Holy cow.
Blogging will resume when I feel slightly normal again...it may be a couple days.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
The Sign
7:55 am, and my mom, dad and I are applying sunblock. A slight breeze floats through, and the mountain looms high. My mom tests her newly bought walking sticks, decides they are useful enough, and nods. We begin.
The Hollyridge Trail begins at about 800 feet above sea level, but we have to gain about 900 feet ourselves before we will be level with the sign. The actual walk is 1.8 miles each way, on a dusty trail with scrub on each side, concealing spiders, rattlesnakes, and cute little lizards that dart in and out of the shallow patches of shade created by the bushes.
I cannot believe my mother wants to climb this thing.
A word about my mom: she is easily the most stubborn person I have ever met (and when she reads that, she'll take it as a compliment). However, her knees have been annoying to her for quite some time; a side effect of having naturally bad knees (which I think I've inherited), having arthritis (which I know I've inherited) and playing catcher for a softball team in her youth. When my mom said "I really want to do that hike", my first thought was "Seriously??" Then I remembered that I've never seen her back down from anything, and her reaction didn't shock me at all.
I hiked up to the Hollywood Sign for the first time in March, with R and the kids. We thought it was a pretty decent hike (enough to wear out R's 7 year old son, which is always a tough task) and when I got to the top I looked around and thought "My mom would love this." So I told her about it. Little did I know, the very next day she began upping the incline on her treadmill, in preparation for what she later called my challenge to her.
Now, 4 months later, mom uses her walking sticks like a pro, and her face is set in determination. Every so often my dad or I will crack a joke, and my mom lets out a laugh that rings through the hills as she sets her feet toward the top. The sun climbs with us, and the heat of a sunny SoCal day begins to build.
The climb is split into 3 parts in my mind, and I try to guage the distance for my mom, let her know how much further we have to climb. The easiest landmark is the one we're aiming for, but when it's out of sight I try to let her know what's left. We move up the steep first part, and into the mostly flat middle part of the hike. We stop at every patch of shade to breathe for a bit, and enjoy the view.
Near the top of the mountain, the trail winds around back and offers a spectacular view of the valley. I point out to my parents the freeway, the cemetary, Burbank, and we manage to pick out the school where I teach.
"Not much further!" I tell my parents.
"You keep saying that!" my mom laughs, and takes a mock swipe at me with one of her sticks.
"No, really, we're almost there" I say, and my mom turns and books it up the trail.
At the top of the mountain, the sign is about 20 feet below where you stand, and a chain link fence keeps people from defacing the sign or killing themselves. I turn and gesture spectacularly to my parents. My mom frowns.
"Your pictures didn't have a fence in them" she accuses. I point to the very peak of the mountain, and the small scramble it takes to get up there.
My mother-- the woman with the bad knees who just killed a whole mountain in one hour-- looks, hands me her purse, and hikes up to the tippy top.
We stayed up there for about 45 minutes, taking in the view, texting and calling people (mom wanted to call her mom and casually remark "yeah, I'm just sitting up on top of the Hollywood Sign, how are you?"). I pointed out what I could of the geography.
Mom sat back, drank water, and smiled; she was queen of Los Angeles for a day.
The Hollyridge Trail begins at about 800 feet above sea level, but we have to gain about 900 feet ourselves before we will be level with the sign. The actual walk is 1.8 miles each way, on a dusty trail with scrub on each side, concealing spiders, rattlesnakes, and cute little lizards that dart in and out of the shallow patches of shade created by the bushes.
I cannot believe my mother wants to climb this thing.
A word about my mom: she is easily the most stubborn person I have ever met (and when she reads that, she'll take it as a compliment). However, her knees have been annoying to her for quite some time; a side effect of having naturally bad knees (which I think I've inherited), having arthritis (which I know I've inherited) and playing catcher for a softball team in her youth. When my mom said "I really want to do that hike", my first thought was "Seriously??" Then I remembered that I've never seen her back down from anything, and her reaction didn't shock me at all.
I hiked up to the Hollywood Sign for the first time in March, with R and the kids. We thought it was a pretty decent hike (enough to wear out R's 7 year old son, which is always a tough task) and when I got to the top I looked around and thought "My mom would love this." So I told her about it. Little did I know, the very next day she began upping the incline on her treadmill, in preparation for what she later called my challenge to her.
