The southern California weather is a real tricky bastard. The sun shines almost daily making the outdoors look appealing but then you step outside and BAM! The ocean breeze hits and you find yourself wishing you brought a sweater, jacket or down comforter to wrap around yourself. I always want to sit outside and soak up the sun, but the freak and abrupt temperature change, as well as my desire to sit in a comfortable, (preferably overstuffed) chair hold me back. Luckily for me, I have found the perfect solution: sit in my car with the windows rolled down. It gives me the illusion of being outside but provides the comfort and shelter I need but also adds the perk of listening to my own music. Not only that, but there are several activities I only feel safe doing in my car.
Such activities include dancing and talking on the phone. Dancing in my car has been the topic of past posts and will probably be the topic of future posts because I legitimately love my car dancing. I’m not sure why I feel most comfortable talking on the phone in my car, but I do. I like knowing there is no one there who can hear me. It’s not like a paranoia thing, where I think someone has bugged my house, but I do think it has something to do with being surrounded by windows. I can see if anyone is approaching, allowing me the time to change the subject or lower my voice. I do this pretty much everywhere; at restaurants I always stall my conversation when the waiter comes to my table. I think it helps maintain my anonymity. And I'll be damned if my waiter knows my plans for the rest of the day! I suppose if I lived in a glass house I would enjoy talking on the phone in my apartment. But then again, I would never be able to throw rocks and I love that. At any rate, this is NOT the topic of this post. This post is about what many of my posts are about: the freaks that live in my apartment complex.
Yesterday, I was sitting in my car, enjoying the sunshine, when I noticed a guy was walking back and forth, from one side of the parking lot to the other as if he was taking a casual stroll. It appeared that he was doing this for exercise, which is just weird because we have a gym and live a block from a park, but his attire told a different story. He had on dressy boots, jeans, a polo, a scarf and aviators; not exactly what someone would wear to work up a sweat. After his walk surpassed 20 minutes I decided was most definitely exercising. And then, since I have seen and interacted with the people that live in my complex, I assumed he was confused and thought a parking lot was a great place to walk and clear your head. And maybe it is! He is not the first person I’ve seen do this.
There is an elderly woman I've seen walking for exercise in the lot. But she is always wearing slippers I often see her sitting in a planter at the front of the apartment complex at 7:30am, drinking a Pepsi Max, so I had chalked her walking up to her being a little off. I know what you’re thinking; I should stop being such a "work out habit snob." But it’s MORE THAN THAT. Why would you walk around a seagull and trash infested concrete parking lot like you’re in prison, when you can see a green-grassed oasis on the other side of the wrought iron gate? I know there are much more pleasant places to walk. Places where you aren’t in danger of being hit by a parking car or long boarder. But who am I to judge? I’m sure the guy walking was thinking to himself, “Why is that girl looking at me? Doesn’t she know there are patios for sitting outside, or clubs for dancing or EVERYWHERE ELSE to talk on the phone?”
I'm still going to proudly believe I am the only normal person in this apartment complex. Possibly Souther California as a whole.....
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Dude, Where's My Longboard?
It’s interesting living in Los Angeles and being able to recognize the different “feel” of each area. Within one city I can feel rushed (Hollywood), like I belong on a reality TV show (Beverly Hills), and as though I will be lied to before even having a conversation with someone (Everywhere). But I feel the most calm and comfortable in the beach cities. Not as comfortable as some of my peers, however. I live in Santa Monica and work in Hermosa Beach so I encounter a lot of beach-y, laid back, surfer “brahs” a lot. And since the weather has heated up recently, I have noticed people going about their daily lives sans shoes. Don’t get me wrong; I love the feel of sand between my toes as much as the next person, but what I don’t love between my toes is asphalt, shards of glass or blood.
