Monday, February 27, 2006, 6:05 PM
It's a studio, only 440-square feet, but I've got enough room to do my workout tapes and I didn't at the other apartment because the living room was longer, not wider. I love my little space. The Zen feels right. It's cozy and homey. The neighbors are louder than I'd like, but then they always are.
Not congested. Comcasted. I have cable, man. High speed internet. I'm on the grid. But, uh, why does Comcast keep bringing me digital cable boxes? What don't they understand about a girl who just wants basic service? I have a damn novel to write and I can't be spending all of my time watching their 700-plus channels. Geesh.
I've got water out the wazoo and a crock to pour it out of. My rep's name is Sandro. He thinks the plant stand I allocated for the water crock is just perfect; there was a wide grin on his face when I asked if the stand would do. Afterwards, he shook my hand and said he'd be back in two weeks. Meanwhile, I have nine gallons of water to drink. (So you know if I'm not here, I'm in the bathroom.)
I love my online grocery experience. No parking place hunting, no check-out line waiting, no laundry detergent lugging from car to apartment for me; my stuff comes directly to my door. It's the best thing since Hersheys Nuggets (Kisses are too small and take too long to unwrap).
And ... I'm enjoying the thrill, the utter and complete thrill, of unpacking. Actually, it's not too bad. I'm over half done. Now if I could just locate my hammer.
Update for the inquisitors: Read down a few entries to Andrea lately, where I mention my move. I'm staying in LA ... giving it another year in my own studio apartment just a few winks from where I work.
Happy Singles Awareness Day
In other news, I saw the movie Red Eye this weekend. Whew, Cillian Murphey is my new favorite hurt me, baby guy. He’s got a stare that makes me shiver deliciously (in real life, I'd pee my panties at such a stare). But yeah. Sexy, skerry blue eyes. Sexy, wonderfully-shaped, sensual mouth. Great hair. Yummy bone structure. I always thought he looked very similar to Tom Welling, who plays Superman on the Warner Brother’s series. Tom’s much prettier. Cillian is ... devilish. Pant-worthy. And his accent! Oh. My. God.
Why no, I haven't been laid in a while. And I plan to celebrate Singles Awareness tonight.
Back to your regularly-scheduled whatever.
Anyway, consumption of booze is supposed to curtain a sweet tooth. I forget why; I can't be bothered to remember those kind of details. But I will tell you that it's not working. My chocolate craving is strong as ever. Or maybe I'm not drinking enough wine. Hmmm. A wine vice or a chocolate vice? Decisions, decisions.
It's too early to decide. Tune in next week.
The house in which I have been lounging indolently for the last four days contains movie posters in foreign languages. Like French and Spanish. (Go ahead and laugh, Sandra.) Anyway, do I have to explain how amusing it can be to try and pronounce these names after a glass of wine or two? I think I made up some new sounds.
It was sunny and warm today in LA, so I went after roast beef. Isn't that what everyone does? As I passed a computer and printer fix-it shop, a heavy Mexican stepped out onto the sidewalk to watch my progress. Too bad I was only in jeans and a t-shirt.
"Hi," I said brightly, feeling as if the world was just ... just ... beyond my fingertips.
My answer was an open-mouthed crunch. He was eating a bag of potato chips. Like I said, I was only wearing jeans. And black Mary Janes.
One of the kitties I am taking care of is an adorable orange grumpy Gus. I am slowly, slowly winning him over. He let me hand feed him today and I felt such a sense of acceptance! It was almost absurd how good of a mood I was in after he ate the kernels I'd held out to him. This is a kitty boy who doesn't give his allegiance lightly. He hasn't given me his loyalty and allegiance, but that he's willing to eat from my fingers says a lot. He loves his momma a lot and she loves him unconditionally and that's a good thing, but my heart aches for how he must be feeling without her. He's sleeping in a chair behind me now with one of his white-tipped paws covering his nose.
