Sunday, August 13, 2017

snapshots as of late

Whilst walking down Hollywood Boulevard in the morning, a man stopped me to ask if I am French, and everything in me regrets not dropping my sunnies just a little to say oui.

I am a regular at two coffee shops. It's official. I stormed into my favorite San Vicente location just yesterday, phone in hand and plopped myself down in the window seat that I have claimed as my own. Before I could hang up, an iced coffee was placed before me. Such generosity and the smile on the barista's face nearly drove me to tears. So, in celebration, I bought a croissant with butter. (The man on Hollywood Blvd. should have seen me then)

I need to stop falling asleep with my phone. Upon (attempting to) quitting Instagram (which I have done 98% successfully), I still find myself falling asleep to random articles I read before bed (i.e. haunted churches in Iceland, quizzes about which food sums up my personality (burrito), and Architectural Digest editorials showcasing mid-century modern chairs). Last night I was in the middle of dreaming that I was about to jump down a well, when my phone vibrated against my forehead startling me awake. Safe to say I never found out what was down said well...

Yesterday morning I awoke to very loud music. It was 8:45 and I (oddly enough) wanted to be sleeping. But the neighbors down below me insisted on playing their music a few notches too loud. I buried myself in pillows before hearing the girl in the apartment across from my room yell (to the beat of her own clapping), "It's Saturday morning!!! Turn. The. Music. Down!!! TURN IT DOWN." And before she could yell any louder, the man who lives below her apartment hollered that people are trying to get some shut-eye. The music was swiftly turned off and replaced by me laughing myself to tears. I have several reasons why I will never leave city living, and the dynamic of a close proximity to neighbors/strangers is one of those reasons.

I drove all the way to Century City, got detoured on Santa Monica Boulevard, got lost (how?) on Rodeo Drive, and ended up at a McDonald's all at 1:00 am the other night. I never made it to the bar, but I had a damn good McFlurry. 

I find laundromats to be equivalent to airports in regards to people watching. It is quite possible to get in one argument with a grown man over a parking spot, witness several screaming children, one inebriated person who likely thinks he's at a casino, several police officers, way too much underwear, and a nursing woman all before 7:00 am and the final rinse. (I have become such a regular that the women usually greet me with hola, buenos dias as I haul in a backpack of skivvies and trousers). 

Recently I went to see a film with a friend after drinking (too much) Saki. The goal was to drink too much that night...yet I can't decide if I regret laughing at the opening scenes of a solemn movie, or that I was completely sober by the end of the second act.

A chai with almond milk is not one of my better ideas. It just isn't.

Every Sunday I make teriyaki chicken that folks can smell from the sidewalk outside. One of my roommates excitedly takes it as a sign that I am home and that there is food.

Santa Monica on a Wednesday night is quiet, and wonderful. Yet West Hollywood even in its thickest chaos feels like a place beckoning for me to call it home. And I wonder how I never thought I'd learn to love such a city. 

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