I saw one of my neighbors riding his longboard barefoot through my outdoor apartment complex to take out his trash. On one hand, I was envious; I've been trying to find a quicker way to get my trash from my apartment to the dumpster and here he was gliding away with such ease. But on the other hand, isn’t this boy aware of how you stop a longboard? You drag your foot along the pavement. I’ve seen shoes that have had to be replaced because the soles had worn thin from longboarding. Yes, I was friends with longboarders in college (also known as every freshman boy), please contain your jealousy. I know I’m no doctor, just a humble writer; but I’m pretty sure it is pricier and less comfortable to replace a big toe than an Airwalk. And before any of my longboarder readers point this out, I know there is the alternative of jumping off the longboard and picking it up before it rolls away. To that I say: what kind of pointy, sharp, or even (opposite end of the spectrum) gooey things could be on these unmanaged streets that you would jump into? Wear shoes while longboarding.
The barefoot weirdness continued a few days later when I was driving in Hermosa Beach and saw some high school aged boys working out with a trainer at a small beach-side gym. These boys were throwing medicine balls to each other, lifting dumbbells, one was even outside doing lunges on the sidewalk. ALL were barefoot! Who was supervising such dangerous behavior? One Christmas, I dropped a metal stocking holder on my foot, my toe was black and blue for years (okay, weeks) and had to take antibiotics. That happened in the comfort of my own home, what would happen if one of these boys dropped a 145 pound dumbbell on their foot? I can’t even imagine rushing someone to the hospital on a longboard.
I love the laid back vibe of these beach cities, I feel much more at home where Coloradans will break for pedestrians and adhere to a blinker to let someone over. I’m just worried that this beach-y, no shoe wearing mentality is raising stupid kids. I was in Malibu a while back and struck up a conversation with the employee at one of the three Ralph Lauren stores at this small outdoor mall. He told me how one of his former Ralph Lauren co-workers had just moved to Colorado, enviously saying, “she finally got out.” Finally got out? Is Malibu really a place that kids work their whole lives to escape? I can just imagine the rest of the story, “yeah, she couldn’t take the fresh air anymore. She finally packed up her Porsche and headed East for the small towns.”
These beach kids can’t take the stress of sunshine, clear skies or mild weather, how dare I complicate their lives with shoes.
I saw one of my neighbors riding his longboard barefoot through my outdoor apartment complex to take out his trash. On one hand, I was envious; I've been trying to find a quicker way to get my trash from my apartment to the dumpster and here he was gliding away with such ease. But on the other hand, isn’t this boy aware of how you stop a longboard? You drag your foot along the pavement. I’ve seen shoes that have had to be replaced because the soles had worn thin from longboarding. Yes, I was friends with longboarders in college (also known as every freshman boy), please contain your jealousy. I know I’m no doctor, just a humble writer; but I’m pretty sure it is pricier and less comfortable to replace a big toe than an Airwalk. And before any of my longboarder readers point this out, I know there is the alternative of jumping off the longboard and picking it up before it rolls away. To that I say: what kind of pointy, sharp, or even (opposite end of the spectrum) gooey things could be on these unmanaged streets that you would jump into? Wear shoes while longboarding.
The barefoot weirdness continued a few days later when I was driving in Hermosa Beach and saw some high school aged boys working out with a trainer at a small beach-side gym. These boys were throwing medicine balls to each other, lifting dumbbells, one was even outside doing lunges on the sidewalk. ALL were barefoot! Who was supervising such dangerous behavior? One Christmas, I dropped a metal stocking holder on my foot, my toe was black and blue for years (okay, weeks) and had to take antibiotics. That happened in the comfort of my own home, what would happen if one of these boys dropped a 145 pound dumbbell on their foot? I can’t even imagine rushing someone to the hospital on a longboard.
I love the laid back vibe of these beach cities, I feel much more at home where Coloradans will break for pedestrians and adhere to a blinker to let someone over. I’m just worried that this beach-y, no shoe wearing mentality is raising stupid kids. I was in Malibu a while back and struck up a conversation with the employee at one of the three Ralph Lauren stores at this small outdoor mall. He told me how one of his former Ralph Lauren co-workers had just moved to Colorado, enviously saying, “she finally got out.” Finally got out? Is Malibu really a place that kids work their whole lives to escape? I can just imagine the rest of the story, “yeah, she couldn’t take the fresh air anymore. She finally packed up her Porsche and headed East for the small towns.”
These beach kids can’t take the stress of sunshine, clear skies or mild weather, how dare I complicate their lives with shoes.
