Cloudy Day At The Beach.

My friend and I went on a picnic at the beach today, and I got some good shots of the Peninsula.
If I think about it, I feel a little sad about leaving Palos Verdes for Seattle, because the scenery is, it must be said, breathtaking. And I've grown a fondness for the Mediterranean climate and aura.

5 Things I Want Now: MAY

I've decided that I am going to compile a list of five things that I covet each month. My tastes tend to shift from week to week, month to month, year to year, so it's probably a good idea for me to keep track of everything.
All I know is, I'm going to need a seriously high-paying job to support this unfortunate shopping habit I have.

1. The Big Buddha "Postman" Messenger Bag
I fell in love with this brand last autumn whilst perusing my local Stein Mart. I was poking through the handbags, and spied a bright, summer-squash colored bag with beautiful brass detailing. It was the Big Buddha "Groupie" bag, and thus began my obsession with this San Diego-based company. Unfortunately if I do want to acquire this bag, I'd have to hunt for it on eBay or some other similar site, but I'm seriously willing to pay any amount for this bag; it's just beautiful. The quality of Big Buddha is amazing; the "Groupie" that I own is supple, and the leather is so buttery-soft and drapes beautifully over my shoulder or elbow. They are definitely worth it.



2. Sarah Jessica Parker's "Lovely"
This perfume is akin to Calvin Klein's Euphoria in terms of intoxication. I smelled it about a year ago while hanging out with friends on the wrists of a girl I do not know. But, as anyone who knows me and my obsession with perfume, I couldn't let a scent that complex and daring go without finding out what it was. It took me all of two seconds to quiz her about it, and since then, every time I pass through the Macy's near my house, I stop at the counter to bask in it. Other perfumes have caught my attention since, and I've bought many, but I always come back to this one, to admire and appreciate...I couldn't tell you why I haven't bought it yet. Perhaps I think I'm not worthy enough (and yes, my dedication to perfumes goes this far...everyone has their quirks). The reason I love "Lovely" it so much is because the base notes include cedarwood and other sultry wood scents, which I am an absolute sucker for. Medium notes include paperwhite and patchouli, which lend it a crisp, yet exotic twist, while top notes of lavender and apple martini keep it fresh and slightly sweet. You can bet that after I've broken in my newly purchased Prada Tendre, I'm going to buy a bottle of this. The thing about me is, I can never stick to one perfume, I wear what I feel, and so I will always be on the lookout for my next mood.


3. The "Addy" Sandal by Dolce Vita
I know that you really can either love or hate the gladiator sandal, and I happen to be one of the people who loves them. I think they're just beautiful when paired with flowy white dresses and delicate gold jewelry. I've also found they're easier on my feet; They stick to your feet like sneakers so your toes don't have to work as hard to keep them on as they would with a traditional thong. And honestly, they're just neat-o looking. They slim down the ankle and make a statement. While looking through the Free People website, I came upon these adorable sandals, and I can just see myself tramping around in them all summer, poking through Farmer's Markets and lounging at the beach with a book. And they'd look so wonderful with a summer skirt/dress I found at the Salvation Army.


4. The Anthropologie "Milo" Sofa
I have loved this couch ever since Anthropologie opened up at the Del Amo mall. Sometimes I just go back to sit on it and envision it in my dream home (which I won't get into now). It's got a slight antique feel to it...enough to give it personality, but not so much as to look dated. And I love the fresh teal color...it contrasts so well with the dark mahogany feet. I can imagine loading it up with cream-colored pillows and a soft throw and spend the day on it reading and napping. Siiiiiigh.


5. A Lookbook.nu Account
Sadly, you have to be uber-fashionable to get an account at Lookbook.nu, but at least I can look. I get a lot of ideas from this site for everything from hairstyles, decorating my room, and even food (yes, food...I have an extremely hyper imagination). It's a fashion mecca for those who want to learn, or just appreciate the eclectic styles of the world.

Polly.

I posted this in another blog, but I want to put it here to commemorate my dog, who passed away. It's never easy losing a pet, but if you're like me, it's devastating. I just haven't known what to do with myself...I'm aimless. I'll wander into the kitchen and open the refrigerator door and stare into it, looking vainly for something. But I can't make up my mind. I solve this problem by just not eating anything. I want her back, but I know it's selfish of me...she's in a better place now, no pain, no fatigue.
My heart is broken.



