Why, hello, dearest online diary and small community of friends and family. I have missed thee dearly.
As much as I would like to continue living my life as a transient, Bohemian hippie of the West Hollywood persuasion, I have come to the sad yet honest realization that money is a necessary evil, and that a steady source of money creates infinitely less stress in one's life. After being unemployed for - dare I say it? - nearly a month now, my waning bank account has convinced me to return to the dull conformity of steady employment. While I adore doing personal assistant work like invoicing and cat sitting for Mike the pool guy, who kindly printed up a batch of business cards on my behalf, and while teaching yoga and cardio classes is a lovely way to get to know my community and to stay in shape, and while extra work is a fabulous chance to network and to get a decent meal in (as well as a bag full of stolen produce and bottled waters), none of these options boosts my savings account to new heights of glory. Acknowledging this fact, I have decided that I shall endeavor to find some sort of steady, reliable job which provides me with at least $300 a week upon my return from Houston. In this manner, I shall once again be able to purchase food, instead of coconut water, triscuits, and cans of tuna. Oh wait - my neighbor donated the cans of tuna, which she herself obtained from the local food pantry, because she felt bad for me. Ooops.
In the meantime, let me update you with what has transpired in my little LaLaland over the past several weeks.
Last Thursday, I was invited to attend a wine tasting at the New Zealand Consulate's home by my neighbors, who reside in the front apartment of the little blue bungalow which I now know as home. When my neighbor, a long-time writer whose husband works in production and was involved with ZENA for many years, invited me, I thought it was merely an act of kindness which derived from her potential pity for the new kid on the block. It was not until that afternoon, as I was styling my neighbor's thick, brown hair into loose piles atop her head, that I realized my dear neighbor also felt that this wine tasting could be an excellent networking-slash-dating opportunity for me. However, the night was still mostly delightful. Everyone was dressed in elegant attire, albeit post-work attire for some, as we traipsed through the nicely decorated home and outdoor garden area, pausing to politely introduce ourselves to the other guests or to sip (and subsequently.. spit?) wines from New Zealand and Australia.
Now, I must pause briefly here to state that, while I make a modest living, there is always plenty to eat at my parties and get-togethers. Even if they be potlucks, I make sure to have more than enough food on my table for my guests. This cannot be said of wealthy people. There were literally swarms of people lingering outside of the kitchen, just waiting for the poor server to walk out of the doors with a fresh tray of hors d'oeuvres so that they could viciously swoop down upon whatever lamb chops or sliders lay piping hot before them. The exasperated caterer could no sooner step foot into the chic living room than have to turn right back around; in two hours, I saw her make it across the room to the patio door only once. Perhaps it is because rich people need to be tipsy in order to enjoy each others' company that they limit the food on hand. However, I solemnly swear that, nomatter how far the reaches of my vast empire may one day span, I shall always provide ample nourishment for my guests at wine tastings and other, as my mother would call them, 'floofy' gatherings of the elite and nobility. Hmph.
On Friday, Evan and I went to Soda Pop's, the little sandwich shop where I recently decorated the menu board and outdoor A-frame, for lunch. Dave remembered me and cheerfully said hello when we entered, and our food - an Italian sub sandwich with homemade bacon-and-cheddar potato chips for Evan, and a Nicoise salad pour moi - was nothing short of delectable. I picked the right restaurant to help bring to new artistic heights. After lunch, Dave mentioned that he would be in touch soon for some additional 'design work' (I want an honorary degree.. any takers?), and Evan and I hopped in his car to go test-run my recently acquired, $20 rollerblades from Craigslist.
Rollerblading on the boardwalk along the beach, from Santa Monica to Venice, is one of the purest forms of joy I have yet to experience in California. What does it cost? Some gas, maybe a couple of bucks for parking (ours was free). Yet doing this on Friday was so very lovely. We passed by a group of homeless men, carrying on and having a laugh under a shady gazebo, then paused at the restroom, because that is my second home; we skated past people doing yoga, a group of teenage girls, intent on completing their soccer drills, old men asleep under palm trees, fishermen lingering for hours on the endless pier, surrounded by the sea on one side, and a view of Los Angeles wrapped around the other; we glided past couples playing fetch with their dogs, strong men from the Caribbean doing a street performance, the looming 'tree-man' in all of his green, mossy glory, small, grinning children playing in the sand, body surfers paddling furiously.. we soared over the cement sidewalk, laughing and joking and pushing one another, watching the sun sail down toward the ocean, just touching the horizon as we pulled our skates off on the side of the car.