Now, 4 months later, mom uses her walking sticks like a pro, and her face is set in determination. Every so often my dad or I will crack a joke, and my mom lets out a laugh that rings through the hills as she sets her feet toward the top. The sun climbs with us, and the heat of a sunny SoCal day begins to build.
The climb is split into 3 parts in my mind, and I try to guage the distance for my mom, let her know how much further we have to climb. The easiest landmark is the one we're aiming for, but when it's out of sight I try to let her know what's left. We move up the steep first part, and into the mostly flat middle part of the hike. We stop at every patch of shade to breathe for a bit, and enjoy the view.
Near the top of the mountain, the trail winds around back and offers a spectacular view of the valley. I point out to my parents the freeway, the cemetary, Burbank, and we manage to pick out the school where I teach.
"Not much further!" I tell my parents.
"You keep saying that!" my mom laughs, and takes a mock swipe at me with one of her sticks.
"No, really, we're almost there" I say, and my mom turns and books it up the trail.
At the top of the mountain, the sign is about 20 feet below where you stand, and a chain link fence keeps people from defacing the sign or killing themselves. I turn and gesture spectacularly to my parents. My mom frowns.
"Your pictures didn't have a fence in them" she accuses. I point to the very peak of the mountain, and the small scramble it takes to get up there.
My mother-- the woman with the bad knees who just killed a whole mountain in one hour-- looks, hands me her purse, and hikes up to the tippy top.
We stayed up there for about 45 minutes, taking in the view, texting and calling people (mom wanted to call her mom and casually remark "yeah, I'm just sitting up on top of the Hollywood Sign, how are you?"). I pointed out what I could of the geography.
Mom sat back, drank water, and smiled; she was queen of Los Angeles for a day.
Life has been handing me lemons...
My car went into the shop for the 5th time this year. I hope it enjoyed its stay, because I'm trading it in after this.
My cat has been into the vet once this week already, and has a follow-up on Saturday. He is currently sleeping under the bed, which worries me.
Faced with all this, and the laundry list of things that need to get done before year #4 of teaching starts, I left the apartment around 3 today. Objective: leave the house. Out of habit, I turned down Vermont, feeling the strong California sun as I went. The hum of the city usually cheers me up, and this time was no exception.
I stopped in to Cherry Pick vintage clothing off Franklin and Vermont, and was way disappointed. Almost no selection, and overpriced in my opinion. A very tattered yellow belt would have set me back $25. Nope.
Out into the sunshine again, and once there I decided it was too hot to just amble through the sunlight and traffic with no plan. I stopped at 7-11 for an iced tea, and ambled through the shade instead. Much better.
After a bit of meandering, I decided to make my way home, and turned up Dracena. On the other side of the street was a sight I couldn't resist: a child and her father armed with a table, a sign, lemons and a blender. Now really, who can resist that? I walked a bit up the street, tucked my newly purchased iced tea into my purse, and crossed back over.
While my lovely lemon drink was being prepared, I found out the reason for the lemonade stand: raising money to go see the grandparents in Scotland. With an 11 hour flight to look forward to, they had picked the lemons off their backyard tree and decided to try the concept. It reminded me of the time my brother's friends and I had tried a lemonade stand; we had a folding table set up at the end of a cul-de-sac, and so only had about 6 customers in 3 days. We had big plans to sell lemonade, pop, and various homemade desserts. Since the average age of the group was 9, the idea was abandoned after a few days and a few botched recipes. We spent more time hurriedly cleaning up the kitchen before mom got home than actually vending our creations, which I'm pretty sure no one would have actually eaten.
The girl standing in front of me now had much more mastery over the stand than we did. She squeezed lemons, poured juice, ran the blender, and even gave me my choice of staw color (I decided on purple). It was the perfect way to punctuate my bad day.
If you are in the area, I think you should head over to Dracena and see what I mean.
My cat has been into the vet once this week already, and has a follow-up on Saturday. He is currently sleeping under the bed, which worries me.
Faced with all this, and the laundry list of things that need to get done before year #4 of teaching starts, I left the apartment around 3 today. Objective: leave the house. Out of habit, I turned down Vermont, feeling the strong California sun as I went. The hum of the city usually cheers me up, and this time was no exception.
I stopped in to Cherry Pick vintage clothing off Franklin and Vermont, and was way disappointed. Almost no selection, and overpriced in my opinion. A very tattered yellow belt would have set me back $25. Nope.
