In Praise of Plantains

Yesterday was a long, stressful day that involved driving up to the valley for one interview and then driving down to Culver City for a second interview. It took me many moons to get home from the westside and I was pooped and opened a bottle of wine, which went immediately to my head and then I became very hungry and I called Bossa Nova, this Brazilian restaurant on Sunset, because I decided I would die if I didn't get any of that damn fried yucca and then I ordered the mahi mahi and the fried plantains while I was at it, and those plantains, I'll tell ya, it was food bliss...food has never tasted so good before. Oh, those plantains. I love you, Plantain God. Thank you for making plantains in your tasty image...And thank you for instructing the folks at Bossa Nova the correct way of cooking them in whatever-it-is they cooked them in that made them all black and buttery and ohmygod....I can't imagine what anyone would have thought of me while I was eating those plantains, all the ecstatic sounds I was making. I've never taken a bite of food that good! Really. I took a bite and started chewing, and then I just sat back and went, "ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmnnnn...." And to think I ordered the food for the silly yucca. Oh, and that mahi mahi...grilled to perfection...I ate until I was downright uncomfortable but it was worth it. And look! I managed to write an entire paragraph about it!

So, the interviews went well. The first one is the job I want - oh, do I want it. It's actually for a criminal law paralegal position and it just sounds great...so, got my fingers crossed on that one. Also, the commute was nothing - just zipped up the 101 in 20 minutes and ended up having to kill time at Target. The second interview was the one in Culver City that was the wine job. Nope, it's not the wine job for me. For many reasons...no. 1 is the drive. Horrible. Anytime I gotta go all the way south to get on the Santa Monica freeway and then get onto the 405 will make me want to rip out my damn hair. I still have some hair left, fortunately - but the rest is in the car.

Not sure what's going on upstairs. Guitar Singing Guy sounded like he was having an "episode" earlier. He was jumping around, screaming, "Quit talking to me! Quit talking to me!" And my neighbor, his girlfriend, is not home and wasn't home at the time...so was he on the phone or was he talking to the voices in his head? One wonders...