Some Really Random Babble
Hey, who's dumb idea was it to move to Los Angeles? Huh? Mine, you say? Well, okay then. As long as I can only blame myself. No, I'm kidding. I'm glad I came. For now.
Here's the thing: there are these people here. (Yes, here I go again with the pod people thing - well, sort of.) They're not pods, per se. They're in 'the biz.' Or, they want to be in 'the biz.' Badly. Take my upstairs neighbor whom I've already complained about, the guitar player /singer /hipster doofus that now fancies himself an actor. He's obviously trying out for a role of a man with a British accent. So what he does is blast vintage Stones (Satisfaction) and The Beatles (Help) all day (no, he does not work - yeah, you all know how I know that!) and constantly goes about speaking and/or singing REALLY LOUDLY in a British accent.
But really, what do I know? I mean, he's an ACTOR! He's starving for his CRAFT! He's going to be FAMOUS! Not to mention excruciatingly annoying along the way...
I mean, come on. I'm more in 'the biz' than he is. I mean, where I work part time at the wine shop, we delivered a bottle of Scotch to a certain someone on the set of Scrubs tonight! Who wants my autograph? I'm 7 degrees from a B-lister!
Yes, that was sarcastic.
What a weird, warped town this is.
On another note, the march downtown against the new immigration bill proposed in the House and pushed by bush drew 500,000 protestors yesterday. The news said it was LA's largest protest turnout in history.
I'm a little conflicted on the issue, to be honest.
Little nervous about the new job tomorrow. I don't recall seeing one female in that office... it's the one lawyer I'll be working for, and all the others are CPAs. I like my new boss but he's totally neurotic and there is only so much I can take of him. He is also the type that will be calling me during non-work hours (if he believes there are such things!) I will need to set up boundaries quickly or he will steamroll over them in his quest to be Almighty Neurotic Lawyer armed with new Competent Assistant. (I threw that competence adjective in there to be optimistic...)
The emphysematic cough has returned from October when I first moved here. First it was a sore throat (last week). Then it was plugged ears. Then it was a tickle in the back of the throat and a dry cough. Now it's a full-blown, carrying-my-oxygen-tank-with-me-where-ever-I-go-and-a-handkerchief-too kind of cough. And I can't hear. I had to take all these orders today at work at the wine shop, and one was particularly bad. This woman calls up, and she's whispering. I can barely hear her - even if my ears weren't full of fluid, I would barely be able to hear her. So she's whispering and talking really slowly and didn't seem to respond to my questions, so I did the best I could and handed the order over. Then I bitched about it to D and he goes, where is that order going? And I gave him the address and he goes, ooh! that's the medical marijuana place - they're all stoned - really - they just throw the money at me when I drop off the food, don't even count it...
See, I couldn't make this stuff up.
About three weeks ago I volunteered to run a couple of deliveries because it would get me out of the shop and I was dumb enough to think it might me fun! So off I go with an order, in my stylish apron from the shop with my name tag, and in the shop's stylish minivan with the logo painted on the side, to cruise down Sunset Blvd to drop off some food...I arrive at an office building, find some parking, and start walking. I open the front door of this place, and the first thing I notice is a big sign that reads, "Auditions this way" and an arrow. Unfortunately for me, it was also where I was going. So up I go to arrive in a room full of those people. They were apparently reading for two different parts: the part of the hipster, youthful, in-style dude, and the part of the rail-thin, spiked-heeled, mini-skirted chick. And there I am, in my super-cool apron, name tag, comfortable clogs, and a big bag of food. No one acknowledged me so I waited for a bit and finally announced, quite loudly, "Who ordered food from ____?!" I kind of felt like that guy from Fast Times that had to bring the pizza into the school for Spicoli? Anyway, all these people turn their heads ever so slowly and look at me. I look at them. Someone steps forward, a fat guy and says, "Where have YOU been?" But he gave me a big tip. I thought it was funny. I rather enjoyed myself...except when I got lost trying to get out the second delivery. Whoops.
Well, that's all I got for the time being. Happy Sunday...
