Jaw breakers and Jean-Claude Van Damme

So, last night I got punched in the face.  Upon later reflection, I actually have reason to believe I was kneed in the face, but whatever the projectile body part involved, the contact point was definitely my face.  Put away your fire and pitchforks, it was an accident and the guy who owned the fist or knee in question is a lovely person.

Seriously, I know what I sound like but put down the phone and stop dialing the abused women hotline.  We were improvising in a show and he nearly tripped over me, so to teach me a lesson he popped me in the jaw.  

Consequently, I have had to punish myself further by adopting a liquid diet, as the alternative is making pitiful cold puppy whimpering noises every time I chew.  This has allowed for a very interesting case study in Hollywood's reaction to dietary habits.  After my nearly two months so far living here, I am already very aware of the hatred that is involved in not appearing to put much thought into what you eat.  Nothing gives a Hollywood barista more pleasure than stink eyeing my choice to allow her to use whipped cream on my drink, and don't even get me started on the distain toward an occasional bagel.  

I have been a vegetarian for eight years, so I have a small stipend of protection from these health crazed busybodies.  Apparently I am allowed to eat mashed potatoes if they are in a vegetarian shepherd's pie.  Thank goodness I let Bambi get to me as a kid.

This morning, when the aftermath of my Jean-Claude Van Damme moment fully set in, I set off to the store to find sustenance that didn't require a jaw be functional.  I was feeling a bit cocky about my grocery run.  With my shopping basket filled with protein shakes and yogurt I looked like a regular Hollywooder!  

How naive I was to feel so confident.  Upon checking out, I was very disappointed to receive a whole new brand of smug looks.  My checkout girl clearly thought she saw right through me.  She assumed that the guy that told Bob Dylan to go electric had gotten to me too and was puppet-mastering me into abandoning my previously adored solid foods. (He hasn't had a lot going on for a while...) 

I wanted to call out to her, tell her I would be back to real food as soon as I was healed.  I wanted her to know that I was the good guy.  (I mean obviously, if I was the bad guy in a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie I would have been knocked out, not just sore from a hit like that, surely this was evidence!)  Instead, I chose to look hungrily at my protein shake, letting my eyebrows tell her, "That's right.  Ten grams of protein per serving.  Delicious."  I strutted right out of that grocery store with my head held high, and you know what?  Later tonight I am going to drink a Latte.  With whipped cream.

Just Worried About the Cat

In a couple of days, Mia and I are moving from our Princess tower in Fullerton, and into a little studio in Hollywood.  Of course I, being well traveled for my age and having regularly made the commute to Hollywood for years, am not worried at all, but I do worry for Mia.  Fullerton, after all is where we first met and has been a truly lovely home.  

Mia has gotten accustomed to the views from all the windows of our tower, each giving the whole place the feel of a treehouse.  She has grown used to having friends pour out onto the balcony when the kitchen/living room is too full of cooks and laughter.  And don't even get me started on the untold joy she gets from throwing up fur-balls and watching them cascade down the tiny wooden staircase.  I may miss enjoying the occasional sunrise and cup of coffee from my roof, but what is that to Mia's sadness at no longer being able to use her intricate knowledge of how to open every drawer and cupboard in this place while I'm asleep?  This is the most beautiful apartment I've ever lived in, but its the only apartment my little alley cat has ever called home.
And what about this community we've… I mean she's.... grown to love?  I've lived in Modjeska Canyon, R.S.M, Chicago, Florence and The Dreaded Valley, but Mia was born and raised in Fullerton.  I know I'll find new adventures in Hollywood, but I worry that Mia will miss walking over to the Night Owl or Max Bloom' s or McClain's for a cup of coffee, or driving over to Sunset Lounge for a game of pool and a Shirley Temple.  (I can only assume those are the activities she engages in on the rare occasions she escapes the house.  That's what I'd do.)
Look, call me a worry wart if you will, say I'm being a crazy cat lady because I'm so concerned with Mia's well being, but seriously: shit, man.  We are college graduates now.  We have to be real grown ups and get real jobs and make money and settle into a new place and get new people to hang out with us (because I care about her and all but when a cat and a single gal spend too much time together, people talk) and find new places to feel happy and safe and creative all while looking slightly aloof and disinterested in everything but laser pointers?  Don't get me wrong, I can totally handle it.  I'm just a little worried about the cat.

Nine Weeks Til' Adulthood

Hey gang,
Been wondering where I've been? I took a little detour to write Nine Weeks Til' Adulthood a blog  to capture the last sprint toward the end of my degree.  Unfortunately, it was the last sprint to my degree, so I was a bit busy...  In any case, the Monomyth continues.

Living among the Trees

I've slept on a lot of couches.  I pride myself on the fact that I am just likable enough for my friends to offer me the couch for the weekend or after an evening bingeing on Quantum Leap.  When my friend Megan permitted me to stay with her while I was in Portland, I was very grateful, but had no idea the extent to how awesome it would be. 

She lives in a forest! It's like a little woodland bungalow.  This is the view.

Just look at all those trees!This morning I stepped outside to bask in it and make a few phone calls and this squirrel gave me a piece of his mind for a while, but the joke is on him, I think squirrel chatter is hilarious.

I spent a very relaxing morning watching birds flutter over to snack from the feeder and am just so tickled to be here.  Top all this off with a little bonus room and futon to sleep in and I am in weekend away heaven. 

Welcome to Portland

I'm in the fanciest car I've ever driven, surrounded by evergreen trees which are like a dream compared to the southern california July from whence I came.  Portland is such a welcome escape for the weekend.  I am just reaching the point of concern about where I am and how many freeways I have already been directed to since leaving the airport when a bridge comes into view.  A beautiful bridge, and I'm headed right for it.  As I drive onto the bridge I feel so light, the song on the radio changes.  It's that scene in the movie where the wide-eyed girl comes to a new city. It's an exciting montage that alternates between magical city pans   and enthusiastic facial expressions from the main character set to a song that is going to make a killing on itunes.  I am completely lost in my moment.  So lost that I miss the exit I am meant to take.  

At that point, I'm looking around and all the supposed exits just look like entrances onto more freeways.  I keep going, assuming an exit will eventually pop up and be obvious, until off in the distance: my bridge, and I'm heading right toward it.  I laugh to myself and enjoy the ghost of my movie moment.  On the second pass I'm not distracted, but I'm still a little confused, so I pull off and park to recollect my sense of direction.  I have no real destination, I'm just starving so anywhere with food will suffice.  My iphone tells me where to go and I'm off again.  Left, right, under a freeway, and first right… wait, was this the first right?  I'm not positive, I think I'm going the right way but I can't be sure, and then I see it: My bridge! …and I'm heading right toward it.

The Rain Song

This is one of my original tunes :-)

Kim Possible Cover

Girl Power.