Nice problem to have.

The sun is unforgiving. And all I wanted was a large Diet Pepsi. They
poured the drink, and I realize that all I have is a hundred dollar
bill.

"I'm sorry, it's all I have, can you change a hundred?"

"No, we don't take them."

"Don't take them? Like, ever?"

"Nope."

"Is that even legal?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this note is legal tender, for all debts, public and private.
It says so, right on the bill."

"Do you want me to call my manager?"

"Forget it."

I'm on break, hot and thirsty.

Earthquake!!!

My room's disaster! There are clothes and shoes all over the floor, wires spider-webbed across the carpet, candles knocked over, and photographs spread all over the entertainment center and nightstand.

Also, we just had an earthquake.

According to the news, it was a 3.2, and it happened at 10:59:59 PM.

*

When I lived in Studio City, the condo was "earthquake ready". You know those little plastic locks you put on the cabinets under the sink? The tiny white pieces that are supposed to keep your kids from drinking all of the cleaning products?

Well, in Studio City, my girlfriend and I, we had those on the high cupboards, so in the event of an earthquake, all the glasses and flatware wouldn't fall on your head.

I don't know how many times I went to pull open a cupboard door, and got sprayed with tiny shards of white, splintered, plastic pieces.

And I can't tell you how many times I was yelled at for breaking the little "earthquake locks". Each time, I had to drive to Home Depot - not a terrible fate, as I really needed to get out of the house when she started screaming like that - I had to purchase another five-dollar, white plastic child-lock, and I had to spend a half an hour looking for a small, philips-head screwdriver to install the friggin' thing.

Installation: roughly, eight minutes.
Duration of grief, yelling, and stress: roughly three hours.

Truth is, breaking those locks is not the reason I left Studio City, just like a 3.2 is not why my room's a disaster. My room was a mess before the Earth rattled.

But - opening that cupboard, shattering that lock the first time - it was the first time she yelled at me.

And I'm sure, absolutely certain, my life was a mess before I moved to Studio City.

I felt my first earthquake tonight. It was pretty freaking sweet.

Sick as I am (physically, not mentally), I got pretty excited.

You know those August storms in Syracuse? The thunder that shakes the house like the black sky's just been ripped open by the hands of God?

That's pretty much what a three-point-two feels like.

And I plan on hanging in for the big one.

It's official!

I'm as sick as a dog. My temperature's hit 101.5.

Fahrenheit, that is. That's about 38.6 if you're nasty.

I mean, unamerican.

Actually, I may have meant both. Who can tell? My brain's in the
broiler, so I may not be thinking right.

There's a helicopter with a spotlight currently circling the greater
northridge area right now. You know what that means. Somebody's
running, scared, and dangerous.

(See: "The Devil You Know" by Todd Snider)

I dread having to work tomorrow morning because I feel so crappy. I'm
hoping the wine will help.

When I was working in Syracuse, I had a terrible cough, and this old
Southern black lady told me it would clear up with a glass of
blackberry brandy. I think I remember it working.

Self medicating is one of my favorite pastimes.

Another problem with being sick is that it tend to send my blood
glucose levels all crazy. That's no fun. I get all loopy and sweaty
and shaky. It happened, like, a week ago. I started feeling a little
weird at work, so I tested, like I'm supposed to, and my BG level was
at 43! That was ridiculous.

Well, I'm going to lie down. I'm not feeling so good.

I hope you're well.

It's my second fifteen minute break.

Sometimes, it's so hot outside, I don't even feel like going out to
smoke. When nicotine's not incentive enough, you know it's pretty hot.

I'm still a bit stuffed from lunch, so I don't really feel like doing
much of anything.

Last night was interesting. It started with a little tickle on the
throat, now, it just might be a full on illness.

I'll keep you posted.

Lunch

Chilling at the Big Apple Deli. Salad and a burger, Diet Pepsi. They
know me here, I should probably just give them my schedule and they
could have my lunch ready when I walk in the door.

Outside..

Sitting outside, with other modern day pariahs - in a secluded little
area out of the sun, complete with ashtrays, and those wire, food-
court seats that leave checkerboards on the thighs of anyone confident
or stupid enough to wear short, short, shorts.

Dishes

The sink is full of no dishes. It's a little disgusting, really, I don't mind telling you, but on any given day, we're likely to have more dirty shotglasses and coffee cups than plates or bowls.