Monday, March 7, 2011
A Close Encounter With the Sweaty Kind
On Saturday I had my 201 improv graduation show. To say the show was a hit would be an understatement. We all did very well and I was really pleased with the show we put on. Unfortunately it was not recorded so I can't post a youtube clip or anything. However, I can tell you that the high points of the show included scenes about incest, strip clubs, drug use and abuse and police brutality. I challenge you to find funnier topics.
On a slightly different note, I ran into a college friend at the gym today. Now, you all know how I feel about hugging; that it's uncomfortable more often than not because so many people hug unneccasarily at first meetings, or when the other is not reciprocating the movement to hug. And after today I would like to add hugging at the gym to my list of hugging inappropriateness. Everyone is out of breath, sweaty, listening to their ipod or eager to finish their workout, so it's awkward to interrupt or slam bodies together and catch up. That's why I wish I could say I wasn't the one who initiated the hug today to my college friend.
In a new city it is damn near unheard of for me to randomly run into someone I know from Colorado. I was so shocked to see someone from my past, I was prompted to demand a hug. And no, I was not deterred from the embrace when he said, "I would hug you but you're kind of... sweaty" as I leaned towards him, my arms wide open, ready to confirm that he was real and I was actually having a chance encounter with a friend. No, I ignored his clearly disgusted comment and chose to keep going. Sweaty? Sweaty? Who cares! You're a connection to my old life. Sure, we probably weren't on hugging terms at school, but you better believe we are now. Get over here, right in front of this bench press, let's hug.
But after the hug, when the blackout of surprised happiness wore off, it registered in my mind that he did notice my sweating and it quickly become all I could think about. I cursed myself for wearing a grey shirt to the gym! As we continued talking, I become increasingly aware and embarrassed of my sweat, which obviously, because my body hates me, made me sweat more. Finally we wrapped up the conversation and left the gym. I must be on my game the next time something like that happens. I need to remember that just because I don't interact with people very often doesn't mean everyone else leads my same life. I need to reserve such enthusiasm for family reunions, lottery wins and eventual, substantial employment.
On a slightly different note, I ran into a college friend at the gym today. Now, you all know how I feel about hugging; that it's uncomfortable more often than not because so many people hug unneccasarily at first meetings, or when the other is not reciprocating the movement to hug. And after today I would like to add hugging at the gym to my list of hugging inappropriateness. Everyone is out of breath, sweaty, listening to their ipod or eager to finish their workout, so it's awkward to interrupt or slam bodies together and catch up. That's why I wish I could say I wasn't the one who initiated the hug today to my college friend.
In a new city it is damn near unheard of for me to randomly run into someone I know from Colorado. I was so shocked to see someone from my past, I was prompted to demand a hug. And no, I was not deterred from the embrace when he said, "I would hug you but you're kind of... sweaty" as I leaned towards him, my arms wide open, ready to confirm that he was real and I was actually having a chance encounter with a friend. No, I ignored his clearly disgusted comment and chose to keep going. Sweaty? Sweaty? Who cares! You're a connection to my old life. Sure, we probably weren't on hugging terms at school, but you better believe we are now. Get over here, right in front of this bench press, let's hug.
But after the hug, when the blackout of surprised happiness wore off, it registered in my mind that he did notice my sweating and it quickly become all I could think about. I cursed myself for wearing a grey shirt to the gym! As we continued talking, I become increasingly aware and embarrassed of my sweat, which obviously, because my body hates me, made me sweat more. Finally we wrapped up the conversation and left the gym. I must be on my game the next time something like that happens. I need to remember that just because I don't interact with people very often doesn't mean everyone else leads my same life. I need to reserve such enthusiasm for family reunions, lottery wins and eventual, substantial employment.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Pop, Lock and Dropping at the Wheel
Living in LA I spend a lot of time driving, an activity that I actually love. I really must credit my iPod for making my commutes enjoyable, though. But, then again, I guess I’m the one who fills my iPod with music so I should really just thank myself. Way to go, me!
I love listening to music in my car. I’ve found that if I sit semi hunched forward over the steering wheel, my right hand leaning comfortably on my stereo and my index finger poised above the volume knob, I have the freedom and time convenience to blast my music at a point in the song that gets me especially psyched. And when I get especially psyched I like to dance. Now, I wouldn’t’ say I’m a good dancer, but I do it anyway. And I feel safest dancing in my car because I like to think no one can see me. This is far from the truth because not only are my windows not tinted, but I am constantly surrounded by cars.
