"Whatup, mah shiksa homey?"

"Not much. How's it hangin', Heeb?"

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I found the courthouse today, and parked nearby, adjacent to the Queen of Angels Cathedral. I walked over, and was told that, no, it wasn't the correct place at all, but Hill Street was only a few blocks away.

Once I got onto Hill Street I realized that the security guard had spoken the truth, but failed to mention that Courthouse #2 was actually at the far end of downtown—beyond the jewelry district, beyond Staples Center. So I ended up walking miles to get where I needed to go; there was a point beyond which I figured it would take just as long to go retreive the car, and then I'd have to pay twice to park it.

Yeah. I was tempted to take a cab back the thirty blocks or whatever, but we don't really have cabs in L.A. So that saved me money, too. And I got a terrific workout, some fabulous pics of Los Angeles landmarks, a few story ideas, a large blister, and a slight sunburn.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:56 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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"Cool," he responded. "Are they artistic? Are they gay? Are they high-tech?"

The questions came in a quick rapid-fire, and I answered, just as swiftly, "yes, yes, and no."

Posted by: Attila Girl at 08:31 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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You'll never see this. But if I make a note of it now, I might remember it next year.

If I write it down on a piece of paper? Not a chance.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 08:27 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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It was not a happy discovery.

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"You're being careful with it, aren't you, Honey? That stuff is speed."

"Just the tiny doses you suggested: much less than you take. Really, a very marginal amount, and I'll get a shrink to sign off on it in July when my insurance kicks in. I'm not snorting it or anything."

"It's funny, because you're such a classic case of ADD."

"Say what?"

"Even as a child."

"Mom, I specifically asked you a year ago whether you thought I'd had ADD as a kid, and you told me I didn't fit the profile, but my brother did."

"Oh, yes. Well, apparently there are two types of ADD personalities. My psychiatrist explained it to me: you were the other type: dreamy, seemingly out of it. You know."

"Okay. I guess I do know. Thanks for the drugz. Looks like the guys in the family are sticking with Prozac, so far."

"So far. Though I really think your brother should try Ritalin."

Parents. Can't live with 'em, and can't ship 'em off to Mars. Can't get 'em away from the "better living through chemistry" idea.

My mom raised me not to even take an aspirin when I had a headache: there was tremendous emphasis on the virtue of suffering and whatnot. We got extra moral points for going to school when we were sick. So much for that Anglo-Saxon stoicism.

I've decided there's little virtue in suffering, and even less in being an insufferable bitch. Still, The Mom could have said something: most people in Debtor's Anonymous do have some form of ADD—it makes us allergic to paperwork, you know.

This autumn my mother turns the age at which her own mother died. I anticipate that my mom will be around into her nineties, though, as long as she maintains a good attitude and keeps her blood pressure down. (Yes, her internist signed off on the Ritalin: do you think we're idiots?)

And my grandmother could well reach 100. That's the new 30, isn't it?

I plan to hang out as long as I have internet access, or at least my books and the ability to write; after that's gone, I'll ask the Lord to take me.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 02:32 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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"Which CD, Dear?"

"The one your sister burned for us for Christmas."

"You have it."

"You let me have it? You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"But I want to listen to it."

"So maybe you should find it."

"But why didn't you hang on to it?"

"Because I didn't care if it got lost for a while."

Now that's patriarchy.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 09:33 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Being a closet liberal, I'm faced with the temptation so see gray areas. To say, "maybe, if the sandal completely covers the junction between the nylons and the bare toes."

But what's next?—advocating the custom among Japanese tourists of wearing knee-high nylons with shorts?

Look: stockings are one thing, and are fine between consenting adults. But panty hose of any type are not sexy. They are meant for one purpose, and one purpose only: to attenuate one's lack of tan/unevenness of skin tone.

If the environment you are going into is so casual that you can wave your bare toes around, you have no business wearing panty hose of any sort.

Or, if the environment requires panty hose, you shouldn't be showing off your pedicure—no matter how cute it is.

Get a spray-on tan, or buy some leg makeup, or suck it up and wear linen slacks. But come on, now, Girls: let's not bring about the utter collapse of civilization, just because it's summer.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 10:13 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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