A pretty wonderful weekend.

Ally and I went to watch the planes fly in at LAX one night. This was the closest we came to a legitimate picture.

After a rough day, we drank a bottle of wine and decided to paint over our boring house number on the curb. I also decided to water the lawn while drinking a beer. Oh, Fridays at 3pm.

Goodwill shopping in Santa Monica

Some epic kite flying in Santa Monica on Sunday Funday.

Lover boy.

We stumbled upon a pet adoption in Westchester Park ... and Pet Glamour Shots.

And oh, yes: Thanks to my mom, this is my current obsession.


The "I Quit My Job" Shoes

...because I will not be buying anything new/nice for a long time (unemployment!).


What do you look for in a boyfriend?

My 9 year-old friend Grace told me, when asked what sort of boyfriend she would want, the following qualifications:

- He has to be nice.
- He has to want to help other people.
- He has to be funny.

The girl's got it down, people. No "He has to be a good skateboarder" or "He has to look like Zac Effron." What a wise little person.

Image "Bubble Girl" by Julie Blackmon


It all started with this stupid swimsuit.

So I had put on a little ... "Winter weight," and since I had planned an early birthday Beach Bonfire, I figured, hey, let's try a one-piece instead of the usual bikini. More coverage = the easy way out of a workout. So I headed over to dear old American Apparel to purchase the above swimsuit that I had seen in rather salacious advertisements, but I thought I would class it up (aka not leave unzipped down to my belly button.)

I got the swimsuit in my size, paid and headed out the door. No need to try it on until I got home. When I got home, I tried on the swimsuit, zipped it up - it fit perfectly! Then, in front of my mirror, I turned a couple inches to the right. And "zzzzppppp" the zipper unzipped down to my belly. So, yes, my hoohas were exposed, as the girl's in the picture. Kinda disturbed, I zipped it back up and shifted in front of the mirror again. "Zzzzpppp" and down it went. Like it had been engineered with slut factor in mind - the zipper felt destined to rest not at the top, but at the base of my belly! Frustrated, I grabbed a saftey pin and pinned the zipper at the top. "Zzzzzzppp" and the top held in place while the rest of the zipper wound its way down, leaving a gaping hole.

This is ridiculous, I thought, and tried a few more desperate measures. But no, this striped one-piece did not want to fulfill it's (originally intended) purpose of covering me up. Needless to say, I left it at home and wore a regular old two-piece to the beach. Winter weight, be damned.

Ok, so this should have been some sort of omen. The day I planned at the beach was supposed to be effortlessly relaxing, but it turned out to be quite stressful:

- Waiting until the last minutes and realizing, "Oh, I have a lot of shit to buy!" Snacks, beer, ice, a cooler, bbq needs, firewood, frisbees, kites, etc. But luckily, Paisley and Jenny helped me with a last minute run to Target and Ralph's.
- So I got to the beach an hour after I said everything would start. My old boss (and current friend) Joanne had been waiting there for an hour! I felt awful.
- Then my current boss came with her dog, and since we were right next to the Lifeguard tower, the lifeguard immediately let us know the dogs were not allowed. Then ANOTHER friend brought his dog.
- And then the lifeguard came back and told us kite flying was not allowed.
- Then my phone died so no one could get a hold of me.
- Did I mention I backed into a car in the parking lot before I even got to the beach?! (No damage, though.)

Sigh. It was just more of a stressful day than I had hoped. Oh, you may be wondering about the swimsuit. Well the next day, I took it back to return it. I was told AA did not take "Intimates" back. No refund, no store credit. SO I'm out $40 on a stupid swimsuit that bares my chest.

I blame you for my fail whale of a birthday, American Apparel. (shakes fist)

I'm not entirely sure what this means...

But I drew it today.

Adventures on the Santa Monica 3

This morning, a girl on the bus was opera-style singing "This is delicious, how fictitious" over and over. Meanwhile, a woman had a cat on her shoulder. And I read a self-help book about fixing my soul.


We are broken.

My friend Charlie recently brought up a pretty great comparison between LA and New York. I won't say it here as eloquently as he phrased it, but essentially:

New Yorkers are like, "Look at us. We're great! We're put-together! We're professional! We've got our shit on lock."

In LA, people admit, "We are broken. This is a city of broken people. There are terrible things here: gangs, drugs, violence, immigration issues, a ridiculous divide between the wealthy/powerful and the utterly poor. We are sad and we've been through shit and back again. But life is too great to not live it out. We're going to try, damnit. And maybe everything will not work out, but we've tried."

Charlie was mainly referring to the attitudes of the Christian communities in the two cities, but I see these attitudes reflected everywhere, everyday, in everyone.

This description makes me love LA a million times more than the million times I already loved it.