Cheetos and Floods

So much to write about, so little time. After being traumatized by Mission Viejo aka South Orange County types on Sunday while giving mini facials (which I'd rather receive than give and I'm reminded of this every single time I'm greeted by snooty unappreciative people), I trekked back to LA where I hit a traffic jam. The source of the traffic jam? A beautiful black woman who was out in the middle of traffic throwing cheetos at the cars. Yes, I swear. She was mid-30s, I'm guessing-- and dressed cute-- in a black flouncy skirt and white tank top. I guess if you're going to stop traffic, you should look cute enough to do it. The cheetos thing was a bonus. Which led me to believe she was drunk and crazy, not mean and crazy. I mean, she could have been throwing something like rocks or tennis balls but no, cheetos. Crunchy, orange, preservative-laden cheetos. It was pretty much pointless and as such, pretty much entertained everyone who was stuck waiting for her to get out of the road. I'm guessing they were entertained since people in LA are usually so impatient that they don't wait for anything. And honk at everything in the way. This time, no one honked. They just waited for her to get her cheetos on and then tried to drive around her while dodging said cheetos. I would have stayed and watched to see what happened next if I hadn't been so tired. Hopefully she wasn't hit. That would be bad and make the cheeto story kind of tragic. In other words, a buzz kill. (Not that I was buzzed when I was driving. I'm using it as a figure of speech).

And then there was yesterday. Sick all day with allergies. Really sick. Not moving sick. Accomplishing nothing sick. But I did let my friend Steve come over and do all of his laundry here. Which was kind of like accomplishing something-- only once removed. What I should have really accomplished, though is writing and figuring out what was making my refrigerator leak. But it didn't seem bad, I couldn't move and I figured it could wait a day. And my landlord's sister was so nice about the drip coming down into her apartment below, that it didn't seem urgent. And then she said that smart people have allergies. Which was a nice little compliment in my weakened condition. So I didn't want to appear too capable. Well, maybe that would have been a good idea. The flood began at approximately 7:15am.

That's when I saw the deluge of water. Moved the fridge. And a broken tube went flying all over spraying water in its wake. Everywhere. This was followed by me turning off the water to the sink which didn't help. And trying to find out where to turn off the water that I actually needed to turn off. Which I couldn't do. Many phone calls to many people who own this building, manage this building and make money from this building later, and after saturating every towel in the apartment and Kelly's brilliant idea of using the spin cycle to try and rotate the towels while emptying the constantly filling bucket and failing to patch the pipe -- Manuel the plumber arrived. And the day was saved. As well as the hardwood floors, my office area and sanity.

Well anyway, the cheetos, I do not believe were a sign. The water I do. It means change. Good change. A release of emotions. Well, it also means some other stuff like the repressing of strong emotions which are sensual in nature. That's not a leap either. Hmmm, maybe I need to actually MOVE to Vegas. Not a lot of repressing going on there. Or just prey upon 26 year-old men from Portland, Oregon.