What's a dollar really worth?

I have 2 soft spots that go hand-in-hand here in L.A.: Starbucks and the homeless. At a couple different locations I even have some "buddies." The Starbucks I stop at before getting on the 405 comes complete a pal who upon seeing my car approaching waves maniacally and then stands in a spot in the street to save it for me. As I park he jams change into the meter, buying me enough time to drink a landslide of lattes. My other favorite one walks miles around Brentwood and in our exchanges we've high-fived, made small talk and he once asked if he could stand at the street corner with Teen and me as we waited for the light to change. These men I will give money to without hesitation. I believe that they're good people who have stumbled into a hard life. (I guess it could just be a minor case of yuppie angst, but I don't think my lifestyle quite qualifies me to be a bonafide yuppie.)

Most who are with me as I hand my hard-earned and meager money over to the homeless on occasion usually just shake their heads quietly, signaling that my behaviour isn't exactly the norm. I've never minded. I've always understood that maybe they've chosen to believe the stories about the "fake" homeless people who at the end of the day jump in their SUV, or believe that everything you give is just spent on alcohol. I don't deny that those things may happen... I just don't let it deter me.

And then Friday happened.

I decided that because dreaming of work woke me up in a cold sweat at 5 a.m. I deserved a latte before heading into the office extra early. I saw a homeless man as I was parking and he looked extra sad and dirty, squinting in the bright morning sun. As I walked toward him I was fidgeting with my wallet and realized that I was fresh out of any change other than stupid pennies. I dug out a dollar and folded it up, passing it off with a, "Good morning!" before he could finish asking.

Ten minutes later as I was trying to drink latte, walk and put on sunglasses at the same time I saw something that startled me enough to make me stumble slightly. No, no, no. That can't be the same man I just gave my last dollar bill to... talking on a cell phone!

How do you have a wireless plan? Where did you charge that thing? Who are you calling that is not willing to help you out or take you in? I realize I shouldn't judge because I know absolutely nothing about this person and I won't let it stop me the next time I meet someone who makes my heart hurt... but he, in particular, won't be getting anymore from me should I ever see him again.

While I did spend the rest of that day wanting my dollar back, I'm mostly annoyed at him now for making me just a little more suspicious... a little more cynical. Goodness knows, I'm plenty cynical as is.

Hungry Cat

Hanging out with a bunch of men who are all prettier than me is no new experience. I'm just trying to remember which one of these evil geniuses had the idea to take the group shot when only I had been served dinner. Yes, yes... there's the one who's just letting herself go as the rest of them gingerly sip cocktails while dreams of dramatic cheekbones cloud their vision.

Hungry Cat in Hollywood... where the boys really did eat eventually. And it was delicious.

What humiliation I won't put myself through for some rare face time with one of my favorite friends...

After 7 years of friendship, heretofore, our new favorite picture.

Down the street and across the universe

At around 10:15 tonight I wandered out onto the balcony for a bit of fresh air and a little quiet that only comes from sitting in the dark. My laundry was humming along inside, the Oscars had finished a bit ago and the pots and pans from dinner were soaking in the sink. It had been a good day; a slow, peaceful day where I actually took each moment as it came. A welcome change from the days where I'm constantly trying to plot what ideally should come next.

I sat outside sipping on a moderately priced cabernet, observing the apartment building across the street that is practically begging to star in a movie. With its buzzing, rickety gate, decades-old hanging light fixtures and giant, swoopy apartment name on the side, it screams, "I am the home of a struggling L.A. genius! Someone on their way up or on their way down will nurture a brooding, yet often hopeful outlook on life from within my depressing and totally missable, slightly dilapidated walls."

Totally missable, that is, if you're anyone other than the girl who lives directly across the street, who often has nothing better to do than watch the comings and goings of people who buzz themselves in and slam their ways out of "The Saltair."

Tonight my eye was caught by the angel-like lights circling above the neighbors' retro home. It was a signal that just a few miles away, at locations I pass on a regular basis, the city's chosen few - the world's chosen few, really - were out celebrating the night away at lavish parties across town. So close, yet an entire world and reality away.

My mind started drifting, thinking how nice it was that the weather had stayed mild, maybe even warm enough that the actresses in their slinky gowns wouldn't be too cold. Then I realized that they were probably freezing after all, as their body fat was likely around only 20% of my own.

With a grumbling, "Screw them!" I threw back the last sip of wine and marched inside to retrieve the last bits of laundry. Maybe there isn't a snowball's chance in hell of me ever looking like the dowdiest one of them, but I read half a novel today, did 4 loads of laundry and made a fairly tasty dinner in one pot out of the misfit ingredients I could find in a kitchen that hadn't been treated to a grocery run in about 3 weeks. I challenge any one of them to say they've done the same anytime recently. So there.

I come from good stock

I find this picture to be wonderfully telling of my family...
L-R: Sweetheart, Amused, Appears to be making armpit noises.



We're a complex bunch. 'Nuff said.