Blame CANADAAAAA

So after getting reprimanded via bbm this morning by a dear friend/mouthy Canadian about my lack of blog sauce this past month, I decided to be uncharacteristically obedient and revisit the nonsense that is this website. Calling it a website from now on, not a blog. Being that I am one of the ten tallest women in the country now (according to my new coworkers who insist that I stand up and “SHOW THEM!” upon introductions to who I presume are important *cough, short* people within the entertainment industry), I’m practically famous and therefore deserving of a website…again, not a blog. Jennifer, if you are reading this, I love you and I’m super stoked that you pointed out that I have graduated to the top ten…of anything… in my life. Ever.

So, mouthy Canadians are really bossy and I’ve been put on the spot here.** I could write about tired current events and take a juicy pick from the swine flu, Balloon Boy or how Twitter is going to be the next President (@cassysalyer – I tweet sometimes). None of this really feist-i-fies me though, so I will just be self absorbed and write about me…that’s why you’re all here, right? Because you like reading my diary?

Creeps.

To update you all on the parking pig from my last blog that I wrote centuries ago, I submitted the note to www.passiveaggressivenotes.com in hopes that whoever he/she/it is has his/her/its five minutes of fame courtesy of yours truly and will thank me someday…I always wanted to be published. Maybe I should take up writing overly aggressive anonymous letters to people. Since then, miraculously, we have only received one windshield love letter, this time on my car (oops) and much less AGGRESSIVE!!!! than the last, leading me to believe it was left by a different person and of course to the conclusion that either we really are hogging parking spaces with our massive vehicles or all of our neighbors are psychos who carry notepads. I vote for the latter. I was just happy that the note wasn’t another parking ticket that I seem to be collecting for parking on my own street and forgetting to put my pass on my rear-view mirror…each of those bad boys is $61 and doubles if you pay them late. Living up here is going to do wonders for my scatter-brainedness and purposeful procrastination in opening mail that appears to have come from money-collecting devils. Which leads me nicely into my next paragraph – learned how to do that in fifth grade. See below.

A couple weeks ago, I took it upon myself to demonstrate to all of Beverly Hills exactly what NOT to do while driving. One, definitely don’t ever run red lights! Yeah…that must not have been on my pass-by-one-point written driving test that I had to re-take last year to get a valid license in this blasted state. Two, don’t run red lights on city blocks that have huge posted signs that say “PHOTO ENFORCED.” My name is Cassy and I like to flirt with photo enforcement. Just a little bit, just the tip. But when the tip ends up halfway in the intersection .85 seconds after the light tells you NO, you have one of two choices; you can either back up and pretend like nothing happened or you can go all the way through and hope you get away with it. I didn’t get away with it. What I did get was some personalized unscented mail from the Beverly Hills PD asking me nicely for $445 and to take traffic school courses that cost something in the neighborhood of $65. There go my 2009 Fryes. As if. What the fock is the fine for people who leave mean notes on people’s cars or actually, intentionally, consciously, purposely perform asstastic maneuvers when behind the wheel? This is LA…I have seen FAR WORSE. I have actually honked at people up here. I am so not a honker. Oh, I forgot rule #3. When the state changes the law to read that one cannot/should not/ but probably still will use handheld mobile devices while operating a moving vehicle, do not exercise the “but probably still will” part…while running PHOTO ENFORCED red lights. In Beverly Hills.

In defense of my stupidity and in desperate support of my bank account, just curious…have any of you ever driven west at 5:30 pm? Any shot in hell I can fight this? I know our golden hour here in California is totally neat and radical and perfect for seduction purposes and all that, but I can’t see anything on my drive home. I even snapped some pictures through my windshield as evidence (while driving). But seriously, I hunch over my steering wheel squinting to see beneath my visor going 20 MPH in a car that I most certainly should be shot for driving in LA. Isn’t the sun at fault here?

Unfortunately at the end of the day, none of this matters…judges don’t like people who are friends with mouthy Canadians.

**Taking requests for next blog.