If you ever find yourself broke and living in California, take my advice: invest in a pair of rollerblades.
On Sunday, Evan took me to my first true hockey game, the final Anaheim Ducks' pre-season game against their rivals, the Los Angeles Kings. I should preface this by saying that Evan is a huge Ducks' fan, and a lover of hockey. He gets together with a group of friends to play a game every Wednesday night, and I usually spend a fair portion of my Wednesday grinning at how excited I know he is about 9pm that evening, when, after driving for an hour, parking, and gearing up for twenty minutes, he will glide onto the ice, smiling and elated and focused and happy. Tonight was no exception; sure enough, at 10:57pm, I got a text which read, "My chest is burning, my legs are killing me, my back is sore, and my head is bumping..... I LOVE IT."
All of this being said, I was nervous about going to a hockey game with such a passionate fan, myself so uneducated about the sport. Despite this fear, we had a blast, and Evan made sure to keep me aware of what was taking place on the ice below us. And although the score was tied at 2-2 when the game ended, putting each of us on the edge of our seats, the Ducks scored in overtime to secure the win, and my first hockey game went down in history as an epic win. After the game, we went back to Evan's apartment, made delicious hamburger patties and scrambled eggs with tomato (using what we had on hand), shared a bottle of red wine as we watched "Without a Paddle", and talked late into the night.
Monday was the first day I saw rain since I moved here on May 18th, which seems unbelievable to me. However, since Monday, the rain has not stopped, and I am beginning to feel like "the rainy season" has hit. Had I known this earlier, I may have endeavored to pack in a few more beach trips, but I'm sure the sun will pop back out eventually. If I had been out, shining with all my boiling glory for three months, I supposed I would be pretty knackered as well. So you take a break, Mister Sun. You deserve it. ;)
As Monday progressed and the unrelenting rain continued to patter on, grateful to be free-falling after months of waiting, I was overjoyed with the gentle rain that tapped and sputtered and danced on my face, on my car windshield, on my bare legs, on my roof. Between administering insulin shots to one cat and shuffling another to the vet, I found myself in a Ralph's parking lot in Santa Monica. Rather than drive home and drive back a few hours later, I bought a salad and some coconut water, as well as a Sharpie and some paper, and camped out in my car. I doodled a doodling book and listened to John West, smiling and sleepy-eyed and loving the rain. Eventually, I grabbed the green fleece blanket from my picnic backpack in the trunk, reclined the driver's seat as far down as it would go, and curled up in a little ball for a two-hour nap. And when I woke up, I didn't mind one bit sitting in the rush-hour traffic on my way back to Reseda, sleepy kitty in tow, even though it was late and dusk was falling. I watched my windshield wipers swish-swishing before the rising city nightlights, and I was content to be sitting in the middle of the rain.
Tuesday evening, my friend Morgan, a sweet darling who attended stunt school with me last fall in Seattle, came by around 8pm to make Asian Chicken Penne and salad with me, and to watch "Double Dare", a documentary about stunt women Zoe Bell and Jeannie Epper. It was relaxing to spend the evening chatting about our busy lives and the often ridiculous aspects of Southern culture (Morgan hails from Tennessee), chopping up mint leaves and shallots and ginger and chicken, and screeching about how excited we are to be stunt women when the film ended and "Top of the World" - affectionately known in my family as "Tupperware World" - blasted through my apartment. Morgan and I are planning to get together again next Tuesday, so that she can introduce me to "fried green tomatoes", which she was shocked I have never tasted, and then Morgan has agreed to graciously drive me to the airport early Wednesday morning. I am Houston-slash-Weimar-slash-Austin bound, to celebrate my grandparents' fiftieth wedding anniversary, to celebrate my father's 48th year on this earth, to visit the Swingin' Door, to take my mother to a yoga class, to record some songs with my little brother, to get some bubble tea with my little sister, to try some risque dancing with Cari, to film a fair portion of the music video for "Shaniqua" with Clint, to squeeze in some giddy karaoke, and to sit in a pantry, full of food, and thank God.
Life is grand. :)
