I thought the earthquake was a sign for me to leave but now, after packing up, throwing away, and shipping off all of my stuff, after driving 300 plus miles to our first destination, I get the news that the Dodgers got Manny.

The earthquake was actually a leaked super secret seeping up through cracks in the earth, directed by the universe to let me know the big one IS COMING. First Casey Blake, now Manny. It's no wonder someone stole my last mini-plan ticket out of my mailbox before B could pick it up tonight.

Enough of me trying to direct my attention away from my sadness. I'll miss you LA!

I was in Studio City in my parked car when the earthquake hit. I thought Doctor Dre had spontaneously set my car up with hydraulics or something. I was rolling and bumping alongside all the other cars in the parking lot. I kept looking for a giant ruck or a spaceship lift-off - I couldn't figure out what was making everything so windy and rolly. What an amateur.

Anywho...I sold my Nagel this evening. My bed too. I wish I could say I am sitting in an apartment full of nothing but the only thing that getting rid of furniture has done for me and my stuff is to let things that I never knew I had spill out everywhere. Furniture contains things. It is more useful than I ever thought. So now I have to just wait until my sister gets here and hope she knows what to do with my mountians of bullcrap.

I only have one DVD left unpacked: "Mommy Dearest" and I have been watching it with the John Waters commentary. It's quite good. I am most intrigued by the similarities between Joan Crawford/Faye Dunaway's cold-cream-make-up in the "wire hanger" scene and Heath Ledger's Joker makeup in "The Dark Knight."It is errie.

I made two trips to the Atwater Post Office today to mail some of my books to Michigan. I really should hire a personal assistant to help me with the packing and errands that I have to deal with to make this move happen. Anyone want to come work for me for five dollars an hour and all the frozen vegetables you can eat? Why should I hire someone really when my favorite mule/worker, my little sister, is coming next week.

Besides my friends whom I will miss beyond belief, I’m going to miss the Dodgers and Dodger Stadium, The Americana, the walk to the coffee shop, the 8 am street-cleaning panic, two-story Forever 21's and the people that forgive me for shopping there, the Arclight, Club Tee Gee, Carousel, Zankou, the Pacific Ocean, Glendale Public Library, Brand Arts& Music Library, Larchmont Beauty Supply, Eat Well, Dusty’s, The Vista Theater, walkin around the reservoir, teaching Body Blast at Total Woman, driving to the desert, Lone Pine, Writegirl, I Love Super Beautiful, Palm Springs thrift shopping, Bethany & JG's house, and Pinkberry.

After I got back from my trip to Seattle and vicinity I got right to work going through all of my stuff. I need to toss or sell nearly everything before I leave. In my piles of stuff everywhere I have found little pieces of paper with my writing notes on them. My favorite so far is a note that asks "How many times a day do you get slapped?"

I know this is child explotation but I can't help it:



Cari's Traveling Rock Band from kayekilla on Vimeo.

Back

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Originally uploaded by kayekilla.

It’s past midnight so now it’s my birthday and I am already getting everything I ever wanted. I did laundry this evening and witnessed a bodacious Russian woman put her wet clothes in a side-loading washer because she thought it was a dryer. She didn't realize until it was too late and the water had started to pour in and the machine was on lock down. One helpful man told her that dryers usually don't cost three-seventy-five and offered to chat her up for the ten minutes she was going to have to wait. He asked her a lot of questions about where she lived.

Looking Out

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Originally uploaded by kayekilla.

I swear I remembered that I had a class to teach this morning. I was remembering all day yesterday but not in the productive way of remembering. I remembered just enough to set my alarm. I remembered to wake up to my alarm and put on my sneaks and leave nearly in time. I was a few minutes late to a room full of twenty plus elderly Armenian women waiting for me. One lady always sets up my “step” and weights and mat at the front of the class. They got new blue mat,s this place. The microphones weren’t working or maybe they changed them up in the past three weeks to another nonbattery supercellular system, who knows. I had no plan and no microphone so I just sent these women on a bare-voice-scream-instructed freestyle-fifty-minute lunge and squat odyssey that I am, well not me, but my legs are personally regretting at this very moment. And tomorrow is Independence Day for everybody but this body.

The other day, when walking with Bethany I had the strangest blackout migraine attack. I woke up a few days later with a medical condition that can only be described as a hybrid of chronic fatigue syndrome and agoraphobia. I did leave my place for long enough one day to sit on the beach and get a front-of-the-legs-sunburn but for the most part I have only been able to watch movies and nap and make lists of people I should call before dying of this terrible condition. If you haven’t received a phone call from me it is because I would rather you remember me as spunky. I went out once to Fresh and Easy and the post office but for the most part I have been inside watching such uplifting films as “Autumn Sonata” and “4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days.” So I am even more convinced that you don’t have to leave your home to find pain and suffering. I wonder things like how does one age as gracefully as Ingrid Bergman and did communist Romania really keep track of their female citizens menstrual cycles or did they just withhold shampoo? Or was the only shampoo available for normal or dry hair? Why is everything always limp, greasy, and acid-washed in eastern europe? What does it mean that two of the last couple winners of the Palme D'or made movies about selling or aborting babies? What is that about? A step beyond baby-boomer apocalypse-ism. Future-murder? Feminist implosion? Tell me and I will stop having migraines.