Monkey on my back...literally

I love my boyfriend very much. He is a big part of why I moved to CA, my constant partner in crime and someone I know I will always want around. I love him so much that I put up with his odd decorating sense. A garden gnome, painted by his daughter, hangs out on our kitchen counter every day. A trio of monkeys balancing a giant bowl on their heads sits on the coffee table, waiting for keys, hair ties, and other odds and ends to be tossed in. Two (yes TWO) fruit mosaics are standing in the closet, waiting for a permanent position of prominence in the apartment, which I know they will eventually receive. And then there's the monkey flashlight.

The flashlight was given to R by an old (ex) friend and was really more for the kids. It's Curious George. He holds the wide brim of his big yellow hat, and at the flip of a lever the hat opens and a light shines out, usually accompanied by squeals of glee from anyone who is seeing it for the first time. This is the flashlight used in our apartment, and my big heavy Maglite stays in the linen closet. George has been used to retrieve cat toys, locate spiders who have been sentenced to die, and look for obscure tiny objects that have fallen and need to be resurrected from the carpet. He is a very useful monkey.

Unfortunately, George has fallen out of favor with me today. I was standing in front of the fridge, looking for lunch, when George took on a life of his own. He somehow fidgeted his way to the edge of the fridge top where he perched, and when I least suspected it he launched himself downward, hitting me on the neck before continuing south to annoy neighbors below with the deafening sounds of plastic on kitchen tile. I actually yelped, not unlike a monkey.

I picked George up, slammed him onto the counter, and immediately emailed R explaining that the monkey would need a new, lower, more stable home.

Maybe the closet.

California Rolls

What's more LA than sushi? We decided to take R's kids to get sushi down the street, since it was once again a beautiful day. We ordered them the safe option (chicken teryaki) and then got some California rolls for the non-vegetarians (everyone but me). We told the kids we'd give them a dollar if they tried a California roll. Here are the results:










I am impressed with the bravery...I don't know if I would have done that at 7.

The sky is falling, the sky is falling!

Seriously LA? Rain? Is that all it takes?

That's it. That's all it takes to turn 10 million people into morons, careening and skidding about the roads, turning the freeways into a very dangerous version of the ice capades. Someone I work with managed to be in on time today, despite the FOUR car crashes standing between her and work. I did not have so much luck.

When my alarm went off this morning, I turned it off and listened. Sure enough, the rain was still hitting my windows, and I flew into a frenzy. Hair was left semi-tangled, dishes un-done (ok, that's normal for me) and I almost forgot to put on my socks in my rush to leave. I did make it out the door half an hour early, and it usually only takes me 15 minutes to get to work.

Not today, of course. I did make it with very few hassles, but when it rains the whole city divides into 2 groups:

1. the "Drive like nothing's changed" group (these are the ones who crash)
2. the "Drive like a skittish cat" group (who will slow to 3 mph as soon as they see a drop on the windshield)

There's got to be a happy medium, but I haven't seen it yet.

Oh, and it doesn't help that the soil won't absorb much, making the roads look like this:

The Oscars

I'll be honest, I pretty much don't care.

I'll watch some red carpet interviews, the opening of the actual award ceremony, and a half hour in I'm pretty much over it, and wander off to do something else before bed.

Oh yeah, and this is in Michigan, where the Oscars start at 9 and are 2,000 miles away.

Now, when they show people arriving, I know they're arriving on my turf. I live 3.4 miles from the Oscars, and knowing there are SO many famous people concentrated a few miles that way is just trippy. Oh, and now it starts at 6 for me instead of 9. So I was shocked to find that I sat and watched the entire thing, while doing a puzzle with R that the kids hadn't finished over the weekend. And every time I saw a face of someone I particularly admired as an actor, I had to remind myself "they're right there. Literally, right down the street". As proof, I would remind myself of all the street closures I'd had to navigate around the past few days, how clogged Franklin had become on my way home from work.

