Kia His Car

The frog was the payment. $3000 to replace the car battery. But the walk over was pleasant, at least. ApplePay feels magical when you’re buying a little treat and evil when you’re dropping an entire paycheck. BEEP there goes the money.

Bopped to the coffee shop with the big windows. Promoted my book, promoted my essay, and then Beef showed up. She munched a small croissant as we gossiped, right until I had to rush away for a lunch, at the wooden patio with the exec who said she wanted to pay me five figures to develop an idea and then ghosted my manager for five months. Whatever, now she’s buying me a $20 sandwich. That’s showbiz. In line we see another exec and then we talk about Taylor Swift for most of the meeting.

At home I fire away business emails. I spent the week working on a climate PSA, a Toy Conglomerate script, and my newest play. Plus continued negotiations and a new project. I rush down to the pool by 4 to read and dip before throwing gold glitter on my eyelids and Ubering over to some friend of a friend’s house. It’s where we’re meeting up to carpool to Olivia Rodrigo at the Kia Forum. Buckle is a great concert seat mate. He really lets his emotions out. I don’t take many photos or videos, opting to remember things instead. I am impressed by how much more of a star Olivia has become since I saw her six months ago. She lets the crowd take over, she offers up commercial insights. She is doing a show in a show now. I like the part when we all scream, “LIKE A DAMN SOCIOPATH” and I love knowing whoever she wrote that song about assuredly has friends in attendance. I order mozzarella sticks on the way home. They’re sitting on the ground, waiting for me when I make it back.

I sleep in Saturday, do a dance workout, hustle to the same coffee shop by 11. I clock two hours on my new play. It’s way too long. I’m 2/3 done and it’s already 150 pages. This one is a beast, but I think about it all the time, now that I’ve slotted it into first position. Not a day goes by some line or new accent doesn’t pop into my head when I least expect it.

I eat vegan buffalo wings and carrots, watch part of the John Travolta movie Phenomenon with Puhg. It’s so boring, but I am curious how it will end. Drive to Trader Joe’s for a variety of snacks, read at the pool, hop in, get my hair done. My guy gently checks my political temperature then conspiratorially informs me he thinks 45 is the literal devil. I read Miranda July’s new book under the heater. The highlights look splotchy, which they always do, but who really cares? I like getting shampoo’d in a teal wonderland with a fountain and paying $90 cash.

I shove a hoodie and blanket into my backpack and grab a beach chair and head to the Hollywood Forever cemetery to watch Bring It On. The friends of friends had invited me and I think they’re all surprised when I show up. I talk about ceramics with one, camo pants with another, the ethics of using certain homophobic slurs cheekily with a third. Kirsten Dunst is there and knowing that does enhance the experience. The crowd keeps screaming when her teen character makes good choices. I munch brie and dried apricots and cotton candy grapes and about 20 cookies. Puhg picks me up a few blocks away. I stay up, listening to a YouTube video about changing your mindset and eat about 30 more cookies. In the middle of the night, Sweet Potato gets scooped, and I pet her nose.

At our traditional morning spot, Puhg and I do New York Times puzzles and chat with a barista about The Egyptian. I plot out my week’s goals. I have a deadline Wednesday and I am torn between working on it all day (to get ahead) or "enjoying the weekend." I decided on the second and go to the pool. Almost done with my feminist literature book, dive in, float around. Puhg has a lot of news, but it’s mostly good, I think. Buffalo wings and carrots and then I drive over to the friends of friends joint birthday. Tarp says, “Three days in a row!” And it’s true. We buy bingo cards, and a chicken is in a coop, and the sun is blazing. I pay for valet, drink half a watermelon slushie, am only a little in my head when I gab with my friend who became a gatekeeper who is maybe back to a friend.

Home just in time to Zoom with Cobra. She’s going to work on herself for the next six months, she declares. We laugh about the state of our industry. I wear my lavender romper and head to our Mexican restaurant for a double date. Everyone talks about who they were in high school, we eat four bowls of chips, a plane pens ‘SHERRY” across the blue sky. We walk down to the cabaret theatre to see ____’s work in progress solo show. It’s more heartfelt than I anticipate, a pleasant surprise. I enjoy seeing a dozen or so people from my past but I am relieved when I’ve said all the hellos and can walk home listening to Radiohead. I post photos to Instagram and after Puhg explains Sweet Potato is refusing to come out, I fall asleep.

Best Sandwich Ever

Slab of mozzarella, laced with leaves.

Ciabatta as good--no--better

than the ones Kay's dad brought home from the bakery in Monterey.

We ate them on the couch while watching 12 Angry Men.

Buttery. Flakey. Thick.

I didn't think I could taste bread so good

and yesterday revisited that disbelief.

Hill said, "I will take you to the best sandwich ever,"

and it was not even a lie. Not even a little bit.

The semi-circle was hand-sized, comfortable,

and although the stories my friend told me were not pleasant,

there is something pleasant about it--

holding that cradle of tomato over brown butcher paper.

Life might be unfair, but it is just--

because we are walking justice.

Our positivity is the criminal system,

and if you refuse to be locked up,

you can't be.

Let them try.

You might bite down so hard your braces brackets break,

but still,

let them try.

In the end,

you might be at a picnic table

filling up on a champion lunch

and spinning your straw

in fresh whipped cream.

Ode to University Avenue

Sunset on Friday.

Here's to the upscale pizza joint,
that seems to be baking fresh garlic bread every moment
I am pedaling by
hungry.
Here's to the morning coffee-goers
outside Starbucks, the ballooning mocha-skinned women,
the suits.
Here's to the mailbox next to bumper stickers,
the brick sidewalk that plinks,
as if ready to pop up
any one of these days.
Here's to the lil sammich shop full of potheads
and the fatheads outside the convenience store,
the orange-painted apartments on my left before I make the final turn
home, the stretch of bike lane on my right that inexplicably gleams
with broken bottle shards
every single day.
Here's to the blocky Chinese place,
the tiny stucco house with graphiti on its western wall,
the cacti yard behind a chainlink fence.
Here's the the palm skins on the sidewalk
and the wind that feels good in January,
and the squeak of my wheels,
and the bright blue bus stop bench,
and most of all,
"Reign of Love" playing in my ears.
To the sea I offer this heavy load.
This is living.

Breakfast Advice

Friday morning Chelle and Bug came over for breakfast pre-sketch show. Emergency gal chat over some wicked tasty sammiches.


Look at all the color! They were supes tasty. Marble rye bread, avo, tomato, egg, goat cheese.

Can't go into too much detail here, but, basically, Bug might really want something, but she might not be able to have it, so she feels backed into the corner of apathy. I strongly advised against that attitude. She shrugged. I started putting our dishes in the machine, and advice tumbled out of my mouth that my brain didn't even put there. I said, "What you have to remember is that you're a person who is going to die, so you need to be going after the things you want."

And, immediately, I wanted to follow my own advice. Not to toot my own horn, but TOOT! WE ALL NEED TO BE FOLLOWING MY ADVICE THAT I DIDN'T EVEN THINK UP.


Bug chompin'.