Polly has taken to sleeping in my room with me. I'll be in bed reading, and I'll hear this scratchy noise, and I'll open the door, and there she pushes past my legs onto the carpet where she settles herself and starts to snore. I think since my room is the only one with carpeting, she likes it because it's soft on her bones. I get this sort of choked-up feeling when I see her now. She's 119 in human years...she's ancient. Her hip bones jut out and I can count every rib in her. But she's holding on, nonetheless. The vet says he's never seen a dog her age look so good.
Polly came to us from Paso Robles.
My aunt and grandmother took a rode trip there with Tasha, who was our purebred Siberian Husky. Don't ask me why Paso Robles, as far as I'm concerned it's a godforsaken place that is intriguing only because it's horse country. They were staying the night at a hotel that kept pets, and my grandmother spotted a little black and white dog, emaciated except for a swollen, obviously pregnant belly, hovering near the hotel door. Tasha didn't like this at all of course, but my nana and my aunt tied her up in the room and tried to inspect the dog. She fled to a men's bathroom and cowered behind the toilets. They decided to leave her alone, but left a bowl of food out for her. The woke up the next morning with the dog sleeping right by the door and the food bowl licked clean.
They were getting ready to come home that day, and the dog watched them pack carefully. Then, judging her timing carefully, this little starving pregnant dog lept into the car and wedged herself firmly behind the driver's seat. Nothing could entice her out. Of course this worked out great because my aunt and grandmother had been concocting a plan to try and capture her and bring her home. The drive home took hours, and even when they stopped for gas and to let Tasha pee, the dog would not get out of the car.
As soon as they got her home, they washed her up and that night she slept with her head planted firmly on my grandmother's chest. She said that she could hardly breathe the entire night because the dog was practically sleeping on top of her.
A few days later, she gave birth to seven puppies under my aunt's bed.
A week later, my sister and I came to the house to live.
You can imagine our delight at having seven fluffy, cute, playful puppies to romp around with, and immediately got down to naming them. Nana decided to name the dog Polly. I asked her why and she said, "Oh I don't know, she just looks like a Polly."
By this time, Polly had decided we were not going to dump her or abuse her or hurt her or her puppies in any way, so she relaxed, and let my sister and I in the pen with her babies. I don't think anything can equal the cuteness of puppies or kittens. They pooped everywhere, peed everywhere, nibbled, licked, snuggled and snored, and were so absolutely adorable that we couldn't stand it. Sister and I were all for keeping them and starting a dog farm, but no, they had to go to other homes. We named them before giving them away, and the only two I can remember the names of were Bear, who looked like a little mountain dog, and Dinah, who looked exactly like her mother. We'd all grown very attached to Dinah, but we had to give them all away. Tasha's nose was severly out of joint, and she was very sulky, and to be fair, she was there first.
Polly we decided to give to a neighbor. My grandparents hadn't planned on keeping her, and Sister and I were sad to see her go, because she was so very affectionate and sweet with us. She "guarded" us when strangers came over, and herded us away from people she didn't know. She liked to wedge herself up on the sofa with us when we read, and was always looking for a tummy rub.
The same night she went over to our neighbor's house, which was several blocks over, she managed to get out into the backyard (by breaking through the screen door, if memory serves me), LEAPING OVER THEIR SIX FOOT FENCE, and running back home. She waited on the porch until my grandmother emerged around five to get the paper.
Needless to say, Polly came back to stay. Neighbor was extremely insulted, saying that no dog had ever not liked him before.
But I don't think it was a matter of liking. We rescued Polly, or rather, she had us rescue her, and she'd be damned if she was leaving us.
Polly was extremely posessive, barking almost savagely at strangers, she would not go near men at all, except for my grandfather, and she was extremely loyal. She was reserved most of the time and would not chase after the tennis balls when we threw them for her, but she loved going on walks and being set loose in the golf course (strictly verboten). She'd run like a streak of lightning across the manicured fields and back to us, panting, her sides heaving and gleaming with dew, a big doggy smile on her face. The vet said she was a cross between some small breed of terrier, pitbull, and she had herding dog in her blood, because of her tendency to "herd" me and my sister away from strangers, and she LOVED being with horses.
She would get extremely nervous if one of us left the house, and wouldn't leave the front door for too long until all of us were in for the night. She learned the sounds of the different cars we owned, and when nana or my aunt would come back with groceries, she'd do a little dance on her hind legs.
She never needed to be taught tricks, she just seemed to know what we wanted her to do. But she was strictly a one-dog household kind of dog, because she would get in violent fights with Tasha, and we had to keep them constantly separate. She also had a tendency to kill small animals like skunks and raccoons, and, I'm sad to relate, a couple of feral cats. And a chipmunk too, now that I think of it.
She hated riding in the car, too. She seemed to know when her vet visits were, because she'd slink into my grandfather's room and try to wedge herself under his bed. She'd start shaking violently, and several times she'd have to be picked up and carried to the car. She hated any type of change in her routine, and would always sulk for a day or two after a vet visit or a bath.
I see her now, old and feeble, with milky eyes and white fur speckling her face, and sometimes I get sad, and sometimes I smile. She's quite an amazing dog. Sometimes I get the feeling she's holding on simply to let us know that she's our dog, and she doesn't want us to forget it.
It's funny how she matured. She was probably around ten when the cats came into our lives, and by then, she just didn't care. Now she and my cat will take naps together, on the same cushion, no less. She doesn't seem to mind when one of us goes out anymore, although she does pace a lot at night. And she seems content to just sort of putter around our backyard now.
I don't get the feeling she's tired, I think she's just content in her old age. Of course, when she does go, I'll be sad, I'll cry for a few days and think about her, like I did with Latte, but I'm trying to remember how funny she was and what a good life we gave her.