Driving in Colorado I was pampered with breaks in traffic, long stretches of time where there wouldn’t be a car directly next to me, allowing me to bust a move that could not be contained any longer. Not so much in LA. I’m usually neck and neck with someone at all points during the drive. I used to think I had developed the perfect car dance, one that allowed me to move freely, the only rule being that no limbs can make their way above the window line. But when I noticed that I could see my fellow drivers holding their phones barely above their laps to sneakily text at the wheel, and that I could see what kind of coffee they were drinking as it sat in their cup holder, harsh reality set in.
I took a good, long, honest look at my car dancing and realized that my hips played an integral part my movements. When you get a central body part, such as hips, involved in a dance, all subtly goes out the window (not literally, I can proudly say my dancing stayed within the confines of the car). Sure, my arms usually stayed below the window line jabbing side to side like I was playing turntables. But my popping shoulders certainly did not. My bobbing head certainly did not. And my pursed lips that make their appearance whenever I listen to aggressive/demeaning rap (which is all the time); a face I think looks like I just finished saying, “Ooooooo-weeeee! This is my jam!” certainly did not fall below the window line. My kneecaps were basically the only body part not moving.
It reminds me of my friend’s mom who said she could always spot her daughter from behind as a child because her chubby cheeks stuck out on either side of her head. My friend was using the oldest form of false sense of safety known to man; if I can’t see you, you can’t see me. She turned her head to confuse her mom and avoid having to leave the park, and I set up my own patronizing rules to avoid facing the fact that my mobile clubbing was all to well known on the road.
PS I want to take this opportunity to remind everyone to follow me on Twitter (senny24)! I make up my own hashtags on the reg because 1. It’s funny and 2. I don’t understand how to use them correctly.
I love listening to music in my car. I’ve found that if I sit semi hunched forward over the steering wheel, my right hand leaning comfortably on my stereo and my index finger poised above the volume knob, I have the freedom and time convenience to blast my music at a point in the song that gets me especially psyched. And when I get especially psyched I like to dance. Now, I wouldn’t’ say I’m a good dancer, but I do it anyway. And I feel safest dancing in my car because I like to think no one can see me. This is far from the truth because not only are my windows not tinted, but I am constantly surrounded by cars.
Driving in Colorado I was pampered with breaks in traffic, long stretches of time where there wouldn’t be a car directly next to me, allowing me to bust a move that could not be contained any longer. Not so much in LA. I’m usually neck and neck with someone at all points during the drive. I used to think I had developed the perfect car dance, one that allowed me to move freely, the only rule being that no limbs can make their way above the window line. But when I noticed that I could see my fellow drivers holding their phones barely above their laps to sneakily text at the wheel, and that I could see what kind of coffee they were drinking as it sat in their cup holder, harsh reality set in.
I took a good, long, honest look at my car dancing and realized that my hips played an integral part my movements. When you get a central body part, such as hips, involved in a dance, all subtly goes out the window (not literally, I can proudly say my dancing stayed within the confines of the car). Sure, my arms usually stayed below the window line jabbing side to side like I was playing turntables. But my popping shoulders certainly did not. My bobbing head certainly did not. And my pursed lips that make their appearance whenever I listen to aggressive/demeaning rap (which is all the time); a face I think looks like I just finished saying, “Ooooooo-weeeee! This is my jam!” certainly did not fall below the window line. My kneecaps were basically the only body part not moving.
It reminds me of my friend’s mom who said she could always spot her daughter from behind as a child because her chubby cheeks stuck out on either side of her head. My friend was using the oldest form of false sense of safety known to man; if I can’t see you, you can’t see me. She turned her head to confuse her mom and avoid having to leave the park, and I set up my own patronizing rules to avoid facing the fact that my mobile clubbing was all to well known on the road.
PS I want to take this opportunity to remind everyone to follow me on Twitter (senny24)! I make up my own hashtags on the reg because 1. It’s funny and 2. I don’t understand how to use them correctly.
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