You know that song by Albert Hammond and it never raining in So Cal? I wish it were true and about a larger geographic area, like the whole state. I’m happy to be out of the snow and cold of New England, but I didn’t really consider the rain or the fact that such a fecund state aggravates the piss out of the allergies.
Still and all, walking down the street (or driving in a fab convertible) surrounded by palm trees and mad splashes of flower color ain’t half bad.
(Speaking of Albert Hammond, M. never ceases to amaze me with the depth (or shallowness if you consider importance) of his American pop culture knowledge. The other day I mixed a California-themed playlist for the iPod Mini as we drove up to spend the day in Berkeley. About two notes in, M.’s mumbling “Albert Hammond.” It’s a welcome respite after having dated another guy from not here, who almost had me convinced with his pontifications that all US anything is crap.)
Speaking of M., anyone perusing this BS might notice I haven’t been posting much about the relationship and the living together and all of that ripe with possibility junk. Why? Because ain’t no thing. No big fights about toothpaste tubes and toilet seats and personal space and sturm and drang. Nothing.
It’s cool. I even said to M. the other night that “I’m like, kind of close to like ‘happy’ or ‘content’ or something.” Weird all around and kind of disappointing. I figured I could at least get a couple of hacky relationship jokes for the old stand-up thang.
I hope he feels the same. (Because, of course, in my little head of neuroses he’s seething with unspoken contempt and his sweet smile is just a mask. He says “no,” so I’m working on the rational world and trying to take the smile at face value.)
Other than that, I had a bout with pure, somewhat irrational, angst the last couple of days. Like all good daughters, I blame my mother.
One paranoia she drilled into my head enough for it to stick is worry about money. I still have some in the bank, M.’s working and there’s no reason to believe that I am unemployable. Yet, for a bit I’ve been beading up with sweat over my homelessness and empty belly potential. So, I hammered out letter after letter to Craig’s List postings. Cross your fingers for me.
On the good and bad note, I had a Grand Canyon pic blown up into poster size, and it looks good. The downside is now that I’ve framed it, the picture’s such a Kodak moment that it looks like a cookie cutter print that came with the frame. I should be proud, but I’m mildly distracted.