The next day, I briefly flicked through some pictures and commentary, laughed at all the details people seemed to want (what were they eating? I mean really, who needs to know what celebrities are eating??) and went right back to not caring again. Also, I realized that if I ever walked past some of these people going incognito on the street with their hats and huge sunglasses (and I'm almost positive that I have) I wouldn't recognize them at all.

I'm bad at Hollywood, but I like living here.

Mornings Around Here

For me, living in LA is like a fairy tale. By this analogy, little birds and woodland creatures should be singing me awake in the morning.


I have a slightly different reality.



At 5:30 each morning without delay and without exception, I will hear the hungry complaints of my cat Duke, who in all his 16 pounds of glory has no business meowing such a squeaky (really rather girly) meow. But meow he does, as he stands with his front two paws on my back, demanding that I wake up and feed him.



This is not as soothing as the little birds would be. Duke will continue relentlessly until I drag myself out of bed, and walk carefully (he insists on walking just in front of me, often turning around to rub against my legs) to the food dish. After this, he will sometimes head back to bed with me to demand attention and cuddling in addition to food. I am happy to oblige, unless he does the annoying thing where he stands just out of reach and continues to complain at me.

Usually around this time, 18 pound Peyton enters the scene. (I should mention that while Peyton is a bit plump, both these cats are naturally big and long and that's why they weigh as much as they do. I do not have unhealthy, morbidly obese cats.) will first hear of him when he slams his paws into the side of the mattress, peering up to see if there is room to join. A few seconds and a loud thud later, Peyton is almost standing on my head. He immediately inspects the bedside table for a glass of water, and if there is one, then nothing else matters to him. While Duke and I cuddle, he steps on my face, crawls over me, rests his tail on my head and proceeds to drink my water while almost sitting on my head. He loves me, no doubt. After the water, he will jump over me and curl up on my other side, so I am in the middle of a very fuzzy sandwich. This is how I wake up every morning; to over 30 pounds of cat.

By 6:30 on weekends, I will usually give up on sleep, grab whichever cat is closest, and walk out into the kitchen with him, petting him while the microwave warms up my morning tea. I think Cinderella would be jealous.

Celebrity Sighting #2

This was awhile ago, but I should document it.

Apparently this lady is famous just for being on billboards, and being blond and driving a pink corvette. I passed her on Franklin near the 101. Oh wait, here's what Wikipedia says:

Angelyne (born 1958) is an American model and occasional actress who has purportedly become an icon of Hollywood and Los Angeles best known for purchasing billboards advertising herself.

Aaaaaaand end lame post.

I'll just panic, thanks very much.

I have gotten so much crap about earthquakes.

It started when I moved out here, and R said "don't worry, we really don't get earthquakes that often". Exactly 9 days after my installment into the city, we are at the post office when one hits.

"Huh. Earthquake," R says in the voice most people use to announce rain, or the score of a baseball game they don't care about. I am frozen. I drop the pen I'm using and grip the sides of my chair as the post office sways and bucks like a ride at Disney Land. Only after the fact do I remember to look up to see if something is going to fall on my head. We have to leave the post office for 20 minutes or so, so I can collect myself enough to go back and finish my change of address form.

Earthquakes 2, 3, and 4 happen while we are in our apartment, which to be fair will sway if a mosquito buzzes by. Still, the second two earthquakes bring me right back to my chair-gripping, wide-eyed frenzy, complete terror in the foreground in lieu of safety and common sense. And then all I can say for the next 5 minutes afterward is "I hate those. I mean, I really hate those. Why do earthquakes have to exist? I hate earthquakes. I hate them". Only this last earthquake, a mere 3.3 from Marina Del Rey, is soft enough that I can lean against the counter and watch nonchalantly as the windows wave back and forth.

My other friends out here laugh at me, stating that anything under magnitude 5 isn't worth fussing over. "Just wait until we get another Northridge," they jeer as I shudder.

I'd love to see those same people deal with a tornado.