Day in the life
Wednesday, March 08, 2006, 5:55 PM

This is one of those posts where I'm just here and typing. I have no idea what I'm going to write. No plans. But sometimes that's the best way. Pure, uncensored unhingy goodness. Well, almost. I feel a bit censored. Can't talk about that, though.

On the walk home one day last week, a sedan type of car with four people inside were smoking the wacky tobacky. For some reason as I passed them, I ducked my head for a peek inside the car. And this is something I never do because of the privacy thing. It isn't any of my business what someone's doing in their car. The funny thing is, though, that at the moment I ducked my head for a look, the driver ducked her head for a look at me. And then I got a whiff of what they were smoking and totally understood the head duckage thing.

On the artsy road I do most of my walking upon to and from work, cars line the road. The people pop out of their SUVs, their convertibles, their wee-mo-biles, and feed the parking meters, then they hoppith back inside to talk on their phones, to listen to their radios, eat a hotdog, or wait for the next best thing. It's the craziest thing to a Hoosier girl used to parking her car and then getting right out of the car. That means there's no nose picking on the road--there are dozens of pairs of eyes on me at any given moment. I feel self-conscious enough as it is when I have to blow my nose.

I'm just kidding about the nose picking thing.


I haven't done it since I was about six.

Michelle was wondering about that photo I took in the last entry. "You were talking about the dining room and the bedroom," she wrote. "I thought you had a studio." And then she demanded with stark-raving-mad! Michelle-ism that I take more photos. (Girl hadn't been to sleep in almost 24 hours. There was something about wanting to do absolutely nothing with a nekkid man, although that was probably after the doing something with him 24 hours earlier--and an old boyfriend she wasn't sure she should say boo to. But she did after all. Say boo.)

I have a studio apartment, La M. One big room that I've cleverly partioned off. I'd take photos, but it's darkish now and besides, I want to get the fabric hung before I post any more here. Fabric on the walls adds so much, darling. Depth. Color. Ambiance. Warmth. Where the eff is my hammer!?

That aside, I'm still loving this place. Even if last night the upstairs neighbors were a little pesky in thumping and bumping around at 1:30 a.m. It wasn't the sexual kind, either. I can tell. This was like an oh, honey, I'm awake and bursting with go-go juice, lets hang pictures on the wall and do The Running Man for olde tymes sake in between hanging the pictures. I turned up my sound machine and fell back asleep. Just another night in West LA.

I saw a new movie last night. Saint Ralph. It was made ooot in Canada? But it was hilarious? Poignant? Bittersweet? A true gem?

Ever notice how Canadians end their sentences with question marks? Even if they're not even asking a question? Well, they do. I used to talk to lots of them for that one job I had ...

Anyway, Saint Ralph is a charmer and I highly recommend it. Especially if you need a pick-me-up. I promise you'll laugh.

Oh, my window? It's big. It's very big.

2 Did the Unhingey Jiggy Engage in Unhingenosity
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