Obsession, What Happened in the Kitchen, and Have Some Class, Beyotch

Being in my apartment is just too depressing.

It's early evening and still light out. I find myself in the same cafe that offered solace yesterday. As it gets darker I notice that I've managed to snag a seat at the only table which has a burnt-out light bulb hanging overhead. every other table that is located near an outlet is taken, and its pretty full. Love. Ah. Ly.

Whilst trying not to think about my apartment...
[www.webster.com]
obsession. noun. 1: a persistent disturbing preoccupation with an often unreasonable idea or feeling; broadly : compelling motivation 2: something that causes an obsession.
It's the apartment hunting on the brain, which I don't have any time to be doing, but that's the thing about fixation.
No water pressure in the bathroom sink for three sporadic days.

What Happened in the Kitchen
I replace the coffee filter in the machine, add the coffee, and it starts brewing. I return a few minutes later and push the button to dispense coffee into the cup. I let go of the button. The coffee continues dispensing into the 12-cup carafe.

Have Some Class, Beyotch
About those blazingly insecure assistants in the biz that are all too prevalent and the unfortunate and devil-spawned bosses that perpetuate the abrasive bitchiness...
Don't forget that life is incredibly short to be wasting so much time and energy.

Me: Hello...just wanted to check if that meeting happened already.
Insecure Assistant: What meeting?
Me: the one between...[insert names].
Beyotch (I.A.) : When was it?
Me: That's why I'm calling. To check if it happened - would have been within the last couple weeks.
Beyotch: I need a date. Maybe you should check your information and call back when you're ready.
Me: No. That's why I'm calling - to find out which date it was, if it's already taken place.
Beyotch: Well, I don't know.
Me: Well can you -
Beyotch: 'Bye.
Click.

So..can you ask your boss, you incompetent moron? Have some class, beyotch.

It's a teeny tiny town, and karma does not forget.

The cloud that hangs over a certain second floor apartment

It's depressingly hot in my apartment. The kind of hot where the ceiling fans I've turned on and the windows I've opened up provide insufficient comfort for the second floor dwelling which has been my miserable home for the past ten and half months. It's not as unbearable as it was last weekend, with the air just horribly sweltering and the air breaking a hundred degrees before mid-day.

No, it's the kind where it's more subtle, not disgusting as you first walk in, but gradually you feel incredibly tired and lie down, proceed to take a nap, then wake up because it's hot and the only thing sucking the energy out of you is this discomfort which stealthily hangs its cloudy head over your second floor apartment.

I wash off my makeup using the water from the shower since next to NO FREAKING WATER is coming out of the bathroom sink. It's always something. With no make-up on, I grab my books and my laptop and seek refuge in a nearby coffeehouse across the street. As I walk down the steps and onto the sidewalk, instantly my body feels comfort, the cooler 79 degrees a world away from the cloudy karma of the space I've just left.

When you can't relax at home, it leaves you ill at ease. Pretty much all the time, but basically whenever you head back to your apartment, whenever you're there, well you get the picture. It makes for the crap festival that your mood is experiencing, which, if unresolved, unappeased, and unrelenting, may result in that huge prick at the coffeehouse with that gaping chip in their shoulder.

So I'm sitting here, at this coffeehouse (thank God for coffeehouses), checking apartment listings and venting off about the living space that is my apartment, steaming at the current state of things, trying to figure out how quickly and easily does a person's attitude change. There are so many circumstances that come into play. And to single one out would not identify a single overriding catalyst to these things. Man, the circumstances which can change a person.

Sometimes you just have to get out of your apartment.

Another Bleak Hollywood Story & My Mom's Famous One-Liners

I should not go out. I just shouldn't go out. The hassle is not worth it, so just so you know, friends, I will NOT be joining you at your next outing in freaking Hollywood. Nothing personal.

Let me recount the horrible story that filled one ugly Friday night of my life.
It's 10:40pm on a hot June night in Hollywood. I circle past Ritual for my friend's birthday bash, in search of scarce street parking. I finally pull into the lot on Cahuenga Blvd., and quickly U-turn out when I learn the damage would be $20. If people only knew how hard-earned my twenty dollars were. SO, on to parking a few blocks away for a much lighter sum.

The crowd waiting outside the club is already about a hundred deep, the door guy who looks like he's had a few drinks is letting people in only in handfuls at a time. One woman walks around with a guest list on a clipboard, checking people in. After 20 minutes of waiting, waiting for the guy, watching the door guy accept cash from guys and him letting them in with their friends, I finally get past the gate and he slips me a small blue ticket. I get carded by the bouncer and then proceed to the entrance. I hand the woman at the counter my ticket and she says, "Fifteen dollars, please."

Me: What? It's supposed to be comp - I'm on the guest list for the birthday party.
Woman at Counter: This ticket is for discounted cover. Check with the girl with the list.
I turn around, go back to the girl with the clipboard.

Me: Excuse me, I'm on the guest list for the (my friend's name) birthday party.
Clipboard Girl: What promoter is she under?
Me: I'm not sure - she didn't tell me about a promoter. My friend's name is ---.
Clipboard Girl looks through her list again. She says: I don't have her down, I need to know her promoter.
Me: She said to check in under her name though.

