I’m freezing. The heat doesn’t work – not that I thought we’d need it. This California weather is not what I expected. It is, after all, winter here. The mornings and nights are in the 40’s, but during the day it’s nice (well, except yesterday). I struggle to take the covers off. Mike leaves for work again. He actually had an offer for another job that he had to turn down. They needed a second AC (assistant camera) for a short film. Probably something he would enjoy more, but it’s unpaid. Paid job or unpaid job. Decisions, decisions. Fortunately, Mike recommends Troy for the position, so Troy wakes up early and is gone for most of the day.
I have one more path to check out that is within running distance – Chandler Bike Path. It’s about a mile run to get there. (I don’t get lost this time). Getting there is slightly through the ghetto, but once there I thoroughly enjoy the view of the Hollywood Hills. And this is no 1-mile path like North Hollywood Park. It’s 2.8 miles in one direction – perfect. The further I run the more scenic it gets with green grass and trees and bushes surrounded by a very residential neighborhood. The sun is in my face and there’s a light breeze as I jog (slowly) along in shorts and a t-shirt. The weather is quite perfect, actually. Hard to believe I was shivering earlier in the day.
When I get home, Mike is texting me. “Did you write your blog yet?” Haven’t even started it. “OK…I’m addicted.” Guess I better get on it. I can be real lazy when I feel like it. Mike walks in the door before 4pm. I grab the opportunity to use the car and drive to The Federal and speak to a manager. No manager. I can submit my resume online. Certainly that will get checked.
I head to Ralph’s – my new Acme. Ramen, tuna fish, pretzels, some fresh produce, and wine for Thanksgiving. Liquor at the food store is wonderful, and so inexpensive. I collect an assortment to bring to Tara’s Thursday. Crap, I forgot to get the recipe for pineapple pudding. Call Mom. “Oh, I was expecting this phone call.” Of course, she’s been reading my blog. I feel violated. Not really. Get the ingredients and hang up. Why is it that almost every time I call my Mom to ask her something there is a 90% chance for a follow-up call. I need butter. Salted or unsalted? How do people know these things? I text Mom. Unsalted butter? “No.” Hmm…cryptic. Salted? “Yes, regular butter is salted.” Well it says salted or unsalted. “I know but we always get salted. It offsets the sweetness.” …Christ. Am I really supposed to know this? Whenever I talk to my Mom I feel like less of an adult.
I pick up charcoal for Mike and Sonny to use on our little, tiny, almost non-existent grill. It’s pathetic. But they make due and fire up some chicken. It’s ok. I make a salad with tuna fish. I submit myself for as many acting jobs as I can and plan a job-hunting route for tomorrow. Mike and I would like to watch Breaking Bad episode 2 on Netflix, but our internet connection sucks. He claims he is still not used to the time change and passes out before 10pm. I fall asleep rereading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (it’s so good).