La Entropista

Both in and out of die große Stadt. English blogger stammtisch in P’berg or K’berg, first week in November. Where will I be then? In Munich, of course, settling into quasi-domestic life with an ex-Berliner. Would have liked to see in real life the people I read on a regular basis, but have to want to need to develop a bit of Gemütlichkeit in Bavaria before I take off to capital city alone.

Lots of us coming to grips with the end of academia and what that means when we can’t define ourselves by our research any more. Or fearful that being good at school is pretty much meaningless in the real world. Or maybe that’s just me.  

If anyone over there has any pressing need for american goods, let me know. I’m already carting over In Style magazines and hair products and another strange request that will be kept between me and Rite Aid, but what the hell, make me feel useful.

1-This is me, post diet and exercise. Just kidding. Blog.com is effed up and I’m waiting for it to revert to normal Desyl instead of random angry Indonesian dude so that I don’t have to go back and change all the settings manually. I know, the picture freaked me out too.

2-I’m in the process of packing all my lively belongings and shipping them off to Grandma’s (is he going to commit or are you doing all the committing?) garage while trying on cable-knit tights so I won’t get cold when I ride around town on my soon to have/I hope to have bike! YAY! No more drunk dialing, just drunk riding! Good times, good times…

3-I now have:
Skype (audio)
Sightspeed (video)
and printer! finally! to take with me! and it prints photos too! I’m sure I’ll be happy I have it when I’m living under the 405 overpass because I can’t afford rent!

4-But to ease me of that fear, I also have:
reinstated teaching credential (but no more tenure status) so I can look for real planning job while making better money substitute teaching than a salaried planning  position. Horray for career advancement! It is so good it deserves lots of!!!!!rrr!!!!!

5-Being introduced to all the liebling’s friends and colleagues has been really stressful for me over the past few months. It’s been really tough thinking that somehow I have to measure up to the person he left  in a way that justifies our current relationship. The last one I met was a bit condescending, but today’s experience was markedly better.

This morning I had desayuno fuerte with the liebling and his agent, who is really talkative and wonderful but describes herself as a pagan-buddhist-gnostic with a dash of Hindu. She earns points for not being Christian, but loses most of them again for being a desperately- seeking-spirituality type. She continues to lose points because she is tall and skinny and booby and funny and flirts, but I can’t pretend to be mad at her because she is, in the end, really wonderful. And she sees that he’s happy, and may attribute that somehow to him knowing me. Yeah, I’ll go with that.

staring at me and making that noise. Louder and louder. I hear you. We already went to brunch you bacon-eater, took drives, long walks in the park and through the hills, what more do you want??? SO demanding, I can’t help but laugh. How my mother did this with children, I don’t know, all I have is a wet snout nosing my elbow and trying to paw down  the internet connection from under the desk. Are you hungry? Bored? Have to pee again? I KNOW how many walks you usually take, she TOLD me, you faker. Alright, let me get my sneakers, how can I say no?

Last time, Odile came and visited me. When we weren’t at dog beach she spent most of her time doing this

or waiting for Mama Val to come back.

Today, when I came over to her house, she peeked her head around the corner with her baby in her mouth, and wiggled her approval. Today we walked, we pooped (twice), we ate pita bread (significantly contributing to the pooping), we snuggled on the bed and read, we slipped out of leash and collar next to the railroad tracks after the Surfliner sped by freaking Auntie Desyl completely out, and got doggie-denied at the cuban place downtown. Now we are tired and having doggie dreams, missing mama again. Have fun, mama, have fun.

Regardless of whether I take the schnellste route or the kurzeste route,

it still might take me half an hour to get to fast enough internet access. AAAAAHHHH. The apartment has an “analog” line. Heh? Was is das? Der ist ein langer walk für Desyl, that’s for sure. I think I need some time-space crunching of my neighborhood. Work on that, will you?

Time to dig out the “I’m a student” letter for the cheaper but not-so-cheap monthly UBahn pass. I’m not risking getting caught riding the rails for free again, says the chicken-shit. I still have an outstanding 70 euro fine for letting my ticket expire. They wanted to take the cash from me right then. I said, heck no, send me the bill in the mail. They said, you are registered with an address, I said, yeah, suckers, I’ll be gone when it arrives, though, spank you smelly much. When I told my dad I was going back he asked, aren’t you a wanted criminal in that country? Are you sure they’re gonna let you in? Thanks, dad, now I’ll have visions of them waiting at the airport for me.

I’ll be living on the U2 line again. I loves me my public transportations.

Some of you may laugh as you read this, but its generally true: I am not a dessert person. I don’t have a sweet tooth, thank god, or I would really be pushing the deuce instead of just battling to get back into the when-I-was-dancing jeans. When I do indulge, which is more frequently these days, it tends to be dark chocolate something-or-other after my resolve has been weakened from eating the whole branzino in crosta di sale marino  or finishing that bottle of cabernet.

Alternatively, the other dessert option is picking up asian-style french pastries from 17th street, CM. With the technical precision of the best chefs de pâtisserie, these OC Vietnamese and Taiwanese bakeries turn out stunningly beautiful desserts that are light and fresh and subtle without the cloying sweetness that the pinche gringos prefer. I know that this is not an exclusively OC phenomenon, as I first discovered these delights when I had to buy a bazillion birthday cakes when I was a slave in Parnassus Heights, but I was unduly excited to find out that the pater familias of eastern choux was coming to LA.

As many have noted, Beard Papa came to town in October, taking over Elixer at the Hollywood and Highland retail-entertainment complex/lifestyle center/whatever the fuck they’re called these days. Last Friday, with ten minutes to spare, I had the liebling drop me off in front of the retail monstrosity instead of walking the two blocks from the hotel god forbid the store closes so I could pick up my cream puffs. Fuck, was it worth it:

They fill the light and crispy choux paste with the creamy goodness as you order, dust with powdered sugar, and then tell you they don’t take credit cards so you have to wait as indulgent man with cash parks car.

Then you have to wait patiently again and take them home so you have proper lighting to take pictures cause you know yer gonna blog it.

Mmm, sehr lecker. The first was a revelation.

The last two, well, a lesson in sharing.

10 am 24Grooves

10:30- 11:30 Power Sculpt

only almost cried three times

tomorrow and the next day: raving bitch

Sorry.

Do NOT get fat again. Getting not fat is hard. Fucking hard.

A pair of D-cups weighs between 15 and 23 pounds–the equivalent of carrying around two small turkeys. That is NOT hot.

damn you

Do not be tempted by stinky cheese and parma Schinken and fresh black bread. Get some self control, or be screwed. Fat amerikanische Frauen do not deserve good cheese.

I’m only doing this because I was told to. Lots going on and yet nothing at all. My uterus is fine, but I’m nervous about the next period. Still have the insanely strong drugs to see me through, but I’d rather do without. I’m feeling pretty shitty about some stuff that seems to be unconnected but I’m sure is stemming from the same core issue. I bought my ticket, so I’m officially gone November 1st, and won’t return to California until January. I’m anxious and excited about that, too.

Two cool things besides all the other cool things, like being new-girlfriend drunk Desyl in front of Hollywood types and chilling with the Erics at the Alison and Extraordinary Desserts (I only had prosecco) and impromptu dinner on the Del Mar deck before ditching salsa dancing for Omar music: the neighbors of the Woodland Hills party throwers are “little people Steve” and Mekhi Phifer. DAMN. Lend me some sugar.