I went to a play for the first time in Los Angels in a long time. And THIS was in the theatre's parking lot. Ah, I tried.

My Doctor Wears Gold Jewelry

He has slicked, jet black hair that he coifs into an Elvis twirl at the front. He's also Asian. There are two gold chains around his neck and a thick, linked, gold bracelet on his right wrist. The minute he walked into my room, I could tell he found himself to be very handsome. Don't believe me? Think I'm making this up to be "funny?" Ask for an appointment with Dr. Tay at the USC Medical Center. THEN we'll see who's laughing. (It will probably be both of us). I've been sick for about three months. The first time I went to Dr. Tay was about a month ago, when I was just a child. Unused to the ways of the sick, the downtrodden, and the "left-behinds" (as I like to call my new invalid-ed self). Doctor: It looks like strep throat, but I won't be able to tell because we ran out of strep tests. Okay. He gave me some penicillin. I go back a month later with inflammation everywhere, nowhere near cured. Doctor: I see. It looks like the penicillin gave you a bladder and/or kidney infection. SEE. He strolls over and sits next to me, legs spread and slouched down in his seat, like how a sophomore in high school would sit next to his lady right before laying on her that he just got drafted into JV. Doctor: See this strip of paper? Now, there are chemicals on it. See the colors? That means there is lots of blood in your system where it shouldn't be. What? His pager goes off for the 5th time. It's as loud as a car alarm. Like, it literally STARTLES him each time it goes off. (then turn down your fucking pager!?) He relaxes next to me again, his gold chains clinking softly as he scoots down further in the chair. Doctor: Uh, my pager. It's so crazy. The number one reason I wanted to become a doctor... was because I wanted to have a pager. Now I'm the only guy in the world with one! hahaha! I give him a mean look that doesn't effect him in the least bit. I'm sure the next bit I will get wrong, so I will not quote the man so pointedly. Basically, he was filling out the form so I could go get my blood drawn, and all he has to do is check off boxes for things so I was like "what do you say about checking off that AIDS box?" And he's like, "You think you have AIDS? Naaaaaaah." This made me FURIOUS! You don't know anything about me! I came VERY close to making up a lot of shit right after that. Every bone in my body wanted to be like, "No, I don't think I have AIDS, but I have been having a lot of unprotected sex with different men, so yeah, you shouldn't just assume because I'm a young, relatively clean white girl that I'm having safe sex." I didn't say that. All I said was "No, I don't think so." And he LAUGHED and said, "Oooh, you put sore throat in a search engine and AIDS popped up on some silly website written by random people, didn't you?" I just nodded, not giving him the benefit of knowing the things I was thinking in my head that would later be written on a blog. "That's so silly. You can't trust those things. You DON'T have AIDS because you have a sore throat!" (Once again, I never said any of those things). My anger was re-routed by the blast of STARTLING RINGING coming from his pocket. He pulled, now, a phone out of his pocket that had also been ringing and beeping the entire time. A constant flow of friendly messenger noises began, and he had to acknowledge it (Or face looking uncool, apparently, a doctor's worst fear). He takes out his phone, starts checking his messages, and goes Doctor: Ha, my old buddy. Look at this. He keeps sending me pictures of horses! And he showed me some pictures of horses. Needless to say, it's been hard to track down this illusive Dr. Tay to get my test results back.

Pinterest

I just don't understand it.

I Went to See This

*SPOILER ALERT!*: It's retarded. This is how I assume the writing process of this film went down: Writer 1: Okay best bud, I have a really cool idea. I'm going to say two words, then I'm going to hold my breath for as long as I possibly can. DURING which, you have to come up with an entire plot for a major motion picture based on those two words. Got it? Writer 2: Got it. You're my best friend. Writer 1: Okay- American REUNION GO!!! (he sucks in air) Writer 2: Oh OH OKAY- Um, there's a 16 year old on a beach who takes her shirt off, no wait, back up, I mean, keep that yeah. Okay, we open on Jim and he's masterbating like CRAZY to some real gross online porn we DEFINITELY SHOW. And his kid comes in and is like Daddy? And he's like SHIT, and closes the computer really fast ON HIS PENIS!! HAHA, I'm laughing so hard I can barely breathe! Oh, you're almost gonna pass out? Okay, don't worry, almost done. They all go to the reunion. And all the girls in their class still have boobs. (Writer 1 exhales) Writer 1: That... was... HYSTERICAL. Writer 2: Yeah? Does it need anything else? Some tweaking- Writer 1: NO!.... No. (He puts his hand on his friend's shoulder) Writer 1: We've done it.

Coachella Mom!!!

