They Tripped Over The Relevant Part.

I am hardly the type of person to allow vanity to get in the way of happiness, and this being Monday morning one can interpret ‘happiness’ in the broadest possible sense of ‘encompassing anything which avoids soul crushing misery’. So, rain or no, I started this day flouncing down Figueroa clutching a tube of Pringles and a 7-11 vegan chocolate snack pie as though they were responsible for the very air I breathe.  If there were scatterings of macrobiotic fueled stares of judgment as I trod deliriously on my way I took great care not to notice because my life and fuck them.

The rain in Los Angeles at the moment is quite farsome and I doubt anyone noticed my desperate early morning dash to the sev, but it does make one blush slightly with embarrassment. Taking such relentless joy in a snack pie, but like many people I suspect I spent the weekend in a lull of depression. Even my cat was pissed off or so my mother tells me. Utterly disagreeable she was and utterly immune to the soothing benefits of junk food. I took great care to explain to my mother that although the cat was in fact mine and not hers the problem was nonetheless hers and not mine. Mother can be quite ferocious with her crocheting during the winter months and cats can be quite the case when it comes to yarn and I simply told mother that I can’t make cats ignore yarn any more than I can make the sun less shiny.

So given all this, to face the day with punishing rain, hanger pains, and not a clear idea of what I should wear I have to say I felt rather set upon and no one would begrudge me a few comforting morsels of sugary dreck. I am a little self-conscious. It’s 8 in the morning and I am eating Pringles with the tender passion some people reserve for sexual intercourse. An empty carton of a 7-11 chocolatey snack pie is sitting on the window ledge mocking me, and I am sitting in an office full of people who can spend all day quietly judging me for my poor decisions so life wins me.

Your Suggestions Are Ignored.

A fat waddling black woman who stank of days old piss waddled up to me on the platform and waived her emptied Big Gulp in front of me in a gesture that meant nothing other than ‘I’d like some change, but like any Trump voter am too entitled to ask.’ I shook my head in the precise rhythmic meter that she shook her empty cup, and I watched her walk away. All the way down the fucking platform. Like she only came down here to shake that silly little cup in front of me. None of the other Metro passengers had the pleasure because my life. Just as I resigned myself to how typical this was my train arrived and I was quickly back to reading about what that scurrilous Tyrion Lannister is getting up to in his adventures in non-contiguous Earth. Delicious and diverting, but only just.

There will be upwards of 50,000 protesters in downtown Los Angeles this afternoon. I am lucky I made it into work without incident. But there is rain. All 50,000 may decide they have better things to do.  Not that I don’t sympathize, but it is a bit of a fuss and nothing is ever gained by making a scene.

The other day I had an unseemly exchange.

‘Did you vote for Trump?’ All I wanted to do was order a vegan breakfast croissant and get back to my desk, but this post-menopausal tottering pile of hemp clothing was lurching over me and I eyed her like a pile of stinking shit in the middle of an otherwise impossibly pristine brunch.

‘No, I did not.’ The words came out of my mouth even as I understood she had no right to hear them and before she could articulate her next disjointed thought I added, ‘Why are you speaking to me?’

‘Well, I was going to see if you…’

‘Don’t.’ I interject before letting her finish.

‘We were going to have a protest.’

‘Why are you speaking to me? Do I know you? Have you introduced yourself?’ I tried a few of the obvious shots to see if the crone could possibly grasp how blindingly inappropriate she was being, and in front of the nice people who sell me vegan breakfast croissants to boot. I could have spat in her face, but I held it together, but only just.

Trying to drag me out into some tawdry 5^th grade political rage moment when all I had was hanger on my mind and a vegan breakfast croissant in my sights this terminal Women’s Studies flunky quickly realized she made a serious miscalculation and it could possibly be the first genuinely coherent thought she’s had since her second marriage fell apart, and I was happy to contribute in my small way to her road to recovery.

For All The Reasons You Reject.

The crazy and fucked up has just decided to come down in sheets this week. Not unlike the rain. On Tuesday I managed to navigate the busiest Metro station as well as the Red Line to North Hollywood and a trip to my corner shop all without incident. It wasn’t until I was within steps, I kid you not, mere steps from my apartment that I spied a wobbling, round suspiciously jubilant creature. As they approached I had a feeling of uncontrolled menace, and it was entirely justified. As soon as the wretch was within touching distance that is what they did. They  touched me. More appropriately they rubbed me like I was some sacred relic, and I was like ‘What The Fuck Is This About!?!’ Then I remember they were retarded and I just walked on, but left the poor thing befuddled all the same. If she goes on like that though it won’t be long before someone stabs her in the face.

Yesterday I was already in my building, I am not kidding literally home and dry, or so I thought when it came. Standing in the lobby waiting for the lift I am convinced was placed on this Earth to kill me and then I hear a voice from above. It was from the staircase. It was someone from bro-zone, new to town, looking for a flat and they were looking in this building. I think tweaker, but they look and sound so normal and grounded. I also think, Where is the manager? I think his name is Jesus or something? But I just allow the thing to prattle on. He wants to know if he can see my place, and I told him it was completely out of the question, but he insists and asks if he can just have a peek from the hall, and I am like oh fine sure because I am weak willed moron.

I tell him to meet me on the 3^rd as I had no intention of sharing the lift seeing as my CQC skills haven’t been tested of late and when I arrive he has a friend, and I think Oh great, gang raping it will be…Not really. They were pussies, but I am convinced they were Scientologists because I am now convinced that every fucked up thing that happens to me has to do with them.

And I’m moving back to Seattle just to get away from this shit because if people in Los Angeles are going to act this fucked up I mean why the fuck not?