Los Angelemma

Only in LA can you be sitting, minding your own business, chatting with your mom online, and then watch a sobbing stripper march barefoot in her underwear by your living room window with a leopard print bag larger than her body. Hm?

Also, the bumblebees here are larger than my big toe. No joke. I can't wrap my head around how they fly. It's like allowing a potato gnocchi to be suspended in flight by two parsley leaves. Unfeasible.

Obviously, all this is taking place while sitting on the couch in my living room, staring out the window at whatever passes by. Because I am become lazy, and have had guests for 3 weeks, and don't want to clean up my house, and am instead going to sit here. Watching strippers.

I have, however, - regardless of visitors, actually going out and dancing, eating out far too often for finances to allow... I have finished Jane Austen's Emma. Which took FOREVER, but I enjoyed it regardless. It was Long. Friends who saw me at do Something Blue on Friday night (none of whom know I have a blog, or prolly even a last name) would notice that I spent the entire time being slightly embittered about being at THE CLIMAX of the book, wherein love is finally being declared and understood, wherein everything exciting happens, whereas I was forced to put it down and leave to go dancing. BAH! I was frustrated at the hovering anticipation of lurv and happiness.

Also - I'm worried about being a potential English major for this single reason: having to analyze. I made ABSOLUTELY NO CONNECTION between the book Emma and the movie Clueless until I read the end "inspired by" notes. This lack of connection worries me. How could I miss that? I can't say that I ever would have figured it out, either. Clueless has never figured prominently in my life experience, but still ... they are the same thing. I feel like a remedial English student whose first language is Slavic, here.