The other kitty has allergies like me. She sneezes as much as I do. One of the things she does that I love, though, is to seek me out. Yes, she seeks me out. Usually I'm like three feet above her, so she'll stop where she is with her orange, white and black calico face tilted back to look up at me. And then she'll open her little mouth and give me a silent meow. It makes me want to melt.
In other news, I watched Who Wants To Be A Millionaire today and got all excited about an anesthesiologist who used up all three of his lifelines by the time he'd reached $32,000, but then made it all the way to $500,000 on gut instinct. I was clapping my hands and hooting and hollering like a fool gone crazy. But I'm color coordinated, so it's okay.
Best pick up movie for me lately? You've Got Mail with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. I love the music, the characters, the sense of humor, the warmth. Nora Ephron, you rock my world.
I'm at a friend's house this weekend pet and house-sitting for Sneezy and Hissy. I'm still in LA, but in a better part of LA. It's quiet here, almost too quiet, but too quiet is much better than my skeleton popping out of my skin at the sound of something like a bowling ball being dropped into a metal dumpster.
The only bad thing about it being quiet is that my overactive brain likes to try and fool me when I'm sleeping. I've heard doorbells at 3:30 a.m., I've been sexually assaulted by a boy I used to know in high school, I've won an award for blogging because a bunch of teenagers liked what I had to say, even though it's been a while since I've really said anything, and I've been desired by a man who has a yen for feet.
You see how one doesn't even need to step foot outside the door to have an interesting life? Not that I'm advocating a life of hermacy. Not that I'm a fan of Rip Van Wrinkle, although I've wondered before how a man can sleep for so long without waking up with a doozy of a headache, but that's a fiction story for you.
I am moving again in less than a month. I am moving from a two bedroom apartment with a washer and dryer, to a studio apartment that costs twice more a month than what my three-bedroom house with an attached garage did in Indiana. My new apartment is within walking distance of where I work (which means I will get back almost three hours of my life per day). It's also part of a community of extras, which means I can swim laps in the pool, make like a tea bag in the sauna, grow breathless on an elliptical machine in the fitness room, or bob my head like an Egyptian chicken in the business center and totally scare anyone in range.
All I want is a life of liberation.
I'm giving LA another year. I almost didn't. I almost decided to hell with it all, I'm moving back to the place I know where everything is. But I'm gradually learning where things are here and I can't keep trying to hold on to memories or ideas of the past. Everything is different now, and it's to my benefit to try and make a life for myself here. I haven't wanted to; I've resisted this culturally-diverse city of freedom with its mega population. Ever since I got here, I've felt that I've been sitting on the wrong side of the spectrum. I forgot the reasons why I wanted to come. I forgot about the idea that I wanted to break out of my tired comfort zones, to challenge and interest myself in a different life, and to learn for myself that I really wasn't the shy little nobody I see inside. Other people have been saying wonderful things about me that I should be thinking about myself. It makes me wish I could be a stranger and meet myself.
I do a lot of thinking while I'm walking to work. I walk past the arty shops of clothing, furniture, paintings and coffee and sometimes I still can't believe that I'm here in LA, riding buses on roads also traveled by the celebrities we see on TV and in the movies. But I am here. There's even a star on Hollywood Boulevard with my name on it (Andrea King ... go ahead, Google my name, I'm a star). I have to find and photograph it.
Meanwhile, I have some packing to do, but it should go quick. It's time again to reduce and simplify my life, mainly because I'm bursting at the seams with clothing. I'm looking forward to decorating my new apartment and sharing the photos here. If I can't get my camera to work, I'll buy a new one. I'm tired of having no pretty pictures to share.
Well, it's time to go water the plants and to pull the car into the driveway. Someone has to do it and it might as well be me. Woo!
Give me a P.
Give me a D.
Give me a A.
Give me a T.
Give me a E.
Coming this weekend to a blog near you.