Just when I started to feel like a grown up while grilling up some bratwurst for Sean and some Boca dogs for myself, I realized that Sean had plopped himself on the couch and was playing Super Mario Brothers. Not that I don't love the dulcet sounds of the Nintendo, but I did find it vaguely humorous that I was the barefoot girl in the kitchen to his video-game playing guy. He did appear to enjoy the bratwurst though as I found him passed out face first on my bed after eating dinner. I figured either he loved the food or I had killed him. Upon climbing into bed, I discovered it was the former.
The catch now is that I am waiting for him to call me, or im me, or text me because we are in the midst of an imbalance of free time. I have all the free time, he has none. This makes me want to contact him all the time because I can and I have the feeling that this is slightly irritating (ie obnoxious and stupid). Therefore, I am using my not so abundant patience to sit it out and let him call me even though I am DYING to know if he's coming over so I can figure out what to cook next. In the meantime, an ex I don't even like has imed me to tell me that he's hanging out with a girl I don't much like either.
He imed me, meaning I win at life.
When did I turn into such a girl? Vacation from school does strange things to my brain.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Duckfeet
I love my neighborhood. Right now, there are sparkly men in hotpants just marching their way down my street and I can hear singing and cheering from my window. Sure, I am in my room with soggy hair in a bathrobe after a post-work out shower, but it delights me that my neighborhood is swelling with gay pride...and bi pride...and trans pride. Pride for everyone!
This is a nice break from the media circus that erupted when Paris Hilton was released from jail and subsequently yanked back in by a pissed off judge. Doesn't everyone know that you don't go against a judge's orders? Come on, Sheriff Baca, even I knew that. Plus, after my 2 quarters of my masters program, if Paris is suicidally depressed, a stay in her own bed and a cupcake isn't gonna fix it (that's a big statement coming from a cupcake enthusiast). Mainly, my interest in this whole stupid debacle is that fact that I have been losing sleep due to the sound of helicopters buzzing around my neighborhood. Fine, I get it, Paris Hilton lives right up the street but that doesn't mean I want my walls to vibrate at 8am. I'm just glad she's back in jail so I can get some rest.
Now that I am on a brief break from school, I've been going on adventures. My favorite one lately was an early afternoon stop to the Treat Street roving Silverlake bakery. I had my very first praline and it was a-m-a-z-i-n-g. Check out their blog... Treat Street.
I've also realized that I have a few favorite homeless people in LA. This sounds strange and condescending at first but there are a few people that stick around in the same spots and become a part of the local scenery. For instance, I love the 80's acid-washed finger-in-a-light-socket-hair guy that is frequently on the payphone at La Cienega and Santa Monica Blvd. His leg scarves are hilarious and his outfits have become increasingly ridiculous. There is also the Roller-skating Dance Star on Robertson between 3rd and Burton Way. He is often found wearing lyrca with his hair in a ponytail and he shakes his booty to his boombox. Sometimes when he needs a change of pace, he skates in circles around the nearby gas station. What's not to love?
This is a nice break from the media circus that erupted when Paris Hilton was released from jail and subsequently yanked back in by a pissed off judge. Doesn't everyone know that you don't go against a judge's orders? Come on, Sheriff Baca, even I knew that. Plus, after my 2 quarters of my masters program, if Paris is suicidally depressed, a stay in her own bed and a cupcake isn't gonna fix it (that's a big statement coming from a cupcake enthusiast). Mainly, my interest in this whole stupid debacle is that fact that I have been losing sleep due to the sound of helicopters buzzing around my neighborhood. Fine, I get it, Paris Hilton lives right up the street but that doesn't mean I want my walls to vibrate at 8am. I'm just glad she's back in jail so I can get some rest.
Now that I am on a brief break from school, I've been going on adventures. My favorite one lately was an early afternoon stop to the Treat Street roving Silverlake bakery. I had my very first praline and it was a-m-a-z-i-n-g. Check out their blog... Treat Street.
I've also realized that I have a few favorite homeless people in LA. This sounds strange and condescending at first but there are a few people that stick around in the same spots and become a part of the local scenery. For instance, I love the 80's acid-washed finger-in-a-light-socket-hair guy that is frequently on the payphone at La Cienega and Santa Monica Blvd. His leg scarves are hilarious and his outfits have become increasingly ridiculous. There is also the Roller-skating Dance Star on Robertson between 3rd and Burton Way. He is often found wearing lyrca with his hair in a ponytail and he shakes his booty to his boombox. Sometimes when he needs a change of pace, he skates in circles around the nearby gas station. What's not to love?
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