I return with many things that are exciting, and things that aren't exciting but the way I tell them is a grade-A hoot.
To start off, let's talk about something that happened outside my apartment last week. As you may or may not know, my apartment is actually a 104-year-old house that was divided into quadrant units. Two on top, two on bottom. Three bedrooms per quadrant.
If there's one thing Angelenos are good at it's packing lots of people in very small spaces.
Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. This one, fortunately,
works. In fact, I hardly see or hear from my neighbors at all. The only major sign of life is the occasional pairs of boxers hanging on the drying line out back. It is indeed a relief to know that my neighbors wear underwear.
Anyhow, due to the nature of our arrangement mail often gets delivered to the wrong place. Our units are distinguished from one another with the addition of a 1/4, 1/2, and 3/4 to the house number. I got the best unit insofar as I got the whole number, so I don't have to tack some janky fraction onto my address. It also makes me seem important and successful because on paper it creates the illusion that I live in an actual house. Which I do, technically. 1/12th of one.
The above information was hardly necessary, but it's the most math I've done in about 2 years so I'm not throwing that away. What I was getting at is that I often get mail for some fellow-- let's call him Edmund-- delivered to my apartment. Edmund lives in another unit. I leave the mail on the kitchen table, our landlady eventually scoops it up, and she passes it along to him. Now, in the 11 months or so months that I have lived in this apartment I have never once seen or had a conversation with Edmund. I long ago figured it was either a s7ven or a Gilbert Grape type situation.
But lo and behold, one evening I was out on the front porch talking to my roommate and Edmund shows up to join the conversation! So now not only can I identify his face, I also know a bit about him. This is the exciting part-- he is also a comedy writer! Between him, myself, my cinematographer roommate, and the actress who lives to our right, our household is a hive of movie folks. Now all we need is a financier in the fourth quadrant!
"Jessica," you might be saying, "You silly, silly, bitch. This is true of virtually every other household and apartment complex in Los Angeles."
Well, I mean, yeah, but to go this long and not realize what resources have been at my disposal. Shit, what resources have been at all our disposals.
These are opportunities for potential collaboration!
Unless they all suck. In which case, I will perpetually be "in meetings" until I move somewhere else.
So that long bit of nonsense isn't very exciting for anyone except me. Now for some more stereotypical excitement:
I went camping!
Where?
There.
Where?
Chair.
Where?
Bear.
Bear? Where?!
In the Angeles National Forest, homez. It's a desert-y mountain region just past La Cañada in northeast LA. BTW, I'm just gonna throw it out there, La Cañada is an absurd name for a town unless we're talking about a Canadian "Little Mexico."
I went up there with one of my all time best friends and stayed at the Chilao Campgrounds. It was cool. The campsite is essentially on top of a mountain, so you can nab a site that overlooks a vast mountain range.
Damn it, Los Angeles, you really do have everything.
We spent our time hiking, playing Scrabble, drinking, and finagling this pretty epic little grill using nothing but our immediate resources:
It was a very peaceful intermission from the land of graffiti and and broken curbside furniture.
And finally, another recent experience was my first-ever wine tasting! My bomb (did I mention bomb?) writing group hosted it... which is to say the sole ringleader of the entire writing group organized it, and with much success. I dragged boyfran along with me and we were given a series of 8 wines to try along with our gourmet dinner. I ate handmade tortellini and may or may not have momentarily gone blind from how delicious it was.
That's an exaggeration. But it was damn good tortellini, and I got to spend a lovely evening learning things about wine that I have already forgotten. Boyfran even won a sandwich in a raffle, so, there's also that.
What I'd really like to do is end this blog on a downer, so tell me how you like these vag-sucking apples: I have gotten two parking tickets in the past two days. YEAH it's, like, super great. Aside from the double-helping of powerlessness and inconsolable private shame, I have to pay off TWO of these fuckers! Let's do a little more math tonight... $73 + $68 = I AM NOT CURRENTLY OF GAINFUL EMPLOYMENT. There go the next 3 weeks' groceries.
On a completely irrelevant note, if anyone can advise on how best to avoid paying a parking ticket partly or in full, I have a comments section and a broken heart.
To start off, let's talk about something that happened outside my apartment last week. As you may or may not know, my apartment is actually a 104-year-old house that was divided into quadrant units. Two on top, two on bottom. Three bedrooms per quadrant.
 |
| aka some straight up Madeleine shit. |
Anyhow, due to the nature of our arrangement mail often gets delivered to the wrong place. Our units are distinguished from one another with the addition of a 1/4, 1/2, and 3/4 to the house number. I got the best unit insofar as I got the whole number, so I don't have to tack some janky fraction onto my address. It also makes me seem important and successful because on paper it creates the illusion that I live in an actual house. Which I do, technically. 1/12th of one.
The above information was hardly necessary, but it's the most math I've done in about 2 years so I'm not throwing that away. What I was getting at is that I often get mail for some fellow-- let's call him Edmund-- delivered to my apartment. Edmund lives in another unit. I leave the mail on the kitchen table, our landlady eventually scoops it up, and she passes it along to him. Now, in the 11 months or so months that I have lived in this apartment I have never once seen or had a conversation with Edmund. I long ago figured it was either a s7ven or a Gilbert Grape type situation.
 |
| Does anyone else ever think about what this casting call must have been like? |
"Jessica," you might be saying, "You silly, silly, bitch. This is true of virtually every other household and apartment complex in Los Angeles."
Well, I mean, yeah, but to go this long and not realize what resources have been at my disposal. Shit, what resources have been at all our disposals.
 |
| So many disposals! |
Unless they all suck. In which case, I will perpetually be "in meetings" until I move somewhere else.
So that long bit of nonsense isn't very exciting for anyone except me. Now for some more stereotypical excitement:
I went camping!
Where?
There.
Where?
Chair.
Where?
Bear.
Bear? Where?!
In the Angeles National Forest, homez. It's a desert-y mountain region just past La Cañada in northeast LA. BTW, I'm just gonna throw it out there, La Cañada is an absurd name for a town unless we're talking about a Canadian "Little Mexico."
I went up there with one of my all time best friends and stayed at the Chilao Campgrounds. It was cool. The campsite is essentially on top of a mountain, so you can nab a site that overlooks a vast mountain range.
Damn it, Los Angeles, you really do have everything.
We spent our time hiking, playing Scrabble, drinking, and finagling this pretty epic little grill using nothing but our immediate resources:
 |
| Which were a rogue grill, some rocks, firewood, and the Lord's love. |
And finally, another recent experience was my first-ever wine tasting! My bomb (did I mention bomb?) writing group hosted it... which is to say the sole ringleader of the entire writing group organized it, and with much success. I dragged boyfran along with me and we were given a series of 8 wines to try along with our gourmet dinner. I ate handmade tortellini and may or may not have momentarily gone blind from how delicious it was.
That's an exaggeration. But it was damn good tortellini, and I got to spend a lovely evening learning things about wine that I have already forgotten. Boyfran even won a sandwich in a raffle, so, there's also that.
What I'd really like to do is end this blog on a downer, so tell me how you like these vag-sucking apples: I have gotten two parking tickets in the past two days. YEAH it's, like, super great. Aside from the double-helping of powerlessness and inconsolable private shame, I have to pay off TWO of these fuckers! Let's do a little more math tonight... $73 + $68 = I AM NOT CURRENTLY OF GAINFUL EMPLOYMENT. There go the next 3 weeks' groceries.
On a completely irrelevant note, if anyone can advise on how best to avoid paying a parking ticket partly or in full, I have a comments section and a broken heart.
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