Bitchy Bakeries & Liars On Hollywood Boulevard

Loathe though I am to admit it, I love being in bed. I love sleeping. I love napping. I like to sleep the day away. Now, I love day time, but I adore the night. MANDATORY DANCE INTERLUDE:

There’s just something wonderful to me about being up when nobody else is. For years I have been trying to change my sleep schedule around so that I’m up more in the night, but it never seems to work out. I think with the new work year starting in a month (kill me, please), I’m going to go to bed around six or seven and then wake up at two. Those hours when there’s nobody around are precious. Plus, even though it’s no different from day — aside from the lack of light — there is a sultry mystery about the dark that I just adore. So, I’ve been staying up late. It’s my vacation and I can do what I want!

I forgot to mention in my last post that I had been given a ticket to The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson for the next day (today) on Hollywood Boulevard. I already had tickets for the day after that, but who am I to turn down the chance to see celebrities? So I lingered around the apartment for a while and thought I might go down to Potato Chips to have their eggplant sandwich, and so I did.

It was a good sandwich, but it was nothing like that wonderful caprese. I’m going to have to get another of those before I leave the city. I’ve got all my meals planned until Monday — I’m strange that way, vacations, for me, are eating holidays — so maybe I’ll sneak over there to grab one before setting off to Anaheim. Sounds like the perfect late lunch to me.

I finally found a moment to go over to the park that’s across the street from me, but it wasn’t very interesting. There were no secret trails and no sculptured shrubbery and there were no gravel paths and there were no fountains. Try as I might, I still can’t stop comparing this place to Paris.

I decided to walk up Fairfax to take a look at the shops that are always closed when I walk by late at night. There is a Schwartz bakery here, too! But, I infinitely prefer the one on Beverly with the old woman who speaks Yiddish to me. The food tastes the same, but it’s a more authentic experience over there. They sold lemon tarts at this one, so I had to try that.

There was yet another bakery — so many Jewish bakeries! — a block away, so I went in there and tried to order half of a challah loaf. Bitch wouldn’t sell it to me. I harrumphed and stormed out. This, too, would never happen in Paris. You can buy any piece of bread you want in that marvelous city. I never do because I can eat an entire poppy seed baguette in one sitting. I couldn’t eat an entire challah loaf, though, since they were bigger than my enormous head.

Time to go to Craig, so I walked the ten minutes it takes to get to CBS, far in advance of the time I needed to be there and waited in the swelteringly hot line for forty-five minutes only to be told that I wasn’t going to be getting in today. What? I had wasted my entire afternoon waiting around for something that wasn’t going to happen! I was annoyed and in an awful mood and so I stomped back to the apartment.

There were robberies and riots happening over the city for various reasons and I wasn’t in the mood to be in the middle of all that, so I just decided to stay put for the day. It doesn’t make for very exciting reading, but whatevs. I keep trying to love Los Angeles, but I just don’t. I don’t feel at home here, I don’t feel like I could be a part of this community, I can’t afford it here, the people are nice enough and I appreciate how good looking they all are, but I guess this just isn’t the place for me. I don’t know if I’ve told you this or not, reader, but when I travel, I am not only exploring someplace new, I’m looking for my home. I’ve been to so many cities and so many countries, but it only happens very rarely. The only places I feel as if I could spend the rest of my life are: Paris and Sarasota. That’s it. Vastly different places, but each made me feel welcome and more alive than anywhere else. I’m not at home in Iowa. I know it well and I love it, but I can’t live there until I die, you know? Maybe have a summer home there, I’d love that, but I couldn’t always be there.

Feeling melancholy, I went off to the dry cleaners to pick up my clothes and was delighted that it hadn’t cost me seven hundred dollars and that they wrapped up all my clothes in butcher paper. It was so Old World and charming. I was thrilled. I never want to wash my own clothing again. It’s all confusing to me. I just throw things in the whatever-it’s-called with some soap and it always turns out alright.

I did some editing and computer work and researched Las Vegas for awhile since I’m going there in two weeks, less than that actually.

I got to thinking about pants. I still have not found a pair of khakis that I love, and so, determined to find some, I stormed out of the apartment to the Grove. I went into the Gap, but they did not fit me right. I don’t understand the sizing at the GAP. I’m a very average sized person and their small fits me like an extra large. This happens at Tommy Hilfiger, too. I can’t understand it. This is why we need to bring back the olden days of in-shop tailors that fit every article you buy to you. People are not mass produced, you know?

So, then I went to J.Crew, but I didn’t even try anything on. I adore their clothes, but I’m not spending two hundred dollars on a pair of pants. That’s too much even for me. (Not really, I’m just not all that wealthy right now.)

I went to Forever 21 because they have a great men’s selection, but found nothing to amuse me.

I went to Topman and found a few pairs in the sale section — I’m always shopping the sales. The first pair, which were labelled my size, wouldn’t even begin to fit. Again, why? The second pair, though, fit me like a glove. They are dark brown dress pants, wool, very nice, half price, herringbone, and don’t have a yard of fabric flapping around my backside. I had to have them and I bought them and I am so happy I did, but more on that tomorrow when I wore them about town.

I made my way back home and had a taco while I watched Charles Pierce imitate Bette Davis and then watched the season premiere of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. I had a great time.

I realized that I needn’t be so overwhelmed by everything. Even lazy days accomplish something. Mainly finding pants that make my ass look great.

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