

WEEK 1:

Week one consisted of a man with OCD freaking out because someone asked to borrow his pen. Wrong move. Not satisfied to simply let it go – OCD Guy launches into a long, in depth tale of how he was late to class because he dropped his pen, spiraled into a panic and then had to wash it clean. No one cares but the story stretches into infinity. Desperate to keep the class on track, our Professor teaches us how to say “What is the date?” in French.

WEEK 2:

Monotone Man in the front row steadily mumbles non-stop for the entirety of the two hour lesson. “Oh yeah, that’s just like Spanish.” “Huh? Uh, I know that one… it’s uh… hello. That’s hello in French.” “I’ve been to France like… three times.” It was like a low, never-ending hum of his every thought and impression; basically the stream of consciousness of an idiot. The Professor is clearly aggravated and teaches us how to say “What is the date?” in French.

WEEK 3:

The older woman in class, Marie, reveals herself to be a shrill lunatic after the Professor suggests copying the French CD to a computer. Marie has a complete meltdown because she doesn’t understand computers and never will and DON’T EVEN TALK TO HER ABOUT IT BECAUSE SHE WON’T GET IT!!!!!!! Defeated, the Professor teaches us how to say “What is the date?” in French.

Week 4:

The Professor tries to shake OCD Guy’s hand. Wrong move. Marie is convinced that the Professor created the Venn diagram just to fuck with her and Monotone Man engages OCD Guy in a conversation about the health benefits of fist bumping vs. hand shaking. We learn how to say “What is the date?”

Week 5:

No one shows up to class. The professor tells me I should probably repeat French 1 and that I am no good at “la pronunciation”.

Hey, at least I still know how to make some kick ass crepes. Also, Quelle est la date?

Lemon and Powdered Sugar Crepes

Adapted from http://allrecipes.com/recipe/basic-crepes/

Makes approx. 8 crepes

1 cup all-purpose flour

2 eggs

1/2 cup milk

1/2 cup water

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons butter, melted

Zest of 1 lemon

Lemon wedges and powdered sugar for topping.

Mix flour and eggs in a large bowl. Slowly add the milk and water, stirring to thoroughly combine. Then add the lemon zest, salt and butter. Mix or beat until smooth.

Heat a lightly oiled pan over a medium flame. Using a ¼ measuring cup, scoop out the batter onto the hot pan. Tilt the pan slowly in order to thinly and evenly cover the surface with batter.

Cook the crepe for about two minutes on each side or until light brown. Turn and cook on the other side. P.S. They say the first crepe is “for the dog” and to be thrown out. Do what you want.

Serve topped with plenty of fresh squeezed lemon juice and powdered sugar. Voila!

Hey assholes-

Hope you had a swell new years!  I was pretty fucked up, but I distinctly remember bandaging a bloody wound and a sweaty ex getting in the way of my game.  Or was I bandaging a sweaty ex and a bloody wound was getting in the way of my game? Fucked if I know. I love drugs! 

But, gentle readers, that’s neither here nor there. I know you know I know that you know people who always make a lame-ass list of shit they’re going to change for the new year, and then the never fucking do it.  You know, they want to loose 15 lbs or find love or take better care of themselves. 

Well, I want to stay EXACTLY THE SAME. 

And, I want to do it HARDER. 

Here’s a list of Leib’s patented* Non-Resolutions, or shit I ain’t gonna change for fucking nobody, myself included:

*patent pending

1.  My ears.  They ain’t pierced.  And know what? I have enough of your grandma’s clip-ons off of Ebay to last me a lifetime.  The next time you see me in a line at Claire’s will be to get a tiara for your kids’ BABY PARTY, and I’ll be laughing all the way to the register.

2. Dating assholes.  You know what? Dating assholes who manipulate me is one of the THINGS I FUCKING DO BEST.  If I didn’t date assholes, I wouldn’t be setting an example for the likes of young, smart, funny teenagers everywhere, who eagerly hope for a partner who treats them right, listens to their opinions and respects their minds, bodies and souls. 

3.Lying.  FUCK YOU!  Of COURSE I’M DONE DATING ASSHOLES!  I have SHITLOADS of self-worth, and any dude who doesn’t want to date this Coors-lite filled, Rite-Aid loving Piece of Awesome can suck on A FAT RESOLUTION.

4. Drinking lots and lots and lots of Coors Lites. Why quit the one thing I love?

5.  Smoking tons and tons of weed. Why quit that other one thing I love?

So, that’s kind of it.  Oh, yeah, except for this gallery of leather newsboy hats:

You’re welcome,

Rebecca