Classy

I sunk to a new low and embraced my inner Tujungan today. No I did not smoke meth with the one legged guy who does donuts on his moped in the KFC parking lot.

I bought a battery operated pumpkin pie scented candle.

Here's what happens when your life begins to unravel.

It starts with a CVS being the only "store" in your town. Then, you get yourself a Saturday night alone, add one Atkins bar (hors d'oeuvre), one gluten free beer (cocktail), one battery operated candle (ambiance) and and voila, instant class!

The "best part" is that it is made out of real wax (shamWOW! Buy it today for only $19.99!), so when the candle warms up, the wax foofs out the scent of pumpkin pie spice.

Somebody give me my life back.

80

I drive home to Tujunga at 80 miles per hour every weeknight. My drive is a twelve mile, traffic-free commute. It is always the same, though some nights, it seems to take forever.

Mmmuh, trucks...
off ramp...
more trucks...
tail gaiter...
JPL...
La Canada...
La Crescenta...
Tujunga...
Datsun pickup truck with missing taillight...
my exit...
tweaker...
hobo....
clown...
dog...
open field with river stones stacked one on top of the other, like little men, everywhere...
wild horsetails growing out of a swampy spot in the gutter...
enormous lumps in the road...
day laborers...
7-11...
motorcycle guys...
Bonner's Equipment Rental...
auto body shop...
liquor store...
medical supply...
tweaker...
drunk guy...
auto body shop...
liquor store...
medical supply...
tweaker...
drunk guy...
auto body shop...
liquor store...
medical supply...
tweaker...
drunk guy...
apartments...
tree...
more trees...
houses...
home...
neighbor...
"can I borrow three dollars. I'm outa cigarettes".

Medicine

A nap is a sacred thing. A nap should not be interrupted unless there is a big fire.

My neighbor has a sixth sense about naps. This is how it works: When my eyes close, hers pop open and something in her brain tells her, much like a pigeon's homing instinct, to come over to my house and ask for money.

Her hair is always pulled back in a banana clip. Her eyes are a shocking blue...and red. Her brown acrylic cardigan is pilled and stained. It stretches down, over her stomach and covers half the length of her shorts. Her sweater pockets are filled with handmade, beaded jewelry to sell. Stuff she made a few years ago, when she wasn't, as she explains it "depressed" because of all of her "family shit".

The husband doesn't let loose on the details of their lives but the wife does. She is usually drunk on her "medicine" (vodka and milk), so she'll say revealing things as she wanders back down my front path. Most of her remarks make me want to run screaming away from her and this town. And then she'll say "you have such cute shoes" and I'll give her a dollar.

Saturday, after a refreshing 1.5 minute nap, I stood at my front window, wifebeater on, vodka and milk in my sippy cup, and wondered WTF I was doing in this hick town.

Learning something probably.