Day Thirteen Pt. 2 (2019)
Joyous day, joyous day, it is June 13th. A year since last year’s June 13th. It’s been a year since I moved to the sunniest place on earth (except in June): Los Angeles. It’s Thursday today, which means tomorrow is Friday, and Saturday and Sunday are on their way: the weekend! Weekends used to be quite fun for me, this time last year I was pulling the car over in Frogtown to let my roommate puke last night out the door. But now I work every single day of my life so it could be Tuesday or Friday and frankly I wouldn’t care nor notice. I have a dog now and I love him very much, but every time I go to leave the house he stares at me with these grieving eyes and it makes me want to weep and weep. But maybe that is because I am on my period — speaking of which, the female body is truly astrological, astronomical, astrophysiological*, because this time last year I was also bleeding in #MyCalvins! I have grown into a cheaper version of myself though because now I only buy Victoria’s Secret when they’re having a five-for-twenty-five-dollar deal.
I must say everyday I dislike Los Angeles a little less or a little more. It’s like a chihuahua, some days they’re cute, other days they’re ugly and I hate them. I think the word “moving” is a really great word for the act of moving. In this year, I’ve moved a lot. I can move my fingers to play an F barre chord on the guitar, I can move my body to catch one wave in a two hour surf session, I can move my mouth to tell people “here are your dan dan noodles,” I can keep on moving when I get another job rejection email or no rejection at all, in fact they don’t even reply! I can keep on moving when a friend says they have a connection and nothing ever comes into fruition! At this point you can just call me All American Reject because I will just move along.
I am going to try to keep this short because within the last year I have realized that social media is really, really stupid. Nobody cares about you or what you post, the only person that does is you. Unless you’re Abbi Jacobson or Barack Obama. You don’t have to care about these words I’ve written or perhaps even read them. I’d rather you didn’t anyway because my life is les mis at times and I am embarrassing myself. It isn’t always though, sometimes it is really magical. Like the purple trees that live on my street, or the pink sunsets that happen from time to time. Oh, I do have a boyfriend now and he is really sweet. And hot. Los Angeles, thank you. Thirteen days into June and I’ve only cried eleven of them.
*words that may not be a word