This morning, Justin's friend David Meijer, a tall, soft-spoken Swede, bungy-corded the pool cleaner back together so he could fish the dead squirrel out of the bottom of our pool. It looked like a very old Chinese man, its paws neatly folded on its chest, although with the somewhat open mouth, it had the appearance of yodelling.
Such is life in LA. Never a dull moment.It's a weird place, but I find myself unable to either appreciate the weirdness or rebel against it, because I am very very tired. Clearly all this driving and moving around and being friendly to people has completely worn me out, because I am nothing if not tired right now. Usually I have all kinds of energy and can think of tons of fun things to do, but now mostly I just have enough energy and strength to contemplate making another mug of tea and then blowing up some Peeps in the microwave.
San Francisco, beautiful San Francisco and the lapping of your clustered houses against the hills in a way that would be pornographic if the San Fernando Valley (where I am right now) didn't have the market tightly sewn up (har!) on womanly references. I had a lovely if whirlwind time there, characterized by looking for replacement windshield wiper parts and the kind of solid good company that leaves you feeling lucky to know the people you know.
My friend Rob and I went for breakfast and he told me of the remarkably Dickensian twists of his current living situation, then showed me his new digs in the Mission, a cool green house with nary a hint of said labyrinthine travails. Then I left his disheveled hair and twisted humor to meet with a brand new friend, MB. I call him MB since I don't know if he wants to be known by initials, although the likelihood of him ever noticing his presence here is probably low.
I flirted with MB twice, each time to absolutely no avail: the first time at the vice-presidential debate, at which he sat next to me, and said no more than "I'm sorry, was that your foot?" in between shouting at the horror that was Sarah Palin. The second time was in the aimlessly meandering aftermath of clowns vs. mimes in the Mission; he was the organizer, and ended up walking from bar to bar in half-removed mime makeup, swigging from a bottle of whiskey every time we got inside.
You might fathom that MB is a somewhat interesting chap, with a multitude of interests and talents; you'd be right. And that's all I'll state, except that anyone who uses the word "pugilism" on the first date is a hottie.
So my life is full of delicious friends, old and new, and I finished my taxes. Now if I could just stop feeling so damn tired, I guarantee I'd be up to my old self again. In the meantime, have a picture of the Honky Christmas, a chocolate set I found in a drugstore in Canada. I also found it unintentionally hilarious, especially given the opposing gang colors.