I'd Like A Tiny Puppy Please.
I take a sip from my mug of coffee and a small bite of one of those frozen hash browns from Trader Joes that Nick and I have learned to burn to perfection. We sit at our kitchen table. He’s looking over the ketchup bottle at my face still creased with lines from my pillow. I’m looking off into the distance just over his left shoulder. In my peripheral vision, I notice him uneasily shifting to the left and then to the right in one of our white ikea chairs. “Is there something on my face or in my hair?" he asks me with concern. I can tell my staring off has unsettled him this morning. “No, I’m just looking at some memories," I reply in a slight daze. “Are your memories in my hair?" he blurts out. “Why yes, they are today."
Days are going by here in Los Angeles. Those are turning into weeks, and we have just completed our first month. Sometimes I wake up and it’s still strange for me to say to myself, “Good morning, you tired, lazy girl. You live in Los Angeles." To which I sleepily nod, turn over, and think to myself, “Yes, yes. I know. I’ll take that fact into account in a few hours after I’ve showered."
People say that Hollywood is filled to the brim with opportunity. They are right you know. I think, (though I can’t quite remember with absolute clarity), that Nick and I packed up our bags and headed for the Hollywood hills in order to bang on our instruments with like-minded, cooky musicians. We’ve done a bit of that, but I think that the real magic that has happened for me here has been in another field entirely. I haven’t quite figured out exactly what I’ve gotten myself into, but the following terms have been floating around in Nick’s hair lately: entrepreneurship, business, DIY, technology, 3D printing, art. This journey started with a craft fair that Nick and I decided to do with a friend who needed to split a booth fee with other crafty people. Somehow from that one “yes" there seems to be opportunity coming out of the wood work in this crazy city. Funny what a “yes" can do for you sometimes…
Nick found a job working at a coffee shop on the west side in the recently “gentrified" warehouse district. (I learned a new word:) He found some sweet friends among his co-workers. Of course, there’s a musician (a guitarist he met originally on Warped Tour years ago) and an aspiring actor. In the pursuit of following their dreams, they realized, with astonishment, that they have both become accidental experts at pouring pretty espresso shots with the flower on top foaming in perfect symmetry. After a month of working there, Nick comes home and says things like, “I thought that Andrew was going to take Jerry in the back and have some words with him”. He also twirls around his milk in our two dollar coffee mugs like a seasoned wine connoisseur at breakfast time. (I’m quite fond of that little quirk. It’s kind of cute.)
I’m a little jealous of the built in social life he has attained though. His co-workers recently invited him to join a bowling league (which isn’t just any bowling league mind you!) They compete on the middle floor of The Roosevelt on vintage bowling lanes that cost $100.00 a game! (Luckily he doesn’t have to pull out his wallet since he’s joining the league mid season.) But agh, just to walk into that place makes you feel like you have been transported back to the 1920s, and because you imagine yourself in a different time, all the grandeur and mystery of the unknown comes bubbling up in the IPA brew you ordered.
Yesterday, a small hispanic woman backed into my car in the post office parking lot. I honked for her entire journey from two car widths in front of me right into the front bumper of my car. “Why didn’t you back up?" Nick asked me immediately after I told him my frustrating story. “I couldn’t believe she would ACTUALLY hit me!" But she did, and of course she meanders out of her vehicle after the event and innocently asks me in the calmest voice ever I swear, “Oh, did I heet you?"
Yes, ma’am. Yes ya did.
Actually, I feel rather lucky to have only had one tiny bumper bang since we moved here, driving on these crazy freeways and all.
Let’s see what else…
I suddenly have developed this new affinity for small dogs that look like fake stuffed animals. I used to look at canines and think “poop and responsibility", now I look at a too-skinny woman holding one in her purse with two little paws tucked over the edge and I think, “adorable and MINE".
Friendly Jehovah’s Witnesses knock on our doors instead of friendly Mormon missionaries. (I’ll take either. They both make me smile.) But the Jehovah’s witnesses will only talk to us if we speak Spanish. “Come on", I yell to them as they hurry down our front porch steps after we answer the door in an English “hello", “but I have many questions to ask you!" I sputter in frustration, “Yo tengo muy questionos…Damn!"
But they don’t hear me.