In the desert. And, Shut Up And Listen.

Hello, Heat Wave.

At work, I sit in a corner cubicle. I am drinking Gatorade and naively hoping it doesn't stain my tongue blue but I know the damage has already been done.

Cleaning out my closet. It's hot and I'm convinced that every bit of extra material or source of clutter adds an extra layer of heat in my room. It's also time to clean out my closet of everything I'd be embarrassed to be wearing in a car accident.

The winds of change are upon us. The bright and hot July sun of Southern California may have blindsided you in forgetting that they come around this town. Why is it always the cool ones that leave LA ? It's never that annoying old bag that looks like E.T.

Still dragging my feet.
I'm two Advil deep and completely spent - it's not quite five o'clock yet.
Maybe I should start taking St. John's Wort. It's sitting in my kitchen cabinet. The problem with consuming something like that is the fact that it's called Wort.

Shut Up. And Listen.
It's fun to answer the phone when someone cuts you off to ask you something you've already answered when you said your name. No one listens anymore. Everyone just wants to hear themselves talk and cut you off and make you anal enough to blog about it.

Why is it that people can't stop yakking these days ? There are five old dudes standing outside my apartment window every night, smoking and yammering the night away. This happens about five or six nights a week, guys in their 30s-60s range. They stand on the sidewalk in the front of their apartment building, which is adjacent to mine.

COTW

Scott Michael Foster - so I've been catching up on Greek episodes, starting with the pilot. Entertaining, I must say. Also, I'd rather make out with Cappie than Evan - I'm surprised, too. And Turtle snuggling with Jamie-Lynn Sigler on Entourage? Perhaps the era of the loser has arrived.

Acqua di Gio by Giorgio Armani for men. It was hot on my prom date, and, surprisingly, it's absolutely seductive still. I want to make out with it, it's so goood. Just not when you can smell it a mile away.

People who listen! There is a threat of extinction.

DOTW

Guys in those half-shirt crop tops at the gym. Those are wrong anywhere. My goodness.

Guys in crocs.

So they say. And, Hypotension, I think.

Writers write. At least, that's what people keep telling me. And the nagging feeling keeps nudging at me.

So I sat in my apartment on a Saturday night. That's when my body finally began waking up. And my brain, so be it. Something about a hot day sucks the motivation and the energy and the brainpower right outta ya.

Life cannot be lived within four walls of one of LA's apartments, lamenting life and watching an Entourage marathon. Plus, cabin fever. After being back in the apartment hunting predicament - Los Angeles, for all its glitz and glamourized reputation, has a disparity of socioeconomic strata, and also, a wide variety of gloomy, apartments available. We're in the SoCal desert, people, get central air already! Omg.

My wrist and my elbow are throbbing because I have tendonitis. Carpal tunnel's precursor. And, my foot has a new scar from a bug that bit me while I was eating lunch during work.

I just remembered something else they say. The worst part of writing, is, writing.
Why is it that people tell you that when you think you're not being productive, you're not learning anything or experiencing any personal growth, you really are, you just don't know it yet ? It's that kind of bullshit that pisses you off when you hear it. I'm just sayin'.

But I'm an American, I think. We are experts at wasting time. Oh yeah, and obesity. Americans are known for being able to add heart disease to any healthy food item. So - back to wasting time. We are the creators of myspace, twitter, youtube, and facebook, after all. And, of course, I'm in Los Angeles. There's traffic and parties and shopping on Melrose and doing laundry and self-deprecation and celeb-spotting at the Grove. All while hating L.A. - that stuff all takes time out of your day.

And why the fuck is it so hot in my apartment when it's 60 degrees outside at night?

Hypotension.
Am I tired because I'm depressed or am I depressed because I'm tired ?

I think I should be diagnosed with low blood pressure. In fact, I am convinced that's what I have. 90 over 60 consistently, sleeping for 8, 10, 12 hours at a time. And still exhausted, all the time. Thanks, WebMD. Now let's see what my doc says after I've one-upped him.

July is Lasagna Month, and Bring On The Mondays.

I have a new goal of finishing all the food I have in my kitchen before moving at the end of August.
Last night, I made lasagna for the first time. Today I had lasagna for lunch, and then for dinner. Hmm. This could get boring. Lunch, dinner, lunch, dinner.

I have an entire box of lasagna noodles to finish, though, so...July is Lasagna Month, Everybody.
Will keep you posted on what's cooking. And when I find the next digs to call home.

Bring on the Mondays.
I psycho-slept again. Eleven hours last night. If you called me - I was sleeping. Then I still felt tired so went back to bed for what ended up being four more hours - in jeans and make-up and sandals and all. Fifteen hours of sleep. Yes, I've been taking my vitamins and drinking water and exercising. I haven't left my apartment all day save for getting some stuff from my car. Watched Borat. Watched Californication. Heated up some dinner.

Looking forward to work tomorrow, the Monday after a holiday weekend. Been social up until today's episode of narcolepsy.