Here's the thing: there are these people here. (Yes, here I go again with the pod people thing - well, sort of.) They're not pods, per se. They're in 'the biz.' Or, they want to be in 'the biz.' Badly. Take my upstairs neighbor whom I've already complained about, the guitar player /singer /hipster doofus that now fancies himself an actor. He's obviously trying out for a role of a man with a British accent. So what he does is blast vintage Stones (Satisfaction) and The Beatles (Help) all day (no, he does not work - yeah, you all know how I know that!) and constantly goes about speaking and/or singing REALLY LOUDLY in a British accent.
But really, what do I know? I mean, he's an ACTOR! He's starving for his CRAFT! He's going to be FAMOUS! Not to mention excruciatingly annoying along the way...
I mean, come on. I'm more in 'the biz' than he is. I mean, where I work part time at the wine shop, we delivered a bottle of Scotch to a certain someone on the set of Scrubs tonight! Who wants my autograph? I'm 7 degrees from a B-lister!
Yes, that was sarcastic.
What a weird, warped town this is.
On another note, the march downtown against the new immigration bill proposed in the House and pushed by bush drew 500,000 protestors yesterday. The news said it was LA's largest protest turnout in history.
I'm a little conflicted on the issue, to be honest.
Little nervous about the new job tomorrow. I don't recall seeing one female in that office... it's the one lawyer I'll be working for, and all the others are CPAs. I like my new boss but he's totally neurotic and there is only so much I can take of him. He is also the type that will be calling me during non-work hours (if he believes there are such things!) I will need to set up boundaries quickly or he will steamroll over them in his quest to be Almighty Neurotic Lawyer armed with new Competent Assistant. (I threw that competence adjective in there to be optimistic...)
The emphysematic cough has returned from October when I first moved here. First it was a sore throat (last week). Then it was plugged ears. Then it was a tickle in the back of the throat and a dry cough. Now it's a full-blown, carrying-my-oxygen-tank-with-me-where-ever-I-go-and-a-handkerchief-too kind of cough. And I can't hear. I had to take all these orders today at work at the wine shop, and one was particularly bad. This woman calls up, and she's whispering. I can barely hear her - even if my ears weren't full of fluid, I would barely be able to hear her. So she's whispering and talking really slowly and didn't seem to respond to my questions, so I did the best I could and handed the order over. Then I bitched about it to D and he goes, where is that order going? And I gave him the address and he goes, ooh! that's the medical marijuana place - they're all stoned - really - they just throw the money at me when I drop off the food, don't even count it...
See, I couldn't make this stuff up.
About three weeks ago I volunteered to run a couple of deliveries because it would get me out of the shop and I was dumb enough to think it might me fun! So off I go with an order, in my stylish apron from the shop with my name tag, and in the shop's stylish minivan with the logo painted on the side, to cruise down Sunset Blvd to drop off some food...I arrive at an office building, find some parking, and start walking. I open the front door of this place, and the first thing I notice is a big sign that reads, "Auditions this way" and an arrow. Unfortunately for me, it was also where I was going. So up I go to arrive in a room full of those people. They were apparently reading for two different parts: the part of the hipster, youthful, in-style dude, and the part of the rail-thin, spiked-heeled, mini-skirted chick. And there I am, in my super-cool apron, name tag, comfortable clogs, and a big bag of food. No one acknowledged me so I waited for a bit and finally announced, quite loudly, "Who ordered food from ____?!" I kind of felt like that guy from Fast Times that had to bring the pizza into the school for Spicoli? Anyway, all these people turn their heads ever so slowly and look at me. I look at them. Someone steps forward, a fat guy and says, "Where have YOU been?" But he gave me a big tip. I thought it was funny. I rather enjoyed myself...except when I got lost trying to get out the second delivery. Whoops.
Well, that's all I got for the time being. Happy Sunday...
1 Comments:
Back on track and degrees from a B-lister! Oh, Elizabeth, you are such a busy girl...
Take care,
Sublime
Post a Comment
<< Home