Out into the sunshine again, and once there I decided it was too hot to just amble through the sunlight and traffic with no plan. I stopped at 7-11 for an iced tea, and ambled through the shade instead. Much better.
After a bit of meandering, I decided to make my way home, and turned up Dracena. On the other side of the street was a sight I couldn't resist: a child and her father armed with a table, a sign, lemons and a blender. Now really, who can resist that? I walked a bit up the street, tucked my newly purchased iced tea into my purse, and crossed back over.
While my lovely lemon drink was being prepared, I found out the reason for the lemonade stand: raising money to go see the grandparents in Scotland. With an 11 hour flight to look forward to, they had picked the lemons off their backyard tree and decided to try the concept. It reminded me of the time my brother's friends and I had tried a lemonade stand; we had a folding table set up at the end of a cul-de-sac, and so only had about 6 customers in 3 days. We had big plans to sell lemonade, pop, and various homemade desserts. Since the average age of the group was 9, the idea was abandoned after a few days and a few botched recipes. We spent more time hurriedly cleaning up the kitchen before mom got home than actually vending our creations, which I'm pretty sure no one would have actually eaten.
The girl standing in front of me now had much more mastery over the stand than we did. She squeezed lemons, poured juice, ran the blender, and even gave me my choice of staw color (I decided on purple). It was the perfect way to punctuate my bad day.
If you are in the area, I think you should head over to Dracena and see what I mean.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Bloggerprom!!!
Alternate title: Amazing-ness.
R and I got dolled up on Wednesday night for an evening of prom fun. My words will not do the experience justice, so here's the visual breakdown:
The Venue
The Food
(Didn't snag a picture of the mushroom risotto I had, but it was to DIE FOR!)
The Drinks
(I had a Prom Punch Jungle Juice, courtesy of The Liquid Muse...delicious)
There's no picture of it, but we rocked out to 80's tunes all night...fun!!
The Raffle...I won! Thank you Bloggerprom Committee!!! (Photo from Caroline on Crack's Flickr)
The Gift Bag...I don't have a picture, but truly awesome swag inside. I think I've eaten all the eats already, I've watched almost all the Big Bang episodes (when I saw the full first season in the bag I squealed, R can attest to it) and I am very excited about my samples of Pinky Vodka and Miller's Gin. And of course, the "born to blog" T-shirt is excellent :)
Thank you Bloggerprom, for an awesome event!!!
R and I got dolled up on Wednesday night for an evening of prom fun. My words will not do the experience justice, so here's the visual breakdown:
The Venue
The Food
(Didn't snag a picture of the mushroom risotto I had, but it was to DIE FOR!)
The Drinks
(I had a Prom Punch Jungle Juice, courtesy of The Liquid Muse...delicious)
There's no picture of it, but we rocked out to 80's tunes all night...fun!!
The Raffle...I won! Thank you Bloggerprom Committee!!! (Photo from Caroline on Crack's Flickr)
The Gift Bag...I don't have a picture, but truly awesome swag inside. I think I've eaten all the eats already, I've watched almost all the Big Bang episodes (when I saw the full first season in the bag I squealed, R can attest to it) and I am very excited about my samples of Pinky Vodka and Miller's Gin. And of course, the "born to blog" T-shirt is excellent :)
Thank you Bloggerprom, for an awesome event!!!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Happy Anniversary, Los Angeles!
A year ago today, I woke up tired and confused. I looked around R's apartment and smiled, because it was my favorite place to be. And then I looked at my bed frame leaning against the mock fireplace. As my brain realized there was no way I could have flown a bed frame out to LA for a weekend visit, I whispered to myself "well crap, I really went ahead and moved to LA, didn't I?"
I'm very glad I did. Here's my year by the numbers:
2,100: miles driven to get to the city.
3: number of job interviews before procuring the best job ever.
5: number of apartments looked at before settling on this one.
6: hours my poor parents were stuck in Chicago flying my cats out to live with us.
17: approximate number of times R had to explain to me the difference between the 101, the 110 and the 10.
248: approximate number of times I had to hear the word "soda" before it sounded all right.
