So many musings...

On items and their valuation, on friendships and their transition to long distance, on the painful and difficult extrication of oneself from life-changing mistakes, on competent and incompetent people, helpful and not helpful people, clingy pets who fear suitcase and box packing and change species/phyla to something more like furry limpet things. But who the fuck has time to write about all this? Certainly not me.

Next posting will assuredly be from the new location, albeit probably the internet cafe down the street. Which cracked me up last time I was there, because the empty wall space over the counter is filled with glamorous and signed head shots, the kind that in New York would be of celebrities who had stopped by the pizzeria (usually) or deli or whatever and enjoyed some food item there and handed over a signed picture of gratitude (in the pizzerias these are often celebrities of a more Italian nature), but in my new neighborhood all the glossy headshots are merely of aspiring actors, to wit, nobodies. In the celebrity sense, that is. It is, I believe, what they call "indicative."

You know it's raining hard

when you have to get up at 5 in the morning and shut the window that is 7 feet 10 inches away from your pillow at its nearest point because your face is getting so uncomfortably wet (yes, I have measuring tape easily accessible at basically all times these days; that's what moving will do for you).

Phew!

Apartment found, security deposit given, buyer's remorse minimal: no balcony or real outdoor space (a shame given how much I like to spend time outdoors) and really not the prettiest building from the outside, but: hardwood floors, a semblance of character, off-street parking, cat-friendly, laundry in building, and a really really good location, just a half block from a bus that may get me to campus in a reasonable amount of time, in walking or biking distance to approximately 1000 things (possibly more), and 1 block from what Stovie says is one of the best yoga studios in LA, the one he himself tries to get to when visiting friends here. As a bonus, my Russian should get back into better shape, along with my access to pickled tomatoes, smoked fish, and grease-laden piroshki.

Once the lease is signed, I'll be sending out the "new contact info" e-mail (along with heartfelt apologies to all the people I owe e-mail to, my inbox weighs on my conscience every time I open it). I'm moving in just 2 1/2 weeks, but at least my old 3-page to-do list is shrinking daily!

Apartment hunting in LA is hard

when you have a budget, limited amount of searching time, cats -- apparently the bane of many landpeople's existence -- and an even mildly developed aesthetic sense. I suppose if I were willing to overpay for tacky carpet, unfinished kitchens, or mildewy bathrooms I'd be all set by now. I keep on thinking, "All I need is one good apartment, just one." Maybe it'll be tomorrow...

Meanwhile, I have all these nice photos to post from the last few weeks, and not an ounce of strength to do it. The only reason I'm able to type this up now is I'm waiting for the United site to get moving and tell me how much it'll cost to change my ticket and stay 36 hours longer.

Overheard in Hollywood

in potentially my new neighborhood (I'm shifting the search north as the neighborhood I thought might be my neighborhood is proving to be too expensive/pet-unfriendly):

"Well, she's a Lhasa Apso, man, they're spiritual dogs."

More fun with numbers

Not long after I arrived at his house this evening, after a long, long drive down from Monterey (traffic in Pismo Beach? Really? Really?), Mr. Father-King said to me, "Have you looked at the license plates on your rental car?" After I admitted that I had not looked at them even one time over the course of this last week, Mr. Father-King, who is a little more mathematically oriented than I am (these days, who isn't?), noted that if the first number on the plate were read as the letter it resembles, then it was almost like I was driving around with personalized vanity plates, and then took a picture to commemorate the coincidence.
Now I just have to find some numerological significance for that pesky 268 at the end. I will be driving by a prominent Kabbalah center tomorrow -- maybe I should drop in and see what they have to say.

The heights

When you're staying in an elite room
in a downtown touristy hotel (one that's not nearly as luxurious as it pretends to be, especially when compared with its local competitors), it apparently means that your bed has, count 'em,
twelve pillows. That's some elite pillow action!

Life is better

without a tiny shard of glass embedded in your foot.

Or it least it would be, she thought wistfully...