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Well dear reader, it’s been a while since I’ve written so I decided to tell you about my day. Perhaps it will sound mundane to you, but it really is a typical day in the life of Cari Ann. I mean, typical in the sense that there’s always something… else.
I spent the earlier morning glued to my computer, trying to figure out how to add a repository and download Scribus in Ubuntu. Whaaat? Yeah, I know. It’s Linux and I’m a geek. It was hot and I was in my underwear. Does that sound more sexy? Well, it wasn’t but I will let you imagine something completely different.
The early afternoon consisted of me freaking out about getting my paycheck in time to make sure my rent check didn’t bounce, and when I received it I immediately quelched my anxiety by stopping by Crave and consuming a giant vat of peanut butter Wow Cow. Have you had this stuff?! Oh man. If I could keep a commercial soft serve machine next to my bed instead of my Ativan, I would do it. And I really like my Ativan.
Then I played my flute for a while and taught a lesson, blah blah.
And then I get home and my washing machine is making this horrible, horrible noise. It was like,
“BAKITABAKITA GRRRRRRR… BAKITA CRACK! CRACK! GRRRR…”
The thing wouldn’t drain. I was pissed.
So I looked at it. It looked at me. I decided there was only one thing to do. So I mixed myself a cocktail and grabbed my screwdriver.
So now…
I am sitting once again in my underwear at my computer. Only this time I’ve had two greyhounds and my washing machine is gutted and lying helpless in my bedroom. I have not fixed it. No, not yet. I must forfeit this round tonight. But I will tackle it again tomorrow evening, cocktail in hand. That you can bet on.
Oh, what else does tomorrow bring?
Stay tuned.
Oh, the antics! Friday night was no exception for my lovely sidekick and me. After being disappointed on numerous mini adventures that night, we marched ourselves back to Bar Lubitch, where we know it can’t go wrong. Why? Well, because Bar Lubitch is conveniently located directly across the street from our favorite Fire Station No. 8.
Now we girls all know about firemen, right? Well, if you don’t I’ll just let you be a little naive for the moment and explain later. The story seems hotter that way.
As we were crossing the street, our firemen were backing their truck into the garage and blocking our access to our favorite watering hole. Being annoyed from the prior happenings of the night, we stood with our hands on our hips waiting for them to get out of our way.
And then it happened.
One of the firemen leaped from the top of the truck, held out his arms for us to tuck our little hands into, and escorted us across the street. We almost died. Again.
As the night drew to a close, we decided to go back to the fire station and say hello so we waved and made a little motion for the guy on duty to open the garage. “Kevin” informed us that all the guys had turned in for the night, which was probably for the best. I took a look around and said to Kevin, “May we have a tour of your lovely establishment? You know, my grandpa was a fireman!” His eyes lit up like little saucers inside of a Mars Attacks pinball machine.
He showed us around like he was trying to sell us a 2 million dollar condo in the Palisades. We almost died.
Oh, to be a single girl in Los Angeles.
I rode on the back of my first motorcycle today, a 1964 BMW. A friend of mine collects them and I’ve been bugging him for ages to take me for a ride. He picked me up and we drove down Sunset all the way to Malibu. I think this might be my new third favorite thing! There’s so much more to experience outside of our cars. Smells of Sunday breakfasts mixed with the sea air, the slight changes in the temperature. Sometimes I feel so cooped up in Los Angeles, always riding around in my bubble of a car. It’s so refreshing to experience the environment we live in. Now I can’t wait to ride on a rice rocket so I can go super fast!
Okay, so I’m driving in Burbank today and I’m stopped on the corner of First and Olive. I hear this rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat sound on my car and realize a blind man had completely gone off course from the crosswalk and was attacking my car with his walking stick. People rushed to guide him back on track and he made it across safely. But I think he was angry because he thought my car was in the crosswalk. I was two cars behind. Geez.
So I moved the fridge to sweep underneath (on a Friday night, how pathetic). Anyway, I ended up with a little blue fruit loop in my dust bin. WTF!! I haven’t eaten fruit loops let alone BLUE fruit loops since I was probably six years old, and I’ve lived in my apartment for a lot less time than that. So for all of you that have never cleaned behind your fridge, I suggest you do it. You might just find something a little better than a loop. A little leprechaun with a pot of gold?
Why are birds chirping like it’s morning? It’s friggin 1:45AM. I wish I had a bb gun and a larger barbecue.