The Fuzzbucket Never Fails To Make Me Laugh...

I snapped this picture of my cat the other day whilst trying to clean up my room. She's developed this habit of "helping" me with the housework, namely impeding me as i try to make the bed. She likes it messy...more nooks and crannies for her to burrow into.
And then when I saw the expression on her face, I had to caption it. LOLcats are an internet meme that will never get old for me.

Wink.

The clock winked.
Wait, what? Winked?
Clocks don't wink-they tick. Tick tock, you know?
Unless they're one of those sleepy-face clocks, I guess.
I shake my head and look at the clock again. No. No eyes. No winking. Just tick-tocking.
It's going to be a weird day, I can just tell.
My toothbrush is in the trash. I stare down into the plastic bucket, full of crumpled tissues, clumps of hair,and empty cardboard toilet paper rolls and wonder why the hell I would throw it away. It was a perfectly good toothbrush-a nice, rubbery, grippy handle, stiff bristles, brand new.

I leave the house with my teeth feeling fuzzy.

On the bus, I flip through the paper. Sylvia Plath's son committed suicide at age 41. They do not say how. This makes me curious.

Is that sick?

I get off the bus at 14th and walk the half-block to the cinder-block building where I get paid to do...something; I haven't quite figured out what yet. I see a businessman standing near the entrance to the building, shouting into his cell phone.
"CA...CAN YOU HEAR ME? WHA-WHAT? I...I'M LOSING SERVICE...I'M LOSING YOU...I'M LOS...DAMN IT!!!"

He slams the phone shut and whirls around wildly. I know what he's looking for. He spots the payphone and runs with abandon, runs like a small child over to it. There is a homeless man slumped next to it, clasping a Styrofoam cup. He looks up blearily as the businessman slams his leather briefcase down on top of the payphone. I watch curiously as he rifles through his Armani suit for for change.

This man obviously has everything. His suit is perfectly pressed. I can see the bulge in his front right pocket that most likely houses a designer leather wallet packed with more plastic than a recycling bin. He probably goes home to a posh apartment every night, works out in an expensive gym during his down time, and fucks a different beautiful woman every night.
But he doesn't have change.
He doesn't keep a few coins in his pocket just in case.

I know what's coming next. So does he.

He hesitates.
Is he going to do it? Is he...
He opens his mouth, closes his eyes.
Opens them again.
"Hey, ah, buddy, you got any change?"
The homeless man looks up at him, obviously confused.
"Sorry?"
"Do you have any spare change?" I can see that it is physically painful for the guy to form the words. The irony is just too much.

The bum laughs. I mean, really laughs. He opens his mouth wide, showing rows of chipped, yellow teeth, and screams with mirth. Tears stream from his bloodshot eyes and he wipes them away with dirty fingers. People on the street look over-what the hell is this bum laughing about?