5: number of earthquakes felt
1: number of gang fights witnessed
10: number of celebrities spotted and/or interacted with
9,431: approximate number of times a snide teacher said "welcome to the district" with a sarcastic nasal quality
9,431: approximate number of times I almost slapped a snide teacher
4: number of visits to the DMV to register 1 car
2: Number of times hiked to the Hollywood sign
All in all, a pretty good year.
I'm very glad I did. Here's my year by the numbers:
2,100: miles driven to get to the city.
3: number of job interviews before procuring the best job ever.
5: number of apartments looked at before settling on this one.
6: hours my poor parents were stuck in Chicago flying my cats out to live with us.
17: approximate number of times R had to explain to me the difference between the 101, the 110 and the 10.
248: approximate number of times I had to hear the word "soda" before it sounded all right.
5: number of earthquakes felt
1: number of gang fights witnessed
10: number of celebrities spotted and/or interacted with
9,431: approximate number of times a snide teacher said "welcome to the district" with a sarcastic nasal quality
9,431: approximate number of times I almost slapped a snide teacher
4: number of visits to the DMV to register 1 car
2: Number of times hiked to the Hollywood sign
All in all, a pretty good year.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Celebrity Sighting #10
While R and I waited in line for Harry Potter at our local theater, I received a text from R. This is odd, I thought, because he's right next to me. Phone comes out, and the message?
Alice Cooper is standing right behind us.
Sure enough, a slight turn of the head confirmed this. I didn't get any pictures or an autograph, because if I can't figure out who it is on my own, then he's not big enough to me to freak out about. But it was very fun to watch him in the theater later, walking up and down the aisles to look for a spot, and then hopping over to his chosen spot through people's knees with kernels of popcorn
spilling out of the bag and as he went. Also, I hope he enjoyed the movie.
Alice Cooper is standing right behind us.
Sure enough, a slight turn of the head confirmed this. I didn't get any pictures or an autograph, because if I can't figure out who it is on my own, then he's not big enough to me to freak out about. But it was very fun to watch him in the theater later, walking up and down the aisles to look for a spot, and then hopping over to his chosen spot through people's knees with kernels of popcorn
spilling out of the bag and as he went. Also, I hope he enjoyed the movie.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
One Year Ago
Screw this, I'm going for a walk.
After a week and a half of fruitless job searching from 2,100 miles away, I turn off the monitor of my hulking dinosaur computer (a high school graduation present), leaving behind 14 or so Craigslist job applications for everything from teacher to secretary to full-time Beverly Hills nanny. Instead of facing reality, I lace up my walking shoes. ipod in hand, I head out the patio door, ignoring the "take me with you" meows of my cats, and the "I'll rip you to shreds" barking of my neighbor's ankle-high dog. I turn on a song that's peaceful to me, and start to book it to the park.
The ipod is no help, and thoughts invade: how am I going to find a job in L.A. when I'm in Michigan? When am I going to actually do this? It's mid-July and I haven't even taken ANY steps toward moving. I mean, literally. Come on girl, what the hell? You haven't put anything in any boxes, you haven't created a timeline, you're sinfully unorganized, especially for you. What are you waiting for, the stars to line up perfectly? They won't, this is a messy process. Oh my god, I came out here to get away from this crap! Shut up!!!
My thoughts finally slip away for about 10 minutes, and then I come upon them: the Smith family. I have taught two of their sons, and before I can blink, the summer-crazed boys are upon me, shouting their hellos and running around each other, off the trail to inspect this berry or that leaf, and their parents simply smile, relaxed and amused by it all.
"Hey, we thought you were moving this summer!" the dad begins.
"I am," I reply.
"Well, when are you leaving?"
"Pretty soon, I just have to get a couple things in line."
"Like what?" His eyebrows start to raise, and this slowly continues throughout the whole conversation.
"Well mostly I'm trying to get a job nailed down, but it's tough from over here." I think I have started to blush and stammer. My grand plan is only supposed to look cracked and ridiculous from my side; the whole world isn't supposed to see how bad it is.
"Um, aren't you forgetting about an apartment?"
At this point, I have more faith in myself. Clearly, this man has no clue that in order to find an apartment in a big city, you have to BE in that big city. I obtained my small-town apartment, sight unseen, over the phone, because it was the only apartment available in all of Coldwater. No one in their right mind in Los Angeles would rent to someone they hadn't seen in person. No one.
I explain the apartment situation as delicately as I can, doing my best not to sound haughty or like a know-it-all. My god, this man just does not get it.