Clipboard Girl does another quick look at her list, shrugs as if to go, 'whatever', and then hands me a big blue ticket. I thank her then walk back over to the other line (the smaller line outside after getting past the crowd waiting outside), get carded again, then practically shove the blue ticket at the Counter Girl. She takes it, and says, "enjoy your night," or something along those lines.
It's now about 11:30pm. I wonder how much of my time I've wasted tonight that I'll never get back.

I walk through the main hallway and to the right there are reserved lounge areas and a dance floor in the middle, with two bars lining the walls. I walk back and forth, then round the bar towards the front. No one familiar yet. I proceed back to the hallway and find the outdoor patio where there are tables, another bar, and the cig-toting clubhoppers. I weave my way through, looking around, walking back to the indoor section adjacent to it, then back to the patio, and then decide to head back to the other side through the hallway.

It's pretty crowded, so I'm tapping people on the shoulder here and there. Just as I step forward to squeeze past the two girls smoking on my left and a handful of guys on my right, one of the girls on my left takes a puff of her cig and lowers her arm. Inches away from getting the back of my left arm burned from the sizzling end of a cigarette butt, I quickly jerk my arm away to dodge the fiery weapon.

My arm does not end up swinging mid-air, however. It lands on - not a table, a column, or plant. A houseplant would have been better. No, my dodging of a lit cigarette had landed on some guy's booty. Horrified, I realize what just happened, and this guy whirls around with his other guy friends and faces me. At this point I have both hands up in the air, palms out.

Me:"I am so sorry. I totally didn't mean to do that - I'm so sorry. I was just about to bump into this girl's cigarette - I'm so sorry, so sorry."

He doesn't say a word, he's just smiling, slightly shocked. I'm completely stunned and, with nothing more to say other than profusely apologizing, I turn and leave him and his speechless friends.

After about 20-30 minutes circling the club, I realize that I don't recognize anyone from my friend's birthday party. A few calls later and we realize that I'm in the wrong freaking club. There's apparently another club right next door to where I was supposed to be. But I wasn't where my friend thought I was. I leave the club, walk outside and turn right. A few blocks down the hill. Started walking west for a couple blocks on Sunset Blvd., and lo and behold, I am finaLLy at the right place.

It's still hot out and I'm sweating in my dress and jacket. The guy at the door says I'll have to wait. And yes I am there solamente. Also: there is no one else outside but me and the two bouncers when he says this. Him in his haughtiness and his two haughty friends in dark suits and smug earpieces standing in front of Social like its nobody's business. Then he proceeds to let 50 other scantily-clad people in before me, while I'm standing there. Wasting. Wasting precious minutes of my time while the guy wasn't letting me in to this club where my friend was having her birthday party and I was on her guest list. I whirl around and head back towards my car, a few blocks away, dialing my birthday pal to let her know that I had to book. I tried, but partying mood was long gone and no night is worth this much hassle.

Conclusion: I'm too old for this and life is too short.

Upside: I got into a club where I wasn't on the guest list and it was gratis. This for an anti-Hollywood nightlife chica, is surprising.

Downside: Wasted time and energy completely outweighs upside.

My Mom's Famous One-Liners
The scene: My mom and I getting ready to go out for breakfast. I've finished getting dressed and putting my make-up on. My mom gets up to go. My mom gives me a quick once-over.
Mom: Aren't you gonna put any make-up on?

And while we're hanging out..
My mom spots my pointy-toed black heels. She quietly examines them.
Mom: Where'd you get those wicked-y witch shoes?

Oh, Omma.

Fleeting Faces and Behold, the Dog Days of Summer are Here

Lately what's been on the brain are faces. Fleeting images of the faces of people I have met, befriended, and eventually parted ways with.

Faces of the people that used to be essential to my life for who I was at the time.

It truly is a gift - the many gatherings, large and small, casual and intimate, that you share with people.

My mother's recent visit to L.A., for one. A lot of great moments and outings packed into a single long weekend. An entire day at the Huntington Library's botanical gardens. But also a couple of the best moments were probably when we were just sitting together, enjoying the weather over a couple cups of good coffee. There's something gloriously delicious about not being rushed and in that moment having all the time in the world.

Time truly moves faster than anything else. How weird that I realize how incredibly precious time is only ex post facto.

Hello, Dog Days
100 degrees and a next-to-useless air conditioner. I gotta move. The heat in the desert of SoCal is enough to suck the energy right out of you. Do people expect to do anything productive when they're sweating it out?

Chocolate-Covered Strawberries and Things of That Nature

The lunch dilemma has now seeped into all other meals - food can rapidly become boring.

Yes, the struggling assistant's budget allows for some limitations - but also the push to be more creative in terms of taste, research, and selection. It's even the small touches that make the monumental differences - not the full-on, three-course meal, but the tasty little details.

In steps Baker's dipping chocolate. I notice the jar at my neighborhood Albertson's. I proceed to the produce aisle - I have never bought Baker's dipping chocolate, or any chocolate that wasn't in the form of individually wrapped confection or semi-sweet chocolate chip. At a loss for something new, I picked it up - I remember that the strawberries at TJ's I had bought was one of those freakishly large-sized berries. Perfect for covering with chocolate.

Wow - I can't believe I just spent an entire paragraph talking about chocolate-covered strawberries. I suppose it really is the simple things in life that is enough to keep me content. Suficiente, supongo, suficiente.