When you're unemployed and you take the time to put a stamp on a letter, walk to the mailbox, and drop it in, that is something you DID today. I'm going to start training myself to feel the same

sense of accomplishment when I hit "POST" on this blog. This blog that is basically the same thing as me writing in a journal and then throwing it under my bed. God, nothing like desperately trying to figure out people you could be emailing on a Monday morning to make you feel worthless. Something in my room smells weird. This sad post deserves a picture of my dog. Begley.

There is this very specific feeling I get once in a while. I've explained it the same way for years, yet I've never known anyone to say, "Yes. I have that too. I get it." The best way to describe it is when you were little, at your very first sleep overs. And you are trying to sleep, and it's REALLY late, like eleven o'clock. And you don't want to be there. But it's not like your SCARED. Or you fear anything that's tangible. It's just this feeling of, "I shouldn't be here right now." But it's not how it sounds: it's not foreboding, it's not a feeling like "something bad is going to happen." It's simply "this is wrong. I shouldn't be here." Similar to De Ja Vu. Or memories of "Labyrinth" that scared the shit out of you. It makes no sense: I get that feeling sometimes sitting in my own room. Or walking my dog around the block. Or driving to the store. "I SHOULDN'T BE HERE." The most common time I feel it, I've realized, is when I'm getting ready to go out, and I'm trying to look pretty/sexy. I get that bad, bad feeling a lot then. But it's not about the future. It's not like "I have a bad feeling about tonight..." It's just a bad feeling. I've said the same thing over and over. I think I've gotten the point across. I have it right now, and it's sad and it hurts my tummy. I'm going to go to a bar by myself. Mack Out.

Idea #2

A colic human. Not baby. Just a 30 year old who suddenly becomes colic. Picture it.

Marc by Marc Jacobs Laptop Case :*)

A Post from Al Gore:

Hey, bitches, it's me again. Your former VP, or Man of Your Dreams, the Inigo Montoya of Politicians, the King of Sperm- nah, I don't like that one, makes me sound Gay- whatever you ladies like to call me in your head, or out loud to your girlfriends when playing Dream Phone... It's me, Al Gore. Here to check up on this B.
Hmmm... looks pretty green. I guess I don't got much to say. For reelz!
Oh! I do have to say, that Becca Clark, the new fashion editor and all around slut (JK my sista' JK!) found just this PERFECT bag for you and your new computer and your new Kate Spade computer case. She showed me the link, and we just gabbed-gabbed-gabbed all morning. God, that girl's so cool. I mean, not as cool as you, Mack, aka, One of LA's Hottest IT girls. But, she's pretty f-in cool. I always try to get her to let me come over... cuz like.. she's just one of those girls that you're like what does her place look like. I just wanna know. But she's always like, "Sorry, Al, I'm real busy today... how 'bout coffee at Once Upon a Tart?" And I'm like "yeah yeah yeah sure!!" and we sit and she's gone in like 30. In like 30! That's less time it would take for a size 5 hurricane to wind up the coast of South Florida! Geez.
Mack, buy this bag. And get better. I hear you're sick. You should get a twitter and twit something like "Aww, so sick in bed! :(" And buy some icons so it looks like your sad face has a tear drop. That'd be so cute. And green!

I'll show you the bag in a post after this one. Because I want to make sure I get my new headshot in Herrrrr.

A SITCOM CAME IN A DREAM!

Last night I was tossing and turning in bed, going in and out of sleep while all these things shown above were in my system (not my dog). After one short fit of sleep, I woke up with the MOST GENIUS, BLACK, 90s SITCOM IDEA EVER DREAMT!!!
And just to let you know, I say "Black" because all the characters I dreamt up WERE Black, so how DARE you tell me I should switch them out and re-cast them (inside my head) to white people, just because. Well I will not. I. Will. Not.
Here is what I saw:

Open on what seems like a cop show. That simple bass plays like at the beginning of Law and Order, special 80's unit. There are two different guys that seem to either be tracking each other or running from one another... slowly... intensely... down dimly lit corridors. We widen out to reveal... they're wearing medical gowns... and they're in an old person's home!? And they're BOTH running away from each other!
Cut to opening sequence!

90s Sitcom music. It's the theme song to "Smart Guy" but the lyrics are "Now We're OLD GUYS!!!"
And the plot is described in the theme song (very similar to Sister, Sister): It's the story of two guys who were best friends when they were kids, but they went their separate ways in life. NOW, they meet up in this home, and, neither wanting to seem like the geriatric of the two, are always trying to out smart each other!! Because both of them think they are WAY too young and manly to be in an old person's home, so they keep trying to "Young Up" each other, (which will become a popular quote from the show).
And there's a nurse who wears baggy, MC Hammer pants and does breakdancing moves and tells funny jokes. He's the lovable character. Also Black.
The Song ends with
"Come on, Cledis, let's cruise down South Central" and they get on their electric wheelchairs, and head to the main corridor, which states that they are indeed headed for the "South" and "Central" units.....
DRUM ROLL
"NOW THEY'RE OLD GUYS!"

