Freckled girl in stuffy Los Angeles
Friday, December 14, 2007, 9:01 PM
It finally got cold enough here in Los Angeles for me on Tuesday night, December the 11th. I never thought I was a cold weather lover, but I guess I yam because I sighed all over like a cat plopping herself down for a nap in sunlight. (What is that? Some kind of poor oxymoron?)
Anyway, I opened my bedroom window--which is also my living room and dining room window because I live in a studio apartment--and I burrowed under a sheet and TWO blankies. It was wonderful. I don't miss snow, I don't miss ice, I don't miss the zero temperatures at o' dark thirty on a work day morning, but I do miss the kind of cold weather good for bed cover burrowing.
It also doesn't feel like Christmas to me when it's sixty degrees outside. So I'm glad it's 48-degrees in L.A. (Hah!)
I found a pattern of freckles on my arm that look like The Little Dipper. At the time I discovered this wonderous thing, my nose was level with my arm and I was thinking that my arm hairs looked a bit unruuuly. And um, should I try Nairing the hair off? And then my eyes crossed and I saw. The Little. Dipper. Can't believe I've never spotted it before now, but life is full of surprises and hey, you never know what you'll discover once you slow down and play turtle.
On my way home from work Monday, a celebrity stopped at a coffee shop I pass. Actually, the celeb sent his or her gopher into the coffee shop while the celeb stayed in the SUV in the effing street. Cars were going crazy honking. Cameras were flashing like strobe lights. I couldn't see who it was because the SUV's windows were black and it was already dark outside, but the sidewalk outside the shop was thisthick with people. Impenetrable. (And I had to pee, too.) There was also some jerk standing in the roadway, right in front of the SUV, with a video camera aimed at the windshield. It's not the sight that affected me, but the underlying mania I felt coming from the people on the sidewalk and around the vehicle. They were like starving dogs going for raw meat. Loud, animal-like, unaware of anything but the meat.
Unless it was Keanu Reeves in the SUV, I just don't get it.
Socks. I stuff one into the other. Growing up, though, Oogie instructed us to tie them into a knot. My ex preferred to have them folded. So I've been wondering about the complexities of freshly laundered socks and what it means if we prefer to stuff, fold or tie them. You know, like dream interpritation. I figure stuffing one sock into the other reveals laziness because it's fast and easy. Stuffed socks are bulky and take up extra room in the drawer.
Tying socks takes coordination, time and patience. Especially if you tie the knot too tightly, which means extra time will be spent in getting them untied. (Oogie is nuts.)
Folding, I think, reveals a tidy nature. If you fold the socks instead of stuffing or tying them, they will lay flatter and come out of the drawer unwrinkled. This should be the preferred way of sockage.
But I like to stuff them. It's liberating.