He stuffs his filthy hand into the pocket of his torn jeans and pulls out several quarters.
"Here ya go, buddy." His eyes twinkle as he drops the quarters into the businessman's clean, pink palm.
"Thank...thank you very much."
"Glad to help."

the bum wheezes from laughing so much, shifts his position slightly, and settles back to watch the world. He spots me staring, and winks.

Wait, what?

On my lunch break, I come back outside to walk a block and a half to a sandwich shop to get a ham sandwich, potato chips, and a Diet Snapple. I stand next next to a blind man gripping his white stick at the stop light. The sun glints off of his overlarge sunglasses. He's whistling a tune I can't place. We stand in silence, and the wind blows our coats against our legs.

I can hear a woman behind me, scolding a child. I turn around and see a well-dressed woman, also in overlarge sunglasses, over-processed hair, and a velour suit. She's gripping the chubby hand of a little boy I can only assume is her son. He has chocolate ice cream dripping from his mouth to his shirt and the look of satisfaction that could only come from gorging on something cold and sweet and delicious. His other hand is brown and sticky with ice cream and is still gripping a rather soggy-looking waffle cone. His look of contentment is obscured as his mother titters.

"You're so messy, you got ice cream all over your new jumper. What's grandma going to think when she sees you? God, I spent all morning getting you ready, washing you up, picking out your clothes and you go and dump ice cream all over yourself! Do you know how hard stains are to get out? No, of course you don't. Your nana will never let me hear the end of this, this is all I need..."

Her averted eyes are on the child. She blows by me and I let out an involuntary gasp. She's walking straight out into the car-ridden street.

Quick as a flash, the white stick whips in front of woman and child, and she stops to avoid getting smacked in the face, only a couple of inches away from the curb. She looks up angrily; ready to chew the blind man out...
And a huge 18-wheeler hurls itself past her, blowing us all with hot exhaust fumes.

Her eyes widen. The anger drains from her face like blood, and her breathing quickens.

"Oh my god...I...thank...thank you." She stammers, barely able to choke the words out.
The blind man's voice is deep and rich, like chocolate.
"Not a problem, ma'am."
And I swear, she leans his head toward me slightly, and winks.

Wait, what?

On my way home, I stare out of the dirty windows of the bus, letting my mind wander. I clutch a plastic drugstore bag with a new toothbrush inside of it. My eyelids are heavy.
The bus slows for a very frazzled-looking boy. He's got a backpack strapped to his back that looks as though it weighs as much as two or three toddlers. The straps are stretched tightly, and the fabric is faded where it is sewn. He has a scowl on his face, as if he'd just had the worst day of his life. His shoes are untied.

Before the bus comes to a stop, he runs after it waving his arms wildly, as if he doesn't trust the bus driver to stop. He taps his foot impatiently as the doors slowly hiss open, and the minute he can wedge himself and his enormous backpack into the doorway, he bolts up the slippery stairs.
His shoelace gets caught in the stairs and he plummets, face-first to the floor of the bus.
As his nose collides with the floor, I hear a dull thud, and blood spurts from his nostrils. His backpack rips and several thick, expensive-looking books go flying. A woman in a wheelchair cries, "Oh my god!" and swiftly wheels forward to help him. She gets him onto his knees and hands him a wad of tissues for his nose. He accepts them, looking away, and I can tell he's trying his hardest not to cry.
She applies the brakes on her chair, and leans forward, despite her crooked back, and gathers up the fallen books and ripped bag. She then helps him into a seat. His eyes are red, and I can tell, now that I can see him closer up, that he probably hasn't slept for a few days-there are dark circles under his eyes.
He looks at her finally, and seeing the kindness in her eyes, he visibly relaxes.
"Thank you. I...that was very kind of you. I'm a bit clumsy."
She smiles back.
"Everyone has accidents."
She carefully wheels back into place, re-locks her wheels, and adjusts her purse on her lap. She catches my eye and winks.

Wait, what?

I open the door to my small apartment. It is cool and dark inside. Everything is as I left it.
It's been a weird day. I knew it would be.
I saw a homeless man give a businessman change he desperately needed.
I saw a blind man save a woman and her son from being killed by a truck.
I saw a crippled woman help a boy up from the ground.

Wait, what?

I crawl into bed, curl up, and stare at the clock.
It winks.
I wink back.
Good night.

Spring!

"I will be the gladdest thing under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one."

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Toby is happy it's spring!