Laptop Case!

Guys, I'm a woman in the work force now. No man is going to hold ME down. I own something from Kate Spade, so go shove something up your ass. No, wrong directive. This purchase is going to help me be more womanly. I will not pick this up, slip my "money maker" (computer) into it's delicate sleeve, and leave the house without well manicured nails, or un-strightened hair. I'm going to stop going to work seconds after I wake up after I've not showered and let the dog sleep on my head.
Kate Spade- Woman. Working. High Powered. Money. Fancy. Fertile.
I am one of you now.

Idea

Yesterday I was sitting in the passengers seat while a co-worked weaved through stand-still traffic, yelling at the GPS.
She calls her GPS woman "Karen." So this is what I thought:
What if you put in your GSP a location you'd never been to. Like a bookstore you've been wanting to try. And she's directing you
"Turn Right"
"Make a U-Turn"
and you're thinking "Huh. This isn't where I thought it was going to be? I thought it was closer to Korea Town. Oh well, lead on Karen!"
"You have reached your destination."
Woo hoo! You get out of the car and the bookstore doesn't look like it did on the website. "Hope this is right, Karen..."
You go up to the dilapidated building and the door opens.
It's a creepy robot woman with lipstick on her metal face and fake eyelashes glued onto her fake eyes and she's holding two glasses and a bottle of Champagne.
In the electronic voice you know all to well, she says,
"Mackenzie, I have been expecting you. You care for some bubbly? Please, come in. Ha. Ha. Ha."
Karen wants to make out with you so she took you to her house instead of the bookstore! AHHH!!!!!!

What David Sedaris Told Me

This is also a place for me to catalog ideas.
I just don't understand how people keep track of ideas. Because "inspiration occurs at the least conspicuous of times." That's probably from something. So I "quotes-ed" it. Fucking sue me.

I've seen David Sedaris read twice. Once at Vromans bookstore to a small audience before he was a big, big deal. The second time was at Steppenwolf in Chicago where I got to usher and see it for free. At the Q and A, I asked him:
"Where do you keep all your ideas? How do you keep track of them all? Like the ones that aren't connected to anything you're writing currently, but you want to save anyway?"

He answered that he keeps a tiny notebook in his best pocket of his shirt. He pulled the one out he was currently using. It was one of those tiny, seventy-five cent, lined notebooks that have the spirals at the top. Where you "flip" the pages instead of "turn" them. Unless you were wring Chinese, then I guess you'd turn it because you read up and down. Crazy culture they have.

Anyway, he explained further because I'm pretty sure I was high (on power) and yelled out/interrupted him with, "But what do you do with your ideas AFTER!?!? Like, do you just have boxes and boxes of those little notebooks? How do you remember where you put something? Or how do you not just forget about one little joke or something?!?! HOW."

He responded, softly, as if to calm down the one creepy idiot in the crowd that will never do anything with her life, "Well, I categorize them by time periods. Like, I'm doing a book tour right now that last a month. So I'll have a couple notebooks after the month is over. Then I'll take all of them that I've used up, go through them, and re-write what seems necessary to keep down in another journal. Then I throw the rest out."

I could never do that. I think because I don't think about my life in chronicled, separate time periods. Because I'm still young AND I'M GONNA LIVE FOREVER!!!! And I don't have anything that separates today from tomorrow. Or the next day. Know what I mean? I think it's what people call "a career" or "upward mobility" or "movement." Yeah, I have no movement. Just ask my fat ass! Whoa! Someone got all Cathy on us!!

So the point of this blog will now be a place for me to keep all my stupid, little ideas. Complete with a picture!
But isn't the point of a blog so you can say shit to the world?
I don't have anything to say.
So I guess the point of the last post was "I'm gonna keep up on this, so you should read it!!"
And now I've already changed-me-tune to "I'm gonna keep up on this, so you should not waste your time reading it!"
I wonder what the next five minutes will bring...

I'M GOING TO BECOME A REAL BLOGGER

World. I'm going to do this for real now. Like TWO posts a day on this B of a website.

Why did this change come about? Has Mackenzie's divorce papers gone through and she's feeling alone in this big house that she now has all to herself? Did she miss her son's big soccer game because she was busy crying in a hotel room she got by herself just BECAUSE? Did she finish the last book of The Hunger Games and think to herself, "I need to try harder... I could have written this... you know, I have ideas, too MOTHER" ? No. She reason Mackenzie will now be as dedicated to this blog as Lydia H Harter is to First Ladies, is because she got a computer for her birthday, and now has the technology to go ON THE INTERNET! And DOWNLOAD PICTURES!! It's a brand new day in Sunny San Marino, my friends, and it's about to get scholarly.

Here is the birthday card I got from my Uncles! It is quite possibly the gayest card in the world. None of us can figure out if it is intentionally gay or not. You guess.