"Well," he continues. "You'd better get on it. I'd hate to see you still stuck here in August with no job anywhere."
Yes, you person who is starting to annoy. I have considered this.
"That won't happen," I continue. "I'm moving out there, job or not. If I end up doing something that isn't teaching for a year, so be it."
"Well," the dad says (I am beginning to hate that he starts all his sentences with this word, spoken in such a way as to imply that HE is trying to get ME to see the light, diplomatically but overbearingly). "Well, we'll see. Have a good one, Becky." And his family turns away and continues up the trail, leaving me annoyed beyond belief. We'll see? We'll SEE?? Oh, you suck. You hear that, obnoxiously nice father of nice and talented children? You SUCK!
Deciding that there is clearly no escape from the situation I have brewing, I give up and jog home. The cats meow their hellos. The computer hums to life again, and the rest of the evening is spent bouncing between the aforementioned job aps, various moving truck websites, and the Craigslist apartment finder.
I will stitch together a life.
After a week and a half of fruitless job searching from 2,100 miles away, I turn off the monitor of my hulking dinosaur computer (a high school graduation present), leaving behind 14 or so Craigslist job applications for everything from teacher to secretary to full-time Beverly Hills nanny. Instead of facing reality, I lace up my walking shoes. ipod in hand, I head out the patio door, ignoring the "take me with you" meows of my cats, and the "I'll rip you to shreds" barking of my neighbor's ankle-high dog. I turn on a song that's peaceful to me, and start to book it to the park.
The ipod is no help, and thoughts invade: how am I going to find a job in L.A. when I'm in Michigan? When am I going to actually do this? It's mid-July and I haven't even taken ANY steps toward moving. I mean, literally. Come on girl, what the hell? You haven't put anything in any boxes, you haven't created a timeline, you're sinfully unorganized, especially for you. What are you waiting for, the stars to line up perfectly? They won't, this is a messy process. Oh my god, I came out here to get away from this crap! Shut up!!!My thoughts finally slip away for about 10 minutes, and then I come upon them: the Smith family. I have taught two of their sons, and before I can blink, the summer-crazed boys are upon me, shouting their hellos and running around each other, off the trail to inspect this berry or that leaf, and their parents simply smile, relaxed and amused by it all.
"Hey, we thought you were moving this summer!" the dad begins.
"I am," I reply.
"Well, when are you leaving?"
"Pretty soon, I just have to get a couple things in line."
"Like what?" His eyebrows start to raise, and this slowly continues throughout the whole conversation.
"Well mostly I'm trying to get a job nailed down, but it's tough from over here." I think I have started to blush and stammer. My grand plan is only supposed to look cracked and ridiculous from my side; the whole world isn't supposed to see how bad it is.
"Um, aren't you forgetting about an apartment?"
At this point, I have more faith in myself. Clearly, this man has no clue that in order to find an apartment in a big city, you have to BE in that big city. I obtained my small-town apartment, sight unseen, over the phone, because it was the only apartment available in all of Coldwater. No one in their right mind in Los Angeles would rent to someone they hadn't seen in person. No one.I explain the apartment situation as delicately as I can, doing my best not to sound haughty or like a know-it-all. My god, this man just does not get it.
"Well," he continues. "You'd better get on it. I'd hate to see you still stuck here in August with no job anywhere."
Yes, you person who is starting to annoy. I have considered this.
"That won't happen," I continue. "I'm moving out there, job or not. If I end up doing something that isn't teaching for a year, so be it."
"Well," the dad says (I am beginning to hate that he starts all his sentences with this word, spoken in such a way as to imply that HE is trying to get ME to see the light, diplomatically but overbearingly). "Well, we'll see. Have a good one, Becky." And his family turns away and continues up the trail, leaving me annoyed beyond belief. We'll see? We'll SEE?? Oh, you suck. You hear that, obnoxiously nice father of nice and talented children? You SUCK!
Deciding that there is clearly no escape from the situation I have brewing, I give up and jog home. The cats meow their hellos. The computer hums to life again, and the rest of the evening is spent bouncing between the aforementioned job aps, various moving truck websites, and the Craigslist apartment finder.
I will stitch together a life.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Celebrity Non-sighting #9
She and I ate dinner 15 feet away from each other tonight.
I didn't notice, because my tofu wrap was that good.
