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Today I had a strange and morbid thought.

Babies are usually bald and as they grow, so does their hair.  A person with long hair has been growing it out for a long time; you can tell how long by the length.

What if it worked in reverse?

What if you were born with a full head of hair and it grew inwards very slowly, and you could tell how long a person would live by the length of their hair?

"We don't care if it's a boy or girl, as long as it's got hair!" they'd joke.

If a baby were born with very long hair, everyone would congratulate the parents and pat them on the back, but if a baby was born with very short hair or none at all...

"Jim had a baby last week," one coworker would murmur to another by the water cooler, "Didn't have any hair."

"Oh, poor Jim," they'd say sympathetically.  "I'll have my wife bring them over a casserole... that must be so hard."

"Give his wife my condelences," says the first co-worker.

"Of course.  God, I can't even imagine.  All my children had hair down to their knees."

Weird, I know, but I felt like this was a cool idea.  Someone ought to make a flash animation or a short story about this.  (Not it!) Posted by Julie at 6:42 PM No comments: 

Day-to-Day in Sunny L.A.

Not updating your blog is a bit of a vicious cycle... you don't want to, but the longer you leave it, the more you have to say, and a more daunting task it is.

The way to break the cycle is through Resolve, which is a type of wine. Happily, I can't say I have too too much to say. The last month has been a whole lot of just living in Los Angeles, a place where the air shimmers like fool's gold and smells like fried chicken. A place like that is easy to live in, as long as you don't take it too seriously. This is probably why everyone buys such tiny, ridiculous dogs.  Not that I should talk; we have a rabbit. And there's a guy who shops at Ralph's who has a parrot named Taco.  Cause, you know, Los Angeles. Undaunted by this city's eccentricities, I've been taking care of business lately; since my work insurance has taken effect, I've set up optometry, dentist, and ob/gyn appointments, which is probably more than you wanted to know. Today I got new glasses! "Please, no photography."
Funny incidental story: Went to a bar, ordered food.  Accidentally took the delivery guy's pen.  Ran out of the bar to return it and was ushered back in by the bouncer, who I'd met earlier this evening.  Got asked by someone in line for the bar what I'd "been in."  In Los Angeles, it's more likely that you're famous than simply nice.

Fernando continues to be a bit of a prick. Truth be told I think he might have Intermittant Explosive Disorder, because he's a nice guy, generally, but when he gets mad, there's no real control; he's just really reactive, over every little thing. If the dog gets out, he goes berserk. Never mind that it was an accident; he's going to come over, yelling his head off, threatening us, et cetera. This puts us in a bad position: do we beat up a crazy old man with a heart condition or let him flail at us while we shrug comically to each other and wait for the laugh track to play? So far, I always manage to talk him down, and in a way, it's nice for me (the reactive one) to be challenged to be put in that position while Andrew (the pacifist) gets provoked. Still, we've discussed moving, because we shouldn't have to worry about being yelled at every month. There doesn't seem to be anything we can do to appease him and I think the real reason he dislikes us is for three factors we can't control: we're young, and we're white, and we have dogs. (He's a cat person.) Never have an Otherkin neighbour... they hate it when you throw parties on weekends.

Other than Fernando, my commitment to a drama-free life is panning out well. Jenny has decided to butt out forever, and while I feel guilty that Andrew's lost a friend, I'm also aware that it was not my decision, or his, but hers. I haven't hung out with Brandon since he went Full Fernando on me, which is alright, as I've been socialising a lot at work and also have made a new friend, Ted. I met Ted online and he's 1) not a serial killer, 2) also recently relocated and looking for friends, 3) clever and quippy, and 4) strongly opinionated on comic books. You might say he makes a lot of boners.

Aside from that I've been doing a fair share of socialising at home. ...by getting screamed at by Fernando.

