Wednesday, April 05, 2006, 6:56 PM
It's been a fun and fast-paced week for me. Go, go, go every day. In fact, I'm surprised I'm here now typing this. I should be cooking dinner so I can eat it and get to bed, all the better to arrive at work an hour early tomorrow. So this won't be a long post. Which won't be unusual since I don't write long posts.
I think/see/remember/dream stuff I want to write about here and in a novel all the time. Little things like how I've been noticing a limo that parks on a side street along Melrose, and how perhaps the driver inside is biding his (or her) time until Keanu Reeves returns to the car.
Of course I still have the thought that he'll see me one day and fall instantly in love.
And ... like the time I was returning from my Christmas holiday and I was in the airport after traveling all day, grumpy and tired and wondering where the frell my bag was, when some tall idiot man stepped on my foot when he shoved his way beside me. I was standing alongside the carousel that bags go 'round and 'round on. Well, this man didn't so much as glance at me. I might've been a five-foot-tall gnat. And then he turns around, nearly mowing me over again, and says "Rebecca." That's when I noticed I was standing not five feet away from Rebecca DeMornay. I was too tired to care, though.
She is, however, the only celebrity I've seen in the flesh.
And ... how when it rains here in Los Angeles and the worms crawl out of the grass seeking drier environs, they are much, much more skinny than they are Indiana. Apparently rain has lots to do with the health of a worm. Who knew?
And ... how male hair dressers--or beauticians or whatever they're called today--seem to be a lot more fun and attentive than females. I'm glad I got over my shyness and went to a male hair stylist. I have been eyed by so many hunkish--and probaby gay--men lately, that my self confidence has climbed at least five notches from feeling like doggy doo to doo wop me. There's something about me that gay men like. Maybe they sense my utter unthreateningness? Whatever it is, I like it.
And ... how the big thing advertised here in L.A. seems be cars and plastic surgery (and, okay, some place called Jack In The Box, or so I'm told), compared to feminine hygiene products and pizza in Indiana. Priorities, priorities.
It's spaghetti time. Chow.