I didn't notice, because my tofu wrap was that good.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
My New Hat
It started with a leisurely trip to the Grove Farmer's Market. My parents are in town, so R and I thought we should take them to a place where they could see and be seen, eat strange foods and people-watch to their hearts' content. I had no idea they would plop this on my head:
and then have the nerve to joke that it looked good. After much eye-rolling, I lifted the hat off my head, only to have them put it back on me again. "It looks adorable," they said. Are you kidding me? I went to the mirror to inspect. Surprisingly, not bad. I told them I would think about it.
Over the next half hour, we shopped and ate our way through the farmer's market, and the hat kept getting brought up. Was I going to buy the hat? Why was I gone so long? I must have been over in that shop, buying the hat. Finally, I went in again, and perched it on my head. Another few glances in the mirror, an approving smile from the boyfriend, and I admitted defeat. My friend the debit card came out, and the hat was mine.
I carried my new hat through the Grove, until finally R looked at me and said "put it on already". In my opinion, this was quite a demand to make. I mean, we're talking about The Grove here. People come from all over to shop at this Disney-like fairyland of retail. Snooty women and their snooty dogs wander by in maxi dresses with purses worth more than I pay in rent. Men wear berets and dark sweaters, and sit with their ipods on shuffle while looking for ideas for the latest screenplay. People here have style. Clearly, I could not put my ginormous hat on and wander through this crowd of socialites. I could almost hear them whispering behind their hands now: "look how short she is! my god, the hat makes her look even shorter! who does she think she is in that hat?"
I scanned the crowd nervously. Suddenly, I realized my key mistake. I saw women wearing shorts that showed the bottoms of their rear ends. Teenagers snapped gum as they clopped by in their gladiator-like sandals. A women playing with her baby bent down, and the back of her dress dipped to reveal her 3-hooked bra to the world. As she righted herself, the bra stayed on display, and a wedgie appeared on the scene. My God. These people have no taste.
The hat went on.
I have now discovered that in order to pull off a hat so ridiculously big, I must give off an air of "I don't care what you think, bitches". It is a personality-altering hat. It is a "Hello dah-ling, how good of you to drop by" hat. It is a "who does she think she is in that hat" hat. I rather like it.
Everyone else in L.A. is a character. I guess it's time I tried on the costumes to see what part I'll play.
and then have the nerve to joke that it looked good. After much eye-rolling, I lifted the hat off my head, only to have them put it back on me again. "It looks adorable," they said. Are you kidding me? I went to the mirror to inspect. Surprisingly, not bad. I told them I would think about it.
Over the next half hour, we shopped and ate our way through the farmer's market, and the hat kept getting brought up. Was I going to buy the hat? Why was I gone so long? I must have been over in that shop, buying the hat. Finally, I went in again, and perched it on my head. Another few glances in the mirror, an approving smile from the boyfriend, and I admitted defeat. My friend the debit card came out, and the hat was mine.
I carried my new hat through the Grove, until finally R looked at me and said "put it on already". In my opinion, this was quite a demand to make. I mean, we're talking about The Grove here. People come from all over to shop at this Disney-like fairyland of retail. Snooty women and their snooty dogs wander by in maxi dresses with purses worth more than I pay in rent. Men wear berets and dark sweaters, and sit with their ipods on shuffle while looking for ideas for the latest screenplay. People here have style. Clearly, I could not put my ginormous hat on and wander through this crowd of socialites. I could almost hear them whispering behind their hands now: "look how short she is! my god, the hat makes her look even shorter! who does she think she is in that hat?"
I scanned the crowd nervously. Suddenly, I realized my key mistake. I saw women wearing shorts that showed the bottoms of their rear ends. Teenagers snapped gum as they clopped by in their gladiator-like sandals. A women playing with her baby bent down, and the back of her dress dipped to reveal her 3-hooked bra to the world. As she righted herself, the bra stayed on display, and a wedgie appeared on the scene. My God. These people have no taste.
The hat went on.
I have now discovered that in order to pull off a hat so ridiculously big, I must give off an air of "I don't care what you think, bitches". It is a personality-altering hat. It is a "Hello dah-ling, how good of you to drop by" hat. It is a "who does she think she is in that hat" hat. I rather like it.
Everyone else in L.A. is a character. I guess it's time I tried on the costumes to see what part I'll play.
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