Jack and I are doing well though I'm worried our relationship hasn't quite been repaired since our fight. This is exacerbated by the fact that Jack hangs out with Brandon a lot and I just can't respect Brandon anymore. He is not part of my new drama-free life. Andrew and I, however, are doing better than ever. Andrew's a great person to emulate if you're going for low drama because he's so good at being positive. Speaking of J&A, the twins' birthday was last month and I took them out to Medieval Times. And for my birthday, Jack got me Whipped Lightning. He couldn't resist doing a "Blue Steel" look for the camera.

So if you've never been to Medieval Times in Los Angeles, go, because their princess (“Catalina”) has an inexplicable valley girl accent so thick it could be cut like butter if butter weren't so super, like, awful for your butt. “Catalina” was matched only by the Black Knight, who was like, dude, totally not cool, man.

The three of us also went camping last weekend in Cooper's Canyon, just outside of Pasadena. Cooper's Canyon is a picturesque place of boulders, sands, soaring pines, and a sky so blue you wish you could drink it. I much prefer hanging out with just them (and sometimes Ted) than others. We went to a pool party last month, for example, with one of Jack's friends, Anita, and it was dreadful. All of them were strangely immature, even the 40-yr-old guy who was dressed like a pirate but also in a kilt (a Scottish pirate?) and thought it was okay to hang out with all of the kids in their shitty apartment where the main decoration on the walls were anime posters. It was... bafflingly. It was something of a reminder that Jack,while the same age as Andrew, is so much more immature than him and at a different (lower) level in this video game we call life. Personally I'm getting comfortable with being an adult and balancing my chequebook and going to bed early and figuring out what my mortgage will be when I buy a house, and I'm less and less willing to hang out with people who are not at that level. "That Level" here refers to a bar in Los Angeles.

But seriously, example: 16-yr-olds. Andrew's cousin (Heather) and her best friend (Dylan) came and stayed with us last month, and while they were alright, I couldn't get over the idea that their mother had sent them across the country alone for a mini-vacation. They weren't particularly great guests: didn't offer to help with dishes, didn't offer to pay for dinner when we went out, left an ENORMOUS mess when they left. The kind of mess normally only made when yuppie assholes who are texting while driving slam their SUVs into fire hydrants.  In Los Angeles, the nicer the car, the more of a danger the driver is.  This happened last month, about six blocks over.  This month, all the fire hydrants are okay, although someone got shot on my block two days ago and the crime scene investigation was phenomenally involved.  Lots of cops and yellow tape and all that, just like on telly!  The coroner was wearing brown slacks with a grey suit, indicting that he either dressed poorly because he works with dead people, or vice versa, or perhaps is actually super scared of death and constantly requires brown pants.
Having people visiting was hard because of my social anxiety, compounded by the fact that after working a 10-hr. day I don't want to come home to entertain anyone or show them about a city I don't know well yet. Also Andrew's family in general makes me uneasy ever since his mother had a meltdown a few years ago and kicked me out of her house and has taken ever opportunity since to be really rude to me. The worst part, though, with having the kids around, was that I couldn't cut loose and do any of the things I normally do when I get home from work: take off my shirt and bra, uncork a bottle of wine, et cetera.

Speaking of drinks, we went to a bar last month and tried an Old Spanish, which combines tonic water and riesling with a few jumbo green olives. Shockingly... not terrible. Mind you, I don't want you to get the impression we do nothing but go to bars. We went to Ikea recently, which was alright but I was somewhat disappointed because everyone had set the bar so high. Jack, for example, lost his shit over these coasters, which were made of 40% recycled material and 60% Swedish horse meat.

We got picture frames and hung up some pictures about the house, including Carlisle's “certificate of bravery,” which he got from his last surgery, and a series of 6 drawings Jack did of us three and the dogs hanging out together.

In closing news as temperatures continue to climb, we got Seamus got a haircut. Before: The dog who loves unconditionally and drools uncontrollably.  He leaves drool-hearts frequently, which is endearingly gross. After: The poster boy for shelter dogs everywhere.  "Consider adopting your new best friend TODAY!"  ^_^ (This is what prolonged living in California does to you... MAKE OVER!)
Posted by Julie at 4:48 PM No comments: 

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